#gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

yours, but not yours 06 || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 06 pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 6.7k (1k per month i disappeared lol) warnings: profanity, mentions of sex a/n: ... hopefully y'all didn't forget me,, if this chapter is mediocre i am so sorry i'm trying my best here T_T i had to rewrite the chapter a couple times & ended up going with a different route (which may be slightly unexpected) but the series isn't over yet !! this is the calm before the storm ok

There’s nothing worse than being proven wrong.

It’s like when you’re a toddler, your mom tells you to not eat the spicy slice of pork belly, knowing very well that you wouldn’t be able to handle it but you still beg her anyways. Then when you’d finally get a bite, your face contorts into a pained one, desperately wishing that water would be more relieving to the tongue as it is to a house fire. Or like when your high school best friend told you to maybe not get involved with the guy who has quite the reputation, but your constant urge to break the rules practically drowns you, so you go for him anyway. Then, when he left you crying outside on his porch, beseeching him to come back after you clearly saw him cheating on you with that other pretty girl in your Art class with that cool hot pink dyed strip of hair, you’re yet proven wrong again, only to be running to your best friend’s house after you regained your senses.

This is probably another one of those times. And truthfully, maybe you’ve evolved, but there’s this part of you that wishes you’re wrong.

Seungcheol is definitely nothing close to what you’d ever expect to be your type. He’s not the traditional kind of guy—office job, either living alone and saving for a house or lives in a house he owns, has a car, wears business casual clothes on the weekdays, maybe even into different types of beers, occasionally plays a gaming console—instead, he’s a mechanic with a motorcycle and likes to flirt with you whenever he gets the chance. He favors the torn up and stained attire, despite having money (which… you’d only find out not too long ago) but he does love alcohol. Whiskey being on the top of his list; beer is more of an option for social events, he mentions it the one night he stayed late in the garage when you came down with two bottles in hand. “I had leftovers. They were gonna go bad if I left it any longer,” you said as you handed over the Miller Lite. He popped the cap off on the edge of the workstation, swapping it with you after, then opening his own in the same way. “Let’s not put it to waste.”

And here you are, two days after the event, groggily putting laundry into the washer with your head full of—you guessed it!—Choi Seungcheol.

The last encounter was left with you exiting his childhood bedroom with disheveled hair, wet panties, and awkwardly adjusting the fabric of your dress. No phone call to follow up, no text—nothing. Fucking radio silence.

How does someone fucking rail you into the mattress, whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, then claim you as their own and suddenly just go off the grid right after? You didn’t see him for the rest of the night, and when you went back to Rowoon, he didn't interrogate you on your relationship with Seungcheol after he shut him up. The whole thing was eating you up inside to the point that you were fucking wishing that Rowoon would ask, just to have a soundboard for this dilemma.

Was that the finale of it all? Is this the end of You & Seungcheol: The Not-So Love Story? He hasn’t even been back to the garage yet, and it’s got you pondering why he didn’t even bother to send a fucking text. A text! It’s not that hard to send a text.

But maybe this is what that whole “karma” thing people keep talking about—what goes around comes around, right?

You groan. Slamming the door shut, you pull out the dispenser drawer of thr washing machine aggressively. Just like when he pushed you against the wall that night, knee shoving your legs apart as he looked at your lips with furrowed brows. You couldn’t help but grip onto his biceps—he was so thick in that shirt, hugging every curve of his body in waves you didn’t know would leave you breathless from the sight. How is he so hot when he’s angry? He didn’t even have a right to be, you weren’t his (even though he continuously thrusted his hips into yours, heated breath against your neck with the word, “mine,” constantly falling off his tongue effortlessly), but god he was good at convincing you that you were.

You shake your head. Fuck! This is frustrating. Not sexually frustrating, (you’re lying, that’s definitely part of it), but frustrating in the fact that you don’t know where this leaves you. Are you still fighting? Do you make up? What… now? And why the fuck do you keep finding yourself asking the same goddamn fucking question with him?

Nearly overflowing the compartment for the detergent, you quickly grab a wet rag to wipe off the excess that spills as you mutter a couple curses underneath your breath. 

He’s got you in a chokehold; how is it that a guy who wasn’t even on your fucking radar suddenly the only one you can think about? Even when you’re vacuuming your living room, you don’t even recall grabbing it from the closet. All you have infiltrated your mind is Choi Seungcheol. 

Honestly, you’re a dick.

For one, you’re finally coming to your senses that disregarding Seungcheol’s feelings isn’t fair. He’s been nothing but helpful the entire time you’ve known him; last month, he replaced your windshield wipers when he noticed the rubber was tearing off. He ended up pulling out the weeds from the front of your house after the awkward attempt to water them, and not to mention, he came up to your home when he heard a screech (you’re afraid of cockroaches, and you didn’t admit it even after Seungcheol killed it with a flip flop). 

But who really is the dick here? He hasn’t called you, texted you, or anything really. Quite literally have given you the post-nut clarity you needed, only for him to ghost you.

To fucking ghost you! The guy who said he’s head over heels for you, swooning all your friends into believing he’s your boyfriend, and well—also pretending to be your boyfriend, even when he knows what the consequences for it are. 

Then again, who cares… right? He’s just some buff mechanic, a fuckboy, and a tenant.

(You almost used the “tenant” excuse to text him, but you hold yourself back and don’t. Only because when the 25th rolls around, you actually have to ask him for rent.)

As you’re making your bed, throwing the sheets up to float down and align with the mattress, your phone rings.

At first, you think it’s your mom, so you let it ring for a little. She has the tendency to never pick up the phone, and although you never have the audacity to ignore her call, you let it ring a couple times out of pure pettiness.

That is, until you realize it’s actually Seungcheol’s name on the lockscreen.

“Hey,” he greets; it’s a mixture of uncertainty and excitement, probably because he knows what he did wrong in terms of leaving you hanging but he misses hearing your voice. “Um, how are you?”

“Not great.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?”

You roll your eyes, despite him not being able to see the action right now, he could feel the burn through the phone. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know, I—”

“What happened?” You snap, pacing in your bedroom. “You fucking told me that you were anything but a fuckboy, and the moment that I let myself be vulnerable, you just leave me hanging? What the fuck was that? Am I just wasting my time with you, Seungcheol?”

It stings.

Of course, everything with you stings. In both a good and a bad way, the words you say always seem to ache, tighten, and sting his chest, all from a variety of emotions you spew out so transparently. You’re so real and raw in the way that if he fully commits to you, that’s it—he’s done. There’s no going back to the lifestyle he had before, no fucking around and dicking around.

And as scary as that is for him, hearing that it’s with you, he’s okay with it.

But he’s now in the position where he doesn’t know how to make that happen. Not after all the current events.

“I got caught up,” he says, unable to even believe himself despite it being completely true. The night of the event, you found yourself scrambling out of his bedroom after sex and his dad called about some emergency with the company—Seungcheol has been in Malaysia since. “I really wanted to call and text—really, I just… didn’t know what to say.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Anything would’ve sufficed. I don’t know where that leaves us now. I’m trying, Seungcheol, I admit I was a jerk for disregarding your feelings and never taking you seriously. But when you pull a stunt like this, it doesn’t really make me believe that you’re not just setting me up.”

He stays silent for a moment; you could almost hear the ringing in your ears from the quietude, and you wonder what’s going through his mind. 

“Seungcheol?”

“Yeah,” he says breathily. “Yeah, I—I’m still here.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Can you—Can you take off? Just the Friday. Can I get you on a plane on Thursday night, and you come meet me for the weekend? My treat.”

Choi Seungcheol never really lived an average life.

It all really started when his mom met his dad back in college; this innocent, bowl-cut boy with the thickest glasses of the century, eyesight nearing partial blindness had a crush on the prettiest girl in his economics class. His reputation was practically nonexistent other than for the fact that he looked nerdy, and hers was being… almost every positive adjective in the book. He’d gather the courage to ask her out, expecting a rejection, only for her to turn his way, those chocolate irises sparkling underneath the hallway lights while she said the word that was opposite to his predictions. Yes.

She stuck with him through all of college—even though she had a line of suitors waiting for her, she was always in love with the reputable nerdy boy. Despite what people thought of him, Seungcheol’s dad never failed to make sure she felt loved and supported through the entirety of their relationship. Even when he had these big goals to build a company from the ground up, he kept her as his priority and that never changed.

It’s a love story for the ages, one that his mom reiterated as she tucked Seungcheol into bed during his youth, but he didn’t quite resonate with it because how could someone like his dad be the one to make his mother swoon in that way? The man who sat at the end of the dining table, reading glasses at the tip of his nose even after getting lasik to rid himself of those stocky lenses, physically there but not… present.

Even now, as he’s sitting beside his father at his hotel room’s dining table, he still doesn’t feel him.

But to be fair, can anyone find comfort in a room full of stone tiles, high ceilings, and a chandelier that probably costs more than the average car times eighty?

“Tell your brother that he’s coming tomorrow,” he says, eyes never leaving the screen of his iPad. His father has since graduated from a newspaper to a tablet. “He has a presentation Friday, and he needs to rehearse everything he says. Can’t believe he fucked up the last one.”

Seungcheol sucks his cheeks. He clicks send on the message meant for his brother, feeling more and more like an assistant than someone who was next in line for the throne of the company. “Aight. Sent. Why am I here, by the way? You just so happened to drag me here? I thought there was a company emergency.”

He finally puts down his tablet. “There is. I’m dying.”

Seungcheol’s heart drops. “You’re… dying?” 

“Well, not that I’m sick—god forbid, but you never know when I’ll die.”

That pretty much explains the origin of the majority of Seungcheol’s traumatic childhood.

“Dad, I don’t think it works like that,” he retorts with the quirk of his brow. “I thought it was a literal emergency. I left—”

“What? The garage? Come on, don’t act like I don’t know. I keep tabs on all my children—like right now, your brother is at his girlfriend’s house. The one he has yet to introduce to us, and in fact, I don’t think I like her.”

Seungcheol’s face contorts in confusion. He knows his dad like the back of his hand; if he didn’t know about the garage, Seungcheol would’ve been surprised. It’s almost an expectation that he would track both Seungcheol and his brother, and truthfully, it wouldn’t be totally out of character if he was tracking Seungcheol’s mother either. 

“You’re always pressuring us to get married and run the company—isn’t him having a girlfriend just him going the right route? I’un get it. Isn’t that enough?”

Maybe that’s why Seungcheol only had flings; the girls weren’t ever disappointed in sex, and they never stuck around enough to figure out that he carried so much baggage. The wealth in his pockets might’ve been the reason for the hearts in their eyes (and his dick), but if they knew the weight of expectations from his parents that came with it, they’d run in a heartbeat. He didn’t want to bring anyone close enough that they’d meet his family, have to deal with the burdens he did, and it’s mostly why he’s been hesitant about telling you… everything. Even when he wanted to.

“I wanted him to date that girl, the one whose father owns KS Bank.”

Of course, everything loops back into business.

“Well,” Seungcheol begins, getting up from his seat. “He’s happy. Regardless if his girlfriend is a stripper or her dad owns KS Bank. If you want both of us to run the company, we should at least come home to a companion that we love and care for, shouldn’t we?”

His dad returns to his iPad, adjusting his glasses once again. “It’s not beneficial for the family business.”

Deja Vu hits—that same feeling he got when Namjoon swung at him returns, except the courier this time is his own father.

But just as he reacted with Namjoon, he remains cool. 

Seungcheol probably rehearsed it a million times in front of the mirror, all the possible things he could say to refute his father’s beliefs. If his brother wasn’t in love with the girl he’s supposed to marry, sure, her status would definitely benefit the company, but… would he even want to help out anymore? Isn’t his happiness the priority?

Nonetheless, he knows that fighting back isn’t worth it. 

Instead, he figures channeling that energy toward you would be more productive.

Although, with the last encounter the two of you had, it’s a bit doubtful he’d be able to achieve anything from being miles apart. For one, asking you to come see him when he had absolutely no plan whatsoever on what would happen when you arrive is… bold. Not to mention, you rejected his offer, saying something along the lines of, “that’s not how asking for forgiveness works,” and “things don’t get resolved on some ‘vacation high,’ Choi Seungcheol.”

And by all means, you’re 100% right.

This is an entirely new territory for him—he’s never actually had to ask or beg for forgiveness before because quite frankly, he never cared to. Burning bridges wasn’t a new concept for him, it was something he frequents. His mom never seemed disappointed, so he never felt the need to be apologetic, even if he felt the guilt, the words never emitted. Or when his father made that signature displeased ‘tsk’, Seungcheol had always been below the expectation that forgiveness wasn’t even worth chasing after. 

But you—this experience with you, is a whole other thing.

That guilt gnaws on his insides brutally; he could physically see the impact that you have on him from his disheveled hair, bags underneath his eyes, and the sullen look on his face. Do you hate him? Do you want nothing to do with him? Did he ruin all his chances with you?

He’s never really had a serious relationship before—well, rephrase, Seungcheol has only ever had one serious relationship. “The Classic Couple,” was what they were called; they were the pair that the wealthiest parents would arrange for their children. The only thing wrong with them was that they didn’t work—or well, Seungcheol couldn’t make it work.

With a click of his tongue, reality settles in. If he really wants this, truly feels like there could potentially be more with you, then he has to make it work. This isn’t like the woman before you, you’re… you. Whether or not it lasts forever or just a couple months, he likes you—shouldn’t that be enough? Especially when you’re finally opening the door and hearing him out, stepping out of your own comfort zone? 

“I’m gonna head back home then, since it seems like I’m not needed here,” Seungcheol says, grabbing his phones with a soft ‘thanks’ to the staff as they clear the plates. “I’m sure you two can handle things from here. If there really is an emergency—”

“You should’ve stayed with that girl,” Seungcheol’s dad interrupts, infamously cutting him off as usual. “The girl you dated a couple years ago. Margaret.”

“Maeri,” Seungcheol corrects. “Her name’s Maeri.”

And for the first time, his father’s lips curl into a smile. “So, you remember her.”

“Well, we dated for a while.”

“Shouldn’t have lost her,” he says, inhaling deeply. “I think I can reach out to her father and make an agreement. I’m sure she’d be happy to have you again. I ran into her at the banquet and when I brought up your name, her face lit up.”

Seungcheol stares at his father in disbelief. “Again, I feel like we should have more control over who we end up with, not you. I’m more than happy to try assisting you with whatever it is you need but I should be the one who chooses who I want to be with.”

“And? You chose her before, you can choose her again.”

Seungcheol quits this time, reminding himself again that he needs to preserve his energy for you.

There are a mixture of emotions that are flowing inside of you, eagerness and confusion, unsure of which to display. Do you showcase your excitement and elation or do you express the frustration and annoyance? Normally, it doesn’t really matter which you decide to promote; it’s only because this time, your reaction will result in what happens next.

Seungcheol sits on the hood of your car; in a leather clad jacket that hugs his arms so tightly, you’re almost tempted to spill an insult from between your lips on how he should get a size up (even though you most definitely can’t even stop staring), hair slicked back, and baggy black jeans, it’s the signature look of practically every label that Namjoon had given him. Seungcheol doesn’t say a word—instead, he watches you attentively, trying his best to determine what the expression on your face depicts. 

He can’t quite tell what you’re thinking. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, finally shattering the silence. “Get off my car.” You don’t really mean that, you like him here, and the fact that he’s back, still himself with that smirk on his face, only comforts your heart.

“Come on, baby,” he calls out, ignoring your sharp words with his fingers barely grasping onto yours, tugging you in close. The pet name that’s disgusting from a stranger is somehow sweet when it slips off his tongue, luring you in like some hypnosis spell. “You don’t miss me?”

Of fucking course you do—if it’s one thing that you admit, it’s that you were wrong about him. He’s not what those labels people whispered through the grapevine, completely different from an unattached, apathetic guy who doesn’t want anything that lasts longer than a night. 

But you’re not gonna let him know that. At least, not that easily.

“No,” you retort through your gritted teeth, almost as if it’ll filter the insincerity of that response. “What’s there to miss?”

His hand slips into yours, interlocking your fingers before pulling you nearer. “Everything. Was it quiet down here? Were you lonely? Did it feel weird not to see my motorcycle out front? Or the garage open? What about my company? I know you hate the way I chew on gum, but I’m sure you missed hearing it in the background.”

You chew the inside of your cheek.

He’s so cute, and you feel like an idiot for being another girl that ends up on the list of falling for his irresistible charms. 

“I felt like a one-night stand, Seungcheol,” you confess, his full government name slipping off your tongue with bitterness that hits his ears. He couldn’t get a pet name out of you, but his nickname is enough and his smirk is wiped from his face within seconds. “We fucked then you suddenly pick up a phone call then I just—I never hear from you again.”

“I admit that it didn’t help my case,” he sighs, pushing himself off your car. You’ve got your arms crossed against your chest, a shield to protect yourself from him. “And I can fully explain.”

He starts off with his dad—this cold, distant man somehow ended up with a woman that’s the opposite. Underneath that hard facade, he’s a father who wants his two sons to run his business, only that neither of them inherited the drive to push the company the way that he does himself. 

“… That night that I left, I didn’t come back to the party ‘cause my dad made it seem like the company was goin’ under,” he discloses, deciding that now, he isn’t going to hide anything from you anymore. “I thought I had to go into this big board meeting with my brother and sign off to sell shares of our company ‘cause my dad fucked up or something.”

You roll your lips. There’s a bit of regret for making him feel bad, but it doesn’t discount how he made you feel either. “And then?”

“It was some stupid trap,” he groans, shaking his head. “He’s really good at doing that ‘we’re blood,’ guilt scheme. But uh, listen… I don’t expect you to forgive me or for this to fix up overnight.”

“Then what do you expect?”

“Honestly, um,” and for a moment, he pauses before chuckling. “I really contemplated asking you to be my fake girlfriend. My dad has this thing where he’s constantly trying to set me up with other women—”

The fronts of your brows shift together.

“—but,” Seungcheol adds, hoping you pause your thoughts from going in a direction where you’d stray from him. “To me, there’s just you.”

You blink blankly. “And what does that mean for us then? Where do we go from here?”

He slowly eases his arms to wrap around your waist, hesitant in his movements to confirm that you’re okay with his touch, only to then feel the anxiety lift from his shoulders when the weight of your arms replaces it. “We can… fix us. If you can push aside all the prenotions you’ve had of me, view me as someone that could be your boyfriend, then I want this if you do.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks; Seungcheol always manages to make your heart skip in its beats and cause that churning in the pit of your stomach. “Okay… but—” his smile fades the moment the second word appears, “—but we have work to do. You can’t exactly say we started off on the right foot.”

That stupid grin pulls on his lips once again as he settles back down onto the hood of your car, legs parting for you to sit yourself in his thigh, arms never leaving your frame. “I agree, pretty. I’m ready to do this when you are.”

And with a soft kiss planted on your nose, the comfort and warmth it brings makes you feel like this… is right.

Seungcheol admits that within the last month, his life has been pretty mundane in comparison to what he’s used to.

For one, he hasn’t received a call from his parents. Maybe they’re way too occupied to be concerned about him or that there wasn’t enough going on for him to tag along for, but all he knows is that it’s been radio silent on their end. Plus, the garage has been rather busy lately—he credits you for the increase in foot traffic, recalling how you rolled your eyes and snatched his phone from his hands on a Saturday night lounging on your couch, muttering “how are you supposed to get any business if you don’t advertise yourself?” Truthfully, he’s been banking on word-of-mouth from your neighbors that found out he does car maintenance, but this newfound array of customers isn’t so bad.

He likes the simplicity of this—in the mornings, he’d get to the garage early in the morning and park his motorcycle right by your steps. Pushing the overhead door with a rumble, he’d brush his hands off from the dirt residue left on the rubber at the bottom before placing his hands on his waist to take a good look at his shop—yes, his shop. He’d gotten so accustomed with calling it a literal garage that he forgets that it’s really a shop. Brew a pot of coffee, turn on the little TV he got for waiting customers (really, it’s for himself) before he got to business.

Then, around 6PM, you’d be back from work, dragging your legs up the steps into your home and he’s behind shortly after closing up. He enjoys how domestic everything with you is—cooking dinner together, eating dinner together, and then washing the dishes with one person scrubbing and the other rinsing before settling onto the couch to watch something on TV. Last night, you suggested, “King the Land,” which he normally isn’t a fan of watching K-Dramas, but with you, he finds anything entertaining.

Although the old version of himself wouldn’t ever confess this but… he likes being a boyfriend.

Maybe it’s just specifically that he likes being your boyfriend, considering in his last relationship, he didn’t favor that title as much. But now, he finds himself getting a little giddy inside when you introduce him in that way, almost like little kids get when their crush approaches them.

There’s something about the way you’ve given him a spot in your dresser for him to leave his spare clothes in case he unexpectedly stays the night, and how there’s a toothbrush residing in the cup beside yours, or even the fact that you’ve bought another set of slippers that’s just for him… it makes him feel more at home than at his own home. Seungcheol didn’t sleepover during his wave of late night escapades, but with you, he finds that the left side of the bed unspokenly assigned to him is something he didn’t know he craved for.

Seungcheol loves it. He loves all of it. And truthfully, if he didn’t catch himself before spilling it, he would’ve said he loves you, too.

Today is slightly different than usual, deciding that he would leave the estate earlier (and weirdly enough, living under the same roof as his parents didn’t tempt them from bugging him recently, but they did live on the opposite side of the home) so he could stop by the local coffee shop and grab you a cold brew.

You’re so pretty when you look surprised to see him outside your front door thay morning.

“Hey gorgeous,” he greets, that cheesy smile never leaving his face. You grimace at the term of endearment, but your expression juxtaposes how you feel inside. “I thought you’d like a change of pace and enjoy something from the cafe instead.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, grabbing the drink from his hands. “Vanilla?”

“Three pumps. Just how you like it, baby.”

You’re still so awkward when he says things like that—it used to be so easy to roll your eyes and push him away when he’d do it in such a sleazy way. But now, knowing the genuinity behind the words, he leaves you flustered. Even if he’s annoying and it’s the grossest thing he’s ever said.

“I have about six appointments today,” Seungcheol reaches over to open the lid of his black coffee, the steam rising from the paper cup. “You said you had a doctor’s appointment? So you’ll be back earlier?”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, zipping up your backpack. “I’ll grab lunch for us?” And shortly after, he watches you drive away to work before getting back to the garage so he could greet his next client.

If this is what it’s like to be part of the working class, Seungcheol could get used to this.

He acknowledges that ever since the two of you had resolved your issues, he got a bit carried away. Investing in his makeshift shop has become a whole ordeal, only because the constant drilling, clanging, and unnecessary constructing noises from the equipment installers weren’t exactly what he thought was going to come out of it for the first two weeks—but the realization that he could grow his business from the new customers made him excited. For the first time, Seungcheol felt like he was doing something he was proud of.

So yes, driving or walking by this garage in the middle of a city suburb underneath a house with a whole jacking up station for cars looks futile, but the abnormally high ceilings of your garage should be taken advantage of.

He likes this—beneath a car, pushing aside the plastic tray from this 2018 Honda Accord after unscrewing it and unplugging the drain plug before it falls into a bucket he uses as an oil receptacle. This is nice. This is calming. There’s no hollering from board members, no backhanded compliments from his father, and no attempts on pressuring him into doing things he doesn’t want to do like date a girl whose father has a monopoly on owning property the next town over.

Seungcheol just wants to watch a gallon of old oil release from a crankcase and into a bucket.

And honestly, he thinks his thoughts have spoken too soon when he notices a Rolls Royce Boat Tail pull into your driveway.

He hasn’t met everyone in your life, but one thing he knows for sure is that even the wealthiest people you know (Namjoon and Yubin) don’t flaunt their money in front of you. The rest of your friends are middle class, average working people, and the only way someone is driving to your home with a $28 million car is if they’re part of his life.

“Choi Seungcheol,” the person calls out; the door is shut behind him with a thud, Louis Vuitton sunglasses sitting comfortably on his nose with his long brunette hair combed away from his face. He dresses in a flamboyant shirt, the first couple buttons unraveled, and in sandals that cost four times your car. “I heard you do mods over here.”

Seungcheol comes out from the garage, brows furrowing when he realizes who makes an attendance at his shop. Juxtaposing in a stained white tank and the upper half of his overalls tied around his waist, for a moment, he felt like the two of them were part of two different worlds. “Yoon Jeonghan–do you really think you want to mod your car? Do you even know what that means?”

Jeonghan takes off his shades and slides it into his shirt pocket. “Absolutely not, I heard some guy mention it in a movie once,” he grins cheekily. “So, I heard you got a new place.”

“Well, I’m renting a garage.”

Jeonghan blinks blankly. “What’s renting?”

Seungcheol chuckles, walking back to his station as Jeonghan follows in suit. “It’s when you pay someone to use their space,” he grabs a rolling chair from behind a desk and gestures to Jeonghan for him to sit down. “What’s up? What are you doing here? You didn’t come here to get a lesson on renting.”

“I’m more surprised that you don’t own this place,” Jeonghan stares at the chair skeptically before glancing over at Seungcheol who points to it again. “And… not owning any new furniture.”

“It’s an autoshop, Hannie.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t afford clean chairs.”

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol rolls his eyes, grabbing a rag to wipe the opening for any residual oil. “You come here to lecture me about my place or are you here with an actual reason?”

His friend sighs, finally deciding to plop onto the old swivel chair. “I know you briefly told me that you’re ready to move on from your parents…”

Seungcheol scrunches up his face, grabbing a cylindrical tool from off his cart as he eyes Jeonghan carefully. “Something like that, yeah.”

“And rumor has it, your dad hasn’t been happy about your brother and his new girlfriend.”

“I wouldn’t say new, but my dad has been acting new about her.”

“Well, he’s been making moves to target you instead.”

The tool wraps around the oil filter, and with a bit of strength, it loosens as more oil spills from the sides, flowing into the bucket in unison with Jeonghan’s news.

“He’s targeting me? Stop being so ominous and go straight to the point.”

“Maeri’s back,” Jeonghan finally spills, and Seungcheol pauses in his movements. “Your dad met up with hers the other day—I have this bad feeling he’s gonna try to set something up.”

Out of all the people that Seungcheol has met through his parents and from their “community” (aka the rich people cult), Jeonghan is the only person he trusts. Although Jeonghan will never cut ties from his generational wealth, his loyalty as friend and unconditional support for Seungcheol has always been admirable.

“I mean, he hasn’t called me and—”

“Hey! I’m back! I brought—” you stop in the middle of your driveway, staring at the car you could never afford in your lifetime before looking at Jeonghan and Seungcheol. “I—Oh, uh, hey.”

Jeonghan grins mischievously, stealing a glimpse of Seungcheol then back at you. “Hey, I’m Jeonghan. Seungcheol’s friend.”

You mimic his smile, and something in Seungcheol eats him up whole because he’s quick to speak before you do. “Jeonghan meet—” he says your name, then for a brief pause, he calls you by a label so confidently, he even surprises himself. “—my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. He hears Pomp and Circumstance play inside of his head, the image of him receiving his diploma at the podium while in a cap and grown flashes before his eyes. Choi Seungcheol has finally graduated from the school of fuckboys, reaching that point in his life where he looks at the prettiest girl who manages to make his stomach tie into knots and call him his—truly his. 

“Wow,” Jeonghan clicks his tongue. “Your girlfriend? Insane. I thought you said you weren’t gonna settle.”

He shrugs with that smirk on his face. “Wasn’t. But when you meet a girl like her, who are you to say no?”

Your cheeks heat up as you place the bag of food on the coffee table. “It’s uh… nice to meet you. I didn’t know Seungcheol had friends other than the girls he met at the club.”

Seungcheol shoots a glare but Jeonghan snickers. “I like you already,” he compliments, hand sliding into the pockets of his shorts. “I actually came to convince Seungcheol to attend a fundraiser that my mom is hosting this weekend,” the look Jeonghan gives his friend for a brief moment is suspicious, but the next inquiry gives it away. “… You should come too! Be his date.” 

“Oh, um—”

“I’m not sure about that, Hannie,” Seungcheol interrupts, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t think she’d want to see that part of our lives.”

Jeonghan quirks a brow. “And why not? She’s dating you, right? I’m sure she can answer for herself, and I’m sure she wants to see that side of you and your family.”

Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan divert their attention to you.

“You know, you didn’t have to say yes to Jeonghan,” Seungcheol’s standing outside of your bedroom door, leaning against the wall while waiting patiently for you to get dressed. “It’s a whole thing if we go—it ain’t like going to a work party.”

“Well, he—he made a, ugh,” you grunt, and he could hear you shifting inside with a struggle. “He made a point, if I’m dating you, I’m dating all of you.”

“Baby, why are you getting ready in private again? You’re acting like I haven't seen all of you.”

“I’m just—gah,” you knock your foot into the bed frame and wince. “I feel awkward.”

Truthfully, ever since the two of you had made it official, things haven’t… escalated, ironically. The nights he sleeps over are all pure and innocent; he’d nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, shower you with kisses, and wrap his arms around you to pull you close, resting your head on his chest. 

But that was it.

Nothing more.

He hasn’t asked for it or initiated it, mostly because he’s slightly afraid you’d take it the wrong way but quite frankly, he’s been holding himself quite a bit. From when you come out the shower, the thin oversized shirt that hangs from your body is no match for your nipples protruding through the thin fabric, how you bend over to grab something and your sleeping shorts barely covering any skin, and there was even a time where you’d reach over his lap to grab something, breasts brushing against his thighs and ass up, he was wrestling with his sweatpants to hide his raging boner.

Trying to be a respectful gentleman, he keeps his distance. Normally, he’d be bold in his attempts to sway you—just as he did several times, including that night in his bedroom back at home, but now that you’re his girlfriend, it… feels inappropriate?

Weirdly enough?

A part of him is afraid you’d leave, especially when he’s got you now, but he admits that those cold showers aren’t doing any favors for him anymore.

“…Hey,” you call out again, this time it halts his train of thoughts with the door swinging open. Clutching onto the fabric of your dress in the front, his eyes immediately focus on your cleavage. Fuck. “The zipper is kind of low. Can you help me?”

He swallows that brick inside of his throat when you turn around.

Pushing your hair aside, you give him a view of your entire back. The zipper latch is right where your ass curves, and with a sharp inhale, he places a hand on your waist before pulling it up. It feels brutally slow, not to mention when he reaches up higher, he realizes where he expects your bra—there isn’t one. The smoothness of your skin is exposed and his dick twitches in his pants.

“Uh, um. I’m done,” he steps back, clearing his throat. “Ready?”

He feels like a vacuum sucked the air out of his lungs.

To him, you’re gorgeous all hours of the day. But something about today, in that tight fitting dress that hugs the outline of your body so well, and the makeup you applied only amplifies your beauty. He can’t help himself when he’s sneaking glances at your chest then back up to your eyes to the point he needed to get the fuck out of the house before he oversteps a boundary.

“Wow, uh, you look great!” Way to act natural. “Let’s uh, let’s head out.”

“Mkay,” you make your way before him to the front door, rummaging through the closet for your heels, and he turns away when your ass sticks out while you slip on your shoes. “Can you start the car?”

It’s going to be a long night.

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#gyukultfics #seungcheol #scoups #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #svt fanfic

[yuzukult]

yours, but not yours 03 (m) || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 03 pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 7.4k summary: when a nice guy gets too overbearing, you’re stuck with the option of having a fake boyfriend. warnings: oral sex (f.receiving) a/n: omg sorry for the delay... i’ve been in a really bad writing slump LOL if there’s some errors... ignore them. the fact i even finish this deserves a pat on the back LMFAO also thx @/cheolbooluvr ig for beta reading

Seungcheol stumbles back, wiping the red that formulates on the side of his lips. “Did you just fucking punch me?”

If there’s anyone he hated the most, Namjoon just kicked them off the top of the list and claimed the throne as his own. The fire that sets ablaze underneath Seungcheol’s skin is evident—the milky skin of his is flushed tints of scarlet, deep as wine and grows warm like the scorching sun.

Namjoon smirks, head tilted back with his chin up high like this is his territory and Seungcheol is a trespasser. It makes Seungcheol feel like he’s in one of those movies on National Geographic—he’s acting as if he’s a lion and you’re the lioness, while Seungcheol is just some opponent who wants what Namjoon has. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, sucking in his cheeks for a brief moment before letting out the most brazen chuckle. He thinks he’s won, that smug look on his face giving it away. “Do you need a playback? I’ll do it again.”

In complete disbelief, Seungcheol scoffs. It takes all within him not to bash Namjoon’s face in but with you standing there, he can’t bring himself to show this crude side of himself in front of you. You don’t deserve to see him tear Namjoon to shreds—you deserve so much better than a guy who gets into fights instead of handling it civilly. He wants to be that, the kind of person you want, but when Namjoon takes the silence as a ‘yes,’ he’s prepared for another swing with a fist by his side. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” you chime in sternly, ready to interject but Namjoon is already pulling his arm back and driving a punch into Seungcheol’s jaw with all his might, awaiting that pleasant sound of his bones cracking from the impact.

Only that it doesn’t.

Seungcheol has his arm extended, palm out and against Namjoon’s knuckles as he continues to dab the blood from the cut. It’s almost like it’s from a scene of a film, out on the schoolyard with rivals from different schools ready to rumble. “Chill the fuck out. You don’t gotta go home but you can’t stay here. I’m not gonna hit you, if that’s what you think is gonna happen because I don’t waste my energy on guys like you.”

The silence is deafening—Seungcheol could almost hear the ringing in his ears from it. Namjoon doesn’t aim very well, but the strength behind his fist is strong enough for Seungcheol to suspect a sore jaw tomorrow. They can’t pull their threatening stares from each other, flames burning in their eyes, with teeths clenched down in semblance to the balled hands at their sides. 

You’re quick to shatter the glass of quietude, caring nothing more than to end this. You see why cigarettes tempt Seungcheol—suddenly your lungs are craving that breath of relief. “Go home.”

“You heard her,” Namjoon sneers. “She said go home. Guess you weren’t being a good boyfriend, huh.”

“I meant you.”

The two men turn to look at you.

“Namjoon, go home,” you reiterate, never stuttering over your words. “You don’t get to come here, to my house and punch someone in the face because you’re unhappy with something. You don’t get to act like a child, throwing a tantrum because you didn’t get the trophy girl and quite frankly, I’m not one. You’ve never once given me a decision tonight, thinking that it was better to come in place for Yubin, and none of this was discussed with me. When did you get to dictate my life?”

Namjoon drops his arm from Seungcheol, attention pivoting to you. “We had fun tonight, babe. I’m just doing what’s best for you,” he says, his favorite, signature line never fails to spill when it comes to you. Namjoon has developed this image of you that’s incapable of determining who would be the right fit for you because you ‘don’t know what you deserve.’ But it feels like every guy you choose doesn’t fit his criteria. “I want you to be with a guy that gives you it all, who takes care of you, who loves you, and gives what you truly deserve.”

“And what? You think that Seungcheol can’t offer that to me?” Inhaling in a deep breath, your lids squeeze shut. He’s your best friend’s brother, and although the trope is a cliche that you love, you didn’t love it in this scenario or when it involves yourself. “Namjoon,” you begin again; when your eyes lock on his, he sees the solemnity saturated in them. “It’s great that you care, but you’re overbearing and stepping over boundaries. Go home.”

It doesn’t take Namjoon long to slam the door with a scowl, driving off with his exhaust puffing smoke in your face. 

Rubbing your eyes, you let out a heavy breath that you’ve been holding the entire time. You felt a mixture of embarrassment and anger—from Namjoon making a move on you when you clearly weren’t interested, to him punching Seungcheol in the face—it's hard to even give Namjoon any type of margin of error when his toxic behavior is so awfully constant. 

“How you feelin’, pretty?”

Even with his jaw fractured and a hand against his cheek, he still manages to compliment you through his cherry stained lips. “If you’re askin’ bout me, I ain’t feeling so hot.”

“I can see that,” you retort with the roll of your eyes, tugging on his jacket sleeve up the stairs of your home. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

Seungcheol is a simple guy. 

He sees you, and immediately his mind goes blank. Seungcheol is like a smittened 12 year old when they see a pretty girl for the first time; his mouth goes dry, all possible words get suctioned off his tongue, and his lips part as if he has something to say but it never comes out. He’s never been really good at expressing his emotions; elaborating clearly how he felt for you was an obstacle he had trouble 

So when you point to the dining chair placed in your small kitchen, he obediently does as he’s asked while you scramble to find a first aid kit in your storage closet instead of contesting it. He’s better at actions and gestures than words, so if it meant being like a well-trained puppy for you to understand the lengths of his likeness for you, then so be it.

“So… you and Namjoon…”

“Should I just stop feeling guilty and cut him off?” you interrupt, sighing as you drop the plastic box onto the square table. He notices everything here is kept minimal—two seats at the table, a loveseat couch, only two pairs of slippers for guests, and that was it. There is no intention of more, almost like you purposely don’t want anyone else coming in. “If it’s gotten to the point that he’s punching my fake boyfriend, it’s beyond ridiculous. There’s no boundaries when it comes to him, and it’s unfair that I have to constantly watch everything I do or say just to make sure I don’t upset him.”

“Should just cut ‘em off,” he spits, rotating his jaw. “He’s done nuffin’ but upset you. Stop being concerned ‘bout how he’s feeling and worry ‘bout yourself.”

You roll your eyes, tearing the wrapping of the alcohol wipe as you settle in the chair in front of him. “He’s my best friend’s brother.”

“This isn’t some romantic comedy. Stop naming that stupid trope. Tell Namjoon to quit and put your foot down. You’ve got a boyfriend now, and he’s gotta respect that,” Seungcheol says sternly, puffing his chest as if he’s all riled up.

Letting out a laugh, you shake your head as you wipe off the blood that dries on his wound. With a wince, he grimaces as he leans back. “Stop moving,” you nag before grabbing the ointment in the box. Squeezing a dollop into your finger, you apply it on gingerly as he scrunches up his face in fear of the pain, but it never comes. 

Physically, at least.

“If I’m your girlfriend, then why haven’t I met your family yet?” you joke, but Seungcheol tenses up.

Family. The word alone causes his whole body to stiffen and his jaw to tighten. Before he could react, you’re already stumbling atop him as a loud crack is heard, and his first instinct is to pull you onto his lap.

“Oh, fuck—”

“Geez, baby, if you wanted to ride on my dick so bad, you should’ve just said so. No need to break your chair for it.”

Somehow, you find yourself seated on his thigh, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and nose nearly brushing his. You can feel his breath ghosting your lips, the stench of cigarettes permeated in the fabric of his clothes, but you prefer this over Namjoon’s cologne. He smells… heavenly. It’s  like you are intoxicated, unable to control your thoughts properly, heart pacing faster than the cars you see on race tracks.

“I…” you gulp. Is he going to kiss you? His lips are so plump, cherry red, and visibly sweet. Unfiltered thoughts spill through your head; you want to taste his honeyed lips on yours, his hands roaming all around you. But you can’t have that. Right? But he’s so fucking close, you swear he’s gonna lean in for a kiss. Eyes hooded, he’s in a daze of you, equally as drunk on your scent. Notes of white jasmine—whatever the fuck that is, but he remembered seeing it on a body shampoo bottle in the bathroom. You smell sweet, with hints of something fruity and floral. He wants to drown in you.

And he manages to slip out the words that nearly have you tumbling.

“Wanna kiss?” 

Did your heart just stop beating?

You’re vacuumed from any words—you and Seungcheol don’t work, but why do you want his lips slotted into yours? He doesn’t fit the requirements of what kind of guy you want, the kind of guy you see yourself with–the fact that your first encounter with him resulted being under the sheets with your body against his, there’s no way he’d ever be anything more.

So, why does he make you feel this churning inside the pit of your stomach?

He chuckles, pushing his hair back and away from his face. Leaning back against your chair, he watches as you quickly shuffle off of him and clear your throat as heat floods your cheeks. “I’m just kiddin’. Maybe you should get new chairs, love.”

You sigh; the chair on the floor has its wooden leg split. It should’ve been a sign about a month ago when the creaking first started… and when you continued to hear the crack of the wood with each time your ass made contact with it, but procrastination seemed like the better option in those moments. “I—” you puff your cheeks in annoyance. The damaged furniture is the least of your problems right now. Turning to Seungcheol, you place your hands on your hips. “We need to establish some boundaries.”

With a quirked brow, he scoffs. “Boundaries? You’re the kidder now.”

“I’m just saying,” you begin to pace, huffing. “We can’t—this can’t be more than it is. We’re just two people who had sex once—” Seungcheol clicks his tongue as he crosses his arms while narrowing his eyes on you. “—a couple times, but that’s it. You’re just gonna be my fake boyfriend in front of my friends so they can back off with Namjoon. Capeesh?”

“You know, the fact you gotta lie to your friends sorta means that they ain’t good ones.”

“Well, outside of Namjoon, I like them, alright?”

“I’m just sayin’,” he adds, raising his hands up in defeat. “I’ll do what you want, baby, but you’re ova here tryna set boundaries with me when you should be doin’ that with your friends, too. But I like you, and you’re sexy when you’re serious, so I’ll bite. Gimme your conditions.”

Inhaling sharply, you walk over to the desk beside your bed to shuffle through the drawers for a sheet of paper and a marker. “Okay,” you begin, slamming the computer paper into the table. “This is our terms. Let’s start off with number one. No fucking.”

Seungcheol chuckles, watching as you scribble the words. “We already fucked, baby.”

“Well, anymore. No dilly-dallying. We’re strictly business, Seungcheol.”

“Alright,” he raises his arms in defeat. “Whatever you want, baby. What’s next?”

“No catching feelings—”

“—Can we decide on rules that we haven’t already broken?” He quirks a brow before leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees. “You know I like you. Very much. Not just in the way to get in your pants, but more. So maybe… pick rules that we haven’t already broken, yeah?”

You puff your cheeks. “Fine. We’re just faking in front of my friends, right? So, I need you to be on your best behavior around them—I want them to believe that we’re real so that they can finally just come to terms that there are other guys that aren’t Namjoon.”

“You know,” he begins, tapping his foot against the wooden floors. “I still want my part of the deal upheld.”

You blink. “I must’ve missed that. What was it?”

“This is a trial,” he reiterates from the time before. “This is you considering me outside of just an acquaintance. A potential boyfriend.”

There’s a moment of silence before you let out an awkward laugh. “Let’s uh… let’s get back to the boundaries… yeah? How about… no fucking, no catching feelings, no sleeping over—”

“—All broken, but go on.”

You shoot a glare at Seungcheol before continuing. “No family involved. No telling people that we aren’t together, and lastly, this is exclusive.”

This intrigues Seungcheol. “Oh, well that’s new. I didn’t think you were the possessive type. Thought you didn’t like me, love.”

“It’s to spare anyone’s feelings,” you state sternly, writing down the rules onto the piece of paper. “I don’t want someone coming up to me later down the line, asking why you led them on when you were with me the entire time.”

“You know,” he begins, crossing his arms against his chest. “I keep telling you the same shit like a scratched up record. I like you, and I want to be with you. There won’t be another girl, so that rule is easy for me. The rest—can’t say that they won’t, though.”

“Seungcheol.”

He grins. “I’m kidding. But you know I’ll try for you, baby.”

Why does Choi Seungcheol do that thing where he makes the insides of your stomach feel sick? Is it because he’s absolutely repulsive?

Or is it because he’s actually swooning you?

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

You’re left frozen from how close he is. Seungcheol gently brushes his nose against yours, eyes hooded but irises dark and swirling with lust. He manages to steal the breath from your lungs so effortlessly, the cause of you stuttering over your words, and suddenly unable to be crude and blunt because Seungcheol is intoxicating.

Swallowing, you stumble back a bit. Palms resting against the hood of the bright red Audi in your garage—well now his garage, you’re not even sure how you ended up like this. “Uh, to… to my house.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he counters, furrowing his brows. “You called me a fuckboy, mocked me, then when I act upon those ‘so-called’ talents, that sharp tongue of yours has nothing left to say?”

You clear your throat. “I’m just… Who cages someone after getting their ass roasted?”

He chuckles; it’s deep and hearty from his chest, head dropped down momentarily before his gaze meets back up with yours. “Wanna see how a fuckboy fucks?”

Mouth parted, now you’re really at a loss for words.

Leaning in, he pecks the side of your mouth with a wink before his hands grab the thickness of your thighs and tugs you lower on the hood of the car. With a yelp, you fall back onto your elbows as Seungcheol slides down in between your legs. 

You’re debating if you should be thankful you chose a skirt this morning or wishing you had on jeans instead so you’d at least have the self discipline to push him away.

But when he looks like that, he makes it hard to.

“Just tell me if you don’t want this,” he says reassuringly, fingers playing with the hem of your miniskirt. He likes this color on you—beige is so neutral on other girls, but when you strut in it, you bring light to it. “But if you do, and you’ve got your hand covering your mouth to hold in those pretty moans, I’m gonna have to ask you to let go.”

And with that, he disappears in between your legs.

Seungcheol pulls your hips even closer to his mouth, desperately wishing he could live in your pussy forever. You taste sweet; his favorite treat from now on, and when he hears those melodic moans slip between your swollen lips, it causes the hardness in his jeans to twitch.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters against your wet folds. “I could do this all day.”

From the last time you fucked, Seungcheol makes it clear: he hates when you pull on his hair. There’s nothing worse than someone tugging on your strands, especially when they have no sense of control and end up hurting your scalp. And despite the fact that he enmitizes it, there’s something about you and when your pretty hands are knotted in his ebony locks.

“Fuck,” he says, and at first, it sounded like it was from pleasure of eating you out.

But when he curses the second time, it sounds more like pain.

“Fuck!”

Your eyes flutter open.

“Fuck!”

Fuck indeed.

You were fucking daydreaming.

Seated on the couch in the corner of the garage, you get the best view of Seungcheol. He’s underneath the hood of your car, working on whatever it was that made that weird sputtering sound yesterday, and definitely not underneath your skirt. Just your car.

“Fuck!” he exclaims again. “Are you just gonna sit there and watch me? I knocked over the rod and your hood fell on my head.”

“Sorry!”

Immediately, you’re at his side, lifting the hood while propping it back up with the metal rod. When Seungcheol finally shuffles out, he stands there, puffing with his chest out. You could already imagine all the thoughts that were running through his head because how did you miss that entire incident? “What the fuck was that? I was calling you for like five minutes—you were totally zoned out.”

You roll your eyes. “It wasn’t five minutes.”

“It wasn’t, but it sure felt like it.” 

Valid. He was stuck so it probably felt like an eternity.

As he rubs his head with a grunt, you can’t help but get flustered at where your thoughts drove through. Did you really just whip up an entire scenario where Seungcheol was tongue deep between your folds on some stranger’s car? And why the fuck did it feel so realistic?

This thing between the two of you is supposed to end in a fake relationship. No strings attached—no sex, everything kept a secret, and the end goal was to showcase that yes, there are other guys out there that are better than Namjoon and can be a candidate. 

Then again, it was hard to hold off your raging hormones when Seungcheol is just fucking standing there in that tight black tee with the fabric of the sleeves snug around his bicep. He’s not even doing anything and yet somehow he’s got your panties wet. Are you exactly like those other bitches? The answer is yes. And you’re more than just embarrassed by it.

He nods his head. “The fuck you thinking about over there? Lost ya for a second,” he reached over to grab the stained rag to wipe off his calloused hands. “You thinkin’ about me bending you over a car?”

Yes.

You know he’s joking, but it’s 100% true. And you’d be stupid to ever admit to it.

“I—Honestly, I’m not going to waste my breath answering that.”

He chuckles, just as thick and honeyed as in your daydream, except he’s the reality of it. For some reason, with how the sunset hits into the garage, he looks… handsome like this. Hues of orange, red, and yellow makes him glow, causing your heart to stutter in its beats for a brief moment. His lashes are long, brushing against the highs of his cheekbones gingerly, pomegranate lips plump and look like they’d be pillowy if you got to press your own against it and you could imagine they tasted just as sweet as the fruit. The injuries he sustained from Namjoon are almost entirely healed, but it complimented him well. He sort of had that bad boy-esque look going for him; the bruised cheek, scar at the corner of his mouth, the leather jacket, and the motorcycle?

You’re a liar if you said that you didn’t want to hop on his dick one more time.

And for some reason, your heart wanted to jump his too.

“Well, you came all the way here to talk to me and not just hang. What did you need from me?”

Right. You came here to ask for another favor. Why are these thoughts plaguing your once-logical brain? You have a MBA for fucks sake but all it took was good dick to scourge sanity with horniness.

“So,” you begin, rolling your lips. It’s intimidating to request this from him, only because you know how much he has to go out of his comfort zone to do it. “The girls and I were talking…”

Seungcheol raises a brow at you drifting off mid-sentence as you lean against the car as coolly as possible—even though he stifles a laugh at the sight. “Stop beating around the bush.”

“They want a weekend getaway at a log cabin by the lake.”

Confused, he puts down the wrench he picks up moments ago with a clang. “With just… you… or? ‘Cause baby, I know I’m your boyfriend, but you don’t need my permission for that.”

With a groan, you throw your head back. “No, no, I’m indirectly asking you to tag along and… be my boyfriend.”

“For the weekend?”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“With… your friends and their boyfriends?”

Where was he going with this? “Uh, yeah.”

“Alright, cool. I’m down.”

Truthfully, you should’ve known something was up with how easy it was to convince Seungcheol to go. 

He’s got a spare helmet in the space behind him on the bike, patting the leather spot reserved for just you while showcasing that dumb cheeky grin on his face. “Hop on.”

“I’m not riding that.”

“Oh come on, you’ve ridden other dangerous things. Take my dick for example.”

You clench your fists by your side but they mean no threat to him. “I’m not riding your stupid motorcycle, Seungcheol. It’s dangerous! What’s wrong with my car?”

He actually has to cover his mouth because he laughed so hard in disbelief. “Baby, that shit is an actual death trap in comparison to my bike. Plus, I’ve always wanted to drive on the road that leads to the cabin. I heard it’s got the freshest air this place has to offer.”

“Again, I’m not riding your bike, Choi Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol is usually a typical fuckboy. Girls, just girls as a whole, is the easiest way to convince him to do something. These days, even when his friends promise the sluttiest girls at the bar, he doesn’t go. Instead, he finds himself in the garage underneath the apartment, in hopes you’d be bored and come down in your little tank top and cartoon fuzzy pj pants and sit to keep him company. He’s gone soft, he sadly admits, but at the same time he doesn’t mind it.

But Seungcheol is still deep down some type of fuckboy. 

And when you cross your arms over your chest, pushing up your tits in that bra he suddenly has marked on his list of things that make him happy, he gets a sneak peak of your cleavage in that tshirt. 

He’s technically not a fuckboy anymore because he only sees you.

But getting rid of that side of himself that caves into the sight of tits would be hard. Especially when they’re yours.

He’s already packing up the helmets and parking his bike in the garage while snatching the keys to your shitty Toyota off the hook on the wall.

Candidly speaking, he isn’t entirely sure what to make out of this. He knows that whatever it is between the two of you at the moment is just a facade, despite that fact you know the feelings he harbors, but a part of him is perplexed at how easy it is for him to just… give you what you want. Seungcheol doesn’t do that. He’s not the type of guy who gives in without much of a battle. 

Everything with you is a new experience for him.

Even driving in a Toyota, for fucks sake, because he’d be caught dead driving in a piece of junk if his parents found out. Or even staying in some cabin on a weekend “getaway” by a lake, which by the way, he’s not even sure what a trip like that entails either. Do people swim in lakes? And if they do, why would they willingly want to bathe in dirty water?

However, the sight of you, so bright and eager when you spot your friends at the door of the cabin (which is oddly way bigger than he imagined), makes all the discomfort go away. It didn’t matter that mosquitoes were going to bite him fourteen times, that he was never going to get the smell of firewood out of his clothes for the next three months, and that if he agreed to swim in that swampy ass water, he’d probably get sucked in by some monster created from all the shit people dumped into the lake. All because his attendance makes you happy, he doesn’t mind it.

That is, until he spots the expression on your face drop and the culprit standing beside Yubin on the second floor balcony.

Seungcheol nudges your side gently. “Did they tell you he was coming?”

The stoic look gives the answer away before you say it. “No, they didn’t.”

Seungcheol slings the bags over his shoulder, trailing behind you and up the creaky wooden steps while praying he doesn’t fall into the abyss if any of the flooring breaks. He doesn’t complain, you note, but you’ll compliment him on it another time.

Namjoon is here, and he shouldn’t be.

“Okay,” Yubin calls out in the middle of the hallway that you’ve stomped your way to. She has her hand out like it would be some type of Captain America shield but it doesn’t do shit. “I know you’re mad, and you don’t want him here—but he made a hefty deposit for this weekend and we can’t just… uninvite him.”

“You could and I would’ve more than gladly covered it.”

“It’s not about that,” she sighs, running her fingers through her hair. “You know I can’t choose between my best friend and my brother. Can’t you at least be civil about it?”

You scoff, brows furrowing while shaking your head. “Did he even tell you that he punched Seungcheol?”

She licks her lips before sinking her teeth into the flesh. “I—No, he didn’t, but I’m sure he had a good reason.”

“Yubin, you realize what you’re saying, right? He swung at my boyfriend.”

“I know, and I—”

You don’t even let her finish. Turning around, Seungcheol stands there with your bags on his shoulder and his own duffle in hand. Abruptly, you grab onto his wrist and lead him down the stairs as Yubin follows behind. “We’re leaving, Cheol, go start the car.”

“But we just got here—”

“Now,” you demand sternly, and Seungcheol straightens his mouth. He wants to tell you to just enjoy the weekend without interacting with Namjoon, especially with how many people are here, but he respects your decision. It’s Namjoon you were trying to avoid, and the only place Seungcheol won’t try to inject his opinions on. “Get ready.”

Before he could step out, Chaeryong blocks him in. “No,” she looks at him then at you. “No,” she emphasizes a second time as she points her finger in your direction. “We’re not doing this. You’re staying. Don’t make Seungcheol drive the two hours back just because of Namjoon.”

“I don’t wanna fucking talk—”

“Then don’t!” she exclaims; it’s almost like she’s finally releasing the frustrations she’s been holding back. “Fuck that, you have your boyfriend right here, so just have a nice weekend with us and him. Sure, Namjoon will be around, but why’s that matter when Seungcheol is here?”

Although Chaeryong makes a good point, you can’t help but feel the blood in your veins boiling when you see him. He swung a fist at Seungcheol, the only person (despite his potty mouth) who actually seemed to listen and respect both you and your feelings all because Namjoon claims that he knew what was “best” for you?

You close your eyes. Inhaling in a deep breath, you release it slowly before easing your lids open to look at Chaeryong. “Yubin let him come, despite knowing how I feel about him.”

“Well,” Chaeryong begins with a forced smile. “That’s a fucked up best friend. Please stay. It’s my last trip as a single woman.”

You quirk a brow. “You’re engaged, Chae.”

“I know,” she jokes, nudging you. “But I don’t know what life will be like after I get married. People change, things change. And I want at least one perfect weekend with the people I’m closest with.”

It wasn’t just her words that sway you, but the look in her eyes. How those chocolate irises are filled with pleas, the fronts of her brows curling up as she says that key word one last time. “Please?”

It’s gonna be a fucking long two days. 

Yubin can feel the tension; she knows you’re upset, but what grinds your gears is that she can’t even be bothered to try resolving any of this. She doesn’t seem to understand how you feel, and how her actions only caused a strain in your friendship.

Was she even your best friend?

And what’s worse is that you were so angry, you almost missed all the things Seungcheol was doing that was definitely not something he’s used to.

For one, he mans the grill. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, exposing his flexed forearms with his veins popping, you almost lose your train of thought because of him. Truthfully, you’re not even sure if he knows how to cook anything other than a bowl of ramen, and you’re confident he only learned that just to get into a girl’s pants. 

Eventually, you realize he’s not that good at it when he drops a perfectly good piece of steak on the ground.

“We should just toss it,” he says, and four of your friends, including yourself, stare at him in astonishment. “What?”

“It’s a $30 piece of steak. We’re just gonna wash it and eat it—how do you just throw away $30 worth of steak?”

Seungcheol shrugs. “It’s… it’s not that much.”

You don’t know Seungcheol that well, but you know parts about him that you’re unsure are worthwhile. For one, he seems to not be able to understand the value of money. He doesn’t talk about his upbringing, but questions begin to flood in your mind on what his childhood was like because how do you think $30 is cheap? Yeah, you knew he had a crush on you and he likes the way you make ramen for him (boil the noodle first, drain the starchy water, add new boiled water with the powder packets in the bag, crack an egg, and add kimchi with two pieces of seaweed), but in actuality, you didn’t know the real Seungcheol. And you sort of want to.

Then again, he isn’t your boyfriend. He’s just someone pretending to be. 

But the urge to get to know him is beginning to be hard to swallow. Yet your consciousness remains reliable each time it hits you like a train to bring up one thing you seem to forget when he looks at you in that way: Seungcheol is and always will be a fuckboy. 

Maybe staying wasn’t a bad decision after all. When you lean against the railing of the terrace, the breeze flows through your hair coolly and soothes your burning skin temporarily from the summer’s wrath. The sun begins to set in the horizon, the lovely warm shades cast over the cabin’s property—it’s sweet, sort of reminds you of pouring honey in a cup of chrysanthemum tea, the petals infused with the water that boiled in the kettle over a soft fire. 

Chaeryong and her fiancé are exactly that.

You spot them a couple miles away, seated on a picnic blanket with Chaeryong’s head on his shoulder as he presses a kiss gingerly on the top of it. 

God, when will it be your turn?

You sigh. Chin resting against the palm of your hand, your shoulder drops. Watching them from a distance is just a reminder that you’re single and have been for quite some time. Tinder has been dry—not because your dms don’t get flooded but because you’re exhausted from seeing all those pictures of guys with their shirt in between their teeth while taking a mirror selfie with their abs out on display. Blind dates aren’t fun either. They’re blind for a reason—there’s so many fucking red flags, of course traits are going to be hidden from you. The last time you went on one, the guy claimed to be a surgeon. Turns out, he just loved taxidermy. Just because you know the workings of a knife doesn’t make you a surgeon, Will.

Bars are just for fucking—don’t forget clubs too. Friends of friends just doesn’t sit right—what happens if you break up with them? Wouldn’t that be awkward for the group to hang out again? Not to mention that it feels like the majority of the male population seems to not have a bone in their body with the etiquette and politeness that gentlemen used to have. (Not that you’re looking for an old fashioned man—you just want someone nice and caring).

You’ll continue to find it hard to believe, but speaking of the Devil, Seungcheol approaches from behind and leans up against the railing beside you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you respond, not even realizing how down you sound. “What’s up?”

He furrows his brows, now concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Seungcheol hisses in annoyance. He reads you like an open book.

“I just—” you grumble midway, rubbing your face with your hand. “Am I ever going to find love, Cheol? Like I’m tired. Worn out. Fatigued. Weary. Drained. Exasperated. Bitter. Indignant—”

“Alright, thesaurus.com. I get it, you’re tired of feeling like you’ll never be loved. But what about me?”

You roll your eyes. “What about you?”

He clicks his tongue. In a moment like this, he yearns for the stick in between his fingers, the head of the cigarette in the corner of his pomegranate pink lips as he drags in a puff to relieve that annoyance you bring to him each time you reject his feelings. He misses the sensation that occurs when he releases the smoke, almost like his filtering the negativity within him while blackening his lungs. It’s a give and take relationship. More than he’ll ever have with you, it seems.

“Baby, how many times do I have to tell you that I like you,” he says irritably, different from the times he’s said it before. “It’s getting exhausting. Tiring. Draining. Fatiguing—”

“Okay, okay,” you wave your hand dismissively at him. “I get it, I’m being a little dramatic.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic. But I do think you’re being unreasonable when you think I’m lying when I tell you my feelings.” Oh, how badly he wants a cigarette right now. It’s like talking to the wall when it comes to you.

“Come on, Cheol,” you laugh, turning around to rest your back against the hard metal fence. “You don’t really like me. You like the idea of it—someone who rejects you because they want something more. You don’t get that often and it’s alluring to you.”

His mouth falls agape like a reflex; the apathetic attitude you had toward him when it came to his emotions plagues pain in his chest. It spreads like rapid fire—fist clenching and jaw tensing, it’s almost similar to the rage that heats up inside from when Namjoon’s knuckles aim for his jaw.

But that’s what it was. Just similar.

The fury in him blossoms instead of explodes. With you, he doesn’t feel the urge to be pissed but disappointed felt like a more appropriate term. 

Seungcheol scoffs, shaking his head. “I—You know what, I’m done talking to you for tonight. I’m so tired, you know, just trying to tell you straight up that I like you. I don’t know what shit I gotta spit out to make you see that.”

You puff your cheeks. He’s frustrated, you get that, but how do you trust someone who struts around with the label ‘fuckboy’ plastered across his forehead? “You don’t love me, Seungcheol. I think you like the idea—”

“Please, please,” he says in a pleading tone. “Cut that shit out. Tell me, do you wanna hear me tell you that I ‘love’ you before we even get together? That doesn’t go with your ‘love plan,’ does it?”

Heart tightening at his words, guilt suddenly washes over your face. “Cheol—”

“I get that falling in love with me is unconventional—we fucked without even a date, and I’m your fake boyfriend before being your real one. We’re backwards—that’s fine, and I know I’m not necessarily the boy-next-door type of guy, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have potential either,” he huffs, pushing his hair back and away from his forehead before shutting his eyes. “Look, I’m gonna walk away now. You take what I say as you will, but I’m wishing, I’m hoping you’d believe me and listen to me just for once. I don’t feel like talking to you right now, so if you will, I’m gonna just—I don’t fucking know—I’ll go talk to the guys. See you back at the room, yeah?”

Fuck. You know you fucked up.

The fact that Seungcheol chooses to go talk to the men that don’t have anything in common with him (including Namjoon) over standing here with you meant more than it seems. He hates those types of guys—the ones that stand there with polo shirts, patterned shorts and gelled slick back hair with a beer in hand talking about work. They didn’t have hobbies outside of golfing and drinking IPAs, and most of the time, blamed their girlfriends for the instability of their relationships (also you will always side with your girls), never taking into account any of their faults. 

Seungcheol wasn’t like those guys—and as funny as it sounds, he wasn’t like the other guys.

Did he really like you? Truly like you and not that kind of stuff where you’d go through all the hurdles to get together only for him to get bored. Did he prefer the thrills of chasing or was he into doing mundane things with you like cleaning around the house or hanging up wet laundry? What about the whole thing with Namjoon? Does he need constant competition in order to value you?

What goes on in Choi Seungcheol’s mind?

You can’t really tell, but if you were realistic with yourself, you’d just ask him straightforwardly and he would do his best to answer. Instead, you choose this route instead—watch him from the porch as he tries to adjust himself in a group of people who weren’t like him and probably asked him questions like: “What stocks have you invested in?” “Does your girl like to ride you frontwards or backwards?” “Did you watch the game last Sunday?” and even the classic, “Have you done anal? With any girl?”

Discomfort is evident each time his face twitches; you could only imagine the topic of conversation at hand, and the subtle glances he makes in your direction only fuels the uneasiness that settles in your stomach. He’d rather be stuck in that than to stand here and listen to you turn down what he confesses every time, claiming he’s lying and nothing more or less. 

Then that’s when you spot Namjoon tug Seungcheol to the side.

Namjoon seems calm, despite the furrow in Seungcheol’s brow that makes it wrinkle in the spot between in a way you found so cute, but the volume of the words that come out their mouths remain low. You can’t hear anything they say nor decipher the motions of their lips, only their gestures toward each other. Quite frankly, it was the opposite of their previous exchanges. Cool, still slightly agitated, but remaining chill enough that a fight wouldn’t break out.

Even after a refreshing shower, underneath the covers with your back resting against the frame of the bed, that feeling in your gut doesn’t go away.

He hasn’t been back to the room yet. Ever since he came back for a bit to grab a couple of his belongings for a shower, you grow concerned and wonder if he’s going to stay here with you. Was he that mad? Did Namjoon say something? Was it worth bringing up the conversation again? Did he decide to sleep in the living room instead of in this room with you?

Maybe you should go check in on him.

Yeah. Sure, you might not know where you actually stand and if he’s still upset, but you should still check on him. He’s still your fake boyfriend after all.

Right?

Right.

You should, because what kind of fake girlfriend would you be if you just let your fake boyfriend sleep on the couch… right? Just fake. Not real—fake. Right. Fake. 

Maybe you wished it wasn’t fake.

Just as you’re about to toss the blanket off your leg, the door swings open.

You swallow.

He stands there, shirtless, with a towel slung over his shoulders as he ruffles it against his hair to get it dry. Why is he shirtless? Just… walking around the house with no shirt on, grey sweatpants hung low enough you could steal a glimpse of his hip bones. Fuck. Fuck! 

He sniffles and why your eyes trail down to his abs flexing instead isn’t something you could explain, then when he turns around to lock the knob, it’s almost like a turn on because your pussy clenches around nothing at the thought of something more based off the action.

But no. No. No. You asked for nothing more and you get nothing more.

“Hi,” you speak up, voice hoarse for some reason before clearing your throat and reiterating the greeting once more. “H-Hey.”

Why are you stuttering?

He only looks at you for a brief second before grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it onto the floor with a spare blanket. “Hey, baby.”

Baby. He used that pet name on you again. There’s a sense of relief that fans you, and suddenly you feel like everything is okay again, in spite of the fact that he’s shuffling to lay on the floor beside the bed after he switches off the lights.

“Are you still mad?”

“No, love.”

But his back is turned to you. 

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not, love. I’m just tired—the guys drained me out. Can’t be talking about stocks, work, and beers all the time. I don’t necessarily got a corporate job to be talking about.”

You’re silent.

He doesn’t say much, and his even breathing isn’t elongated enough to be asleep. 

What do you do? You can’t sleep like this. The regret in what you said earlier is gnawing at your insides, and you desperately have this urge to resolve this whole situation or else you’d be staring at the ceiling in the dark.

You gulp. Pushing down all the anxiousness that formulate in your throat, you inhale a deep breath. “Seungcheol?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you come sleep with me?”

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#seungcheol smut #scoups smut #s.coups smut #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol x reader #svt x reader #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

yours, but not yours 02 (m) || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 02 pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 5.4k (a bit on the lighter side) summary: when a nice guy gets too overbearing, you’re stuck with the option of having a fake boyfriend. warnings: oral sex (f.receiving), brief smut scene (very brief, sorry LOL)  a/n: !! here it is !! sorry it took so long... i couldn’t figure out which route i wanted to go hahaha,, hope you all enjoy!

There’s a brief silence that swells between the two of you. 

“Well?”

Inhaling deeply, Yubin drops her head down. Guilt is gnawing on her insides, wishing she acted differently when you were around Namjoon. But in all fairness, if she had done just that, she would’ve found herself lying to you to the point of no return. “Look, I’m sorry, alright?”

You raise a brow in curiosity. An apology wasn’t really what you were looking for—what you wanted was an explanation as to why she never felt the need to come to your defense when her brother came onto you. It was like a constant battle when it came to Namjoon, and when Yubin sat in the sidelines as if nothing was happening, it came off that she neglected your feelings.

