The Physics Of Love

the physics of love

➳ lee seokmin x gn! reader

➳ summary: three times someone called you and seokmin a couple and one time he did something about it.

➳ wc is approx 5.5k words

➳ tags: childhood friends to lovers, friends to lovers. lovesick seokmin, seemingly unrequited feelings. idiots to lovers. everyone sees it but them. avatar by james cameron slander. pet names used "platonically", knight in armor seokmin. stuck in his feels seokmin, pining and yearning seokmin, salty n jealous seokmin. "platonic" cuddling and pda. minghao is judging every single person ever.

➳ warnings: reader goes on a date with an asshole, panics and calls seokmin while upset. mentions of mummies. cursing!! reader has hair that can be tucked behind ears. reader calls their mom.

➳ notes: inspired by the poem the physics of love by kim inyook, which i suggest reading (linked) before reading this fic to get an idea of the metaphors and symbolism used throughout. for information on otzi, the naturally made mummy, go here. you don't have to know abt otzi to read this fic, but i still think he's super fucking interesting.

o n e 

there was a poem you had read to seokmin once. 

he didn’t remember a great deal of it, too distracted from watching the way your lips formed each and every syllable, the way you spoke like a secret melody, the song one his heart had long known. the two of you had been in his room, the line of your bodies pressed together. it was dark, with only the artificial light of his bedroom lamp lighting the room, but still it casted such a benevolent glow upon you that seokmin swore you were ethereal. 

he might not have remembered the poem or its words, but he remembered what it was about. someone seemingly small and elegant, of no consequence to the world, and how such a person could pull the narrator towards them with a pull stronger than that of the earth and its gravity. 

it was you, he had realized, and him. you were seemingly ordinary, and yet he found you more beautiful than any flower or any sunset, found you more interesting than any foreign language or animal, your voice lovelier than any instrument or song, your mass and gravity heavier than any planet’s, constantly pulling him in, closer and closer and closer. 

it was why, seokmin knew, he couldn’t help but press himself next to you even though there was tons of space. the outside table was large enough to fit eight and only five sat at it, but still seokmin pressed his shoulder to yours and wedged himself in between you and hansol, his thigh against yours, your warmth seeping into his skin. 

“hi,” you had laughed, eyes bright and sparkling. you leaned into seokmin, putting your weight against his in response. you pressed your forehead to his cheek, a fleeting moment of contact that had his heart racing and mouth drying.

minghao, who was new to the group, peered over his glasses at the two of you. his eyes flickered, watching as you slid your snacks towards seokmin and offered him one, as seokmin gasped happily and snatched the pretzel from your fingers. 

minghao cleared his throat, setting his book on the wooden table. “are you two,” he began, his voice soft, hesitant, “you know. dating?”

seokmin’s heart leapt. he tried not to think of how the two of you often looked to outsiders, pressed together, giggling and laughing and smiling and caught in the other’s orbit. he couldn’t. if he did he would start imagining other things, like your lips against his cheek and how sweetly you would feel pressed against him, his hand sinking into your hair and angling your face towards him; how early mornings wouldn’t mean waking alone but waking in your arms, his face pressed into the crook of your neck, your hands soft against his skin. 

so no. seokmin couldn’t think about such things. 

you pulled away from him at minghao’s words, retracting. seokmin missed you as soon as you moved, wanting to bridge the distance you had put between the two of you. “we’re not,” you explained, pulling another pretzel from the bag. you hooked your fingers through the hoop, spinning it slightly. “we’ve just been friends for forever.”

“you’ll get used to it,” soonyoung explained, patting minghao’s shoulder. the younger man’s face was completely red, heavily embarrassed from not only asking such a personal question but being wrong. “they’re always like this. they’ve been friends since they were like, thirteen.”

“y/n was my knight in shining armor,” seokmin explained, stealing the pretzel bag from you. he dug through it, busying himself in an attempt to shove the heartbreak at your answer deep down. you weren’t lying. you and seokmin weren’t dating and you had been friends forever, and during that forever the two of you had stopped worrying about what others thought of your closeness; during that forever the lines between platonic soulmate and romantic soulmate blurred for seokmin, the two becoming one. 

you laughed at his comment, elbowing him. “someone was making fun of him for a bad grade he got on a quiz.”

“so y/n punched him.”

minghao’s embarrassment evaporated, something akin to awe and horror taking over. you and seokmin began cracking up, your laughter blending together and creating the most precious and beautiful melody. 

“i did not,” you protested, swatting seokmin’s arm. “i’ve never punched anyone in my life,” you told minghao, rolling your eyes. “all i did was push him a little.”

“and then he fell down a flight of stairs.”

“stop,” your laughter was loud now, gathering the attention of passing strangers. “he did not! we were -- minghao, we were on the playground outside of the middle school.”

“you’re right,” seokmin agreed. “and it was the playground y/n pushed him off of.”

you turned to seokmin ripping the pretzel bag from his hands. “i did not! minghao is going to think i’m some sort of bully.”

“well you did just smack be a couple of seconds ago --”

you huffed, turning your shoulder to seokmin. you were so irritated with him, but he could see the little grin that was curving the corner of your mouth, the way your eyes crinkled slightly in merriment. “okay. so someone was being mean to seokmin and i pushed him back and away, and he stumbled a little bit. but he didn’t fall. didn’t fall down, didn’t fall down stairs, didn’t fall off the playground equipment. 

“after that i guess i sort of just took seokmin under my wing. i got decent grades -- better than him, at least. so i began sitting with him and helping him with assignments, and thus our friendship began.”

“it’s like rhinos and those little white birds,” soonyoung explained further. “except seokmin got all the benefits in the friendship and all y/n gained was some annoying fly buzzing in their ear.”

seokmin gasped, eyes wide. he threw his pretzel across the table at soonyoung, the snack instead hitting a studying mingyu. “i’m not a fly!”

“you’re not a fly, don’t worry.”

mingyu quickly interrupted you, throwing the pretzel back across the table and hitting seokmin on the cheek. “y/n’s right. you’re some stray dog that y/n fed once and now won’t stop following them home.”

seokmin grabbed the pretzel bag from you, dug his hand in and grabbed a handful of pretzels. he then threw them across the table, the snack raining down on the boys sitting opposite. “i’m not a stray dog!”

“seokmin!” you admonished him, pulling seokmin back to your side. you looked around before gathering some of the fallen pretzels and sweeping them underneath the bench for birds. “it’s okay, seokmin. no need to get upset. you might be a stray dog but don’t worry, you’re a cute stray dog.”

t w o 

“i can’t fucking believe seungcheol rented an entire theater for jeonghan’s birthday,” mingyu muttered, sticking his extra large popcorn underneath the butter dispenser. “it’s so ridiculous.”

you shrugged, shoving your drink underneath the soda dispenser. seokmin grabbed two straws and took them out from the wrapper, waiting for you to press your lid on top of your cup before sticking it inside of your drink. “i mean. you know how seungcheol likes it when people boast about his generosity.”

hansol sucked in a breath, tilting his head. “is it really generosity if you want someone to talk about it?”

“i don’t care if he wants me to talk about it or not,” seokmin argued. he shoved mingyu out of the way with his hip, thrusting your shared popcorn underneath the butter dispenser and soaking it. “if seungcheol wants to buy me a macbook and tells me to run up and down the interstate screaming about it, i will. don’t think i won’t.”

you laughed, grabbing his drink off the counter and holding it in your other hand. you leaned against it next to seokmin, so close that your elbow brushed against his. he couldn’t help the way his heart swelled a little with pride. all this space, and yet you still sought him out and stood close enough to where you were touching. 

it was as if -- if he dared to think this -- he had his own mass and gravity that dragged you into his orbit, that had you leaning into him and crossing rooms to join his side. it was as if just like seokmin you, too, were drawn to him. 

“give seungcheol a break you guys,” you chuckled, tossing your head back and flipping your hair over your shoulder. you had worn it down, the locks framing your face beautifully. well, in seokmin’s opinion you always were beautiful with no exception -- even that one time where he had to barge into your apartment when you were puking into the bathtub, sickness running its course through your body. 

“you act like seungcheol isn’t the one that forks out money the easiest when we need help,” you added. seokmin pulled the popcorn towards himself, wiggling the box and letting the butter travel. “he literally just bought supper for us the other night, mingyu.”

seokmin looked up from the popcorn, meeting mingyu’s eyes. mingyu looked like a puppy getting caught pulling the stuffing from a favorite toy. his dark eyes were round, his face in a wince. “you ate out with mingyu and seungcheol without me?”

you shrugged, stepping away from the counter. seokmin, pulled by you, followed. “it wasn’t anything big, seokie. they just picked me up after work and seungcheol asked if i was hungry.”

seokmin pouted, ignoring how hansol’s face contorted in disgust at your pet name for seokmin, waddling after you as you walked towards the ticket attendant. you stopped once you noticed mingyu and hansol weren’t following, still busying themselves at the counter, rifling through the different popcorn seasonings. 

“what degenerates,” seokmin muttered, shaking his head distastefully. his heart leapt when you giggled, bringing your drink to your lips. “can’t take them anywhere.”

“funny,” you said, “that’s what i usually say about you.”

seokmin fake laughed at you, high and pitchy. you let out a little cackle, trying to mimic his fake laughter before you were interrupted by your own little snort. 

seokmin bursted into laughter, throwing his head back. you were mortified, eyes wide and darting around the theater space. you looked liked a deer in the headlights, embarrassed at your snort. “do you think anyone heard that?”

“just me, sweetheart,” seokmin returned, unable to help the pure adoration and love that dripped from his voice. he reached out, shifting the popcorn to one hand. he skimmed his fingers over your brow, drawing your bangs aside. he then tugged on them before tucking them behind your ear, letting him see all of your face unobscured. “you’re so cute.”

you gave him a look, cheeks high on your face as you tried to suppress your grin. you rolled your eyes a little, letting seokmin’s fingers linger on your ear for a few moments before you pulled away. 

mingyu joined the two of you in long strides, hansol slowly walking behind him, digging through the popcorn and popping a few in his mouth. mingyu stopped once he reached you two, turning around. “hansol! you’re allowed to walk a little faster, you know?”

hansol looked up at mingyu, unperturbed. “we should’ve got seungcheol to rent the theater for the new avatar movie.”

“i could not care less about that movie,” you said, deadpan. you then turned and walked towards the attendant. “we’re part of the party for theater thirteen?”

the attendant blinked. they glanced between you and seokmin. “oh, yeah, no problem. y’all can go ahead and go through. do you need help getting to the theater?”

you shook your head, sidestepping around the attendant. “nope! we’re all good, but thank you.”

the attendant nodded. then they leaned forward across their box, voice low but still loud enough for seokmin to pick up on it. “may i just say that you and your boyfriend are absolutely adorable.”

“oh,” you said, balking. “we’re -- we’re just friends.”

if seokmin heard that phrase one more time, he’d quit. he’d quit his life, quit his job and quit the lease on his shared apartment with jeonghan. he would kiss his parents good-bye and then retreat to the nearest mountain. he would befriend the neighborhood friendly sasquatch, learn his ways before making his own home in a mountain cave. he would live the rest of his life in that cave, never to hear another human voice, never to hear those dreaded words again. 

the attendant looked over your head. seokmin fought to control his wince. 

you waited for mingyu and hansol to walk ahead of the two of you, mingyu complaining as hansol continued to maintain his slow, lazy pace. 

