wonwoospeach

[wonwoospeach]

need me some more of this jeonghan trope

pineapple on pizza? | yoon jeonghan

› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader › aus: dilf jeonghan, boyfriend jeonghan, jeonghan is a dad › genres: fluff, smut (18+) › word count: 9.7k

› warnings: porn with a sliver (🤏🏻) of plot, jeonghan is so down bad, he likes to dom you just a little, pussy eating, masturbation, reader is on birth control but this is not mentioned, unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink, creampies, light choking, dirty talk, daddy kink, after care. pet names: baby, babe, darling, sweetheart (hers) babe, daddy (his)

› author's note: i lost my mind and just wrote this. i never write drabbles but yoon jeonghan always changes my mind simply by existing LOL DRABBLE—THIS THING TURNED INTO A FULLY FLEDGED ONE SHOT HAHAKJDHKGJH THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE HAKJHF

› shoutout to @aeristudios for suggesting baby names, and for giving me the inspiration to do this, jskdfjh.

and to @coupsiedaisee for watching me spiral in real time for the yoon jeonghan. thanks. thank you for working out certain plot points with me and for proofing this! 🩵🥺

› disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

It was only supposed to be a nap.

You and Yoon Jeonghan have been dating for a few months now. Ever since you met him, your life has turned around, and you’ve never felt luckier. Jeonghan walked into your life with the smoothness of a trainwreck—in the best way possible. One afternoon, you came out of work and started getting rained on out of nowhere. And he happened to be the only guy willing to share his umbrella.

You started talking, waiting for the storm to subside. He took your number, and you were surprised to receive a phone call the very next day. It wasn’t exactly easy to navigate the waters since you learned he was a single parent. Dating was hard enough already, and all of your friends thought you had lost your mind when you started dating a single parent in his thirties.

“I’m barely thirty,” he’d say with a laugh, the tips of his ears turning bright red whenever someone commented on it.  

Jeonghan made things feel lighter, even if his life was a complete mess sometimes. He provided you with a sense of normalcy, a sense of security. Even though you were in your mid-twenties, sometimes you worried you were on different wavelengths. But as the months went by, you found that it was easier than breathing.

Both of you fell into a rhythm. Sometimes you’d visit him, sometimes he’d come to yours with his two-year-old strapped to his hip. You’d dine together, watch some mindless TV, or play games. And whenever he could get the chance to, he’d take you out on dates, just the two of you.

Tonight, you came to his apartment straight from work. It was pasta and pizza night, and it was one of the very first nights that you would stay so late at his house. Neither Jeonghan nor you would stay at each other’s places. You weren’t quite there yet.

Typically, you’d see him wearing his clothes from work—a button-down white shirt, black pants, slacks, belt that matched his shoes. Very clean cut in his work uniform, to the exception of the pair of wacky socks he wore—like salmon pink socks with cute little potted cacti. That’s the kind of man Jeonghan was.

But when he answered the door, you were surprised by what you saw. Sometimes you would see him wearing his uniform still, but with some bits already dishevelled, like his tie would be loose around his neck and his shirt with the buttons half-undone. No. This time, Jeonghan was wearing a white oversized white tee, with bright green shorts and a white cap on his head.

And something about it made your blood stir.

But you had to remain composed. You cleared your throat as you padded through his apartment barefoot.

“What are you cooking tonight, sir?” you asked playfully, following him into the open kitchen of his apartment.

The place was small, but perfect for him and Sohee—it felt lived in, toys scattered in the living room where most of life happened. There was a creamy white rug placed in the centre of the room, a baby chair where Sohee was hyper fixating on a bag of water and peas, while Jeonghan was busy in the kitchen.

Jeonghan eyed you briefly. A smirk broke into the frown he was previously wearing. “Cooking?” he drawled slowly as he appeared to be fighting to open a bottle of wine. “Pasta and pizza. I got up at the crack of dawn to make the spaghetti from scratch with my bare hands.”

“Oh, really?” you smirked, clearly catching on to his game.

“Yeah, obviously,” he said, masking a giggle with a cough. “What, did you think I would order food and then reheat it in the oven?”

You eyed the oven, which showed you the pizza that was currently being heated up. “I would never,” you giggled softly, pushing yourself to your tiptoes to reach for a kiss.

Jeonghan tilted his head to you, aiming for you to kiss him on the lips. But coordination between you failed. In the midst of him focusing on stopping the pasta from burning, and you standing on your tiptoes, you ended up kissing his cheek.

“Stay still,” you whined, making him chuckle. Bringing a hand to cup his cheek, you fixed him in place for you to prop a quick kiss on his lips.

Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “Kiss me properly,” he complained, pouting and knitting his eyebrows in a frown.

“Pay attention to me, then,” you argued, laughing at his reaction.

“I can’t—I’m cooking,” he emphasized with half a laugh. But then he turned the stove off, quickly placing his hands on your waist to push you back against the kitchen sink. The movement was smooth, making you think that he had wanted to do this the moment he saw you walk into the kitchen.

“You are a kitchen hazard,” he huffed, his voice low, barely audible.

“Why?” you asked, laughing softly.

He tilted his head to yours, the tip of his nose bumping against your own. “Cause you’re distracting the chef,” he whispered, joining his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle, almost as if he wanted just to feel your lips with his own and nothing else. Then slowly, as he kissed you again, his tongue brushed your bottom lip ever so slightly, drawing an airy moan from you.

But then, an alarm went off, snapping him back to reality. Jeonghan tensed at the sharp sound, but leaned his forehead against yours. “Dinner’s ready.”

“I’ll get Sohee,” you whispered without opening your eyes yet.

That gained you another kiss—this one was even more brief, fleeting. But it denoted the need he had to have his lips on yours. He stepped back, though begrudgingly.

This was the only push and pull you had with Jeonghan.

In all of the months you’ve been dating, you have never gone past kissing. The only times you both have been close to doing something other than kissing were the few make-out sessions where he dared to slip his hands beneath your blouse, only to feel your back or your waist.

Yoon Jeonghan was the only man in your life who exerted control over himself.

And it was confusing at times.

Not because you questioned his affection, or his desire for you. You knew he wanted you. But for some reason, he controlled himself every time things got a little too heated. And well you… you wanted this man. More than you allowed yourself to admit.

The boyish aspect he sported as he wore his cap, the laid back look… you found it too hard to resist.

But you resisted it anyway. You skirted through the living room, through the rug cluttered with toys that told a story—a train was on the ground, surrounded by little cowboys and ponies. You smirked to yourself, knowing what story Jeonghan might’ve crafted for baby Sohee moments before he got up to get dinner ready.

You lifted Sohee from her chair, mirroring the little squeal she let out as you wrapped her in your arms. “Hi, young lady,” you cooed, smiling at her as she clapped her tiny hands together. Sohee was a perfect little girl with big bright eyes, a head full of messy black hair and the cutest smile— just like her father’s.

Jeonghan had finished setting up the small round table and was approaching you with a small towel he normally used to wipe the drool off of Sohee’s chin. “She might not be hungry, though. Apparently, she ate all of her meals at day care, not just animal crackers,” he commented with a slight but noticeably contented look on his face.

You made a shocked expression, grabbing her attention fully. “She did?” you asked, and the baby giggled at your face. “That’s awesome! Daddy must be so proud of you!”

Jeonghan blinked his gaze, shifting from his daughter’s face to yours. Now, this wasn’t the first time you called him daddy, but you were beginning to notice that it had an effect on him. His eyes widened slightly, and he seemed to stumble over his words before he even uttered them.

He ended up just smiling shyly.

“Come on, let’s put you in your chair,” you said, pretending not to have seen his reaction.

As you safely put Sohee in her highchair, she held onto your hair, making fists around the loose strands and clenching them tightly as you placed her safely.

“Sohee,” Jeonghan sighed reproachfully, catching her tiny fists around your hair before you did.

“Oh—” you muttered.

But Jeonghan was quick, grabbing Sohee’s favorite cup and placing it in front of her strategically. “Look here, Sohee!” he cooed, his tone rising in a way that made you go a little feral with cuteness aggression.

But it did the trick—Sohee instantly went for her sippy cup, silently latching her mouth to it and started drinking from it.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he muttered as you stood back. Jeonghan was standing behind you, so you bumped back against him blindly, his hand falling on your lower hip by accident.

Your whole body became alight with excitement. A little too much of it. “Yeah!” you sighed, your tone sounding too high. You cleared your throat.

If Jeonghan noticed, he did not react. “Please,” he motioned to the chair for you to sit.

You sat down beside Sohee, looking at the table as Jeonghan placed the pizza at the centre. “Hawaiian pizza?” you arched an eyebrow.

Jeonghan stopped, two empty glasses in his hands as he was just about to place them on the table. “Isn’t it your favourite?” he asked, sounding horrified.

“Yes, i-it is,” you replied, face switching into a frown. “How did you know?”

He relaxed visibly, his shoulders going slack as he resumed putting the glasses on the table, then turned to grab the bottle of wine. “Well, you told me,” he said, smirking.

“I did?” you asked.

Jeonghan joined the round table, and it was small enough that he was close to you and Sohee at the same time. “Yeah, you did. Our second date, remember?”

“Uh, yeah. Totally,” you said, not hiding the evident unseriousness in your tone.

Jeonghan huffed. “Ah, you don’t remember,” he clicked his tongue again. “Maybe you should pay more attention to me,” he emphasized jokingly.

You giggled. “You’re right, it is my favorite,” you said, leaning in to place a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for remembering.”

Jeonghan smiled shyly, looking down as you pressed your lips against his cheek. He directed a long look at you as you leaned back on your chair. “Let’s hope she likes it too,” he mumbled, cutting a small piece from his slice of pizza and pinching it with a fork.

“She might not be big on it,” you mumbled softly, looking at Jeonghan as he drove the fork in front of her face. “Not everyone likes pineapple on pizza.”

He glanced at you. “You’re right about that,” he huffed playfully.

“You don’t like it?”

He shrugged, still waiting for Sohee to take the bite. “I don’t mind it,” he replied. “I just think it changes the whole meal. A snack turned into a dessert.”

“So you think pizza is a snack?” you inquired, arching an eyebrow.

“I just don’t think it’s a meal on its own, you know? It needs to have company, like pasta,” he replied with a light smile, his gaze shifting between your face to his daughter’s as she finally took the piece of pizza into her mouth.

“Oh, moment of truth,” you muttered, completely forgetting what Jeonghan just told you.

Sohee appeared to be completely intrigued by the piece of food that had just entered her mouth. She chewed, her face progressively becoming more and more interested in swallowing just to get another mouthful immediately.

“It appears she likes it,” Jeonghan mumbled happily, exchanging a look with you.

“Of course she does,” you asserted. You gave him a confident wink. “Sohee’s like me. She has good taste.”

Jeonghan smiled, content that Sohee was liking the food she was trying for the first time. But there was more in the twinkle of his eyes as he looked at you—you were able to appreciate it.

He was happy.

After dinner, you offered to tidy the kitchen as he bathed Sohee and got her ready for bed. Usually Fridays were more relaxed for you both, since none of you had to work the next day—but something about that day had left you feeling tired, and sleepy. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was work, you didn’t know.

But you were feeling too tired to drive back home, and in all honesty, you didn’t want to leave yet.

You sat on the couch, waiting for Jeonghan as he put Sohee to bed, and then you could have a moment between you two—which was probably going to end up with you watching something on TV, occasionally stopping to kiss until it got too steamy for either of you. It was usually like this. And this rhythm had you slowly falling into a steady step—familiarity.

You realized you liked it. You could get used to it.

However, tonight, your body had other plans for you.

One moment you were waiting for Jeonghan on the sofa, shutting your eyes, and the next you opened them to find yourself in his queen-sized bed, covered with a weighted blanket. 

You instantly tensed, scrambling to sit up.

Jeonghan was lying beside you, not completely asleep but not quite awake either.

The lights were off, but the curtains weren’t exactly fully closed, so you could see his face thanks to the sliver of light that slipped through the parted curtains. He lifted his eyebrows, blinking slowly at you. “Hey,” he croaked.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled. “I’m sorry, I fell asleep.”

In the darkness, you saw him frown. “Why are you sorry for that?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with tiredness.

You realized that he was still wearing the same clothes, sans the cap. Now, you could see his black hair, which he kept trimmed short. You gulped. “I—” you sighed, finding no excuses to give him. “I should go home.”

Jeonghan lifted his head from the pillows, still frowning. “It’s late,” he mumbled. “And you don’t have to go. You could stay.”

The air in your lungs seemed to vanish in an instant. You knew the implications of staying the night at his place—sharing a bed with him meant you taking things to the next level. A whole more intimate level.

“Jeonghan…” you muttered, but there was no reason for you to say no. You wanted to stay. And you were aching to lie down next to him.

He noticed something in your tone, the hesitation perhaps. Because he smiled softly, stretching an arm towards you. “Come,” he whispered, motioning over to his side of the bed.

You turned over, lying down in front of him. Jeonghan received you in his arms instantly, wrapping one arm over your waist and slipping the other under you, effortlessly pulling your chest closer to his.

Your breath hitched when you felt his warmth, instinctively finding his chest with your palm and pushing some invisible inches of distance between you. It was futile.  

Jeonghan started giggling, crushing his lips on your face. “You’re nervous,” he finally realized, pressing his lips repeatedly against yours. “It’s not like we’ve never slept together before.”

“No, we’ve slept naps together,” you interjected. “And on a couch. Never on a bed.”

“Imagine this as taking a longer nap,” he said, shrugging slightly.

“In a bed,” you added shakily, skirting the pads of your fingers down his chest nervously.

Jeonghan laughed, aiming for another kiss. “Mm-mmph,” he hummed against your lips.

Your pulse quickened. The kisses Jeonghan was giving you were mere pecks, lips pressing against yours repeatedly, gently. It wasn’t until a grunt escaped him, the arm perched on your waist switching so his hand could park on your lower back. He tilted his head, pushing yours so you could part your lips, giving him access.

Jeonghan had a killer factor. And it wasn’t his good looks, or that he was a great kisser, no. Yoon Jeonghan had a duality that only you knew. He could appear composed to some people, fun to others. A good father. A good co-worker. But the thing that never failed to make you want to die a little was just how sexy he could be.

And given the fact that he’d never gone past kisses made you a little crazy.

He kissed you again, now locking his lips with yours, humming into your mouth as you dared to swipe the tip of your tongue on his bottom lip. His hand slipped from your lower back, circling your waist and sliding to meet your hip. Inches closer to your bottom.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, bringing a hand to cup the side of his neck.

“Want me to stop?” he mumbled, his tone gentle and sweet.

You moved your hand from his neck, shaking your head in tiny motions as you cupped his chin. “No—just a bit longer,” you whispered, diving for another kiss.

Jeonghan returned the kiss just as heatedly, his hand on your hip pressing slightly so his fingertips dipped into the fabric of your skirt. You didn’t even realize that he’d pushed the blanket down, or had you done it?

The sweet pecks had turned into a make-out session. It became harder to breathe, your body felt heavier and hotter. His lips were losing their gentleness, his chest closer to yours to the point it was noticeable in the shift in his breathing.

He pulled away, just slightly, so he could speak. “Tell me when to stop,” he said, his tone rising a bit in desperation. As though he was getting closer to a line he wouldn’t be able to come back from.

“Just as long as you are comfortable, I’m okay,” you whispered, still unable to get a grip on your nervousness.

Now, you weren’t completely inexperienced in sex. You’ve had your fair share of experiences, multiple partners in the past. But there was something about Jeonghan, something about his kiss that melted you away completely—it made you feel like a beginner all over again.

“Me?” he whispered, chuckling softly.

“Yeah, dummy, you,” you said, frowning slightly. “I thought you didn’t want to…”

He pulled away, getting a better look at your face. “Didn’t want to what?” he asked, matching the frown on your face with his own.

“You know,” you mumbled, shrugging with reluctance. “You always pull away when the kissing gets too much, or when your hands go too far.”

He blinked. “I never realized you saw it like that,” he said, softer now.

“Well, explain to me how you think I saw it,” you mumbled, showing him a coy smile.

He seemed to slow down. “I thought you wanted to take things slowly,” he emphasized, still speaking gently.

The statement made your mind race. All the occasions that Jeonghan left you feeling a little too hot, panting, and wet have been because he thought you were the one pulling the brakes?  “Jeonghan, what?” you asked, genuinely confused. “I thought you didn’t want to take things there yet,” you replied, hating yourself for speaking figuratively. Your face heated up.

He smiled fondly at you. “Really?” he mumbled, raising his eyebrows briefly as he leaned his forehead against yours. “You have no idea.”

Jeonghan kissed you again, your breath catching as his lips locked with yours. The arm that was under your body wrapped over your back, as the hand on your hip held you tightly. You never would’ve guessed what he was attempting to do, because when he turned over on his back, he brought your body with him too. Now, you were lying on top of him, your full body weight pressing down on his body.

You had no time to protest—not that you actually had something to protest. But this was the very first time you both dared to do something like this. And it wasn’t because of any kind of convictions you had, it was just because you both failed to interpret the assumed distance.

And now that he knew you also wanted him, it was as though he was released from a self-imposed prison.

Jeonghan let his hands roam free on your back, leaving your hips to press his palms on the line of your back, feeling you over your clothes. He hummed into your mouth as you continued to kiss him fervently, as though his lips were magnetic, calling you to him.

Suddenly, your clothes became too much. You wanted to get rid of his oversized t-shirt, the shorts. Everything. 

And Jeonghan was thinking the same, apparently. Because his hands moved further down on your body, his fingers pinched the stiff fabric of your dress shirt from your work uniform, hiking it up so he could hide his hands beneath it.

Despite his touch being cold, you welcomed it. Your body was hot, feverish as his lips continued to explore yours, his tongue meeting your own in a seamless dance. Your heartbeat was going a mile per second, so fast and so hard you could hear it thumping in your temples. It was almost embarrassing how a simple make-out session could make you feel like you were running a marathon.

It was his effect.

“Hannie,” you called, your tone honeyed and airy.

“Should I stop now?” he asked again, and you realized from his tone that he was aroused as well. It sounded low, raspy.

“No, no,” you mumbled dumbly. “Please, just give it to me. Give me everything,” you pleaded, past caring how pathetic you sounded.

But again, you wanted this man.

Jeonghan didn’t need further confirmation.

His hands slipped from under your dress shirt down and over your skirt, fully cupping your ass over your clothes. “Sit on me,” he mumbled gruffly, swallowing hard.

You let out a strangled and tiny noise from your mouth. But you followed his instruction, moving your knees to each side of his hips—not caring that the movement was hiking your skirt up your thighs, to the point that it barely covered your butt anymore.

Jeonghan didn’t skip a beat, his hand circling your neck to motion you back on his lips. You were straddling now, so it was easier to lean over him to kiss him fully. You grabbed his face with one hand, while the other slipped on the side of his head, fingernails grazing his scalp, feeling his short hair in between your fingertips.

He moaned, the sound muffled by your mouth, reverberating in your chest. It made your blood dance, arousal sizzling under your skin, your heart race even quicker. Instinctively, you pressed your hips down, accidentally grinding your crotch against his. You could feel him through your panties, the hardening bulge beneath his shorts—its warmth.

His hands gripped you harder, motioning you to repeat that same movement by pressing your hips down on him, making you feel his growing boner. You broke the kiss, but only to feel his breath on your lips. “God, Jeonghan,” you whispered shakily.

Jeonghan knew you were nervous by your tone alone. “Tell me what you need, baby,” he told you, his voice still sounding raspy.

After hearing the word baby come out of his mouth, you could not speak past this point. All you knew was his hands on you, the very evident hard-on pressing against your crotch. And Jeonghan’s warmth, the need he had for you, all of that just robbed you of words.

But you could only utter one word. “More,” you said, already knowing that without your consent, he wouldn’t do anything.

You were sure that Jeonghan could feel your rapid pulse beneath his fingertips, his hand still parked around your neck. He motioned you to his lips again, a tiny gasp spilling from his mouth when you shifted on top of him, pressing your ass on his hardened cock. It made you moan too, the sound muffled by his mouth.

His hand slipped from your neck, fingers fumbling over the buttons of your dress shirt. The second his thumb went over the first button, your core started pulsing with need and heavy arousal.

You kissed his mouth, your hand feeling his short hair while the other one felt him up his chest. His heart was beating rapidly too. You could feel it vibrating beneath your palm. His fingers continued their descent down the buttons of your shirt, undoing each one of them with great care. Like giving you ample time to stop him if you changed your mind.

But you, on the other hand, were aching for him to get it done. To get your clothes off so you could start taking his. However, Jeonghan seemed to be taking his sweet time to the point that you began to think that he was doing it to fluster you more.

As soon as the last button of your shirt came off, you pulled back from his lips, leaning back on top of him so you could get a better view of his face. His eyes roamed all over your face and body as you let the dress shirt slip off your shoulders, taking it off your arms to then discard it somewhere on the floor.

Jeonghan’s eyes widened slightly when he saw your chest, covered only by the white lace bra that you were debating to take off at that moment. But Jeonghan sat up with you still straddling him, his hands switched from your hips to your back, palms feeling you up as he reached for the line of your bra.

He looked at your face directly, his eyes reading yours as his fingers unclasped your bra. Your skin immediately prickled, a shudder running down from your nape to your tailbone. You felt his hands move, fingers reaching the straps of your pretty bra to slide them down your shoulders, then your arms.

He paused, his eyes outlining the features of your face one more time before his gaze dived into your chest. Then he leaned over, pressing a sweet kiss on your collarbone, his wet lips brushing your skin made your eyelids flutter close.

Your mouth parted, his mouth continuing to kiss down your chest, was slowly driving you insane. “Oh, Hannie,” you moaned, the sound sweet and almost pathetic.

He responded with a moan of his own, but his sounded raspy, almost animalistic. It made your blood surge, pushing you to press down on him harder. Jeonghan grunted again, this time in protest, as though you were fighting for control, and he would not allow that.

In one motion, he flipped your body over, pressing your back against the mattress. You gasped, your eyes finding him. He never handled you with such force, let alone put you down like this, because he wanted to cage your body with his.

He made no comment about your alarmed expression, but a cheeky smile drew on his beautiful lips before he dipped his head to kiss you again. You were now lying on your back, Jeonghan was slotting his body between your thighs, which you were parting for him, careless that your skirt was already up your belly.

Jeonghan slipped his hands between the mattress and your butt, finding the zipper with his fingers all too effortlessly. It made you think that he had already located the zipper way before this, which meant he’d been looking at your ass as well. The zipper came down, and his hands quickly moved the skirt down.

“I love when you wear this,” he said gruffly, pulling away to remove the skirt from your legs. “But right now, it needs to go.”

He discarded your skirt somewhere in the bedroom, and you heard the metallic sound of the zipper hitting the floor, snapping you to reality. Your hands acted on their own, finding his oversized t-shirt and pulling it over his head, which he let you do all too willingly, even helped you with tossing the shirt to the floor as well.

You giggled softly, stretching your arms to him so he could come back to slotting his hips between your thighs. Once he pressed his bare chest with yours, you wrapped your arms around him, skirting the pads of your fingers along the line of his back, feeling his skin prickle as well.

You loved that he showed no hesitation. He wanted this as much as you did, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. He initially bristled when your fingers started dancing on his bare skin, but as he let out a brief giggle, you realized that he was just ticklish and responding to your touch.

The sound alone made you go entirely feral, if you weren’t feeling like that already. You let your hands roam on his back, searching for the waistband of his green shorts, beginning to pull them down.

But Jeonghan seized your hands, grabbing them by the wrists and pinning them up your head. “Hold them right there,” he said, his tone raspy and laced with a hint of playfulness.

You did what he said, though not by obedience alone, but because Jeonghan had caged you with his body. He lowered his hips on yours, making you feel the size of his hard cock, then the warmth of his chest against yours.

He made a trail of kisses, starting from your cheekbone to your lips, then trailing down to meet the line of your jaw, the crook of your neck and your collarbones. Then, with a fleeting glance at your face, he dipped his head to kiss your chest, kissing your boobs with such deliberation that it made you think he wanted to do this for a long time. He hummed against your skin, tasting your skin as he wrapped his mouth around your left nipple.

You winced slightly under him, but then relaxed instantly when the tip of his tongue swirled around your areola, to then suckle at it and kiss it. Then he did the same with your other nipple, now the feeling was so sweet that you closed your eyes, moaning salaciously.

Jeonghan lifted his head, shushing you softly. But then he giggled bashfully. “We don’t want to wake the baby up,” he warned you, the same spark of playfulness making a return.

“Right,” you whispered, shame tingling beneath your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Jeonghan shook his head. “No, you’re alright,” he whispered back, pushing his forehead against yours before propping a light kiss on your lips. “You’re perfect.”

Your heart shuddered. You cupped his face with your hands, meeting his lips with your own with soft pecks. “Want to keep going?” you whispered, your tone rising a little, making you sound shy.

“Yes,” he replied with determination. He swallowed hard, but then you felt him raise his eyebrows slightly. “And you?”

“Yeah,” you replied, giggling at yourself. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” you admitted.

“Mmn,” he hummed, giving you another light kiss. “If only you knew how badly I wanted you,” he replied, matching your giggle.

“You can show me now,” you told him, your tone sweet and melted in arousal for him. “I’ll be quiet.”

“But not too quiet,” he said. “I like the way you sound.”

Something came over you, like a bright light bulb going on and off inside your brain. You smiled cheekily, even though he was still leaning his forehead on yours and couldn’t see you. “Yes, daddy,” you replied.

Jeonghan let out a sigh, and you knew that he was smiling just by the sound alone. He hummed, closing the space between his mouth and yours to kiss it. “You will be the end of me,” he told you, giggling softly.

But then he wasted no time, continuing to explore your bare skin with his lips. He returned to kissing your chest, teasing your nipples with the tip of his tongue, and he did this slowly, as though getting to know how your skin tasted, how it felt on his lips. You were sure now—Yoon Jeonghan had been wanting to do this for a long time.

You remained silent, feeling too aroused and too needy to get things done to even speak. You felt as though your tongue had grown heavy in your mouth, and you were submitted to only watch and feel what Jeonghan did to you. He saw back on his knees, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties.

You exchanged a glance with him, and you knew that he was asking for permission just with a look. You nodded, and he started to pull your panties in his direction, taking them off your legs. You retracted your legs, lifting your knees up for him to take your panties off completely, and left them aside on the bed.

Now, you were utterly naked on his bed. For a split second, you wondered how this situation would look from afar—pitch black in the dead of night, only a sliver of streetlight seeping through a crack in the curtains. Jeonghan, half-naked and crawling on top of your body, as you welcomed him in your arms, parting your legs for him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he drawled, pushing his lips against your own. “You don’t know how many times I imagined you here with me,” he whispered coyly.

“Yeah?” you replied in kind.

“Mm-mmph,” he hummed. “So many times. And even then, all those things I thought about don’t even come close to the beauty you are in real life.”

“Hannie,” you giggled sheepishly.

He laughed against your mouth. “My pretty girl,” he said tenderly, kissing you one more time. “So perfect. And sweet.”

Your eyelids fluttered close, as he kissed the underside of your jaw, then your neck. You sighed. “All yours, daddy.”

Now, you were sure that word had an effect on him. He let out a hum against your skin, moving to kiss your collarbones, your chest, your belly. “All fucking mine,” he said aloofly, leaving wet kisses around your belly button.

The room fell silent again, all to the exception of your quiet moans and sighs, and the smacking of Jeonghan’s wet lips as he kissed your lower tummy, inching closer to where you needed him the most.

Now, part of you was finding it hard to believe what he was doing. Even if you had experiences with other people, they were never close to the man Yoon Jeonghan was. All of your past partners seemed to shrink in comparison just by the confidence he exuded—every move was deliberate despite his initial nervousness.

And you attributed that nervousness to how much he cared about this—about taking this step with you. Because you were also nervous. You had never liked someone this much. And had never even waited to have sex with someone for so long while dating.

“Hannie,” you mumbled shakily when he kissed your mound, sending you furtive glances to check in on you.

He lifted his head, and you saw his face. His lips were swollen and wet from kissing you, his eyes darkened and half-lidded with lust. “Want daddy to eat you out, baby?”

“Oh god—” you gasped. “Yes, yes, please.”

Jeonghan only smiled in response. It was a small smile, drawing on his face slowly. He said nothing, keeping his darkened gaze on you as he moved his mouth to kiss the top of your pussy.

You blinked repeatedly, mouth parting to let out a tiny moan. Your body twitched, and you laughed at your own involuntary response as his lips pressed a kiss just an inch lower. “God, Jeonghan, please just do it already,” you pleaded.

Jeonghan grabbed your thighs, holding them open as he bowed his head between them, pulling out his tongue and running it against your outer lips. The feeling was exquisite, making your back stir on his bed, and your head sink on his pillow. Your mouth fell open, and you had to clamp your palm against it to muffle a moan.

He blinked, raising his gaze to look at you briefly before he continued licking your outer lips. You noticed he was doing this to tease you only, right before he did the real thing. He licked your outer lips, kissed them and nipped them with his lips until you were a squirming mess.

“Please, please, please,” you begged over and over, sounding even more pathetic than before.

And he obliged, even if you weren’t voicing what you actually needed. Which was his mouth on your clit. But he did this slowly, working up to it. He gave you a broad stroke with his tongue in between your folds, drinking your arousal straight from your core with a pleased moan on his part.

He licked you over and over until his mouth found your swollen clit, wrapping his lips around it once, as though kissing it only. He flicked it with the tip of his tongue, only to get you to moan and thrash under him.

But he did not comment on it, even if you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was enjoying this. He brought a hand to your tummy, placing it flat against the top of your mound and then he latched his mouth around your clit again, beginning to suckle at it.

“Oh—” you gasped, leaving your mouth open wide as he teased your clit with his lips around it, sucking and pressing his wet tongue against it, moving it slightly from side to side. “God,” you cried out, squeezing your eyes shut.

He did this for a couple of minutes, only switching the pace and motion of his tongue when your moans became raunchier.

The room was soon flooded with the sounds you made and the sounds of Jeonghan’s mouth against your dripping wet pussy. Other than that, it was dead silent in the house, and you were becoming addicted to this game of sorts, of trying and failing to keep quiet. And part of you began to think that this was why Jeonghan kept edging you with his mouth.

“Daddy, I want to cum,” you told him. Running your fingertips on his scalp, feeling his short hair underneath your fingernails. “Please, help me cum,” you pleaded, your tone raw and sweet.

Your thighs were shaking. The rest of your body was so tense with arousal, you were sure you would break. But Jeonghan gave you what you so desperately wanted—sucking and licking your clit until you reached your climax. Tension broke in your body, filling you up with sweet, sweet pleasure.

Your fingers coiled around his hair, back arching as you let your orgasm consume you. “Fuck! Yes, yes, yes, Jeonghan,” you whined quietly, pleasure robbing you of sanity as you started sobbing and shaking on his bed.

He didn’t stop, not until you began panting and heaving. He left a sweet kiss on your top mound again, lifting his head from your ruined pussy. “Felt good?” he asked.

You pushed yourself to sit on the bed, hands quickly finding the waistband of his shorts and started tugging them down with shaky fingers. “Yeah. Amazing,” you sighed, not caring how pathetic you sounded.

Jeonghan was on his knees, looking at you fumble with the remainder of his clothes. He brought a hand to cup your cheek once you got rid of both his green shorts and his grey boxers. You raised your head to meet his gaze, and you knew that he just wanted to have an image of you like this.

You bent down, grabbing his hard cock with one hand and propping a prim kiss on his cockhead. You sent him a glance, moving your lips to press them on his shaft. Jeonghan was well-groomed and had a pretty cock. It was long, and the tip matched the color of his lips. And it was warm, hard and leaking precum from his slit.

His eyelids fluttered slightly. “Lay back, baby,” he whispered.

You obeyed, moving to lie back again on the pillows as he moved on his knees slowly. His gaze roved all over your naked body as he placed his hands on each side of your head, and then lowered himself to his elbows.

You ran your palms down his chest, feeling the muscle of his abdomen clenching slightly when your fingernails grazed against his skin. But he was kissing you again, as though he couldn’t go for too long without joining his lips with your own. His breathing shifted, and your fingers wrapping around his hard cock again made him groan into the kiss.

You rolled your hand on his cock, stroking him languidly as he positioned his knees on the bed, making you open your thighs wide for him. And then you guided the tip of his cock to your pussy, rubbing his cockhead up and down your wet folds just to get a reaction from him.

Jeonghan groaned, but didn’t stop you. And when his cockhead finally notched against your entrance, he pushed his hips against yours, slipping his bare cock inside you all in one go.

The kiss was broken. Your head sank on the pillows, and Jeonghan pulled back to see your face as he stuffed you full of his cock. Your eyebrows knitted, mouth parting as you let out a silent cry.

“You’re good?” he asked you softly, but his breath was ragged already.

You wanted to say yes. You felt better than you ever had in your entire life. An exhale came from your nose; you were already fucked out.

Jeonghan nudged the tip of his nose against yours. “Mn?” he hummed gently. “Baby?” 

“I’m good, Jeonghan,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. “Perfect,” you mouthed.

Jeonghan giggled, starting to move. “Yes, you are, baby,” he said sweetly. “So perfect.”

You wished you could say something just as endearing. But you were quickly robbed of speech completely. Your mind had gone blank, going from the shocking orgasm Jeonghan gave you with his mouth to stuffing you full of his cock.

Jeonghan let his head fall on the crook of your neck, using your hair to muffle a raw moan as he moved his hips against yours, thrusting his cock inside you at an insanely good and steady pace.

You had closed your eyes, letting him take you however he pleased. You were too gone, melted in a puddle of arousal—it was then you realized just how wet you were. Your skin was covered in a sheen layer of sweat, your face smeared with tears of pleasure, and you could feel your pussy dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his spit. So wet in fact that every time Jeonghan moved, you could hear it.

You had started to match Jeonghan’s moans, except that he could muffle them on the curve of your neck. You were trying not to be loud, but it was proving to be a harder task than it initially was.

Jeonghan moved his head, probably thinking the same thing you were, because he crushed his mouth against yours—kissing you so passionately that all you could think was that he was trying to get you to shut up.

But he leaned his forehead against yours, breathing raggedly as his thrusts picked the pace up. “You feel so good,” he whispered shakily. “I’m not going to last long.”

“It’s okay. I want you to cum,” you replied, letting your fingers feel his skin. His back, his lats, his hips as he rolled them on top of yours.

The moan he let out this time was raspy, but he was able to drown it out in your mouth. “Where do you want me?”

Your mind spun with the question. And you knew then—you were crazy. Because you had to be. “Cum inside me,” you said, hating the sound that came from your lips. Raw, honeyed, like a whine.

Jeonghan grunted in a near-animalistic way, his thrusts stuttering in their pace, but he kept ramming his cock in and out of your pussy. “Fuck,” he whispered. And he rarely cussed when he was with you, and that was how you knew he was growing more and more desperate. Closer to his orgasm.

“Jeonghan,” you whined, knowing now that he was just as insane as you were. You cupped the back of his head with your hands, feeling his trimmed hair in between your fingers. “I want you to fill me up, daddy. Please, please.”

He let out a long, raspy moan, his breath caressing your lips as he started gasping more, pushing his hips against yours in a languid manner. You knew he was cumming inside you, and the thought of it made you moan with him, tilting your hips for him to fuck his cum deeper into you.

Jeonghan opened his hand, finding your head to caress your hair. He was panting, his chest touching your own every time he drew in air through his mouth. His thumb started moving side to side, caressing your temple.

You were shaking, hands slipping from his head, but stopped at his neck, feeling his pulse.

Then you felt his lips over yours, making you part your lips for him to have access to your mouth. His tongue rolled inside your mouth, drawing an airy moan from you. You could taste yourself on his tongue, on his lips. The act alone made your walls clench around him.

And he felt it.

Jeonghan grunted. And for a split second, you thought you were beginning to go insane because you felt him move, pushing his hips ever so slightly against yours. But no, Jeonghan was thrusting inside you again, moving his hips languidly, so slowly.

But before you could utter a question, something, he pulled back. Now sitting on his knees, Jeonghan grabbed your hips, starting to fuck you down his cock, which was beginning to harden again.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan sighed, tilting his head back but only briefly. His gaze roved all over you, from your face to your body and down your pussy, where his cum was spilling out of your swollen and tight entrance.

You could only look at him. He had a fucked out look on his face, and you realized that his skin was also covered in a sheen film of sweat. Your gaze trailed down to his abdomen and the way it contracted slightly with each thrust of his hips against yours, to then his happy trail leading down his pubic hair, which was smeared with a creamy white string of your arousal. And he was also looking at you, where your bodies joined, where his cum was dripping out.

His cock slipped out of you, making you both emit a sound at the same time. You smiled softly at him, and he mirrored your smile back. He grabbed his cock, coated with his cum and your juices, only to drive it back in your pussy, pushing his cum deep inside your walls.

Your entire body was overtaken with an intense shudder. Jeonghan kept fucking you like this, moving your hips to meet his rapid thrusts. He was beginning to look tired, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing one of your thighs with one hand and hiking it up his shoulder.

You whined at the change in position, now you could feel his cock reaching deeper inside you at each thrust.

“Fuck,” he whispered tiredly, letting his head tilt back. “You feel so good, baby,” he repeated. “You’re squeezing me so good.”

You could only moan in response, which made Jeonghan smile, turning his face to press a kiss on the inner side of your knee. The feeling of his lips on your skin only intensified the pleasure building inside you.

“Jeonghan,” you called.

“Yes, baby?”

“Fuck me harder,” you pleaded.

It was at that moment you knew—you could never let go of this man. Because Yoon Jeonghan smiled at your request and gave in anyway. He grabbed your other leg and hiked it on his shoulder, now fucking you harder, driving his cock inside you deeper.

You let out a whine. The deeper he went inside you, the closer you felt to your second orgasm. And this time it was quicker, being so stimulated that pleasure built easily in your body. But it was the whole situation that drove you insane—trying to keep quiet while Jeonghan rammed his cock inside you, his cum spilling out of you, headboard slamming softly against the wall, everything.

“Jeonghan!” you gasped, a strangled noise coming out of you as your second orgasm barreled down your spine, so hard you had to squeeze your eyes shut and clench the blanket with your hands.

He let out a sound through gritted teeth, and you knew by the way his thrusts slowed down that he was cumming with you, too. “Fuck,” he whispered, thrusting tiredly now, sloppily. He eased your legs back to the bed, crawling back on top of your body to kiss you again.

The kiss was languid, heavy with the need to rest and go back to sleep. But you were both latched to each other, kissing passionately despite the urge to breathe properly again. You were tired, yes, but were also happy beyond belief.

You cupped his cheek as he broke the kiss with a gasp. “You okay?” he asked.

You giggled. “You have to stop asking me that,” you replied, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “Yes, Hannie. I’m okay.”

He blinked slowly, bumping the tip of your nose with his own. “Do you want to sleep now?”

You nodded. “Definitely,” you said.

Jeonghan smiled fondly at you. “Okay. But before that, let me take care of you. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your tone tiny and so sweet.

It made Jeonghan smile. “Alright,” he said, kissing you one more time before he peeled his body off of yours.

He climbed off the bed and walked to the bathroom. Moments later, you heard the water from the shower running. As he came back to the bedroom, you got a better view of your boyfriend. He was glorious—wholly naked, fucked out look on his face. And all yours.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said as soon as he noticed you, smiling knowingly.

“What? What look?” you asked, playing coy.

He leaned over the bed, placing his hands at each side of your face. “The kind of look that makes me want to climb up here and keep making love to you all night long.” 

You giggled amusedly. “Jeonghan, you’re threatening me with a good time.”

He smirked. “Oh, darling. And I haven’t even started with you,” he said, pressing a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

A tingling sensation shot down, straight to your core.

Jeonghan must’ve caught a reaction on your face, because he only giggled. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Once back in the bedroom, your tummy twisted anxiously when you saw the aftermath of what you had done—clothes scattered on the floor, the blanket tousled on one side of the bed and the messy covers and pillows.

You began to pick the clothes from the floor, gathering them in a neat pile while Jeonghan checked in on Sohee quickly. When he came back, your tummy fluttered again. He looked different, recently showered and ready to sleep, a different side to his confident face.

He had given you a t-shirt to wear and also offered to lend you sweatpants, which you declined, given that his t-shirt was already oversized and almost reached your knees.

A part of you felt different now. Not bad, exactly. Like you had reached the end of a chapter and were now beginning another. You and Jeonghan had had this routine of sorts for months before you started a sexual relationship, but it just felt so different now. It made you nervous.

Would he look at you differently now?

“Is something wrong?” Jeonghan asked, the sound of his voice snapping you out of your thoughts.

Jeonghan was opening the bedcovers and sheets for you both, motioning you over with his head.

“No. Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, trying your best to mask your self-doubt. You crossed the bedroom and slipped into the bed.

When Jeonghan clicked his tongue, you realized that you had taken a space that was far from his usual spot on his bed. “Come here,” he giggled softly, noticing your shyness now.

“Sorry,” you whispered, cuddling up to him. “Force of habit.”

“Mmn, yeah,” he muttered, looking at you as you leaned your head on his shoulder. He emitted a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around you. “Not anymore. Mkay?”

“Okay,” you replied, letting your worries go.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

You moved your head on his chest to look at him briefly. “Of course.”

“Why did you think I wanted to take things slow?” he asked. His tone was soft, quiet.

You blinked. “Because I thought you didn’t want to risk things changing between us…” You trailed off. “You know? You have a lot on your plate with Sohee and your ex.”

The last word spilled from you like a curse.