“I just,” she leans back in exasperation, acting as if you’re asking for a load of shit from her. All you wanted was a friend at that moment and she couldn’t give you that. “It’s hard, alright? I actually kind of agree with Joonie. But… you’re right, I shouldn’t—” her lips curl into a frown. “—I shouldn’t just let him probe you like that. I should’ve respected your decisions. I should’ve been a better friend.”

And you soften.

You melt like an ice cream cone on a hot day when it comes to Yubin. Just like the way the vanilla goodness streams down the waffle cone and onto your arm, this situation between the two of you is sticky. She’s your best friend, and it continues to be difficult to push her away when she has always been the person you leaned on at times you needed her the most—even if this wasn’t one of those times. And if you were being honest and in her shoes, picking between a brother you’re close with and your best friend wasn’t really something easily dealt with. 

With deflated shoulders, you reach over for your fork. “Fine, you’re forgiven.”

However, the expression on Yubin’s face isn’t pleased with your response. Chewing on her bottom lip, she sighs once more. “No, no. That’s a passive response. I have something that’ll actually show how bad I feel. And it’ll really get you to forgive me.”

You scoff with your arms crossed over your chest. “And what’s that?”

Opening her purse, she pulls out two slips of paper. Flimsy, it’s a bit difficult to read what’s printed on the tickets, but once the words become eligible, your jaw drops to the floor.

“You’re joking.”

“I am not.”

Snatching the tickets from her hands, you gasp. “It’s—oh my god, you’re lying!”

With a proud smile, she nods. “Yup. I got you those impossible tickets to that boy band you’ve been dying to go see. I felt bad about what happened, and I knew that… well, no offense, but you always forgive me so easily. It didn’t sit right. So… I went out of my way to get those.”

Narrowing your eyes at your best friend, you purse your lips. “No way. There’s two tickets. Does that mean you’re going with? I thought you didn’t like them!”

“Of course,” she responds with a smile. It’s warm and comforting; her presence and friendship is a reminder as to why you continue to deal with her brother because at the end of the day, Yubin was someone you couldn’t imagine your life without. Through thick and thin, you’d use to say, and even through this thickness, she still remains. “I wanted to show you how sorry I was. If it meant going to that stupid band’s concert that you like, then so be it.”

His hands are rough against your skin albeit his touch is delicate. Breath ghosting over your exposed neck, you let out another gasp when he leans in to kiss that spot behind your ear once more that causes goosebumps to run up your spine.

“How’s it feel, baby?”

Seungcheol nudges his nose against yours, sweat drenching the ends of his hair, sticking to his skin. There’s something about the way he gazes into your eyes that makes you turn into putty, willing to mold to anything he wants. But all he wants is you, just as you are.

The air in the room is thick with the scent of sex, but you’re too lost in him to even bother. Buried deep in you, he reaches in all the spots your other past late night escapes couldn’t—he prioritizes your release over his own because he likes watching you convulse underneath his touches.

You don’t respond to his question, instead, the moans he calls so pretty spills from your lips. 

“Words, baby,” he clarifies, watching as your mouth falls agape, tits bouncing with each of his thrusts. “Do I make you feel good?”

“So good,” you manage to let out, but he quirks a brow as if that answer wasn’t what he was looking for.

“Mmm,” he hums, palming your jaw for your eyes to lock with his. “Do I fuck better than Kim Namjoon?”

“No,” you’re gripping onto his bicep and questioning what you did in your past life to deserve this. Did you save an entire village? Because shit can Seungcheol fuck, and he looks good doing it. You’ve never even slept with Namjoon, but you knew what he wanted to hear.

Content with your answer, he can’t help himself. You’re such a good girl, and the fact you answer so sweetly, stroking his ego (and his dick) means you deserve to be rewarded. Lifting up your legs, he pushes them close to your chest, as far as he possibly could with your flexibility before slamming his hips into yours. The squelching of your wet pussy, the slapping sounds of your sweaty skin, and the attention he was giving your clit was becoming overwhelming. That knot in your stomach tightens, your head throws back, and with a moan you—

Fuck. 

Startled awake, you shuffle in your bedsheets. Did you just scare yourself awake and deprive yourself from a fucking orgasm?

And worst of all—you dreamt it was with Seungcheol. 

Puffing your cheeks in exasperation, you wipe the trickling sweat that streams the side of your face. Hot and bothered, horny and angry—maybe you need to take care of business yourself. Surely enough, you weren’t going to call Seungcheol for a late night booty call, even as tempting as it sounds to put that night on repeat. 

Pulling the sheets off your lower frame, you grumble to yourself. Slipping out of your pants, you carelessly toss it to another part of your room. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you’ve gotten yourself off, but it’s mostly because you’d been too busy to even care about it. Seungcheol was probably the last time you saw those stars, and you weren’t about to throw away your pride to make him be the reason for it again.

But, he might have to be.

Eyes fluttering shut, all you could do was think about the events of that night again. That sheen of sweat on his body, glistening underneath the streetlights that comes from the window—in a dark room, he still shines. His body is chiseled like the men in those catalogue magazines and you’re surprised he hasn’t been recruited to be in one yet. His eyes are filled with lust, all focus on you and his arms are propped on either side of your head with a smirk dressed upon his lips like he’s about to wreck you.

And he does—in your mind (and that night), he pistons into your hips so hard that the bed frame banged against the wall consecutively. Normally, you’d be embarrassed but you were grateful for the random need to rearrange the furniture in your room because the bed isn’t propped against the wall you share with your neighbor. 

You could hear your slick in your panties, the sticky substance in between your fingers as you rub yourself in circles. Yeah, you think to yourself, because you don’t need a man to get yourself off. Even if you were thinking about a particular one. Hips rising from the bed, the memory of his dick pops in your mind again. Thick and heavy in your palm, veins protruding and the head of his cock red and angry with a head of precum seeping the top. It was tempting to either lick it or smear it with your thumb. 

Did you mention how thick he was?

You recalled the moment you slid down his cock; his furrowed brows, fixated stare at the sight of your juices soaking him before his head falls back into the pillow when you fall to the hilt. He made you feel so full, walls stretching just to fit him in. When your friends used to say size does matter, you agreed to an extent because you’ve had your fair share of dicks but geez. 

Your movements grow faster. Him. The way his hips thrust into your, the grunts that he tries to hold back but fails, and that adoring smile like he’d dote on you forever. 

Just when you’re about to see white, there’s a knock on the door.

Who the fuck could that be? Interrupting someone when they’re trying to get off—gah, you wanted to pummel yourself out the window for dreaming about Seungcheol, trying to get off on the thought of him then failing miserably. 

Muttering all the curse words in the dictionary under your breath, you snatch up your sweatpants and slip them on while making your way to the front door. Whomever it was, they better had a good reason for it because you just lost the chance of two goddamn orgasms.

Swinging it open, that’s when your heart stops.

“Hey, baby. How—wait, why do you look so—” Seungcheol takes a moment to observe your expression before snapping back into reality. “You’re frustratedly horny.”

You roll your eyes, ready to slam the door on him before he places a hand on it. “No, no, you’re like raging horny. I know that look. I’m the one that cured it.”

“We’re not doing this.”

He chuckles, finding amusement in your current state of torture. “I came by to ask if you wanted dinner or even grab dessert. But it seems like you want something sweeter. Want me to help?”

Tempting. You clench your jaw for a second to prevent yourself from answering with an impulsive response. “We’re not gonna fuck, if that’s what you were insinuating.”

“We don’t gotta fuck—I could just help you. Eat you out maybe, or even stick a finger or fist in there.”

Your nose twitches at his response and he lets out a laugh. “No.”

“Come on,” he smiles, inviting himself into your home with another step toward you. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Absolutely not, Choi Seungcheol. Go take your ass home.”

Fuck. Not your home.

That head in between your legs, noisily sucking on your clit isn’t what you expected out of this night. He asks politely for you to hold your panties to the side, just enough so that he could attach his lips to yours. Tongue flat against your slit, he traces your swollen folds as you let out a soft gasp. He moves so languidly, like this isn’t a race, and he wants to bask in all of you while he can. It’s not everyday that you let him in your house, let alone your bedroom… let alone in your sheets, mouth to your pussy like he’s been starving for days.

He makes you feel overwhelmed—whether it be just him as a person or the skills he possesses with his tongue, he’s the reason your chest is bursting. It’s blooming even, whatever it is inside of you, and your torso rises from the bed at the pleasure.

Legs threatening to close, Seungcheol pushes them apart in response. “Keep them open. I said I was gonna take care of you, right?”

Head thrown back, your cheeks heat up in both embarrassment when his tongue does wonders to your clit. You’re tense from the fact that you’ve succumbed to your temptations, opting for Seungcheol in between your thighs instead of your hand, but that glimmer in his eyes when he sneaks a glance at you makes your heart clench. Why does he look so in love when he’s got his spit all over your pussy? Almost like it’s an honor for him to have his mouth on you like this.

The thickness of his arms loop underneath your thighs, tugging you closer. It’s a reminiscence of that night in combination of your wet dreams; your fingers raking through his wavy black locks, the lust in his eyes mixing in with those walnut irises, and the sound of his hums against you because you tug just a little too hard, but he secretly likes it. He’s not a fan of the hair pulling, but the action means he’s got you locked, and although you’re not his, at least you’re in his arms like this.

“Fuck, Cheol—” you rasp, body barely containing yourself as you convulse around his finger, clandestinely wishing it was his dick instead. Stomach tightening, your mouth opens. No audible sounds release for the first moment before it spills; the prettiest moan follows as your mouth drops in awe with hooded lids and uneven breathing. 

When you finally regain yourself, post-nut clarity hits.

You fucking let Choi Seungcheol in your house and eat you out.

He doesn’t seem to mind, but of course he doesn’t. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looks more than content with himself and the position he was in for the past ten minutes. Why does an asshole like him have to be good at prolonging an orgasm?

You scowl. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Seungcheol smirks playfully. “Because. You look sexy when you cum on my tongue.”

Grimacing, you shove him off, quickly shuffling to find your panties. When the fuck did those come off? “I shouldn’t have let you in.”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he says, leaning on his arm as he drops into your sheets. He’s more than proud of himself for getting you off—he’s even turned on himself, and the bulge in his sweatpants gives it away. “I helped you. Nothing wrong with wanting to get off, you just needed an extra hand. In this case, my mouth.”

You shake your head, tugging up your panties. “This can’t happen again.”

Seungcheol chuckles, sitting up before grabbing your leggings and tossing in your direction. “If you need me to, we can make it happen. Now get dressed, I’m taking you out for a late night snack.”

Despite all the sleazy things he says, how flirtatious he is, and persistent he remains, there’s something about him that makes you wanna stick around him longer. Maybe it’s the way he looks up at you while slurping those ramen noodles straight out of his plastic bowl and gestures at your own serving.

“Why ain’t you eating the noodles I cooked for you?”

You blink. “Buying a bowl of instant noodles and turning on the boiling water switch on the machine doesn’t count as cooking.”

He clicks his tongue, lips pink from the spice and glossy from the grease in the soup. Arms crossed, he leans back in his chair as he lets out a heavy breath. The air is cool tonight, but with him, it… feels warmer than usual. “I paid for it and I brought it out for you. Put the chopsticks on the cover and everything so it cooks the noodles faster with all the rotating heat. Heard that? Cooks. I cooked it for you, baby. Make me your house husband, why don’t you? I’m already in your garage.”

You laugh, swirling your ramen with the wooden chopsticks. Admittingly, he sounds ridiculous, but that smile that tugs on the edge of his lips gives him away.

Choi Seungcheol sort of makes things feel okay.

You heave out a breath of air. The wind is brisk tonight, being the cause of the goosebumps that appear on your bare legs and your skirt didn't help provide any warmth. The jacket that hangs over your shoulders is thin, mostly because you didn’t think you would be standing out here this long and with the expectation of the venue being packed with sweaty, hot people, you figured a heavier jacket wouldn’t have made it any better.

Plopping down onto the curb, you adjust yourself to stretch your legs out over the asphalt. Luckily, at the last minute, you opted for sneakers instead of those chunky boots the girls voted on in the group chat or else the soles of your feet would’ve been aching by now. Pursing your lips, you tap your fingers against the concrete, wondering why the fuck Yubin was taking so long.

Part of you grows concerned, another part grows annoyed.

Unlocking your phone, the previous texts you’ve sent go unread. Calls are unreturned. Normally, her location would be shared with you, but tonight, it’s off and you grow weary. 

Then, a flash of headlights beam in your direction. 

It’s Yubin’s car—the familiar uneven brightness between the two headlights is enough to give it away, but what truly takes the cake is the white scratches on the front bumper. She’s just as bad at taking care of her care as you are, and it’s probably the reason why you’ve bonded so easily. Her little grey Chevy is one you could identify from miles away, and the sight of it tugs on the corners of your mouth.

But the person driving the car is the one to flip it upside down real quick.

“Namjoon.” His name is bitter when it leaves the tip of your tongue.

“Hey, pretty,” he greets, stumbling out of the car. He looks… apologetic, almost like he actually didn’t plan to be there, and the regret on his face was a genuine one. “Uh, Yubin got caught up at work. She tried texting you, but she told me she figured it would be best if I came and gave the news myself,” he pauses for a moment, almost knowing that the next words would infuriate you. “She asked if I could take you instead.”

There was no other way to describe the boiling blood in your veins.

Heat rises, lingering around your neck and you could feel the warmth radiating to the tip of your ears. “What was the reason?”

Namjoon rubs his nape. “Emergency with a patient. I’m sure if it was anything else, she would’ve been here now.”

How could you be mad at that?

For as long as you’ve known Yubin, her dream was to be a registered nurse. And now that’s who she is, it’s become her identity. Being pissed because she blew you off in a moment where a patient was in need wasn’t really… rational. Even if that’s what you wanted.

With a heavy sigh, you wave him off. “Fine, I… I can’t really be mad at that. We can go.”

Namjoon blinks. After the last altercation, he expected a rejection. “I.. Yeah, y-yeah,” he’s already shuffling to the passenger side to open the door for you. “We can go.”

Going with Namjoon wasn’t really an option you wanted to take, but this was the band of your dreams to see. It wasn’t easy obtaining the tickets, and shutting the plans down because Yubin couldn’t go wasn’t a choice you were going to make. “These seats are expensive. I’m not ditching it just ‘cause she’s busy.”

“Right,” he grins, this time, it’s not slimy or irritating as it usually is. There’s something different about Namjoon tonight–for once, he’s tolerable. Hopping into the driver’s seat, he makes sure that he’s secure in his seat before checking yours, and for a brief moment, you feel your heart skip a beat when his hand brushes against your arm gingerly. “Well, let's head out. Wouldn’t want to be late to see your all-time favorite band.”

And truthfully, Namjoon was bearable the entire time. No demanding a relationship, no presentation about how he’s the best candidate to be your boyfriend, no shenanigans that involved persuading you that he’d be the best husband he could be for you.

He’s more of a gentleman than anything; opening doors, offering to pay, and even keeping his distance physically and emotionally, without pushing himself onto him like he normally does. 

This Namjoon isn’t the Namjoon you’ve come to know.

When he stands in the crowd next to you, he does just that. Next to you, not behind where he could be pressed against your body in attempts to seduce you. Namjoon treats you as a friend more than anything—the light nudges on your arm to get you to see something he points out, the slight lean in to share a comment or two, and the excitement he shares with you through glances instead of aggressive touches.

This version of Namjoon is… nice.

Him as a friend is possible—you know through the grapevine that he’s someone who is loyal and dependable, the same traits he shares with his sister. It’s the reason why people tend to lead you in his direction, hoping you’d view him as more than just your best friend’s brother.

But you preferred him like this.

There’s no explanation for it, and you didn’t believe that it warranted one. Namjoon was someone who didn’t show up on your radar, and there wasn’t anything wrong with that. But the constant pressures of having to consider him and the repetitive questions of, “Why don’t you date Namjoon?” only because he’s this nice guy who fits the trope of best friend’s brother wasn’t something you wanted. 

With the bass vibrating underneath the soles of your shoes, body swaying to the music, feeling light as a feather—this is the concert high you missed. The heat that lingers over your skin, the breeze from the booming sounds of the music through the speakers, and the contagious eagerness that runs through everyone’s veins is why you desperately wanted to be here for so long. In words, there’s no full elaboration on this concert bliss. And although you wished you were here with Yubin, Namjoon wasn’t bad company either.

“Here,” Namjoon hands over the cup of beer that the bartender slides over. The rumbling of the music is still heard through the walls and you’re glad that the concession stands are out on the perimeter halls so you could catch your breath. “Modelo, right?”

Not your favorite beer, but you know it’s his attempt to be observant. You’ve probably ordered it twice because your favorite one wasn’t on tap, and he was quick to assume that it’s one you love.

“Uh, yeah,” you roll your lips. The awkwardness is still there but it’s just because you had the tendency to attach the belief he was pursuing you to every encounter you had with him. “Thanks.”

“Kinda stuffy in there,” he comments, taking a sip of his drink. Small talk wasn’t really your thing, but there wasn’t much to talk about when it came to Namjoon. You’ve always avoided him like the plague. “Nice to take a breather.”

“Yeah,” you quietly agree, bringing the beer to your lips. Maybe a little alcohol will loosen the tension.

There's a moment of silence; the music continues to blast through the concrete walls, the scatter of the audience running in and out of the venue hall, and the rustling and bustling of the concession stands but it’s soundless in the space between you and Namjoon.

Namjoon breaks that glass of quietude.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, a frown on his face. “That… I know you didn’t want to come with me in particular, and hoped for Yubin instead. She said she trusted me more than anyone else, and I was reluctant but—you know my sister. She does that thing where she bats her lashes and pouts. I can't say no to her.” 

You could relate to that. With a soft laugh, you shake your head. “I… I get that. And don’t worry so much about it, tonight isn’t that bad.”

When Namjoon drives you home, the car ride isn’t silent.

He makes you laugh—although it reminds you of Cheol and how the effect is definitely not the same—and he shares a side of himself you never really saw before.

Namjoon is caring; he’s the typical ideal son that every parent wants to have. He takes care of his family, treats his sister as not just a sibling but as a best friend, and he’s smart with a job that he got straight out of college. Getting girls wasn’t difficult for him either. He talks about dates he’s gone on before, and how every experience was similar to the last—he just couldn’t seem to connect with any of them the same way.

And as you chortle once more at one of his anecdotes, shaking your head in disbelief, you miss the loving stare he shoots your way. 

“There was even one where we didn’t even walk into the restaurant yet and she asked if I wanted to fuck,” he taps the pads of his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel. “I didn’t think people were that bold these days.”

You shrug, fiddling with your phone case on your lap. “Least she knows what she wants.”

He finally reaches your house, the screeching sounds of his breaks filling the brief silence as he leans against his arm that rests on the middle console. “I always admire that in a girl.”

With a smile, you unbuckle your seatbelt. “You should’ve gone out with her, then. She seems like a catch.”

“But she’s not you.”

He doesn’t make your heart stutter in its beats like Seungcheol does, he makes it skip it from anxiety and uncertainty on how to react to the next potential move he makes. Seungcheol does it in a way where he lures you in, enticing you with his lips that you wish you could kiss, but with Namjoon, you fear he would move any closer. 

“Uh, yeah. Kind of the point. You should date anyone that isn’t me.”

Namjoon sighs, placing his hand on the back of your chair. “Even after tonight?” 

Uncomfortably, you shift away. “Namjoon, I had fun with you at the concert tonight. But I hope you don’t take my word as something more than just… a friendly gesture. It was a nice time, but I still don’t see you in the same light as you see me.”

He scoffs. “I don’t get why you’d rather be with Seungcheol than me. You said you had fun tonight. He’s not fun. I’m charming. He’s not charming. I have a corporate job and he works in your fucking garage.”

Infuriated, you could almost hear the whistling of the steam that blows from your ears. Who does he think he is to speak about Seungcheol like that? Not that you care or anything, but he wasn’t in position to do so. “Why do you think someone who works behind a desk is more intelligent than someone with grease stains on their pants? Plus—why does it matter if I choose him? He’s a nice guy.”

“Sure. He might be smart, then. And a nice guy, even. But he’s not good for you.”

You furrow your brows. “And what gives you the right and authority to decide who would be good for me?”

Namjoon shifts closer, so close that you could feel his breath ghosting over your face. The scent of beer is pungent in his breath despite his actions being sober. “Because, I’m your best friend’s brother and she purposely didn’t come tonight so we’d get to spend time together. If your best friend had to whip up a scheme like that, what does that say about you?”

There isn’t enough time to express the vexation and betrayal. The driver’s side door swings open and the two of you jolt your heads to the culprit.

“The fuck you doing to my girlfriend?”

Namjoon chuckles, resting back in his seat. “Oh, quit the fucking act. You guys aren’t dating—fucking, maybe, but not dating. She wouldn’t settle for a dumbass like you.”

The cigarette at the corner of Cheol’s mouth is lit—you could’ve sworn he promised to quit because you hated the smell. You’ve complained several times that you hated men who purposely blackened their lungs and willingly basked themselves in the effluvium of that cancer stick. But tonight, you’d wish for the stench of his cigarette to be embedded in your clothes instead of the beer that wafts from Namjoon’s breath. 

“Get out the fucking car.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “I’m getting out the fucking car, Choi Seungcheol. You can play with all the girls in the world, but can’t you leave the actually good one for me?”

Seungcheol leans over, blowing smoke into Namjoon’s face as Namjoon turns away. “I said get out of the car, Kim Namjoon. I’m not playing. We gotta talk.”

“Why? You afraid I’m gonna kiss your girl?”

With another drag of the cigarette, Seungcheol releases another puff before tossing it into the gravel with a stomp. “Nah. You gonna get out the car, look her dead in the eye and tell her you’re gonna fuck off. That you’re sorry, and that tonight was a great experience but it would be the last of your persistence. Whether or not she’s single, she said she’s not interested and you gotta respect that.”

Tongue poking his cheek, Namjoon pulls himself together to get out. He stands before Seungcheol, arms crossed with the look of incredulity washed over his face. “Come on. Let’s talk—man to man. Remember that girl at the club a couple years ago? What’s her name? Chaeryong? You could always fuck her. You’ve got so many options for a quick bang, why her?”

Seungcheol clicks his tongue, a habit he’s grown used to. He even smacks lollipops in his mouth in lieu of the stick, but he does it now in the midst of indignation. “If you really loved her, you would’ve known that Chaeryong is one of her friends and Chaeryong is engaged, dumbass.”

Huh, you think to yourself. Maybe he does listen.

Namjoon waves his hand in dismissal. “Doesn’t fucking matter. The point is that you could walk into the bar or a club, find a hottie and take them instead. She,” is he really pointing at you through the car windshield right now? “She’s someone you settle with, not play around with.”

With the fronts of his brows dipped, Seungcheol mimics Namjoon’s stance. “I never said I didn’t wanna settle. That’s what I want, actually.”

Namjoon laughs; it’s weighted when it releases from his chest and he has to put his hand on the car to regain his balance. “You’re kidding. Why do you want to settle for? You’ve got daddy’s money—he’s not asking for shit from you, I know that much. You were sleeping with girls, never coming home, and making your mom worried. And what? One day, you wake up and you realize you want a serious relationship? Who are you kidding?”

Seungcheol inhales deeply. 

He doesn’t want to make any rash decisions, especially because it’s just normally expected from him. Seungcheol had the reputation of being the type of guy who did things because it felt right in the moment, never using logic behind his actions, purely all emotion.

But when he sees you leave the car and Namjoon making his way to you, Seungcheol is quick to pull Namjoon back. “Get the fuck off of me.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m walking her inside,” Namjoon snarls. “Like gentlemen should.”

“I’ll walk her inside, she’s my girlfriend,” Seungcheol shoots back, flames in his eyes. “Go back home, Namjoon. You’re probably worked up on the adrenaline at the concert, it’s messing with your thoughts. Take care, yeah?” He releases his hold on Namjoon, and when he spots you at the end of the stairs, all he could think about was watching you make your way inside with a couple insults and rejections shooting his way. He’d make some more advances, but when you roll your eyes with a smile and tell him goodnight with a wave, he goes home feeling warm in his chest.

That doesn’t happen. At least, not tonight.

Namjoon swings, his fist colliding with a crack to Seungcheol’s cheek.

← last chapter | next chapter →

#kpopsociety #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #svt smut #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol fanfic #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

crush (teaser) || j.ww & reader/oc & l.sm

title: crush — part of the attacca series pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader/oc x lee seokmin genre: angst, fluff, racing!au, street racing!au, formula 1 racing!au enemies!au (between sm & ww), unrequited love!au, love triangle!au wc: 1.8k / final wc: approx 20k-25k+ summary: you’re supposed to be seokmin’s endgame, but he’s prioritizing his dreams and late night escapades. so what do you do when someone new comes along and shows you that you could be the first on his list? warnings: profanity, explicit language, mentions of sex.  rating: ages 16+ due to mature content (but no sexual content). a/n: !! here’s the preview of my racing!au fic! hope you guys enjoy :D (pls note that there’s a gap between the two sections since i didn’t wanna give too much away!!)

Nose twitching, you cross your arms over your chest with a thermos in hand, housing your favorite coffee—the Folgers’ classic roast instant coffee crystals that melt the moment it meets with boiling hot water because you can’t be bothered to wait for the coffee machine to brew the grinds. Normally, you’d be able to smell the freshness of the caffeine, but instead, you’re met with the aroma of burnt rubber on the asphalt wafting underneath your nose. Of course, you shouldn’t have expected anything else—this only ever happens at the track.

To be quite fair, you should’ve been used to all of this by now. The zooming of the cars when they make laps around the track, the whiff of the smoke that spits out of the exhaust, and the crisp clicking that the high-powered impact wrench makes when it’s changing the four tires on the cars at a pit box. And yet, every time you’re here, it feels like an entirely new experience.

Truthfully, you don’t know if you love it here. There’s always too much going on during the races; the chaos on the track, the abundance of people at the bleachers who watch attentively with their favorites in mind, the hollering and screaming, occasional fight breakouts, and the obsession with the cars themselves is too much to handle. You already have a lot going on in your day job—why are you even here?

Oh, right. Because that driver over there—the one with the chestnut color hair, beaming bright smile, and contagious laugh with that cute little mark on his cheek—is your best friend. The one that you might be head over heels for since the beginning of time.

It’s a bit dramatic to introduce him like that, but it’s the only way your heart sees him. Helmet tucked underneath his arm, his loud yet saccharine guffaw fills the air as he exchanges words with one of his crew mates. You don’t know what that’s all about, but what you know is that he asked you to be here, claiming that you’re his ‘good luck charm’ of some sorts.

Whether or not that’s true, you’re still present.

Although you’ve voiced your feelings a handful of times, Lee Seokmin has made it clear: relationships aren’t his priority at the moment—his dreams are.

But, you remain by his side while wearing a blissfully oblivious mask, pretending like you don’t know about his late night escapades, where he meets women at the track and takes them out for drinks before inviting them back to his hotel room. Clubs, after parties, celebrations, tailgates—he’s encountered them through it all, but the only one he hasn’t brought back is you.

Mostly because he ‘treasures’ your relationship too much. You’re the type of person he’d take home to his mom, he says, not to a shoddy motel room right off the highway next to that gas station with the flickering vacancy sign.

And if this was someone else sharing their story, you would’ve told them to lose the guy and find someone worthwhile, someone who wouldn’t take their time for granted, and someone who would love them the way they deserved to be loved.

Unfortunately, this was you you were talking about here, and the only thing you are is delusional and clueless.

You choose to turn a blind eye when Seokmin is stumbling out of a club, shirt unbuttoned down to his chest, hooded gaze and slurring words with a girl underneath his arm with her skirt hitched nearly up to her upper thigh, breasts almost falling out of the cups of her top. Because even though he’s bringing her to his bed tonight, you hoped he’d bring you to your forever home one day.

You want to be his endgame—so if this is what it takes to get there, you’d suffer a little.

“You did good.” You grin, calling out to Seokmin who turns his attention to you. It seems like his smile gets wider at the sight of you walking down to where he’s stationed, wearing that sweatshirt he gave you last autumn with his car sewn in the pocket area and his name in the back. 

“You didn’t know what you were watching,” he chuckles, handing off his helmet over to his team. “You just sit in the stands and watch me diligently. Do that thing where you furrow your brows like you’re concentrating.”

You mimic the description by scrunching up your face. “I’m not even a fan of racing, you asked me to come here.”

He pats your head affectionately. “I know. And I’m thankful for that.” Your heart swells. It didn’t help that Seokmin was always like this, and because of that, he made it harder for you if you ever wanted to detach from him. He lures you in effortlessly, like you’re smitten from the aftermath of a love potion but it’s all because of that charming smile that he shoots your way and not Cupid’s arrow.

At the moment, it happens in the blink of an eye. The amount of anxiety that was churning through your stomach, and your heart racing at the speed of the cars on the track, you didn’t realize the mess you caught yourself in.

You agreed to go on a date with your best friend’s enemy.

But in all honesty, you didn’t think you’d be able to confront Wonwoo again and tell him that you couldn’t. He was so goddamn fucking charming, exhibiting manners that all the mothers around the world would praise him for. Anyone who would find out that you turned down a date with a guy like Wonwoo would probably give you an earful.

Then again, Seokmin might give you an earful. 

Maybe you won’t tell him.

It’s one date… right?

Plus, with Wonwoo being himself, there’s no way that Seokmin could actually be that annoyed with him. He spoke to Chan in such a respectful manner, treated him like a younger classmate, and even expressed how proud he was of him for getting to where he is now. There’s no way that Seokmin could actually hate Wonwoo on the track. Couldn’t be possible.

That is until you saw living proof right in front of you.

Seokmin is tempted; fists clamped shut at his side, you see him inhale in a deep breath that juts his chest out. His nose does a little spasm, irritated even though he attempts to hold himself back. “Go back to where you belong.”

You find yourself back in Seokmin’s pit, expecting him to do his frequent routine before he hopped into the vehicle. Instead, he’s standing right outside of his car, face to face with Jeon Wonwoo who remains calm, cool, and collected, paying no mind that Seokmin is just inches away from driving his fist into Wonwoo’s cheekbone. It’s enticing, but Seokmin knows he can’t do it in public with thousands of people watching.

“Come on, Dokyeom, I belong on the track.”

“Dokyeom?” You reiterate, head turning from Wonwoo to Seokmin. “Why’s he calling you Dokyeom?”

Seokmin doesn’t break his stare on Wonwoo. Jaw clenched, teeth gritting, he even sucks in his cheeks in the heat of the moment with his fists fully balled by his sides. The fury in his eyes were burning flames that you fear would somehow spread into reality and burn the arena down. “Wonwoo, I thought you said you’d stay out of my way.”

“I never said anything,” the other male says tranquilly, zipping up his navy blue racing overalls up to his neck. In comparison to Seokmin, Wonwoo doesn’t have as many sponsors other than for three companies that barely had any fame to their name. “All I said was that I didn’t know if I'd make it up here with the big dogs. And well, look at me. Livin’ the dream. You should be proud of me, Kyeom, not throwing a bitch fit.”

“You fucking lied.”

“Why’s it matter?” Wonwoo queries, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. “Are you nervous? I thought you didn’t get nervous. Is it ‘cause you finally found someone with the equal amount of skill here? You can’t win forever, Kyeom-ie. One of these days, you gotta be kicked off that goddamn pedestal. Not a hot look for you.”

“Alright, alright,” you interject, pushing Seokmin’s (or was it Dokyeom’s) chest back to prevent him from making the first swing. “It’s almost time to start and I’d rather have you both behind the wheel without a bruised eye.”

“The only fucking bitch leaving here with a bruised face is him,” Seokmin hisses, but his body loosens the tenseness when he feels your touch. “Get off my turf, Jeon Wonwoo. You don’t belong here.”

And just on time, his name is written in bright letters across the television screens surrounding the arena. 

JEON WONWOO, RACER NUMBER FIVE. 

With a cocky grin, Wonwoo crosses his arms as he glances up at his name displayed and back on Seokmin. “It looks like everyone here begs to differ. See you on the track, Kyeomie.”

With an exasperated scoff, he tosses his gloves onto the ground. Wonwoo doesn’t bat a lash or even sneak a glance at the turmoil he leaves behind, instead he waltzes his way to his crew members who don’t dress in uniform as Seokmin’s team did.

“That jackass,” he hisses. “Does he fucking understand that this place isn’t for him?”

“Why’d he call you Dokyeom?” It’s bold of you to ask a question in the middle of his tantrum, but you’ve been patient enough. “I thought your real name was Seokmin.”

For some reason, his anger subsides and a soft expression pulls on his features. “It was a nickname I had.”

“From what?”

“Don’t ask,” he says curtly. “You don’t need to know my past—all you need to be is here. You’re my lucky charm and I need you here so I can win.”

With that, he slips his helmet on, flipping down the shield to cover his face. Ever since Wonwoo’s name was brought up in conversations, Seokmin’s demeanor changes and he doesn’t feel right; he isn’t quite the same person as he used to be. There’s something about Wonwoo that irritates him, and although he incessantly states that it’s because he’s a street racer, you think there’s more than what he lets out to be.

As told, you sit in the bleachers patiently, legs pressed together anxiously with your thermos filled with your coffee in hand, watching as Seokmin climbs into the driver’s seat of his vehicle. 

Like you’re supposed to. 

As you’re asked to.

Just as you always do.

There’s always this part of you that wonders: Is it worth waiting for a guy like Seokmin to notice you in the way you see him? During those late nights, the ones where he doesn’t go off into the sunset with a pretty girl under his arm, he lays underneath the stars with you, and reminds you that you’re the person that he wants to settle down with. Seokmin says he sees the two of you, on the porch of your future home with a big lawn, kids running on the grass with screams and laughter, sharing nothing but love for each other.

But each time he walks away with someone who isn’t you, the wait becomes more of a struggle.

#wonwoo fanfic #dk fanfic #seokmin fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #jeon wonwoo #lee seokmin #dokyeom fanfic #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

hi gyu!! congratulations on 5k!! we've never really interacted much, but for the milestone game, could i request a drabble with joshua + the line, "Let me show you something! I'm sure you'll like it!" + fluff/friends to lovers?

thank you so much!! i hope to read your fics and interact with you more!! :)

hi !! tysm :] and yes !! hopefully i don't disappoint hehe

quote: let me show you something! i'm sure you'll like it! genre: friends to lovers / fluff pairing: joshua x oc!reader (fem!reader) warnings: minor cursing :D wc: 571

Do you blame yourself for being in this situation or do you blame Joshua’s boyish charms?

It all started back when Soonyoung thought you should go out more—staying in your apartment like a hermit crab during what is supposed to be “the best four years of your life” is technically not the way to go about college, but how could you when the comforts of your dream couch (that you credit yourself for purchasing second-hand) is practically singing your name like a Siren’s song? But that was rudely interrupted when Soonyoung dragged you out of your own home and to a houseparty, where you met the sweetest and purest boy ever, the one who you’d least expect to sweep you off your feet. He made your heart stutter in its beats, nostalgic to the way you felt in your middle school years. 

Even now, when you’re sitting in front of him on the lawn outside of your university, you can’t help but sneak glances in his direction. His hair is a chestnut brown, the result of an impulsive decision made from a random Friday night at Soonyoung’s frat house that was heavily influenced by mixing alcohol. Truthfully, despite the cause, the effect practically got you emoting those heart eyes. 

All to the point that you miss it when he says your name a solid five times.

“Hey,” he reiterates, waving a hand to your face. Heat rushes to your cheeks immediately, and you wish you were drowning in that water bottle he’s holding. The smile that tugs on the edges of his mouth only causes your chest to tighten and your stomach to churn. “Finally got your attention. What’ve you been daydreaming about?”

You. Obviously. “Oh, nothing,” you nod, pulling your lips into a straight line. You could hear Soonyoung snickering on the side, eavesdropping while pretending to read his book on the picnic blanket. “I just–yaknow. Tired. Think I got a head cold or something.” Quick save.

“Ah! Right, that reminds me,” Joshua is quick to grab his backpack to place on his lap, sifting through the contents vicariously. “Let me show you something, I’m sure you’ll like it!”

You’ll like it? He thought of you? Surely, he’s a friend of your friend, and you both never really hung out besides with Soonyoung, but Joshua doesn’t think of you–or well, does he? Especially since, well, he just said he does?

Then, he pulls a red packet from his bag. “Here, try this.”

You furrow your brows, taking it from his hand. “What’s… this?”

“Red ginseng sticks! I saw these from the store the other day, and I thought of you because you’re always talking about how weak your immune system is. Try it!”

Blinking blankly, you slowly reach to tear the bag as Soonyoung sits up abruptly. “What the–” he snatches it from your grip, flipping the packet front and back. “Holy shit, this is real. You got her the legit stuff.”

Joshua rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “What about it?”

“These are fucking expensive! Shit, my mom would be dying to have some of these, how much did you pay for them?”

“It–It doesn’t really matter,” Joshua steals it back to hand it to you. “As long as she feels better…” that’s when your eyes lock; those chocolate irises are as enticing as a hypno wheel. “… Right?”

Joshua Hong will surely be the death of you.

#gyukultfics #joshua svt #seventeen #joshua hong

[yuzukult]

we don’t usually hold hands (m) || kmg & reader

title: we don’t usually hold hands pairing: kim mingyu x reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, smut, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, sort-of-mean!oc, nice guy!mingyu, emotionally constipated!oc honestly wc: 16.8k  summary: when a friend brings up the potential feelings of a fuck buddy, you’re left wondering what to do when you confirm it’s true. warnings: explicit unprotected sex, vulgar language, sexual innuendos, oral sex (female receiving), spit kink, car sex, bathroom sex, and kitchen sex (i know, don’t come @ me)  -- please let me know if i’m missing anything else! a/n: !! i know i was supposed to be writing another wip, but i honestly have been having trouble finding pride in my writing :( so i took a break, decided to write something else and 16k words later!! here we are ! thanks to @kthpurplesyou​, @cheolbooluvr​, @fullsunfluff​, & @bangtanintotheroom​ for looking it over before i posted! :)

With furrowed brows, you lean back in your swivel chair with a scoff. The question your friend prompts you with was one you’ve heard before—just not ever directed to you. “What do you mean?”

Hayoung shoots a glare at you. “You’re telling me that you don’t think there’s a slight possibility he might’ve fallen in love with you?”

It’s something people ask whenever the topic of ‘friends with benefits’ is brought up, but it never comes to mind in your own relationship. Why would it? Everything seemed fine—at least, it was to you.

Clicking your tongue, you wave her off as you resume to your computer, tapping your password against the keys to unlock the screen. “I’ve shown you his abs before, right? And you’ve seen his instagram. You can’t tell me a guy with a feed like that doesn’t have his options open. He’s probably busy and felt like having a fuck buddy would be easier for the time being. I don’t think the idea of a ‘relationship’ is on his mind.”

She shoves her phone in your face; Mingyu’s post with a picture of him and his dad are on display and Hayoung’s eyes bulge out to emphasize the seriousness of this as she wags the device exaggeratedly. “He’s a family guy, you idiot. No whore is a family person.”

“They can be.”

“No,” she’s skimming through his instagram once more. “There’s no way. All he has are pictures of the scenery, himself, his dog, and his parents. This screams domestic as fuck.”

Rolling your eyes, you’re making it a goal to avoid looking over at her. Hayoung was a great friend, but she never failed to be a distraction. “Fucking in a broom closet doesn’t exactly scream domestic.”

She gasps. “You fucked in a closet?”

Shit, she manages to get you to turn around in your chair and steal your attention again. “Yeah, and we fucked in the front seat of his car. You think that’s domestic?”

Her stare narrows, and she straightens her lips. “You even fucked in the front seat of his car?” Deciding not to probe any further, she shakes her head. “Nonetheless, he might just be weak for you. You should ask what he wants in case this goes too far.”

“Pretty sure a guy who wants to fuck me against the sliding balcony door of his building doesn’t want a serious relationship.”

“You what?!”

“Just kidding,” you grin cheekily, twirling back to your computer. “In all seriousness though, I appreciate the gesture, Hayoung. But he’s a busy guy, and I’m a busy gal, I’m pretty sure all he wants is to just fuck and dip.”

“Let’s make a bet, then,” she has her arms crossed over her chest. “Ask him if he likes you. If he does, you owe me breakfast for a month. If he doesn’t, I’ll treat you for a whole month.”

You groan, puffing your cheeks. “This really isn’t that deep.”

“If it isn’t, then you should be able to do it with ease,” she smiles mischievously, knowing very well how to get under your skin. If this was just a friends with benefits situation, and you were so sure of it, it shouldn’t hurt to ask Mingyu for his honesty, right?

… Right?

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Oh, and with mimosas too.”

Tapping your feet against the floor, your glare practically pierces through her, but she remains firm with her requirements. “… Okay, fine, with mimosas.”

He feels so good when he’s against you. The heat of his breath ghosting over your neck in between his peppering kisses, his bulky arms holding your legs around his waist, and the way he pulls away just barely, forehead pressing on yours, his hooded eyes and swollen lips gives away how intoxicated he is from you.

“How did we get like this again?” You manage to ask, despite being breathless. Hands roaming his bare, broad shoulders, it seems like you’re just as inebriated. “I thought we were supposed to make pancakes.”

“Yeah,” his voice deeper than usual, “then you insulted my ass and called it a flat pancake. Can’t say that it made me very happy.”

You let out a laugh—he’s so serious, yet somehow cute and sexy at the same time, but he doesn’t let you enjoy mocking him for long when he pulls his hips back and thrusts into you harshly. A soft moan escapes from your lips in lieu of another insult, fingers clutching onto his bicep.

“Not so funny now?”

“Always funny to me,” you snap back, and it only provokes him to go harder and deeper with each movement. He gets your head all fuzzy, completely forgetting how hard and cold the kitchen counter was underneath your bare ass because everything about him was overwhelming.

It doesn’t take long to finish, especially with him sucking and licking the sensitive spot behind your ear, with a hand releasing your thigh to rub against your bud with his thumb. He’s so big—in both sizes down there and his height, not even including his build yet, and just the thought of him manhandling you gets you all worked up.

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you rasp, head thrown back and lips parted, “I’m gonna cum—”

He pecks your outer ear sweetly, burying himself inside your pussy. “You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he hums before planting more kisses down your neck, “be a good girl and cum around me, yeah?”

With a swallow, you barely respond back with a ‘yeah’ before you're convulsing around him, hand on his nape as your legs stiffen from the amount of pleasure.

When you finally settle, your body softens and you run your fingers through his hair. He doesn’t say much, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, like you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

“Think you can handle it just a little longer for me?”

“Yeah,” you answer shakily, still recovering from your high. “Use me.”

Brows furrowed in concentration, he grabs the thickness of your ass into his palms before adjusting himself just enough before he pistons his hips into you. Skin slapping, heavy pants, and lewd sounds from your wetness, he shoves his face into your shoulder before he grunts, without a care of who hears before he stills into you with a long groan.

It takes a moment for the two of you to catch your breaths, but the untouched pancake batter that sits by the stove is calling for your attention. Shifting to move his head up, you push away the hair in his face that mixes with his sweat. “This is gross, you know.”

He chuckles. “The sweat or fucking in your kitchen?”

You grimace in return. “Both. Now get off me so I can cook breakfast.”

Mingyu always does this, but something about the conversation you had with Hayoung has you noticing things you didn’t before. He’s always so gentle at the end of sex—no matter how rough it was—and he’d make sure you’re okay, clean you up, and help you get dressed.

So when you’re back on your feet, pj pants back on with a spatula in hand over the stove looking like you didn’t just get fucked on the granite countertop, it’s not surprising.

“I can help,” he says, taking the spatula from your hand. “Wanna make some bacon? I saw you had some leftovers in the fridge.”

How’d he know you had bacon?

“Um, sure,” you scratch your head in thought. “It’s… It’s turkey bacon, are you okay with that?”

He smiles with a nod before grabbing the pink apron hung over the doorknob of the pantry and putting it on. He turns his back to you, attention on the pan with a plop of batter in the middle.

Why did this oddly feel so… intimate?

It wasn’t any different from any other Saturday morning; Mingyu often stops by Friday afternoon, you’d play around a little before it leads to something more, and he’d spend the night in your bed.

Hm. It… it strangely feels like… a relationship?

Were you already in one and didn’t know it?

When you open the freezer, it’s evident that it needs restocking. You’ve got an opened half-eaten pizza roll bag, that styrofoam tray of leftover bacon, and ice cream.

Maybe it’s normal that he’d notice the bacon—you barely have anything in here.

Handing off the tray to Mingyu, he places it on the side before glancing over at you. “Should we go grocery shopping today?”

Grocery shopping? Oh, now it’s sounding rather domestic.

Does he like you? He never said anything, and he doesn’t ask you to do anything romantically. In fact, you’ve never held his hand before (other than when he has your hands over your head when you’re fucking) and he’s never asked you to meet his friends either. His mom came to town about a week ago and he didn’t invite you over.

Should you be concerned?

Suddenly, he waves a hand over your face. “What are you thinking about?”

The fronts of your brows dip in confusion. Maybe you should ask him now, even if he’s in the middle of cooking your breakfast like a boyfriend would. “I have a question. But I need you to be completely honest with me.”

He sucks in his cheeks. “When have I ever lied to you?” The look on your face doesn’t exactly seem to be welcoming his joke. “I’m kidding. Of course, I’ll be honest. What is it?”

“Do you like me?”

He nearly chokes on his spit. “W-What? I mean, yeah, I like you. We’ve been sleeping together.”

“Um, no, I mean, do you like like me?” Letting out a heavy sigh, you rub your face tiredly. “I can’t believe I said it like we’re some elementary school kids. Just tell me, Mingyu.”

Taking off the last pancake and placing it onto the plate piled with the rest, he shuts off the stove. Front facing you, he releases his anxiety with a deep breath and musters up the courage to say what he’s been holding back for the past year.

“Yeah, I mean—yeah, I like you. More than whatever this is.”

Flustered and a bit agitated, you tilt your head at the taller male. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He laughs, and it’s a mixture between disbelief and uncertainty. “What do you think would happen? Because I know you, whether you like it or not, and the idea of commitment freaks you out. So, yeah, I like you, but you’re not going to do anything about it. And if I get to have you like this, even without the label, then sure, I wouldn’t want to tell you because you’ll let this go.”

You blink. “I—Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad? Because you’re scared of commitment?”

Rolling your lips, you nod. “Well, sorta, yeah. Doesn’t it bother you that you’ve just been… sitting and waiting around for me to say something?”

He quirks a brow. “Well, are you?”

There’s silence between the two of you, the only sound in the room being the stove ventilator that hums loudly. The pancakes are starting to get cold and the bacon is left untouched. Maybe you should’ve confronted him after breakfast.

“I… I don’t know. I didn’t even know you felt this way about me.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I like how it is now, do you?”

“I do, but—doesn’t it just… make you upset?”

He shakes his head in response, switching the stove back on and relief washes over you. You didn’t lose him—he’s even going back to cook again. Mingyu reaches over to the little container that holds your oil and pours it onto the heated pan. “No, it doesn’t. I told you, if I get to be with you, I don’t care about the label. I just want you to be comfortable. I’ll settle for this if this is the best it can get.”

Well, do you like Mingyu?

It’s something you haven’t really thought about, and ever since Hayoung planted that stupid idea in your head, you can’t get that shit out. But it doesn’t seem to bother him that you know because he’s fucking frying the turkey bacon like nothing even happened.

When he’s sitting in front of you, coffee is already made (by him, too) and the food is placed on the table. He practically inhales his food, and this doesn’t often intrigue you, but the concept of him ever being your boyfriend is starting to make you more observant.

“How’s your coffee? I made it iced, since you don’t like it hot.”

Fuck, coffee, a drink you have with your breakfast, just like mimosas. You owe that bitch fucking breakfast for a month.

“You made me lose a bet, you know,” you blurt, dropping your fork onto the table. Mingyu’s ears perk and his gaze meets yours. “Hayoung said if you admitted you had feelings for me, I owe her breakfast for a month. Vice versa. Plus mimosas.”

Mingyu doesn’t seem fazed, in fact, he chuckles at your revelation. “That’s fine. You could use my card to pay for it.”

“Mmm, this shit is soooooo good,” Hayoung moans, mimosa swirling in a champagne glass in hand. She’s gotten all dolled up for brunch today; hair curled, fake lashes on and a pretty cherry tint on her lips. “So glad I was right. Imagine if I lost, that would suck.”

“Did you have to get the most expensive champagne on the menu?”

“Oh, please, if you’re paying, of course I’m gonna order the most expensive one.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull out that black American Express card from your purse. “I’m not—”

Hayoung gasps, snatching it from your hand. “Holy shit, when did you get a black card—wait, this says Kim Mingyu.” She stares at you. “Why do you have Mingyu’s card? Oh my god, don’t tell me you guys are official—”

Leaning over, you grab the card back. “No, I just told him about our bet and how he made me lose. He offered to pay.”

She’s so fucking cheesy, you’re tempted to slap that grin off her face.

“How sweet. I wish my boyfriend would do that for me.”

“Cheol is like a billionaire. Get off my back.” Hayoung pouts.

Although Hayoung was a coworker, she was a friend you made outside of those four walls. She’s the same age yet somehow the complete opposite of you. Eager and bright, kind and warm—she’s like the epitome of what a guy like Mingyu would be into, but unfortunately, she’s got a boyfriend who is slightly less of a grump than you are.

“Mm, but it seems like you might like him in return,” she’s wriggling her brows but you might have to whack her head.

“Your brother Jeonghan is hot.”

Hayoung freezes while drinking her mimosa. “Stop it, that’s not funny.”

Pursing up your lips teasingly, your mouth tugs into a smile afterwards. “I thought we were saying what was on our minds. That was on mine.”

She wags the free breadstick at you. “Listen, I know you think Jeonghan is hot—fine, fuck him for all I care. But don’t do it just to spite me and ruin whatever it is you have with Mingyu.”

Speaking of the Devil, your phone lights up next to your drink with Mingyu’s name on the lock screen.

Mingyu [10:32AM]: Enjoying brunch? Didn’t see you swipe my card yet, but wanna come over after brunch?

He’s… kind of… cute? There’s something sweet about him checking in on you, like he actually cares about what you’re up to other than always wanting to fuck. It’s like when he made iced coffee for you instead of brewing a hot cup, knowing that you liked it better cold.

“You’re smiling.”

You clear your throat, sending off a quick ‘sure’ back to Mingyu before focusing back on Hayoung. “Saw something funny.”

“No,” she eyed you suspiciously, “Mingyu texted you. What’d he ask?”

“If I paid yet,” you retorted shortly. “Nothing else.”

“He asked to meet, didn’t he?” The desire to slap is upgrading to a punch. “Come on, what’s so wrong about being his girlfriend? You obviously have a crush on him. Does he make your heart flutter?”

For a moment, you pause. “I… I don’t think so? I don’t even know what that feels like.”

She taps her well-manicured nails against the table, the ones that her rich boyfriend Seungcheol definitely paid for. Why’s she making you spend your boyf—wait, he’s not your boyfriend. What’s wrong with you?

“Does he smile? Make you laugh?”

“Only because I’m insulting him.”

She rolls her eyes. “Can you stop that? Why don’t you figure out how you feel about him so you’re not leading him on?”

Your shoulders drop. You weren’t leading him on, were you? He said before that if this is the best he could get with you, he’d settle for that.

But he used the word ‘settle,’ and in terms of a relationship… that can’t possibly mean a positive thing, right?

“Alright, fine. I’ll… I’ll try.”

Hayoung snorts and nearly has her mimosa spilling out her nose. “Why do you always say things like it’s painful for you? He’s a hot guy and he’s got such a great personality. Why do you keep pushing him away?”

Good question.

When you arrive at Mingyu's apartment, you’re nervous. Palms perspiring, heartbeat racing, and feet constantly feeling the need to tap against the ground, you’re having a hard time remaining calm.

Why are you so fucking anxious for? Mingyu never used to make you this way. What’s so different about now? Slowly, you reach over to tap your knuckles against the door but it swings open before you could make an impact.

There he was. Standing there in a tight, forest green t-shirt that seems way too small for his chest and arms. It’s hard to concentrate on your emotions when your eyes are fixated on his body. Were you that shallow?

Well, to be quite frank, you were fuck buddies to begin with.

“How’d you know I was here?”

He points to the small camera by the doorbell. “Normally people click the button, but… I saw you gathering the courage to knock on my door. Thought I’d save you the hassle.” Mingyu steps aside for you to come in, but his small white dog stops you in your tracks to jump on your leg. “Bobpul, sit.”

“It’s fine—”

“Bobpul.” He calls her out firmly this time, and she whimpers quietly before setting her bottom down against the wood floors. “Sorry, she’s just excited to see you again since you haven’t been over here in a while.”

Right, now… why is that? Was he always just considerate of your schedule and decided it would be easier for you if he came over to your apartment instead?

“Mingyu,” you fix the strap of your bag on your shoulder as he shoos her back inside his place. “Why is that the case?”

He blinks blankly. “Why’s what?”

“Why is it that I don’t come over often?”

“Oh,” he responds calmly, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his grey sweatpants. “I guess… it’s convenient for you. Sometimes you work long hours, and if we’re gonna hook up, since I’m home earlier anyways, it’s easier if I just come over instead.”

Things are slowly piecing together, despite you not liking the outcome. “Just because it’s convenient for me?”

Mingyu rubs his nape, unsure why you’re constantly probing him with these questions nowadays. Ever since you pushed a confession out of him, it seems that almost every encounter is an interrogation. Truthfully, he doesn’t mind it, but he can’t help but wonder what’s running through your mind.

“Well, yeah. It’s not that convenient for me—I live twenty minutes from you and an additional twenty minutes away from work. Didn’t think you’d want to go through that hassle for me, especially when you’re already home so late, so I figured I’d bite the bullet.”

“Right…” You nod slowly, puffing up your cheeks as you let his response sink in. “So… are we gonna fuck or what?”

It doesn’t take long, but Mingyu already has you on his couch naked with his head in between your legs. He’s already convinced Bobpul to go in a time-out in his room because “Daddy has business to tend to” and as much as you cringed at that comment he told her, all those thoughts washed away the moment he took off your pants.

“Fuck,” you gasp, fingers raking through his soft locks before tugging it slightly. He lets out a grunt against your core, and the sensation makes you close your legs but his firm palms press against the inside of your thighs to keep them apart. “Right there—”

In the midst of his mouth doing wonders, you can’t help but notice the dip in his hips and the subtle movements he makes with his lower body. Just before you could address it, your head falls back onto the armrest of his couch with a clench of fistfuls of his hair.

“Shit,” you hiss through your teeth, your own body lifting up from the couch and Mingyu grounds you back onto the leather with his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs. You’re so alluring like this; the sweat droplets accumulating on your forehead, your inability to keep your eyes onto him, and the way your pretty lips part, almost letting yourself release his favorite sounds. But you’re stubborn, so unless he does an exceptional job, you won’t cave.

“Don’t move,” he commands, a stern stare in your direction then averting it back to your core. His two fingers stroke your slit and parts them; just before you could tell him how gross it sounds when he’s making that weird noise in his throat to gather his saliva, it’s a different sensation when it departs from his mouth and he spits onto your heat.

Shit. When the fuck did he get so good at this?

You can’t help yourself and your hips twitch at the warm impact.

Mingyu slaps your outer thigh. “I said don’t move, baby. Hold still and let me take care of you.”

His tongue lays flat against you at first before he’s sucking on your clit and rotates between that and lapping your slick. The soft gasps and pants that forbiddenly leaves your throat is going to bug you later for being so easy, but the way he knows around your body deserves to hear those moans that he loves so much.

He does this thing where he drags his breath—the heat ghosting over your wetness only stirs the pit of your stomach, reaching closer to your climax. Nose brushing your clit, your lower half snaps up and before you know it, you’re unconsciously grinding on his face.

Mingyu doesn’t seem to mind it because he pulls one of your holds off his locks and intertwines your fingers before hooking a leg over his shoulder with a tight grip, coaxing you toward him.

You and Mingyu don’t usually hold hands. Unless it’s during sex.

There’s something about this time that feels intimate, and it’s definitely not because he’s trying to make you cum on his tongue.

He’s so determined to get you to finish, but only with using his tongue. Mingyu gives himself a challenge when it’s with you—he wants you to get off of him, and him only, like he’s possessive over you without disclosing it publicly. And when you’re finally able to look down and meet with his darkened stare, it’s that cocky wink that makes you push his head closer to your cunt.

He doesn’t complain. He never does.

Not when his name subsequently comes from your chest with a long, pretty moan. He grunts against you, and the vibrations only spur your climax a little longer.

You don’t notice, but his hips are sloppy and small against the fabric of the couch. The bulge in his sweats is never hard to miss, but with him laying flat on his stomach, you don’t realize. You’d been so caught up with your high, you completely missed him getting turned on and grinding in his pants to match with his tonguing movements to get himself off.

He does that cheesy thing where he pecks your clit before coming up to kiss your lips.

Out of breath, your hooded gaze is all he needs to see to know he did well. It’s when your eyes trail down, almost like you’re ready to jerk him off before your hand halts over the dark spot in his pants.

“Did you—”

“Fuck yeah, I did. That was hot,” he admits, thumb affectionately rubbing against your thigh. “I kinda wanted to fuck so bad.”

You blink, slowly catching up with your breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

A smile tugs on his lips. “Because that was equally satisfying. I came in my pants because of you, so don’t worry so much about it, pretty.”

Pretty. When did he start calling you that?

“Um,” you blurt, interrupting this silence growing. “I can… come over here from time to time.”

Curiosity washes over his face. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I just—I think it would be nice if we… you know… took turns. I could come here sometimes, and you could come over to my place other times. Doesn’t… it doesn’t have to always be at my apartment.”

“Okay…” he eyes you suspiciously. “What prompted this?”

Truthfully, you’re not even sure. The words come out faster than your mind can process it. Why did you even say that? What was the point of it?

“Uh, Bobpul seems to miss me.” An excuse pulled from your ass. Nice.

Mingyu doesn’t care about the details. He never does. He’s just happy it’s like this—you in his arms without a burden. So he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck with a planted kiss on your jaw.

“She does,” and in a soft whisper, he goes, “I missed you too.”

A round, aluminum circle plops onto Hayoung’s desk along with a cup of tea that steams through the opening of the lid. “Here’s your breakfast,” you greet lazily, dropping yourself exactly the same way you did the bagel, except into a nearby chair. “Just as you asked. Chocolate chip bagel with strawberry cream cheese.”

“Oh!” She clasps her hands together like a Disney princess and you shoot a glare at your friend. “My favorite. How’d you know!”

“You.. texted it to me,” you’re on the brink of flicking her, but she’s nice sometimes so you hold yourself back. “Courtesy of Kim Mingyu’s black Amex card once again. How do you even eat something that sweet this early in the morning?”

“Ahh,” she’s opening the aluminum foil as she licks her fingers off any cream cheese that transfers. “The boyfriend paid again.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet,” Hayoung teases with a wink, and strangely a flashback of Mingyu’s head between your legs doing that same gesture heats up your face. You quickly shake your head from these thoughts. Not at work, geez.

Annoyed, you snatch the bagel from her hands and Hayoung pouts. “Let me try this.” Tearing off a piece, you toss it into your mouth before Hayoung steals her breakfast back.

“How is it?”

“Sweet,” you reply shortly, wiping the remnants off the corner of your mouth.

“Nice, reminds you of the lover boy, right? Speaking of, did you see him yesterday? Or perhaps… this morning?”

You’re so stupid for hesitating, but it’s already happened and there’s no going back. “Uh… n… no?”

She snaps her fingers excitedly before chomping on a portion of the bagel. Cheeks full, she does a little giddy movement with her head like she’s accomplished something great.

It’s just her exposing you through your transparent lies.

“Liar! I literally saw you two across the street from the break room window. He walked you to the breakfast cart and paid right there! God, you were right though. He’s buff as shit. His shoulders—”

You push her bagel up into her mouth again with a grimace. “Stop it. Fine, you caught me red-handed. He slept over last night.”

“Again?” She says muffledly in surprise through her food. “This is the third night in a row.”

It’s… true. You don’t straightforwardly tell him that you want him to sleepover lately, but you may have implied that thought. Maybe a couple, ‘it’s so dark out, maybe it’s safer if you stay the night, if you want,’ to even, ‘the weather doesn’t look that great. You’re more than welcome to stay, if you’d like.’ It hasn’t rained a drop in the past couple weeks.

“Fuck buddies can sleep over,” you defend, tapping the sole of your heels on the carpeted floor. “Nothing wrong with that.“

Hayoung quirks a brow. “I didn’t say it was wrong. All I said was if you’re sure he doesn’t have feelings—and he does. So what are you gonna do about that?”

So… what were you?

He’s been spending an awful lot of time here.

But to be fair, you’ve been over at his apartment the same amount of time.

It's been a little weird lately; his toothbrush finds a designated spot in a grey porcelain stand that sits on the counter by your sink, and the lowest drawer of your dresser houses a pair of sweatpants, some boxers, a couple t-shirts, shorts, and a hoodie of his. When you say he’s left a spot in your home, you don’t mean that figuratively.

Although, you don’t seem to have any objections. Lowkey, it surprises even yourself because how could you let him infiltrate your apartment like he’s a boyfriend?

“Hey,” he calls out, interrupting your thoughts. Mingyu’s sitting on the one side of your loveseat, in a hoodie and some basketball shorts as he puts down his phone on the coffee table. “Can I borrow your laptop? I’m trying to help my friend get these tickets to a basketball game.”

“Uh, yeah,” you grab your computer from your desk before handing it over to him. Friend. Since when did he have friends? “What friend is it?”

“Vernon. He says it’s competitive, so I’m gonna try helping him out. If we get extra, we might just resell them.”

With a nod, you plop down beside him, hands on your knees as you bounce your legs impatiently. Friends. He barely ever mentions them in front of you, and you wonder if there’s a reason for it. Was he embarrassed about your relationship? Did he feel weird letting them know what the two of you were? Did he think you weren’t pretty enough to be introduced?

“Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you before back onto your Macbook screen. “What’s up? I’ll never say no to that question.”

You suck in your cheeks to muster the courage to ask. “Why haven’t I met your friends? Or… Or even heard them?”

Mingyu freezes. You don’t want him to lose the tickets, but he’s buffering like a browser with shitty wifi. Snatching the computer off his lap, you tap away. “Which stadium?”

“That one,” he points, but his gaze never leaves your face. “And… to answer your question, I’m not embarrassed of you. I’m a little… embarrassed about myself. They know I’ve been crushing on you for a while and… I know they’re gonna mock me.”

You shove the computer back onto his lap. “Payment please.”

He blinks. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No,” you sigh, laying back onto the couch. “We’re not together, so I don’t really have a reason to be. I was just wondering.”

So in other words, he was ashamed of your relationship.

Later that night, Mingyu is in his element. He’s been trying out recipes recently, ones he found on Youtube of an older Korean lady who likes to cook for her grandkids. Your apron is familiar on his built frame; it’s a little too small for him, but he makes it work nonetheless.

“I have a question,” he says suddenly, but it’s daring because you’re holding a knife while cutting the vegetables he asked you to help with earlier. “It’s about our conversation earlier.”

You stop halfway through chopping. “What is it?”

“Um,” he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “My friends are meeting up for dinner tomorrow night. Drinks, food—the whole thing. There’s this place that has really good grilled pork skin, and I think you’d like it.”

“You don’t have to invite me if you don’t want to. I only asked earlier out of curiosity.”

The sizzle of the garlic erupts when it hits the hot oil of the pan, and Mingyu reaches over for the pair of chopsticks stored in one of your drawers. The aroma fills the air, and you could almost hear your stomach rumbling. Grilled pork skin is sounding good right now…

“I’m asking because I finally know that you’d consider going if I asked.”

Should you go?

You guys weren’t a thing—other than for sex, of course. And maybe to keep each other company. You weren’t lonely, if you were being honest, but admittingly, having Mingyu over and by your side felt… nice. Even though you could share moments like these with another friend, something about it being with Mingyu made it different than it normally would be.

You swallow. Well, should you go? It’s the first time he’s ever asked, and the fact that he was brave enough to even invite you was starting to convince you to go.

“… Fine, I guess… I’ll go with you, then.”

You and Mingyu don’t ever really hold hands.

You reiterate this because some weird part of you finds it tempting to just grab his hand right now and let him hold it in the warmth of his coat pocket. Nonetheless, you hold yourself back, opting to snuggle your nose underneath a beige scarf that wraps around your neck.

He holds the door for you, and when you finally step in, a wash of regret falls over your face. You don’t even have to ask—the group of guys that sit around a rectangular wooden table with a ventilator on top and a grill in the middle was enough to give it away.

And also because you spot Hayoung sitting among them.

“What the—”

Mingyu has a hand on your lower back, guiding you toward them and you catch yourself grinding your teeth. This bitch fucking knew Mingyu the entire time.

“Uh, hey guys. This is uh…” He sneaks a glance at you before the group snickers at the awkward silence. “My friend,” he finally concludes, adding your name at the end.

They’re so welcoming when you settle down; Mingyu takes your coat to hang on the rack in the corner along with his own and they take this opportunity to interrogate you.

The questions range from: “How long have you guys known each other?” to “What do you do for work?” to even, “You’re pretty, and you seem humble too. What are you doing with a cocky guy like Mingyu?”

You let out a laugh in response to the overwhelming amount of questions being shot your way, but when that familiar giggle hits your eardrums, you shoot a glare at Hayoung.

It doesn’t seem to faze her because she still has that mischievous grin on her face. You could care less how husky Seungcheol is—he can’t save her.

But you figured to save the confrontation later. First impressions matter, right? And since you’re here with Mingyu—

Wait, why do you even care about what they think of you?

For the rest of the evening, you won’t deny this feeling of family when you’re around Mingyu’s friends. Despite being an outsider, they’re quick to invite you in, and they don’t ever let you feel like a stranger. Plus, it’s kind of nice to see Mingyu in a different light.

He mans the grill, something that’s the norm with him and his friends because he apparently takes good care of them (you learn this from his friend Wonwoo). He often does the cooking when they go on trips together, even taking up the chores when nobody else does. Mingyu’s kimchi jjigae is one to boast about, his other friend, Joshua, adds. It’s the start of the rest of them chiming in their favorite dishes from the ‘master chef’ Kim Mingyu.

Mingyu is oddly… affectionate. Affectionate and romantic, you have to include, surprisingly because with you, he manages to keep things low key. He doesn’t show his emotions, or at least, in this way. He laughs brighter than he does when it’s just with you, and he doesn’t make as many jokes like he is now.

It’s almost like… he’s been holding himself back for the sake of you and your feelings.

Even though he’s busy making sure that all the mouths at the table are fed, he doesn’t forget you. He’ll drop food on your plate every now and then, even giving you the last piece of whatever it is he grills, earning a couple groans from his other friends as you gleefully stuff your cheeks.

He holds his alcohol well; you notice his friends Jun and Hoshi both either get the Asian flush or they would get so drunk that their eyes squint more. But Mingyu? He remains the same, still exhibiting the same amount of charms despite the shots of soju he downs.

And, well, Hayoung?