“seokmin,” you began, voice low and hesitant. “do you -- do you ever think --”

“try not to,” he interrupted. his heart was going to leap out of his throat, his brain packed up and left his body and was taking the first taxi out of the city. he was going to drop his fucking drink, his palms were so sweaty.

you blinked. “right. but seokmin, do you wonder about what it --”

seokmin laughed, pointing ahead at mingyu. “haha, kim mingyu nearly fell! come on, y/n, we got to hurry before they get fed up with waiting and start the movie.”

he shouldered ahead, leaving you behind. 

a huge part of seokmin felt guilty. he couldn’t help but mentally fill in the rest of what you were going to say. do you wonder about what it would be like to date? do you ever think about what it would be like to be together? do you know why people constantly think we’re dating? do you know why people always say that you look at me like i put the stars in the sky, do you know why you come home from every single date alone, do you know why you can’t help but compare every single person to me? do you know why your heart stutters and leaps and yearns for me, do you know, do you, do you love me?

he didn’t know what to say to any of those questions. seokmin didn’t know how to navigate such a thing. how could he? how could he attempt to navigate the seas of your relationship when he didn’t know its limits, when he didn’t know where the sea stopped with its smooth currents and began ravaging your ship. 

he knew he loved you. he loved you platonically and romantically. he loved you like a dear friend, loved you like the love of his life. 

but where did you stand with him? 

could he even dare to hope that you shared a fraction of his feelings? that you -- that you thought he was the sun amongst the dark clouds, that he was as precious as a rare flower, that he was someone precious and someone to be treasured? 

he could barely manage to greet his friends when the four of you entered the theater, could barely manage to let his smile grow. the seats were dual sitters, large and practically meant for couples to cuddle. 

seokmin felt horrible when you dropped into a seat, looking at him, expecting him to join you in the loveseat. for a moment he was going to sit beside you, press against your side and wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you close, breathe in the shampoo of your hair. 

but then he remembered. do you love me?

and so seokmin sat on the other side of the cup holder, keeping it between your bodies, keeping him from your side and from our warmth. 

and it plagued him for the rest of the movie. 

t h r e e 

jeonghan and joshua were being loud and having fun, and seokmin was not about it. 

he had a cloud hanging over him ever since you texted that no, you couldn’t hang out on friday night because you!!! had!!!! a!!!! date!!! you couldn’t go with him to see that new museum exhibit you had been so excited for because you were going!!! with!!! someone!! else!! 

you were going to see something you had been looking forward to for forever with someone that wasn’t him, and even worse, you were going with someone who was a possible romantic interest.

it was so out of the blue. you and seokmin rarely went on dates, you even moreso. they were so sparse that seokmin could count the amount of times you went on dates on both hands, with the amount of times you met that same person on a second date being counted on two fingers. 

it wasn’t like you weren’t allowed to go out on dates and be your own person. of course you could! you were allowed to hang out with other people without him, were allowed to see movies and go to the market without him. you were allowed to go see that new museum exhibit that you had been waiting all year for with someone else. 

but that didn’t mean seokmin had to like it. 

it felt so wrong. it felt like it was against the laws of the universe for seokmin to not be with you when you were doing something so precious to you. it was like he was fighting against gravity, constantly trying to force himself from giving up and returning to your orbit. 

at first he fought with himself. who cared about that exhibit anyways? who cared about some ice man who had the oldest tattoos in the world? who cared that he was a mummy that was naturally made?

but then seokmin had felt his heart crumple, as if it were a piece of paper that he, himself, was crumpling up into a wad. you cared. you cared about this exhibit. 

and that meant the world. it didn’t matter if seokmin didn’t particular care for mummies or ice men, didn’t matter if he found them sort of creepy and even scary. it didn’t matter that he found the 90s movie the mummy creepy and always squeezed your arm whenever certain parts came on. none of that mattered because it, mummies and ice men and extremely old tattoos, mattered to you. 

so of course it mattered to seokmin. 

and you were sharing it with someone else. you were sharing something so precious, so beloved, with someone that wasn’t him. 

it was just a downhill from there, seokmin realized. it was just one exhibit, just one prehistoric iceman. but eventually it would be more than that. it would be more than one iceman, it would be more than one date. it would be one, two, five, a hundred dates and a wedding and he would lose you for the rest of your lives to some worthless, horrible, no good, terrible, lazy, third-rate vermin. 

that was his lot in life. seokmin wrapped his hand around the beer glass in front of it, pressing his fingers against the cold drink. he could only be lucky enough to be your dearest friend, lucky enough to occupy your orbit for a moment in time. he would be lucky enough to be your best friend, never your lover. 

that would have to be enough, seokmin vowed. he lifted the drink to his lips, settling them on the rim. it would have to be. and it would be. 

his phone buzzed on the table. seokmin ignored it, tuning in to jeonghan pestering joshua about some bullshit made-up story behind the origin of beer. 

his phone quieted. 

then it began buzzing again. 

seokmin set the mug on the table, grabbing his phone. as soon as he turned it over and watched your name flash on his screen, he felt his stomach drop and his heart freeze. 

you never called. if you were going to call him you always warned him with a text. you hated calls. you hated calls so much. you called suddenly like this only when you needed him, like that horrible day where he had to force your apartment door open, when you were so sick you could barely move. 

seokmin picked up the phone before he fully registered what he was doing. “y/n? baby, are you okay?”

you hiccuped into the phone. seokmin’s body tensed, sliding to the edge of the seat, prepared to jump from it and run out of the restaurant. “seokmin,” you sniffled, voice close to the phone receiver. “he -- he brought us to a bar for supper and he just -- he left me here.”

immediately seokmin was standing, grabbing his coat. jeonghan and joshua began badgering him, following suit and standing. he abandoned the table without second thought, going to the register. “it’s okay, baby. just tell me where you are and i’ll be right there, okay? it will all be all right. your seokminie will be there. stay inside and i’ll call you when i get there. or do you want to stay on the line?”

“stay,” you begged, and seokmin knew he would do anything for you. “i don’t know where he brought me. it’s -- seokmin, i’m so stupid.”

tears stung at the corners of his eyes listening to you fight your tears. seokmin shook his head even though you couldn’t see it. “no. listen, sweetheart. you’re not stupid. just stay on the line with me and i’ll be there quicker than -- quicker than superman. all right? it’s my turn to be your knight in shining armor.”

you laughed into the phone, though there was no joy or happiness in it. you laughed like it was the only thing you could do in that moment, like it was the only thing stopping you from sobbing. 

“i’m gonna hand you to jeonghan while i pay,” seokmin said, glancing at his older friend. jeonghan had an extremely worried expression on his face, brows furrowed and large eyes wide. “that okay, baby?”

once you gave your affirmation, seokmin was handing off the phone. he pulled out his card, shoving it into the reader before the woman behind the counter could say anything. 

she glanced up at him, drumming her fingers on the counter. “i hope you get to your partner quickly. it seems like they really need you.”

“they’re --” he cut himself off. but joshua and jeonghan were right there, probably listening. “they’re my friend. they had a bad date.”

the woman nodded, glancing at the other men. then she leaned over the counter. “you know,” she said, voice quiet, “you’re acting like this someone might just be more precious to you than just a friend.”

seokmin looked down at the card reader. it chimed; he stuffed his card into his wallet. 

as soon as his phone was back in his hand, he was bringing it up. “okay. i’m back, sweetheart. did you tell jeonghan the address? did you look it up on maps?”

a n d  o n e 

there was nothing seokmin liked more than being pressed against you. 

the winter weather brought cold rain, the sound of it slamming against pavement loud. you had pushed open your windows just a smidge,k letting the sound of rain fill the bedroom before you squealed, running across the carpet and jumping to join seokmin. 

the two of you were so wrapped around one another that, looking down on the blanket, he couldn’t tell where you began and he ended. your legs were tangled with his, arm hooked through his and holding your phone over his shoulder as you peered at it. seokmin had long abandoned his phone, dropping it behind your head. 

instead he let his eyes fall shut. he basked in the smell of you, how surrounded him. your lovely fabric softener that reminded him of spring, the vanilla scent that constantly clung to your skin. he had rifled through your candle collection and lit one called sea island cotton, which further seemed to sink into his soul and coax it into a rest. 

it wasn’t often the two of you were able to do this anymore, seokmin lamented. he wiggled one of his hands free, reaching up and sinking it into your hair. it was a little greasy, but he slid his fingers through it all the same, thumb stroking the strands as they went to his fingers. 

you weren’t kids anymore, seokmin knew. it wasn’t like high school, where the two of you could sleep over at the other’s house for the entire weekend, doing homework together, pressed shoulder to shoulder on the carpet of your living room. it wasn’t like college where you could spend every passing moment with him, save for the rare ones where you attended separate classes. 

you were adults, seokmin thought. and that meant being busy, constantly searching for ways to preserve old friendships. 

really it was a miracle the two of you had maintained yours. especially when it felt like every passing day with you had his heart growing another size, when seokmin felt part of his soul being torn between wanting what’s best for you and wanting you. 

sometimes he wondered what it would be like if those two things were the same. if he was what was best, if you genuinely wanted him like he wanted you. if you imagined walking through the supermarket hand in hand with seokmin, if you thought about the puppy the two of you would adopt. if you thought about the sort of house would suit you best, if you thought about the cruise you two would take after retiring, hand in hand and sipping margaritas. 

he wondered what it would be like to be the person you always sought out first to drag to iceman exhibits, to be the person you would always call first when in trouble. seokmin was your number one now, was the person you constantly orbited around, but who was to say it would be like that in a year? six months? 

when your phone vibrated it scared seokmin, making him leap in your arms. you laughed, loud in his ears due to your close proximity. you tapped the phone, answering it and putting it on speaker. “hi, mom.”

there was a rustling noise. “hi! i was just calling about the weather. i saw you were going to be having some bad stuff heading your way.”

you hummed. your feet wiggled against his, tapping on his in a rhythm to a melody only you could hear. “yeah, it’s just raining right now. i saw there was a thirty percent chance for a bad storm in my area, so it might miss me altogether.”

“well if it gets bad i want you to go down to the laundry room,” your mom announced, voice firm. you rolled your eyes, bringing a laugh out of seokmin. he tried to muffle it, pressing forward and burying his face into your hair. “is that -- do you have a boyfriend you’re not telling me about?”

you sighed, shimmying. you turned your face from seokmin’s chest so you could speak clearly into the phone, but not dislodging him completely. “it’s seokmin, mom.”

he hated the way you said that. 

“do you have a boyfriend?”

“it’s seokmin.”

as if he couldn’t possibly be your boyfriend, as if the word wasn’t something that could be added to his definition. he could see it as clear as day: lee seokmin, son, friend, boyfriend to y/n. 

“how was the date with that guy?” your mom asked. seokmin fought the urge to butt in, to berate the man and call him every single bad name he could think of. “what was his name? you two went to that exhibit, didn’t you? how did you like it?”

you paused. your hand had been playing with the fabric of seokmin’s shirt but at her question you stopped, smoothing your hand down. you tapped your fingers against him once, twice, thrice. “uh. his name wasn’t important. we didn’t even get to go to the exhibit.”

“oh,” your mom sighed. seokmin could practically picture her closing her eyes, pressing her lips together. “oh, y/n. well. you can always go to the exhibit with seokmin, you know.”

“i know,” you said, fingers beginning to pick at seokmin’s shirt again. “i can always count on seokmin to let me drag him to see some dead dude.”

seokmin frowned against your hair. he hated this conversation. he hated the dejected tone of your voice. 

he pulled away slightly, nose pressing into your hairline. seokmin kept his voice low so your phone wouldn’t pick up on it. “can you hang up? i need to talk to you real quick.”

you threw him a troubled look, but you did as he asked. once you were off the phone with your mom, which had taken another few minutes, you were pulling away from him with a little frown. “seok? what’s up? did you not want to go to the exhibit with me anymore?”

seokmin sat up, crossing his legs. you scooted towards him, pressing your feet against his calves. seokmin reached out, laying his hands on your knees, palms up. you quickly settled your hands in his, shifting so each of your hands was wrapped around two of his long, elegant fingers. 