You and Jeonghan always skirted around that topic of conversation. All you knew was that Jeonghan had a very fleeting relationship with Sohee’s mother, and it ended up with her getting pregnant. Jeonghan had full custody of Sohee, and you had also come to learn that his ex only liked to appear in both Jeonghan’s and Sohee’s lives sporadically. But on those occasions, she always seemed to make it a living hell for him.

Jeonghan blinked, and you knew your words had left a heavy impact on him.

Your heart squeezed. “I shouldn’t have,” you added nervously, looking away. “I’m so sorry.”

A pause.

Jeonghan slipped his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet your eye again. “No,” he mumbled. “We can talk about it.”

“Okay,” you whispered shakily.

“I don’t want you to think that there are things we can’t talk about, you know?” he said, worry beginning to set into the features of his face. “And maybe I’m to blame here, because I didn’t want to bombard you with my stuff.”

“What do you mean?” you said.

Jeonghan sighed, and it wasn’t out of tiredness or exasperation. He was looking for the words to say. “When I met you, I was terrified of some things. I debated whether to tell you about Sohee on the first date. I just didn’t want to say something that would scare you away,” he lowered his gaze briefly. “And I debated even more on telling you about my ex.”

“But you did tell me about Sohee on our first date,” you reminded him, frowning a little. “And about your ex on our second date.”

Jeonghan smirked slowly. “So you do remember our second date.”

“Of course I do, dummy,” you said. And then it clicked. You didn’t remember telling Jeonghan about your favorite kind of pizza because he had just told you about his evil ex. And that was his way of changing the topic. “I must’ve been digesting a lot of information while we talked about Hawaiian pizza, you know?”

He offered you a solemn look. “And you still stuck around. You could’ve walked away, but you didn’t,” he whispered, looking at you longingly. “You still haven’t.”  

You parted your mouth. “I don’t think I want to, Jeonghan,” you replied in kind.

His gaze softened. “If something happens, will you talk about it with me?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you mouthed. “Can I ask you now?”

Jeonghan nodded, blinking at you sleepily.

“Why did you think I wanted to take things slow?”

“Same thing,” he responded reluctantly at first. He let out a sigh. “I thought you didn’t want things to get messy, you know? I have a kid and I’m alone in this. I didn’t want to hold it against you if you didn’t want to get sexually involved with me.”

A smile broke into the features of your face. You pushed yourself up to kiss him tenderly. “You’re such a dummy,” you whispered.

“Me?” he giggled, holding you closer so he could press another kiss on your lips. “What did I do?”

“I’ve wanted you from the moment we met,” you told him, and it was the truth.

“How was I supposed to know?” he said, clearly clueless.

“I thought you always noticed,” you said, still in disbelief.

“But you never said anything.”

“Jeonghan,” you deadpanned. “I really like you. Like really, really like you.”

He smiled sheepishly, blinking slowly. “Well, I know that. I really like you too. I just wanted to wait until you felt ready to take things to the next level.”

“Babe, I literally called you daddy and let you cum inside me not only once, but twice,” you told him with a flat tone.

Jeonghan almost choked on his laughter. “Sweetheart! You can’t just say those things,” he said, sounding both scandalized and amused.

“Why not?” you said, clicking your tongue. “You’re always saying weird stuff as well.”

“Really?” he said, and you nodded at him. “Am I weird?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I’m weird then,” he said with a faux defeated tone.

“You’re weird like pizza on pineapple,” you said. “Sweet and salty at the same time.”

He emitted a low chuckle. “That’s really corny, babe. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. I work hard on my metaphors,” you replied primly.

“I’ll give this metaphor a seven out of ten,” he smirked.

You gasped. “Admit it, you love my metaphors.”

“Yeah, like I love pizza on pineapple,” he said, letting the sarcasm coat his words. He brushed his fingers down the line of your jaw, looking at you fondly. “You’re weird too.”

“The kind of weird that matches yours,” you said confidently.

Jeonghan smirked, closing the space between his lips and yours. “Absolutely.” 

› author's note pt. 2: i need to give him a kid. or kids, plural. like asap, please. i'm begging 😭

i literally wrote this in between calls from work. like it literally took me 24 hours to write this, no joke. jeonghan just drives me insane. i have no explanation for this 🧍🏻‍♀️ i might just be ovulating but let's be real — i'm always thinking about jeonghan, and right now the baby fever is going wild. you'll see in future fics lololol

i want to thank you all for being here and for reading so far!! i recently gave away 25 free spots on my patreon!! i'm so excited hehe, i might giveaway more spots in the future! thank you guys for joining! 🥺🩵

i love you all! thank you for reading!

toodles!

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© RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[wonwoospeach]

this kind of mingyu >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Ready to Love [PT.2] || kmg

TITLE: Ready to Love [PART 2/LAST PART]

PAIRING: CEO!Mingyu x Heiress!Reader

TAGS: Arranged Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Business AU, Fluff, Angst, Happy Ending

WARNINGS: Explicit Language, Smut (18+, MDNI, I am begging you all), Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth (Emphasis on mentions), Mingyu is absolutely unhinged (Pining does that to you ig), Unprotected Sex (Don’t do it, please), Slight Corruption Kink, Not Slight Breeding Kink, Some Degradation (I say some like that will undo the filth on this)

WC: 20.6k (yikes, I know)

SUMMARY: Mingyu doesn’t get it. You chose to marry him. So why is the sight of him with a woman all over him—at your engagement party, nonetheless—not bothering you?

A/N: No words, really. Listing the warnings for this had me wondering what was going through my mind while writing this half-asleep. Also, this is the second and last part of Ready to Love. Thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed it!

PART 1 | PART 2 (Current)

It’s been three months since you got married to Mingyu and you still have neither of the two things that will grant you freedom: an heir and evidence of his extramarital affairs. Honestly, you had gotten too comfortable in your day-to-day affairs that you almost forgot what all of this plotting and planning was for. Almost.

You’re sure that it’s not because Mingyu has changed. No, it’s not. You personally believe that you cannot teach an old dog new tricks, and Mingyu was not an exception to that. Maybe the reason why Mingyu wasn’t engaging in an affair was simply because he did not get the opportunity to do so. Well, you could fix that.

Mingyu is probably still on the journey to prove his faithfulness to you, if only to soothe the wound on his pride. To add to that, the novelty of your arrangement was probably clouding his judgment. You’re sure that whatever infatuation he has with the idea of decoding you like some unsolvable puzzle will wear off once he finds that there's absolutely nothing for him to enjoy. Sooner or later, he’ll realize the void in his heart—and his bed—and he’ll find himself in an extramarital affair.

Maybe you didn’t even need an heir. Surely your grandfather would understand your desire to part ways with Mingyu once he finds out that the younger man decided to spit on his vows by bedding a woman other than his wife. You would play the heartbroken divorcee who no longer believed in love after the betrayal of the only man you ever truly fell in love with. Then, you could just split your companies after, and be on your merry way with no intention of ever crossing each other’s paths again.

Sure, it would be difficult, but you were Yoon Y/N. Every single aspect of your life was dedicated to becoming the perfect heir. You would raise that company out of the pits of hell if you really needed to. That idea seemed more feasible considering Mingyu’s consistent reluctance in lying with you in that way. Something about how he wanted you to be fully sure about him before he ever took you like that (what a load of shit, you think).

Well, you were flexible. This wouldn’t be the first time that a plan isn’t going your way, and it certainly won’t be the last. It’s as your grandfather liked to tell you, the right path is often narrow. If you have to put it in a little extra effort for a life of peace and independence, so be it.

And so, you decide. If Kim Mingyu doesn't have enough opportunities to start an affair, you’ll hand it to him on a silver platter. Not even the most well-trained dogs can resist a slab of meat when served after a period of starvation. The baser instincts will always override whatever conditioning had been instilled. No love or violence could ever overcome nature.

It was only a matter of time. You were just… Speeding it up. 

With a newfound determination, you shut your book. In two hours it will be lunch time, and you’ll have to eat with Mingyu again. However, until then, you would plot. A social event here, a pretty woman there, soon it would all fall into place.

You would no longer have to wake up so early just to eat breakfast with Mingyu and kiss him goodbye. You would no longer have to listen to Mingyu’s complaints of the room being too cold as an excuse to wrap you in his arms. You would no longer have to play the role of Mingyu’s darling wife.

You’re not sure why the thought leaves such an empty feeling in your chest. Maybe it was just inconvenient to give up a routine you’ve already grown accustomed to. Mingyu was a great roommate after all. He was a great listener and an even better conversationalist. He wasn’t as suffocating as the other people in the business world. He remembers the smallest details, and he never goes back on his promises no matter how insignificant they appear to be. Had you not been in this predicament, you’re sure the two of you would've made great acquaintances. Part of you hopes that the divorce is settled amicably, and maybe, just maybe, the two of you could be friends.

But you couldn’t let that hold you back from achieving true freedom. So you shake off whatever remorse you have and head inside, closing the balcony doors behind you.

The sooner your plan succeeds, the sooner you and Mingyu can go back to enjoying your separate lives.

–

The opportunity to get Mingyu to cave into his instincts comes sooner than later as an invite from your cousin arrives at your doorstep.

An invitation to his birthday party happening in two weeks.

Jeonghan is an attractive man. He’s handsome enough for the women to fawn over, and beautiful enough for the men to start second-guessing themselves. A face like that was sure to attract admirers of the same caliber. The best part of it was that Yoon Jeonghan was still very much an eligible bachelor. His birthday party was one of the few instances that he would be out and about socializing with the crowd. No pretty, young, unmarried heiress would ever pass up the opportunity to attend an event like that. 

There would be many women there, each looking their best in an attempt to seduce your cousin into marriage (the thought sends shivers down your spine), but that’s not the point.

The point is, Mingyu would be there to witness it all.

After months of celibacy, he would be thrust into a party full of wine to dull the senses and women to ease the longing. You’re sure that if you look away for a second, a pretty young thing will immediately latch onto him and finally relieve him of the dry spell your marriage has subjected him to.

And when that time comes, you’d be prepared. Which is why you made sure that Boo Seungkwan and Lee Chan were invited to the party as well. You needed witnesses, and you needed evidence, and you’re sure that those two will get you exactly that.

Immediately, you’re confirming your attendance to the party with Mingyu, adding in a request that you just needed to have Seungkwan and Chan around to assist you in case an emergency in your grandfather’s company comes up. Jeonghan, ever accommodating to his beloved cousin, obliges.

Two weeks pass and you’re in one of the rooms of the hotel that Jeonghan owns. Your assistants have long left, and you’re now just adding the final touches to your outfit. The dress looks good on you, you had to admit. It was a little more revealing than you were used to, but dressing modestly in Jeonghan’s parties would make you stick out like a sore thumb, so you went with dressing a little more boldly. The black dress fits like a second skin from the neck to your upper thighs before it loosens to flow behind you. There’s a slit on the right leg to make sure that you can still move comfortably. Its halterneck leaves your back bare, so you hope that it isn’t too cold in the hall where Jeonghan’s birthday party is being held or else you’d be having the worst time of your life.

Regardless of the situation, you have to power through. It’s a small sacrifice for a smooth divorce.

A knock on the door followed by the sound of it opening snaps you from your inner monologue. Quickly, you stand up to greet whoever entered.

“Ready to go?” Mingyu stands before you in a black suit, his hair is pushed back and styled, making him look like he just got off the runway of some luxury brand. He’s fiddling with his watch as he walks towards you. You don’t think he’s seen you yet. “Jeonghan’s party is still in 20 minutes so there’s no rush—“

Mingyu suddenly stops speaking when he looks up.

It makes you uneasy, the way he goes silent. The worst part of it is that you can’t seem to decipher the look in his eyes. Did he like the dress? Did it look bad? Honestly, you don’t know why you’re so concerned. It doesn’t matter if Mingyu liked or hated the way you looked. In fact, it would be more beneficial for your plan if he thought that you looked atrocious. Either way, he could stay quiet for as long as he wants. It didn’t matter. It’s not like you were looking for his approval. No, not at all!

You turn to your dresser, taking one last look at your face in the mirror before grabbing your purse. “I think it’s better if we get there early. You know how whiny Jeonghan gets—“

Mingyu’s suddenly behind you, one hand propped on the dresser beside you and the other grabbing you by the hip to press you closer to him. The look on his face is dark as he gazes into your eyes through the mirror. 

The hand on your hip is suddenly pinching at the fabric of the dress. “Won’t you get cold at the party?”

Ah, you get it now.

“I can manage.” You reply, eyes not breaking contact with his for even a single second. “No need to worry about me.”

Mingyu hums, his fingers letting go of the fabric in favor of moving your hair aside to bare the skin of your back to his gaze. “There’s barely anything to cover you though?”

His fingers trace down from your nape to the middle of your back, his touch raising goosebumps in their wake. “You look good, but something’s missing.”

You raise a brow, urging him to continue and just get his point across. 

His arm encircles your waist before his lips descend on the skin of your neck.

Your eyes widen, your hand pushing at the sturdy arm that was rooting you into place. “Gyu, what are you—“

You hear Mingyu groan behind you before he tightens his grip on you. “Don’t call me that. Not now.”

The lips brushing on your skin turn into harsh nips and sucks, and you’re doing everything you can to wriggle away from Mingyu’s grasp. “Mingyu, you’re going to leave a mark!”

You can feel the lips on your neck shift into a grin, and in the mirror, Mingyu’s eyes shift to you and he speaks, “That’s the point.”

With a final kiss to your jaw that makes your breath hitch, Mingyu withdraws and offers you his arm like he didn’t just bruise your neck like a starved leech. “We’re going to be late.”

You look at him pointedly. “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

“Mine.” Mingyu holds his arms up in mock surrender. “But you’re the one who wore that dress.”

“If I had known you’d do this, I wouldn’t have worn it.” You glare. You pray that the bruise on your neck isn’t too bad. If even a trace of it shows up in tonight’s pictures, you would lock Mingyu in a cage and throw him into the sea where no one can find him. “Let’s just go.”

Mingyu follows.

—

Honestly, did Yoon Jeonghan need this many people to celebrate his birthday?

It’s only been 30 minutes since Jeonghan’s party started, and Mingyu already wanted to go home. A younger version of him would’ve enjoyed a gathering like this. There’s so many people he could get to know and so much alcohol he could consume in one go. Had he been the boy he was before, he would’ve been throwing back shots and livening up the party with his antics. But now? He just wanted out. He thinks he got so used to the peace with you that even a gathering like this was too chaotic for his taste (He’s literally experienced college parties that were much much worse, but that’s besides the point).

It didn’t help that you had left him to his own devices, something about how you wanted him to enjoy himself without you holding him back. Well, unfortunately for Mingyu, he wasn’t enjoying himself. In fact, he thinks that he would’ve enjoyed it more if you were beside him instead of chatting up some of your business partners that had also been invited to the party. He deliberates if he should go there and find out what was so funny about the conversation that it had your eyes crinkling. He could be funny too. Funnier even!

But Mingyu stays rooted in his spot, swirling the glass of wine every now and then to entertain himself while waiting for you to return. He didn’t want to look like an overbearing husband that kept his wife from socializing. However, he swears that if he sees another man eye you with a lecherous gaze, he’s going to start punching people.

Mingyu’s about to walk over to you when suddenly, a hand on his bicep has him whipping around to see who had touched him. At the sight of a woman he doesn’t know, Mingyu is quick to recoil and step back like he had been burned.

“Sorry, have we met before?” Mingyu asks, trying to rack his brain for answers. Has he ever seen her face in a meeting? Was she someone he was supposed to know? She doesn’t look old enough to be too important, but Mingyu doesn’t want to tarnish your family’s pristine image with his ignorance.

“Oh, no!” The woman giggles, and it grates at Mingyu’s ears. So she doesn’t know him, but she has the gall to touch him so casually? “I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Jiwoo.”

“I’m Mingyu.” Mingyu’s reply is polite enough to not be questioned, but cold enough to keep the conversation from progressing. “It was nice meeting you, but I think my wife—“

“You’re in such a rush, Mingyu. Ease up, I don’t bite.” The woman swats at his bicep playfully, and Mingyu has to resist the urge to morph his face in disgust. “You were looking a little lonely just a while ago, no? I could keep you company, if you don’t mind.”

Mingyu’s patience is growing thin. “Well, actually, I do mind—“

“Ah, Jiwoo!” Jeonghan strolls in like a knight in shining armor as he walks up to the obnoxious woman. “I see you’ve met my cousin’s husband.”

Mingyu was so thankful that he almost told Jeonghan that he’ll name his firstborn son after the man. 

“Oh? So this is the Kim Mingyu.” Mingyu decides that he doesn’t quite like the look in her eyes as his name rolls off her tongue. “They weren’t lying when they said you were a very handsome man.”

“Well, my wife’s a very beautiful woman, so I have to keep up,” came Mingyu’s quick reply. From the corner of his eye, he can see Jeonghan’s grin grow wider in approval at his words. “Speaking of my wife, I think she’s calling for me. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

Mingyu doesn’t even wait for a response before he walks around the hall to find you. 

His eyes search the crowd. His gaze jumps from one irrelevant face to another, and this goes on for a while before he spots you in the side of the room, talking with a woman who looked a little too familiar.

Oh no.

(Fuck, Mingyu can’t even remember her name)

–

Boo Seungkwan likes to think of himself as a feminist. He has a lovely mother at home, and two sisters that lived to humble him daily. He helps old grandmothers cross streets, scolds young boys who make little girls cry, and even diligently attends workshops on promoting gender equality in the workplace. He even advocates for women’s health! Despite all that, Seungkwan finds himself listing all the worst names to call the woman who was currently talking to you. Well, talking down to you would be the right term considering how many subtle verbal jabs she’s thrown your way since the two of you started conversing. Seungkwan wishes you would retaliate just once, but you never do.

According to Chan and his wonderful intel skills, this woman–Chan said her name was Park Jia–was one of Mingyu’s die-hard admirers back in college. However, Mingyu had never paid the woman attention which is probably why she seems to hate your guts. Neither Seungkwan nor Chan knew the exact reason why Mingyu never added her to his long list of women. After all, the woman was the heiress to a well known construction firm. Not only that, if her attitude wasn’t absolutely vile, Seungkwan would even admit that she had looks.

What a shame her attitude was dogshit.  

(Seungkwan thinks they should start discovering plastic surgery techniques to correct ugly personalities)

“You honestly look so much prettier now.” Jia’s sweet tone was as fake as it could get. It was almost faker than the nose she had (Seungkwan wishes Chan could hear his thoughts just so he could show off his comedic skills). “Girl advice, Mingyu likes sweet girls. Bubbly, pretty, the soft kind of girl, you know? I know a really good make-up artist who can give you that kind of vibe. She’s really good so I’m sure she can work a miracle with you.”

Seungkwan mentally gasps. The audacity?! He was almost tempted to stop eavesdropping from his little corner just to give this woman a piece of his mind. Seungkwan doesn’t know how you still have the energy to entertain this bi–

“Really? I’ll take note of that.” You smile back at the woman, but there’s a glint in your gaze that looks oddly familiar to Seungkwan. “Are you guys friends? I’m sure he would love to catch up with you.”

Seungkwan doesn’t know why you have that look. It’s the look you have whenever you’re plotting something that’s about to affect things in the long run. The kind of look you have before making a large investment that you know will return to you at an even greater value. Just what were you plotting? Were you threatened by this woman? Seungkwan thinks you shouldn’t be, and that wasn’t just his loyalty speaking.

“We’re not that close!” Jia looks flustered as she waves you off. “But we talk… Sometimes.”

Seungkwan is thankful that the woman has some amount of self-awareness left. He honestly thought that she was going to claim that she and Mingyu were the best of friends just so you could get your husband to talk to her. Then after he talks to her, maybe she would try and seduce him so that she could finally conquer her college crush despite the fact that he was happily married to a woman that could’ve been part of Seungkwan’s ‘Divine Feminine’ Pinterest board for his women’s month project next year (too early, he knows).

Honestly speaking, Seungkwan was at that point where he was kind of rooting for Mingyu. He sees how the man treats you with care. Sure, he’s clumsy, childish, and extremely petty from time to time, and most of the time, his flaws overshadow his redeeming qualities… But Boo Seungkwan knows—swears on his grave—that Mingyu was the best match that you could make. Even after only a few months, Kim Mingyu already knows how to read you and your mannerisms, something that had taken Seungkwan years of trial and error. If Seungkwan would trust anyone with your life—not that he had the right to decide—his first choice would be Kim Mingyu. Not your grandfather that raised you since childhood, not Jeonghan who you always stuck to, no. He chooses Kim Mingyu.

Because he knows that if Kim Mingyu had to choose, it would always be you.

(Seungkwan likes to think that months of stalking the man with Chan has given him a better grasp of how Mingyu’s mind works, but you can never be sure with men so Seungkwan still leaves room for doubt).

“Oh, Mingyu! Just in time, I met one of your acquaintances from college. She’s been telling me things about you.”

Seungkwan is seated for what’s about to happen next. Kim Mingyu better not disappoint.

–

You pray to whatever deity is listening that Mingyu would just take the bone that you were dangling in front of him. While you didn’t like Jia, considering that she spent half your conversation subtly criticizing your looks and demeanor, you needed someone who would be desperate enough to hit on Mingyu despite the ring on his finger. Based on intel from Seungkwan and Chan, she was exactly that. Beggars can’t be choosers, and after months of being unable to find evidence of Mingyu’s infidelity, you were getting desperate. If Park Jia was going to secure your freedom, so be it.

Plan aside, however, you honestly hoped that this attempt would fail. 

Park Jia—with her fake smile, fake nose, fake boobs, and fake attitude—did not deserve a man as kind and thoughtful as Mingyu. Mingyu deserved someone who would match the light in his soul and the freeness in his spirit. People like you and Jia who always seemed to have ulterior, self-serving motives would only serve dim Mingyu’s glow. 

No, you were not falling for Kim Mingyu. You were just stating the truth, and the truth is that Mingyu was kind. You genuinely hoped that once you’ve settled your divorce, he’ll find it in himself to settle down with a kind, beautiful woman and dedicate the rest of his life to loving her.

(Why does your heart clench at the thought?)

“Oh, from college? Wow, it’s been a while.” Mingyu smiles at the woman good-naturedly as his hand settles itself on the curve of your waist. “I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s been a long time since college. What’s your name again?”

“No worries, I totally get it. You were super popular after all.” Jia’s laugh could put a bird to shame with how high-pitched it was. “My name’s Jia. We shared Mr. Lee’s class.”

“Oh, that must be why. I skipped that class often because I couldn’t handle how boring it was.” Mingyu laughs, but you can tell it’s forced. 

Suddenly, Mingyu looks down at you and pulls you closer. He catches your gaze before speaking to you. “Though I’m sure I would’ve attended that class every day if you were there.”

Can you smell it? You can.

It’s the scent of failure.

“Wasn’t Sohee in that class though?” There’s a smile on Jia’s face that’s doing a poor job of concealing the fact that she was trying to stir something up. “Now that I think of it, you were only in class when Sohee was around.”

When one door closes, another one opens.

Before Mingyu can reply, you seize the opportunity to pry. Maybe Sohee would prove to be useful. “Oh? Who’s Sohee?”

“Mingyu hasn’t told you?” Jia laughs like she won something. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to stir anything up, I swear, but Mingyu and Sohee were inseparable back in our last year of college. Kind of like a buy-one-take-one deal.”

The room grows cold, and Mingyu’s grip on your waist tightens.

Jia doesn’t seem to sense the tension that was beginning to rise because she continues talking “Actually, when everyone heard that Mingyu was getting married, they thought he was getting married to Sohee.”

You should be happy right? A golden opportunity literally presented itself in front of you.

Why weren’t you happy?

“But don’t be jealous, okay? That wasn’t my intention.” Jia adds in a laugh for good measure, but it does nothing to ease the tension. “After all, you’re the one he married.”

“Exactly,” came Mingyu’s cold reply. It was so cold that even Jia realized just how bad the situation had become. “So let’s not bring up people who aren’t meant to be involved in whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

Jia visibly panics at the tone of Mingyu’s voice. “I didn’t mean to–”

“You knew what you were doing.” Mingyu’s smile is sarcastic for a second before he turns his gaze to you. “I think your grandfather is calling us, love. Let’s not waste anymore time here.”

“It was nice meeting you, Jia–” Your last attempt at saving the situation is rudely interrupted by Mingyu who pulls you to start walking with him.

Well, it’s safe to say that you failed yet again.

The rest of Jeonghan’s party continues on, but the tension between you and Mingyu never leaves. There’s small conversations here and there, but most of it just for show. You can tell that Mingyu doesn’t want to talk about the incident with Jia, so you don’t pry him for details despite the burning urge to know. The topic seemed to be deeply personal to him with the way he reacted. It would be in everyone’s best interest if you just let it go.

However, some part of you badly wants to know. Especially since Jia said that Sohee and Mingyu were inseparable. Inseparable enough for everyone to think that Mingyu had gotten married to Sohee instead of you. Was Mingyu in love with Sohee? It would seem weird if he was, considering the amount of women he associated himself with in college. Or maybe they had a friends with benefits thing going on? It was highly probable, but you could only speculate. While you could easily text Chan to conduct a background check, you felt like you would be disrespecting Mingyu. It seemed like something he didn’t want to revisit after all.

The party ends with neither you nor Mingyu addressing the issue, and without a word, the two of you leave the hall and walk towards the elevator to return to your room. You walk slightly ahead of him, unable to bear the tension that proximity brings. Even without seeing Mingyu, you know his eyes are on you. It makes you uneasy. You’re so used to him being carefree and childish that you forget that he’s still a man who grew up in a world like yours, and men like that should never be taken at face value.

Just what was going through Mingyu’s mind?

Mingyu only speaks when the two of you have settled down in your suite. 

“Are you mad at me?” He’s fresh from a shower, hair wet, torso bare, and pajama pants hanging on for dear life on his hips. You wonder if this is his way of silently bribing you into forgetting the incident at Jeonghan’s party. Honestly, if it was, then congratulations to him because it was kind of working. 

“No,” came your quick reply as you wrapped the blanket tighter around your form. “Like I said before, it doesn’t matter to me what you do.”

You can hear Mingyu’s defeated sigh before he settles beside you on the bed. “You’re not going to ask who Sohee is? Aren’t you jealous?”

You flip around, turning your back on Mingyu as you close your eyes. “Like I said before, you have my permission.”

“Take it back, I don’t want it or need it.” You can hear Mingyu huff from behind you.

A moment passes before he presses his chest against your back. Wordlessly, he tucks your head underneath his chin.

It was moments like this that you were thankful Mingyu’s body ran hot, a complete opposite to the way your body ran cold. It makes sleeping with him so much easier. In fact, you’ve found that your sleep quality improved when Mingyu had you in his arms. The warmth from his body coupled with the steady rise and fall of his chest could easily knock you out within a few minutes. Something about the way he held you was just so grounding. 

“Sohee’s just a friend,” came Mingyu’s soft whisper. “She’s like family to me.”

You sigh. “Gyu, you don’t have to explain.”

“But I want to.” He raises his hand to poke your cheek. “So get used to it.”

You can feel Mingyu nuzzle his face deeper into your hair.

“Good night, dream of me.” Mingyu yawns.

“Is that a threat?” You tease.

Mingyu’s chuckling before he replies. “You’re lucky I love you.”

…What?

–

If someone asked Lee Seokmin to recite your schedule down to the last second, he’s sure he could do it without sparing even a single moment to think. He could even recite it backwards if he was requested to. He chalks it up to the fact that he’s been following your trail for weeks.

Honestly, he doesn’t understand why Mingyu would suspect you of having a secret lover. You definitely didn’t seem like the type. Unlike the other women in your circle, you kept a very quiet life, and that was already obvious without the need to stalk you like some creep. Seokmin is sure that stalking his boss’ beloved wife is not part of the job description, but unfortunately—not really—the pay is good and even without that, he’d still do it out of loyalty for Mingyu. 

So Seokmin watches, and at the end of the day, he reports. The report doesn’t change much, but he thinks it gives Mingyu peace to know that you’re safe and sound and free from the immoral arms of another. The only problem is that someone may already be onto him.

Yoon Jeonghan was a man with a sharp eye and an even sharper mind. Seokmin doesn’t know if the man already knows that he’s trailing after you or he’s just paranoid. All he knows is that Jeonghan’s gaze makes him uneasy despite the fact that the man never fails to greet him with a smile.

Maybe that’s the problem. Despite the fact that Yoon Jeonghan was in a position much higher than Seokmin’s, the cunning man greeted him like they were the closest of friends. What was that thing that people say? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer–

“Oh? Seokmin, you’re here again.”

Speak of the devil and he shall come.

“Mr. Yoon, we meet again!” Seokmin smiles at the man with a small wave. “I just delivered food to Ms. Yoon. Mr. Kim’s worried that she’s not eating enough.”

“Aww, what a doting husband my cousin has,” Jeonghan replies. “Have you eaten?”

Seokmin honestly doesn’t know where this is leading. “I was just on my way to grab some lunch actually–”

“Great! I was just about to go get lunch as well. Why don’t you eat with me?” Jeonghan asks a little too enthusiastically. While Seokmin knows he could just refuse, the look in Jeonghan’s eyes makes him falter. 

“I was actually going to eat lunch with Mr. Kim...” Seokmin laughs awkwardly. 

Somehow, Jeonghan looks more pleased at what Seokmin says. “Perfect, ask him to come too so that I can finally ask why he’s been getting you to trail my cousin.”

Immediately, Seokmin’s smile drops.

– 

Meeting Yoon Jeonghan for lunch was not on Mingyu’s agenda for the day. However, a panicked call from Seokmin about how he’s been caught has Minyu telling his secretary to push his meetings to a later time in favor of speaking to your cousin.

What an inconvenience, he thinks. He’s sure Jeonghan knew from the start. It’s not a problem on Seokmin’s end. After all, no other person suspected him. However, Yoon Jeonghan isn’t like other people. He’s always watching when it concerns the people and things he holds dear. So Mingyu doesn’t understand the need for a sudden confrontation when Jeonghan has been letting Seokmin trail you for the past few weeks.

Seokmin has long left. He made up some excuse about how many backlogs he has despite the fact that Mingyu barely hands him any work outside of tailing you and running small errands. Only Mingyu and Jeonghan were seated in the booth, both men staring each other down as they try to gauge the situation.

Mingu has played this game before many times, he just didn’t think he’d have to do it with one of his closest friends.

“Cut to the chase, why did you really invite me?” Mingyu speaks first, seeing as Jeonghan was taking his sweet time slicing the meat on his plate. 

“How cold~” Jeonghan remarks. “You know, I let Seokmin slide the first few times because I thought you’d stop soon.”

Mingyu raises a brow, impatient. He needed to finish this as soon as possible so that he could attend his meetings and end them early. He had a dinner reservation with you today, and he refuses to miss it because your cousin was being a thorn in his side.

“But you didn’t.” Jeonghan looks Mingyu in the eye, chewing through his steak. “Why?”

“To make sure she’s safe—“

“Bullshit, try again.” 

Mingyu snorts. “Hyung, do you want me to be honest?”

“That was kind of the point of this conversation.” Jeonghan retorts snarkily.

“I’m trying to find out if she’s seeing someone else.”

Jeonghan chokes on his steak, violently coughing before he’s grabbing the glass of water on the table.

Deserved, Mingyu thinks.

Jeonghan’s threatening aura is gone, the only thing left is disbelief. “That manhater can barely tolerate you, do you honestly think she has another man on the side???”

“Then why is she so distant, hyung?” Mingyu groans into his hands, weeks of frustration now finally seeping out. “She keeps telling me that we’re free to live separate lives and she keeps pushing me towards other women and saying that I have her permission. Can you believe her?!”

“Yikes,” comes Jeonghan’s reply. “Well, do you?”

Mingyu’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed. “Do I what?”

“Entertain other women?” Jeonghan says it in a tone that sounds like he’s saying the most obvious thing in the world.

“No!” Mingyu vehemently denies. “Is that really what everyone thinks of me?”

“I didn’t want my cousin to marry you precisely for that reason, so the answer is yes,” Jeonghan says. “I was just waiting for you to slip up before I made your life a living hell.”

Mingyu sulks deeper into the both, arms crossed as he huffs. “If I actually do cheat on your cousin, feel free to skin me alive and throw me into the ocean.”

“Noted.” Jeonghan snorts. “Just… Don't give up on her.”

Mingyu’s attention is piqued by the sudden shift in Jeonghan’s tone.

Jeonghan looks off-puttingly serious as he swirls the glass of wine. “It’s not my place to meddle in a married couple’s affairs, but you actually seem serious about her so don’t fuck this up.”

“I am serious about her.” Mingyu replies. “But she doesn’t believe me no matter what I do.”

“Are you complaining?” Jeonghan asks, amused. In all the years he’s been with Mingyu, this was the first time he’s ever seen the man so worked up over a woman. 

“No, just venting.” Mingyu says, defeated. “I don’t mind. I could do this forever. We’re married anyway.”

“But if she does have anyone on the side…” Mingyu doesn’t finish his sentence, but the implication of what follows his words has even Jeonghan shocked.

What did you feed this man?

“You’re insane, I hope you know that.” Jeonghan shakes his head. “But can you really blame her? You were quite the womanizer back then, so to see you settling down… Well, it’s a little hard to believe.”

“My forearm’s been sore for the past few months, hyung. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Disgusting.”

“Blame your cousin.”

“I do not need to know that, Mingyu!”

“You literally scared my employee into calling me just to talk.” Mingyu retorts childishly. “Well, this is me talking.”

“Talk less.” Jeonghan’s eye twitches in irritation. “On a serious note though, I may be able to give you some perspective.”

Mingyu leans forward to better hear the man.

“I’m not doing this for you so don’t look at me like that.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m doing this for her.”

“Just tell me.” Mingyu takes a quick look at his watch. If he didn’t wrap this up soon, he’d have to cancel some of the meetings if he wanted to make it in time for the reservation he made.

“Do you remember Y/N’s parents?” Jeonghan starts, eyes trained on Mingyu’s face like he’s trying to read the younger man’s mind.

“Yeah, I was there for both funerals.” Mingyu says solemnly. “Your uncle must’ve really loved his wife to follow her so quickly after she died.”

Jeonghan scoffs. “If only that was the case.”

“Well, since you’re technically family already,” Jeonghan leans forward, hands clasped. “Let me tell you a little family secret.”

–

Mingyu remembers the headlines on the day your father had died.

Son of Yoon Group Director Dies in Car Accident 3 Months After the Death of His Wife

He remembers looking up from his soup, eyes wide as he listens to the woman on the TV list the details from the police report. The torrential downpour had caused your father’s overspeeding car to crash into the railings of the bridge and fall into the river. One body had been recovered, and crates of alcohol were found in the backseat.

The media had painted it to be a tragic accident born from your father’s grief due to your mother’s untimely passing three months prior. They spoke of a man so burdened by his wife’s death that he had no other choice but to follow, leaving behind his six-year-old daughter to fend for herself.

Jeonghan’s story says otherwise.

Two bodies had been found: your father and his mistress. Desperate to preserve the family image that could ultimately impact their business, your grandfather and your uncle had bribed everyone involved. From the police to the media, from the doctors to the staff, anyone who knew the true story was silenced with whatever means necessary. It was easier to justify the actions of a man driven by love than a man corrupted by lust. 

Mingyu remembers attending that funeral. The hall was cold but it was nothing compared to the icy expression on your face. No matter how hard Mingyu tries to dig through his memories, he doesn’t remember you shedding a single tear.

It makes sense now, Mingyu thinks. Your distance, your hesitance, and your constant avoidance. You get close enough to not raise suspicion, but there is caution in each of your moves. Mingyu never fully has you, no matter how hard he tries. He realizes now that you were never in love with him, not even on the day you chose him out of everyone in the room. It had been a thoughtless decision that the adults had twisted into something that would benefit them, and Mingyu comes to the realization that your situation may not have been so different from his. If anything, he thinks you have it worse.

Did you dread it? Mingyu wonders. While he was out becoming the kind of man that you despised with each reckless choice he made at midnight, were you fearing for your own fate? It must’ve been horrifying: to run from something all your life only to see it waiting for you in the distance. You probably thought that you would have to live a tragic life the way your mother did.

Mingyu would change that.

He made a promise to himself, to your grandfather, to Jeonghan, and most of all, he made a promise to you. The two of you would not be a repeat of your parents’ tragic story. He refused to let that be the case. It didn’t matter if you kept pushing him away, Mingyu would just have to tie himself to you until you had no choice but to accept that he would be there forever. He would not give you any other option.

Mingyu could also set you free, he thinks. He could let you live a life far away from him and his callous history. It would be easy to settle the divorce with the amount of money he has. While he didn’t like to partake in under-the-table transactions and other shady deals, he’d do it if it meant that you would be happy. He’d take the fall, too. The media would have a field day with the story of a husband so incorrigible that his poor wife simply could not live with him anymore. He’d paint himself as the villain if it meant that you’d be happy.

However, Mingyu is selfish. Divorcing you means losing whatever tie he has to you. Divorcing you means waking up without you by his side. Divorcing you means he no longer has the privilege of being near you. Divorcing you means living the rest of his life haunted by the memories of your smile and the dreams of a life that could have been his. Mingyu does not want to live through that kind of pain, doesn’t think he could survive it even if he wanted to. So Mingyu quickly disregards the thought. No, that would never become an option.

This will be Mingyu’s only sin against you, and he hopes you can find it in yourself to forgive him.

(He finds that he doesn’t mind spending the rest of his life paying for it if it means staying by your side)

–

Mingyu is late.

Technically speaking, he isn’t, but you’ve gotten used to him arriving ahead of you whenever the two of you go out to eat. You’ve lost count of the times that you walk into a restaurant with Mingyu already seated, an eager look on his face every single time.

What the hell could be keeping him back?

You’ve been staring at your phone, contemplating whether you should wait for a text from the man or message him yourself. Waiting meant that you’d have to endure wondering where he was and how he’s doing, but messaging him meant that you’d risk looking so…. Clingy. 

Nevermind, you’d just wait for him. He’s not late, yet.

“I’m so sorry I kept you waiting.” You hear Mingyu’s voice from behind you before you see him. “I didn’t think you’d be this early.”

Mingyu presses a kiss to the side of your head before he sits across from you. 

“I finished my meetings early, so I went here right after,” you reply. “Should we order?”

Mingyu is staring at you like he didn’t hear you. There’s a distant look in his eyes, like his mind was somewhere else despite the fact that he’s physically in front of you. Not only that but he’s being awfully quiet. He’d usually be telling you about his day by now.

“Gyu, are you okay?” You ask, pressing a hand lightly against his forehead. “You’re not sick, are you?”

Your touch somehow brings Mingyu back, the glazed look in his eyes disappearing once he realizes that you’re talking to him—touching him.

Immediately, there’s a smile on Mingyu’s face as he grabs the hand on his forehead, fingers intertwining with yours before he presses a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “Work’s just getting to me. Let’s order.”

Mingyu doesn’t let go of your hand, and you don’t pull away either.

He’s always been touchy, always has to have some sort of contact with you or he’ll start whining like a cute little puppy whose owner decided to desert it in a dark corner. You should be used to it by now, but somehow, you find that you still aren’t. Your heart constantly feels like it’s about to jump out of your throat whenever Mingyu touches you so casually. 

Maybe you were getting sick.

“Hello, my name is Minji, and I’ll be your server for today.”

Something about the woman who’s jotting Mingyu’s order down makes you uneasy. Maybe it’s the way she refused to look your way, or the way she’d twirl her hair and bite her lip. Or maybe it was the fact that she was staring so lecherously at your husband despite the fact that he was literally holding your hand for the entire restaurant to see.

And Mingyu was oblivious to it all. He was taking his sweet time browsing through the menu, looking at each and every single one of his options. You’re sure the only thing in his head is whether he should prioritize taste or protein for his meal. For someone so acquainted with women and their ways, he sure was blind to the woman giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes over her notepad.

You briefly debate marking your territory right then and there.

When the waitress leaves with a flip of her hair and a pep in her step, your glare is immediately pointed towards Mingyu.

“She was flirting with you, you know.” You don’t know why your voice comes out sounding pettier than you intended it to. You just know that you didn’t like the way she was looking or interacting with Mingyu like he’d give her a chance. Did she hit her head? Is she insane? Did she not see that he had someone—a.k.a. you, his wife—with him?

Mingyu, ever accustomed to anything and everything concerning you, is immediately perking up at the tone of your voice.

What the hell was he so happy about?

“Was she?” There’s a wide grin on Mingyu’s face as he leans forward. “I didn’t notice. If I had known, I would’ve—“

“Would’ve what?” You snap at him, eyes fiery, daring him to speak. For someone who told you that he loved you a month and a half ago, he sure wasn’t acting like it. 

“Would’ve told her that I was happily married to the absolutely breathtaking woman in front of me.” Mingyu’s grin is impossibly wider now, fingers tightening in their hold of yours as he feels you tug away. “Is my wife jealous?”

“Shut up, I’m not.” Now, you’re just more ticked off. 

“Are you trying to turn me on right now?” Mingyu’s smug grin turns wolfish. “It’s working, just so you know.”

“I hate you, I hope you know that.” You look away, trying to calm the fire on your face.

”No, you don’t.” Mingyu still has that smile on his face, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite put your finger on. Something about it tells you that your next words matter.

“Yeah, I don’t.” You relent, sighing. Unable to handle the gravity of your own statement, you quickly change the topic. “Eomeoni called me today.”

The mention of his mother has Mingyu straightening up. “Oh? What for?”

“She booked us a trip to Paris. A late honeymoon, she said.” You reply. “I hope your schedule’s clear in December.”