The entire time, you could feel her stare burning on the side of your face. Not from anger, but from too much pleasure. She’s having too much fucking fun on her end, and you can’t wait to rip her a new one.

“I have to use the bathroom,” she announces, and it’s the alcohol talking because she’s not usually this bold with a statement like that.

Now’s your chance.

“Me too,” you get up from your seat. “I’ll come with you.”

And with a smile exchanged in front of the boys, it’s the last one before you two come out again.

“Ouch!”

“Deserved.”

Hayoung rubs the back of her head with a pout, cheeks tinted pink from the alcohol. “That hurt. What was that for?”

“You acted like you didn’t know who Mingyu was! You knew, which means the bet is off since your ass knew the entire time. That’s cheating, you dickhead.”

“Yeah but you always cheat when we play games, how is this any different!”

“Because you didn’t get away with it!” You rub your face tiredly. “Did you know before I showed you his instagram?”

She has an impish grin plastered on her face. “He showed me a picture of you before you shared his instagram with me. He mentioned how he’s been ‘head over heels’ for this girl for a while, but he wasn’t going to act on it.”

Your shoulders drop. Should you be sad about Mingyu or mad at Hayoung?

“You’re messed up, dummy,” you end up ruffling her hair in lieu of another whack as she whines in annoyance. “Go pee and come back out. Bet is off though.”

Before you walk back to the table, you pause in the midst of your steps to get a better candid view of him.

It’s easy to just say you’re afraid of commitment. The words leave your mouth without many consequences, especially since you’re being honest, right? But why is it when you watch him from here, you see how he is with his friends and how much warmth he radiates? Was he always like this? And if he was, why don’t you ever get a piece of that when you’re alone?

Was that the result of you standing firm on not wanting a relationship?

Now you’re wondering if this was a mistake.

He takes you home that night, saying goodbye to his friends and confirms that the drunk ones have a ride back safely. Mingyu gives and gives—emotionally and physically. Even after a night of grilling dinner for everyone, and making sure everyone has fun safely, he still comes into your apartment with the agenda of taking care of you.

“God,” he rasps against you, hips slowing down because the feeling of you around him was overwhelming. “You feel so fucking good.”

Shit. Why are you starting to notice how pretty he is?

The lines that form between his brows when he furrows them makes you want to trace them with the pads of your fingers. Eyes hooded and mouth gaped open, the sight of him like this has the pit of your stomach fluttering, and when he lets you thread your hands through his hair, it swells your chest.

“Don’t slow down,” you say, barely a whisper, but he shakes his head midthrust and lets out a grunt.

“No, I might cum too fast and you won’t finish.”

Fuck, there he goes again, putting other people before himself. He bumps his nose against yours, lips swollen from all the kissing prior, but he still plants pecks that trail down your jawline. “I want you to feel good,” he hums into your skin.

His breath hints the soju he had earlier, but to be fair, it might be a mixture from yours too. It’s hard to tell if your mind is fuzzy from being inebriated on him or if it’s from the alcohol, but either way, you feel light, like you're on clouds and floating.

His dick is coated in your slick; you’re squelching with each of his hip movements, and it doesn’t help him at all in terms of holding himself back longer. He’s taking each stroke gradually, trying his best not to rush himself because there’s nothing he wants more than to see that expression of ecstasy on your face.

“Please?” You beg inaudibly, hands roaming his bare shoulders. He doesn’t tease you, even though it’s the perfect opening since all your walls are down, but he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity.

Instead, he abides by instruction, only because a lovely girl like you deserves to be treated well.

He’s weak; in both his heart and physically when you’re so polite—especially during sex. You tend to have up a tough exterior, shielding yourself from anyone who makes an attempt to come in, but when you’re so mannerful even when he’s about to fuck you, he likes to believe that you’re lowering it just a little for him to get to see you better.

“If you say so,” his voice is deep and husky, and you’re not even sure where it comes from. But before you could even make a comment, he abruptly leans back, puts one of your legs on his shoulder before slamming his hips into yours.

The room gets hot and sweaty, the stench of sex fills the air as it always does. Your windows get fogged up and your breaths are heavy, but the ride he takes you on physically quite literally blurs your mind. His body is glistening underneath the dim lights of your room, dark eyes, and words of praise of how good you’re doing taking his dick so well leaves his lips.

And yet, when you’re finally calmed from your high and he stutters in his thrusts before he collapses on top of you, your pussy full of his cum, you don’t feel as close to him as you… want to be. He rests his head on your shoulder as he catches his breath again, back rising and dropping with each pant, and your hands roam down the expanse of it.

You don’t usually mind the distance emotionally. He’s only here physically because you ask him to be but tonight feels different.

You want to know how it feels to be loved by Kim Mingyu.

“Last breakfast,” you state firmly, tossing yet another bagel wrapped in aluminum on her desk. The order is different this time; everything bagel with a jalapeño cream cheese from one of your favorite places paired with a bottle of orange juice, all at the expense of Kim Mingyu. “Cheater.”

She knows what she did was wrong, but you know that Hayoung has a disparate perspective of the situation because she smiles like a lunatic. “Oh, come on. I know you’re not actually mad at me. I bet your head is swarming with questions about him and you’re having trouble grasping how you feel.”

Hayoung is a lot of things. She’s very outgoing, has the need to want to please everyone, and she’s generous.

But around you, despite your constant bickering and insults thrown her way, she sticks around like a clueless kid who likes being friends with the mean girl. You thought you were the one with a hard shell—she has that with you while at the same time displaying her vulnerability. She just sees right through you.

You kind of hate it.

But at the same time, you appreciate her.

“I know you think you’re exposing me, but you’re not.” As you’re adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulders, you puff your cheeks in exasperation. “Enjoy your stupid breakfast.”

She juts out her bottom lip, and although you don’t have to stay, for some reason your legs won’t let you move.

“You always tell me that I’m a people pleaser,” yes, she is, “but Mingyu is too. He just wants to see you happy, and if you’re better off with the relationship staying as it is, he’d rather inflict the heartbreak on himself because he gets to see you like this.”

And that hit home.

Honestly, it’s a bit difficult coming to terms that Kim Mingyu has these feelings for you. You’ve never probed further as to when they developed or why he has them, but you’ve spent more time pondering as to how a guy like him, the epitome of what it feels like perfection in the eyes of those around him, in spite of the constant teasing and bullying in his way (they claim it’s to keep him humble), likes… you.

So when you’re back at his apartment, where he lays on his couch leisurely with you resting your head against his chest, he flickers past through the multiple channels on the screen before settling on opening up Hulu.

“Can I ask you something?” You’ve been using that a lot lately, but it seems like the appropriate way to start off this type of conversation.

He looks down at you for a brief moment before going back to search through the plethora of options on Hulu+. “Sure. Even though I’ve told you every time that you should just ask it because I’ll give you a real answer each time.”

“What’s your flaw?”

He stops his actions, to let out a chuckle that vibrates his chest and against your back. “Are you asking me to verbally tell you all my insecurities right now? I don’t think that’s fair.”

It’s easier to talk to him when you don’t have to look at him. Fiddling with the fabric of the fluffy blanket on your lap, you hum quietly before elaborating. “Realistically. Not the flaws you point out about yourself like everyone else does. Flaws that your friends might point out, or even yourself if you had better self awareness.”

Inhaling in a deep breath, he nods as if he gets what you’re asking, and fixes his seating position under you. “Okay, well for one, I’m a hopeless romantic who is also a people pleaser yet here I am, cuddling up with a girl who is supposed to be my friend with benefits.”

You don’t want to look at him, but him saying that urges you to sneak a glare in his direction momentarily.

“I know that you already know that but it’s important to reiterate,” he smiles cheekily before resuming his thoughts as he taps his fingers against the armrest of the couch. “I’m a generally sensitive guy, and that can be either good or bad. I’m clumsy—” You recall the couple times he nearly toppled over a bottle of soju at dinner… while sober. “—but I’m also kind of… I guess, cocky. I know I’m attractive but my friends won’t let me live when I mention it…”

Well, he’s not wrong. There’s a reason why the two of you fuck so frequently. “I’m close to my parents, but it can be seen as… a flaw to some people. I pick my nose in public, but that’s not really a trait I want to change. I tend to put myself in situations I can't get out of because I’m a people pleaser…”

And as he continues to list on, it sort of makes him seem less… intimidating in that sense. He’s human, if you will, and he doesn’t feel out of reach like before. Not… that you were considering it or anything.

“Have you told your mom about me?”

There’s a pregnant pause, and for the first time in that conversation, you genuinely want to see his expression but you hold yourself back from the disappointment.

“I… No, I haven’t. I don’t know how long you’ll keep me around.”

There’s a brief second of dismay, but you’re not sure why it douses you. You weren’t dating, and he wasn’t your boyfriend either, so it makes sense that he didn’t tell her.

So why were you kind of sad about it?

The thought engulfs you wholly for the next two days. Two fucking days and the thought of Mingyu not mentioning you to his parents bothers you. Maybe if he didn’t say he was close to them, you wouldn’t feel this way. But he spends almost every other weekend with them—you were just never brought up in conversation?

And the reasonable part of you would justify his actions with: “who tells their parents about their fuck buddy?”

Doesn’t matter though, when you’re heated, all logic flies out the window.

But hold up—another thought comes to mind. He knew Hayoung this entire time and just pretended that they weren’t friends? Or… the girlfriend of his friend? Either way, the details don’t matter.

On your way home, you click his contact name when it pops up on your dashboard screen. For a second, you even ask yourself why the fuck his name was listed in your ‘favorites’ and when you did that to begin with, but that’s a problem for another time.

“Hey, I can’t really talk right now—”

“You know what I just realized?”

You sound mad. It must’ve worked because whatever he was in the middle of, he found somewhere private to talk instead.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice genuinely filled with concern. You’re starting to feel bad for calling now, especially for something that wasn’t even that maddening, but you’re already here and there’s no going back.

“You knew Hayoung the entire time. And you lied. You should’ve told me from the start!”

You could almost hear him running his fingers through his hair. “Listen, we can talk about this later—”

“I’m not done!”

“Love, let’s talk about it in a couple hours, yeah? I’m kind of stuck in the middle of something. I’ll call you back.”

And with that, he hangs up.

Did he just fucking call you love?

Pissed, you decide you’ll go to his apartment instead. Without hesitation, you make a right turn en route to his place.

To say the least, when you arrive at his apartment, standing outside the front door makes you feel awkward once again. The steam sort of blew off, but at the same time, why’d he lie? He’s all talk about having feelings for you, yet he can’t even come out and tell you the truth.

Unlike the other time, your fist bangs against the metal door.

When Mingyu opens the door, the expression on his face doesn’t match the one he normally has when he sees you. There’s no excitement or eagerness—there’s surprise and even a hint of fear.

“We were fighting.” You state, arms crossed over your blouse.

He sighs. “We weren’t fighting, we were discussing. Just because your ears were whistling with steam doesn’t mean we’re in a battle.”

You furrow your brows because he’s both disagreeing with you and he hasn’t moved to let you in yet. “Well, I wasn’t fucking done fighting with you.”

“Mingyu, who is that?”

You freeze.

“Fuck—shit, no, you know what? You’re right, okay, I’m wrong, we were just disagreeing—”

He swings the door open and your plan to escape fails.

“Oh?” A middle aged woman with short curls peeking through her fuzzy beanie has a smile that mimics the one he had when he was with his friends that one night. “Who is this?”

“A friend, mom,” he introduces you to her and she gives him a side eye like they’ve created this secret language that only the two of them know. “She was just stopping by for a bit.”

“A friend, I see,” she emphasizes, glancing between both you and her son. Why did you let your anger guide you through a moment? Mistakes were made. This was what came out of it. Consequences are to be paid.

“I’m—I was just heading out, I—It was good meeting you,” you bow, wishing desperately to get out of this unscathed. When Mingyu said he’d call you later, you should’ve done just that. Fuck. “Uh, I’m just gonna—” You gesture behind you to nothing as if your car was parked right there.

“Mingyu, invite her home tonight to have dinner with your dad and sister. It’s Friday night, you’ve got some time, and it’s not that far of a drive.”

He looks over to you, chocolate eyes peeking through his chestnut colored bangs. “You don’t have to come.”

Well, of course you can’t say ‘no’ when she’s fucking right there. Your mom taught you to respect your elders, and truthfully, she’s got those puppy eyes that make it hard to say decline her offer.

“I… Okay, um, yeah, sure. You can uh… pick me up later, Mingyu.”

He doesn’t even look back at his mom. “You can say ‘no,’ if you want to.”

You never say it.

It’s been a while since you’ve worn a skirt, but you figured it would make you seem feminine and pure if you did. A plaid skirt that ends mid thigh, you pair it with black boots and one of your nicer shirts, even though an oversized cardigan will sit over it.

“Shit,” did Mingyu usually curse outside of sex? “Are you wearing a skirt?”

As you slip into his car, you place your bag on the side before reaching for your seatbelt. “Is it not obvious?”

He doesn’t answer, instead his focus is elsewhere. He clicks his seatbelt off before leaning over to reach yours and locks you in place.

Admittingly, when you’re fucking, you don’t think so much about how close he is to you. But here, where you’re not bumping uglies, all you’re thinking about is how intimate this is, and how much of a gentleman he actually is.

That is, until he rubs your thigh suggestively with a wink before shifting his car into drive.

“It’s not too late to tell me to turn back,” he utters suddenly, a hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on his lap. “I know that this is completely out of your comfort zone and—”

“Maybe I need to get out of my comfort zone,” you interject calmly.

Your own response startles you.

It is outside the realms of what you’re used to, and it’s not something that you sat back and truly thought about. But there’s a piece of you that’s excited to meet his family—as if you actually had a real reason to see them. You weren’t dating and there was nobody to impress, yet the pressure still sits on your chest as a burden. Your hands are sweaty as you grab onto the hem of your skirt, before taking in a deep breath to relax your nerves.

“I just want to let you know that if there’s any moment you want to go home, we’ll leave.”

It would’ve been impossible to leave anyway.

His mom is persistent and adamant, you learn, and those traits are ones that Mingyu also inhabits.

“You should stay the night,” she suggests, and you assume that dinner goes well or else she wouldn’t make it an option. His mom flashes a smile that stretches from ear to ear as she places another bit of the boiled fish dish into your bowl of rice. “Mingyu hasn’t stayed the night here in a while, and it would be nice if the two of you slept in his room. We can have breakfast together tomorrow morning.”

“It’s alright, mom, I’ll stay over another night,” he quickly answers before you can, and his sister chortles in the mid-bite of her pickled cucumber. “I don’t think we’d feel comfortable here tonight.”

“But it’s cold out,” his mom argues back, shoulders slouching in disappointment. “Stay the night.”

“Mom—”

“This time isn’t a question, it’s an obligation.”

Before Mingyu could start a whole altercation with his own mother, you soothingly rub his knee underneath the table to hold him back. “Um, okay, we can stay the night. I could always sleep on the floor.”

“Nonsense,” she waves her hand, and Mingyu’s dad’s face contorts to an intrigued one. What does she have up her sleeve? “We aren’t like those traditional parents. Sleep together.”

You could hear his little sister stifling a laugh from across the table.

“Oh, but we—”

“Alright, mom, you got what you wanted, please don’t get into detail!”

The rest of the dinner is… surprisingly nice. His parents talk about what they’ve been up to lately, and his sister tells everyone about how University is going for her. They occasionally ask you about your life from time to time, from topics between career and family, but they don’t ever make you feel compelled to share every little component of your life.

After eating, his dad mentions something about the TV not working and Mingyu excuses himself to help him. When you offer to wash the dishes, his mom gives you an ‘are you sure’ look but you assure her you’ll be fine.

It’s kind of nice being alone after spending a decent portion of the night trying to show a good face to his parents.

There’s a handful of dishes in the sink to your dismay, yet at the same time, you’re unbothered. It was a breath of fresh air to have a delightful dinner without someone bursting in repressed anger and bringing up family issues that happened years ago. Maybe you’ll have to consider ever bringing Mingyu home.

Shit, wait. Why are you thinking about bringing him home to meet your family? What the fuck is going on?

“Please date him.”

Alarmed, you nearly drop one of the dishes. Glancing over your shoulder, you spot his sister leaning against the countertop. “You heard me. Please date my brother.”

You let out an amused laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”

She looks a little fed up. “I know you two aren’t actually dating. But even so, I think you should date. Please. For me.”

Raising a brow, you slip off the pink rubber gloves and hang them on the side of the sink. “How’d you even figure out that we aren’t dating?”

Rolling her eyes, she crosses her arms over her chest. She has on a hoodie that’s about three sizes too big for her, and you assume she probably stole it from Mingyu’s closet. It’s cute. “Because have you met the guy? And our parents? They’re all so fucking lovey and affectionate. If you guys were actually dating, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

“And… you’re sure he does that?”

She tilts her head. “Let’s say he’s brought several girls home.”

Now you’re interested.

A flood of questions fill your head. How many girls has he brought home? Were they close to what kind of person you were? How far did they go? Did they impress your parents? Were they pretty?

Was he in love with any of them?

You mentally shake your head. “Oh. Well, what’s wrong? Why are you so determined for me to date him?”

“Because you’re the only one I actually like.”

Oh, well that’s even more interesting. “What… What was wrong with his exes?”

She sighs like her older brother’s girlfriends were the bane of her existence. “Well, one used to be obsessed with him. She’d even try getting on my good side by coming to see me at school—which is weird. She was so nosy. Then this other one would praise him more than my own mom would. Like, he knows he’s attractive, so why are you feeding into his ego?”

You snort. There were moments where you could sense his cockiness, but he does a good job of hiding that from you.

“And the last one—ugh. She was mean. Like, not even the endearing kind of mean that I’m always acting like toward Mingyu. It was… she just didn’t treat him well, and even if he’s my annoyingly doting brother, he’s still my brother nonetheless and I want the best for him.”

With a slow nod, you turn back to the sink and slide on your gloves once more. “I don’t really know why that would qualify me as a good match for him.”

She gives you that look that dramatic teenagers give when people don’t catch on fast enough. “Because my parents like you. He likes you. But to top it off, you’re the perfect amount of coldness and niceness. You’re respectful. And I’d finally like a girl he dates.”

You chuckle, finishing up the last couple dishes by placing them on the drying rack. “I think it’s sweet that you’re looking out for him.”

“I—”

“It’s time for bed,” Mingyu jumps in, watching her suspiciously before tousling his little sister’s hair fondly. “It’s getting late, and you wanted to study tomorrow. Not to mention that we’re supposed to have breakfast together.”

She stares up at him with narrowed eyes. “Fine.” Then, she steals a glimpse at you with a quick, “think about what I said,” and she ends the night in her room.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” you answer shortly. “Um, where’s your room?”

His childhood bedroom, needless to say, is embarrassing. The walls are decorated with posters of cars and half naked women—like he’s got something to prove when it comes to his masculinity. The lights are dim, but you can still make out the writing on the spine of the journals that align his bookcase.

Even when he was younger he was a sensitive guy.

He slowly closes the door behind him, barely creaking a sound other than for a soft ‘click’ of the lock before he pushes you into the wall and abruptly wraps your legs around his waist as he pulls you up just enough to press his hips into yours.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting all night for this.”

“… To fuck in your childhood bedroom that you’ve brought your exes into?”

He freezes in the midst of sucking a spot on your neck, hand resting against the wall by your head. Lifting up his head, his dark eyes meet with yours and a brow goes up in curiosity.

“Are you… Are you acting jealous right now? How’d you even find out that I brought girls home?”

You don’t answer that. “So, did you fuck them in here too?”

In all fairness, now would’ve been the right time for Mingyu to blow up on you. You were being so unreasonable and getting upset over something that you honestly shouldn’t be allowed to get mad over. But when his sister told you about his exes, your stomach began to churn and you could feel the fuel shoot through your veins for your rage.

Instead, he pecks your cheek before pressing his crotch into yours again. You could feel the outline of his dick in his pants against the cotton of your panties, and your only reaction is to swallow.

“Just because I took them home doesn’t mean anything. None of them came in here, which means I never fucked them in here,” he reassures as he rests his forehead against yours. “Now, will you stop being so dramatic and let me fuck you in this cute little skirt? I wanted to take you home and have my way with you but—” he can’t help but grind himself on you, “—they were so fucking stubborn about me staying here. Now I gotta fuck you with like fourteen posters of girls in bikinis watching.”

“Who asked you to put them up?”

“Nobody. I was trying to establish I was a man to compensate for my softness.”

“You feel pretty hard to me.”

Mingyu grunts, hand trailing down to fiddle with your panties when he realizes you opted for a thong tonight. The thought of your bare ass barely covered by the cute skirt you’re wearing has him stirring in his pants. “You’re wearing a thong, too? Did you think you were gonna get fucked tonight?”

You roll your eyes, arms resting on the broadness of his shoulders like it was meant to be there. “No, I just noticed you could see the outline if I wore the cheeky ones.”

“I know you’re mocking me,” he’s moving his hips slowly into yours, “But can you please stop so I can kiss you?”

His lips slot into yours, heated and breathless, yet soft and supple at the same time. It’s wet and loud, his tongue fighting for entrance into your mouth, and his hands cup your ass to grind on his bulge. The fabric of his jeans against your core feels too good that you start moving against him on your own, and he gasps in between your kiss when you hit the tip of his dick.

Mouth sealed to yours, it’s been a while since you two made out for this long. Sometimes when you do it sober, it feels too intimate and real.

But there’s something in the atmosphere tonight that makes this all okay.

It might be because you’re in his childhood bedroom with walls decorated from his youth and gives you a glimpse of who he was as a person before. Or maybe it was the fact that despite all those girls he invited home, none of them got to be in here like you were right now.

Bent over on his bed with your ass up in the air.

Bet they never saw that coming.

He lifts up the skirt and rests it over your lower back as he rubs the exposed skin with the palm of his hand. Your thong is practically sucked in by your pussy and ass, nearly taking his breath with it. “Shit, it’s always been a fantasy to fuck you in a skirt.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“You don’t wear skirts that often,” he states matter-of-factually, admiring the pretty view of you from behind. “But I can't express how grateful I am tonight. You gotta be quiet though, my parents aren’t that far down and I’d like to think my sister is studying and not accidentally overhearing her brother getting his dick wet.”

You roll your eyes but he doesn’t see it. But you could feel a cocky smirk burning into the back of your head. “You don’t need to say it like that.”

He’s so tempted to smack your ass right then for that sharp tongue. But you jut yourself back in anticipation but it never comes. “They’ll hear,” he says, unzipping his jeans to loosen himself from the confines. “But fuck, I wish I could see those cheeks redden because of me.”

“Then stop taking so long,” you snap back, reaching over to push your panties aside only for Mingyu to tug on the string you call your underwear and let it smack against your core. Your mouth gapes open but nothing comes out until you regain yourself again. “If we’re not gonna fuck, I’m going to sleep.”

“I swear you always have something rude to say back.” When he pulls down his boxers, the head is hot and heavy, pre-cum dripping from the slit. His thumb smears it over the tip before pumping himself a couple times until he leans over to rub it on your swollen lips. “Go grab the pillow and stuff your face in it. Can’t have your pretty moans be heard by anyone else.”

You and Mingyu don’t usually hold hands.

But when he has your arm against your back, fingers interlocking with his as he thrusts into your heat, it’s not the same way you want him to. Even if it feels so goddamn satisfying to have his dick practically split you in half, your head goes back and forth from being fuzzy and wishing that fucking wouldn’t always be just… fucking.

“God,” he rasps, voice softer than it usually is when you’re in the privacy of your home. Head thrown back, he gropes your ass as many places as he possibly can while he continuously sinks his cock into you. “How are you so tight every time?”

Biting into the pillow, you’re doing your best to hold back your sounds but he just fills you up wholly that it’s tempting to release a moan. He’d been so turned on from the sight of you in a skirt that he doesn’t even pull his jeans down all the way—the end right below his ass, just enough for him to whip out his dick and fuck you the way he would in his wildest dreams.

Just then, he tugs on your arm to bring your back flushed to his clothed chest. “I’m close to cumming, baby,” he says, the term of endearment swelling your heart. “Tell me how you wanna cum baby, I’ll do it for you.” He leaves a delicate kiss on your shoulder bone and you swear you’d fall in love with him right there.

But you’re in his parents’ house, fucking secretly in his childhood bedroom, you remind yourself.

“Fuck me like this,” you pant, his slowed movements and the new position hits that sweet spot. “I’m close.”

He does as he’s told—he’s always obedient when you ask for something, even though you could be a bit more mannerful when you do. But Mingyu turns into putty when it comes to you, so even when you’re moody, he just wants to please you.

He’s got one of your arms to remain behind you and his hand presses down against the highest part of your ass to help arch your back. His hips quicken it’s pace, but the impact from his body to yours is gentler than usual to prevent the sound of your skin slapping, no matter how much he wants it.

“Baby,” there’s that nickname again that falls out of his pretty lips. “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, completely fucked out and almost succumbing to his needs but he’s patient and waits for you.

“Keep going,” you huff, hair messy and drool slipping from your lips but you can’t even bring yourself to care. “I’m—”

“Shit,” he sputters, hips pressed against yours as you see whites in your lids, legs locking straight at the same time as he fills you with ropes of his cum. You’ve never finished in unison before, but there’s a first time for everything.

And when you’re all cleaned up, he lends you a hoodie of his to sleep in. He’s comfortably got his arm wrapped around your frame from behind, and once the reticent snores come from behind, you realize your thoughts are in shambles.

You’re at his fucking parents house, in his childhood bedroom where the two of you just had sex and he’s here sleeping with you in this little ass bed like the two of you are some domestic couple.

You're in way too deep.

What the hell is with you? You’re not allowed to be annoyed. You’re definitely not allowed to be standing here on the sidelines with your arms crossed and the sole of your shoe tapping against the ground like you’ve got a good reason to be looking disappointed.

The girl is gorgeous—but of course she is because every girl that has the confidence enough to bat their lashes to the guy that could pass as a model is going to be. Her hair is blunt, straight, dirty blonde, and her lips are painted in the prettiest cherry red that makes you want to draw on her face with that lipstick.

“Don’t worry about her,” Seungcheol says, interrupting your thoughts. He’s got tongs in his hand, making his way toward the plate of raw steak for him to grill. Seungcheol decided that maybe eating out that often wasn’t good for everyone’s wallets (even though he definitely could’ve paid, but he said he was saving money for something sparkly). “She’s just some girl he dated back in high school.”

In fucking high school?

“Doesn’t that make her his first love?” You prompt, turning to watch as Seungcheol struggles with the beef. Quickly, you snatch the tool from his hands and help him place it on the charcoal burning grill. He lost one piece earlier—you didn’t feel like witnessing him losing another.

“Possibly,” he states nonchalantly. “But he likes you now, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“We’re not dating,” you remind Seungcheol, but he shrugs as he pokes the meat. “This isn’t like you and Hayoung. Mingyu and I don’t have a real exclusive label.”

“Yeah but Kim Mingyu is a hopeless romantic. So if he’s got heart eyes for you, that’s all there is. Just you.”

You could believe what Seungcheol says, but of course he’s going to side with Mingyu. That’s his friend! If anything, he’s doing his best to keep Mingyu in a good light in your eyes, but you can see everything transparently.

“Oh my god, Kim Mingyu! You’re so funny!” She slaps his bicep playfully, and that smile that pulls from cheek to cheek on his face makes you want to punch it off. He’s not even that funny. You bet what he said to make her laugh doesn’t even warrant an arm slap. She’s just being flirtatious.

Your jaw clenches at the sight of her.

You really had no right to feel this way—he wasn’t even your boyfriend. And yet somehow, you get looped in to have this barbecue with his friends, and they welcome you with ease.

Guess they’re super friendly with everyone because Hyemi is over here playing some game with Mingyu like he doesn’t have his girl—

Wait. Pause.

You are not his girlfriend.

“You’re jealous,” Hayoung has a smug look on her face but you shoot a glare in her direction. “Come on, just admit it. You found out she was his first girlfriend and she broke his heart, but she’s here now to make it better and you hate it because well… you want him to be yours.”

You grimace. You hate her guts. Whether you mean Hayoung or Hyemi doesn’t matter. “Shouldn't you like… be more concerned if your billionaire boyfriend can put meat on the grill without it being seasoned by the ground first?”

She frowns. “He’s stupid but he’s trying.”

Rubbing your face tiredly, you snatch your wine cooler on the table. Truthfully, you don’t even like these. They’re overly sweet, probably a shit ton of calories, but whatever. You needed alcohol and this was it. “I’m going back inside. I’m just grumpy because I didn’t eat yet.”

“Rigggghtttt,” Hayoung teases, and she always has to have the last word. Today, you’re just not in the mood to fight her for it, so with a wave, you head back inside through the sliding glass door.

You need a break. Maybe from this, meeting Mingyu’s friends, or just him in general. It feels wrong to be upset at him for reconnecting with a lost love, someone who can clearly state her feelings for him verbally and physically when you’re in here trying your best not to throw a rock at him.

But he seems to feel differently when he enters the house.

“What’s wrong?” Mingyu asks, concern washed over his face. “You were having fun earlier. Do you feel sick? Should I take you home?”

“Mingyu, what are we doing here?” You sigh, dropping your hands to your sides, watermelon Seagrams long forgotten.

“Having a barbecue at Seungcheol hyung’s house,” he scratches his head. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at here.”

“You—ugh,” you know you’re being absurd, but you can’t even read your own emotions properly. “Hyemi is such a good candidate to be your girlfriend. Why aren’t you with her?”

“Ahh,” he says, his expression softening because he’s understanding the situation a whole lot better than you are. “You’re jealous. And—listen, it’s fine. I get jealous too sometimes, it’s natural. But I’m yours. Even if you’re not ready to have me as your boyfriend. I told you already.”

“But… why not… her?”

You spot her outside by the underground pool, flipping her hair over her exposed shoulder with a tattoo of some date that outlines it. She looks like the girl you’d see in a magazine that’d be standing right next to Mingyu.

You can’t help but look down at your tummy. Hm. Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten that extra taco last night. But it was fucking good.

“Because—honestly, I don’t owe you a real explanation. This,” he gestures to the two of you, “is what I want. I get that I have to drill it into your head, but can’t I have a break just for tonight? I’m drunk, I wanna have fun with friends, and convincing you that I’m dedicated to you is something I love to do, just not maybe tonight.”

And, he’s right.

Maybe you’re just being dramatic, so you mutter out a quiet apology that he’s never seen you ever do before you pat the firmness of his chest awkwardly before making your way out to the backyard once again.

You won’t burden him with any of this for the rest of the night. Problems like these should stay at home.

You don’t even reach your front door and Mingyu is already trying to swoon you.

It’s most definitely the alcohol talking, but his lips taste so fucking sweet that you swore you’d get cavaities if you had enough of them. The space in the front seat of his car is tight, even though he’s already pushed it all the way back, but you blame his abnormally long legs.

You thank whomever it was that convinced Mingyu to get his windows tinted. Was it Joshua? Seungcheol? Vernon?

Ah, you don’t actually care. His dick is too far in for you to even have an intelligible thought.

“Move your hips, baby,” the ends of his hair stick to his forehead, drenched in his sweat. The windows fog from the heat that lingers atop your skin and your bated breaths. “Ride me.”

Hand gripping onto the armrest attached to the door, the other is on his shoulder to guide you. The barbecue barely ended an hour ago, and the two of you were supposed to just go home and shower before heading to bed, and somehow, despite getting an Uber, he thought hopping into his car out front to fuck sounded appealing.

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

There’s absolutely a thrill that comes with fucking in a car in public for that matter, even if your head is full of just pleasure that Mingyu’s cock is delivering. He’s got his hands resting on your hips to help with your movements, and it seems to be working a little too well because it’s barely ten minutes in and he’s already about to hit his peak.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You mock, leaning down to press your forehead against his. His swollen lips are so desirable, and you could spend days just kissing them. “Wanna cum?”

“So badly,” he pants, eyes hooded. “Will you let me?”

“Only if you let me ride you to get myself off after,” you hum, your hips getting sloppy due to his messy guidance. “Will you let me use you for just a little longer?”

And with those puppy dog eyes, his lips part just barely with words as low as a whisper. “Anything for you.”

You want to scream. Pull your hair out, maybe. Or even just fling yourself across the city because it’s the only way to get yourself out of feeling this way.

“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

Hayoung is a broken record that doesn’t want to be fixed. “Because I don’t know how I feel,” you drop yourself into your seat, puffing your cheeks. “I can’t tell what I’m going through.”

“Um, not to be that person but you sound like you’re in love with him.”

She sounds stupid.

“Hayoung, you’re supposed to be helping me, not making fun.”

Her mouth drops open with a gasp. “Bitch, I’m trying to tell you that you’re head over heels for a boy who is equally smitten! What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” you whine, purposefully slamming your head onto the edge of your desk. “I’m gonna sound insane whenever I talk about him. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Whether or not you eventually end up taking Hayoung’s advice, you’ll never tell her because there’s nothing worse than Hayoung with an inflated ego.

“I don’t know, dummy, maybe tell him that you like him. You’re practically already a couple, you’re just too dense to come to terms with the fact that you want this to have a label.”

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe.

Only because for the second time, you want to throw something at both Hyemi and Mingyu.

He invites you out for a night at the club; his friends were celebrating the news that Seungcheol was ready to propose to Hayoung, ring picked out and everything. He brags how he managed to find her Pinterest, (he’s so stupid, he didn’t do anything but ask you and you shared the link), and although she’s here tonight with the group, she doesn’t know the main reason for it.

But you think coming here was a mistake. Mingyu can handle soju, you learn, but whiskey makes him bold.

He’s on the main floor with his friends, dancing the night away, but you’re too burnt out from a long day of work to truly enjoy yourself. It’s hard to miss how there always seems to be a new girl by his side, trying to get his attention by showing off their moves on him. Your third glass of mojitos is sadly empty once again, and you call over the bartender for another.

“You’re having a lot,” Hayoung comments, resting her arm against the counter as she watches you cheekily. She’s got on this pretty pastel teal dress with white flowers and a cowl neck that you’re sure Seungcheol would find any opportunity to look into. “Is it because Mingyu has Hyemi’s ass rubbing on his crotch right now?”

God, she’s annoying. She’s lucky she’s your friend.

The bartender hands you another drink, this time a moscow mule because you’ll never drink for torture, even if the amount of sugar will become the bane of your existence tomorrow. You’re going to hate yourself because of the migraine that comes with a hangover, but that’s for the future version of yourself to care about.

“Whatever,” you sing, the alcohol is definitely in your bloodstream. “I’m so sick of this game of cat and mouse we keep playing.”

Hayoung is tipsy but still doesn’t give. “You’re literally the only one playing the game,” she stomps her foot on the floor. “He’s been so patient! Stop being so mean.”

“I’m not,” you frown. “I’m super nice.”

She rolls her eyes, stealing a sip of your drink before looking at you, impressed. “Oh, this is good. But back to the main point—no, you’re not. And the fact that he’s been waiting for this long means he’s crazy for it. Stop wasting his and your own time! What if he stops liking you because you don’t give him any signs?”

“Pfft,” you take a huge gulp of your drink. “Finish this. He’ll do anything I ask him to do. Watch me.”

Her eyes don’t leave you as you weave through the crowd, eyeing the girls around him suspiciously before pulling him down to your height for you to whisper into his ear.

He’s so weak for you that it would be sad if you weren’t the same exact way.

Mingyu doesn’t respond, but he takes your hand in his and follows your lead out from the sweaty crowd of people and toward the bathroom section. Hayoung doesn’t miss the subtle wink from you as you leave.

You and Mingyu don’t usually hold hands.

But when it doesn’t take much for you to convince him to guide him away, hand in hand, both slightly intoxicated, it confuses you if the warmth in your chest and face are from the amount of drinks you had or if he’s making you feel this way.

When it’s just barely quiet enough, he tugs on the side of your satin black dress close to him. “What is it, baby?”

Like you said, whiskey makes him bold.

“Let’s fuck.”

“H-Here?” He stutters, eyes widening because despite wanting to have sex in his car, Mingyu isn’t as undaunted as it seems. “Where?”

“In the bathroom,” you answer, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt like you’re in a daze. Hooded gaze with a dreamy look in your irises, he learns early on that you’re flirtatious and a bit affectionate when you’ve got enough alcohol in your system. He feels his heart tighten when you tilt your head to the side and jut out your bottom lip cutely. “Please?”

It doesn’t take long, but when one of the bathrooms becomes vacant, the two of you shuffle your way in. You’re thankful that there’s enough of them here to suffice the crowd.

The bathroom is horrid.

It’s disgusting in almost every part, but the alcohol and the sight of those girls in skimpy outfits has your adrenaline rushing. There’s toilet paper that cascades down the sink to the toilet and down to the floor, graffiti drawn on the walls, and before your head could fall into a rabbit hole, he pushes you against the door.

“Don’t let yourself touch the door, just your dress,” his head slides into the crook of your neck as he peppers kisses along the outline. “It’s gross in here, but if baby wants to fuck, fucked she’ll be.”

“Mm,” you hum, fingers finding a grip on the back of his neck. “Can you answer something that’s been on my mind lately before you rail me?”

He snorts at your bluntness. “Yes? You know the answer to that.”

Bumping foreheads with yours, he brushes his nose into yours in the process. “Why’d you lie about Hayoung?”

You’re reasonable now, you’d like to think. Calmness is brought upon the storm you came in with that night of Mingyu’s family dinner, but the lying still hadn’t been addressed.

“… She asked me to pretend not to know,” he admits solemnly. “She’s been feeling bad for me lately because she thinks you’re playing me. I get her concern, and she’s been asking me about it for a while, so I told her that this would be the only time.”

“Okay,” you mutter softly, thumb brushing against his skin gently. “I believe you.”

“Do you still wanna have sex?” He asks quietly, volume matching yours. Somehow, drunk and in the most disgusting bathroom at the nightclub, friends outside and possibly a line of people waiting for their turn, he manages to make this romantic.

“… Kinda, yeah,” you answer truthfully, heat flushing in your neck in bashfulness. “If, uh… you’re okay with it.”

Why the fuck are you acting all shy for? Why are you pretending like you’re not the one who dragged him in here for a quickie?

Mingyu chuckles as if he reads your mind while lifting your legs up to wrap around his waist. “Like I said before—whatever the baby wants, she gets.”

He looks handsome even under these shitty lights. Hair gelled back with a couple strands that fell over his forehead, skin dewy and lips a subtle rosy pink, his sultry gaze into yours and you’d be lying if you said that your heart wasn’t racing. His hand lingers on your thigh momentarily before it slides up, riding up your dress to expose the skin, and your palms wander to the firmness of his chest.

“We gotta make it quick,” you warn, ghosting your lips over his. “There’s a queue outside.”

His mouth curls into a small smile, and he reaches down to unbuckles his pants. Without even removing it, you could already see the outline of his cock and you’re tempted to bend down to suck him off but you’re both in a time crunch.

Freeing his dick from the confines of his boxers, his tip is red and angry as he runs his hand over his length, lips parting at the feeling of contact. He strokes himself a couple times, tightening his grip in semblance to when you clench around him before his eyes shoot up, lashes so gracefully long when they brush against the highs of his cheeks. “Spit on it.”

Warmth blossoms in your lower stomach. “You—You want me to spit on it?”

When he eats you out, it’s messy and wet; there’s nothing more that turns you on than when he spits on your folds. But in return, you’re not quite sure if you’ve ever directly… spat on his cock before.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek, slowing the pace of his fisting. “I wanna see how pretty you are when you do.”

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and watches as your lips purse and drop a string of saliva onto the head of his cock and he lets out a moan at the sight. Pumping himself, he pushes you back up against the door higher before pressing his thumb against your core through your panties.

“So cute,” he whispers closely, despite the bass vibrating against the door, you can still hear him loud and clear. “So good for me. Can you keep being a good girl for me and let go for me? I wanna hear you—and I doubt anyone can hear you with all this music.”

You’re not usually this timid, but now that you have his attention that the hoard of girls were trying to obtain, you can’t help but feel special. Nodding slowly in compliance, his stare darkens as he pulls your thong to the side and rubs the head of his cock against your folds. “Remember, I wanna hear you.”

He’s rough when he fucks you tonight; quick with pounds against the door that you struggle to hold your grip on his shoulders, but his arms are built for a reason and you jokingly mention that it’s to hold you during moments like these.

“Shit,” he curses, and the same word goes through your head repeatedly like a chant. Mingyu still looks so comely, even though his forehead glistens with sweat as his head falls back, lost in the pleasure of you, unable to hold himself back from his own grunts.

You and Mingyu don’t usually hold hands. But when you both reach your highs and he insists on cleaning you up, helping you fix your hair and your dress, your head gets full of ideas that you’re not familiar with. And what takes it home is when he interlocks your fingers with his, clasping them together, and guides you out of the bathroom like the two of you didn’t just have sex in a public space.

When you meet with the group again, Hayoung gives you that look, like she knows what you’ve been up to. You can’t help but laugh, and turn your head away, slightly embarrassed but when you’re standing beside him with his hand on your lower back, you feel… safe.

Then he parts from you, briefly mentioning how he’s going to get drinks, you notice Hyemi approaching him again with stomps and a whine once he reaches the bar, grabbing onto his arm with a frown on her face. You can barely make out most of the words she says, but the ones that you do hear are enough to have your blood boiling.

“She doesn’t even want to label your relationship! Stop wasting your time with her!”

And she’s good, you admit, because she ruins your night from just two sentences. The thoughts flood your head like a tsunami, the waves of ideas that lead to overthinking take over that you don’t realize he’s gesturing you over to the exit to call it quits for the night.

“We’ll go down a couple blocks, the main street is a bit of a walk,” he advises before glancing down at your heels. You stumble a little over the cobblestone but pull your jacket closer to your frame. “Want me to carry you? Your feet look like they hurt.”

“No,” you huff, brows furrowing. “Go ahead first. I’ll be behind you.”

He looks at you with an unsure expression, but does as he’s told anyway because Kim Mingyu is a people pleaser. He tries his best to make people happy, goes out of his way to help his friends, and takes care of them because that’s how he expresses love. He picks his nose in public, but it’s a trait he doesn’t want to change, and his favorite pastime is to cook, testing out new recipes and trying new foods.

Another thing about Kim Mingyu is that he’s been crushing on his stupid friend with benefits but he chooses not to do anything about it because of your dumb fear of commitment.

“Hey!”

He flinches and stops in his steps. Turning around, he’s got confusion written all over his face. “Yes?”

You’re puffing like the Big Bad Wolf does in the story, ready to blow him over and knock him down. “I’ve got a question.”

There’s that show stopping smile again. God, you just want to smack it off his face. “You know my answer to that,” he says, and it’s a phrase he’ll reiterate each time you bring it up.

“Why didn’t you ever ask me if I like you?”

He blinks blankly as that smile of his dissipates. “What?”

You heave out a heavy breath of your nerves. “How come you never wondered if I ever reciprocated your feelings? If I—I don’t know, if I ever feel like I can’t breathe around you, not because I feel suffocated, but because I have so many feelings that I’m not even sure what to do. Or that—gah, I don’t know, if I ever wanted to kiss you but not in the way we do before sex, but in a… loving way, like when we say our goodbyes in the morning before we head off to work. Maybe, I’m just throwing it out there, if I felt like girls like Hyemi are always one step closer to you because they’re more verbal and affectionate, more in tune with their emotions, if you will, and I’m still confused on how to express it better,” and for a brief moment, there’s a pregnant pause before you continue.

“And… if you ever think about what it’s like to hold my hand—in your pocket on winter days where it gets too cold and you want an excuse to do it. Or when we’d just… stand side by side, no words exchanged, but the moment feels right. Don’t you ever just—I sound so stupid for saying this—don’t you just want to slide your hand into mine, and be able to call me yours in front of your friends?”

He doesn’t speak, mostly out of courtesy in case you had more to say. But the length of the silence is maddening; all that runs through your head is the possibilities of what he wants to say, if he lost feelings in the process and if he was afraid to tell you.

But when he feels like it's the right second, he reaches out to you. “That was more than one question,” you swallow as you watch him, still planning for the worst.

“Do you like me back?”

For the first time in a while, you feel the weight lifting off your shoulders. “I… I do like you.”

There’s that cheeky grin again, and he snatches your hand to hold in the depths of his coat pocket. “I don’t have a heat pack,” he warns, tugging you close before pressing a kiss on the crown of your head. “But I’ll keep you warm instead.”

“You’re disgusting,” you comment, nose scrunching up at the response.

“I am,” he chuckles, leading you down the empty streets with the signs from the storefronts reflecting on the wet walkway from the rain earlier, some even flickering in the lettering of the display. “But you like me anyways, and I like you ‘cause you’re so honest about it.”

Despite the waves of uncertainty and confusion, the ocean of emotion is finally calm.

“Show me one more time.”

Hayoung gives you a glare that would mistakenly be identified as annoyed, but you know her better by now. She rolls her eyes, sighs dramatically before pretending to push her hair back again.

There’s that sparkly thing he was talking about.

“Geez,” you say incredulously, grabbing her hand into yours for a better view. “This is the workings of a billionaire.”

“Seungcheol is not a billionaire,” she shoots back and you shrug.

“He’s rich, same shit. Money starts looking the same when you hit that bracket.”

“You’re acting like Mingyu isn’t stacking,” Hayoung reminds you, and the mention of his name makes your insides feel like a middle schooler talking about their crush. On the outside, however, you do a good job of having an exterior.

“Whatever.”

“Speaking of,” she teases, never failing to wave her engagement ring that adorns her finger when she gets the chance to, but you don’t blame her. If you had a pretty ring, you’d be showing it off too. “How are you two?”

“We’re not talking about this,” you say, hoping to end the conversation there.

“Oh, come on!” She whines, throwing her hands in her lap. “Our boyfriends—oh whoops,” Hayoung jokes, winking in your direction and you can’t help but release an amused scoff. “My fiancée and your boyfriend are friends. Let’s gossip and rant about them together.”

Shaking your head, a smile is hard to suppress at her constant tugging on your sweater sleeve to lure you in. “Come on,” she reaches over to tap your cheek adoringly. “I’ve never seen you this happy before, you grump. Tell me what he does that gets you all warm inside.”

“No,” you’re trying to pry her fingers off, and you fake a gasp before grabbing her hands once again. “Are you—dare I say—engaged?”

“Alright, no more faking, it’s not fun with you anymore.”

Before you could mock her any more, Mingyu approaches the two of you and leans over to rest his palm on the back of your chair.

Even when you’re his, and he’s yours, he still steals the breath from your lungs. He stands so close, and although you both have been sleeping together for the longest time, his gestures are ponderous with more meaning behind them now.

“Sorry to cut the party short, Hayoung, but we gotta head home, my mom wants us to have breakfast with her tomorrow.”

Hayoung shoots an ‘oh?’ stare in your direction and you badly want to flick her arm.

“Don’t,” you eye her suspiciously and she raises her hands up in defeat.

“Let’s go, babe,” he calls out, handing over the jacket he grabs for you on his way over. Though the nickname from someone else makes you cringe, from him, it’s endearing. “And congrats, Hayoung, Cheol’s been so anxious about how to do it, I’m glad he finally did.”

As he says his goodbyes to his friends, he doesn’t fail to sneak his hand to his back to reach for yours, sliding your fingers together to lock them tight.

You and Mingyu don’t usually hold hands, but now, you’re starting to.

#caratwritersclub #kpopsociety #mingyu smut #svt smut #mingyu fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #kim mingyu fanfic #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

yours, but not yours (m) || masterlist

title: yours, but not yours  pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: pending summary: when a nice guy gets too overbearing, you’re stuck with the option of having a fake boyfriend. warnings: eventual smut, profanity, toxic friendships (that is either mended or detached from)

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | ongoing

#seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #scoups smut #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic #svt smut #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

i can't run away (m) || kmg & reader

title: i can’t run away pairing: kim mingyu x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, pining!mingyu, tsundere!oc, opposites!au, sort-of-slowburn (?) wc: 15.7k summary: everyone expresses love in different ways. that doesn’t exclude you. warnings: profanity, adult themes, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), uh they do the dirty deed idk what else to say a/n: this is going to be part of my attacca series! :D hope you guys enjoy! (p.s. if there's typos in the smut, i refuse to go back and proofread that one section bc i'm shy.) also, note that this fic takes place in present, then past, then present again! :) hopefully it’s not confusing lol

The air feels different.

It’s gotten colder these past few weeks, but tonight especially, the winds are brisker and the whistling fills the silence along with the rustling leaves that twirl in the direction of the breeze. If he didn’t make the decision to grab that grey hoodie hung over the back of the brown leather couch, he’d be freezing.

Oh, right. How could he forget you?

He hates when it gets like this—resulting in him taking a stroll in the midst of the late hours of the night, jaw tense, fists clenched by his side, and heart heavy. The sky is missing the twinkle of the stars, full of nothing but bleakness, hollow as his chest, bare from the absence of you. But this space is an obligation; it's the only way for him to cool down, for you to cool down, and give the two of you enough distance before blurting things you don’t really mean.

Although, he thinks it might be a little too late for that.

Mingyu is left pondering, head swarming of the thoughts of you and the words that spilled from those pretty lips of yours. How sharp they were, cutting him like the blade of a knife, the aching and stinging in semblance to the physical kind. When you said for him to leave, he’d done just that—grabbed his keys, wallet, that hoodie, and slipped into his sneakers before heading out into the darkness.

His friends warned him. But obviously, he didn’t listen—how could he with those tempting lips, that canorous laugh, and charming smile of yours, in spite of how infrequently he got to see it. His heart was always a priority to him, and despite the possible agony it could bring with the consequences of loving you, of being yours, he still chased after what he longed for. Surely enough, he had you within his grasp.

Yet, you’re so slippery. You slip through the cracks of the foundation he’s built for your relationship, but he’s slowly beginning to understand that he needs you there to help him, and he couldn’t do it alone. Relationships don’t work like that. It’s a team effort.

The bright lights from the convenience store just a few blocks from your apartment illuminate the route he walks. He doesn’t know where he’ll go, or what he’ll do, but the tearing, worn out poster ad of ramen that mirrors the sluggish, melancholic version of him is alluring enough. Maybe he’ll think more rationally on a full stomach. Maybe a bowl of instant ramen will give him the answers he needs.

The aisles are empty, but the shelves are full. He’s artistic in comparison to you, and believes that the lanes of the convenience store are like your relationship. Paths are vacant, but the racks are stacked with supplies—your heart a void, and his very own filled to the brim with nothing but adoration. Why did you even agree to be with him if you weren’t going to put your all into it? Did you even reciprocate those feelings for him? Or was this all just something you wanted to do for fun, and none of it was serious to you?

When he rips open the seasoning packet, the crimson powder trickles into the bowl of uncooked curly noodles before he discards the bag into the trash bin nearby. It feels weird eating ramen alone. Before meeting you, this was something normal he’d do himself, but since his encounter with you… it's always been with you. It doesn’t feel right without you. ‘Midnight snack?’ he recalled you asking, lifting up the two packs of instant goodness in your hands. Ramen tasted good before you. But it’s even better after you.

Blowing on the lump of noodles held by his chopsticks, he shoves it into his mouth. How could something invariably delicious to him suddenly not hit with that same euphoria when it meets the tip of his tongue again? Cheeks full, his heart juxtaposes, remaining hefty yet empty, and it’s incomplete with your attendance.

Is it even worth chasing you? He’s been doing it for years, and it feels like you never change. Not that he wants you to—he loves who you are, who you’ve become, and who you’ll be in the future.

But part of him wishes that you’d show some interest—an ounce of evidence of your feelings for him, something for him to hold onto. Some type of clue that this was worth fighting for.

Yet, it seems like you never give him anything at all.

Rosy pink nose, milky smooth skin, and fluttering long lashes that brushed against the highs of her cheekbones—everyone knew how gorgeous this girl was. Her lips were tinted cherry red, plump and silky, and whenever her tongue came out to swipe across it, you could almost hear the men and women sigh in content at the sight. Hair bouncy, shiny, and full with luscious waves, it stretched down to her mid back in an onyx waterfall and checked off the last box of almost every guy’s list of qualities that they wished their future girlfriend would have. She was a walking billboard advertisement, for God’s sake. Of course she was on every guy’s wishlist.

When Mingyu first met this girl, he kind of had the same idea as the rest of his group of guy friends. It was almost impossible not to see himself with that girl. She had every positive quality anyone could ever ask for. And someone like Mingyu, who was also the ideal man for those attracted to that gender, she was flawless.

Keyword: almost.

She was pretty, kind, and outgoing, not to mention rich. She had daddy’s money going for her which helped with her appearance, and her extroverted personality was a bonus to help attract people in her direction. She never seemed to run into any obstacles in her path, endlessly drowned in wealth and adoration, she lived her life in bliss and just that.

And when Mingyu’s friends encountered this girl, the person that popped up in their minds instinctively was Kim Mingyu. She checked all the so-called ‘boxes’ on this imaginary list, and she was effortlessly gorgeous—so why would she not be the standard for him? Imagine a girl like that hugging his arm by his side—she was the epitome of perfection for him, eye candy to the strangers that walked by, and the person you’d take home to your mother for approval. They would be the ‘it’ couple, that was for sure. The tall, handsome, unreserved, and overall happy guy with the beautiful, outgoing, loving, and sweet girl only seemed right.

But Mingyu didn’t have that so-called ‘checklist.’

In fact, his eyes had been set on you, one of Wonwoo’s and Joshua’s old friends from college, someone who came to their friendly outings once in a blue moon because—to be honest, Mingyu didn’t know why, but he speculated it was because you just weren’t ever really interested. You were an introvert, after all.

The guys pushed and shoved, in hopes that he’d make the first move on that perfect girl named Jiwoo, but Mingyu couldn’t get his focus off of you. It was like he had tunnel vision; even when Jiwoo flaunted her new hip bone tattoo excessively, one where she had to pull the waistband of her jeans down a bit and expose some more of her smooth skin, Mingyu only saw you on the phone in the corner of the room with furrowed brows, fingers raking through your hair frustratedly while arguing with whomever it was on the other end of the line.

He wouldn’t deny that Jiwoo was never on his radar, but that was old news. Mingyu was into you now, and desperately wanted to get your attention without looking needy.

“Jiwoo is amazing,” Seokmin said, red solo cup in hand filled with a mixture of alcohol and fruit drinks that definitely would be the cause of him hovering over the toilet seat by the end of the night. “She’s hot, nice and racking with cash. You’re telling me she’s not your type?” It didn’t matter how much Mingyu appreciated his friendship with Seokmin, that never stopped his friend from making unwarranted comments about him not wanting a girl he was supposed to like.

With a click of his tongue, Mingyu waved his friend off dismissively. “You know that it’s not about type, but more about their personality and how well we get along. What makes you think that Jiwoo and I would be good together?”

As much as Mingyu loved his friends, in moments like these, it felt like they didn’t understand his perspective. He didn’t want any girl, he wanted to be with someone he fell for, not someone who was brought to him by obligation. Mingyu wished for something more organic than that.

Joshua scoffed, bringing his lips to his own cup. “You’re talking about it like you’ve got someone else in mind. Who’s got Kim Mingyu’s heartstrings in knots?”

Raised brows and childish ‘ooo’s, Wonwoo even nudged Mingyu’s arm in amusement. “So, who’s the girl?”

And when your name fell off the tip of Mingyu’s tongue, the group of guys went silent.

It was the first time Mingyu ever brought up the idea of you, of possibly being more with you, and already, his friends seem to have a different position on that. It wasn’t that they didn’t like you, and if it was, Joshua and Wonwoo would’ve kept you away from all the outings from the beginning—it was the fact that you with someone like Mingyu just didn’t quite fit. You two were on opposite sides of the personality spectrum, and just the thought of potentially putting the both of you together wasn’t realistic. You weren’t suitable for each other. It didn’t make sense. You both weren’t meant to be.

If they were to handpick the most ideal couple in the group, needless to say, it would not be you and Mingyu.

But their discouraging words never pulled him down enough to quit you.

What did, however, was this unspoken and unaddressed relationship you had with Wonwoo. Were the two of you friends? Perhaps more? It was difficult to determine just based off of the across-the-room speculation, but he so badly hoped the answer ‘yes’ was for the last question.

Did… you like Wonwoo? The subtle stolen glances in his direction might have seemed like evidence of it, but your other actions said otherwise. Mingyu struggled to get a read on you, but you and Wonwoo had been friends since your early years of college, so truthfully, Wonwoo knew you better than he did. Only he could decipher your label, other than Joshua, but Mingyu couldn’t confront either of them. They’d only tell him to move on and try pursuing someone like Jiwoo once more.

The question still stood: did he have a chance with you like Wonwoo did?

When Joshua hosted his first housewarming party, he knew you’d be there. And if you didn’t RSVP the invite, you could expect Joshua to be at the threshold of your apartment, the fronts of his brows dipped and his tongue poking his cheek as he tapped his shoe onto the wooden floor. In simple words, you’d be dead meat.

But it was Mingyu’s chance to fully observe your demeanor around Wonwoo, to attempt to decipher how you felt about Wonwoo so he could determine his probability of entering that opening into your heart.

But the way you brushed against Wonwoo’s hand when you reached over for an empty cup on the fold out table was enough to slightly demoralize Mingyu. A meager smile pulled on either side of your mouth, and how your irises melted when they met with Wonwoo’s only caused a twinge in Mingyu’s heart.

Was this an act of something more? Did you have a crush? Were you pining over Jeon Wonwoo while he was pining over you? This fictional love triangle that Mingyu formulated in his head was only hurting himself, and none of this information had even been confirmed. He needed a break from his own mind, what he needed was a breather, but what he thought he needed more were answers to his questions.

But Mingyu knew better than to probe.

The more he asked, the further he’d draw you away and that definitely was not the intention. Although he hoped you’d eventually avert your attention from Wonwoo to him instead, he knew it was something that had to come naturally.

So? How was he to swoon you?

Admittedly enough, all he had to do was express interest.

When your mutual friends organized dinner, Mingyu chose the seat beside you. Sure, Wonwoo gave a look that screamed wariness and bewilderment, but he eventually brushed it off and found somewhere else to sit; the goal was to steal all of your attention away from Wonwoo. Make Mingyu be someone you considered, not him. Wonwoo was a great guy, but for you, Mingyu found himself to be a better candidate. So with that, he went out of his way to get you to recognize him, even if it meant he grabbed the meat that finished cooking on the grill during KBBQ to place it on your plate first, always before himself, no matter how hungry he was.

There were times where the outings involved teams—bowling, for example. His friends were always competitive, so teams were formed. Needless to say, you were very unenthusiastic in making this into a whole game, and although Mingyu did have the competitive spirit in contradiction, he still chose you as his partner. He’d holler and scream, mock the rivals, and when you’d strike out or bowled a spare, he never hesitated to clasp your hands together to cheer. Sure, you weren’t the type to get all giddy about this stuff, but something inside you stirred when you saw that eye smile of his.

He didn’t realize that he didn’t even have to try that hard. Mingyu was already the one who had your heart, he was just too blinded by his own infatuation to see.

Albeit he did notice things between the two of you were changing. Instead of him going out of his way to be next to you, you made it easier on him. Dinners meant that the spot beside you was designated to him, and the seat next to him was consistently yours. You never verbally expressed that you had any feelings, but the fact you never told him to go away was a good sign.

What did, however, surprise him is when he decided to not head to the apple picking event with your group of friends because he’d come down with something, and he found you standing in his apartment hallway. Your friends had organized this for some time now, and he was desperately hoping to see you again there, and possibly lead this acquaintance-relationship to a sort-of-friendship level, but after his stomach started burning and rumbling, plans changed.

Yet when he saw you here again, plans were rearranged once more.

“I, uh, I got you this.” It was like you were being held at gunpoint with how abrupt you were when you extended your arm. In your hand, there was a baby pink box with the word ‘TUMS’ written across. Were you really here or was this stomachache beginning to play tricks on him? “Eat it.”

Mingyu stared at the Tums for a moment before looking at you. “You… What’s this for?”

Clearing your throat, you moved your gaze from his. It made your heart do flips in your chest whenever his chocolate irises twinkled underneath the shitty florescent lights of his apartment complex hallways. He never really understood the impact he had on your heart, the way he had the pits of your stomach churning just like before a test that you weren’t fully prepared for. You never were prepared to be alone with Mingyu. “Wonwoo mentioned that you weren’t feeling well today. I thought I’d stop by to uh… give you… this.”

For a moment, time stilled. He found it cute when you did that thing with your eyes, finding anything to look at except him, and the way he could almost feel the heat radiating from your face erupted a laugh from his chest wholeheartedly. How your hair cascaded over the rounds of your cheeks, how you tightened and untightened your jaw when you were nervous, and when you rolled your lips—he knew that for some reason, he made you feel uncomfortable. Although the gesture was sweet, he wished that you’d be as familiar with him as you were with Wonwoo. Was he ever going to be what Wonwoo was to you?

“He told you I was sick?” Mingyu queried, arms crossing against the firmness of his chest. He’d been working out, but you had to mentally shake your head of the thoughts that would’ve formed in the midst of your conversation. “Did you… ask him about me?”

He was teasing, and you wished he wouldn’t ask questions like this. Mingyu always tested you, like those teachers in grade school that would find anything to give you a pop quiz on. A smirk never failed to tug on the edges of his lips, content with the sight of you going rigid from his question.

“Uh,” you began, briefly at a loss for words, but you regained them quickly because Kim Mingyu could never know you liked him in this way. “I wondered why I didn’t see you pestering me today.”

“You were concerned for me,” he said, paraphrasing your sentence ‘incorrectly’ back to you. “And you missed me bugging you, so you wanted to check in on me. Did I catch that right?”

You blinked. “… No, where’d you even come up with that conclusion?”

“From you, obviously,” Mingyu gestured to your frame standing in the hallway before the expression on his face softened. “But… forget that. You came. You got me meds. Thanks, really.”

“I, uh, got you more than just meds.”

Mingyu had never really seen you in this setting—hair tied up in a high ponytail, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, and the frantic movements between each task in the middle of his kitchen. You had your back to him, and his stare was glued directly on you and nothing else. How was even your backside so pretty?

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t watch me.”

“Why?” He had his chin resting on his palm. “You’re pretty like this.”

When you had reached his doorsteps, his eyes were set on the box of Tums and didn’t realize that in your other hand, you had a brown paper bag of ingredients to cook him dinner. Were you like this to all your friends? Specifically, Wonwoo? Everything you did is done without an explanation, without a story in contrast to what Mingyu did. You were an open book with seemingly blank pages but if you looked closer, the writing was invisible. He just had to figure out how to read it.

You grabbed the ginger you’d shaved the skin off of prior, the blade sliced through with ease despite the difficulties Mingyu had been having with that particular knife.

You were… strangely so skilled with a knife, or at least, you’d always been but Mingyu never suspected it. You rarely talked about your personal life; what your hobbies were, what movies you liked, what your favorite flavor of ice cream was—he just knew you were a generally cold person, but having seen you open up just a little was enough to draw him in closer. You cooked, and yeah, he hasn’t tried your food yet, but already, just from observing the fluidity of your actions, he knew you meant business.

“What are you making?”

With a turn on the heels of your feet, you wiped your hands off on the baby blue apron that usually hung on the hook of his pantry door and now adorned your waist. It was too big for you, he thought to himself, and he was left wondering what it’d be like to have a spare one that matched his, just for when you come over. If you’d ever come over again like this.

“My dad used to do two things when I was sick: buy me Pho from a local Vietnamese restaurant or boiled chicken congee with ginger.”

Mingyu quirked a brow, and almost like you read his mind, you looked back while pointing at him with your chopsticks. “No, it’s not Pho. It’s the latter.”

He let out a laugh, so melodious and catchy like the top billboard hits. In spite of the elation that seeped into his voice, his sunken, dark eyes exhibited his tiredness. Wonwoo briefly mentioned that Mingyu was sick—but not this sick. It didn’t matter how buff someone was, even the strongest have their weakest days.

“Maybe… you should head to bed,” you advised calmly, disparate to the nonchalant tones you normally expressed. “I’ll finish this up here and I can bring this to you.”

It didn’t take long for you to recognize a tiny ball of fur that ran across his apartment, paws clacking against the wooden floors. Bending over, you grabbed the little chain that hung from her collar where it read: Kim Bobpul, Please return to Kim Mingyu if found. She had her tongue sticking out, panting heavily and excitedly but before you could react any further to the approaching feeling that came from your nose, Mingyu rushed out of his bedroom in a wash of panic.

“Fuck, shit, sorry, she was supposed to stay in my room,” he said as he rubbed his neck with an awkward chuckle. “I’ll just, uh, if you wanna stay with her here, that’s fine, but if not—”

“I’m allergic to dogs,” you responded bluntly, and Mingyu’s eyes widened in unison with his fallen heart. The girl of his dreams couldn’t be with his best friend. “But, uh, it’s fine. I should be fine, maybe if she’s away from me.”

“...Right.” He nodded, reaching down to lift Bobpul up in his arms. There was disappointment that bled through his tone, and your heart clenched at the sound; did he want you to like her? Maybe. But it wasn’t your fault—who had control of their own allergies? “I’ll take her to my room for now, uh. I’ll just… wait for you there.”

When his bedroom door clicked shut, reality sunk in.

His apartment looked like a tornado hit.

From clothes that draped over the back of his couch to the half-drunken cups of coffee scattered across the room and the sink filled with unwashed dishes—Kim Mingyu, normally a clean freak, was really sick.

A thought washed over you like a lightbulb turned on above your head. Maybe you would do something nice for once and help the poor guy out.

It took an hour, just enough time for the congee to finish cooking, for you to spruce up his neglected apartment. Clothes were in a basket, the tables were wiped spotlessly clean, and the dirty dishes were scrubbed to the point you could see your reflection in them.

He was dozing off, you noted, because his head kept falling off to the side despite attempting to keep himself distracted so he could be awake when you entered. When he heard the door of his bedroom creak open wider after a knock, Mingyu straightened his position while he cleared his throat and pressed himself against the headboard of his bed as if he hadn’t just been knocked out.

The girl he had been in love with was about to come into his room.

Sure, it hadn’t been for what people would expect it to be when they hear that someone they liked went into their room. They’d think of something more—legs tangled in the sheets, naked bodies pressed against each other, and stolen kisses were what their minds led to. But the view of you here, dressed so comfortably in your sweats and hoodie while you delivered a tray of food with medicine is something he didn’t complain about. He liked this too, even if it was far from that daydream. It was you, and it was all he needed.

“I made congee,” you announced as you placed it on the bedside table. You glanced over at the fluffy white dog that laid comfortably by Mingyu’s side as she eyed you suspiciously. Was she mad that he had to take her back into the bedroom because of you? “Uh, you should… eat it before it gets cold.”

He grabbed the bowl from the wooden tray with a smile that stretched from cheek to cheek that resembled a kid finally getting that lollipop he’d been asking for. Mingyu loved this version of you—despite the way you struggled to find the right words to say, the fact you made this congee just for him was enough.

But he took notice of how your nose seemed to twitch with each minute you stayed by his side.

“I can get her to go out if you want,” he said, breaking the silence. “I know her fur isn’t hypoallergenic—”

“It’s fine,” you quickly interjected as you abruptly slipped out of the apron and wiped your nose with the back of your hand. “I should be getting home anyway. Thanks for uh… the experience, I guess.”