“i want to go to the exhibit with you,” he said, leaning forward. you were so beautiful. “but i want you to know you wouldn’t be dragging me to it.”

you winced, hands squeezing his. “poor choice of words, i know.”

seokmin shook his head. “no. it’s more than that, y/n. it’s. i want to go to the exhibit with you.”

you tilted your head. seokmin watched, endeared, as your bangs escaped from behind your ears. “but i didn’t think you liked otzi or were even interest in him. i don’t think you even know his name, seokmin.”

“i thought his name was otis,” he admitted. you snorted, lips turning into a smile. “but listen to me. are you listening? i want you to listen, sweetheart.”

your smile wavered, your eyes turning serious. you nodded, licking your lips and squaring your shoulders. “i’m listening, seokmin.”

“i don’t care about otzi,” he reiterated. when you frowned at him, lips parting to protest, he shoveled forward. seokmin couldn't let you interrupt, not when he was standing on the edge of the cliff and preparing for the plunge. “but he matters to me. he matters to me because he matters to you.”

you wiggled your hands in his, releasing your hold on his fingers to instead lace your digits together, weaving them like a tapestry. it was like you were no longer just pulling him into your orbit but weaving your celestial bodies together. “seokmin, i need you to be more clear. what do you mean?”

“i mean,” he sighed, fighting to try and gather his thoughts. how could he put nearly a decade of love into words? “i don’t want you to go see otzi with some other man. i don’t want you to go to the movies with anyone else. i don’t want anyone else picking you up after work and taking you to eat. i don’t want you to cuddle with anyone else on winter nights where it’s raining.”

there was a pause in the air. you looked torn, as if you were at war with yourself. your eyes were serious, your lips pressed thinly. “seokmin. lee seokmin. i need you to be really clear about what you’re about to say. because if you’re saying what i think you’re saying, if you mean what i think you mean --”

you broke off suddenly, tearing your eyes from your face. you squeezed them shut, taking a deep breath. 

“if you love me,” as soon as you said those words seokmin was sucking in a large, horrible breath that seemed to fill his lungs and then some, stretching them out. “if you love me like i love you, i need you to be crystal clear. please, seokmin, please.”

“i love you,” he returned, as clear as sunshine and just as beautiful. “i love you. i want to hold and kiss you, i want to be your boyfriend. i don’t want you to ever take anyone else to museums or say that we’re just friends. i want you to have to call and tell your mom that lee seokmin is your boyfriend.”

you wrenched your hands from his and seokmin had a fraction of a second to miss the feel of them before you were throwing yourself forward and into him. your arms went around his shoulders, pulling him fully in your orbit, joining your masses and making you one. 

“i love you,” you chanted, the words sweet and like honey to seokmin’s ears. “lee seokmin, my knight in shining armor, my superman, my bestest friend. i love you.”

but no matter how sweetly you spoke, the kiss that followed was even more so. 

local lover boy

✧ kim mingyu x f! reader

✧ summary: after you've had a long week of work, mingyu decides to help you wind down for the night.

✧ wc is approx 5.1k

✧ genre: fluff, romance; comfort. i like to think i'm funny so humor as well. nudity; mdni

✧ warnings/notes: soft! gyu, pet names (you: good girl, my girl, my beautiful girl, baby, princess)(for him: lover boy, gyu, puppy). mentions of sex but no actual act. exhaustion, anxiety, stress mentions. mingyu is absolutely in love with you <3 banter between a couple, teasing. mingyu (nonsexually) kneels and kisses your feet. nonsexual nudity. hints of mingyu being a househusband. mentions of marriage.

✧ based off of the video of him wiping off his makeup on live.

✧ maybe a series??? just with little stories abt him loving and comforting reader

Mingyu watched as you trekked through the apartment door, exhaustion pouring off of you. Your hair was no longer neatly done, instead hanging around your face. You had attempted to cover your exhaustion with makeup, Mingyu having watched you put it on that morning, but now it did practically nothing. 

You leaned against the entrance wall, using your hands to shove off of your shoe. Mingyu quickly crossed the room to reach you, going to his knees before you had a chance to take off the remaining shoe. 

Your face immediately softened when you looked at him. He felt his heart swell at that look, the way your eyes seemed to pour out love. You smiled at him, weakly, reaching out and placing your hand in his hair. “Hello, Gyu.”

Mingyu reached up, grabbing your hand. He pressed his lips to your fingers, wondering if you could sense the devotion in the act. “Hello, baby. Long day?”

A large sigh left you. It seemed odd, how such a heavy, great weight could exist in you, whom he always associated with the good things in life; flowers and clear skies, rainy days and long car drives with your hand in his. 

He guided your hand to his shoulder, his other hand running along your calf. You didn’t protest anymore when he did this, not after months of living together and Mingyu greeting you by moving to his knees. Sometimes it turned into something more; sometimes you put your hand in his hair and combed it through, pulling on the strands and barring his golden neck for your teeth. 

Tonight was different. 

You put your weight against him, letting Mingyu cup your calf and raise it. Gently, as if he was holding the world and not your foot, he guided your shoe off. Mingyu then hooked his finger into the hidden sock, sliding it around your heel and off. “Other foot.”

When he had both socks bundled in his fist, he finally stood. Mingyu hated how crazy your life had gotten in the past few weeks, a combination of familial issues and workplace problems. You soldiered through it as you did all things, keeping your gentle smile and kind gaze. But still, he wasn’t oblivious. 

Mingyu settled his free hand against your jaw, cradling it. Your makeup was heavy, foundation attempting to cover nights of little sleep and stress. He still could see through it, could see the bags and darkness that hung beneath your eyes, and his heart wept. 

You didn’t deserve it. If it was up to Mingyu, you would have an easy life free of stress and anxiety. The bags beneath your eyes would be nonexistent, and you’d spend your days reading those romance smut novels you tried to hide from him by using your tablet to read them. There’d be a pool, of course, and Mingyu would be able to feast his eyes on the sight of your body basking in the sun. 

But that wasn’t the reality the two of you lived in. 

Instead the winter sky casted short shadows, the grass long-dead. You had no time for reading due to the hectic schedule life was putting you through, and there was no pool. 

Mingyu sighed, tilting your head up towards him. You moved to the tips of your toes, angling your face in an attempt to make the reach easier for him. 

He pressed one quick, sweet kiss on your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut. Mingyu smiled. He could see the dark circles beneath your eyes, the acne that had begun to appear due to your stress. You were slouching, shoulders bent from exhaustion. 

You were beautiful. 

Mingyu pressed a long kiss to your lips. The smacking sounds of his lips against yours was immensely satisfying, and he couldn’t help but continue to seek them out. His other hand, still balled up with your socks, wrapped around you and pressed your body close to his. His mouth began working against yours, slowly, devotely devouring your mouth. Mingyu pressed his tongue against your lips, running it along the seam. 

With a little gasp you pulled away. Your chest heaved against his, eyes wide and looking up at Mingyu with such wonder and innocence that he couldn’t help but lean down and capture your lips again. 

“Gyu --” You tried, his mouth silencing you. You didn’t fight too hard to talk, but every single time he pulled away to reangle himself, his name was on the tip of your tongue. Eventually you managed to pull away, your hands on his biceps, forcing him back. You were grinning, a little laugh escaping your lips as your eyes sparkled at him. “Let a gal get through the door before you attack her, won’t you?”

He tried not to dwell on the feeling of your hands settled against his biceps, the feeling of your palms on his bare skin. He absolutely refused to look at your hands, to see how small they looked settled on his arms. 

Your lips were dark from his, and you looked thoroughly loved. 

Mingyu pressed forward, trying to press another kiss to your mouth. You laughed, shaking your head, and Mingyu couldn’t help but use his strength to break from your hold and smack another kiss on your lips. 

“Kim Mingyu!” You laughed, slapping your hand over your mouth. Your eyes sparkled as you looked at him, and even with the dark circles beneath your eyes, the pimple on your forehead, you were beautiful. 

“Forgive me, please,” Mingyu said, voice low. He pouted in an attempt to garner sympathy from you, his hands reaching out to settle on your hips. “Just got carried away at seeing my beautiful girl is all.”

You rolled your eyes, the smile on your lips never wavering. 

He sighed, loudly and dramatically. Mingyu placed a chaste kiss on your temple, squeezing your arm. “Fine. I guess I’ll let you actually inside of the apartment.”

“Thank you.” You stepped in, leaving your shoes on the ground behind you. Mingyu took your work bag, ignoring your protests. 

He liked this. He liked being able to take care of you physically. You were a strong, independent person; you knew how to stand on your own two feet; how to draw admiration of those around you. 

So there was something special about this for Mingyu. There was something special in him kneeling before you, taking your shoes and socks off, putting your bag in your office for you. It was special for him to make you supper, to press kisses to your cheek whenever you went to bed. 

You were wiggling out of your blazer when he returned from putting your bag in your office. You hadn’t noticed him yet. Mingyu watched, silent, as you rolled your shoulders. You stretched out your arms, soft sighs escaping you. 

Mingyu kicked the wall as he pushed off of it, alerting you to his presence. He grimaced, a soft little curse escaping his lips, hunching over and grabbing at his foot. 

You were at his side in an instant, cooing. “Aw, Gyu! Did you hurt yourself again?”

“The wall moved,” he explained, pouting up at you from where he was hunched over. 

You nodded, pouting with him. You ran your hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “I’m sure it did, baby. Do you want me to kiss it better?”

Mingyu nodded. You got on your knees in front of him, joints popping. Your hands looked small even compared to his foot as you cradled his foot. “Stop getting my boyfriend hurt,” you admonished his foot, before you swooped down and pressed a kiss to the top of it. 

Mingyu felt as if his heart was lodged in his throat. “Uh. My leg hurts. I banged it against the wall too.”

Compliant, you pressed a kiss to his bare leg. 

“Here, too,” he said, tapping his right hand with his leg. “It got hurt when I tried to catch myself.”

You went to your feet, knees popping. Your hands reached out, palms up. Feeling somewhat like a princess, Mingyu set his hand in yours. Slowly, as if he was royalty, as if he was precious, you turned his hand. You bent over, and he could feel your warm breath against his palm before your lips pressed against it. 

“There,” you murmured, satisfied. 

Mingyu’s hand shot up to his cheek. “This hurts too.”

Finally you shot him a look, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief and mouth thinning. “I didn’t see you hit your head.”

“I didn’t hit my head,” Mingyu explained, “I hit my face.”

You looked at him for a second more before sighing. He tilted his face down, bending at his knees while you went to your tiptoes. You brushed your lips against the corner of his mouth before pulling away. “There. Are you satisfied, you gremlin?”

“Absolutely.” Mingyu stood back up to his full height. You rubbed at your cheek, eyes glazing over for a moment as your mind seemingly vacated for a moment. He reached out, grabbing your hand in his. “Hey. Why don’t we get your makeup off of you and get you settled for the night? You take a nap while I make supper, then we can sleep.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I have transcripts to look over for tomorrow.”

“So we go to sleep early and get up early!” Mingyu tugged you towards the bathroom, walking backwards. The hall was bare, so he just had to worry about bumping into walls. But then you settled your hands on his hips, feet brushing against his, guiding him down the hall and into the bathroom entrance. “I’ll make you an extra delicious breakfast in the morning to get you going.”