“I’ll clear it out if it isn’t.” Mingyu replies quickly before the playful grin. “Honeymoon trip, huh?”

“Don’t act like you’ll actually do something.” You roll your eyes. “We both know you’re all talk.”

You don’t know if you’re thrilled or horrified at the way Mingyu’s eyes slowly darken at your words. It was honestly meant to be a harmless comment, something to keep the conversation going. Under Mingyu’s steady gaze, however, it was starting to not seem as harmless as you thought it would be.

Mingyu only hums to himself, eyes locked onto your form. The tension is thick as you watch him raise the glass to his lips, throat bobbing as he drinks at a ridiculously relaxed pace. When he finishes the glass, he sets it down. It was absolutely criminal how he made drinking water look inappropriate.

“Here’s your order.” The waitress from before arrives with your order, and your gaze immediately snaps to her.

She still refuses to look at you, setting your food down quickly and thoughtlessly before she moves to your husband. You notice the way she leans a little lower, low enough to give Mingyu a peek at her chest. You had to applaud her; This woman knew exactly what to do to piss you off. You wonder how many wives have sat in your position, absolutely fuming at the way she openly flirted with her married customers.

Could she not take the hint? Mingyu wasn’t even looking at her!

“If you need anything, and I mean anything,” You nearly jump at her when her fingers lightly brush over Mingyu’s hand (something that has him immediately pulling his hand away). “I’ll be over there. Enjoy your meal~”

Mingyu doesn’t look threatening now. His eyes have rounded out, and he looks at you like a puppy who had been caught tearing up his owner’s important papers. “I didn’t–”

“Didn’t you hear her, Mingyu?” The smile on your face is deceptively sweet. “Enjoy your meal.”

You find yourself satisfied at the way Mingyu pales and starts eating without a word.

–

The car ride home is tense.

Mingyu has made multiple attempts to hold your hand, but each time, you swat his hand away like it was an obnoxious fly who had no right to be in your airspace. You can see the way he deflates at every rejection you throw his way.

In all honesty, you didn’t really know why you were acting like this. There were many reasons why you shouldn’t be acting the way you were, but they were all overshadowed by that nagging feeling in your chest. First of all, Mingyu wasn’t even entertaining the woman. He never spoke to her other than the time she asked for his order. Second, the woman just couldn’t take the hint. Mingyu had already said the words ‘my wife’ so many times throughout your dinner with him that it was starting to grate on your ears. You honestly think the waitress just enjoyed the way you looked positively livid by her bold actions. Lastly, which you’d argue is the most important reason of all, you had no right to complain when this was exactly what you wanted. You used to pray for struggles like this! You don’t know why it’s suddenly making you feel so… Uncomfortable. It felt like something was gripping at your chest and threatening to get tighter whenever Mingyu was subject to another woman’s attention. Were you actually jea–

No. You refused to finish that thought. Why the hell would you be jealous?

When the two of you get home, you’re quick to get out of the car and walk into the house, up the stairs and into your bedroom without sparing Mingyu a glance. 

Mingyu calls out your name, practically tripping over his feet as he rushes to catch up with you. “I wasn’t even flirting with her! You were there the entire time.”

Annoyed, you turn to look up at him. You know you’re being petty, but it doesn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth. “So you would have flirted with her if I wasn’t?”

You don’t know why Mingyu looks so happy at your words. Was he seriously enjoying this? What was there to enjoy?

“No, I wouldn’t have.” Mingyu’s smile is bright as he looks at you. He points at his chest. “You’re the only one in here, after all.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny the way your heart treacherously flutters at his words. “Stop looking so happy about this. You’re on thin ice.”

“Maybe I should make you jealous more often.” Mingyu comments, and your eyes are quick to turn sharp at his words.

“I am not jealous.” You seethe. “I’m just in disbelief at how bold she was when I was right there.”

“Sure, you’re not jealous.” Mingyu affirms you, but you know he doesn’t believe you. His words only angered you more. “Should I go back and talk to her?”

Honestly, you don’t know what comes over you. 

The next thing you know, your hand has reached out to tug Mingyu down by the tie, and your lips are crashing against his.

Mingyu is quick to act, hands coming up to cup your cheeks and pull you deeper into the kiss. He kicks the door closed behind him, groaning as you tug at his hair.

“What has gotten into you?” Mingyu pulls away for a second. “Hey—“

Mingyu’s words are cut off when you pull him with you as you fall back, his hands immediately bracing himself on the bed on either side of you to avoid crushing you underneath his weight. “Y/N, I’m serious—“

You cut him off with another rough kiss, one hand grabbing him by the collar and the other pushing at his suit jacket. For a second, you pull away only to plead “Gyu, please.”

It’s like something in Mingyu snaps.

Immediately, he strips his upper body completely bare before he lunges back at you, deft fingers working at the zipper of your dress as he sucks bruises into your neck.

“Fuck holding back.” You hear Mingyu whisper underneath his breath as he completely removes your dress, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. His gaze is dark as he straightens up, fingers digging into your soft thighs as he revels at the sight of you below him. 

Then he leans down, his large hands prying your thighs open wider as he presses a deceptively soft kiss against your ear before he whispers, “Remember, you asked for this.”

Mingyu’s fingers suddenly grabbing your chest has you whining, your head falling back against the bed as you shut your eyes at the electrifying feeling of his touch. He then positions himself beside you, wrapping an arm around you while his fingers start trailing lower and lower down your body, heat blooming in its path against your skin.

“Gyu,” You breathe out. Your nails dig deeper into the sturdy muscle of his thigh that’s keeping your legs from closing. He continues to kiss all over your face, neck, and ear, fingers stopping in their path of going lower in favor of playing with the band of your underwear. “Stop teasing.”

You feel Mingyu’s lips morph into a smirk against the shell of your ear before he speaks. “I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me exactly what you want.”

“Your fingers, please.” You plead without a second thought, head falling against the meat of his bicep as you look up at him. You hated the way you could only grow wetter at his teasing.

Mingyu’s grin darkens. “What about my fingers? Should I pull them away—“

“I will leave you on this bed and take care of myself if you keep teasing.” You glare at Mingyu, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “I swear—“

A loud moan rips itself from your throat at the feeling of Mingyu’s fingers pressing against your core through the damp fabric of your panties. 

Mingyu groans against your ear, eyes trained on his fingers that were rubbing slow circles over your dripping core. “If I had known my girl was this needy, I would’ve given in sooner.”

You continue to breathe out whimpers and moans as he continues to work his fingers over you. His arm that was wrapped around your back reaches down, pushing the cups of your bra down to pinch and grope at your nipples.

“Inside.” You whine, watching the way Mingyu works your body undone. “Put your fingers inside me, please.”

With a soft kiss to the side of your head, Mingyu is slipping your panties to the side and dipping a finger into your heat.

A moan rips itself from your throat.

“Fuck,” Mingyu hisses as he pushes his finger in and out of you at a torturous pace. “You’re so wet.”

“More, Gyu please—“ Your request is immediately granted when Mingyu slips another finger inside you. 

“See what happens when you’re honest with what you want?” Mingyu’s fingers curl up inside you, your eyes rolling back at the sensation. “We could’ve been doing this sooner.”

You don’t even register his words, too lost in the different sensations Mingyu was putting you through. The only thing you can focus on is the heat of his body against you, his fingers prying you open, and the growing hardness pressing against your hip.

Fuck, would it even fit?

“Can’t even answer me, baby?” A harsh bite on your shoulder has you whining. “I’ve only given you my fingers, but you’re already this fucked out. Are you sure you can take me?”

“I can.” You respond immediately despite being unsure, your own hand trailing up from his clothed thigh before you stop just below his hardness. 

“But you’re already shaking from just my fingers?” Mingyu coos. “I don’t think you can handle my cock just yet.”

You glare at him, but you know it holds no power considering the fact that you were a sweaty, shaking mess in Mingyu’s arms. In retaliation, you start palming him over his pants.

“Fuck—“ Mingyu chokes on his words, fingers in you stuttering as you continue to tease at his bulge. “Fuck, don’t do that.”

“Why not?” You smile up at him, reveling in the way his eyes shut and his brows furrow. “Don’t like getting a taste of your own medicine?”

Immediately, Mingyu is ripping himself from your touch, hastily pulling his pants off to reveal his hardness straining against the thin material of his boxers.

You were fucked.

And it’s about to be in the literal sense.

You attempt to reach out to him, but Mingyu is quick to pin your wrists on either side of your head as he traps you against the bed. “I was holding back for your sake.”

Mingyu leans down, gaze dark. “I guess you don’t want that.”

His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. It’s raw and unrefined, each movement laced with hunger as he gropes your body and grinds his clothed cock against your sopping core.

“You feel all that, huh?” Mingyu pulls away from the kiss to whisper, hips dragging against you back and forth. “Don’t complain when you can’t take it properly later.”

You whine at his words. The warning tone of his voice only made you wetter. You wanted this man to ruin you. Wanted him to fuck you open until you’re crying and pushing at his hips because it’s all too much—

A loud, hurried knock on your door has you pulling away and Mingyu cursing.

Immediately, you’re swinging your legs off the bed and grabbing your dress that had been thrown to the floor. “Who is it?”

“Ms. Yoon, your grandfather is downstairs. He’s looking for you and Mr. Kim.” One of your staff informs you from behind the door.

You turn your gaze to Mingyu who’s sitting on the side of the bed, face in his hands looking like his entire world crashed in the span of three seconds.

“Give us a minute, we’ll be there shortly.” You reply, slipping back into your dress.

“I’ll relay this to the chairman.” 

Once the footsteps disappear, Mingyu is immediately groaning out loud.

“Give me a minute.” Mingyu breathes out as he lays back on the bed, the front of his boxers still straining.

You laugh lightly as you lay down beside him, head turning to look at the man who looked like he was fighting a losing battle.

“Do you need me to help out?” You offer.

Mingyu removes his hands from his face, head whipping towards you as he pouts. “Don’t say things like that. It’s just going to make me harder.”

“Well, you have five minutes before my grandfather gets impatient.” You inform him, standing up and walking towards the mirror to make sure that you look presentable.

“Talk me through it and I can do it in three.” Mingyu calls out from the bed

“Gyu, lower your voice.” You scold, fixing the loose strands of hair that had fallen over your face.

“You were literally moaning loudly just a minute ago—“

“I’m leaving, you can handle yourself.”

“Damn right, I’ll handle myself!”

–

Excited would be an understatement to describe the way Mingyu was feeling as he was lugging your bags into the car and hopping into the driver’s seat.

It didn’t matter that he just got off a 13-hour flight that went from Incheon to Charles de Gaulle, didn’t matter that he was extremely jetlagged after traversing multiple timezones. No, those concerns were a speck of dust in an infinite universe, and Mingyu could not care less.

The only thing he cared about was the fact that he finally had time alone with you. A month has passed since that unfortunate incident in your bedroom, and ever since then, Mingyu and you have been busy. In fact, the two of you were so busy that you were never able to finish what you started in that bedroom. While it certainly gave Mingyu more material to work with during his nightly showers, it also taunted him like a forbidden fruit that he couldn’t indulge in.

Briefly, he thanks his parents for coming up with the wonderful idea of giving the two of you a belated honeymoon trip. Mingyu had spent every day of the last month looking forward to this trip just because he knew that there would be absolutely no one to disturb you. He’ll be sure to give his parents all the grandchildren they want as a way of showing his appreciation. In fact, he’d get to work as soon as the two of you settled down in the little villa his parents owned. 

(If you’d let him of course)

(Mingyu hopes you do)

“Is this your first time visiting Paris?” Comes your sleepy voice from the passenger seat. 

Mingyu has to resist the urge to reach over and pinch your cheeks. “No, I’m here often.”

“Then why do you seem so excited?” You mumble out, eyes fighting to stay open. 

“Because it’s my first time going here with you.” Mingyu replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Go to sleep, the drive will take a while.”

A lie, really. The drive from CDG to the 16th arrondissement would only take around 40 minutes, but Mingyu would take all the turns and twists that Paris had to offer if it meant that you’d get more sleep.

Upon your arrival, Mingyu is quick to park and unlock the door of the villa. Then, he returns to the car to open your door gently, not wanting to disturb your sleeping form. He unbuckles your seatbelt cautiously before he slips his arms underneath you. With a careful heave, he carries your sleeping form into the villa before setting you down on one of the plush couches in the living room.

When he finds that you’re still fast asleep, he cheers. He turns the heat on before ridding himself of his own coat to lay it against your sleeping frame. It was not the comfortable blanket you deserved, but it would have to do for now as he brought in all the luggages from the trunk of the car.

Once Mingyu brings all the bags into the villa and pushes it into a corner, he’s immediately plopping down on the floor, back against the seat of the couch you were resting on. He was tired, very tired. The length of the flight coupled with the unnecessarily long drive was beginning to exert its effects on Mingyu, albeit a little delayed. He’s almost regretting not letting the staff of the villa stay in during your stay.

Almost.

Because one look at your peaceful face is all it takes for Mingyu to conclude that he made the right decision. He could stay here forever, he thinks. It wasn’t the oceanfront house he conjured up in his dreams, but it was peaceful. The city’s hustle and bustle did not touch this little sanctuary. There were no looming deadlines, lengthy meetings, ostentatious galas, or instigative individuals to disturb your lives. In this little villa, there was only you and him. Mingyu thinks that he doesn’t need anything more than that.

-

It was with Kim Mingyu that you realized that you’ve been to Paris, but you’ve never really been in Paris. While you have been to the city many times due to business meetings and other events, you’ve never really explored the city’s streets to ever fully indulge in its charm. You’ve only ever looked at the city from the windows of company cars and the balconies of hotel rooms. Which is why when Mingyu found out that you’ve never explored the city, he’s quick to get you dressing and preparing to go out for what he liked to call his little ‘Tour GYoU Around” Project.

(You had commented that it was a cheesy name but he only laughs)

It became apparent to you that Mingyu knew this city like the back of his hand, and it seemed like the city knew him too. There were multiple occasions throughout the day where you’d walk into an establishment, and they’d greet Mingyu familiarly, like an old friend that had just come back from a long period of separation. What stands out to you, however, is that each time, without fail, Mingyu would introduce you as ‘the love of his life’. His words, not yours. You can’t deny the warmth you feel at that.

Now you were here, sitting on the steps of the Place du Trocadéro as you watched Mingyu line up for a crepe at the stand a few steps away. You were almost tempted to just sprawl across the cold floor of the square. Your feet were practically dead from the amount of walking you did. You had been so distracted by Mingyu’s enthusiasm that you couldn’t hear the way your feet were crying for rest, and now that you had the time to settle down, it had come to enact its vengeance.

It’s a small thing, though, you think to yourself. Breathing in the cold winter air as you took in the view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance definitely made up for the hurt your feet were experiencing. The square was a little busy, bustling with tourists and locals who wanted to watch the sunset, but you find the chaos charming. It was nothing like the cold, quiet rush of Seoul.

When Mingyu comes back, he’s holding two crepes in one hand and a small cup of hot chocolate in the other as he moves to sit beside you. “Here, drink up while it’s hot.”

You thank Mingyu as you take a crepe and the cup of hot chocolate, a gentle warmth blooming through your body once you take a sip from the cup.

Mingyu’s eyes are trained on you as he chews through his own crepe, gaze hopeful. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, it is.” You reply, taking another bite of the crepe. In all honesty, it was painfully ordinary. You’ve tasted far better crepes than this in establishments much fancier, crepes made by culinary artisans who had dedicated their entire life to their craft. However, the difference between those crepes and this crepe is that Mingyu bought you this one. Dragged you all the way here after a lengthy shopping trip at the Champs-Élysées just to eat it and watch people go about their lives from a corner. You’ve tasted crepes with a flavor so divine that you could eat it for the rest of your life, but none of them tasted like this.

Like home.

“Good to hear,” Mingyu chuckles out a sigh of relief as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I was worried you weren’t enjoying.”

“You shouldn’t be,” You reply, stating it like a fact. “This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

Mingyu lights up like a Christmas tree at your words, gaze bright and lips curled into a smile. He looked… Cute. Which is such an odd word for a guy as large as him, but what else could you call him when he looked like a puppy who had just been told he was a good boy? The bestest of boys? Sometimes, it scares you how much Mingyu seemed to seek your approval. It felt a little too… Real. It felt like he was in this for the long run. Like there was nothing after this, after you.

Sometimes you’re scared of how much you believe it before you can stop yourself. It scares you whenever that one question comes up to haunt you when the world is dark, and Mingyu is snoring into your neck, and you find that you can’t imagine yourself anywhere else. It scares you because it would undo everything you thought you knew.

…Were you falling in love with Kim Mingyu?

–

The answer comes to you on a Saturday morning somewhere in Montmartre.

It’s quiet, with only a few people braving through the early morning chill. The sun is barely up in the horizon, the sky fading into a dark gradient behind you as you walk beside Mingyu towards a tiny bistro somewhere down the street.

One of your hands is swinging beside you, fist clenched to prevent Mingyu’s oversized glove from slipping. Your other hand is bare in Mingyu’s hold, buried in the pocket of his coat to warm it. It’s stupidly cheesy: the way Mingyu only lent you one glove so he had an excuse to hold your hand and pull you close. It’s so stupidly Mingyu that you just obliged and gave him your hand, not bothering to call him out on his actions.

“We’re here,” Mingyu informs you as he points towards a quaint little bistro with little chairs and tables lined up in front of it. “Do you want to eat here or inside?”

“Is outside okay?” You ask. While you definitely wanted to hide away inside the bistro’s indoor dining area that’s probably much warmer, you definitely couldn’t resist the urge to watch the district come to life as the sun took its place high up in the sky. 

“Of course,” comes Mingyu’s quick reply, a smile on his face as he practically drags you to the chairs. Sometimes that man forgets that your legs weren’t as long as his, and it shows in moments like this.

An older man comes to take your order and leaves swiftly once he gets it. In the short time that you spent ordering, you realize that Mingyu has once again found himself conversing with a man that you’re sure he’s only met now.

They’re a couple, you note. There’s a woman sitting across from the man that’s matching Mingyu’s extrovertedness and beside her is a stroller with the pudgiest little baby you’ve ever seen. The woman smiles at you when she sees you looking, and you smile back at her, even giving her little baby a small wave.

The entire time, you can feel Mingyu’s eyes on you despite the fact that the man beside him was talking his ear off. Once their conversation wraps up and the old man from before brings you your orders, Mingyu is quick to turn to you.

“Do you want kids someday?” Mingyu asks, and you nearly choke on your juice.

You take the napkin from the table and pat at your mouth before replying, “Yes. Someone has to inherit the company after all.”

Mingyu doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, silently dragging your plate to his side to cut up your croque monsieur into bite-sized pieces. Wordlessly, he pierces one with his fork and holds it up to your lips. 

You refuse to acknowledge the fact that you didn’t even think twice before opening your mouth.

“Careful, it’s still hot,” Mingyu warns.

You chew through the bite-sized piece, eyes on Mingyu as he cuts up his own sandwich and takes a larger piece into his mouth. You swallow the piece in your mouth and speak, “You don’t seem satisfied with my answer.”

Mingyu pouts playfully. “It’s scary how well you read me sometimes.”

“I just…” Mingyu pauses, seemingly thinking of what word choice would be best. “If there was no pressure, and it’s just completely up to you… Would you still want kids?”

You don’t answer him immediately, your eyes going back to gaze at the pudgy little baby beside the woman from before.

Briefly, you wonder what it would be like to have all of that. You wonder what it would be like to live a simple life in a place far away from all the noise and chaos that city life brought. You wonder what it would be like to hold a pudgy little baby of your own, a little boy or a little girl who took after Mingyu in looks, in demeanor, and in spirit. You think of the way that child would light up the room the way their father did so effortlessly.

You think of the late nights spent on school projects, Saturday mornings spent running in the garden as you chase after the little rascal who inherited Mingyu’s playful nature. You think of where you’d send them to college, only the best ones of course. You think of that child conquering the world with you always walking one step behind to catch them if they find themselves falling.

You think of Mingyu, old and gray beside you as he plays with his grandchildren on a beach somewhere. Time would have aged his body, but the light in his eyes is left untouched. In fact, you think it would be burning brighter after living such a full life.

The answer comes out of you easier than you expected it to. “Yes.”

“I guess it would be scary at first. I’ve heard a lot of horror stories regarding pregnancy and childbirth, after all.” Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, anticipating, waiting for the next few words to leave your mouth. “But I don’t think it’ll be that scary with you around.”

Mingyu pauses from slicing into the croque monsieur, looking up from it to gaze at you with an unreadable expression. You’re not sure if he’s happy, shocked, or just absolutely gone. You think it’s all three.

Then, a smile is on his face, the kind that blinds you with how much happiness and light seemed to shine from it. “You really want to have kids with me?”

You furrow your brows. Did the man just not hear the words that took all your courage to say? “If not you, then who?”

The answer to your question comes that way. Comes to you on a Saturday morning in a bistro somewhere in Montmartre while Mingyu’s cutting up your croque monsieur despite the fact that you could do it on your own. He knows that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t want you to do it, doesn’t want you to lift a finger as long as he’s around.

If there’s anyone in the world that has the power to absolutely break you, it’s Mingyu. He has parts of you that you’d never think of giving to anyone else. He knows all your quirks and attitudes and knows how to handle each one. Kim Mingyu has loved you so loudly that you had no choice but to listen. He has loved you so much that it was inevitable for you to love him back.

You were in love with Kim Mingyu.

It doesn’t come as a shock, doesn’t come like a life-changing epiphany, doesn’t come with a grand revelation that leaves you breathless and terrified. Admitting your love for the man felt like an acknowledgement of something that had always been there.

Admitting it felt like the end of a long chase. The part where you’re laying on the forest floor with your neck bared, surrendering your fate to whatever was pursuing you. It felt like relief. While you can’t deny that admitting that you were in love with Mingyu filled you with a familiar fear originating from your younger days, you find that your love for the man outweighed it. 

You’ve run far enough, you think. It’s time to stop.

You think of your mother whose final days had been made bitter by the knowledge of your father’s affair. You think of your father who had gone against every vow he made. You think of their wedding picture with the cracked frame, tucked away in a box somewhere under your bed. The picture where they looked so in love and happy. 

You think of your own wedding picture with Mingyu that’s hung in your living room back in Seoul. The one where you’re looking straight into the camera while Mingyu keeps his gaze on you. You think of what the future holds for you. Would you experience your mother’s fate like a curse of blood and history? Or would you get the ending she deserved?

You find that you’re willing to risk it. You’re willing to find out what the future holds for you if it meant that Mingyu would be the one beside you. Whether he’ll break you or make you the happiest woman alive, it didn’t matter now. 

Here in Montmartre, a few meters away from Sacré Cœur, you lay your heart bare to Kim Mingyu.

–

“Do you really not want me with you?” Mingyu is pouting from the bed, hands fiddling with his wedding ring. “Killing me would be kinder.”

You laugh lightly at Mingyu’s complaints. “Gyu, we agreed that this day would be spent doing our own thing.”

“When did I agree to that?” Mingyu’s brows furrow.

“When we were planning the itinerary two weeks ago and you said that absence makes the heart grow fonder.” You remind him. “You even told me that maybe it’ll make me finally miss you–”

“Ok, I get it.” Mingyu’s frown deepens. “Go do your thing, I’ll be here crying.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You tease.

“You do that to me, unfortunately.” Mingyu walks up to you, arms wrapping around your waist from behind. “Can I really not come with?”

You roll your eyes playfully before pinching Mingyu’s puffed out cheek. “Nope.”

Mingyu releases a groan of complaint as he buries his face into your neck. “Well, I tried.”

In all honesty, you didn’t mind taking Mingyu with you. It would even be better for you if you just stayed at the villa and cuddled with Mingyu all day. However, you had spotted Mingyu eyeing a few things during your shopping trip that he wasn’t able to buy because he was busy buying things for you, and you wanted to surprise him by buying them for him. It was laughable, how this man had you wrapped around his finger, and you don’t think he’s aware of it.

“It’s your free day too, Gyu.” You place a quick kiss on his cheek that has his pout faltering into a smile for a second. “Go out, walk around, meet some old friends.”

“Don’t want to.” Mingyu replies quickly.

“Suit yourself.” 

–

Boo Seungkwan wishes you went on vacation more often. Especially if you would take him with you like this every single time.

Technically, it was Mingyu who had raised the idea which led to you offering Seungkwan an all-expense-paid trip to the city of love. Apparently, your husband thought that Seungkwan should be around in case there’s anything that needs to be taken care of. Seungkwan knew there was potential in that man despite his childish ways. It was thanks to Kim Mingyu that he was able to take early morning jogs by the Seine before he inevitably indulges in all the pastries that Paris had to offer. 

So the moment he sees Kim Mingyu looking awfully close to another woman that isn’t you, his world comes crashing down.

Immediately, Seungkwan abandons his early morning jog, tucking his earphones away before he attempts to get a closer view of Mingyu and the mystery woman. Seungkwan hopes he’s wrong. He genuinely hoped that maybe you just got a haircut or that you suddenly decided to get plastic surgery. He wishes that all those unfathomable scenarios were true because he refuses to believe that Mingyu would cheat on you on what was supposed to be your belated honeymoon trip. To think he was rooting for this man!

Seungkwan’s stalking leads him to a tiny cafe in a quieter area of Paris. He ducks behind a bush, watching as Mingyu enters the cafe after the woman. He watches as the woman sits on one of the chairs and Mingyu sits across from her. On the cafe’s glass window, Seungkwan reads the establishment’s name.

Sohee’s Little Seoul.

Immediately, Seungkwan’s stomach drops, Jia’s fake face popping up as he remembers the words that came out of her mouth back when Seungkwan was eavesdropping.

“Mingyu and Sohee were inseparable back in our last year of college. Kind of like a buy-one-take-one deal.”

“They thought he was getting married to Sohee.”

The situation becomes worse when Seungkwan sees a young boy climb up Mingyu’s lap and settle himself there. The child’s movements were too familiar for it to be the first time he’s seeing Mingyu. 

Could he be..?

The child didn’t look like he could be older than six or seven. Seungkwan does the math and comes to the realization that Mingyu would’ve been in college or had just graduated from it. Seungkwan wasn’t sure whether the child was Mingyu’s, but he's sure that this child was old enough to have been conceived back when Kim Mingyu was still a womanizer.

With shaky hands, Seungkwan takes a picture and hits send.

–

“Wow, the last time I saw Hajoon, he was so much smaller.” Mingyu says fondly as he watches the young boy welcome customers into the shop, something he must’ve copied from his mother. “Time flies, no?”

“It does,” comes Sohee’s quick reply. “I heard you got married to the Yoon heiress.”

“I did.” Mingyu smiles at the thought of you. He wishes that time would move faster just so that he could finally go back home and wait for your arrival. While he initially planned to just rot in bed all day, Sohee happened to message him after hearing of his arrival from a mutual friend. With nothing better to do, he decided to go out and catch up with a childhood friend.

“Yah, Kim Mingyu, you better be treating her right.” Sohee glares at the man. “I’ll be the first to beat you up if I find out you hurt her.”

“I have no plans of doing that, but there’s already a line for that if you’re really interested.” Mingyu laughs, thinking of Jeonghan, your grandfather, and Seungkwan. Hell, even Seungcheol wouldn’t hesitate to beat him up for hurting you, and Seungcheol was his best man! However, he isn’t too worried. Him, hurt you? He would die before he ever let that happen. “Is Seojoon still bothering you?”

Sohee’s face turns grim at the mention of Hajoon’s father. “No, I think he took the hint after you threatened him.”

Seojoon, if Mingyu had to describe him, was a piece of shit that hid his foul smell behind his charming face and his even more charming words. He and Mingyu had never gotten along in college, and they still don’t today. That poor excuse of a human being had treated Sohee like utter garbage throughout that relationship, and he only got worse after learning that Sohee got pregnant. Mingyu had spent his last year of college scaring him off and threatening him with whatever he could.

“If it were up to me, he’d be in prison.” Mingyu mutters. 

“You’ve done more than enough for us, Mingyu.” Sohee smiles at him, thankful. “But enough about that piece of shit. Where’s your wife? I’d love to meet her.”

“She’s out enjoying the city without me.” Mingyu’s tone turns bitter at the memory of his abandonment. “But I’ll tell her when she comes back. Maybe we can drop by before we go back to Seoul.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” comes Sohee’s reply. “It’s nice to see that at least one of us is succeeding at this love thing.”

“Yah, I’ve been trying to set you up with Cheol-hyung, but you keep declining.” Mingyu rolls his eyes. “He’s had a crush on you since we were kids, you know? I’ll text him right now if you want.”

“Seungcheol is a great guy, I’m sure he’ll find someone better.” Sohee sighs, already tired of Mingyu’s attempts to set her up. “Hajoon and I do well with just the two of us. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Sure, but if you ever want to meet him–”

Sohee claps her hands together, standing up abruptly. “Ah it’s getting late, I think it’s time for you to go.”

Sohee pulls out a box of macarons, sticks a note on it,  and places it in a paper bag before handing it to Mingyu. “Here, give this to your wife. She deserves something sweet after having to deal with you.”

“Yah!”

-

When Mingyu arrives at the villa, your shoes are already outside of the door. Quickly, he’s kicking his own shoes off and heading inside to look for you.

The living room is silent, save for the noise of the television playing. You’re on the sofa, face grim, eyes rimmed red, and cheek streaked with tears. Immediately, Mingyu senses something is wrong. He rushes to you, placing the bag from Sohee down on the coffee table before kneeling down to your level. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

At the sight of him, you’re quick to look away and rub at your eyes, but it’s too late. Mingyu already saw it. “Oh, you’re back. I didn’t hear the door, sorry.”

“What happened? Why are you crying?” Mingyu refuses to let you deflect, hands coming up to grab your wrists. “Hey, look at me.”

“It’s just allergies–”

“Don’t lie to me.” Mingyu tries to keep his voice soft despite the sternness of his words. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

Neither of you budge. You don’t speak, and Mingyu doesn’t push you, but he refuses to let you run away.

Your soft voice breaks the silence, shaky as you ask, “Where were you?”

“I met with a friend.” Mingyu replies, suddenly confused. “Did I not text you?

Mingyu motions to grab his phone from his pocket, but you suddenly grab his arm, keeping him in place.

“You did.” You breath out shakily. “With Sohee, right?”

Mingyu frowns. Did he ever tell you that he was going to meet Sohee? “Yeah, how did you know?”

“Mingyu, please be honest with me.” There’s desperation in your eyes as you practically stare into Mingyu’s soul. It makes him uneasy, how broken you look. He didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t even know what the problem was! “Are you seeing Sohee?”

“What? No!” Mingyu is quick to deny your words, disbelief painting his features. “I’m not hiding it from you, but how did you even know that I was meeting up with her?”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you were meeting her of all people?” You ask, your own voice starting to raise in volume. “Mingyu, stop lying to me.”

“I’m not!” Mingyu stands up, unable to fathom the words coming from your mouth. Just a few days ago, it had felt like the final puzzle piece had fallen into place. It felt like you were starting to trust him, like you were starting to actually be there with him instead of watching from the sidelines as he pranced around like a lovesick fool. Were the two of you really back at square one?

“I could leave for a while, if you want me to.” Mingyu realizes that you aren’t listening to him at all, too caught up in your version of the story to hear the truth. “I did give you permission, after all.”

“Are we really doing this again?” Mingyu can feel the anger building up in his stomach. How many times did he have to prove himself before you believed him? “Are we not over this?”

“I thought you’d prove me wrong, I really did.” There’s tears streaming down your eyes now, and Mingyu has to resist the instinct to reach out and wipe them away. “I’ll stay at a hotel tonight. Invite Sohee over here if you want to, I don’t care anymore.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what comes over him. The words leave his mouth faster than he can think. “You know what, maybe I will.”

It’s only when your cold gaze meets his that Mingyu realizes what he just said.

Immediately, he’s scrambling to take it back, walking towards your retreating form. “Wait, I didn’t mean to–”

“Enjoy.” Your icy voice felt like a knife stabbed clean through Mingyu’s chest. “I’ll see you in Seoul.”

–

You were being irrational, you know that, but the moment you saw the photo, you lost all reason.

She’s pretty, you think. Only the universe knows how many times you’ve zoomed in on her pretty face in the photo and wished you looked half as good. You didn’t even know the woman, but you could already tell that she was everything you were not. She looked like the personification of sunshine with the pretty yellow dress she wore coupled with the even prettier smile on her face. She and Mingyu looked good together, even you could see that.

Maybe you should have pried that day, should have asked Mingyu until he cracked and confessed just how deep his entanglement with Sohee went. Maybe that’s why he seemed so touchy about the subject. It would derail his efforts to look like the loyal, picture-perfect husband he was painting himself to be.

‘Family friend, my ass.’ You think bitterly to yourself as you try to stop recalling the stupid smile on Mingyu’s stupid face in that stupid picture. You didn’t bother hearing him out; You couldn’t risk it. You knew deep down that despite the hurt, Mingyu could lie to you and you’d believe him.

You were going to turn out exactly like your mother if you had stayed even a second later.

However, a part of you—the treacherous part that’s still so fucking in love with Mingyu—wants to hear him out. It nags at you to pick up the phone to clear things up, nags at you to walk all the way back to that villa and listen to his explanation, nags at you to stop letting the past cloud your judgment so terribly.

Honestly, you don’t know whose judgment is clouded. Is it the part of you that’s hoping you’re wrong? Or the part of you that thinks you’re right?

But it echoes, Mingyu’s last few words.

“You know what, maybe I will.”

And suddenly, you’re back to square one, sobbing your heart out on the hotel bed as a thousand knives weigh down on your chest. You replay every moment, every memory where you honestly felt like he loved you, like he was truly, absolutely, irrevocably in love with you… And you remind yourself that maybe none of that was real, that all of it was an act to get into your good graces. Was this his way of getting back at you for damning him into this marriage? How cruel. 

Deep down, you know that he isn’t that cruel. That maybe he was in love with you at some point then realized that you weren’t worth the effort. Maybe you had lost your novelty, lost whatever mystery you had that Mingyu desperately wanted to unveil. Maybe he had seen all of you and decided that he was better off returning to his old ways.

God, you didn’t know anymore.

That night, in a hotel somewhere in Paris, you cry yourself to sleep.

It’s the first night since the night before your wedding that you don’t fall asleep beside Mingyu.

–

The first thing that greets you when you wake up is the sight of Mingyu sprawled out on the couch of your hotel room, eyes closed as he snored. You don’t know if you want to start crying or start screaming at him. How did he even get into your hotel room?

Slowly, you pad over to him, eyes drinking up the sight of him like it’s the last time you’ll ever see him. You take notice of the paper bag on the end table. It’s white with the logo of Sohee’s café printed on one side.

It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Silently, you stand up, walking towards where the bag is placed. You open it only to find a box of macarons with a small note attached.

For Mrs. Kim, who deserves a sweet treat for having to put up with her husband (You deserve better, girl)

Hoping to meet you soon, tell Mingyu to stop gatekeeping you !!

-Sohee <3

Your body goes cold as the realization sets in.

You had fucked up.

Immediately, you’re setting the note down and pressing your hand against your mouth to muffle your cries. The last thing you wanted to do was to disturb Mingyu’s sleep. While you weren’t sure of what the whole truth entailed, you were sure that neither Sohee nor Mingyu had ill intentions when they met up yesterday. You don’t think a mistress would take the time to give you a box of macarons or a little note, that would have to be a different level of insane that you could no longer anticipate.

Mingyu’s firm denial yesterday and Sohee’s warm note only proved the fact that you had blown up at Mingyu over something that could have been fixed by a conversation.

Now, you’re not sure if a conversation would be enough to fix this.

At the sound of Mingyu stirring awake, you’re quick to wipe your cheeks dry and rub away the tears that couldn’t seem to stop flowing. God, you needed to get a grip. You don’t think you’ve cried this much in years.

Suddenly, two arms wrap around your shoulders from behind: Mingyu.

He’s shaking against you, grip tight as he pulls you close to him. You feel something wet drop onto your shoulders, and you realize that Mingyu is crying.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Mingyu, don’t cry—“

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu doesn’t let you finish, voice broken as he apologizes. “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I swear, it just slipped out.”

Now, you’re back to crying.

“I’m sorry.” Mingyu breathes the words out repeatedly through choked sobs like a man who had lost everything. “Please forgive me. I don’t think I can live without you.”

You wanted to tell him that you felt that way too, wanted to tell him that if anyone had to apologize, it was you, but you couldn’t find the strength to stop the sobs that just kept coming. It hurt too much to push it down, so you cry uselessly in Mingyu’s arms, hands coming to hold his forearms as you tried to deplete yourself of all the tears you had left.

“Gyu, I should—“ You’re unable to stop yourself from shakily gasping for air before you can finish your sentence. “—I should be the one who’s sorry.”

You feel Mingyu shake his head from behind you. “No, I should’ve told you I was meeting Sohee, and I shouldn’t have told you that I’d invite her over.”

“You were angry, Gyu.” You whisper out, turning around to finally face your husband. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

The sight of Mingyu looking absolutely broken grips at your chest, your stomach dropping at the sight of his disheveled appearance. 

“Come back home, please.” Mingyu whispers as you cup his cheeks, thumbs wiping away at the tears that would escape his eyes. “I don’t think you know how much you affect me.”

“Maybe, I have an idea.” You joke through tears which has Mingyu chuckling lightly. “How did you even get in here?”

“The owner is a family friend.” Mingyu replies as he places his hands on your waist. “Just like Sohee.”

You slap at his chest, groaning at the reminder. “Don’t remind me.”

Relief floods throughout your body after that, body sagging as you feel Mingyu chuckle against you. Something was telling you that the two of you would be okay if Mingyu could find it in himself to joke.

“I know I’ve said it many times, but Sohee is just a friend.” Mingyu reaches up to wipe at the wet streak on your cheek. “We’re only close because we grew up together.”

“Who’s the kid in the café, then?” You know it was stupid, but you just had to be sure. It was the lack of communication that led you to this situation in the first place. You weren’t taking your chances.

“Hajoon, her son.” Mingyu is quick to clarify, hand stroking through your hair like he’s trying to ground you. “He’s not mine, if you’re wondering.”

“God, I sound insane, don’t I?” You press yourself closer against Mingyu, burying your face into his sturdy chest.

“I like it when you’re jealous. It just shows that you actually care about me.” Mingyu teases, pinching at your cheek. “But maybe not to the point that you’ll leave me. I don’t think I can go through that again.”

“I’m sorry,” comes your soft apology. The guilt still weighs heavily in your chest, and you have a feeling that it’ll be there for a while. “I just assumed the worst when Seungkwan sent me a picture.”

Mingyu sounds irritated when he speaks. “Seungkwan? What picture?”

Oh. 

Oh shit.

God save Boo Seungkwan.

“Wait, don’t get mad at him. It wasn’t deliberate.” You’re quick to come to Seungkwan’s defense, but you know it’s too late. The look on Mingyu’s face was too murderous for your words to deter him. “He was jogging yesterday. and he happened to see you with Sohee, so he decided to trail you. He took a picture when you were in the café.”

There’s a pout on Mingyu’s face as he takes your words in, easing up a little at the panic in your eyes. “The next time we’re on vacation, don’t invite him.”

You laugh at Mingyu’s words. 

“He didn’t even think to clarify with me?” Mingyu is in disbelief the more he thinks about it. “How useful is he as an employee? Be honest.” 

“Gyu, he’s one of my best employees.” You reply. “I’d even say that he’s a friend.”

You hear Mingyu swear under his breath. “Fine, he can keep his job. I guess.”

“But I’m still mad at him.” Mingyu mumbles out as he holds you tighter in his embrace. “Everything was going so well.”

“If you should be blaming anyone, it’s me.” You whisper out, voice small. “I let Jia’s words get to me, and I just… I lost all reason. I’m really sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.” Mingyu pulls away to look straight into your eyes. “But if you’re really sorry, you can make it up to me.”

“Oh? How?” You ask, intrigued.

“Cuddle me and maybe I’ll think about forgiving you.”

The next thing you know, Mingyu has changed into a pair of pajama pants and is jumping into the bed beside you. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply. “I missed this.”

“Gyu, we were literally apart for a few hours.”

“A few hours is still too long.” Mingyu complains. “The couch was so uncomfortable, and you weren’t beside me.”

“Aw, poor baby.” You tease, laughing at Mingyu as he drones on about how much he suffered through in your absence. You find that you could listen to him talk forever, could stare at his pretty face looking so animated as he drones on about whatever topic he finds interesting, could watch his pretty pink lips move into various shapes as the words leave his mouth—

“Yah.” The sudden change in Mingyu’s tone has you looking up from his lips to his eyes. “Don’t stare at me like that unless you’re trying to start something.”

You think that almost losing Mingyu has you wanting to savor every moment with him. Boldly, you reply, “What if I am starting something?”

Mingyu is silent, eyes flitting around to search your face for anything that would tell him that you were joking around. When he finds none, he’s immediately grabbing the back of your head and hungrily pressing his lips against yours. It’s hot, it’s breathy, it’s desperation incarnate. Mingyu kisses you like a man discovering salvation. 

Without breaking the kiss, he moves to hover over you, hands bracing himself on the bed as he continues to steal your breath from you. 

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” Mingyu hisses as he pulls away for a second to strip you down to your panties, each of his movements lacking finesse from the sheer desperation that floods his veins. Slowly—like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you—he drags his hands up from your hips, to your stomach, to the curve of your waist before they finally stop to squeeze at your bare chest. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

Mingyu doesn’t let you answer, crawling lower on the bed before he’s slipping your underwear off and licking a long line on your sex.

