iya

she her ★ 19

[withlovemark]

pairing: arranged marriage! chenle x reader | genre: angst, fluff, smut | words: 26k+

synopsis: you’ve known zhong chenle since you were five years old. once inseparable childhood best friends, everything between you shattered at eighteen — the moment your arranged marriage became real. to him, you became a symbol of everything he lost: freedom, choice, and a future that no longer belonged to him. by twenty-four, you finally marry as the country’s beloved golden couple. the heirs of zhong cosmetics and yü skincare, bound together by legacy, business, and expectations.

warnings: some scenes are very angsty! chenle is mean! cheating! a near death experience! pregnancy! +18 reader is a virgin and very inexperienced, not your ideal first time, sex is treated as a duty once, chenle is a pussy eaterrr, he cums inside every time, not super detailed but a sex montage featuring the following: slight exhibitionism, rough sex, dirty talk, fingering, he bends you over a billiards table, blowjob, riding him in the hot tub, doggy-style, squirting, i hope i didn’t miss any. mentions of: blood

an: i am in my chenle feels! and i’m also procrastinating writing for the donors, the loverboys and ruin the friendship jeno ver right now, so you’re all getting this instead! and liking it! (i hope) please let me know what you think of this one! - with love, c.

⚜️ THE GOLDEN COUPLE ⚜️

“i would like to thank everyone for coming today,” lili zhong, aka chenle’s mother and legally your mother-in-law as of five hours ago, says into the microphone. her voice carries effortlessly across the grand ballroom, smooth and commanding without needing to be loud. the entire venue stills for her, conversations fade, forks lower onto porcelain plates. 

there were exactly a thousand guests in attendance tonight. family, friends, business partners, celebrities, investors, socialites, industry executives from every corner of asia, people whose names appear in magazines and headlines and billion-dollar reports. the ballroom itself looked almost unreal – dripping crystals suspended from the ceiling, white roses woven into towering arrangements, soft gold lighting reflecting against polished marble floors. every detail had been curated to perfection. fitting for the wedding of the heirs to two of the most influential beauty empires in the country.

“we have been waiting for this union for years now,” mrs. zhong continues, and somehow every person in the room hangs onto each word she says. she has always had that effect on people.

“my one and only son, chenle…i am very happy and excited as you take on this next chapter,” her eyes land on him briefly, full of pride, “i know you will be extraordinary, as you are in everything you do.”

a wave of soft applause spreads through the room. chenle beside you gives a polite nod, composed as ever. 

then her attention shifts entirely to you.

“and of course, my beautiful daughter in law, y/n zhong…,” the warmth in her voice softens you completely. the last name making your heart flutter. you don't know if you'll ever get used to hearing it.

“i’ve always wanted you as my real daughter,” she says with a small smile painted in her signature crimson lipstick,  “and now i can finally say you are.”

your chest tightens in the best way possible. you smile back before you can even think about it, eyes sparkling beneath the lights as emotion swells quietly inside you. because unlike the cameras and contracts and business articles surrounding this marriage…this part felt real. 

lili zhong was someone you had admired long before you ever understood what admiration truly was. 

you can remember it as if it was yesterday – being seven years old inside the towering headquarters of zhong cosmetics, your tiny dress shoes squeaking against the floors as you and chenle ran through the halls without a care in the world. the building had felt gigantic back then, less like a corporate empire and more like your personal playground. you remembered hiding beneath reception desks with chenle while assistants searched for the two of you in panic. remembered spinning around in leather office chairs worth more than most people’s rent. remembered sneaking into empty conference rooms just to press random buttons on expensive remotes.

and then lili zhong walked out.

and the entire atmosphere shifted the moment she appeared. not much different from how it is now. employees straightened immediately. conversations stopped mid-sentence. people moved aside for her without being told to. she carried herself with grace and effortless authority, shoulders back, chin lifted slightly, heels clicking sharply against the floor like a metronome everyone unconsciously followed. but what fascinated you most wasn’t the fear or respect she commanded. it was how composed she looked doing it. 

you remembered watching from next to chenle as she reapplied her lipstick using the reflection of a glass wall, precise and graceful like second nature. one smooth swipe of red. cap clicked shut. then immediately back to discussing quarterly projections as if perfection came as easily as breathing. prim. proper. poised. she was untouchable. and you had been completely mesmerized. 

from that moment on, you’d wanted to become the kind of woman lili zhong was – respected, strong, confident – the type of woman who could walk into a room and have the world rearrange itself around her. and now, standing beneath thousands of glittering lights with the zhong diamond resting heavily on your left ring finger and her son beside you, you suddenly wondered if this was the closest you had ever come to becoming her. 

“i wish you both a fruitful marriage,” she says with a subtle wink in your direction, a wave of laughter spreading softly through the ballroom. your face warms instantly because everyone here understands exactly what she means. not just the merger between zhong cosmetics and yü skincare. not just the billions this marriage would bring. not just the headlines already flooding social media tonight.

but heirs too. children with the zhong name. future successors beautiful enough to belong on campaign billboards before they could even walk.

“may it always be filled with prosperity and success,” mrs. zhong continues, lifting her glass slightly, “and may the two of you continue bringing honor to our families and our companies.”

camera flashes explode around the room like lightning. you can already imagine tomorrow’s articles.

THE GOLDEN COUPLE OF BEAUTY

CHINA’S MOST POWERFUL MARRIAGE!

LOVE, LUXURY, AND LEGACY.

“this country has not seen such a beautiful couple before.”

the applause is immediate. a thousand guests rise to the toast without hesitation, crystal glasses lifting beneath the chandelier light. from the stage, the entire ballroom looked dipped in gold. 

“to mr. and mrs. zhong.”

“to mr. and mrs. zhong!,” the crowd echos. 

you lift your champagne glass with a smile so genuine it almost hurts. because despite everything, despite the pressure and expectations and business contracts hidden beneath layers of silk and diamonds – you were happy. maybe pathetically so. 

you have loved zhong chenle for most of your life. 

before the magazines started calling him the future of luxury cosmetics. before investors nicknamed the two of you the golden couple. before marriage turned into obligation instead of possibility.

and there was a time, too. a time when chenle used to reach for your hand first. a time where the two of you spent entire afternoons running through corporate buildings while your parents attended meetings. a time where he’d steal your desserts at dinners and complain when other boys talked to you at events. a time where marriage jokes from your families made both of you groan dramatically before dissolving into laughter. 

back then, it had felt harmless. like something far away. until you both turned eighteen. when meetings became serious. when contracts replaced teasing. when your families stopped asking and started deciding. 

that was when everything changed. 

because every time chenle looked at you after that, it was no longer with warmth – it was resentment.

you became the physical reminder of every choice he would never get to make for himself. the life he would never get to live. the love he would never get to experience freely. 

somehow, the public never noticed. that was the worst part – chenle was terrifyingly good at pretending. like right now, with one hand resting against the small of your back, he looked every bit like the devoted husband he wanted the media to believe him to be. calm smile. soft gaze. protective touch. 

the perfect heir beside his perfect wife. 

and the cameras adored him for it – “mr. zhong, look here!” “mr. zhong, one more picture with your wife!” “you two are stunning together!” 

his fingers flex lightly against your waist as another round of flashes goes off, and anyone watching would think the gesture is affectionate. loving, even. but you know chenle well enough to recognize performance from sincerity. his hand only ever lingers when people are watching. once they turn away, he lets go like touching you burns. 

still, your heart betrays you. every. single. time. because some part of you still remembers the boy before all of this. the boy who used to grin at you with missing front teeth and tell everyone you were his favorite person in the world. 

the boy you always pictured on this day.

“i can’t wait for this to be over,” chenle murmurs beside you, barely moving his lips. to everyone else, it probably looked like he was whispering sweet nothings into your ear. 

“perfect!,” someone gushes behind a camera, “they look crazy in love.”

the irony nearly makes you laugh. 

chenle turns toward you then, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with such practiced tenderness that several people nearby audibly swoon. you hate how your stomach flips. 

he’s beautiful at pretending to love you. 

sometimes beautiful enough that you can almost pretend with him. 

the reception continues in a blur of diamonds, champagne and endless congratulations. one by one, some of the most influential people in the country approach your table to greet the two of you personally, every gift placed before you looking absurdly expensive. 

chenle smiles effortlessly but if someone looked closely enough, they would notice you speaking far more than he was, carrying conversations, thanking guests, asking about their families and businesses with perfectly timed warmth. prim. proper. poised. you had learned from the best. every time chenle’s expression dulled slightly, you stepped in before anyone could question it. when his attention drifted you redirected conversations smoothly. when his smiles became visibly strained, you compensated with your own brightness. and you’re convinced no one notices his lack of sincerity. or maybe they do and simply choose not to acknowledge it. because appearances mattered more than truth in a room like this. 

“you two truly are perfect together,” an older woman sighs while admiring the two of you, “just look at how attentive your husband is.”

“he always takes good care of me,” you reply quickly, smile never faltering, the lie sliding off your tongue so naturally it almost scares you. chenle glances at you briefly after that comment. you can’t tell if he’s irritated or grateful. perhaps both. 

minutes pass like that. more smiles. more photos. more toasts. more champagne. your cheeks begin aching from smiling so much but you endure it anyway. this was your wedding day. everything is supposed to be perfect. until–

“excuse me,” chenle suddenly says beside you after another round of greetings, “i need to use the restroom.”

you immediately nod before anyone else can react, “of course.”

one of the investors chuckles knowingly, “already escaping from married life, mr. zhong?”

a ripple of laughter follows. chenle gives them a charming grin that doesn’t reach his eyes, “just five minutes. i'll be right back.” he leaves with calm steps, posture still immaculate beneath his suit. you continue smiling after he disappears into the crowd. 

five minutes pass. then ten. then twenty. people begin noticing. 

“where’s your husband?” someone asks casually. 

you let out a soft laugh, “probably being dragged into another business deal somewhere.” they laugh with you easily. and you cover for him again. and again. and again. 

by the thirty-minute mark, you can practically feel whispers beginning to bloom around the ballroom like perfume in the air. so you straighten your spine further, lift your chin slightly, and you smile brighter. if chenle was going to disappear from his own wedding reception, then you would make sure no one noticed the crack forming underneath the surface. you continue greeting guests alone, accepting congratulations with elegance polished into your bones. 

mrs. zhong watches you from across the ballroom, sharp eyes lingering knowingly on your solitary figure. she says nothing. because she knows her son. how loud his resentment has been years,  months, weeks building into this. but she also knows you. and she trusts you’ll be perfectly fine. that’s why she chose you for her son anyway.

chenle finally returns before he hit the forty-minute mark. your eyes find him immediately across the ballroom. his tie is slightly loosened now, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to catch instantly. his expression remains composed. but the second he reaches your side – you smell it. whiskey. strong enough to linger beneath his cologne. 

and truthfully? you don’t really mind. chenle was always easier when he drank. looser around the edges. less cold. less careful about keeping distance between the two of you. sometimes…he even looked at you like he used to.

and after disappearing for almost forty minutes, he was going to have to sell this act twice as hard. 

“there you are,” you say smoothly as another cluster of guests approaches the two of you. before you can even fully turn toward them, chenle’s hand settles against your waist. firm. far more natural than earlier. 

“sorry,” he says quietly near your ear, voice lower now, slightly roughened by alcohol, “got cornered.”

you hum in acknowledgement, not bothering to call him out. he was lying, obviously. but this version of chenle was infinitely more tolerable than the sober one who treated your marriage like a prison sentence. 

“mr. and mrs. zhong!” another investor greets excitedly, approaching with his wife beside him, “we were just saying you two look unbelievable together tonight.”

normally, chenle would give a polite smile, a practiced nod, maybe rest his hand on your back for exactly five seconds before pulling away. instead, he pulls you closer. 

“thank you,” he says easily, “my wife makes it difficult not to stare.”

your breath nearly catches. it was the first time he’d call you that. his wife. and you hate how much you loved hearing it. 

the investor’s wife practically melts on the spot, “oh, he adores you.”

you knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. chenle’s just performing harder now. making up for lost time. and annoyingly enough, he’s very good at it. throughout the next hour, he barely left your side. and you’d be lying if you said it didn't affect you. drunk chenle was dangerously convincing. this version of him looked softer around the edges, dark eyes warmer beneath the ballroom lights. he smiled more. touched you more. occasionally leaned close enough that his shoulder brushed yours naturally instead of mechanically. like right now-

“you’re doing that thing again,” he murmurs quietly, only for you to hear. 

“what thing?”

“over-smiling,” his lips twitch faintly, “your cheeks are probably hurting.”

the fact he noticed at all sends something uncomfortable fluttering through your chest. 

“i’m fine.”

“mhm,” his pointer finger lightly grazes your cheekbone, soft and careful, “liar.”

your heart stumbles embarrassingly fast. you hate that alcohol makes him kinder. or maybe not kinder. just more honest with his attention. 

another camera flash bursts in front of you both. another perfect photo for the headlines tomorrow. you wonder if anyone would still call the two of you the golden couple if they knew chenle only touched you this much after drinking enough whiskey to blur the resentment out of him.

you enjoyed the rest of the wedding reception. or maybe endured was the more accurate word. either way, you played the role of the perfect wife flawlessly. enough to fool an entire ballroom full of billionaires. by the time the reception finally ended, your cheeks ached from smiling and your feet hurt from hours in heels. 

still, there was a strange warmth sitting inside your chest because despite everything – you had married the boy you love. even if he no longer loved you back.

⚜️ THE MARRIED LIFE ⚜️

the drive home is quiet. chenle sits beside you, his gaze lost outside the window. he doesn’t look at you once. the alcohol from earlier seems to have worn off already. funny how quickly the warmth disappeared from him too. 

eventually, the gates to the mansion slid open. your mansion now. your home for the rest of your life. the estate stood enormous against the night sky, lights glowing warmly throughout the property. it was less of a house and more of a private villa, complete with a fountain in the middle, sprawling gardens, balconies overlooking the endless green landscape, rooms neither of you would probably ever step foot in. beautiful but cold.

the car comes to a stop and before the driver can even fully open the door, chenle steps out first. you follow shortly after, one of the maids helping you with your dress as you stepped inside the mansion. the grand foyer stretches high above both of you, chandelier light reflecting against polished floors. 

chenle was already halfway up the left staircase. “night,” he finally says. flat. automatic. not even turning around. like the two of you didn’t just celebrate a once in a lifetime event people dream of. 

he disappears down the left wing leading to his bedroom without another word. you stare after him for a moment before quietly turning toward the opposite staircase. right side. your side. your room.  

lili zhong had arranged this mansion for the two of you a month before the wedding, insisting that it would help ease the transition. she genuinely believed that if the two of you lived together beforehand, chenle would eventually come around, that proximity would soften him, that he’d remembered the closeness you once had. you remembered how hopeful she sounded while showing you around the estate.

“give him time,” she had told you gently, “chenle’s stubborn, but he’s a good boy.”

you wanted to believe her. you really did. so for a month before the wedding - you tried. you asked him about work. about basketball games you knew he loved. about the restaurants you knew he liked. you sat beside him even when he barely acknowledged you were there. you tried being patient. understanding. gentle. it didn’t work. and in the end, your efforts never mattered anyway. because whether chenle liked it or not, the wedding was always going to happen. 

now that it had, the distance between you felt even larger. married yet sleeping in separate bedrooms like strangers forced under the same roof. it’s whatever, really. the mansion had far too many empty rooms anyway.

three months pass like that.

the routine becomes almost mechanical. you wake up separately. leave for work separately. return home separately. 

real conversations only happen at the office. meetings. sale projections. marketing campaigns. brand collaborations. like business partners instead of husband and wife. which, you probably should have expected. 

at home, chenle barely spares you a glance. he doesn’t sit beside you on the sofa. doesn’t ask about your day. doesn’t linger in rooms you enter. dinners are eaten across opposite ends of a table long enough to seat twenty people comfortably, silence filling the space where conversations should’ve been. sometimes the only sounds are the clink of silverware against plates and the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

and at night, the lights still glow beneath two different bedrooms. you’ve never stepped into his this entire time. and he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what the colors of your walls were. sometimes you wonder if he stays awake as long as you do. 

one night, you walked into the living room to find him watching basketball. for the first time in weeks, he actually looked alive. completely relaxed against the couch, eyes fixed on the television while quietly reacting under his breath. stephen curry had just made an impossible three-point shot and chenle actually laughed softly, shaking his head with genuine enjoyment lighting his face. you had almost smiled seeing it. because it reminded you of the boy he used to be. then he noticed you standing there and immediately, everything disappeared. his posture straightened. his expression flattened. he watched the rest of the game in complete silence, pretending not to care when curry hit the game winning shot minutes later. pretending he hadn’t been enjoying himself at all before you arrived – that one hurt more than you expected. you realized then that your presence drained the life out of him. he physically could not relax around you anymore. 

so eventually – you stopped trying to fill the silence. stopped asking if he wanted dinner together. stopped lingering in shared spaces hoping he might speak first. 

if chenle wanted distance that badly, then fine. you would give it to him. even if the loneliness of this massive mansion swallowed you whole because of it. 

⚜️ THE OTHER WOMAN ⚜️

you couldn’t help it though. every night, no matter how much you told yourself to stop caring, you still waited for the sound of chenle’s bedroom door shutting. just to make sure he came home. 

some nights he came home early, footsteps echoing through the quiet mansion before midnight. other nights, he returned a little later, long after you were supposed to be asleep, the distant sound of his shoes against the floor enough to finally let the tightness in your chest loosen.

he never knew you waited. or maybe he did. either way, neither of you acknowledged it.

but tonight was different.

the grandfather clock in the foyer had already struck two a.m. nearly fifteen minutes ago, the sound heavy and hollow throughout the massive estate. 

chenle has never been out this late.

you glance toward the entrance again before lowering your gaze to the untouched cup of chamomile tea in your hands. it had gone cold almost an hour ago, when you first realize how late it was and your husband was nowhere to be heard. 

“did chenle say where he was going tonight?” you ask the maid standing nearby.

“no, mrs. zhong,” she answers carefully, “but he did call for the driver around twenty minutes ago, he should be making his way back.” 

and it’s ridiculous, really, how your maid knows more about your husband's whereabouts than you do. 

“okay,” you nod gently, setting the untouched tea aside, “go ahead and get some rest,” you offer her a smile despite the exhaustion sitting heavily behind your eyes, “i’ll wait up for him.”

“are you sure, mrs. zhong? i could wait instead.”

you wave her off, “it’s a wife’s duty to take care of her husband.” 

she smiles politely at your response, “okay mrs. zhong, i’ll be here when you need me.” 

“thank you,” you say genuinely. 

she bows her head slightly before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with the silence again. the moment she’s gone, your smile fades. slowly, you rise from the sofa and make your way toward the grand staircase. more specifically  – the left staircase. chenle’s staircase. the one you never use.

the mansion had been designed almost absurdly symmetrical, splitting the house in two. like the house itself understood the distance between you. 

you settle onto the second step quietly, smoothing the fabric of your silk pajama dress beneath you, waiting for him to come home. your eyes drift across the foyer absentmindedly – the massive chandelier overhead, the single round table with the antique vase filled of flowers you didn’t even like, and the wedding portrait hanging near the entrance your mother-in-law gifted. it always made your chest ache a little. you looked so happy in it. chenle looked convincing.

you wonder if this is what arranged marriages are supposed to feel like. waiting around in silence for someone who never notices you waited at all. you lean your head lightly against the staircase railing. maybe he was working late. maybe he was drinking. maybe he didn’t want to come home anymore. the last possibility settles the heaviest. 

your mind drifts despite yourself, back toward the beginning. a time when chenle used to text you constantly whenever he went anywhere. texts that were as silly as:

look at this ugly dog i found

watch basketball with me, i have popcorn

and others, that always made you smile and your heart race:

just tried the new restaurant down the street from our favorite tea place. i have to bring you there..it will make you cry tears of joy.

i saw this dumpling plushie and it reminded me of you, so guess who has a new dumpling plushie

let’s go on trip this weekend, just me and you…already got the flight tickets 

my mom’s annoying me. come save me. please. 

where are you? i’m picking you up

you used to be the first person he looked for in every room. now you barely knew what was going on in that mind of his. a soft laugh escapes you suddenly, quiet and humorless. if the tabloids could see you now, they’ll realize just how easy it is to create fake gold.

another thirty minutes pass when headlights appear through the front windows. your body straightens instantly before you can stop yourself, heartbeat quickening embarrassingly fast. 

the front doors open moments later, chenle walking in. his tie hangs loose around his neck, dark hair slightly messy like someone has been running their fingers through it repeatedly. he smells faintly of alcohol, expensive cologne and perfume that definitely wasn’t yours. your stomach drops before you can even process it fully. it’s sweet, floral, feminine – not familiar. 

chenle freezes the second he notices you sitting on the staircase. for a brief moment, genuine surprise flashes across his face. 

“what are you doing up?” he asks, voice rough and tired. 

you force your expression to remain soft, normal, “waiting for you.”

something unreadable flickers in his eyes. guilt. maybe. or irritation. you can never tell with him anymore. whatever it is, it disappears almost instantly.

“go to bed, y/n,” he says with a sigh, already sounding exhausted by the conversation before it even begins. then he walks past you. just like that. and something inside you finally snaps. 

there were many things that you could let slide. chenle ignoring you. chenle barely speaking to you unless necessary. chenle looking at you with those cold eyes sharp enough to cut skin open. chenle hating you for a life neither of you truly chose. 

but this? coming home way past midnight smelling of alcohol and another woman’s perfume while wearing lipstick marks on his neck like he didn’t even care enough for you to hide them???

a wife could only take so much. 

you could only take so much. 

before you know it, you’re standing abruptly and following him up the staircase. his staircase. your slippers hit the marble harder with every step as anger burns hotter beneath your skin. he pushes open his bedroom door and you follow him inside immediately, shutting it sharply behind you, the sound echoing through the room.

it’s your first time entering his bedroom in the four months you’ve been married. that realization alone feels pathetic. it’s cleaner than you expected. dark walls. dark sheets. expensive furniture. floor to ceiling windows overlooking the green landscape, similar to yours. it looked less like the room of a married man and more like a luxury bachelor suite. nothing about it felt like there was space for you. 

“are you fucking cheating on me?!” you demand, voice coming out harsher than intended, anger cracking through the polished composure you spent years perfecting.

chenle groans immediately, dragging a hand through his hair before kicking his shoes off carelessly, “i don’t want to fucking talk about this right now.”

you ignore him completely, hurt and fury already boiling too violently inside your chest. 

“is this why you hate me so much?,” you ask, voice rising, “because you’re already in love with someone else?!”

that catches his attention instantly. his head snaps toward you so fast it almost startles you.

“what?”

you let out a bitter scoff, “oh my god, chenle!,” you gesture toward him angrily, “you have her scent all over you, there’s lipstick all over your neck–i’m not fucking stupid.”

your voice gets louder with every word. so much for grace. so much for being poised. right now you’re just angry. hurt. humiliated. 

chenle stares at you for a second before rubbing both hands down his face tiredly, “i’m not fucking in love with someone else,” he mutters. 

“then what the fuck is this?!”

silence stretches for half a second.

“i needed to get laid.”

chenle laughs once humorlessly, “if you haven’t noticed,” he says coldly, “i’ve basically been fucking abstinent for four months and i just…needed a release.”

it’s almost sickening how that makes you feel better. your anger doesn’t disappear but the crushing feeling in your chest eases slightly knowing there wasn’t some other woman holding his heart while you sat here playing the perfect wife. it was just sex. not love. 

you step closer before you can think better of it. chenle’s brows furrow slightly at the sudden closeness. 

“if you need to get your dick wet, you come to my room.” 

his expression changes instantly, genuine shock flashing across his face. you continue before he can interrupt. 

“no one else’s.”

your chest rises sharply with each breath.

“i’m your wife now, for fuck’s sake.”

chenle just stares at you like he genuinely doesn’t know what to say.

“i don’t care if this marriage was arranged for business,” you snap, “you do not get to cheat on me…again.”

that room falls silent after that. you can practically see the conflict moving behind chenle’s eyes now. because he hates this. all of it. the marriage. the expectations. the loss of freedom. but you can also tell he didn’t expect this reaction from you. didn’t expect you to claim your place beside him so bluntly. 

“besides,” you add bitterly, “we need to have a child eventually, as our parents love to remind me,” your laugh comes out hollow, “you’d be doing me a fucking service.”

irritation flickers in chenle’s face immediately. but you don’t stay long enough to examine it. you turn sharply and walk out before he can say anything else, your heartbeat pounding violently in your ears as you cross to your side of the mansion. 

⚜️ THE BEST FRIENDS ⚜️

the two of you never talk about that night again. it got buried beneath the same routine. work meetings. silent dinners. passing each other in hallways without speaking. but something had changed after that. because you opened a door that night. and whether or not chenle chose to knock was entirely up to him. 

it takes another month before he finally does. 

chenle can’t believe he’s actually considering this. he stands in his bedroom, staring at the half empty whiskey glass in his hand. this was insane. he was about to walk into your room and what? sleep with his wife? his best friend? except he’s not even sure that title still belongs to the two of you anymore. 

best friends didn’t look at each other the way he looks at you now – like you were both the wound and the knife that caused it. best friends didn’t spend five months barely speaking despite living under the same roof. best friends definitely didn’t resent each other enough to split a mansion into separate lives. 

chenle exhales sharply before taking another shot. not enough to get drunk, just enough for that liquid courage to settle into his bones, silencing the voice in his head that told him this was wrong and allowing himself to knock on your door.

he knows this is so hard to do because of him. he knows he’s been irrational. resenting you for decisions neither of you truly got to make. taking every ounce of frustration and grief and anger about his life and placing it onto your shoulders because it was easier to have someone to blame than to accept that this is his reality. 

and yet despite all of that – the only thing you had ever truly asked of him during this marriage was to not cheat on you…again. you could’ve demanded affection. attention. a real marriage. instead, you simply looked him in the eye and told him to come to you first. that memory hasn’t left his head since. 

another sigh escapes him before he sets the empty glass down and finally walks out of his room. the hallway separating your bedroom feels strangely longer tonight. every step making him question himself again. this was a terrible idea. he should turn around. go back to his room. pretend this impulse never happened. but fuck, he needs to get laid…right now. 

the knock startles you instantly. you glance up from your bed in confusion. it’s almost midnight. no one ever knocks this late and the maids only enter when called. for a second, you wonder if something’s wrong. 

slowly, you slip off the bed and walk toward the door, your silk, short pajama dress flowing around you. and there he is – standing in the hallway looking strangely tense beneath the dim lights.

for a moment, neither of you speaks. then chenle says flatly–

“i want to have sex.”

simple. direct. like he’s discussing a business proposal instead of standing outside his wife’s bedroom at midnight. your chest tightens painfully because somehow, even after everything, a part of you still hoped he’d come here for another reason. that maybe he missed you. maybe he couldn’t sleep either. maybe tonight, after months of silence, he finally wanted to talk to you like he used to.

but of course not. he wasn’t your chenle anymore. and this was your marriage - transactional. carefully detached. emotionally hollow.

“okay,” you answer softly after a second, stepping aside to let him in. 

chenle walks past you quietly, eyes scanning your room almost curiously. unlike his bedroom, yours actually looked live in. warmer lighting. books scattered across tables. skincare and makeup products lining the vanity. blankets thrown carelessly across the couch near the windows – and trinkets, gifts, specifically from him – scattered around different parts of the room. 

the dumpling plushie he got you when you were fifteen all because it reminded him of you.

the vintage camera on your shelf he bought behind your back when you were sixteen because you had mentioned once, only once, that you loved taking pictures because it made moments feel permanent. he remembers showing up the next day with your dream camera like it was nothing. “don’t say i never support your hobbies,” he teased. 

even those damn crybaby figurines he bought you when you were seventeen were lined carefully beside your bookshelf. every single one from the collection you obsessed over years ago. you had a frown on your face over not getting the rare one from a blind box once and chenle spent nearly two weeks secretly hunting every figurine down until your collection was complete. you used to tell him he was insane for it. he used to think seeing you happy made the effort worth it. 

suddenly the room feels suffocating. because there are pieces of him everywhere in here. small reminders scattered throughout your life of proof that before everything fell apart – chenle used to love you loudly. maybe not romantically. maybe not in the way you wanted. but enough to memorize the smallest things about you. enough to notice every passing comment and quietly turn it into something real. 

chenle rubs the back of his neck awkwardly before finally looking at you fully and for the first time in months – he doesn’t look angry when he does. if anything, he looks shaken. then he clears his throat.

“we don’t have to make this…” he pauses, brows furrowing slightly, “more than what it is.”

“okay,” the answer leaves your mouth too quickly. too easily. like you’ve already accepted that this was how it was always going to be. 

he nods, leading the way as he reaches for the buttons of his pajama shirt. you look away the second the fabric slips from his shoulder, the room suddenly feeling warmer. chenle drops his shirt onto the chair near your vanity while you remain frozen beside the bed, fingers nervously toying the hem of your pajama dress.

neither of you knows how to start this. that becomes painfully obvious almost immediately. there’s no romance here to guide the moment. no affection softening the edges. just tension and awkwardness. 

finally, because if you stand there any longer, you think your heart might actually burst through your ribs, you reach beneath the fabric of your dress. with shaky fingers, you hook the elastic of your underwear and slide them down your legs, stepping out of them and leaving it on the floor. you keep the pajama dress on through, the thin material clinging to your curves. 

the room goes still. chenle's eyes lift instinctively toward you, tracing the silhouette of your body before darting away almost immediately. and somehow that reaction hurts more than if he’d stared openly. because this feels like restraint. like guilt. like he is forcing himself not to want you.

you climb onto the bed quietly, trying desperately to appear calmer than you feel. 

“you can turn the lights off if you want,” you murmur softly. 

and maybe that was better. maybe if he couldn’t see you, he could pretend you were just another one of his one night stands. maybe the darkness would erase the history between you, leaving only the physical need. darkness settles over the room instantly, softened only by the lights outside filtering through the windows. 

chenle approaches the bed slowly afterward, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he climbs in beside you, leaving enough distance between your bodies. neither of you speaks. there’s nothing comforting to say. just the sound of breathing filling the dark room. 

then, he finally reaches for you. his hand settling against your waist, his palm warm against the thin fabric of your dress. he pulls you toward him and your breath catches immediately. and it’s sad, really, that despite the coldness, despite the hate, you’ve wanted this for years. you want him so badly it feels like a physical ache in your chest. 

you close your eyes as he shifts closer, the last fragile layer of distance between you finally disappearing. he doesn’t lift the dress, simply just bunching the fabric up around your waist, exposing your hips and thighs to the cool air. he doesn’t kiss you. he doesn’t whisper your name. he simply positions himself, his cock hard and pressing against your entrance…and he thrusts in. 

“fuck,” chenle groans under his breath, his hand gripping your waist harder instinctively, digging his fingers into your skin, “you’re so fucking tight.”

your breath catches painfully at the stretch, a sharp, searing pressure tearing through your center as your body struggles to accommodate the sudden intrusion. your fingers unconsciously claw into his biceps, gripping the hard muscle as a gasp of genuine pain escapes your lips. it hurts – more than you expected it to. there was no slow build up to soften any of this. no tender words whispered against your skin to ease the transition. this wasn’t lovemaking. 

for chenle, this is only a physical release, a way to drown out the noise of his own sadness and the crushing weight of his expectations. for you, it was simply duty. the possibility of giving both families the heir everyone expected from the moment your engagement was announced. just two emotionally exhausted people trying to fulfill a role they’d been pushed into years ago. 

chenle notices your pain immediately. you know he does because his movements stall, his body freezing inside you for a beat. in the dim light, you see his brows furrow, a flicker of something – hesitation, perhaps, or a ghost of the boy he used to be – crossing his features. he gives you a moment to adjust, his chest heaving against yours, but. neither of you say anything. 

what would even be the point? there are no sweet words to be exchanged here. no declarations of love. only uneven breathing filling the dark room and the occasional strained sound slipping from both of you despite yourselves. 

chenle keeps his eyes fixed downward, jaw tense like he’s trying not to think too hard about any of this. about you. about the way you feel wrapped around him. about what this act actually means for the two of you.

your fingers loosen from his arm eventually, your grip shifting to the silk sheets beneath you, bunching the fabric in your fists as the initial, blinding ache slowly dulls into a manageable throb. but as the physical pain recedes, a different kind of agony takes its place – one that is far more suffocating, your mind cruelly reminding you that this is the boy who used to hold your hand while crossing the street to make sure you were safe. the boy who bought you random gifts because they reminded him of you. the boy you had loved with a purity that now felt like a joke. and now, here you are, beneath him in a silence so heavy it felt suffocating. 

he doesn’t try to make it last. he doesn’t try to find your pleasure or bridge the emotional divide between you. he simply drives into you with a mechanical, rhythmic intensity, his movements devoid of affection.

he lasted six minutes before it was finally over. 

chenle curses softly under his breath as he paints your walls white. his forehead drops briefly near your shoulder, breathing unevenly before finally stilling completely. the room falls quiet almost immediately afterward except for both of your breathing. 

then, chenle carefully pulls away. he begins to shift back but freezes mid-motion, his eyes dropping toward the sheets beneath you, the air in the room vanishing – small, vivid spots of red stain the white sheets. 

“shit,” he breathes, his entire expression changing instantly. the detachment he had maintained through the act vanishes, replaced by a sharp, jagged edge of alarm, “are you okay?”

the concern in his voice catches you off guard more than anything else. real, genuine concern that you haven’t heard from him in years. the same boy who used to worry if you’d scraped your knee. 

still trying to steady your breathing, you blink at him tiredly, “what?”

“you bled,” he says immediately, eyes darting back toward the sheets before the realization visibly crashes into him. his face tightens, jaw locking as the implication sinks in. 