You blinked up at him, eyes serious. Then you let out a long sigh, shaking your head. You pitched forward, pressing yourself into his body. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Mingyu wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. He hated this question, but it was something he asked himself often. When you turned to him, already smiling; when you laughed at his stupid jokes; when you reached out wordlessly, not even looking at him, lacing your fingers together. 

“You didn’t do anything,” Mingyu said, voice soft. He rested his cheek on the top of your head, letting his eyes fall shut. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve me, lovely. You don’t have to do anything, be anyone other than yourself.”

For a moment the two of you stood in that crowded hallway, arms around one another, soaking in the other’s presence. He counted each of your breaths until his matched, unable to keep himself from feeling satisfied at how in sync the two of you were. 

You turned your head, making him lift his up and off of you. You pressed a kiss to his shirt, right over his heart. “Okay then, lover boy. Take my makeup off for me.”

Mingyu pressed a kiss to your hairline. Holding you in one arm, he reached out and flicked on the bathroom light. “Hey. If we’re taking your makeup off, shouldn’t it be makedown.”

You were quiet behind him. He turned, catching sight of you out of the corner of his eye. Once you saw him looking at you a small, pitying, fake smile cracked over your face. “Oh! Ha! That’s funny, Gyu.”

Pleased at your lie, Mingyu grinned back at you. He guided you to lean against the counter. Mingyu placed his hands on your hips, and after a quiet countdown, he was lifting you onto the counter. 

You swung your feet, heels gently hitting the cabinets, as you watched him move around the bathroom. Mingyu grabbed your makeup remover wipes, the moisturizer, and serum. 

Then he was moving between your thighs, tilting your head up with one of his hands. He couldn’t help but brush his thumb over your cheek, your lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. 

“How beautiful,” he murmured, feeling something that could only be love flood through him. Mingyu bent forward, pressing a kiss to your nose. “My beautiful girl.”

“Gyu,” you began, softly protesting. 

“All right.” He removed one of the wipes from the package. With his other hand he held your chin, keeping your face still. “First we’ll wipe your eyes, get all that eyeshadow and eyeliner off.”

Tenderly, far more so than he ever was with his own eyes, Mingyu began wiping. He watched as your face relaxed in his grasp, trusting him completely. 

Was it ridiculous that even after nearly two years of being together, it still thrilled him that you trusted him so wholly? You trusted him with your entire heart, your body, your soul; just as he did you. 

He did a final swipe over both of your eyes, humming in approval once they came up clean. “Done with your eyes, pretty girl. Now let’s get a new cloth and start on your precious cheeks.”

Mingyu discarded the dirtied cloth into the trash can. The new one dirtied just as quick, your foundation rubbing off easily. “Ooh, look at that. Who’s that beneath all this foundation?”

You opened one of your eyes, watching him. Once one of your cheeks was completely bare from makeup, slightly irritated from his rubbing, Mingyu swooped down and pressed a kiss there. “It’s my lovely girl!”

Sighing and shaking your head, you smiled. “Whatever you say, lover boy.”

It was supposed to be a jest, Mingyu knew. Lover boy. You had said it a few months into dating, rolling your eyes as Mingyu pressed the “hundredth” kiss to your face before he left you on the front doorstep of you and your friends’ shared townhouse. “Settle down, lover boy. They can see you from the living room window.” 

Then he had gone home and looked it up. Romantic, loyal, flirty, devoted. 

And that was when Kim Mingyu decided that, before he was a son or brother or friend, he was your lover boy. 

It was a jest, calling him lover boy, but his heart still expanded in his chest and threatened to erupt in an explosion of light at the nickname. 

After another kiss to your cheek, because Mingyu never knew how to turn down kissing your cheeks, he began wiping at your other cheek. He repeated the same steps as before, including the narration. 

And still you rolled your eyes, though they were unable to hide how you looked at him with such fondness. 

He discarded that cloth. Mingyu grabbed another. “We’ll make sure to rub this really good over your chin and nose. Don’t want any blackheads or anything.”

“Of course,” you agreed. You angled your face up towards him, eyes sliding shut. 

Mingyu couldn’t help but grin as you waited. He ran his eyes over the shape of yours, over your lashes from where they rested against your cheek. The soft cushion of your mouth that he often spent far too much time staring at. The way your hair framed your face. 

Beautiful. 

He began working once more, rubbing the cloth over your chin. Mingyu took care to get the crevices of your nose, concentrating on that particular spot. 

Eventually you pulled away, frowning at him and wrinkling your nose. “Don’t you think it’s time to move on from my nose, Mingyu?”

“Just a moment,” Mingyu said, his other hand going to cradle the back of your head. He held you in place as he returned to wiping at the spot. “Not until there’s no dirt or makeup left.”

“You’re gonna be wiping until there’s no nose left at this rate,” you mumbled, brows furrowed. 

Mingyu pressed a kiss to the wrinkle between your brows, relenting his attack on your nose. “Fine. You win, princess.”

He didn’t miss the smile you tried to suppress, but he ignored it for your sake. If Mingyu acknowledged every cute thing you did, the two of you would never be able to move on. 

“Okay,” he breathed, looking over your bare face. He leaned over your thigh, reaching for the serum you used. Still leaning on your thighs, he opened up the drawer that held your cosmetics. He withdrew a cotton cloth, pouring some of the serum on it. “Time for serum!”

When Mingyu pulled back, reaching up to wipe at your face, you were already staring at him. Your eyes were bright and soft, curved sweetly in imitation of the smile that grew across your face. You were looking at him like you did a kitten or puppy, like he was something precious and sweet. 

Mingyu felt heat rush up to his cheeks, settling there. He whined, bowing his head and pressing his large body into yours. You laughed in his ear as he burrowed his face into your neck, arms wrapping around you and squeezing out of embarrassment. “What’s wrong, puppy?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Mingyu pouted, despite the fact his heart skipped happily whenever you looked at him with those exact eyes, that exact smile. He peered up at you, still pouting. “Makes me all embarrassed.”

You laughed, your hands coming up and cradling his cheek. “You? Kim Mingyu? Embarrassed? I’d never believe it.”

“Of course I get embarrassed,” Mingyu murmured. You began carding your hands through his hair, tugging at the ends of the strands. He let his eyes fall shut, arms loosening their hold. He let his hands lay on your hips, squeezing. “You’re so mean to me that whenever I catch you being nice it throws me off.”

Laughing, you grabbed his earlobe and pinched. Mingyu let out a yelp, pulling his face away from your neck. He didn’t go far, however; he never would if he could help it. Your gravitational pull was too strong, after all, constantly keeping him in orbit. 

“I’m not mean to you,” you argued, ignoring the fact that you just pinched him. Your hands settled on his shoulders, fingers drumming along the line of them. “Never been mean to you a day in our lives.”

Mingyu barked out a laugh. He released your hips, one of his hands resuming its prior place at the back of your head, holding it still. Mingyu then began swiping at your face with the serum, watching as it dampened your skin. “Sure. Like you never put your cold feet on me when we’re cuddling.”

“You’re my boyfriend,” you returned, eyes still shut. Mingyu pressed the cloth against the corner of your mouth, keeping you from speaking for a moment as he took care to reach the area around your mouth. When he left the spot, cloth traveling to your cheek, you continued. “It’s the boyfriend tax. Haven’t you heard of it?”

“‘The boyfriend tax,’” he quoted, feeling love pour from his every pore. You were so ridiculous. “What else is included in this boyfriend tax? Just so I can be prepared in the future.”

Humming, you opened your eyes just enough to peer up at him through your lashes. “Well. Taking off my makeup, of course.”

“Naturally.” “Keeping my feet warm; listening to my bad singing in the car. Doing the dishes.”

Mingyu couldn’t help but grin a little. He stopped wiping your face, finished with the serum. “Oh, so I make the food and I have to clean up after myself, too?”

You nodded. You released your grip on his shoulders when he went to throw away the cloth. Mingyu made his way back between your thighs, your knees squeezing at his hips. He settled one hand on your shoulder, reaching for the moisturizer lotion with the other. 

Both of your hands went to his waist. Mingyu could feel the heat of them through his thin muscle tank top. 

“I do the laundry so you have to do the dishes,” you explained, watching as he squeezed out a glob onto his hand. “God, could you use any more?”

“It’s the right size,” he argued, holding his palm out for inspection. “See?”

“Maybe to you.” You moved one of your hands from his waist. You compared your hand size to his. “See? The lotion looks huge compared to my hand.”

Mingyu furrowed his brow. He released you entirely, grabbing the bottle. “It says use a dime-sized portion.”

“That’s not dime sized,” you argued. 

Faintly, Mingyu wondered if you were arguing just for the sake of arguing. Sometimes he wondered if you were related to Choi Seungcheol. 

“Should I get a dime?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at you. “Should we see?”

You shook your head, hands settling back around his waist and guiding him between your thighs again. “Just make sure you use all of it if you’re going to use that much. Put the rest of it around my neck.”

“I always do, princess,” he promised. 

Mingyu rubbed his fingers together, spreading the lotion around them. He then, just as gently as he had with the remover and serum, just as the snow hits the ground, began pressing his fingers to your cheeks and rubbing the moisturizer.

“It’ll make you so shiny,” he murmured. Your eyes fluttered due to how close he was and how his breath hit your face. It was a good thing you were occupied, otherwise you’d probably make a comment about how his breath smelled. “You’ll look so fresh and youthful they’ll be thinking you’re a teenager. You’ll go into a store to get some wine and they’ll say sorry, miss, but we can’t sell that to you.”

You huffed out a laugh, lips curling. Mingyu stopped rubbing the lotion into your face, leaning down and pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. He immediately pulled away, face contorting. “Ew! You taste like product.”

You laughed out loud, eyes opening and crinkling. “Have you somehow been absent from the past ten minutes we’ve spent in the bathroom, Mingyu? You’ve been putting products on my face this entire time. Don’t know what you were thinking.”

Mingyu pouted, furrowing his brows. You sighed, rolling your eyes. Your hands went to his shirt, pulling the hem up. You then brought his shirt to your mouth, wiping at it with the fabric. One satisfied, you dropped it. “There. Try kissing me now.”

Delighted, Mingyu pressed his lips to yours. It still tasted like product, but he didn’t mind. Not when your mouth was so warm against his, your tongue swiping across his lips before retreating coyishly back into your mouth. 

“Satisfied?”

Mingyu hummed, pulling away. He pressed one more chaste kiss to the line of your mouth. “Very. How very clever of my girlfriend.”

You shook your head, still obviously endeared by him. Mingyu continued using up the moisturizer, feeling the lines and bumps of your face beneath his fingers. He made sure to get the space between your brows, the crease of your nose. He trailed his fingers along your jaw, dipping underneath and spreading the moisturizer to your neck. 

“My pretty girl,” he hummed. He pulled away from you, squatting at the cabinet directly beneath. You shifted, moving your legs out of the way so he could open it. 

Mingyu rummaged for a moment before finding what he was looking for. He sat back on his heels as he opened the package of under-eye patches, shifting through them. Mingyu glanced up at one point, immediately greeted by the sight of your spread legs. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath. Not today Kim Mingyu, not when you so desperately needed to sleep and relax. 

Mingyu placed the box back underneath the cabinet, slamming the door shut. He slowly peeled the plastic away from the gel, taking care so it wouldn’t curl up or ruin. Mingyu crowded close to you once more, pressing himself into your warm. 

Your hands automatically went to his waist, holding him. You angled your face up towards Mingyu, eyes shutting and allowing him to do as he pleased. 