Experience? Mingyu really didn’t get you sometimes.

He fell asleep when he heard his front door close and lock.

But when he woke up several hours later, he made his way back into the kitchen and spotted a cute setup with a baby pink note that read congee is left in the fridge, and don’t forget to take your meds, with a jar of VaporRub, and a bottle of Pepto Bismol seated right next to it.

Mingyu was an obvious guy. Big gestures had been his thing, but he knew with you, he had to tone it down just a smidge if he didn’t want to scare you away.

And honestly, at first, he thought that you would’ve been taken aback at him sending flowers to your apartment.

Instead, you snapped a photo of it in a glass vase, an assortment of white lilies with purple caspias sat prettily on the counter with a text that read, ‘it's lovely. thank you.’ You never said much, but he knew the weight of appreciation that message held.

Maybe he was getting closer to your heart, he predicted, but it was always hard to read you. More often than not, the expression you displayed never really matched what emotions you inhabited. You weren’t good at sharing your feelings, and he couldn’t blame you for it, but the slight effort you gave back to him had these butterflies fluttering in his stomach. You were trying, at least, and he gave you some credit for that.

“We’ll go grab her from her apartment down the hall,” Seokmin said, snatching his jacket off the coat rack. The perk of Seokmin living by you was that whenever Joshua or Wonwoo wanted to pressure you into coming out, all they had to do was stop by Seokmin’s first and your place after. Hit two birds with one stone.

Mingyu sort of had the same idea.

He wanted to know if those flowers were still on your kitchen island, pointed to where the sun shined through the curtains, and if you had water in the vase. Mingyu desperately needed to know if you genuinely welcomed the flowers—or in his mind, welcomed him.

Seokmin was the first to knock on your door, greeting you with a smile that stretched across his face as he watched confusion smear on yours. The wrinkle between your brows accosted them, along with your slightly pink eyes. Had you been crying? “Uh, hello?”

“Come. We’re ready to head out.”

“Uh, okay,” you responded uneasily, as if Seokmin at your apartment was unexpected, although Mingyu confirmed that he texted the group chat prior that he’d swing by. Your hands patted your pockets as your eyes skimmed the room; purse, jacket and keys in hand, and just as you’re ready to shut the door behind you, that’s when Mingyu spotted what he’d been looking for.

Those flowers.

On your countertop.

Alive and well, water in the vase just as the picture showed.

When your eyes met with Mingyu’s, he swallowed. He wasn’t normally this nervous around girls, and he’d known you for some time now, yet the gesture of keeping the bouquet instead of tossing it into your trash bin was completely out of character for you and meant in some way, you reciprocated some type of feelings. Platonic or romantic, that was still the challenge for Mingyu to determine the answer of.

“Aren’t you allergic to flowers?” Joshua asked, watching you suspiciously. You hated these stupid events where Joshua would go all out—the whole hayride around cornfields and going into mazes with pumpkin spiced lattes or apple cider donuts with plaid button ups and a target of love interest in mind wasn’t really your ‘thing.’ Why were Ugg boots a minimum requirement for an autumn picture?

You decided on your second hand Doc Martens in lieu of those fluffy, insulated Ugg boots since you came here solely because Joshua was a good friend.

You started to reconsider that label with him though because it began to feel like he was using these moments to interrogate you about your fictional love life.

With a twitch of your nose, you tilted your head to the side and it only earned a glare from your friend. “You are. Why’d you keep flowers in your apartment knowing that it makes you like that?”

“They were… pretty.”

“So, you decided that you’d make yourself feel like shit because they’re what? Pretty? What are you hiding here?”

What were you supposed to say? That you kept the flowers back at your place because Mingyu bought them and it killed you to throw them away? That you’d rather suffer with minor allergy symptoms if it meant you got to look at those white and purple daisies that lightened up your apartment just like he brightened up your life? That doing something as easy as keeping them would have his face flooded with nothing but delight, and if it meant that you were the cause of it, you’d like to continue seeing it?

No. You’d never tell Joshua that. And it could’ve stayed like that too, but Seokmin walked his way over to the two of you with the cheesiest grin on his stupid face. “So, what are you guys chit chatting about? That bouquet that Mingyu got ‘cha?”

Joshua’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek as his eyes widened and diverted onto you fully. “Ah, I see. Kim Mingyu bought you flowers? Is that what I heard? Please, correct me if I’m in the wrong here.”

You narrowed your gaze at your friend. “Possibly. That doesn’t have to do with anything, though.”

“Hm,” he hummed, glancing over at Seokmin. “Are you sure that Mingyu got her flowers? Our Kim Mingyu?”

Seokmin waved his hand in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Dude wouldn’t stop talking about it. Mentioned how long it took him to pick which one he liked best or what she’d find prettiest, and having it delivered to her front steps—he said he was debating even sending it because he was afraid she’d think it was creepy.”

Your bottom lip jutted out. Had he been really that insecure about sending flowers over? Something as simple as that? Someone like Mingyu normally did things as he pleased, only because he didn’t have to care about other people’s opinion since they always thought of him positively. You made him feel like that?

“Oh, did he?” You let out an uncomfortable laugh and rubbed the side of your neck. “I didn’t know he felt that way.”

The fronts of Seokmin’s brows dipped in puzzlement. “You really don’t see what we see, do you?”

It was Joshua’s turn to look at Seokmin. “I don’t think you see what we see either. She’s allergic to flowers.”

Several feet away, Mingyu’s ears perked at the words.

You were allergic to flowers. And you still kept them out in your apartment, with the windows opened for fresh air, and dealt with the repercussions of it. The sniffly nose, constant sneezing, and the stuffy, congested head feeling—you still kept those fucking lilies and caspias. You kept them.

The next time, Mingyu decided not to get you flowers. He learned it the hard way, but he’d continue to figure things out along the way because it was you. So when he got you a Devil’s Ivy, he made sure that it required little to no effort to accommodate your laziness, and didn’t bug any of your allergies.

Night clubs had never been your thing.

So who the fuck was able to convince to be there that night? In that tight, black dress that hugged your curves so prettily, made your ass and tits so plump and—

Mingyu shook his head. You were alluring that night, not that you weren’t before, but this was a different side of you. He never saw you in clothes that exposed so much skin (not that he was complaining), but this wasn’t like you. Just like your personality, your attire had always been reserved.

But underneath the flickering strobe lights, a light layer of makeup on your face to only enhance your features, he felt his heart skip a beat.

Drink in hand, in what he assumed was an original mojito, it barely had a dent in it and the condensation had formed on the glass. It meant you hadn’t been drinking, despite what it looked like to an outsider, but the way the cup was brought to your lips and the line for where the alcohol began didn't drop, Mingyu could tell you didn’t want to be here.

“Not your scene?” He asked, finally approaching you after standing on the sidelines for the longest time. For someone with a lot of confidence, around you, he needed to gather enough courage in and in the four shots he took in order to talk to you. “We could always go outside for fresh air.”

With a sigh, you waved off his offer. “It’s fine, I’ll stay here. If I left, they’d come looking for me anyway.”

Mingyu chuckled. “Well, I don’t want you standing here alone.”

“I’m not. I have you now.”

God, you were so fucking pretty.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, but he knew he wanted to stay right here beside you. Admittedly so, he’d been hit on a couple times throughout the night, even in front of you, regardless of the fact he had obvious heart eyes for you.

Fuck, he just wanted you. Couldn’t people see that? Could you see that?

You weren’t a party-goer, nor were you a heavy drinker. But Joshua was your worst enemy at times like these, because he was your best friend and you never failed to fall into his peer pressure.

So when Joshua screamed out, “shots!” everyone could expect you to join in on it.

That included Mingyu.

Mind hazy, and vision blurry, Mingyu groaned as he struggled up from his strangely soft bed. Was he still drunk and the bed got softer, or… or was he even in his own bed?

Thoughts still jumbled, he decided to get up, push the covers off the lower half of his body, all while rubbing his eyes tiredly. The only thing he recalled were the couple shots that started last night off, but other than that, his memories were foggy.

He even managed to get his shirt off, kept his boxers on, and his phone, wallet, and keys were sitting nicely by the bedside table when he got home.

Wait.

This wasn’t the same raggedy bedside table he owned. His had been missing a leg, so the moment he accidentally bumped his knee, it should’ve wobbled. These weren’t his bedsheets either—his comforter was a dark grey and these were beige. There was a desk by the window, the kitchen was in view, and the couch was placed strategically in front of a TV—Mingyu didn’t live in a studio apartment, he had three other bedrooms and shared it with two other guys.

Fuck. All he could think about was you, and even though you definitely weren’t his girlfriend, he made it clear that he was pining for you yet here he was in some chick’s apartment—in her bed for fuck’s sake. There was no way he didn’t have sex with her because her panties were at the front door! Black dress discarded on the way to the bed, shoes thrown by the coffee table, and—was that her bra on the kitchen counter?

Disappointment and panic rushed through his veins. He didn’t want to lie to you—that wasn’t a great start to a nonexistent relationship. What would you say? What would you do? Did this ruin any bit of chance he had left to pursue you?

The body next to him moaned.

Fuck. He had to deal with this, too.

But—it took him a moment to realize that the piercings that aligned on her ear were familiar. It was a strange observation he made, he admits, but he remembered complimenting that earring before…

A lot of girls wear the same earring… right?

He swallowed. There were so many girls at the club last night, Mingyu wasn’t sure who the drunken version of himself considered the ‘next target.’ This could’ve been Jiwoo for fuck’s sake, and that meant that the unconscious adaptation of Kim Mingyu went for the girl that his friends expected him to.

He turned his focus elsewhere. As much as he wanted to tell himself to calm down, he couldn’t. That nonexistent relationship between you and him was on the line, and he knew that the moment you found out, you’d be reluctant to let him in any further.

That’s when he spotted that Devil’s Ivy plant on the window sill. It was similar to the one you had, that one he bought you, but this one had grown so long, it cascaded from the tops of the bookcase down to the ground and over the desk. It looked pretty, giving the apartment some green to combat the dullness, and he hoped yours would look like that one day. Well, he hoped to see it one day. Or, well, if he even got the chance to be in your apartment—which, at this rate, seemed like never.

The girl shifted in her position.

Mingyu ran his fingers through his disheveled locks in distraught. He hated himself for putting himself in this situation, and his head wasn’t concerned about the unidentified events of last night, it was clouded with the possible outcomes of what you’d say if this got out. And there was no way the guys wouldn’t expose him. He got his dick wet. Of course they would brag for him, he didn’t even come home last night. They probably even saw him walk out with her, too.

Before he could overthink even more, the girl finally sat up. In a hoodie already, she tucked her hair back with her head down in embarrassment, Mingyu yet again rubbed his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing she said, and his heart dropped.

It was you.

Flustered, your head is in your hands. “I vaguely remember last night, but I definitely had too much to drink—I think I just got all that liquid courage in me and acted out of character—”

Relief washed through him like a clean shower. He let out a laugh, so hearty and filled with delight because his fears disappeared with the storm. It was you. And although he couldn’t replay the events of last night, he knew that because it was with you, he didn’t mind any of it.

“It’s okay,” he interjected, a smile tugging on either side of his mouth. Sure, he couldn’t remember what the sex was like, but none of that mattered to him. “It’s… it’s fine. I don’t remember much either.”

Plagued, you puffed your cheeks. “This isn’t like me. I don’t do any of this.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you rather it be me instead of someone else?”

In reality, you would. But you weren’t going to tell him that. Part of you knew that if you expressed that you even considered Mingyu, it meant chaos to his friends because you’d heard what they said about you.

You two didn’t click. And who knew him better than his own friends?

“I uh, do you want coffee or something?” You offered, turning to dangle your legs off the bed before jumping up. Pulling the hem of your hoodie down to pass the curve of your ass, Mingyu swallowed.

Now he was starting to regret forgetting what happened last night.

You were the way that you were, remaining calm, cool, and collected. Sliding your feet into the slippers that resided on the side of your bed, you were on route to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee and Mingyu wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Should he have stayed or gone? Did you want him here? Did you think it was a mistake? Did you find him repulsive? Should he have grabbed his stuff and left?

But he spent so much of his time in bed, contemplating whether or not he should have left that he didn’t realize you shuffled in the kitchen to prepare breakfast for him. The sizzling sound of whatever it was that hit the pan, the coffee maker beeping to let you know it was ready were the start of it until the aroma filled his senses.

Now he really didn’t want to leave.

Especially if he got to see you in this light once more; the sun peered through the sheer white curtains you had, your backside faced him as you fried bacon on the skillet while mixing eggs in a bowl on the side.

Being here felt like home, but a different kind of home. It didn’t give off that same atmosphere his apartment had, but something in him was warm, nostalgic even, and you reminded him of all those rushing feelings he’d get back in grade school.

What was he going to do with you?

For two people who accidentally drunkenly slept with each other, the two of you were rather comfortable. Oddly enough, you, specifically, had been more at ease around him.

“I’m coming!” He hollered out, shuffling to stuff his disgusting gym shorts and t-shirt into the coat closet. Yes, he was excited that you were coming to visit him at his apartment but at the same time, could you give a guy a warning? Mingyu had been so busy lately that he hadn’t had the time to do his laundry or even clean up his place a bit, which said a lot because he was usually always on the ball.

Waiting patiently outside the metal door, your hands found home in the deep front pockets of your leather jacket. Rumor had it, Mingyu was disappointed in the fact that he couldn’t introduce his dog to you, so the best thing you could do was pop some Claritin for some of that allergy relief people advertised, and you hoped it worked.

It sort of bummed you out knowing he wanted to formally introduce you to his best buddy but you couldn’t stay for long because her fur irritated your senses.

Breathlessly, he swung the door open and greeted you with his pearly white teeth once again. “H-Hey, you’re uh, here.”

You blinked. “Yes, we made plans.”

“Right, uh, how about you gimme a second and I’ll grab my jacket so we can head out?”

“Can I come in?”

Mingyu paused. He took a second to let your words sink in, but the questions still popped up in his head. “Aren’t… Aren’t you allergic to Bobpul?”

“I am.”

“I can put her in the spare room then—”

You raised your hand to stop him mid-sentence. “No need. Where is she?”

After you pushed him aside, confusion smeared across Mingyu’s face. You looked unwell the last encounter you had with her, and he was left wondering why you chose to put yourself in that situation for a second time. “You—Why?”

Bobpul stuck out her tongue, eagerly rushing toward your feet. “You wanted me to meet Bobpul.”

“Of course I did, she's my best friend. But she makes you sick.”

“Don’t worry, I took medicine before I came.”

He felt his heart become lodged in his throat. You weren’t sweet, he knew that from the get go, but who was this person presented in front of him? It was more than just sweet, it was a simple act in the eyes of others yet held so much weight when it came to you.

As you dropped yourself to sit on the floor, Bobpul ardently hopped onto your lap. She rolled over on her back, and with slight hesitation and courage, you reached over to scratch her tummy.

Bobpul liked you.

Mingyu liked you too.

You kept a bottle of allergy medication in your bag from then on.

Things were different.

You had gotten more comfortable with the idea of him around, even going as far as him being your first contact when you didn’t want to be alone. He devoted his weekends to you; from running errands (heading to the grocery stores to stock up for the week, and to the local laundromat to clean those loads of clothes that accumulate in your hamper) to just sitting in your living room with a shared blanket, movie playing on the TV screen and a cup of hot tea you made just for him.

But the two of you weren’t together. Yet you two were… together.

Truthfully, he didn’t know what he could call this. You had never established a label, and it didn’t seem like he was inching anywhere closer to obtaining one.

He spent hours on end finding home in the comforts of your leather couch that he swore whenever he’d get up to return back to his apartment, an imprint of his ass dipped into the cushion. You didn’t seem to mind it though because you never stopped letting him through the front door.

However, that wasn’t his favorite activity with you.

It didn’t go as far as sex (although that animalistic part of his mind wished it did), but he found something just as great as it.

Cooking.

With you.

He loved to watch the way your body moved ceaselessly, each task after another blended like the gradients in the watercolors on a canvas. When you’d twirl the ends of your hair into a messy bun unfalteringly, locked in the confines of a low bun, despite the strands that threatened to stray away, he found his breath hitched in his throat at sight of your pretty face.

His treasured moment is when you slap his hand when he tries sneaking a taste of your cooking with the spatula. A mischievous look smeared across his face to mirror your scowl, but he loves nothing more than that very moment. (Not to mention your constant nagging when he cuts things in shapes you do not like).

Mingyu learned the moment he stood, resting his arms against the edge of the countertops of your kitchen, observing the way your nose would crinkle when a loose piece of hair dangled across it, that if he could have the rest of his life just having this view, he’d be okay with it.

Which meant that whatever this unspecified relationship was between you needed to be more than just a “friends with benefits”... except without the friends part since you’d been calling him an acquaintance and lacking the benefits because sex wasn’t on the table.

He needed to confront you.

“Jiwoo likes Mingyu.”

You swore your heart dropped to your fucking ass when Wonwoo says those words.

It had never been a fear before, the possibility of losing Mingyu from your very own hold, but the fact that you hadn’t come to terms with what the two of you were, and that Mingyu never delved into asking what the ‘more’ could entail worried you. Did it mean that he didn’t really care about the stance in your relationship?

“Oh. Does she?” You responded disingenuously, as if you didn’t notice all of those subtle touches between the two of them. “That’s nice. Maybe he likes her back.”

Wonwoo tapped his fingers against the styrofoam cup in his hands, filled halfway with coffee so black, it replicated your heart yet the warmth of the hot liquid was an imitation of you when you were around Mingyu. “Maybe if you told him you like him, you wouldn’t have to worry about any of that.”

“That’s not any of your concern.”

“You’re my friend, so of course I care. I’m not going to watch you get your heart broken when it doesn’t need to be that way.” There was glint in his saccharine chocolate irises, like there had been a hint of hope you would come to your senses and admit this love you inhabited for a boy you claimed to be out of your league. “Tell him. Before it’s too late, just as it was with me.”

You didn’t know what Wonwoo meant by that, but you’d consider his advice anyway.

“Fine,” you answered unwillingly, yet the weight that had rested on your chest seemed to have lessened, and the stress on your heart lightened. “I… I’ll mention something to him.”

Jiwoo was a model. There was no ‘like’ or ‘looked like’ a model, Jiwoo was a model. She had been offered multiple opportunities at a time, sometimes stopped in the midst of her tracks during walks to dinner with her group of friends, and given a business card for her to contact for a ‘chance of a lifetime.’

It wasn’t that you didn’t like her. There wasn’t anything about Jiwoo to resent. She was nice, smelled like lavender, and was considerate of others, making sure that nobody was left behind. Sometimes, you’d feel like you were easily forgotten because you weren’t verbal enough during conversations, but Jiwoo hasn’t failed to look over in your direction with a heartwarming smile while mouthing ‘good?’ to confirm you were alright.

Sort of like Mingyu did.

She was great, even you couldn’t refute that. Jiwoo treated everyone equally—equally and kindly, which made it difficult for you to consider yourself as the opposition in this case. She made you want to give up any possibility of there being an us when it came to Mingyu, but part of you knew that if you never tried, you’d regret not taking initiative in the first place.

When you texted Mingyu to meet, you thought you’d done it without any suspicion.

But when you unlocked the door of your apartment to greet him, it seemed that you opened Pandora’s box instead. The space between his brows crinkled, tips of his ears tinged scarlet, and you could see him grit his teeth despite his mouth being closed.

“Are you… okay?” You blinked. This didn’t go according to plan—well, you hadn’t created one in the first place, but this wasn’t going in the route you’d hoped for.

“We need to talk,” he said with a huff, hand pressed flat against the outside of your door. With a shove, he made his way into your apartment as you stepped aside with a look of query on your face.

“Right, that’s why I texted you.”

“Well, coincidentally, I needed to talk to you too.”

You pulled your lips into a straight line as the door’s lock clicked behind you. “Well, that’s kind of awkward.”

Mingyu could list all the things he loved about you—how driven you could be, how smart you were, how creative you could get—but what he resented about you was how calm and relaxed you seemed, standing before him while he could feel the blood pumping through his veins like he had just ran a marathon.

But, he never quite understood the truth behind the facade.

He had yet to catch you in the midst of your actions, but he had missed all the occasions where you’d clench your fists and tightened your jaw with a silent squeal at something romantic he did. He overlooked the faint smile drawn on your face when his clumsy self did something stupid, and when he finally convinced you to let him take a picture of you, he never got to see that dumb grin that was hard to hold back when he eagerly swiped through his gallery.

Mingyu was so lost in his love for you, he undiscovered the hints you threw his way.

“I’m in love with you,” he stated firmly before releasing a breath of air he’d kept sealed in the depths of his lungs. “I’ve been in love with you for a while. And I’ve been doing my best to give you enough time to consider how you feel about me, but I’m growing impatient. We’re doing couple things without the couple part.”

You pursed your lips. Although you were close to cracking, exposing yourself immediately by letting your body fall into his arms with ease, you had more self respect than to do it so readily. “What about Jiwoo?”

“What about Jiwoo?” Mingyu sounded exasperated, slightly fed up with the audacity you had to question him about another girl. “I’m here, in front of you, asking if I could walk out of this place and answer that I’m yours when someone wonders if I’m taken. I want my name with a pink heart or that corny emoji with a heart kissy next to it. I wanna know how it feels to have your hand in mine, what it’s like to wake up beside you, and have my hoodies doused in your scent. I want you—your grouchiness, your sluggishness, sometimes snarky comments—I want you, but only if you let me have you.”

You were never really one for grand gestures.

But something about him and how he managed to pull you out of your comfort zone always surprised you.

With your hands cupping his cheeks, you hopped onto the tips of your toes to press your lips against his. There weren't any fireworks like they showed in romcoms, and time didn’t stop around the two of you.

But what you did experience was… happiness. A feeling that bursted inside of your chest, like a shaken can of soda that you’d pop open seconds after. It was overwhelming, just like a flowing faucet with the knobs broken, flooding the sink and spilling underneath your feet.

Those things were bad things.

What Mingyu made you feel was good, despite all those comparisons. It was the after moments; when the soda sizzled down, and the water finally stopped—you panic but you laugh. It was chaotic at first, but it was okay now.

Falling back flat onto your feet, you eventually caught your breath once more.

“I love you too.”

So, does he stay or does he go?

Will you be mad if he leaves like you said to? With your brows furrowed, the veins of your neck emphasized, and a tired look on your face? The sunken eyes, dark circles, the blemishes, and how the roots of your hair are greasier than other days, should he leave it at that?

Should he be comfortable leaving all of that behind?

Should he be okay letting those memories of the two of you be just that? Memories? Not something that will blossom into something beautiful?

Should it bother him knowing that he let those times with you dissipate from his fingertips?

He stares at his phone in the palm of his hands.

Lock screen blank of your notifications, the background is still of you with that signature blank expression and a blushing filter he found cute on you before reality sinks in and he notices you haven’t called. You haven’t left a text, and you haven’t even dialed his number into your phone. Do you even think of him? Do you worry about where he is? Are you ever even concerned for his well-being? Is it even worth staying if his significance isn’t enough for you to reach out to him? To chase him?

With a heavy sigh and heart, he pushes himself up from the seat outside of the convenience store and makes his way back in. The only way to heal his broken heart is to fill up his stomach—is that the saying? He doesn’t know, but he figures this is the best option.

But his black hole of a stomach has already consumed so much, and he still feels empty without you. So was it even worth continuing to fill himself up when he’s still hollow inside?

Why couldn’t you just confront him? Tell him that you weren’t ready for the next step in the relationship, admit that it scared you to be something more.

What you have together is different from others—he should’ve acknowledged that sooner. Why was he so concerned about how far along in the relationship the two of you were? He shouldn’t have cared of what others thought; he never did before, why start now? When people told him not to go after you, he still did, so why was the opinions of others bothering him now?

He knew he was wrong, and that when you said for him to leave, it was for self respect. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you should have any—of course you should. It was because he was pressuring you into something more when maybe you just weren’t ready.

Mingyu sighs. It’s his fault. It was harder to see before, but his vision is clear from the fog now. But that doesn’t stray away from the fact that you’ve always been terrible at expressing yourself—so why couldn’t you just tell him you were afraid? That you weren’t ready?

He needs some fresh air. The clogged up ventilation in the convenience store wasn’t much help, and only made him feel more congested than anything. Maybe just sitting outside with the crisp winter winds smacking his cheeks will do him some good. But when he walks to the exit, he notices something familiar. Well, someone.

Through the glass pane doors of the convenience store, Mingyu pauses when he sees the sight before him.

You, with your head in hands, sitting at the curb in your red and black plaid pajama pants with those cute bears Mingyu loves so much. He bought them so that the both of you could match—although you refused to wear it the same times he did, he won’t deny the fact that he planned to trick you a couple times so that you would.

Hood over your head, he knows it’s hard to tell from this angle if it’s really you, but he knows it is. Who wouldn’t know the silhouette of the person they love?

Better question yet—why are you here?

When he finally pushes the metal bar of the door, the bell above him rings and your head jolts up to see him.

Those eyes of yours are glassy, lashes wet, and tears continue to threaten spilling out from the corners, despite your cheeks already damp. He can see the smear marks from you wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, and the dark spot on it as evidence. Seeing you like this hurts him as much as you are, and part of him knows that even without asking, he made you like this.

And he’s the last person who wanted to do that to you.

He hates himself for being the reason for those tears, for those sniffles, and for the uncontrollable sobs that escape your pretty lips. Maybe he should’ve stayed back at your place and waited for you to relax, but he knows you better than he knows himself. Staying back there only would've made it worse. Mingyu’s face would only stir more anger within you.

Yet he wonders if it was worth letting you cry instead.

He can almost see your irises soften when you realize it’s him, but that doesn’t hide the sounds of your heart shattering. Mingyu bends down to your height before dropping himself to sit on the concrete.

“You’re crying,” he says, stating the obvious. The pad of his thumb swipes against the remnants of your tears that streamed down your cheeks, and he feels his heart clench once more.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you respond sharply with a soft sniffle, head dropping at the touch. With the amount of time you’ve been with Mingyu, it’s still appalling how nervous he makes you; it's always like the equivalent of being this close to a high school crush, the first taste of what it’s like to be remotely familiar with how it feels to love. It’s different, experiencing the unknown, and with Mingyu, you’re often left discovering emotions of adoration in the pits of your stomach when you look at him.

He lets out a laugh, grabbing your legs together to lay across his lap. “Even when you’re sad, you still have time to insult me?”

“Yes,” you answer, this time quieter than usual. Except, nothing follows the retort other than a silence, one that fills the air thickly and leaves nothing but open questions in Mingyu’s head. So, why did you come here? Did you come for him?

He nearly flinches at you shifting, instead, he feels his chest tighten because your hand reaches down to interlock with his.

You’re not one to be affectionate outside of the four walls of your apartment. And his place is swarming with other guys, so he doesn’t really expect you to be any different, but this—this is a game changer.

And before he can even get a word out, just to ask why you were like this, and what made you cry, you get to it first.

“Can I talk, and you just let me? Don’t say anything, just… let me talk?”

The fronts of his brows dip. “Uh, sure, yeah.”

You still avoid looking into his eyes, but mostly because it makes it harder to maintain these feelings for him. It’s overwhelming because everything he does reminds you of what it feels to be happy and sad at the same time. Happy because he loves you too, but sad because when you said ‘leave’ in a heated moment, in a time of vulnerability, he did just that.

“I love you,” you cough out, the sentence so minuscule that if he didn’t have good hearing, he would’ve missed it. “And, I think I’ve loved you way longer than you’ve loved me.”

That’s not right.

Mingyu thinks you’re wrong, yet he saves his breath because of his promise. But the expression plastered on his face says it all.

“You’re going to say that it’s false, but hear me out,” inhaling a deep breath, your eyes flutter shut. “You thought the whole time while we were just… acquaintances or friends, whatever,” Mingyu stifles a chuckle, “that I loved Wonwoo.”

Okay, it’s not funny anymore.

“And—honestly, you were sort of right.” Your head drops to the side to rest on his shoulder, and he swears his heart skips a beat. You’re his girlfriend for fucks sake, yet you still make it like this is the first date. “I did love Wonwoo. For a bit after we met, too. But then, I don’t know. You did that thing with Joshua where you offered to lend some money so he could go back home because he missed his family. You never leave any of your friends out of a group, and when someone strays to the side by themselves, you take notice. You don’t miss it, and you don’t forget people.”

You tap your fingers against his. “I mean, yeah. I still rejected you consistently back then. I loved those things about you, but—come on, you and me? We don’t work, Kim Mingyu. We’re opposite sides of the spectrum.”

That doesn’t mean anything, is what he wants to say, but the moment his mouth parts to let his defense out, you’re already covering his lips with your other hand. “No, no, you said I could talk.”

He pouts, and the sides of your lips twitch into a small smile. “But, you’ve evidently shown me that we don’t have to be the same to love someone. Because I fell for you way before you even fell for me.”

Mingyu turns to steal a glimpse at you. Staring up into the moonlight with that sparkle in your eyes, your dried up tears stain the highs of your cheeks, and somehow you shine brighter than the stars in the sky despite the darkness of your personality. You’re often described as someone with a blackened heart, without much care for anything, blunt and blatantly honest about things that people usually don’t want to hear. But to Mingyu, it’s what he loves most about you, and it’s why he fell in love with you in the first place. From the moment you called Wonwoo emotionally unavailable to the time you said Seungcheol was too childish for his age (in his face too for that matter), he knew you were the one for him.

But when he became the one for you, he never really knew if that was even a thing.

“I actually started having feelings the first time I saw you.”

Startled, Mingyu’s shifts his head back, and for some reason, you let him talk. “The… first time?”

“Remember when that guy bumped into Naeun?” Mingyu blinks blankly. “He spilled both his and her coffee, getting it all over them, and instead of asking her if she’s okay after boiling hot liquid hit her—he flipped shit and said she was going to cover the dry cleaning.”

The strange thing is, Mingyu remembers this encounter but he doesn’t remember you there.

“You told him off. Guy got so scared because of your height, he bolted out of there,” sucking in your cheeks for a moment, your gaze drops down to your hot sauce socks paired with some black Nike sandals you quickly put on. “I kinda knew who you were just from word of mouth, but actually seeing you was different. You weren’t just some annoying happy guy—you actually were a decent person. Plus, I guess you’re kind of cute so—”

His lips curl up. “You think I’m cute and you fell in love with me first? Is this a dream? Pinch me—Ouch!”

You roll your lips to hold in your laughter after you twist the skin on his forearm.

“I’m… sorry,” you finally say, fiddling his fingers with your own. “Not for pinching you but for treating you like you’re not loved by me.”

Mingyu doesn’t say much in contrast to how much he babbles on in different instances, but today is different. You’ve always been the one to lend your ear for him, and this time, he’s doing it to you.

“I… I’m not good with words or expressing things,” you admit, but in all honesty, you don’t have to say it for him to know that. “It’s hard for me—and I wish I could give you a reason why, but I can’t. I just know it makes me feel weird and I—I don’t know. It’s not an excuse though, because I told you to go, and it would be stupid for me to expect you to just know what I mean when I say things like that. Of course you’d storm out the apartment. I said leave, and if you stayed, you would’ve done the opposite of what I said.”

Mingyu remains silent.

“And, I’m hoping that this doesn’t mean you’ll actually leave.”

“I… I don’t want to,” he finally says, looking down to where your fingers weave together. “I’m happy with you. But I never understand what’s going through your mind. And yeah, sometimes I can read you like an open book, but there’s times where I can’t see anything on those blank pages and I’m desperately wishing there was some sign to help me. I need you to help me. I can't be us, we have to be us. I need us to be a team. And I’m sorry for the times I wasn’t a good teammate.”

You shuffle with the sound of the gravel scraping against the concrete underneath and he feels your hands tense in his hold. “I wanna try again, if you let me.”

Mingyu sighs, pulling your head close before pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. He missed this, he wanted you, despite it being only a few hours since he last saw you, he yearned for this version of yourself, the one that’s completely candid and frank with him.

“I might not be the best at showing love,” you confess, but Mingyu doesn’t pull away. “I do it in discreet ways, if you uh, haven’t noticed. I didn’t just magically stop being allergic Bobpul, I take Claritin like they sponsor me. You love her, and I didn’t really want you to have to part from her so I just pop Claritin everyday. And uh, you probably didn’t notice, but I replaced that lightbulb in the bathroom of your apartment—”

As you continue on, he can’t help but feel this swelling inside his chest. He’ll never get over whenever you say that you love him, when you share things like this even though it makes you awkward. He knows this is out of your comfort zone, but this is all that he wanted.

For you to just… try.

To try and show any sign of reciprocation for his feelings, and from how long you’ve been talking, he’s starting to realize that he’s missed most of your signals.

From when he accidentally tore a hole in the armpit of his favorite shirt and you sewed it back together (you disclose that you never knew how to sew, you just watched a Youtube video), to when you magically appeared at the front steps of his apartment with dinner after he rummaged through his fridge and cabinets and found nothing. Even on his birthday, while his friends celebrated and gave knick knacks for presents, you found a watch that he’d been talking about nonstop for the past four months and gifted it to him right at the end of the night—these were things you did for him without speaking the words ‘I love you,’ and sometimes, even he forgets that people don’t express love the same way he does.

On the walk back to your apartment, he can’t help but think about everything the two of you have been through. How, despite it all, he is still beside you, full of that same love that he learns you mirror.

Those rom-coms he used to obsess over don’t portray love realistically, he soon learns the hard way. They don’t tell you about the crazy obstacles of being in love rather only showing what it’s like falling into it.

And being in love with you is quite the hurdle.

But you’re worth it.

He just wanted to know you were in this as much as he was, how invested you were in this relationship because he didn’t want to continue chasing something that wasn’t there. He fears reaching out to touch you, hand going through like a hologram, and this whole thing was a figment of his imagination.

Then, seeing your hand in his, and the way you wiped your nose with the sleeve of your hoodie as the remaining tears fell, made him feel better. You cried. For him. Because you were scared you’d lose him.

You love him.

Mingyu likes to believe he sees life differently now. Before, he’d only looked at everything through rose colored glasses, then afterwards, through a fog of grey. But now, he’s got that happy medium of blue. Blue like the clear sky, but also blue like those sad days. He sees things realistically now, and he’s come to appreciate aspects of life a lot more.

By that, he means you.

For one, he takes note of how you’re definitely not a people person (he sort of already knew that) but when his friends want to hang out and he asks you to tag along, despite the twitch of your nose in slight displeasure, you go anyway because you know how much he loves your company.

But the moment he valued the most was on a dark, gloomy day where the clouds cast over what used to be the pretty sky. The blues have become greys, and the breeze was a reminder that sunny days were behind him for quite some time. And for someone like who favored the Summer days and nights, the heat hitting atop his skin, and the aroma of the salty waters infiltrating his senses, you’d expect that he hates a day like this.

Yet, on even a rough day, where things don’t seem to go as planned—he forgot his umbrella in the bucket by the front door, his coffee spilled on his favorite shoes, and his lunch fell on the street—when he turns the knob that enters past the threshold of his apartment, the view of your backside with a makeshift knot around your waist to fit his apron was all he needs.

Your workplace and apartment was on the other side of the city.

You came all the way here to make him dinner.

It’s like you knew he needed this pick-me-up, and when you turned around, spatula in hand and said the words, “oh, you’re home?”… he knew this is what he wanted forever.

This feels right. He’s always felt like he was right with you, but something about this felt… certain.

Everyone has a signature scent, no one is a replica of another, each with their own unique fragrance that can’t be synthetically manufactured. And yours seem to fill his apartment now, weaving in with his, finding home in his… well, home.

You’ve left an imprint not just here, not just in the cabinets with that one mug designated for you, not just on the right side of the loveseat couch, and not just on the right side of the bed by the window.

You’ve left one in his heart, too.

You’d call him sappy if he said the words straight out, but he knows that he doesn’t have to verbally express it for you to understand it. You’re his dream girl with only reality, and despite the difficulties that come with dating someone as reserved as you—it’s worth it. You’re worth it, and you’ll always be.

When his nose bumps into yours, and a hearty laugh escapes from your chest, melodious and harmonic with his own, he repeatedly tells himself that this is where he wants to be. An intimate moment like this was always taught by his group of friends to be sexy, to be attracting the other with alluring eyes but yet when he’s here with you, he learns that all that needs to be established is comfort.

No pressure to be sexy all the time. (But he still thinks you are).

Your hair is in a loose bun, strands falling on with each movement, and your mascara smears on the outside corner of your eyes, but you still turn him on. In an oversized shirt (he thinks it’s his) and a thong he knew you only had on because your load of laundry was getting full, and this was the last pair in the drawer—Mingyu still couldn’t get his hands off you.

His strawberry pink lips gingerly ghosts over the expanse of your neck, the aroma of your lavender shampoo inebriates him more than a couple glasses of whiskey can. Mouth parted, and breaths heavy, he watches smugly as your chest heaves up and down because you’re overwhelmed from him, and how easily he gets your knees weak from being this close. One of his hands roams up your legs mischievously to lift up the hem of your shirt as the tips of his fingers danced across your skin along the way, tracing and drawing shapes of adoration on all your marks and creases, despite your self shaming comments in the mirror that he always denies. You’re always beautiful in his eyes.

He finds it cute how shy you still get when the two of you are this intimate; you don’t wear pants around the house anymore, oftentimes wearing a baggy top with underwear, and him in a t-shirt and boxers, but something about being beneath him, under that hooded, sultry gaze has your stomach in knots and words lodged in your throat. You’re comfortable around Kim Mingyu, but being with him like this kept that feeling of having a crush. It seems to never go away.

He knows your sweet spots by now, sucking and licking behind your ear, scattering tender kisses against your skin with his hands groping any place he can—from your chest to your thighs to your ass—and once he gets that pleasing gasp to escape from your pretty lips, he’s quick to pull your leg to wrap around his waist and press his crotch against yours.

“Something wrong?” He asks with a feign look of concern on his face. He knows you, a little too well for your own liking because despite his friends constantly bullying him on top of your coldness, cockiness is a trait he’ll never throw away. Mingyu leans over to swipe his tongue over your jawline before kissing it once more. “Should I stop here?”

He’s sure you’ll say ‘no,’ especially with how you’re slowly losing yourself in him. You could feel him through his boxers, the tip of his cock hitting your clit with each thrust as his lips moved closer to your ear. “What was that, baby? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you retorted sharply through your gritted teeth, slightly irritated with his game. If he wanted to fuck, he should just fuck you, but Mingyu loves the teasing. It’s the only time where he has the upperhand because outside of these bedroom walls, he’s the one weak for you. “You must be hearing things.”

“Mmm, I did hear a little moan leave your cute mouth. Can you do that again, for me?”

You click your tongue. “No.”

It always starts like this—you’re not afraid to snap back at the guy, but he’s got a tough exterior and takes your shots well. He probes and probes, constantly testing your limits until you can’t take it anymore, but tonight is different.

Tonight’s the first time you’ve had sex together since… that fight.

You want to show him that this time is different from the last, that the very night he agreed to stay meant that everything about your relationship was going to change—for the better, of course, but that only proves that things need to change, the sex was going to change, and Mingyu wasn’t going to be taking all the authority in the sheets anymore.

Although you admit that this made you slightly awkward, you know he’ll appreciate you going out of your comfort zone for him.

“No?” He imitates you with a quirk of his brow, surprised, but not entirely. “Come on, baby. You sound so pretty. I love when you sing to me.”

“Sing or moan?”

“Same thing, right?”

He never fails to be annoying, it’s a characteristic that comes along with him everywhere in life. But he’s so attractive like this, with the moonlight and the lights of the city buildings shining through the window, illuminating his chocolate irises and glistening his supple lips. He’s been working out lately, much to your dismay (you’re lying, but you won’t tell him that), and his arms have gotten thicker, and shoulders broader, tempting your hands to feel him up.

It’s like he reads your mind because he leans up on his forearms directly above you, flexing those said muscles for all your viewing pleasure. “Don’t act like we’re strangers here. Hold on, yeah?”

You swallow.

It takes a bit of time, but Mingyu is always patient when it comes to you. With that, your arms wrap around his shoulders, and he pulls you closer, palming your ass before tugging your panties aside from behind. A groan leaves his chest, along with his other hand slipping in front with a thumb pressed against your clit. “You know,” he begins, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “Whenever you walk around the house in those little tight thongs, I get so hard watching you bend over to look for the remote. Sometimes, I’ll put it somewhere far and low on purpose just to see your ass.”

Heat rises up to your cheeks. “You do that on purpose? I was wondering why they were always in weird spots.”

He brings his fingers up to your lips. “Suck?” Parting your lips, you let him insert them in and soak his fingers with your saliva. It’s his turn to swallow, because this view of you has his cock stirring in the confines of his boxers. He’s got a lot of self-restraint at this moment, reminding himself like a chant inside of his head that he needs to stretch you out first before he fucks you dumb into the mattress.

Pretty girl deserves to be treated right, no matter how hard he is right now.

His fingers slip in with ease, coating him with your slick as he grunts into your neck. “Fuck, you’re already so wet?”

You don’t respond, only because it would satisfy him too much, but the way your head falls back into the pillow with your eyes closed shut, he doesn’t need to hear you say anything, he could see it with his own eyes.

Your skin is hot underneath him as he pulls his fingers in and out of your core, your face contorting in pleasure despite your struggling efforts to hide it.

But wait—you’re supposed to be different. It’s supposed to be different now.

With that, you abruptly wrap your fingers around his wrist, halting his movements. A raised brow of confusion on his face, Mingyu abides by your unspoken instruction and his gaze narrows onto you. Hands flat against the stiffness of his chest, you shove him with all your strength, but he reacts like it’s a touch, shifting back to give you some space. “Are you alright? Was I going too hard?”

“No,” you assure him comfortingly, rubbing his cheek lovingly with your thumb. “But… I’m going to need you to sit against the headboard.”

Mingyu is so obedient, always doing what you ask, and respecting your wishes without argument. He loves you with his whole heart, never doing anything half-assed when it comes to you, and if you asked him to run across the world to get to you, as gross as you’d call him, he’d do it.

Back flat on the headboard, he still has so many questions. But the moment you pull of his boxers and your own panties, it’s his turn to be at a loss for words, yet at the same time he could feel the excitement run through his veins as he watches you on your knees, pulling your hair back into a cleaner, slicker lower bun, he sneaks a peek into the opening of your shirt as you lean down, just barely above his raging hard dick.

“Baby,” he calls out, the term of endearment sugary to your ears. “You don’t have to, you know. I’m okay with just making you feel good.”

“I wanna make you feel good,” you clarify, eyes glimmering when they meet with him. “Can I make you feel good?”

He doesn’t like to argue, especially since after the last big fight, but he genuinely felt that way. But before his thoughts could go any deeper, they go the opposite direction because the lips of the prettiest girl he’s ever met is so close to his dick that it makes his head go light and foggy. Your mouth waters, from both the anxiety and the sight, because in your very own thoughts, you contemplate if you could even fit all of him.

Deciding to overcome your fears, you internally tell yourself, ‘fuck it,’ and your mouth is wrapped around him, tongue pressed flat against the underside and Mingyu’s head drops back. You weren’t often this bold during sex—or well, ever, really, but seeing this new version of yourself has him restless. You’re already sexy as is, but when you’re like this? He swears he’s done for.

Lowering your head, you do your best to get the tip of his cock to hit the back of your throat, and at the impact, Mingyu groans. His thick fingers weave into your locks of hair, grabbing your head to push himself in deeper and saliva falls out the corner of your mouth, tears spilling on the corners of your eyes but you bear with it because it doesn’t take long for him to pull out, and for you to shove him back in again.

“Fuck, shit,” he curses, the words leaving his mouth getting dirtier with each gasp. Observing the way he’s fucked out from you sucking him off makes you damp in between your legs, but he’s been treating you as a priority for so long, it’s your turn to make him feel loved. He never lets you pamper him, make him feel like he’s your everything, but it’s your goal to shift things in your relationship, and you’ll do whatever it takes to show him you mean what you say.

Hand gliding up his bare thighs, they roam up to his lower abdomen and he sighs in content when they finally wrap around the base of his dick, hot and heavy, and when you pull your mouth away, a string of saliva connects to the head.

His cock glistens with your spit, and the lewd sounds of you jerking him off only turns him on more, and causes you to clench around nothing. He’s so handsome like this, out of control, in complete bliss because of you, and you’re starting to understand why Mingyu gets cocky. It’s this feeling, making your loved one reach their highs because of you and nobody else. You continue to fist him, listening attentively as his gorgeous tiny gasps and grunts fill the bedroom, music to your ears. He’s clutching onto the pillows, finding purchase in anything he can grasp onto because he’s afraid he’ll lose control again when he has his hands in your hair.

The head of his cock angry and swollen, it’s his turn to stop you suddenly with a whine and out of breath. “Fuck, baby, that was good—too good though, I almost came.”

You blink blankly. “Isn’t that the point?”

“Yeah, but I kinda wanna do it in you, with you.”

He’s so corny, but you’re too busy to think of an insult because he straightens out his legs and gestures to you onto lap. “Ride me?”

There’s no denying that when Mingyu looks at you from below with those swirling cups of sweet hot chocolate as eyes, it clenches your heart. He manages to look cute, handsome, and sexy, all at the same time, but when he’s got his calloused hands on your hips, watching as you grab his cock to line up to entrance, it’s enticing. He can’t decide if he wants to see your expression twist, or your warm walls enveloping around his dick.

He does neither because as you sink down and finally are pressed to the hilt, his head lulls back. He goes in with ease, only because you’ve already been soaked from sucking him off, and just the thought has him dizzy. When he eventually regains himself, Mingyu’s head jolts up, eyes still hooded and mouth agape, he licks his lips. “Show me what you got, baby.”

He underestimates you.

Palms on his cheek, you grind your hips against his and Mingyu is completely fucked out. He thought that the only person that could get you to this point is him, not you doing this to him. You’ve never taken the full reins in the bedroom before, and the confidence that floods through your veins is a new sight for him, and truthfully, he has no complaints. He never thought it would get to this, but he’s loving every minute of it.

When you’re not moving fast enough for him, he slides himself back down to the mattresses with a plop, strong arms wrapping around your frame and flattening yourself against him before he pistons his hips up into you.

Skin slapping, and squelching with each thrust, your mouth hangs open and you lose control of withholding back those moans that he’s been desperately waiting to hear. They fill the room, bouncing off the walls and probably heard by the neighbors, (he’ll be lying if he said he didn’t wish they would make a noise complaint tomorrow), and encourages him to go harder.

“Fuck,” it’s you that’s spitting profanities this time around, gripping onto the firmness of his shoulders. “I’m—”

“Cum for me, pretty,” he rasps, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “Cum around my cock for me, pretty, you’re doing so well.”

It doesn’t take long for you to clench around him, body stiffening as you unravel, head falling to bump foreheads into his shoulder bone. Mingyu doesn’t slow down, his pace sharp and hard, and seconds after you cum, he releases a long and loud moan, shivering as he unloads into you.

Even after he’s got that post-nut-clarity, Mingyu will always float back into reality but he never strays away from you. He quickly jumps back on his feet, even with his dick hanging out, to head to the bathroom and come back with a damp towel to wipe you.

He shuffles around the room when you’re all cleaned up for your undergarments before dressing the two of you up and laying another soft kiss against the crown of your head as he comes to claim his side of the bed once more.

“I… have something to say,” you say with the release of a deep breath, fingers tapping against the firmness of his bare chest as you cuddle. He has his arms snaked around your frame but loosens the hold a bit at your words, a furrowed brow drawn across his face along with the look of concern. “And it’s not a bad thing.”

His expression softens. “What is it then?”

“Remember when I told you to leave?” How could he forget? It was the reason for the brink of your relationship. “That I told you I wasn’t ready, and that if you couldn’t respect it, you should go?”

He clicks his tongue in response. “Of course I do. We almost lost each other.”

“Well, I’d like to bring up that topic again.”

Inside, Mingyu felt his stomach beginning to churn.

“But—not like that. I’m…” with a pause, you inhale a sharp breath of courage. “… I’m ready. To get married. I wanna marry you.”

He chokes—words caught in his throat, he’s startled by your abrupt confession. The subject of marriage was what spurred the argument in the first place—you weren’t ready, but Mingyu saw other couples light years ahead when the two of you have been together longer. You weren’t ready back then, but now… you are? Was he hearing that right? “W-What? You said you weren’t ready before—I don’t want you to pressure yourself into something so quickly if you’re not. I can wait, you know. Even if you don’t want this.”

You roll your lips, lashes fluttering up so delicately that when they expose your irises to meet with his, his heart skips a beat. You’re always so breathtakingly gorgeous. “I want this. I want you. I wasn’t ready that night, but I’m ready now. I wanna marry you, Kim Mingyu, as gross as it sounds leaving my mouth—” he lets out a chuckle at your comment, “—I know that I want to be yours forever. I know it’s sappy to say, but I wanna grow with you. Maybe have kids, if you’re interested—”

“—That’s a yes—”

“—No if you’re not, and I wanna run through obstacles in life that seem daunting but with you by my side, and me by yours, it’s less scary. Maybe go to those company events that we’ll have to attend in the future, mock your coworkers on the sidelines, or even go to Joshua’s parties and make fun of his decor. And I wanna go places, far and wide, but those places don’t feel anything like home unless it’s with you. Maybe one day, when we’re old and wrinkly, I’d have a shed you’ve built for me in the backyard, and I’d flip old furniture into something refreshing and new, then come inside the house with you sitting at the dining table, cup of hot coffee in hand with another across from you, waiting for me to join in too.”

He feels like putty under your words, at a loss for anything to say back, but the way your jaw tenses and your gaze falls, you don’t expect him to say anything immediately.

“And—I totally understand if that’s not what you want. I’ve always been concerned with how I look and how I portray myself that sometimes I overlook how you feel. You lack love from me, and I wanted to show you in more ways that I’m in this for the long run. I’m invested.”

The silence grows big after your big confession, but it swells just like his heart. He’s bursting on the inside, despite his exterior being a great facade, because this is everything he’s ever wanted.

“I… I have one condition.”

Your eyes instantly shoot up.

“Will you still let me do a grand big gesture to officially propose?”

And with a smile that tugs up from the corners of your mouth, your arms slide up to his shoulders as you brush your nose against his. “Would it be Kim Mingyu without all that fancy stuff? Of course. I don’t expect anything less.”

#mingyu fanfic #mingyu smut #caratwritersclub #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt smut #seventeen smut #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu #mingyu & reader #gyukultfics #that's it i have nothing else to tag.

[yuzukult]

twenty-five (m) || kmg & reader

title: twenty-five (m) pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader/oc genre: fluff, smut, pregnant!oc, soon-to-be-dad!mingyu, marriage!au, established relationship!au wc: 3.5k summary: it’s mingyu’s birthday but you can’t exactly do what you’ve always done. warnings: smut scene. unprotected + pregnancy sex (i mean,,), oral (m. receiving)  a/n: .. i’ve decided i’ll post it before i end up changing my mind about putting this up so,,, enjoy. happy belated birthday mingyu,,,,... :|

You’re tempted to rip this entire closet apart.

Nothing fits—that signature black bodycon dress you wore in college to almost every event, that pretty white top that used to hug your tits so well, and those go-to trousers you’d wear to work that made your ass look perky—nothing fucking fits anymore. That dress can’t hold the capacity that is your stomach, your tits spill out of that white top (unflatteringly too), and how the fuck are you supposed to button your trousers when you’re in your second trimester looking like a whole ass balloon.

But Mingyu thinks otherwise.

He always thinks otherwise.

You should’ve planned ahead, but in honesty, with things happening at work and how shitty you’ve been feeling, the urge to plan something proper wasn’t in the cards. It’s his birthday today and the most you could do was whip up a nice steak dinner at home, get him a bottle of wine that he would indulge for himself and you, then that’s when a last minute thought came to mind that maybe you’ll wear something sexy for him to pull off later.

That is, if it could even fit.

When the fuck could you wear this little ass lingerie? The thong barely passes your thighs and the bra is exposed at the back because you can’t seem to latch it on. The embroidery is cute, to say the least, with black lace and sheer mesh, but when you’ve got a stomach so round that your breasts rest on it, you don’t really feel as cute as you’re supposed to in something like this.

What's with this tutu-like material that hangs over your stomach anyways? It’s supposed to end at your waist, instead stopping in the middle of your tummy with your belly button out.

Hand on the doorframe, you puff your cheeks. It’s exhausting just trying to get it on and it wasn’t even on correctly. This is the only thing that sort of fits because just from the looks of the other tops, they look like they’re straight from a porno with just nipple coverage. Then again, that’s the point, right? To seduce?

But would Mingyu even find you remotely sexy when you can barely even get any of this shit on?

Maybe you should just take this off and wear sweats. He probably wouldn’t want to fuck, but maybe you’ll suck him off or give him a handjob instead—who would want to fuck a pregnant woman?

“Uh, what are you doing?”

Freezing, your feet are rooted into the ground.

His footsteps come closer, his brows furrowed as he peaks into the closet to see your current stance. Back slightly bent, arm resting on the doorframe, your panties at your thighs and your bra unfastened. If anything, you feel zero ounces of sexy in this lingerie that’s supposed to give you confidence.

“Baby?” He calls out; the expression on his face slowly contorts into an adoring one, softening his features as a smile tugs on the edges of his lips. He’s got on a beige dress up shirt with the first few buttons undone with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was returning from some big client meeting for his company, coming home late despite it being his own birthday.

“Baby,” he reiterates, this time more lovingly and less saturated in concern. “What did I do in my past life that I deserve to see my pretty wife trying on lingerie for me on my special day?”

“I don’t know, did you murder someone?”

He chuckles, thick and sweet like honey, arms out to reach for you. “More like, I probably saved a whole village from a huge fire. Maybe I even fed and clothed them.”

You scoff. “I’m not sure if I agree with that. Have you seen me?”

Mingyu pulls you into his embrace, pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead. “Why do you act like we don’t have sex at least twice a week even when you’re in your sweatpants and hoodie with Cheeto stains on it?”

Flustered, you hide your face into the firmness of his chest. You hated when he got all cheesy like this—which would be all the goddamn fucking time, especially in moments like these when you’re left unsure on how to reply.

“Okay, but everyone has needs and has to get off.”

“I mean, I don’t think I have to fuck to survive, but I do if my wife looks good walking around the house like that.”

Shoving away from him, you give Mingyu a side-eye glare. “I was supposed to try seducing you in this lingerie set but it dawned on me that I should’ve prepared earlier since I can’t wear anything I used to wear.” With a sigh, you reach over to push him out to shut the closet door but Mingyu doesn’t allow that with his hand pressed against the door.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing back into my sweatsuit, duh. What else?”

He blinks blankly. “I don’t care that it doesn’t fit, I’m gonna take it off anyway. Not fitting only means the first step was done for me.”

Rolling your eyes, you shuffle to take off the black lace thong that gets sucked up by your ass instead of complimenting it. “You can just say I’m round and ugly now, I won’t be hurt. My stomach is rounder than those fucking yoga balls.”

Mingyu sighs, tugging on your arm to get you to face him. “Okay, I get it. But I’d never lie to you—one, because I’m slightly afraid of what you’re capable of and two, because I love you. I think you’re beautiful, and yes, your stomach is as big as a yoga ball—”

You shoot a glare.

“—but you’re carrying the product of our love. Our baby. Halfsies on the genes. I’ll always think you’re pretty, and I’ll always love you. You’re also giving up a lot right now, and the fact that you’re still thinking of getting me off when your feet are sore and swollen, when you’re tired from a long day of work—I don’t deserve that.”

Pulling your lips into a straight line, you remain silent for a second.

With Mingyu, even when you’re practically an oompa loompa and could be rolled out of the house, he’d still ask if he could bend you over and fuck you into tomorrow. He’s so blinded by his love for you that you wondered what he drank growing up that made him his way, but seeing as how his parents are, it makes sense.

You’re insecure, and you have every right to be. Your body is changing drastically, you can’t even wear the clothes you used to, and you can’t even reach your toes that well anymore.

But maybe you’ll save all of the worries for another day. Mingyu cherishes and loves you every other day, kissing all the parts of you that you’ve begun to hate—today, you’ll show him how you love him.

“There’s a candlelit dinner downstairs for us,” you say, moving toward him. “Are you hungry yet?”

He swallows when you’re close and the quick shift in your demeanor; arms sliding to rest on his shoulders, your fingers lock behind his neck. “For you, yeah. For dinner, I could wait.”

It doesn’t take long for him to read that look in your eyes because he’s scrambling to take off his shirt. Although it’s snug in all the right places, you admit that him without it is a better sight.

“Take this off,” you command boldly in attempts to push away the heat that creeps up to your cheeks. Hand tugging on the belt loops of his pants, Mingyu quirks a brow at you. “So I can give you your gift.”

Unbuckling his belt, it clangs with each movement. “You sure, baby? We could just get right to it, I don’t need anything special today. Wanna make sure you feel good.”

Hand on his shoulder to regain your balance, you slip out of your panties. “Can you shut up?”

He chuckles. “What’s wrong with a husband wanting to make the love of his life feel good?”

“You’re too sappy,” you shoot back, stuffing your balled thong into his mouth playfully that earns a hearty laugh from his chest. He tosses it to the side, hands at your waist with a cheeky grin. “I’m gonna suck you off.”

His cheeks tint pink. “I—You don’t need to, baby. Your knees are gonna ache.”

For a pregnant woman, you sure are fast.

You’re on your knees before he could stop you, tugging on the hem of his briefs that slide off with ease and his raging boner peeks out. Head red and angry, the tip is leaking with pre-cum, and the thought of him being this turned on just from the sight of you sort of… warms you a bit. He means what he says, and when you look up at him to catch a view, he rests the back of his head against the doorframe with his breath held and his eyes clenched shut.

You pull his cock out, your palms curving to the shape with an innocent look in your irises. “What’s wrong?”

“If I look at you, I might cum too fast.”

Rolling your eyes, you ignore his statement before leaning in with your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock. He stiffens, your palms at the base as you ease the rest of his length into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he says breathily, fingers lacing through his locks. He can’t help himself; you’re so pretty even when the lights in the closet are dim and in need of replacing. He doesn’t curse often, but when he does, it means he’s overflowing with emotion and quite frankly, having the entirety of his dick in his wife’s mouth will do that to him.

Mingyu can’t get over how lucky he is. He’s got you, pregnant with his baby, glowing even on the days you feel the worst, and when you’ve got such a busy work schedule, you always make time for him.

His hips buck into your mouth when you hollow your cheeks, a groan caught in his throat. Lips parted, he gets lost in the warmth, abs flexing when your tongue flicks over the slit. Where did you learn how to suck dick like that? And did you suck anyone else off like this?

Fuck, he curses mentally, getting a little pissed at himself for even thinking of that when the most gorgeous girl in his life is giving him a blowjob.

He can’t help himself though. But he reminds himself who got you pregnant, and the night he swears was the cause of it because your pussy was leaking with your juices mixed with his cum. The sheets were drenched; he recalled the way you got all flustered, covering your face with your hands, but the sight of you was so attractive that he found himself craving for that again.

That’s when you look at him through those alluring curled lashes, how they brush against the highs of your cheeks, hair messy and eyes glassy.

“Get up.”

Pulling away, a pout dresses upon your lips and a breath hitches in his throat. How are you so cute when there’s a string of saliva connecting your mouth and his cock? “What’s wrong? You didn’t cum yet.”

“I know,” he says breathily. “As much as I wanna see my cum in your mouth, it’s my birthday and I have other plans.”

It doesn’t take long, but somehow your night that was supposed to be dedicated to the birthday boy somehow changed the objective to being about you. In all fairness, you should’ve suspected it anyway because this is Kim Mingyu you’re talking about here—he’s your husband, but he’s beyond that. He talks about you like he’s putting you on a pedestal; to him, you’re the sunshine to his gloomy days. You’re the reason for the smile on his face, and the ‘why’ to the laughs that escape from him so easily.

But he doesn’t understand that he is that for everyone else.

He never fails to put other people before himself, and you don’t know what you’ve done in your past life to be loved in the way he loves. Peppering kisses from your jaw down to your neck, he’s got your wrists restrained against the bed, his hands as nature’s handcuffs because his strength is equivalent to a pair. Although doused in his cologne, on a normal day with your queasy hormones, you’d complain about the forty squirts he sprays on himself, but when he’s got his dick out and between your legs, you’re intoxicated by the scent.

“Mingyu,” you gasp when he sucks on that sweet spot behind your ear. Your chest heaves up and down, tugging to leave his grasp. “Let go.”

He does as he’s asked, sitting back in fear that he was too aggressive. Fronts of his brows dipped in confusion, he watches as you struggle up, reaching over to help you—only for you to shove him back down onto the mattress with a plop. A smile tugs on the corners of his lips. “Oh?”

“I’ll top.”

Mingyu chuckles, his pearly white teeth peeking through, head thrown back in delight. “Baby, no offense but you’re pregnant. Your thighs will get tired.”

“I’ll grind on you,” you state firmly, and although he knows you’re more of a pillow princess than anything, he does as he’s told by his wife. Sitting up against the headboard, he pulls his briefs off completely and tosses them elsewhere in your bedroom.

Mingyu pats his thighs in amusement. “Alright then, baby. Sit on me and show me what you got.”

You don’t feel sexy.

Even when Mingyu is looking up at you, eyes twinkling in nothing but infatuation, he sees nobody else but you yet you still don’t feel like the old version of yourself. You don’t fit in those skimpy outfits anymore—yes, the ones that would be too short that you found yourself adjusting the hem every five seconds, but you still felt like a hot bitch in it.

Now? You’ve shoving off that stupid bra from earlier because you can’t get it to fucking stay on.

And it’s like Mingyu reads your mind because he licks his lips, hands guiding you to hover his hardened cock and says, “God, you’re so hot.”

Okay. That makes you feel a little bit better.

The insecurity doesn’t go away with pregnancy, it adds onto it. Watching yourself get bigger is both a blessing and a curse—you desperately miss the you that didn’t have a problem zipping up jeans, your favorite jeans for that matter, but Mingyu insists that you’re still gorgeous the way you are, and you’re even more admirable for carrying the “product of love” for nine months.

Palms pressed down against his chest, you swallow. “I’m heavy,” you warn him, even though with the amount of working out he’s been doing, you know he could handle more than your current weight. With a deep breath, you line yourself up with him before sliding down onto his length and Mingyu lets out a deep groan at the sensation. He fills you up wholly and fogs up your head.

“Fuck, how are you so wet and I haven’t even touched you yet?”

You chew down on your bottom lip bashfully. Pregnancy has done more than made you a ball and surprised you with how much food you’re able to inhale—you’re horny almost all hours of the day. Just watching Mingyu change the other day made you go off the rails.

Leaning back, your hands rest on his thighs behind you. This is the most comfortable position, you think, but Mingyu seems to be too busy gawking at the sight of you like this. “Did I tell you how pretty you look?”

“Always,” you roll your eyes, slowly gyrating your hips. He can’t get his stare off your pussy engulfing him, warm and wet, squelching with each movement that would normally embarrass you. But the soft grunts that escape from him is assuring you that you’re giving the birthday boy what he wants. “Your pretty girl.”

A moan releases from him, hand trailing to squeeze your breast and the other on your waist. It’s so tempting to raise his hips and ram into your wetness, but he also enjoys the pace you’re going—sweet and slow, sinking in this moment with just the two of you. You’re his pretty girl, and your hooded gaze, parted lips, and soft gasps had him inebriated.

Admittingly, you should’ve known your fatigue would hit soon. Most of the time, Mingyu would take the reigns from the beginning and it would be fine, but when you’re on top, the weight of your stomach tends to make you more lethargic, languidly swirling your hips instead of the speed you know he preferred.

Mingyu bends forward when he notices the shift, lips latching onto your nipple as his tongue twirls around the nub. His arms wrap around your frame, pulling you closer with his grip now cupping the meat of your ass, and before you know it, your head is thrown back as his hips move in tandem. The headboard thumps against the wall behind the bed, but Mingyu pays no mind.

He feels so good like this, close and hot, his heated breath against your skin. But part of you wants more—the ravenous side of your pregnancy taking over, groping his arms, and chest before dragging him closer and with all your strength, you topple the two of you over.

Confused with your sudden actions, he gazes at you with concern. Thumb rubbing against his cheeks, you push away the damp strands of hair that stick to his forehead.

With a low, quiet voice, you whisper in his ear.

“Fuck me. Please?”

He’s fast—he’s already got you back flat against the bedsheets, mesmerized by your hair sprawled over the sheets. Mingyu snaps back into reality because he’s got the prettiest girl laid out in front of him patiently, and he doesn’t want you waiting any longer.

Legs up, he takes consideration of how far you can actually go and eases the tip of his cock into your swollen folds. With a slow push, he holds his breath the entire time until he reaches to the hilt, flexing his arms on either side of your frame and you don’t hesitate to have your fingers digging into the flesh.

Buried in you, you feel yourself turn into putty in the palms of Kim Mingyu. He moves hard and deep, learning from all those times you’ve had sex while pregnant that you’re not that delicate, his thrusts are hard enough that the bed continues to hit against the wall and the sound of your skin slapping perks your ears.

The sounds between you two are so lewd—you get so wet now ever since you’ve gotten pregnant (not that he’s complaining), his dick coated and glistening with each drag, and it only tightens his stomach at the view. It’s hard to hold back the whimpers and moans when his cock throbbing inside of you and his dark gaze.

Your tits bounce with every crash of his hips into yours, at this point you don’t put any effort into holding back the moans as you clench yourself around him. Already sensitive, Mingyu can’t help himself when he sees your perky nipples, bending forward to suck on them once more in unison with his cock slamming into your heat. He slides a hand in between you, thumb flicking against the nub when he notices the way your body stiffens. With a gasp, your hands grip onto his wavy locks as he grunts, vibrating against you as your high hits.

He plants gentle kisses against your flushed skin, finally reaching your supple lips with a peck. Forehead pressed to yours, he lifts your waist up just enough before he rams into you, thrusts sloppy with his mouth gaped open as pretty moans depart. Ropes of cum coat your walls, the flashback of that one time comes to mind and he’s quick to pull out and lifts your legs up just barely.

Hair messy, you’re still catching your breath when you notice the way he looks at you with hungry eyes down below. “What?”

He can’t help himself. Scooping the cum that spills from your folds, he shoves it back into you as you let out a whimper. “Keep it inside for me, baby?”

But before you could respond, he gazes up at you with those puppy eyes that sparkle underneath the moonlight that shines through your window.

“For my birthday?”

Rolling your eyes, you pull him close as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. “Fine, fine. Happy birthday. This is your gift.”

“Mm,” he hums, sneaking another kiss against the side of your neck. “Best birthday ever. Love you.”

You flick the side of his head. “Love you, too.”

#kpopsociety #mingyu smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #mingyu fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

yours, but not yours 01 || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 01  pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 6.8k summary: when a nice guy gets too overbearing, you’re stuck with the option of having a fake boyfriend. warnings: mentions of sex, implied sex, profanity a/n: !! here it is !! hope you guys enjoy :) 

A lollipop stem sticks out of the corner of his mouth, and he pairs it with a furrow of his brows as he wipes his hands off on a greasy stained rag. With a ‘suck’ sound, he tosses the used cloth in the corner where his crimson red tool cart sits. “I’un get it.”