“fuck, y/n…,” he exhales sharply, “are you a virgin?”

you stare at him for a long second, the silence stretching between you. you feel empty, raw and utterly exhausted. you shrug lightly, “well,” you mutter dryly, “as of a couple minutes ago, i no longer am.”

chenle looks at you like you’ve just punched him in the chest. there’s disbelief there. guilt. and worst of all – pity.  you hate it instantly. you aren’t a porcelain doll. you are the owner of an empire and you had walked into this encounter with your eyes wide open. 

“don’t look at me like that,”  you scoff, reaching for your blanket and pulling it over you, “it’s not a big deal, chenle. it was gonna happen one way or another.”

he lets out a frustrated sound immediately, dragging both hands through his hair, “why do you keep saying that?!,” he snaps suddenly. 

you blink, startled at the sharpness in his tone, the sudden eruption of emotion, “because it’s true.”

“no, it’s not,” his brows pull together harder, frustration and disbelief bleeding into his voice, “and this is a big deal. i just took your virginity.”

“and?!” you shoot back instantly, emotions finally cracking open.

“it was always yours to take!”

silence. thick. heavy enough to suffocate the entire room. chenle stills completely. the lights spilling through the windows cast shadows across his face, but you can still see the shock there clearly. he looks haunted, as if you’ve just revealed a truth he wasn’t prepared to handle.

“what?” he asks quietly. 

“unlike you,” you say bitterly, your chest rising sharply, “i never thought marrying my best friend was something so repulsive.”

the words hit hard enough that chenle just stares at you. stunned. because he genuinely cannot understand it. 

when he found out about the arrangement years ago, it felt like his entire life stopped belonging to him. suddenly every conversation had contracts hidden beneath it, every family dinner felt staged, every interaction between the two of you became another reminder that his future had already been decided before he even got a say. he panicked. rebelled. slept with girl after girl trying to desperately prove to himself he still had freedom. he still belonged to himself. still had choices before marriage locked him into a life he never asked for. 

but you – you just accepted it. 

you didn’t run. you didn’t scream. you didn’t burn the world down to get away.

he remembers sitting in those meetings, hating every single second of it and every single time he looked at you – you were just sitting quietly beside him. calm. composed. nodding along politely whenever someone addressed you. you never argued. never pushed back. never looked angry enough. 

and chenle convinced himself that meant you didn’t care. that maybe this really was just business to you, too. he resented you for it. resented the way you accepted everything so easily while he felt like he was suffocating. resented the way you let your parents decide both of your lives without fighting harder beside him. resented how fake everything started feeling after that. like your friendship had never really belonged to the two of you. like it had been another transaction always meant to happen. 

just like tonight. 

just like this bed. this room. your first time. 

the reality settles sickeningly into his chest. because despite all his anger, despite all the resentment he carried for years – this should have been special. not because virginity itself mattered to him. but because you did. somewhere beneath the layers of bitterness, the boy who loved you was still there, and he realizes with a jolt of horror that he is the one to turn this moment into something cold. another deal to complete. another box to check.

for the first time in months, chenle genuinely feels ashamed standing in front of you. 

you slide beneath the blankets completely, turning away from him. your voice goes cold again. controlled. composed. your expression slowly shutting down. piece by piece. the same way it always does whenever he hurts you. it’s a practiced defense, a wall built from years of his indifference.

“i’ll have the maid clean the sheets tomorrow.”

chenle opens his mouth slightly. then closes it again. because there’s nothing he can say that fixes this. nothing that gives you back the moment he just ruined. he cannot un-take your innocence.

“if you’re done here,” you murmur quietly, “you should just go.”

the guilt eats him alive, gnawing at his insides as he stares at your curled-up form. yet, chenle walks out anyway. 

⚜️ THE MOTHER IN LAW ⚜️

you get your period two weeks later and it annoys you far more than it should. the second you see the faint streak of red, disappointment settles heavily into your chest before you can stop it. pathetic. you actually let yourself hope that one night would be enough. that somehow, despite how cold and emotionally disastrous it had been, it might’ve at least resulted in something tangible. something that would finally make this marriage feel like it’s moving forward instead of rotting quietly in place. something that would finally make this mansion feel like a house. 

you’re afraid of the possibility it won’t happen again. not after the way things have been recently. 

it’s gotten worse between you and chenle. at least before, when he looked at you, there was fire there. albeit, not the good kind…but fire, nonetheless. 

now, it was just stone cold. and every now and then – guilt. it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself around you anymore. and every single time you notice it, sorrow settles deeper inside your chest. guilt isn’t love. you don’t want him feeling sorry for you. you want – no. you force yourself to stop that thought before it finishes.

wanting things from chenle only ever leads to disappointment. 

“y/n, dear, how are you and chenle?” mama li’s voice breaks through your thoughts. she’s sitting elegantly across from you in the living room, posture perfect even in something as simple as afternoon tea. sunlight pours through the massive windows behind her, catching the gold resting against her fingers as she lifts her teacup gracefully. 

she’s beautiful in the same terrifying way chenle is. composed. sharp. impossible to fully read. sometimes looking at her hurts because all you can see is him. 

she asked the question gently. but there’s always command hidden beneath her voice, years of power woven naturally into every word she speaks. 

“uhm,” you hesitate, “i don’t know, mama li,” the nickname leaves your lips naturally. it always has, “i don’t think we’ll ever go back to the way we used to.”

for a moment, genuine sadness flickers across her face. she exhales softly before offering you a small smile, “just give it time,” she says gently, “you know he’s always loved you.” 

your chest tightens painfully. it’s what everyone says. your parents. his parents. family friends. employees who watched the two of you grow up together. everyone insists chenle loved you once. maybe still does. but lately, you’re not so sure anymore. maybe everyone simply misunderstood him all these years. maybe being comfortable around someone your entire childhood wasn’t the same thing as loving them. 

after all – chenle himself has never actually said it. not once. 

mama li studies your expression carefully before continuing, “chenle has always been difficult with his emotions,” she says with a quiet sigh, “but that boy would follow you around everywhere when you were younger. you were the only person who could calm him down whenever he got upset.”

you force out a faint smile, “that was a long time ago.”

“feelings don’t disappear that easily,” she replies smoothly. 

you wish you believed that. instead, you take another sip of tea to avoid answering. 

“even so, my dear,” her eyes linger meaningfully on you, “i hope you’re not forgetting your duties.” 

there it is. the real reason behind this conversation. behind her visit.  

children. heirs. you suddenly feel exhausted. you don’t know what to say. you’ve only slept with chenle once. and considering the fact you got your period this morning, you’re very aware you are not pregnant. still, you can’t exactly tell his mother that her son barely touches you. so instead, you straighten your posture slightly and force your voice to remain calm. 

“we’re trying.”

mama li’s expression brightens immediately, genuine excitement sparkles in her eyes, “well, that’s wonderful news,” she says warmly, “we have to continue our legacies after all,” she adds with a soft smile, lifting her teacup once more. 

legacy. sometimes you wonder if anyone in this family actually understands how lonely that word feels. 

⚜️ THE DRUNK WIFE’S PINKY PROMISE ⚜️

it’s been a month since mama li’s visit. and half a year since you and chenle got married. he hasn’t touched you once since that night. not even accidentally. no lingering touches while passing each other in hallways. no brushing shoulders. no quiet midnight knocks at your bedroom door. absolutely…nothing. 

and lately, the restlessness sitting inside you has started turning into panic. because six months into marriage and you still weren’t even close to being pregnant. your parents ask constantly. mama li asks so often that your stomach knots every single time. even the public has started wondering. the media hasn’t said anything outright yet, but you’ve seen the headlines. 

WHEN WILL THE GOLDEN COUPLE ANNOUNCE THEIR FIRST HEIR?

A BOY OR A GIRL? IT SHOULD BE ANY DAY NOW.

and worst of all — people at work were starting to notice things too. the whispers had gotten louder these past few weeks:

why do you never arrive together? why do you leave separately? why do the two of you never eat lunch together despite literally being married? were you both simply that professional??? or did you secretly hate each other???

the stress had been eating at you slowly. you feel like you’re being watched even more so than usual. 

so tonight, for the first time in months, you finally leave the mansion for something other than work. with your best friend - yizhou ning-qian. if anyone understood arranged marriages, it was her. except for the obvious difference that her husband, kun qian, absolutely adored her. even with their seven year age gap, they worked. somehow effortlessly. which honestly made your own marriage feel even sadder by comparison. 

“have you tried initiating it?,” yizhou asks casually, sipping her tequila.

the two of you were tucked away inside one of the private rooms at a high-end bar where membership alone cost more than most people’s yearly salaries. dim lights glowed against velvet seating while soft jazz echoed faintly beyond the closed doors. 

you stare at her, “yizhou,” you say flatly, “i can’t even get close enough to try.”

she snorts immediately, the sound sharp and mocking of the situation.

“every time i walk into a room,” you continue, “he leaves. immediately.”

"man,” she sighs, shaking her head, “chenle seriously needs to grow the fuck up.” you can’t even disagree. “this was always going to be our lives,” she continues, taking a quick sip of her drink, “and honestly? it’s not even that bad.”

another tequila shot arrives at the table. she pushes it toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye.

”i mean,” she giggles, “we’re literally billionaires! it can’t get better than this.”

you burst into laughter with her despite yourself, the alcohol finally beginning to warm your chest pleasantly. 

“exactly!,” you groan dramatically after downing the shot in one go, “all we have to do is marry someone else rich and pretty yet chenle thinks the world has ended.”

yizhou nearly chokes, laughing, “god, he’s just been too spoiled.”

the two of you dissolve into another fit of giggles. and if it was any other person, you’d feel awful for trash talking your husband. but she was your best friend, one of your safe spaces. and it feels good to laugh. you haven’t done that in a while. 

yizhou wipes beneath her eyes dramatically before leaning back against the couch, “if anything,” she says, still grinning, “you guys are the luckiest out of all of us.”

your smile falters, “and why’s that?”

”you married someone you already know…someone you already love.”

the words silence the laughter instantly. the love you carry for chenle is a heavy, aching thing – a devotion that has survived his coldness and his resentment. but love is a two-way street. and chenle has shown it loud and clear that he didn’t share those same feelings for you. 

“he doesn’t love me, yizhou,” you say quietly. 

for a second, she just stares at you. then suddenly, she bursts into even louder laughter. ”yeah,” she says sarcastically between giggles, “and my husband is fucking poor!”

you shove her shoulder weakly while laughing. considering kun was literally one of the ten wealthiest men in the country, the statement sounds ridiculous. 

her expression softens after laughing, “y/n,” she says more seriously now, “that boy has loved you since before we even knew what love was.”

“you don’t know that,” you whisper, chest tightening painfully as you shake your head immediately.

“oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “everyone knows that.”

you sigh into your drink. you wish people would stop saying that. it just lets the hope linger longer. just reminds you of the boy he used to be. just makes the man he has become feel more like a tragedy.

”seriously,” she continues, leaning forward now, “he just needs to wake up from whatever self-pity hole he dug for himself.”

you stare down at the amber liquid in your glass quietly. 

“i mean, come on, he has to know that it could be worse,” she adds. 

“how could it be worse than this?”

”jaemin’s literally arranged to marry someone he actually hates,” she points out, “and even he isn’t acting as childish as chenle,” she reaches for your hand then, intertwining her fingers through yours. 

“it’s not your fault, y/n.”

your throat tightens at her comfort, the alcohol heightening the vulnerability of your emotions. 

“and sooner or later,” she says softly, "chene's going to realize that too. he’s going to realize that while he was busy hating the arrangement, he was losing the only person who actually gives a damn about him.”

you drank a lot more than you should’ve. at first, it was just to loosen up. but somewhere between the expensive tequila, the soft jazz playing in the private room and yizhou’s ridiculous stories, the warmth spreading through your body started feeling addictive. every shot made things quieter. lighter. your thoughts blurred around the edges. your chest stopped hurting so much whenever chenle crossed your mind. for the first time in months, you weren’t thinking about the empty side of your dinner table or the way your husband avoided looking at you like eye contact physically pained him. 

you were just laughing. drinking. existing. and maybe that’s why you didn’t realize how much time had passed until yizhou was shoving your purse into your hands while laughing at your completely incoherent attempt to put your heels back on. 

by the time your driver finally pulls into the mansion’s driveway, it’s nearly three in the morning. the second the car door opens, cold air hits your face and you instantly regret every decision you made tonight. 

“mmm,” you groan softly while stepping out drunkily, “why is the ground moving?” you complain.

“the ground is not moving, mrs. zhong,” your maid says gently while helping steady you. you squint suspiciously at the marble steps leading toward the front door. you manage to stumble inside the mansion without face-planting into the floor. barely. if it wasn’t for your maid’s help, you’d be on the ground. 

“its uh–kay,” you mumble as your maid carefully tries helping you remove your coat, “mmm okay, i can take care of myself. i’m a professional. i’m a…ceo of being okay!”

you absolutely are not. your words are slurring into a thick, honey-like mess and you nearly take out a priceless vase with your shoulder before you finally collapse onto the bottom step of the right staircase. 

upstairs, chenle hears your voice immediately. he had been awake. waiting. though he’d never admit that out loud. usually, when he came home from work, your bedroom light would still be visible through the tiny crack beneath your door. 

tonight, it had been dark. 

and when he checked downstairs earlier under the excuse of getting water, you hadn’t been in the living room either. and for reasons he doesn’t want to examine too closely, it unsettled him. so tonight, he intentionally left his bedroom door slightly cracked open. just enough to hear when you returned home. 

and now here you were. sounding very, very drunk. 

chenle exhales sharply before stepping out into the hallway. he makes his way downstairs quietly only to stop midway down the staircase at the sight in front of him. you’re sitting on the bottom step of your staircase now with your head slumped against the railing while your maid looks one second away from panicking. 

“i said i’m okayyyy,” you groan. 

“sir zhong,” the maid says immediately in relief the second she notices him. 

your head snaps upward clumsily at her voice, eyes unfocused as you follow her gaze. chenle stands halfway down the staircase dressed in dark sweatpants and a loose shirt, his hair looking unbelievably soft. he looks unfairly handsome for three in the morning – a devastatingly beautiful statue carved from ice and moonlight. 

“mrs. zhong is drunk,” the maid explains carefully.

“i’m not drunk,” you counter immediately. then your body sways sideways slightly and she catches your shoulder before you topple over completely. 

she turns back toward chenle helplessly, “i’m trying to help her up the stairs, sir. she might hurt herself without guidance.”

chenle’s jaw tightens slightly. then he nods once. “i’ll take care of it, you may go.”

she bows politely before quickly disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone. silence settles briefly. chenle walks down the remaining stairs slowly before stopping in front of you. 

“you drink now?” he asks flatly, clearly not amused. 

you squint up at him from the floor, “wow,” you mumble, a small, crooked smile playing on your lips, “judgmental much? mr. perfect.”

stubbornly, you attempt standing on your own. terrible decision. the second you rise, the world spins 360 degrees. chenle reacts immediately, one arm hooking firmly around your waist and hauling you flush against his chest. the contact is electric. it’s the first time in months he's touched you with any kind of intent, and the sudden heat of his body against yours makes your breath hitch. he is solid, warm, smelling of expensive soap and something uniquely him.

you blink up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach out, poking his chest weakly with a finger, “you’re not the only one,” you whisper, your voice losing its playful edge and becoming raw, “who wants to forget.”

the words come out quieter than intended. more honest too. you’re too drunk to notice the way his face softens for half a second. deep down, he’s always known it. he just never wanted to acknowledge it – the fact that you were hurting, too. 

he reaches forward, his hand cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together, forcing your lips into a pout. his brows furrow, gaze scanning your flushed face, “you know you’re not good with alcohol.”

you sway weakly at his wrist with a dramatic scoff, “psh, whatever.”

then you wriggle yourself fee from his hold before turning toward the staircase again, “i’m a big girl now,” you mumble stubbornly as you begin walking upwards, “i can do it.”

chenle hums behind you, not convinced in the slightest. you make it about five steps before the world starts tilting unpleasantly again. he was right. you were never good with alcohol. your head feels heavy. your feet hurt from the heels you still haven’t taken off and suddenly the stairs look impossibly long and all you want to do is fall asleep right here.

with a defeated sigh, you finally turn around. and only then do you realize how close chenle actually is. he’s standing just two steps below you. close enough that if you slipped backward even slightly, he’d catch you instantly. it softens you immediately. the way he still followed you. your expression crumbles into something smaller, softer.

“lele,” you mumble quietly, the nickname naturally slipping from your lips. you haven’t called him that in years. not since everything between you became sharp and complicated. 

chenle visibly freezes. the air in the stairway seems to solidify, trapping him in the space between who he is now and who he used to be.

your lower lip juts out slightly as you blink at him tiredly, “i need help,” you admit finally, your voice small and stripped of all its corporate armor.

his heart stops. he swears the world stops moving. because you sound exactly like her. not the polished corporate heiress version of you who sits through board meetings with perfect posture and calculated smiles. not the wife who carefully measures every word around him now. 

you sound like the girl he used to know. the one who used to cling onto his arm after getting tired at amusement parks. the one who cried dramatically over a barely scraped knee and demanded he carry her because “best friends are supposed to help each other.” the one who looked at him as if he were the only source of light in a dark world.

you sounded like the girl he loves. 

before business meetings hollowed everything out between you. before his own resentment poisoned every room you shared. 

chenle exhales slowly through his nose, a shaky breath that rattles in his chest. he sighs, and for the first time in years, the sound isn't one of annoyance, but of defeat.

“come on, you big baby,” he mutters. 

the tease slips out so effortlessly it surprises both of you, a sudden echo of a decade ago. your eyes widen slightly, he hasn’t sounded like that with you in a very long time. before you can even respond, chenle bends slightly and hooks an arm beneath your knees. you let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, bridal style. instinctively, your hands grab onto his shoulder, settling against his chest automatically as he starts carrying you up the stairs properly this time. his warmth surrounds you immediately, steady and safe, your alcohol fogged brain melting into it without resistance. 

chenle tries very hard not to think about how natural this still feels. how your body still fits against his as if they were two pieces of a puzzle designed by a higher power. he feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, a subconscious grip that mirrors the way you used to hold onto him when you were children. years ago, this would’ve been normal. he used to carry you all the time. after you fall asleep in the car rides home. after twisting your ankle once trying to impress him at basketball. after you threw a dramatic tantrum at sixteen because your heels hurt during some charity gala. back then, touching you was easy. now it feels dangerous. 

he pushes your bedroom door open with his shoulders before walking inside. carefully, he lowers you onto the mattress. but the second he starts pulling away, your hands grab onto him tighter. 

“not yet,” you mumble immediately, tugging him downward with surprising strength until he half falls onto the bed beside you. your arms wrap around him instinctively, face burying against his chest, holding him close. 

chenle freezes for half a second. then exhales slowly. because fuck. he missed this. he missed you. not the tense silence between board meetings. not the careful distance. not the version of you that flinches emotionally every time he looks at you now. but this – warm and soft and clinging onto him like he was still your safest place in the world. 

your hugs always used to calm him down faster than anything else. even now, after everything, his body relaxes embarrassingly quick the moment your arms tighten around him. he lets himself stay there for a little while. just a little. his hand settles carefully against your back as your breathing slowly evens out. 

eventually, he pulls back enough to look at you properly, brushing your hair away from your face gently, his fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary. 

“why’d you drink so much anyway?” he asks softly. 

and maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it’s the exhaustion. or maybe you simply miss your best friend too much to keep pretending you don’t. because suddenly, you start talking to him like he’s still that person. 

“my husband won’t touch me,” you mumble sadly.

the words hit him directly in the chest. especially because you say it like your husband and the man currently holding you are two entirely different people. his eyes widen slightly, heat creeping into his face almost instantly and he’s almost grateful you’re drunk enough not to notice. 

“and everyone keeps asking me about children, lele…” your voice grows smaller, “it’s just–it’s too much,” you pout slightly afterward, eyes glossy and tired. 

chenle’s guilt continues to grow. he knows all of the pressure has been landing on you. his mother stopped bringing children up around him months ago. your parents tread carefully too. everyone gives him space, shows him more grace. he think’s it’s because everyone is afraid that if they push him too hard, it will make him snap completely. make him finally leave. no one realizes he never actually could. not when the thought of a world where he wasn’t with you, even in this broken, tragic way, felt more impossible than the marriage itself.

“do you even want a child?” he ask quietly, not sure why he keeps this conversation going. maybe because this is the most honest the two of you have been with each other in years. 

you shift, turning on your side to find a more comfortable position, and in the process, you instinctively seize his hand again. without a second thought, you tug his arm around your waist, pulling him flush against you until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. the position nearly wrecks him. because this used to be normal too. movie nights. sleepovers. lazy afternoons tangled together on couches while studying. you always used to curl into him naturally like he was home. and he used to hate having to leave, always wanting more time with you.

“it wouldn’t be that bad to have one,” you admit softly, your fingers playing absentmindedly with his, tracing the lines of his palm, “i mean…we have all the money in the world.”

chenle huffs quietly through his nose, a small, dry sound. it always comes back to that, doesn't it? the money. the wealth. the legacy. the gold-plated chains that bind you together.

“we could have twenty and still have plenty left over,” you add with a sleepy, whimsical giggle.

that actually almost makes him laugh. the image of the two of you with twenty children running around this mansion sounds absolutely insane. he can barely handle one drunk wife right now. still, his chest feels strangely warm hearing you talk like this – domestic, hopeful, almost dreaming. it stirs something in him that he thought he had buried under layers of corporate coldness.

chenle doesn’t even know if he wants children. at least, not like this. not because families and investors expect it. not because it’s another duty to fill. 

suddenly, you shift again, turning in his arms to face him fully. your movements are slow, languid, you lift your hand, fingers grazing his jawline with a touch so light it’s almost a hallucination. you caress him carefully, your eyes searching his with a heartbreaking intensity.

“give me a baby, lele,” you whisper. 

his entire body stills. every muscle locks. he knows its the alcohol talking. 

but, fuck.

the way you’re looking at him right now could ruin him. chenle would give you anything. money. houses. companies. his entire fucking life if you asked for it. just – not like this. not when it would feel like another transaction instead of something real. 

his hand slides carefully into your hair instead, “why do you want a baby so badly?” he asks quietly, voice strained.

you shrug faintly. then your expression softens into something heartbreakingly vulnerable. 

“i just don’t want to be so lonely anymore.”

his heart breaks instantly. completely. it’s his fault. he is the one who built the walls. he is the one who turned this house into a gilded cage. 

“so…” you mumble sleepily, eyes barely open now, “will you give me one?”

hope flickers across your pretty face so softly it nearly kills him. 

he swallows hard, “not right now, y/n,” he says gently. your expression falls immediately and the guilt twists violently inside him again. so he adds.. quietly…“maybe someday.”

your eyes lift toward him again slowly. then, you raise your pinky between the two of you.

“you promise?” 

chenle stares at it and suddenly he’s thirteen again. you don’t link pinkies the way others do. you once declared that it “felt fake” and that crossing fingers didn’t feel lucky enough for important things. so, the two of you had invented your own ritual. your own secret language of loyalty.

carefully, with a tenderness that makes his chest ache, chenle takes your hand and he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the very tip of your pinky finger.

“i promise.” 

your sleepy face brightens instantly. you grab his hand and softly kiss the tip of his pinky too. 

a promise sealed.  except this promise wasn’t as simple as the ones before. 

eventually, your body relaxes fully against his chest while his fingers continue stroking slowly through your hair until you fall asleep in his arms. chenle stays there longer than he should, watching you sleep peacefully against him, finally not hurting for a little while. once he’s sure you’re completely asleep, he carefully slips out of bed. but before leaving, he gently pulls your heels from your feet one by one. then he places a glass of water and two pieces of tylenol on your nightstand. the same way he used to after parties years ago. for a while, chenle just stands there staring at you. then quietly, he turns the lights off and finally lets the night end. 

⚜️ THE DEATH GUMMY ⚜️

another month passes. and things were starting to shift subtly. you’re not entirely sure what happened that night you got drunk. honestly, most of it is blurry fragments in your memory – warm arms, soft whispers, the feeling of safety you hadn’t felt around chenle in years. 

whatever happened though, it softened chenle a little. just a tiny bit. 

he still doesn’t initiate a conversation unless absolutely necessary. still keeps most of his thoughts locked tightly behind careful expression. still retreats into himself more often that not. but he doesn’t leave rooms as soon as you enter anymore. and slowly, he starts joining you for dinner again. you ate silently, still on opposite ends of the table but at least he was there now. 

then, one night, you found him in the living room watching an episode of f.r.i.e.n.d.s. normally, you would’ve turned around to avoid making him uncomfortable. instead, chenle glanced at you briefly, eyes soft, not leaving, not telling you to go away either. so, cautiously, you sat on the opposite end. the two of you watched an entire episode, occasionally laughing at the same jokes. at one point your laughter overlapped and both of you went awkwardly still afterward. but even that tiny moment felt precious. more than you could ask for. 

maybe everyone was right. maybe chenle simply needed time. 

today, the two of you are at yü skincare headquarters. a product development meeting. one of the company’s biggest launches planned for next year. your team had spent nearly eleven months developing a new type of vitamin e supplement. and because you took your work seriously, you always insisted on testing products yourself. if consumers were putting your products into their bodies, then so would you. 

the testing room buzzes quietly with concentration. there are only five people here today – you, chenle, your assistant, mark lee – head of the vitamin research development team, and another researcher seated nearby typing notes rapidly into a laptop. 

mark steps forward excitedly, holding the newest batch carefully, “today is mainly flavor testing,” he explains, “we finally stabilized the texture, so now we just need to ensure the taste is actually enjoyable for the mass market.” he places one small green chewable into your palm. then another into chenle’s, “we infused it with natural fruit extracts to eliminate the vitamin aftertaste.”

you nodded absentmindedly, your mind already drifting toward the logistics of the rollout. you trusted mark implicitly – he was one of the best in the industry.

without a second thought, you and chenle both placed the gummies into your mouths.

and that’s when everything goes wrong.

your throat locks almost instantly. your eyes widen violently. for half a second, you think you might have swallowed wrong. but then your airway starts closing. fast. 

you can’t breathe. 

in a blind surge of terror, you slapped your hand hard against chenle’s arm, the sound sharp in the quiet room. his head snapped toward you, and every ounce of color drained from his face. he watched, in horror, as you began to turn a terrifying shade of red, your mouth opening desperately, gasping for air that wouldn't come. your eyes were wide, filled with a raw, primal terror.

chenle reacted before anyone else could even process what was happening. he lunged forward, gripping your shoulders with a strength that nearly knocked you back, facing you fully.

“Y/N?!” his voice was tight, laced with immediate alarm.

your lips parted, but no sound emerged – only a wet, wheezing struggle. you clawed at your own throat, your nails digging into your skin in a desperate attempt to open the airway.

a wave of pure, unadulterated terror hits chenle, his eyes darting around the room frantically, searching for the cause, mind racing through every possibility.

“what the fuck happened?!," he roared, voice echoing off the sterile walls.

the room froze. everyone stood paralyzed, their faces masks of confusion and sudden fear. no one answered. no one has answers. the silence was suffocating, broken only by the horrific, whistling sound of your struggle to breathe. chenle’s gaze snapped to the tray of green gummies. he pieced it together then.

“we’re there kiwis in these?!” chenle demands sharply.

mark blinked, nodding quickly, his voice trembling, “uh–yes, sir. we infused it with concentrated kiwi juice because it–”

“SHE’S ALLERGIC!,” chenle’s voice cracks through the room so loudly everyone jumps. 

you were deathly allergic to kiwi. not mildly allergic. not uncomfortable. deathly. a single slice of the fruit in a room could make your throat itch, a concentrated extract delivered directly into your system was a death sentence.

his breathing turns uneven instantly as fear floods his system. you’re not coughing anymore. you’re struggling. really struggling. your body starts slumping sideways in your chair and chenle catches you immediately before you hit the floor.

“hey–hey, stay with me!” his voice shakes. 

for the first time in years, he completely loses his composure in front of other people. he was no longer the cold heir, he was a terrified boy watching the only person he truly loved slip away.

“her bag,” he barked, the command slashing through the chaos, “someone get me her fucking bag now.”

your assistant rushes forward immediately, handing your bag over. another employee is already yelling for medics outside the room. everything becomes chaotic around him. but chenle barely hears any of it. all he can focus on is you. the violent red of the reaction was fading into a ghostly, terrifying pallor. your lips were tinged with a bruised blue, and your head kept dipping weakly, your consciousness flickering like a dying candle. your hand, resting against his suit jacket, felt colder with every passing second. for one horrifying, timeless moment, he genuinely believed you were dying.

“look at me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent and wrecked. he gripped your face, his fingers trembling against your cheeks, trying to force your unfocused eyes to lock onto his. “y/n, look at me! stay with me!”

your eyelids fluttered, your pupils blown and hazy. you could see him – the panic in his eyes, the sheer, unadulterated terror – but you couldn't reach him. you were drowning on dry land.

“fuck—!” he let out a choked sound, his hands shaking violently as he dove into your bag. he tossed aside your wallet, your phone, a lipstick, his movements frantic and clumsy, “where is it–where the fuck is it–”

then finally – the epipen. you always carried it for emergencies. 

relief crashed through him so hard it was almost physical, a wave of adrenaline that surged through his veins. he didn't hesitate. he didn't even remove your clothing, he slammed the injector hard against your outer thigh, the needle piercing through the fabric of your trousers with a sharp, clinical click.

“stay with me,” he whispered, his voice rough and broken, “please, please stay with me.”

the seconds that followed were an eternity of agonizing silence. chenle held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs, watching your face for any sign of life. then it happened – you let out a sudden, violent gasp, a broken, desperate inhale that sounded like a sob. it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. oxygen flooded back into your lungs, and the sudden rush of air brought a torrent of tears that spilled from your eyes, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

chenle exhales shakily like he forgot how to breathe too, his forehead nearly dropping against yours from relief, his eyes closing tight.

“that’s it,” he whispers frantically, his voice a breathless wreck, “that’s it, baby, breathe.”

he doesn’t even realize what he called you. he only cared that your hand, though weak and trembling, was curling around his fingers, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you anchored to the earth. chenle grips tighter immediately, as if letting go would allow the death that had just brushed past you to return and take you away. 

“you’re okay,” he keeps repeating, “you’re okay. i’ve got you, i’ve got you.”

his breathing is uneven. his eyes are glossy. everyone in the room is staring now because they’ve never seen zhong chenle like this before.

but chenle doesn’t care about appearances anymore. not when he thought he was about to lose you forever. 

⚜️ THE ONLY CHOICE HE’S EVER MADE ⚜️

chenle never visits you in the hospital.

the first day, mama li told you he was busy dealing with the fallout at work, there were investigations happening now, meetings with legal teams and a very furious chenle. the second day, you waited. by the third day, you stopped expecting him entirely.

your private hospital suite overlooks the city skyline, expensive and pristine in the way only billionaires could experience. fresh flowers arrive every morning from companies and family friends. assistants rotate in shifts outside your door. nurses practically hover around you like you’re made of glass. everyone treats you like you almost died. which, to be fair, you technically almost did. still, you feel fine now. a little tired maybe. but alive. 

your father is currently standing near the windows watering the ridiculous amount of plants someone sent earlier when the question finally slips out of you quietly.

“has chenle come by?”

he pauses mid-motion before looking over his shoulder at you. then slowly, he shakes his head, “sorry, sweetheart.”

you look down at the blanket pooled over your lap, “you were right, dad,” you admit softly, your voice sounding hollow in the vast room.

his brows furrow, “i’m right about a lot of things…but what is this one about?”

you force out a weak laugh, “maybe it would’ve been easier to marry someone i didn’t love.”

that makes him stop completely. he places the watering can onto the nearby table before he walks toward your bed. your father has never been particularly good with emotions. he showed love through stability, protection and business lessons disguised as life advice. still, he takes the seat beside your bed quietly. 

“sweetheart,” he says carefully, “there are positives and negatives in every situation. and sometimes…the choices we make can hurt more than we expected them to—but you already made your decision,” he sighs softly, “and just like every good business deal, you have to commit to it fully.”

you almost smile. trust your father to turn emotional comfort into a corporate lesson. 

“trust your instincts,” he adds quieter this time, his hand patting yours awkwardly. it’s probably the closest thing to emotional reassurance he knows how to give. it helps a little. 