He pressed each of the under-eye masks into place, taking care not to catch on any of your lashes. You let out a deep breath as each of them were put into place, the cool temperature from the gel sinking beneath your skin and settling. 

“Look at how beautiful my girl is,” Mingyu murmured, one of his hands cradling your cheek. You leaned into it, eyes opening and peering up at him. “Absolutely stunning.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you’re going to kiss me you don’t need all that preamble.”

Laughing, Mingyu took his cue. He brought his other hand up to cradle the other side of your face, his hand so large that the tips of his fingers sunk into your hair. You straightened yourself, reaching up into him, and Mingyu knew he was powerless against your gravity. 

The kiss was slow, your lips moving together softly. It was unhurried, a sweet kiss of love and adoration. 

“I love you,” you mumbled, your lips still close enough to his where he could feel the shape of the words. 

Mingyu pulled away, pressing one last kiss to your hairline. “I love you too, princess. Shall we get you changed now?”

At your nod, Mingyu was wedging his hands underneath your thighs and lifting you into his hold. You immediately relaxed into it, arms looping around his shoulders, legs locking behind him. As he walked out the bathroom you began pressing kisses to his throat and neck, one of your hands pulling at his tank top to reveal more of his golden skin. 

“You better be careful,” he warned, kicking the bedroom door the rest of the way open. “Never know what might happen if you keep tempting me like that.”

You laughed, pressing one last kiss to his shoulder. “Can’t a gal thank her boyfriend for taking such good care of her?”

“Nope,” he returned easily. Mingyu lowered you to the bed. “Not when a gal is the most tempting vixen in the world.”

The sound of your laughter, loud and bright, was enough to make a smile grow in Mingyu’s face. He turned from you, going to his closet. You often said that he had too many clothes, but Mingyu always returned that that was because his closet wasn’t just his, not when you were constantly reaching into it for clothes to wear as pajamas.

Mingyu returned to you with one of his t-shirts and shorts. Your hands went to your undershirt, beginning to take it off, but Mingyu reached out and slapped them away. “Hey! That’s my job!”

You were laughing again. Mingyu felt his heart grow in his chest, not just from the love and adoration and endearment he felt when with you, but from pride. You had walked into the apartment in such an obvious state of exhaustion and stress, looking as if someone had taken the Earth off of Atlas’s shoulders and placed it on your own. 

But now here you were, giggling and grinning. 

Because of him. 

Kim Mingyu loved you so much. 

He made quick work of disrobing your torso, setting aside your underthings to put away. Mingyu couldn’t help but smooth his eyes over your skin, taking in the line of your shoulders, the way your breasts hung. 

“Kim Mingyu!” You scolded, leaning back on your hands. “You dirty dog.”

He shrugged. “Can’t help it, baby. You know what you look like.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

What Mingyu wanted to say: the love of my life, my reason for waking; the moon to my ocean; my soulmate; my future wife.

Instead he chuckled, opening the shirt. You ducked your head inside of the hole, helping Mingyu clothe you. “What did I say earlier? That you’re a vixen?”

When he picked up the shorts, you threw a pout at him. You kicked your legs against the bed. “Don’t want to wear pants.”

Mingyu threw a look at you. He sank to his knees in front of you, gently tugging at your pants. “You have to. You know what will happen if you don’t.”

He, valiantly, ignored the wolfish grin you threw at him. Instead Mingyu tugged at your pants again. You relented, lifting your hips off of the bed and laying back so he could tug them all the way off. 

“What about underwear?” You asked, your fingers hooking on the band. “Do I have to wear any?”

Mingyu took a deep breath, trying to ignore the blood that was quickly leaving his brain. “You know exactly what the answer is.”

You sighed, tugging your underwear off nonetheless. “Go and grab me some new ones then, lover boy, if you’re still devoted to dressing me.”

Mingyu stood, leaving his shorts on your thighs. He crossed the room for your closet, knowing exactly where your underwear was. Mingyu was the one, after all, who ended up putting away the laundry on most days. Just because you started the washer and switched the wet clothes into the dryer didn’t mean you actually put the clothes away. 

When he turned around, a pair of your underwear hanging from his fingertips, you had lifted his shirt up to your face. You were still laying back on the bed, the action revealing all of your stomach and the bottoms of your breasts. Mingyu watched, thoroughly awe-struck, as you took a deep breath, still holding his shirt to your face. 

“Are you smelling my shirt?” He asked, feeling his voice rise and all blood immediately flow to his dick. 

You startled, yanking his shirt back down. You threw him a grin, obviously embarrassed at getting caught. “Maybe?”

Fuck. 

Mingyu took another deep, shuddering breath, shutting his eyes. Nearly two years together, even living together, and you were still smelling his clothes like a lovesick teenager. 

Just like he did. 

He was going to marry you, Mingyu decided. It had always been at the back of his mind, of course; how could it not be? You were beautiful and funny and kind, and you were a perfect example of how good and kind the world could be. 

But now it was a vow, an oath. Mingyu would marry you, no matter what. 

He returned to his crouching position in front of you, one of his hands going to cradle your feet. Mingyu leaned forward, ignoring the way your toes curled against his palm in anticipation, pressing a kiss to your calf. 

“Gyu,” you whispered, watching. 

Mingyu trailed his lips up your leg, pressing kiss after kiss to your skin. You were silent, letting him worship you. 

“I love you,” Mingyu murmured, not wanting to break the spell that had settled over the two of you. 

Once you were dressed in his clothes, the fabric absolutely swamping you, you pressed yourself into his arms. You brought your hands up to his neck, rising to the tips of your toes. Mingyu obliged willingly, meeting you halfway. 

You paused just before your lips met his. “I love you, Kim Mingyu. Thank you.”

And then you kissed him. 

Soft, romantic and drunk bf Yoongi waking you up by going down on you when he gets in late after a night of drink (with OT7/ after suchwita/ whatever) in which he could not stop thinking about you and your pussy.

I can even give inspo: tu mbl r.co m/poutyniall/714256286018142208/tongue-technology

yeah hey hi hello thanks for sending this. after only receiving PG requests this really sent me into a spiral.

crescendo

pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns used, but gendered terms are used for genitalia) genre: established relationship au; smut, fluff warnings: alcohol, swearing, yoongi is tipsy and just a horny pining disaster, previously discussed and consenting somnophilia, oral sex, unedited. rating: explicit. minors do not interact. wordcount: 1k listen to: middle of the night by elley duhé

Amongst his group of friends, Yoongi is the only one who gets like this when he’s drunk.

Some people regress and act half their age (Seokjn). Some people are overly-affectionate and stumble over compliments (Jimin). Some people try to pick philosophical debates over the point at which bread ceases to be bread and becomes toast (Namjoon). Some people bypass the philosophical entirely and go straight to the conspiratorial (Taehyung). Some people take one sip and slump over in the booth, moaning that they’re half-dead (Hoseok). Finally, some people don’t even bother to show up, because they’re too busy staying home and playing Overwatch to check their texts (Jungkook).

Yoongi, though—Yoongi gets horny.

The kind of horny that has him looking away each time someone’s tongue darts out to catch a stray drop of alcohol. The kind of horny that has him doing complex mathematical equations in his head to determine if he could conceivably lock himself in a bathroom stall and get it out of his system before anyone becomes suspicious. The kind of horny that has him sending you half-legible text messages under the table, detailing every dirty thing he wants to do to you, despite the fact you told him hours ago you were going to shower and go to sleep.

Fuck. He needs to get out of here.

“Aw, look at Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin teases, and everyone except Hoseok creates a chorus of laughter. Yoongi’s cheeks burn, made worse by the garish yellow-red lights of this bar. “I can’t decide if I should be jealous or concerned.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Why would you be concerned, Jimin-ah? Sex is a normal, beautiful thing, and it’s absolute bullshit that people use it as a point of shame—”

“Yeah, okay, that’s my cue,” Seokjin says around a fake gag. “Who had the tab tonight? Just send me a request—”

“You had the tab, you fucker—”

Seokjin hears none of it. Just says, “Mm, bye,” and then he’s gone. Which is Yoongi’s cue too, because he’s the second-oldest and therefore second in command, and the rest of them won’t even hesitate to stick him with the bill because it happens every single time it’s Seokjin’s turn to pay.

So he lies. Says, “Hyung will pay it in a minute. Gotta piss first,” and stumbles out the back.

He’ll hear about it later, if not from his four dongsaengs then certainly his ancestors, but he needs to be home. Needs to feel you spread out beneath him—your sleep-warmed skin, still soft from your shower, the scent of your body wash stubbornly clinging on. Needs to press his lips to every inch of it. Needs the smell and taste of you overwhelming him. Needs to hear all those little sounds you make.

The longer this taxi ride drags on, the more paranoid he becomes. Can the driver tell how fucked up he is in his backseat? Can he see the way Yoongi’s fingers are gripping the worn leather? How desperately he’s trying to keep quiet every time something explicit plays in his memory? He’d understand, Yoongi thinks; he’d understand if he knew you, saw you. He wouldn’t be able to blame Yoongi at all.

Seoul passes by in a blur, all neon reds and blues and whites. Everything is still so alive, even at this god-forsaken hour, and it makes him dizzy. Has his head spinning. He’s drunk and he’s horny and he just wants to be next to you.

Somehow, he manages to dig his phone out of his pocket despite how tight they’ve grown over the last hour. Goes straight to his texts, pointedly ignores all the ones in the groupchat yelling at him and Seokjin, and presses on your name. He’s less drunk now than he was before, but the messages still don’t make sense. Yoongi groans, throws his head back against the seat. Next time he’s just going to skip the bullshit and send you pictures. No use speaking in tongues when hieroglyphics could work much better.

The next five minutes play out like this: the taxi stops outside your building, Yoongi hands over a stack of money that’s undoubtedly too thick, he stumbles up the steps two at a time, so close yet still too far away.

And then there’s the door.

“This okay, baby?”

A nip of teeth at the junction of your thigh. Hands gripping at your waist, fingers dimpling your skin. Warm breath ghosting over your wet cunt. Yoongi’s head between your thighs as he kneels on the bed. You’re unsure if you’re conscious or not, but as you tangle your hands in Yoongi’s soft hair, you decide it doesn’t matter.

So you nod, angle your hips closer to Yoongi’s face. A whisper-soft gasp when he presses a kiss to your thigh, one to your clit; a strangled moan when you feel him smile against you before flattening his tongue and licking a stripe up your slit.

“Fuck,” he groans, doing it again, pulling away only long enough to say, “thought about this pussy all fucking night. You taste so good.”

Yoongi indulges in your body the way other people indulge in vices: incessantly, obsessively. But you aren’t a vice, are you? You’re not something to be ashamed of; not something wicked. As Yoongi continues working you over with his mouth, so sloppy and overeager you can feel it dampening the sheets beneath you, it feels like reverence.

It isn’t long before the heat starts simmering in your belly. Not long before everything starts feeling overwhelming; before your visions starts blurring at the edges. “Yoong, I’m—”

He hums against your core. Sucks hard once at your clit, and then you’re tumbling over the edge. “Goddamn, I love you,” Yoongi says into your skin. “That’s it, give it to me, baby, I love you.”