The moan that leaves you is loud, and immediately, your hands come up to cover your mouth. You had to remind yourself that you were not in the villa. You were in a hotel room, and the last thing you wanted to do was to give the room next to yours a show.

Mingyu doesn’t seem to share your hesitance because he continues his onslaught on your core, tongue licking messily at every inch of your pussy before he’s dipping it into your sopping hole. 

“Fuck, Gyu—“

You choke on a moan when Mingyu slips two fingers inside you and moves his mouth back up to suck on your clit. You throw your head back at the sensation, hands going down to push Mingyu’s head away. “Gyu, too much—“

Mingyu pulls away for a second to look up at you, looking like the embodiment of lust with your juices smeared all over his mouth. His gaze is dark as he speaks, “You started this, so take it.”

It’s the only warning you get before Mingyu plunges three fingers into your core, driving them in and out at a torturous pace as your eyes practically cross from the feeling. Immediately, one of your hands flies to cover your mouth, the other tugging at Mingyu’s hair.

“Do you like it when I finger you?” Mingyu coos as he leans over you, pulling your hand away from your mouth. “If you don’t answer me, I’ll stop.”

“I like it!” You rush your words through the breathy sighs that leave your mouth, not wanting Mingyu to stop whatever magic he was doing with your core.

“Like what?” Mingyu eggs you on like a bastard, and had you been thinking straight, you would’ve been giving him a piece of your mind.  

“Like it when you finger me.” You moan out. “Like anything you give me.”

You hear Mingyu curse under his breath before he pulls away, fingers retracting from your core. You whine at the loss, sitting up to chase the feeling of his body against yours only for Mingyu to push you down, back to the bed. Quickly, he strips himself of all clothing until he’s completely bare before you.

You don’t know if the sight of his hard cock scares you or turns you on. You think it’s a mixture of both. You’ve always known that Mingyu would be gifted in that area (as he is in all aspects, it’s unfair, really). He’s a large man, so it would only make sense that his dick would be proportional to the rest of his body. You’ve seen it strain against his pants multiple times, even felt it rub at you over and over.

But none of that was enough to prepare you for the sight of it bare, angry, and leaking.

You think you’ll break trying to fit all that.

Almost as if he can read your mind, Mingyu speaks, “Don’t look so worried. It’ll fit.”

Mingyu’s stroking his cock as his eyes drag themselves over your bare form. “If it doesn’t then we’ll just have to do this over and over until it does.”

You hate the way you involuntarily clench at his words. You didn’t think his mouth would be this foul, and you didn’t think that you’d enjoy it this much.

Mingyu seems to notice this, grin growing wider as he inches closer to you. “Oh? You liked that.”

You don’t know what comes over you when the next words leave your mouth, “Can I suck your cock?”

The grin on Mingyu’s face falls and his stroking comes to a halt. You see it, the way his eyes darken at the question. 

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You bite in your lip nervously. “But can you…”

Mingyu notices your hesitance. “Can I..?”

“Can you teach me?” You whisper out quickly, hoping that Mingyu wouldn’t understand and then the two of you can just move past it.

Mingyu is in disbelief, but the twitch of his cock gives away his excitement. “Have you never—“

“I didn’t have time.” You’re quick to cut him off, suddenly embarrassed at the eager look on his face. “I’ll probably be bad at it anyway so maybe we shouldn’t—“

“I’ll teach you.” Mingyu cuts you off and motions for you to come closer. “Come here, kneel.”

Oh shit, you were actually doing this.

You go to Mingyu who’s now sitting on the edge of the bed. Slowly, you kneel between his spread legs on the floor of the hotel room, heart pounding in your ears as you come face-to-face with his leaking cock. It’s even more horrifying now that it's only a few inches away.

“Fuck wait.” Mingyu is covering his face with two hands. “Give me a minute, I think I’ll bust early if you even breathe on it.”

At Mingyu’s words, you find yourself easing up enough to laugh at his predicament. Somehow, this man always knew what to say without realizing it. Mingyu’s always been like that, you think. He does what you need him to even if you don’t know what it is you need.

“It’s not funny.” Mingyu complains lightheartedly, but it only makes you laugh louder. “Fuck, you really don’t know the effect you have on me.”

–

Mingyu is fighting for his life not to cum all over your pretty face. He thinks it would be a shame to soil that pretty face of yours, but he can’t deny that the mental image of his cum splattered all over your lips has him getting harder in your hold. 

“Am I doing it right, Gyu?” Comes your soft voice before you lick at the tip of his cock, hands stroking the areas your tongue leaves untouched. Mingyu can practically feel his eyes roll back to the back of his head.

“Yeah,” Mingyu breathes out as he runs a hand through your hair. “You can try putting it in your mouth if you want to.”

Ever the overachiever, Mingyu watches as you wrap your lips around his cock. Immediately, Mingyu lets out a groan at the warm sensation of your mouth. It takes everything in him to stop himself from holding your head down and fucking himself into your throat. He doesn’t think you can handle that (yet, the depraved voice in his head adds), doesn’t know if his conscience will allow him to violate you like that.

“You can take more of it in, if you can.” Mingyu breathes out. “You can suck a little too—“

Mingyu lets out a curse when shove more of him into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing out as you suck him in deeper. “Fuck, wait—“

Mingyu pushes you off him, breathing heavily as he tries to will himself not to cum. He didn’t want to cum yet, not like this. The first time he cums, he wants it to be inside you, wants to cum so far up your guts that you’ll be dripping with him for days after this.

Fuck, what has gotten into him?

“Get on the bed, I need to be inside of you.” Mingyu rasps out. He finds himself pleased at how quickly you lie back on the bed. You were so obedient, so eager to please. It was the complete opposite of the nonchalant, domineering image you had. Mingyu revels in the idea that only he gets to see you like this, so docile and pliant. Without wasting a second, he follows you.

Finally, after how many months of busting his load in the shower haunted by the thought of you, he finally gets the real thing. There’s no one to disturb the two of you now, no one to stop Mingyu from fucking you into the mattress until you’re crying. Mingyu honestly hates seeing you cry, but here? Here was a different story.

“Will it fit?” Mingyu feels his cock twitch at your question. Poor you, he thinks. He had a pretty face, but nothing about the way he fucks his pretty. He was going to absolutely ruin you.

“I’ll take it slow.” Mingyu presses a chaste kiss to your forehead like he isn’t about fuck you open until your insides molded to his shape. “Just let me take care of you.”

—

You wonder if you’ll survive this.

Mingyu’s cock is heavy as he drags it back and forth through your folds, your slick staining the underside of his cock. The lewd feeling sends tingles down your spine, back arching when he stops dragging his cock through your folds to tap it repeatedly on your clit.

Mingyu places the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Ease up, love.”

It’s the only warning you get before your insides stretch to take his cock.

“Gyu—“ You cry out, the full feeling of your cunt overwhelming you as Mingyu pushes in deeper. “Gyu, wait—“

“Shh, I know, baby, I know.” Mingyu presses a kiss to your chin to appease you, fingers lightly stroking your clit to distract you. “Breathe for me.”

You moan at the way his fingers work at your clit while he pushes his cock deeper into you. It’s hard, it’s heavy, it’s everything you’ve thought it would be and more. You think you could die without regrets after this.

“Fuck, look at you taking all of me.” Mingyu groans once his entire length is engulfed by your heat, fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips to ground himself. “This pussy was made for me.”

You find yourself clenching at his words, a loud moan falling from your mouth at the filth that left his. Mingyu pulls back a little before thrusting back in and the sensation has you breathing out soft whimpers of his name. 

“Gyu, harder.” You plead as Mingyu keeps his thrusts short. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, wanted him to fuck you like he meant it.

Your plea has Mingyu pausing in his shallow strokes. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, baby.”

“I do!” You reply quickly, a tiny amount of frustration bleeding into your tone. “So stop holding back and just fuck me like you want to.”

“I love you,” Mingyu says before he raises your hips. “Keep that in mind while I’m fucking you.”

Mingyu pulls out until only the tip remains in you and slams back in like he’s trying to fuck through you. It’s rough, it’s bordering on painful, but you find that it’s everything you’re asking for. He starts with slow, harsh thrusts, each one of them pulling the most inhuman sounds from your throat. You’re lost in the haze, head thrown back as Mingyu continues pumping into you.

Mingyu, however, seems to grow tired of that slow pace, and after a few deep strokes, he starts a rough pace that has you digging your nails into his back. 

“Fuck, I should be taking my time with you.” Mingyu hisses through clenched teeth as he continues to pound your pussy.  “Should be making love to you.”

You revel in the idea. The idea that Mingyu was so lost in the feeling of your walls around him that he couldn’t pretend to be considerate anymore. The idea that you affected him so badly that he just needed to fuck you or else he would go insane. You would be lying if you said that it didn’t stroke your ego.

“Is this how you imagined your first time?” Mingyu leans down to rasp in your ear, breath hot and ragged. “Getting fucked like a whore?”

Your eyes practically roll back, his words shooting straight into your core as you clench down on him. You should slap him for talking to you like that, you think, but you enjoy it too much to care. That filthy mouth of his only makes you wetter with each depraved sentence that leaves it.

“Hard to believe it’s your first time, really” Mingyu’s voice is low as he continues to fuck you open. “You’re taking my cock so well.”

You moan when Mingyu’s cock brushes against a spot that has your vision going white. “Fuck, right there!”

“Is that your spot, baby?” Mingyu smiles against the shell of your ear as he angles his hips to brush against that spot over and over. When your moans get louder, he takes it as a confirmation. “It is.”

“Please, Gyu!” You whine, brows furrowing and lower lip jutting out as you plead. “Make me cum.”

With a rough swear, Mingyu starts focusing all of his energy into fucking you in that spot over and over. His movements get quicker, slowly losing their precision as you continue to get tighter around his cock. He fucks you like he’s on a mission to keep you from walking, hips crashing against your clit over and over to send electricity coarsing throughout your body.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight.” Mingyu grits his teeth, continuing to thrust into you at a bruising pace. He’s gone, you can see it in his eyes, pupils blown wide open as he watches your face contort in pleasure. There was nothing in his head other than the sheer desire to fuck you into this bed.

The sensation is overwhelming; Pleasure coursing through your veins as you continue to take Mingyu’s thrusts. You could feel it, the growing coil in your stomach was getting too tight to ignore. “Gyu, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum for me, then.” Mingyu doesn’t change his pace, continuing to hit that spot inside you that has your toes curling from the sheer pleasure. “Fuck that’s it, cum for me, baby. Come on, be a good girl and soak this cock—“

With a loud cry of his name, you cum, nails digging into Mingyu’s shoulders as your back arches off the bed. “Cumming!”

Fuck, you think you just died and went to heaven.

You’re boneless, breathless, and brainless as you twitch and spasm on the bed with nothing but Mingyu’s body tethering you to this plane. It’s insane, you think. All the nights you spent fucking yourself with your fingers couldn’t compare to what Mingyu just did to you. 

You don’t think you can go back.

Mingyu slows his thrusts, letting you come down from your high comfortably as you twitch and shake in his hold. “Did that feel good, love?”

“Yes, holy shit.” You nod, breathless as you wince at the feeling of his cock dragging through your overstimulated walls. “Gyu, wait, stop. Too much—“

“Can’t let you have all the fun, no?” Mingyu’s lips are shaped into a fake pout as he pulls out. “I haven’t even cum yet.”

He’s right, you realize. His cock was still hard, tip leaking obscenely as he pumped his shaft a few times, using your wetness as lube. It didn’t seem like he was going to soften up any time soon.

Shit.

Mingyu’s grin morphs into something darker, something more primal. “Now, it’s my turn.”

It’s the only warning you get before Mingyu roughly flips you onto your stomach and slams his cock back inside you.

The sudden fullness has you crying out, nails digging into the mattress as Mingyu’s large hand pushes your back into an ungodly arch. The shift only forces you to feel more of his cock, your eyes rolling back as whimpers and cries fall uncontrollably from your lips.

You were going to pass out at this rate.

“Fuck, look at that arch.” Mingyu laughs disbelievingly. “You’re a fucking natural.”

You whine at his praise, walls clenching tighter around him as he continues to thrust roughly into you. It didn’t matter that you were overstimulated, or that each drag of his cock against your walls set your nerve endings on fire. You just wanted to please him, wanted him to cum inside you until your vision and walls were white. 

“God, I love this pussy.” Mingyu breathes out shakily, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls your ass to meet his thrusts over and over. “So tight and wet around me, shit.”

“Yeah?” You manage to speak between moans. You don’t know what spirit overcomes you to have you saying your next words, “Is it better than all the other girls you fucked?”

Mingyu groans at your words, hips stuttering for a second, unable to believe the filth that just came from your mouth. “You jealous, baby?”

You pout, not getting the answer you want, but Mingyu is quick to rectify that.

He leans down, presses his chest against your back, and whispers against the shell of your ear. “You shouldn’t be.”

Mingyu’s hand squishes your face in his grip to turn your face to him, as far as your neck would allow in this position. “None of them got me like this. None of them got me jacking off in the shower every night.”

You moan as Mingyu slips a finger into your mouth, fingers prodding at your tongue in a way that has your eyes rolling back.

“None of them had me raw.” 

Suddenly, Mingyu’s back to pounding you like he hated you, dick reaching impossibly deeper into your cunt as he pinned your wrists onto your back with one hand. You had no choice but to take it like a ragdoll, face planted against the sheets and drool falling from your lips with neither of your arms free to support you.

Fuck, you think you could cum again.

“You’re insane if you think any of them could compare to you.” Mingyu growls, almost sounding angry at the thought of you even doubting yourself for a second. “You think I’ll ever go back to them after a taste of this cunt?”

It’s all too much: the thrusts, the words, and the sheer adoration you felt for this man. Your body genuinely did not feel like your own in that moment as you begged Mingyu to fuck you harder, and harder, and harder. You didn’t care if you couldn’t walk tomorrow, didn’t care if you ended up with a sore body and a bruised pussy. You just wanted this man to take you.

“Cum inside me, Gyu.” You manage to choke out. “Cum for me, please.”

Mingyu practically goes feral at your words, weight crashing onto you as his hips pummel into you harder and harder. It’s hot, sticky, and it smells like sex, but fuck if it doesn’t just turn you on more. “Yeah, you want me to cum inside you? Want me to knock you up, is that it?”

You can only nod along to his words, eyes rolling and head throwing itself back against his broad shoulder at the feeling of his buff arm locking around your neck. His grip on you is a stark contrast to the way he’s pressing soft, loving kisses against the side of your face. He’s fucking you like a whore and kissing you like you’re his entire world. It’s such an overwhelming mixture that you find yourself close to cumming yet again. “Yes! Please, please, please–”

“Take it, fucking take it.” Mingyu chokes out through moans as his thrusts pick up pace. “Gonna knock you up. Gonna get you pregnant. Everyone’s gonna look at you all round and glowing, and I’ll make sure they know I did that.”

“Fuck, Gyu! Cumming!” You warn him before you feel something snap inside you followed by a burst of wetness behind you. 

The feeling of you squirting around him sets Mingyu off, his thrusts losing rhythm as he shoves his full weight on you to drive his dick deeper into your sticky walls.

“I’m cumming, fuck!” Warmth fills your stomach as Mingyu buries himself inside you to the hilt. He’s groaning as he pulls out once, twice, grinding his cock slowly like he’s trying to fuck his cum deeper into you.

You’re dead. Gone. Absolutely wrecked. 

The only thing you can do is lie down as Mingyu presses soft kisses on your back, muttering apologies as he rubs soothing circles on your hip. The sudden shift—like he wasn’t just fucking your brains out—has you laughing. “Gyu, why are you apologizing?”

Mingyu groans, detaching from your back and laying down beside you before pulling you into his arms, his cock still nestled in your cunt. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that!”

You laugh at him, and Mingyu only pouts, hand coming up to cover his face out of embarrassment. “I had a good time, though?”

“I fucked you like an animal!” Mingyu whines, head tucking itself underneath your jaw. Instinctively, you cradle him to your chest. “I wanted to make our first time romantic, you know. I was going to scatter roses and stuff.”

You only laugh harder at him. The mental image of Mingyu scattering rose petals on a bed and taking you softly on it was definitely a complete 180 from the debauchery that took place.

“Hey, it’s not funny,” Mingyu complains, pinching one of your nipples which has you yelping. “Are you okay, though? It wasn’t too much?”

“No, it wasn’t.” You pinch his puffed out cheek. “Sure, I felt like my soul was going to leave my body at one point, but that’s just a testament to how well you did it.”

Mingyu practically glows at the praise, eyes looking up at you. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” You reassure him. “But you might have to carry me around. I can’t really feel my legs right now.”

“I’ll carry you even when I’m old and my bones are creaking.” Mingyu smiles softly as he traces his finger along your jaw. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before he splays his fingers on the back of your head, pulling you down to press a kiss on your lips.

It’s soft, it’s tender. You kiss Mingyu like he could slip away at any time. You kiss him like there’s nothing else in this world that you’d rather do. Mingyu kisses you back with just as much affection, if not more. It leaves you breathless, sends you reeling into a haze of lust and love all at once. Had you been the person you were, these feelings would’ve horrified you, would’ve scared you enough to have you running away.

But you don’t think you can run away from Mingyu no matter how hard you try. You don’t think he’ll let you.

You find that you don’t mind.

“I love you, Gyu.” The words leave you without a thought, like it’s second nature. Like every fiber of your being was wired to have you saying those words to him.

The smile on Mingyu’s face at your words is incomparable to anything in this world. You think you’ll do anything and everything to make sure his smile stays that way.

“I love you more.”

A/N: And that concludes Ready to Love! Thank you for everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on this fic. I will now be hiding away and pretending like I didn't write the last few (IF ONLY IT WAS FEW) paragraphs of this fic (have mercy on me, it’s my first time writing smut TT-TT).

🔹 taglist: @gaslysainz, @bingumingoo1004, @mrsjohnnysuh, @christinewithluv, @dcrlingyou, @cheolliesvt, @writtenby3racha, @eisaspresso, @sumzysworld, @akrispykrisp, @whoa-jo, @everyw0nu, @inmissiontoproposewoozi, @blaycke, @tiredpoetrybitch, @ameliamirabela, @luxynjun

[wonwoospeach]

this is a treasure chest that should never be forgotten

— KAI’S MASTERLIST ✧

꒰  all writing  ✦  full-length fics  ✦  series  ✦  wips  ✦  recs  ꒱

× all of these contain smut unless stated otherwise

× listed according to order of posting!

Keep reading

[wonwoospeach]

there's no way THERE'S JUST NO WAY people don't find this the hottest fucking thing ever

PLEASE SIR I DON'T THINK I CAN HANDLE THIS.

i need to be SURROUNDED by him, SWALLOWED UP in his arms and kissing his pretty face and belly because he is THE FINEST MAN EVER.

[wonwoospeach]

ruin me please

[250415] Harper’s BAZAAR JP Twitter Update:

【表紙解禁】 #SEVENTEEN #WONWOO が2パターンの表紙を飾る『ハーパーズ バザー』6月号特別版（4/18発売）の表紙を解禁！ 誌面ではトレンチコートや花柄を取り入れたクールなルックをお届け。とびきり優しい笑顔でファンへの思いを語った、愛があふれるインタビューもお見逃しなく。

translation:

【cover release】 #seventeen #wonwoo’s two cover photos for the 『harper’s bazaar』 june special edition (on sale 4/18) have been released！ the magazine features a cool look incorporating trench coats and floral patterns. don’t miss his interview full of love, in which he expresses his feelings for his fans with a gentle smile.

[wonwoospeach]

[wonwoospeach]

[wonwoospeach]

[210112] Seventeen Twitter Update:

SEVENTEEN on The @.latelateshow with James Corden

[wonwoospeach]

on a winter day where our noses are cold, let's meet again wonu🤍

[wonwoospeach]

[250320] Carat Land 2025 - D1

Meoow.Universe 🐈‍⬛ don’t edit/crop logo.

[wonwoospeach]

can anyone help me find a fic where the reader is best friends with wonwoo but becomes roommates with mingyu and then the reader and mingyu fell in love and he kinda just kept her a secret lover because he was scheduled to an arranged marriage and then in the end mingyu married his fiance???

[wonwoospeach]

this prince shua made my heart swoon

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible.   notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. smut tags: oral (m!receiving), mirror shenanigans, unprotected sex, softdom!shua, mating press, idk. they're in love your honor. [read part 1 here!] (please)

You decide June looks good on Acros. Unlike in Cotria, now sure to be perspiring with tourists, the downtown here is comfortable, inviting, even. At home, you’d be shoulder-to-shoulder with three other people right now. 

This is one of the things you like about this country: it seems to be intentionally idyllic. It’s becoming more clear to you that Joshua’s parents weren’t actually in need of anything from you other than a status boost. You suppose they’re learning the hard way what exactly that comes with.

Jeonghan’s car, or rather, the car Jeonghan happens to be in (he couldn’t drive his way out of a paper bag, try as he might), pulls up to the curb. He’s fresh off a stint of good press, meaning months of speeches, ribbon cutting, and run-ins with parliament and journalists and business moguls all vying for a bite of a future king. You’d add yourself to that list, but you know you’re at the back of the line—you practically live there now, but you’re not sure if things could have happened any other way. 

You watch him step out of the van, never windblown even though he likely just got off a flight. Always with a smile, too, one tired but recognizable, so different from the plasticky ones he wears on TV. 

The first thing he does when he gets out is throw his arms open for a bear hug. “Hey, cricket,” he says, voice wrought with jet-lag. “Missed you.” 

“Glad you had time for one more stop,” you murmur, squeezed into the million-thread count of his shirt. 

“I always have time for you,” he replies, which is decidedly untrue, but you don’t have it in you to say that. All you do lately is get into arguments, and you’re not looking to add your brother to your hit list. 

(He hugs Jihoon, too, since you all practically grew up together. Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me? Jeonghan jokes. Jihoon’s reply: It’s my gun. It’s always my gun.) 

The second thing he does is push the brim of your baseball cap down.

“The paps,” he warns, as if they were the boogeyman.  

“If they can’t recognize us, they need to get better at their job.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “For God’s sake, Jeonghan, we’re all wearing matching hats.” 

No, you are not kidding. Jeonghan, blue, you, red, and Jihoon, green, a la The Powerpuff Girls, which was a joke you made about six years ago and could not let go of. 

“Whatever,” he laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be showing me around? This is your domain now.” 

“Don’t get excited. I just got here.” 

“What do you need to go shopping for, anyway?” he asks, now walking side-by-side with you. 

“I ask that question every day,” Jihoon replies, glancing at Jeonghan as if to say Women, right?, save for the fact that the both of them have exactly zero game. 

“Somi’s birthday!” you exclaim, two ticks too loudly. “Stuff, I dunno. Just trying to get used to this place.” 

“This isn’t exactly Rodeo Drive, you know.” 

That, Jeonghan is right about. You’re sure there must be a shopping district somewhere in Acros, but definitely not here. Here, the streets are lined with dense cherry plum trees, wine-stained and fragrant. They frame driftwood-paneled shop windows housing kitschy art galleries, mom-and-pop bakeries, and patioed bistros with striped awnings. 

An elderly couple passes you. They smile and wave, visible even under the shade of their parasol, either blissfully unaware of your status or too wise to care. 

“I know,” you waver. “Whatever. I'll just get Yunjin to find me something for the party.” 

Your eye wanders to the jaunty facade of a music store. The sign flaunts handmade, cursive letters with a curly treble clef in the lacquer of old paint. In Cotria, the same sign would be neon, Hollywood-esque, vain. 

“Party?” 

“Let's go there,” you interrupt, hoping to run your big mouth over with some more talking. Of course Jeonghan wouldn’t be cool with any party, nonetheless the one Somi was planning on throwing, but, either by habit or wishful thinking, the news just tumbled right out of you. 

“Party?” Jeonghan repeats. He trails close after you, hoping to grab the door before you can. Such is what he had been taught, after all, which came more naturally than navigating big-brotherhood. “Jihoon?”

Jihoon shrugs, and opens the door before the both of you get there. You’ve trained him well. 

“It’s a small thing,” you tell him. “Close friends only.” It’s not technically a lie—small is relative, and it’s not your fault Somi has two hundred-some close friends.

Inside, you notice the shop is bigger than it looks from the outside. In the front, their nicest pianos: the glossy Yamahas, the baby grands. a lone drum set, on sale, the hi-hat sparkling under the LED lights. And finally, guitars hung from the wall like posters, some lime green and child-sized, others sanded down so the mahogany glows. 

“You already know what I’m going to say,” Jeonghan says, the lilt of his voice verging on not-so-casual. 

“Then don’t say it,” you reply flatly. “You went to those parties too, by the way.” 

“Used to, but—” Jeonghan sighs because he’s beat, and he knows it. 

You absentmindedly flip through a book of sheet music—Alfred's Essentials of Music Theory. behind it, 40 Taylor Swift Songs for Piano. 

“You’ve been good, I hope?” you cut in. “Not too tired?” 

“No,” Jeonghan says.  “I've been great. You?” 

You can’t read his expression. Old Jeonghan would tell you that he’s ready for a nap, that he hates sleeping on airplanes, that his hands still get sweaty when he gets in front of a crowd and the camera flash hurts his eyes. New Jeonghan never complains, either because of some drastic change in his character or because he feels like he can no longer complain to you. Both hurt your feelings in equal measures.

“I called, you know.” 

“I was busy, cricket.” He holds up a copy of Complete Advanced Piano Solos and wrinkles his nose. He's hoping you’d laugh with him about it, but you’ve already moved on, now fixated on the shining columns of electric guitars. “I wanted to ask about, you know, all the new stuff going on.” 

“You mean my arranged marriage?” The words feel stiff in your mouth. 

The arranged marriage I'm doing for you? I split my heart open for you, and that’s the thanks I get? 

You avoid Jihoon’s tentative glare to look at your noodled reflection in the polish of a red Fender. You think of Joshua, of a corny rendition of Here Comes The Sun and a pick between his teeth, cradling a guitar held by a linty, ten dollar strap. 

Then you think of what he said on that piano bench—that somehow he could have prevented this. Actually, this might have been all your fault. One too many shots, and you ended up setting feminism back five centuries. 

“Y-yeah.” You watch Jeonghan’s silhouette appear behind yours. “Has it been okay, at least?” 

Okay is a complicated word to use. It’s hard to say, even for you. 

It would certainly be TMI to tell Jeonghan that you’ve been kissing a lot more often. First it was under the flimsy guise of practice—We have to be ready for our dinner tomorrow, Joshua had said, to which you readily agreed. You couldn’t be the unwilling victim of another headline like KISS OR MISS! It would be terrible for your ego, even more so than your public image. 

Yesterday, though, as you were winding down for bed, Joshua had come out of the shower, damp white tee and all. A sorry, unspeakable part of you willed you to posit—Hey, maybe we need a refresher? You couldn’t even get halfway through your sentence. Hell, his glasses even came off.

You really only liked each other past 9 PM—you still couldn’t quite manage to get through a conversation like normal people. At this point, you had a 50/50 split in terms of who would cast the first terrible stone of petty disagreement. The only thing we have going for us is a dubious physical attraction, seemed like way more of a mouthful than okay, though. 

“Yeah, it’s been okay.” You look around. There's a decent amount of mediocre acoustic guitars on the back wall, more than enough to scratch the itch of someone too afraid to defile something more honorable. “Hey, don’t wait up for me. I think i might buy something.” 

—

[august 10, 2:57 pm; a dress fitting. 

In the ten-foot mirror of the boutique dressing room, you watch Yunjin yank the ties of your corset into a punishing knot. Your mother watches behind you, perched on the chaise. 

“Regal and radiant,” she reads aloud, the shiny cover of a magazine between her hands. “Finally, some good news.” 

“About you and Joshua?” Yunjin asks. 

“Ye–ow!” you wince. “Yeah. We went out to dinner yesterday.” 

The dinner: an exhausting, stuffy affair at an Italian restaurant with two Michelin stars. You came in a nice dress, Joshua in slacks and his best button-up. Smile, wave, a kiss on the cheek. You fed him a spoonful of dessert, a stiff, too-sweet panna cotta. It was either raspberry or strawberry—you were too distracted to really notice. Instead, you’d been practicing the steps, the motions of a true love. 

Should we hold hands over the table? Joshua had asked. 

I don't think we have to. Your hand had curled over the napkin on your lap, as if the thought of his touch physically stung. 

“This is a nice color,” your mother interrupts. She pinches the fabric of the skirt up at your waist, watching the way it bunches over your hips. “It's suitable.” 

Suitable. Right. The dress for your engagement ball, suitable. Just like you, newly suited for the engagement. 

You watch your image in the mirror. It’s taller, more regal, likely the product of Yunjin squeezing all the air out of you, Or worse, the penetrating gaze of your mother over the top of the tabloid.

You blink hard; you waver. ]

[august 20, 10:13 pm; a quiet return to acros after a day at the beach with somi and soonyoung. 

The castle sleeps, warm under the soft glow of candlelight on marble. You pad through the halls, carefully, as to avoid waking the entire country with the thwacks of your still-wet sandals. Hopefully Joshua is sleeping. He'd certainly ask questions, either about if bikini tops really need all that padding or what the SPF of your sunscreen was. 

You approach your room, where the lamplight from the cracked door oozes into the hallway. There's a determined rustling noise coming from the interior. Incriminating. Holding your breath, you cast a long glance into the thin slice of bedroom you can see from where you’re standing. 

There sits Joshua, cross-legged on the bed. Between his legs, the guitar you bought him. It must have finally shipped. He’s tied the gift ribbon it came with to the guitar strap, a woven linen with an offensively bright jacquard pattern. 

A hesitant A major chord, then G major, offkey. Hm, he hums aloud. Then you notice his phone propped on a pillow, a Youtube tutorial rumbling in the background. He tries the G major again. Better, he says, pumping a fist into the tired air. 

God, what a dork, you think. But you don’t walk away.] 

– 

From the garden, the Acrosian moon renders the city blue, like ink from a spilled well. 

It’s quiet out here, you notice. The forest spills into the sky, and the scent of roses lies heavy on your skin. You’re seated on the bench beneath the sculpted gazebo, a worthy centerpiece, and you revel in the coolness of the granite, the bated still of the air. You like this garden better than the one at home, although it’s entirely possible that you’ve been conditioned into hating all topiaries, no thanks to your parents. 

It's only when you hear the quiet click of footsteps behind you that you realize you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been outside. You’re now able to tell them apart–these, Joshua’s, steady and purposeful, sound like they have a heartbeat. 

You don’t turn around to greet him. “So you finally had enough, huh?” you ask instead, sliding to the left so he can sit beside you. 

“How'd you know?” he chuckles. 

“I'd like to think I know at least a little about you.” 

“I appreciate it,” is his reply, surprisingly warm.

Just a few hours earlier, your parents had come to visit. They cooed and giggled and connived alongside Joshua’s parents before launching into a very long, very serious discussion about your engagement ball. You’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff, the small stuff being the color of the napkins, the members of the string quartet, the hors d'oeuvres. But then it got weird: the symbolism of the color of your nail polish, which journalists were allowed to watch you make out, when and how Jeonghan was supposed to announce his presence during all of this. 

Then things got critical, which really sucked. No one was safe this time, not even Joshua. You lasted about an hour, Joshua about forty-five minutes more. You wonder what his breaking point was. Maybe it was his mother finally telling him off for having more than three buttons undone whenever he wore a dress shirt. 

In the silence, you feel an inexplicable peace. Maybe this is the only time you can get along; underneath the same moon, the same stars, the divide doesn’t feel quite as wide. You let your mind clear, first, past the fog of Somi’s birthday bash, glittery and blinding in your mind’s eye, past Jeonghan’s tired shoulders in the music store, past all the magazine covers and photo ops. The heavy reality feels heavier in your stomach, but you’re no longer as scared, although resignation looks like acceptance when you whittle it close enough to the bone. 

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

Joshua’s voice is so low, it takes you by surprise. You look to your side and see his eyes, shaded by the long curl of his lashes, trained on the sky, his expression unreadable. There’s a piercing sincerity to it, one you haven’t seen before. 

“No,” you reply, the answer coming to you faster than any regret ever could. “How could i?” 

“So all the boyfriends before, just…?” he trails off. He's referencing the magazines, all the covers with full size photos of you and the model of the month holding hands by the riviera, sharing a martini, kissing outside a nightclub. There are too many to remember, but you’re surprised he’s aware of any at all. 

“It was just stupid fun. I dunno. We hung out, had sex, whatever. It was never serious. I didn't tell them about anything at all; I was okay with them not really knowing me, at least, not as anything other than a party girl, the runaway princess, etcetera. We didn’t owe each other anything.” 

“Sounds lonely.” 

“Sometimes,” you answer. “But it was fun. I don't regret it. I just never saw room for them in all of this.” 

Joshua hums, low and deep. 

“And you?” you ask, incredulous. “In love?” 

“In university,” he says after a brief pause. “There was a girl. I think I loved her more than I had ever loved anything else before.” 

“What? Who?” you interrupt. “Do I know her?” 

“No.” Then, a quiet chuckle. “No one did. She was a civilian, a normal girl. She wanted to be a biologist, I think. it was either that, or a nurse. We snuck around a lot. Probably more than you did.” 

“Can I ask what happened?” 

“I told her I'd marry her. I thought if I wanted it enough, it would happen. I'd go to my parents, profess my love, and all our rules would fall away somehow. Just like that.” 

Suddenly, it feels like there is a gaping wound in your chest. Every new word seems to draw the bloody edges of your skin further apart. 

“Well, they didn’t,” Joshua continues. “I broke her heart. and I learned that all of this would never go away. Not for love, not for anything.” 

There is an impossible hollowness inside you. You imagine Joshua, twenty-one and bright-eyed at Cambridge, hiding beneath the arch of the cobblestone bridge, the long one behind the quad, to carve hearts into the limestone. There's a girl wrapped in his jacket, her laughter like bells. She draws him close, runs a delicate hand through his hair, a shorter cut, more sporty than it is now. The night is still just as kind, forgiving, as it is now, and the moon still round like a young pearl. 

“And that’s why you’re…you know.” You pause. The words all feel stuck to the roof of your mouth. “You like the rules.” 

“Because it would mean that it didn’t end in vain. That it wasn’t really my fault.” 

“You don’t want to mess up again. I get it.” 

“Yeah.” 

You notice your arms are touching, that they have been touching. Somehow, you don’t want to move away. 

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask.

“Not sure.” Joshua sighs, having fully abandoned the filter he normally speaks to you through. “I don't think we’re so different. I don't know. It feels good to tell someone.” 

“Do you still love her?” 

“No. I don't think I can.” 

“I'm sorry,” you swallow, feeling the familiar lump in your throat. 

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

It’s getting cold, the twilight breeze now coming in from the sea. A silence, now sticky, caustic, settles between the two of you. The thought of Joshua, hopelessly in love, a line you hadn’t even dared to cross, seems to wind itself deep into your neurons. 

“No really,” you insist. “I'm sorry. I gave you a hard time—no, I've been giving you a hard time. I didn't know.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“What?” 

“Be nice to me. No one’s watching.” 

“I know,” you say, a foolish conviction rising in your stomach. You almost feel silly, juvenile, for never really baring your heart like how he had. You’re not sure which was worse. 

You turn to look at him, really look at him. He's framed by the haze of the violets, the gentle curtain of the willows. 

“Says the real you?” Joshua asks.

“Yup,” you laugh. “Usually is. You probably get the worst of it, to be honest.” 

“She’s not so bad.” He returns your gaze; it’s honest, unsearching. “According to the real me, by the way.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

There are no words left. In fact, nothing quite says more than the way you now sit together, hands close enough to touch, without quarrel, complaint, or a yearning to prove yourself to some invisible standard. Instead, you enjoy the quiet calm, the way it drapes itself across the garden, the city, the quick of your heart. Now that you think about it, it’s the first time you’ve been able to do this without feeling like you were putting on a show.

This time, you think it’s real when you lean against his shoulder, and he leans back, chasing your warmth.

And it certainly seems to stay real when your hands find each other. You realize he does it the same way every time—the gentle skim of his fingertips down your hand before your palms meet, gently, forthright. 

And it’s here, in the uncertain glow of the summer moon, where you think you’re the closest to ever knowing just what Joshua had been talking about earlier. 

His hand curls around your cheek, holding you, wanting to see you clearer still, and he kisses you. It's not the practiced motion of an ill-conceived love, nor a hungry, blind stumble in your unlit bedroom. No, this time, it's as if you are being drawn back, wonderfully, slowly. Joshua kisses you as if it's the first time, as if to undo all the other times.

And somehow, almost by magic, the fountain song and the phantom photographers, the parents and the press, the world and everything in it, finally draw quiet. 

–

“So,” Jihoon says, reloading his pistol. “You ok? Don’t you hate the range?” 

You push your earmuffs aside to hear him better. “What?” 

“I said, don’t you hate the range?” 

“Well,” you balk. Jihoon puts the gun down and leans against the booth, looking at you from behind the glare of his safety glasses. Behind him is the paper target of a man with five bullet holes through his head. “I think I've gotten used to it.” 

This is all true—you did hate the range, but it’s where you can always count on finding Jihoon on a Sunday afternoon. Better people went to church, but Jihoon preferred to terrorize the poor center circle of a bullseye. 

“Hm.” He picks up the pistol again, stares down its iron sights. “Somi need anything for her birthday?” 

“She needs a new man,” you reply, and Jihoon laughs. 

Bang. Bang. 

“But, no, I'm getting her that vintage Cartier watch she’s been wanting forever. They were auctioning it off in Paris.” 

“Right, since it’s time for her to get a new boyfriend,” Jihoon deadpans, although he can’t quite get it out before he chuckles. “What about Soonyoung?” 

“They cannot get together. You’re just being messy.” 

“Sure, I'm the messy one. Didn’t they sleep together?” 

“That was, like, two years ago. Drunk.” 

Bang. Then a click–the clip’s empty. “By the way—you decided if you’re going to Cotria this weekend? Jeonghan will be back again, you know.” 

You pause, watching Jihoon reload the magazine, shiny bullet by bullet. You definitely know Jeonghan’s coming home—minus all the time you spend on Find My Friends, you were always acutely aware of when he was in town. The real question is if you wanted to see him again. Usually, you’d count down the days, make plans at all your favorite restaurants, buy a bottle of cheap wine to split over a shitty Godzilla movie. That was when you still talked. 

The last time you saw him was when he visited you in Acros. After the music store, you milled around a couple shops, walked through an art gallery. (Remember when you got lost at the Prado? he had asked. You were staring at that painting with all the butts. 

Kinda, you had replied noncommittally. All Jeonghan did lately was start his sentences with remember, like he wanted you to forget who he was now.) 

“I dunno,” is what you land on. “I'm busy.” 

“Well, Jeonghan asked me.” Jihoon takes down his old target and sets up a fresh one, another formless, black silhouette. 

“Asked you what?”

“If I could ask you to come.” 

“Does Josh know?” 

“He actually already helped with arrangements for you to go back,” Jihoon replies, palming the gun again. “He said only if you wanted to, though.” 

The tightness in your chest seems to coil over itself once more. Joshua had asked you about Jeonghan over breakfast one morning, before handing you a coffee and a croissant to soften the blow. You had been talking a lot more lately, which, somehow, you didn’t mind. If he wasn’t making fun of you, he was actually a decent listener. 

You watch Jihoon steady his arms. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

–

Like all of your great ideas, it began in the back of a car. 

Surprising, maybe. Accidental? Never. 

You’re getting ahead of yourself, though. It really started earlier tonight, at the charity event you attended with Joshua. 

Lesser beings would blame the wine, a cheap chardonnay only fit for sorority girls on a Friday night. Naturally, you and Joshua were responsible for downing about half the bottle—a fun amount, you’d like to say, although you admit you were surprised at your date’s ability to hold his alcohol. 

You, however, can peg the real culprit: a reasonably slutty dress, removed from the annals of Somi’s closet, back when she was less of a Paris Hilton and more of a Princess Diana. 

The evidence: damning. As you were getting ready—Can you zip me up? you had asked Joshua, fiddling with the rollers in your hair, already a generous ten minutes late. Then the slow, lingering skim of his touch, molasses up the hollow of your spine. At dinner, a warm hand on your knee. You didn’t hang around much longer after that, but walking to the car was a wondrous excuse for the flat of his palm to find the small of your back, fondly, comfortably, as if you had known each other for years. 

Since you had spoken in the garden, certainly you had acted like more of a couple. It came more naturally, likely due to the fact that you had no idea if you were actually a couple or not. You suppose it doesn’t matter at the end of the day. Well—sort of.

Now, you’re just being obtuse. What you’re really trying to do is explain how your hand found its way down Joshua’s pants in the back of your limousine. And still, found is too generous of a word. But you digress. 

The short version: you kissed Joshua. Jihoon parked the car out back, you had gotten tired of Joshua glancing at you through the side of his eyes, and you kissed him. Regrettably, this hasn’t gotten boring yet. You enjoy the way he searches for your touch, the part of his soft lips. 

Sometime between the third and the tenth time your tongue found its way into Joshua’s mouth, Jihoon removed himself from the situation—he was always good at that part. Two wandering hands later, your palm skimmed over the front of Joshua’s slacks. No big deal, except he was half-hard and he moaned in your mouth like he was doing the ad-libs in a Cupcakke song. 

“Whoops,” you had babbled. This whole night, you’d been searching for the brakes on the clown car winding through the horny fog of your horrible, vexed mind. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Joshua replied just as quickly, the words seeming to slip back down his throat. 