“thanks, dad,” you murmur. 

he nods once before leaning down to kiss the top of your head gently, “get some rest.”

then he leaves you alone again. the second the door shuts, the loneliness creeps back in. because despite his words – the only person you actually wanted to see was chenle. 

unbeknownst to you, chenle visits every single night.

always after midnight. always once he’s certain you’re asleep. he slips into your hospital room quietly, dressed in dark clothes and exhaustion. the first night, he genuinely thought you looked dead. too still. too pale. fear hit him so hard he crossed the room immediately just to place a trembling hand near your face and make sure you were still breathing. only after feeling your warm breath against his skin did he finally relax. after that, it became routine. every night he checks your breathing first. sometimes, he sits beside your bed for hours in complete silence, staring at you while guilt slowly eats him alive from the inside out. 

because you could’ve died.

and worse–

you could’ve died believing he hates you. 

chenle doesn’t think he would’ve survived losing you. that realization was a cold, jagged blade, cutting through the carefully constructed armor he had worn for years. it terrified him more than anything else. for years, he convinced himself the opposite, that you were the reason he felt trapped, the reason his life no longer belonged entirely to him. the reason everything started feeling planned and suffocating. but the second your breathing stopped sounding normal – none of that mattered anymore. all he remembered feeling was pure, violent fear. 

the memory keeps replaying in his head every night no matter how hard he tries to shut it out. your hand grabbing his arm desperately, your face turning red, the sound of you struggling for air, the way your fingers slowly weakened in his grasp, the horrifying weight of your body slumping against him and worst of all – how cold he felt. like someone had dumped ice water directly into his chest. 

he hates that it took a near-death experience to shatter his delusions. he hates that he had been so blind. fear like that doesn't stem from obligation. you don’t unravel, you don’t scream into the void, and you don’t beg a person to breathe if all they ever were to you was a responsibility — he hates how almost losing you made him realize that everything he felt for you had always been real. not planned. not arranged. not a script written by two powerful families to ensure a monopoly on the cosmetic industry.

because long before contracts existed. before business meetings and inheritance talks and engagement announcements – chenle loved you. 

he loved you when you were thirteen, sealing promises with kissed pinkies. he still remembers the first time you came up with it. the two of you had been sitting on the rooftop terrace of your parent’s vacation house, legs dangling over the edge while sharing melted popsicles in the middle of summer. “crossing fingers feels fake,” you complained dramatically after he broke a promise to watch a movie with you the week before, “people break pinky promises all the time.” he laughed, “so what? we sign contracts now?” you rolled your eyes before grabbing his hand. then, with complete seriousness, you pressed a tiny kiss against the tip of his pinky finger. “there,” you said proudly, “now it’s permanent.”  after that, every important promise between the two of you was sealed that way. he never broke a single one. 

he loved you at fifteen when you attended every single one of his basketball games with his number painted proudly across your cheeks in bright blue despite both your parents immediately scolding you for putting “cheap toxic paint” on your skin. you didn’t care though, you sat front row, screaming, “that’s my lele!,” every time he scored. he used to pretend to act embarrassed in front of his teammates while secretly searching for you in the crowd every few minutes just to make sure you were still there. you always were. and after the games, you’d rush toward him, still wearing his jersey, eyes sparkling. no victory ever felt as good as seeing you proud of him. 

he loved you at sixteen when your vintage camera became permanently filled with blurry pictures of him. half the photos were terrible – his face cut off, him mid-yawn, him glaring because you kept shoving the camera into his face while he was trying to eat. but mixed between those were softer ones too like him asleep in the car with his head tilted towards you, him laughing with his head thrown back, pictures of the two of you together. he once asked why you took so many pictures of him and you shrugged like it was obvious, “because you’re my favorite person.” he thinks maybe that was the first time his heart ever genuinely stuttered inside his chest. 

he loved you when you were seventeen, in a moment so sudden it had nearly knocked the wind out of him. he remembered the weight of the shopping bags in his hands, the handles digging into his palms, and the sheer, unfiltered joy radiating from you. you had spent weeks in a state of mourning over your crybaby figurine collection, devastated after failing to pull the secret rares. you hadn’t asked him for help – you never did – but chenle had watched your disappointment from the sidelines, and it had felt like a physical weight in his own chest. he spent nights contacting resellers behind your back until he found every missing figurine himself. when he finally handed you the completed set, the expression on your face had been blinding. you had looked at him as if he were the center of the universe. without a second thought, you reached up, grabbed his face in your small hands, and pressed a fervent, lingering kiss to his cheek. “i love you the most!” you squealed, your voice high and breathless with excitement. chenle remembered the way the blood had rushed to his face, a heat so intense it felt like a fever, while you remained blissfully oblivious, already turning back to admire your figurines. in that moment, he had realized that your affection was a drug, and he was already hopelessly addicted.

and deep, deep down, he knows he loved you at twenty-four. especially on the day you became his wife. the moment those heavy doors opened and you stepped inside wearing that white dress you spent months carefully choosing – he forgot how to breathe. everything around him blurred instantly. time slowed to a crawl, yet he felt his entire future rushing toward him at the same time. all he could see was you. the slight tremble in your hands, the way your eyes shimmered with a mixture of hope and fear, and the way you looked at him as if he were still your favorite person in the world, despite everything. you looked beautiful. not in the polished, public way magazines later described. not like “the perfect heiress.” you looked devastatingly you. and chenle wanted so badly to reach for you, pull you close, wanted this marriage to be real in every way that actually mattered. when the officiant gave the command to kiss the bride, his chest ached with a sudden, sharp grief. it felt cruel that this – a choreographed moment in front of a thousand witnesses – was your first kiss together. he remembers leaning down slowly, your lashes fluttering, lips soft and warm and gentle against his. and for a second, chenle forgot there were a thousand people surrounding you both. forgot cameras existed. forgot he was angry. kissing you felt terrifyingly natural, like a missing piece of his soul finally clicking into place, a homecoming he should have claimed years ago.

but the truth was, he had loved you long before he even had a word for it. back when the two of you were six years old and accidentally broke expensive glass tubes inside one of the zhong cosmetics labs while playing tag in the rooms. assistants had panicked instantly, someone yelled, another employee nearly cried seeing the shattered equipment all over the floor. you got scared immediately, eyes filling with tears as adults crowded around the two of you. and without even thinking, chenle stepped in front of you protectively, “it was my fault,” he lied. he remembered the feeling of your watery gaze on the back of his head while he stood there, taking the brunt of the scolding from every adult on the floor. he hadn't cared. the only thing that mattered was that you weren't crying anymore. later that evening, you had secretly slipped half of your dessert onto his plate, whispering that “heroes deserve rewards.”

everything else in his life had been a predetermined path. the schools, the internships, the board meetings, the carefully curated image of a successor. his life had been a series of checkboxes marked by people who didn't care about his heart.

but all those moments – the pinky swears, the blue paint on your cheeks, the secret figurines, the shared dessert – those belonged entirely to him. entirely to the two of you.

loving you was the only choice he ever truly made on his own. 

it had happened naturally, quietly, and without permission. he had built this love in the secret spaces of his heart, and in his desperate, panicked attempt to protect his freedom, he had almost destroyed the only thing that had ever actually set him free.

he hasn’t forgiven himself for any of it yet. not for avoiding you all these years. not for making you lonely inside your own marriage. not for turning your first time into something cold and painful. not for the way your face looked when you admitted you just didn’t want to be lonely anymore. and definitely not for freezing in that meeting for even half a second before realizing what was happening.

which is exactly why he can’t face you while you were awake right now. he physically can’t. because the second you look him with those eyes of yours, he’s terrified he’ll completely break apart in front of you. he imagined himself sobbing at your bedside, begging for a forgiveness he didn't believe he deserved.

and everyone keeps reminding him stress is bad for your recovery. the irony was a bitter pill to swallow. chenle knew he was the primary source of stress in your life. so, he remained a shadow, visiting only in the dead of night, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. it was pathetic. it was cowardly. but it was the only way he knew how to love you without hurting you further.

by the third day, your regular hospital meals suddenly disappear. instead, trays arrive with your favorite comfort foods – steaming siomai, all types of dumplings, wonton noodles – all warm and prepared exactly the way you like them. you can’t hide your smile when you see them because there is only one person in the world who knows your comfort order by memory, a relic of a childhood where he used to sneak you treats when you were sad. you stared at the tray fondly. chenle might not have visited you, but this feels like proof he still cares anyway. 

and by the fifth day, you’re completely over it. everyone is being ridiculously dramatic. you feel so energized already. bored out of your mind. still, every doctor insists your body needs more recovery time after the severity of the reaction. your parents refuse to let you leave early and the only person who actually has the authority to pull you out, your husband, isn’t taking that risk either.

you end up staying in the hospital for two more days before finally coming home. 

⚜️ THE AIR ⚜️

when chenle got home that afternoon, he’s exhausted. the past week had destroyed him more than he let anyone sees. he barely slept. barely ate. and every single time his phone rang unexpectedly, panic seized his chest before he could stop it. 

he loosens his tie tiredly as he walks through the mansion doors, mentally preparing himself to go to the hospital to pick you up. but as he walks into the kitchen — he freezes. 

you’re standing there, alive and healthy, wearing one of your silk pajama sets while leaning casually against the island, sipping water and scrolling through your phone like nothing happened.

for a second, he thinks he’s imagining you. you weren’t supposed to be released for another three hours. then again, you were stubborn enough to convince almost anyone to do what you wanted eventually. no one ever really knew how to tell you no when you looked at them with that specific, determined glint in your eyes.

“you’re home.” 

the sound of his voice quickly diverts your attention from all the emails you were catching up on to him. you glance up and in his eyes – you see the difference. the armor he usually wore wasn't just cracked – it was gone. his eyes were wide, vulnerable, and shimmering with a relief so profound it looked like pain. slowly, you place your phone down on the counter, smiling at him gently. 

“i’m home.”

for the first time all week, he remembered how to breathe again. like he had given you all of his air and it’s now finally being returned to his own lungs. 

the briefcase he was carrying hit one of the glass tables with a loud, jarring crash. he didn't care. he didn't even look at it. he crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between you and collided with you, pulling you into his arms so suddenly and with such force that the air left your lungs in a small gasp.

chenle hugs you tightly. desperately. like he needs physical proof you’re still here. still warm. still breathing. 

your eyes widen in shock, breath hitching against his shoulder. then, slowly, you let your guard down and wrap your arms around him, feeling the frantic, erratic thumping of his heart against your ear.

“i thought i was gonna lose you.”

his voice cracked, the sound raw and jagged against your hair. the confession was stripped of all pride, all resentment, and all the distance he had spent years cultivating. the fear was completely exposed, leaving him naked before you.

you pulled back just enough to look at him, though you stayed in his arms. the sight of him broke your heart. there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin looked sallow from lack of sleep. and then, a single tear escaped, tracing a slow path down his cheek.

you froze. in all the years you had known him – from the boy who chased you through the labs to the man who ignored you across the dinner table – you had never seen chenle cry. not once.

with tenderness, you lifted your hand and brushed the tear away, your fingertips lingering on his skin, impossibly soft.

“zhong chenle,” you murmur softly, voice trembling with a mixture of ache and affection, “you really think you can get rid of me that easily?”

his eyes close briefly at your touch like your fingers can undo the pain inside him. he doesn’t answer, doesn’t joke, doesn’t hide behind sarcasm or distance or that cold indifference he perfected over the years. instead, chenle just pulls you back into his arms again, holding you tighter this time. and for the first time in years, you let yourself lean into him fully. 

eventually though, reality settles back between the two of you. chenle slowly loosens his hold first. the second he realizes how tightly he’s been clinging to you, his expression shifts immediately. he clears his throat quickly and takes a half step back like distance might help him regain control again. 

“i’m glad you’re okay,” he says quietly, guarded again.

before you can even process the moment properly — he leaves. just walks out of the kitchen entirely, leaving you standing there alone trying to understand what the hell just happened. 

none of that made sense.

chenle has spent the last six years hating you. yet, for a few minutes, he had held you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. you stare at the doorway long after he disappeared through it. confused. hopeful. terrified. you didn't want to read too much into a moment of panic-induced weakness, but the ghost of his heartbeat was still echoing in your ears.

until your phone buzzes nonstop, dragging you back to reality, life continuing on like your world hadn’t just tilted.

⚜️ THE MISTAKE THAT ALMOST TOOK YOU FROM ME ⚜️

the next day you’re back at the office like nothing happened. your heels click softly against the marble flooring of yü skincare as staff members greet you nervously on your way toward your office.

you settle into your executive chair with a quiet sigh, immediately scanning through the pile of reports waiting for you. the vitamin incident had already become a nightmare with legal teams involved, quality control investigations and public relations teams working overtime to keep information contained. 

you press the intercom button lightly, “send mark lee in.”

less than a minute later, the heavy door to your office swung open to huang renjun, human resource manager. his posture was stiff, his expression carefully neutral, yet there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes that immediately set off alarm bells.

your brows furrowed as you continued flipping through a document, “where’s mark?” you asked, your voice cool and professional, “i need the updated reports on the supplement.”

renjun coughs awkwardly, the sound immediately making you look up, something about his expression feeling off, “ma’am…” he hesitates, “he’s no longer with the company.”

your hand stills completely against the papers, “…what?”

“he’s been terminated.”

“i didn’t receive a resignation letter, nor did i authorize a termination,” you pointed out calmly, though your eyes narrowed, “explain.”

renjun uncomfortably shifts beneath your gaze, “sir chenle fired him.” you stare at him for a moment, trying very hard to not let your surprise show too obviously. renjun clears his throat again, “he actually fired everyone involved in the vitamin project.”

your mind raced. chenle was many things – arrogant, distant, and emotionally stunted. but he was never impulsive when it comes to business. he was a strategist who weighed every risk. for him to wipe out an entire department without a single consultation, without even a courtesy to call you, meant he had completely lost his composure.

you force your expression neutral anyway, “i see. you may go, renjun.”

renjun bows quickly before practically escaping your office. the second the door shuts, you lean back into your chair slowly. you should be angry. technically, you are. chenle had overstepped every professional boundary, sabotaging your chain of command and stripping you of your most experienced researchers. but beneath the irritation, a treacherous warmth bloomed in your chest. for the first time in six years, chenle had been emotional. he had been protective. he had burned down a project just because it had dared to hurt you. it was a violent, impulsive gesture of care, wrapped in the guise of corporate cruelty.

that night, you leave your office long after most employees have already gone home. the building is quieter now. the endless clicking of keyboards and ringing phones reduced to distant murmur somewhere far below. through the massive windows lining your floor, the city glows beneath the dark sky, millions of lights flickering like stars against the glass. 

you wrap your blazer tighter around yourself before stepping out into the hallway. your heels echo sharply against the tiles as you make your way toward the glass bridge connecting yü skincare headquarters to zhong cosmetics tower beside it.

the bridge had always fascinated everyone. two billion dollar companies physically connected in the middle of the skyline. a symbol of merger. of power. of the marriage between you and chenle. you used to love walking through it. now it just feels symbolic in the cruelest way possible — close enough to see each other yet still separated by glass. 

you knew these buildings like the back of your hand. every hallway. every hidden office. ever late-night corner where you and chenle used to sit as teenagers avoiding meetings your parents forced you into. the memories follow you all the way across the bridge tonight. 

by the time you reach the executive floor of zhong cosmetics, the receptionist has already gone home. only chenle’s personal assistant remains seated outside his office. the man immediately stands and bows politely the second he sees you. 

“mrs. zhong.”

you nodded once, your gaze fixed on the closed doors. “is he busy?”

his assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at the clock. “yes, ma’am, but… you may go in.”

you don’t bother knocking, simply pushing the doors open and walking inside. his office is dim except for the warm lighting near his desk and the city lights pouring through the windows behind him. chenle sits in his massive leather chair, sleeves rolled up slightly while scanning through documents with quiet concentration. he doesn’t look up immediately, probably assuming it’s just his assistant.

“you fired mark lee?” your voice cuts cleanly through the room, chenle’s attention snapping upward instantly. for a fleeting second, relief flickers across his face, like part of him still instinctively checks whether you’re okay every time he sees you now. then the expression disappears again, turning into something neutral. 

“who’s that?”

you exhale slowly through your nose, already irritated, “chenle,” you say flatly, “mark lee. head of the vitamin research team.”

understanding clicks across his face immediately, but it isn’t accompanied by apology.

“ahh,” he leans back slightly in his chair, “yes. that guy. how could i forget.”

the dismissiveness in his voice immediately annoys you further as you walk deeper into his office, “you cannot fire my people without consulting me first.”

chenle finally sets the file in his hands down, “your people are my people,” he says coolly, “that’s the whole point of this marriage.”

you ignore the sting in that statement – the reminder that in his eyes, you are just another asset to be merged.

“i want him back on the team.”

his jaw tightens almost instantly, “no. y/n.” 

the answer comes too quickly. too firmly. 

you stop dead in front of his desk now, arms crossing, refusing to back down, “chenle,” you say, your voice carefully modulated, fighting to keep the anger out, “mark lee has been employee of the month for seven consecutive years. he’s one of the best researchers in the industry. he’s valuable to this company and firing him is a strategic mistake.”

"valuable people don’t almost kill my wife."

the room goes still. your heartbeat stumbles slightly at the sharpness in his voice, at the way he says my wife. the possessiveness of it nearly undoes you, but your frustration and stubbornness is stronger.

“for fuck’s sake, chenle,” you snap, the poise you’ve spent years perfecting finally cracking, ”it was an accident!”

his expression hardens immediately, “an accident?”

"yes, an accident!," you throw your hands up, “he didn’t even know i was allergic to kiwis!” 

which was true. almost nobody did. allergies were weaknesses and weaknesses were dangerous in industries like yours. information could be weaponized to easily. chenle knew that better than anyone. 

suddenly, he stands, furious enough that his chair rolls backward sharply against the floor. his palms slam loudly on his desk, a sound that cracks through the office. 

“an accident that almost took you from me!”

his voice hits the room heavily — raw, furious, terrified — completely unraveled in a way you’ve never heard before. you stare at him across the desk, chest tightening painfully before anger rushes back to protect you from the hope that can completely blind you.

“oh please,” you scoff bitterly, rolling your eyes, “i bet you’d be jumping up and down if i actually died. it would have been the perfect exit strategy for you wouldn’t it? no more obligations, no more arranged marriage.”

the second the words leave your mouth, the atmosphere changes completely. the heat of his anger vanishes, replaced by a cold, suffocating stillness. chenle freezes, his eyes locking onto yours, hurt plastered all over his face.

“what?” he whispers.

your own emotions spill over immediately afterward. because you’re angry too. and hurt. and most of all, confused. you don’t know what he wants anymore. he needed space, you gave him space. you offer him a physical relationship that benefits him, he barely even touched you. and now – now he’s acting like he cares.

“you’ve spent the last six years making it very clear that you hate me,” you say, refusing to let your voice shake, “you’ve avoided me, ignored me and treated me like a burden. so don’t suddenly start playing the caring husband because i almost died. don’t pretend you have a heart now just because you’re scared of the paperwork a death certificate would cause.”

his expression breaks even more. the anger is gone, replaced by a look of such profound devastation that it almost feels like a crime to feel the way you do.

“i don’t hate you.”

and he sounds painfully, devastatingly honest.

you stare at him from across the desk, your heart beating so loudly it almost drowns out the silence filling the office. chenle doesn’t look away from you. the room feels too small now. too full of things neither of you know how to say. 

“you don’t get to say that now,” you whisper finally, your voice cracking, “not after all these years.”

he looks down sharply, jaw tightening hard enough for you to see the muscle twitch. then he laughs once, a miserable, dry laugh. 

“i know.” the words come out rough. he drags a hand over his face like he’s trying to pull himself back together. it doesn’t work. “i know,” he repeats weaker this time, sounding small and hollow. 

you watch him carefully now, even more confused. zhong chenle never falls apart. not publicly. not privately. not ever. he is the gold standard of control – composed, untouchable, a man carved from ice and expectation. yet, standing before you, he looks like he’s seconds away from total collapse. 

your anger starts cracking around the edges as you look at the boy in front of you. you were always weak when it came to him. if there were a list of your weaknesses, he’d be right there, on top of that damned fruit.

“chenle…”

he suddenly shakes his head. he physically can’t let you comfort him right now.

“do you know what i thought when you stopped breathing?”

the question hangs in tha air as you hold your breath. 

“i thought,” he exhales shakily, “i thought the last thing you were ever going to believe…was that i hated you.”

he finally looks at you again then, completely wrecked, his eyes bloodshot and swimming with a grief that has been simmering for years. 

“and i couldn’t fucking breathe,” he admits quietly, his voice trembling, “because all i could think was that you were going to leave me believing i didn’t love you.” 

the world feels like it stops spinning. love. he said love. not care. not obligation. love. your lips part slightly but no sound comes out. chenle laughs bitterly again before shaking his head. 

“you’re right. i spent years blaming you for everything because it was easier than admitting i was scared,” he confesses, his gaze searching yours, “scared that none of my choices were mine anymore. that my entire life was a script written by our parents,” he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, “but loving you…that was the only choice that was actually mine.”

that brings tears to your eyes instantly. chenle looks at you helplessly now. he doesn’t know what to do with all the emotions spilling out of him anymore. 

“and i ruined us anyway.”

he moves then, walking around the desk quickly, finally removing the barrier that always sat between the two of you. you think he’s going to stop in front of you.

instead – he drops to his knees. 

“what are you–”

before you can even process the gesture, his arms wrap tightly around your waist, forehead pressing against your stomach and finally — he breaks completely. you feel the shuddering breath leave him in a great, racking sob, his grip tightening almost painfully around you, tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“i’m sorry.”

the words come out cracked. wrecked. nothing like the polished man the world knows. 

“i’m so fucking sorry.”

you cover your mouth with your hand, stifling a sob of your own, even though you could already taste the salt from your own tears. this is the same boy who never apologizes unless forced to. the man who would rather bleed out than let people see weakness. and here he is, kneeling at your feet, clinging onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him together. 

“i’m sorry for all of it,” he gasps, his voice breaking, “for hurting you, for making you feel lonely, for making you believe i hated you when i—,” his voice breaks completely. 

slowly, tentatively, you thread your fingers through his hair. the moment your touch meets him, chenle exhales a shaky, broken sound against your stomach, his entire body shuddering. even a small gesture of comfort from you is enough to undo him.

“stop that,” you whisper, voice trembling.

your heart is breaking for him, for the boy who spent years pretending to be a monster so he wouldn't have to admit he was a prisoner. you can't stand to see him like this – on his knees, apologizing as if he is something broken and discarded at your feet, rather than the person you’ve loved for all of your life. 

you gently tug at his hair, coaxing him to look up. when he finally does, his eyes are swimming with tears, his expression completely defenseless. in this moment, everything else feels distant and irrelevant. there is only one overwhelming realization pouring through your chest:

chenle loves you. 

the boy you spent years mourning while standing right beside him this entire time still loves you. your heart feels too full for your body. before you can overthink it, before the fear and doubts can return, you slide your hands down to his face, pulling him upward carefully.

“get up,” you murmur through your own shaky tears. chenle obeys immediately, still staring at you like he’s afraid this moment isn’t real. your hand slides slowly against his cheeks, wiping his tears away before settling on his jaw.

“you really love me?” 

the question is a fragile thing, barely a whisper, floating between you like glass that could shatter at the slightest breeze. you sound disbelieving, your voice trembling with the weight of six years of silence and cold shoulders.

chenle’s expression dissolves. the hardness in his eyes, the armor he’s worn since he was eighteen, it all melts into something so painfully tender it nearly wrecks you. 

“i always have,” he confesses. 

that’s the final blow. the last shred of distance, the last wall of resentment.

you kiss him first.

but chenle returns it immediately, kissing you back like he’s been starving for it, years of tension snapping instantly. his hands come up to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, enough to pull a gasp from you while your fingers tangle tightly into his hair. 

this kiss feels nothing like your wedding day. it’s not polite. not careful. 

it’s desperate. it’s the sound of two people drowning and finally finding air. all the years you spent silently loving each other crashing together at once. he kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every moment he wasted. every cold shoulder. every lonely dinner. every time he walked away instead of reaching for you. 

your back bumps lightly against the edge of his desk. he breaks the kiss for a fraction of a second, his forehead pressing against yours, both of you panting, breaths mingling in the charged air.

“fuck,” he whispers against your lips, his voice a wrecked, needy rasp, “i missed you so fucking much.”

the words makes your head spin. you don't let him breathe, pulling him back down, your mouth seeking his with a hunger that matches his own. his grip on your waist tightens, and in one fluid, powerful motion, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you onto the desk. papers scatter, sliding across the desk and fluttering to the floor. he doesn't give a damn about the reports. the only thing that matters is the heat of you.

you wrap your legs around his waist automatically, pulling him into you as he steps between your knees. he crashes his lips back onto yours, his tongue sweeping through your mouth with a possessive urgency. this isn't just lust, it’s an exorcism. he is purging years of loneliness, and you are drinking him in, fingers clutching his hair, pulling him closer as if you could merge your very souls.

“do you know-,” he groans, his voice sounding almost angry at himself, his mouth moving to the sensitive skin of your jaw, “-how long i've wanted to do this properly?”

“stop talking then,” you tease, your voice breathy and laced with desire. you reach down, hooking your fingers into his belt loop, tugging hard, dragging his hips flush against your center.

chenle lets out a grunt as he grinds his cock firmly into your clothed core, the friction sending a jolt of pure electricity through both of you. he freezes, a shudder racking his entire frame, his breath coming in jagged hitches.

“wait... wait, baby,” he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he forces himself to pull back just an inch.

“what’s wrong?” 

“i really, really want to do this,” he rasps, “but...not here.”

you laugh softly and it almost undoes him. almost makes him take back what he just said. with a tiny smile on your lips, you nod, “okay.”

then you glance around the wreckage of his desk, your smile turning into something playful, “do you need help finishing up those reports first, then?”

“are you crazy?” he asks, though his tone is fond. he doesn't let go of you, his hands sliding down to squeeze your hips one last time before he helps you down.

“we’re going home...right now.”

the ride home is a blur of friction and heat. for the first time in your marriage, you don't sit in separate cars. you spend the entire journey tangled together in the backseat, the partition slid up to shield you from the driver’s view. you can’t stop kissing him. you can’t stop laughing into him, feeling the giddy, overwhelming rush of being loved back.

chenle is just as relentless, his mouth roaming all over your exposed skin, leaving a trail of dark, possessive marks that claim you as his. every time you try to catch your breath, he finds a new spot to kiss, his hands roaming your curves.

the air in the car is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and arousal, the silence of the ride punctuated only by the sound of wet kisses and the shaky, happy sighs of two people who have finally come home.

⚜️ THE MASTER BEDROOM ⚜️

as you step through the front door, chenle is practically jumping beside you, a boyish grin plastered on his face. he looks at you with a hunger that is now subdued by an overwhelming sweetness.

“race you to the top!,” he shouts.

before you can even process the challenge, he’s already bolting up the left staircase, his laughter echoing through the foyer.

“lele! this isn’t fair! i’m in heels!” you squeal, your voice sounding lighter than it has in years. you run up the right staircase anyway, feeling like a kid again – the version of you that loved him without fear, and the version of him that followed you everywhere. 

by the time you reach the top, breathless and flushed, he’s already there, leaning against the railing with a smug, sparkling expression. 

“that was not nice, you should’ve given me a head start!,” you complain, crossing your arms and pouting, a childish expression you haven’t dared to show him in a lifetime. he chuckles then, stepping forward, his presence enveloping you as he pulls you back into his arms. 

his finger lifts your chin to tilt you face up to his, “and what does the winner get?,” he asks, eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and adoration. 

you lean back slightly, a playful, daring glint in your eyes, “hmm…you get to choose.”

he quirks a brow, gaze dropping to your lips, “choose what?”

“my room or yours?” you say with a smile that looks innocent but tastes like a provocation. 

a slow grin spreads across his face, “how about ours?”

“ours?” confusion flickers across your features. 

without a word, he takes your hand and begins leading you. he doesn't turn toward the left wing or the right…instead, he guides you toward the central hallway – the one you’ve spent months ignoring. it was the dead zone of the house, a place too painful to acknowledge because it represented the void in your marriage. the hallway that leads straight to the master bedroom.

as you walk, he slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight back hug, pulling your back flush against his chest. he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his breath hot and steady as he pushes open the two grand double doors.

you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. the room is breathtaking. grand and dipped in gold. 

“wow,” you whisper, stepping inside, “i haven’t been in here since your mom gave me the tour…i thought it would’ve collected cobwebs by now.”

“it did,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with a sudden, piercing apology, “i had the maids clean while you were in the hospital. i wanted it to be perfect for when we finally came home together.”

you turn in his arms, looking up at him. a small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips., “maybe i should’ve eaten that kiwi a lot earlier.”

chenle’s grip on your sides tightens, his expression shifting into one of genuine panic, “don’t joke about that, baby. please.”

you giggle, the sound soft and melodic. he scolds you, though his eyes are softening, “it’s not funny, y/n.”

“i’m not smiling because of the kiwi,” you reply softly, your voice barely a breath.

“then why are you smiling?” he asks, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

you look away for a second, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “i just…i really like it when you call me baby.”

chenle’s heart is practically audible in his chest, his gaze intensifying as he tips your chin up gently, making you look into the depths of his devotion.

“i love you,” he declares, the words sounding like a vow.

“i love you, too,” you whisper back.

he kisses you then – not the desperate, starving kiss from the office, but something slow, sweet, and profoundly tender. it’s a promise of a future. a seal on the new life you’re starting.

then, without warning, he breaks the kiss and sweeps you off your feet. you let out a startled gasp, clutching his shoulders as he lifts you bridal style. he carries you across the room with effortless strength, eyes locked on yours, matching smiles on your faces before placing you carefully in the center of the massive king-sized bed.

as chenle looms over you, the playful energy morphs into something more deeper. he moves with deliberate, agonizing slowness, as if he wants to memorize every single inch of you, making up for every second of the years he spent pretending he didn’t want you. 

he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that starts as a whisper and grows into a demand. his tongue swirls against yours as you moan into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

“you have no idea,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, gravelly vibration, “how long i’ve dreamed of kissing you.”

his hands move to the hem of your blouse, fingers grazing your skin and sending jolts of electricity through your nerves. he undresses you with a reverence that borders on worship, peeling away the fabrics slowly, pausing to kiss the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder, and the middle of your breast. when you’re finally bare beneath him, he pulls back for a moment, his eyes darkening as he drinks in the sight of you.

“you're so beautiful,” he whispers, his gaze heavy with adoration. 

he descends slowly, lips finding your breast as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly, you let out a sharp gasp, your back arching off the mattress. the sensation is new – a focused, searing heat that radiates from your chest down to your core. he alternates between soft licks and deep, demanding suctions, moving from one breast to the other, leaving a trail of wet, burning kisses across your ribs.

“lele…oh, god,” you whimper as he continues trailing lower, his tongue tasting the skin of your stomach, circling your navel and teasing the very edge of your underwear. you can feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of his skin mixing with the luxury of the room, your breath coming in short, jagged hitches.

you’ve only known one kind of intimacy ever – that cold, transactional night with him that left you feeling empty. this is different. this is a slow burn, a deliberate awakening.

as he slides your underwear down your legs, he settles between your thighs, pushing them wide. you feel a surge of vulnerability, a sudden flash of inexperience that makes you shy away slightly.

“wait, chenle…i've... i've never…” you start, your voice trembling.

chenle looks up at you, a tender, knowing smile on his face, “i know, baby. just relax. let me take care of you.”

the first contact of his tongue against your clit pulls a soft moan out of you, a sensation you weren’t prepared for. the feeling of pleasure, making your hips instinctively jerk upward, arching off that mattress in a desperate search for more. he presses deeper, his tongue swirling in a slow, rhythmic motion that targets the most sensitive part of you.

“do you like that?” he mumbles, his voice a low, vibrating growl against your wetness, the heat of his breath sending fresh shivers racing down your spine.

“yes…” you whisper shyly, voice trembling. you try to keep your eyes open, wanting to witness the sight of him. but you don’t get to watch for long before your eyes begin to roll back, lids fluttering as he begins to feast on you with a sudden, hungry intensity. he’s no longer just tasting you – he’s consuming you. his tongue flickering rapidly, alternating between broad strokes and sharp, pointed pressure that makes your toes curl. when he suddenly sucks your clit into his mouth, creating a powerful vacuum of pleasure, your vision blurs into a haze of white and gold. you are completely undone. the tension in your lower belly coils tighter and tighter, building into a frantic crescendo that makes you feel like you're vibrating.

“chenle, i’m… i think i’m…” you gasp, your fingers clutching the silk sheets until they bunch up in your fists.

“go on, baby. give it all to me,” he encourages, his voice thick with desire. he works his tongue faster and harder, driving you relentlessly toward the edge.

as he does, he glances up, his dark eyes focusing on the sight of you – your head rolled back, your mouth parted in a silent, desperate gasp, your body arched, your nipples peaked.

he reaches up, grabbing your hand and locking his fingers with yours, anchoring you to the bed. you squeeze his hand with everything you have, clinging to him as the world finally shatters. you cum hard, your clit pulsing against his tongue in a series of intense spasms that leave you sobbing for air. the release is so overwhelming that it feels as though you're floating in a void of pure euphoria, a level of pleasure you never knew existed. you collapse back into the pillows, panting heavily, chest heaving as the aftershocks continue to ripple through you.

chenle slowly lifts his head, your pleasure glistening on his lips. he looks at you with a mixture of triumph and pure, unadulterated love. he crawls back up your body, kissing your forehead, your nose, and finally your lips, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

you reach up then, your fingers hooking on his tie. it’s already loosened from your earlier desperation. you tug on it firmly, finally removing it. 

with a low, needy sound against his lips, you sit up, beginning to undress him, your movements hurried and clumsy with eagerness. buttons pop and fabric slides until he’s completely naked, his skin warm against yours. 

your breath hitches in your throat. you hadn’t seem him fully the first time – but now, in the soft glow of the bedroom, you can’t seem to look away. your gaze drops to his cock.

driven by a sudden, bold curiosity, you reach out, your fingers wrapping around the warm skin of his shaft. 

chenle lets out a sharp, strangled whine, his hips jerking towards your touch instinctively. the sound is so visceral, so unlike the composed man the world knows, that you freeze, your eyes widening.

“did that hurt?” you whisper, looking up at him with genuine concern, as if you've just discovered a secret vulnerability.

a small, breathless smile tugs at his lips, though his eyes are clouded with lust. he shakes his head slowly, his voice a strained rasp, "no, baby... fuck, it feels so good. you drive me insane–,” he kisses you again, pulling back just an inch, forehead resting against yours, breath hot on your skin, “-but you need to stop,” he groans, the sound vibrating in his chest, “i need to be inside you.”

he carefully guides you back to lay on the bed, hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer to him. he spends a long moment just looking at you, his gaze roaming over your flushed skin and swollen lips.

“i’m sorry about before," he whispers, “i promise i’m going to make up for every single second of it,” he says, voice thick with emotion before grabbing your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your pinky. and before he can let go, you pull his hand towards you, returning the kiss to his pinky too – not the innocent promise of children, but a mature, desperate vow of devotion. chenle’s breath hitches, the small gesture acting like a catalyst, snapping the last thread of his restraint.

he doesn't rush though. he moves with a slow, reverent precision, parting your legs with a gentle nudge of his knee, his eyes never leaving yours. as he positions himself, the head of his cock brushes against your entrance, slick and searing hot. you gasp, your hips instinctively arching upward, seeking the friction. chenle lets out a shaky exhale, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back. he enters you in one slow, agonizingly steady glide.