It feels predestined.

april 20th: pot luck

member | fwb!chan x f reader genre | smut, fwb to lovers word count | 3.2k synopsis | you're no stranger to smoking in the park on 4/20, but smoking in the park while chan begs you to let him make you cum? that's new. content warnings | marijuana use (smoking), there's angst for like 3 seconds but not really smut warnings | descriptions of female anatomy, oral (reader receiving), fingering, sexual acts in a semi-public setting (they're in a secluded area of a park), sexual acts while high, shotgunning, chan is clingy & cute when he's high :) disclaimer | this story is a work of fiction. both chan and reader are portrayed as consenting adults above the legal age of 21. always make sure your partner is someone you trust and have talked with beforehand while sober. remember to practice safe, consensual sex! notes | requested by @angelwoozi 🧸!! this concept is going to sit in my brain forever now agsdjkfahsd i hope you like it! also tagging @bitchlessdino because it would be a sin if i didn't. happy 420!

you hold the pre-rolled joint between your fingers, watching the way the thin smoke spirals off the end of it. chan holds out his hand as you exhale, and you pass it back to him for him to take his turn.

it's the secluded end of the park, where the trees are thicker and shadier and the grass is always a little bit damp, even during hot summer afternoons. a cool breeze blows today, and distantly you can hear birds chirping and the shuffling footfalls of joggers making their way around the park's running paths.

you lay back, settling down on top of the worn, quilted picnic blanket you keep in your car. for the first time in a while the weather's been nice enough to draw you outside, spring gradually melting into summer.

he holds the joint out towards you but you wave him off, so he sets it at the edge of his ashtray, the little yellow painted one you made him for his birthday in a ceramics class from a few semesters ago.

chan leans back too, propping himself up on one elbow as he reaches for his water bottle absently.

laying on your back, you can see each leaf on the tree, and when the wind blows you can see bits of blue sky peeking through the swaying branches. you hear chan call your name, but you ignore him, just wanting to watch the world go by for a moment. or maybe, you just pretended to hear him call your name. you seem to do that a lot recently, imagining him doing things until you aren't sure what's real or dreamed.

ever since new year's eve when you accidentally on-purpose slept with him and then maybe kept sleeping with him for months afterward, nothing's been the same. despite the fact that you definitely like him as more than just a friend you have sex with, you’ve never talked about it with him because he seems more than fine with keeping things simple; you wish he didn’t, but you don’t want to push him, so you just stick to having sex and sharing your weed.

it turns out him calling your name was, in fact, real, because a few seconds later you see his figure looming over you, blocking your view of the leaves and the sky.

your words come out lilted. "what is it, chan?"

"can i eat you out?"

you blink slowly a few times, thinking and processing his sentence and repeating it in your head so many times until you'd forgotten what he'd actually said.

"eating what? we had tacos earlier. i’ll make you a sandwich or something when we go back, i told you you should’ve brought more snacks to munch on."

“noooooo.” he whines and flops down onto the blanket on his side. "wanna eat you," he grumbles. his fingers find your arm and begin drawing shapes and patterns along your skin as he waits for your response.

it finally clicks in your mind what he's asking, and with much effort you roll your head over to look at him. "why?"

"because it's a nice day outside," he says, fingers trailing down to your wrist. "and i like it. oh my god, you're so hot. like… woah. why wouldn't i want to?"

your heart jumps, and you can't tell if it's completely from his words or mixed with how stoned you are, but you feel so happy. he sounds almost affectionate.

you shift your legs, your pants starting to grow uncomfortable the more you begin to think about chan between your thighs. it's a sight you're familiar with, but one you can never quite seem to get used to.

you throw your arm over your head, tugging gently at the cool grass beneath your fingertips to ground you to earth. "but there's sooo many people out, chan," you say, a little more giddy than you intend. "you’re too high. somebody'll see."

he closes his eyes slowly and furrows his brow, thinking deeply.

"put your bag here, then," he says finally, rolling over onto his stomach to grab your tote bag from the edge of the blanket and haul it over to your hip. it was a good idea in theory, but in reality it barely covers a tiny part of your body, and it would only be effective at blocking his head from onlookers at a very specific angle.

his fingers brush over your thigh on accident, and you sigh, legs parting just slightly. chan doesn't seem to notice, though; he's latched himself to your arm again, tracing his name across your skin over and over like a kindergartener learning to write their name for the first time.

"you really want to?" you ask, peering over at him through foggy eyes but grinning when you see him now focused on the tiny hairs on your arm.

"yes, please," he hums, and he starts kissing the inside of your elbow along your forearm. his lips are warm and so, so soft, it feels like rays of sunshine tickling your skin. until he opens his mouth and he starts gnawing on you, biting gently at your arm.

you swat at the back of his head, and then once more, laughing at how silly he is. silly feels like the right word. silly how cute he is and silly how maybe you're a little bit in love with him.

"oka-ay," you say finally, tugging on his hair to get him to stop biting you. he rests his head on your stomach and gazes up at you with big, soft eyes, and you know there's nothing going on in his head right now. honestly, there's not much going on in yours either, but there's enough happening up there to know better than to not let him have what he wants.

you pull the bag closer to yourself and lift your hips, shifting your pants down just enough to expose the top of your thighs.

"don't let anybody see—" you start to say, but chan is already diving in. he shimmies down your body, positioning himself between your legs so that it would look like he's merely resting on top of you if anyone passing by were to steal a quick glance.

in your present state of mind, neither of you are quite as sneaky as you probably think. you can only pray no one walking around the park is paying much attention to their surroundings, though your spot is far enough away from the main paths that someone would have to be intentionally looking in order to find you.

one thing you know for sure is that chan is a messy eater. in the privacy of his apartment (or occasionally, yours) he'll spend hours between your legs, making out with your pussy until you're so exhausted and overstimulated that just the thought of another orgasm makes you shudder. usually he doesn't go that far, because at the end of it all he still wants to have his cock inside of you, but that doesn't ever stop him from making a complete mess of you anyways.

but to your surprise, when he kisses you over your underwear before pulling them down your hips, his lips are slow and gentle, like wading through water. you feel his fingers kneading your waist, and you realize belatedly that you've been tensed up. you'd been preparing for a fast, rough onslaught of pleasure but clearly chan has other plans today: taking his sweet time with you. and with how fuzzy your head feels right now, going slow is more than fine by you.

he flicks at your clit, laying his tongue flat and smoothing it over every inch of you before flicking again, and subconsciously you angle your hips upward, chasing his mouth. his spit covers your cunt, and when he moves his head back you can feel the breeze cooling the heat between your legs, sending a shiver up and down your spine.

you hear a shrill scream from behind you, and you tilt your neck back to see where the noise came from. upside down, you can see two kids distantly running around in the grass, playing a game.

you yank chan up by the back of his collar and pull your pants up as far as they'll go, ignoring the insane wedgie you've just given yourself as you scramble to look like you haven’t been doing anything suspicious.

you stay on your back, craning your head around to look at your surroundings. once you’re certain nobody’s around, your eyes settle on chan, who’s staring blankly back at you. his face glistens in the sunlight from the amount of wetness all over his face that he doesn't even seem to be aware of.

"wipe your mouth," you try to scold him, but the whole situation is suddenly so funny you can't help the laugh that comes out instead.

chan sits up, a little disoriented at first but he pushes through the clouds in his mind and finally brings his hand up to his face, swiping at his mouth once with the back of his hand. he looks around and he spies the ashtray with the half-smoked joint still sitting in it, and with a lazy grin he leans over to grab it, fumbling with his lighter to reignite it.

he takes a long, slow hit, and you're surprised he's not more out of breath from just having his face shoved in your pussy for what seemed like eternity.

he holds it out to you with a little grunt, and you finally find the energy to prop yourself up onto your elbows to take it from him. you inhale then breathe out a fine cloud of smoke as you pass it back to him, and he sets it back down, giggling to himself.

you smile, his laughter contagious with your already content mood. "what're you laughing at?"

he rolls his head around in a circle, staring off into the distance with a dopey grin on his face. "i… dunno," he answers finally, and he looks back at you, his eyes full of emotion you can't really understand fully.

"well, you almost got us caught, dummy," you tell him, an involuntary pout forming on your lips as you lay back down. "if you wanna have sex we should just go back to your apartment now."

"i don't want to," he whines, and you frown at him. he opens his mouth, stops and closes it again, then finally speaks, seemingly having gathered all his words together in the right order. "of course i always wanna have sex with you but right now i wanna make you cum first. like, right now, right now." he looks over at you again with those big, stupid, pretty eyes of his. "ple-ease?"

"but somebody might see again, channie. you can make me cum at home."

he shakes his head slowly. "but we still have to finish this, anyway," he protests, pointing at what's left of the joint.

you lose focus and stare off at the trees again, knowing he's right. you'll have to stay until it's out, then clean up your blanket and put away your stash, so it's not like you were gonna get home anytime soon then, right?

he turns towards you suddenly, his mouth half open like he's just thought of something crazy. he carefully transfers the joint to your hand, wrapping your fingers around the end of it. "how about i finger you, and you can hold this for me until you cum, and then we finish it and we go home and fuck. holding two birds with one stone."

you glance around, hoping nobody heard him loudly exclaim that he wants to finger you. you think about telling him to keep it down, or at least correct his attempt at a metaphor, but the words feel like too much effort and you're still weary from the almost-orgasm just a few minutes ago.

you stare at the object he had put in your hand for a second before you decide to take a drag, putting your other hand on chan's neck to pull him close so you can exhale the smoke into his lips.

clearly he wasn't expecting it, and he coughs a couple times, but he recovers and immediately goes in to kiss you again. he kisses you for so long it feels like he's never going to pull away, and when you do finally let go for a second it seems like he isn't even breathing.

he just sighs dreamily, his eyes still closed. "i love kissing you," he says, and the way he says it makes it sound so important.

you elbow him in the chest lightly to get his attention, and he lets out a little "oof!" and opens his eyes.

"hurry up so we can go home. i wanna suck your dick," you say, clearly deciding to let him have his way as you push your pants down once more.

his hand slides over your body, and the way he smiles when his two fingers make contact with your pussy gives you goosebumps. his touch feels heavenly, and you have to put all your focus on holding the joint upright so you don’t accidentally drop it. but it’s so hard to stay focused when you can feel his fingers so deep inside you, moving in and out and curling and scissoring and it drives you crazy.

at least in this new position, it’s not as obvious what you’re doing. with shaky hands you take another hit, a bigger one this time, trying to finish it as fast as you can so you can go home and not have to worry about being seen.

chan pushes a third finger into you and you hold back a whimper, wrinkling your nose in pleasure.

he opens and closes his mouth at you, and there’s a few seconds before your brain catches up and you realize he wants you to help him smoke while his hands are occupied. you carefully hold the joint up to his mouth and he wraps his lips around it.

the sight of him laying on his side, his hand cupping your cunt as you act like his personal helper is hotter than you expect it to be, and you clench around his fingers, heat burning in your abdomen.

he sucks in a sharp breath and leans his head away from your hand to cough again. “are you— close?” he asks once he’s recovered, his tone almost pouty. “you’re squeezing my hand so hard and now my dick hurts because i imagined fucking you instead.”

you sigh, leaning your head back against the blanket and letting your eyes close again, your hand propped up in the air. “yeah… i reeally wanna fuck you.”

he pries the joint out of your hand to take a hit by himself, then puts it back in your grip and moves his other hand to massage your breast over your shirt. you whine, not expecting it, and buck your hips up.