“You… You should shut the garage door when I’m not home.”

Pulling the stick out his mouth, Seungcheol tilts his head as he leans against your raggedy old Toyota Camry—the grey paint is chipping off, the locks don’t work on the back passenger door that you need to manually fasten it, and starting the engine was riskier than buying a lottery ticket. Even so, Seungcheol found pleasure in a challenge, so he offered to try and fix that hunk of junk.

But it’s becoming more of a hassle than anything.

Not the car though. You mean Seungcheol.

“Why, baby,” he queries, the term of endearment slipping off the tip of his tongue like he’s your boyfriend when he’s not. He’s just some guy you hooked up with once, who then got hooked onto you, and now rents out your garage below your apartment to fix cars. Truthfully, you don’t know how you got here, but you blame his endless charms for it. Even the toughest people fall victim to Choi Seungcheol. “You scared some strangers are gonna rob me? Don’t worry. I work out,” he flexes with a wink. “I got it.”

Rolling your eyes, you snatch the pink lollipop from his hands and fling it into the trash bin. “You’d think candy would shut you up.”

“Only your lips can.” Sleazy.

It’s been a couple months since your agreement with Seungcheol. The apartment you bought yourself sits on top of a garage, one that doesn’t have doors that lead into your home, and the only entrance requires going up the stairs mounted to the side of the building. The dusted red brick masonry bedecks the exterior, giving it a bit of a homey feel, despite the oddness in the architecture. The garage remained abandoned, untouched, and unloved for a while; rectangular, wide enough to fit a car with a little extra space, the ceiling, walls and floors were made of concrete and on winter days, it can get colder than below freezing. You never really had a good reason to use it.

Sure, you had a car and could leave it safely in there, but truth be told, if you were to admit to any flaw, the one you’d confess to is that you can’t park for shit.

So when Seungcheol asked who was the cause of those paint scratches on the side of your car, you pulled some bullshit story out of your ass about how your neighbor did it. But when he quirks a brow, you’re quick to concede that it was your fault that there were white lines etched in the grey paint.

In the end, you let him house a makeshift auto shop, albeit the bareness and void called your garage made it seem impossible, he proceeded to insist that there was potential for the space and he’d pay a hefty amount in rent.

Plus, you couldn’t really turn him down when you saw exactly how many zeros were scribbled on the first month deposit.

If it’s just a ploy to spend more time with you, then you’re not entirely sure, but nonetheless, he seems to be enjoying his days there and manages to work on multiple projects at a time. Motorcycle parked outside by your front steps at 6am, you expected a lazy bum like Choi Seungcheol wouldn’t arrive until noon. Yet he’s already onto the next car in the queue, wearing a pair of worn out jeans with his music humming in the background to pay respects to your sleeping neighbors.

When you return in the afternoon, you catch yourself doing a double take of the time when you still see that his bike remains idle, left in the same spot as it was in the morning, and you spot those familiar legs dangling out from underneath another car.

It used to be so lonely coming home.

Since Seungcheol came, it’s become more… pleasant.

Except for one particular issue.

“Namjoon might stop by,” you state, arms crossing over your chest.

He shrugs. “Nice, aight. What of it?”

“He doesn’t like you.”

Seungcheol scoffs, shaking his head before you lose him behind the propped hood of your car. “Why does it matter what he thinks? He ain’t your boyfriend.”

“He’s not,” you confirm, the sternness of your voice lightens as you walk in his direction. “But he’s my best friend’s brother, and I care about what he thinks. I get that he likes me—”

Seungcheol’s head pops out for a moment. “—loves you,” he corrects before he goes back in.

You roll your eyes once again. “Fine, fine, he loves me. But that doesn’t take away the fact that he doesn’t like you. He thinks you’re a bad influence, that you’ll play with my heart.”

He clicks his tongue, pushing the rod off and shuts your hood with a thud. “Baby, you realize the only person playing with anyone’s heart is you with mine? I’ve been tryna get you to date me.”

“We’re not going to date, Seungcheol.”

Or, that’s what you believe.

“Right,” he chuckles; it’s probably the eightieth rejection you’ve shot his way yet he bounces back in an instant each time you say it. “But again, I don’t give a shit about what Kim Namjoon says. I paid for this space, and it so happens that I get to see you everyday. Just ‘cause he’s jealous that he doesn’t get to live the life I live doesn’t mean it’s my problem.”

Puffing your cheeks, you get a little frustrated. Seungcheol has the tendency to be stubborn, and he continues to give you more reasons as to why the two of you can’t be together in spite of his efforts to swoon you. “I’m just asking you to shut the garage door.”

“Kim Namjoon can suck on my fucking cock. It gets humid in here, baby. I’m not closin’ it.”

“Choi Seungcheol.”

He raises his hands in defeat; the roughness of his palms are evident, along with the callouses that adorn it, you never realized how much he worked with his hands in spite of his ‘spoiled boy’ behavior. “Sorry, baby. Lemme rephrase that,” he leans in with a peck blown in the air. “Kim Namjoon can suck on my penis. Better?”

Deciding to shove it under the rug, you continue, “I just don’t want to deal with the whole scenario of him stopping by, seeing you here, then probably try starting an argument, and knowing you, you wouldn’t be afraid to escalate that quickly.”

Seungcheol remains unfazed, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his stained jeans. “Again, I could give two shits about Namjoon. Who is he to tell you who you can and cannot date?”

“He just cares about me.”

“He’s your best friend’s brother,” Seungcheol reminds you, sighing heavily. “He swears he’s some nice guy but he wants you for himself. So, fine, babe, I’ll shut the garage—halfway—because I’m still human and it gets fucking hot in there.”

“Fine,” you compromise, slinging your work bag over your shoulder. “Try not to fight him if he comes by, okay?”

“If we’re fighting over you, no promises.”

Seungcheol is a troublemaker.

As much as you hate to admit it, there’s a part of you that likes the boldness that comes with him being one. He doesn’t ever beat around the bush like the other guys you’ve met, and although he’s persistent about asking you out on a date, there’s no burden or pressure to take up that offer. Seungcheol was just a guy you met at a mutual friend’s housewarming party; he dove in with a couple of tacky pickup lines, however with the amount of couples there, the feeling of loneliness, and a couple swings of liquor was enough to let him take you home.

You half regret it. But if it wasn’t for that night, you wouldn’t have met him. Even if he’s this annoying.

But the same cannot be said about Kim Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon is your best friend, Yubin’s, older brother. He has this oddly overly protective side of him; for Yubin, he was like that because he was her sibling, but for you, well, that’s another story.

Namjoon is in love with you.

There’s a difference between Seungcheol and Namjoon—Seungcheol doesn’t make you feel bad. When you leave your house late, ready to head out for a girls’ night with friends, he doesn’t tell you that your skirt is too short or that you shouldn’t be out alone. Instead, he just stands there, drool spilling out the corner of his mouth with hearts in his eyes and asks, “Wanna ride? Both my dick and my motorcycle.” And sure, you’d roll your eyes and wave him off, but he means it in a joking manner. Even though, yes, if you told him you’d ride his dick, he’d be more than welcome to let you do it, he lets that be your decision.

Namjoon? An entirely different scenario.

He’d nag—yes, nag, like a mother would. Complaining that too much skin was being exposed, and that you shouldn’t be leaving the house when it’s so dark that the street lamps are on, he’d be too jealous to even let you walk past the front door. He was always kind of possessive, even when you weren’t his to be.

“How do I look?” You twirl once in your leather skirt and white tee later that afternoon, chunky black boots thudding with each step. “I’m going out to celebrate Chaeryong’s bachelorette party.”

“You look cute,” Seungcheol smiles, leaning his back against the brick walls outside of the garage. He’s got his arms crossed over the firmness of his chest and a rag tucked in his pocket that hangs for easy access. “Kinda sexy, but more cute than anything.”

“I’m wearing leather. Usually that’s supposed to make you look sexy.”

He chuckles deeply. “Yeah, but your boots make you look tiny. You look cute, baby girl, and ain’t nothing wrong with being cute. I’d still bend you over.”

Puffing your cheeks in annoyance, you snatch the rag and whack him on the arm with it until he catches it to stop you with a honeyed laugh. “Baby, baby! I was kiddin’. But, uh, on a serious note, is Yubin going?”

You quirk a brow. “You have a crush on Yubin or something? Why are you asking about her?”

He shakes his head, getting up from his position as he lets out a heavy sigh. “Nah, just wondering ‘cause it seems like wherever she goes, her brother goes with. Not that I think you need protecting, but shit, that ass is fucking annoying. He might be tryna get with you all night long.”

Pursing your lips, you realize that Seungcheol makes a good point. “So what do you propose?”

“Lemme be your boyfriend.”

You snort.

“Ay, ay, ay, why the fuck is that funny? You think I’m not boyfriend material?”

“Because you sound like you’re trying to instigate something with Namjoon rather than solve something. How many times do I have to tell you that he doesn’t like you?”

“Again,” Seungcheol waves his pointer finger in front of you. “I don’t care about what that dick has to say. If I’m your boyfriend, he’d back off.”

“Would he?” You ask suspiciously, eyes narrowing. “Seems like he’d get more involved if he thought you were my boyfriend. He thinks you’re a bad influence, Cheol.”

“And do you think I am?”

“Baby,” you say, mocking him with the nickname he uses on you but he smiles in amusement when you do. “I’m not easily influenced to begin with.”

“Good,” Seungcheol states firmly, straightening his posture as if he’s got something to prove. “Which means that I’m not a bad influence because you can handle yourself just fine. I’m not the cause of your bad decisions. But maybe Namjoon knowing you have a boyfriend will ease him into moving on.”

He… makes a sort of good point. There’s a part of you, the logical half, that’s screaming in your brain to not get involved with Seungcheol. Then again, Namjoon is rather persistent, and him knowing that you were available and on the market didn’t help either. He even swiped right when he saw your profile on Tinder—which didn’t feel coincidental at all. Yet at the same time, it feels like a stupid route to take.

“Let me ask you one thing then.”

“I’m all ears, baby girl.”

“Why do you want to date me so bad? I thought you were into sex with no strings attached. We fucked once and suddenly you want me to be your girlfriend?”

Seungcheol grins, letting out an entertained laugh that follows before he reaches over to grab the latch handle on your garage door. He pulls it fluidly, like it didn’t require any effort when for you, you swore you had to use the weight of your entire body to even get it to slide down. “One, we had one night, but we fucked four times.”

Your face heats up.

“And two, because all those girls never really caught my attention like you do. I like you. So yeah, I wanna date you, but I’m not gonna force you or make you feel bad for it.”

As cocky, irritable, and overly flirtatious Seungcheol was, the one thing you liked about him was that he was… mostly respectful. He knew his boundaries and didn’t expect anything in return from you when he made these advances, and truthfully, it made him kind of… charming.

“Plus, I know you might like me back. If you didn't, you would’ve tried kicking me to the curb like Namjoon. Instead, you let me rent your garage to fix up cars. Can’t say I’m losing, really.”

There’s that stupid signature smirk on his face again.

“I—Ugh, fine. We can pretend to date… in front of Namjoon. Only Namjoon.”

“Mm, I don’t know, boo. He spends a lotta time with your friends. Seems like we gotta extend that further.”

“Absolutely not,” you say with a scoff of disbelief, shaking your head in dissent. “Over my dead body.”

“You’re what?”

You’re pretty sure at least four girls said that in unison.

Chewing on the straw of your drink anxiously, you shrug. This fruity cocktail evidently isn’t strong enough to help with what you’re currently dealing with. You didn’t plan on telling your friends, but when the bride-to-be pointed out that the ‘hottie’ from your friend Joshua’s housewarming party was eyeing your group from across the room, a part of you felt possessive when she tried setting up Naeun.

“You’re kidding,” Chaeryong says, mouth dropped with the corners tugging into a mischievous smile. “I’m over here trying to land Naeun some dick but it seems like you already claimed that one.”

Warmth lingers in your cheeks. “I—Stop, let’s not talk about that, okay? It’s your night, you’re getting married! No more talking about boys unless it’s your soon-to-be-hubby.”

“Whatever, as long as I get that stripper you promised!”

Oh, a stripper was definitely promised.

Sure, it was her fiancée in some getup, patiently waiting for her in one of those private session rooms instead of some kinky stripper, but the excited holler that was heard as the door closed was a good indicator that she was more than pleased with what she received.

“Good idea, Hyeri!” Naeun giggled, cheeks flushing from all the alcohol in her system. The girls were swaying from the borderline of drunk and tipsy, and truthfully, you were also leaning on the tipsy side.

Yubin, however, looked a little too sober for your liking.

“Okay, okay,” you wave your hands in front of you in dismissal, losing your balance when Hayoung bumps into you accidentally. “You’re mad. Don’t be mad. Why are you mad?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Seungcheol?”

You pout.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, but she was unintentionally in cahoots with Namjoon. She was his fucking sister for gods sake, and despite the fact she was your best friend with the same perspective about this as you, she wasn’t doing a good job of shielding you from him.

“We barely started dating,” you lean over, tapping her nose affectionately. Needless to say, those last two vodka shots were seeping into your bloodstream. “And honestly, I wanted to figure out how this would go before I’d formally tell you. I let it slip—it was an accident. Kinda didn’t wanna see Naeun grinding her ass against his crotch later, you know?”

She sighs, and you take the gesture of her loosening her crossed arms as a sign of caving in. “But it’s Seungcheol of all people. Namjoon won’t like it.”

“Fuck Namjoon,” you huff, and speaking of the Devil, he appears from the shadows.

“I heard my name!”

Namjoon is handsome, you have to admit. He’s got eyes in shapes of half moon crescents, a toothy dazzling smile, strong and bulky arms, and a gentle and kind personality that people tend to swoon for after the first impression.

Unfortunately, you don’t fit in that category. And you’re starting to believe that Namjoon got spoiled from the love he received from others because he was so easily liked.

“What did I miss?” He asks eagerly, bouncing his body to the music. You could see how people found him appealing but he wasn’t really your type. “And might I add that you’re looking very gorgeous tonight, dear.”

Dear. How is that worse than when Seungcheol calls you baby girl?

“Our friend here has a boyfriend,” Yubin snaps, and you’re starting to get the vibe that she might not be on your side anymore. With the way that Namjoon turns to look at you, it’s already not a good sign.

Well, fuck. Trouble is brewing.

“You got a boyfriend?” His brows are furrowed in a mixture of confusion and annoyance. Voice laced with concern, it's almost like he’s worried that you’ve possibly made the worst decision of your entire life because it wasn’t him that you chose to be with.

“I—” you barely let out a word before he interrupts you again.

“And the boyfriend is not me.” This time, you don’t even try making room for yourself to speak. Namjoon would just steal the show anyways. “I’m literally standing right here, beside you, all the time and you won’t even glance at me! Shit. Fine. At least tell me who it is.”

Yubin sucks in her cheeks before she glances over at you. “You wanna tell him or should I?”

You inhale deeply before averting your attention to Namjoon. “It’s Seungcheol.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “You really don’t love yourself, you do?”

What?

Namjoon continues on. “You’re always doing this to yourself. You go out, look for guys with Tinder profiles that show off their abs but have no type of personality whatsoever. They fuck you once and break your heart. What’s so hard about that?”

“I know when I’m getting myself into, Joon.”

“Pft, do you? Because you’re always talking about wanting to settle, yet here you are, never even taking a glance at me. I’m a nice guy, babe, and I would do a much better job of being your boyfriend than some guy who probably eats in the same room he shaves in.”

Why is it when Seungcheol calls you ‘babe,’ it sounds sleazy yet bearable, but when the word slips off the tip of Namjoon’s tongue, resentment and disgust is the taste left in your mouth.

“We’re not having this conversation. I’m not going to get lectured while I’m drunk at a friend’s bachelor party because you’re unhappy with my decision—we’re not friends, Namjoon, you’re just Yubin’s brother.”

And the worst part? Yubin just stands there, off to the side, unsure of what to say.

To be fair, you’d eventually have to forgive her. In the position she’s in, she’s left having to pick whether or not to side with you, since her brother is consistently overstepping his boundaries, but the consequences of the confrontation is one she has to bring home with. Or she could side with him and lose the best friendship she’s ever had.

There’s no winning for Yubin.

Namjoon narrows his eyes. His lips part and he inhales a sharp breath but before any more words escape from his mouth, Seungcheol swoops in with his hand on your lower back and a gentle kiss against the side of your head.

“Hey, baby.” It’s almost like he knew you needed saving since Yubin wasn’t much help.

Kim Namjoon is a relatively patient guy. It takes a lot to begin to tick him off; his friend Jungkook is known to be the type to jump off walls like a crazy madman, but Namjoon always stays calm, words seeping with tranquility as he soothes his friend from that energetic high.

This time, however, proves to be different. After all, he always says you’re “not like other girls,” so you guess he wasn’t really lying when he said that.

“You’re kidding,” Namjoon says exasperatedly. In another situation, a guy who had been head over heels for you would ideally look torn; sullen and sunken eyes, a forced smile, and a visibly aching heart. Namjoon just looks pissed. The tips of his ears are scarlet red, matching Yubin’s pretty liquid matte lipstick, and his hands are at his side with clenched fists, holding onto the last ounce of self restraint from releasing his fullest extent of anger. “Why the fuck are you even here?”

Tongue swiping over his teeth, Seungcheol remains cool. He’s got a hand in one of the pockets of his jeans, clicking his tongue as his gaze drifts off momentarily with a lagged response. “Being the designated driver for my girl and her friends. What else?”

Why is that hot and yet gross at the same time?

“Alright,” you shove Seungcheol back slightly with your palm pressed against his… strangely… robust chest. You knew he worked out, and although your overly spoken night of dirty deeds gave you more than a glimpse of what was underneath that shirt, you tried your hardest to erase that memory. As much as Seungcheol wanted this to be more, he’s supposed to be your one-and-done. “No more of that. I’m too tipsy to be dealing with two kids.”

Seungcheol grabs your wrist, irises saturated with concern. “Then let me take you home, baby.”

From the corner of your eye, you spot Yubin scoff.

“No,” you respond firmly, this time pushing him away with a little more strength. “We aren’t doing this. This is Chaeryong’s night and I’m not ruining it because of children fighting over a piece of candy.”

Seungcheol raises a brow teasingly. “Did you just refer to yourself as candy? Because baby, I—”

“Shhh,” you hush him, pointer finger against the thickness of his lips. They were so soft, and plushy, not to mention how sweet they looked—wait. The alcohol is finally hitting, and the longer you stick around Seungcheol, the more mistakes you’re going to make. “I’m going to have fun,” you said, and with that, you cram your way between Namjoon and the crowd after you announce your drunken departure.

“You’re joking,” Namjoon doesn’t seem to be done with the conversation even though Seungcheol is. He’s ready to bolt back where he came from until Namjoon starts talking again. “You guys can’t be fucking dating. You’re lying, right? That’s the only way the two of you could ever work.”

“You say that a lot,” Seungcheol swirls his keys around his finger. “I must be a comedian if you think I’m that funny.”

“Listen, if you put your hands on her—”

“Pretty sure she can answer that herself, you know, whether or not she wants my hands on her. Not really your choice to make, big guy.”

With a cocky smile, Seungcheol walks past Namjoon with a bump to the shoulder as he resumes the spot at the bar once more. He promised you he’d stay out of trouble, wait patiently until the night ends, and be the reason you’re home safely.

Eat that, Kim Namjoon.

But to be fair, Seungcheol gets why Namjoon is like this. Any guy would be lucky to have you—you’ll never admit to it because your humbleness may be one of your biggest hurdles but you had the qualities that most people looked for in a significant other. It’s no wonder Namjoon remains this tenacious.

God, does Seungcheol think he’s lucky to even be around you this often.

He knows you’re not his, and he can’t say that you really are but there’s something about you that tugs on his heartstrings like no other.

Seungcheol acknowledges that he’s not the same person he was a couple months ago, but can anyone blame him? When he spotted you from across the room, pink champagne in hand that they popped earlier that night at Joshua’s housewarming party, loneliness was infused in your eyes and he couldn't help but feel tempted to charm you with his cheesy advances. He didn’t know, know you, but just the sight of your lips pressed against the glass, hoping that the rosy colored liquid would be the reason for your ignorant bliss that night, he figured that he wouldn’t depend on it and be the reason instead.

So when he took you home that very night, he sort of wished he got to know you as a person and not as someone underneath the sheets.

The view of you with your hair unkempt, spread out over the wrinkled sheets, he found beauty in the way your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his breath ghosting over your exposed neck. How those pretty moans weren’t easy to hold back when he moved his hips with yours, like candy for his ears, but there was doubt that washed over him in a night of pleasure because part him knew that being yours like this, temporary and expectant of nothing more, makes it harder to ever pursue you in the future.

That’s why tonight, even with alcohol in your system, he doesn’t treat it like that night after Joshua’s.

But then again, you’re so tempting when you throw yourself on him like this; legs straddling him in the driver’s seat, your skirt rides up to reveal your bare thighs that it hitches a breath in his throat. You pout, hands rubbing over the expanse of his chest with a disappointed sigh. “Are you sure you don’t wanna fuck?”

He laughs, the sound vibrating against your palms, the reason for the goosebumps that form on your arms and the chills down your back. “I’m sure, baby, maybe I’ll fuck you when you’re sober.”

Then your shoulders drop, displeasure besmirching your face as you tilt your head to the side cutely in attempts to swoon him over. “Why not?”

Because Choi Seungcheol doesn’t want to just fuck you, he wants you to be his.

“How about I take you back home and I make you some ramen before bed, yeah?”

“Oh,” you respond suggestively, but he only chuckles as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Ramen?”

“No, no sexual innuendos. Ramen and water. Then bed.”

Defeated, you plop yourself into the passenger seat of your car while letting out a heavy breath with your arms crossed over your chest childishly. As much as he wanted to crash his lips onto yours and take you right here, Seungcheol knew better than to let his dick do the talking. So he drives you home instead, prepares you a late night snack as promised, watching as your eyes begin to disappear, your cheeks growing fuller with noodles in a way that it resembles his chest. Bursting.

Your head feels like it could explode any minute.

The thudding, the throbbing—you wince with your hand against the side of your head as if lifting it as you sit up would make a difference but it still feels like some miniature human is inside your skull with a hammer just tapping away. Your mouth feels dry, and when you lick your lips, the once supple skin is now drier and crustier than the desert. Gross.

Thirsty, you gather all the strength within you to remove the covers off your lower half to make way into the kitchen. But as you hang your legs off the edge of the bed, that’s when you notice the water bottle and a couple capsules of ibuprofen sitting on the bedside table. A piece of paper underneath the pills, the familiar handwriting—or chicken scratch as you remember calling it jokingly—reads: “Drink lots of water. - Cheol.”

Fuck, your head is pounding, but what’s worse is that with each bang, a memory from the night before unveils itself.

One, Seungcheol made you that bowl of ramen. There’s no denying the roundness of your cheeks, puffy from the amount of sodium in a package when you look into the mirror later, but he gives it to you for a reason so you’d shut up. But for what? You can’t quite put your finger on it.

Two, Namjoon was there last night. He had your blood boiling underneath your skin, his words attempting to poison your thoughts and tear down your boundaries. You wouldn’t go as far as gaslighting, but he’s just as good at guilt tripping you as much as your mom does when you haven’t called her in two days.

Groaning, you throw your head back. He’s the reason for you engulfing four shots later that night, too irritated with the conversation to think straight. Is this how you were going to live for the rest of your life? For a city this big, it sure feels small—it’s like everywhere you go, Namjoon is there. It’s like there’s no way to escape him; from your friend group to the popular hangout spots, and even when you went out on a date with a cute guy from Tinder, Namjoon knew him, too. You just wanted someone new without the ties to “Mr. Nice Guy.”

Popping the pills into your mouth, you practically inhale the entire bottle of water. The plastic crinkles as you crush it with your hands, a satisfied ‘ahh’ leaving your lips as a couple droplets trickle down your face and onto your hoodie.

Your hoodie.

Wait, you most definitely did not dress yourself last night.

Another thud revisits your head, and you whimper at the impact. Right, right, you remember… sort of. You were laid sprawled out in bed like a starfish, paying no mind that a hot guy like Seungcheol sees you in that state, instead lazily wiping the drool that falls from the corner of your lips from when you dozed off momentarily. He asked you where your pjs were, and you showed him your closet—shit, he didn’t see your underwear drawer, did he? Granny panties were supposed to be a secret!

Nonetheless, he’s a trooper. He grabs the first most comfortable looking hoodie and helps you slip into it. And when he asks what pants you want to wear, you reply smartly and say, “I just want you to take mine off,” he doesn’t do anything other than laugh and tosses a pair of shorts in your direction.

There was a third event that occurred that night, and you’re starting to wish you took an extra swing of vodka so that these flashbacks won’t reappear.

Did you really sit on his lap in your small ass car? Wrap your arms around his neck, grind your hips down into his, lips pursing into a pout because he denied you sex? You’re not sure of what you’re supposed to feel more—embarrassed that you threw yourself so shamelessly onto Seungcheol or surprised that Seungcheol turned you down for sex. It’s no wonder he bribed you with a bowl of Shin ramen goodness—he was trying to stop you from making any moves on him.

Then it hit you. Was he not interested in you anymore? Did seeing you stumble in your heels, hair tangled, and hazy eyes turn him off? Was it because of your breath reeking of alcohol? Were you not the girl that he wanted to bring home and call his own anymore?

You shake your head from these thoughts—it doesn’t necessarily work but you need to get off your ass and get ready for the day. You made plans with Yubin for an hour and half from now, and the least of your worries should be what Choi Seungcheol thinks of you.

But even when you’re applying mascara, you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about you right now like you are of him.

Shit. Stop thinking about Seungcheol.

Puffing your cheeks, you ease yourself in letting out the deep breath. It’s just Seungcheol. You’ll walk out of your apartment, and maybe he won’t be in the garage.

Oh, who the fuck were you kidding? Of course his motorcycle is parked at the bottom of the stairs, as you’re supposed to expect. He doesn’t change his routine, and just because you acted like some horny drunk bitch last night shouldn’t make him fear coming over.

Unless… he’s going to ask to terminate his vacancy here and move out.

He’s… not going to do that, right? And even if he did, why the fuck is it bothering you so much?

“What’s takin’ you so long walking down the stairs, princess? Still drunk? I’ll carry ya.”

Startled, you nearly trip. “Wh—No, no, I’m, uh,” you clear your throat, “I’m fine. I can walk down.”

Seungcheol chuckles, hair slicked back with a white tee on and a pair of light blue jeans. You’re curious as to what his obsession is with wearing light colored clothes when his job is so messy to begin with, but you find yourself distracted by the way he wipes in between his thick fingers with a torn cloth.

You swallow. Are those stupid tainted thoughts from last night infiltrating your sober ones?

“Well, aight. Take your time. It looked like the bottom of your feet were red and I’m not sure if they’re still sore from those heels,” he leans against the wall, “and I know you gals love lookin’ pretty in ‘em, but I get a little worried about your comfort.”

Scrunching up your nose, you finally reach to the bottom and snatch the car keys off the hook in the garage. “I like feeling pretty.”

“Well,” he smiles, his pearly white teeth on display. “If it makes you feel as pretty as you are, I can’t complain. Drive safely, yeah? Maybe text me a picture of your food if you’re feeling generous.”

Why’s there a wash of relief when you realize he’s not mad at you and that he still seems to be interested?

Yubin has been peculiarly quiet. Well, quite frankly, Yubin is always like this; she’s more often than not reserved, keeping things to herself and remaining the neutral party in every situation. She’s not good with confrontation, and she’s not great when in a group of people, but when she’s beside you, you’ve helped open so many doors for her.

Her last four boyfriends were introduced to her by you, and the girls at Chaeryong’s bachelorette party met her through you. She’s incessantly second guessing her actions, questioning whether or not she “seems weird” or “sticks out like a sore thumb,” but in all honesty, you like her for who she is and not who she hesitates to be.

Yet, it seems like she can’t get over that mentality and you feel like people are missing out on the real version of her that you get to see.

She’s intelligent; full of knowledge but not in one specific subject, but scattered through all. She has this light of curiosity within her, eager to learn and understand things that most people wouldn’t dig to figure more about, and it was one of the traits you admire most about her. Yubin was gentle, subtly kind, and if anyone took the time to get to know the real her, lifting up the facade she has to seem ‘cool’ amongst her peers, they’d love what they’d find. There’s so much in this world to discover, and with Yubin, she challenges you to take a closer look. It’s part of the reason why you wanted to be her friend. She makes you want to be better.

Today, you’re encountering a relatively new side of her.

“Why are you so… silent today?”

Her avocado toast remains untouched. The egg that sits atop is begging to be pierced through with her bread knife, runny yolk ready to drip and spill onto the plate but she sits there, staring at the breakfast in front of her instead of diving in.

“I don’t know, I’m just thinking a lot,” she answers mutedly, almost like she’s telling a secret. “There’s some stuff on my mind.”

“Well, I’m your best friend, you can always tell me.”

She picks up her fork and pokes at a part of the avocado. You don’t notice immediately, but at Chaeryong’s party that night, you realize that Yubin had been slightly off. Her voice was raised the moment she found out that you were with Seungcheol, speaking with great acrimony, and you wonder if it stemmed from you not telling her first.

“It’s fine,” Yubin replies shortly, a sigh following after. “Where’s Chaeryong? I thought she wanted to eat then go try on a dress.”

“She changed her mind, she said she wasn’t gonna fit anything she liked if she ate here,” you furrow your brows. “Are you mad at me?”

Yubin’s gaze flickers up; she hasn’t looked at you the entire brunch, opting to pay attention to anything but you. Her swirls of eyes resemble cups of hot chocolate, sweet and smooth, and her cheeks are flushed into a pink that matches ballet slippers. There’s an innocence that follows her along with her timidness and it’s the reason why she could never live the life of having one-night stands or drinking as much as your group of friends did at a party. She has a shell around her, refusing to break out of that exterior, and although you’re slowly chipping away at it, it’s almost like she doesn’t ever want to let out.

She’s comfortable where she is, and you respect that.

But you wished she’d let go a little and live life to the fullest.

“No,” Yubin’s reaction is short. This time, she jabs the egg with the tines of her fork. “I’m not. Just surprised. Although, I have to ask… why Seungcheol?”

Watching Yubin and observing her small actions left you to forget about the pancakes and sausages that sit on the plate before you. It sort of reminds you of the relationship you have with her—you had spent so much time being concerned about the state Yubin was in and ended up disregarding your own well being. This pent up frustration of dealing with Namjoon, part of you wished that Yubin would say something, do anything in order to stop him from making you feel like a piece of shit when you’re around each other, but she stays the same. Speechless.

As much as you wanted to tell her that this stupid, childish decision was made on impulse to push Namjoon away, you knew you couldn’t. Although she was your best friend, she still refused to help, she still hasn’t spoken in the conversation of you and Namjoon being more. And well, you had to protect yourself. Even if that means pretending to date a guy like Seungcheol.

You shrug, reaching over to grab one of the maple syrup glass bottles. “He’s nice.”

“He plays around with girls, you know. Leads them on, makes them think that he’ll call them back the next day. He’s a fuck boy, and I’m not sure why you’re doing this to yourself,” her grip tightens around her fork. She doesn’t look like her older brother, but when she says those words, it’s like you could almost see him. “I just want what’s best for you.”

Pouring the thick sweetener over your food, you try your hardest to remain calm. Yubin interrogates like an investigator, words spilling out of her without an end in sight, but what bothers you is what doesn't happen when her brother is around. It’s like he stole the things you wished for her to say from the tip of her tongue, and despite the conversations that occur between the two of you when Namjoon isn’t around, she doesn’t act like she has that same belief when his presence is near.

“Then why don’t you say anything when Namjoon’s around?”

next chapter →

#kpopsociety #scoups fanfic #scoups smut #svt fanfic #svt smut #seventeen fanfic #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol fanfic #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

dissonance (m) || jjk & reader

title: dissonance pairing: jeon jungkook x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, rockstar!jungkook, gradstudent!reader wc: 19.4k  summary: something that first seems out of reach becomes a reality for him. screaming adoring fans, billboards with him and his band plastered on it, and touring across the globe with venues sold out. he has everything... but all he's missing is you. warnings: explicit protected sex, vulgar language, sexual innuendos, oral sex (female receiving) -- please let me know if i’m missing anything else! a/n: um. oh my god. how did i plan for like 10.0k and ended up with 19.4k, i’ll never know. hopefully this isn’t boring!! :D i’d also like to thank all the beta readers in @/ficscafe discord, and especially @masterninjacow & @latetaektalk (before the smut ofc... i didn’t even write it until like 1hr ago), @koocycle, @cheolbooluvr, @ddaechwita, and @jayhopely​!! pray i didn’t forget to mention any of the big beta readers because honestly there was a lot LOL. um. enjoy. yeah.

p.s. if there’s errors, i don’t even know if i want you to tell me bc this shit is way too long and makes both my laptop and phone lag FDJKSALFJA LMAO

He loves it here. It’s his dream to be here, on the stage, with the feeling of the music rumbling underneath the soles of his chunky boots, with the sea of fans screaming and hollering out his name, with his self-produced songs booming through the speakers of the venue while his band stands by his side, just as passionate for this as he is.

It’s his dream; he reiterates this constantly as a reminder that this isn’t something everyone gets the chance to breathe the opportunity of. He’s been manifesting this scenario his entire life, wishing and praying to the potential Gods to help make his aspirations become a reality. He’d work his ass off to make ends meet, be able to afford the necessities all while chasing this goal that many claimed to be unrealistic or unattainable. But he’s here right now, supporters that flood the building to the brim for a concert that’s been sold out in thirty cities so far. He has everything he could ever want. Girls, money, music…

But why does he feel like there’s something missing?

Another pair of panties gets thrown at the toes of his boots—it’s probably the sixth one that night but he’s grown used to this already. In some performances, girls would throw themselves at his feet instead of undergarments, yelling at the top of their lungs so ferociously that the security guards had to hold them back in fear of what they were capable of. And sure, if he really wanted to, he could ask them out or invite them back to his hotel room for a quick bang, and it was what he’d been doing for the first couple years, and maybe they’d make him feel a little less like this.

It doesn’t quite hit the same way anymore.

He’s left with this feeling of emptiness when he says his goodbyes and shuts the door behind them; there’s a gap in his chest like he’s forgotten something, yearning for it to be filled but those girls aren’t the ones to do it. His dreams used to be able to—but what are accomplished dreams when you have no one to share them with?

His friends/band mates are great, supportive and understanding, he’s admitted that he’s gotten lucky in that department, but part of him believes that it’s not friendship he’s lacking.

It’s love.

It sounds sappy to the ears of strangers, especially because ideally, you’re not supposed to depend on love to have that stuffed-to-the-brim emotion in your chest, to feel complete and whole because a pretty person fell for you and vice versa. But to Jungkook, being in love had been something he thought he could toss under the rug for another day when he’d given up the girls he'd been infatuated with for this unobtainable aspiration, yet instead, he finds himself back in the same spot years later. Missing a lost sentiment he had to let go to make a dream come true.

He loved the chase—he’s a hopeless romantic kind-of-guy. After all, how would all of his songs be so full of raw emotion? It’s because Jungkook lives it—or well, lived it because everything he knew about love had been left on a shelf to collect dust. He’d deserted the last one back in his hometown. And he’d try to convince himself that he didn’t need someone, but he’s grown… lonely.

And quite frankly, finding someone genuine has proven to be difficult.

Don’t mention Tinder, Jungkook has already tried that. It promptly made headlines the moment he logged into that app with a selfie he’s never used before, and still then people actually thought he was catfishing, and wasn’t the real Jeon Jungkook. He should’ve known. But in all fairness, Jungkook isn’t much of a ‘future thinker’.

Then there was trying to date a staff member—worst idea yet. That noona ended up pissed at him when he realized that this wasn’t what he wanted (he’d learn she was quite the control freak) and she flipped shit to the point that his managers fired her on the spot, then informed the security that she was on the “do not enter” list.

After that, Jungkook just thought maybe he was going about this wrong.

Maybe women weren’t actually of his interest.

Possibly, he was into men.

So, he tried. He ventured out a little, got a little taste here and there. Jungkook even found someone who fit him perfectly. His name? Kim Hyunwoo.

God, Kim Hyunwoo was a very gorgeous man.

Hyunwoo was tall, lean, with black hair that matched the midnight sky. His jawline was sharp without the need of Photoshop, skin so smooth that it felt like butter underneath his fingertips, and had a smile that was so fucking bright, you’d see it from lightyears away. He’s always got that hooded sultry gaze like he’s in the middle of a photoshoot; chin up, sleepy eyes, and slightly parted lips, Jungkook was confused whether his boyfriend was just standing beside him or modelling for the camera. Hyunwoo also had this deep, husky voice that swooned all the girls he’d encountered, the majority practically begging for his phone number, but he was simply into boys. Jungkook thought he was lucky to even be able to snag up a guy like him in the first place. He had a lot of competition, apparently.

It worked out for a little while, Jungkook confesses, because Hyunwoo was overall a great boyfriend. He looked out for Jungkook, treated him well and they shared the same interests.

But… that was the problem.

They got along very well. As if they were best friends.

He found himself getting a bit uncomfortable when things got a little too serious—don’t get him wrong though, he wasn’t embarrassed to be dating a guy. Hyunwoo was the definition of a model with all those sharp facial features. He’d even been stopped and recruited several times during their dates, and truthfully, it made Jungkook feel a little awkward. He was the celebrity here, yet standing beside Hyunwoo only made him feel small.

And in all honesty, he shouldn’t feel this way about the success of his significant other. But it wasn’t even just that. He found himself unable to pass first base with the guy—something about the action itself made him feel… unnerving. But he’s attracted to Hyunwoo. So why can’t he push himself to kiss him?

Jungkook learns that maybe he finds men appealing but he couldn’t have anything more than a friendship with them.

So, he dove head first back into the dating game. Met girls all over during his tour stops; he ran into a foreigner named Lily, a gorgeous girl with pretty blonde hair and pale skin. But they didn’t click. He oddly felt like they weren’t ever on the same page. Then he went to dinner with a gal named—okay. He’d forgotten her name. But the way her dress hugged her ass made his mind go blank, so could he really be blamed? (The answer is yes.) Oh! What about that girl whose name is similar to a hurricane? She had long, dark hair that matched her lengthy lashes and fluttered over her supple cheeks when she sucked his—

Nonetheless, it was a dud, again. He’s still lonely, he sadly confesses, but all of this is too much for him to process. He’s tired of getting his heart broken. He’s exhausted from meeting girls who first claimed that they’re not obsessed then actually are. He’s worn out of the ones who don’t love him for him, but love him for his fame.

Jungkook just wants to be loved for being… Jungkook.

And when he encounters you, some graduate student who spends majority of her days in between the activities of your face dug into a textbook or eyes glued onto a computer screen, he thinks he’s back to where he was before this lifestyle. Jungkook finds himself swooning, desperately wishing for your touch and kisses, but there’s just one thing he doesn’t quite know.

Do you like Jungkook for Jungkook? Or do you like the ideal version of him that sings on stage, tossing off his shirt with his abs flexing while the crowd screams his name once more, all while the veins in his neck pop when he reaches that high note?

Or do you like Jungkook, the one who still doesn’t understand the difference between an orange and clementine, the one who still has trouble knowing when a potato is thoroughly cooked, and why his socks came out of the wash in this weird pinky shade when they definitely went in as white.

So… which is it? Which Jungkook are you interested in?

Jungkook recalls the first meeting so vividly. People always call their initial brush of contact with the person they have feelings for a “meet-cute” (he learns this from his bandmate Jimin) but truthfully, he’s not sure what to call yours.

For one, you’re a very nice person. But he caught you in a bad situation when he landed his eyes on you for the first time; hair disheveled, frantic movements and heavy breaths, you didn’t seem rather… sane. In fact, he actually thought you were one of those psycho fans, waiting inside of the coffee shop, ready to pounce on him and ask for kisses, an autograph, and a hand in marriage, possibly.

Albeit when he spills his coffee onto you (purely accidental, not that he was scared of you or anything), he truly wasn’t sure how to react.

Well, unexpectedly, you blew.

Like the result of a ticking time bomb.

You yelled at him in the middle of that coffee shop (he’s not sure if he could ever show face there ever again)—veins popping along the side of your neck with a furrow of your brows, mouth constantly moving with sharp words that spat out of it. He was startled, completely baffled as to how you were able to formulate such… creative insults.

It ranged from being called a “dumbass with a head that's so big you’d expect it to at least have some knowledge in it, but really it’s just hollow,” to how he should“ go get prescribed lenses because it seems like you’re fucking blind as shit.” Honestly, there were definitely worse ones but he only revealed those two since his feelings might get hurt if he revisited the others.

Although seeing you now, you’re not that person. It was horrible timing, he learns later on, because you actually have the warmest heart he’s ever encountered. You’re beaming with smiles, radiating nothing but positivity on your routes, and when Jungkook has a rough day, just unlocking his phone to see your daily texts is enough to do it for him.

He’s so embarrassed to admit he’s got a crush on you. This simple, casual girl who knows who he is yet doesn’t treat him less than or better than everyone else just because of his career.

But he still has his doubts.

He worries, oftentimes his thoughts seem to stray away from what they’re supposed to be, constantly overthinking all the possibilities of what may happen if the two of you officially got together. He ponders about the what ifs, like how would you even react when this big time celebrity tells you that he has been harboring these feelings for you for months, or if it turns out this entire time, you’ve been devising a plan to date him for his fame and money.

Or, his imagination could be running wild and you would do neither, other than respond surprisingly to his confession.

Nonetheless, he’s still scared. Jungkook has been on so many dates, “broken” so many hearts because they broke his by holding up a facade, by making him feel like they wanted him. And he’s tired, exhausted like he’s run a marathon without the end in sight, when all he’s done is search for someone to love and to love him.

And when he finally gets to know you, the you that wears those baby blue overalls stained with smears of different shades of primary colors from helping your sister paint her nursery room for her soon-to-be-arriving daughter aka your niece, he learns what it feels like to be in love for another time. “You never know what color she likes,” he recalls you saying over a Facetime call, waving around a brush with the ends drenched in a canary yellow, but your pillowy cheeks have marks of blue on them. “Or they. He. Whatever that kid wants to go by later on. So instead, I’m painting her a portrait.”

“I didn’t know you were a painter,” he retorted, but you shrugged as you propped the phone onto a tin-plated steel paint can. “I thought you said you were going to school to become a scientist.”

“Scientists are allowed to have hobbies, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook remembers a laugh effortlessly slipping from his lips, something you’re able to spill out of him with ease, and it’s partially the reason why he sticks by you so often. After he offered to pay for dinner to make up for the coffee spill (which you gladly took simply because you’re a poor grad student), he met with you yet again, but this time, you’re more welcoming when you’re in a better mood (you tell him “obviously” when he mentions this in the future), and that warm smile stretching from cheek to cheek is enough to lure him into the idea of love once more.

“What’s up with you?” Jimin queries, snapping Jungkook out of his trance.

He doesn’t realize it, but he’s lost in his thoughts as usual. On the leather loveseat in the living room of the shared condo he lives in with his bandmates, he huffs out a heavy breath, head thrown back. “I’m just…”

“Thinkin’ ‘bout that girl again?” he asks, but this time with a drink in his hand from the fridge. He pops the can open, a sizzle of the soda hissing through the opening as he brings it up to his lips. “Why don’t you just fucking date her if you’re so into her? I mean, yeah, she ain’t exactly your type, but you’re fucking Jeon Jungkook for god’s sake. She’s gonna wanna date you.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “That’s not the point, Jimin.”

“Then what is?” Jimin shoots back, raising a brow questioningly. “You could get any girl, including her. What's going on with you?”

Jungkook doesn’t like to talk about these things with his members. It’s nothing personal—they just have different perspectives when it comes to things like these. They love the idea of temporary; girls coming and going, barely even staying within the late hours. By the time they’re stumbling out of their apartment, they’re struggling to slide back into the heels they wore for the night out when the sun hasn’t even risen yet. His friends love that, they favor the fact that the girls they encounter never come with any baggage because they never stay long enough for them to unload it.

They’re not hopeless romantics like Jungkook—it’s why they’re never the ones to dip into the lyrics of the song, it’s only him writing it. They don’t have the passion for love like he does. When they see the sunrise, they think of the walk-of-shame, staggering out of the homes of the women they slept with after a show, but when Jungkook sees the sunrise, he thinks of the way your hair blows in the direction of the wind when you’re snuggling into the scarf that wraps around your neck. How your nose twitches at the feeling of the brisk air smacking against your skin, shoulders raising before bouncing to regain the warmth in your coat. He’s reminded of the way your fingers tap against the paper cup with steam coming out of the opening, waving him off about how you have class in a couple minutes and you don’t have time to hear his story about the performance he had just a couple hours before.

“Ugh,” he groans, hopping up from his seat. “Listen, I don’t wanna talk about it. We’re just friends, alright? Nothing more.”

Jimin has his arms out, clicking his tongue irritably. “Aye, come on. You’re not actually upset because I said that, are you? Seriously though. You wanna get in her pants, it’s easy, you just—”

“I don’t wanna just get in her pants, Jimin, I wanna date her.”

“Alright, well, that shouldn’t be a problem either.”

Jungkook scoffs. “You don’t get it, do you?” His bandmate only furrows his brows in confusion as a response. “I want her to date me because she likes me for me, not because I’m some celebrity in a famous band.”

Jimin sighs, placing his drink onto the counter. He has his hands on his hips, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Then why won’t you talk to her instead of moping around like some sad puppy all day in our apartment? You realize that negativity is contagious, right?” Jimin shakes his head. “We care about you, okay? And we want you to be happy. I’ll never understand what you want right now because I’m not looking for a serious relationship. But I’ll help you if you need me to.” Help with what? Thanks for nothing.

Annoyed, he grabs his jacket from the coat rack, slinging it over his shoulders and sliding his arms into the sleeves. He needs air, needs space from the guys, because although he loves them dearly, he feels like the odd one out these days.

The first person he could think of contacting is you, and of course it is because all this revolves around you. Then again, you’re on shift tonight. But at the same time, you have to welcome customers, don’t you?

Or so, he thought.

If your stare had lasers, he’d be melting right now.

“What are you even doing here?” you hiss as Jungkook grins cheekily while adjusting the black baseball cap on his head. Did he really think he could hide his identity behind a flimsy jacket and some old ass hat? How stupid was he? “And why are you dressed like that?”

“It’s a disguise.”

“And that’s the best you could do? Come on, Jeon. You could do better than that. I thought you had a high IQ.”

“I never said that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I may have mentioned it once.”

“Well, once more than I have ever spoken about my IQ.”

He can’t help but let out a breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m a rockstar now, I think a high IQ is the least of my worries. Plus, no one suspects a thing. I just look like some guy coming to grab a cup of coffee.”

“At 11:32 pm.” You quirk a brow. “You look more like a creeper than ‘some guy,’ Jeon.”

“It’s a 24-hour cafe,” he attempts to justify, and you only roll your eyes.

There’s something about you that’s so simple, yet at the same time makes you even more beautiful than usual. Is it the way your hair is messily tied in a low bun with flyaways that cover your face? Or is it how cutely you scrunch up your nose when your hair brushes over it, shaking your head to get it out of your field of vision? Maybe it’s how the space between your brows crinkle in concentration when you’re tapping orders into the iPad register, trying your best to accommodate to the system that seems to update every couple weeks with a new layout.

Jungkook leans over the counter, some funky latte you whipped up from the specials menu in his hand. “I was feeling a bit… off today. Wanted to see you.”

“Mhm,” you hum, wiping down the caps of the syrups that line the shelves. “Not sure what I could provide for you Jeon. But what’s up with you?”

He chews on his bottom lip anxiously. Is today the day? The day he finally professes his true feelings for you?

Jungkook tests the waters. “I, uh, got into a little argument with Jimin.”

You click your tongue, the same way Jimin did earlier in the apartment. “Why do you keep fighting with my favorite member of your band?”

“I thought I was the favorite.”

“Have you seen his ass?”

Jungkook tilts his head. “You’re not even sure what my band members look like, do you?”

Nose scrunching up, you do an arm swing, feigning disappointment from being caught in your lies. “Oh, darn. How’d you figure that out?”

He lets out a hearty laugh from his chest, warm and full of elation like he always does when he’s with you. For a moment, he doesn’t remember his fame, he forgets the crazy fans, the surfeit of stages he performs on—he just lives in the simplicity of this moment, the calmness before every storm of his shows, and gets to bask in the normal things about life. How the front of your brows dip when you’re using the little ounce cup to measure how much of those weird, sticky, fruity syrups to add into the drinks the customers’ order is probably his most favorite moment to swim in. He loves that you’re able to make him feel alive in this way, a different kind of alive in comparison to when his feet are on the stage of a venue, mic stand in hand while he sings his heart out because instead, he’s got his heart in the palm of his own hands, reaching it out to you.

“Seriously though, maybe you should get along with your boys,” you state firmly, wiping down the counters in unison. “They’re not just your bandmates or your roommates. They’re your best friends; you guys have come a long way from where you started. Don’t turn your backs on them just because you’re slightly annoyed.”

He sighs, rubbing the round of his cap discontentedly. Jungkook knows where you’re coming from, but he hasn’t exactly been entirely honest with you when it comes to why he got upset with the guys because well… it’ll expose this stupid little crush he has on you. “I know that. They just… they just don’t get me sometimes, you know?”

“That’s no excuse,” you quip, tossing the rag into the sink. “You sit down and talk like grown adults. Communicate. Converse until it gets through all of your heads. Don’t fight.”

Jungkook smiles. Again. He’s so infatuated that he knows he’s far gone now when it has to do with you. “The guys would love you.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t love them.”

With a chuckle, he adjusts himself by leaning against the counter. “I know. You’ve got that thing where you hate irresponsible people. They drink, party, get involved with girls then break their hearts—they’re not exactly the kind of personalities you love to associate yourself with. But forgetting all of that, as friends, they’re great people, and I think you guys would get along.”

“We have different morals.”

“They’re just people, they’re allowed to enjoy themselves.”

“So why do you get upset when they have one-night stands?”

Frozen, Jungkook remains in the spot he’s in, almost like his feet are rooted into the broken tiles of the coffee shop. How did you even figure that out? Was he that obvious? He didn’t think he was, especially since he’s been manually trying his best to control what he says when it has to do with the topic of dating. “I… I don’t get upset.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, Jeon. I hear the way you talk about them. Your voice raises a couple of decibels, your ears get all red, and your jaw clenches. Trust me, I notice. And it’s fine that you get upset, but that doesn’t mean that it’s just them that don’t understand you, but vice versa.”

Were you actually siding with guys you’ve never even met, let alone googled?

“Are you really taking their stance on this?”

“I mean, you can’t possibly think you’re perfect, right?”

His jaw tightens and ears grow heated. He takes a deep breath for a moment before speaking; Jungkook doesn’t get mad at you, at least, not really, but today is slightly different from your other encounters because he came to you to ditch those guys, only for you to bring up the same exact thing? Not the right time.

“It’s not that I think that I’m perfect—”

“So why can’t you try putting yourself into their shoes and see how they’re feeling? They’re also trying to understand you. I mean—you don’t have to tell me that you’re not perfect. You’re a rockstar, but that doesn’t mean you’re smart enough to decide that wearing all black in a public setting isn’t a good idea because I’ve already heard three separate side conversations of girls asking if it ‘really is Jeon Jungkook underneath that black dad hat with a prada logo’—”

Jungkook cowers. “What?”

You sigh. “You should go.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, well, I wanna see the Jonas Brothers perform but I’m in grad school, a broke ass bitch, and using every free minute I have to work at this goddamn fucking café.” Then you’re giving him that ‘that sucks’ look he’s all too familiar with. “You can see me when I’m studying at the library. Nobody who listens to heavy rock music studies there on a Sunday afternoon.”

“It’s not—”

You wave your hand dismissively at him. “Yeah, yeah, just go.”

This is the twelfth time Jungkook has invited you to a concert of his.

And it’s the twelfth time you don’t come.

It’s not like you give him empty promises either; you make it abundantly clear that the chances of you ever going is slimmer than 0.4%. How do you come up with that particular number? He’s not exactly sure, but he accepts the small percentage with a little glimmer of hope, nonetheless.

“Tae, I need you to help me with my guitar amp.”

“Isn’t that what the staff is for?” Yoongi narrows his eyes at his bandmate and Taehyung immediately places down his Starbucks mocha frappuccino on the stool before rushing over to help him.

Jungkook wishes you were here. This was quite literally the ‘calm before the storm,’ and seeing your pretty face and soothing voice would give him the encouragement to perform on stage, but he knows you’re not the type to come see a band that you’re not interested in.

He sort of hopes you were interested in him, but he digresses.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Namjoon asks, helping tune one of the electric guitars as he sits comfortably on one of the amps. “I thought you guys were good. Why doesn’t she come?”

“She’s not his girlfriend,” Jimin chimes in, walking on stage. He’s got his earpiece hung over the curve of his ear, and adjusting the mic stand to his height afterwards. “Apparently, Jungkook is a bit hesitant about asking her out.”

Taehyung jolts his head at the younger male. “Why the fuck you scared for? You’re the lead singer of a rock band. You’re fucking racking with money, pussy is literally lining outside your fucking door, and you’ve probably got a big dick—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Yoongi calls out, furrowing his brows at the kid, “don’t be talking about Jungkook’s dick like that, what the fuck?”

Jimin looks at Yoongi with a confused expression. “Have you seen his fucking dong?”

“Alright,” Namjoon gets up from his seat, propping the guitar back on its stand. “Let’s… How about we not talk about our friend’s genitals, and try helping him with his girl problem instead?”

Immediately, Jungkook waves his hands in dismissal. “No, it’s fine, seriously—“

Namjoon raises his palm up to halt the younger male. “Come on. We may have different perspectives in life, but tell us seriously how you’re feeling and we’ll figure it out together.”

“I just,” he sighs, running his fingers through his already disheveled hair. “I wanna ask her out, but I don’t know if I wanna do this because… she’s great but—“

“You think she’s only into the idea that you’re a celebrity,” Yoongi interjects, nodding his head as if he’s seen it before. “I used to date this girl—I’ve never introduced you guys to her before,” he’s got a finger put down with every word that describes her, “Beautiful. Tall. Sweet. Kind. But she loved that we were up and coming at the time, that we were getting famous so quickly and she loved that lifestyle. Wanted me to bring her as a date to every party. But I was so infatuated, my stupid ass didn’t see it. It wasn’t until that first record deal fell through that she also fell through.”

Jungkook puffs his cheeks. “Then what do you suggest I do?”

“Well, you’ll never know her unless you actually date her.”

Jungkook’s hands are abnormally perspiring way too much. He can’t believe that a girl, not even his first time performing on stage for thousands of people, causes him to feel this nervous. Shaking his shoulders in his bomber jacket, he takes in a deep breath before opening the doors of the library.

2nd flr, your text reads, and Jungkook recalls that you preferred this level since you were still allowed to talk here but in a low volume. You weren’t a big fan of dead silent places, and ever since you found this spot, it’s been your go-to. He’s already rushing up the steel staircases of the building the moment you confirm there’s a spot for him to sit in. It’s not his first time and he’s not even a student here, yet he’s probably been here more frequently than those who were enrolled. He comes to see you, not even to study or anything else. In reality, he finds himself scrolling through social media on his phone or even borrowing your laptop as your face is dug deep into the depths of the pages of your textbook, only to do the same exact thing he was doing on his own mobile device.

When he pushes through another set of double doors, he lets out a sigh of relief. There isn’t one specific reason why he feels this way, but there’s just something about you that releases the burden that sits atop of his shoulders.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls out softly, and your head perks up at the sudden movement of the chair in front of you. Pulling out an AirPod from one of your ears, your sunken eyes meet up with his. “What are you studying for?”

In your oversized charcoal hoodie (the one you got from Artizia that one time; something about how expensive it was but the moment your arms and head slides through the holes, you were already one with the hoodie), you’ve got your hair tied up in a loose, messy bun, stray strands cascading over your face. He takes note that you’ve been breaking out lately; a pimple on your cheek, nose, and chin, black circles darkening underneath those pretty eyes, and you’ve been putting in less effort to apply makeup on in the mornings.

Yet, you still look effortlessly gorgeous.

“What?” you say, half of the energy you normally exhibit.

Jungkook has a soft smile tugging on the edges of his mouth. You’re cute. “I asked what you were studying for.”

“Some specific law class. If I got into the details, you wouldn’t get it.”

He chuckles quietly. “Good call on stopping yourself from explaining.” Slipping the backpack off his shoulders, he unzips it before pulling out a sandwich he bought from the store.

Your face abruptly is three shades brighter.

“Is… is that for me?”

“No,” he retorts bluntly with a straight face until it breaks with a grin. “… Yes. Of course. I even got you chicken salad as the protein.”

You gasp. “Chicken salad? You went all out, Jeon Jungkook. What are you having?”

“Nah, I’m on a diet. I got a performance on Friday night and I’m supposed to showcase my abs.”

Your nose scrunches up, hands reaching out with a grabby-grabby motion. “Gimme gimme. And—do you have to show your abs? I mean, they come for your music, right?”

Jungkook narrows his gaze at you. “Come on, you can’t possibly think that they’re all here for the music. I’ve seen some of them that come backstage with VIP passes. It was like they paid for it to test their chances of fucking me or something ‘cause they didn’t even know the titles of some of the songs.”

Midway reaching your first bite of your sandwich, you cringe again.

“Which… actually is sorta something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Cheeks stuffed with the carbs, his heart is full with love at the sight. You’re so cute like this, eyes widened, smears of the mayo on the side of your lips, and your mouth is filled to the brim with the sandwich that he can see a bit of it protruding out.

“What?” He swears he saw you spit something out of your mouth but he ignores it.

“I… have a confession to make.”

How you swallow that huge ass bite so quickly, he’ll never know, but you wipe your mouth with a napkin, the fronts of your brows dipping at his abrupt statement.

Jungkook inhales a deep breath before releasing it while you eye him curiously. “I… like you.”

You snort.

It’s not the reaction he was looking for—or, well, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. “What?”

“Well, I don’t see why you’re making it into a big deal. We’re friends, aren’t we? I know you like me. Otherwise we wouldn’t be friends.”

His face contorts in confusion. “No, I meant like… I like you. More than a friend. Boyfriend and girlfriend kind of deal.”

You place your sandwich down gingerly.

“Do you… not like me in return?”

Shoulders dropped, your lips curve into a frown. He doesn’t want to be the type of guy who says you look beautiful even when you’re upset, but… you’re beautiful when you’re upset. “Don’t worry, I like you. You’re charming and handsome, smart at times and dumb at others, but there’s still things I learn from you. Of course, it’s sort of hard not to like you.”

Jungkook beams.

“But,” his face drops; nothing good comes out after the word ‘but’. “I wouldn’t necessarily be interested in dating you.”

He freezes; he’s more frozen than when Captain America is found in that block of ice. “Wh… Why?”

“Because you’re a rockstar.”

“And?”

You roll your eyes. “Jungkook, we both have vastly different priorities.”

Bewildered by your response, Jungkook adjusts himself in the wooden chair, the ones you complain about that make your ass hurt when you sit on them for too long, and clears his throat. “I mean, everyone has different priorities. I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

Fiddling with a piece of the bread, your eyes don’t even meet with his. “Jungkook, you seem to forget that you’re this big rockstar. You have billions of adoring fans, you travel frequently, you drink and get blackout wasted with your band mates, and well… I don’t know how else to describe your lifestyle other than that you’re living the dream. I’m just a grad student. I’m trying to finish school, get a job, one day get married and have kids. If we ever dated, we’d be casual. You’re like an undergrad fling, not a graduate school one.”

Baffled, his mouth is agape. Were you really labeling him as a fling despite the fact that the two of you haven’t even dated yet?

“You… okay, let me get this right. You don’t want to date me because I’m a rockstar?”

“Precisely.”

Leaning back in his seat, he pulls his baseball cap off his head and tosses it on the table before running his fingers through his disheveled tangled locks. “Wh… I’ve never been in this situation.”

You’re already reaching for your sandwich again as if you didn’t just tore his heart to shreds. “Um. I’m sorry. I think we’d make great friends though.”

“You know, girls would kill to date me because I’m a celebrity.”

There’s an empty look washing over your face. “Correct. Which all the more makes me not want us to date.”

“Because what?” he snaps, exasperated.

“Because,” you reiterate, continuing along, “I’d have so many people to compete with. What makes you think I wouldn’t be sitting in the middle of my apartment on days you’re on tour elsewhere, or pacing around my living room, distressed because I have no idea what my boyfriend is up to? Or if he has better options lining up, waiting to get his attention and be his when I’m supposed to be the only one?”

“Because,” he’s mocking you now, “you’d be my girlfriend. The only one that’s on my mind.”

You scoff. “Not the only one in your eyesight that’s half naked though.”

He groans frustratedly, rubbing his face into his hands. “I’ve never had to convince someone to date me before.”

“Jungkook, it’s fine. I think you’re great with an amazing personality. But we’re just not meant to be because I can’t understand your stardom life. That’s all. Maybe in another lifetime.”

“I don’t have control over those girls that strip in front of me or throw their undergarments on stage.”

“I never said it was your fault.”

He sucks in his cheeks, pondering on how to proceed next. Jungkook didn’t prepare for this—he thought he’d either get friendzoned or you’d run into his arms eagerly, excited to be finally his. And somehow, it’s… neither?

Jungkook never knew his job could get in the way of getting his dream girl.

He stays silent, absorbing all of this information. So you did like him back, you just didn’t want to get involved with a rockstar. It makes sense though, and he completely understands where you’re coming from because his bandmates live that same exact lifestyle that you claim is stereotypical celebrity behavior. But he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t like that, that he saw life a whole lot differently than those guys, and if anything he is solely dedicating himself to you and no other girl if it meant that you’d be his girlfriend.

“How… how do I convince you otherwise?”

This intrigues you. There’s a twitch in your brow, like your face is going to warp into a different countenance, but you’re resuming eating your sandwich again to stall a response.

“Maybe… if you come to my shows, go on a couple dates with me, and hang out with my friends, you’d… get a better glimpse of what that side of me is really like. It’s not like you don’t have feelings for me, right? So this is just… just a trial run. And if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll drop it and we can continue being friends again. I won’t probe you.”

Finishing your last bite, you brush your hands off of the crumbs on the side. He remembers the first time you did that; the remnants of your poptart that spilled onto the table while you were studying were whisked off and onto the floor and when he made a comment about how unsanitary it was, your rebuttal was, ‘if I’m paying this much for University, I’m going to make a mess.’ It’s one of the reasons he fell for you—not that weird thing with the crumbs you did though, he still doesn’t support it, but it’s how bold and honest you were, and he hadn’t met anyone like that.

Finger in your mouth to get the remains of the sandwich off the side of your teeth, you wipe your hand off on the napkin and suck in your cheeks. He cringes, and he knows you’re doing this purposely to throw him off because of his proposal.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” He didn’t think it was going to be that easy.

“Fine,” you reiterate once more, leaning back in your seat. “But if I still feel the same way, I’m moving on and you can’t keep pursuing. I’m giving this a shot in case one day, I look back and regret that I didn’t at least give it a try.”

Jungkook’s cheering inside.

The queue outside wraps around the venue and continues down the street, past a Starbucks, a post office, and some creepy gas station with a couple lights flickering, in need of a replacement. The sight of the amount of people that are waiting just to see Jungkook’s band perform is astonishing, leaving your mouth agape because truthfully, you’ve never truly thought about how famous he was. All you knew was that if you Googled his name, an actual Wikipedia page would show up.

Maybe that should’ve been the first sign that he’s actually a celebrity.

It feels wrong when you passed the people in the line, like you’re cutting them off or something, but this Staff pass that Jungkook gives you lets you slide in both the front and backdoors with ease, and allows way more accessibility than some nutty ass VIP pass that fans have to sell an organ for. So, pulling your jacket closer to your frame, you crouch your head down as much as possible to avoid any attention before flashing that plastic rectangular card with the words ‘STAFF’ printed in bold and caps, and the security guard steps aside without any words coming out of his mouth.

The first thing you could think of the moment you stepped backstage was that it’s… a tad bit hectic.

People are hustling and bustling, all occupied with tasks to tend to, earpieces plugged in and you take note of a couple of the workers with clipboards that are hollering out orders to the rest. It’s chaotic as hell, and you feel like you’re sticking out like a sore thumb just trying to weave through the crowds that are just trying to do their job when you’re here to see Jungkook.

You hate these kinds of places.

They’re so packed and filled with sweaty humans, wet and thirsty for these stupid boys at the same time, and you couldn’t be bothered to even be there. Although being backstage is quite the opposite, instead of those crazy fans, it’s frantic employees that are preparing the stage for Jungkook’s band to perform for those said weirdos on the other side of the curtain.

You [6:45PM]: where are you?

Jeon [6:45PM]: hold on, i’ll come out and get you!

He’s so easy to spot in a crowd full of people.

You ‘stick out like a sore thumb’ because you’re not working like the rest of them.

Jungkook, however, ‘sticks out like a sore thumb’ simply because of his looks.

You meant it when you said that it’s not him that makes you hesitant about pursuing a relationship, it’s his choice of career. He’s always got that pretty smile planted on his face, never failing to turn the heads of many, with charms that emit off him with simplicity, and when he says something even remotely flirtatious, your heart skips a beat. But your stance remains—Jungkook is a celebrity, and you’re not ready for that kind of burden.

Gesturing you to follow him, you don’t hesitate to trail after him in his leather tight pants that hug him in places you never thought your eyes would linger. Were his thighs always that big? You had to quickly shake your head from getting any weird ideas. This is Jeon Jungkook you’re thinking about here, a rocker, a musician, a guy with crazy adoring fans. You would and could never be more. It just didn’t make sense for it to.

When you say there’s a fucking shit ton of people backstage, there’s no exaggeration.

It slowly becomes harder to pinpoint Jungkook in the midst of the employees weaving through the crowds, and the mop on Jungkook’s head barely makes him accessible to find. Yet, he seems to figure this out when you’re not in close proximity—so he waits. He waits until you’re close, then in that moment, his hand reaches for yours and clasps them together.

You’ve never touched Jungkook or been this close in that manner, because when he tugs you closer, you get a whiff of his cologne that practically intoxicates you and has your knees buckling at the aroma. It’s a mixture of citrus with a light spice, some vanilla, and patchouli—then when Jungkook turns to confirm that you’re still there, a smile tugs on the corners of his mouth that tightens your chest even more.

Wait. Snap the fuck back into reality.

Jungkook is a fantasy, one you couldn’t afford to mesh into with your reality. He’s the type of guy that the moment you get involved with, he’ll steer you off your life course and you don’t want that. You worked too hard for your career, for your education, and someone like him could ruin your dreams in a heartbeat because of that gorgeous smile.