“oh...chenle,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. you’ve never felt so full.

he freezes for a moment, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, a low groan escaping his throat, “you're so tight... so warm. i can't believe you're actually mine.”

then he begins to move, and it is nothing like the clinical urgency of the first time. this is a dance. he pulls back until he is almost out, only to plunge back in with a slow, heavy thud that makes you cry out. every thrust is deliberate, designed to make you feel the weight of him, the heat of him, and the sheer intensity of his love.

“chenle... please,” you whimper, your fingers clawing into his shoulders, “right there... don't stop.”

“i've got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips leaving searing trails of heat.

he picks up the pace slightly, the wet, slapping sound of skin on skin filling the quiet room. then he reaches down, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, thumb circling your swollen nub, perfectly timed with the deep, rhythmic thrusts of his hips. the combination is electric. you feel that same tension building again, faster this time, a coil of pleasure tightening with every stroke. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to erase any remaining space between you.

“look at me,” he commands softly. you open your eyes to find him watching you with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship, “tell me you feel it. tell me you know how much i love you.”

“i feel it,” you sob, your voice breaking, “i love you...i love you so much, chenle."

the words breaks something inside him. his movements become more urgent, more passionate, though he never loses that sweetness. he begins to whisper things against your skin – promises of a future, apologies for the past, and raw admissions of how much he craved this specific moment.

as the climax begins to crest, you feel your walls clamp down on him in tight, rhythmic waves. you gasp his name, body shuddering under the force of a release that feels like a spiritual cleansing. chenle lets out a guttural, strangled cry, his body stiffening as he delivers a few final, powerful thrusts. he pours himself into you, his own release consuming, his head falling at the crook of your neck as he gives in to the euphoria, collapsing onto you, his chest heaving against yours, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, crushing embrace. for a long time, the only sound in the room is the synchronized thumping of two hearts finally beating in the same rhythm.

“i love you,” he whispers into your hair, his voice exhausted but certain.

⚜️ THE REST OF YOUR LIFE ⚜️

you wake up to the sound of light snoring from your husband, his arms locked firmly around your naked waist, your back flushed against his bare chest. the warmth of skin on skin is electric, but it’s the prominent, hard bulge of his cock pressing firmly into the small of your back that makes your breath hitch.

you pinch your arm, a sharp sting that confirms this isn't a fever dream. 

then you shift gently in his embrace, turning in the circle of his arms to face him. as you move, his cock slides against the curve of your hip, dangerously close to your core. the proximity makes your pussy clench instinctively. you’ve always loved chenle but this kind of hunger was new - a desperate need to be consumed by him.

“stop staring at me, you creep,” he teases, his voice thick with sleep.

you let out a breathless laugh, swatting his shoulder. the sound of your own laughter feels foreign yet right.

it hits you then – the terrifying, beautiful ease of it all. like the past six years of coldness, the resentment, and the silence were just a bad dream, easily erased by the heat of his body.

sensing your sudden silence, chenle opens his eyes. the gaze he meets you with is soft, searching, and filled with an intensity that makes your heart race. 

“what are you thinking about?” he asks softly, his hand drifting up to thread his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp.

“just… thinking about how nice this is,” you whisper, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips.

“yeah?” he lets out a playful hum, his eyes shimmering with complete adoration, “think you could do this with me for the rest of our lives?”

you lean in then, kissing him softly, “yes,” you murmur against his lips with absolutely no doubt, “you’ve always been the only person i could ever do this with.”

chenle’s heart stutters. he had thought his love for you had reached its peak, but every time you surprise him with your tenderness, the feeling grows, expanding until it feels like he might burst.

“do you think this would still be nice with twenty kids?”  he teases, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

you recoil slightly, a look of genuine horror flashing across your face. “what?! i’m not giving you twenty kids, chenle! are you insane?!”

he bursts into a loud, genuine laugh, his eyes disappearing into crescents, his kitten-like smile whiskers prominent. as he calms down, he smirks, leaning closer, “i’m not the one who wants twenty kids. i’m pretty sure it was my beautiful wife, coming home drunk a month ago and begging me for a baby.”

you groan, your face flushing a deep crimson as you try to rack your brain for any memory of such a confession. but you don’t remember anything.

“i was drunk! i wasn’t in my right mind!”

“hmm,” he draws the word out fondly, his hand sliding down from your hair to trace the curve of your hip,  “how many kids do you actually want then?”

“two,” you admit shyly, looking away.

“only two? baby, this mansion would go to waste,” he teases, a playful smirk on his face.

“okay… three then,”  you say, trying to hide the smile growing on your face.

“what if one of them feels left out?”

“four. and that’s it!” you exclaim.

in one fluid motion, chenle rolls you onto your back, pinning you beneath his weight, his eyes dark with lust, his hard cock hitting your thigh with a heavy thud. 

“guess we should start getting to work then,” he smirks.

you giggle underneath him, pulling him in for a quick kiss before murmuring against his lips, “can you do that thing you did last night first, though?” you ask, cheeks burning.

“what thing, baby? i did a couple of things.”

the embarrassment is overwhelming, but the craving is stronger. you bite your lip, unable to say it aloud.

“c’mon, mrs. zhong, owner of two beauty empires,” he teases, his voice a low, sultry drawl, “you can tell your husband exactly what you want.”

“go down on me again, chenle,” you whisper.

he grins, a predatory yet loving expression, “of course, baby… but you do know that’s not how babies are made, right?”

you groan, shoving at his chest, “i really don't care.”

he chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest before he slides down your body. he doesn't stop until his face is buried between your thighs, letting out a low moan at the scent of your arousal, his hot breath ghosting over your clit before his tongue makes a slow, wet sweep from your bottom to the top, tasting every drop of your longing.

⚜️ THE OFFICE ⚜️

when you get to the office later that day, arriving in the same car, and walking through the lobby of yü skincare together – the atmosphere shifts. you can feel the collective intake of breath from the staff, the employees practically vibrating with curiosity, eyes darting between you and chenle, trying and failing to hide their sheer shock. you don't blame them. for seven months, your marriage had been spent apart. to see him not only accompanying you to your door but looking at you with an expression of raw, unfiltered adoration is enough to send the office gossip into overdrive.

your eyes scan the room, landing on a familiar figure – mark lee is back at his desk, focused and working. a surge of triumph rushes through you. you’ve won.

the moment the heavy door to your private office clicks shut, the professional facade vanishes. chenle doesn't waste a second. his hands are instantly back on you, grip firm and possessive as he spins you around to face him, pinning you lightly against the edge of your desk.

you grin, your eyes dancing with mischief, “i see mark lee is back,” you say teasingly.

chenle huffs a small, amused breath, his forehead resting against yours, “yeah, he’s back. but tell him he’s walking on a very thin line,” he murmurs, though there’s no real heat in the threat. you laugh, a genuine, light sound, and shove his shoulder playfully. 

his expression shifts, the playfulness melting into something achingly sincere as he cups your face in his hands, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with a reverence that makes your heart stutter. 

“you know i’d give you everything you want, right? just say the word and it’s all yours.”

it’s not just a statement – it’s another confession, a continuation of the vow he’s been making since you woke up. 

“i told you,” he whispers, his gaze searching yours, “i’ll spend the rest of this life, and every single one after that, making it up to you.”

you let out a soft, breathless laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, “when did you become such a sap?” you tease, reaching up and winding your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him down.

the kiss is slow, languid, and deep – a sweet contrast to the hunger of the morning, but filled with the same desperate need to be close. as your tongues slide together, the corporate world outside the door ceases to exist, there is only the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the overwhelming realization that you are finally, truly, loved.

⚜️ THE FULFILLED PROMISE ⚜️

it didn’t take long after that before you finally got pregnant.

you and chenle fucked all the time. and it wasn’t even to conceive – the two you just physically could not get enough of each other. the mansion became your personal playground. you were pretty sure there wasn’t a single square inch of the estate that hadn’t felt the heat of your bodies. 

like that one time when you both got home after a charity gala. you had worn a red dress that hugged every curve, the slit climbing dangerously high up your thigh. all night, chenle had been a predator in a tuxedo, his gaze burning into you, hand possessively gripping the small of your back, whispering filth into your ear while you smiled for the cameras. he didn't want to network, he wanted to rip the dress off your body. the moment the heavy doors of the mansion clicked shut behind you, the facade crumbled. he didn't even let you take off your heels. chenle grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up with a grunt of effort and placing you down onto the large, circular marble table that sat centrally between the grand staircases, not even caring about the priceless antique vase sitting on top of it. he didn't waste time with foreplay – he reached down, bunching the red silk upward, exposing your lace panties and with one violent tug, he ripped the lace aside, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the vast foyer. “i’ve been thinking about this since the moment you put this dress on,” he growled, voice raw. he freed his pulsing cock, already leaking pre-cum, and shoved it into you in one deep, punishing thrust. you moaned his name so loud, back arching off the marble, legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper. the sound of your shared moans bounced off the high ceilings, filling the foyer with the raw noises of pleasure. he fucked you desperately, hips slamming against yours with a wet, slapping sound that could be heard all around the mansion. you knew the maids were nearby, you could almost feel their shocked eyes on you, but the thought only made you wetter. you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his tuxedo jacket, sobbing his name as he hammered into you, driving you toward a shattering climax that left you shaking and drenched.

then there was the discovery of the billiards room. it had been a forgotten wing of the house, dusty and silent until you both stumbled upon it during a lazy afternoon. the moment the door closed, the atmosphere shifted. the green felt of the billiard table looked like an invitation. chenle didn't even let you stand still. he lifted you up the billiard table, hiking your dress up and spreading your legs wide. “you smell so sweet,” he murmured, breath hot against your inner thigh. he didn't hesitate, burying his face in your pussy. his tongue was your favorite  weapon – broad, wet, and relentless. he licked your folds, swirling around your clit, making your toes curl. he fingered you with his other hand, two fingers sliding deep inside your soaking walls, stretching you while his tongue continued to drive you insane. it was an intense combination. you were sobbing, fingers clutching his hair. just as you reached the peak, he pulled away, leaving you gasping and dripping. he didn't give you a second to whine about it, grabbing your hips to help you down then bending you forward until your chest was pressed against the green felt. “look at you,” he whispered, his voice a dark caress, “always so ready for me.” he entered you from behind, his cock filling you completely over and over again. the friction of the billiard table against your skin and the relentless pace of his thrusts sent you over the edge. he fucked you ruthlessly, his hand reaching around to pinch your nipples over your pajama dress, his chest heaving against your back. every thrust was a claim, a promise that you belonged to him, until he finally groaned, filling you with a hot, thick surge of cum that left you both breathless and spent.

and also that one time in the hot tub, it wasn’t even night time…it was pure daylight, the sun was out, illuminating every inch of the outdoor sanctuary. the risk of being seen by the gardeners or the staff was immense, but the adrenaline only fueled the fire. you were draped across him, your legs wrapped around his waist as you rode him. the warm, bubbling water splashed around you, clinging to your skin. chenle’s hands were everywhere – one gripping your ass to keep you steady, the other reaching up to grab your breast. he leaned in, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking it hard, his tongue swirling around the peak. you threw your head back, your moans echoing across the open terrace, completely uninhibited. you could feel the vibration of the water and the rhythmic slide of his cock deep inside you. every time you sank down, you felt him hit your cervix, a sensation that made you whimper and cling to his shoulders. “who cares if they see?” he gasped, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a mixture of lust and adoration, “let them see who you belong to.” he gripped your waist tighter, lifting you slightly before slamming you back down onto him. the splashing grew more violent, the water churning as the pace increased. you rode him with a frantic energy, your clit rubbing against his pelvic bone with every downward stroke. when the climax hit, it was explosive. you screamed his name into the open air, your walls clamping down on him in tight, rhythmic waves, while he groaned, thrusting one last time and flooding you with his cum under the bright, midday sun.

and then there was that one week honeymoon that chenle insisted on, saying that he never got to give you a proper one. you two spent a week in the most luxurious private resort in hawaii. the resort is beautiful, open to the tropical air and the rhythmic crash of the ocean, but you barely saw the view. you were too occupied by your husband. for seven days, the world ceased to exist. there were no board meetings, no family expectations, and no corporate rules – only the sound of wet, slapping skin and the desperate gasps of two people becoming one. he fucked you in the private pool, the warm water swirling around your hips as he held you against the edge, his cock sliding in and out of you with a frictionless ease that made you scream into the salty air. he fucked you on the outdoor daybed, under the moon, the linen sheets soaking through with your combined juices. he would spend hours worshipping your body, his tongue tracing every curve, every fold, before driving himself into you with a force that left you shaking and sobbing his name. 

and of course, eventually, you fucked in both of your offices. the two of you tried to keep it professional at first but at one point, you just couldn’t stop yourselves. i mean, no one can fire you anyway. and the two of you spend so much time at work it just makes sense. your favorite routine involved the desk — when you were the one who gets to play, disappearing from view while chenle continued a conference call. the contrast was intoxicating, his voice, cool and commanding, discussing quarterly projections, while your mouth was wrapped tightly around his cock. you would suck him with a focused intensity, swirling your tongue around the head and taking him as deep as your throat would allow, listening to the slight hitch in his breath and the way his hand gripped the edge of the desk to keep from groaning. when he finally hangs up, he would haul you out from under the desk by your waist and slam you down onto the edge of it, “my little slut wants to play, huh?” he’d growl against your lips as you cling to the desk for dear life, heels digging into the carpet. he took you right there in the center of his power, filling you to the brim.

but still...nothing beats fucking in your shared bedroom, this was where the real intensity lived, especially on the nights when chenle’s gaze turned dark and determined. on those nights, he didn't just want to fuck you – he wanted to possess you completely. he would start by flipping you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees in doggy style. he loved the view of your arched back and the way your ass looked spread wide for him. he would grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, and thrust into you from behind. the sound of his balls slapping against your cheeks echoed through the room, a raw, primal beat that drove you insane. he would reach forward to pull your hair back, whispering filth into your ear about how much he loved the way you took him. then, he would flip you onto your back, hoisting your legs up high,  sometimes draping them over his shoulders, so that he could penetrate you at the deepest possible angle. in this position, there was no escape. he drove himself in until he hit your cervix, each thrust a heavy, thumping blow that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. “look at me,” he would command, his eyes burning with an obsessive kind of love, “tell me you're mine.” the friction and the intensity pushed you toward a peak you had never experienced before. in the heat of those nights, you discovered the sensation of squirting – your pussy drenching the sheets and leaving you gasping for air. the feeling of losing control, of your body literally overflowing with pleasure, sends chenle into a frenzy. he would fuck you even harder, driving you through multiple, shattering orgasms, his own release coming in a hot, thick flood that filled you completely, leaving you both tangled in the damp sheets, hearts racing in a synchronized rhythm of absolute devotion.

now, a year into marriage and you were two months pregnant with your first child.

it hasn’t been easy, your baby was stubborn – which you honestly should’ve seen coming knowing how stubborn its father is (and you, too). 

the pregnancy had stripped away your usual composure. for a woman who navigated the cutthroat world of billionaire cosmetics with a steady hand, the loss of control was infuriating.

your morning sickness wasn't just “morning”sickness – it was a rolling tide of nausea that lasted the whole day. you had spent the last few weeks throwing up everything from expensive lobster to plain crackers. to add to the misery, your breasts had swollen, becoming agonizingly sore to the touch.

you were, in a word – grumpy. a whirlwind of mood swings, snapping at assistants and sobbing over the smallest of things, existing in a state of perpetual irritation. which was especially unfortunate considering you had never been particularly good at dealing with discomfort. you are a billionaire. struggle is not your forte.

still, chenle had been unbelievably sweet and understanding through all of it. he spent his days balancing both companies and his nights massaging your back or holding your hair back while you retched into the toilet, kissing your forehead with a tenderness that still made your heart ache.

today, you were plagued by a craving so specific, so visceral, that it felt like a physical hunger. you wanted a tomato-egg dish. but not just any version. it had to be right.

chef sung ahn, a culinary genius, was currently in the midst of a crisis — seven bowls of the dish sat on the marble island, each one a slightly different variation of seasoning and texture. and yet, none of them were right.

you pushed the seventh bowl away with a pout, your lower lip trembling. you knew you were acting like a spoiled child, but as you rested a hand over your still-flat stomach, you reasoned that you were carrying what is about to be the most spoiled heir in the country. it only made sense. 

the heavy thud of the front door announced chenle’s return. he stepped into the kitchen, shedding his blazer and loosening his tie, his eyes immediately landing on the scene.

“baby,” he murmured, stepping behind you and pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to the crown of your head.

his scent, expensive cologne and the lingering musk of a long day at the office, usually calmed you, but today you were too frustrated to be fully appeased, “what’s going on in here?”

you let out a dramatic groan, leaning back into his chest, “your stupid baby wants a certain taste, and the chef can’t do it!" you complained, pouting up at him, “nothing tastes right, chenle! everything is wrong!”

chenle looked from your frustrated expression to the exhausted but patient chef sung ahn, a small, apologetic smile playing on his lips as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

“i’m so sorry, chef. she’s been incredibly sensitive since the pregnancy started. i think we're dealing with a very demanding little one.”

chef sung ahn smiled knowingly, unfazed by the seven wasted bowls. he was paid far too much to be offended by the complaints of a pregnant billionaire.

“that’s perfectly alright, mr. zhong. my wife was exactly the same way. i remember a week where she nearly kicked me out of the house because the toast was too loud.”

the two men share a low chuckle while you try not to roll your eyes. his wife was valid and you know it. 

“i think i know exactly what she wants, though,” chenle said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming soft and confident.

"i’ll take care of it. thank you, chef. you can head out for the day."

as the chef departed, chenle took his place, rolling up his sleeves and exposing his forearms. you remained seated on the bar stool, watching him. there was something hypnotic about the way he moved – the precision of his knife, the way he cracked the eggs with one hand, the sizzle of the tomatoes hitting the pan.

as the aroma began to waft through the air, something happened — for the first time in hours, the nausea in your stomach vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense surge of appetite.

your mouth watered. the scent was an exact match – not to a michelin-star recipe, but to a memory. a flash of nostalgia hitting you. you were seventeen again, shivering under a duvet in your room, delirious with a fever. chenle visited you with a simple, home-cooked tomato-egg dish. it hadn't been fancy, but it had been made with a quiet kind of care that had spoken louder than any words.

you looked at your husband – the man who had once been your best friend, then your cold stranger, and now the love of your life. a small, amused smile tugged at your lips. your baby, barely the size of a fruit, was already exerting its will, bypassing the expertise of a world-class chef to demand the specific, nostalgic touch of its father.

god, you thought, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips as you watched him plate the food. the baby already has a favorite. what a traitor.

chenle finished the dish quickly, the steam curling upward, carrying that precise, comforting scent that had finally silenced the storm in your stomach.

he slid the bowl in front of you, the colors vibrant and the aroma intoxicating. as you picked up the spoon to take a bite, he stepped towards you. 

“how is it?” he smirks teasingly. because he knows you. and he knows it’s exactly what you needed. 

you let out a soft, involuntary sigh of contentment, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a verbal compliment just yet. instead, you pouted, looking up at him through your lashes. without warning, you reached out and gripped the fabric of his shirt, bunching the material in your fist and tugging him towards you as you burrowed your face into chest.

“you’re not allowed to go to work anymore,” you mumbled against his shirt, “you’re staying with me. every second of every day.”

a low, vibrating chuckle erupted from his chest, the sound echoing against your cheek. he wrapped his arms around you, hands splaying across your back.

he adored this version of you – the spoiled, demanding, vulnerable woman who only wanted him.

“i’m perfectly okay with that,” he whispered, his voice dripping with fond adoration. 

you pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes shimmering. the stubbornness was still there, but it was softened by a deep, aching affection.

you reached up then, hooking your arms around his neck to pull him down toward you for a soft, lingering kiss filled with tenderness and love.

⚜️ THE END ⚜️

an: weeee!!!! did i spend my entire weekend glued to my computer writing this like a loser? yeah…i did. but i had to ride on the high of inspiration and delusions before i lose it or else this would take me months to finish lmao. anyways, i loved writing this! and i’m also realizing it’s very easy for me to write for chenle idk it’s always so fun for me!!! fun game: can you guess what kind of dad chenle is!! aka can you guess the gender of the baby??? put in the comments what you think! 😉 (i do have the answer). and please let me know your thoughts! thank ü for reading, much love to ü 💛

EXTRA: GENDER REVEAL PARTY

🏆 likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated

💳 if you enjoyed this story and would like to show extra support, my kofi is open! (i’m so broke rn guys pls spare some change 😔🚬)

🥂 wedding guest list: @markiepoo4eva @haru-lvsjiho @underscuare @starcandybby @flowerpote @markclle @myrainbowgelpen @ajjunicesblog @musken23 @yayayawnnz @untitledtyun @girloftherem @neotannies

[afterhvours]

i love this so much, you never miss !!!! it literally made me cry so hard 😞😞😞 i yearnnnn for a husband like chenle

[angstama]

16 finale ; spaces between us | l.jn

pairing: dad!lee jeno x f!reader (ft. na jaemin)

genre: angst, slight fluff, co-parenting

synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.

a/n: finally... behold the final chapter of sbu! what a ride it has been and i can't believe sbu started out on a whim and ended up with 16 whole chapters!!!! (whaaaaat) this is all thanks to all of you and i wish to sincerely thank every single one of you from the bottom of my heart for supporting my silly little stories and being the most patient bunch!!!! i hope you guys enjoy reading this final chapter🩵 wishing you all a happy new year and please continue looking forward to my future writings!!!! (there will still be sbu specials coming up soon! feel free to check the pinned wip for the upcoming ones!) undercity (jeno fic) preview had also been released if you haven't checked it out!!!! so much love to all of you, see you in the next story!

sbu m.list | previous

"breathe, y/n, stay with me." jaemin’s voice cut through the heavy fog clouding your mind. his hand was wrapped tightly around yours, grounding you, his thumb brushing against your trembling knuckles. "donghyuck, file a report now," jaemin ordered, his tone sharp and urgent. donghyuck doesn't hesitate, already pulling out his phone, dialing the police with shaky fingers.

but you couldn’t move. your body refused to. the world felt muffled, far away. your thoughts ran wild, colliding, scattering. only one thing was clear—jun. your son. your baby. the only piece of love you had left in this godforsaken world.

"y/n!" jeno’s voice pierced through the chaos as he shoved past the crowd, eyes wide, heart pounding. he looked between you and jaemin, voice strained. "what’s going on?"

"she must’ve taken him away!" you screamed, the words tearing out of you like they had been clawing at your throat for hours. your glare found jeno, sharp, accusing, and desperate. he froze. confusion flashed, then realisation hit like a blow to his chest. he looked around—donghyuck whispering frantically into the phone, jaemin steadying your shaking form, and you… eyes wild with fear.

the “she” in question—he knew who it was.

his lover.

and “him”— his only son, jun.

the air around you shattered. anger, grief, panic—all tangled and suffocating. you stumbled forward, pushing against jaemin’s grip. "i have to find him," you said, your voice breaking.

"y/n, wait—" jaemin caught you by the arm, pulling you close, his voice low, trembling but firm. "listen to me, you can’t run around like this. you’re not thinking straight. i’ll get the car. just… just stay here, okay? please. i’ll be right back."

he squeezed your shoulders, searching your eyes until you nodded, barely holding it together. then he ran off toward the parking lot.

and then jeno appeared again. breathless. disheveled. guilt written all over his face. "where is she?" you shouted, stepping closer until he had to stumble back. "where did she take him? where did that bitch take my son?"

"y/n—" his voice cracked. his phone was in his hand, trembling, the screen showing soomin’s name flashing. "i’m calling her—i’m trying to—i swear, i don’t know!"

"don’t lie to me!" you shoved him hard in the chest. jeno staggered back, barely catching his balance. your vision blurred with tears and rage.

"you did this!" you screamed, your voice raw. "you brought her into our lives! you let her near him! everything i love—everything that mattered to me—is gone because of you!"

jeno’s lips parted, but no words came. only a broken sound—half sob, half breath. he looked at you like he’d been hit, eyes glassy, his chest heaving. "i didn’t know," he whispered, voice trembling. "y/n, i didn’t know she’d—"

"you never know, do you?" you spat, your tears finally spilling. "not until it’s too late."

silence hung heavy between you—shattered only by the sound of sirens in the distance, drawing closer. jeno’s hand was still on his phone, but it had slipped to his side, forgotten.

you turned away before he could say another word, your knees weak, your heart breaking all over again. jaemin’s car screeched to a stop nearby, "y/n!" he called out, practically jumping out of the care to get you.

you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. because if you did, you’d see the devastation in jeno’s eyes—the same kind that mirrored your own.

jeno’s heart stopped the second your front door slammed behind you and jaemin. at first, he tried to tell himself everything was fine—that you were just upset, that jaemin would calm you down, that this wasn’t the worst thing it looked like.

his mind shot straight to his son, to every worst-case scenario a parent should never have to imagine. if anything happened—if even one thing went wrong—he would never forgive himself. not now, not ever.

he shot to his feet, almost stumbling as he sprinted toward the parking lot. his fingers trembled around his phone, thumb slamming the call button over and over.

“pick up, damn it—”

but the ringing didn’t even last.

straight to voicemail.

“fuck!” he barked out, voice cracking with fear as he fumbled for his keys. his heartbeat was pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else as he ran to get his car.

meanwhile in jaemin’s car, time had lost all meaning.

you sat folded forward, elbows braced against your knees, hands buried in your hair as if you could physically hold your thoughts still. your breathing was shallow and uneven, each inhale scraping painfully against your chest.

the world outside the windshield moved in cruel slow motion. traffic lights lingered on red. cars crawled forward at an infuriating pace. every second stretched thin and taut, threatening to snap.

jun.

his face flashed behind your eyes, sleepy smiles, sticky hands, the way he called you mummy when he was scared. your chest tightened until it hurt, a sob lodging painfully in your throat. you pressed your palms harder against your temples, as if that might quiet the panic screaming inside your head.

jaemin noticed everything.

the way your shoulders shook.

the way your breaths stuttered.

the way you looked like you were barely holding yourself together.

his grip on the steering wheel tightened. he hesitated—because touching you felt like crossing a line he didn’t know if he was allowed to cross anymore. but then you let out a broken sound, halfway between a gasp and a sob, and instinct took over.

slowly, carefully, he reached out.

his hand settled on your arm lightly. the contact made your breath hitch violently. your teeth sank into your lower lip as tears finally spilled over, hot and uncontrollable. you tried to stop them—you really did—but fear had hollowed you out from the inside, and there was nothing left to hold it back.

“i shouldn’t have…” your voice cracked, barely audible. “i shouldn’t have pursued the case.”

the words fell out like a confession.

jaemin’s head snapped toward you, eyes dark with concern.

“if i didn’t—if i just kept my head down—jun would be home. he’d be safe.” your shoulders shook harder now. “i should’ve known better. i should’ve—”

“no.”

the word cut through the air, firm despite the tremor beneath it.

you shook your head, tears streaming freely now. “this is my fault—”

“it’s not,” jaemin said, voice stronger, urgent. his hand tightened just slightly, anchoring you. “listen to me. you did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

the car rolled forward another few feet. another red light loomed ahead like a cruel joke.

“you protected your son,” he continued, jaw clenched. “you fought for the better of this society so that he can have a good future. you didn’t stay quiet when something was wrong. that doesn’t make you responsible for this—it makes you a good mother.”

your breath shuddered, a sob tearing free as you covered your face.

jaemin swallowed hard. “i’m going to find him i promise,” he said, the promise heavy, unbreakable. “i swear to you. i don’t care what it takes or who i have to talk to—I will bring jun back to you safely.”

you looked at him then, eyes red and glassy, clinging to his words like they were the only solid thing left in the world. jaemin’s jaw tightened when your gaze met his, the fear there mirroring his own. “but i need you to stay strong too,” he said quietly, voice gentle despite the tension running through it. “you cannot collapse now.”

you nodded, even though your body felt like it was on the verge of giving out. your fingers reached for his hand almost instinctively, curling around it where it rested on your arm. the warmth of his skin seeped into yours, grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you desperately needed. your chest loosened just slightly, the crushing anxiety easing enough for you to draw a fuller breath.

you didn’t say thank you. you couldn’t. but jaemin seemed to understand anyway.

he traffic light flicked to green.

jaemin stepped on the accelerator without hesitation, the car surging forward. his mind was already racing ahead, mapping routes, possibilities, contingencies. first, he needed to get you home—somewhere safe, somewhere you could breathe, somewhere he could think clearly without watching you unravel beside him.

his phone buzzed.

then buzzed again.

and again.

each vibration felt like a warning.

jaemin glanced down briefly at the screen when traffic slowed, his grip tightening on the wheel as donghyuck’s name filled the display over and over. he opened the messages with a sinking feeling in his gut.

lee donghyuck: checked with the school.

lee donghyuck: cctv footage is gone.

lee donghyuck: teachers said jun was last seen at the sandbox.

lee donghyuck: alone.

the word alone hit like a punch to the chest.

jaemin swallowed hard, his jaw locking as his eyes flicked back to the road. the city suddenly felt too open, too exposed—every passing street another place where something could have gone wrong. his fingers flexed unconsciously around yours, grip firming as if to reassure both of you at once.

your breath caught when you noticed the shift in him. “what is it?” you whispered, voice fragile, afraid of the answer before it even came.

jaemin didn’t answer right away. he exhaled slowly through his nose, steadying himself—because he had just told you not to collapse, and the last thing you needed was to see him do the same.

“donghyuck checked with the school,” he said carefully. “the cctv tapes… they’re gone.”

your hand tightened around his.

“jun was last seen at the sandbox,” jaemin continued, his voice low, controlled. “he was alone.”

the words settled between you like something heavy and unforgiving.

your heart stuttered painfully in your chest, fear surging back up so fast it made you dizzy. the image of jun sitting by himself—small, vulnerable, unaware—flooded your mind, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from breaking apart again.

“alone?” you echoed faintly, like saying it out loud might make it less real.

jaemin tightened his hold on you, just slightly. grounding. “we don’t know how long,” he said carefully. “and we don’t know who saw him. but someone did. kids don’t just disappear without leaving a trace.”

your breathing started to spiral again, sharp inhales cutting short in your chest. “what if—” your voice broke. “what if he followed someone? he’s so trusting, jaemin. he talks to everyone.”

jaemin’s jaw clenched. the thought crossed his mind too—jun’s easy smiles, his curiosity, the way he believed the world was kind because the people who raised him tried so hard to make it so.

“hey,” jaemin said softly, glancing at you when traffic slowed. “look at me for a second.”

you did, reluctantly. your vision blurred, but you saw the resolve there. not panic. not doubt. resolve.

“we’re not going to spiral,” he said. “not yet. we’re going to do this properly.” he took a breath. “we’ll go home first. you need to sit down. the police are already on it and jisung's also driving around on a lookout. ”

your throat tightened. “and jeno?”

jaemin didn’t answer immediately. his grip on the wheel shifted, knuckles whitening.

“he’s probably already on the road,” jaemin said finally. “and panicking.” guilt twisted painfully in your chest. jeno’s face flashed in your mind—his fear, his desperation, the way his voice cracked when he said jun’s name earlier.

“this is my fault,” you whispered again, the words automatic, like a wound you kept pressing just to see if it still hurt.

jaemin shook his head sharply. “no no. stop.” his tone wasn’t harsh, but it left no room for argument. “nobody could've seen this coming."

the car turned into your street. familiar houses blurred past, looking wrong somehow—too normal, too untouched by the terror tearing through you.

when jaemin pulled into the driveway, he didn’t turn off the engine right away. he looked at you, really looked at you, like he was committing this moment to memory.

“you’re not alone in this,” he said. “do you hear me?”

your lips trembled. you nodded.

inside the house, everything felt frozen in time. jun’s sports shoes by the door. dino-chan that he loved so much sitting by the sofa. the silence was deafening.

the moment you stepped inside, your knees nearly gave out.

jaemin caught you immediately, steady hands on your arms. “sit,” he urged, guiding you to the couch. “just sit.” you did, curling inward, arms wrapping around yourself like that might hold you together.

jaemin pulled his phone out again. messages were still coming in. missed calls now—jeno’s name flashing across the screen.

he hesitated for half a second.

then he answered.

“jaemin,” jeno’s voice came through raw and frantic. “have you received any updates yet?” the question hung in the air and heavy.

jaemin closed his eyes briefly before replying. “we don’t know yet,” he said honestly. “but we’re working on it. the school’s cctv was wiped. last sighting was the sandbox.”

there was a sharp inhale on the other end. “how about y/n? is she okay?” jeno asked. even at times like this, jeno couldn't help but worry about you.

jaemin glanced across the room, catching sight of you hunched over the dining table, shoulders drawn inward like you were trying to disappear. “we’re back at her place,” he said quietly. “i’m trying to calm her down. you should come over.”

“no. she definitely doesn't want me around. i'm only going to make everything worse.” jeno said quietly, voice almost defeated.

“trust me, she needs you.” jaemin insisted. because if there's anything that he's learnt in the years of watching the two of you, it was that the two of you were each other's emotional pillars. you steadied one another in ways no one else could. and that's the very thing that jaemin was envious of since university days.

jeno doesn't answer and instead, the line went dead.

jaemin turned back to you. you were staring at nothing, eyes unfocused, like your mind had already gone somewhere dark. he crouched in front of you, lowering himself to your level. “jeno's on his way,” he said gently. “we’re all here now. we move together.”

your eyes finally filled again. “what if he’s scared?” you whispered. “what if he’s calling for me and i’m not there?”

that was the moment jaemin’s composure cracked—just a fraction.

he reached up, cupping your face, forcing you to look at him. “then we find him faster,” he said, voice thick. “because he has people who love him enough to tear the world apart if we have to.”

outside, a car screeched to a stop.

jeno had arrived.

jeno barely made it to the door before pounding on it. the sound cracked through the house like a gunshot, sharp and desperate. jaemin was already moving, opening it just as jeno stumbled inside, breath ragged, eyes wild like an animal caught in a trap.

