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yuzukult · 2 years

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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

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yuzukult · 2 years

Text

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.

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