He’s like a bad boy meets a sweet boy into one. Tattoos decorate his biceps to his forearms, down to his hands and fingers. He’s got a piercing underneath his tongue, more jewels that adorn the curve of his ears, and he even has an eyebrow one. You never confess to Jungkook that you’ve watched his performances on Youtube before, but you definitely saw it. There’s no dodging those recommended videos on the home screen of the website, so you have been tempted to tap one of them (especially when the thumbnail is of him with those RayBans and that tight shirt).

He flexes his arms like he’s gotta use this strength for something, but it’s all for visuals. Sticking his tongue out his mouth, he uses it to outline his plump lips, moistening them as it glistens underneath the stage lights, then points directly at the camera, stares at it dead eye in the center before wetting girls’ panties just from a simple wink.

But when he’s offstage, he’s got this warmth that radiates off him, kind of like that cute reaction you see in Animal Crossing where flowers emerge with that sparkling sound effect, supposedly expressing joy.

Jungkook laughs with his whole face scrunched up, deep and thick like honey when he’s playing it cool, but higher-pitched and bright when it’s genuinely funny. He does that thing where his hand just stays in the air sometimes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hit your arm or put it down, but it’s part of his cute laughing habits that you’ll never understand.

It’s hard to tell him ‘no’ after his confession when he’s like this, gleaming with elation when he sees you, but the truth still stands. Jungkook isn’t the guy for you.

When he introduces you to his bandmates, who lounge around in the room with what looks like there isn’t an ounce of nerves in their system, the sound of your name also seems familiar to their ears.

Then Taehyung sports a cocky grin, extending his hand out for you to shake, and the words that leave his mouth only support your observation. “Finally, we get to meet you. Jungkook doesn’t shut up about you.”

Heat rises up to Jungkook’s cheeks. “Alright, enough of that,” he says, glaring at the older male. “Either way, these are my boys.”

His “boys” are what you expect, based on Jungkook’s description of them. Namjoon, the leader, is poised with eyes that curve to moon crescents, mirroring the way his lips curl. He’s gone bleach blonde, you recall Jungkook mentioned, but he wears a beanie that hides it, however the little baby strands that peek through expose him. He’s supposedly mature despite not being the oldest, and always brings order to the chaos.

Then there’s Yoongi, the quiet one with a hardened expression. He’s nice, you learn eventually after having a couple conversations with him, he just has a stiff facade you have to break into. You finally have names to the faces: Seokjin, oldest and loudest, Taehyung, the ‘artsy’ one who dresses accordingly what the current trend is, Hoseok, the cheesy ball of goo who seemingly is always beaming whenever he goes, and lastly Jimin, the big womanizer whose whole personality revolves around having an active sex life.

“You’re pretty,” Jimin compliments, but his tone exhibits a ‘stating-the-obvious’ vibe. “I see why Jungkook is so caught up on you.”

Taehyung snickers.

With a groan, Jungkook shoves Jimin out the way. “Stop,” he whines, “the point is to not scare her away, and you guys are doing just that.”

Namjoon lets out a laugh, and the way he gets up from the armrest of the couch to open the mini fridge to snatch a water bottle for you is comforting. He doesn’t poke fun like Taehyung and Jimin, in fact, he does the opposite. He hands the chilled bottle to you, and the way his eyes match that soft smile dressed upon his lips pulls you in. “Don’t mind them. It’s nice to put a face to a name. We’re happy to have you here, it’s great to finally meet a friend of Jungkook’s.”

“Water?” Seokjin calls out from the corner of the room, finally detaching his eyes from the screen of his phone. “Get her a beer or somethin’. You’re here for a concert, not for an interview. Go grab her that Budlight from the fridge, Joon.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Would you like a beer?”

Seokjin makes a point. If you’re going to at least enjoy yourself (and maybe release some nerves while you’re at it), you should grab yourself a drink.

A drink is an understatement.

You end up having more than just the two cans of beer in their dressing room—you somehow resulted in drinking a couple glasses of mojitos (your favorite), and enjoyed some appetizers leisurely, despite the crowds of people. And it’s all because of that sparkly VIP pass Jungkook gives you.

There’s a box, slightly higher than the rest of the mass of people, but not taller than the stage. It’s got these bars that perimeter the area, seats that are spaced out from each other, including tables so you can put your fancy drinks on. Jungkook mentions that they have this at all of his concerts, and that usually the wealthier fans tend to put in extra money for the comfort during the show, rather than being in that horde with skin on skin contact with strangers who are without a doubt sweating in this hot venue.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in your bloodstream, or is it your heart talking but Jungkook is… different on stage.

When your friends tell you about their concert experiences, you rarely ever truly understand what they mean. There’s a difference between listening to an artist’s song on Spotify or Apple Music, and hearing them onstage, feeling the vibration from the speakers that surround the venue, and that inebriated trance it puts you in. Body swaying to the music, eyes closed to heighten your senses; the thud underneath the soles of your shoes, the heat radiating off your skin—you lose control of yourself and just vibe with the songs that blare into your ears.

It’s also helpful that you have some rum in your system.

Jungkook and his band make this new adventure worthwhile. There’s no separation between the fans and the performers—they’re so interactive during their concerts, constantly getting the audience to sing along while holding their mic out, even tossing water bottles and sweaty towels in their direction, and winking or pointing to random girls to get them swooning.

And honestly?

That wink from Jungkook may have stirred something inside.

After the concert, a handful of screaming fans come running to his side the second he’s hopped off the stage. His intention was to run to you, give you that sweaty hug that you were oddly longing for, but instead, he’s already wrapped an arm around a crazed fan for a picture.

And suddenly, reality smacks your face like the winter’s brisk wind.

Being here was great in a sense that temporarily, you were able to forget. It was easy to bury all the concerns you had when it came to possibly dating Jungkook, but reality comes crashing like a storm, and you’re back to where you started. You could never date someone like him—the inconsistent schedules, the constant traveling, the careless environment, and the mounds of girls that chase him incessantly were all negatives. You’ll never know what he’s really doing, and wholeheartedly, you’re not sure how long you could do the semi-long distance kind of relationship either.

But Jungkook just wants to try so hard, and it’s making it difficult to tell him ‘no.’ It’s those pretty irises that sparkle with joy every time he sees you, long lashes fluttering over the smoothness of his cheeks, and those pouty lips that have you choking on the words you logically want to say, but the words from your heart spills instead.

So, you decide to run.

Well, not so much run, but ghost him, as the kids say.

When he approaches you after your class several weeks later—in a crowd of people, you note—your heart stops at the sudden intrusion. He's not supposed to be here. It’s too public for him to be here, dangerous too, because he’s without his security team and with his fame increasing, you fear for his safety. Immediately, you have fistfuls of the fabric of his black hoodie to pull him aside, letting his back face the students who move quickly in between classes to block his face and you sigh with relief.

“What the fuck? Why would you come here? Do you see all the kids here? What if they just start fucking bombarding you? What are you going to do?” Exasperated, you let your weight fall against the brick masonry so you could catch your breath from the anxiety with the release of his hoodie from your hands.

“You haven’t been calling me back. Or texting me,” there’s hurt in his eyes, permeating to the point of no denying. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” you reply shortly, pushing the straps of your backpack closer. “Just busy.”

He furrows his brows. “You told me a couple weeks ago that this is the only week you’re free in the semester. It’s Tuesday, you have one class and you haven’t even texted me back. Are you busy? Or are you avoiding me?”

“I’m just—”

Jungkook doesn’t even let you get a word in. “Because if it’s because I confessed to you, I’m sorry. I fucked up, alright? I thought you’d like me back, and maybe we could date—well, honestly, I didn’t know what would happen but I didn’t think it would be this. I didn’t want to lose my friend over it. Why couldn’t you just say you didn’t have feelings back so I wouldn’t just sit by my phone waiting—”

He doesn’t stop, even when your mouth drops open to interject, he doesn’t allow it. Quickly placing a hand to cover his mouth, he muffles a couple words into your palm before tilting his head puzzlingly. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

Jungkook pulls your hand off and you drop the hold with ease. “Then… what was it?”

“If I saw you again, it’d be hard to tell you that we can’t be together,” you solemnly disclose. “And I’m usually the type to control my emotions very well, but it’s confusing being around you.”

His expression softens. “Confusing?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you cross your arms over your chest. It’s a simple act, but part of you always feels like you need a shield to protect yourself around Jungkook because if it’s anyone to break your heart, he’d facilely do it. “You’re a great guy. I love talking to you, and hanging out with you is the highlight of my week. But I never know if you’re going to be out with someone, or if you’re going to be away next week for a concert or for some show appearance. What am I supposed to do when all those things are eating me up inside? We’re not even dating and I have all this anxiety.”

Strangely enough, in his past relationships, he’s never had anyone say those words. It has him wondering if they’ve ever felt this insecurity with him, and when he asked them for a break up, he wonders if they ever felt like they might’ve been right about their theory (even though it wasn’t).

But he didn’t want you to feel that way. He wanted you, without all of those burdens that he would be the cause of.

“You… haven’t even let me try yet. It was one concert. I didn’t even get to show you what kind of boyfriend I could be, the kind of man that could show you what it’s like to be loved.”

And there it was again.

Those gorgeous eyes; how are they brown yet manage to shine brighter than the stars in the sky? They’re hypnotizing when they meet with yours, having you locked in with the key thrown away and you’re left with saying with your heart feels instead of your head for the second time.

With a quiet voice, you say it once more. “Okay.”

Jungkook does try his best when he says he does. He’s a hopeless romantic, you learn, but it’s something he reveals continually and yet you never took seriously until now.

He often comes by after your classes with a cup of coffee, or drops by the library when he knows you have to stay late to do some research for your papers. Jungkook even takes you out on dates at times; once on a picnic, another at some fancy steak restaurant with the lights so dim that you couldn’t even make out the shadow of his face if it wasn’t for the little ass candle in the middle of the table, and sometimes, you’d go on walks in the park or alongside the river. He doesn’t fail to whisper sweet nothings to you from time to time, always reminding you how you’re the one that has his heart stuttering in its beats.

Jungkook sort of makes you feel like you’re dating a… regular guy. (And in a good way).

He even makes visits to your apartment, cooks dinner with you and stays the night. Some days, he has band practice or recordings, so you enjoy the leftovers from the night before, and although it feels empty not to have him in that seat across from you at the dinner table, his presence is faintly there—especially when he’s texting you in between breaks or Facetimes you when he can.

It feels… nice. Being loved like this, so effortlessly, like a soothing cool breeze on those nights in the summertime. There’s no weight on your shoulders, instead, you feel like you’re floating in the air when you’re with him—problems set aside, nothing but calmness instilled, and it’s just the two of you.

When he plants kisses from the corner of your lips down to the side of your neck, your breath hitches at the feeling. He’s so close, and you’re desperate to feel closer, but you don’t want to be another number on his list of women and yet here you were, melting underneath his touches.

You don’t say anything, but the fewer words spoken, the better because Jungkook comes back up once again, abandoning the end of the path of kisses he leaves to press his lips against the crown of your head with a hand cupping the other side of your face. He knows when to stop, understanding that there’s that insecurity that sits in the pit of your stomach, worrying about his past relationships, even though you know you shouldn’t be. So if this is how far you’re comfortable with, Jungkook complies.

The nights that he spends here end up lost with what feels like longer hours; you’re lost in him, inebriated by him, and you’ve even caught yourself becoming clay, with him as a sculptor, molding you into his version of perfection.

Except, you’ve already been created by yourself as the artist, and he’s purely the admirer. He strokes each curve and crevasse of you in adoration, gaze drenched and dripping in fondness, wishing nothing but to bask in your beauty for as much time he has left. Days, hours, minutes, seconds—you were right when you said that you’d never know when he’ll just have to grab his things and go, and Jungkook cherishes each moment he has with you.

He doesn’t want to tell you that what you said was the truth; it means that you’ll push away, that you won’t get to be his, and he’s hardly even fully fallen for you yet. There’s always uncertainty when it comes to being a musician, and Jungkook isn’t the exception.

And yet, he still pushes through, despite knowing all of this information.

Jungkook still cherishes his time with you, and pushes to the back of his mind that he might have to leave one day. You’ve mentioned pumpkin picking once, and although he’s not really the type of guy to go to a farm and pick a huge round orange colored fruit, he does it because you like it. Apple cider isn’t his favorite, but when you bring the drink up to his lips, he breaks out of his comfort zone to try it anyway. (Spoiler: he hates it.) Even though it sucks, he’d take another sip any day if that means he gets to see that bright laugh again.

But good things always come to an end.

With a sunken look on his face, he leans against the countertops of the pick up station at the café. Apron around your waist and a cup in hand, you eye your sort-of-boyfriend inquiringly. You’ve yet to make it an official label, and to be quite fair, the whole idea of him being a celebrity still doesn’t sit right.

He’s got on that baseball cap again, oversized hoodie with ripped black jeans, matching monochromatically from head to toe. Again, you wonder if he’ll ever get caught because this doesn’t necessarily camouflage him.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, popping the cup under the espresso machine. “Why the long face?”

He rolls his lips, almost like he’s hesitant about sharing his thoughts, but when your gaze narrows, he swallows. “I’m… going on tour soon.”

“Oh,” you say, mouth in an ‘o’ shape. It wasn’t surprising, after all, you saw this coming anyways. It hadn’t been the first time he's been on tour since the two of you were friends, but it’s the first since you’ve started this… somewhat of a courtship. “When?”

Clearing his throat, he readjusts his position uncomfortably. He can’t fully read what’s going through your mind, but part of him can already guess that you might not be happy with the news. “…Tomorrow?” The tone is uneasy, like he’s going to cower underneath the closest table.

“Oh,” you reiterate, this time softer. It hurts to see you like this, trying to hold yourself together as if you haven’t told him a million times before that this is what it’s going to feel like when he leaves for tour. “I see. Do you know when you’ll be back?”

Jungkook’s shoulders drop. He lets out the deepest of breaths with downcast eyes, evidently avoiding meeting the frown that he knows sits upon your pretty lips. It’s barely been a couple weeks since you’ve let him pursue you, barely enough time to get to know you in ways more than friends should, and he already has to go. And maybe he should’ve listened when you told him how arduous the goodbyes would be, but he selfishly wanted you to be his so badly. This wasn’t the last goodbye, it was a ‘see you again soon’ farewell, and he hopes you’ll see it the same way he does.

“It’ll… be quite some time. The tour is for three months, but we’ve also been invited to perform on the James Corden show.”

Your face brightens—quite the opposite of what he was expecting. “Wait—James Corden? Jungkook, that’s a pretty big platform. You guys would blow up even more with this opportunity. That’s amazing, I’m happy for you!”

But he sees that glimmer in your eyes.

At first, it’s easy to mistake it as one with hope, elation, and love.

He later finds out it was from your eyes watering.

This is his dream.

On stage, with a fandom that grows from thousands to tens of thousands to hundred thousands, and eventually, millions. Singing his heart out, with the songs that he produced and wrote with his best friends and being able to share it with the world.

Yet, it doesn’t feel right.

When he says, “I’ll see you again soon,” with a kiss on your forehead and a hug, your body gives him chills. It’s cold, and he could feel brisk winds in the air, blowing against the back of his jacket, but it’s supposed to be warmer. Before he left for the day, he checked the weather app to make sure.

Why is it freezing when he’s with you?

He calls, as promised, sharing stories of his journeys—from having to be in a cramped RV for hours on end with the boys, sleeping in those bunk beds that remind him of his youthful days at summer camp, and stopping at tourist attractions when they see one. His face is always radiating brightly, eager to talk to you and share his experiences, but his favorites are hearing yours.

The first couple times, you’re candid.

You share freely and comfortably, and he wants nothing more than for you to talk for hours. He loves hearing your voice; describes it as ‘smooth as honey’ yet at the same time ‘light and flowy like a feather’ and compares it to the melody of his favorite song. Jungkook was smitten by you, eyes filled with hearts each time your name popped up on his phone lockscreen. It made him forget the last time he saw you, how distant you felt despite being in his arms.

When he texts you goodnight, you’re off underneath the covers. Cozy, wrapped snugly with your blanket that you bragged you bought for a smacking good deal of twenty bucks, claiming that you’ve seen these go for at least eighty dollars. He misses that smile, the one he’d see before he’d turn off the bedside table lamps on nights he’d stay over at your apartment, and gets a whiff of lavender from your body wash when you toss and turn in slumber. The way you crinkle your nose in your sleep, and the way your jaw tenses and releases (he suggests you go see a dentist about that, but you’re so stubborn), it’s the little things that he begins to notice the absence of when he’s not near.

It was exciting and eventful at first; waiting for the clock to strike three in the afternoon to get a call from Jungkook after he took a break from a recording session, and another one just before bed, you could expect your phone to blow up between the hours of nine and midnight. The text exchanges were rapid fire too, Jungkook never failing to respond back as quickly as possible, sometimes replying to your messages directly or sharing a meme in the hopes of making your day.

Things get harder, you grow to learn, and it’s a mature thing to come to the consensus that this kind of relationship requires a lot of effort. You’re exhausted from your daily activities. From work to school, by the time you’re home, you’re to cook dinner for yourself, clean up your mess, possibly do other chores, shower, and prepare for bed. There isn’t even time for yourself anymore, let alone for somebody else, but you’re also starting to believe that Jungkook can’t even keep up with this lifestyle anymore.

Three months. Three months is a lot of time for a person to be apart from another, and enough time for people to change.

You spot Jungkook just in time for his performance when James Corden comes back from commercial break, and needless to say, he’s always breathlessly handsome. He’s got his hair slicked back, exposing the piercings that embellish the lobes of his ears, makeup that darkens his irises, and lips painted that familiar faint pink. With seven guys in the band, Jungkook stands center beside Jimin, but something about him specifically captures your eyes, although it seems like you’re not the only one.

His name is practically plastered on the majority of the handmade posters in the crowd, and your heart sinks. He’s gotten so popular in the past couple months; from billboards to trending topics on Twitter to magazine covers and endorsements on big name brands on Instagram, Jungkook and his bandmates have increased their fame three times more than what it had been before.

You see him everywhere on social media.

And sadly, you see him less in your personal messages and calls.

Daily video call dates get cancelled. The first couple times, all was forgiven. Things happen, and with his new hectic schedule, it’d be crazy if he didn’t reschedule. But eventually, it became too much. When he was available, you were either working a shift at the cafe, stuck in class, or meeting with your classmates for a group project. It never worked out, and in all truthfulness, your patience was wearing thin.

When Jungkook comes back, it’s like looking at a brand new person.

He’s gotten an uppercut, a couple new tattoos that adorn his arm, and walks with a certain jump in his step that you couldn’t miss. There’s a newfound confidence that he’s gained over tour, like he knows his own self worth, or even inflated the one he’d already had. But Jungkook is still a hopeless romantic. That’s the one trait that’ll never leave him, no matter where he is in life, he’ll always believe in love.

Entering through the double doors of the coffee shop, the bell above the entrance rings, and your sunken eyes barely even look up to see him. “Hey, welcome to Brew-tiful Beans, cold brew let me know your order?”

Jungkook snorts. “Did they… Did they train you guys to do those new greetings?”

Startled by that familiar voice, your ears perk up. Your body freezes, like the soles of your shoes are super glued to the broken dull tiles behind the counter and you can’t even bring yourself to turn to look at him. It’s been weeks since you’ve last talked, someone who was supposed to be chasing you, someone who was supposed to show you what it feels like to be loved. And he didn’t. He didn’t reach out, he didn’t leave a text, he didn’t call. He did nothing.

And he comes back like nothing even happened?

“Um,” you respond uncomfortably, wiping your hands off on the front of your apron despite nothing being on them. “Uh, yeah. New corporate thing. They came down from headquarters and trained all the baristas.”

Jungkook showcases that signature smile that easily swooned you before. It’s a bit different now, especially with how it’s been recently. “You hate all that fancy corporate stuff,” he states factually, and he’s right. You’ve mentioned it a plethora of times before, and part of you is slightly surprised he remembers it. “Experience only matters when it’s special to each person, if I recall that correctly. I know you’re a pro with all that customer service stuff, you told me you’ve been in the industry for most of your life.”

“Yeah,” voice soft and tone slightly off from the one you normally exhibit, Jungkook raises a brow questioningly because this abnormality doesn’t go over his head. “Something like that.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and inhales sharply. You’re different, and whether or not in a good or bad way, Jungkook wasn’t sure but he was going to figure out why. And he’d been so caught up with your punny greeting that he almost didn’t notice your recently cut hair, and when you pull your phone out to place it by the register, there’s a crack on the screen too.

“Something is off.”

You blink, this time, eyes meeting with his own. He makes your legs feel like those silly putty toys you used to play with in your youth, and your heart palpitates like you’ve just ran a marathon. Jungkook reminds you of your middle and high school crushes, the ones that make your hands all sweaty and give you the jitters as if you’re about to take a test you didn’t study for. It’s not fair that he reads you like an open book—were you really that transparent? You thought you did a good job of closing yourself off, but you have to keep reminding yourself that Jungkook is observant when it comes to these things. He’s a hopeless romantic, one that will continuously see nothing wrong with this relationship because he prefers the on-the-surface part of it.

“I’m at work, Jungkook,” you retort coldly, the same way you did when he said his goodbyes. Why is it that you keep up such a believable facade behind a screen, but in person, you’re freezing like a block of ice? “Maybe we can talk later.”

Hurt, he nods and steps away. It makes you feel worse because he’s so respectful, and the reasons you have for wanting to break this off always seem to dissipate when you’re around him. He’s just so… warm, like if home was a person.

At the end of your shift, he sits with tired eyes at the corner of the cafe. He knows better than to do or say anything when you ask for space, and to get out of your hair when you need it.

“Listen,” you begin, after locking the double doors of the shop. “I think… we should end this.”

Startled, Jungkook steps back. “Wait—what?”

Sighing, you rake your fingers through your tangled locks tiredly. All the negative thoughts had been eating you up inside, and staying with Jungkook wasn’t helping. “I can’t get over it. I can’t fucking get past all the things that come with you because you’re a celebrity.”

“Because I chose to follow my dreams, I can’t be with you?” This can’t be happening.

“It’s not your fault—”

He scoffs. “Damn fucking right it’s not my fault. I did everything—I made you feel loved. And… that’s it?”

“I just… I don’t think I could handle all the uncertainty.” That was it. There wasn’t anything else after that, but he couldn’t hear anything else after your last apology over the sound of his heart shattering into a million pieces.

And with that, he watches as you drag your exhausted frame away, head down and dig into the fabric of your hoodie where he doesn’t hear the faint sobs that escape your lips.

“We broke up,” Jungkook snaps, aggressively tossing off the headphones that sit atop his head. “We weren’t even officially together and she fucking broke up with me.”

“Bro, I’m sorry,” Namjoon says, patting Jungkook’s back comfortingly. He knows that Namjoon is trying his best in this situation, one he’s not familiar with himself, but he wants Jungkook to feel better. “I know she meant something to you.”

“This is stupid,” covering his face with his hands, he leans back in his swivel chair. Going through heartbreak should get these juices flowing, get his thoughts moving and the pen scribbling on pieces of scrap paper full of ideas. But he’s got nothing. Empty, clean sheets of printer paper, all stacked nicely upon his work desk with a filled cartilage of ink in his pen. “How the fuck did I get broken up with because I’m a rockstar? I’ve been searching far and wide for a girl to date me for who I am without the whole costume getup. Then when I find her, she doesn’t want the side that the rockstar brings but it’s part of me.”

Namjoon sighs, pulling a seat beside Jungkook. “Well, maybe she isn’t the girl for you.”

“She’s definitely the girl for me,” he corrects, shoulders and hands dropping. “She’s so the girl for me, and the fact I can’t have her because of the consequences that come with my dreams makes me feel like shit.”

“You’ll find someone who will,” the older friend assures, picking up the pen to hand it to him. “Trust me. Don’t settle for someone who would make you consider quitting your dreams.”

But that’s the thing. You don’t ask him to pick between his dreams or you, you made that decision yourself. To him, you all had all the qualities he’d want in a partner—smart, beautiful, kind, and liked him for who he was behind closed doors—but he never stopped to think before if he checked all the boxes for you, and was overly confident despite never saying it.

“She never told me to quit my dreams,” Jungkook snatches the pen from Namjoon’s hold. “She just didn’t think my dreams were fitting for her lifestyle.”

Namjoon nods, finally absorbing in the why of the end of your relationship with Jungkook. “Well, shouldn’t you be grateful? She didn’t continue to lead you on. Told you what she wanted then and there, and moved on.”

He groans, head dropping onto the desk with a thud. “Is it bad that I don’t want that?”

“No, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t respect her wishes and do as she asks anyway.”

He knows his leader is right, and he normally always is when he gives life advice, but Jungkook hates that this is what he’s right about. He doesn’t want to let you go, step away from a girl who makes him feel whole again, someone who made him want to keep improving as a person for not just her, but himself too.

But he’s beginning to lose that drive without you by his side.

So, he decides that he’s going to take a combination of both Jimin and Namjoon’s suggestions. Namjoon’s is to move on, and continue to do what makes [him] happy. And Jimin’s is to eat, sleep, record, perform, drink, and fuck.

And shit, does Jungkook do all those things.

He knows that if you were standing before him right now, you’d tell him that he’d become exactly what you said he would. What else would he expect you to say? He’d then deny profusely, waving his hands in dismissal and sending rebuttals your way until you’d get annoyed enough that you would stop. But you’re not here now, and it’s just him. He doesn’t need to impress you anymore. Although he wants to, there’s no need for it now.

Jungkook doesn’t love this lifestyle, as much as he wants to admit that he does, it doesn’t fit him. These girls that snugly sit on him while he’s seated on the leather couches of this blaring loud club aren’t you, and because he’s gotten a taste of what your petal lips are like, he’s addicted and wants nothing else but that. When he’s standing on the dance floor, girls’ asses up against his dick, grinding and swaying their bodies to the music, he only misses the way you turn around in your sleep, curling up to become smaller and he’d be able to wrap his arms around you like a blanket.

He hates having them on his personal bedroom sheets, so he never brings them home. You’ve never been tangled in them, so he doesn’t even have your scent imprinted on his pillowcases, so why would he have some strange girl’s?

So he takes them to a hotel, every single endeavor, fuck them with his frustrations and leave them without any conversation to exchange. Jungkook didn’t want attachments. He’s too busy being into you.

But during that time apart from you, it only makes him miss you… more. He’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted—a record deal, multiple albums, songs that hit top ten on charts, fame, and all the money he could need. If Jungkook decided he wanted to quit pursuing music now, he’d be able to afford it.

And honestly, he’s starting to reconsider this whole rockstar life. Was it worth chasing all your dreams, having all of these so-called ‘great things’ when during it, you have nobody to share it with? Sure, he had his boys, but if he had been completely honest, the money was slowly changing them all. As a group, they rarely hang out anymore. There weren't any of those Friday night dinners, where they used to eat at bbq joints and have just pork skin because they couldn’t afford the fancy meats. Or when they find a way to stretch their money, and find clever ways to do it together as a group, because the up-and-coming artist lifestyle was brutal. They’d try stuffing as many clothes they could in those washing machines at the laundromat so they wouldn’t have to waste another quarter. Eventually, they ended up handwashing everything, but nonetheless, they did it together.

And now, Seokjin only eats Kobe beef if it’s beef. Taehyung’s clothes aren’t thrifted, they just look thrifted, with name brands printed across the fabric. Yoongi can’t seem to relate to any of the guys anymore, much like Jungkook himself, so he coops himself up in the recording studio for days on end, hoping to produce the next big hit. His best friends weren’t his best friends anymore, and once again, Jungkook is lonely. But not just lonely for love, but his friends again.

If this is what happiness is supposed to be, he doesn’t want it.

It’s been two years since he’s been back here. Here, as in the neighborhood where the apartment he stayed at with the guys when they were just young kids chasing their unattainable dreams was at.

Do you still work in that cafe by the university? Is the cold brew at Starbucks still your go-to? What about those rainy days—is it still the weather you prefer to go driving in? How about your hair? Does it still get tangled in those gold hoops you like to wear? Is Coldplay your favorite band? Or have you already moved on from them like you did with him?

He didn’t know he’d see you here. If he did, he would’ve prepared himself better—maybe wear a nicer shirt, or chose those jeans that he splurged on instead of these sweats that he saw hanging over the back of his computer chair with a t-shirt he definitely put on rotation twice this week. But he can’t turn back now, especially when you’ve spotted him across the room.

You did a double take, he notices, because you even rub your eyes afterwards to see if it’s true.

It’s like time stops. Nobody around him moves, and the room goes silent. You’re somehow exactly the same yet different at the same time—you’ve dyed your hair (some type of balayage, he thinks it’s called), and you look toned (have you been working out?), but the way your mouth curls up at the sight of him, lashes still long and pretty when they brush against the high points of your cheekbones, he knows you haven’t fully changed. You’re still that simple girl he fell in love with.

His trance breaks when you gesture him in your direction, and he’s quick to grab his order from the to-go counter so he can get to you. What’s this weird feeling rushing through his veins? It’s one he hasn’t had in a while.

It's… exciting.

Jungkook’s excited to see you, and he hasn’t been excited to do anything in a while. But seeing you again, in some random coffee shop, in the last place he’d ever think of is… nice. It’s refreshing.

He knows if he tells you how he’s been feeling, you’d roll your eyes and call him a hopeless romantic like you used to. He manages to find the dull, mundane things in life and make it riveting, embellishing it with the “Jungkook-touch” so that it’d seem more fantasy or fairytale-like. But Jungkook hasn’t been able to do anything like that in quite some time, and just looking at you has his heart racing like this only confirms his emotions.

“H-Hey,” he greets, mentally punching himself because how wimpy did he look for stuttering over one goddamn word? “You’re… here.”

You smile so wide that your eyes replicate the shape of your mouth. “Hey! And you’re here. Didn’t think I’d ever see you back.”

Jungkook rubs his nape with an awkward laugh. He still wears that stupid black hat, despite the black now slightly purple in discoloration from overuse. “I… yeah. Needed a break. Wanted to get out of that busy life for a bit.”

You nod with pursed lips with a book laid flat on the table, phone with the screen down, and a cup of iced coffee. “I get that. Took a day off from work to… yeah. Catch my breath.”

“Right,” he says, mostly as a filler for the weird silence. “Um. Yeah, it’s uh… nice seeing you again—“

“Are you single?”

Jungkook nearly chokes on nothing. “W-What?”

You blink, as if your bold question is one people ask casually in a regular conversation. (Spoiler: it’s not.) Tilting your head to the side, you lean back against the booth you’re sitting in with your arms crossed on your chest. “I didn’t stutter.”

“I know that but—”

“Well?” God, even though he hasn’t seen you in a while, the feelings come rushing back like a tsunami. There’s something about you that always has him stuck like this.

“I’m single,” he confirms, although he doesn’t understand why you need this information.

“Great, if you’re interested, I… wanna take you out tonight.”

Something he remembers from your friendship is that if your hair is down, it’s a special occasion.

And well, your hair is let down, cascading over your shoulders and pretty collarbones. He takes note of the new piercings that ornaments your ears when you tuck a couple of loose strands of hair behind, but that’s when he notices that the piercings weren’t the only thing new—you got a tattoo. It’s dainty, small, and hidden behind your lobes from the world to see and it fits you so perfectly.

“Hey,” you greet with no hint of anxiety in your voice. You’ve decided to wear a grey band tee (unfortunately, it’s not his band), baby blue jeans, and a leather jacket. How do you always remain calm and collected every time? Because he’s nervous out of his mind. Who wouldn’t be though? He’s going on a date with a girl he’s had a crush on, despite not seeing her for two years.

Thankfully, this time, he could impress you. His outfit is casual, but not too casual as before because he opts for an expensive pair of jeans instead of the raggedy ones he had since before his band’s debut.

“Should we go for dinner?”

God, he feels weak. You’re even pretty when you’re eating spaghetti, when you twirl the stringy carbs with a fork, bringing it to your lips with a soft moan. It’s delicious, apparently, and he doesn’t taste the pasta but you’re like a walking advertisement for this dish. He can’t help but to notice how lovely you are holding a champagne flute, the sparkling liquid glossing over those plump lips of yours.

He’s distracted. In his mind, he can’t understand what’s going on here because you’re the one asking him out, you’re the one who suggested to have dinner together. What’s the point of all this?

But you remain eating your food and talking just like how the two of you left off your friendship. Not relationship, but friendship.

Jungkook forgot how easy it was to talk to you—you’re just so welcoming and kind without actual judgement, in spite of your teasing words. You love to banter, he remembers, and that’s a trait of yours that never changed, other than the fact you still make his heart swell like a balloon.

Toward the end of your meal, he thinks the night is over. Truthfully, he’s scared. Afraid that whatever this was is another fleeting moment—another chance for you to walk away once more and tear out his worn heart from the last encounter from you.

Then, it’s like you read his mind because you offer to take a walk to ‘burn off the calories from dinner.’

But, unlike the exchanged laughter and stories over dinner, the walk is quiet. It’s like the awkwardness weighs heavy on both your shoulders, and sits atop his lungs because it’s hard to properly breathe with the burden of uncertainty. Did you have something to say? What’s the reason for having dinner with him?

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, unable to even meet with his stare. You keep your vision forward, looking into the river as the cold air weaves through your hair and cools the heat that rises around your neck from all the anxiety of being with Jungkook. “I told you that I didn’t want to date a celebrity, and I left you. Even though you tried, you made me feel special, and you made me feel loved. I said I didn’t want what comes with dating a rockstar, and I made a selfish decision.”

“It… it was an acceptable selfish decision, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out.”

You laugh, shrugging in your big coat. “I guess. But… I forget sometimes that when you love someone, you make some sacrifices.”

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip. Even when he observes you, the little ticks you give away, he still can’t read you. You’re not the same person you were years ago, and yet, he’s already learning to love this version of you. “Do you?”

You tighten your lips into a straight line for a moment. “Yeah. And even though we only dated briefly, I loved you throughout our friendship. I made a choice—one that was solely for myself, one that I thought I’d be happy with.”

He swallows. “And?”

“I’m happy, but I think I’m happier with you.” His heart clenches. Barely able to get a word in, you continue, “And I can keep being happy with myself, by myself, or I can be happy with you too. I forget sometimes that you can chase your dreams while still loving someone.”

Jungkook blinks. “And what about the consequences of my dreams?”

Finally, you turn and your eyes meet his. They melt into his irises like those hot chocolate bombs when they drop into a hot cup of milk��so sweet, so warm, fitting for the winter. “If you loved me back, you’d never do the things I said I’d assume. I would try—the whole long distance thing when you’re away, maybe even travel and stop by shows. Call you daily. Kiss you goodnight, and wish you sweet dreams,” you pause for a moment, scoffing in disbelief at yourself, “I’m… I’m not usually the hopeless romantic here, Jungkook, but you did something to me.”

This… wasn't what he was expecting out of this date but he doesn’t have any complaints.

Now, don’t get it mixed up.

Jungkook is a hopeless romantic. Not easy.

He doesn’t let you in that simply, no matter how tempting you are with those tainted pink lips that remind him of strawberries. Or how you briefly mentioned there’s a cute little tattoo on your hip bone of something sweet, you’d say teasingly, and it’s got his jeans uncomfortable. You’re a walking temptress, and it’s safe to say that he has to put up a shield over his heart in case you’d want to break it again.

Yet, that same insecurity is swirling in the pits of his stomach again. Do you love him or who he is as a celebrity? Especially now, with his fame rising and more people recognizing him on the streets, he can’t help but wonder once more if you love who he is as a person and not this persona he puts on stage.

So, he tests a couple things.

Jungkook knows how bad this sounds, but in all truthfulness, it’ll make him feel better. He still loved you, even from before you gave him a chance, and even still now when you’re standing before him, a different person. All he wants to know is if you love him like that too.

Slouched over on the worn out black leather couch of his recording studio, Jungkook ponders with his shoes tapping against the laminated flooring. He’s been stuck on this ‘new message’ screen with your name in the ‘to:’ section, fear rushing through his veins like every performance on stage. Except, he’s performing in front of you, to test whether or not these feelings you claim to are what you really mean.

Yoongi eyes Jungkook carefully. The kid has been sitting on this goddamn couch for hours, and although Yoongi thought of speaking up several times, he figured if he left Jungkook be, maybe the problem would resolve itself.

It’s been five hours.

Yoongi can’t focus with all that leg shaking.

“Alright,” he says, breaking the silence with a turn of his swivel chair. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Surprised, Jungkook looks up. “Huh? What?”

Yoongi points to Jungkook’s phone. “You’ve been staring ar your fucking phone for five hours. Not moving your goddamn fingers but instead you keep shaking your leg. It’s distracting. What are you doing?”

“She’s back,” Jungkook announces, except the way he says it makes it sound like a horror movie. Yoongi picks up on who she is, but he can’t make out why Jungkook would be so scared to talk to you again.

“Okay, so what’s wrong?”

“She said… she made a mistake last time,” he begins, and Yoongi raises a brow in curiosity.

“Again, okay, so what’s wrong with that?”

“Well, what if she’s back because I’m famous, and not because she loves me?”

Ah, it was clicking in Yoongi’s head now. It’s like a lightbulb pops above his head, and everything is making sense now. “I get it. So… what are you doing?”

“I’m gonna ask her to come to our show tonight.”

Yoongi blinks blankly. “O…Okay, and… how’s that gonna determine if she loves you for you or your fame?”

Jungkook’s shoulders drop. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

The two sit in silence for a moment, Jungkook’s mind empty but Yoongi’s head is swarming with ideas. His friend is stuck, is what his brain is telling him, and as a natural instinct, he’s coming up with ten thousand ways to make this work.

“Tell her to come,” Yoongi says, shattering the glass of quietude. “And give her the cold shoulder if she comes. Maybe get Jimin to flirt with her and see if she’s interested in him when he gives her the attention.”

Jungkook snaps his finger as if it’s the best idea he’s ever heard. “Good point.”

You reply in less than thirty seconds later.

you [7:52pm]: sweet offer, but it's sunday and i have work bright and early in the morning. rain check? maybe facetime before you get on stage? i’ll give a kiss for good luck.

Jungkook chokes on his saliva .

Yoongi stares at the bright screen, lost for words.

“Well, that backfired.”

“I only had ideas for when she would go. She’s gonna miss out on a free concert from one of the bands on the top of the charts right now?”

Jungkook scratches his head. That’s true. Who would do that if they’re thirsty for clout?

This new plan dawned on him on a Thursday afternoon.

He recalls that you brought up momentarily about how you worked in a research lab at the University downtown, and coincidentally enough, it’s close to his record label.

So he thought… why not?

Why not meet her outside of her workplace with no disguise? Would she like that? If she truly was into this for fame, she’d like being seen in public with him without the hats and jackets.

And the second he sees you pushing through those double glass doors, Jungkook expects your face to brighten at the surprising sight of him.

God, he completely forgot. He completely forgot about his first impression of you—that day at the coffee shop where you ran into each other, spilled coffee, and profanities slipped.

Well, more than just explicit language.

Remember how he said he didn’t want to relive some of the insults that spewed out of you?

He’s reliving it again.

You’re fuming, it’s unbelievable. If he wasn’t in shock, he’d be able to hear the smoke whistling from your ears as you’re attacking him again. Your words are like bullets, and he didn’t wear a bulletproof vest to protect himself from it. Shuffling through your bag, he notices a white jacket stuffed into the opening, and you manage to pull out a black baseball cap out of it.

“Wear this.”

Jungkook stares at you, perplexed.

You shove the hat into his chest. “Loosen the back strap. Wear it. We’re on a fucking college campus, you can’t seriously think you can just walk around here without anything on, right?”

Slowly, he grabs the hat from you and readjust the tightness before putting it over his head. “You’re mad?”

“You idiot, remember when I said that even hats don’t cover your face that well? It’s a stupid disguise. But it’s still better than fucking walking around with nothing on. Jesus, Jungkook, what came over you?”

“Sorry, I just—”

You squint your eyes at Jungkook. “You’re testing me.”

He clears his throat, something caught in his windpipe just like he’s being caught red handed right now. “W-What?”

You cross your arms over your chest, sucking in your cheek as you observe his slightly cowering expression. “You’re testing me. And that’s fine, Jungkook. I come back suspiciously when you’re more famous than before. I get the precautions. But don’t fucking put yourself in a position where you could hurt yourself physically because you’re afraid I’ll hurt you emotionally.”

So, that failed too. And you figured him out.

To be fair, while he was trying to come up with a plan to see what your whole thing was going back to him, it sort of brought him and his friends back together.

Everyone was excited to come up with something—Yoongi had experience dating a girl who was like that, and the rest of the guys just had fun chiming in.

“Video girl syndrome,” Yoongi begins, stealing it from a Jonas Brothers song (the original JB, but he’s not gonna get into that right now), released in 2008, and pretty much describes the girls Jungkook talks about when he says he doesn’t want to end up with them. “is when they live for fame, love the money—”

“You could just recite the whole entire song for us,” Taehyung interjects, and Yoongi whacks him on the back of his head with a newspaper.

“Alright,” Namjoon says, voice louder in volume to get the rest of the boys to stop playing around. “How about we ask you questions about how she’s been acting lately? From our experiences, that is, since I’m a thousand percent sure we’ve all dated video girls.”

“Mm, and see if you’re a victim,” Seokjin raises up the beer can in his hand and Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“I got one!” Hoseok shoves Seokjin to the side and he glares at his band mate from the corner of his eyes before brushing it off. “Does she laugh at your jokes when you’re not even being funny?”

Jungkook tilts his head. Has he ever tried being funny in front of you? Because, he’s never seen you laugh at anything he said. But—other exes come to mind when Hoseok says this. “Mm, no.”

“Has she ever asked you for money?”

“Only because I ordered a drink from the cafe she worked at.”

“What about your famous friends? Does she name drop any of them?”

Jungkook furrows his brows in thought. Did you? Then a quick flashback of you pulling out your phone when he brings up Namjoon, and tapping of characters into a google search before you nod and pull your lips into a straight line with a, “I remember him,” then resuming back to listening to his story.

“She googles everyone I name drop.”

Namjoon leans back in his seat. “So wouldn’t that just prove that it isn’t like that? What are you so worried about?”

Jungkook sighs. “I don’t know I just—”

“He’s worried she’s gonna leave him again,” Jimin adds on, and Jungkook is taken aback because out of all the guys, he thought Jimin would be the least to understand. “But if she’s back now, and she says she’ll try, you should let her. Let her prove to you instead of you having to come up with tricks. She’s chasing you, remember? Because she left in the first place.”

At first, Jungkook thought that the person who wouldn’t have any ounce of input would be Jimin.

But he didn’t realize that during the times he’d been desperate to have a friend to offer a shoulder for him to lean on, Jimin needed one too.

It’s what prompts Jungkook to actually start lifting up that barrier he put up to protect himself from you. He invited you over for dinner at this old KBBQ joint with his friends, the one he was missing after all the time, and the laughter you brought out of them made Jungkook feel like… this is what he was wishing for. This was that puzzle piece in his life that needed to be found. And for the first time, Jimin speaks about his experience with a ‘video girl’ and Jungkook’s outlook on him changes.

The fact that he couldn’t share anything comfortably in front of his so-called best friends, but he does it easily with you spoke volumes. All six boys with their ears perked up gave nothing but undivided attention to Jimin, and it aches Jungkook’s heart knowing he wasn’t there for his friend when it was vital.

It’s why Jimin is the way he is. And honestly, Jungkook can’t even blame him.

But he makes a good point—make you do the chasing.

And, surprisingly enough, it works.

The things Jungkook used to do for you, to make your relationship with him work and prove that just because he’s a celebrity, it doesn’t mean he can’t be a trusting, average boyfriend. Those facetime calls were always initiated by him in the past; now it’s your name that pops up on his lock screen with a cute selfie he saved as your contact photo.

He learns that you don’t love going to his shows, not because you weren’t a fan of his music, but because you just didn’t love loud spaces. It’s why you prefer those special floors of the library, where there’s quiet muttering since it’s not a ‘quiet zone’ but enough sound for white noise in the background. It helped that you didn’t like entirely hushed rooms either.

But you meet him after, wrapped in a coat despite him telling you to stay home because it’s too cold outside. And yet, you ignore his requests with a sweet smile on your face, tugging not on your just lips, but his heartstrings, with a honeyed, “hello,” when he spots you standing outside their van.

“What are you doing here?” He says, voice mixed between anger that you’re standing out in the freezing cold but excited because the girl of his dreams came to see him after a show. “I thought I said stay home.”

“I’m an adult, I can make adult decisions,” you state firmly, bouncing in the soles of your shoes. “I wanted to drop by. Ask if you want to hang out.”

Jungkook lifts a brow. “It’s late.”

“We can hang out at my apartment,” you reason, and Jungkook could hear the giggles from in the car coming from his band mates. He could almost feel the heat radiating off of you that rose to your cheeks in embarrassment, but bold and loving is how you’re trying to present yourself in front of Jungkook since he’d always been the one to give. “So… what do you say?”

“Say yes, you idiot!” Taehyung hollers and Namjoon slaps his hand over his mouth.

With a hearty laugh, Jungkook gestures his head to the van. “What Tae said. Sure. I’ll come over.”

You don’t live in the same apartment building as you used to. Just like yourself, you’ve moved on to bigger and better things.

For one, it’s spacious and not cramped like your old studio. Your kitchen, dining room, and bedroom aren’t in the same vicinity, and where you sleep has its own four walls that don't take you to the next room after two steps forward. Instead, you’ve not only graduated with a PhD, but you’ve also graduated from a studio to a one bedroom apartment.

It’s kind of nice seeing you in a different setting—just a few years ago, you were struggling to make ends meet; rationalizing amounts of food, calculating how much of a dollar gets split to what but now you’re asking him if you could treat him out for dinner.

When you slide your jacket off, putting it on a hanger to toss onto the rod in the closet, he grows slightly anxious. It’s not like how it was two years ago, it’s not even close. You’re the vocal one here, taking the lead in this so-called relationship, and once again, you’ve got him feeling weak in his knees for you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, breaking the silence. It’s easy to sense his nervousness, especially when Jungkook doesn’t often get that way around you. He’s usually comfortable, calm, and cool, but tonight, he exhibits the characteristics of the old version of yourself when he was bolder.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Mm,” he hums, as if something really was stuck in there, but the only thing lodged in his throat are his words. “I’m uh, I’m good. We’re… we’re hanging here?”

“Yeah,” you respond, pursing your lips as you extend your arm. At first, Jungkook’s heart starts racing, thinking you’re asking to hold his hand, but you gesture to the jacket over his shoulder and he mentally sighs of relief. “I made some cookies. Wanna drink coke and watch a movie?”

This… makes Jungkook laugh. A laugh that he hasn’t had in a while, one that roars from the depths of his chest, one that’s so genuine and warm, one that he hasn’t caught himself reacting in this way in a while. There’s something simple about how you say it—so harmless, casual and innocent. Dirty thoughts don’t surround your head, just a sweet night with him and junk food.

The night is blissful. He gets to shower in your bathroom, doused in that intoxicating lavender you emit off your skin, and get into his sweatpants instead of those leather pants he always wears on stage.

“I didn’t expect you to be there tonight,” he says, ruffling his damp hair. “It was cold, and I said not to go.”

“I thought we went through this,” snatching the remote from the coffee table, you’re already skimming through your abundance of options on Netflix. “I’m an adult who can make adult decisions.”

He can’t help himself. That grin that pierces through his exterior is hard to control. “And is one of them choosing ‘Soul’ as an option for a movie night? You realize that’s a kid movie, right?”

Flabbergasted, your head jolts to his gaze. “Have you ever even watched it?”

You’re cute. “No but—”

“Jeon Jungkook, just because films are animated doesn’t mean they’re limited to the viewing of only children.”

And, you’re right. He finds himself on the verge of shedding tears, and despite it being the fourth time watching it, you don’t fail to cry every time.

Maybe he shouldn’t do this anymore. Maybe he should stop playing these games, stop testing you and seeing if you truly mean what you say because life is too short to spend wasting it on wondering on the ‘what if’s’ when he has you right here, just fingertips lengths away on your loveseat couch. Because you’re here, you’ve asked him to keep you company tonight, and you don’t run away from your feelings like you used to.

Quite frankly, that’s all he asks.

You’re everything else he hopes for you to be, and yes, you have flaws, but who doesn’t? But with you—he just wanted to understand you, and for you to reciprocate it.

Now that you have, what was he waiting for?

It doesn’t take long for you to get tangled in the sheets with him, Jungkook’s hand finding a way to slide up the side of your face, threading through your hair that falls loose from its bun. Lips locked, sucking and licking, he misses the sweetness of you, how disorientated he gets from just being with you, and how happy you make him.

Hazy, he pulls away with a string of saliva between the two of you. Your irises are swirls of the skies, the ones that lead to an unknown, yet he feels comfortable like this. And part of him finds comfort that you’re just as uneasy and complacent as he is. “Is this okay?” Jungkook asks, and you feel your chest tightening from the motive of the question.

“If you’re okay, I’m okay,” you answer softly, eyelids fluttering closed. Lashes damp, they brush the highs of your cheeks so prettily, so effortlessly, just as you’ve stolen his heart.

“I want you to be okay,” he clarifies, and you nod with a soft, reassuring smile.

“I’m always okay if it’s with you.”

You’ve had previous lovers before. Ones that claimed to love you, and ones that weren’t technically ‘lovers’ but were flings. And comparing this experience with Jungkook to them makes you realize a couple things.

That darkened gaze he has on you, tongue pressed flat against your clit, hands on your thighs to push you down, stopping you from shutting your legs. Fingers raking through his wavy hair, your head throws back with a gasp when he sucks, the sound filling your ears and heat rises up to your face. Were you that wet already? He’s barely got his mouth on you, and the fact he’s got you so weak already makes you slightly embarrassed.

But Jungkook doesn’t care. He just wants to see that pretty face contort in pleasure when he does that thing with his tongue that other girls claimed sent them to heaven. (He won’t tell you they said that though. They’re in the back of his mind.)

Kissing the side of your thighs, you’re woozy, attempting your best to catch your breath, but a finger slips into your opening before you’re able to relax. His lips wrap around your nub once more, and when he thrusts another finger in, you’re unraveling under his touch and you see whites behind your lids with a shutter of your body.

Rising up, Jungkook grins cheekily. He’s glad it’s him that’s got you like this, and he’s so full of elation knowing that he gets to be with you in this way. Pushing away the wet strands of your hair that sticks to the side of your face, he gets to see that gorgeous face a bit better. With a gentle peck on your nose and a rub on your cheek with his thumb, it doesn’t take much for him to ask, “are you okay we go further?”

Yes. Yes! Fuck yeah. Totally. Shit, yeah. But you don’t want to seem too excited around him, no, it’s too early in the relationship. With a cool, calm tone, you reply with an airy, “yes.” If only you knew that your heart skipped a beat because he’s such a gentleman, even with a raging boner in his boxers that was starting to hurt.

He swallows. He’s slept with you, but he’s never had sex with you before. Although there’s going to be many more times after this, the first is always special. Even when he accidentally bumps noses and foreheads with you clumsily, the imperfection of it is what swells his chest. It makes this real.

Pulling away, Jungkook tugs off his briefs before pumping his cock a couple times. The bead that sits atop of his dick gets smeared with his thumb, and even though you’re tempted to suck him off, Jungkook doesn’t even give you enough time to insinuate it because he’s already rolling a condom on and positioning himself in between your legs.

“Last chance,” he says breathily, holding himself back from fucking you apart because this sight of you, with that layer of sweat glistening from the dim lights in the room, has him swooning like some horny teenager. “Are you okay with this?”

Chewing on your bottom lip shyly, you nod.

Those past ‘lovers’ make you feel like the fumbles during sex are bad. They make those moments that seem innocent, despite the not-so-innocent act, feel wrong. The wet bed sheet underneath you are normal, and when kisses get messy, it’s not gross, it’s sexy. And with Jungkook, he makes you feel okay with all these things, even more.

Nose dug into the crook of his neck, you suck on the exposed skin gently before placing a ginger kiss on the flesh. His thrusts are languid, fearing that he’d hurt you, but when you give him the go with a whisper to his ear of all the dirty things you want him to do you, Jungkook doesn’t just have to hold himself back from splitting you apart, but also the fact he might cum too fast from your sultry words.

It doesn’t take long, but he makes sure you reach your orgasm once more.

And when your eyes are clenched shut, brows dipping in satisfaction with your lips opening with a quiet moan, Jungkook pistons his hips several times more before he stills, ropes of cum released into the condom.

Cleaning you up, he then tosses the condom and used tissue into a trash bin nearby before pressing a tender peck on your lips.

With your head resting on his chest and his arm around your frame, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than in the embrace of Jeon Jungkook. Even if you needed two years to figure it out, you’re glad you did. And him? Although the time apart broke him, the healing made him a better person. A realistic one, one that doesn’t always have his head up in the clouds for love.

With a quick strum of his electric guitar, the sound blares through the speakers of the venue. Jungkook steals a quick glance at Jimin, who mirrors that same content smile as himself, and that sparkle in his eyes returns from a hiatus that he never realized wasn’t there for a while.

The crowd is different tonight, and he could say that he can’t pinpoint why, but Jungkook knows why.

It’s you.

He hates being that hopeless romantic that claims you responsible for all these changes in his life, but you are the reason. He’s never seen his bandmates this… harmonious in the past two years. The way that Yoongi actually laughs, smacking Taehyung’s arm when he’s joking around too much, Namjoon shaking his head when Hoseok chimes in, and Seokjin nagging at them for it—he missed this. And he missed turning around midway through the show, watching their heads bobbing to the music, lost in the tunes and immersed in making their dreams come true.

Jungkook can’t help but let that smile tug from the edges of his mouth, especially when he spots you in the crowd, swaying side to side with a friend of yours, beer in hand and sporting that cute grey t-shirt with his band name on it with a pair of jeans. Everything about this feels right. He doesn’t even care that it’s the third bra thrown on stage in the past twenty minutes. He’s happy to be here.

All Jungkook wants is love. And to share the success of his dreams with the people he loves.

And finally, he gets to.

He gets to share that with both you and his best friends.

#52HERTZ #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts fanfic #gyukultfics #idk what else to tag so

[yuzukult]

cigarettes & coffee (m) || yjh & reader

title: cigarettes & coffee pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, bad influence!jeonghan, coffee drinker!oc word count: 3.4k warnings: unprotected explicit smut, slight spit kink (bye), jeonghan is a smoker (wags finger, bad for u!!) a/n: um, yes, i wrote this instead of finishing the 15k jk fic. enjoy. no, i did not proofread bc rereading my smut makes me shy. also, thanks @/cheolbooluvr for helping me fix the background of the banner bc i couldn't bother to do it myself.

He reeks of cigarettes; the smoke is an aromatic stain that weaves a permanent spot in his clothing until he decides to rescue himself from this repulsive habit. But the nicotine finds home in his lungs every time he has the butt of the cigarette at the corner of his pretty pink petal soft lips, nothing in resemblance of his darkened, coal-like lungs.

He’s supposed to look cool.

And honestly, he kind of does.

But it’s so bad for him, this stick of addiction, because he smokes packs of it on a weekly basis. It’s unhealthy (just like he is for you), and you worry about him. But despite all the efforts to tell him to quit, he wouldn’t quit the cigarettes. He’d rather quit you.

Jeonghan puffs another breath of smoke in your face. He’s gotten more rude, if that was even possible, and it causes heat to rise around your neck. “What’d you say, pretty?”

“I said you should quit,” you state boldly, fists balled by your sides like they’re holding every ounce of confidence in you. “Cigarettes are bad for you.”

He scoffs, head leaning back in finding relief of getting that dosage of nicotine. “You’re bad for me, baby. But I’m still seeing you.”

Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest. You’re wearing that leather jacket he lent you months ago, one he said to not to return, only because you’re his girl and you’re so goddamn gorgeous in it.

You let out a sound of disbelief in your head. Of course he’d say that. What else would he say?

“Whatever. You can quit me then if you won’t quit the cigarettes.”

Intrigued, he leans back against his propped up motorcycle. He’s the ultimate ‘bad influence’ type—from the Harley to the leather jacket, the heavy chunky boots to being a lead guitarist in a band, and even sporting his brunette long hair that cascades down to his shoulders in waves. “What’d you say, doll?”

“I said,” it’s more stern the second time you say it, “quit me. Since you can’t get rid of that nasty stuff.”

Jeonghan squints his eyes at you, bringing that forbidden treat back up to his lips. “I ain’t quitting you.”

“Well, it’s either me or the cigs.”

He chuckles, another exhale fogging his senses. “Baby, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re even using the jargon, cigs, which, by the way, nobody really says anymore.”

“Well,” you swallow. He’s always got this effect on you; weak in the knees and mouth suctioned out of words. Jeonghan makes you more nervous than when you take exams—there’s something about him that definitely tells you that you shouldn’t get involved, but there’s also something about him that makes you feel like you have to stay. You’re not going to this time though. “If you’re not quitting those cig—” pausing, you stop yourself from using the same word he mocked you for, “—cigarettes… then you’re quitting me.”

He gets up from his motorcycle, finishing up the last puff before tossing the butt onto the floor and stepping on it with his worn out boots. “I said it once, and I ain’t saying it again after this. I’m not quitting you.”

“Well, you should. Because you have an addiction to bad things for you, and I’m too good. You can’t have that, can you?”

A little too daring, you don’t like to admit it, but it needs to be done. Jeonghan quirks a brow, impressed by your sudden courageousness because you’re often timid and quiet in his presence.

“Pft. You think you’re good for me?”

Ouch. “You don’t?”

Jeonghan moves closer. The closer he gets, the more air gets vacuumed from your lungs. “Baby, I don’t do schoolwork. I don’t study, I don’t do assignments, I don’t go to classes. Fuck, I even fucking dropped out of high school. But you…” he laughs, but it’s not because he finds it funny, “you got me fucking waiting for you outside of a University I don’t even attend. I’m at the fucking library, waiting for your ass—”

“I never asked you to.”

In complete disbelief, Jeonghan shakes his head. What the fuck did you put in your coffee this morning?

In the midst of his thoughts, you’re already sliding the leather jacket off your shoulders. Words are just words, but actions speak louder. “Here’s your jacket back.”

He scowls. “The fuck you giving me that back for?”

“Uh,” you scratch your head. “Because we’re breaking up.”

“We’re not breaking up, you’re just acting up,” pulling your jacket back onto your shoulders, Jeonghan has a hard stare on you. “So stop talking nonsense, yeah?”

Letting out a deep breath, you put your hands over Jeonghan’s, stopping him from putting his jacket on you once more. “I don’t think this is going to work out. I don’t like going home and reeking like your cigarettes. It’s disgusting.”

He sucked in his cheeks. The silence is like the elephant in the room; stuffy and tight, but he remains quiet as it swells up between the two of you. “I’ll quit the cigs.”

His cigarettes always permeate your senses—when you’re with Jeonghan, it swarms your head like the plague just as much as your thoughts are filled with him. From the smell of his tees to the warmth of being in his arms, Jeonghan was a walking cigarette and although women found him sexy standing outside of the school buildings, leaned up against the brisk masonry, his stench was too much for you.

Today is not like other days.

He still wears that smirk on his face, does that annoying clicking sound with his mouth, and has his back up on the side of the building with his chunky boots on. The ground is wet, and with the swooshing sounds of the cars driving by, you’re surprised he even opts for riding his bike here when it rained barely moments before.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss, readjusting the strap of your backpack over your shoulder. “I thought I said we’re breaking up.”

“I don’t like that you gave me an ultimatum, baby.”

He’s annoying, but he makes a good point. It wasn’t fair to give him an ultimatum like that, but it’d grown exhausting trying to keep up with his antics and his smoking habits. He was asking too much from you.

“It’s fair to say I don’t wanna date a smoker.”

“I ain’t a smoker, baby.” With that, Jeonghan pulls a box of cigarettes out of his pocket like some magician and hands it over to you.

You stare at the cardboard box, then back at the boy you’ve been head over heels for. “You say you’re not a smoker and then you show me a box of cigarettes?”

He gestures to you to check out the box.

Sighing, you’re back to playing his games and he doesn’t have to even try.

Reaching over, you flip the pack open, and oddly enough, it’s not cigarettes in there.

They’re… lollipops?

“What are you getting at here?” You query, furrowing your brows. He doesn’t fail at being aggravating, and Jeonghan doesn’t seem like he wants to break out of that either.

“I told you, baby. I’m not a smoker anymore.”

You narrow your gaze at him. “Prove it.”

Jeonghan strangely decides to deliver your favorite coffee order. He even wears a shirt that you haven’t seen before—and Jeonghan likes having the simplest attire that doesn’t require much effort, therefore anything outside of grey, black, and white t-shirts weren’t his thing. This loose beige button up is different. Different like how he’s been acting.

“I got you coffee.”

“I see that,” you respond, slowly reaching out for the paper cup filled with the goodness that’s as strong as jet fuel. “What’s the occasion?”

“I thought about what you said… quitting cigarettes.”

“Mmhm,” you hum, opening the cap of your drink. Just to make sure. No cream, no sugar, just plain black coffee. “What about it?”

“Let’s make a compromise,” he says, hands sliding into the front pockets of his leather pants. You suspect it’s for a show he has later tonight, while you’re stuck in the confines of a room for a late class. “Quit your coffee and I’ll quit the cigs.”

Okay, he’s definitely using ‘cigs’ to mock you now, and you’re sure of it. “I’m not quitting coffee, Jeonghan. It’s not the same harm as when you smoke cigarettes.”

“Gets your heart racing though,” he points out slyly, a smug expression on his face. “I know if you have too much, just barely enough, it’ll have you panicking. I don’t like that for you, baby, it’s bad for you.” Jeonghan’s words ring in your ears, singing like a threat dressed with the sweetness of his voice, but uncover the blanket of saccharine and you’ll see his devious plan.

“I’m not quitting coffee,” you’re not afraid to repeat yourself. Bringing the drink to your lips, the bitterness awakens your tastebuds and it’s almost like injecting the caffeine into your veins. It’s the boost you needed, especially before a class that’s scheduled in the deep hours of the night. “Not the equivalent to your smoking habits.”

“Then, like I said, let’s make a compromise.”

You freeze midway of drinking, pulling yourself away from your very own addiction, to look at another in the eye. “What’s the compromise?”

He knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger. “Let’s… do less smoking, and less drinking coffee. Here and there is fine. Less is more. You always said you wanted an equal relationship, right? Well, I know you don’t like the smell and what it does to my insides, and well, likewise. Your kisses are bitter, and you’re colder when you’re on the bean.”

You snort. On the bean? But nonetheless, it seemed reasonable. Cigarettes and coffee.

Gasping, the kisses that Jeonghan plants on the side of your neck has your toes curling. He’s got a hand on your thigh, pulling it around his waist as his crotch presses down onto yours and into the cushions of his couch. Inhaling sharply, your senses are saturated with Jeonghan, and Jeonghan only—without the cigarettes. He smells different though, like something sweet. Like sugar.

He’s got a cherry lollipop stem in between his fingers.

Head leaned back, he looks at you with those hooded eyes, darkened irises that ask for more. He pops the treat in between his lips, crimson and shiny like his plump lips, tempting a kiss from you. “Want some, baby?”

You swallow. Words don’t leave you, but your lips part just slightly for him to drag the candy from his mouth and slip into yours. It’s wet and warm from him, and on a different occasion, you’d find this disgusting, but with Jeonghan’s breath ghosting over your face and the way he seems equally as infatuated with you, it’s more honeyed than you’d like to admit.

“Fuck the candy,” he blurts, tossing it onto your coffee table without care, and just when you’re about to lecture him for not throwing it into the trash can that’s right next to it, his lips crashes onto yours.

Jeonghan tastes like the confectionery, immersed in nothing but cherries. His lips are tinted pink, soft and gentle against yours; fingers finding way from your nape, and up tangled into your loosened locks, he doesn’t hesitate to have you as close as possible, especially when he thought he was going to lose you.

With his guitar sitting on its stand in the corner of your living room, his clothes hung in a small portion of your closet, and his toothbrush sitting cozily by yours on the bathroom sink, he doesn’t become just a hook-up anymore. And the airy sweet nothings he whispers into your ears when he’s tugging down your sweatpants and flinging it aside, he sneaks a quick peck on your jawline before pressing his forehead against yours is confirmation of it. It’s too loving, too intimate to be just a one night stand anymore. Or two nights… three nights…

There’s something endearing about the way he gingerly bumps his nose against yours, and his breath doesn’t hint cigarettes anymore, instead replaced by those fruity lollipops he sucked on in lieu of the cancer stick. Yesterday morning was strawberries, and last night was blueberries.

And tonight, it’s cherries.

An action that makes you shy, he makes it comfortable. He distracts you with kisses while his hand trails down the curves of your frame and finds home in between your legs. Unconsciously, you close them together but Jeonghan taps your thigh lightly and you open them gradually, heart racing faster than caffeine usually makes it. How ironic.

But unlike black coffee, Jeonghan lessens the bitterness. It’s not your first time, but for some reason, Jeonghan always has you anxious like it is. Yet, in spite of the fear, you still want to drown in him, to be engulfed by him, to be loved by him.

Thumb brushing your bud, you whimper in the kiss. A smirk tugs on the edges of his lips, and heat rises up to your chest in embarrassment. Jeonghan enjoys it though—he loves all the sounds you make; it’s like the melody to his favorite song, so inviting, so alluring, and it always drives him to want to make more out of you.

“Good?” He asks assuringly, and you chew on your bottom lip with a gentle nod.

His fingers aren’t as thick as him, but they still do wonders. He has you writhing in pleasure underneath him, hands grasping onto his arms, head thrown back, and the roots of your hair wet from the overwhelming feeling taking over you. To you, you see whites behind your lids.

But to Jeonghan, he sees the prettiest girl underneath the dim lights of a shoddy apartment.

Sweat glistening on your neck and down to your collarbones, he’s hypnotized by your beauty. You’re always so caught up in your head about him, and how much of a bad influence he is on you, but you’ve changed him in ways that he didn’t think was possible. From convincing him to visit you at school instead of the limitations of the four walls of his old apartment to quitting cigarettes, he’s sunken into your love so deep, it was like quicksand. It was too late when he realized how far gone he’d been.

When you reach your high, Jeonghan is desperate to see you again. To watch your face contort into content, to get lost in the feeling because of him and nobody else. But your grip on his wrist says otherwise, because you’re giving those bedroom eyes in the middle of your living room.

“You wanna move?”

“No,” you snap, letting go of your hold to only tug on the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “I want to do this.”

“Let me make you cum again—”

“No,” you’re getting good at saying what you want, and he’s thoroughly impressed. You’re not who you used to be, and although he loved that version of you, he shares the same love of this new one of you. “I want you. Take it off.”

It’s his turn to gulp. You’re so bold, and sometimes, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His pants and boxers are discarded onto the floor next to the two of you, and when he looks back at you, you’re already propped up on your arms. “Let’s um… yeah.”

He laughs, so hearty and warm, resembling a campfire on a cool, autumn night. “Don’t get shy on me now, you just said you wanted me to take it off.”

“Right,” you say awkwardly, and Jeonghan lets out another chuckle. He likes this, and how it’s different from the other girls he’s been with because they’re either too shy or too confident. Nothing wrong with that, it’s just… this felt real. “Um—”

Deciding it’s best to not let you talk, he’d rather hear you moan his name.