Then you had stared at each other and blinked, hard, as if that would erase the fact that, one, the prince of Acros had just cursed approximately half an centimeter from your face, and two, you’d now crossed a bridge that could not be uncrossed. 

You could no longer lie to yourself about the fact that you are hopelessly attracted to Joshua. You don’t even know if you want to lie anymore. You still thought of the time you ran into him, birthday suit and all, all those weeks ago in the bathroom. And, yes, you had wondered how big he was, although you blame Somi for planting that evil idea in you. 

Hence, with God as your witness (since Jihoon was no longer there), you had said, “I can help, you know. If you want.” 

You didn’t expect Joshua to nod so quickly. Then again, you now know yourself to be a poor judge of most things, especially ones relating to whatever this is. 

“Do you want to?” he had asked, eyes fogged over. 

“Yes. really.” Then you stopped. “Is this your first—”

“No. Does it really seem like it?” 

Okay. You’ll have to unpack that later. 

So, finally, here you are. Somewhere along the line, your shame had fallen to the wayside, and a new desire now rocks you. 

“Could’ve just asked earlier,” you tease, thumbing the buckle of Joshua’s belt. 

“Should’ve known you’re not one for subtlety,” he laughs softly, his eyes fixed on how you undo the clasp. It’s a silly comment, but all the blood still rushes to your cheeks at the idea of him wanting you not just now, but all night. “Next time.” 

“Really now.” The button at his waistband proves difficult with your new nails, so you instead sit your hand on the tent in his pants, palm him over the fabric. “You’d let me do this in the washroom of a charity ball?”

Delightfully, you watch him squirm. He doesn’t fight you, instead, uses his hands to bring you closer so you can feel his voice on your skin. “You’d be surprised,” he replies. 

“His highness,” you say before returning to the wretched button, “Fooling around at a formal event? Scandalous.” 

“Says the walking scandal,” Joshua laughs again, nipping at your earlobe. Then a sigh, breathy and tortured, as you finally peel back his slacks. 

“Isn’t this about the time where you be quiet and let me do my thing?”

“Is that an order?” 

“Yeah, since you seem to like them so much.” 

He opens his mouth to complain, but you’ve beaten him to the punch. Skin meets skin; you watch his eyes flutter shut, the slow fall of his shoulders as he exhales. 

Fuck, you think to yourself. If that’s all it takes for him to get hard— you force the thought back to where it came from. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Already, you’re reveling in the lewd image before you: the nation’s darling prince, legs spread and slack-jawed in the back of a limo, dizzy at the thought of a pretty girl playing with his cock. 

Your hand wraps around his length, pulls it out of his briefs. Feeling the weight, heavy and warm on your palm, makes your skin prickle. He is big, but even if he wasn’t, the way he gasps into your ear when you start pumping him is enough to satisfy. 

You start slow, just to be a little mean. He's longer than you expected, you realize. A turn of the wrist at the base, a little more pressure, and you hear him groan, loudly, shamelessly, as he tips his head back. 

“Feels good?” you ask, voice lower than a whisper. You know it does—you’re not inexperienced by any stretch of the imagination, but something about turning the prince into putty makes the months of horrible foreplay worth it. 

“Yeah,” he says, part sigh. “Really good.” 

“Good.” Then you hold out your palm in front of his mouth. You tell yourself it’s a litmus test for his freak-o-meter, but there’s a part of you that wants to make this the best handjob of his short, unexciting life. 

First, he looks at you, wide eyes unblinking. There's already a flush, pretty and pink, across his cheeks, the column of his neck. Then, it clicks. He spits into your hand, and you watch it trail down the plush curve of his lips, his chin, the ridge of his adam’s apple. The color spreads to his ears; his mouth twists shyly. Oh, he looks perfect, maybe even more than perfect like this. 

As if drawn by a magnet, you kiss him, and your hand finds his cock again. The friction alone draws out a low whine from Joshua’s chest, enough for you to feel the sound on your own tongue. Emboldened, you pump faster, harder, loving the way his hips kick up to meet your touch. 

Still, he gives no indication that he’s close. Something tells you he has more stamina than you think, which surprises you. Thirty minutes ago, you thought he was a virgin. 

“Josh?” you murmur, your lips brushing over his. “Wanna taste you.” 

He meets your gaze, expression unreadable. You think maybe you’re moving too fast, that you’ve crossed some sort of boundary, until you feel the shadow of his hand move, first on your waist, then up the back of your neck. He gathers your hair in one hand, easily, as if he’s done this many a time before, and you get the message. 

You wet your lips, swollen at this point, and bow your head. You’re running on something crazier than adrenaline at this point—even seeing the bead of precum at his tip is making your jaw feel heavy. 

The first taste, always thrilling, sends sparks to your cunt. You seal your lips around his cockhead, feeling its weight on your greedy tongue, and he pulls your hair just enough to make you moan. 

“Were you thinking about doing this all night?” Joshua asks, voice deceptively innocent. 

You can’t answer. You don’t want to. He tastes good, he even fucking smells good, and you want him bad. Instead, you take him to the base, feel him bump against your palate as you try not to gag. You can’t fit him all the way, so your hands make up the slack. He's even bigger fully hard, and already, you feel the ache in your cheeks, your temples. 

“Fuck, you must have been.” A groan, low and slutty. “Doing so good for me.”

You can’t tell if he’s being genuine or if this is his version of dirty talk, but it’s working. His hand is gentle, restrained behind you, letting you lead. The worse part of you wonders what it would take for him to break, but that’s a project for another time. 

Honestly, he doesn’t need to do much—again and again, you chase the feeling of his cock deep in your throat, enough to bruise. You don’t even care if you gag around him; when you do, he pulls your hair back, just enough to make your scalp prickle wonderfully, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you like it. 

You feel heady with arousal. You start to wonder how he is in bed, if he’d hold your hair like that, run his mouth like he is now. He's vocal, more than anyone else you’ve been with, and every little noise goes straight to your core, makes your thighs squeeze together pathetically. By now, you’re sure you’ve ruined this set of panties. 

“ ‘m close,” he says between breaths. “You don’t have to—” 

Stupid, stupid boy, you think. You don’t think you’ve wanted to do anything more. So instead of answering, you look up at him, eyes big and watery, and you suck hard. with your tongue nestled underneath his cockhead, right by the vein, it’s almost too easy. 

He groans, loud, satisfied, and you feel his release fill your mouth. Even after swallowing, it’s enough to run down your chin, get your makeup all smudged, and you like it. If you weren’t in trouble already, you are now. 

“Ah, I made you a mess,” Joshua says, gravelly and intimate. With one hand, he takes the handkerchief out of his suit jacket and cradles your jaw with the other. “Hold still.” 

“You,” you manage after clearing your throat. “You don’t have to sacrifice your pocket square.” 

“Yes, I do,” he chuckles. He wipes the corners of your mouth, your aching chin, and it almost makes you cry. “You literally gave me head in the back of a car. The pocket square can go.” 

He draws you up to his chest so you can rest your head on him. There’s a warm, melty feeling between your ribs, minus what you had just swallowed. Inexplicably, even as the horny fog clears from your brain, you still want to be close, closer than close and then closer still. 

“Head? I don’t like hearing you use normal people slang.” You pout, and you feel his laugh radiate from beneath his skin. “Good head, at least?” 

“Oh, please. Better than good,” he answers. “You’re perfect. perfect.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you start. Then he shuts you up with his mouth over yours, and you forget to think about liking him, loving him, or marrying him—this, you think you can do. 

—

“We’re in Barcelona!” 

You’re greeted by a pocket sized Somi and Soonyoung as they grin at you from your phone screen. They look to be on the balcony of a hotel suite, both wearing their matching silk robes. 

“Wow,” you reply. “And where was my invite?” 

“We did invite you, bitch,” Somi says, pulling down her sunglasses to look at you. “You said you were busy.” 

“Well, I mean…” you uncap a bottle of nail polish. “That's not untrue.”

“The ocean needs you,” Soonyoung whines, clutching his chest. “We need you.” 

“I'm sorry! Josh and I have been doing engagement stuff.” 

“Josh? Since when were you on a nickname basis?” 

“Whatever,” you interrupt. “What are you guys gonna do today?” 

“Beach,” Soonyoung responds brightly, with Somi’s Don’t let her change the subject! loud in the background. 

To be honest, you don’t even know the answer to her question. It just sort of happened, which seems to be the new normal for you. You’re also trying to pull apart last night–the freak-o-meter test came back inconclusive, and, for some reason, Joshua fell asleep with his arm over your middle. (Actually, you can think of a few reasons why he did that, but you’re not really sure how to feel about any of them.) 

“Ugh, I miss you guys.” You wipe at your pinkie toe, having smudged the polish beyond repair. “Drink a little extra sangria for me. And by little, I mean a lot.”  

“You’re still coming to Somi’s birthday, right?” Soonyoung asks.

“Yes, of course she is,” Somi replies. “Unless you can’t. Which I totally understand.”

“I still can,” you lie. “It just has to be more low-key than usual.” 

“No paparazzi,” Somi says. “And I'll tell everyone to keep you on the down low. Super duper down low.” 

“No way.” Damn, you curse to yourself—you keep screwing up painting your big toe. “Seriously?”

“Anything for my queen,” she giggles. “Pitbull is also confirmed, by the way. Secret Pitbull now.” 

“Good, because that’s the only reason I’m coming.” 

“Boo, you whore.” Somi wrinkles her nose at you playfully. (Is she being serious? Soonyoung asks in the background.) “Also, I'm still waiting for my update on the whole prince thing. I've been very patient.”

“No updates. Nothing to report,” you insist. Frustratingly, your cheeks are hot, like you’re in secondary school all over again. 

“You fucked him, huh?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Halfway. Maybe.” 

The combined sound of Somi and Soonyoung’s gasps rips apart your phone speakers, and you draw in a big breath. I did it for the plot doesn’t quite seem like the right justification, not like it used to be. The plot never used to involve the M word, love, or any sort of feelings at all. Now things are more confusing than late-stage Grey’s Anatomy, but good luck explaining that over the phone.

“So you do like him,” Soonyoung says, saucer eyes sparkly on-screen.

“I don't know,” you answer. It’s true, you don’t. To you, like was flirting over text and french kissing. Paradoxically, you had told Joshua all of that, and he still decided to do whatever he did to you on the ledge of the fountain all those days ago. It felt like he ate the heart right out of your chest. Then you had to go and suck his dick, which never made anything less complicated. 

“Oh please. Look at you,” Somi laughs. “Yeah, you do.” 

Fuck. You’ve smudged all the polish off your big toe again. 

– 

Not much surprises you these days, but you can’t say you were expecting to see your riding boots to be the first thing you see when you arrive home in Cotria. 

The second thing you see is Jeonghan, smiling at you in his big, stupid riding helmet, camo-printed because he bought it when he was 15 and his head never grew much bigger since. 

“For old times sake?” He then holds your own helmet up by the straps, and whatever twinge of annoyance you had felt earlier makes way for something softer, more forgiving. “Everything's set up outside.” 

It doesn’t take you much time to take him up on the offer. If anything, a long ride usually solves all your problems, and you definitely have problems that need solving. 

You saddle up in the stables, wordlessly, moved by habit. It seems to be the same for Jeonghan, too. Even Peanut acts like it hasn’t been years since he’s seen him, and he noses at the box of sugar cubes like he always does. Then again, horses don’t hold grudges, at least, not like you do. Even Joshua seemed more optimistic about this encounter than you did. 

“So you're back back,” you say, hooking your feet in the stirrups. “Or do you have more jet-setting to do?” 

“Back back,” Jeonghan replies. “Missed home too much.” 

He cocks his head towards the old riding trail, the one that loops the long way through the woods. The gesture is but a formality—it’s the only path you ever take. Still, you follow behind his horse, watching the beige swoosh of Peanut’s tail the same way you did when you were a little girl and things were far simpler than they are now. 

Under the cornflower sky of a near-autumn, the forest seems endless. A flock of geese split the sky in two; a warm breeze haunts the canopy, scattering the afternoon light. The dirt under you is soft, peaty from the morning rain. The hoofbeats are silent today. 

Jeonghan’s horse slows so that you ride side-by-side. 

“Hey, cricket?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I…” Jeonghan clears his throat and pauses, quite unlike him. “I wanted to come out here to talk.” 

“Everything ok?” 

“Yeah, I…” Another pause. “I know things haven’t felt normal between us. For me, at least.” 

You almost drop the reins. A strange, floating feeling is set off in your body, like a flare. 

“Yeah,” you reply. “I was kinda hoping you would say that.” 

“I'm sorry.” A hard swallow. “I haven't really been the best brother, have I?” 

“Well, not…not really.” Quickly, frenetically, words bob up in the back of your mouth like you’re playing whack-a-mole. You had been waiting for this conversation to happen for so long, you realized you hadn’t planned much further than that. “It felt like you’d changed. A lot.” 

The wind feels like ribbons around you. You sway back and forth on Astrid, as if on a boat. 

“Was it the birthday party thing?” you ask. “I didn’t mean for it to…you know.” 

“Actually, that was my fault.” Jeonghan smiles bitterly. “I shouldn't have let Mom and Dad run me over like that. You should’ve been there. It was never really the same without you.” 

“Well, I should've come,” you admit. “So we both fucked up.” 

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “But the rest—definitely my fault. I made myself busy because I felt like I had to.” 

You’re growing to really hate that word. Jeonghan had to grow up, Joshua had to break up with his first love, you had to learn to pick up all the pieces of both of these things and try to fit them back into your life. 

“You didn’t even look back.” 

“I was scared, cricket. That if I kept looking back, I wouldn't be able to go forward. And I didn’t want to leave you behind, but I did. I think there was a happy middle somewhere, I just couldn’t find it.” 

“Jeonghan, you’re not really making sense right now,” you say, flattened, and he laughs. 

“I don't even know what I'm saying. I think I'm trying to say that I just want you to be happy. And that I'm sorry.” 

You bite your lip, as if to distract yourself from the strange pressure in your throat. You think you want to cry, but you’re not sure.

“But are you happy?” you ask. “With the coronation and everything? Did you even want this?” 

“I am, believe it or not. I know you don’t, but I'm not lying. Somewhere along the line, I started liking all of the talking, the traveling, the interviews. I like that I can help people. Some of it sucks, but not all of it.” He laughs, finally one that sounds like something you can remember. “Not everything you have to do is bad.” 

“Jeonghan, I'm getting married because of you. Because of this,” you say, trying to keep your voice from cracking. “I don't know how to do this. Any of this, not like you, not like Mom, or anyone.” 

This, in fact, does make Jeonghan stop. He stills and falls silent. At once, it seems the forest goes quiet too. 

“Don’t get married, then.” You don’t respond, so he says it again. “You don’t have to go through with it. Not for my sake, at least.” 

“What?” 

“I've been thinking about it ever since it happened. I can talk to everyone. You’d rather not be with the guy, right?”

Your tongue freezes in your mouth. You thought you had an answer, but it refuses to come out. 

“I have a duty to protect you, too. I’ll be fine with or without the press.” 

“Jeonghan,” you say quietly. Many moons ago, you would have laughed at the word duty, but instead, your stomach turns over and over and over. “You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” is his simple answer. “I want to because I care about you. We can figure out the rest.” 

Something in your bones feels heavy. You’d also been waiting to hear those words, but it didn’t feel as freeing as you thought it would. You think about Joshua, his books and his perfectly placed bookmarks, his dumb dad jokes, the way he reaches for your hand, fingertips before palm. 

“Can I think about it?” 

“Of course. The engagement ball is probably happening either way, but it’s no big deal. Bigger engagements have been called off in far worse circumstances.” 

You’re having trouble believing him, but you have no other choice. Your life would certainly get a lot easier if everything were to just end. No more press releases, scripts, or awkward pictures. And no more worrying about if you could go out on the weekends or just how much of yourself to give up to make things work. 

“There's no rush.” He turns to look at you with the same wild shine in his eyes that you’d grown to miss so much. “Truce?”

That, somehow, you’re much happier to hear. You thought you’d be angrier than this, feel the usual metal-red of your gut, but all that’s left is a sobering feeling of relief, of home. At last, things feel close to normal. 

“Truce.” 

So you ride and ride, but a decision doesn’t come to you as easily as you thought. The sunset breaks; the word duty clings to you, unshakable, unrelenting. 

—

Somehow, you have gone full circle: at the end of a long day, you find yourself back at the piano, much like you did when you were seven, and the only thing you could do right was play Hot Cross Buns. 

Joshua had bought an unreasonable amount of music books, half guitar for him, half piano for you. You’d forgotten just how much you had liked playing until that night, many nights ago, when you and he had first muddled through that duet. 

Yesterday, you and your parents had tea at the waterfront before you had left the country. You were still undecided on the engagement; frustratingly, the needle hadn’t moved much in either direction since Jeonghan had raised his proposal to you. 

Congratulations, your mother had told you, right over her cup of oolong. 

For what? 

You’ve risen to the occasion. You’ve grown up. 

To you, this was not a compliment. You didn’t know what it was. You had twisted the ring on your finger, back and forth, a habit you picked up after all the time you spent wearing it. You wondered if somewhere, you had become exactly like Jeonghan, molded and spun into someone unrecognizable. Maybe that was why Joshua finally seemed to like you.

Have you practiced for your first dance? your father asked, and you no longer had time to worry about the state of your personality—you had other fires to put out. 

Really, that’s why you’re at the piano today. You thought you could play the damn tune and somehow remember all the ballroom dancing lessons you had taken when you were younger. Unsurprisingly, it hasn’t worked yet. 

There’s a knock at the doorframe. “Come in,” you say, already knowing that it’s Joshua. No one else does that; Jihoon barges in and just starts talking, and you can hear Joshua’s parents from a mile away because of all the jewelry they have on. 

“Just wanted to see what you were up to,” Joshua says. He leans against the frame of the piano, already dressed down for the night. 

“Nothing,” you reply. “Just magically hoping that I remember how to ballroom dance.” 

“Well, first things first, you can’t dance sitting down.” He chuckles, and you pull your lips tight. 

“I'm serious, Josh,” you whine. 

“You really don’t remember?” He gives you one of those looks, one that you’re quite used to now, with the judgmental wrinkle of the brow. “Didn’t you take lessons?” 

“Yeah, like��fifty million years ago.” 

“I couldn’t tell,” he says, grinning something foolish. “You don’t look a day over fifty.” Then he offers you his hand, which you take, and he easily pulls you from the bench. 

“Flattered,” you say, unable to push down the corners of your smile. “You gonna teach this senior citizen a few moves?” 

“Perhaps, as my good deed for the day.” He holds your hand, still firmly in his, and slides it up his arm to rest on his bicep. “Left hand here,” he tells you. 

“Are you flirting with me?” 

“Not yet,” Joshua laughs. “The ballroom hold ring a bell?” His other hand finds your free one, and you interlace fingers simply, easily. Then, the warmth of a hand between your shoulder blades, one that draws you to his chest. 

“I think the only dancing I know how to do is half drunk in the dark. Can’t exactly throw it back on you in front of God and country.” 

Joshua grins, a big one, and you, traitorously, feel your cheeks get prickly. 

“I wouldn't want God looking at you like that,” he teases. 

“And country’s already seen it all.” 

“They should consider themselves very lucky, then.” His eyes meet yours, lit by the scattered light of the chandelier. “It's my turn to ask you to let me lead.” 

“Fine,” you pout, noticing that familiar warmth in your stomach. 

Joshua begins to count your steps off (one, two, three—ow, that’s my foot! —sorry!). He’s patient with you, more patient than you think you deserve. His hand seems to slot perfectly into the curve of your back; his gaze settles onto you in a way that makes your chest feel heavy, molten. 

“For someone who goes out so much, you have a terrible sense of rhythm,” Joshua says, teasing. 

“Hey,” you object. “Maybe I just have a bad teacher.” 

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” 

“Well, I'm not about to blame Britney Spears.” 

Joshua laughs, and the sound is so close to you, you can feel it on your skin. 

“I still think it’s the student’s fault.” 

“Me?!” Perfectly timed, your sock-clad feet collide (yours, striped and fuzzy, his, plain white). “Impossible.” 

“Too distracting,” he murmurs, and you notice how unfairly pretty his eyes are. “You bump into me, criticize me, you look at me like that…”

You feel dizzy. You don’t know what Joshua’s doing to you, but it’s mean. Your face is warm, and normally you’d blame it all on the alcohol but you haven’t had any. Worst of all, the soft part of you, the lizard-brained, impulsive part, can’t stop thinking about his lips and how they would feel on yours.

It’s a thought you don’t let linger, much like all of the other half-thoughts you have, and you kiss him, as if it was a reprieve from the terrible, horrible way he’s making you feel. (It isn’t.) 

“You talk too much,” you tell Joshua, right against his lips. “Not enough teaching.” 

“I'm putting you in remediation.” 

“Devastating.” 

“And giving you homework.” 

“Whatever shall I do?” 

Joshua answers that question for you. He kisses you, once, twice, still not enough, and, somehow, things feel more simple than they ever had before. 

—

Jihoon’s eyes are dark, dagger-sharp in the rearview mirror. 

“We’re coming up,” he says. “A few minutes out.” 

“I know,” you answer. Yunjin was successful, almost too successful, in her task of finding you an appropriately revealing dress for a newly engaged twenty-something at the party of the year. The filmy silk stretches around your thighs; the cowl neck flirts with the neckline of the bikini top you have on underneath. 

You look good, probably better than how you’ve looked in months. And yet, for some reason, you don’t feel good, at least, not how you’d thought you’d feel on the way to the only event you’d been looking forward to this year.

Somi’s gift rattles in your lap. It’s covered in this loud, hot pink wrapping paper unbecoming of something you had spent years tracking down on the antiques circuit. Normally, you’d have a laugh with Jihoon about it, maybe take some selfies in the car, but instead, you find yourself spinning your ring around your finger like you always seem to do these days.

You think of Jeonghan, of Joshua. Of course, what you do or don’t do on your best friend’s birthday is none of their business (although, very inconveniently, Jeonghan did have some event this weekend, and Joshua was traveling). But still, you think of the boldface headlines, the whispering gossip forums, the washed-out image of you in your little dress on the cover of a cheap magazine. This wasn’t exactly a tame party, and things weren’t just about you anymore, not like they used to be. 

Marking your arrival isn’t the GPS nor Jihoon, rather, it’s the firefly buzz of the cameras outside your limo as it’s forced to come to a stop. You squint, trying to see past the tint of your windows, and see Somi, radiant in her birthday tiara, as she pushes through the crowd. Behind her is the villa she rented, illuminated by pink and gold strobe lights. 

You crack open the car door and are met with a stifling deluge of camera flashes. Music pulses through the air, enough to feel beneath your heels. 

“Who's my favorite princess?” Somi exclaims, throwing her arms open. “You made it! you look hot.” 

“Not as hot as the birthday girl,” you reply, and you let her squeeze the air out of you in a wonderful, bone-crushing hug. “What's with all the cameras?” 

“Professional photographers. Just wanted something to remember the night by, because we are blacking out.” She giggles, already tipsy. “Come, come, we’re doing shots inside.” 

“Without me?” 

“We’ll catch you up.” 

Somi drags you by the hand through the sea of people, and you watch the cameras follow as they always do. She leads you up the stairs, underneath the towering balloon display, and into the foyer, already darkened, lit only by a disco ball chandelier and the neon backlights. 

You spot Soonyoung by a champagne tower that seems twice his size, as promised. He's in a leather jacket, no shirt under, and you watch his eyes light up as they meet yours. 

“A shot for her highness,” he shouts over the music. 

“I thought this was champagne.” 

“Tequila's close enough.” He laughs, eyes upturned, bright like gemstones. 

The first shot goes down easy. It always does. So does the second, unsurprisingly. Around the third is when Somi tells you that the strippers are coming in an hour. (—Strippers?! —Not everyone has a fiancé, you know.) 

And, just like that, you’re back to the beginning. It’s hard to think over the ridiculously good Kesha mix the DJ is playing, but, terribly, you think you’re starting to understand what Jeonghan was talking about. You’re still not sure how you feel about duty, responsibility, sacrifice, those heavy words that feel impossibly heavier in your mouth, but all you know is that, as much fun as you’re having now, it comes at a fair price. 

Somi told you nothing, no compromising pictures, no drama, would reach the press, but, as hard as she may try, you feel like enough people have laid eyes on you already that someone was bound to hear something. If not now, then definitely in a few hours when everyone’s on at least two and a half substances, and all bets are off.

Briefly, you recall your appearance at the derby, the memory like a shard of glass. You had stood guileless next to Joshua, tripping over your words because you hadn’t cared enough to read the damn briefing, and he had covered it up with a dad joke or two. Coming up with those abominations must have been hard enough for someone whose first book was the Oxford Dictionary, but you don’t even think God and all his angels could cover up this. More than that, the thought of everyone having to try anyway makes your gut twist. 

Someone tells you to smile for a selfie. You recognize her, but you don’t remember her name (Amelia or Alicia, one of Somi’s friend of a friends. On second glance, there are definitely more than 200 people here). Let's dance! another voice shouts in your ear. 

Your head hurts. You hate the idea that Jeonghan might be a little right, but you hate even more that you’re starting to agree with him. Maybe you need another shot. 

“Your gift,” you say, fighting over the chorus of Your Love Is My Drug. “Somi!” 

“Oh my god, you did not!” she squeals. She clasps her hands over yours, wrapped around the box, and draws them to her. “Let me take it to the table. I’ll meet you by the pool—oh, oh, there’s a hot dog stand out there too!”

“Actually,” you start. You’re not that drunk, not yet, but now you think you can feel the ground start to sway under you. It wouldn’t be too far a stretch to say that in half an hour, after a little time at the bar, you’d probably be spending the night, no question. “I think I have to run.”

“Aw, really?” Somi tilts her head and squints, as if trying to read your mind. 

“I am so sorry,” you tell her, as sincerely as one can over a pop song from the 2000s. “Swear I'll make it up to you.” 

“Life stuff, right?” 

“Yeah.”  

“It's ok,” she says. “Really really. Go home, figure your shit out, and we can have our own party.” 

She holds your joined hands to her heart. Whatever look you gave her, she believed. That, or she knows you better than you think. 

So you leave. The car ride home is silent. Jihoon doesn’t ask questions, and you can still hear the sound of the music ringing in your ears, on and on and on. 

—

You think the worst thing you’ve ever woken up to was the Crazy Frog ringtone of one of the guys you had slept with during university. 

The second worst has got to be five voice memos and three consecutive missed Facetime calls from Somi, which is the first thing you see upon opening your eyes. 

“Oh fuck,” you murmur, still coming to. Your bed is empty, but you see Joshua's suitcase in the corner of the room. He must have come home early this morning, while you were still sleeping. 

You crack open your text messages. 

–OH MY GOD.

��I AM SO SO SORRY. 

–someone must have gotten paid off for last night’s pictures…i had no idea i swear 

Then a voice memo. Then another voice memo. then a PopCrave Twitter screenshot: YOU CAN TAKE THE PRINCESS OUT OF THE PARTY–OR CAN YOU? followed by the worst, most incriminating photo of you and Soonyoung, arms linked, throwing back a shot. 

“No, no, no, no.” You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the stone-cold drop of your heart to your feet. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

Shit. You have to find Joshua and make it right. 

Somehow, you thought it wouldn’t matter, that you didn’t care what did or didn’t get out as long as you were able to have a good time—you desperately search for that same feeling, knowing that it’s long, long gone. You don’t even think you truly ever believed that. 

You race down the palace hallways, ones that feel far more familiar than the rigid bastions they were when you first got here, but it’s Joshua who finds you before you find him. Or rather, it’s his voice you hear, trickling out from behind the library door. 

Suddenly, you’re five again, and you’re spying on Jeonghan talking to your parents. You peek through the crack of the doorframe. As Somi would say, nightmare blunt rotation: there stands Joshua, surrounded by both sets of parents, and no one looks happy. 

“We knew it,” another voice says—your mother. “We’re sorry, but we said this would happen.” 

“It’s no matter. There’s nothing left to do but call the engagement off.” 

The room goes quiet. You notice your hands are shaking. Your face feels numb.  

“You’re right. I don't think anyone’s getting what they want out of this, anyway.” 

“We’ll cancel the ball. There’s no way around it. Likely a relief, right, Joshua?” 

The moment seems to squirm, suspended in time. This is what you were waiting for, right? Your parents were right—no one wanted this anyway. You certainly didn’t, and now you get your get out of jail free card. On top of that, you get to hear what you’d been expecting all along—that Joshua never liked you, that this was fun and all, but he’s ready to stop playing pretend. 

“I…I disagree.” You freeze. “She's my fiancée. I made a commitment to her, and I'm not going to walk away.” 

“Joshua, my dear, this arrangement was never going to work. You can be honest.” 

This is the part where Joshua nods, does his perfectly symmetric smile, and agrees. This is what he does, what he’s been doing since forever. The story always ends the same way. That was the point. 

Instead: “I am being honest. Since when was it illegal to go to your best friend’s birthday party? I don't care what the rest of the world has to say. She’s not who they, or you, think she is.” Through the door-gap, you watch the pursed, resolute draw of Joshua’s lips. “You didn’t even invite her here to talk about her own engagement. You never once gave her a chance.” 

A stunned silence falls over the room. 

 “I’m sorry, but this is how I feel. I won't let you take another girl I love from me. Not again.” 

Your hand flies over your mouth, and something twists deep in you, like you’re drowning from the inside out. You can’t, won’t, believe what you just heard. That somehow, beyond all the fighting, the quiet nights, the snide remarks and the fake smiles, that Joshua loved you? Loved? Enough to say all that to the people that ruled his life with an iron fist? None of this made sense, but nothing’s made sense since you got here. 

The room erupts into noise, peals of voices all colliding into each other, and you do what you do best—you leave. 

—

No one talks about that morning. You don’t even think anyone knows you were there—part of you wishes that you actually weren’t, so you didn’t have all this on your mind. (Joshua, later that day: I got you something from Seoul. From his suitcase, a bottle of soju. Just kidding. Then a jade bracelet, so vibrant it looked like the ocean.) No one talked about Somi, and no one talked about the party. 

In fact, everyone had just rolled on as usual, all the way to the end of the week, the day of your engagement ball. Even you did. The word love felt so big, so burdensome, when Joshua had said it to his parents, but you didn't mind it on you.

The lingering touches, late night talks, tea made the way you like—nothing really had changed much since shit hit the fan, but now you knew that was the label. You guess that when you told Joshua you had never been in love before, you were really telling the truth. Either that, or he was just saying whatever the hell he needed to stop your engagement from imploding. 

Still, you found yourself still reaching for him. There was an unfamiliar comfort about his nearness. You woke up this morning cradled to his side, and, for once, it wasn’t a scene you wanted to erase. 

Now, your hairstylist hoses your blowout down with hairspray. You’d spent the better part of this morning sitting in different chairs, hair, makeup, nails. A part of you waits for the other shoe to drop: Joshua’s mother would waltz in and tell you, Surprise! You’re a single woman again, just as you should be. 

It never happens. You’re wrapped in various mists and creams and powders, all the while fielding all the same questions about the ball (—Excited for tonight? Yeah, of course. —How does it feel being the surprise couple of the year? Surprising.)

It’s not until Yunjin comes in, wheeling in your giant, sparkly engagement gown, all Italian lace and satin brocade, that things feel real. 

The dress itself is beautiful, a pale champagne number, gathered at the waist with a smattering of crystals down the train. Earlier, when you’d first tried it on, it looked like a costume fit for the girl playing wife. It was another smothering thing that hung on you, just like everything else in your life. 

Today, you watch your form tall in the mirror. You meet her eyes, her uncertain mouth. It’s you, for sure, but there’s a stillness about you that you can’t quite put a finger on. Maybe Joshua’s demeanor was contagious. 

Yunjin laces your bodice up, careful eyelet by eyelet—“You’re nervous, huh?” 

“Is it really that obvious?” 

She laughs. “Breathe. You’re not getting married. Not yet, at least.”

“Yunjin, isn’t it weird that no one has talked to me about Somi’s birthday? Everyone on the planet saw the leaks.” 

“Maybe they finally learned to stop giving a shit. You looked hot, you had a good time, end of story. It’s not like anyone died.” 

True. She grabs your shoulders and looks at you through the reflection of the mirror. 

“Smile. Enjoy yourself. You look so, so beautiful.” You take a deep, soaking breath. You think about Joshua and all the sharp edges of his voice when he said he loved you. You had argued with him a lot, and you had never heard him like that. “You want this, right?” 

Well, when she puts it like that? Yeah, you do. You think you really do. 

—

The Great Hall is unrecognizable when you stand before it; the pink and white zinnias have been replaced by bouquets of calla lily and eucalyptus, the arched ceilings, once cold and imposing, now are bathed in the buttery, warm glow of candlelight. And the too-big space, usually empty, is now filled with partygoers, radiant in their best dress. 

You stand at the top of the grand staircase. A thrill, anxious and skittering, runs up your bones. You’re reminded of your last big public showing at the derby, of the sea of microphones and the eye of the camera and the crowd, all staring you down. 

You run through the cruel motions. First, a curtesy, so slow you think the audience can see you tremble. Then you take the first step down the stairs, and you watch them turn to you like the tanned halo-faces of sunflowers. 

There, in the center of the crowd stands Joshua, unwavering. He's wearing a deep blue tuxedo, unfairly flattering (though, the lone curl of hair falling into his eyes is strong competition). Meeting his gaze, you watch the corners of his mouth fold up in a way that reminds you to breathe. In, out. You’ve got this. 

Every step, you feel like you’re learning to walk for the first time, like you've lost your sea legs. Amongst the guests, you spot Jeonghan, next to him Jihoon. Then back to Joshua, like your eyes can’t stay away. He shoots you a covert thumbs up—you’d expect nothing less from the corniest man on Earth—but, nonetheless, it makes the long walk to the center of the room feel much shorter, despite the torture devices on your feet (Louboutins, not broken in).

One, two steps, and you’re face to face with your fiancé. Your heart is still racing, thrumming against the cage of your bodice like it's trying to escape. You’re sure the whole congregation could hear it if not for the quartet that’s come to life, now playing the opening notes of Blue Danube. 

Yes, that’s right, you tell yourself. You still have to dance in front of the whole fucking country. 

Before you crash out and make this a national emergency, you feel the warmth of Joshua’s touch. Fingertips before palm, always the same, he finds your hand, like he manages to do every single time. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, low enough for only you to hear. And for the first time, you believe him. 

—

Really, you could have gotten away with saying nothing. It would be much easier, to be honest. 

The ball had gone off without a hitch so far. The music was good, the food even better, and your parents were somehow silenced, instead opting to dance among the crowd like they were young again. Still, you can’t seem to put your mind at ease. With everything that had happened this week, Jeonghan’s offer only seemed to weigh heavier, more urgently upon you. And of course, there was the matter of Joshua choosing to opt into your engagement, against all odds. 

You realize you had gotten quite good at running away from things—your family, your responsibilities, the media, even Joshua—not knowing how to bear the weight of an impossible duty. Actually, you thought it was a royal failing until you had seen Joshua in the library that morning, jaw set, unbending. 

“Hey, Josh?” you ask, with a few bats of the eyelashes to soften the blow. 

He tilts his head in that way he does, and his gaze softens. Damn you, you think. Trying to distract me with those horrible, pretty eyes.  

“Can we talk about Sunday?” 

“What about Sunday?” He still looks confused, and you know the look well enough at this point to know he’s not faking it. 

“Um…Sunday morning. After the party,” you say slowly, as if giving yourself time to back out, just in case. “I heard you talking with our parents.” 

In an instant, his expression changes, and his eyebrows roll into their usual furrow. You feel his hand falter behind your shoulder blades. 

“Oh,” Joshua’s voice drops. “That.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, realizing all you do is apologize. “It was supposed to be a small thing, no cameras, I barely even stayed—.”

“Hey, it’s ok,” Joshua interrupts. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” 

“I-I know,” you fib. The thing about pretending is that you’ve both become so good at it that you have trouble believing him. “It’s just that I also heard what…what you said.” 

Somehow, the wrinkle between his brows grows deeper. 

“I said a lot of things that morning.” 

You press your lips thin, feeling what you’re about to say ball up on your tongue. Easily, you could change the subject; you didn’t have to know anything, really, you could stay silent and let the world work around you, just as you had been taught. But you watch the soft twist of Joshua’s gaze, how he studies your expression, and you know you can’t go back to how things used to be. 

“You said you…” You take a hard swallow. All the blood in your body only wants to exist in the apples of your cheeks, away from your brain where you need it most. “You loved me.” 

At once, the world spins off-axis. You feel the anxious flutter of Joshua’s heart under your palm, and your own stomach flips in its cage. The L word coming out of your mouth seems ten-thousand times more ridiculous than anything he could say, probably because you can’t remember the last time you actually said it and it came out all wrong. 

He must feel the same way. For once, he can’t meet your eyes. His mouth opens and then closes, as if hoping to delete what you had just said. Maybe you would just keep dancing, beat by beat, and this would all go away.

Silly girl, you think, traitorously. Pick a damn side. Either he likes you or he doesn’t. The problem is that, somehow, both options hurt your feelings. 

“I mean, I totally get it if you just said it to keep up the act,” you cut in. “There are a lot of reasons why this is a good idea.” 

“The act?” 

“Well, yeah,” you reply. “Isn’t that what this is? Haven’t we just been lying to everyone? To ourselves?” 

Joshua’s hand at your waist stiffens before he draws you closer to him. You expect him to roll his eyes, do one of those exaggerated sighs that he does when you’re being difficult. 

Instead he leans in, close enough for you to feel his voice against your skin. 

“Do you think I was lying back there? Or now?” 

Your heart lurches. 

“I—no, but.” You pause. Every single coherent thought you’ve ever had scatters to the wind. “Well.” 

“Because I’m not,” Joshua says, this time, more softly. “Not about this. Or us.” 

“But how? Why?” You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your chest swell in a way it never has before. “You’re perfect, and I'm…I’m me.” 

“That’s why,” he answers, simply. “You’re smart, funny, honest—sometimes too honest, even. You reminded me there was a better version of me that I had left behind. One that wasn’t perfect, but was happy.” 

He holds you in his gaze the same way he did in the garden, carved by moonlight. An impossible warmth fills your skin; at once, it feels like, in your vision, there is only him, like you're in a cartoon. 

“At the same time, I understand if—” Joshua starts. 

“I feel the same,” you blurt out. “I…I don’t know what this is, and I don’t think I ever really did, but I want to try.” 

You watch the surprise write itself all over his doe eyes, his unfairly rounded cheeks. From by the hors d'oeuvres, nosy Jeonghan peeks over the shoulder of another guest, already familiar with your lack of volume control. You watch him grin something stupid, triumphant. 

“You’re uptight, judgmental, and you make the worst jokes. But I…I think I might be falling for you too.” 

Saying it is like getting peeled back, terrible layer by layer, like you wrapped a hand around your heart and ripped it out your chest. And yet you’re glowing, newly-bitten with something that feels like freedom.  

“I thought you said I was perfect,” Joshua says, the pink of his lips already unraveling into a smile. This one, you think, finally reaches his eyes. 

“Shush, you—” And amongst a chorus of Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! (which would be, quite frankly, humiliating in any other scenario), you finally give in to your adoring public, and kiss. 

—

The walk back to your bedroom is a blur. All you remember are hands—hands on the small of your back, hands riding up the length of your thigh, hands in your hair, pulling at your roots. You remember hands, and the taste of Joshua’s mouth. 

It’s a walk you are not proud of, one that you’re glad happened in the dark, with all the guests gone home. 

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are?” Joshua says, pressed to the hollow of your neck as you fumble with the handle of the door to your room. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you. No one could.” 

Then his lips on yours, before you finally remember how to open a door. 

“Fuck, Josh,” you breathe between kisses, stumbling backwards until your back hits the vanity. “Need you, need you so bad.” 

He bites your lip, lets you sigh into his mouth. 

“Dress, off,” you tell him, and you lean forward on the table. Obediently, Joshua gets to work. His touch feels fiery, electric on your skin. 

In the mirror, you’re able to see the damage: your lipstick, smudged beyond repair, your blown-out pupils under your heavy lashes. There’s a hickey on your collarbone. 

“Now you have me wishing you'd wear one of those party dresses,” Joshua murmurs, still working at the lacing at your waist. “Far easier to take off.” 

“Really. The same ones that got me in big trouble with you lot?"

"For what it's worth," he replies, before kissing the back of your neck, then the ticklish space under your ear to make you laugh. "I always liked you in those. Even before we met." 

"No way." He’s finished with the lacing; your dress falls to your feet in a glorious heap of silk and lace, leaving you in your slip. Another kiss to your jaw, your cheek. "You hated them." 

"I almost bought a copy of Insider, the one with the cover of you in the black dress with the long sleeves." 

"Shut up," you laugh again, somewhere in between kisses. He’s talking about Soonyoung's New Year’s Eve party, a few years back. You were getting out the back of a cab, alcohol-flushed and on a phone call with God knows who. "I still have it, you know. I could wear it for you one of these days." 

"Don't tempt me." Joshua kneels, bending down to undo your heels. You feel him press his lips to the back of your knee, your thigh. “Friday. Dinner?” 

“Done.” 

Then he stands back to full height and leans into you, just so you can feel him. Like clockwork, your skin prickles wonderfully even just thinking about blowing him in the back of the limo, that night he had held you down on his cock. 

Joshua must see how you squeeze your legs together. He pushes your slip up over the curve of your ass; you feel the rough of his hands over your skin, over the flimsy lace you have on for underwear. Then, before you can say a word, he pulls the waistband back, meanly, enough to tug on the hood of your clit, and lets it snap back against your skin. 