“fuck, chan– faster, please,” you mumble, your head swimming.

he puts his thumb to your clit and presses down, his fingers moving more roughly inside of you to draw you closer and closer. after a while you open your eyes, and you find him staring at you with such a sweet, empty look on his face, it makes you want to kiss him forever.

you pull him down on top of you and push your lips against his. your teeth clack with his but you don’t care, because you feel too good everywhere else to even pay attention to one little bad thing.

just like the way chan eats you out, he’s messy when he kisses you, and even more so when he’s high. you can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you whine into him, the rest of the world falling away so that the only two people who exist in the entire world are you and him.

without warning you feel familiar waves wash over you and you practically go limp under him as your orgasm knocks the breath out of your lungs. he stills his fingers inside of you but continues to pet at your clit with his thumb as your walls spasm and contract around him.

when you start to regain some of what’s left of your senses you grab his hand to stop him, pulling him out of your aching pussy. he sighs and pushes his face into your chest, humming against your boobs.

caught up in the moment you hadn’t noticed when you’d dropped the joint, but luckily there was a god or some being out there in the universe that was on your side, because you’d dropped it directly onto the ashtray and not the blanket or the grass.

chan sits up and folds his legs cross-legged as he lights it one more time and hands it to you. there’s not much left of it by now, so it doesn’t take long for you both to finish it. your clothes stink of smoke and you’re a lot clumsier than usual, but you’re more content than you’ve been in a long time.

it’s not the first time you’ve had sex with him while high, but something feels different this time. maybe it was the way he clung to your arm walking back to his apartment, giggling with glee about how he couldn’t wait to have you all to himself. but it was probably more the fact that he told you he loved you right after you came and then proceeded to beg you to let him kiss you again.

of course you let him, your heart and your head soaring as you laid in the grass, casually making out for at least a quarter of an hour. you were in no rush to be anywhere, especially not when you had everything you wanted right here. and it seemed like he had everything he wanted, too: when you finally started to pack up your things to leave, he’d panickedly asked if you would stay with him.

“of course i’m staying,” you laughed, pushing him off of the blanket so you could fold it and put it away. “aren’t we going back to your place?”

“yeah, we are,” he said shyly, plucking a dandelion from the grass. “i meant like… all the time. i don’t wanna do this anymore.”

you looked at him, suddenly scared and a little confused at the sudden change from how excited he’d just been. “…you don’t want us anymore?”

he shook his head. “no, i want you! serious, like boyfriend and girlfriend! i want us to be us.” you don’t immediately respond, and he frowned.“you don’t want to?”

your eyes softened. “i do want to,” you smiled, crawling over to him to cup his cheeks in your hands. “i want to, very much.”

it would be a while before you finally made it back to chan’s apartment, but it was worth the wait. everything was worth the wait.

next year, when you sat in the same spot at the same park to spend your anniversary together, you joked that he had waited until april 20th to make it official because he’d wanted your anniversary to be on a funny date. but really you didn’t mind, because it just gave you more reasons to celebrate.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it lets me know this is something people want to see more of and it helps a ton with being motivated to write. thanks for reading!!

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given ♡ vernon

pairing: stoner!vernon x stoner!fem reader word count: 4.0k warnings: smut. praise. clitoral stimulation. unprotected sex. (sort of) dubcon? they both wanted this for a while but they're both high while having sex. oral (m. receiving).

songs: slow - jackson wang & ciara (omfg this is so good to listen to while reading trust), fairy of shampoo - txt

'stoner friend!vernon who only meets you every Saturday midnight to get high with you, always says things which makes you flustered and finally confesses after a FEW months(yk it takes time for him to open so) high sex with him is so hot, holding ur jaw open and blowing that smoke into you, its just so messy yet so sexy'.

Based off the above prompt from my asks! Not proofread, let me know if there're mistakes.

This is probably one of my favourite works to date. Anon who gave me this prompt, I love you. I know you probably intended this as a drabble, but I got a bit carried away since I love the concept. I hope you all have as much reading this as I did writing it!

masterlist/navigation send me an ask! (it will take me a while lol)

“Long fucking day, Vernon.”

All you hear is his muffled chuckle. He’s laying down, facing the ceiling. A fresh puff of smoke exits his mouth in a graceful arc. 

The room is slightly hazy, as if you’d been scorching butter in a pan and turned the exhaust filters off, filling the room in smoke. The smell is something you’ve never really liked, but it’s easy to adjust. The more you smoke with Vernon, the more comforting it feels, the more you wish you were with him. 

He hands you his half-depleted blunt, and you take a quick hit. 

The first few times, you’d practically hacked up a lung. It was embarrassing, to say the least, but Vernon gave you mildly reassuring pats on the back and didn’t seem to care that you looked like a deer in headlights.

Not anymore. Every Saturday at midnight, after a long, tiring week at work, you just head to Vernon’s place. It’s instinctive, ingrained into your brain, as familiar to you as your own fingerprints. Sometimes you don’t even realise you’re heading to your safe haven until you’re there, greeted by his half-lidded eyes.

Part of you is concerned. Not just for him, but yourself. How is it that, every time something goes mildly wrong, you’re back in the comfort of Vernon’s bed, the stench of weed lingering on your clothes? 

You’re not complaining. You can both straighten up when you need to. A night spent rolling blunts could quickly form into an early morning trip to the shop for groceries. No one would be able to tell you got so high so often until the moment they stepped into Vernon’s house.

You blow into the air, head void of thoughts. The annoying colleagues at work were no longer a concern. 

He sits up, looking over at you. “You’re quiet. More than usual.”

Casting a side glance at the boy, you grin. “I guess so.”

You half expect him to follow on, but he simply eyes you up and down, noticing something that made him raise an eyebrow.

“You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

When the blunt is finished, you take a new paper roll and begin to stuff it with the familiar, camouflage-coloured substance. No response leaves your mouth as you focus on sealing it properly.

“Yeah. What tells you that?”

“Your posture is different. Uncomfortable. Unfamiliar.”

Something resembling an incredulous laugh bubbles up in your throat. “I love how you could tell the difference even when I didn’t know.”

“What is it?” Vernon asks, snatching the blunt you were on the cusp of lighting. You frown. 

“Migraine. I took some ibuprofen this morning since it was killing me but it didn’t really do anything.” 

With a nod of acknowledgement, he tentatively reaches out to give you the weed back. Before you can take it, Vernon quickly retracts.

“I know you make your way through migraines high, but I read about this pressure point on your spine or something that can relieve it a lot. You should try that first. I don’t like seeing you high just to feel better.”

You’re about to protest, but in the midst of annoyance, you see an opportunity. A bit evil, a bit perverted, but nonetheless a beautiful opportunity. 

Without hesitation, you immediately pull off your shirt. “Find it for me,” you grin innocently. “I’ve tried it before, but I couldn’t find it.”

Vernon’s gaze is completely averted in a different direction. You feel touched at him making a point of being respectful, but you wouldn’t actually care if he looked. 

“You can put your shirt back on,” Vernon coughs, holding back a sceptical laugh. “I can probably reach it under your shirt.”

“I’m warm,” you giggle, “I was going to take my shirt off anyways. You’re allowed to look, you know. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

At that, Vernon nearly chokes on air. Hesitantly, he turns back to face you, mildly fazed by the sight of you lying down, so unapologetic. You smile at him innocently. “Whereabouts is it?” you ask, absentmindedly feeling the subtle ridges of your spine.

Vernon feels almost corrupted, the way his mind is running miles every second. You’re wearing a tight, cute, lacy little white bra, and it’s taking insane self-awareness to not just gawk at the pretty curve of your tits. He can’t tell if you know what you’re doing, or if you’re just being as raw and unfiltered as you always are.

“It’s going to be kind of hard to reach, but it’s, like, in the middle of your back. Do you really want me to find it?”

You hum affirmatively with a grin. 

Vernon shyly adds, “You’re gorgeous, by the way.”

There it is. The dubious compliments he peppers into conversation. It’s nothing new, you’re both used to saying things like that. You say it because you want him to know what you think, but you’re not sure what his intention is. Does he genuinely think that? Does he really think that?

Without a response, you sit up slightly, leaning into his frame. He had kept a safe distance before, not wanting to frighten you away, but you’re the one closing that space now. His face is mere centimetres from you, so close that you can smell the gentle, musky scent of his perfume. 

“Really?” you reply, doing your best not to outwardly show how flustered you were.

“Yeah,” Vernon responds, gulping. His voice drops to a low whisper. “The prettiest.” 

He’s complimented you like that before, and you dug it every time. On this occasion, however, you’re not sure if it’s the residual weed hanging around in the air, but you feel compelled to ruin the friendship. How would he react if you kissed him, right there? Leaned into his touch, let him put his hands all over you, like you had always wanted? Would he want that too? 

You figure you can go a little further, blaming it on the weed when you know, in reality, it’s what you’ve wanted all along. With a playful grin, you poke him in the cheek with your pointer finger and turn around, unclasping your bra and leaving it on loosely, before laying down on your stomach. 

“Go on. Do your little fancy acupuncture thing,” you say softly, a slight challenge in your voice. You know he’ll take the bait.

He wordlessly gets up and hooks one leg over the back of your thighs, and sits on them, leaving you wonderfully trapped under his lithe figure. Admittedly, you didn’t think he’d be that bold, but he’s probably just high. 

“You’re warm,” you state stupidly. Out of everything you could have said, that was probably the most dumb choice. You hear him let out a soft, breathy chuckle. He presses one hand firmly down onto the pillow by your head, using it to prop himself up. The soft fabric dips under his weight.

Vernon traces the nape of your neck with his fingertips, feeling around for a ridge. His fingers are cold, and you feel a shiver rush down your spine. 

Leisurely, he trails his fingers down your spine, and you can’t help but relax into his touch. At some points, he feels around gradually, looking for more ridges to find the spot he was looking around for.

“Your skin’s soft,” he says, mind empty. You can’t put your finger on it, but the honeyed tone in his otherwise low voice tells you a thousand words he’s been holding back. You feel your abdomen tighten a little with expectant flutters.

“I know,” you reply, voice full of longing. 

Vernon’s hand seems to catch on a particular point of your mid-back, and he breathes out. “It’s gonna hurt a little, but just bear with me.”

You want to tell him that, after all of this time of wanting to kiss him, touch him, feel him up, you’d let him hurt you if it meant he stayed closer to you. That felt sick and twisted, however, so you simply hum, and add, “Whatever you say, Vernon.”

The pads of his pointed and middle fingers press down, somewhat harshly, on a particularly bony ridge of your spine. He’s right, it does hurt, and you can’t help but groan a little and shift in discomfort. He holds your waist in place with his other hand, cold skin giving you the kind of chill that takes your mind off the sting. You partly wish he wasn’t holding you down for the sake of relieving your migraine, but you figure you’ll take whatever you can get.

It’s brief, however, but what surprises you the most is the way you feel your migraine slowly dissolving away like sugar in warm water. You have hundreds of questions to ask, but with the weed coursing through your respective systems, all you feel is calming coolness.

“How does that feel?” he asks quietly. He breathes with an almost imperceptible quiver in his voice.

“I feel so much better, what the heck?” you murmur. 

Briefly, he gets up so you can turn back to face him. He shows no sign of returning to his position straddling his thighs, so you reach out with one arm and gently clasp your fingers around his left thigh, beckoning him to sit on top of you again. His eyes narrow, squinting, but he follows your direction. 

Biting the inside of his lip, he leans forward. Your mind rushes with the number of possibilities, but he simply holds your arms by the wrists and drapes them over his shoulders, then reaching behind you. His eyes hold your observant gaze, and you hate how you feel yourself getting increasingly warm at his graceful touch. Fingers reaching for your bra, he gently clasps it back together, and you swallow as you feel his knuckles brushing against your back. 

The moment Vernon is done, he retracts his hands, but doesn’t pull away from you entirely. You feel his cold fingers settle on either side of your waist, and you resist the urge to shiver. His breath caresses your face, but his eyes remain trained on yours.