He’s got his hand down beside your head, and your breath gets caught in your throat. He’s been this close before, but he’s so good at making you feel like you’ve got some schoolgirl crush on him.

When he’s with you sometimes, it’s almost like the equivalent of drinking alcohol. Jeonghan gets buzzed, like he’s taken a couple swings of beer, and he’s completely inebriated just from your love. It’s like for a brief moment, all is forgotten—that tough guy reputation, the cold shoulders he’s supposed to give—you’re worse than cigarettes, the things you do to him.

Arms linking around his neck, you have him close, foreheads pressing against each other once more. His hands are roaming around the expanse of your ass, legs open and welcoming just him. Legs around his frame, he spits into the palm of his hand before wrapping it around his girth for a couple pumps before brushing the head of his cock against your swollen lips. He looks back up at you through his fluttery lashes, so pretty and long, and you give him that confirming nod.

Jeonghan slides into you with ease; you’d been wet and ready for him the moment he had his lips onto yours. Hips flushed against yours, he halts for a couple seconds to watch your face scrunch up at the intrusion—the initial stretch was a bit harsh at first, but with enough time, you’re already, tapping his arms to move his goddamn hips because now he was taking too long.

He takes the tightening around his cock as another signal to go.

His name escapes from your pretty lips, just as he’d hope for, and that darkened gaze underneath those hooded eyes are enough to inch back and slam his hips into yours. He could hear how wet you are, and when he looks down to see his dick slipping in and out of you, he can’t hold back the groan that releases from his chest because he’s soaked in you. “Feels good?”

Truthfully, you don’t want to talk. There’s this layer of shyness that still lays over you, despite being naked and exposed in front of Jeonghan. “Yeah,” you say breathily, and it’s all Jeonghan needs to hear.

Gripping your thighs, he rocks into you before quickening his pace and the sounds that fill the room are your squelching around his dick and skin slapping. The thought flusters you, but when his addicting lips press against that sweet spot behind your ear, those lewd moans are harder to contain, and your nails dig into the flesh on his shoulders. Jeonghan can’t help but let a groan slip; the idea of you marking him and someone questioning them stirs his lower stomach in pleasure. He likes being yours, and he hopes you don’t mind being his.

“You’re such a good girl for me,” he rasps, mouth slightly agape. Jeonghan pushes your legs down, pressed against your chest, and lifts himself up a bit to get a new angle and you can’t hold back your whimpers anymore. You’re so full, full of Jeonghan, full of his love and all the sweetness he inhabits. He’s been so good for you, and it’s your turn to be his good girl.

Leaning up just barely, your fingers comb through his dampened chocolate locks. Jeonghan’s charmed gaze meets with yours, ears perked up attentively like he knows you want to say something, but he doesn’t stop thrusting into you. “Can you do something for me, baby?”

“Anything,” he spurs, completely entranced. “What you want, love.”

Love. Your heart swells. “Come in me?”

His eyes clenched shut, and his hips slow down. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I’m on the pill,” you assure, and a soft whine comes from him. “It’s safe, but only if you wanna.”

“Fuck, okay, whatever you want, I’ll do for you.”

He doesn’t forget about you—Jeonghan never does—and his fingers play with your clit when he feels himself on the brink of cumming. but he doesn’t finish until you do. Even with the cold guy exterior, he still puts you first.

Sitting up, his hips fasten in movements, and his lids grow heavy. “Fuck,” he whispers, and your thumb brushes against his cheek lovingly. “I’m gonna cum, baby,” and with that, his body stutters, pressed against yours with his face dug into the crook of your neck.

After a few moments, you let out a quiet laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I think I’m gonna be the one that’s the coffee addict now if I wanna keep this up.”

#caratwritersclub #jeonghan smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #jeonghan x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #that's all i'm tagging #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

glossed over. (m) || nyt & reader

title: glossed over. pairing: nakamoto yuta x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, childhood friends to lovers, best friend’s brother, idiots to lovers, coming-of-age (?), college!au, slowburn (?), pining, 90s theme word count: 18.2k  warnings: explicit smut, profanity; oc gets wasted at a party. prompt: times in your life where you thought nakamoto yuta was just your best friend’s older brother, a guy you had a little childish crush on. but little did you know, there was more than what meets the eye. a/n: this took way longer than expected. but this is for the 90s love collab event! check out the other authors and fics :D also, thanks to @/masterninjacow for helping me come up with a title despite not really knowing the route of the fic LOL also thanks to all my friends for beta-reading this! :) this fic style definitely is different from the other ones i've written so... hope you guys enjoy!

The Introduction

I like you. There’s a lot of weight in those words, oftentimes used lightly when expressing content on an encounter with someone, for an object, or even an experience, but it also carries a burden. You’ll never know if the person that you’re saying this to reciprocates those very emotions—and if they didn’t, would you be hurt in the end? But you’ll never truly understand the feeling of rejection from someone who doesn’t mirror those emotions—specifically if they’re from a certain boy.

And if you’ve learned anything about boys while growing up, it’s that crushing on your best friend’s older brother is slightly more common than you’d think.

Especially if it’s your best friend’s older brother.

Back in high school, it was universally known that Yura had the coolest older sibling in your friend group. The girls that hung out with the two of you were practically drooling over the sight of him—long, jet black locks, piercings that decorated his lobe and cartilages, all while he drove that 1990 Jaguar XJS in a customized midnight blue vinyl. He was part of the popular crowd at the time; hung out with the jocks, despite not being an athlete in any of the sports teams, and even getting along with a troublesome crew, the guys that constantly loiter outside of convenience stores and smoke in their cars until their lungs go black, and he didn’t even smoke.

Nonetheless, although he had that reputation, he remained… authentically nice. He invariably drove Yura home from school, even stayed behind those extra hours or ensured that he came back in time before she finished cheerleading practices, and some days, he’d drive you home too.

Nakamoto Yuta wasn’t just the cool, popular guy in school. He was a good brother. A loving son, a courteous friend—he was the definition of what a genuinely affable guy was. Literal textbook definition of perfection, or for whatever they listed under the phrase for ‘who-you’d-take-home-to-your-mom.’ Albeit that’s not what’s really running through your mind at that age.

He’s amiable and caring, altruistic when it comes to his friends, and more when it’s his family. Whenever his mom would cook dinner, he’d help cut the vegetables. And after eating, he’s already started to wash the dishes and cleared out the table. Or when his dad needed a hand with the at-home oil change for their cars—Yuta never hesitated to stop whatever he was doing just to assist him.

Simply put, Yuta had a pure heart.

And because of his pure heart, you couldn’t control yourself when you fell for him later on, it’s inevitable that you’d end up like all of Yura’s other friends. He never made it easy in the first place, especially when he gave you those tender gazes that had your heart melting like a stick of butter sitting on the kitchen counter on the hottest day of summer.

He’s just… that guy. The one that seems so out of reach, although a walk away from your best friend’s bedroom. You’d get to see him more frequently than the other girls that fawned over him from your leverage being Yura, yet at the same time, because of Yura, there’s no way he could be yours.

try something new.

TIMEFRAME: HIGH SCHOOL (FOURTEEN)

The first time you realized your stupid crush on your best friend’s older brother was when she invites you, the entirety of her friend group, along with Yuta and her parents to a Hibachi Grill. It sounds weird now, but as a fourteen year old, you couldn’t ask for much, and well, this was as good as it gets.

The enticing aroma of the beef sizzling on the grill, the onions, and don’t forget their signature fried rice, all swells and engulfs your senses that it awakens your hunger. Greasy countertops, loud hisses and the clacking against the cast iron, and the loud conversations between the customers made it all so exciting. Being able to have a birthday party here was like an initiation out of middle school, like a rite of passage into high school because having events like these at your house with a chaperone seemed lame. But here, you can kinda just do your own thing while the adults sit aside and converse on their own.

With that initiation though, comes ‘positions’ in this new group of friends.

You thoroughly enjoyed being next to Yura, kind of like a sidekick to a superhero. Even in school, while walking in the halls, passing other students, you sort of always stood adjacent to her as she waved and said her ‘hellos’ to everyone. But since hitting high school, things weren’t as they usually were because she obtained this new ‘friend group’ and it always felt a little… harder trying to get to know the other girls. Occasionally, it felt like their daggering stares were sharp with judgment, constantly questioning how someone like you were even friends with a girl like Yura. She’d always been the outgoing one; extrovertedness was a bonus trait from her being altogether benevolent, funny, and intelligent. The fact that she got along with everyone so effortlessly just made her all the more welcoming.

So, you overcome that reticent characteristic of yours, only for Yura’s birthday party. She’s been nothing but a good friend to you; including you to outings, asking you to come to playdates with just the two of you, and even picking you first as her partner in the classes you shared together when she obviously had other options. The two of you are opposites, you’ve come to conclude, but you love her for it.

But on that day, it felt like a competition in trying to get her attention.

There are five other girls from your class, all friends of hers, that desperately want to sit next to the birthday girl. She’s so cool, you’d think to yourself, because everyone liked her, so much that they’re fighting to get one of the spots beside her. Albeit you’re a bit reluctant to join the brawl, opting to stand in the sidelines. It’s a bit lonely, despite your best friend being right in front of you, and the abundance of people in attendance. No one talked to you specifically, they always preferred to talk to her instead. And you’d never want to steal the thunder from her, but part of you wished… to be loved in the way she gets loved.

You’re given the seat farthest away from Yura. Truthfully, it’s probably one of the most embarrassing moments of your childhood, but the instant that Yuta takes the seat beside you, the negativity of the thought washes away and your brain malfunctions when he says, “do you have in mind what you’re gonna order?”

“Uh,” you can barely speak, words are stuck in your throat because Yuta actually chose to sit next to you instead of Yura’s pretty friend Hyeri. “Uhm… maybe something without shrimp?”

“Are you allergic?”

You shake your head in response, face dug deep into the menu, but it’s not like he can see it anyway. “N-No,” you stuttered, chewing on your bottom lip anxiously for being so stupid right now. “I don’t like shrimp.”

“Have you tried it?” He asks, and although it seems like an obvious question, you respond with, “No, I haven’t.”

“Ah,” he nods, pursing up his lips briefly in thought. “How about I get something with the shrimp, and you can try it? And if you don’t like it, I can finish the rest.”

When the food comes, being left out from the group of friends doesn’t burden you anymore. It doesn’t haunt your thoughts or dampen your appetite because you’re feeling sad. Instead, it’s the contrary. Yuta keeps you company, asking questions about school, what you like about it, and even teaches you to try new things like shrimp, rather than coming up with an opinion for it before even trying it.

“How does it taste?” He queries, cheeks full of the stir-fried rice. “Do you like it? I could always finish the rest if you don’t.”

Finish… the rest of your shrimp? The idea of him sharing a piece of food with you has heat lingering around your face, and you can guarantee that it’s not from the grill. “A-Ah, no it’s okay, I uh… it’s good, actually. Thanks for that. I probably would’ve never known I liked it if it weren’t for you.”

With a soft smile, he chuckles afterwards before reaching for his drink. “Any time. Call me if you ever want to try new things, I’m always down for it.”

Maybe you’ll take up on that offer one day.

first ride, first times.

TIMEFRAME: HIGH SCHOOL (FOURTEEN/FIFTEEN) - FRESHMAN YEAR

You think the first time Yuta didn’t just seem out of reach but felt like he was when he got his driver’s license.

It’s a rite of passage into your true teenage years, not like a thirteen year old being excited that their age now has the word “teen” at the end of the number nor is it like that hibachi grill party that Yura has (she thinks it’s lame now, looking back). A license meant that you didn’t need your parents to come get you anymore, it meant that you could cruise down the roads and highways, hand hanging outside the window with the breeze flowing in between your fingers while going places wherever and whenever you wanted, living as free as a teenager could. It’s amazing what significance a rectangular piece of plastic holds.

He’s sixteen now, and his mom stood at the threshold of the Nakamoto residence with her arms crossed with a slight twitch in her lips. She’s annoyed; you can practically see it radiating off of her body because she’s not ready for her baby boy to be on the road, but the expression planted on his dad’s face is the complete opposite.

“Remember all that ‘free’ labor I made you do for the past three summers? Well, congrats. It wasn’t free. I kept all the money you earned and got you that car you have a poster of in your bedroom.”

The smile on Yuta’s face stretched so wide that it extended further than cheek to cheek.

He’s so lovely when his eyes sparkle at the sight of his own car, one that he can say is his car and not his parents’. He doesn't have to drive around in that champagne-colored 1995 Honda Odyssey his parents sported, a car that’s notoriously known to be a soccer mom car. Yuta has his own car now, his dream car, and oddly enough, he feels further away today.

Yet you’re immediately reeled back in when he turns to look at you and his little sister, chuckling brightly before waving the keys in his hands. “Who wants ice cream?”

But when you spotted him in the parking lot of your high school, hair slicked back with his signature leather jacket, exiting out of his new vehicle with the gorgeous popular girls coming by his side almost instantaneously, it’s when you realize that Nakamoto Yuta isn’t just your best friend’s older brother anymore. He’s the cool, well-rounded, and loved-by-everyone type of guy that doesn’t turn your way anymore to give you that little wave and a soft ‘hello.’

we’re just friends.

AGE: HIGH SCHOOL (AGE SIXTEEN) - JUNIOR YEAR

You think your first heartbreak was when Yuta gave you his textbook as a hand-me-down.

He made arrangements to meet somewhere outside of his University because he claims that he was too occupied with after school organizations, not to mention homework, so you bike to where he said he’d be after you’d get off school in compromise.

It’d be a bit nerve-wracking, trying to collect yourself and come here to where basically all the “big kids” were while you were still a high school student, but it has heart racing in anxious flips in front of Yuta because there’s a reputation you’re trying to uphold. You wanted to seem more than just… a junior in high school, possibly being something more by the time you reach college.

But the moment you detected him in the crowd of people, you slowly approached him. It’s then when the atmosphere suddenly shifts, and you can’t placate exactly why.

He’s not the same Nakamoto Yuta you knew back when you were growing up; this person he’s exhibiting is quite the adverse. Hair doused in what feels like a hundred pounds of gel, oversized denim jacket on his shoulders with a smug look on his face, he doesn’t feel like your Yuta. Albeit, when his eyes lock onto yours, that pompous look immediately wipes off, almost like he had a facade just to carry out in front of his friends.

“Oh, hey! You’re here. I have the book.” Slipping the backpack off, he shuffled through the bigger pocket as you bounced on the balls of your feet awkwardly, waiting patiently while his friends observed you with curiosity. It’s like their peculiar stares are piercing through you like a laser, and left you unsure where to place yourself.

“Who’s that?” The one dude asks, gesturing to you with his chin. “Looks like a little ass kid.”

“A friend,” Yuta retorts back casually, but the second the book is in your hand and his gaze meets the guy, he swallows and changes his answer promptly like he’s got something to hide. “Uh, actually, she’s actually my little sister’s best friend. Nothing special.”

It would be a lie if you said that you never thought Yuta only saw you as Yura’s best friend.

But a small, tiny piece of you wished that there was more beyond that.

There were times where he’d pass by his sister’s bedroom in the hallway, showcasing that lovely smile of his with a short greeting in your direction. Something about the way he says your name, how delicate and sweet he makes it sound, unlike the way he says your other friends' names. It gives you that brief burst of serotonin, as if you’re seven again with a root beer flavored Dum Dum lollipop in your mouth. And maybe you misread his actions, but when he’d come back from the kitchen and hand you a soda, and nobody else, part of you sort of hoped that maybe Yuta liked you back.

Then again, a girl can dream.

Albeit it doesn’t stop the aching your heart, knowing that he sees you as just Yura’s best friend, not even as a friend. With a clench of your jaw, you merely mutter a quick “thanks” before stuffing the textbook into your backpack before quickly leaving, hopping onto your bike back home.

Nakamoto Yuta will never be yours, it seems. He’s only but a dream, a fantasy that won’t come true.

But when he sees you on prom night, arms linked with some pretty boy in your grade named ‘Eunwoo,’ he swears that his blood was boiling in his veins. Heat lingered around his face, neck flushing red, and a tightened fist by his side, he’s hesitant about making any moves because you’re not his to react this way.

Yuta doesn’t know what it was that was churning in the pits of his stomach, but he didn’t like this kid. He had bad vibes from him the moment he laid his eyes on Eunwoo, but he couldn’t say anything—not when you’ve got that cheery smile on your face as you looked up at the boy in your pastel blue dress, one that makes you breathtakingly beautiful that he almost forgot his anger. It wasn’t his place to say, either.

He stays silent, murmuring a quiet, “you look gorgeous tonight,” that brought heat to your cheeks.

Looking back, you knew the second you fell in love with Nakomoto Yuta. But you never knew that in that very moment, Nakamoto Yuta had already been a goner for you.

don’t cry, blue skies.

AGE: HIGH SCHOOL (SEVENTEEN/EIGHTEEN) - SENIOR YEAR

There was something different in your expression, Yuta notices this when he opens the door to the sound of you knocking. It’s like there’s a facade, some type of curtain that��s shielding whatever it was you were actually feeling, and part of him wished he wasn’t your best friend’s older brother so he could pierce through that without much suspicion.

“Hey, whatcha doing here?” He questions curiously, hand slipping into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Is Yura here?” You ask, skipping all the formalities. This wasn’t normally how you acted, especially since there was always something hesitant in your words when you spoke to Yuta. “Is she home? In her bedroom?” You’d been fiddling with your fingers, practically shaking but you were trying your best to camouflage what’s actually running through your head.

Yuta juts out his bottom lip apologetically. “Sorry, kiddo. She’s out with her boyfriend. Anything I could do for you?”

Quickly, you shake your head. “Uh-n-no,” you stutter, attempting to walk backwards to get off their porch, but Yuta follows warringly. “I’m f-f-fine.”

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Yuta holds onto your arm, pulling you toward him before you could trip over the first step. “Talk to me, yeah? You seem troubled.”

It doesn’t take long for Yuta to suddenly have you in his arms, face dug into the fabric of his shirt.

Being in his embrace feels like home. The smell of his cologne reminds you of clean linens, fresh laundry, or like a warm morning with the sun peeking through the curtains as you’re drowning in the newly washed bed sheets, despite the darkness that casts in your heart, the sky mimicked you, obscuring into shades of grey, cold and gloomy.

“Wanna go inside, love? It looks like it’s gonna rain soon.”

At another time, maybe the term of endearment would’ve warmed your heart. But this time isn’t like that. Your tears fall harder, after you thought it’d been impossible with the amount of sobs that escape from your lips. It hurts, as much as you didn’t like to admit, because whatever it was that you had with him was solely for the fact that you wanted to get over Yuta, and here you were… in Yuta’s arms.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, other than the soft weeps that come from you and your staccato breathing. “He left, Yuta.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. “Who left?”

“Eun...woo,” you manage to say, but with each syllable is a clench to your chest. “We were dating for a couple months, and he told me today that we weren’t going to workout anymore. He was my first boyfriend, Yuta.”

Yuta doesn’t mention it, but the second you called Eunwoo your first boyfriend made his heart twinge.

He let you cry that night, head on his chest and on his bed. Yuta never brings it up, but he’s had girls over before, but he never ever felt comfortable having them close like this; laid on top of his duvet, wearing his hoodie while drenching the second shirt he’s on because you drenched the first one.

things aren’t as they seem.

“Is it too loud?” He asks, but another asteroid explodes and practically bursts his own eardrum, deteriorating the purpose of his question because it’s evidently too loud. His nose crinkles at the booming, and an apologetic look smears across his face. “Sorry. Should I lower the volume down?”

“No, it’s okay,” you respond with a smile, and Yuta doesn’t admit it, but the sight tugs on his heartstrings. “It doesn’t bother me.”

It’s a casual Saturday afternoon; clear sunny skies with a light breeze in the air, however you opt for sitting indoors instead of by the tree outside, enjoying this view of Yuta seated on the floor and in front of the bulky CRT television with the controller for his 6 Sega Dreamcast.

“Are you sure?” He queries yet again, scratching the back of his neck. It’s his house, you think, and he should be able to play a game in peace, but the fact that he confirms whether or not you’re okay is… heartwarming. It means he cares about your preference and your comfort.

You nod again, paying no mind to even look up when he asks, turning another page of your book. “Yes, Yuta. Just do what you like.”

Deciding the game isn’t much of his interest anymore, he shuts it off by pressing down the power button before stealing a seat beside you on the couch. “How intrigued are you by that book?”

You quirk a brow. “I guess not as much as I am of you,” dog-earring the page, you close the book and lay it flat on your lap. “What’s up?”

“How are you?”

This was strange. Yuta never really actually sat down and had a full length conversation with you before, so seeing him sitting in the free spot on the couch adjacent from you isn’t familiar. “I’m… I think I’m doing well. How are you? Why are you asking me this?”

“I can’t ask you a simple question?” He shoots back, copying your expression. “Do you… Do you get mad sometimes that you have to wait for Yura? Like… you’re at her house right now, sitting on her couch while her brother sits nearby and plays video games. It doesn’t bug you?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you place the book onto the coffee table in front of you. “Quite honestly? No. But that’s because I grew up with both of you, in this house as well, and I know your parents almost as well as my own. This is practically my second home. So… not really.”

He takes a minute, sinking in your response as he leans back onto the cushion of the couch.

“Are… Are you okay?”

You never know, and he never tells you, but when you ask those very words, he feels like his anxiety, insecurities, and instability that was once locked in a cage are now let free. He can’t help but spill, constantly speaking to you like word vomit, and there’s just always something about you that makes him feel comfortable to do so.

“I—Where do I even begin?” He starts, letting out a chuckle but nothing about this is funny. Yuta seems distressed, head hazy, fogged up with thoughts that he hasn’t been able to release.

But you never learn that afternoon that when Yuta pours out his recent difficulties of school, of social groups, and the fear of never finding an internship, he’s never voiced these troubles out loud. You’re his… version of a diary, in the form of a person, holding many more qualities than just a piece of paper to write on—he trusts you.

the second time he calls you his friend.

Yuta is a generally reserved guy that contains his anger well. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him heated before.

But just like how weather changes, and people change too.

It was a hot day, from what you can recall. The humidity made your skin sticky, practically adhering to the leather seats of Yura’s couch as you waited patiently for her, and that’s not to mention all of the sweat that’d been accumulating on the top of your skin. This type of weather was disgusting, and candidly, you prefer the cold, brisk winds that winter brings but in the city you live in, there is no avoiding summer. Even in a black tank top and champion grey shorts, you can’t escape the heat.

“Yura!” You whine groggily, slouching back on the loveseat. “Are you ready yet? It’s hot. I wanna go to the pool.”

She hollers something in response from her bedroom, but the walls from the hallways are thick enough to muffle the sounds, so you pout disappointingly, deciding that it’d be better to stay put.

The front door slams shut, following an angry Yuta that huffs his way out to the back porch; jaw clenched, narrowed eyes, and tightened fists by his side; you genuinely thought he looked adorable like this but it’s probably not a good time to make that kind of comment. “Yuta?”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, attempting to shove the sliding door open but it’s a bit reluctant. When it finally complies, Yuta was already close to breaking it. “Fuck.” He makes his way out, arms resting against the white plastic railings that’s installed on the perimeter of the deck, attempting to catch his breath but the heat doesn’t help.

“Yura?” You call out once more, mostly as a test to see how much time you have left. She lets out another shriek, something along the lines of admitting she needed another twenty minutes, only for you to roll your eyes and head to the kitchen to snag up a couple sodas.

Truthfully, he’s not sure when’s the last time he blew up. He’s usually composed, oftentimes playing referee when it comes to heated situations, but this time around, he was the one playing offense. But Yuta felt tired. It was a constant battle trying to be someone he wasn’t, even though he seemed to have everything put together, if he’d been truly honest… he wasn’t even sure why he was trying so hard to put a front for people.

But when you come out with those soft drinks in your hands, it’s like everything is… lighter.

“How are you feeling?” You ask, so casually like you didn’t see him just knocking over something from the tabletop by the front door. “Seems like today is a pretty bad day. Sure, everyone might think otherwise because the sun is out, it’s warm, and it’s perfect for a pool day. But in my perspective, I think it sucks. It’s hot. I’m gonna burn, no matter how much sunscreen I apply, and I’m sweating all day.”

For the first time that day, Yuta laughs.

You pull a couple jokes out your ass (per usual), and he can’t stop the laughter. His stomach is aching by the end of it, having to pop open one of the cans and take a sip for a breather. “I… I uh… wasn’t feeling that great earlier.”

“Mm,” you hum, pretending like this is new information. “I thought you purposely dropped the catch-all bowl by the counter.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I… thanks, kid. You’re a great friend.”

Fuck, Yuta was so good at breaking your heart without even trying.

And it’s worse when later on, you’re at the community pool with Yura, lathering the stupid sticky sunscreen lotion, that she claims is ‘life-changing,’ on her exposed back when you see her, the prettiest girl holding onto Yuta’s arms, giggling and making him laugh like you did earlier today.

How could someone you’ve never even been with cause this much heartache?

stuck in the suburbs.

AGE: COLLEGE (TWENTY) - FRESHMAN YEAR

“Yura,” you grumble, slamming the payphone back with a huff afterwards. It’s typical of her since she started dating Jonghyun; constantly staying over at his house to the point that if you called her at his place, they stopped picking up (you suspect they’re doing more than just making out, especially since they’re going through that first-college-relationship phase). But you needed her tonight, especially since the last bus from the University just left and there’s no way for you to get home. Sure, you could hitch-hike or even walk, but the late hours of the night isn’t necessarily the safest place for a young woman.

Your parents are out of town (how typical) and there’s no one else but to call but a taxi service—then again they’re hella expensive on a Friday night. Why did you have to stay and finish that goddamn paper on that stupid ass Power Macintosh that takes forever to load anything anyway? The dumb rainbow pinwheel was starting to tick you off, so you grabbed your bags and left but it didn’t occur to you what time it currently was. By then, it was too late and the last bus had taken off.

Then, an idea hits.

It’s not a bad one, just one that you were hoping to avoid. Anything but that, is what you were thinking, but at this point, you’re running out of options. It’s dark, lonely, and creepy out here, and the last thing you need to happen with your parents being away is going missing.

Swallowing your anxiety, you’re tapping in the Nakamoto residence number. But before you could even finish dialing, someone hollers your name. “Hey!”

You flinch. Gradually, you turn to the voice, heart palpitating because what if it’s some creepy dude who knows you from class and now that you’re alone, it’s his time to pounce? What’s he going to do? Kidnap you? Oh my god what if he—

“What the hell are you doing here alone at night?” You swore your heart dropped to your ass, but the second you see the owner who asks the question at hand, you release a sigh of relief.

“Holy shit, Yuta.”

His brows are furrowed in concern, hoodie so big it practically drowns him. His hair is ruffled, slightly damp with the blonde highlights peeking through the black, puffy mess and you’re wondering what he was doing before running into you. “Holy shit is right. Why are you here alone? At night, for that matter. It’s not safe for girls to be roaming around by themselves. There are nasty dudes out there, and there’s no telling what they’d actually do if they saw you here all vulnerable and by yourself. What happened?”

With the burden lifted from your shoulders, you drop them. “I got caught up in schoolwork. Then the last bus left, Yura is at her boyfriend’s and my parents are out of town—” “And you didn’t even consider calling me?” Well, to be quite fair, you were going to call him, that was until he coincidentally met you here. It was going to take some time but you were planning on calling the Nakamoto residence in hopes someone else could grab you (mostly not Yuta, though.)

“I mean, I was going to call your house but—”

“No, call me next time. I saved up money for a phone,” Yuta whips out a Motorola StarTac from his pocket. “Call me next time. Don’t depend on someone else. I’ll come grab you, wherever you are. I don’t like knowing that you’re out here stranded by yourself.”

He’s a bit heated, you take note, almost as mad as he was that day he came home from hanging out with his friends. Instead of only angry, there was a hint of concern in his tone, like he was worried for your well-being. But that’s just Yuta—caring. You had to shake yourself from these potential ‘what if he likes me’ thoughts because you were afraid of leading yourself on.

When you hop into his Jaguar, reality sinks in that you’re going to be alone with Yuta.

“Wanna listen to music?” He asks, interrupting all the thoughts inside of your head. Startled, you nod continuously, unsure how else to respond. He can’t do things to your heart like this, not if he potentially has a girlfriend. It’s not fair to her, you repeat to yourself, but… this is Yuta, and your feelings never went away. However, you’ll never cross the line anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I uh, I don’t see why not.”

He pops in a cassette. “Mm, tell me if you wanna listen to something else. I have a bunch of options in my glove compartment.”

When the tapes start rolling, there’s no transition. Immediately, there’s this blaring guitar strum, four dudes yelling, and weird whimpers in the background.

If you were a child, you’d probably pee yourself right now.

It was frightening, you had to admit, but at the same time, super funny. In fact, you burst into laughter, stomachs twisting in pain from the sudden intrusion, tears nearly threatening to spill onto your cheeks.

Yuta lowers the volume. “Wh-what! Oh my god, are you… are you crying?”

“I’m sorry!” You’re wiping the ends of your eyes. “I just—oh my god, that was great, thanks, Yuta.”

He quirks a brow curiously. “For what?”

You point to his sound system. “That song. You’re not gonna tell me you actually like that, are you? Because there’s absolutely no way.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re Nakamoto Yuta. You love soft music, the kind you play when it’s raining outside and you can hear the gentle patters against the window. You like songs that remind you of nice days, ones you can reflect on and dream about momentarily in those three solid minutes. This,” you’re gesturing the cassette player, “isn’t you.”

He’s got that look on his face like he’s trying to play it off. “Pft. What? No.”

“Come on.”

Yuta stares at you; it feels like hours have passed the longer he keeps it up, but he eventually concedes, leaning over to tap your leg out the way and pop open the glove compartment. There, he has an array of cassettes, all labeled with washi tape and scribbled with his sloppy handwriting in a black sharpie. He snatches up the one that reads, ‘dreams’ in his butchered lettering, recalling back to the time his mom would whack his hand with a chopstick because his e’s and a’s looked too similar.

He clicks a button that pops out the tape with the weird songs, and one that he’s seemingly claiming as his actual favorites.

And when Yuta hits play—you feel like you got a glimpse into what it’s like to be loved by Nakamoto Yuta.

Eyes closed, head leaning back against the car upholstery. “This sounds like you.”

You don’t ever know, but Yuta looks at you with that gaze so adoringly, like you’re the prettiest girl in the world, and like you’re the only one. There’s something about you that has his heartstrings tugging, already swooning over the sight of you listening to the music that he likes, and not the kind that he pretends to like in front of his friends.

When you put your jacket on one day at the Nakamoto residence, ready to leave and head home, there’s something rectangular in your pocket that definitely wasn’t there before. Furrowing your brows in curiosity, you pull it out and notice that same scratchy handwriting with the sharpie marker that’s in need of replacing.

‘smth u might like. yt.’

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t listen to that tape everyday religiously.

you’re sick but he’s lovesick.

AGE: COLLEGE (TWENTY-ONE) - SOPHOMORE YEAR

Dim rooms, flashing lights, booming music and the plethora of people packed inside of this house party is probably way over safety regulations, but nonetheless, if a frat party was happening… well, then it happened.

There are more kids drinking underaged than you can count on your two hands, and too be completely honest, but who were you to tell them ‘no’? Plus, would it be a Beta Theta Pi house party if it didn’t have at least twenty kids drinking under the legal age?

“We should take shots!” Your new friend, Tzuyu, suggests while waving shot glasses in the air shakily with some of the alcohol spilling over. “It’ll be fun!”

You frown, slightly uninterested. Drinking has always been something you did for fun, as in something like mojitos or margaritas with delicious foods laid out in front of you. Drinking at a party however, wasn't really your forte. Hard liquor straight up felt like torture, and you’re not even quite sure how Tzuyu downs the tequila so easily. It burns.

“I—Maybe not, Tzuyu,” she’s jumping to the music, hair messy and in her face, some sticking to the sweat on her forehead. “I might head out soon.”

“But…” Tzuyu whines your name, pulling on your arm and tapping your other new friend, Dahyun on the shoulder. “Don’t leave. Drink with us! You’re so cool—but you’ll seem even cooler to Yuta oppa if you… let go for a bit.”

You quirk a brow, perplexed as to how Tzuyu knew that information. “Why are you bringing up Yuta?”

“Ugh,” Dahyun groans, rolling her eyes. “We all see the way you look at him, babe. It’d be more surprising if you didn’t like him. Plus, it’s that classic best friend’s brother trope. I’m appalled that Yura doesn’t know.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you feign ignorance, deciding that snatching the shot cup from Tzuyu’s hand would be a better distraction. “I don’t have feelings for Yuta!” And with that, you down the tequila and grimace moments after Dahyun hands you a slice of lime.

The night goes by quickly, you sadly admit, and it’s mostly because you can’t remember most of it.

“I feel queasy,” you admit with a pout dressed upon your lips, stumbling in your sneakers. Yuta recalls these as your favorite, wearing them for almost every occasion, so he lets out a sigh because if you’re going to vomit, he wouldn’t want it to be on these shoes. “I wanna upchuck on a woodchuck.”

“A… what?” He blinks, watching as you puff your cheeks. “Want me to drive you home?”

He spotted you from across the room—drunk and sloppy, losing footing in your steps along with your friends. He doesn’t know them, but he’s heard of their reputation; drink hard, regrets are for later. And well you… don’t fit the M.O, and Yuta wasn’t going to let you fall into that motto, so he drags out of the party without hesitation.

Abruptly, you straighten your posture. “Uh, nope, no, nope. Momma bear and papa bear would definitely ground me at the age of twenty-one. Never heard of that before? You will now.”

“Okay, well how about you stay at my place? It’s not that far. It’s another frat house, but at least I have a bedroom to myself.”

You rub your eyes tiredly, pursing your lips. “Yuta, we’re not even dating yet and you wanna share a bed with me?”

He nearly chokes on his own saliva. “No, I wouldn’t, no, that’s not appropriate, kiddo.” Yuta pulls you back up when you flop your body down again. “I just want you to get somewhere back safe. I’ll stay on the couch or sleep on the floor or something.”

Face dropping, you seem disappointed and he can’t place why. “Do you not like me in that way, Yuta?”

“I’m—what? Sorry, I’m—what?” What were you even saying? She’s inebriated, he thinks to himself, she probably doesn’t even know what she’s saying.

“I like you, you know,” you say in a sing-song voice, hands cupping his cheeks. “You’re so cute. Wish you were my boyfriend.”

Yuta swallows, mouth slightly agape and words vacuumed from his vocabulary. “You—You what?”

“Mm,” you hum along to the song booming inside of the house, swaying your hips to melody. “It would be nice, yaknow. Havin’ ya as my boyfriend, taking me places, taking care of me. Callin’ me pretty. All that good stuff. It was nice from Eunwoo, but I’ve always had this huge fat crush on you, it’s not the same hearing it from another boy.”

Yuta practically has to pull you back to his frat house after that, but he’s left unspoken and in awe at all this new information. You’ve liked him, this entire time, all along, since the beginning. You’ve been pining over him quietly, watching as he ran over these obstacles during college, meeting girls potentially, and even dealing with him changing personalities before your eyes, and you remained still having feelings for him.

He slips off your shoes after dropping you on his bed, carefully placing them in the corner of his room for the next morning. Tucking you underneath the covers, your eyes are immediately shut closed, a smile pulling at the edges of your lips. “Mm, cozy.”

“Is it?” He chuckles, pulling the trash bin beside you. “If you feel like you wanna ‘upchuck on a woodchuck,’ there’s a can here.”

You nod slowly, nuzzling your face into the softness of his blanket. “I like you, Yuta. I think you’d take good care of me. You should be my boyfriend one day.”

Yuta doesn’t sleep well that night—in fact, he’s laying on a used yoga mat with a spare blanket and pillow, watching your tired expression. Arm hanging off the bed, face smushed into the sheets—he can’t help but think you’re so pretty like this, so close, and fingertips length as his, but you’re not his.

And part of him wishes you were.

He sighs, pushing a strand of your hair away from your face. “I thought I told you to call me if you wanted to try new things.”

sunken realities.

“Damn, he’s fucking fine,” Nari mutters, clicking her tongue at the sight of a guy. You don’t pay her much mind, figuring that clearing out the tables at the diner was more of a priority, but it piqued your interest when you heard her wince.

It’s Yura whacking Nari on the back of her head.

“That’s my brother, you idiot,” she hisses, feigning a hit and Nari whines again. “No way in Hell am I letting your stupid ass get all cozy with my brother.”

“But he’s so… yum, Yura,” Nari pouts, shoulders dropping in disappointment. “Even ya bestie prob agrees.”

Scrunching up your nose, your face heats up from being put on the spot. “I… I have no comment,” you quickly reply, shuffling back to resume wiping the mustard yellow resin tables. Nari’s bold; she often gets what she wants simply because she straightforwardly asks for it. Last month, she had her eyes set on Johnny Suh, and the day after his name slipped from her mouth, she was already under his grasp as his arm candy.

Yura points at Nari sternly. “No,” and Nari juts out her bottom lip yet again. “Absolutely not. He’s actually a decent guy, and we get along great. I’m not letting him date a girl like you, especially with your track record.”

“And what’s wrong with my track record?”

“Babe, I love you, but you’re a hoe. You’re gonna drop him the moment you get in his pants and I’d rather him be in something serious.”

Nari scowls. She moves over to get a better view of you before calling out your name. “Hey. You’ve been friends with Yura for how long? Did you ever make a move on Yuta?”

Yura pushes Nari away from interrogating you, making some weird sounds with her mouth. “Nari! Stop, if she did, I would’ve already let her have a chance with Yuta. Not you, though, because I don’t trust you.”

Well… this is… new information.

Throughout your years of knowing Yura, she’s never mentioned any of this before. In fact, the thought of you ever dating Yuta never even was a point in a conversation, which brings the question: how did Yura really feel about it?

Abruptly, you shake your head from these thoughts. To be quite frank, Yuta didn’t reciprocate any feelings for you, so just the idea of it was surely just a fun idea—nothing actually worthwhile thinking about.

His chuckles echo from across the room; seated in a scarlet red booth in a corner with his friends from university, there’s a smile that beams brightly across his face that has your heart tightening from the mere sight. It makes you think about the moments you shared with him through your childhood, questioning from time to time if there ever could be more, but your position still stays the same. Yura’s best friend. His little sister’s best friend.

“Namjoon is driving me home tonight,” Yura informs, uneasily too. “I uh… that means I can’t come with you home.”

“Oh,” you blink blankly. “There’s a spare bike in the back—“

Yura rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Yuta will wait for you when Doyoung comes to relieve you off your shift.”

“I mean, it’s totally fine. I could just ride—“

Your best friend calls your name out in a hard tone, and you’re starting to feel as small as Nari did when Yura told her ‘no’. “He offered to stay. Let him drive you home, okay?”

You whimper. “Please don’t.”

“What’s wrong with Yuta?” Well, for one: you’ve had this stupid persistent crush on him since god-knows-when, two: it would be super weird to be alone in the car with him again, especially after professing that said crush on him, and three: he’s with his cool friends. He’s not going to want to drive you home, and knowing Yuta, he would, but it doesn’t mean he wants to.

“Uh, you know. He’s with his friends. It’d be rude to make him ditch them for me.”

Yura clicks her tongue irritably, crossing her arms over her chest. “Come on. Yuta always is willing to drop everything if it means driving you home safely. It doesn’t make this time any different.”

“Please, no he’s not. He’s just being nice.”

“Stop being stupid, he likes you!” She exclaims, flailing his arms.

“Well, he kinda has to, I’m his sister’s best friend—”

“—No, like… he likes you, you idiot. Just let him drive you home. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed these past few years. He keeps looking at you with little hearts in his eyes; I’m surprised he hasn’t confessed yet.”

You freeze. It feels like you’re frozen in a block of ice, or that your feet are stuck in quicksand because you can’t seem to move. Was Yura really telling you this in the middle of a workshift? How are you supposed to react? Because truth be told, you don’t really believe her. “I—Huh?” You shake your head in response. “Nevermind. Forget that. I can ask one of the chefs to drive me home.”

Your best friend groans, running her fingers through her hair. “Did you not hear me? I said Yuta likes you.”

“Uh, yeah. I heard it.”

“Then what? You don’t believe me?”

“Eh. Yeah, I don’t believe you.”

“Well—” Before Yura could even finish, Yuta was already standing by the counter with the biggest grin on his face. “Oh. Yuta,”

“Hey,” he looks over at you. “When does your co-worker get here? I’ll drive you home.”

You wave your hands dismissively, “No, no. It’s totally fine, Yuta. I can get home by myself.”

Yuta raises a brow. “By how? You don’t think I’m just going to leave you here, are you?” He’s adjusting the jacket on his shoulders, shoving his hands into the front pockets afterwards. “Because I know there’s a bike in the back, and if I see you riding it, don’t be surprised if I’m chasing you down. Am I that repulsive?”

You mentally wince. He’s the complete opposite of repulsive, but with how you’ve been tipping on eggshells around him, it’s not surprising that he has that impression. “No, you’re not, Yuta, I just… I don’t wanna interrupt your uh… outing.” Gesturing the group of college kids at the table he came from, you puff your cheeks out. “I don’t want to be the party pooper.”

“You are far from being a party pooper. I’m the one that offered.”

“Yeah, but like… you don’t have to drive me home.”

“But I want to,” he says, this time sternly. “I want you home safe, so I’m going to drive you home myself.”

You glance over at Yura who only smiles in content, shrugging her shoulders as if she doesn’t have influence with an input on this. With a heavy sigh, you nod, unraveling the tie of your apron from around your waist when you spot Doyoung entering the diner. “Alright,” you cave in, “you can drive me home.”

“Well, don’t sound too excited,” he jokes, but you only narrow your gaze at him. “I promise the ride won’t be too bad. I need to talk to you anyways.”

Aw, fuck. Was he going to bring up what happened at the party? Because if that was the case, maybe if you make a run for it now, grab your bag from the back and slip out the door—

“Oh, here’s your bag,” Yura hands over your backpack with a mischievous look on her face, like she knew your plan all along. “Wouldn't want you sneaking out the back now, would we?” Fucking bitch—although you did love her. Just not right now.

On your way out, Yuta waves goodbye to his friend group, and you don’t miss the way some of the girls snarled in your direction. You recognize one of the faces—Haeri, one of the volleyball players, D1 for your University’s team—and she did not look happy seeing you trail behind Yuta. “I’m headin’ out, guys.”

Haeri’s face contorts into a pout. “Oh no, Yuta, why not stay a little longer?”

He shuffles through his jacket for his keys. “Uh, gotta drive this little one home. But maybe next time, guys.”

“She can’t take the bus?” Haeri has her jaw resting in her hands, elbows flat on the table. “It’s not that dark out.”

One of Yuta’s good friend’s, Jungwoo, stares at Haeri suspiciously. “Dude, it’s like pitch black dark outside. Why would she take the bus home alone?” Jungwoo gestures to Yuta with his chin. “Drive her home, bud. I’ll hold down the fort here. I can drive Haeri and them home.”

Haeri rolls her eyes. “But I was hoping for a ride from Yuta.”

“Well, Yuta is occupied. Don’t be difficult.”

“I can take the bus,” you quickly interject, adjusting the straps of your backpack. “It’s really not a problem.”

Both Jungwoo and Yuta shoot a glare at you. “Don’t be stupid, kid. Let him drive you. It’s safer. It’s not like she doesn’t have a ride, so she’ll be fine,” Jungwoo shoos Yuta with his hands. ���Go, go, before this one starts something else.” Haeri scowls at his comment, pursing her lips up in indignation.

the drive.

God, this was fucking awkward.

Truthfully, you didn’t want to be here. It’s the reason why you kept dodging a ride with Yuta in the first place; the perspiring hands, racing heartbeat, and there always feels like something is lodged in your throat, preventing you from speaking.

“How was work today?” He’s starting small talk, and you don’t want to talk at all. Just drive home, drop you off, and head back to his friends. Why’s he even trying? You confessed, he didn’t respond back to anything you said, and pretended like nothing even happened. So why was he still trying to be nice? He’s leading you on, even if you already know he doesn’t reciprocate feelings.

“Fine,” you reply tersely. You keep your focus outside the window, watching the street lights pass by.

“That’s it?” He asks, sneaking a glimpse in your direction. “Why are you being so… short?”

“No reason,” fiddling with the material of the seatbelt between your fingers, it helps lessen the tension. “Just… don’t have much to share is all.”

“Is it about the confession?”

You freeze. It’s like the car stopped moving, the street lights don’t pass by anymore, and the clicking of the analog clock on his dashboard halts its movements. You’re almost positive that your heart impedes, delaying in its beats, and you’re left unsure how to act.

“Because if it is, don’t worry about it.”

Was that… it? So… you poured your heart out for a boy that you’ve been hopelessly in love with for god knows how long, and in the end, it resulted in… nothing? Not even a straightforward rejection. Is this what it comes to?

“Cool,” you suck in your cheeks. There’s really nothing else to say to him, especially since he doesn’t have anything to say back.

Just then, Yuta pulls the car over on the side of the road.

Your head swings to look at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, something wrong with the car? Everything good?”

He puts the car in park, pushing back his seat to get comfortable. “Let’s talk, yeah?”

“About what?”

“You know. About us. You don’t expect me to just brush off what happened the night of the party, do you? They were fucking drinking—and there was nobody there to take care of you!” Oh. You honestly thought for a second there, he was going to bring up that you told him that you liked him. “What if someone took advantage of you?”

“I was fine,” you retort, irritated. “They were my friends. They would’ve taken care of me.”

“They were definitely not your friends. Your friend is Yura.”

Your nose scrunches up in revelation when he only says his sister’s name. “I have more than one friend, Yuta. It doesn’t have to be Yura. I know a handful of people, and the fact that you make it sound like I know only Yura is kind of offensive.”

His expression softens. “You know I don’t mean that. They just… they’re not a good crowd.”

“Okay, well, thanks for that. You’re not my brother, but I appreciate you looking out for me. I know that me being Yura’s age and her best friend might give off that vibe, but I don’t need you to take care of me.”

Yuta sighs, ruffling his hair in slight frustration. “It’s not that, I just… what if something happened to you?”

“Nothing would’ve. I could take care of myself.”

“I took you to my apartment that night, in case you forgot. I tended to you, made sure you were okay.”

“I could’ve gotten a ride home. You didn’t have to bring me back to your place.”

“Would you stop?” Yuta exclaims, dropping his body into the driver’s seat. “Look, alright? It’s not just that, I’m not just worried for you like I am about Yura, I genuinely… just… look, I don’t like seeing you unsafe. I don’t even think of you remotely close to a sister, if I’m being honest.”

“Then what?” He’s taking too long to spit out what he wants to say, and you’re getting tired of it. “Just an acquaintance? Someone you can’t stand because they’re so careless?”

“No—” he groans, head falling back on his seat. “I don’t even see you in that light.”

“Then what? You know what, nevermind. Take me home. I’m exhausted. I’ve been on my feet the entire day, I tried going home alone, but you’re persistent on driving me back only to not,” hand wrapping a grip on the door handle, you grab the top strap of your backpack, ready to hop out. “I can walk home.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, tapping his fingers against his leather steering wheel. “I like you, alright?”

You nearly choke on your own saliva.

“Like… more than a friend, not like my sister’s best friend. Like… I want to be your boyfriend.”

Blinking blankly, you stay frozen in your seat, unsure what actions to make next. Yuta likes you, out of all the girls he could have feelings for, including that pretty girl you saw at the diner.

“I-Uh, what about Haeri?”

He tilts his head, muddled by your question. “What… what about Haeri?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you lean back to melt into your seat. This was all too much information, too much new stuff and it’s making your head all foggy. “I thought the two of you were… a thing. If not… sleeping together.”

Startled by your statement, he immediately begins denying it. “What? Oh, that. It’s just a rumor, you know. She spread it herself so that girls wouldn’t come after me.”

“So… what now?”

“Did you really mean it? That night. You were drunk, and I get that but you were drunk, so I didn’t know if you said it just to say it or if you actually… liked me.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. That night wasn’t a blur, unfortunately, and you remember every bit and piece of it. From vomiting on the side of the street to his apartment floor, to him wiping your face down with a wet towel, all this after you threw yourself on him—every part of it, you can’t forget it. It practically haunts you every time you see him.

“Ugh,” you groan, face in your hands. “I was drunk, and too honest. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He chuckles. “It was cute. If you didn’t tell me anything, I would’ve thought that you just wanted to sleep with me and nothing else.”

“Oh fuck, you remember that too?”

“You think I wouldn’t remember a girl that I liked trying to get in my pants? Of course I do. As much as I want that, I just don’t feel comfortable letting us go any further unless I know how you feel about me.”

This time, you do choke on your saliva.

“Are you okay?” He’s rubbing your back soothingly, and your heart skips a beat at the gesture. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been too bold, huh.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine I just… didn’t expect that.”

“Expect that I saw you… more than just Yura’s friend?”

“Really just… anything. You just made it sound like you would sleep with me, and that you like me. But before that… I sort of felt like I was only Yura’s friend.”

He nods slowly, nails scraping against the leather of the steering wheel. The air in the car feels thick, almost suffocating because he’s tempted to say more, but he can’t. The feelings you have for him are reciprocated, which sounds like good news, but he truthfully wasn’t sure where to go about from here. The two of you could date, yes, but part of him feared that Yura wouldn’t be okay with it, and what happens if you both break up?

“I’m just worried, alright?” He admits solemnly, pools of chocolate orbs seeping with guilt. “I like you but I’m afraid of the consequences. There’s Yura—I never know what the hell is running through her mind, and then there’s my reputation—fuck. No, I didn’t mean that—”

“Drive me home, Yuta.” You state strictly, avoiding meeting his eyes. “Just… drive me home.”

“Wait, you know I didn’t mean it like that—“

“Yuta, your reputation precedes you, evidently. I don’t want it to dent it, so please, stop wasting my time and take me home.”

And with that, he turns to put his seatbelt back on quietly, starting the car once again and drives off to your house.

He doesn’t like the silence; he much prefers when you’re giggling and laughing with him, calling him cute ‘insulting’ nicknames, and making fun of his tastes in music. He likes hearing stories about your childhood, despite being part of it, those anecdotes never seem to have him as a character and he wonders why he distanced himself from you for so long.

You were great. You are great, but something in him continuously stops him from asking for more.

When Yuta reaches your house, he mutters another apology but you’ve already had your Walkmans on and headphones snug over your ears. The audio is put on the max volume, and you don’t hear what he says, but he hears your quick, “thanks for the ride,” before slamming the door and making your way in.

Yuta doesn’t know, but your heart aches more than that night Eunwoo ended things.

Yuta hates this.

If anything, he wished that there was a way to mend the situation. Instead of being further away from you, he was hoping to at least… become friends. But he told you that he liked you back, but used a stupid reasoning for why the two of you can’t be together. And well now… you’re mad.

Or well, he speculates you are, but from how you’re acting, you’re so good at pretending that nothing fazes you.

“What movie did you wanna watch, Yura?” You ask, hopping onto the couch opposite of Yuta. Eyes never meeting his, you lean over to grab a handful of popcorn, and he can’t help but feel this weird churning motion in the pit of his stomach. Popping a couple pieces of popcorn into your mouth, you crunch away, melting into the leather seats of the couch, legs crossed like a pretzel. “I heard you rented a couple options.”

“Mm, I think Yuta has it, let him show you,” she calls out from the kitchen, prepping the tray of drinks and more snacks.

That’s when your gazes lock.

It’s been a while since he’s been able to get a clear look at you; the last encounter had been weeks ago, and you were a professional when it came to avoiding him like the plague. He doesn’t live at home anymore, but when he’s here, he barely gets a glimpse of you before you’re already zooming out the door with Yura joined at the hip, ready for whatever adventure the two of you are on again.

But it feels good to have your attention away. Even though it was for a brief moment before you shrug, turning back to the TV and watching whatever it is on the antenna. “It’s fine. I can wait.”

“I can just show you,” Yuta says, disheartened that you rejected him so quickly. “They’re just right—“

“I’m good.” You respond, words hardened. You don’t even bat a lash in his proximity.

Yura comes back from the kitchen, a tray of food in her hands when she suddenly feels the tension in the atmosphere. Furrowing her brows, she places the snacks onto the table before resting her hands on her hips. “Alright, what’s up with the two of you? Talk. You guys never fight.”

“We’re not fighting,” you state plainly, reaching over to grab a chip but Yura smacks your hand. “Ouch!”

“I said talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about—“

“Yuta is being oddly quiet today.”

He blinks. He knows if he says anything, it’ll only anger you more, so he stays silent, reaching over to grab a glass of iced tea and lifting it in her direction. “Thanks for the snacks, sis.”

Yura swears she’ll get to the bottom of this.

“What’s up with you and Yuta?”

“Nothing is up with us.”

Yura’s nose twitches, halting her motions. She’s been cleaning the counter, trying her best to push out the grease stains that have found a permanent home there, and the frustration was building up along with the one she had for you and her brother. “There is obviously some tension between the two of you. What happened?”

You shrug. “Nothing.”

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, I’ve known you both forever. There’s definitely something up. Why won’t you tell me?”

Retying your hair into a low bun, you can’t help but to tighten your lips into a straight line as you wipe down the condiment bottles. “Yura, I don’t know why you’re interrogating me on this. Shouldn’t you ask Yuta, if both parties are involved? So you claim.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she rolls her eyes, fed up with your dodging. “It’s easier to get through you than Yuta. He’s built like a wall.”

“I can be strong.”

“You are not strong when it comes to me, dummy. What’s up?”

She thinks you’re going to crack, but sadly for her, you’re not going to this time.

It’s sort of embarrassing, if you could, you’d admit that. Being turned down by a guy you’ve liked for years, and it wasn’t for the purpose that he didn’t reciprocate feelings, but rather because he simply just was ashamed to call you his girlfriend. And letting someone who you greatly respected and admired know this information is very… humiliating. You’ve had enough ignominious moments in the past few weeks, you could do without more.

Tossing the damp rag onto the booth, you heave a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing, alright? Yuta and I just aren’t really friends. We don’t click, so sometimes we’re just awkward. Why won’t you let this go?”

“Because, I want you to be my future sister-in-law. He likes you, and he won’t make a move unless you do. And I think you’re a perfect fit for him because he gets all giddy and excited when he sees you. Why don’t you believe me?”

Erase everything you said mentally just moments ago, because you end up blurting it all out like word vomit to Yura. Maybe she’s right. You might be a little bit easy. “Because!” You exclaim, flailing your arms in thwart. “He said he liked me, then mentioned how he’s so worried about what’ll happen if you find out, but he never took the initiative to ask you. After that, he accidentally said something about his reputation—you realize he’s embarrassed to be with me, Yura? He thinks I’m harmful to his reputation.”

Her gaze on your softens. “Babe—”

“No,” you retort sternly, despite her usage of a sweet term of endearment. It feels like deja vu, but you’re doing this to another Nakamoto sibling. “I’m not going to try to fix it or make it better. He said what he felt, and that’s just what it is.”

“He’s stupid, you know. You just have to talk to him.”

“It’s not my job to make him feel better about himself. If he feels like I am hindering the ‘coolness’ that is his reputation, then I don’t want to be with him either.”

With that, you turn on your heel and walk away from your best friend, as you did to her brother, and she doesn’t bother you for the rest of your shift.

However, the moment Yura gets off, she doesn’t hesitate to take the route to her brother’s place.

“Nakamoto Yuta, you fucking bitch, open the door!” She’s slamming on the front wooden door of the fraternity house, and someone not Yuta swings the door open and nearly gets punched in the face. “Great. Someone finally opened. Where’s Yuta?”

The male makes a face that’s a mixture of a grimace and fear. “Uh, are you a girl he’s seeing or something?”

Yura scowls. “No, you idiot. Yuta is my brother.” It doesn’t take long for the guy to slide out of her way and let Yura stomp up the stairs of the fraternity home, hollering out his name until the groggily, sleepy boy opens his bedroom door. Eyes bulging out, he recoils back into his bedroom when he sees his little sister storming in his direction.

“Nakamoto Yuta!”

“Jesus, Yura, what the fuck is wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She exasperates, brows furrowing and eyes lit with a flame. “You rejected my best friend all for a reputation? I thought you liked her, you idiot! Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re ruining the best opportunity you have. You guys are literally perfect for each other—why are boys so dense?”

Perturbed, he tilts his head at her sudden intrusion. “Wh-What are you even saying?”

“Why’d you tell her that you couldn’t be together?”

He scratches his tousled bed head. “I… I thought you wouldn’t want us to date. And I was just thinking about what’ll happen if we broke up, and—“

“I highly doubt that. But go on.”

He sighs. “—And, I worried a little about getting into something serious. I’m barely making a name for myself here, and honestly, I’m worried that my group of friends won't be… accepting of her.”

“And? They wouldn’t be accepting of someone who is as nice and caring as her?”

“Well, when you put it that way—“

“Listen,” she says, mimicking the strictness of your own voice that night, and it nearly sends him back to that time in his car. “If you turn down this chance, you’ll never know. You’ll never know if she’ll be the one you end up with in the long run, you’ll never know if she’s your ‘the one.’ And what about your friends? What if this is good for you?”

“Good for me, how?”

“She makes you happy, Yuta. Is that bad of a reason?”

God, is this what teenage boys feel like when they’re about to confess to their crush? Hands perspiring and shaking, bouncing on the balls of his feet to soothe his nerves, and constantly double checking that everything is going according to plan—as if there’s anything to go by.

He’s decided that he’s going to concede, tell you that he was wrong and he wants to give this a shot.

But when he sees you standing outside of your house, bashfully pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear while giving some boy a pretty eye smile, he suddenly feels discouraged.

“It’s fine, Doyoung, really. Thanks for the ride!”

The guy grins cheekily back at her. Yuta recalls the face from the diner—he’s your coworker, oftentimes working on shifts with both you and Yura, but he didn’t seem to be a threat. But seeing as he’s on your porch right now, the feeling doesn’t sit very well in the pit of Yuta’s stomach.

However, he pushes aside any of his insecurities, and has one focus—you. Doyoung is already in his car as you wave goodbye, another quick ‘thanks’ before the boy drives off and realizes that Yuta is right in front of you.

“Oh. Yuta.” It’s short, he recognizes, unfamiliar to the other sweet greetings you’ve always given him.

“Let’s talk, please?” He’s practically begging, anxious out of his mind. If he doesn’t spill the beans on his emotions, he might actually blow up.

Truthfully, you didn’t want to let him in. But it’s the way he looks at you—orbs not swirling in semblance to cups of warm hot chocolate, but they’re rounded with hints of fear and anxiety, so you cave in and offer him a seat on your patio swing on the porch.

“What’s up?” You’re calm and he hates it. He can’t take a read on you, but your heart is palpitating like you’re about to jump off a cliff.

“I—“ this is way harder to execute than playing inside of his head. “I… realize I’m kind of stupid.”

“Mm, I know but I digress. Keep going.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “I realize that ever since high school, I’ve always tried to fit in with the crowd I wanted to be. I had a certain look I wanted to go for—so I made it my priority to be that. Getting into college, it got worse and I pretty much diagnosed myself as a poser.”

Fiddling with the car keys in his hands, he finally leans back to melt into the seat when he’s comfortable. “I have this look to me. Sometimes, I seem cold hearted, disconnected, and oftentimes mean. It makes people want to be my friend—to get closer to me but realize they can only get to arm's length. But you, I don’t know how, managed to slip in between the cracks, but you might’ve already done that before I created this facade for myself.”

“What are you getting at here?”

His eyes meet yours. They meet yours, dreamily gazing into them like you’re the only one in the world. “I’ve always tried fitting in, but with you, I don’t feel like I have to. I feel like I can just be me.”

Was this a therapy session? What was the point of this conversation?

“Yura is okay with us. She’s the one that came to my place, causing a whole fuss,” he lets out a laugh for a brief moment, recalling the scene clearly, but comes back when he realizes he’s supposed to explain himself. “But uh… she mentioned that if I throw away this chance, there might never be a chance again. That if I spent my time worrying about my reputation, I might lose something more valuable to me than that.”

Swinging your legs off the seat, you sit in silence. If anything, it’s his turn to speak, expressing his feelings because it seems like he’s never been able to do it genuinely. Yuta spends so much time masking it, that you fear he lost himself along the way.

But knowing that you played a part in making him feel comfortable with being himself is… assuring. Because you never wanted to be the people that made Yuta feel like he needed to adjust himself so people would like him.

“If… you’d let me, I’d like a chance.”

It’s… honestly strange having Yuta like this, but in a good way.

He’s brought you on a trip… with his friends. Something completely unanticipated and out of character for him because that night in his car, he made it clear that he cared about his reputation too much to start a relationship. How could someone like him date his little sister’s best friend?

But then supposedly something snapped and now he’s… okay with it?

Well sort of. Or is he? It’s honestly hard to tell. First he says one thing, then the next, it’s another. You can’t read Nakamoto Yuta, even if you’re apparently his girlfriend.

You meet Jungwoo and actually get to hold a conversation with him other than a random quick exchange at the diner. He seems nice, always cheekily smiling like he’s got something to be happy about incessantly, and you admire that he has a reason to be. Then you meet Johnny (an old hook up of Nari’s) and he’s comical, worse when he’s with Jungwoo, and they both never fail to bring laughter upon the group.

There’s more friends that join, but overall, this was Taeyong’s, one of Yuta’s fraternity brothers, parents' beach house. It’s got three floors, close in proximity to the shoreline, enough bedrooms to house their entire friend group plus more, and feels like something you’d see on the cover of a magazine on the coffee table of your doctor’s office waiting room.

It’s so… nice seeing Yuta like this. He’s so happy, without much to fear about, visually appearing without any worries and it has that insecurity brewing inside of you because what did he mean about his reputation? And does he still feel that way? It hasn’t been long since that conversation, so you’d be lying if you said that what he said didn’t gnaw your insides with curiosity and uneasiness.

He’s handsome, manning the grill while his friends all stop by now and then, getting their plates stacked of food. You try your best to assist—handing over buns, raw patties, cheese—and you don’t miss the way he exchanges small talk with his friends so effortlessly. He’s great with conversation, and he knows how to be kind without forcing himself through a layer. But what did he mean that he could be himself when he’s around you?

“So, I know we had just dropped all of our stuff in the living room because we’re all fucking hungry,” Taeyong announces, attempting to grab everyone’s attention. “But let’s talk about room assignments.”

“I can room with any of the girls,” a girl beside the pretty Haeri offers, her name something along the lines of Hyerim. Her beauty is in comparison to her friend, although her personality is brighter than Haeri’s from what you observe.

Taeyong looks over at you. “Will you be okay with rooming with Hyerim?”

It couldn’t be too bad, right? Because even though Haeri seems displeased by your attendance, on the contrary, Hyerim is gleaming with excitement. “Sure, I mean—“

“No, it’s fine, Taeyong. We’re sharing a room together.”

Taeyong nearly chokes. You’re starting to pick up that maybe he’s mentioned he’s bringing a plus one, and when they saw it was his sister’s best friend, they didn’t think much of it. But sharing rooms? “Oh. Okay. I’ll give you guys the one room with the double beds—“

“We can just take the one bed one.”

Taeyong blinks. You can only imagine what’s running through his mind.

Yuta hands him a plate with a burger on it—patty, lettuce, mayo, beef and tomato—and grins. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my girlfriend room with other people?”

Why are you so anxious?

Should you be? Should you be prepared for something? You’ve never spent the night alone with Yuta before—unless you count that night you were wasted as hell, barely coherent and mind not even processing what was even happening. But you’re sober this time, and you’re processing everything. There’s no masking the nerves that’s running through your veins, and the expression on your face is living proof that you could never become an actress.

That night was a scheduled movie night. Taeyong had this whole thing planned; in the living room, there were bean bag chairs, not including the couches, and little cushions on the ground for people to sit cozily on. The windows and the patio slide door were open, letting in the breeze from the ocean kick in, the salty water aroma filling your nostrils, and you truly couldn’t even bask in the freshness of the sea because your senses were overwhelmed of all the thoughts of spending the night with Nakamota Yuta. Alone.

He steals a seat next to you on the couch, as expected but for some reason you’re surprised nonetheless (you think you’re accepting the idea of him being your boyfriend sink in). Yuta shoots over that signature smile of his, except this one has a hint of assurance in it, like he can sense your uneasiness but you only reciprocate an attempt of a smile back, and he can’t help but chuckle.

“What movie is this?” One of Yuta’s friends, Jaehyun asks, an arm over his girlfriend’s shoulder. He’s sitting comfortingly on the other side of Yuta, and there’s more than enough room for the four of you on this couch, but you can’t help but cling into the armrest for dear life.

“Clueless,” Taeyong answers, popping the disc into the DVD player.

Jungwoo raises a brow questioning. “That movie barely came out a while ago. How the fuck did you get it on DVD?”

“Bootleg, dumbass.”

Oh yeah, definitely this movie was bootleg. At the time, bootleg movies were just people sneaking in their camcorders, holding it up in the middle of a movie theatre; hands shaking, probably slipping on occasion from the sweat accumulating in their palms, and those were the things that they had control of. That’s not to mention the heads of the audience blocking the screen and the few that stand up in the midst of the goddamn movie to go to the concession stand or bathroom.

“Bro—another fucking bitch going to the bathroom?”

Hyerim slaps Jungwoo’s arm. “Language. Plus, she’s fucking pregnant. Don’t you see her stomach?”

He rolls his eyes. “You just cursed! And plus, don’t judge a book by its cover. What if she’s just fat?”

You let out a quiet snort; Jungwoo and Hyerim’s dynamic was amusing because they always had this push and pull thing going on. Yuta must’ve heard the snort though, because he turns to you with a soft laugh escaping from his chest at your reaction. “They’re always like that.”

“I can see,” your eyes don’t leave the two of them, who gently shove each other back and forth until Taeyong breaks them up. Snugly bringing the pillow on your lap closer, your purse your lips. “I like your friends. They’re fun.”

Yuta reaches for your hand, and your eyes widen slightly. “Good. I’m glad. I like having you around them too.”

You don’t notice the way Haeri stares intensely, blood practically boiling at the sight of him squeezing your hand warmly, eyes filled with hearts like you’re the only girl he sees.

And you are.

“Ugh, I don’t like the idea of it. It’s dark out.”

“Okay, but where’s the fun of just going to bed early?”

“It’s midnight!”

“Exactly! We’re on the same page!”

Toothbrush in his mouth, Taeyong stares at both Jungwoo and Hyerim curiously. “What’s up now? Why are the two of you fighting this time?” You linger in the back, resting against the doorframe of your designated bedroom, one you’re absolutely scared of fully stepping into although your bags are already in there.

Jungwoo turns to Taeyong. “Hear me out, hyung. We’re on a trip. Which means we should enjoy it.”

Taeyong nods. “Okay. I’m listening. Go on.”

“Let's go night swimming. In your pool. It’s the same thing as if we’re doing it in the day, except it’s at night! It’ll be fun, I swear. We can drink—” Hyerim is rolling her eyes, “—but I promise we’ll be responsible and—”

Taeyong shoves Jungwoo aside and runs his toothbrush under the water from the faucet before rinsing out his mouth. He turns to look at everyone before a mischievous smile tugs on the edges of his mouth. “Well, what are you guys just doing standing here? Spread the word. Cancel early bedtime. We’re going swimming in the pool.”