“Oh, fuck,” you keen. You had no idea you were so sensitive, but Joshua’s foreplay game was way better than you thought. “Please, Shua.” 

“Oh? So you like when I'm a little mean?” 

You watch your face in the mirror flush pink, your bitten lips fall open in surprise. He pulls tight on your panties again, loving how your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Maybe.” You pause, humiliated. Fuck it, the cat’s already out of the bag. “Yeah.” 

Joshua’s hands are warm, so warm, when they peel the fabric down your trembling thighs. 

“Legs apart, darling,” he tells you, mouth pressed to your shoulder. “So you like to boss me around the castle, but now you want me to tell you what to do? Is that so?” 

Before you can answer, you feel a finger along the seam of your cunt. You can’t see Joshua’s face in the mirror, but you can sure see yours, and you hate how even the smallest of touches has you drooling. Then a touch to your swollen clit, just rough enough to draw a gasp from you. 

 “I-it’s different,” you protest. Two fingers now, both rolling your clit under them. A whimper tumbles out of your chest, and your hips seem to be moving on their own accord. “Didn’t know you had…experience.” 

“Still not sure what made you think otherwise.” A quiet chuckle, then the slow, agonizing push of one of his fingers inside you. “Fuck, you love that, huh? Soaking my hand.”

“Yeah…” The vanity table suddenly feels too crowded to support the weight of your body, especially like this, as Joshua continues to work your clit with his other digit. Feeling your body surge again with heat, you push aside your makeup bag, all your stupid little bottles, so you can prop yourself up on your arms.

Another finger, and your legs are shaking. Quickly, he seems to have figured out how to hit your g-spot every time, every pump of his hand knocking into you just the way you like.  

“I think it was how annoying you were that did you in,” you finally answer, trying your best to put up a fair fight. “Kinda detracts from your sex appeal.” 

“Annoying?” Joshua asks, right up against the shell of your ear. Like this, you can see him in the mirror, and it almost sends you over. The dark hair in his face, the insatiable look in his eyes. Then a third finger, and your eyes roll back. “Am I annoying you? Doesn’t really seem like it.” 

Your body answers for you. You feel yourself tighten around his fingers, fuck, you’re so close, you feel your head start to spin. You watch your reflection shake her head, glassy-eyed and dumb. 

He laughs cruelly. His free hand reaches up to find your tits, and, over the slip, he grabs one, rough like he’s a meaner man, like he’s slutting you out. 

At once, you feel the lightning heat of your release. You cry out, airy and high-pitched, and feel your body rock against Joshua’s as he pins you between himself and the vanity. 

“There you go,” he murmurs. His hand slows, letting you ride out your high, before he pulls out. “Wanted to do this ever since I kissed you that night.” 

“Which night?” you ask, catching your breath. A kiss to your shoulder blade, the nape of your neck. 

“The night you taught me to kiss. Or rather, tried to.” 

Ah, yes. The night you told him what Shark Tale was, and the night you made out for so long, you felt it on your lips in the morning. Dumb fucking Joshua, stupid and in love. The affection that surges through your body makes you mad. 

“You needed lessons.” 

“Not really, don’t you think?” 

“Bed. You’re talking too much,” you insist, turning around to see him. “Also, you’re wearing too much.” 

“Back to arguing with me, I see. Can’t stay away.” Joshua’s shit-eating grin prompts you to yank his tie impatiently, shutting him up. It comes off easily, just as his belt and the waistband of his slacks. (You weren’t about to let them best you a second time).

“Maybe ‘cause you find a way to be difficult about everything.” You wrinkle your nose, and Joshua’s grin only grows wider. “Don’t make me give you another order,” you warn, fully aware that since you guys got here, it’d been him doing the orders. 

You pull your slip over your head, now only in your bra, and lay back in the bed. You think of all the sleepless nights, then the ones spent talking, the ones in his arms. To think they would all culminate to this, to you now watching Joshua undo button by button with a desire unlike any other you’ve felt—it would almost be unbelievable if you weren’t doing it right now.

Like a striptease, you watch his chest peek out between the linen of his shirt. He's wearing a necklace today, one that settles meanly between his pecs. As he moves lower, you can’t help but notice the outline of his cock in his briefs, the spot of precum on the fabric. 

Traitorously, you feel your mouth water. The shirt comes off, and your lungs fill with another shaky breath. 

You know you’re both letting your freak flag fly (one of you more surprising than the other) but it’s in this moment, caught in the lamplight, that you realize how much things have really changed. Still, you’re not able to tell Joshua that this is the first time you’re sleeping with someone you might be in the L word with, but you think he sees it too, or at least, reads the look on your face. 

You feel the dip of the bed underneath as he joins you.

“Are you ok? That wasn’t too much, right?” 

“No, it was…it was good. really good,” you admit, feeling your face heat up again. “I just…I dunno. I like you a lot, that’s all.” 

“Hm?” 

“I—” you stutter, and your mouth freezes up again. “I said I like you a lot.” 

“Sorry, I just wanted to hear you say it twice.” He sees the dismay on your face and smiles. “Hm…I like you an adequate amount. On a good day.” 

Against your will, you crack the fattest smile you think your body is capable of. “You are the worst. The absolute worst, and I still want you to fuck me.” 

Upon hearing this, Joshua does not waste time. That he does—it isn’t long before he has your knees hiked to your chest, cock between your pussy lips. 

“Say you want it,” he whispers. You feel the cold kiss of his chain on your chest, the slick rock of his length between your legs. He's so hard, so big, your cunt already aches at the thought of it. 

“Want it.” Your voice comes out small, breathy. You would fight back, but you’re realizing you quite like this side of him. “Please.” 

When the head of his cock presses into you, there is no hiding. Already, you moan, sweet and loud, feeling the familiar pressure in your gut. 

“K-keep going,” you babble. Fuck, he barely fit in your mouth and now he’s stuffing your cunt. You wrench your eyes shut, listening to him talk you through it (—Look at you taking me so well. Feels good, huh? You’re so beautiful. Honestly, it’s a miracle Joshua’s ex never had a royal baby with how much they must have fucked.) 

Your second orgasm comes quickly, not long after Joshua bottoms out. He groans right in the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and it’s the best noise you think you’ve heard in your life. 

The third comes slowly, more intensely. With your knees to your chest, you think you can feel Joshua all the way in your stomach. Every stroke fucks the sound out of you, his cockhead right up against your sweet spot as he fills you again and again. Sometime between orgasm two and three, he’s pulled your tits out from your bra, left marks across your chest. 

“Want you to touch yourself,” he tells you, voice low.

Mindlessly, you listen. One hand finds your nipple, the other your clit, and you let yourself get lost in the feeling. 

“F-feels good, Shua.” He enters you again, all the way, and the pleasure is white-hot. “O-oh, fuck,” you warble. 

“You’re so good at listening to me, you should do it all the time,” he murmurs. “There you go. Take it, take it, just like that. This must be what I have to do to get you to be nice, hm?” 

All you can do is stare up at him, positively fucked dumb, and take it, just as he told you to. One, two strokes, and you feel yourself get impossibly tight; “Fill me, need it, need it,” you whine, delirious. Everything from the look in his eyes, the flushed sweat over his brow, his collarbones to the way his expression responds with every word you say, makes you wonder why you wasted time fucking anyone else.

When he comes, he bites your shoulder, hard, and it’s what you need to follow soon after. You feel so fucking full, so satisfied, you think you could die happy here. 

Joshua flops down on the bed next to you, boneless. You think he’s about to say something akin to that you should have put a towel down, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls your body to him, lets you feel the warmth of his skin play against yours. 

He’s murmuring wonderful things to you, which you would gladly reciprocate if words weren’t coming to you one letter a minute. It’s not your fault though—you need to recover physically, emotionally, spiritually after getting the soul fucked out of you.

Then, “Me or you shower first?”

You groan as a response. 

“I’m serious.” 

“Together?” you offer weakly. 

“Fair chance we won’t just be showering then.” 

“Oh nooo.” 

That’s all Joshua needs to whisk you to the bathroom, where, indeed, he seems to be right yet again. 

—

The spring morning washes over Acros like a second skin. The birdsong rouses you; through the curtains comes sunlight from the garden, spackled on the wall as if spots on a doe. 

It’s been almost a year since your parents had told you that you were marrying Joshua Hong, prince of Acros. Six months since he had told you he had loved you. Two months since you and Jeonghan had pulled off your first joint production at the youth theater (a roaring success). One month since you were fully, fully moved in, Astrid and Jihoon included. 

After your engagement ball, you and Joshua had agreed to take it slow, as slow as two people who had very publicly announced their wedding could. But still, somehow your parents, both sets, could tolerate the two of you wanting to do things the right way. Perhaps they were still shocked things worked out as well as they did. 

“Morning,” you call out. The bed beside you is cold. “Josh?” 

You’re surprised he’s up. Last night, he went out with you, Somi, and Soonyoung. Somehow, he had drunk enough to get up and solo karaoke a Whitney Houston song, although you’re suspecting the alcohol was just a cover for his true intentions. 

Then you look out the window. You spot Joshua, seated on the bench overlooking the garden. This time of year, the roses are in full bloom, their bright heads reaching for the sky in brilliant red and gold. 

When you go to join him outside, he’s no longer at the bench. You actually don’t know where the fuck he went, but it’s no matter. Here, you’re able to appreciate the beauty of the season, the rolling green of the country you’re now calling home. 

It was also here where you had your first real conversation with Joshua without fighting, funnily enough. Now, you’d say the both of you were more agreeable, but that’d be a lie—somehow, you think you actually enjoy bickering with him, but that’s a conversation for another day. 

Behind you, someone (Joshua) clears his throat. 

“Now, what are you—” you say, spinning around. It was too damn early for games, but Joshua had no shortage of bad ideas. 

It’s then that you see Joshua behind you, on one knee. His smile tells you everything you have to know, and every thought in your mind freezes in an instant. 

“When I first saw you, I knew I would marry you,” he starts. That's a joke he’s probably been saving for months now, but instead of rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh, like you’re a broken soundboard. “No, really.” 

You stand there, immovable. Of course you had to be in your pajamas (his shirt and boxers, really), no makeup, hair untouched. And yet, you can’t imagine anything more perfect. 

“You drive me crazy,” Joshua continues. “In every way possible. I can't imagine life without your laugh, or your thinking face, or how you always need to have an answer for everything.” 

He produces a small box. It’s different from the first one, the one he used all those months ago when nothing mattered. Inside it, a new ring, something far simpler and more beautiful.

Joshua says your name, wonderful and reverent in his mouth. “Darling princess of Cotria, I'm asking you to marry me. Again.” 

And you say yes, for the very first time.

[END]

[wonwoospeach]

thebwhole fic was saaaaur goooood

Steam I

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: ATLA au, enemies(?) to lovers, forbidden romance, royalty au

General Warnings: violence (bending fights), injuries (mentions of broken bones, burns, blood, bruises), alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitution Smut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, fingering, dry humping, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, handjob, hair pulling, marking, virgin!reader, wonwoo has a tiny bit of a corruption kink

Length: ~14k | Fic Length: ~64k

Credits: banner: @caelesjjk and @shadowkoo | betas: @tomodachiii @miniseokminnies @gyuswhore @haologram and @wqnwoos

Note: insane insane insane. i started this from a tiny little head cannon forever ago and when i started writing i anticipated maybe 20k max. but im a liar because this quickly excelled that by a landslide. i hope yall enjoy this monster of a fic as much as i did writing it. i'll be uploading each part with one day in between. p.s i used the ATLA wiki to build a believable setting for this but it really diverges from cannon and doesn't mention any of the original characters from the cartoon.

summary: Wonwoo is the best fire bender in Capitol City. Or he is. But a water bender he's never seen before changes everything.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

m.list

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

Ranchous voices filled the warehouse, deafening as the hoard of bodies looking for a night of gruesome entertainment flooded the stands. Steam and smoke and dust clogged the air, only cleared by the occasional rush of wind the massive hole in the ceiling that showed the clear night sky above, the moon barely half full and the stars dusted across the sky.

Wonwoo watched from the catwalk criss-crossing high above the ring like always. He won’t fight until later, not until someone was dumb enough to challenge him once the adrenaline of the smaller spars bubbles to their head and they decide they would be the one to end his winning streak proudly tallied on the leaderboard. 

But for now he stood on the metal platform. Below, Jihoon launched a clay disk at his opponent with terrifying speed. With a wide swing of his arm, Chan knocked it aside before it could land, spinning off balance from the recoil.

Too easy. But no matter how many times the two fight, Chan never catches on to Jihoon’s tricks until it's too late. Jihoon hurled a second disc – cracking it into pieces with a squeeze of his fist – at Chan’s head. The airbender managed to dodge the first piece but the other two landed true, crumbling him to his knees. The crowd fell into a frenzy of starved animals, foaming at the mouth as a tally mark appeared next to Jihoon’s name on the victory board.

Wonwoo’s name sat on the next line above, so many tallies they nearly ran off the side of the sheet of repurposed metal. 

He rarely lost. Dokyeom might force a draw for fear the building would burn down if a fight dragged on; but the last time that happened was nearly two years ago when Seungcheol demanded one final fight before retiring. They both walked away with matching black eyes and limps, his friend with singed uneven hair, and Wonwoo with a concussion and a dislocated shoulder.

It was one of the few fights Wonwoo didn’t mind losing. Defeat was much sweeter when he got paid half the betting pool for it.

The next fight geared up to start; another air bender and a fire bender racing into the ring. Wonwoo rarely cared to watch their fights. Hoshi lacked finesse, relying on overwhelming his opponents, while Seungkwan’s temper historically ended the match before it could really begin. But it never stopped the audience from rushing to place their bets with Jeonghan like always.

Deciding he needed a drink for the chaos about to unfold, Wonwoo descended the stairs towards the crude bar in the corner of the upper tier of the stands. It’s nothing more than a shabby counter top, covered with colorful bottles and cracked cups.

The sting of fire whisky going down didn’t shock his system nearly as much as the woman leaning against the wall; watching him, gaze heavy on his skin even in the dim light. 

Rounding the bartop, Wonwoo didn’t look away as he approached. If you balked under his gaze, he can’t decipher a tell; only a satisfied smile pulling the corner of your lips high and your eyelids lowering until his chest brushes yours.

His arm rests above your shoulder, pinning you beneath his gaze. “You’re staring at me.”

It isn’t a question, it's an accusation. And you’re more than guilty.

“And what are you going to do about it?” You asked, chin tilting back defiantly, eyes narrowed. Wonwoo makes the mistake of looking at your mouth, hypnotized by the tantalizing pout of flesh as it slips into a smirk. He walked right into your trap before he even knew what was happening.

He dipped closer, eyes still on your lips. “What's your name?”

Just as your nose brushed his own, you melted off the wall and under his arm. Wonwoo cut a glance over his shoulder to find you stalking backwards into the crowd, eyes never leaving his until you're swallowed into the fold without a trace.

The dare was so obvious in your gaze. Paired with the teasing words, Wonwoo felt something surge inside him. That hot need to chase, to tease you back. To find out if your boldness evaporated with enough attention or if you’d use the same haughty tone to chaste him in private.

Wonwoo moved to do just that but he’s called to the ring for the next fight.

“Our reigning champion, the man of fire,” Dokyeom preened dramatically into the mic. The crowd roared in enthusiastic response. “The longest running victor in bending battle history!”

People parted as Wonwoo approached the walkway leading to the isolated platform surrounded by a steep drop off into a pool of water. Maybe he reveled in the applause and anticipatory cheers longer than necessary but if anyone’s earned it, he has.

“And our newest challenger!”

The poor idiot who signed up to fight shouldn’t last too long, Wonwoo isn’t interested in dragged out humiliation. Especially not now. Hopefully, he can end this quickly and find you again, bargain his victory for your name and maybe some time alone.

But, as swiftly as his hopes ignited, they crumbled to ash. Dokyeom continued his rambling as you flashed a smug smile across the ring.

He faltered for only a moment before continuing towards the center of the ring. Out of the dark, he failed to decipher anything that might give him advantage. You lacked the breezeness of an airbender, posture too rigid, the cocky defiance from earlier still present. Maybe an earthbender. Or better yet, a firebender.

Your eyes trickle down his form. Only one of you is at a disadvantage so far but it won’t remain that way for long. Wonwoo thrives on a challenge, and after so long without one his heart squeezed in excitement.

“Good luck.”

You remained silent, eying Wonwoo’s outstretched hand before ignoring it, turning towards your side of the platform with your nose in the air.

Gasps of shock erupted around the warehouse. The stands circling the platform were fuller than before, even the people who only came to socialize found a sudden interest in the stranger bold enough to snub the best. Wonwoo paid them no mind. You’re the most interesting opponent he’s had in a long time.

Words from earlier echoed in his ears.

What are you going to do about it?

Wonwoo followed suit and retreated to his post with a few grounding breaths. The flame inside him grew in preparation. Hungry. Vicious. It raged until there's nowhere for the fire to go but out.

The starting bell cut the air; immediately he's on the offensive, dropping into a low stance, arms drawn into his side before the shrill sound stopped. A swift punch launched a huge fireball from his fist, a swell of heat surging through his veins as it sails over the ring with terrifying speed. Then another and another, fast enough that just as one dissipates, it’s already replaced with a new explosion of flames.

Barely any smoke filled the air when they dissolved. They were nothing more than a cheap scare tactic; completely hollow shells aimed to intimidate rather than maim. The fight is just starting and there's no reason to throw his best moves just yet.

You sidestepped each blow, dipping close to the floor before rising again and twirling out of the way with catlike grace. Wonwoo lobbed the next one right in your path but you adapt without pause. Like you’re dancing around the fire. With the fire. 

Wonwoo rushed forward, taking the advantage to drive you towards the edge of the platform, refusing to grant an ounce of reprieve. Not that you needed it. Every blow is avoided even as he adds more punch to the moves, each burning hotter and brighter than the one previous.

He maintained a healthy distance, plenty of room to keep the heat away from himself as his arms sweep and a ring of fire slices at your feet, close enough to singe the edge of your boots before you can avoid it completely. But you dove through the opening and rolled back to your feet, as if you expected the blow.

Wonwoo sliced his hand through the air, a razor thin whip of flame bursting forth to lick against your chin, close enough to feel the heat but Wonwoo maintains control. You could’ve blocked the move but you retreat again, eyes furious at the smoke of burnt hair jagged from contact dangling next to your jaw.

Wonwoo can’t detect any attempt at bending. The clay disks stacked at the edge of the ring remained unmoved, the air undisturbed. There’s no pull at the flames he’s conjuring, no hint that you're manipulating his own fire against him.

After another one sided volley of hits, your refusal to fight began to wear on his nerves. He harnessed more flame with a sweep of his leg, a swift stomp sending it over your head before it exploded and knocked you to your knees. You controlled the impact and roll to a crouch, eyes blazing,

“Is that really all you’ve got?” you said, shoulders squared but lax. 

There’s no teasing in your voice, if anything it’s cold disappointment. To Wonwoo’s shame, a hot bolt of want ran through him. Images of you whispering the same words, with the same haughty tone, flashed in his mind; back in the dark corner near the bar where you started this entire game; back in one of the many unused rooms of the warehouse with just you and him and no one else to watch him earn your approval.

Your leg circled around and Wonwoo prepared himself for something of interest to finally happen but you used the momentum to raise back on your feet and brace for the next round.

Wonwoo realized you must be a waterbender. The way you moved, melting around every attack, shifting with impressive flexibility, was a dead giveaway. That or just plain stupid. If you walked into this fight with no bending then it was only a matter of time before you cut your losses and yielded. 

Only one way to find out.

A towering wall of pure flame, large enough it’d scare even him to be on the receiving end, swelled in front of Wonwoo. The crowd roared in excitement, feral for the inevitable end to the match. There was nowhere for you to evade this time. It was either into the flame or off the backend of the platform. 

A flat footed kick sent the wave barreling directly at you, consuming more oxygen and growing wider with rapid speed.

The flood of fire forced your hand. A tsunami of water rose from the grates criss-crossing the ring, geysers gushing with enough pressure to shake the floor. A sharp hiss echoes as opposing elements collided in an explosion of steam thick enough to clog the entire warehouse. So dense Wonwoo can’t see in front of his own nose.

Wonwoo stood unfazed, even as the crowd distantly murmured in confusion. Now, the game truly began.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he called, listening. Waiting.

A splash behind him is the only warning of your presence. Wonwoo slashed his leg through the air, an arch of flame slicing through the fog providing a brief glimpse of visibility before it sealed back up. However, it did nothing more, you weren’t there.

“Longest running victor in battle history, and he can’t even land a hit,” you tsked.

Wonwoo jerked at the sound of your voice, so close he expected to find you right behind him but he’s only met with a faceful of powder.

A fucking snowball?

You must have been close enough to see the scowl twisting his face because you giggled before launching another.

“Can’t handle a little water?” you snorted.

Under different circumstances, ones not involving you pelting him like a child, Wonwoo might have enjoyed the sound. He might have even wanted to find out what the sound tastes like on his tongue. 

Another snowball, this one more ice than anything, collided with his chin and that desire turned into cinders. He whipped fire towards the noise but missed.

Arms raised, he feigned as if to launch another and instead harnessed his breath and forced a wider arch of flame to evaporate the fog you’ve hidden in. Wonwoo found you evading from the corner of his eye and used the moment of weakness to spring into action.

Except you crumbled with a choked scream and the sudden rush of victory tastes like ash.

Three wide strides and Wonwoo was there, hunched and ready for the next blow; ready for another one of your tricks. But your choppy breathing extinguished his competitiveness. The air reeked of burnt. The entire ring smoldered with heat.

He should’ve known better; especially with you. So clearly unprepared for the intensity of a fight like this. Dokyeom should never have let you put your name down to fight, let alone against Wonwoo.

Acrid smoke rose from the discolored collar of your tunic; too close to hope he hasn’t burnt your face but he does anyway. Wonwoo prepared for the worst as he rolled you over, already yelling for a healer.

He isn’t prepared for an icy fist straight to his nose with enough force to send him onto his back. “What the fuck?”

Another blow landed on the back of his head. Hot blood rushed forward as the next punch lands with a grotesque crunch against his nose. His skin stung with cold, eyes burning from the sudden influx of pain.

Long channels of water with blunt frozen ends sprouted from the grates like a watery forest. You stood unscathed amongst the pulsing curtains, smiling like a lunatic.

Wonwoo covered his head from the brunt of attacks. His nose was broken and one of his eyes was already swelling shut. A torrent of water collapsed over him, bearing down with the power of a waterfall. His knees buckled. The air in his lungs abandoned him.

In a last ditch attempt to save his pride, he thrusted his hand forward. The reek of ozone clouded the warehouse as electricity splintered towards you.

And as if it’s nothing, you redirected the bolt of lightning through the opening in the warehouse roof as Wonwoo watches in shock.

The warehouse went silent. Seconds grew into minutes but no one moved as you rose into a lazy stance. 

Wonwoo watched through sweat and blood, dark spots floating in his vision as the sound of your boots grew closer.

“How disappointing,” you sighed just loud enough for him to hear before striding towards the platform and out of view.

When the echo of your footsteps faded, Wonwoo sank into darkness.

In the late hour, the Middle District streets buzzed with life. Vendors shouted, hawking their wares, boasting exotic produce and clothing with incatract embroidery from the farthest reaches of the world. Taverns packed with patrons singing and hollering in drunken glee. The smell of fried dough and roasted meat wafted through the air.

Mingyu was easily distracted with every stall he passed. Why, you had no idea. Even as a guard he could get the

best quality of anything he wanted at the palace; food, clothing, drink. But he stuck his nose in the air as the scraggly old man refuses to barter over the bruised moon peaches and wanders down the aisle to another stand with the exact same selection and even more wrinkled merchant.

In the midst of his discussion on cherry nuts, you slipped away, down one of the cramped alleys choked with smoke and shouts of people enjoying the balmy night. 

No one looked in your direction twice as you meandered through crowded walkways, children squealing as they chased each other and adults shouting in annoyance when one bounces off their knees. In all the chaos, it was easier to disappear and actually explore without Mingyu hovering like an anxious mother hen. If anyone would get you two caught for sneaking out of the palace, it was him. Even in servant’s clothes, you couldn’t help but feel woefully out of place and he wasn’t helping.

The side streets were calmer; veins flowing slowly into the heart of main street. People moved in lazy sways, some appearing to only remain vertical from leaning against door frames into dark hallways. The lanterns strung above cast an oily sheen on the cobblestone. If you remembered the archive maps correctly, the Gaiety should be close.

Even through the thick clouds above, you felt the moon swelling. Only a few more days until she’d be full and with it came the unbearable restlessness. Mingyu only agreed to sneak you out of the palace after the fight weeks ago because you’d nearly taken his head off while sparring. 

A night away, somewhere new. Somewhere to take out the energy without nearly killing him. The warehouse out in the harbor was out of question after the fight weeks ago. Not with the way you made a spectacle of the cocky firebender you’d studied for weeks. Mingyu threatened to rat you out if you thought for a second to step back in there. At least it’d been worth the loss; Wonwoo’s face as you redirected his lightning like it was nothing was worth every second of Mingyu's anger.

No longer feeling like one of your grandmother’s koi, swimming in endless circles of the garden pond, you forced your shoulders to slouch, chin tipping down to obscure your face beneath the wide brim of your hat.

Most of the buildings lining the street are shabby; peeling paint, splintered windows, wooden steps on the brink of collapsing from years of rot. Most are alive with noise, men and women crowded around low tables just beyond the door, wine flowing like a river and laughter spilling from open windows.

Further down, where the lanterns are more sparse with red shades casting everything in an eerie glow, the air grows thick with smoke. The street twisted like a grotesque snake, turning at harsh angles to hide whatever waited beyond, tangled in indecipherable turns. Buildings were little more than shacks, each leaning on the one next to it for support; stacked like a house of precariously stacked cards one gust of wind away from crashing down. Plenty of alleys jutted off into darkness, shadows shifting with scantily clad women and what looked like couples making no attempt to obscure what was clearly taking place. A small crowd still mills about, some ogling but most too absorbed in their own merriment. 

Just like when that firebender hit you with lightning, hairs all over your body stood on end. This place is wrong. You need to leave. Now.

Turning to do so, you found yourself nose to nose with a man completely blocking your vision.

“What is a pretty girl like you doing all alone?” he said, clearly drunk from his haphazard slant. That, or incredibly stupid. His breath stung your nose, bile rising at the scent of liquor.

Water, or something resembling it enough to heed your command, rocketed from a nearby drain pipe. The thick haze over the area dissipated in an instant, all eyes on the man frozen to the rickety wall of a nearby building, face turning purple as he shouted indignantly. 

You stared for a moment, stunned by your own hand. And then, you ran.

People shouted as you crashed through them, feet pounding on the uneven stone road. Several sets of footsteps chase, gaining by the sound of it, all calling for you to stop. You pushed yourself to run faster, so hard your muscles burned but you pressed forward.

Lungs screaming for breath, you rounded the entrance to the main street in time for someone to snag your arm in a vice grip.

“Let me g—” Your scream is muffled by your captor forcing your face into his chest, arm slipping around your shoulders to keep you from breaking free. You fought but couldn’t break free.

“Walk, don’t look back” a deep voice rumbled. 

The hands were too warm to belong to your guard – not that you’d be lucky enough to run into Mingyu and make it back to the palace so easily – completely unfamiliar and unnecessarily rough. Between the guards still in pursuit not far behind and the man already dragging you through the crowd, you preferred the odds of whatever this new stranger had planned.

Out of the side street, your new captor maneuvered hastily. People parted on either side of your path, allowing more distance to grow between you and the mob, but their yells licked at your heels. You chanced a glance up and found the very firebender you’d humiliated weeks ago. Features schooled in a neutral expression, Wonwoo kept moving further down the street, steps so wide it was difficult to keep up. 

“Next intersection go right.” 

Your heels dug into the ground, refusing to move another step with this man. No way he took that beating weeks ago and wasn’t holding a grudge. You humiliated him in public, in front of his friends and probably a few enemies; few men would take that without protest and pass up an opportunity for revenge.

“Trust me, princess.”

The word striked frigid fear through your veins like ice. But he kept his eyes forward, constantly scanning the crowd and using the momentary pause to push you forward. You bounced off another couple as you stumbled to do as he says, face still hidden in the collar of his shirt. The street is still wet from last night’s rain and the water calls in reassurance. 

Wonwoo underestimated you, like so many others. Even though he didn’t look smug about knowing your identity he was still a threat. Perhaps he thought your victory was a fluke but you were prepared to remind him what defeat tasted like.

But first, you needed to lose your pursuers. And for now, Wonwoo served that purpose.

The street he turned you down was far calmer, but no less packed. The bodies moved in a gentle pulse unlike the crush of the central avenue. Wonwoo pressed forward but not as urgently, flowing with the ebb of foot traffic.

Your muscles tensed as distance from the main street grew, prepared for Wonwoo to strike. To pull you into one of the shadowed alleyways and challenge you to another brawl. But there were too many witnesses here for him to do much, not to mention all the buildings made of wood. Unless he was a unique type of stupid. 

But, surely this was far enough to shed him. Another busy street was not far ahead, one you recognized; farther south from the palace than you’d like but you’d make do. You just needed to find Mingyu and get back to the tunnels before Wonwoo caught back up.

Preparing yourself to run, you chanced another look to see if guards from earlier were well and truly gone. The chaos of before hadn’t followed, no shouts or discontent from the people left in your wake. But you couldn’t be sure until you—

“Don’t look.”

You huffed but faced forward once more. “I wasn’t going to!”

“Yes, you were,” Wonwoo swallowed something like a laugh. 

How dare he! If he thought he could take you captive and chastise you like a rebellious child then he had another thing coming. 

You jumped to your toes, twisting against his tight grip at your waist to peer back. Only to find one of the men from earlier already staring straight at you.

“Hey! Stop right there!”

“You looked,” Wonwoo groaned. “Run!”

Turning again, you froze the lanky man’s feet to the ground. He stumbled at the unexpected set back, crashing into passersby who seemed none too pleased but you could only assume from indigent yelling as Wonwoo dragged you away.

“In here,” Wonwoo whispered, shoving you into a dark alley, barely more than a divot between buildings before he followed suit.

His body pressed tight against yours from knee to shoulder. Like back in the warehouse. When he nearly pinned you against the wall and almost made you forget the entire reason you went at all that night. When he tempted you with a different challenge than what you planned to offer. You might have considered the proposition if Wonwoo hadn’t failed so spectacularly; let him prove his worth beyond bending. 

In the dark, you tripped over the slick paced ground and fell straight into Wonwoo’s chest. With your hands planted on his shoulders, you felt his lungs stretch around gulps of air. Under more pleasant circumstances you’d remember the impropriety of it all. Alone with a man, in a dark corner of the city; breath mingled in choppy pants, the heat of him sinking straight into your bones with his thigh between your knees. And his hands. Such rough, warm hands pinned against your sides. If anyone saw then they’d see a couple unable to wait for a more private location.

But you didn’t find yourself caring in the slightest. Not about propriety or even the fact that Wonwoo all but admitted he knowingly fought a member of the royal family and was now doing something even more scandalous. You couldn’t think when you were wedged so tightly between a wall and a man, intimate proximity you’ve never experienced before. The miraculous way his palms fit perfectly against your hips, how his breath ghosted against your forehead and the deep rumble of his voice—

“What were you doing?” he said. “Are you trying to get yourself arrested?”

If only he’d shut his mouth long enough for you to enjoy the fantasy of being like any other woman in the kingdom, free to touch and be touched. But the reprimand shattered the short lived dream.

“They wouldn’t have arrested me,” you huff indignitaly. “I had it under control! Or do you need a reminder?”

“By all means, freeze me to a wall! That went so well last time, didn’t it? Maybe this time you can just wait around for them to catch you.”

“Maybe I will!” You jabbed a finger into his chest, momentarily shocked by the firm muscles there, before ducking out of the alcove and back onto the street before doing something stupid with the new information.

But Wonwoo yanked you back into the shadows just in time for one of the men to run past. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Of course I do!” you silently scream. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because only an idiot would visit the Red Lanterns alone. Especially a woman. You clearly didn’t belong there.”

He said woman, not princess. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe it was a stupid nickname you were looking far too much into. There was no reason he should have recognized you. Your grandmother was so fiercely protective of her sole heir apparent that she hardly let you explore even the farthest corners of the palace grounds, let alone appear somewhere subjects got close enough to make out a single feature beyond your silhouette next to her. Only nobles, guardsmen, and servants would recognize you and the entire appeal of visiting the Middle District was none of them would be here. No one would know their princess was among them.

“Oh? And how do you know?”

“You’d be a lousy prostitute if you froze all your customers to a wall.”

You watched his face for any hint of dishonesty but he stared right back, eyes blazing with the same contagious annoyance. He didn’t know. His heart raced beneath your palm but didn’t stutter with dishonesty.

“Then what were you doing there?”

“I saw you earlier and thought…it doesn’t matter.” He eyed the disgust on your face before sighing. “Just tell me where you’re going and I’ll help you get there.”

“Thought what?” you gritted.

The air thickened with silence as different emotions flashed across Wonwoo’s face. He was no better than the drunk who tried to proposition you. Your thoughts might have devolved into something less than proper but you’d never act on it. If he thought he could just—

“No!” he shouted, eyes wide and bright red despite the dark. “That’s not…I wanted to challenge you to a rematch and then you went and got yourself into a fight.”

“So you were stalking me?”

“You’re in my neighborhood, waterbender. How do I know you’re not stalking me?”

You snorted at that in an attempt to ignore his muscles flexing between your thighs. He couldn’t have not noticed how compromising the position was. If he dipped his chin you could easily kiss him. Not that you would. Ladies did not kiss strange men in alleys; especially not princesses. Even if the strange man was incredibly handsome. And muscular. 

“Why would I need to stalk you for a rematch? I know where to find you if I need a confidence boost.”

Whether you liked it or not – and you most certainly didn’t – you were stuck with Wonwoo until you could shake him and the group of Middle District guards after you. Something tells you even if you did tell him you knew exactly where you needed to go, he’d follow just out of sight. That simply wouldn’t do if you wanted to keep your identity a secret; assuming he truly didn’t know.

Which meant he really did want to help; at least for now. As you peered back up, the fading bruises littering his jaw came into focus. Ugly splotches of yellow and green. Gifts you gave him freely and would happily supply more in spades but there is a twinge of guilt souring your stomach

“Did I do this?”

“Yeah,” he released a long breath through his nose, subtly leaning into your finger unconsciously tracing the marks. Someone did a good job healing him. “And you broke my nose.”

“Maybe next time you should learn to block,” you teased.

The same fire from when he approached you in the warehouse burned across his face, hot enough to scorch everywhere his body touched yours. Maybe one kiss, just to see what all the fuss was about, wouldn’t be so bad. The maids seemed to talk of nothing but which stableboys and guards they were kissing; how some were bad and others were good. Whatever that meant. How several were skilled at doing more vulgar activities with their mouths and hands. No matter how many times you asked, none of them ever answered what exactly they were so talented at but you read enough to have an idea.

For the briefest second, you wondered if Wonwoo would demonstrate just what it was that made the maids giggle so incessantly.

But as his head dipped closer to yours, the spell broke by the crush of reality. You needed to get back home. You needed to find Mingyu.

You looked back towards the street before speaking again, “I don’t know what the street is called but my friend was checking out fruit stalls when we got split.”

“Ah, yes,” Wonwoo grumbled, head tilting back against the wall behind him. “The one street with fruit merchants. Remember anything else? Cobblestones and people? Were there buildings?”

Smartass.

“Um… there was a stall with spirit carvings and a tea house.”

He scrubbed his face, or attempted to. There wasn’t enough room between your faces for the action so his hand hovered in the darkness awkwardly before collapsing back against your side. It seemed only then did he register his proximity, and whatever anger he clung to melted into stammering embarrassment. 

“Did you see the sign for the tea house?” he asked, eyes on the street.

“It was silver and had a—”

“The Silver Dragon. I know it. Come on.”

Another check that the coast was clear and Wonwoo pulled you back into the street, arm slung over your shoulders. He navigated easily enough. Each time he spotted something suspicious ahead he pulled you towards a stall, feigning interest in whatever goods were on display while watching from the corner of his eye until he deemed it safe enough to continue towards the Silver Dragon.

Slowly the buildings became more familiar; a merchant with a unique hat, the raven eagle fountain that hosted squealing children splashing in its waters. An old woman dishing out cups of frozen watermelon juice.

A silver flag embroidered with a dragon hung limply overhead. You scanned for Mingyu but to no avail, faces passed and blended the crowd into an amorphous ocean of strangers. Wonwoo kept a firm hold on your shoulders as the crowd swayed. He gripped your bare upper arm beneath the billowing sleeve of your tunic. No one besides your maids had touched you like this; so familiar and foreign at the same time. The heat of his palms like the first lick of a fire after hours in the snow. 

While Mingyu appeared to have moved on, the guards seemed to have doubled back. They wove through the thicket of people aggressively. Wonwoo froze, noticing at the same time that there was no way to turn around without garnering their suspicion. 

The street choked into a tight squeeze, locking you in place as the guards surged forward. Twenty feet, then ten. Then only a single person separated you from them and desperation fanned the flame of stupidity.

Your neck strained upward, and before Wonwoo could jump back, you fisted a hand in his hair and dragged him down to meet your mouth. He hesitated before sinking into the kiss eagerly, commanding your full attention with his teeth and the, with his tongue. With another pull, he guided you into the narrow space between merchant stalls, tripping over his own feet until all you registered was the hot press of him to your front and the chill of brick behind you. 

It’s not like the sweet chaste kisses in the plays you grew up watching. Wonwoo demanded nothing less than your complete attention with a hot suck against your bottom lip. You copied him with clumsy eagerness.

All the thinking, the responsibilities and reminders plaguing your consciousness silenced their screaming; instinct filled its place. Your hips thrashed until his thigh slotted between your legs with dizzying firmness but then there was the want of more that had you rocking against it. In the process you brushed against a lump between his own thighs, and the instinct to rub against it was too strong to ignore.

Wonwoo only groaned before diving to lap against the sensitive skin beneath your ear. He surged forward, meeting every curl of your hips with an enthusiastic arch of his own. A hand at the base of your spine, beneath your tunic, angled you just so – completely at his whim. His other hand heated the side of your throat, tipping your head back to leave you panting with another rough press of his mouth. 

Unconsciously, you traced his side, tugged at his shirt before letting go and only to crush the fabric again. Then your hands fell down his stomach until your palm pressed against that straining hardness and Wonwoo seized, teeth razing against your ear until you did the same. 

“Spirits,” he exhaled through swollen lips, grinding into your hand.

You sucked him back into another kiss, laving at the swell of his bottom lip until he knocked your hand away and spread your legs for a raw drag against your core. His head tucked into the crook of your shoulder, panting breath creeping through the fabric of your top as he did it again. The press of his mouth made your pace sloppy, mindless grinds until you both groaned.

You wanted him without the frustrating barrier of clothing obscuring the warmth of his hands, his chest; to have him do something about the aching emptiness settled in your core. The pang of needing something stoked by the bruising twists of him against you.

There’s no sound over the roaring blood in your ears. Sparks flashed in your vision but your eyes sneak open to watch Wonwoo’s face twisted in agony. You latched on to his neck – biting and licking the same way he did – until he made that noise again.

In the corner of your vision, you registered the pedestrians moving past as if nothing was happening. As if their princess wasn’t concealed only feet away, pressed against a strange man with a hand sneaking beneath the tie of his pants.

But instead of embarrassment, a hot jolt squeezed your chest. No one knew. Much like the nights you snuck from the palace to explore the city, your freedom was innocuous. A way to learn what was hidden behind the false shine councilmen presented in their reports and the poetic ramblings of tutors. 

Wonwoo could teach you about those sneaking passions that drove you mad on long nights. He already proved how much better they were when someone else wanted to resolve them.

Hours or days might have passed as you focused on coaxing out more of those delicious sounds – nail raking through his hair with every rut, rolling against him the same way waves rolled over the shore of the ocean under the full moon's pull.

Your vision blurred, unfocused on the faces walking past as Wonwoo sucked a bruise into your skin. That feeling in the pit of your gut twisted painstakingly tight like an itch you couldn’t scratch. More and more, until a familiar face passed by and reality came like an ice bath. 

Mingyu.

He couldn’t see you in the shadows, and the call of his name morphed into a throaty whine as Wonwoo snaked his hand further down your spine, down the back of your pants to squeeze the curve of your ass painfully. He continued to mouth at your shoulder, unaware. When you pushed him this time he pushed back with a hungered moan until you tugged him out of hiding.

“I have to go,” you panted, melting out of his grip. Your voice was unfamiliarly husky. Everything felt slower, hazier like the smokey streets earlier. 

His body tightened, attempting to pull you closer before letting go. Lips wet with spit, he regarded you with pure confusion. “What?”

But you were already back on the street before you could answer, underwear uncomfortably sticky. A problem for later; in the dark safety of your room. With vivid memories of a handsome firebender and the way his body felt surging against yours.

You chased Mingyu down the street, snatching his hand and taking off before temptation got the better of you and marched you back into the alley for Wonwoo to finish what started. 

“We need to leave,” you said. “Now.”

“Spirits, what did you do?” Mingyu cried.

“Just go!”

Wonwoo didn’t chase, and a part of you curdled with disappointment.

Wonwoo knew he should be in bed. Sleep or not, his body needed rest after the last few nights he spent awake plagued by the nightmare of you. He couldn’t concentrate. Blows he’d block with ease slipped by, bruises littered across his torso as proof. Forms he’d been drilled on for years and years to the point of muscle memory became sloppy enough for his commanders to notice.