“have we heard anything from the school other than what we know yet?” jeno demanded, voice breaking on the last word. his gaze swept the living room, the hallway, the stairs—every place jun should’ve been.

you stood up so fast the room spun. “we don’t know,” you said, and the words tasted like poison. “jeno, we don’t know yet.”

jeno’s knees nearly buckled at that. he dragged a hand down his face, pacing like he couldn’t stay still for even a second. “soomin won’t answer. she won’t pick up. i’ve been calling for an hour.” his chest heaved. “this isn’t like her. she wouldn’t—” he cut himself off, fear swallowing the rest.

the door opened again before anyone could respond.

chenle and renjun rushed in, coats half-on, expressions tight with worry. chenle didn’t even bother with greetings. “okay,” he said quickly, eyes scanning everyone. “tell us everything. from the beginning. no skipping.”

jaemin gestured for everyone to sit, though no one really did. you perched on the edge of the couch, fingers knotted together so tightly they hurt. jeno leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“school,” jaemin started. “donghyuck checked. cctv’s wiped. jun was last seen at the sandbox. alone.”

renjun swore under his breath. “wiped how?”

“gone,” jaemin replied. “not malfunctioned. gone.”

silence fell heavy.

chenle ran a hand through his hair. “that means this was planned.”

“we believe soomin has intent to kidnap jun,” jaemin said, his voice controlled but grim. “if she’s expecting anything in return, she’ll reach out soon. but for now, we don’t know where she’s holding him.”

chenle frowned. “does the police have all of this?”

“yes,” jaemin replied. “they’re on alert. but her whereabouts are still unknown.”

renjun turned to jeno, his expression careful. “jeno, you know her—and her family—better than anyone here. is there anywhere they might take him?”

jeno shook his head slowly. “her family never fully trusted me. not until i married into them.” he let out a hollow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “and after i refused to ask y/n to drop the case in front of them… they were already guarded around me.” his eyes drifted to you without meaning to. the air shifted. it was a sore subject—one he never wanted to drag back into the light.

then, as if summoned by the tension itself, his phone rang.

unknown number.

everyone froze.

jeno answered immediately on loud speaker, his heart pounding so hard it drowned out everything else. “hello?”

“you betrayed me.”

soomin’s voice came through shaky, brittle, vibrating with something close to hysteria. every muscle in jeno’s body locked up.

“and now,” she continued, breath uneven, “i’m going to hurt the most important thing in your life.” in the house soomin had bought in quiet anticipation of building a future with jeno, jun sat bound to a chair. rope cut painfully into his small wrists. a strip of tape covered his mouth, muffling his sobs, a blindfold pulled tight over his eyes. tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking into the fabric. faint bruises marked his skin—evidence of rough hands, of fear, of a moment that never should have happened.

the school janitor—paid and bribed, was already long gone.

back in your house, jeno’s face drained of all color.

“soomin,” he choked, voice breaking as panic tore through him. “please. hurt me. do anything to me—just don’t hurt my son. please.”

the silence in the room turned suffocating.

jeno stood frozen, phone held tightly in his hand, his knuckles white as if gripping hard enough might keep the world from slipping any further out of his control. no one spoke. no one moved. even the air felt like it had stilled, waiting for soomin to breathe again on the other end of the line.

her laughter came instead.

it was soft—too soft. unsteady, brittle around the edges, like glass about to shatter.

“hurt you?” soomin repeated, almost thoughtfully. “jeno, you don’t get to decide that anymore.”

his throat closed. “please,” he whispered, the word tearing out of him. pride, anger, dignity—none of it mattered now. “he’s just a kid. he doesn’t understand any of this. this is between us.”

“between us?” her voice wavered, then sharpened. “you made it between everyone the moment you chose her. the moment you let everything that my family and i built burn into ashes today. the moment you left me to fend on my own.”

you felt your knees weaken.

jaemin was beside you instantly, steadying you with a hand at your back. chenle’s jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching. renjun had already pulled out his phone, quietly dealing the primary investigator's number that donghyuck had sent over to him, his fingers moving fast but controlled.

jeno swallowed hard. “tell me where you are,” he said. “whatever you want—money, my shares—I’ll give it to you. just let him go.”

there was a pause. long enough for hope to flicker.

then soomin sighed. “see? this is all i wanted. for you to finally understand what you’re worth to me.”

your stomach dropped.

“you’ll do what i ask,” she continued. “you’ll make this right. and if you don’t—” her voice trembled, then steadied with resolve, “jun stays with me.”

jeno’s legs nearly gave out.

“he’s crying,” she added quietly. “he keeps calling for you.”

the sound that left jeno’s chest wasn’t quite a sob, not quite a scream. it was something broken and animal, ripped straight from fear. he dropped into the nearest chair, one hand braced against the table as if the ground itself had betrayed him.

“i’m begging you,” he said, voice hoarse. “don’t do this. he’s scared.”

on the other end of the call, jun whimpered.

it was faint—but unmistakable.

your hand flew to your mouth, a sob escaping before you could stop it. your vision blurred, the room tilting violently as your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

“that’s enough,” jaemin said suddenly, his voice cutting through the chaos like steel. he leaned closer to jeno, speaking loud enough for soomin to hear. “soomin, the police are involved. every second you stay on this call increases your sentence.”

soomin laughed again, breathless. “oh, jaemin. always the hero.”

jaemin’s eyes hardened. “you don’t want to do this. once you cross this line, there’s no coming back.”

“i crossed it the moment he left me,” she snapped. “and i won’t be the only one paying for it.”

the call ended.

just like that.

the dial tone echoed loudly through the living room.

for a second, no one moved.

then jeno slammed the phone onto the table so hard it skidded across the surface. he dragged both hands through his hair, breathing uneven, eyes unfocused. “this is my fault,” he kept repeating, over and over, like a punishment. “this is my fault. this is my fault.”

“she didn’t say where,” chenle muttered, rubbing his palms together like friction might spark an answer. “nothing. no hint.”

renjun was already pacing, steps short and restless. “the police checked her parents’ place. hotels near the school. jewel corp properties that are still active. nothing lines up.”

you sat frozen at the dining table, staring at the wood grain like it might rearrange itself into a map. jun’s cry—muffled, terrified—still echoed in your ears, replaying over and over until your chest hurt from the effort of breathing around it.

jeno hadn’t moved.

he was staring at nothing, eyes unfocused, lips parted like he was trying to remember how to breathe. his hands were clenched in his lap, knuckles white, veins standing out starkly against his skin.

“jeno,” you whispered, your voice barely there. “please—if there’s anything—”

he flinched, like the sound of his name dragged him back into his body.

“there’s… there’s one place,” he said slowly. his voice sounded wrong—flat, distant, as if it didn’t belong to him. everyone turned to look at him at once. “one place i didn’t think to check.”

chenle stepped closer. “what place?”

jeno swallowed hard. his throat bobbed. “she mentioned it once. months ago.” his brows knit together as he searched his memory, fingers pressing into his temples. “she said she bought it as a wedding gift. something about… starting fresh. somewhere quiet.”

your heart stuttered painfully. “a house?”

jeno nodded, breath uneven. “a coastal house.”

the room seemed to tilt.

renjun stopped pacing. “coastal how?”

“out of the city,” jeno continued, words coming faster now, urgency creeping in as the memory sharpened. “near the cliffs. private road. bad signal. she said that was the point—no distractions. just family.” his voice cracked on the last word.

jaemin straightened instantly. “address.”

jeno shook his head, panic flashing across his face. “i never went. she never took me.”

your hands curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. a coastal house. isolated. hidden. every instinct in you screamed that this was it.

“she said it was close enough for weekend trips,” jeno added, like he was afraid the thought would disappear if he didn’t hold onto it. “about two hours out. there’s a long driveway. cameras. she joked that it was impossible to find unless you knew where to look.”

jaemin was already pulling up maps on his phone, fingers moving fast. “there aren't any coastal properties purchased under her family name in the last two years,” he said to renjun. “we'll have to narrow it down by private access roads.”

"do you think... she could've bought it under your name jeno?" you slowly pieced it together through your hazy mind.

jeno's breath hitched, “what… what do you mean?” jeno finally asked, his voice barely audible. it wasn’t anger that colored his tone—it was fear. the kind that crept in quietly, already knowing the damage it would leave behind.

you looked at him, your chest tight, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. “you told us it was a wedding gift,” you said slowly, carefully, as if each word might shatter something fragile. “a surprise. something she wanted to give you once everything was… settled.”

jeno nodded faintly, eyes unfocused. he remembered soomin’s smile when she’d mentioned it—soft, almost shy. a place for us, she’d said. somewhere quiet. by the sea.

“she was obsessed with legitimacy,” you continued, your voice trembling now. “with making everything look right. secure. permanent. what if she bought it under your name so no one would question it? so it would look like it already belonged to you… to your family.”

chenle swore under his breath, pushing his chair back hard enough for it to scrape loudly against the floor. “that’s not just manipulation,” he muttered. “that’s premeditated.”

renjun, who had been silent until now, slowly turned his laptop toward jeno. his expression was tight, all humor gone. “jeno,” he said gently but firmly, “did you sign anything recently? contracts. ownership papers. trusts. anything she told you not to worry about?”

jeno’s head started to pound.

paperwork blurred through his mind—documents passed across polished tables, soomin’s fingers tapping impatiently, her parents’ eyes watching him from across the room. he remembered how tired he’d been. how badly he’d wanted the tension to stop.

“there was something,” he admitted, voice cracking. “she said it was about asset restructuring. pre-marital arrangements. i thought…” his throat closed. “i thought it was normal.”

jaemin exhaled slowly through his nose, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “it’s searchable,” he said. “if it exists, we can find it.”

as if summoned by his words, jeno’s phone vibrated violently on the table.

everyone froze.

jeno stared at it for a second too long, dread pooling in his stomach. then he picked it up with shaking hands.

a system notification glowed on the screen.

property registry accessed — gold coast residence ownership record located

his heart dropped.

“jeno,” you whispered, stepping closer.

his fingers trembled as he scrolled.

registered owner: lee jeno co-trustee: han soomin

the room seemed to tilt.

jeno staggered back a step, like the ground beneath him had given way. “she…” his voice broke. “she used my name.”

jaemin swore quietly, already grabbing his keys. “that’s where she took him.”

“it’s the only place,” renjun said, already pulling up maps. “remote. private. easy to disappear.”

jeno’s hands came up to his face, nails digging into his skin. guilt crushed his chest until it felt hard to breathe. “this is my fault,” he whispered. “if anything happens to him—”

you moved without thinking, standing directly in front of him, forcing his eyes up to meet yours. your own were wet, red-rimmed, but steady. “listen to me,” you said, voice shaking but unyielding. “she did this to you. but jun is still out there. and he needs his father standing, not blaming himself.”

jeno stared at you, lips trembling, then nodded once—sharp, desperate.

“take me there,” he said. “please.”

jaemin didn’t slow down.

the engine screamed as he pressed harder on the accelerator, tires skidding slightly as he cut between cars, horns blaring behind them like distant warnings he refused to heed. chenle barked directions from the front seat, voice clipped, eyes glued to the glowing gps screen.

“left here—no, tighter—don’t miss it.”

in the backseat, the world felt smaller.

jeno’s body shook beside you, uncontrollable, silent sobs wracking his chest as if his lungs were collapsing inward. without thinking, you pulled him toward you, his head falling against your shoulder like he had no strength left to hold himself upright. his breath came out uneven, broken.

“he’s going to be okay,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair, voice barely louder than the hum of the car. you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince anymore.

jeno swallowed hard. “he’s going to be okay,” he echoed, clinging to your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

the road narrowed.

city lights faded behind them, replaced by darkness and the distant roar of waves crashing against rock. the gps guided them onto a single-lane road that twisted along the coast, sharp bends hugging the cliffside. there were no streetlights now—only headlights cutting through the dark, illuminating jagged stone and wild grass bending violently in the wind.

the closer they got, the heavier your chest felt.

“that’s it,” renjun said quietly from beside you. “that house.”

it appeared suddenly—perched dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, a modern structure half-swallowed by shadows. the ocean stretched endlessly behind it, black and unforgiving.

jaemin slammed on the brakes and everyone piled out at once.

the sound hit you first.

jun’s muffled crying.

your heart stopped.

she was already there.

soomin sat on the concrete steps leading up to the house, hair disheveled, eyes wild and red-rimmed. one arm was wrapped tightly around jun, fingers tangled violently in his hair, forcing his head back. he whimpered, small hands trembling as they clawed uselessly at her sleeve.

and pressed against his temple—

a gun.

"i knew you'll figure out." soomin let out a scoffed laugh. “soomin—” jeno choked, taking a step forward before jaemin grabbed his arm. “stop right there!” soomin screamed, voice cracking as she stood abruptly, dragging jun with her. the barrel shook in her hand, but it never left his head. “one more step and i swear i’ll do it.”

jeno’s face crumpled. “please,” he begged, tears streaming freely now. “he’s just a kid. he loved you."

"daddy!" jun sobbed, his little legs kicking up in hopes to release himself from soomin's tight grip.

soomin laughed hysterically, the sound sharp and broken. “you're fucking delusional jeno. your precious son hates me. you too. you chose her. you chose to let her continue with that case. you took everything from me.”

the wind howled around them, whipping her hair across her face. her grip tightened. jun cried out.

something in you snapped.

“it was me.”

all eyes turned to you.

you stepped forward slowly, hands raised, heart pounding so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it. “i’m the one you want,” you said, voice shaking but steady enough to stand. “i ruined your plans. i exposed jewel corporations. i didn’t back down.”

jeno turned to you in horror. “don’t—”

“leave him alone,” you continued, eyes never leaving soomin’s. “jun has nothing to do with this. hurt me. point the gun at me. if you need someone to blame, blame me.”

soomin’s eyes flickered.

for just a second, doubt cracked through the madness.

jaemin felt his heart slam violently against his ribs the moment you stepped forward.

“y/n stop.” he said, reaching out for you instinctively, fingers grazing the back of your sleeve before you slipped just out of reach. his voice wasn’t loud—but it was raw, stripped bare of composure. “don’t do this. please.”

you didn’t look back.

each step you took toward soomin felt heavier than the last, gravel crunching beneath your shoes, the wind clawing at your clothes as if trying to pull you away from the edge. jaemin followed half a step behind you, hand hovering uselessly in the air, afraid that touching you might startle her. afraid that not touching you would lose you entirely.

“y/n,” he said again, desperation bleeding into his tone now. “stop. this isn’t on you. you don’t have to carry this.”

you shook your head slightly, eyes never leaving jun. the gun trembled against his temple. he was crying quietly now, small shoulders shaking, too afraid to make a sound loud enough to anger her again.

“if she needs someone,” you murmured without turning, “let it be me.”

jaemin swallowed hard. “she’s unstable. you don’t know what she’ll do.”

“i do,” you whispered. “and that’s why i can’t let it be him.” you drew in a shaky breath, forcing your voice steady even as your hands trembled.

“if you want to hurt jeno badly,” you said, eyes never leaving hers, “kill me instead.” jeno broke behind you, a strangled sound tearing out of his chest, but you didn’t turn.

“that’ll hurt him for life,” you continued, each word deliberate, cruel in its honesty. “not just today. not just right now. forever.” your throat tightened, but you pushed through it. “i’ll be gone from your lives. and he’ll have to live with it.” you bit your lips.

“isn’t that what you want?” you asked softly. “to leave him with something he can never recover from?”

soomin’s grip on jun faltered—just slightly. the gun wavered, her breathing coming apart in sharp, uneven gasps.

jaemin’s voice cracked behind you. “y/n—please—”

you ignored him.

“let him keep his son,” you said, quieter now, almost pleading. “take me instead.”

the sound came faint at first—so distant it almost felt imagined.

sirens.

low, wailing, carried by the wind from somewhere far down the coast.

soomin stiffened.

her head snapped towards the sound, eyes blown wide, pupils trembling as reality finally caught up with her. whatever fantasy she’d been clinging to—control, revenge, leverage—it collapsed all at once.

“…there’s not much time left,” she whispered.

the words were soft, almost calm. that was what terrified you “soomin,” you breathed, stepping forward again, palms open. “please—”

the wind surged harder, ripping at hair and clothes, the ocean roaring beneath the cliff like it was waiting. soomin’s chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths. her grip on jun loosened just enough to be dangerous. her finger brushed the trigger—not pressing, not pulling—just grazing.

your heart dropped.

you didn’t think. your body surged forward on instinct alone. “jun!”the world exploded into motion—jeno shouting your name, jaemin swearing, chen le and renjun sprinting behind you. feet pounded against concrete, gravel skidding under shoes, the wind screaming in your ears. “y/n!” jaemin shouted behind you, panic tearing through his voice.

your shoes scraped violently against the concrete as you ran, lungs burning, vision tunnelling until there was nothing but jun’s small frame and the gun shaking beside his head.

soomin jerked in surprise as you lunged.

jeno reached him first. he crashed into soomin with the force of pure panic, tearing jun from her grasp as if nothing else in the world mattered. jun was yanked free, stumbling into renjun’s arms as chen le pulled him back, shielding him with his own body.

jaemin caught you instead. his arms locked around your waist, hauling you backward just as soomin shrieked, the sudden movement jerking her hand and then—

bang!

the sound ripped through the night. the sound was deafening, echoing violently off the cliffside, bouncing back at you in sharp, disorienting waves. your ears rang, the world blurring as the bullet tore upward into the sky, vanishing into nothing but darkness.

soomin screamed as the gun slipped from her hand, skidding across the concrete and her legs gave out beneath her. she collapsed hard onto the steps, sobbing uncontrollably, nails scraping against the ground as if she were trying to claw herself back from the edge she’d already fallen over.

sirens wailed closer now, lights flashing harshly across the scene—red, blue, red—casting fractured shadows across the house and the cliff.

renjun ran after the gun and jeno collapsed to his knees. jun was in his arms, shaking violently, face buried against his father’s chest. jeno sobbed openly, clutching him so tightly it bordered on desperation, rocking him back and forth as if afraid letting go would undo everything.

“it’s okay,” he choked, voice breaking completely. “you’re okay. daddy’s got you. you’re safe.”

you stood frozen, knees threatening to buckle, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. adrenaline drained from your body all at once, leaving nothing but shaking limbs and a hollow ache in your chest.

jaemin tightened his hold on you from behind, steady, grounding, his forehead pressing briefly against the side of your head as if to make sure you were still there. "she's alive... she's alive..." he gasped over and over again, anxiety high in body.

police cars screeched to a stop nearby. officers flooded the space, weapons drawn, shouting commands as they swarmed soomin, forcing her hands behind her back while she screamed and cried, her voice dissolving into the chaos.

the ocean roared below, endless and indifferent.

but above it—on the edge of everything—jun was alive.

and the night, brutal and unforgiving as it had been, finally began to loosen its grip.

the chaos around you—the flashing lights, the yelling officers, the screaming wind—faded into nothing as jun ran into your arms.

“mummy!” he cried, burying his face into your chest, tears streaking his small cheeks. you pressed your lips to the top of his head, holding him as tightly as you could, inhaling the sharp, salty smell of the ocean and the faint scent of gunpowder still lingering in the air.

jeno knelt beside you, wrapping his arms around both of you, a trembling, raw mixture of relief and exhaustion written across his face. “i’ve got you buddy,” he whispered, voice cracking. “i’m never letting you go again.”

you held him both, rocking back and forth gently, your heart pounding with a fierce, uncontainable mix of love and fear. on the side, jaemin leaned against a police car, arms crossed but loose, watching quietly. his gaze softened as he observed the reunion, his chest tight as he swallowed the lump in his throat. When your eyes inadvertently met his, he quickly looked away, shaking his head and taking a small step back, as though he weren’t allowed to be part of the scene.

but you didn’t care about rules tonight.

you pulled yourself from jeno and jun, brushing past officers and shouting, racing across the gravel to him.

“jaems,” you said softly, breathless, voice carrying over the roar of the ocean.

he froze, hand half-raised, stepping back instinctively.

“you should be with j—” you cut him off without thinking, crashing into him, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was raw, desperate, and demanding. your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, while his hand hesitated at your waist before finally settling, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

when you pulled back slightly, chest heaving, jaemin’s voice broke the silence, low and almost trembling.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, forehead resting briefly against yours. “i'm so, so fucking sorry.” you didn’t speak. you just let him hold you, letting the emotions spill.

“you’re the only one i’ve ever wanted,” he continued, voice breaking. “devastatingly… maddeningly… i tried to protect myself from losing you by pretending i didn’t care. by keeping you at a distance. i told myself you could never love me back… that i’d be safer if i let you go.”

he paused, swallowing hard, eyes glistening. “but i was wrong. every moment away from you, every second, it only made me want you more. i wanted to be with you, always, even if it destroyed me to admit it.”

he shook his head slightly, desperate, raw, as if saying it out loud could somehow cleanse years of self-inflicted pain.

“i should have fought,” he admitted, voice cracking with pain and regret. “i should have taken the chance, instead of locking myself away in my head. i was terrified… terrified that you’d never choose me. but all i’ve ever wanted was you.”

his lips hovered near yours again, eyes searching yours, trembling like a man who had carried his heart in pieces for far too long.

you reached up, cupping his face, brushing the tears from his cheeks.

“i love you, jaems,” you breathed, voice soft, trembling with everything you had kept inside for so long. his breath hitched. his chest heaved, heart pounding violently against his ribs, as if it might break free from the weight of his own longing. the words—your words—echoed inside him, loud and undeniable. “i love you too, y/n,” he choked out, voice rough, cracked with emotion. “i really… fucking do.”

for a heartbeat, he just stared at you, memorising your face, memorising the warmth of your touch, trying to convince himself this was real. after all these years of pining, of watching from the sidelines, of thinking that he had no chance against jeno, that he had lost you forever… now, finally, he heard the truth. you loved him too.

and that truth hit him harder than anything ever had. he pulled you into him with a force that nearly stole your breath, arms wrapping around you like he was trying to merge your bodies into one. you felt the tremor in his chest, the shaky rhythm of his breaths, the heat of the tears on his cheeks mingling with yours.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for you to say that,” he whispered into your hair, voice thick, shaking. “i thought… i thought you’d never feel the same. that i’d have to watch you love him and be happy without me. and i—i couldn’t. i couldn’t stand it.”

you held him just as tightly, letting yourself feel the flood of his desperation, his relief, his love, all the emotions he had buried for so long.

“i'm sorry for making you wait so long,” you whispered. he buried his face into your neck, inhaling you as if he could commit your scent to memory, and murmured against your skin, “i’ll never let you go. not ever. not after tonight. not ever again.”

and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to fully, completely, unabashedly feel it—all the love, the longing, the ache that had consumed him—because finally, finally, you were his too.

jeno watched from a distance, jun still wrapped tightly in his arms. he saw the way jaemin pulled you close, the way your hands stayed curled into his shirt like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. he saw the way jaemin bent into you, protective, reverent, like loving you was something sacred he never wanted to mishandle.

and for the first time that night, jeno smiled. it wasn’t bitter nor was it jealousy. it was soft and full of understanding. for so long, jeno had carried the weight of knowing he had failed you—failed to protect the love you once had, failed to be the man you needed when it mattered most. seeing you now, held so carefully, so fiercely, something in his chest finally loosened.

you’re safe, he thought. really safe.

jaemin wasn’t trying to own you or save himself through you. he loved you quietly, deeply, the way jeno once wished he had known how to. the way you had always deserved.

jeno pressed a kiss to jun’s hair, blinking back the sting in his eyes.

“that’s your mum,” he whispered softly, more to himself than to his son. “and she’s loved right.”

he looked back at you one last time—your smile, finally free of the hurt he’d helped carve into you.

and he let you go.

not with regret, but with relief that you had found someone who could love you the way he never learned how to.

and jeno knew without a doubt, that you deserved nothing less.

two years later, the sunlight poured through the grand stained-glass windows of the chapel, casting fractured rainbows across the polished floor. the air was warm, heavy with the scent of roses and lilacs, and the gentle murmur of family and friends filled the room with life.

jeno stood quietly to the side, shoulders slightly hunched but eyes steady, watching. he watched you—his heart giving a quiet, tender ache—as you walked down the aisle in your flowing gown. your hair shimmered in the light, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with happiness, and a smile tugged at your lips that seemed to radiate a calm joy he had never thought he’d see again.

and yet, beneath that joy, he could see the way your gaze lingered for just a second, long enough for only him to know, as if tracing every line of a past you had both survived.

after the ceremony, when the last guests had smiled and clapped, you found your way to him. your dress brushed softly against the floor, the train trailing like a gentle echo of the life you had lived, and when you reached him, your eyes softened.

“jeno…” you whispered, voice hushed and trembling slightly, you took a breath, eyes glistening with the faintest shimmer of tears, and reached out to rest a hand lightly on his arm. “i want you to know… i have no regrets. none at all. everything we went through—the heartbreak, the fear, the nights when we thought we’d lose everything—it all brought me to this moment. and even now, standing here, marrying jaemin, living my life… i love you deeply. always. in the way i know you’ll love me too, the way only we could understand each other.”

jeno’s throat tightened. the hollow ache from old wounds opened just enough to sting, but there was no bitterness, only a quiet, profound sorrow that seemed to settle in his chest. “you deserve all this happiness y/n. you really do.”

you released him gently, turning as jaemin appeared beside you, hand outstretched, a soft smile playing on his lips. your eyes met jaemin’s, a spark of laughter and comfort in them, and you slipped into his hand as if it were always where you belonged.

in the years that followed, you, jaemin, chenle, and renjun moved to canada, opening your very own law firm. it was a quiet, bustling life, filled with late nights in the office poring over case files, laughter echoing through open-plan meeting rooms, and the soft clamor of phone calls blending into a rhythm that felt like home.

jun thrived in the new life. he grew tall and curious, taking a strong liking towards the work that you and jaemin are doing. mornings were spent biking along quiet streets, afternoons at the local park or library, evenings at the dinner table with stories spilling between bites of food. weekends were for laughter, building forts in the living room or snowball fights in the garden during winter, and the house always smelled faintly of cookies and freshly brewed coffee.

every night, after tucking jun into bed with one of his favorite bedtime stories or a soft song, jaemin would hand the tablet to him. jun’s eyes would light up the moment jeno appeared on the screen.

“daddy!” he’d shout, waving frantically as jeno’s face filled the screen, smiling despite the distance. jeno’s voice was always warm, patient, filled with the same love he had poured into your lives long ago. “hey buddy! how was your day?”

the conversations were filled with laughter, teasing, homework help, and little victories jun wanted to share. and though miles separated them, the bond between father and son remained unbroken. every three months, jeno made the trip to canada, and those visits were filled with hugs so tight they took your breath away, afternoons at the park, and evenings telling stories while jun sat cross-legged between you and him, soaking up every word.

you watched those visits quietly, heart full, understanding that jeno had found his place too. not as a rival, not as a ghost from the past, but as someone who loved jun unconditionally and respected the life you had built. he had become a quiet, steady presence in your world—a man who had learned to love without possession, to care without expectations.

and as you stood beside jaemin one evening, watching jun play in the garden with jeno’s laugh echoing through the video call tablet at your feet, you realised how far you had all come.

the sun was setting, casting long amber shadows across your backyard. jaemin’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining naturally, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“we did good,” he murmured, voice low and content.

you smiled, eyes tracing jun’s joyful movements on the screen, then looking at jaemin, your heart swelling with a quiet, unshakable peace.

“we did,” you replied. “and we’re still going to do good. together.”

the sound of distant waves, the laughter of your son, the soft murmur of life around you—it was imperfect, messy, and real. and finally, it was enough.

because love had survived heartbreak, distance, fear, and chaos. it had survived everything.

and in this moment, surrounded by the people who mattered most, your heart could rest.

this was home.

and it was everything you could ever wish for.

// the end

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[sincerelyneo]

wish list | n.jm

“have a couple kids, got the whole block looking like you…”

📀now playing: wi$h li$t by taylor swift

❯ summary: The Wish List Pot™ is a tradition your friend group meets up for every year. The rules are simple: everyone writes down a silly, anonymous Christmas wish and tosses it into the pot. Easy. Only… this year, you’re not feeling very silly. This year, the only thing you want is your boyfriend. And, honestly? His babies inside you.

❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 5.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, mentions of christmas celebrations, friendship bickering, insecurities, breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral sex, whiny jaemin, slight possessiveness, slight argument, fluff, comfort, dirty talk, reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just baby making.

The annual holiday hangout you and your friends host to celebrate Christmas happens on the third Friday of December. Every year. Like clockwork. No negotiation, no “oops, something came up,” no last minute rescheduling because someone’s doubled booked. 

It’s a priority. It’s immovable by design. In fact, when you gifted everyone custom calendars last year, they all found the date already printed in bold red letters, as if it were a national holiday. Because these people—dramatic, childish, aggressively chaotic people—are your family. And every family has its own holiday traditions.

Yours just happens to be The Wish List Pot™.

Yes. That’s the actual name. You can thank Renjun and Hyuck for that stroke of linguistic genius. They spent an entire hour arguing over alternatives (‘Dream Jar,’ ‘Festive Flowerpot,’ and Hyuck’s personal favourite, ‘Santa’s Special Suggestions’)  until Hyuck’s girlfriend finally snapped, snatched the pot right off the table, and wrote WISH LIST POT across it in permanent marker to shut them both up. It saved the rest of you from permanent ear damage, too. 

But the name isn’t the important part. The timing is.

The third Friday of December is so important because the wishes that go into the pot are supposed to be unattainable. Ridiculous. Entirely unrealistic. They are wishes, not asks. Things no one could possibly obtain in the week or so left before the holidays. That’s the whole point. They’re meant to be wild and impractical and embarrassingly revealing.

Which, of course, is what makes the night so fun—because somehow, every year, someone still manages to shock the rest of you. 

“Hyuck, get your ass out of my face!” Renjun smacks him with a rolled-up Argos magazine, the force sharp enough to make the string lights tremble.

Hyuck whirls around, affronted, the Wish List Pot now balanced precariously in his lap as he flops back down on the sofa. “Jesus fucking Christ! If your lazy ass just sat up and grabbed the pot, my ass wouldn’t even be in your face—”

“For fuck’s sake.” Hyuck’s girlfriend pinches the bridge of her nose. “Do you two ever stop talking about each other’s asses?”

Before either can fire back, Jaemin—your boyfriend—waltzes in from the kitchen. He’s carrying a beer in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other. 

“No,” he answers, deadpan. “Unfortunately they’ve been doing that for years. So much so, Jeno and I actually had a bet back in college that they were gonna fuck. Or that they had fucked already—”

“We haven’t!” Renjun and Hyuck snap simultaneously, voices overlapping in perfect defensive harmony.

Jaemin just stretches the word, “Okayyyy,” then he settles onto the couch beside you, immediately slinging his arm over your shoulders. You ignore the popcorn bowl he sets down because his lips brush your forehead, and suddenly that’s the only thing that matters.

You burrow deeper into your blanket, tucking your toes under your thighs as a shield against the December air. (Because you’re at Mark’s place and he refuses to use his fireplace. It’s strictly decorative.) 

“Did you make your wish yet, baby?” he murmurs against your ear, warm breath skimming your skin. You roll your eyes, but still flush. Because. Well. It’s him. 

A major consequence of having an annual Wish List Pot—and a boyfriend who’s in the same friendship circle—is that Jaemin started pestering you for your wish the second the clock hit 12:00 a.m. on December 1st. It’s absolutely against the rules. He knows that. He does not care.

Because Na Jaemin is, unfortunately for your sanity, a man who makes things happen. Grand gestures, tiny gestures, everything. He does them all without being asked. Nothing is unattainable to him.

Well… everything except the thing you slipped into the pot this year.

“I’m just saying,” Hyuck’s girlfriend declares from the armchair, arms crossed tight, “I think you’re more obsessed with his ass than mine.”

Hyuck groans dramatically. “Baby, don’t be stupid. You know I love your ass. I tell you every time I pound—”

“Oh my god, stop!” Chenle yells from the floor, recoiling. “Christ, Hyuck, you don’t hear me talking about my sex life with my girl every Christmas, but you somehow manage it every year.”

“That’s because you two”—Hyuck gestures between Chenle and his girlfriend, like he’s presenting evidence—“probably don’t fuck.”

There’s a dangerous inhale from Chenle; he’s two seconds from launching himself into an argument that will inevitably end with someone being banned from the occasion next year. But before that chaos can detonate, Jisung reaches forward, plucks the Wish List Pot from Hyuck’s lap, and clears his throat loud enough to cut through the noise.

It works. Miraculously.

“If the two of you can stop acting like children,” Jisung says, voice dry enough to be dehydrated, “I’d quite like to read our wishes.”

“He started it,” they both chorus, each stabbing an accusatory finger at the other. Identical expressions. Identical childish behaviour.

You laugh—because of course they do. It’s exactly like you always say: these dramatic, childish, aggressively chaotic people are your family. 

Jisung reaches into the pot, swirling his hand around. After a moment, he pulls out a neatly folded slip of paper.

“Wish one,” he announces. He unfolds it with zero urgency, just to spite everyone’s anticipation. “Someone wants… a yacht life.”

“Don’t we all,” Chenle mutters, which earns a wave of agreeing grumbles just as Jisung passes the pot to Jeno sitting beside the tree. 

Jeno unfolds his slip. “Person two wants… an Oscar.”

Immediately, everyone’s eyes snap to Jaemin. Your boyfriend, who has been chasing an acting career since high school. Your boyfriend, who has the talent and drive and soft, stubborn hope that makes you believe he’ll get there one day.

He lifts his beer to his lips, trying to pretend the room’s collective attention isn’t strangling him. “Come on, guys. This is supposed to be anonymous. Stop looking at me.”

But you don’t.

You can’t.

You won’t.

“Baby,” you say quietly, nudging your knee against his. “You think you’re not capable of winning an Oscar?”

For a beat, something vulnerable flickers across his face—like you peeled back a layer he wasn’t ready for anyone to see. His eyes drop, his shoulders stiffen, and without a word, his arm slips away from around your shoulders. You feel the loss like a draft of cold air. 