“What’re you doing to me?” Vernon mutters, lips just barely brushing yours. 

“You should be telling me what you want me to do to you,” you whisper hoarsely. The palms of your hands settle on your shoulders, fingers tracing circles on his shirt. 

“Anything. Everything.”

A wry smile crosses your face. 

“How long?”

Vernon’s grip on your waist tightens just slightly. “Months ago, from the first time we smoked together.”

Your lips are on his. They’re soft like velvet and taste like jasmine. He reacts to your touch so subtly, so gently, that you could cry; his eyelids flutter shut, kissing you back, and his muscles relax as he breathes out. 

“You have…” he kisses you quickly. “No idea—” Kiss. “How much,” he groans, “I thought…” he sucks your bottom lip for a fleeting moment. “About you.”

“Really? What did you think?” you respond, kissing him more as you wait for a response. Your fingers trail down his front, eventually reaching the hem of his shirt and tugging it up. He helps you pull it off, eyes peering at yours as your smile grows the more of his torso is revealed.

“Everything. The way you exhale and suck the smoke back into your mouth, the way you blow smoke into my face whenever you’re frustrated, the way you moan every time you get a rush. There’s not a part about you I don’t like.”

You beam at him, wordlessly shifting positions until you’re on top of him, straddling his thighs, reminiscent of only a few seconds before. 

Feeling unsatisfied, you shift forward a little until your clothed cunt is directly on top of his cock, and you watch him wince a little as you settle. 

Vernon takes the rolled blunt and places the tip in his mouth, but falters, seeing that the lighter is missing. Not for long, however, since you pull what he’s looking for out of your skirt pocket, lighting it and setting his blunt aflame. He smirks as you do so. 

He lets the smoke flood his mouth for a few seconds, before removing the blunt and holding it between two fingers. With a nod of his head, he signals for you to open your mouth; tentatively, his thumb and index fingers hold your jaw open by either cheek, and he breathes out the smoke into your mouth by kissing you. 

The warmth of his soft lips and the smoke has you melting into his mouth, and you let the smoke simmer in your mouth for a moment before slowly blowing it out into the air. 

Smiling at him, you take the joint from him and take a hit yourself, doing the same to him in return. This time, the kiss is leisurely, tendrils of smoke escaping the corner of your joined lips as his teeth pull on your lips. 

You shift a little as you kiss him, wanting to get more comfortable, but he simply freezes, eyes widening. “Fuck, I’m sensitive,” he mumbles, grimacing. Vernon briefly pulls away to throw his head back and tightly close his eyes, letting the wave of pleasure diffuse through him in the form of goosebumps. “Don’t do that. I’ll end up wanting more.”

“What if that’s what I’m hoping for?” you smile into his neck, enjoying the way his neck rumbles a little as he chuckles half-heartedly. 

“You kill me.” 

“I know,” you respond, feigning remorse, “not my fault you respond to every touch.”

“And you don’t?” Vernon raises an eyebrow in response. His fingers fiddle with the belt of your pencil skirt, unclasping and unravelling the annoying garment. Before long, he has your skirt cast aside, on the floor, and you’re seated on top of him in just your bra and panties. 

It takes Vernon a lot of willpower to not just lay you down and please you until you physically couldn’t any more—while it remains an option, he opts to touch you slowly, surely, taking his time with you. If it took so long for you to be so pretty and ready for him, it wouldn’t hurt to treat you softly. 

Unable to resist, you grind down on his clothed cock.

You wish you could imprint the gorgeous, guttural groan into your mind forever.

“Fuck, you know I’m sensitive. I’ll come too quickly, go slow— fuck.”

“What if I want that?”

Placing two hands firmly onto your bare hips, he halts your movements and finally looks you in the eye. “Not yet. I want to see you come first. Can you do that for me?”

“Why’s that?” you giggle, placing your hand onto his as he runs his middle finger through the band of your panties.

“I don’t think I can go any longer imagining it in my head. I want you to come all over my fingers. Just do that, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Pressing your lips to his, you guide him by the wrist, letting his fingers sneak past your underwear and take what he wants. The moment his chilly fingers make contact with your wet cunt, you feel him jump a little, halting his kisses for a split second before pressing the pads of his fingers onto your clit.

The last thing you were expecting was for it to feel that good. You’re sure it’s the weed—getting off never felt so explosive. You bury your head into the crook of his shoulder, practically squeezing his neck with your forearm. He peppers your neck with butterfly kisses as his fingers rub slow circles on your sensitive bud, utterly infatuated with how you react so readily to him, how you’re so vocal and open.

Vernon eggs you on, whispering nearly inaudible praises like, “That’s it, gorgeous,” and “Go on, take what you deserve,” and “God, you’re perfect.” As the joint burns itself out on his ashtray, you cry out softly into his skin, unable to tolerate the deliciously gentle way he touches you. 

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asks somewhat bashfully. It’s a change from the previous confident tone, and you realise he genuinely just wants to know how you’re doing, how you’re feeling, if you’re enjoying it. You clench your fists, trying to avoid hurting him by clasping onto him instead. 

After Vernon sucks a particularly common spot on your neck, you nod subtly. “Yeah, fuck, I am. Your fingers feel so good, Vernon, I can’t—”

“Yeah, you can.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Come whenever you want, baby.”

So you do. With a softened whine, you clutch his neck tightly as if you were giving him a final hug goodbye. You feel his fingertips tighten around nothing, lightly brushing your warm back as he follows you through your orgasm, whispering, “Good girl. So good for me. You’re so beautiful.”

You jolt a little as he teasingly continues to brush his fingers over your clit, unable to withstand the further stimulation. In a split second, you unwind your arms from his shoulders and place your hands on either side of his neck, taking his lips in yours. 

You can’t be sure how long you sit there, making out like teenagers through the post-orgasm bliss, but you can’t complain—if you found the sun rising over your heads after opening the curtains, signalling the beginning of a new day, you couldn’t be angry. You’d keep it going, kissing his lips until you were both raw and breathless. 

Vernon’s fingers sneak their way behind your back and swiftly unclip the hook of your bra, letting it loosen and fall off your shoulders. Not breaking away, you help him undress you, pulling off the bra and tossing it a fair distance away. He immediately places his hands under your arms, letting his thumbs toy with your pebbled nipples, 

“You’re even more stunning than I imagined, if that’s even possible,” he murmurs, removing his lips from yours for a moment to look at you through hooded eyes. Vernon’s lips are cherry-red, slightly puffy, and his cheeks are tinted a pretty shade of rose. 

“Don’t even get me started on you,” you breathe. 

Vernon kisses you again in response, hooking his arms under your thighs and lifting you up. He flips your position until he’s back on top of you, reminiscent of the moment twenty minutes ago when he was just reaching behind you to fiddle with your garments. 

Reaching over to the nightstand, you pick up the remnants of the previous joint you’d smoked together. As he undresses the last of himself, you roll a second one, lighting it and placing it in your mouth. 

“Pass me the other one,” Vernon asks, positioning himself on top of you. It takes him a moment to realise your panties are still on, so he quickly slips that off, and finally hovers above you, one elbow propping him up. He takes the half-extinguished blunt and lights it by touching the tip to yours, smirking a little as the smoke billows off.

One thumb massages your thigh as you both let the weed re-enter your systems. You take them out at the same time, blowing the smoke into the air, and finally meeting his eyes.

His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, and you’re sure it’s the sexiest he’s ever looked. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s naked and on top of you, or the fact that he’s unfalteringly holding your gaze. Whatever it is, you feel yourself going weak and tingly under his watchful eyes. 

“Fuck me, Vernon,” you sigh, taking another hit. “Please. You promised.” 

“Only because you asked nicely,” he smiles, kissing you gently. He palms his cock, which is thick, and lengthy in his pale hand. “You sure?” 

“I’ve wanted this for longer than you’d imagine.”

With that, Vernon pushes into you. A drawn-out, gruff groan leaves you both; you’re coping with his girth, he’s coping with how you seem to swallow him perfectly. 

“You’re so tight,” he flutters. “Holy fuck.” With the blunt still in his mouth, he looks down to see where you end and he begins; you wish you could tattoo the look on his face into your mind to remember forever.

Vernon merely whispers, “Perfect girl,” before finally extinguishing the short stump of his joint in the ashtray. Not wanting to wait further, he slowly withdraws himself and slams back into your tight cunt, elated by the way you gasped softly and wince at the sensation. Loving your reaction, he makes a point of slowly fucking you, eventually leaning in and holding your jaw open. You smile before he kisses you, breathing the smoke into your open mouth, and this time, you keep it in your system.

“You feel even better than I imagined. I’m not going to last long,” Vernon moans, burying his face into your neck. Your fingers trace the ridges of his back, and following a particularly sharp thrust, you dig into his skin with your fingernails, eliciting a gorgeous groan.

“Come whenever you want, Vernon. But… what did you imagine… how did you imagine?” you reply into his hair, which is slightly sweaty but still soft. You caress the areas you just pressed, afraid of hurting his beautiful and sensitive skin. 

“The only relief I had was my hand, baby. That doesn’t compare to you, not one bit. I’m not going to let you leave after this.”

“Believe me, I won’t,” you snicker, followed by an uncontrolled moan. “Fuck— maybe we’ll have to take a week off work and just stay here. Fuck it out of your… our systems. Like bunnies.”

“Fucking hell, baby, don’t give me ideas.”

“How about I do?” you giggle, clenching on him. He responds with nothing but a stutter in his smooth thrusts. You decide to squeeze him, over and over, just to see his response.

Vernon’s hand squeezes your waist for relief. “Fuck, don’t,” he mumbles, “I’m going to come. Fuck. Where should I? Tell me.”

“Anywhere,” you answer, running a hand through his soft, brown locks, “anywhere you want.”

“In your mouth?”

“Please.”

With a groan, he pulls out, weakly fucking his hand and letting you sit up. You take his cock into your mouth, and you’re oddly turned on by the fact that you taste yourself on him. You watch as he grimaces, head thrown back, one hand fisting your hair and bobbing you up and down on him repeatedly. 

You’d suck him off whenever if it meant seeing him that weak and like putty in your hands every time. With tears balling in the corners of your eyes, you let him skullfuck you until he comes right right onto your tongue, his grip subconsciously tightening in your hair. 

“Fuck,” he curses. “That’s it.”

It takes him a few moments to come down from the sudden and prolonged high, and when he comes to his senses, he quickly looks at you with concern. 

Vernon holds his hand out by your mouth. “It’s okay, spit. That can’t taste good.”

You smile, sticking your tongue out. 

“Too late,” you grin mischievously.

Vernon blinks. 

“Cat got your tongue, huh?” you question with a chuckle.

“God, you’re my dream girl,” Vernon replies, still mildly stunned. He leans over to kiss you, slightly uncomfortable because you’re both sat up on your legs, but that’s alright.

He’d kiss you forever if he could.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Vernon beams. 

“Only if we come back straight away and fuck again. I’m sorry not sorry, but waiting that long, I’m not satiated that easily,” you shrug, looking at his lips and then his eyes as he leans in ever so slightly to wipe the corner of your mouth with his thumb. 

Pressing a soft kiss to your lips, he smiles, looking utterly smitten. 

“Baby, that was a given.” 

i just want to give you everything

pairing: non-idol!mingyu x fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 0.7k~

warnings: pouty boyfriend gyu. food mentions. terms of endearment (honey, my love) used.

daisy’s notes: pouty gyu is my specialty tbh

Mingyu was quite literally on his knees, pouting at you while you laughed. “It’s not funny! It’s a big deal!”

“I told you that it’s fine!”

“It isn’t!”

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