And it was all your fault.

You were everywhere; the teasing lit of your voice, the heat of your eyes, the taste of your lips, those soft noises you made when Wonwoo pressed his cock into your core. 

It was bad enough after the first night you challenged him. Dokyeom spent all night healing Wonwoo and it hadn’t soothed the sting of humiliation. Then came the fact that no one knew who you were; Dokyeom hadn’t gotten your name, Jeonghan took bets under ‘death wish’. No one recognized you from anywhere in the city. You were a ghost. 

But then fate granted him a second chance, only for it to slip through his fingers. Again.

He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Couldn’t do the one thing he’s good at without being consumed by thoughts of you.

Moonlight dappled through the trees overhead, casting everything in a hazy filter of silver and shadows. Something scurried across the trail ahead and dipped into the bushes. Wonwoo was only fifteen minutes out from the barracks, too close to people for any of the bigger creatures to venture close. Even if something did come across his path, maybe it's what he needed; a new distraction from the one who's been terrorizing him non-stop.

Besides, Wonwoo was a soldier, body trained to remain vigilant even if his mind wanders. If something decided to attack he could handle it. But only fireflies and cicada crickets disturbed the stillness of the forest late at night.

He isn’t sure how long he walked but the moon remained heavy and full in the sky. The sun lay far way away, deep beneath the horizon. Wonwoo’s thoughts wandered farther than his feet could take him, imagining how you’d be spending a night like tonight, probably somewhere getting into more trouble. Maybe freezing another drunken pervert to a wall.

Wonwoo couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. You with your nose in the air as some man begs for mercy, leaving him to rot just because you could. 

Then, as all his thoughts of you were in the past few days, the images morphed until it was you and him. You beneath him, on top of him; him between your legs, his cock, his mouth, fingers. All of it as he tried to earn your approval. 

There it was. The uncomfortable tightness across the crotch of his pants, the sweat at the edge of his collar. Even the most innocuous thoughts of you sent his body into a helpless frenzy. He hated it all the more because no matter what he did it never stopped. It didn’t matter if he trained until his bones crumbled in on themselves, muscles wilted and spent, there was a part of him immune to exhaustion in light of you. When he took the herbs the medic recommended to help him sleep, his dreams were plagued with the most vivid visions of you; even worse than the waking ones.

It was all your fault for kissing him. 

He could have dealt with the embarrassment of being defeated swiftly in the ring. Things happened, he wasn’t immune to bad luck against a good opponent. But you kissed him, and touched him. You let Wonwoo touch you as if there wasn’t a busy street of witnesses only a few feet away. You wanted him to; purred and whimpered with each drag against his thigh. If he had slipped his hand beneath your underbindings like he wanted to there would be evidence of your arousal. He wanted to do that too – where anyone could have seen him. On his knees, with his mouth between your legs as you writhed and pulled his hair until you came.

But he didn’t know your name and was at the mercy of the spirits if he was ever to see you again.

Wonwoo followed the channel, meandering with every bend as his mind worked over and over. He just needed to clear his head enough for tomorrow. After that, he’d figure something out. Find a way to find you or hope you stumbled into his path once more. 

Splashes up stream pricked his ears. The closest waterfall was at least an hour's trek upstream from the barracks, where the mountains dropped off into a steep cliff like a spirit cleaved it in half. Wonwoo didn’t know how far or how long he walked but the trees were too dense to be that far out.

The ground was no longer soft from the rain days ago and allowed Wonwoo to sneak forward without sound. It was a shame the night was so clear, the shadows hugging close to the trees, not nearly enough to conceal himself in. But it was of little consequence. 

He saw you in profile, bathed in moonlight as you stood in the river, water parted into great walls on either side. Even at a distance, Wonwoo traced the silk binding your torso and the dark leggings clinging to your thighs as you danced among the swelling waves eager to follow your whim. If he hadn’t known better, it looked like the moon was focusing her gaze on you, illuminating you from beneath your skin.

The longer he looked the more he was convinced you were a spirit. No matter how close the waves came to your person, they never seemed to make contact; water completely bent to your will, under total control.

Wonwoo shuffled closer like a moth to a flame. Completely enamored with the sight before him, he didn't realize his mistake until a twig snapped beneath his foot. 

In an instant, the sweat and humidity clinging to his clothes froze; icy crystals stinging against bare skin.

Your chuckle was barely audible over Wonwoo’s hiss of discomfort. Heat flushed through his veins, melting your attack but the chill remained.

“You know, it's getting really hard to believe you aren’t stalking me,” you called. The rings of water floated around you even with divided concentration. Something like jealousy and awe rooted in his chest.

“How was I supposed to know you’d be out in the woods tonight?”

“I’m just saying it’s convenient that you always show up when I’m alone,” you smirked. “Don’t worry. I didn’t freeze anyone to a wall this time.”

Cover blown, Wonwoo approached the dry river bank. “Speaking of that, you never said ‘thank you’ for saving your life.”

The whip circling your figure sagged back down into the stream. Wonwoo felt a piece of him warm that he was distracting enough to crack your focus so significantly despite the full moon. As you turned, he became privy to just how much visible through the silk bindings criss crossing your chest. “You didn’t save my life but thank you. Now, do you want to fight or can I get back to my training?”

He couldn’t help but focus on the glittering drops of water cradled in your collarbone. How sweet they’d taste on his tongue if given permission. 

“I think I’ll watch for now.” He took a seat on the river bank, legs sprawled in front of him, a careful bend of his knees so the tent in his pants became less obvious.

“Suit yourself,” you shrug. The tentacles previously encasing you rose once again.

It was entirely inappropriate to ogle a woman in nothing but her underclothes. If Wonwoo was a better man he’d leave, or at least have the decency to pretend he wasn’t staring like a starved wolf. But you were spectacular, flowing through different forms with ease that even the best trained guards in his unit would envy. You bent and stretched and twisted suggestively beneath the moonlight.

If you had a weakness, it didn’t show. You bent the river to your will easily, skill that only came with years of trial and failure. Wonwoo stopped admiring the sight of bare skin and focused on your strength as you flowed into the more advanced forms. Thick branches hanging over the river snapping clean from nimble water whips, tree trunks peppered with ice daggers the size of his forearm.

He couldn’t help sending a disc of flame to cut off your next water whip, collapsing it into the grass as you stared indignantly.

Another stream met a tongue of fire from his fist, a burst of steam left in its place. This time you face him with a huff and Wonwoo simply shrugged.

Wonwoo ignored your next moves. You reached over head in a wide circle, back stretched long, all the muscles and skin obstructed by the frustrating blue fabric. It wasn’t until you froze a wall of water in place that he sent a blast of heat, melting the ice to drench you. 

“Oops,” he shrugged, stifling a laugh at your indignation.

It’s not as funny when you dump half the river on him and Wonwoo was left gasping like a fish.

When he could finally breathe again, you smiled innocently with an ‘oops’ of your own. 

Then the game was on.

Unlike the disappointing night at the warehouse, Wonwoo kept up this time.

You never sparred with someone who didn’t treat you as something fragile. Even Mingyu, try as he might to entertain your wishes, refused to attack with the full force he was capable of. Wonwoo didn’t harbor the same concern.

Neither of you kept advantage for long. Every water whip evaporated before landing, each fireball snuffed by a wave. It was invigorating. You stood shaking and sweaty after hours of trading blow for blow, the moon already dipping low in the sky. Wonwoo didn’t appear to be faring any better. The bruises on his jaw were faded but new ones stained his torso, blood trickling down his elbow from a particularly nasty ice blade. Singed holes scattered your leggings but the grass and trees claimed the brunt of damage.

It would have been so much easier to concentrate if he hadn’t shed his shirt after a whip tore a jagged hole across the front, revealing a muscular torso to the pale moonlight. It was horrible knowing what beneath his clothes looked just as good as it felt the other night. Even worse when his pants ripped just above the knee and you caught a glimpse of his thigh.

The entire reason you even snuck out tonight was because of him. His taste, the feel of him pressed against you so intimately. It haunted you day and night – in sleep, while awake, in meetings, when you were all alone. There was nowhere you could go without the memory of his body against yours; nowhere you hadn’t wondered what could have happened in that alley if Mingyu hadn’t walked by. 

You needed something to banish the feeling of his mouth on yours, to dissipate the restlessness settled deep in your muscles. While wading knee deep in the river wasn’t a smart idea, there was nothing at the palace that could help. No one wanted to spar, not to the level you could during the days leading up to a full moon. It wasn’t fair to give your all while guards curbed their skills in fear of hurting you.

So you bid an early goodnight, feigning some sort of illness and retired to your room before the sun had set. Once the moon started her venture across the sky you dug in the back of your wardrobe for the dark clothes from days prior. They were wrinkled but served their purpose. With Mingyu standing guard at your apartment entrance, you snuck out the tunnels and into the city beyond the palace walls. 

The clearing was exactly what you needed. Plenty of water and space to lose control, trees offering their service as target practice for whatever twisted move your mind conjured. It helped. Your muscles strained with a level of exhaustion unfamiliar to you, enough so that your mind couldn’t roam as easily. But then he plowed through the forest like he owned it. Of course you couldn’t have a moment of peace, the spirits wouldn’t allow you to indulge in serene silence if they could help it. They sent Wonwoo straight to you as an act of retribution for your long list of sins.

But sparring with him burned away some of the tension. If you were fighting with Wonwoo then you couldn’t think about all the other cravings; of finishing what you started against that wall. Sending ice floes at his head kept him far enough away that even if you wanted to pull him against a tree or down to the grass, you couldn’t.

“Is that really all you got?” he taunted. Wonwoo’s pain is clear on his brow, every step closer punctuated by a limp and labored breathing. 

“Oh, please,” you grunted, launching a weak ice disc at his head. The wall of fire lapping at your heels disintegrated as Wonwoo dodged. “As if you could handle more.”

Something feral flashed in his eye at the taunt. “Try me.”

Well at least this time he wasn’t so disappointingly easy to overwhelm.

You skated across the clearing. With the river to your back once again, you pressed the advantage and sent wave after wave. Wonwoo narrowly dodged them with well timed kicks, his fire dispersing them into steam. But each volley soaked clearing until he struggled to remain upright on the muddy ground as he approached the riverbank.

With your next attack, he fell on his back with a hard grunt. For a long second he didn’t move and you worried you’d seriously injured him this time. 

“Wonwoo?”

His chest rattled with each labored breath as you approached. He looked horrible; a mess of sweat and dirt, hair matted to his head. His eyes flickered with pain as he stared up at you, hesitating to take your outstretched hand before accepting.

Back on his feet, Wonwoo wasted no time tackling you into the water.

Breaking the surface, you screeched, “You jerk!”

“Come on! I got that move from you,” he laughed.

Even in the midst of dunking his head under, your blood warmed at the sound. He gripped your body tightly to his own, pinning your wrists together in one hand, effectively cutting off your bending. But you refused to go down without a fight. Fortunately he didn’t think you’d be formidable at hand to hand combat and while it was true, he was stronger, you slammed your foot against his thigh, breaking Wonwoo’s hold long enough to slip away.

He breached and sputtered before following again. “Where did you learn that?” 

You tussled on the shore, shoving handfuls of mud into each other’s hair and skin. Your legs hooked around his waist, rolling until you sat on his stomach.

Bad idea.

You’re close enough to trace the silver scar through Wonwoo’s brow. A fraction lower, his eyes light with the same fire as when you kissed him the other night. Rocks bit through the thin fabric of your pants, jagged against your knees. But Wonwoo was unaware, tilting his chin up to capture your lips. 

You bore down on him, sighing into the seductive heat of his mouth. Wonwoo groaned with a curl of his hips. It took all your focus to snatch his hands from your waist and pin them above his head but he didn’t seem to mind as you rained a series of wet kisses down the column of his neck. 

He made another desperate sound as you tugged at the water just out of reach, freezing thick cuffs from Wonwoo’s elbow up to his fingertips.

“Gotcha,” you whispered against his throat. 

He slumped into the ground, an indignant huff fanning across your forehead. “Very funny.”

“From where I’m sitting, it is.”

You’re smirk dissolved as he rolled his hips once again. The force sending you up his chest, hands bracketing his shoulders in an effort to maintain balance. To your shame, a sharp gasp squeezed from your lungs at the motion.

“What was that?”

His face – barely an inch away – was lax despite his confinement. It’s enticing. The way he’s spread out, chest displayed, muscles stretched; all of him on display, including the stains on his skin tugging at your conscience. Your hand glided down his chest, catching droplets from the stream to heal the fresher injuries. Those muscles flexed under your gentle touch before relaxing. Wonwoo’s eyes closed with a sigh of relief as cuts knitted back together and bruises faded.

“You’re really bad at this,” you said plainly, shifting focus away from the need to rut down. 

Wonwoo’s eyes widened for a moment, ears reddening before he sputtered. The realization dawned on you like the icy waters of the river. Oh. 

“Not that!” you corrected. “Fighting me. I’d thought you’d be better this time.”

“It’s a full moon,” he argued, eyes closing once again as you mended a scratch along his chin. It wasn’t even bleeding, but the compulsion to touch him was too strong to ignore.

“So? I could fight you with my hands behind my back and still win.”

“Wanna test that theory?”

With a dismissive wave the ice trapping Wonwoo melted before you answered, rising to your feet before you did something stupid. He was healed enough. “I think I’ve done enough damage to your ego.”

He barely reared back his fist for an attack when the same water froze him again. Now, with his arms and legs immobilized, he glared up at you. Predictable.

Without thinking, you pinned his chest down with a muddy foot. You couldn’t help it; something so satisfying as having him at your mercy conjured the reckless parts of your brain. “Yield.”

His eyes followed the line of your leg, up your torso, only pausing on your wet breast bindings for a moment, and then finally met your gaze. “If I don’t?”

“I can leave you here,” you shrugged, only to hide a shiver. “I’m sure you’ll thaw out by noon.”

Perhaps it'd be better to leave him shackled to the ground. You could leave him and get back to the palace before doing anything scandalous. He could still firebend as long as his mouth was uncovered, and after all the noise of the battle none of the wild life would come close before he freed himself. But Wonwoo wasn’t fond of the idea of waiting until morning to leave.

“Fine,” Wonwoo huffed. “I yield.”

The ice melted again, soaking his pants. No sooner did you turn around, Wonwoo sent a lick of flame at your ankle and, in your attempt to dodge, you sprawled next to him with a hard thud.

“You yielded,” you groaned in pain.

“I’m a sore loser.” Wonwoo rolled to his side, the weight of his gaze heavy on your face. One of his hands found the strip of skin between your bindings and your legs, tracing it with maddening pressure. How easy would it be for him to slip that same hand beneath your pants and touch you again. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“I practice a lot.”

“With who? Assassins?.”

One of your eyes opened to glare. “I watched a few of your matches. You’re…predictable.”

“I never saw you at the warehouse before.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t want to be seen.” 

Wonwoo took the opportunity to cover your body with his own, a thigh back between your legs and pressed just right against your center. His mouth found the sensitive spot beneath your jaw as he crumbled your defenses. You could afford to indulge a little bit; some kissing, more of that mind numbing friction from the market. Just to set your nerves at ease, untangle that insufferable knot in the pit of your stomach.

“And why is that?”

Before you can answer, Wonwoo kissed you again but this time you were prepared; surging up to meet him like a tidal wave.

Somehow, the weight of his body like that was even better than when he crowded you against the wall; heavy and satisfying for you to grind against, chasing warm friction. This time he touched without restraint, tugging at your bindings until they fell slack, committing the new swaths of bare skin to memory with his mouth and wandering hands. 

His tongue traced the slope of your breast, the chill in the forest pinching your nipples tight for his teeth to take one between. 

“Oh,” you moaned, fingers tangled in his hair, urging him to give more. Wonwoo offered the sting of a bite, sucking harder when you made the same depraved sound. You felt it everywhere, down to your core where he pressed against you with a kick of his hips. Far better than when you tried touching yourself after he had lit a consuming hunger in your veins. As if Wonwoo knew the spots driving you mad better than you ever would.

No one was around to hear the way you gasped his name as his hand snaked between your legs, the heel of it nothing short of mind numbing as it rocked against your clit.

“Still predictable?”

You leveled your gaze with his, furious at the confidence you found. During the spar you met him blow for blow. This would be no different, just a new stage.

“You’re hard and trying to scandalize the wildlife after I kicked your ass,” you stuttered through the last bit because Wonwoo curled his fingers against a spot you didn’t know existed. “You’re incredibly predictable.”

You touched him just as eagerly; dipping beneath the tight cling of his pants and fisting his cock with false bravado.

He stopped when you thumbed the leaking tip, huffing against your chest with a throaty groan of his own before continuing with renewed energy. Wonwoo pressed himself through your loose grip, back and forth and back and forth with that mesmerizing hardness that was soft like velvet and hotter than any fire he’d attacked you with; each cant in time with the way you rocked against him. Until he followed your lead and dipped his hand beneath your leggings, calloused fingertips sliding timidly as you writhed beneath him.

“Wonwoo, please.” You needed something, anything. He kept his teeth at your breast, sucking and licking while a finger shallowly dipped inside you. 

“Tell me what you want,” he gritted, pulling until you sat back in his lap completely bare from the waist up, the silk of your bindings left on the ground.

I don’t know! I don’t know, tell me what I need, you thought; but you'd rather die than admit inexperience. Instead, you acted on instinct. Each rock of your hips proved it was the right path, the tight press of his fingers better with the new angle as you clung to him. You sank further into it, Wonwoo encouraging you to take whatever you wanted.

It was too much and not enough. Your chest thrusted forward with every motion, and the hand cupping you gently turned into rough pinches hard enough to sting; his mouth the same. 

Maybe you could sneak out of the palace every night for this, or sneak Wonwoo in. It wouldn’t be too difficult. He could give this to whenever you needed, no one the wiser as you bared yourself between the sheets for his eyes only. 

“So fucking wet.” He punctuated the observation with another finger, palm rocking into that explosive place again and again. You’re knocked off-balance. Knees spread wide to accommodate and Wonwoo took full advantage to brush your hand away from his cock and pull you further into his lap, both hands beneath your bottoms; perfect to roll against as he leaned back to watch. “Don’t seem disappointed now.”

You swam through the beginning of something, Wonwoo’s voice grounding you back down to reality. The goading you could do without but it’s a small price to pay. As long as he maintained the wet slide of your core, he could say whatever he wanted. Your mouth dropped open, head tilted back as your thighs quaked. 

“I—” you gasped. All at once the world snapped into a million stars.

He kissed you; your chest, your throat, cheeks, lips. Anywhere Wonwoo could reach was stained with the warmth of his mouth as you shuddered with teary eyes, raking pink lines into his chest. He swallowed each wrecked sound until you kissed back with shaky breath.

 “You’re dirty.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed.

His humor exploded against your cheek, laughter tickling your ears as he dragged a finger across your collarbone. He meant the mud caked to your back, knotted in your hair. But you couldn't focus on the ridiculousness. Wonwoo was still hard, the dewy tip of his cock peeking from the band of his pants. The sight made your chest ache.

The laughter turned to a stunted moan as you gripped him once more. You shifted down his thighs to make more room, but Wonwoo kept you close, nipping at your jaw with each stroke. It’s unlike anything you felt before, the power, the thrill of undoing him, watching as he crumbled into a panting mess beneath your fingers. You pulled his hair and licked behind his teeth.

“O-oh. Fuck,” he groaned. His head fell back, the smooth skin of his throat enticing as he swallowed another sound; the pale glow of early dawn sun providing a startling contrast.

Panic flooded your veins. You looked up and found the moon sunk deeper to make room for the new day.

You were late.

“Shit. Shit. I have to go.” You scrambled away, snagging your bindings. They were disgusting but you had no time to wash them. At least the shirt you snuck out in would hide the wreckage. You tied them tight, whipping around to find the rest of your clothes.

“What?” Wonwoo blinked, as if he was waking from a dream; eyes glazed, cock dewy and pink in his lap as he stared up at you. 

You flushed, tempted to sit back down and pretend it was a mistake. The voice whispering in the back of your head wanted nothing to do with responsibilities and obligations. You wanted this. To be reckless and enjoy what Wonwoo offered, and feel the way he responded when offered the same.

But the pale morning light brought reality with it. 

“I’m sorry. I—” There was nothing else you could say. No explanation that wouldn’t leave you both with heartache. So you kissed him softly, long and slow, until Wonwoo’s fingers tickled back across your hips and you remembered you had to go. Now. “I’m sorry.”

And then you sprinted home without looking back.

After the beating Wonwoo received into the early hours of this morning, perhaps he should feel the same bruise to his ego like the weeks before when his face resembled the wrong end of a moose dragon. Even with the best healing, his body ached for days after. A constant reminder not only had he lost, but done so in front of one of the biggest crowds the warehouse ever had. 

But even though he lost again last night, he’d won enough to walk on clouds like an airbender.

You were distracting while in your element but when you came? He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Helpless to the vision of your chin tipped back, spine arched as you moaned his name. Never mind he had to finish himself after you fled, returning to the barracks to hide in the bathroom like a teenager. The memory was enough, it only took a few strokes before he found his own satisfaction; though he preferred to find it with you next time.

Not even the weary day ahead dampened his glow despite the lack of sleep. The Queen rarely visited, and the princess never. But today they planned to, and that meant everything must be in perfect order which included new uniforms starched until Wonwoo could hardly bend.

The courtyard was packed with guards of all levels, cadeats to captains. They spent the morning sparring and working through basic forms under the watchful eye of Commander Aiko, Wonwoo overseeing the training ring. Under the high noon sun, the firebenders maintained a clear advantage over anyone else but Wonwoo conserved his energy for later. Once the Queen arrived, Commander Aiko would no doubt drag him out for a demonstration for the old man to tout as his own accomplishment.

It’d be good to remind the others of his skill, how he earned his rank through nothing but sheer determination. Most of the teasing had faded in the past month but it never hurt to make sure. Just because he lost to you didn’t mean he couldn’t defeat any of them. It wasn’t a fluke, you were just better. Wonwoo admired your skill but next time he’d win.

But he banished those thoughts for now. He’d found you twice – by chance but he still found you – a third time felt inevitable. There was too much unfinished business for him to believe otherwise. When he did have you again, he wouldn’t let you slip away so easily.

It wasn’t until later afternoon that the royal procession arrived, palace guards donned in stark black uniform circling a pair of women like hawk vultures. He couldn’t see the princess’s face from where he stood, only the stretch of silk across her shoulders as Commander Aiko gestured animatedly.

Rumor had it the princess was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, with soft manners. kind eyes, and a gentle soul. Not that anyone saw her outside the palace. The queen kept her under lock and key, rightfully so as her only heir. But tales of her beauty and warmth flowed freely. She was the kind of princess men went to war for. Sacrificed their lives for. 

And as such, most of the men had put extra time into preparing this morning; shaving and hogging mirrors in the bathroom to fix their hair. As if the princess would look upon one of them and find interest in a man with no title, no money, and no influence. The stuff of legends that Wonwoo had no interest in.

Wonwoo supervised the officers as they attempted to throttle one another. Apparently rumors of the princess’ presence inspired their best; it was almost pathetic if he wasn’t impressed by their creativity. 

Rone yanked the ground from beneath Pono’s feet, rushing the smaller man forward into his fist covered in rock. The force would’ve knocked Pono unconscious if he hadn’t used the momentum to leap over Rone with a gust of air and slam his knee into his chest. Rone doubled over, gasping for breath.

“That’s enough,” Wonwoo called. “Ura. Tou. You’re up. Try not killing each other this time.”

Ura shook her head. “You light a guy on fire once.”

“Six!” Tou screamed. “You’ve lit me on fire SIX TIMES!”

“Make it seven,” someone on the sidelines cheered.

Ura lunged at To with a fire whip but Wonwoo was distracted with a call of his name before he could see Tou redirect it.

“Captain Jeon, I’d like to introduce you to her Royal Majesty and her granddaughter, Princess Y/N”

Wonwoo, remembering his manners to never turn his back to the royal family, whipped around fast enough everything blurred as he rushed to bow. “Your Majesty, Your Highness.”

“Commander Aiko has told me much about you, Captain Jeon,” a voice greeted him, definitely the Queen from the rich timbre. “I hope you’ll honor us with a demonstration of your skills later.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. It’d be an honor.” 

Wonwoo rose and finally got his first glance of the princess. She was even more beautiful than the stories claimed, face glowing in the sun, not a hair out of place. A dress of rich fabric, embroidered with pearls in a wave motif at the collar, hugged her figure but didn’t betray the power beneath.

While he couldn’t vouch for manners, your eyes were anything but kind. If looks could kill, Wonwoo was a dead man walking. His veins froze. Absolutely not. This was not happening. It was a dream, a sick and twisted dream where he made out with royalty in a field without knowing. 

It didn’t make sense. 

You bowed, eyes averted to your shoes with a greeting in return. The wild energy that possessed you in the field was nowhere to be found; extinguished by faux meekness and rigid posture.

“Jeon,” Aiko started, preening like a peacock. “Give Princess Y/N a tour of the grounds. She’s never seen men in action.”

Wonwoo managed to silence his snort of disbelief but couldn’t help the quip dripping from his tongue. “Oh, I doub—”

“A tour would be wonderful, Captain Jeon,” you cut him off. Your teeth gleamed like knives, gaze pointed. The wildness was still there and a bolt of fear flashed through him.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Wonwoo spun on his heel, leading you to the far side of the training ring while Ura and Tou lulled into a standoff, circling one another warily. He couldn’t help but feel you and him were doing the same.

Embarrassment, betrayal. It’s why you hadn’t told him your name, he realized. Not at the warehouse, not at the market, not even in the field. You played him for a fool again and again. And he let you

Tou knocked Ura’s left leg out from beneath her with a blazing kick. She fell to her knees but Ura rolled just in time to avoid Tou’s fist, dragging an arch of flame up with her heel and forcing Tou back.

You hovered beside Wonwoo, silently watching the fight. He refused to look at you because if he did then no doubt someone would notice his anger. And why would he be angry at the princess? Wonwoo never officially met you, this is technically the first time he’s ever seen you let alone spoken to you. 

From opposite sides of the training ring, Ura and Tou’s both thrust their palms forward to summon fire streams thick enough the air around them shimmers as they collide; blue versus red. The crowd of guards watching stepped back, tugging at their collars. Wonwoo was tempted to step forward and join the fight, work out some of the restless annoyance burning beneath his skin.

“Impressive,” you commented, features tinged golden by the flame. 

Wonwoo would have agreed if Ura’s ankle hadn’t quivered. Tou, forever soft for the willowy firebender, refused to take advantage of her weakness. He’d throw a hundred matches before using Ura’s injury against her. And Ura knew it.

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“You don’t exactly seem interested in any sort of conversation,” you shot back.

You were right. Wonwoo didn’t want to talk anymore than he wanted to pull his own teeth out. What he wanted was to wake from this horrible dream, for Hoshi to come out of the woodwork and reveal this was all an elaborate prank. 

Wonwoo winced as Ura grappled Tou down to his knees, slinging her arm around his neck and pulling him into a chokehold. Then he turned to look at you. “Pardon me for coming to terms with the fact I got into a fist fight with royalty. It’s a first for me.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t plan this.” You have the sense to look ashamed, eyes on the ground Tou wiggled out of Ura’s grip and scrambled to his feet.

“Do you know how much trouble I could get in if anyone found out I tried to fight you? I could be executed.”

“That wasn’t—” You stopped abruptly, chest expanding with a deep breath. “You said you were from the Middle District. How was I supposed to know you were a part of the Crown’s Guard?”

“I am from the Middle District.”

Your fingers bunched in the pleats of your robes. “But most of the guards are from the Noble's Quarter.”

“I’m not like most men. But I don’t expect you to understand what it means to earn something.”

“I think I earn my victories quite well,” you spat. “Perhaps you would like another demonstration, Captain Jeon.”

In the ring, Ura and Tou came to a standstill. The inky braid coiled on Ura’s head had long unraveled, tangled and lopsided as it hung down her back. Tou’s new jacket was signed at the collar, cuffs smoldering as well. They looked like they were having the time of their lives.

Wonwoo waited a long moment before speaking again. It would do no good to insult you. Already the darkest corners of his anger were brightening. “That was…unkind of me. I apologize.”

“Your insults are as deficient as your bending,” you smiled and strode away leaving Wonwoo to follow like a scorned puppy.

Ura and Tou waned but continued. 

“Why don’t either of them give up?” you asked. 

“Ura agreed to marry Tou if he could beat her in a fight.”

“I thought relations between guards were forbidden.”

“They are. It’s why Tou refuses to take advantage of her weak ankle.”

“Then why would she…”

“If you’re asking me to explain their relationship then I have no answers,” Wonwoo replied as Tou finally yielded and another pair of troops took their place. “You’re lucky most of the guards don’t go to those matches or we’d both be in serious trouble.”

“If none of the other guards go, why were you there?”

“I’ve been doing it for years. They pay well and I needed money.”

Wonwoo leaves the rest unsaid. What other reason did a Middle District kid have to fight other than money? He took his beatings in the public arena for years because coin was coin. He never planned to become skilled enough to start winning. But when he did, after years of blood, sweat, and tears, he was good enough for the Crown Guard to take notice and Seungcheol to bring him into the fold before retiring. Now, Wonwoo had a free place to sleep, albeit it was barely large enough for him and the four other men he shared it with, all on bunk beds. But it was far better than the fifty man barrack he started in years ago. There were free meals and hot showers and his patrols through the Noble's Quarter rarely were more than counting the number of steps through his route before he ended up back where he started. 

The fighting kept his skills sharp in the way training couldn’t. Commander Aiko didn’t like his cheap shots or the scrappiness Wonwoo learned in the ring. They were ‘undignified’ for one of the Royal Army, especially the Crown’s Guard. But more often than not, they were the edge he had on the other officers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I never intended to put you in such a difficult position. I just—”

“You just what, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” you spat before softening. “How am I supposed to be Queen if I’m not allowed to actually see my kingdom?”

Seeing your kingdom felt like an odd way to describe what you and Wonwoo had been doing away from wandering eyes but he didn’t dwell.

“Probably not by lying.”

“Or by freezing men to walls.”

The attempt at humor softened and soured Wonwoo’s mood all at once. Rationally, he knew he should be angry. Furious even. But it was not that simple. If he was in your shoes, what would he have done? Probably far worse than sneaking out for a night on the town. Even too many hours at the barracks had a way of making him crave for the anonymity of the city streets he grew up on. 

Wonwoo was not angry, annoyed maybe. Even as you stood, wrapped in the finest silks he’d ever seen with enough sapphires and pearls pinned in your hair for him to buy a village, it was pity he felt rather than disdain. To be forced to hide the wildness you possessed behind pretense and perform exactly what was expected of you. Could he blame you for wanting a break from it all?

Judging by the hopeful look on your face you wanted to leave the entire ordeal in the past, same as him.

“That might help you on the throne.”

You smiled and looked back at the two men sparring in the ring who were fighting with swords, the smaller one locking their hilts together and twisting until the larger man was forced to release his weapon. 

He’d be infatuated with you but that was all it was; all it could be. A funny story to remember years and years from now, when his children’s children were grown. They’d call him crazy for rambling about how he once knew the princess.

He couldn’t help his next question. “And everything else? Are you sorry for that too?”

A blight of confusion twisted your face before your eyes bulged. Years of etiquette schooled your features swiftly but Wonwoo felt pleased to see you off kilter as he felt, however brief. You should be just as uncomfortable with the looming consequences of what happened in that field as he was.

The satisfaction didn’t last long.

You turned to face him head on, leveling him with a heavy gaze. “Are you?”

Wonwoo choked.

It seems the fire from before was not completely snuffed out under pounds of finery. 

“I think I’ve seen enough of the grounds. It's quite warm and I feel myself growing faint.”

When he finally regained his senses, Wonwoo followed several steps behind, face tinged red. Hopefully everyone mistook it as a result of a day in the sun rather than a battle of wits. 

Commander Aiko and the Queen ceased their conversation as you approached them..

“What do you think of our troops, Your Highness?” Aiko asked.

“They are very impressive, Commander,” you smiled.

By some great miracle, Aiko stood fifteen feet taller with your compliments. It itches at the back of Wonwoo’s brain that a compliment could slip off your tongue so easily towards others but not towards him. 

“I’m pleased my men are up to your standards. Captain Jeon is one of my best, you’ll be completely safe in his care during next month's festivities.”

“Pardon?” you and Wonwoo asked at the same time.

Aiko frowned. “Her Majesty insisted on additional protection due to the increased presence at the palace. Surely, she informed you?”

“She did,” you nodded. “But wouldn’t Captain Jeon’s expertise be more valuable elsewhere? It’d be a shame for his skills to be wasted guarding me when we will be surrounded by allies.”

“In the event something might go wrong, is it not better to have someone as trained as he is to protect you?”

Wonwoo wanted to argue that you were more than capable of protecting yourself. But clearly your bending talents were a secret, at least to Commander Aiko. Perhaps that was for the best; the element of surprise was a powerful tool, one you wielded well. A glance at your blanked expression all but confirmed it.

Aiko continued, “You are next in line, therefore your safety is second only to the Queen herself. Captain Jeon would be honored to serve you.”

The old man leveled Wonwoo with an expectant look, giving him two options: reject the position and directly insult the crown and his commanding officer, inadvertently signing his own death warrant. Or accept, play minder for however long was required. Then he could return to his life and pretend none of this ever happened.

“It would be my honor to serve the royal family and her Highness.”

Wonwoo convinced himself that the disappointment in your eyes was wishful thinking. 

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[wonwoospeach]

all time favorite!!!

Licentious

❝ Wonwoo has always been a scrupulous man, but he’s quick to abandon all his morals after his wife hires a cute babysitter to look after their daughter. ❞

PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x female reader

WORD COUNT: 7.1k

GENRE: babysitter au, cheating au, smut

WARNINGS: dilf!wonwoo, babysitter!reader, infidelity, age gap (reader is in her 20s and wonwoo is in his 30s), dacryphilia, dumbification, daddy kink, oral sex (f & m receiving), face riding, face fucking, possessiveness, unprotected sex, squirting, overstimulation, multiple creampies, cum eating, cock drunk!reader, pussy drunk!wonwoo

a/n: this was written because i’m still not over this photo shoot and because it’s wonwoo day! minors dni!

You should feel disgusting, ashamed, guilty, or even the tiniest bit of regret. But you don’t. All that’s left is a deep-rooted longing and carnal desire that can’t be suppressed.

The strong arm wrapped around your torso pulls you impossibly closer, a slender nose nuzzling deeper into your neck. You lick your lips and press your cum-stained thighs together. Oddly enough, you can’t even overthink. All you focus on is the comfortable warmth lulling you to sleep.

The fact that the addicting warmth is coming from your boss who’s married doesn’t make it hard to fall into peaceful sleep.

The dynamic in the Jeon family is odd. From the moment you stepped into the house to babysit the married couple’s one-year-old daughter, you took notice of the disconnect and hostility between the pair. This came as a shock since they had seemed like the perfect couple when they interviewed you.

It isn’t until Mrs. Jeon comes home one night with a man that is most definitely not her husband that you realize this picture perfect family is anything but. The older woman didn’t beg or plead with you not to tell her husband. Instead, she asked through slurred words if you could take her daughter upstairs to her room and stay with her for the night. Icky as it was, you did as you were told.

You wondered if it was your place to say anything, but the choice was ultimately taken from you the next time you were asked to babysit. The housekeeper had let you inside their home during one of their screaming matches. Apparently Wonwoo already knew about his wife’s promiscuous activities. It surprised you to find out he was more angry that she didn’t care to be a good mother. Mrs. Jeon responded that she never wanted to be one in the first place and only did so to placate him and save their failing marriage.

Needless to say, you spent the rest of the night in Hana’s room.

You texted your friend in a panic. She had helped you get the job, so you didn’t feel right about making her look bad by abruptly quitting. Although she reassured you that she would support you no matter what you decided to do, you still felt sorry.

Maybe it’s because you feel the need to not let her down or maybe it’s because of the little girl with huge brown eyes that you’ve grown inexplicably attached to, but you decide to stay.

Things don’t change or get better with time. It’s not your place to judge what’s going on which is why you mind your business despite the tension between in the house only getting worse by the day. The only thing that makes it tolerable is not only the adorable baby you take care of, but the man who hired you. Jeon Wonwoo the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and he’s also extremely sweet and such a good dad.

You feel only slightly guilty that you’ve developed a crush on your boss, but it’s quick to disappear when you realize that sweet Mr. Jeon is still loyal to his wife even though she couldn’t be any more terrible to him. The impure feelings consume you more and more as your boss starts to spend his days at the large house. He started working from home since his wife decided to spend her time out of the house and coming home late or not at all.

Part of you feels disgusted and resentful, but when she confesses to you after one of her nights out that she only married him to please her parents, you feel a bit sympathetic. Still, you can’t understand how she involves her precious daughter in the problems she’s had for years.

There’s a part of you that wonders if you only being able to babysit part time is of any actual help. Since you’re still a full time student, you can’t always be there to watch the cute little girl. It makes you feel sorry because you can see all the stress Wonwoo is feeling.

You feel sick for even fantasizing about helping him relieve that stress.

None of this matters since you don’t plan on acting on your inappropriate feelings. That is, until you show up to the grand mansion soaked from head to toe.

“Y/N.” Wonwoo is quick to usher you inside when he opens the door and sees you completely drenched. “What happened? I tried to call—”

“My phone died.” You say, shivering as you step in the large foyer. “I got caught in the rain. Sorry.”

“Don't be. Let me get you a towel.”

He’s quick to return with a fluffy towel that’s softer than any other towel you’ve felt in your life. It almost makes you want to reject it for fear of ruining it.

Wonwoo leads you through the living room where you see his wife passed out on the couch, two bottles of wine and an empty glass on the coffee table in front of her. You’re quick to direct your stare elsewhere, not wanting to know the details behind that.

“I’m sorry you came all this way. My sister-in-law is watching Hana since Yerin and I got into a fight.”

You feel awkward since you came all this way for nothing and the storm outside showed no signs of clearing up. Wonwoo must sense how uncomfortable you feel because he leads you upstairs to the master bedroom.

“Why don’t you stay here for the night? It’s late, and I don’t feel comfortable letting you leave in this weather.” His tone is friendly but leaves no room for arguments. “You can use our bathroom to take a shower. Leave your wet clothes in the hamper and I’ll stick them in the dryer.”

You thank him, feeling your heart thumping erratically like it always does when you’re around him. Wonwoo offers you a kind smile before leaving you alone. It’s strange for you to step into the luxury shower that’s used by your boss and his wife. You try to stop your mind from wandering too much and focus on getting clean.

When you’re done, you notice there’s no towels around, only a fluffy bath robe that looks completely new. Without much of a choice, you slip into it and step back into the bedroom.

Wonwoo is sitting on the large bed. He gives you a kind smile as you walk over and sit by him. It’s silent for a moment until you decide to break it. Maybe you’re crossing a line by doing it, but you can’t stand to see the sweetest man you’ve ever met in such turmoil.

“Are you okay?”

Your boss’s shoulders sag. “Not really. I’m not sure what to do anymore. I know Yerin is unhappy, but we can’t just break our family apart. Why can’t she think about our daughter?”

He sounds so vulnerable that it makes your heart break. You fight the urge to give him a hug.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo breathes out, running a tense hand through his hair. “This isn’t your problem—”

“It’s okay.” You reassure him. “And I’m sorry. Even if you get a divorce, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good dad.”

Wonwoo turns to look at you with shining eyes. He gives you a smile that you easily return. “Thank you for saying that. It means a lot.”

“It’s true.” You tell him honestly. “You’re considerate and kind. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”

You belatedly realize that your words could be considered inappropriate, but the intent gaze you’re receiving isn’t disapproving. Somehow, the air has turned different.

“Yeah?” His deep voice has taken a raspy tone that’s driving you insane.

“Yeah.”

Your heart is leaping up to your throat, and before you know it, you’re both leaning in. Wonwoo slides an arm around your waist and tugs you closer until your practically on his lap. His other hand slides up to cup your face before his lips collide with yours.

The kiss starts off slow, both of you wanting to savor the feeling and taste of each other. Your mind becomes clouded with lust, and it seems to get worse when you feel his thumb gently caress your face. It’s not long before the sweet kiss turns demanding and hungry.

Your hands seem to move on their own as they caress his chest and broad shoulders. You start to tug on the shirt that’s tucked into his pants, wanting it to come off. Wonwoo relents easily. He pulls away from your lips to rip the shirt off.

You only get a split second to admire how good his chest and abs look before you feel the top of your robe being yanked open. Wonwoo’s eyes are dark as he takes in your pretty tits that he’s imagined countless times. He eases you on to his lap fully so you’re straddling him before he brings your chest to his awaiting lips. Wonwoo latches his hot mouth on one of your hardened nipples, tongue licking and swirling around the hardened bud.

You cry out in pleasure, cunt throbbing with need. Wonwoo gives the same attention to your other nipple as he pinches and pulls the one that’s covered in his saliva. All you can do is moan and whimper pathetically, feeling like you can come from him sucking on your tits alone.

“So pretty.” Wonwoo groans as he presses wet kisses on your tits, licking and sucking on every bit of exposed skin on your chest.

His impressive bulge keeps brushing against your wet cunt, and you start to purposely grind down on him so he can fuck you like you both want.

Wonwoo smirks at your actions, loving how the robe falling around your elbows is open enough to give him a peek at your stomach. “Such a needy little bunny. You that desperate for my cock?”