He leans forward, snatching the pot from Jeno a little too quickly.

“Next,” he says, forcing brightness into his tone, redirecting all focus away from himself. He unfolds the next paper. “Someone wrote…” His brows furrow. “‘a fat ass with a baby face?’”

Hyuck immediately hacks out a fake cough. “Renjun.” He thumps his chest for dramatic effect.

Renjun sputters. “Now look who’s talking about my ass?!”

They launch into yet another bickering match—loud, pointless—but you barely register it. Because you’re still watching Jaemin. Your very capable, endlessly hardworking Jaemin, who seems to doubt himself more than he admits. Who won’t even look at you now, even though you can feel him sensing your eyes on him. He doesn’t want to talk about it at all. 

And maybe… maybe that makes you start doubting your own wish. The one you folded so carefully. The one you slipped into the pot with trembling fingers and a pounding heart. 

The one he absolutely cannot find out about now if he’s not willing to discuss his own paper. 

The group barrels on, oblivious to the way your pulse is suddenly thumping like a drum. Jaemin notices though, and he gives your leg a squeeze as wishes keep flying around the circle.

Someone wants “a lit spring break” (impossible, considering it is currently winter). Someone else wants “a contract with Real Madrid” (wildly unlikely, mostly because not a single one of your friends actually plays soccer—you’re pretty sure Hyuck’s girlfriend just has a crush on Jude Bellingham and is manifesting). Another wants to “live off the grid” (absolutely preposterous, because how the hell would this tradition survive without the group chat?).

“One left,” Chenle announces, practically glowing with the power of being the one holding the final slip.

Your stomach drops straight through the couch cushions. You know it’s yours. Your mouth goes dry. Your brain starts an emergency meeting, all of your thoughts yelling contradictory advice.

You could reach for the pot. You could insist on reading it yourself. You could “accidentally” swallow the paper whole. But that would be suspicious. And being suspicious is the thing that makes people instantly remember forever.

Besides… it’s not like everyone will immediately connect you to your wish.

Right?

Chenle clears his throat. Dramatically. Loudly. “The grand finale is…” He unfolds the paper. His eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“Don’t say holy shit,” Jisung mutters, “just read it—”

“Who the fuck wrote: ‘to get pregnant’?”

Silence. Pure, echoing, apocalyptic silence.

And wow—that’s infuriating, because if you’d known all it took to shut this group of gremlins up was anonymously confessing your desire for your boyfriend to knock you up, you would’ve done it years ago. It’s not even that weird. People want things. Fantasies exist. Biology is real.

So why—why—are everyone’s heads slowly swivelling between the only three girls in the room?

No one talks.

No one even breathes.

Why is no one talking?

Would it look more suspicious if you broke the ice?

You’ll never find out, because Hyuck clears his throat.

“Well,” he says, far too loudly, “safe to say it wasn’t my girl who wrote that.” He leans over and presses a deliberately obnoxious kiss to his girlfriend’s cheek. “Because she wouldn’t have to beg me to put a baby in her. I’d happily ditch the condoms and cu—”

“Stop!” Chenle yelps. “Oh my God. I know way too much about your sex life already.”

The argument erupts like it always does. You tune it out, exhaling shakily as you pull the blanket tighter around yourself, cocooning into whatever false sense of safety it can offer. God knows you need it. 

Because you feel it. That pull. That stare.

The same look you’d been throwing at Jaemin earlier now burns into the side of your face with the subtlety of a solar flare. His gaze is hot and heavy, like he’s peeling your thoughts open, reading them line by line.

You don’t look at him. Not when Jeno brings out the hot chocolate. Not during the gift exchange. Not even when Mark ushers everyone out into the cold and you follow Jaemin toward his car.

You keep your eyes anywhere but on your boyfriend.

Jaemin unlocks the car with a quick tap, headlights blinking awake in the snowy December night. You slide into the passenger seat. He starts the engine. You buckle your seatbelt. You’re both clearly going through the motions. The motions where neither of you says anything.

Which would normally be fine—the two of you have never been afraid of silence—but this isn’t comfortable silence. This is… pregnant silence.

Great. Even your adjectives are betraying you.

The car rolls down Mark’s street, and you’re too busy pretending streetlights are fascinating to notice Jaemin’s hand until it’s already there. Resting on your thigh the same way it always does when he drives.

Your breath catches—not because it’s unusual, but because it isn’t. Because this is autopilot affection with Jaemin. Muscle memory, if you will. Something he does without thinking.

Which means…

Either he doesn’t know you want him to get you pregnant. Or he does, and he’s pretending he doesn’t. You’re somehow not sure which option is worse.

You sneak a glance at him. Just a small one. It’s enough to read the outline of his profile in the passing lights. Jaw tight. Mouth set. Eyes straight ahead. He’s not avoiding you. He’s just… not looking at you. And that distinction is driving you insane. Life of an overthinker, you suppose. 

You swallow and turn back to the window, watching your reflection blur in the glass. You look a little wild. But who could blame you? Tonight you anonymously admitted you wanted your boyfriend to put a baby in you. To your entire friend group. 

He’s either figured it out.

Or he’s about to.

The drive is only fifteen minutes, but it feels like crossing counties.

By the time Jaemin pulls into your apartment building’s lot, you’re already unbuckling. You’re out of the car before he even cuts the engine, breath puffing white in the cold as you fumble with your keys at the door. His footsteps follow. 

Inside, you kick off your boots and fling your scarf onto the rack. Your coat joins it a second later. Jaemin mirrors you, still quiet, making his silence somehow feel louder now you’re indoors.

You’re both still not talking. You hate it. You need normalcy. You need something familiar. Something routine. Something to drown out the echo of that wish still ringing in your ears.

So you inhale and force your voice into something casual.

“Do you think Chenle wrote the Real Madrid wish?”

Yes, it’s probably stupid to bring up the very thing you’re desperately trying to avoid—but not bringing it up would be worse. Suspicious, in fact. Because this is another tradition. Every year, after the Wish List Pot gathering, you and Jaemin come home, peel off your winter layers, and spend the night figuring out which wish belongs to who. Even the absurd ones. Especially the absurd ones.

If you pretend that doesn’t matter tonight, he’ll notice.

He’ll know.

“Real Madrid?” Jaemin repeats, rolling the words around his tongue. “No. Chenle’s not a soccer man. Basketball, maybe.”

He toes off his shoes, hangs his coat beside yours, then steps further into the apartment—toward you. Slowly. Like he’s approaching a skittish animal that might bolt.

“And besides,” he adds, hands sliding into his pockets, “that handwriting wasn’t his.”

You freeze. Because that means he was paying attention. Closely.

You swallow. “So… who do you think wrote it?”

He studies your face a beat too long. “I don’t know.” Then, quieter: “Was it yours?”

You bark out a laugh. It's one part nerves, the other half relief. Because this could be it. Your chance. Your out.

“Yes,” you say quickly. “Actually. I got this insane Jude Bellingham edit on my For You Page the other day. Guess I was feeling… inspired.”

He hums. “Right.”

“Yep.”

Silence drops again. Except it’s different this time. Thicker. Denser. Pressing. You have to break it. “So,” you murmur, “want to guess the rest of them?”

Jaemin tilts his head, then steps closer, stopping just short of your space. “Fine,” he says. “You go first.”

You hesitate. Then: “The Oscar one. That was yours.”

His jaw tightens. “No.”

You blink. “Jaemin.”

“I said no.”

You fold your arms. “Jaem. Come on. Everyone was staring at you.”

“Because everyone always stares at me when anything acting related comes up,” he snaps, frustration finally bleeding through. “That doesn’t mean it was mine.”

You open your mouth, then close it. “You’re lying.”

His eyes flash. “That’s rich.”

You stiffen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drags a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back. “You really don’t get to call me out for lying when you’re doing the exact same thing.”

“What… what are you talking about?”

He scoffs. “You must think I was born yesterday if you expect me to believe that Jude Bellingham shit.” A beat. “You hate soccer, Y/N.”

You wince.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The hum of the heater fills your apartment. Jaemin stares at the floor like he’s arguing with himself. Then he exhales—slow. “Fine,” he mutters. “It was mine. The Oscar one.”

Your chest tightens. “How–why?”

He rubs at the back of his neck, eyes still down. “I don’t know. It was stupid. I just—” He huffs a humourless laugh. “It feels like this acting thing is leading nowhere lately.”

Your heart cracks a little.

“I didn’t want to talk to you about it,” he continues quietly. “Because you’re my biggest supporter. You’d tell me I’m being ridiculous. That I’m talented. That I’ll get there.” He finally looks at you. “And I guess,” he sighs, “I wanted someone to validate the bad thoughts I have about myself.”

The silence that follows isn’t tense. It’s fragile. You want to shake him because you don’t know how else to make him understand how wrong he is. How deeply, painfully wrong. There isn’t a single person on this planet who would validate those bad thoughts he has about himself. Not one. And the fact that he thinks there might be says more about how cruel he is to himself than anything else.

Jaemin is good at everything.

It’s actually kind of infuriating.

That realisation hits you so hard it spills straight out of your mouth.

“Jaem, you’re kidding me, right?”

He blinks. “What?”

“You’re the best at what you do,” you say, voice rising despite yourself. “And I’m not just saying that because I love you. I’d say it even if I didn’t.”

His head lifts at that. Big puppy brown eyes—soft, attentive, a little wounded—lock onto yours.

“You know that role you did a couple months ago?” you continue. “The one where you played the single dad?”

His shoulders tense, but he hums in acknowledgement. 

“You were so natural,” you say immediately. “Like—scarily natural. It didn’t feel like acting. It felt like you were just… meant to be a parent.”

Jaemin’s mouth parts slightly. He’s listening, really listening, and he doesn’t interrupt. 

“I mean, I can’t even tell you the thoughts I was having watching you,” you add, waving a hand, flustered. “Which is exactly why I wrote it as my wish—”

You stop.

The room freezes with you.

Oh.

Oh no.

Slowly, you look up.

Jaemin isn’t staring at the floor anymore. He’s looking directly at you. And he’s smiling. A slow, knowing smile that spreads across his face, like he’s just connected a very important dot.

“Wrote it as your wish?” He repeats calmly, tilting his head. “That’s interesting.”

Your blood turns to ice.

“I—” You scramble. “I meant—”

“Because,” he continues, stepping closer, “last time I checked, you wanted a contract with Real Madrid.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. But it’s fine, because Jaemin doesn’t rush you to say anything. (Honestly, that should have been the first sign you were done for.)

He closes the distance between you, hands brushing the air beside you before his fingers finally make contact, ghosting along the outside of your arms. His fingertips settle at your hips, thumbs pressing in just enough to claim your attention.

“Ready to tell me your real wish, baby?” he murmurs.

The word baby lands heavily. Intentional. His voice is low, a little smug around the edges—it’s cocky in that way that says he absolutely knows what he’s doing. Like this was always the plan. Like opening up about his insecurities was never about his weakness, but a strategy to get you talking about your own. 

And God, it’s working. 

You quiver beneath his touch, breath catching as he leans down with his pretty pink mouth hovering just beside your ear. 

“I…” Your voice comes out throaty, barely there. You swallow and try again. “I wanted to get pregnant.”

“Oh yeah?” Jaemin echoes, just as soft. Just as needy. His hands tighten at your hips. “Seeing me play dad on screen got you all hot and bothered with baby fever, honey?”

You nod, weak and unashamed, forehead tipping forward until it nearly rests against his shoulder.

He tuts quietly. A teasing little sound. “But the Wish List Pot is supposed to be unattainable.” His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, tugging it down before asking: “You really think I wouldn’t give you a baby if you asked me to?”

You exhale shakily. “No. I know you would.” Your hands come up to fist lightly in his shirt. “That’s the problem.”

His brow creases. “What?”

“It’s not the right time,” you say, rushing the words out before you lose the nerve. “You’re so busy. You’re finally getting traction. You’re always auditioning, always working—”

“Yeah, fuck that,” he cuts in immediately.

You blink.

“I would change jobs in a heartbeat to give you what you want, Y/N.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But you shouldn’t have to. You’re too early in your acting career to miss work for a baby. Your agent—”

“Baby,” he interrupts, leaning down until his forehead presses to yours, voice deadly calm, “respectfully shut the fuck up.”

You let out a startled laugh despite yourself.

“I want you,” he continues. “The world, my agent, my schedule—they can all get fucked. If my girl wants to have a baby, we’re fucking making a baby.”

You laugh again, breathless this time, poking a finger into his chest. “Stop.”

“I’m not joking.” His hand covers yours, pinning it against where you poked him. “Not even a little.”

Your smile softens, chest aching. “You’re insane.”

“For you?” His mouth curves. “Always.”

The room goes quiet again. Jaemin dips his head, brushing his nose against yours.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” he says quietly. “Or tomorrow. Or next year.” He pulls back just enough to look at you properly, thumb brushing along your jaw. “But don’t ever think wanting a future with me is something unattainable,” he adds. A pause. “At least it’s not from my side.”

Your chest tightens. 

“What about your Oscar?” 

“It can wait,” he says easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “because it all pales in comparison to having you. And a couple of our kids.”

Something intense flickers behind his eyes. Possessive. The way he says our sends a shock of electricity through your spine. Frankly, it catches you completely off guard. He catches you off guard. 

Because why does it sound like he likes the idea of having babies even more than you do?

Your pulse stutters. You chew on your lip, nerves and adrenaline tangling together.

“What if…” You hesitate, then force the words out before you can overthink them. “What if I wanted to do it tonight?”

His reaction is immediate. Jaemin’s pupils blow wide before he closes the distance. His lips crash into yours, sudden and sure, like he’s been holding back this entire time, and you just cut the last thread keeping him sane. 

Your back hits the living room wall with a soft thud, the impact rattling framed family photos as his hands brace on either side of you. He kisses you like a man starved. It’s a hunger you didn’t even know he possessed. When he finally pulls back, breath uneven, his forehead drops to yours again.

“Baby,” he says, voice rough now. “If you say the word…”

“I want to,” you cut in, heartbeat roaring in your ears. “I want to have a baby. With you, Jaemin."

“Fuck,” Jaemin groans, the sound torn from his chest like it’s been waiting there all night. His mouth crashes into yours again, deeper this time, messier—like restraint was a courtesy he’s officially done offering.

His hands are everywhere, greedy and roaming and doting all at once. Fabric disappears in clumsy, impatient motions, discarded somewhere between the couch and the hallway. You’re laughing into his mouth one second, gasping the next, dizzy with the sudden shift from talking to this.

When your back hits the bedroom doorway, he doesn’t slow down. He scoops you up like it’s nothing—like you don’t weigh anything at all—and the smoothness of it sends an excited thrill through you.

“Jaemin,” you breathe, fingers digging into his shoulders.

He hums, pleased. “I know, baby.”

The bed dips beneath you as he lays you down, eyes dark, expression unguarded in a way you don’t get to see often. Then his mouth traces a path down your body until his head is between your legs. 

Your laughter bubbles out of you when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties and tug them down. 

“That’s not how you make babies,” you tease, breathless.

He glances up at you, mouth curved. “It’s how I make them.”

You snort. “Oh, so you’ve got experience doing this?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the p. “But I’ve got to learn. Trial and error, babe.” His smile turns wicked. “I’ve got big plans. Whole neighbourhood’s gonna wonder why everyone looks suspiciously like us.”

“Jaem,” you warn, laughing, “if you’re serious about this whole thing, you’re gonna need to focus.”

His eyebrows lift as he straightens, hands bracketing your thighs, eyes bright with challenge. “You telling me how to do my job now?”

“Yes,” you shoot back. “Because if you think you’re getting a football team of kids out of me by eating me out, you’re wrong. Your cock needs to be in me.”

He looks up at you then, eyebrows raised, whilst a smile—pearls of white teeth—spreads across his face. “You that desperate for me to be inside you, baby?” His voice dips. “Want my cum that badly?”

You shiver at the thought because yes. Oh God, yes. You need his cum inside you that badly. Isn’t that the whole reason you’ve ended up here, tangled up and gasping beneath him?

Jaemin’s breath ghosts over your pussy, teasing, brushing, and it’s enough to have you soaked already. He grins, low and wicked, his hand pressing between your thighs to ground you.

“Need you ready before you take all of me, baby,” he murmurs. “Don’t wanna hurt you, because once I’m inside of you, bare, I don’t think I can be gentle.”

“Jaem,” you whine, and that sound alone is enough to make him smirk.

His mouth snaps onto your clit, sucking and licking with a need that makes your toes curl. You arch against him, hips lifting on instinct, desperate for more even as he teases, tortures, and drags out your pleasure until it’s sharp, burning, electric.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans, voice vibrating low in his chest whilst his fingers spread you wider, giving himself better access to press and curl his tongue in all the spots that make you squirm. “So wet for me, baby… gonna make me lose it before I even get inside you?”

“No!” you gasp, fingers clutching at his hair. “Please, Jaem… can’t waste any.”

He growls at that, teeth grazing, pulling a moan straight from your chest. “You don’t want to waste any of my cum, huh? You want all of me for your pretty little cunt?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes!” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. Every trace of his tongue, every press of his fingers has you melting, trembling, so ready it hurts.

“You better hurry up and cum then, because you’re too fucking hot like this, Y/N. I can’t help myself,” he chuckles darkly, and the tremor of it presses into you and makes your core clench around nothing.

“Jaem… oh God… fuck!” You shiver, body writhing as every one of your nerve endings comes alive. Your body collapses around him, shaking and quivering, your cry of his name lost in the throes of your orgasm. 

He hums, satisfied, and wastes no time moving his mouth up and along your body, kissing you gently, claiming every inch, until his lips connect back on yours. It’s purposeful. It’s his favourite thing to do. He’s making you taste yourself on him. And you love it. 

When he pulls away, your breath skips as you look down. The bare sight of him—harder than you’ve ever seen him, veins straining, tip leaking—is enough to make your pulse hammer faster. Every inch of him wants you, every movement, every groan, tells you he’s all in about this.

“You’re sure, yeah?” he asks, running the naked tip of his cock along your slit, not daring to push in just yet. “You can say no, Y/N, and I’ll grab a condom right now and fuck you just as good as I usually do.”

“No!” You shiver at his words, wetness pooling slickly around him. “I want you like this… please.”

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, pushing just the tip inside. His hands cradle your hips, holding you still as he slides completely inside you. The stretch, the warmth, the way your body moulds around him, it’s all perfect. “Fuck… you’re so tight,” he groans, burying himself slowly. “Feels like you were made for me. Gonna fill you up, all of me… can you take it?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes! Please, Jaem…” you beg, hips jerking, desperate for him to move.

Once you’re adjusted (and he takes a moment to think about his elderly co-worker so he doesn’t instantly blow his load), he starts to move. And, as he warned, he isn’t gentle. Not at all. The bareness of it all, the rawness, flips something primal in him. His thrusts are feral, needy, hungry.

This isn’t the usual gentle lovemaking. This is fucking. Point blank. One goal in his mind. Get. You. Pregnant. 

“Gonna breed you, baby,” he murmurs, teeth scraping your shoulder. “Make you mine… let everyone know who you come home to. Feel me stretching you… filling you… dripping inside you.”

You gasp, nails raking down his back. “Jaem… yes… fuck… fill me…”

He grins against you. “Fuck, you take me so well. So wet… so perfect… feel yourself clench around me? Want my cum, don’t you?”

“Yes! Oh God… yes!” You moan, arching into him.

“Every drop, baby. Every single drop that leaks out, I’ll push back in,” he growls, thrusts snapping harder, making you cry out. 

He starts pounding into you then. So hard your pussy has no choice but to clench around him. That has him lulling, cock still buried to the hilt, as his hands gripping your hips to calm himself. His chest is heaving. His voice is ragged as he says:

“You feel so perfect… my dream girl… I’ve dreamed of this, Y/N. Wanted this… wanted you… bare… mine… all mine. Now… fuck… now I’m getting my future. My girl…”

He’s rambling, and the neediness of it makes you tremble. Your legs lock around him, fingers digging into his shoulders to coax him along. “Yes, Jaem, all yours.”

He groans, teeth nipping your neck before his lips press hard against it. Only then does he drive all the way inside of you, letting you feel every inch of his hard cock. “Mine, you’re mine… taking all of me, just me… gonna fill you so full…”

Your vision whites, your nerves screaming, as your walls flutter around him for the first time, completely bare. He doesn’t hold back—slamming into you, thrust after thrust—until he can’t anymore.

He lands a final thrust, then feels himself spill inside of you, groaning your name over and over as he fills you up. It’s warm. It’s intimate. And once he stills, his forehead nuzzles against yours, along with his nose. His chest rises and falls over you, as the two of you melt together, bare, joined, and utterly each others.

After a moment, he pulls out, and the sudden emptiness makes you cry out. You’re oversensitive and wrecked, thighs trembling as white warmth spills down between you. You can feel it—feel him leaking out of you, thick and hot. 

Jaemin groans at the sight. “Fuck… look at you,” he murmurs, thumb tracing where you’re still slick and sensitive. “You feel that? That’s me. That’s all for you.”

You whine, hips twitching helplessly. “Jaem—too much—”

“I know,” he says softly. “Just let me—”

He presses back in with one slow push, reclaiming what spilt, making you gasp. The sensation is so intimate it borders on obscene. “Told you I’d push it back in,” he says. “Not wasting a single drop.”

A broken sound leaves your throat. After a moment, he eases out again—gentler this time—and gathers you against him. You’re still pulsing from the overstimulation, but now you’re pressed chest to chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. And that makes you relax. 

He presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“Do you really want a football team of us?” You ask quietly, voice hazy now. 

He laughs. “I told you, baby. Whole block’s gonna look like you and me.”

You poke his side. “How come you never told me you wanted kids with me before today?”

His smile softens. Then he exhales. “You’re the one carrying them,” he says gently. “And as much as you say I’d do anything for you… I know you’d do the same for me. If I’d said it out loud, you would’ve said yes just for me.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t want that pressure on you. Or your body.”

You tilt your head, listening.

“So, hearing you say you wanted to get pregnant this Christmas?” He continues quietly. “That felt like the green light to lay my cards out too.”

Your chest tightens. You smile, kissing his chest, right over his heart. “Well,” you say, “in that case… I hope we both get what we want.”

“Yeah.” His arm tightens around you. “Me too, baby.”

[smileysuh]

auction

🌙 starring. Mark & Hyuck x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview.“ Basically, I minor in statistics, so I made a spreadsheet based on threesome success probability and factors. I wanted someone with a lot of experience, someone who may have had a three-way before and would diffuse any awkward energy.” Your gaze shifts to Hyuck, and it’s clear he’s the candidate for that position. “But I also wanted someone soft,” now you look at Mark, “someone who doesn’t sleep around a lot, so I could feel equal in some ways. I wanted to have people who are, in some regards, opposites, so that it would feel cohesive for me… does that make sense?”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, multiple reader orgasms, pussy eating, body worship, fingering, overstim, blow jobs, hand jobs, Eiffel Tower/Spit Roasting, double penetration, praise, dirty talk, face fucking, etc… I petnames. (hers) baby. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 5.9k

🍭 aus. frat au,  etc...

☀️ mlist + an. thought this would be a funny fanfic idea and I've always enjoyed exploring the dynamic between Mark and Hyuck when it comes to a threesome

Prologue

“And so,” Johnny says, addressing the living room full of frat boys, “after a democratic and anonymous vote, it’s been decided that this year, our charity event to raise money for the local food bank, is going to be… drumroll please: a date auction.”

Mark’s heart sinks immediately. This whole ‘democratic process’ just goes to show how horny all his fratmates are- there had been a number of legitimate ideas for the charity event. Mark had voted for the bake sale and talent show; hell, he would have even taken the car wash idea a little more seriously than this.

 One look around the room tells Mark that the majority of guys are happy about the decision, but Mark catches Taeyong and Doyoung both looking a little skeptical.

Most of the NCT frat guys are extroverted, but for the shy types, this whole thing is setting up to be a nightmare.

Mark’s a computer science major, for Christ’s sake, he’s only in a frat because two of his best friends joined, and he didn’t want to be left out. He hadn’t realized date auction charity events were even a real thing, and for a guy who doesn’t really date, Mark is mortified.

“Cheer up, lesser Lee,” Hyuck grins, patting Mark on the back, “you might get lucky from this. You know, if anyone actually bids on you.”

One:

You’re at the auction, and you have a goal in mind as you hold your bidding paddle tight in your hand.

There’s a general understanding about who will get the most bids, and when a bidding war breaks out for a date with star basketball player Jaehyun, and is settled for six hundred full dollars —well, you’re a little worried about your strategy.

“You still planning on grabbing two guys?” your friend Selene asks, nudging your shoulder. She’s just successfully won a date with Lee Jeno, whom she’s had a crush on since first year, and she’s five hundred short for it.

“I did the statistics,” you tell her, “and I think Hyuck is the one I have to worry about.”

“He’s a ladies' man,” she agrees. “But Mark Lee is pretty cute, too.”

“He’s shy,” you insist. “I think I can lowball him.”

Selene lets out a chuckle. “This is feminism at its finest. Us girls, bidding on hot frat boys- God, I love living in the twenty-first century.”

You crack a smile, and when the time arrives, you hold up your paddle for Hyuck.

He’s doing his best to rally the crowd, but you think his man-whoring reputation is going against him. You know of at least three girls here tonight who have gotten lucky with Hyuck for free, and they’re definitely not bidding on him now, not when Johnny Suh is yet to be auctioned.

You manage to secure your auctioned date with Lee Donghyuck for three hundred dollars, and you do your best to remind yourself that the money is going to a good cause. 

Later, Mark Lee gets on stage, and as you’d predicted, he’s low on the totem pole for many women in the crowd. Sure, he’s more desirable than the stoic business major, Kim Doyoung, but not as high as he should be for someone with such a cute face and sweet temperament.

You get Mark Lee for a hundred and fifty dollars, chalking your losses up to four hundred and fifty, which, at the end of the night, isn’t actually that bad for a date with two hot men.

Your heart is racing when you’ve finally reached your goal of winning both Mark and Hyuck, and a deep breath escapes you.

You have a plan, and there’s no turning back now.

Two:

“You look hot,” Hyuck grins as he pulls you in for a hug, letting his hand linger a little low on the small of your back.

“Thank you,” you smile, your gaze turning to Mark. “You both look quite handsome.”

Hyuck can’t help the scoff that escapes him. It’s been a mystery all week - well, since the auction - as to why a hot girl like you would want a date with both him and Mark. You don’t have a reputation for being a party girl or someone who hooks up with a lot of dudes, so Hyuck’s pretty confused about the whole situation.

Hyuck watches you give Mark a hug, and then the three of you sit down at the table.

You’re in the back corner of an on-campus restaurant, and despite the low-key vibe of all the student-affordable food spots, you’re all dressed up. Hyuck’s in dress pants and a white dress shirt, no jacket. Mark’s fully in a suit, and Hyuck’s pretty sure it’s the one he wore to the winter formal a few months ago.

And you… Well, you’re in a silky red dress that’s hugging your body in all the right places.

Hyuck can’t take his eyes off you.

“I bet you’re both wondering why I bid on you,” you start, letting out a breath.

“Most girls try to stick to one date,” Hyuck agrees, although the girl who won the Jaehyun bid last week did also try to take a run at Johnny- she lost, by a couple of hundred dollars.  

“Well,” you swallow thickly, and it’s clear from the way you’re unable to meet their gazes that you’re feeling shy about this whole thing. “I kind of have this uh… sex bucket list thing.”

“Huh?” Hyuck’s jaw drops, and he turns to look at Mark, who is just as shocked as he is.

“I know, it sounds awful-” You shake your head, as if you can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. “It’s this thing my friends and I made in our first year in uni. Just a list of, you know, coming-of-age sex things we wanted to try while we’re in school. And, well, I’m sure you guys know I’m not a huge partier, so the opportunity for a threesome has never come up.”

“Why Mark, though?” Hyuck blurts out, unable to help himself.

“Hm?”

“Why did you pick Mark?” Hyuck repeats. “I mean, it’s obvious why you chose me, but why him?”

“Hey!” Mark objects, but the word is dejected on his lips nonetheless.

“Basically, I minor in statistics, so I made a spreadsheet based on threesome success probability and factors. I wanted someone with a lot of experience, someone who may have had a three-way before and would diffuse any awkward energy.” Your gaze shifts to Hyuck, and it’s clear he’s the candidate for that position. “But I also wanted someone soft,” now you look at Mark, “someone who doesn’t sleep around a lot, so I could feel equal in some ways. I wanted to have people who are, in some regards, opposites, so that it would feel cohesive for me… does that make sense?”

Hyuck thinks about it for a few moments. “I mean, I guess if you’re doing statistics on a threesome, that makes some sense. You probably factored in cost at the event and knew Mark would be a cheap buy.”

“Hey!” Mark says again, louder this time.

From the shaky breath you let out, Hyuck - a psychology major - can tell he’s hit the nail on the head, and it makes him laugh. “You really did your homework on this one, huh?”

“I’m top of my class,” you admit.

“Paying money to get a date with two guys, with the intention of propositioning them for a threesome,” Hyuck shakes his head and lets out a whistle. “Well, this seems a little backward.”

“So I assume you’re in?”

“I’m in,” Hyuck nods.

Both of you turn to look at Mark, whose ears have turned red. “I uh…” Mark takes a sip of his water. “Let me think about it.”

Three:

Mark’s hanging out in his room and studying when someone pushes his door open. At first, he thinks it’s probably his roommate, Jaemin, but when he looks up, he notices Hyuck has launched himself onto one of the beds.

“So?” Hyuck asks.

“Huh?”

“So, threesome or no threesome?” 

“Uh…” Mark swallows the lump in his throat. “I don’t know yet.”

“I get it,” Hyuck sighs. “You’ve never had one, you’re worried about positions and being near each other’s dicks and shit like that. Don’t worry, we can Eiffel Tower.”

“Eiffel Tower?”

“You know, spit roast.” 

“What’s that mean?” Mark asks.

Hyuck lets out a scoff. “Wow, you really are innocent. Eiffel Tower and Spit Roast means like… one of us is in her pussy and one is in the mouth, so we’re not really close to each other. Do you never watch porn?”

“Uh…” Mark rubs the back of his neck. He’s a frat boy, of course, he watches porn. But… he tends to gravitate to female porn only, the gentle stuff. Any videos with men always get too rough and aggressive for Mark, and he always wonders like… are those girls really okay with what’s happening? Do they actually enjoy it? Do their families know they’re out here getting railed by some bald dude with a twelve-inch dick? Is the dick even real?

“You know, if you don’t want to do it, Jeno would probably jump at the chance,” Hyuck muses.

“No-” the word tumbles from Mark’s lips before he can stop it. “I uh… I want to, I just… I don’t want you talking down to me and shit because I’ve never had a threesome.”

“I can play nice,” Hyuck assures him. “Look, it’s on her bucket list, we’ve gotta give it to her, right? It’s our… charitable duty.”

“She paid to have dinner with us, I think the school, frat, and foodbank would draw the line at us claiming we’re having a threesome with her because she ‘won us’ at an auction.”

Hyuck rolls his eyes. “I was joking.”

“Oh.”

“God, you really do have the humour of a paper weight.” 

Mark sighs. It’s not his fault that he takes this sort of thing seriously.

He’s not a virgin in any sense of the word, but he’s also not a manwhore like Hyuck.

Mark’s given the whole thing some thought, and he can see what you wanted him to be part of this. Mark isn’t about to let the whole thing turn into some weird threesome porn fetish thing where they’re talking down to you-

“I also don’t want any degradation,” Mark states. 

“But degradation can be fun!” Hyuck insists. “I bet she’d love being called out little cock whore, our little cum slut.”

Mark narrows his eyes at Hyuck. “Those are very derogatory terms.”

“Fine. Any other rules, mister vanilla?”

“Just, don’t be an asshole, okay?”

Hyuck makes an exasperated sound, but he ends up nodding. “I’ll do my best.”

Four:

You can’t believe this is actually happening.

When Hyuck had texted you that Mark was into the idea of a threesome, you’d deep-cleaned your entire apartment, had an ‘everything shower,’ and even bought some new scented candles to make sure everything would be perfect.

Now, here you are, sitting on your couch with Mark and Hyuck.

Your heart is racing, and while you know where this evening is headed, you’re not sure how to initiate anything.

“How about you tell us what you like?” Hyuck starts.

“Uh…” You swallow thickly. “Obviously I want to cum tonight.”

“Obviously,” Hyuck scoffs, as if your orgasm was a given.

“So… eating me out? I like being eaten out. I like clit stuff.” Your skin is heating as you admit these things. “I think… no anal. I know I wanted a threesome, but I’m not ready for that type of double penetration.”

“I was thinking spit roasting anyway,” Hyuck nods. You stay quiet for a moment, and Hyuck’s gaze moves to his frat brother. “Mark has some rules too.”

“Oh?” You turn to look at the quieter of the two.

“I just… I’m not into degradation. I don’t want us to be making you feel dirty or anything,” Mark admits. 

“I agree with that,” you tell him.

“I’m not super into the rough stuff,” the computer science major continues. “The last thing I’d ever want to do is cause pain or anything.”

“Basically, we have Mister Slow and Gentle over here,” Hyuck sighs.

“I can be okay with that.” You pause to think about it. “But, Hyuck, if you want to be a little rougher, I think I’d be okay with that too.”

“You did say you wanted balance,” Hyuck grins. “Do you have any toys?”

“Yeah.” 

“How about we move this to the bedroom and you show us?” he suggests.

You swallow another lump in your throat and nod, rising to your feet. The two men follow you to your bedroom, where you retrieve your small box of sex toys from the closet.

Hyuck’s already taken a seat on your bed, but Mark is clearly more hesitant about all of this, and he stays standing while you join Hyuck on the mattress.

“So,” you open the box, pulling out your black wand vibrator, “this one is my favourite.”

“Cordless, nice.” Hyuck takes the device from you, inspecting it, then his gaze dips to the box. “You have some more hardcore shit in here, huh?”