This is probably the worst part of the trip. At least, it’s looking that way for you.

For one, you knew you were going to the beach. But the thing is, you didn’t expect to swim, you were just hoping to enjoy the warmth of the sun on your lathered sunscreen skin, resting underneath the comforts of a beach umbrella with all its primary colors while sitting on a mat. So you didn’t pack a bathing suit for that purpose, hoping you could get away with the ‘oh, I forgot my bathing suit;’ excuse, and well, you did, but sitting at the edge of the pool with your legs hanging off the ledge, half submerged in water while watching the rest of the group play felt… excluding.

Wearing a bathing suit just wasn’t… pleasant. You’re unsure how other girls do it, because all you could think about is the skintight material hugging all the creavasses of your body and out for all people to see. But when you see Hyerim walking out behind Haeri, dressed all pretty in their two piece black bikinis, you’re starting to feel another type of insecurity gnawing at your insides. Jaehyun’s girlfriend follows after in a one-piece, seemingly uninterested in being here at all, so she quickly jumps into one of the empty beach chairs. You sorta didn’t even get a chance to learn her name because she didn’t seem like the socializing type (sort of like you… except she’s very cold.) So there was some ease in your anxiety knowing that it wasn’t just you that didn’t talk to the group.

Hyerim calls out your name, rushing over to your side with a pout. “Why aren’t you dressed!” She has her hands placed on her hips, shoulders slouched like she’s disappointed to see you in this attire.

“I… I don’t have a bikini,” you admit guiltily, although you’re not very apologetic about it in all honesty. The oversized band tee with black shorts were your choice of a sleeping outfit, so maybe they’ll catch the hint that you really didn’t want to join in their activities. “So… figured I’d at least join the fun by hanging out on the sidelines.”

Hyerim pouts in return, shaking her head. “I have a spare one.”

“I’d rather not,” you frown, slouching to mimic her position. “You need that one for tomorrow. I’ll be fine. Plus, I don’t think… I can fit…” you don’t want to say you’ve been checking her out but jesus, she’s got huge tatas. There’s absolutely no way you could fit in her bikini. You’re not fully paying attention, but you take note of the way Haeri glares in your direction. She definitely does not like you.

Yuta leaves the house with the guys, all excited to hop into the pool and you catch him bantering with another one of the boys. And to be quite frank, the boys all look great.

You swallow.

Cause well, Yuta… looks even… greater?

When he walks out of the house, he looks like those hot guys in those coming-of-age teenage/college movies where the dreamy guy moves in slow motion. The way his hair lusciously flows through the slight ocean breeze, the way his teeth are so pearly white, exposed by his wide smile, and don’t even get yourself started on his hearty, deep laugh.

Geez. Was he really your boyfriend?

It sort of feels like he shouldn’t be.

Part of you starts to grow self-conscious; there’s all these pretty girls here, confident enough to strut around in a bikini, flat tummies and tiny waists, then there’s Yuta himself—handsome, built, and an outgoing personality, he’s like the embodiment of what a perfect guy is. And just as you felt the day he got his dream car for the first time, Yuta is suddenly out of reach once again.

“Hey,” he says, finally reaching to you at the end of the pool where you’ve found comfort in the lounge chair. When you assume he’ll forget you, he doesn’t. And while your brain is full of possible scenarios of not being good enough for him, Yuta’s head is spilling past the brim with ways of calling you a term of endearment without it being too weird. “No swimsuit?”

“Yeah, I think… I’ll just sit out,” you shrug, arms in between the space between your thighs. Just before you could whip up any more negative thoughts, Yuta leans over and places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head.

“Well, you look beautiful nonetheless. Come join us in the water if you’d like. I have a spare shirt for you to sleep in if you decide to swim with that one.”

You swore your heart skipped a beat.

Have you ever looked at someone and the air from your lungs is vacuumed out almost instantaneously? Heart palpitating, palms perspiring, and when you’d speak to them, you’re stuttering over your words like some drunken idiot, but really you’re just so nervous you can barely make any sense.

Well, imagine that. Instead, you’re just not just looking at them, but they’re your significant other and somehow you’re in a bedroom with them.

Yuta’s in an oddly tight fitting grey t-shirt and some basketball shorts as he flips the covers open, sneaking a glance up at you. “Are you okay? Do you wanna take the bed and I take the floor? You seem uncomfortable.”

Is it hot in here? Because you could feel the heat radiating from your body and it worsens when he asks that.

“Uh, yeah yeah. I’m, uh. I’m good.” Yuta’s stare turns into a dubious one. “Yeah.”

“You said ‘yeah’ three times.”

“Did I?”

He drops the duvet onto the mattress. “What’s up? Talk to me. Why are you so nervous about us spending the night together? Should I have asked Taeyong to put you with Hyerim, because if that’s the case, I’m really sorry I assumed and—“

“I—Don’t apologize,” you interrupt, guilt beginning to seep through your expression. “It’s not your fault. I’m just… kind of nervous.”

Yuta looks at you like you’ve got food smeared on your face. “Nervous about what?”

“Sharing a bed with you.”

“Baby,” shit, is he using couple nicknames now? Because you’re not ready for it. You swore this was just a crush a week ago, and now he’s standing over a bed you’re supposed to share together and he’s your boyfriend. “We don’t have to sleep in the same bed if you’re uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to—“

“We don’t have to—“

“Yuta,” the way his name escapes from the tip of your tongue is stern, and hard, and he blinks blankly without a word. “I want this. I’m just nervous is all. I’ve never stayed a night with a guy before, and you did tell me if I was going to try something new… let it be with you, right?”

He stays silent for a moment before rubbing his hands onto the fabric of his shorts. “Since you’re being honest, I should too. I’m… also kind of nervous,” he lets out a chuckle, shaking his head afterwards. “I shouldn’t tell you about my experiences with other girls, but you’re not the first person I’ve spent the night with but you’re the first one that has my stomach doing weird things because I’m nervous.”

You furrow your brows. “You? Nervous?” Head tilting to the side, confusion is spread across your face. “Why?”

“Well, I guess because those girls didn’t mean much. But I like you, so…”

Now you’re the one left puzzled.

“I know you think I’m the cool older brother who’s got everything figured out. But really, I’m just a guy with this crush on you and never acted on it,” he rubs his nape, before continuing, “Stop seeing me as your best friend’s older brother and start seeing me as your boyfriend, yeah?”

Maybe that’s been your problem since the start of the relationship—you’ve only been seeing Yuta as not just Yuta, but Nakamoto Yuta, Yura’s brother who’s always been seemingly hard to obtain, one you never thought you’d ever get the chance to date, the one you believed you wouldn’t ever get to experience what it’s like to be loved by him.

And yet, you stand before him with all of these opportunities but you’re so caught up in your own head that it still can't be happening and you are ruining it for yourself.

“What about me?”

It’s like there’s this imaginary ball of perplexity that’s getting passed back and forth. “What do you mean?” He shoots back.

“I’m your little sister’s best friend. You didn’t want to be together in the first place because it was bad for your reputation. I should be the one worrying about how you see me.”

He scoffs in disbelief. “Honestly? I stopped thinking of you as Yura’s friend ever since you showed up with Eunwoo, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

Mouth slightly agape, you’re speechless. That’s when Yuta realized his feelings?

“But that’s only when I realized it. I’d probably been harboring all of that since even before that. So if you’re worried about me seeing you in that way, don’t.”

“Then what about your rep—“

Yuta sighs heavily, but he knows that he’s going to have to confront his mistakes. He remembers what he said that night vividly—how could he not? He basically made it sound like he was embarrassed to be seen with a girl he’s been head over heels for. “I meant… yes, you, but I wasn’t ashamed that I was dating my sister’s best friend. I was… god, you know I’ve always tried hard to fit in while growing up. And part of me just wanted to impress my friends and this persona I kept up of being single, of being unattainable—I liked it. But I didn’t like the thought of not being with you because of some stupid label.”

“… Oh.”

“Oh?” He poured his heart out and all you could say was ‘oh’?

“This… this whole time, I thought it was me.”

Yuta walks over to your side, and reaches over for his hands to cup your cheeks. His chocolate colored orbs aren’t just filled with sweetness, there’s so much love saturated in them that your heart could practically feel it emanating. “It’s definitely not you. Why do you think Haeri keeps looking at you like that despite my constant telling her to stop? Because she’s been chasing me for years and one day, I pull up with a girl that she’s never met before.”

That would explain those dagger stares.

“I just needed to grow up,” Yuta confesses, planting a kiss on your forehead. “And I hate that I broke your heart and my sister had to flip shit for me to learn that, but I needed it to happen. Nonetheless, I’m glad for it because now I have you.”

You swallow. Now that you know the truth behind it all, the next words you say are chosen carefully after some thought.

“I want to sleep in the same bed tonight.”

our first night.

Why the fuck did you announce that like some politician at a podium? It was too proper—and for what?

It’s even more appalling when you’re laying on top of the covers, body stiff and straight while basically six feet away from Yuta. He’s comfortably underneath the duvet, pillow propped up against the bed frame while he shuffles through the channels of the bulky TV that sits on the roller carts. “Wanna watch something?”

“Uh, sure.” Thump, thump, thump. Was that your heartbeat? Why’s it going so fast? “W-What did you have in mind?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Friends, maybe? Don’t you and Yura watch that?”

“Uh, sometimes.”

Yuta flickers the TV to the channel, and it showcases Jennifer Aniston wagging that erotic novel in front of Joey and you recall watching it with Yura in the comforts of her bedroom, snuggled with a pillow and a drink in hand.

Oddly enough, you’re with her brother instead.

“You’re still awkward,” he points out obviously, as if everyone in the world couldn’t identify how weird you were around him. You’re starting to pick up on how much worse it is when it’s just the two of you. “Loosen up, will you? I’m still the same guy. I’m just… your boyfriend now.”

“Yeah but… gah,” you groan, turning to hide your face in your pillow. “Kind of hard to accept all of this, especially when there’s girls like Haeri that are hardcore crushing you. She’s so in your league and I’m so… not.”

“What? We’re still on this?”

“We never left it,” you frown, but he can’t see it. You’re being such a whiner right now but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “Why’d you choose me?”

“Because you’re smart, pretty, and kind.”

“Yeah, but Haeri is hot. I couldn’t even wear a bikini to the pool outing today. That’s so embarrassing.”

“So what? I thought you were hot.”

You freeze. Like those frozen dinners in the refrigerator aisle in the supermarkets. “What?”

“You really don’t know? You had a baggy shirt on—although I did wish it was mine you were wearing, I was hoping you’d actually swim so I could lend you one to bed. Then you have those shorts on, exposing your legs out to everyone and—“

You turn over. “Hyerim and Haeri were wearing bikinis.”

Yuta shrugs. “And? I still found you attractive. Just because you’re not wearing a bikini doesn’t make you any less sexy than they are.”

Truthfully, you’re not a bold person. When some kid shoved you in the playground at school, you let them and stayed on the ground with cuts and bruises all over your legs. Then, in middle school, when a famous actress came to visit your classroom, you didn’t have the courage to ask her all these questions you stayed up formulating the night before. In high school, these pink neon leg warmers were all the trend, but you were too shy to wear them while Yura flaunted them off like they were the best things she's ever seen.

But for some reason tonight, you shattered that old version of yourself because you straddle Yuta’s legs, his cheeks are in the palm of your hands, and your lips crashed into his. You needed to confirm this. To make sure that everything right now is a reality and wasn’t some type of fucked up dream you were going to wake up from then become disappointed.

When you pull away, you take note of how his eyes are darkened. Skin flushed, lips swollen, his chest heaves up and down as he swallows, eyes never leaving yours. There’s nothing but soft pants that escape from his lips, and that hooded look he gives you has your stomach churning incessantly.

“Sorry,” you mutter bashfully, as if you didn’t just dauntlessly force him into a kiss. “I just… wanted to see if this moment was real.”

His hands find purchase at your exposed thighs, rubbing them soothingly. “Do you… want to do it again just to confirm it?”

Of course. Always. From that kiss alone, it doesn’t feel like fireworks fly like they express in those romance movies or in those teen romance novels, but it feels like… it clicks. When two things are put together that are meant to be side by side, it works. And Yuta is that for you.

Nodding diffidently, he leans forward to connect the two of you again. His lips are soft, supple, and tastes sweet with a mixture of mint from the toothpaste he used to brush earlier before bed. He smells like fresh laundry up close, like clean linens, and when the kiss deepens with your fingers lacing through his lengthened locks, you’re suddenly intoxicated by everything about him. He makes you woozy, lost in him, and before you could even take a breath, your hips accidentally buck into the bulge suffocating in his shorts.

Yuta is first to break the kiss. “Are you okay? Is this okay? We don’t have to go any further if you’d like. I want you to be comfortable.”

“And dry hump like a bunch of horny teenagers?”

He laughs, so hearty and from his chest. “Yes, like horny teenagers. I don’t mind it. Want you to be alright with it.”

You roll your lips, tapping your fingers against his shoulders in thought. You hear the laugh track in the back from whatever episode of Friends is playing, but all you’re focused on is that sparkle in his eyes, and you know how genuine he is when he says those words.

“I’m okay with more,” you confidently say. “I… I wanna do it.”

“Are you sure?” You nod again in confirmation. “Okay, but… just tell me if you want to stop. Don’t think about me—say stop and I’ll have my hands off right away.”

Of course. You shouldn’t expect less from Nakamoto Yuta.

He’s perfect yet flawed at the same time, and it makes him human. Overall great brother, but he gets on his sister’s last nerves sometimes. He’ll fight with his parents, but at the end of the day, they make up. He messed up with you at first, but he’s doing his best to show you that he could be better. And trying is truly all you could ask for.

Laying you down gently on the bed, he makes sure that the pillow is underneath your head; touch delicate and constantly reassuring, Yuta never fails to verify your well-being.

“Do you want me to eat you out?”

You choke at the boldness of his question. “W-What?”

He chuckles, pushing a couple of strands of your hair away from your face. “Eating you out. If you’re still weird about it, I can just do something else instead to prep you.” Your silence pretty much answers his question and he presses a gentle kiss on your nose. “Can I?” He asks, gesturing to your pants with a tug on the hem.

“Y-Yeah,” you respond meekly, wishing you could slap yourself in the face right now because you sound like a bitch. You’re literally underneath Yuta right now and you can’t even get yourself together straight. “You can um. You can take it off.”

He slides your black shorts down your legs, and he gives you that look for permission before you nod again in consent.

It feels so strange to be naked from the bottom half in front of him.

Albeit it’s like he reads your mind because he quickly tosses off his own shorts off the bed before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Bear with me, alright? I wanna stretch you out first.”

He lifts the end of your loose t-shirt up, legs on either side of him and before he proceeds with anything else, he distracts your thoughts by planting delicate kisses onto the skin of your neck. They’re innocent and soft at first, that is until he starts to nip and suck at the skin, reaching up behind your ear that earns a gasp from you.

Jackpot.

He finds your sweet spot, and with that, his fingers dip in between your folds, and he lets out a faint moan when he feels how wet you are just from making out and his ego inflates. It’s a foreign feeling, you admit, because you’re used to your own fingers but his are different—long and thick, it does a lot better than yours do.

The more he thrusts, your hips eventually give in and move to the motion. Your juices coat him, squelching sounds are heard from down there and it has heat growing in your cheeks. And before you could even halt him in embarrassment, his thumb finds your clit, swirling and massaging the nub that has you sharply drawing in a breath. You could feel a smirk on his lips on your neck.

“Feels good?”

“Y-yeah,” you manage to let out, clenching your eyes shut. This is by far way better than being by yourself in your bedroom.

It doesn’t take long for you to cum.

Your hand grasps onto his biceps—which, by the way, he’s not the bulkiest guy but god, he’s been definitely hitting the gym. Blunt nails dug into his skin, he doesn’t seem to quite mind it, in fact, he observes the expression on your face in content as yours contort under pleasure.

When you’ve finally calmed from your high, you’re still panting, flushed from his touch and that’s when you notice how hard he is in his briefs. “Would you… do you want…”

He shakes his head, hands on either side of your head. “Maybe next time. I want you to feel good.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he mimics, a pretty smile on his mouth. “Would you like to continue or would you rather stop here?”

“I—“ you’re still so timid and hesitant when you talk to him, even though he definitely had his fingers up your pussy less than thirty seconds ago. “Let’s keep going.”

“Are you sure?” Concern is washed over him, but you’re sure with your decision. “We can’t go back after this. I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, it takes a bit of courage to finally speak up. “I have one request.”

“Anything.”

“Can I… keep my shirt on?” He complies, as expected, because your comfort comes first. Seconds later, his shirt is off and he’s struggling to slide off his boxer briefs, and you’re growing nervous. But at that very moment, his gaze meets yours and your eyes melt into his. There’s assurance in those pools of chocolate, like he reads through you like you’re pages of a book opened for him. Just then, he leans forward to press a kiss on your lips gingerly, and you inhale in a deep breath.

“Remember. Tell me if you want to stop.”

Yuta reaches over to the drawer of the dresser by the bedside table, and there you spot three boxes of condoms, different sizes and brands. Before you could even say anything, he’s already quick to explain. “Taeyong just expects we’re all fucking or something, so he’s prepared for every scenario. This is in every room.”

“Every room?” You reiterate in disbelief and Yuta lets out a laugh.

“Yeah. Weird, but better safe than sorry.”

When he finally slips out of his boxers, your heart begins to race. He’s hard and heavy, tip red with beads of pre-cum like he’s been holding himself back the entire time and you give him props for staying so relaxed the entire time even though you’re panicking with every move he makes. He tears the condom packet with his teeth, careful to avoid the rubber itself before sliding it down his length, and the sight causes you to swallow.

Then, he gives you that one last look. “Okay?”

You roll your lips. “Okay.”

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable,” he says once again, the head of his cock slowly pushing into you.

Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had sex. You’ve had other partners before—Eunwoo being your first, but in the general gist of it all, Yuta isn’t the first guy you’ve slept with. But… something about him makes you lose the confidence you inhabit in the bedroom, something about him makes you feel like you’ve got this little crush and it leaves you sheepish each time.

Fingers clenching onto his shoulders, you bite down on your bottom lip. It’s been a while since you’ve been sexually active, and you realize Yuta notices this when his eyes clenched shut, doing his best to hold back because you feel so good with him snug in you.

With a light squeeze on his arm, he takes the sign of approval then begins thrusting into you slowly.

He’s so handsome like this—skin flushed punk, mouth agape with his brows furrowed in concentration; he’s not the most built guy you’ve ever seen, but he’s perfect like this, perfect enough for you.

Lowering himself down, his forehead hits yours and his nose nudges against yours affectionately, and that’s when he lifts your leg up a bit, and the new angle earns a moan from your swollen kissed lips. Pleased, he hooks your leg over his arm, shoving you up further that your knees are pressed against your chest, you’re dizzy off his scent, completely smitten that he’s this close.

“Good?” He queries, thrusting hastily in comparison to his slowing pace before, and he’s constantly hitting that sweet spot.

“G-Good,” you respond breathily, a wince following afterwards. He feels good like this, so full, so intimate, but you could see in his eyes that it’s taking all of him to not ram into incessantly. “But go at your own pace, you don’t have to be slow for me.”

“Maybe next time,” it’s warm, the way he says it, like there are more times to come and this is just the first. “For now, I wanna show you my love for you.”

Yuta does exactly that. He shows you he loves you that night—letting you finish again before he does, and right after, he rushes to the bathroom to come back minutes later with a towel to clean you up. He peppers kisses along your exposed thighs, muttering something about how he wants a taste next time, but he refrains and continues to give you time to warm up.

That daydream of you being loved by him is suddenly not a dream anymore.

second meetings.

“Yuta is bringing a girlfriend home for dinner,” Yura’s mom announces, adding the finishing touches to the dishes in the kitchen. There’s an array of banchan and an assortment of main courses, and it’s pretty much a guarantee that nobody is going to clear out their plates with this abundance of food. She’s got on that cute pink apron with a bear peeking out the stomach pocket that you got for her about four Christmases ago, a smile plastered on her face, restless about meeting this ‘new girl.’ Yura is groggily setting up the dining table per request from her mother, an extra spot ready for ‘Yuta’s new girlfriend.’

“So I’ve heard,” she responds back, stepping back after she puts down the last set of forks. This should be good enough, she thinks to herself. After all, she knows who he’s bringing home, and you don’t need much impressing from what you’ve seen already. “You’ll like her.”

Her mom rolls her eyes, wagging a spatula at her daughter. “Don’t make jokes, Yura, I don’t like that.”

“Well, I’m serious!”

Walking to the dinner table, her mother scowls at the amount of plates laid out. “What’s wrong with you? You’re not going to place a spot for your best friend? Geez, Nakamoto Yura, you don’t think—“

“Hey mom,” Yuta peeks in, dressed cutely in a black t-shirt and baby blue jeans. Even in the most casual clothes he’s breathtaking, and you have to thank your past self for doing whatever it was to get a guy like him. “I uh, wanna introduce you to my girlfriend.”

His mom’s face switches from annoyance to excitement, shoving Yura out the way gently and playfully. “Just in time! I was telling Yura how stupid she was for not setting a place for her own best friend and—“

That’s when she pauses. The moment she sees you coming from behind Yuta, his fingers interlocked with yours, her heart clenches. She’d been so loving and caring towards you for as long as you’ve known Yura, being almost like a second mother, and finally becoming official with Yuta made you slightly fear that she’d feel otherwise because you’re not her baby girl’s best friend anymore, you’re her precious baby boy’s girlfriend.

But you didn’t need to worry because a grin stretches from ear to ear, arms wide open for you to run into. “Finally,” she says, letting out a heavy breath that feels like she’s been holding in for years as she wraps you in her embrace. It’s a sigh of relief if you’ve ever heard of one. “I’ve been waiting for one of you to realize that this works.”

#neosmutcollective #yuta #yuta smut #yuta x reader #nct smut #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct127 #nct fanfic #yuta fanfic #yuta nakamoto x reader #nct yuta nakamoto #yuta nct #nct yuta #idk what to tag anymore i give up #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

after midnight 01 (m) || jjk & reader

title: after midnight 01 - crepuscule  pairing: jeon jungkook x reader genre: angst, smut, fluff, fwb!au, fuckboy!jk, doctor!reader word count: 6.3k warnings: unprotected explicit smut, insinuating drunk driving a motorcycle but he’s actually sober by then a/n: :D disclaimer, i am not a doctor so idk if i’m right about certain things but good thing it’s a fanfic and not real life. i also did end up switching this from a one-shot to a mini-series, so if you’re uninterested in being on the taglist, let me know! if you want to be added, also let me know :D

taglist: @prodyg​ ; @jungkooksseuphoria​ ; @typingtomato​ ; @ggukkieland​ ; @joondala​ ; @jinsalpaca​ ; @bang-woolssi​

He only likes seeing you after midnight.

Loose ebony strands of hair cascading over those darkened orbs as they lock with yours, you swallow. Attempting to push down the anxiety lodged in your throat had been a reoccurring reaction because Jeon Jungkook does things to you that you couldn’t truly understand.

Stomach churning, heart palpitating with profusely sweaty palms, you clench them into a fist to hold your fear tight, unseen to his naked eyes. It takes courage, and a lot of confidence to do this, so you gather it from the shots of vodka before storming to his apartment when he sends you that signature, “come over?” text.

“What are you even talking about?” He queries, leaning against the doorframe into his home. His home, a place you frequented yet never felt like you belonged, constantly feeling lonely although always caught within his cold embrace. “You drunk?”

“Only slightly,” you admit, only because he reads through your exterior like a book for dummies. “But I meant what I said, and I’m not taking it back.”

He puffs his cheeks, straightening his posture before shrugging heedlessly. “Imma give you one last chance. I’ll pretend you never said it, and you can come in like you always do.”

Last chance. Do you take it? Do you leave it? But you’ve already given yourself that pep talk in the mirror, looking back at your reflection of sunken eyes, messy hair, and smudged mascara. It’d be a waste if you just caved in.

“I mean it. If we’re not going to be serious, I don’t want this anymore.”

Jeon Jungkook only likes seeing you after midnight.

The rustling and bustling of the ER is a familiar sight for you. Although it used to be in the mornings, where the sun shines through the blinds, it’s now just the darkness outside peering in; there isn’t warmth on your skin from the sun’s rays, just the coolness in the air that the night brings. The moon is the brightest during your work hours, and it’s only because you requested it to be.

“Don’t you usually go off with your boyfriend late at night?” Nurse Hyerim asks with the tilt of her head. It’s an innocent question, one that she’s put together with information through speculation, but she’s wrong. You don’t have a boyfriend, and you haven’t had one in a while.

“Ah, no, he wasn’t a boyfriend. Just some guy I was sleeping with.”

Hyerim frowns, leaning against the counter of the nurses’ station but her eyes are full of intrigue. “Oh no,” she says exaggeratedly with a sigh. “How could a pretty girl like you not have a boyfriend? If you can’t land him, what does that mean for all the average girls in the world? Is that guy you’re sleeping with not into you?”

This… was sort of true and sort of not true.

If anything, Jeon Jungkook was a species of his own. Not only was he a guy with a sex libido of a rabbit, he’s obsessed his looks, cocky, and somehow manages to grind your gears utilizing just a few words in his sentences. How your arrangement came to be—you don’t want to relive the memory and hope to keep it on the back burner. But nonetheless, it had always been clear that he just wants one thing—to fuck and duck. 

He is into you, so Hyerim is sort of wrong about that. But he’s not… into you, so to speak, but interested in what’s underneath that layer of fabric you dress over your skin. He is into what’s hidden in the material of your thick jeans: the meat of your ass and what your pussy can offer. So, then again, maybe Hyerim is right. 

“Mm, something of that nature. He just doesn’t want a relationship.” The more vague, the better. The people who work in the hospital with you aren’t your friends, you know that much, because more often than not, they gossip and spread rumors about everyone there.

She rolls her eyes. Truthfully, you’re having a hard time trying to decipher if she genuinely feels irritation because of your situation, or if she’s just faking it for conversation. “I can’t stand that. You’re a hardworking woman—strutting away in the hallways of a hospital, exceeding expectations of those around her. You don’t have time to deal with a guy who can’t even figure out if he wants a serious relationship or not!”

Hyerim isn’t Jungkook, but they both share a common trait. Both have somewhat good intentions, but they suck at executing it.

“Uh, thanks, Hyerim.” You force a grin. The pager attached to the waistband of your scrubs vibrates, and you look up at her apologetically. “I’m being summoned.”

She waved you off. “Go, go!”

You’re gone for hours. Six hours to be exact, and your feet are numb, so numb that they’re eventually sore when you drop yourself on the lounge room’s couch, finally regaining the signal from your nerves that yes, they’re your feet and they hurt. But this is normal. Working in the ER in the late hours of the night is infamously known to be busy all the time, and it’s why you take up on the offer willingly. Usually, after midnight, you’re Jungkook’s. But tonight, you’re not.

But for the past two weeks, you belong to your career. It helps to forget a little, mostly because he’s been on your mind when you’re not dragging your beat up sneakers on the tiles of the hospital. At first, it seemed like a good idea to let go; you obviously had your reasons for it. Yet again, part of you… was missing him, as repulsive as that sounds. Where are those late night calls asking “you up?” with his raspy, husky voice over the line, and your notifications don’t miss his contact name with the phrase, “we fucking tonight?” attached to the text. 

And yet, although those traits of his weren’t your favorite, you still missed the motherfucker. Was it common for people to go through this? Long for a fuckboy, wish you could change him but you actually never can? In the end, the only person hurt is you, and you put yourself in that position in the first place. You’re not even sure if you liked him in that way, or if it’s because of the company. But… you sort of did like him in some aspect. It was hard to understand. 

So, here you were. Spending the late night with your swollen, tired feet propped onto the coffee table and body draped over the old black couch with tears and discoloration in the leather. 

Although the hospital is pretty updated, the lounge room remains in the same condition it’s been since the late 1990s. The TV is a small yet a thick box that’s in the top corner of the room and frequently displays old shows on repeat through the antenna. The furniture is aged, but not like fine wine, rather similar to the way milk does; dining chairs wobbly, wood from both seats and tables an unappealing shade between beige and yellow, plus the ancient appliances that require some type of special technique to get them to work really seals the deal. So basically clunky and smelly.

There’s a rerun of Full House broadcasting, and it brings you back to the days where you’d sneak downstairs past your bedtime to watch TV on mute with the closed captions on, just so you could watch Nick@Nite. It’s comforting. But you’ve learned to not get comfortable at work though.

Before you could enjoy the last five minutes of an episode, your pager goes off.

Guess it’s time to head back to work.

The hours pass by rather quickly, mostly because for some reason, in this specific hospital, crazy things happen at night so it keeps you on the tip of your toes and it’s always amusing. You’ve already encountered a couple of weird scenarios—a dildo stuck in someone’s asshole, four jellybeans in a kid’s nostril, and this one girl diagnosed herself with cancer because well… she’s a Cancer because she was born on June 28. 

“Listen, Doc. I’ve got cancer. Says so on horoscopes.com.”

Scribbling some notes down on her chart, you pause when she says those words, and you glance up at her. It's no surprise that there’s people out there like this anymore. “Not… WebMd?”

She blinks. “What’s that?”

You click your tongue. “Right. Uh, well…” you sneak a glimpse at her chart, “Doyeon. I don’t think you have cancer, but if you really want me to double check, I can get some scans and tests done for you. I don’t want you to feel like I’m not listening to you, but I’m also not going to milk you for your money if I truly think you’re okay.”

Doyeon doesn’t seem to agree with you so she takes up the offer for more tests. 

When you leave, you drop by the nurse’s station to hand off the clipboard. “Nurse Hyerim, get the proper scans and tests for potential cancer protocols for patient Doyeon, will you?”

Her eyes widened. “Is she okay?”

“Mm,” humming quietly, you nod. “She’s a June 28th baby. Thinks she has cancer.”

Hyerim snorts, hand immediately coming up to cover her mouth to plug her burst of laughter, and in response, you shake your head in disbelief. Why does it feel like you’re the only one with weird patient stories? “Yes, I know, but please get her the tests, will you? I know I’m technically doing this just to entertain her, but I’m still going to proceed, nonetheless. It’ll bring her some comfort.”

“Well, if you thought Doyeon was a treat, room 18B is actually amazing. Kinda feel bad about what happened, but at least he’s hot. Like… super hot. Maybe you should use him as a rebound and replace that one guy you were sleeping around with.”

Rolling your eyes, you’re already on route to the said patient, casually grabbing his patient chart from the slot outside of his room. It’s easier said than done, obviously, because you’ve been trying to find a worthy candidate to become your future husband and so far, you’ve hit duds. And honestly, you’re over Hyerim giving you unsolicited advice. When’s the last time she landed a date?

“So… you’ve… got cuts on your face and a stab wound on your body from… an ex-girlfriend who wasn’t happy with the result of your relationship?” You scan the clipboard full of the patient’s information quickly—male, 5’10”, around 150-160lbs, doesn’t smoke or abuse drugs but he looks to have an addiction to attract crazy women it seems because it’s not the first time something like this has happened.

“Correction,” a voice deep, thick and oddly familiar, speaks. “She was never a girlfriend.”

When your eyes detach from the clipboard and onto the patient, your heart stops. 

You had to take a double take on the chart just to see if it’s really his name on there. This isn’t a coincidence, is it? Why is it when you run from him, he’s still here?

“Jeon Jungkook.” It’s said through gritted teeth, words saturated with annoyance and displeasure with his presence. He grins cheekily, laying back on the hospital bed with his hand on the wound, despite the fact it’s been sewn and gauzed up. “Uh, I see that the nurses took care of you pretty well.”

There's that smirk. It sits on his face without care, just as how he feels for you, and even though you can only imagine the pain he’s going through right now from his injury, Jungkook still has the ability to act like a dick. “Yeah. That one… in training… What's her name? She was cute. But not hot like you.”

You need to make this quick. The longer you stay here, the easier you’d get roped into his games once again, and there’s no way this could happen. There’s a clear reason why you wanted to break things off if Jungkook didn’t want to try for a relationship—and no matter how many times the two of you fuck, the outcome will stay the same, and so does how you feel about the situation.

“Anyways, keep the area bandaged and dry for a day. Then don’t forget to clean it twice a day after that, and rub some petroleum jelly on it afterwards. Replace the bandage if it starts seeping through again, too. You can come back in about two weeks, and we can get the stitches removed. Try taking pain relievers if you’re hurting.”

Just when you’ve finished writing down your notes on his patient chart, ready to exit the room, Jungkook’s hand grasps onto your wrist. The look of confusion washes over you. “Uh… yes?”

“Will you… drop by?”

Perplexed, you quirk a brow. “Why would I do that?”

“Baby,” he says, tone soft and filled with a facade of vulnerability. “A girl I used to sleep with stabbed me. You’re not gonna take care of me?”

“Jungkook, I have hundreds of patients to take care of. I don’t go into their homes and tend to their wounds.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have their dick in your mouth now, did you?”

Appalled, you pull away from his hold. “Jungkook, I thought I told you that we weren’t a thing anymore. I’m done with just fucking—I need to get into something serious. And you’re not equipped with the feelings or the traits to be that someone serious, evidently.”

Annoyed, he throws his head back. “But why? We were doing so well. I can’t even jerk off without the thought of you in my head before cumming.”

Disgusting. “You wanna know why?”

“Fuck yeah. Isn’t that what I’ve been asking for? A reason?”

“Because my little sister is getting married soon.” You blurt. Truthfully, hearing the words out loud doesn't make you feel any better because it only confirms that was a reality.

Jungkook groans. “Babe, that’s it? The fuck that gotta do anything with us?”

“My little sister is getting married,” you reiterate lamently. “It’s embarrassing that the older sibling can’t settle down. I’m getting to that age, Guk, I need a boyfriend who can eventually become a husband. Then I can have kids and—“

He whines, carding his fingers through those beautiful black locks that used to have your own fingers raking through and pulling, especially when he’s in between your legs, tongue out and— “Why do you even want that? Shit is boring.”

“Well… I want it.”

“You want that suburban house, nice neighborhood with top tier schools, driving around in one of those minivans or SUVs?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Sorry, baby, I can’t get you that. But you can have my dick in your pussy—“

You flick his wound gently over the gauze and Jungkook lets out the loudest moan. “We can’t be fuck buddies anymore. Let alone friends. Go back to the chick who stabbed you. Seems like she’s into that kinky shit anyways.”

With a twirl on your heel, you’re out of his room before he could squeeze in another word. 

Ugh.

The wedding invitation in hand is embellished with probably eight types of glitter, an overly swirly font that has made the writing barely legible, and a picture of your little sister with her fiancé, hugging each other eagerly as if they can’t wait for the official date.

Tossing it on the counter, you opt for popping open a bottle of wine instead. 

Breaking things off with Jungkook wasn't your favorite route for a solution. Quite frankly, it would’ve been nice if he just… became those guys in movies about friends with benefits who fall for their fuck buddy. But you’re not surprised. Jungkook is Jungkook, and he remains the same.

When you reach for a glass in the cabinets and place it onto your granite countertops, your heart drops. The memory of your bare ass on the cold surface with Jungkook’s calloused hands pulling you closer as he pistons his hips into you suddenly comes to mind. The sweat, the heat, the sounds of wet skin slapping against each other—you shake your head. You should not be thinking of Jungkook right now. He’s a player and that’s it. He said so himself—he couldn’t provide that type of life for you, no matter how hard you try to convince him. He wasn’t worth your time. 

But when the doorbell rings and Jungkook stands outside in the hallway of your apartment complex with roses, hair slicked back and his signature leather jacket, you’re beyond confused. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day, baby.” 

Unbothered, you step away from the entrance but you don’t close the door on him and he takes it as an invitation. Although acting aloof, the fact that Jungkook traveled all the way to your apartment when he’s often complained about the distance is truly surprising. “And what did I say that suddenly gave you an epiphany?”

“Am I ever gonna find pussy as bomb as yours?” 

Your face is in your hands. “Jungkook, seriously?”

“Wait!” He exclaims, gesturing frantically for you to pause. “I’m not done. That’s what I initially thought, alright? Then I did some digging. I don’t know how I feel about you.”

“This conversation isn’t getting any better.”

Jungkook grumbles. “Will you just wait!” 

Your silence as an answer is an unspoken way to say that you comply. “I haven’t dated in a while and… baby, I’m a bit rusty. I can get in a girl’s pants in seconds—“ there's that glare from you, but the look he returns back is soft. “—but I haven’t actually liked anyone more than a friend. So… I kinda wanna try it with you. Sex with you is… honestly, top tier. Never have any girl before you get even close. Figured, if that’s the case, I gotta go for it before some dickhead snatches you up.”

Grimacing, you turn to the boiling water with pasta. It’s been a while since you had “dinner food” at a normal time, so with it being your first day off and already having a glass of wine at two in the afternoon, you only seem slightly sane. “So, you only wanna date me because you like the sex.”

“Uh, technically, yes. But also—I don’t think I want someone else to uh, have sex with you. And uh, I don’t know anyone who is… as great at it as you are.”

“That’s all?” Stirring the carbs with a pair of chopsticks, you never break contact with the food on the stove to look at him.

“I mean… let’s also step back and look at the picture here. You’re a doctor—you think I could ever get a chance to be with a doctor again?”

That catches your attention. Your head jolts to look at the boy who still stands in the middle of your kitchen with roses in his hands. “What?”

He blinks. “My family would love you if I took you home.”

You’re such a bitch. Is that really all it took?

How could someone considered as independent and confident with an intimidating demeanor be so weak with a guy that has nothing useful to integrate into your life other than his dick?

He definitely takes your actions as a ‘yes’ to being more than friends because he’s hovering over you, hands on either side of your head with your legs wrapped around his waist while thrusting into your warmth. The ends of his hair are drenched in sweat, brows furrowed while focusing on his movements, and the saccharine moans that escape his lips have you worked up for barely doing anything and he’s about to lose himself.

The Jeon Jungkook is completely weak for you.

Only for sex, that is.

You won’t lie though. It’s not a one-sided relationship—he’s good with his hips and being a pro at sex is his best quality. He’s not boyfriend material, you sadly admit, but god, he can eat a girl out and fuck you hard and deep.

“We shouldn’t fuck,” the words coming out of your mouth don’t match the way your body moves with his. “One, you have open wounds, and two, we’re not in a serious relationship—oh, fuck, Jungkook, right there—”

With a smirk on his face, he abides by instruction but you really want to slap that look off. “You’re a doctor, right?” He slows his movements purposely to irritate you.

“Yes,” you huff.

“Great, ‘cause then you can just patch me up afterwards.”

His lips ghost the skin of your neck before planting gentle kisses that have your stomach churning. He doesn’t whisper sweet nothings into your ear, quite the opposite, he says the dirtiest things. He calls you a slut, asks if you like it when he tosses you around and uses you for his own pleasure, but he still confirms that you’re okay and the safe word is there if you need it.

Jungkook may say a lot of stupid things, but during sex, he’s a selfless ‘lover.’ You always cum at least three times before he does, and when your stomach tightens, he can read your expressions well enough that his fingers reach down to you with your clit until the coil within snaps.

He throws himself off of you, sprawled on your messed up bed sheets while trying to catch his breath. Pasta and wine long forgotten, at least you got off… right?

“So… that’s a yes, right? To be my girlfriend?”

You scrunch up your nose. “I don’t know, Jungkook. You’re not exactly ‘boyfriend material.’ I need someone I can marry later.”

“But you asked me,” he exasperates, turning to lean on his arm, observing your expression cautiously. “You asked me if I wanted to be serious and exclusively in a relationship. I don’t necessarily want to be serious, but I can sort of try that and I’m cool with the exclusive part. It took me a bit of time to get here, but let me at least try, will you?”

“Fuck boys stay fuck boys, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t fucked anyone other than you in the past two years.”

Truthfully, you don’t know what to say to this, and thankfully, you don’t have to gather up a response because there’s a seeping blood stain in your bedsheets. “Jeon Jungkook, you idiot, you tore open your stitches!”

“You look mega hot like this.”

Nose scrunched up at his comment, you make it an obligation to put a bit more pressure on his wound and he winces at the impact. “Baby, what the fuck was that for?”

“For talking like an asshole.” 

Leaning against the leather sofa, he lets out another whine, head thrown back with a slight recoil at the disinfect you apply. It burns, but it’s a consequence he has to pay for disregarding your warnings earlier. 

“But you do. You look so hot like this,” but what he means to say is that you look beautiful like this, with the penthouse view through your floor to ceiling windows where it overlooks the city, the dim lighting reflecting into your apartment from the buildings nearby. 

But Jungkook isn’t great with words, and to put it simply, he thinks you’re hot.

You only roll your eyes, letting a sigh escape from your lips as you toss the used pads into the trash bin. “Try not to move so much, will you?” After washing your hands with sanitizer, you reach over to grab your tweezers, needle driver and thread to begin suturing. “Both right now and for future instances with your stitches. Which means no sex.”

Jungkook finches at this. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

Raising a brow midway through, you pause briefly before continuing. “Why is it we when you're the one with stitches?”

Tongue poking his cheek, he turns his head away with a scoff. He clenches his jaw with a hidden groan as you make another stitch, sneaking a glance at the boy. “You never answered my question, by the way. I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

It’s your turn to scoff, while tossing the needle into the metal pan on the table with a clang. “You weren’t serious about that though. You only said that so I’d keep sleeping with you.”

A smirk dresses upon his lips. “Well, seems like the years you’ve been with me helped you read me like a book.”

You click your tongue. “It goes both ways.” Slipping off your gloves, you push the table aside before getting up to make way into your kitchen. Jungkook follows suit, stealing a seat at the stool at your island countertop, picking up the wedding invitation your sister mailed. 

“Is this why you wanna get settled so badly?”

Turning the knob of the stove, you let out a puff of air from your cheeks. Your sister’s wedding is a topic that haunts you worse than whatever it is in the Conjuring movie franchise, and quite frankly, you’d rather be in that than this. “Sort of. It adds to it. I’m tired of watching my sister live the life that I want.”

Glitter sticks to his fingertips so he tries rubbing it off on the counter while furrowing his brows at both your response and the shiny plastic. 

“Are you sure that this is what you want and not just the idea of it that interests you? You’re a doctor, you realize that, right?” He likes to ask stupid questions, apparently. “You barely have time as it is.”

Grabbing two plates off the dish rack, you lay them on the granite countertop before using tongs to pick up the spaghetti. “I normally wouldn’t tell you this because we’re just… sleeping together, but I got offered a promotion. I still have time to consider since the guy I’ll be replacing has a couple months before retiring, but it’s a steady and firm role. The hours are fixed, and maybe I’ll get calls every now and then for consulting advice, but it’s… a solid position. No more on-call shifts, no more working through the late hours at the ER… that’s all done. I can finally stop using work as an excuse to not get what I want.”

He spots a picture of your sister and her fiance with smiles that stretch from cheek to cheek. She doesn’t have too many features that resemble yours, but the hint of it gives the ‘sibling’ part away. They’re both dressed loosely in white clothes, feet dug into the warmth of the sand with the wind blowing through their hair. They seem… happy. Then, Jungkook looks up at you.

You… don’t seem happy.

If it’s one thing that Jungkook doesn’t think about, it’s dating. A taboo subject, an uncharted territory, an… unfamiliar topic, really. He doesn’t date, and it’s nothing personal against the women he’s interested in, he simply just prefers it this way. It’s convenient. He isn’t required to remember anniversaries or grab flowers and chocolate on Valentine’s Day. No one is disappointed when the gift he gives on Christmas isn’t fitted to expectations. Date nights aren’t anticipated to be perfect. Sure, he’s lonely sometimes, but the temporary company is helpful. And truthfully, since he met you and created this arrangement, he hasn’t met anyone since.

And you’re both company like a girlfriend without the hassle of having one.

That is, until now.

You’re not begging him though, to be his. That’s the difference between you and his one-night stands. Sure, you might’ve said the words, “if we’re not going to be serious, I don’t want this anymore,” but he knows you don’t mean that you want him specifically, you just want what comes in a real relationship. You want the “white picket fence with a single home” fantasy, with two kids and a working husband. Maybe not those things exactly, but the idea of it is what you’re driven to now.

But the question lies: will it be Jungkook who provides it for you?

“Was I convenient?” Leaning back against the chair, he drops the invitation on the table when you bring over a plate of spaghetti and meatballs to him. Twirling a fork in your own serving, you can’t help but quirk a brow at his sudden question.

“Wasn’t that the point of the arrangement? You said so yourself when we discussed this. I have the worst work hours and you were tired of dealing with the aftermath of your hook-ups,” you gesture to the stab wound in his abdomen. “I mean, your stitches say it for you.”

“And things are different now. You wanna end this because you want a boyfriend.”

“Well, yeah—”

He stabs his meatball with the fork you gave him. “So, how’s that going to work out? Are you going to go on dates? Blind dates? Make an account on one of those dating sites where people are desperate to find someone on?”

You shrug, food no longer seemingly appetizing from his debriefing. “Why are you constantly on my case about this type of stuff? You don’t even really want to date, you just wanna fuck. Jungkook, there’s so many other girls out that you could be sleeping with—me and you were a limitation.”

Something churns within the pits of his stomach, swirling and spinning like those teacup rides at Disneyland. The idea of you being with someone else doesn’t quite sit well with him, and for some odd reason, he’s adamant on making sure that you realize you don’t want that lifestyle.

Crimson isn’t your favorite color, but you’re bold tonight, so this skintight dress in this bloody shade of red will have to do since it does the job of hugging your curves well.

This blind date was organized by a good friend, Namjoon, who has every intention of setting you up with any hot guy he sees in his way. More often than not, you’d reject his suggestions, mostly because of work but now that you’re ready to settle, it’s finally time to take up the offer.

“I’m Seonghwa,” the man greets, all pretty-like and not full of arrogance like Jungkook. Seonghwa is the epitome of a handsome man; sharp jawline, warm eyes, and a wondrous smile—you can already see what standards Namjoon had in mind for you. 

Seonghwa isn’t only attractive, he’s charming with an abundance of manners. He’s filtered when he speaks, unlike another guy you know, and he listens attentively to everything you share, even chiming in with his own stories without sneaking in a douchey comment. He’s kind, and cares a lot for his family, especially his parents (such an ideal boyfriend). Seonghwa talks about how he drops by his childhood home every weekend to whip up breakfast for his parents and siblings, catching up with their kids and even sharing a couple drinks during brunch. You’re so engrossed with his story that you were starting to imagine yourself there—

—But that fantasy pops out of your head the moment Jeon Jungkook’s name appears on your lock screen.

“Someone important? You should get that.” Ugh. He’s too sweet. “I know you’re busy—you’re a doctor. If it’s a work message, you should take it.”

You wave him off with a soft smile. “It’s okay. They should be fine. They know I’m on a date and there are plenty of doctors at the hospital that could assist.”

Then your phone goes off again.

Seonghwa quirks a brow, putting aside his cloth napkin after wiping the side of his mouth. “Take it. I understand! Don’t feel like I’ll get upset if you step out for a bit! Patients are a priority, I get it.”

If he only knew that it was just an ex-fuck buddy.

Looking at him apologetically, you excuse yourself to the bathroom so you could call this so-called dying patient.

“What is it? Why do you keep blowing up my phone?” You hiss, bending slightly over while facing the wall to avoid the conversation being heard by bystanders. “You realize when I don’t text back it means that I’m busy, right?”

“Baby,” there goes that nickname again, this time it’s said with a slur in his voice. “I miss you.”

“Are you drunk?” 

“Slightly,” he hums, eyes droopy but you don’t have to see him to know what he looks like. He’s probably got weakened limbs despite all that muscle, resting against the wall of some club that you could tell from the thudding over the line. “Miss ‘ya though.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?”

Expecting something cheesy, you’re only met with brief silence. “You’re not at work, are you?”

You swallow. 

How did he figure that out? You’ve shortly mentioned that you had a shift tonight, only because Jungkook is respectful when you’re at work so he bothers you less frequently. But the fact that he was spamming your phone means he knows something is up. 

“Uh, I didn’t—“

“You’re on a date.” There’s less alcohol in his words now, it’s almost entirely sober in seconds. “Who are you on a date with? Is he cute? Nice? Could take good care of you when he’s your husband?”

You sigh. “Jungkook, stop it. Tell me where you’re at and I can call you an Uber home.”

“No. I wanna know—do you think he’ll be able to take care of you as only a wife, and not a lover in bed? Would he be able to give you as many orgasms as I do?”

“Jungkook—“

“Answer me.” It’s a stern, hard response, coming from a boy who is nothing but casual. “What’s the point in being with someone who doesn’t make you feel as good as I make you feel?”

“I’m hanging up,” you announce, deciding that you don’t need alcohol to help boost your confidence in order to stand your ground and avoid caving into his mysterious tactics so easily. “I’m on a date, whether you like it or not.”

Jungkook doesn’t like that you’ve gotten this daring, especially since you often shared that same lenient, laid back personality he had, and the fact that you actually end the call afterwards without waiting for a reply makes the hairs on his arms stand up.

But you, on the other hand, were feeling a bit… pleased with the date and happy that you brushed Jungkook off without much difficulty. Seonghwa was endearing, had goals of his own, and been a gentleman throughout the whole date. It felt successful, up to when he drove you home that night to your apartment complex, just before he leaned over to help you remove your seatbelt.

And that’s where you see him.

Behind Seonghwa, past the window and at the front entrance. He’s resting his body weight onto his motorcycle while in that signature leather jacket of his, hair slicked back into a ponytail and a glare that pierces through the thick layers of Seonghwa’s car. 

He sees you. He definitely sees you, despite the tints.

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, you desperately want to give Seonghwa that goodbye kiss. But Jungkook is impatiently waiting, boot tapping on the ground with his arms crossed over his chest, all while sucking on the inside of his cheek with a scowl plastered on his face.

“Listen,” you begin, fiddling with the strap of your purse between your fingers. “I had a great time tonight. Call me? I uh, have a guest, apparently, but I’d love to see you again.”

Seonghwa glances out the window on his side, spotting Jungkook whose nose twitches when their eyes lock. “Him? Do you want me to walk you inside?”

“No, he’s no threat… just annoying.”

He smiles, and it tugs on your heartstrings along with the churn in your stomach. “Well, okay, that’s fine. I’ll… text you, then? I don’t want to push you if you’re not interested.”

“No!” You exclaim, startling yourself at the sudden response. “I mean, no, no, you’re great! Text me, really. I think… we should give this a shot.”

When Seonghwa drives away, the grin on your face wipes away faster than lightning strikes.

Standing in front of him, you heave a heavy sigh. “Jungkook.”

“Baby.” He shoots back without hesitation. It’s supposed to be used as a term of endearment, but Jungkook has different intentions when he uses it. “Cherry red dress? Bold option.”

“You’re drunk. Did you drive here like that?”

Jungkook completely disregards your question, brows furrowed with a twitch of his nose. “You’re snappy,” he observes, amused. “You’re mad that you couldn’t invite him in because I’m here.”

Were you that discernible? “A bit. I was hoping to invite him in for a cup of coffee.”

The boy scoffs. “You know that an invitation inside your apartment after a date means fucking, right? Were you gonna fuck him, baby?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” 

His gaze shoots at you like lasers, practically penetrating through you. He’s in between angry and annoyed, unsure which one would be more appropriate for the situation, and the fact that you continue to remain calm has his heart palpitating in disbelief of your reactions. You were the one who came by his apartment and asked for more, but why was he so infuriated?

But the way your hair cascades down to your shoulders, lips tinted in a lovely shade of berry with layers of mascara on your lashes to showcase those gorgeous eyes, it’s like his heart turns into putty. “You… look pretty tonight,” he blurts, and parts of his stomach begin to churn because you’re not dolled up for him.

And maybe it’s the way he says it that really takes the cake for you, but it’s mostly from the fact that Jungkook has never said those very words to you before. He’s called you sexy, and hot before but never… pretty, or beautiful. 

Just like that, you’re the one who shapeshifts into silly putty.

“Would you like to come up for coffee?”

next chapter →

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #bts x reader #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

after midnight (m) || masterlist

title: after midnight pairing: jeon jungkook x reader genre: angst, smut, fluff, fwb!au, fuckboy!jk, doctor!reader prompt: jeon jungkook only likes seeing you after midnight. warnings: unprotected explicit smut, cursing, dirty/inappropriate talk, mentions of sex word count: 39.2k status: completed

01 - crepuscule

02 - dawn 

03 - midday

04 - dusk

05 - tonight

06 - midnight

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #gyukultfics

[yuzukult]

bittersweet. (m) || kmg & reader

title: bittersweet. pairing: kim mingyu x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, established relationship!au word count: 3.1k warnings: dirty deed is done (aka explicit sex if you didn't catch that). profanity. prompt: you're always fighting. he doesn't get you. so why are you even still together? a/n: before any of my friends make fun of me, shaddup. anyways, this is for @/ficscafe dialogue prompt event! i'll be using #14: you make me weak.

He’s so adamant.

The crinkle in between his brows, the scrunch of his nose, and his incessant blinking from all the nerves, despite it all, he still stands firm on his beliefs.

But you’re fighting. Always fighting.

He doesn’t get you—he spends most of the time he's with you arguing about how insensitive you are as a person, how nonchalant you can be when you should be reacting with some type of emotion, and how he wished you’d been more affectionate with him.

But he doesn’t understand you. He thinks you’re selfish (sure, he didn’t outright state this, but you can sense him feeling this way.)

Albeit you’re unsure how you got yourself in this position—back flat against the wall, his hands on your wrists with his crotch pinning yours as your legs wrap around him securely to meet his gaze from the height difference.

“I need you to talk to me,” he rasps, anger filled in his voice. “I’m so tired of making this into some guessing game. Why can’t you just tell me how you feel?”

Although he’s got you cornered, rutting his hips into you once again, it's not persuasive enough. “Talk to me.”

“If you can’t figure me out, maybe we should just break up. I didn’t want to date in the first place.”

Jaw clenched, his eyes continue to melt into yours. He’s looking for anything—a sign, a glimpse, a crack in your exterior to see whatever it is you’re truly feeling inside. “Why do you always use that as a solution? Instead of just communicating?”

“Because—“ you halt, breath hitching when he shifts, the head of his cock rubbing against your bud through your thin material shorts. “—Because it’s an easier solution. What do you expect from me?”

“To tell me and show me if you like me or not. You’re like a fucking boulder. I can’t move you.”

You quirk a brow. “Your fucking holding me down right now. You’ve evidently proved you can move me elsewhere.”

“Emotionally,” he says, exasperated. “The most I can get you to feel something is when we’re fucking. I’m surprised we’re even fucking in the first place. You barely let me hold your hand!”

Rolling your eyes, you pull your arms from his hold and he lets go easily. It’s the type of person Mingyu is—he’s gentle, the complete opposite of you, with a heart of gold that everyone loves and appreciates. He’s lovable, known to many, and desired by them all, and somehow, you got him in your grasp and truthfully… you’re not sure what to do.

He’s fragile, but you have rough hands with toughened skin from years of experience and encounters. There’s this fear that you’ll drop him, shatter him into pieces as brittle as chinaware. So you hold the front, keep yourself strong with a facade tougher than concrete, because you’re afraid if you hold on too tight, he might break. And at the same time, he might break you too.

“You wanna know why?” You finally blurt, words firm and sharp. “Because you make me weak. And I don’t like being weak. I don’t like being known as weak. And you—you do that to me. I hate it.”

He furrows his brows. “I make you weak? The one girl I know to be the most resilient?” Mingyu has to scoff in disbelief because it’s the first time he’s hearing this. “You realize how insane you sound? It’s okay to have feelings for me. It’s why we’re together.”

Nose twitching, you suck in your cheeks. “I hate it. I hate this. I hate that when you turn to look at me in the morning, you give me that fucking… smile. Like I’m your whole world. Like you’re head over heels for me and I’m all that you see.”

“And why do you hate that?”

“Because, some part of me, deep down into the abyss, wants to look at you like that too.”

His jaw loosens, just like the restraints he had over his heart in the past hour of arguing, hands now finding purchase on your thighs to pull you back up closer. “Baby…” he calls out for you softly, the term of endearment nearly bursting your heart, but you keep yourself calm and collected as you normally do. “Then do it. Why are you so scared?”

“I told you.”

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

“Well, it’s good enough for me.”

He heaves a heavy breath. “Baby, I can’t keep doing this. I feel like I’m chasing you but I’m getting nothing out of it.”

Then, you reiterate the same words you’ve said multiple times, but there’s never any genuinity in it because you never actually… meant it. “Then let’s break up.”

“We’re not breaking up.”

“Then what do you want to do? Tell me. If breaking up isn’t the option, then tell me instead of having me up the wall if we’re not gonna fuck.”

“Fucking only happens when you’re pissed or when you’re making up.”

“So, what now?”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to roll his eyes. “We make up. I need you to talk to me. I can barely read you—the only thing I know for sure is that you don’t want this to end because you just admitted to me that you wanna look at me the same way I look at you.”

Frustrated, you let your head drop onto the wall behind you. “This is annoying. I don’t like expressing stuff. You just take what you get or leave. If you can’t figure out what’s going through my mind, what’s the point? Why put in the effort?” Eyes fluttering shut, you feel yourself wanting to crawl into a ball and just… hide. Despite being fully clothed, you feel naked when Mingyu asks for more. And what he’s asking for isn’t even unreasonable—you’re just horrible at telling people what you’re feeling. “I just… why can’t I just let you lay your head on my lap when you get home from work? Or… cook dinner with you. Even have it ready when you have long nights at work. Maybe even fold your laundry—I don’t know. I don’t like PDA but if you asked me, I’d hold your hand under the table. Or… hold it in your pocket on cold days.”

Then, Mingyu stays silent (for the first time).

It finally hits.

You’re not outspoken when it comes to soft things. You’re loving but not in the same way he is. You’re also honest and straightforward about everything except when it comes to admitting feelings for him.

And for once, when you say those words, he… he feels loved by you.

He remembers those days—after spending hours at the gym despite having a long work day, he’d come home and you’re there waiting for him on the couch so you could shower together. You’d help scrub his limp body, even though he moans and groans about how sore he is, but you do it nonetheless because you like him. Or when you stopped by at his apartment, one he shares with all his friends, because he was stuck with helping one of them build their beds and you brought them all, including himself, lunch. And that wasn’t to mention you were already working twelve hour days.

“Can you answer one question for me, then? I won’t force you to tell me again. I just need to hear it once.”

Your eyes open, and it feels like a mistake because your heart drops into your stomach. His gaze is hypnotizing, like he’s got you in a trance, and you respond with a ‘yes’ without much thought because of him.

Mingyu swallows all his anxiety before asking that million dollar question.

“Do you love me?”

Although you feel small being put on the spot like that, the one thing you’ll admit is that you’ve already predetermined the answer to this. And just as much courage as Mingyu puts into asking, you’ll reciprocate and do the same in answering because he’s admirable for even trying.

“Yes.”

Without much thought, he presses his lips against yours. You love him, although you rarely if not never say it, but you finally said those words and all he needs is to hear it just once for assurance. To know that there’s something he’s chasing for, that he’s not running in place like on a treadmill.

Arms snaking around his neck, you keep your hold there as his hands reach to your jaw, leveraging the kiss in an angle he’d prefer. When you kiss, he feels complete. He’s never felt like this with another girl before, this feeling of home, the feeling of comfort. You’re colder than brisk winters, but something about having you in his arms makes him warm.

Your fingers comb through his locks, and although it’s doused in gel and spent hours on doing this morning, he doesn’t mind because he knows he’s yours. When you kiss him back, he’s as anxious as he was when he had to go on stage and perform in front of people for the first time.

Gently pulling away, both your lips are pink and swollen with a string of saliva connecting between. Pants brushing against each other’s face, a soft smile tugs on the edges of your lips as you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“I love you too,” he says, as low as a whisper. “And… I’m okay if you don’t say it again. You know how I show you that I love you… and I should’ve been better at learning what you’re comfortable with in showing how you love. But I still need you to help, too, to make this… better. I need you to talk to me, when you need me. When I need you. I need you to be here for me too.”

“Okay,” you respond, volume matching his. “If that’s the case, I love you. Just… as another reminder since I only said yes the first time.”

He lets out a chuckle, vibrating from his chest and everything about him makes your heart race. “Good. Can I show you how much I love you?”

“No,” you retort quickly and bashfully. But he knows you’re playing because you nod afterwards, allowing him to carry you to the couch. “Maybe.”

“I need a yes, love,” Mingyu says cheekily, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You know I’m not going to go any further until I hear it.”

“Yes,” you reply embitterly, but Mingyu knows better now. He knows what you want, because all he needed was assurance. “Please show me how much you love me.”

And fuck, because he never knew how much he needed to hear those words all his life.

You’re so pretty when he has you stripped down to nothing, laid out on the leather couch of your living room; hair messy, mouth gaped open from all his teasing, and with an arm covering your face because it’s all too much for you. Mingyu is a passionate lover, you’ve come to recognize, and although it’s all an unfamiliar territory, you love him and you’re willing to step into the unknown.

“How am I doing?” He asks, as if he doesn’t have his head in between your legs and a grip on the meat of your thighs. He loves the taste of you, he reminds you plenty of times, but dirty talk coming from such an innocent face makes you slightly embarrassed. “Feels good?”

“Shut up,” you hiss, avoiding his infatuated stare. “Just… just fucking do it, you asshole.”

“What? Show you how much I love you?”

There’s a tornado in the pit of your stomach. He keeps saying things that make you awkward because you’ve never been loved like how Mingyu loves.

You don’t react, and this displeases him. Laying his tongue flat out against your cunt, he gives you another lick that lets a whimper escape from your lips. “Tell me, baby. Am I doing a good job?”

“Yes,” you croak, only because you feel like he’s got you in this position for so long. You’re so exposed, and he at least has his boxers to protect him like a shield, but you’re all out in the open. (Not to mention his fucking built body. He makes you feel so insecure about yours—how is this puppy looking boy so… wide? What the fuck?) “Can you… can you take that off?”

He leans up, tilting his head in confusion and now you can see how hard he is in his undergarments. “My… my boxers?”

“Yeah. I feel like… I’m the only one exposed here.”

He laughs. “Baby, we’ll get to that.”

“Now.”

Mingyu snorts. “Anything my baby wants.” He bumps foreheads with you gingerly, something he's always done playfully, and tugs off his boxers swiftly as requested. “Let me make you cum first and—“

“No,” you interject, eyes closed and biting down on your bottom lip. It's the only way to remain bold—to not look him in the eye because he’ll melt you like a stick of butter left on the kitchen counter. “Show me how you love me.”

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate to shuffle quickly through the little stash hidden on the first shelf underneath your coffee table (he likes to be prepared in every situation even though this is your apartment) and finally spots the condom he hid a week ago. Tearing it open rapidly, he gives himself a couple pumps that have beads of precum building at the top and slips the rubber on with ease. “Ready?”

“For you?” Mingyu gulps, because before today, you’ve rarely said anything that made his heart stutter. “Anything.”

With a push of the head of his cock into your heat, a quiet wince escapes from your lips and his chocolate orbs are saturated in apologies. He doesn’t want you to feel pain, especially not you, but even his efforts to loosen you up beforehand, you still manage to be so tight around him every time. It feels good to have you around him snugly, yet he knows the consequence of the beginning is the ache in between your legs from the first intrusion.

“I’m sorry, bub,” Mingyu presses a tender kiss on your forehead. “Bear with me, yeah?”

“Mm,” you hum dismissively, warming up when he finally slides himself all the way in. He stills, in fear that you’re hurt, but instead, you’re surprisely impatient as you cross your legs behind him and pull him close. Bringing your lips close to his ears, you breathe, “fuck me, baby.”

Mingyu laughs brightly, and your jaw clenches. “What?”

“After today, I’m not going to fuck you.” You quirk a brow. “I’m gonna make love to you.”

“Don’t make me throw up. You’re ruining the moment.”

He grins mischievously before pulling out and shoving himself back in swiftly that earns a groan from you. “Oh? Am I?”

“Stop playing, Mingyu,” you state sternly, but Mingyu is enjoying himself too much. “Or else you're not getting any for the month.”

Well, that does the trick.

He has his hands on your hips, pushed down against the seat cushions of your loveseat couch, hips once flushed against yours now thrusting into your throbbing pussy. God, you’re fucking done for, honestly, because he’s a pro with his hips when he angles it just right that he’s brushing against your swollen clit, hitting so deep into you.

“Fuck—“

“You curse too much, baby,” Mingyu puffs, pecking the side of your lips sloppily. “Everyone thinks I’m such a nice guy and when they meet my—fuck—g-girlfriend and find out how much of a dirty mouth she has, they’re always struck.”

“Too fucking bad,” you spit, fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. He’s so big, stretching you with each shove, but you’d never tell him that or his ego would inflate. “Stop talking and fuck me harder.”

Mingyu loves. He loves and loves, and although you won’t pretend that he comes to your home often with crumpled pieces of papers with girls’ names and numbers on them that fall into the catch-all bowl by the door with his keys, you don’t forget that besotted daze he falls into the moment he sees you. So when you ask for something, he delivers without fail.

Abiding by your urge, his hips move briskly, pistoning into you as fast as he can. Biceps tense, you can’t help but let your hands slip there, gripping onto the muscle and has you wondering fuck, how did you get so lucky? He’s hot, cute, sweet, loving and geez, he could fuck. He’s so clumsy, so dumb sometimes, but he’s so freaking lovable it makes you sick. Lovesick.

His pretty eyes shut close, you notice, because those two cups of hot chocolate are gone and he’s chewing on his bottom lip as he groans, ends of his hair that brush over his eyes now drenched in sweat. His skin glistens underneath the dim lights, and he reminds you of the stars in the night sky—so gorgeous, so special. Always a sight to see.

“Fuck,” the not-so-innocent boy curses (even though he just said you curse too much) “Baby, you just got so tight. Are you about to cum?”

“Possibly,” you manage to say, still attempting to play games even though Mingyu could very so threaten to steal your orgasm away from the tip of your fingers. But when he slightly shifts in the midst of his pounding, you let out a raspy, “Almost,” because he’s rubbing against your nub incessantly that you’re losing all your focus.

When you finally see those stars, you let go.

Mingyu feels this, grunting when you convulse around his dick, head dropping to watch you tug and tug around him, begging for him to cum. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long because after a couple thrusts, he stills, spilling ropes of cum into the condom and dropping the entirety of his weight onto you, face snug into the crook of your neck once again.

“I—“

“You’re heavy.”

“Fuck, baby, we just had sex and that’s the first thing you say?”

He can’t see you, but there’s a smile on your face. “Yeah. And you got my couch all sticky from your sweat. Not to mention the cum. Are you gonna clean it after?”

Mingyu doesn’t care. He’s blissful. He’s happy. He knows you’re going to toss a damp rag at him later, despite his dick out and still drenched in your arousal, and tell him to ‘wipe down the fucking couch because that’s gross.’

All because he knows that you love him.

#caratwritersclub #ficscafe #ficscafe dpe #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #mingyu fanfic #mingyu x reader #gyukultfics #idk what to tag this i give up