God, his deep voice is going to make you implode from sexual frustration. It seems like he’s going to Keep teasing you, so you’re left with no choice but to use a trick that’s always worked for you in the past.

“Want it so bad, daddy.”

You have to hold back your smirk when Wonwoo’s cock twitches under you. His gaze sharpens and becomes impossibly darker. Wonwoo’s large hands sneak under your robe to knead your bare ass before pushing you forward to grind your dripping cunt against his growing bulge. You whine out, loving how his hands feel on you.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?” Wonwoo coos into your neck before he places a gentle kiss on it. “Let daddy use you how he wants?”

Your pussy clenches at his words, and you can’t even be ashamed when you quickly nod with eagerness. His teeth gently nip at your neck before he pulls back and gives you a heated look.

“Then show me how much you want this cock.”

You lick your lips and move to get off his lap, letting the robe fall to the ground. The way Wonwoo looks at you like he wants to eat you makes more arousal drip out of you. You kneel between his legs, mouth salivating as Wonwoo starts to unbuckle his belt to pull out his dick.

His cock is huge—the biggest you’ve ever seen. It’s thick and long and connected two heavy balls that are full of cum. You’re going crazy at the thought of having him inside you and fucking you full of cum until you can’t think. Wonwoo’s dick slaps against his taut stomach, and you wait all of two seconds to get your hands on it.

With eagerness that makes precum ooze from Wonwoo’s throbbing tip, you grip his fat cock and spit on his bulbous head. The guttural groan he lets out when you start licking up the length makes you wetter. You envelop his tip with your hot mouth, slobbering all over him as you swirl your tongue around to lick the cum spilling from him.

Wonwoo moans, running a gentle hand through your hair. He feels like he’s already fucked out and you just started.

You feel your jaw has to hurt when you start to fully take the rest of his cock into your mouth. The weight on your tongue makes you hum. Sucking dick always made you wet, but the fact that it’s your boss’s cock is making you drip all over the floor. You start to bob your head talking him deeper until all you can hear are the pretty moans he’s letting out.

Wonwoo can’t look away. Your mouth is full of cock and your pretty tits are bouncing with every bob. You look completely irresistible, on you knees for him. It makes him regret not getting to this point with you sooner.

You pull off his cock when he starts twitching in your throat, wanting to tease him just enough to get him to fuck you the way you know he can. Placing gentle kisses along the thick vein, your hand trails down to massage his balls. You’re drooling all over his cock, looking so fuckable that Wonwoo nearly blows his load right then and there.

“So fucking pretty.” Wonwoo murmurs softly as he goes to caress your hair.

His words make a burning desire ignite in your stomach, and you let out a needy whimper before sucking one of his big balls into your mouth. You start to fist his cock, gazing up at him with hooded eyes.

“Want you to fuck my mouth, daddy.” You moan, voice slightly muffled by his sack.

Wonwoo’s cock throbs at your words. Fuck. He’s going to absolutely ruin you.

Your boss grips your hair and pulls you off. He slaps his leaking tip on your mouth, smearing his precum all over your lips. Wonwoo’s eyes are the color of the dark sky outside as he nudges his cock into your mouth. “Be a good bunny for daddy.”

His cock eases down your throat, making you gag slightly. But you take it all, not caring that your eyes are starting to water. Wonwoo starts to buck his hips, balls slapping against your chin as his cock hits the back of your throat. His moans are silent as his heavy dick throbs against your tongue.

Your drool and his precum starts to drip down your chin, and you feel his cock start to pulse inside your mouth. He gives a few more thrusts before he’s emptying his balls into you mouth. You happily swallow every drop of his thick cum, moaning around him in pure bliss.

“Such a good girl.” Wonwoo says through quiet pants.

He pulls his dick out of your mouth, affectionately caressing your head. A string of saliva connects to his throbbing tip as you gaze up at him with the most alluring look he’s ever seen. Wonwoo pulls you up until you’re laying on his chest. His mouth is on yours in a second, tongue invading your mouth to taste every inch of you.

Wonwoo trails a hand down your body, pausing to squeeze a handful of your ass. You moan into his mouth when he trails his fingertips to your wet cunt. Fuck. You’re already so wet and ready for him. He pulls away from your sweet lips and looks at you with ravenous desire.

“Want my mouth on your pussy, baby?” His eyes are wild with desire as you let out a cute little whimper and nod furiously.

In the next second you’re hovering over Wonwoo’s face. His strong hands grip your thighs before they jerk you down and make you sink your cunt on his awaiting tongue. You gasp out in pleasure when you feel Wonwoo’s tongue split through your folds. He groans against you, already addicted to your taste.

“Don’t hold back, sweetheart.” Wonwoo’s voice is muffled, the vibrations feel delicious against your quivering pussy. “Ride my face and let daddy taste your sweet cream.”

You start to roll your hips, moaning as you feel Wonwoo’s tongue swirls around your wet cunt. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you are. Your juices are pouring out of your cunt and covering every inch of his lower face every time you rock your hips.

“Ah!” You cry out, fucked out gasps tumbling past your lips when your boss’s nose bumps against your clit.

Wonwoo spreads you wider for him, using his lips to envelop your pulsing clit before giving it a harsh suck. The moan you let out when he starts to make out with your pussy is downright pornographic. Lewd squelching sounds are bouncing off the walls, and it sounds so good paired with your cute little cries of daddy, daddy, daddy!

“That’s it, baby.” Wonwoo groans into your dripping cunt. “Use daddy's face.”

One of his hands is still holding on to your thigh to keep you in place. The other one is drawing back to caress the globe of your ass. Then, his large hand comes down to slap it, hard. His actions catch you off-guard. It sends a thrill to your cunt and you moan out way too loudly.

“Fuck, daddy!”

Your pussy tightens around Wonwoo’s tongue as he happily drinks up all the arousal coming out of you. He happily hums against you, loving how vocal you are.

“Such a good little bunny. Let Yerin know that your rubbing this sweet little cunt all over her husband’s face.” Wonwoo whispers filthily, slapping your ass one more time to get you to cry out for him again. “Let her hear how good daddy’s making you feel.”

Honestly, you had been so lost in your pleasure that you forgot his wife was downstairs, passed out. But you don’t fucking care. Part of you almost wants her to wake up and hear how good her husband is making you feel.

You cry out again when you feel long fingers entering your pulsing cunt. Wonwoo roughly pumps his fingers in and out of you, wet slapping sounds filling the room as he continues to suck your clit.

All your senses go into overload when you feel his bare teeth against your bundle of nerves. Wonwoo lightly bites down and nips at the sensitive flesh, making you moan loudly. You throw your head back, prolonging your loud cries not caring that his stupid wife is just downstairs because you’re squirting all over her husband's face.

“Fuh-fuck! Daddy!”

Wonwoo’s strong enough to keep your thigh pinned down with one hand. He keeps you in place even when it gets to be too much. Your pussy is twitching and feels unbearably sensitive. The intensity of your orgasm has your legs feeling boneless like jelly. But this isn't enough for your boss.

“Keep riding my fucking face, baby. Fuck, you’re making daddy so hard right now.”

You look down and a newfound thrill takes over you at the sight of Wonwoo below you, face covered in your juices. His tongue licks all around his lips before he brings them back to your wet cunt. You’re in awe by how much of your cream is on his face, and how much of your slick is still pouring out of your pussy. It’s almost like you’re leaking all for him.

You fist his hair in one of your hands while the other comes up to pinch and pull at one of your nipples. Wonwoo groans into your wet lips as you start to grind and rub your pussy all over his face. He flattens his tongue to lick a long trail up and down your slit before he swirls it around and around your puffy bundle of nerves. Your arousal is leaking on his face and dripping down on the mattress below.

Fuck. Never have you been this wet before.

“Fuck, bunny. You’re so fucking hot.” Wonwoo moans, giving your ass another hard smack.

He keeps slapping your ass, loving how the flesh jiggles softly every time. You’re wriggling against him, but that does is cause delicious friction. Wonwoo’s nose glides over your clit, making you cry out for him. You’re so obscenely wet that you think he might drown in your arousal. Even so, you can’t help grind down on him because the delicious feeling of him fucking you with his tongue is too addicting.

“Feels so fucking good, daddy!” You cry, rocking against him faster, roughly fucking yourself on his tongue.

Your eager moans and whimpers has him clamping down on your clit like before, sucking on it like his life depends on it. Wonwoo slides his hands up from your thighs to your hips to move you forwards and backwards and sideways all over his face. His actions cause a slippery mess that has you moaning and crying screaming his name in abandon as you squirt all over his face for the second time.

“Da-Daddy—ah!” The grip on his hair is probably painful, but you don’t care and Wonwoo doesn’t seem to either as he laps up every drop of your release.

His face is so indecently wet with your arousal as you weakly ride out your high. It’s possibly the most intense orgasm of your life. You swear you can see stars behind your eyes as your entire body shakes with pleasure—red hot waves of pleasure that only Wonwoo has ever made you feel.

A weak whimper tumbles past your lips, completely fucked out when Wonwoo finally releases you from his powerful grip. You sag down to the mattress like a limp doll. You’re completely sated as Wonwoo sits up to caress your tear-stained cheek. It makes a fluttering feeling invade your chest.

“Such a good girl.” He coos, eyes clouded with fondness. “My pretty little bunny.”

Wonwoo swoops down to press his lips to yours so you can taste yourself on him. He starts to make out with you languidly, exploring every inch of your mouth until he can no longer taste your cream.

“Daddy.” You breathe out, cunt still pulsing with need. “You’re gonna give me your cock now, right?”

His eyes are dark as he drinks in your naked body. Truthfully, he had planned to stop since it seemed like your orgasms were pretty intense. But with you asking so prettily and cutely, he can’t deny your wish. Wonwoo feels his desire turn into an insatiable hunger when you watch him with carnal lust as he undresses completely.

Seconds later, he kneels between your open thighs and spreads you apart. Wonwoo spits on your soiled cunt before he sinks into your tonight walls. He lets out a guttural groan, obsessed with the way you’re squeezing him. You moan along with him, wrapping your arms around him as his fat cock splits you open.

Wonwoo’s pace is brutal from the start, deeply ramming into your tight pussy as if he’ll never get the chance again. You know that won’t be the case, though. It seems like he wants to have you more than once, and you already know you’ll let him have you all the times he desires.

“You’ve been keeping this tight little cunt from me, sweetheart.” Wonwoo moans as he hunches over you, one hand beside you head while the other is on your hip, pulling you to meet his harsh thrusts.

You feel like absolute heaven. After months of fantasizing about you, Wonwoo finally has you quivering on his cock. He wants more than just a taste now. He’s completely addicted to you, and he wants to be the only man to have you.

“Fuck, baby. You’re dripping all over me, making a mess on daddy’s cock. Gonna lick it up for me after?”

You moan obscenely at his filthy words. Wonwoo drives his aching cock into you deeper. Lascivious noises fill the room—skin slapping, indecent groans, and of course, the loud squelching coming from your pussy. This is better than any fantasy Wonwoo ever dreamt up. To have you sprawled out on the bed he shares with his wife as he fucks you like he’s always dreamt of doing.

It’s like Wonwoo has tunnel vision. All he can focus on is your mewls and moans as his fat cock disappears into you. Your cream surrounds the base of his dick and makes a carnal haze cloud Wonwoo’s mind. He hooks your left leg on his arm, opening you wider for him. “Juicy cunt taking my cock like the good little bunny you are.”

You’re completely wreaked below him. The sight of your pretty little pussy taking him raw is driving him insane. You’re so gorgeous, and Wonwoo can’t get over it. He feels himself throbbing inside your cunt with every pump of his hips. The risk of being caught by his dumb wife makes him animalistic.

“Fucking love your big cock!” You moan, mouth falling open in pleasure.

Wonwoo moans at your words before he dips down to meet your open lips. His tongue licks into your mouth, tasting you all over again. When you part, his eyes are ravenous but also extremely enamored like he isn’t ravishing you in the bed he shares with his wife.

“Ah!” You cry out when his leaking tip hits your sweet spot. “Feel so full, daddy!”

The smirk he gives you is tantalizing. “You like being stuffed full of daddy’s cock, don’t you, baby? Love it when he splits you open and stretches you out, hm?”

“Love it so much.” You whimper with a nod, cunt tightening on his veiny cock. The drag of his dick feels so good that you can barely think straight.

Wonwoo grunts, fucking his cock into your hungry cunt, filling you so deeply that you can’t breathe. He pounds into your dripping hole relentlessly until your moans turn into nonsensical babbling. His throbbing tip is going so far inside you and ramming against your sweet spot that you feel yourself going dumb on his cock. Drawn out moans fill the room, unintelligible syllables spilling from you between his harsh thrusts.

You can’t even function anymore. Wonwoo took that ability from you the moment his thick cock penetrated your pussy. Your boss’s hand slips down your thighs until they get to where you two are connected. His thumbs part your glistening folds, spreading your lips so he can watch the way his cock is buried inside your tight pussy.

“Don’t stop!” You moan, bucking your hips to meet his powerful thrusts.

Wonwoo starts to rub gentle circles on your puffy nub, turning any remaining thoughts into static. His other hand slips up to your body and covers your mouth. Your whines and mewls are muffled, forcing you to listen to the lewd squelching coming from your cunt taking cock.

“You hear that, sweetheart?” Wonwoo growls, hips snapping. “Fucking soaking my cock like the dirty little bunny you are.”

The cries you’re letting out are quickly stifled when Wonwoo shoves his fingers into your mouth. He moans your name when you happily suck on them, swirling your soft tongue around them as if his digits are your favorite treat. He gently fucks your mouth a bit before yanking them out and smearing the saliva coated fingers on your hardened nipples.

“Daddy!” You moan loudly, body arching into Wonwoo as a familiar euphoric feeling washes over you.

Your orgasm hits so suddenly that Wonwoo is surprised. He doesn’t stop, though. He fucks you through it, juices being forced out of you as his cock splits you open. The tightness of your twitching walls beckon him to fill you up with his cum, but he holds back.

Instead he focuses on marking up your pretty tits. He sucking on your nipples, licking and nipping at them until they’re covered with his love bites. It helps you ride out your high, and all you can do is mewl softly as you run your fingers through his soft hair.

“I want your cum, daddy.” You weakly thrust up, moaning in protest when his cock slips out of your cunt and slides between your folds. “Come inside me. Want it so bad.”

His length is shiny with your release. It’s so hard that it looks almost painful. Wonwoo grits his teeth, lashes fluttering when your hand guides him into your cunt again. The stretch burns deliciously. You’re still not fully used to his size even though he just fucked you like an animal in heat. But you don’t care. All you want is to feel him come inside you.

Wonwoo pulls out of your pussy all the way only to deeply thrust his cock back in to the hold. He repeats this until you’re crying out for him like before. Finally, you clamp your legs around his sides, locking him balls deep. He can’t help but laugh at your determination. Especially when you start to rut against him desperately. God you’re so fucking cute he can’t help but want to ruin you.

“Please, daddy. Fill me up and stuff me full of your cum!”

“Such a desperate little bunny.” Wonwoo coos as he forces your thighs apart, pummeling his dick deeper inside you. “Trying to milk daddy’s cock. You want me to fuck you full of my cum until your pretty little pussy can’t hold any more of it, huh?”

“God—yes. Fuck. Fill me, fill me.” You whine brokenly. “Give me your cum and make me yours!”

You’re close again. Heat washes over your skin as you try to work yourself down on his cock. Wonwoo smirks down at you, pounding into your tight cunt like a starving beast. Another deep roll of his hips has you crying out for him again. Your pussy swallows his cock avidly, drenching him in your cream. Every pound of his thickness sends your juices down to your ass and adds to the soiled mess under you.

Wonwoo’s eyes dart between your fucked out face and your battered cunt. Your arousal coats your thighs and the base of his cock. He can even feel your essence seeping down his balls. Your wet lips are swollen at this point, your aching clit rubbed raw by his fingers. Still, he doesn’t stop.

“Gonna pump you full of my cum, sweet girl. Gonna stuff you full until I’m all you can feel.”

It’s unholy how you're so willingly being split open by his big cock. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, dizziness taking over.

“Fuck.” Wonwoo moans when he looks down to when your tight cunt is gripping his cock. “Cream all over me, bunny. Show daddy how much you love his cock.”

You’re thrown over the edge, cunt gripping his cock even tighter as he relentlessly hammers into you. Wonwoo feels your nails dig into his back, scratching down his spine, no doubt leaving red marks on his skin. Not that he cares. Wonwoo wants you all over him. Craves for you to mark what’s already yours.

Wonwoo grips your hips and lifts you, sheathing his throbbing cock into your cunt right to the hilt. He ruts into your leaking core like an untamed beast, and you let him because you want his cum to fill you up until you can’t think anymore. His gaze is locked on your pretty pussy as you moan out for him to fuck you harder.

Your cute moans have his eyes flickering up to your face, cock twitching wildly when he sees your fucked out expression. “Fuck, Y/N!”

It’s the prettiest sight to see Wonwoo’s euphoric expression as he spills his cum into your awaiting pussy. He’s so deep inside you, claiming you until his seed is gushing out of you and down to your ass. He keeps fucking his warmth into you, spilling more ropes of his cum with every thrust.

Wonwoo relishes in the pretty little whimpers you let out as he fucks his cum back into your hot cunt.

He slowly pulls out of you with a hiss, brows furrowing in dissatisfaction when he sees his cum leaking out of you. You’re not sure how long he stares at your messy cunt, but you’re taken by surprise when he suddenly smashes his face into your sloppy pussy.

You both moan loudly when he starts lapping up your mixed releases. He’s so eager with his movements, obsessed with the taste of you and him mixed together. Wonwoo licks you clean, smirking at you when he leaves you a mewling mess after he’s done. The sight of his chin glistening with your mixed releases turns you on all over again.

It’s how you find yourself being impaled on Wonwoo’s big cock once again. Your moans are filthy and louder than ever. Every tip he slams his hips against your it feels like he’s punching the air out of your lungs. You feel like you can’t breathe let alone think with how deep his cock is fucking into you. The brush of his leaking tip against your sweet spot reduces you to a babbling, moaning mess.

“D-Daddy.” You stutter out with a soft whine. “Don’t stop!”

Wonwoo leans down to press scattered kisses across your jaw before he smashes his lips on yours in a sloppy kiss that swallows all of your moans. You mewl into his mouth as your arms come up to wrap around his neck, back arching with your tits pressed against his chest, nipples grazing his own.

“Pretty pussy’s so fucking tight.” Wonwoo growls, hips snapping at a savage-like pace. “I can barely move.”

It’s true. Despite him drilling his aching cock into the wet heat of your slick pussy, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to move with how much you’re tightening around him. The way your velvety walls hug his cock lights up every single nerve of his body. Wonwoo loves the feeling of the heated friction of his veins dragging along your hot cunt.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck with a loud moan. Wonwoo starts to suck and nip at your sensitive flesh until he sees that he’s successfully left behind dark bruises on your skin. He gently kisses the marks he’s left behind—a great contrast to the way he’s roughly fucking you.

“Feel that, sweetheart?” Wonwoo pants, his snapping hips moving faster than before. “Daddy’s gonna mold your pretty pussy so no one else fits.”

You cry out when his thumbs finds your puffy clit. He runs fast circles on the sensitive nub, loving how your tight cunt spasms around his twitching cock.

“So good!” Your voice slowly starts to break off into wanton moans as your legs wrap around him.

Wonwoo’s weeping tip brushes against that spot inside you that has you arching your back and screaming out in pleasure. His cock twitches when he feels your hot cunt continuously tighten around him. With a guttural groan, he brings his thumb down to your clit to run fast circles on it. It’s almost amazing how fast your cream starts to coat his dick at the stimulation.

“God, sweetheart.” His voice seems to get deeper as he keeps splitting you open. “Pretty pussy was fucking made for me. It’s mine—all mine.”

“Daddy!” You moan in ecstasy. “Feels so good.”

His thumb keeps stroking your clit until you’re shrieking his name like it’s the only thing you know how to say. You choke on a euphoric cry as you come around his cock. Wonwoo lets out a guttural groan bad your wet walls start to spasm around him. His hips slam against yours desperately as he chases his own high.

The tight clench of your cunt forces him into an orgasm of his own. Spurts of his hot cum paint every inch of your walls, filling you up with every twitch of his cock. Thick ropes of cum drip down the sides of your thighs as he fucks his load into you, groaning your name through a strained, cracked voice.

Wonwoo’s hips sloppily rutting into yours as he fucks his cock into your messy cunt. Sticky strings are connecting his girthy base to the lips of your cunt. You're writhing from overstimulation, thighs shaking and tears slipping from the corner of your eyes.

“D-Daddy!” You moan, so far gone on his cock that it’s all you can think about. “Fuh-Fuck. T-Too—ah! Too d-deep!”

You feel so fucking good you can barely speak, toes curling with the ever sharp thrust of his cock. His hard pelvis grinds against your puffy bud as he lifts your legs so they’re resting on his shoulders. The new angle makes his throbbing dick go deeper inside you, and all you can do is pathetically grind up to chase the pleasure that’s consuming your mind and body.

Wonwoo growls lowly when he feels your pussy twitching around him. The fact that you look so fucking pretty beneath him, babbling and choking on your nonsensical words. Wet tears are clinging to your lashes as every thought that’s not about him or his cock being fucked out of you so easily.

“Fuh–uck!“

You sound so fucked out that Wonwoo has to thrust deeply into you to get you to let out more of those cute moans. His rough pace has your pussy clamping down on him as he angles your hips higher to sink impossibly deeper into your hot cunt.

Wonwoo’s smirk is so attractive that your pussy leaves behind another layer of cream on his hard cock. He licks his lips, playfully slapping your aching clit. “Slutty little bunny. Did daddy already fuck you stupid?”

He’s teasing you because he knows you’ve got more for him. Wonwoo won’t stop ravishing your little cunt until you’re nothing more than dumb, pliant and feeling so fucking good after he’s done using you. Your mind is completely hazed with pleasure that you barely register the filth he’s speaking when hes he's fucking you into the mattress like a wild animal, grunting through his teeth with every needy twitch of his heavy cock.

You’re just as desperate for your release as Wonwoo is to dig it out of you. Somehow, he’s already managed to memorize every single spot that has you creaming around him. Which you do. Like a cute, dumb bunny in heat, you leave a mess around the base of his cock. He moans your name in fondness when your nails leave behind stinging marks along his biceps and shoulders, still begging for another orgasm.

“Cute. Fucking. Bunny.” He grunts between the rough snapping of his hips. Your soiled cunt is squeezing his cock tighter like you’re begging him to fill you up with his cum. “All fucking mine. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

In all your lust and pleasure, you still manage to nod. “Oh-Only yours, da-daddy!”

You have him so fucking close already with the tantalizing little look you’re giving him. Wonwoo leans down so he can admire how pretty you look with tears of pleasure dripping down your cheeks. You cry out when your boss splits you open further, almost folding you in half beneath him.

The sudden force of his hips make your body clap against his, and you feel dizzy from the overwhelming sensation as your eyes close in bliss.

“That’s right, baby. Only daddy can fuck you this good.” His deep voice wavers with the increasing tightness of your cunt.

Wonwoo is practically bouncing his hips into you as his heavy balls smack of your ass with every impact. He’s already fucked you stupid. You’re nothing but a mindless, pretty bunny underneath him as he grinds his cock against the pleading spots inside of you. It feels like your insides curl and ache with need as your orgasm races to burst along your limbs with the next too-deep touch of his cock.

“Daddy!”

All you can do is cry for him as you come, babbling out mindless mantras and hiccups of his name. Wonwoo moans along with you at the first milking compression of your tight cunt around him, giving him no choice but to spill into you with a low groan that only seems to prolong your blissful state.

The back and forth stutter of his hips is intoxicating, his pelvis pressing tight against your cunt. Wonwoo fucks his load into your eager pussy, not wanting to waste even a drop of his sticky cum. His thrusts slow until you start to whine at the oversensitivity.

You slowly open your eyes and give him a spent smile. Wonwoo returns it, crawling over you to kiss you. It’s sweeter and more gentle this time—just like he is. You gasp into his mouth when his fingers sink into your tender cunt, pushing his cum back into you. You squirm, toes curling at the feeling.

“Such a good little bunny.” Wonwoo praises as his fingers circles your clit before tracing up and slipping them into your mouth. “My pretty, little cockslut.”

“Mhm.” You moan around his fingers, knowing this is only the beginning of your deepest desires.

“I hear you’re in love.”

Wonwoo doesn’t look away from his glass because he knows Mingyu is giving him a knowing smirk. It’s not a surprise that his best friend already knows about you. After all, you’re good friends with the woman Mingyu is madly in love with.

“As usual, you’ve got me beat in that department.”

Mingyu’s smile doesn’t falter because even if he’s not talking about it, Wonwoo doesn’t deny the feelings he clearly has. “She takes good care of Hana. Don’t act like that’s not all you look for in a woman.”

It’s silly the way Wonwoo can’t fight the fond smile that stretches his face. Every time he thinks to how well you take care of his daughter, he falls for you a little more each time.

“And you?” Wonwoo questions his friend who’s more of a lovesick puppy than he is. “You’ve found the woman of your dreams, but you still haven’t proposed.”

“I’m waiting until she finishes school.” Mingyu has that goofy smile on his face he gets every time he thinks bout his girlfriend. “After she gets closer to achieving her dreams, I’m going to make her my wife.”

Wonwoo can see the stars in his friend’s eyes and lets out a find laugh. “You surprised me. I thought you’d marry her the second you broke things off with her mom.”

Mingyu only gives him an excited smile. “She’s worth waiting for. So hurry up and finalize your divorce. The girls have been dying to go on a double date.”

Wonwoo feels a giddy excitement consume him. For years he had only foreseen a bleak future with a woman who didn’t love him. But now that he knows he’s going to face the future with you by his side, he doesn’t plan on letting you go.

taglist: @duolingofanaccount @felix-3002 @junhui-recs @asjkdk @dani41 @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @ohwonwoo @dokwiyomie

[wonwoospeach]

that's my man

[wonwoospeach]

the very first night

summary: the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers!au, roommates!au word count: 19.7k

↳ warnings: profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ↳ a/n: title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.

ONE

You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.

Karmic retribution, if you will.

Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Kim Mingyu looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.

“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.

You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.

When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Kim Mingyu has.

“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”

“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)

You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.

Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Mingyu speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”

“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.

It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Mingyu had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Minghao, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Park Jihyo, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.

“That’s okay,” Mingyu says. “Take as long as you need.”

You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.

Mingyu moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Minghao’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Mingyu’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.

In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.

No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either. 

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Minghao and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”

“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”

Mingyu stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all. 

“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.

Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.

This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Mingyu would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Mingyu have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that. 

You think of what your old roommate, Jihyo, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.

You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Jihyo is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.

You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Mingyu has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require. 

You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.

Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee. 

(19:47) Jihyo: hows the apartment??? did u make mingyu clean the toilet yet?

(19:47) Mingyu: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.

You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.

TWO

It’s only after you move in with Mingyu that your separation from Jihyo truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.

Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.

It’s been a week, but you and Mingyu seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.

In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Mingyu’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.

You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”

You turn around and meet your co-worker, Lee Seokmin’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.

“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.

If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Lee Seokmin. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)

“Something on your mind?”

Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”

He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”

“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Seokmin, you can do better than that.”

“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”

His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought. 

Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.

“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”

“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Seokmin says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”

He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Seokmin’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”

“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Seokmin seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”

“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.

Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Seokmin waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.

You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Seokmin complimented her barrette.

He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”

His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”

“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”

“Really?”

Humming, Seokmin nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”

“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“You think so?” 

You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.

Seokmin’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.

“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?” 

You blink, but before you can digest Seokmin’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Seokmin aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.

“So,” Seokmin casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”

“I…” You pause and consider. 

Should you tell Seokmin? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Jihyo lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.

“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”

“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.

What Seokmin said makes sense. You and Mingyu are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Kim Mingyu, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn. 

You still are proud. For all you know, Mingyu might still be stubborn. 

What a pair, you think drily.

You and Seokmin shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Mingyu and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots. 

Once you reach the coffee machine, Seokmin hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”

The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Seokmin offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.

“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”

Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.

Should be a piece of cake.

THREE

Asking Mingyu if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.

When he comes back home from work, Mingyu has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.

It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Mingyu in the eye, after your conversation with Seokmin. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Jihyo. When you told her about Seokmin’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag. 

“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”

Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Jihyo that.

It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Mingyu and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Mingyu unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines. 

“Mingyu.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.

“Yeah?” 

“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”

Mingyu purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”

You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”

For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”

You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.

When you go back into the kitchen, you find Mingyu already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes. 

“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.

“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”

He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Minghao had a china cutlery phase, I think.”

That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.

“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Minghao’s precious cutlery.

While Mingyu wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Mingyu to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.

“Orange juice?” Mingyu’s eyebrows are raised.

“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.

But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”

Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.

Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Mingyu piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?

You shake those thoughts away. This is Kim Mingyu. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.

“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.

He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.

Well, almost.

It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Mingyu continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.

“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”

Mingyu’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Mingyu stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Mingyu. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”

He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:

“It’s too salty.”

FOUR

“Why are you leaving so early?” Jihyo’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.

“Seokmin said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”

A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”

“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”

“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Mingyu I said hi.”

“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.

Things between you and Mingyu are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.

Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.

Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.

Got some cookies from Minghao’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :) 

Mingyu’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.

Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.

Seokmin is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily. 

“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”

“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”

“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”

Seokmin nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him. 

He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Jihyo accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.

It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is. 

But you still don’t talk about Mingyu. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap. 

Finally, you and Seokmin round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.

“What do you want to have?” Seokmin asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.

You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”

“How about one of everything?”

You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Seokmin looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”

“I would,” Seokmin admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”

You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”

“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”

“Make that two croissants,” Seokmin finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”

“How gentlemanly of you.”

“I know.”

Seokmin pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Seokmin looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”

“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”

Oh.

Seokmin looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.

“...I’d like that, too,” you say.

Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.

FIVE

It’s getting late, and yet Kim Mingyu is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.

Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Mingyu can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Mingyu weren’t just two people who used to date.

How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.

Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea. 

Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths. 

But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago. 

Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.

You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own. 

His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.

Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.

“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”

“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”

Mingyu glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.” 

You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”

“The more you know…”

You laugh at that, and Mingyu looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones. 

Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.

You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Mingyu’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him. 

“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Jihyo right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Mingyu can’t see through it.

“Y/N,” is all he says. 

You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?

Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.

You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t say anything to make you stop.

SIX

Whenever you faltered, Jihyo was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.

She isn’t being very helpful right now.

“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”

She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.

“How’s Jaehyun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.

Jihyo lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”

“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”

Jihyo hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”

You guffaw. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”

“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”

“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”

You smile thinly. Jihyo might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.

“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Jaehyun.”

She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Mingyu sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”

Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?” 

You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Mingyu is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”

Of all possible things you expected Mingyu to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused. 

“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”

“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Mingyu is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Jihyo was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.

“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”

“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”

The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Mingyu makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.

Where Seokmin is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Mingyu is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Seokmin is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Mingyu is whispered jokes and shared silence.

Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Mingyu, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.

Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Mingyu seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.

You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Mingyu grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Mingyu likes it.

SEVEN

Seokmin drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.

Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Seokmin didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.

It’s getting harder to say no, however. Seokmin is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.

He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Seokmin doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.

So. It’s not Mingyu, but Seokmin is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Mingyu aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Seokmin.

“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again. 

The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Seokmin are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.

When you update Jihyo about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Mingyu?”

“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”

Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”

Mingyu interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Jihyo you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.

You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”

His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”

You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.

“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Kim Mingyu has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.

“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”

“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Mingyu’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”

“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Mingyu tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well. 

“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He only raises a single eyebrow at you.

That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.

It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Mingyu said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Mingyu’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Mingyu can pull off.)

“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Mingyu’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”

“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.

“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.

“When is this event?” 

“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.

“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.

“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”

EIGHT

Seokmin picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”

You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”

Seokmin’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.

He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Seokmin discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.

It’s refreshing, and when you and Seokmin finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. 

His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”

He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.

One of them is Mingyu.

The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Mingyu’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Seokmin makes a noise of disgust.

He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”

You nod numbly. “Okay.”

Seokmin leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Mingyu’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead. 

You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Mingyu kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.

You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.

The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Mingyu clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Kim Mingyu might not be as forgotten as you believe.

Which is fine, all things considered, except Kim Mingyu doesn’t give a damn.

You let the door slam shut behind you before Mingyu can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.

Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Mingyu is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants. 

You wish Jihyo was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Jeong Jaehyun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Jihyo was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.

Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?

Mingyu lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)

Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.

You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Mingyu’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway. 

Your phone pings with a text message from Seokmin, and you pick it up.

(19:47) Seokmin: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :) 

Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest. 

NINE

Monday is a horrible day.

You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.

And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.

You’re really not in the mood for Seokmin and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Seokmin places a placating hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”

“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”

“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Seokmin flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”

“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.

“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”

He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Mingyu; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.

Seokmin waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.

Briefly, your mind wanders to Mingyu—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Mingyu with that girl immediately afterwards.

The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Seokmin’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Mingyu stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Seokmin standing behind you.

“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.

You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Seokmin reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.

“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”

Mingyu shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Seokmin. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Mingyu, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”

“Come on in, Seokmin.” You glare at Mingyu. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Seokmin coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.

“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.

“Did something happen?” Mingyu moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.

“Y/N’s car broke down,” Seokmin supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”

“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”

It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.

“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.

Mingyu nods. “Good.”

You avert your attention to Seokmin. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Seokmin. You can leave my stuff there.”

“Okay.” Seokmin nods, giving Mingyu a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu.”

“You too.”

It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Seokmin is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Mingyu are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.

Seokmin lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.

He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”

Seokmin nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”

“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Seokmin is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.

“You’re… Lee Seokmin.” 

The words are flat on your tongue. Seokmin’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence. 

Seokmin is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Mingyu doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.

You swallow, looking at Seokmin directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”

Seokmin looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours. 

He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils. 

“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”

There’s a knock on your door, and you and Seokmin jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Seokmin looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”

“You left your phone outside,” Mingyu calls. “The mechanic just called.”

“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Mingyu to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”

“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”

“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.

You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”

“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching. 

Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Seokmin opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Mingyu a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him. 

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”

You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Seokmin together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Seokmin wanted to kiss you, but Mingyu interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Mingyu being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”

Mingyu’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”

“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.

Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Mingyu, and the other excited to explore what Seokmin could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.

TEN 

Jihyo is back.

Jihyo is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Mingyu’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.

She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.

“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.

“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”

“Ah.”

Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.

She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Jihyo stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Mingyu might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.

A situation that she knows nothing about.

You haven’t had the time to keep Jihyo updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Jeong Jaehyun. She doesn’t know about Seokmin, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Mingyu.

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Speak of the devil. 

You turn around and find Mingyu leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Jihyo already beat me to it, huh?”

“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory. 

“You didn’t tell her?” Jihyo echos, a curious tinge to her tone.

He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Mingyu dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Jihyo lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Mingyu, nor your newfound ones for Seokmin.

Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”

You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”

Jihyo only turns and stares at Mingyu. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”

“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Jihyo calls out gleefully to his retreating back. 

You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Mingyu tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Jihyo what happened, she would immediately make sure Mingyu doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks.

Jihyo grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Jihyo to notice.

Mingyu pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Mingyu looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Jihyo grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.

You and Jihyo round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Mingyu following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well. 

You let out a shuddering breath. Jihyo wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.

This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Jihyo bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.

This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.

You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.

His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him. 

Jihyo squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.

A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Jihyo explains who you are and why you’re here.

He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Jihyo consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit. 

A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Mingyu not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place? 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Mingyu’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”

He’s lying. 

He remembers. 

ELEVEN

“Spill.”

“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Jihyo. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.

“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Mingyu? Did he do something?”

You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.

“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”

“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”

Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”

“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”

“Y/N,” Jihyo says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”

You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”

“What, you mean Jaehyun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

Jihyo cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”

Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”

Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”

“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.

You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Mingyu and Seokmin and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Seokmin to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Mingyu. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.

When you don’t know what to say, Jihyo pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly. 

“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”

The question makes you contemplate. What do you want? 

“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.

She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.

You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Jihyo wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”

You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”

“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”

“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Jihyo grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”

“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”

“Tsk. So greedy.”

TWELVE

Introducing Seokmin to Jihyo was not a part of your agenda for the week.

But it’s Seokmin and it’s Jihyo, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.

Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Jihyo and Seokmin are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Jihyo can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Mingyu had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.

“You and Mingyu were together for a long time, huh?” Seokmin asks you quietly, once Jihyo is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.

You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?” 

Seokmin licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”

You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Lee Seokmin gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”

He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”

“I don’t know, Seokmin,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Seokmin to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.

He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Lee Seokmin. 

“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.

You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.

He opens his mouth, but Jihyo walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.

For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”

“I’ll come with,” Seokmin chimes in, and adds, in true Seokmin fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”

You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Jihyo glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”

“The best hands, actually,” Seokmin teasingly corrects. 

You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”

“Home it is,” Jihyo agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”

“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm. 

Seokmin grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.

Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves. 

This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)

Lee Seokmin compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.

Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.

You would like to think you’re a good actor.

Kim Mingyu has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.

Kim Mingyu and Lee Seokmin: Two sides of the same coin.

Jihyo’s question resonates in your mind as you and Seokmin walk back to your car.

What do you want?

As you near your vehicle, Seokmin puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.

“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.

“I did, Seokmin. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.

“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”

He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Seokmin whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”

Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Jihyo’s question now.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.

THIRTEEN

The light is on when you enter the apartment. Mingyu’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.

Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired. 

“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow. 

Mingyu glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Mingyu pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.

It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Mingyu thought you and Seokmin were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Mingyu too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.

“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.

“No thanks.”

Mingyu shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.

“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”

“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Seokmin?”

“...Yes.”

You don’t have to look at Mingyu to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”

Silence.

You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Mingyu’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.

His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.

For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” 

“How does it matter to you?”

Mingyu crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”

You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.

Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”

“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Mingyu. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts. 

“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”

You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”

“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.

“Say it again,” you repeat.

“I want—”

You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Mingyu, you want more.

You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Mingyu’s arms pull you closer to him.

“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again. 

You let him. It’s Kim Mingyu, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.

You don’t think of Seokmin; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.

God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon. 

His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat. 

Mingyu groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. “Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.

All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin. 

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.

“Shut the fuck up, Gyu,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity. 

Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Mingyu that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”

Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.

He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table. 

You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”

Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.

He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane. 

“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.

Mingyu only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit. 

You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Gyu, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”

This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.

With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Mingyu looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him. 

With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.

You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?

“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Mingyu who cockily asked you if Seokmin was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Jihyo like it was second nature to him.

You bite your lip. “Yes?”

“Do you… do you want anything? Water?” 

You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Kim Mingyu, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone. 

He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.

It hits you again, how you and Mingyu were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?

You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.

That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly. 

Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Mingyu broke up all over again.

SIXTEEN

You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Mingyu. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.

Jihyo is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Jeong Jaehyun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)

Seokmin doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.

You and Mingyu are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.

You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.

Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.

You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.

If you and Seokmin were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”

He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.

You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Seokmin’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.

Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Seokmin’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.

It doesn’t take you long to find Seokmin. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you okay?”

You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into. 

“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”

“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”

“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”

“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship. 

Seokmin looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”

“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”

He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”

He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”

“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.

This time, the smile Lee Seokmin gives you lights up his eyes.

SEVENTEEN

“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.

“Jihyo’s orders!” Seokmin calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”

Mingyu huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.

“Give it up,” he advises.

“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? No one told you to tell Seokmin everything!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Jihyo?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”

“Might as well get it over with,” Seokmin’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”

“I didn’t ask you, Seokmin,” you mutter.

“He’s right, you know.” Mingyu pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Jihyo hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”

“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”

“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Mingyu.

Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.

“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.

“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Seokmin came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Seokmin get the better of me.

“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Minghao, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.

Mingyu swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”

He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.

You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.

“Mingyu,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”

His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”

“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”

You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”

A pause, and then Mingyu’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Mingyu smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan. 

He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.

“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Seokmin’s standing outside.”

“Fuck him,” Mingyu says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.

You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth. 

“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”

Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Mingyu stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Seokmin from his misery.”

(Later, if you find Seokmin with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Mingyu’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)

EIGHTEEN

Mingyu sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips. 

“Such a tease,” you whisper out.

He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.

He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Mingyu sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily. 

Mingyu works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.

You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Mingyu leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.

He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Mingyu quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”

Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Mingyu tuts.

You lift up your neck curiously. Mingyu waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.

Once he pulls his fingers out, Mingyu bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Gyu?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.

“Call me that again,” he orders. 

“Fuck me, Gyu.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Mingyu to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.

He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”

“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.

Mingyu enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Mingyu grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.

He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name. 

Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Mingyu can tell your climax is approaching.

He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed. 

Mingyu thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause. 

You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching. 

“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.

You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Mingyu. 

You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.

NINETEEN

“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.

Mingyu chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Seokmin and Jihyo are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”

“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”

From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Jihyo still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Seokmin remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Mingyu and Jihyo decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.

“If you say so,” Mingyu agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”

“That’s different, Gyu. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Mingyu.

He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”

You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Mingyu giggle.

“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”

“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Mingyu’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.

You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.

The very first night you and Mingyu broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.

You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Mingyu don’t need that. 

[wonwoospeach]

🫵🏻🫵🏻🫵🏻