He picks up a pair of nipple clamps.

“I mean… my sex bucketlist was to try new things, and I did try them,” you confess, “but I didn’t like most of them, if I’m being honest.”

Hyuck snaps the clamps at you. “What didn’t you like about these?”

“I just feel like I’d rather have a mouth on my nipples than a clamp.”

“Valid.” Hyuck sets down the beaded clamps and picks up a butt plug. “And how about this, little miss no anal?”

“Way too much prep needed for anal, and then there’s the lube, and then trying to relax- the plug was enough for me, let alone a whole cock, you know?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had anything up my ass,” Hyuck chuckles, “so I’ll take your word for it.”

You can feel yourself starting to relax. Hyuck is helping with the jitters. He’s so calm about this, and you’re glad you chose him; however, he’s also being somewhat tame. He’s not as aggressive or lustful as you’d thought he would be, and you wonder if Mark has anything to do with this.

It was nice to hear Mark has his own boundaries, and they’re boundaries about your treatment, not his own. Mark had also been a good idea, and you think your statistics really hit the nail on the head with this one.

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Hyuck sighs. “Mark is probably more weirded out by me than I am of him-”

“What?” Mark interjects.

“I mean, if I eat her pussy, then you eat her pussy, you’ll probably be weird about my spit being there and just, shit like that,” Hyuck waves his hand. “If I cum in her first, and you go second, you’ll be weird about my cum on your dick. But since I’ve had a couple of threesomes already, those aren’t things that bother me. And as much as I like being the person who goes first, for the sake of your statistics and everything, I’m willing to tone my shit down so you’re both comfortable.”

You stare at Hyuck for a few moments, processing what he’s just said.

“That’s actually a really nice offer,” you tell him.

“I’m generous like that,” Hyuck shrugs. “But at the same time, I don’t have all the patience in the world. We’ve been here for like fifteen minutes, and we’re all still fully clothed, so I think we should fix that.”

You and Mark exchange a glance.

Hyuck sighs audibly. “Okay, how about this, since you two are shy, how about I leave the room for a minute or two, grab a drink from the fridge or something, and let you two get comfortable?”

You nod, and Hyuck walks away.

“Are you okay with this?” you ask Mark once you’re alone.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just confused about the whole bucket list thing. You seem like a really nice girl. You’re attractive and smart- why would you need to proposition us?”

“It’s like I told you, statistics.” You let out a breath. “The two of you are frat brothers. You know each other, so that helps. Plus, I assume frats have a lot of no-strings-attached sex. You’re not just two friends I met who I could proposition and maybe have issues… do you know what I mean?”

“I guess.” Mark swallows thickly. “Frat boys are manwhores, so you could find two guys who would likely have a threesome with you who it would affect too much.”

“Yeah, no bickering, no fighting to date me afterward, just a check in my bucket list.” You sigh. “But, at the same time, I didn’t want Hyuck and Jeno, those two have a reputation together. Sure, I could have hit on Johnny, but that would have felt a little weird for some reason. I don’t know, you and Hyuck just made sense to me.”

Mark nods. “As long as you’re sure about this.”

“I’m sure.”

You stand up, approaching Mark.

He stays still as you rest your hands on his shoulders. “Can I kiss you?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

You notice the way his gaze dips down to your lips, then back up. As you slowly close the distance, his eyes flutter shut.

It’s a very soft kiss, and you can feel his body starting to relax as you shift closer. Then, his hands find your hips, and the experience deepens.

You’re both softies, and you can feel that in one another. It lowers the tension a little, but your heart is racing in your ribcage nonetheless.

Mark parts his lips, and your tongues meet, causing you to groan. He holds you even tighter, and you love the sensation of your breasts pressed to his chest.

Slowly, Mark leads you toward the bed, and he starts by removing his own shirt first.

You mirror the action, and Mark lays you down onto the mattress, his lips meeting yours again.

You like the weight of him on top of you, and his lips descend to your throat. He takes his time there, finding your sweet spot while more moans begin to slip out of you.

Then, he moves further down, pressing soft kisses to the swell of your breasts.

You’re a little shocked when the descent continues, and Mark shifts onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your sweatpants, looking up at you. “Can I take these off?”

“Uh huh.” 

Mark. Sweet, soft, shy Mark- pulling off your sweatpants gently before kissing up your leg. 

You’d expected him to go slower, but you think you’ve underestimated the fact that this is still a frat boy between your legs, albeit different from the ones you’ve heard about.

Frat boys have a reputation for lots of sex, but sex that’s not always satisfying for the women they’re with.

Lee Jeno, for example, is known for his high body count, it’s in double digits- nearly triple if you believe the gossip. But his count on women he’s actually bothered to make orgasm? Potentially numbered with one, maybe two hands. 

Mark hooks his fingers in your panties, and you lift your hips, allowing him to get your lower half naked.

There’s an anticipation in the air that’s palpable, and you look down at Mark, watching him kiss up your calf, then your thigh.

“You can tell me what to do, if you want,” Mark says, adjusting your legs so you’re practically spread-eagled for him.

You release a shuddery breath. “Okay.” 

Mark leans forward, and he takes his first lick of your pussy. Your head falls back against the bed, and your eyes close from the sensation, a moan escaping you when he circles his tongue around your clit.

“That’s good,” you tell him.

Mark sucks more of your sensitive bud into his mouth, and your legs twitch. He continues to eat you out like this, focusing on your clit more so than your slit, but you had told him that was a preference of yours. 

You hear a sharp breath, and you open your eyes to find Hyuck standing in the doorway watching you.

“Looks like I’m not the only person who’s impatient,” Hyuck muses with a grin. “Do you have room for one more?”

Mark doesn’t even lift his head from between your thighs, and you get the sense that he’s trying to ignore his frat brother. But you wanted a threesome, and you want the full extent of the experience.

“Come,” you tell Hyuck, motioning him over.

Hyuck joins you on the mattress, and the first thing he does is lean down to kiss you.

There’s no slow and gentle with Hyuck, the kiss is immediately passionate, his tongue swiping across your own with record speed.

One of his hands reaches out to grope your breast, and you groan at the sensation, hips wiggling for more stimulus from Mark.

Two sets of mouths pleasuring you is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and your core throbs at the idea of it.

“Let me get your bra off,” Hyuck tells you, breaking the kiss to reach under your body and undo the clasp.

A moment later, you’re completely bare for the two men, and Hyuck immediately leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, moaning desperately as the two men worship you together.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, and after swallowing the lump in your throat, you decide to speak. “Mark, can you put two fingers into me? Just suck on my clit, please- and Hyuck, don’t stop with my tits, I’m so close!”

The two men are good listeners. Mark immediately adjusts, his mouth lifting to focus on your sensitive bud while two fingers slip into your soaked core. Hyuck goes even harder on your chest, massaging your free breast while he sucks on your nipple roughly.

You cry out from the sensation, your whole body tingling on the precipice-

Mark curls his fingers upward, ramming into your g-spot, and you explode immediately.

Your core clamps down on Mark’s digits while a strangled gasp escapes you, your body flooded with pleasure. It consumes you, and the pleasure doesn’t stop- it continues, both men working you through your high without a sign of wanting to stop.

Hyuck and Mark are both beginning to groan now, clearly loving the sounds you make when you cum.

When your pussy stops clamping down on Mark’s fingers, he removes them. One last lick of your pussy has him pulling away, and Hyuck does the same.

“My turn,” he announces, and when he gets off the bed to tear his shirt off, you notice the massive bulge in his pants.

Hyuck quickly gets onto his knees, and he’s not shy about taking a lick of your pussy right after Mark had been there. No, Hyuck dives in, and you squeal, your clit still sensitive.

Hyuck’s more of a tongue fucker kind of guy though, using his nose to stimulate your clit while he pushes his wet muscle as deep inside of you as it can go.

Mark stands up, letting out a sigh and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Come here,” you tell him. “I want to suck you off.”

Mark’s chest immediately flushes with colour, and it’s so endearing that a man who just ate you out could be so shy about you returning the favour.

The shy computer science major takes off his pants, and soon, he’s as naked as you are.

His cock is average size, nothing to gawk at, but nothing to laugh at either. No, it will fit perfectly inside of you, and when he joins you on the bed, you put it to the test by grabbing the base and bringing the tip to your mouth. 

Hyuck’s still devouring your pussy, and you find yourself moaning around Mark’s cock, enjoying the act of pleasing and being pleasured.

Mark’s already groaning above you, and he reaches down to pet your head.

It’s a little hard to suck him off like this, spread eagle for Hyuck, your neck twisted at an odd angle- so soon, Mark begins to gently thrust, fucking your face and giving you time to adjust to it.

He hits a little too deep by accident, and you feel your pussy clamp down, body jolting with pleasured surprise.

Hyuck pulls away from your core, and a second later, two of his fingers press inside of you. You can feel his eyes as he begins to finger fuck your core, and you get the sense that Hyuck likes to watch people have sex.

Your body is tingling from all of this, overwhelmed in the best possible way.

“You look good sucking his cock, baby,” Hyuck groans. “Can’t wait for you to suck on mine.”

You whimper in response, hollowing your cheeks even more for Mark.

Hyuck must grow tired of watching however, because his mouth returns to your pussy. He sucks your clit between his plump lips, and you can feel yourself racing toward the edge again.

You can’t help but pull off of Mark, stroking him while you look down at Hyuck.

“Just like that,” you gasp. “Fuck, I’m close again-”

“Want you to cum for us,” Mark tells you, wrapping his hand around your own so he can help you pump him off while Hyuck brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” you whimper, throwing your head back, your eyes clenching shut.

Hyuck sucks lewdly on your clit, and your legs twitch, your second orgasm exploding inside of you.

Your muscles scream as pleasure rolls through you again, your entire body spasming as the waves overtake you.

“You look so pretty like this,” Mark whispers, and his wholesome praises make you tingle even more. 

Hyuck’s still finger fucking you, but he’s going slower now, letting you recuperate after two back-to-back orgasms.

“Do you think you’re ready for us?” the man between your thighs asks.

“Definitely.”

The two men look at each other, and Hyuck sighs. “Okay, Mark, how about you fuck her doggy while she sucks me off? Does that work for everyone?”

You find it almost comical how accommodating Hyuck is trying to be, and it shows that he’s putting in effort.

Mark nods, and both men adjust. You take a moment to recuperate, but then you get onto your hands and knees, watching Hyuck take off his jeans and underwear.

Hyuck is thicker than Mark, and it makes your mouth drool as Mark gets situated behind you.

He’s standing up, and you’re perched by the edge of the mattress, giving space for Hyuck as he gets onto his knees in front of you.

“Try not to choke,” Hyuck teases, grabbing the base of his cock so he can tap the tip against your awaiting tongue.

You hear Mark scoff behind you, but he’s rubbing his own cock through your soaked pussy lips.

Both men enter you at once, and you realize where the term ‘spit roasting’ comes from.

It’s a bit of a shock, but you adjust quickly, especially since Mark is moving slowly. He’s giving your body time to adjust to his size after having only had fingers so far. Hyuck, on the other hand, is betraying himself; his more aggressive/needy side is starting to show through.

Hyuck’s face fucking you, it’s not deep, but it’s fast already, and he has a grip on the back of your head to hold you still. You don’t mind, though, because he’s already groaning, and the sound is like music to your ears.

“You have such a good mouth,” Hyuck tells you. “Can you take more?”

You moan around him, and Hyuck slows his pace, testing the waters to push in deeper. You feel yourself gag around him, and both men groan. 

“Too deep,” Hyuck tells himself, pulling out ever so slightly. 

Mark, meanwhile, smooths his hands along your hips, getting a grip on you. He’s fucking you deeper now, still at a slow and steady pace, but deeper, and the feeling is absolutely euphoric.

“Bet Mark feels good,” Hyuck muses. “Bet you like having us both in you like this.”

You whimper, looking up at Hyuck as a wordless affirmation.

“Mark didn’t want me to call you a cock slut tonight,” Hyuck sighs, continuing to fuck your face. “So what if I say you’re a good cock angel for us, huh? That’s not breaking any degradation rules, is it?”

If you weren’t so pleasured and desperate, the whole thing would be comical, but instead, his words make you even wetter.

“She’s a good girl,” Mark agrees, hand smoothing up your back.

“After this, you’re never going to want to be with just one dude again,” Hyuck warns. “But that’s okay, I think we both like you, if you want to do this again, I know we’d both be into it.”

You’re in too much of a lust-fueled haze to think too hard about what Hyuck’s just said, after all, in the heat of the moment, you think you’d want to give this another go, too. You’d said a one-time threesome for your bucket list, but the reality of the situation is that you’re very much in danger of wanting to call these two frat boys up again sometime soon.

You close your eyes, pushing the thoughts away so you can focus on the pleasure.

Mark’s pace is increasing, and so are his sounds.

You think they must both be pretty riled up from the foreplay, and that’s alright with you.

Hyuck must notice too, because he slows down and pulls out of your mouth. “Why don’t you tell Mark how badly you want to be filled up?”

You groan, still trying to catch your breath. “I want it.”

“Bet you can’t wait for both of our loads to be filling you, huh?” Hyuck continues.

“Fuck, so full,” you whimper, too dazed to think coherently.

Mark fucks you even faster, his grip tightening on your hips.

Now that Hyuck’s not in your mouth, your sounds fill the room, and soon, Mark lets out a strangled sound. “I’m cumming,” he announces, thrusts faltering as he pushes in as deep as he can go.

You can feel Mark throbbing inside of you, filling you up while you moan against the bed.

He’s panting, and you can feel his breath against your back, which makes you shiver, body erupting with tingles.

Hyuck waits a respectable ten seconds, then he nods. “My turn.”

Mark pulls out of you, and just like that, Hyuck’s flipping you onto your back. He slots between your thighs, tapping his cock against your core.

“You’re dripping, baby,” Hyuck grins. “Might as well plug you.”

His cock slips easily into your soaked core, and you both groan.

“Mark, hand me the vibrator,” Hyuck instructs, and you watch the tired computer science major pass over the toy.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Hyuck sighs. “I’m going to put a pillow under your lower back so you’re adjusted upward for me, then I’m going to slowly fuck you with this vibrator on your clit. We can cum together, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, body tingling with anticipation.

Hyuck gets onto his knees and helps you get the pillow under your form. You enjoy the new angle of your body, especially when Hyuck takes a test thrust and hits your sweet spot.

“That’s it,” he grins. “Now for the vibe.”

The toy buzzes to life, and Hyuck doesn’t even bother with the low settings; he goes straight to high, and your heart races.

“Bet this is going to make you go wild,” Hyuck muses, slowly bringing the vibrator to your core.

You let out a gasp and a strangled whine when it makes contact, but Hyuck grabs you by the hip with his free hand to hold you in place.

“No wiggling away,” he tuts, rubbing the vibrator from side to side while he does a few test thrusts. 

God, your whole body feels on fire, muscles tensing again.

“You’re tight,” Hyuck notes. “Bet it feels good.”

“Feels so good,” you confirm, your eyes rolling into the back of your head while you give in to the pleasure.

Hyuck’s still fucking you slowly, and you get the sense he really wants you to cum hard on his cock before he goes buck wild and fucks you the way he wants to fuck you.

You shiver with anticipation of it, focusing on the way your body is reacting to the stimulus on your clit.

Sometimes men go too hard with the fucking while they have a vibe on you, and it can be hard to concentrate on just one pleasure. No, Hyuck knows what he’s doing, and you find yourself unraveling quickly.

“Just like that,” you tell him, clawing at the bed.

“How about you take the vibrator, a woman knows her own body best,” Hyuck suggests.

You do as you’re told, grabbing the toy with shaky fingers.

He’s right. You know the right pressure, the right motions, and soon, you’re whimpering loudly, eyes clenching shut as you barrel closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum on my cock, baby,” Hyuck tells you. “Want to feel it.”

You’re panting, muscles tight- 

Hyuck reaches forward, pinching your nipple gently, and it’s the last stimulus you need to fall over the edge.

You let out a strangled moan, your orgasm overtaking you.

The moment your pussy clamps down on Hyuck, he grabs your hips, and that’s when he begins to truly fuck you.

He’s not holding anything back, your body jolting back and forth, manhandled as he fucks you like a ragdoll.

You toss the vibrator to the side to give him more room to work with, and you swear you see stars as he rails you.

“Fuck, so fucking tight-” Hyuck grunts.

It’s as your orgasm is subsiding that his finally hits, and Hyuck releases a moan, grip extremely tight on your hips as he tries to fuck you through it.

You’re both gasping, and when Hyuck slumps forward, you grab his shoulders, pulling his body down toward you.

You cling onto him, feeling so full in the best possible way.

After a few moments, you sense movement, and you open your eyes to see Mark standing there. He’s in sweatpants, and he’s holding what looks to be a wet cloth in his hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Mark suggests.

Hyuck groans, rolling off of you. “Is it just me, or are we going to have to do this again?”

Mark’s eyes shift to you. You’d told him at the start that you’d chosen them because you’d assumed this would be a no-strings-attached kind of arrangement.

Regardless of your ‘statistics’ and your ‘plan’, you find yourself letting out a laugh. “We definitely have to do this again.” 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I love this dynamic and I love frat au! find a list of other general nct frat au fics here

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  For two men who didn’t want to be very close to each other at the start, they’ve gotten very comfortable with pleasuring you while being next to each other, and you love the sensation of double stimulation.

cw/ tw.  Unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal, butt plug, blow job, hand job, pussy eating, multiple reader orgasms, praise, dirty talk, fullness kink, cum kink, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 90

🌙 starring. Mark & Haechan x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s been a couple of months since your first threesome, and a lot has changed since then.

Having two men worship you was a high you just couldn’t give up, and now, you have almost weekly meetups with Mark and Hyuck.

It’s been really interesting to watch Mark come out of his shell, as well as Hyuck get more used to the dynamic and not so uptight- there’s no longer a fear of ‘doing something wrong,’ and instead, the three of you are simply growing together in a way that feels completely natural.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.7k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

general taglist

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae 

@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@meowniee - @learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa​ - @just-here-to-read-01​ - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas - @sourkimchi

[withlovemark]

“you know i’m thirsty for a kiss, give me a picture of your—”

pairing: fwb! jeno x reader

warnings: smut! oral (f receiving), possessive jeno (kinda), mentions of: gooning, sexting(?), na jaemin

an: guys, i figured out how to do the text messages please clap!!!! also shoutout to ms. jade for this banger of a song and if you don’t know it, it’s titled lip service 💋

—

which is how you ended up here, legs wide open, completely bare on the edge of your bed with jeno in between them, kneeling on your carpeted floors.

the bedroom air feels thick, charged with tension.

your heart races as jeno’s strong hands grip your thighs, spreading them even wider, his breath hot against your exposed pussy, eyes locked on you with that possessive glint, like you’re his favorite meal and he’s starving.

“so obedient,” jeno smirks, his voice low and teasing, fingers digging into your skin just hard enough to leave faint marks.

“no need for jaemin when you’ve got me. my lips are at your service, baby. all yours to use.”

he leans in closer, his tongue flicked out to trace a slow, deliberate line along your inner thigh, making you shiver.

you arch your back slightly, the cool sheets of the bed brushing against your bare ass as you prop yourself up on your elbows, “about time you showed up, i was starting to think you’d make me beg,” your words come out breathy, playful, but there’s an edge of need in them.

he chuckled, he sound vibrating against your skin as he nips at your thigh, teeth grazing just enough to sting, “beg? nah, you don’t have to beg. not tonight. but you will be screaming my name. this pussy’s mine — no sharing with that pretty boy.”

his possessive tone sends a thrill through you. this is why he’s number one on your roster — he has a way to make you feel like you were his to own. and you absolutely loved it.

before you can fire back, his lips part to suck hard on your clit. a gasp escapes you, sharp and involuntary as his tongue dives in rough and relentless, lapping at your folds like he’s claiming every inch.

he doesn’t ease in — it’s intense from the start, his mouth devouring you, tongue thrusting deep into your entrance before swirling back up to circle your swollen clit.

“fuck, you taste so good,” he growls against you, the words muffled but vibrating straight to your core.

your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, pulling him closer as your hips buck up against his face, “jeno—oh god, yes, just like that.”

the pleasure builds fast, rough suction on your clit making your thighs temble around his head — a clear tell-tale sign that jeno has picked up on.

he pulls back just a fraction, lips glistening with your arousal, that smirk displayed on his face, “what, already? i haven’t even started. spread wider for me, pretty. let me eat this pussy like it deserves.”

his hands slid up your thighs, thumbs parting your folds further, exposing you completely before he dives back in, tongue fucking into you with forceful strokes, rough and unyielding.

you moan loudly, the sound echoing in the room, your body arching off the bed, toes curling, “you’re such a tease—ahh! don’t stop, fuck, jeno!—”

the intensity has you whining. hips grinding against his face as he sucks harder, teeth lightly grazing your sensitive flesh.

jeno’s not done reminding you why he’s your favorite.

one hand trails up your body, possessive, fingers finding your breast, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. he twists it roughly, just the right amount of pain mixing with the pleasure, making you cry out.

“these tits are mine too,” he growls, voice husky as he tugs on the hardened peak, rolling it while his tongue lashes your clit in quick, intense flicks, “gonna make you come so hard you forget anyone else’s name.”

“jeno,” you whine, “harder—don’t you dare stop,” the dual sensations overwhelming, his mouth ravaging your pussy, tongue plunging deep and curling inside you while his fingers knead and pinch your nipple, sending sparks straight down to where he’s feasting.

he laughs softly, the vibration humming through you, “bossy tonight, aren't you? fine, i’ll give you everything.”

his free hand joins the assault below, two digits sliding into your slick heat alongside his tongue, thrusting roughly as he sucks your clit like he's trying to pull your orgasm right out of you. the pace is brutal, intense, his mouth working you over without mercy, lips sealed tight around your folds.

your whines turn to desperate groans, body coiling tight as the pressure builds, “i'm—fuck, jeno. you’re so good at this, owning me like this,” you tug his hair harder, guiding him, lost in the heat of it all.

he hums around your clit in response, loving your honesty. you were only ever his when he was in between your legs like this. his fingers pumps faster inside you, his eyes much darker now.

“come for me, baby. drench my face. show me how much you need this mouth.”

his tongue is relentless, circling and sucking with rough intensity, his other hand switching to your other nipple, tweaking it sharply to heighten every sensation.

the pleasure crashes over you with no warning, your pussy clenching around his tongue as you scream out his name, hips jerking wildly, mouth agape, eyes rolled back, your fingers tightening around his hair, desperately trying to ground yourself.

jeno doesn't let up, lapping through it all, possessive growls rumbling from his chest as he drinks you in, drawing out every last shudder until you were pushing him away.

finally, he eases back, lips shiny and swollen, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while looking up at you with smug satisfaction.

“told you. my service is top-notch — ready for round two? or are you still gonna text jaemin now?”

his tone is playful, but the possessiveness lingers in his eyes, daring you to say otherwise.

[withlovemark]

“wi$h li$t”

“i just want you! have a couple kids, got the whole block looking like…you! we tell the world to leave us the fuck alone, and they do — wow. got me dreaming bout a driveway with a basketball hoop! boss up. settle down. got a wish. list. i just want you!”

pairing: bf! chenle x reader

warnings: smut! breeding kink, sex but also super fluffy!

an: i have like 127 wips right now and i know i should be writing for loverboy but look at me! putting this out instead because i got stuck with the idea of how perfect this song was for chenle and i had to write about it so i could finally move on (feeling really crazy!). is pregnancy hot or a threat? it’s usually a threat but in this case…..weeeeee 🛝

—

you were sitting side by side, legs tangled somewhere underneath the blanket. it was that quiet hour of the night where you and your boyfriend, of a whole year, would just spend some me time but together.

the t.v. hums on the background playing some random k-drama you’ve watched together a million times. neither of you were really watching. chenle was on his phone, doing god knows what, maybe reading his stephen curry fics. you’re scrolling through pinterest and adding things to your collection titled wish list — your favorite doom activity at the moment.

every so often, one of you would speak up — a random thought, a bit of gossip, a funny tiktok. whether it's gossip or nonsense, it didn't matter. you’d talk for a few minutes, laugh, then fall back into silence, still tethered by the soft hum of the t.v.

it slipped out carelessly, something that probably shouldn’t be said this early on in a relationship, you didn’t even register it yourself until he asked you again.

“wait…what did you say?” he says with eyes wide, his full attention directed at you now, phone tossed on his nightstand.

“huh?” you blinked, confused “i said this house looks nice?” you frowned, thinking about the house you saw a couple scrolls ago.

“no…what did you say after that?”

“i—?” you started, but then it hit you. the words replayed in your mind, and a slow heat crept up your neck.

he smirked, recognizing the realization dawning on your face, “say it, baby,” he coaxed, reaching over to gently pry your phone from your hands and toss it next to his, “c’mon. what’d you say?”

you exhaled through your nose, staring down at the blanket, “i said…” a pause, “—a basketball hoop wouldn’t be so bad,” you muttered, biting back a shy smile.

his brows lifted slightly, the teasing already forming at the corner of his mouth, “and after that?”

“chenleee,” you whined softly, hiding your face behind your hands.

he chuckled, tugging them down gently, “baby, pleaseee,” he said, voice dipping lower, smoother now, “i just wanna hear it again. what would we need the basketball hoop for?”

your eyes darted to his, warm and playful, but with something tender underneath. your voice came out a whisper, “you could teach our kids.”

something in him broke open right then. his hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned in, kissing you — slow at first, then deeper, like he was trying to memorize the taste of the moment.

“fuck,” he breathed against your lips, forehead still pressed to yours, “you want to have my kids, baby?”

the question lingered in the quiet, heavier than either of you expected. his eyes searched yours, that usual teasing glint softening into something vulnerable.

your throat felt tight. you tried to laugh it off, but it came out small, breathy. “i—” you started, then stopped, your heart doing that stuttery thing it always did when he looked at you like that.

“yeah?” he whispered, thumb brushing slow over your bottom lip, “talk to me.”

you swallowed, cheeks warm, eyes darting down to where your fingers were gripping the blanket between you. then, barely above a whisper —

“i want anything that has to do with you.”

he froze. his hand, his breath, even the teasing curve of his mouth — all of it stilled. for a second, he just stared at you, like the air had been knocked right out of him, his heart completely melting in your hands.

then he laughed quietly, that disbelieving, heart-twisted kind of laugh, and leaned in until your foreheads touched again, “who do you think our kids would most be like, then?”

you giggled, the sudden shift easing the weight between you, “hmm, hopefully me…can’t have them all loud and dramatic like their dad.”

“loud? dramatic?” he gasped, pretending to be offended, “you mean fun and charismatic.”

“no,” you teased, poking his chest, “i mean dramatic.”

he caught your hand mid-poke and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours, “then i hope they have your eyes,” he said softly, tone shifting again — quieter, gentler.

“mine? why?”

“because they’re your eyes.”

a soft smile tugged on your lips, overwhelmed by the warmth that bloomed in your chest.

he wasn’t finished. his voice dipped even lower, rough around the edges now, “and if they have your smile,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against your lips, “then i’m done for.”

your heart squeezed so tight it almost hurt. you didn’t answer with words after that. you just leaned forward and kissed him — soft at first, slow enough to savor. his hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss. you melted into it, hands fisting in his shirt, breaths mingling in short, needy bursts.

he shifted, rolling you beneath him, his body pressing down, solid, warm, trapping you in the best way.

one hand slid under your shirt, fingers splaying across your bare stomach, tracing lazy circles there that made your skin prickle, “imagine it,” he whispered, voice dropping to that low, intimate timbre, “me filling you up, over and over. your belly swelling with our kid. you’d look so goddamn beautiful, carrying what’s mine.”

your body responds quickly, arching up, chasing the heat of his palm, his words.

“you like that, don’t you, baby?”

“chenle—please”

he took the invitation, tugging on your pajama shorts, you lifted your hips to help him shove them off, kicking them away as he hooked his fingers in your panties, pulling those down too.

the cool air hit your exposed pussy, but his gaze burned hotter, eyes darkening as he took you in — legs spread, slick already gathering between your folds.

“does that get you wet? thinking of me filling you up?”

“yes,” you admit. there’s no point in denying what he could clearly see.

he didn’t waste any more time, shedding his own boxers in quick, efficient moves, cock springing free, hard and thick, tip already leaking. he pumped himself up before slapping his cock against your pussy, making your hips buck up involuntarily.

“tell me what you want, baby”

“want you, chenle”

“hmm,” he smirks, “not good enough,” he teases, sliding his cock between your folds, collecting your slick.

“please lele—want you to fill me up, want to carry your baby—”

he groaned at the words. he knew you were on the pill but it didn’t stop the fantasy from spilling out, turning the air between you electric.

finally, he pushed in, slow, inch by inch, stretching you around his thickness. you both groaned at the fullness, your walls fluttering as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. he stilled for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.

then he started moving, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in, deep and deliberate. each snap of his hips ground his pelvis against your clit, igniting the fire in your belly.

“gonna pump you full,” he growled, pace quickening, skin slapping against skin, “watch you take every drop. practice for when we make it real.”

the words sent a thrill through you, making every thrust feel more possessive, more raw.

he buried himself deep, grinding in circles, his breath hot on your ear, “you’d be such a good mom, baby. our kids—loud like me, but with your fire. i’d fuck you every night, keep you bred, keep you mine.”

you moaned, the image vivid, your body responding with a fresh gush of wetness, clenching impossibly tight around him. his thrusts grew erratic, harder, chasing release as he sucked bruises onto your shoulder, your neck.

“come with me,” he demanded, one hand slipping between you to rub tight circles on your clit, “milk my cock—take it all.”

the pressure built fast, coiling tight, and you before you know it, you broke, pleasure taking over as your pussy spasms around him, pulling him under.

he groaned loud, hips stuttering as he came with you, cock pulsing deep inside, “that’s it baby, keep it all there, gonna get you pregnant,” he grunted, flooding you with hot spurts of cum. he didn’t pull out, just rocked through it, grinding to push every bit as far as it could go.

eventually he collapsed beside you, pulling you in your arms as he held you close.

when he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper, “i can really see it,” he said. “you and me, the house with the basketball hoop…and a little one who smiles just like you.”

you felt your chest tighten, in the best way, “and laughs like you,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair.

he smiled, eyes shining in the dim light, “that’s all i want,” he said softly.

[maunologue]

𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙇𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙎

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 — he thought bringing his girlfriend to practice meant more time with her, until his members stole the spotlight.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 — park jisung x female reader

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 — fluff

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 — 894

your boyfriend has been busy these past few weeks preparing for their upcoming concert. he often comes home late due to endless rehearsals, back to back shootings, and late night recordings. by the time he gets home, exhaustion is already written all over his face. however, one thing about jisung is that he always makes sure that not a single day goes by without the two of you talking. whether it’s a quick call on his way to the studio, a short text just to say he misses you, or a little facetime call before going to bed.

and today, they have a practice at the stadium where they will be performing. he can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt knowing he can’t spend time with you because of his hectic schedule. at the same time, he’s missing you more than usual. which is why he wants you to come to their practice today.

at exactly 7 in the morning, jisung arrives at your place, carrying a paper bag.

“good morning, pretty,” he says softly, pressing a quick kiss on your lips before stepping back. “i thought you might need some fuel before starting your day.”

you blinked, surprised by his arrival. “good morning… don’t you have rehearsals today?”

jisung grins, “we do, actually.”

“why are you here then?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he shrugs, eyes twinkling as he steps a little closer. “i actually wanted to ask you something…”

he carefully wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. you can feel the warmth of his breath on your ear.

you instinctively lace your fingers around his hands, holding them gently. “what is it?”

“would you come with me to rehearsal today?” he asks, the words muffled slightly against your hair. “it’s your day off and i really want to spend time with you…”

“the members miss you too,” he added.

you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. the way he holds you, the warmth of his body against yours, and the soft sounds of his voice makes it impossible to say no—though you had no intention of saying no.

“alright,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “i’ll come with you.”

“you have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmurs.

you nudge him lightly. “and what if i said no?”

he stiffens for a moment, pretending to think, then smirks. “then i’d probably have to carry you there myself,” he teases, giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

you laugh, “oh, really? you think you could manage that?”

“absolutely,” he answered with mocked confidence. “now, come on. let’s eat before i force you to carry me instead.”

when the two of you arrive at the stadium, the members immediately recognize you and come over to greet you warmly. but before the greetings can go on any longer, the choreographer calls everyone over to start the practice.

this is not your first time, but watching jisung in his element fills you with a warm, almost fluttering feeling. even from a distance, your chest tightens at how dedicated he is, how effortlessly he carries himself despite the early morning rehearsal.

when the choreographer finally calls for a ten minute break, the boys scatter—some grab their water bottles, others flop on the floor. jisung walks over to you right away, wiping the sweat from his neck with a towel.

“tiring, huh?” you say, smiling as you hand him his water bottle.

he exhales a laugh, leaning slightly against your shoulder. “you have no idea.”

you grin, “you still look good though.”

he shakes his head, laughing softly. “you always know exactly what to say, huh?”

before you can say anything else, renjun suddenly calls out. “you have to film a tiktok with us! it will take two minutes, promise.”

you didn’t even have the chance to protest before someone’s already showing you the dance challenge that they want to film with you. they replayed the video a few times, explaining and copying the moves before actually filming it.

“okay, that’s a wrap!” haechan says after a few takes, clapping like a proud director.

“at this rate, you can replace jisung on our next comeback,” chenle teases.

the members burst out laughing.

“oh, really?” jisung says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “can i borrow my girlfriend now or should i book an appointment?”

haechan smirks, “go ahead, lover boy. five minutes max!”

the others couldn’t help but laugh at haechan’s teasing, while jisung just rolled his eyes before tugging you away from his members.

you giggled when you saw his sulking face, “they were just having fun, ji.”

“i know… i just wanted to spend our break with you.”

your heart warms at his honesty. you step closer, slipping your fingers between his. “you’re getting clingy.”

he shrugs, a shy smile forming. “three years in, i think i’m allowed.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips smiled anyway. jisung chuckles under his breath, then reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. your heart skips a beat, and before you can tease him back, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. for a moment, the world suddenly feels soft. the noise, the lights, and the tiredness fades away, leaving only the two of you.

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 — inspired by chasing summer! i really enjoy writing fluff these days... anyway, thank you for reading. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

[angstama]

15 ; spaces between us | l.jn

pairing: dad!lee jeno x f!reader (ft. na jaemin)

genre: angst, slight fluff, co-parenting

synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.

a/n: we have finally come to the second last chapter🥹🥹🥹!!!!!! it's a rather short chapter imo but chapter 16; finale is promised to be an extra long oneeee! as always, thank you guys so much for always sending in your thoughts/reactions and i know i have yet to get back to some of you, but that's because i do tend to take some time to think about what to say (especially asks with prompts! it'll take some time~) thank you all so so much and please don't hesitate to send in any asks~ i love you all soooo much! see you in the finale!!!!

sbu m.list | previous | next chapter

is it cowardly to pack your bags one day and disappear halfway across the world, leaving behind everything that’s been crushing you?

is it selfish to pull your child away from the only life he’s ever known—from his father—just for your own escape?

leaving was never an option for you.

not until now. not until you found yourself watching jun’s peaceful silhouette as he slept, arms wrapped tightly around dino-chan as if the plush could anchor him in a storm. you had been so consumed by the war between you and jeno, and by your desperate attempts to build something better with jaemin, that you hadn’t stopped to consider what any of this looked like through jun’s eyes.

quietly, you padded into the living room. chen le and renjun looked up the moment you entered, sensing the heavy presence you carried.

“you okay?” renjun asked gently, slipping an arm around your shoulders. “yeah… i’m okay,” you mumbled.

chenle reached for your hand, his grip firm and warm. “we’ll always be here, you know that, right?”

those words hit you harder than you expected. you hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear them until now—how much you’d leaned on them all along. in this chaos, they had been your constants. your pillars. your proof that you weren’t alone. that everything will be okay eventually.

“i think…” your voice cracked slightly. “i think it’s time i move away.”

silence engulfed the room as soon as you dropped the thought on your best friends. for a minute, nobody said anything. you refused to look at either of them, eyes trained on your fingers tapping nervously on the table.

“move away? like… leave this place?” renjun’s brows furrowed.

“yes.” you nodded, the weight of it settling on your chest.

chen le didn’t even hesitate. “that’s okay,” he said, his tone unusually calm. you blinked at him, surprised that he was handling the news without a fight. “th-that’s okay?”

“yeah,” chen le replied, more firmly this time. “it’s obvious this place isn’t good for you anymore. you should go. start fresh somewhere new, live the life you’ve always dreamt of. you’re a damn good lawyer, y/n. don’t waste yourself here.”

renjun squeezed your shoulder, nodding in agreement. “chen le’s right. you’ll succeed anywhere you go. and jun’s a smart kid—he’ll adapt. he’ll thrive. you’ve got nothing to lose.”

chenle grinned suddenly, breaking the heaviness. “heck, i’ll move with you.” renjun chuckled, raising his hand in solidarity. “me too.”

“you guys really think this is the right decision?” you asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer. deep down, even you weren’t sure. the idea of moving felt heavy, uncertain. but chenle and renjun carried it so easily, as if the choice had already been made.

“i can’t promise it’s the right decision,” chenle admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. “but it’s a leap of faith. one you have to take and trust. it’ll be okay—we’ll be here with you. so after this case ends, let’s leave this place behind.” he pulled you into a hug, warm and steady, and renjun wrapped around the both of you with eager certainty.

“have you spoken to jeno about it?” renjun asked softly.

jeno. the very name that still made you turn around in a heartbeat. the thought of asking him—of asking for his blessing to take jun and go—felt like breaking yourself in two. you loved him. a part of you would always love him. but would he ever let you go? would he let you take jun away?

your gaze dropped, heavy with sadness, and renjun understood without another word. “it’s okay,” he murmured, patting your head gently. “that’s a conversation you’ll have at your own pace.”

the courthouse was quiet that morning, unusually so. you had arrived early, binder in hand, donghyuck by your side as the two of you made your way towards the briefing room to review notes and settle the final strategy. it felt almost unreal with the warm sunlight streaming through the tall windows, ignorant of the chaos that was about to fall in a few hour's time.

but you weren’t the only one early. jaemin, who rarely ever arrives before the designated trial's time, had already made his way inside the courthouse. part of him had wanted the head start—to prepare and anticipate your moves even though he already had an idea of what it was. the other, far less logical part, wanted to see you. to speak to you. maybe just for a moment.

as you and donghyuck rounded the corner towards the briefing room, your steps faltered when you see a familiar figure ahead of you. there he was—jaemin—walking towards you in a calm and precise manner, but his presence almost electric.

you stopped in your tracks, eyes widening. for a fraction of a second, it felt like the world had narrowed to the three of you. jaemin’s lips parted, like he wanted to speak, to say something, but the words caught somewhere between thought and breath.

and then you did the unthinkable—you turned and walked away, straight past him, leaving jaemin frozen in place, dumbfounded.

donghyuck, equally surprised, glanced between the two of you, his eyebrows lifting. “you okay?” he whispered, catching your subtle pause, but you kept walking. donghyuck looked back, making a subtle bow towards jaemin in acknowledgment of the morning’s tension and respect, before following you into the briefing room.

jaemin’s gaze followed you, a mix of frustration and something softer flickering in his eyes. he didn’t move, didn’t speak as he watched as you disappeared down the hall. he knew this was bound to happen, after all, he did pushed you away and labelled your entire relationship as false. so yes, he deserved your cold shoulder. he deserved every single bit of it.

jaemin’s fingers itched at the binder in his hand, the tension between strategy and personal stake knotting tightly in his chest. he had come here for many reasons today, but none had prepared him for this: seeing you and feeling… unsettled. though, jaemin was never one to mix his professionalism and personal issues together.

“i hope you know jaemin must’ve been backed into a corner to take this case. it’s not because he has any personal vendetta against you,” donghyuck said, pulling a chair out for you. you mouthed a soft thank you, settling down as you started spreading the court-mandated documents across the table, lining them up with meticulous precision. “i know,” you replied simply, eyes never leaving the papers.

“he’d never go behind your back. that’s not the kind of person he is,” donghyuck pressed, his voice gentler this time.

you shut your eyes, exhaling a weary sigh before turning to face him. “it doesn’t matter what kind of person he is. all i care about now is winning this case. and he’s opposing counsel. so i’m going to win it exactly the way i know how.” donghyuck doesn't continue, only nodding at your statement and you were grateful that he doesn't continue pressing on.

fifteen minutes before trial, you finally stepped out of the briefing room. the air in the courthouse was heavy, humming with nerves and low murmurs, but your focus was on the simple act of adjusting the hem of your blouse, grounding yourself before walking into war. donghyuck had gone ahead to grab coffee, leaving you a brief moment alone in the corridor.

“y/n!” your eyes shot up at the sound of your name, the voice so familiar and etched at the back of your head that you'd never forget. you turned, and there he was—jeno.

for a moment, all the nerves fell away. the sterile courthouse hallway, the weight of your case, even the storm brewing inside you—it all blurred into background noise. all you could see was him.

“oh, hey.” you managed a small smile, though your breath hitched. you knew why he was here. you had prepared yourself for it even after the last few exchanges the two of your shared. and yet, no amount of rehearsing will ever soften the truth: that you had lost him. that soon, he would be someone else’s husband. a father to a child that wasn’t yours.

jeno looked nervous, scratching the back of his neck in that old, familiar way. “i, uh… wanted to give you this.” he reached into his pocket and pressed something into your palm. you opened your hand slowly. “an omamori?”

the charm was blue, delicate stitching spelling out luck.

“i went to the temple this morning,” jeno smiled sheepishly.

you stared at the charm, but what you really saw was a thousand mornings ago—jeno slipping charms into your hand before every trial, back when he was still your pillar of support. back when you thought you had forever.

it had been your ritual. his ritual. he’d rise before dawn, drive across the city to the temple, and come back with an omamori, pressing it into your palm with that same sheepish smile. you hadn’t believed in talismans or blessings, not really. but you believed in him. and accepting those charms had been your way of accepting his love.

you still had them all, every single one, kept in a wooden box jun had decorated with glitter and paint for mother’s day. a collection of jeno’s love, spanning years.

your voice came out softer than you meant it to. “what about your girlfriend?” jeno’s pursed his lips, his eyes flickering. “i’m here in person, am i not?” he hummed, the corners of his mouth tilting into something between a smile and a confession.

you stared at him, your throat tightening. he hadn’t changed. he was still so pure. that side of jeno who showed that he is still the man who loved quietly, steadily, wholly. and that was what hurt the most.

“you should head in now,” he said gently, nodding toward the courtroom doors. “yeah. i should.” your voice wavered, but you managed another smile, tucking the omamori into your pocket as though it was a lifeline.

you turned away, steps slow, but every fiber of you screamed to look back. and when you almost did, his voice found you again. “break a leg!” you froze, the words echoing down the hall, the same words he’d always said before every trial you ever fought.

your chuckled softly, shaking your head to yourself with the charm heavy in your pocket, memory heavy in your heart. because no matter how far you’d come, no matter how much you tried to move on, some loves weren’t meant to be forgotten. they lived on—in the hundreds of omamoris, in hellos and byes, in echoes of voices calling your name. jeno had been your great love. and losing him would always feel like losing a part of yourself.

jaemin’s eyes tracked you the instant you entered, as if the rest of the room ceased to exist. every inch closer you came sent his pulse racing, heat curling in his chest in a way he hated admitting even to himself. then, just for a second, your eyes found his. one heartbeat. two. enough to remind him of everything that had been there before. and then you broke it, gaze sliding away, deliberately shutting him out. he felt the sting of it, sharp and quiet.

the heavy doors opened again, and soomin swept in. her heels struck the floor in confident rhythm, each step echoing like punctuation. her head was high, her expression carved into poise — the kind of practiced confidence meant to command a room. she walked as though the verdict had already been written in her favor, as if this courtroom existed solely to prove her right.

the courtroom was electric, every seat filled. reporters lined the back row, pens scratching as if they were documenting history in real time. the people in the gallery weren’t just spectators—they were victims. families whose lives had been shattered by the chemicals jewel corp had dumped into their water supply.

you rose, binder in hand, the weight of their eyes pressing into your spine. “your honor, this case isn’t about balance sheets or compliance parameters. it’s about people. thousands of families poisoned because jewel corporations valued profit over human life. children born with defects. parents diagnosed with cancers that could have been prevented. the evidence will show that jewel corp knew exactly what it was doing—and did it anyway.”

your voice didn’t crack. you wouldn’t let it. but your throat burned with the fury of holding back.

jaemin stood up, his chair gliding back with quiet precision. his presence alone shifted the energy in the room—calm, commanding and sharp with intent. “objection to counsel’s opening—this is a closing argument dressed up as fact,” he said coolly. “the evidence will show that jewel corp adhered to environmental regulations. the plaintiff’s claims rely on correlation, not causation. tragedies, yes—but tragedies that cannot be tied to my client’s actions without speculation.”

he turned, locking eyes with you as he added, “and speculation has no place in this courtroom.” the judge gave a curt nod. “objection noted. proceed with facts, counsel.”

you didn't flinch at jaemin's attempt to poke you. you knew he would've came for you like that. instead, you called your first witness—a mother from the town downstream of jewel corp’s facility. her hands shook as she swore the oath.

“mrs. choi,” you said gently, “can you tell the court what happened to your family after jewel corp began operations near your home?”

she clutched the microphone, voice trembling. “my son… he was only five when he was diagnosed with leukemia. the doctors said it was rare, that they’d never seen something like this in a child so young. our well water smelled like metal, but we had no choice—we had to drink it. months later, more people in the neighborhood got sick. some… some didn’t survive.”

the gallery stirred, a low wave of murmurs and muffled sobs.

before you could continue, jaemin was on his feet. “objection, your honor. this is hearsay, emotional testimony without scientific backing.”

you snapped back immediately. “this is firsthand testimony, your honor. the human cost of jewel corp’s negligence cannot be dismissed as irrelevant just because it’s inconvenient for the defense.”

the judge raised a hand. “the testimony will stand. mr. na, you’ll have your chance on cross.”

jaemin’s jaw tightened, but he smoothed it over with that infuriating composure you knew too well.

when cross-examination began, he walked toward mrs. choi with deliberate calm. “mrs. choi, i’m truly sorry for what your family has endured,” he said, his tone measured, respectful—but every word laced with strategy. “but you’re not a scientist, are you?”

she hesitated. “no…”

“so when you say the water from your well caused your son’s illness, that’s not your medical opinion. that’s an assumption, correct?”

you were already on your feet. “objection—badgering the witness.”

“overruled,” the judge said.

jaemin pressed on. “and your son’s doctors—did they ever confirm, definitively, that jewel corp’s facility was the cause of his illness?”

“they… they said it was possible,” she whispered.

“possible,” jaemin repeated softly, almost kindly. “but not certain.”

the words hung in the air like poison.

you clenched your fists, heart hammering as mrs. choi shrank under his gaze. this was jaemin at his most lethal—the man who could dismantle anyone, even with sympathy in his voice.

but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

when he returned to his seat, you stood again, fire in your veins. “mrs. choi, one last question,” you said, your voice steady but searing. “before jewel corp began operations, had your family—your son—ever experienced anything like this?”

she shook her head, tears streaming. “never.”

you nodded softly. “thank you. no further questions.”

the trial stretched on to the next hour.

you were presenting a damning report from an environmental scientist, one that tied jewel corp’s chemical waste directly to carcinogenic compounds found in the town’s groundwater. it was a win—at least it felt like one.

until jaemin rose for his cross.

he didn’t rush. he never did. instead, he walked with that deliberate calm, every step measured, every movement designed to remind everyone in the room that he was in control.

“dr. lee,” jaemin said smoothly, addressing the expert, “your report indicates that the chemical compounds found in the water supply are consistent with those used in jewel corp’s facility, correct?”

“correct,” the scientist replied.

“but consistent doesn’t mean exclusive, does it? those compounds could, in theory, have come from other industrial sources in the region?”

the expert hesitated. “it’s possible, but highly unlikely.”

jaemin pounced. “possible, though. that’s all i need.”

the courtroom was silent, the kind of silence that presses in like a living thing. every spectator leaned forward, every pen poised, every breath held. jaemin’s gaze never left you, calculating, waiting—but you had the weapon you’d been holding all along.

“your honor,” you said, standing, voice calm but sharp, “i’d like to introduce exhibit 82: the internal audit report that jewel corp attempted to bury.”

papers snapped open like the roar of a lion as you laid exhibit 82 before the judge—every shipment, every chemical, every town affected. jaemin’s eyes narrowed, but you didn’t care. the judge raised an eyebrow. “and this report is…?”

“an exhaustive document detailing every chemical waste shipment from jewel corp’s facilities over the past five years. it names the compounds, the quantities, the locations, and the timing. it is direct proof of negligence and concealment.”

you slid the thick folder across the lectern. papers fanned out like a tide of accountability, the gallery murmuring at the sheer weight of it.

jaemin’s lips tightened, but he didn’t move. he knew, as did everyone else in the room, that this was precise, damning evidence.

“mr. park,” you said, turning toward the witness—an environmental compliance officer—“can you confirm that these shipments contained chemicals banned for disposal in residential areas?”

the officer’s voice trembled slightly. “yes. in every case listed here, the disposal violated local environmental laws.”

“and were these violations reported to the authorities at the time?”

“no.”

“so jewel corp knowingly and illegally disposed of hazardous chemicals where thousands of people live?”

the officer nodded.

you turned sharply to jaemin, letting your voice carry over the murmurs of the gallery.

you then lifted exhibit 102—a series of internal emails, shipment logs, and whistleblower testimonies that left no room for doubt. “this isn’t speculation. this isn’t conjecture. this is jewel corp admitting, in writing, that they were aware of every chemical disposal, every violation, every person harmed. and yet they did it anyway.”

you flicked through the binder, letting the weight of each page land like a hammer. “open this to any page, your honor, any page, and name you every victim, every town affected, every life ruined. these are not numbers. these are not collateral damage. these are real people. and i care about each and every one of them. more than jewel corp’s lawyers, more than jewel corp’s executives, and yes… more than some might dare to assume.”

the gallery stirred, whispers rising. even jaemin felt it—the shift in momentum, the undeniable authority radiating off you.

he rose, jaw tight, masking a flicker of unease. “counsel, these documents—”

“are admissions,” you cut in sharply, stepping forward, every movement deliberate. “admissions that will hold up under scrutiny, admissions that even your logic can’t twist. because this isn’t opinion. this is fact. jewel corp poisoned families. they lied. they hid. and now the truth is here, in front of you, undeniable.”

jaemin’s eyes flickered to you, just for a second—the only crack in his composure. he opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him a chance.

“your honor,” you continued, your voice ringing like a bell, impossible to ignore, “i didn’t come here to perform. i didn’t come here to posture. i came here to make sure justice is served. i fight, i win, and i don’t stop until the people who were silenced are finally heard. and anyone, anyone,” you said, eyes locking on jaemin, “who tries to stand in the way of that, will not walk out of this courtroom with pride intact.”

the gavel came down hard, but it barely mattered. the jury, the gallery, the judge—everyone had seen it. you weren’t just representing victims. you were the weapon of justice.

the foreperson stood, clearing her throat. “your honor,” she said, “we, the jury, find the defendant, jewel corporation, guilty of willful and knowing environmental contamination, gross corporate negligence resulting in serious bodily harm, conspiracy to conceal hazardous waste disposal, and obstruction of regulatory oversight. we find that the defendant’s actions directly caused widespread toxic exposure to the communities named in the plaintiffs’ filings.”

a stunned silence crashed through the room. in the gallery victims wept openly; some clutched each other and laughed in between sobs. reporters scribbled frantically. the judge’s face was unreadable for a beat, then composed into a poker face.

“based on the jury’s findings,” the judge intoned, voice steady, “this court orders the following relief and sanctions: first, immediate injunctive relief requiring jewel corp to cease all operations and transfer control of its facilities and assets to a court-appointed receiver for the purposes of comprehensive environmental remediation and medical restitution. second, the dissolution of jewel corporation as a going concern once the receiver inventories assets and ensures a restitution fund sufficient to compensate victims for past and future medical care, lost income, relocation costs, and punitive damages meant to deter similar corporate misconduct. third, criminal referrals for prosecution of senior corporate officers and managers implicated in the conspiracy and concealment, including charges of criminal negligence causing bodily harm, willful environmental contamination, and obstruction of justice. the court also imposes substantial civil fines and orders immediate funding for an independent, long-term health monitoring program for affected communities.”

the judge paused, letting the verdict breathe in the room, then added quietly, “this court refers evidence of corporate criminality to the state and federal prosecutors with a recommendation of felony charges where appropriate. further hearings will be scheduled to determine the scale of restitution, the method of corporate dissolution, and the placement of surviving assets into a victim-compensation trust.”

the room erupted. whispers, gasps, and soft cries of relief filled the gallery. victims clasped hands, tears streaming. years of fear, silence, and suffering were validated in that moment.

you sat back for the briefest second, letting it sink in. you hadn’t celebrated yet—not here, not now. there was still the war in the room: jaemin.

he remained composed—almost impossibly so—but you saw it. a flicker of respect, a subtle acknowledgment that you had not just played the game… you had owned it the way he knew you would.

your eyes flicked to soomin, catching the sharp twist of her expression just before she stood, chair screeching against the floor. frustration radiated off her as she turned away, refusing to meet your gaze.

“you did it!” donghyuck’s voice cut through the charged silence, warm and bright as he wrapped you into a side hug.

you let out a shaky laugh, the weight of the trial finally slipping off your shoulders. “no, we did it,” you corrected, smiling up at him. “none of this would’ve been possible without your findings, your filings… every piece you brought to the table. this was ours.”

your phone buzzed in your bag. you barely noticed at first, fumbling as you gathered your notes, the omamori jeno had given you tucked securely beside your files. finally, you glanced at the caller id.

 ms solar (jun’s homeroom teacher)

you answered immediately, a faint smile tugging at your lips. the voice on the other end was tight, strained. “ms. y/l/n? this is ms solar, jun’s homeroom teacher.”

the way she said your name made your chest seize. “yes? what’s wrong?”

there was a pause — too long, too heavy. then: “jun… we can’t find him.”

your blood ran cold. “what do you mean, you can’t find him?” your voice came out sharper than you intended, trembling underneath.

“we noticed after lunch. we’ve checked the grounds, the gym, the library — everywhere. his friends haven’t seen him since recess. we were hoping maybe he went home, or that someone came to pick him up—”

“no.” your throat closed. “no one was supposed to pick him up. i—i was going to after court.”

your hands shook as you pressed the phone tighter to your ear, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the rest of her words. all the noise of the courtroom — the applause, the chatter — evaporated. all that existed was the silence after those words: we can’t find him.

donghyuck must have seen your face drain of color, because suddenly his hand was on your arm. “y/n? what happened?”

“jun…” your voice cracked. “jun’s missing.”

the papers slipped from your hands, scattering across the courtroom floor in a storm of pages and ink. jaemin’s head snapped towards you, instincts overriding everything as he crossed the room in seconds. “y/n!” his voice cut through the chaos. “what’s wrong?”

you barely registered him until his hands were steadying you, grounding you. chenle and renjun rushed in from the gallery, their faces pale with alarm.

donghyuck’s voice broke the silence, low but devastating. “jun’s missing.”

the words hollowed out the room. your heart stopped. the victory, the verdict, the cheers — all of it vanished into static.

and in that suspended moment, with everyone’s eyes on you, the weight of an entirely different war crashed down.

// to be continued

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[neochan]

THE BODY SHOP (M)

PAIRING | idol bf!haechan x reader x idol!jeno

SYNOPSIS | in which haechan and jeno look damn good during the glass box performance.

WC | 4k

WARNINGS | haechan being hot in the glass box, choking, slight dumbification, fingering and oral fem receiving, hickies, hair pulling, dirty talk, brief mxm interactions, breeding kink, possessive hyuck, jeno has a daddy kink

A. NOTE | these past few days have given me whiplash. from the glass box incident (which inspired the original idea for this fic) to jeno at fashion week (which inspired him joining this fic), i have been unwell.

“i don’t think the fans understand how hard it is to do the choreography in that tiny ass box.”

haechans out-of-breath voice can be heard just outside the greenroom doors, just as the seven men filter into the room. jaemin and jeno have already stripped their shirts offs, revealing rivulets of sweat running down their chest and abs. their faces were easily just as bad, between the streaking makeup and a bit of hair dye staining their temples, the boys looked a mess.

chenle and jisung stumble in together and immediately crash on the couch, pulling out their in-ears and grabbing their phones from where they left them on the table. chenle props up his foot and a staff member runs over to hand him an icepack, “can’t believe they had me perform. my ankle still fucking hurts.”

“welcome to sm entertainment.” jisung mutters under his breath, before putting a water bottle to his lips and gulping it down.

“give me some of that.” chenle hisses, and snatches it out of his bestfriends hand.

renjuns manic laugh echoes off the cinderblock walls when he strolls in. “y’all will never guess what the fuck they just posted to twitter.” he outstretches his hand, phone screen turned towards the boys and displays a half-naked photo of jaemin.

“how did they take that?? i didn’t take it off till i was under the stage?” jaemin groans and buries his face in his hands.

“must have been a venue staff leak. be more careful buddy.” renjun sends a sympathetic pat to the older boys shoulders and moves on to the dressing rooms, opting to change out of his stage fit earlier than the others.

haechan and mark walk in last, their stage outfits untucked and disheveled. a staff member rushes over to them and hands them water bottles, curt thank yous and bows exchanged before she scurries out of the room.

the bright red haired boy walks over to where you were lounging on a chair, and grabs your hands, “you know,” you start, giggling when he wraps his arms around you and starts to plant tiny kisses on the side of your neck, “i don’t think the fans care if it’s hard to dance in the box, especially when you look that fucking good doing it.”

your boyfriend nuzzles against you, the heady scent of his sweat masking you like a thick cologne, “you thought i looked good?”

nodding your head, you pull back to capture him in a kiss. jisung groans and throws his empty water bottle at you, effectively clipping you in the head and making mark and jeno laugh.

a part of you wants to walk over there and reprimand jisung for throwing something, but your attention is stolen away when haechans lips find your ear, “they basically had me thrusting against the glass, remind you of anything?” his hands wander around your waist before grabbing two handfuls of your ass.

“hyuck!!” you squeal, pulling away from him and darting out into the hallway. from behind you, you can heard the other boys groaning and laughing, but a split second later, haechan is following after you. the both of you knew what you were searching for.

an empty room of course.

when you push open a random door that leads into an empty greenroom, you waste no time in pulling haechan in and fumbling for a lock behind you that doesn’t seem to be there.

“you’re so needy tonight, what has gotten into you.” he grins, pulling you into his lap after he sits down on the couch dominating the center of the room.

“the box, haechan! you in the box. thrusting, pushing your hips into the glass, smirking at the camera when jeno grinds on top of it? pulling yourself up while he ground down… it’s too much for me to comprehend, i felt like my head was gonna explode when i saw the footage!” you’re nearly out of breath once you finish your tiny, horny fueled monologue. how did he not understand how good he looked in the box? how he drove you insane when he smirked while body rolling. “not to mention you kissed the fucking top of the box when jeno…”

you make a mental note to show him the footage from twitter later.

“are you telling me you have a thing for one of my best friends, or…? he jokes, his hands running up and down your sides, sometimes caressing your back.

your fists beat against his chest softly, “no you clueless bastard. i have a thing for you!”

“good. because you’re mine.” the words send a chilling thrill through you, and you shiver against his touch.

he slowly presses his hips up against you, his upper body rolling ever so slightly, “you liked seeing me do this?”

your brain feels fuzzy when you feel his hard on pressing through his black faux leather pants and against the lace of your panties. you thank your lucky stars you wore a dress to the concert.

“y-yes, where did you learn that.” surely, he couldn’t have been taught that during rehearsals.

his voice drops an octave when he responds, “baby, i learned it from fucking you.” your arms circle his neck and you grind down against him, lips brushing his. god you wanted to kiss him, but he opens his mouth to say something again, and you have to stifle the urge to shut him up, “i wish all my fans knew too. i only look good in that damn box because of how good i fuck my girl, yeah?”

delicate fingers thread themselves in your hair right before he pulls you close, claiming your mouth in a needy kiss. it’s hot and desperate, and his tongue felt burning hot when he slipped it past your own only to swirl around it again and again and again, until you both were a moaning mess, pressing against each other tightly. you could feel every rigid muscle through the flimsy fabric of his white t-shirt, and it drove you crazy.

“god i love you.” he whispers when you pull back, catching your breath, “i should perform in the box more often.” a chuckle slips past his lips, but you quickly squash when you go back to kissing him, swallowing any and all noise he makes, even the small whimpers he makes when your hand snakes around his throat and slightly squeezes.

a flurry of kisses is pressed to his jaw and he moves his hands to the back of your head, holding you close to his honey skin, “no hickeys please.”

“nothing makeup can’t fix.” you mutter, painting his collarbones blue with lust.

“you’re insatiable.” he groans, right before digging his fingers into your hips and lifting you off the couch. he carries you to the table off to the right, just out of view of the doors window, and sets you down on it.

“wanna remind you of what i learned,” he pouts, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. his chest is so pretty, deeply tanned and muscular in all the right places. a few faded hickies scatter across his chest like a constellation, “since you think i looked so good in that damned box.” your heartbeat flutters erratically when he reaches up under your dress and pushes your panties aside, “already wet for me? that performance did all this? i don’t wanna sound cocky, but damn. i’m that hot? of course i am, i’m lee donghyuck.” he smirks, and your eyes roll back into your head when he slips a finger knuckle deep into you.

“h-hyuck!”

you grab his wrist, but he shrugs you off with the other hand, “stop it. need to prep you.”

he takes his time then, at one point getting on his knees so he could suck your clit. you had grown ecstatic, grabbing the back of his head to keep him there, now pistoning two fingers in and out of you while making out with your clit. you vaguely wondered if the lewd noises could be heard from outside the room, but when he slipped a third and final finger into you, you couldn’t care to remember what you were wondering about in the first place.

no matter how much haechan loved that you wore a dress, he couldn’t help but wish you had worn a t-shirt. he felt like he was neglecting your boobs, and with the way your dress was cut, there was no way he could get access to them.

next time, he thinks.

for now, he’ll focus on making you remember just how he learned to dance like that.

“gonna fuck you dumb baby.” he mumbles while standing up and undoing his belt. he tosses it to some corner of the room, probably never to be seen again, and quickly undoes the top of his pants. his cock springs free, heavy and thick, and so deliciously yours, with precum already leaking from the tip, “it’s been a while since we’ve… i … if i finish fast, i’m sorry.”

you giggle into your palm, ‘hyuckie, don’t worry baby. i just wanna feel you in me, please.” you take the liberty of hiking your skirt up a little more.

“whatever you say princess.” he presses the head of his cock against you, lightly tapping your clit a couple times which makes you jump and shake the table beneath you.

he moans when you grab him, mouth lolling open as you guide him to the space between your thighs. you help him slowly sink into you, his head dropping low, chin resting against his chest, at the feeling of your walls pulsing around him.

“oh…oh”

this was a heaven he forgot about. between rehearsing and touring, there wasn’t much time for the simple pleasure of feeling your body connect to his. oh how he missed it.

“fuck… you – you’re so tight.” his soft groaning rumbles in his chest, and he takes a second before moving again, the warmth of you around him pushing him way too close to the edge already.

for you, feeling haechan slowly fuck into you made your mind go fuzzy – like t.v. static, only punctuated by each sound he made. it felt almost like a dream, one that had you cushioned and caged, the sweet smell of your boyfriend filling your head and making you forget your name. who were you? you didn’t know. only haechan and his cock filled your rotten brain.

your head lolls to the side and haechan takes the opportunity to bend down and attack your neck with wet kisses that leaves you wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him deeper. he kept a shallow pace at first, but as soon as you cage him, he thrusts all the way in; so deep you have no choice but to scream his name and throw your arms around his neck.

“fuck, so good hyuck… right there!!”

he chuckles against the skin of your throat, now sucking harsh bruises into the skin, sure to appear darker tomorrow. painting you in love bites was his favorite past time.

“love this cock, huh?” he’s cocky about it, but he’s earned the right to be.

“mhm.”

“yeah? then take it like that good girl you are.” he pulls almost all the way out of you before slamming into you, one of his hands reaching up to wrap around your throat. driving his hips into you, he pulls back to admire your pretty face, the mascara you had was running down in streaks, pleasurable tears filling your eyes at the sensation of him brushing your g-spot.

you chant curse words like a mantra in tune with his thrusts. your mind tries to form sentences, but all you’ve been left with is incoherent mumbles that haechan finds absolutely adorable.

“is my cock driving you dumb,  baby?” rapidly nodding your head, he tightens his grip on your throat, “good. my name should be the only one you can remember.”

“what about mine?” the voice startles the both of you, but haechan doesn’t slow down his thrusts or remove his hand from your throat, nor does he look over his shoulders to see who it is. he’s spent years with the guy wavering in and out of the door way, there was no need to see who the voice belonged to.

from where you were on the table, you could see just past hyucks arm, and standing with one hand on the door handle, still shirtless and dripping in sweat, is jeno. hair dye runs down his temples, and with each step closer he takes, you can make out the rising hard on pressing against the fabric of his stage pants.

who knew how long he had been standing there, listening to and watching the way haechan fucked you. some part of you should feel shy, but it’s just the opposite when you lock eyes with jeno.

“ah jeno!!” haechans voice is a little too cheery for how hard he’s fucking you now, but he sticks his tongue out between his lips and furrows his brows as if he was concentrating super hard, “my beautiful girlfriend here was just telling me how hot she thought my – our, performance was and fuck – she, shit… stop it or i’m gonna cum.”

you were purposefully squeezing around his cock, driving him deeper and deeper, and you could feel him twitching inside of you every time you did it. your hands, which were behind you, supporting your body weight, move to tap his hand which was cutting off your airflow now, and making your head cloudy. he loosens his grip but doesn’t remove it fully. he liked having control like that.

jeno had moved off to the side now, still out of haechans view, but close enough to where you could touch him if you reached a hand out. his eyes were trained on you, taking in the way your hair was disheveled, and your makeup ran down your face.

you knew you should tell him to fuck off; to leave because he interrupted a private moment, but you’d be lying if you said his gaze didn’t make you feel hotter, make the place between your thighs wetter. haechan must have felt the same way because he’s fucking you with so much vigor, your mouth falls open, and you, under some sort of fucking spell, can’t find the strength to close it.

haechan continues while staring deep into your eyes, “she really liked the part where you were grinding on top of the box, and ya know, i was doing the same in the damn thing.”

“is that so?” jenos voice is deep and quiet, almost as if he knew all along how you felt.

“mhm. and in that tiny brain of hers i bet she’s wishing she could’ve been in the middle of us.”

you’re so taken aback by haechans teasing words that you rapidly blink before stuttering out, “n-n-no that’s not tru-ue.”

“you sure?” it’s jeno that pipes up, moving closer to you with such inquisitive eyes you felt like you were gonna explode.”

“she says it’s not true, but her pussy’s basically dripping over my cock.” he smirks, cocking his head to the side, “does the idea of being sandwiched between us turn you on?”

you feel like you’ve been caught red handed, totally embarrassed. the hot blush creeps up your spine and displays itself on your face and chest, make hyuck laugh, and jeno crack a smile.

“guessing that’s a yes, huh baby?” nodding your head slowly, you close your eyes. maybe pretending jeno wasn’t in the room would calm your fluttering heart. “jeno…”the boy in question grunts and you notice he’s palming himself through his pants.  “she even went crazy over the fact that i gave you a little kiss through the glass.” haechan speeds up his thrusts, and you can feel him twitching like crazy, “whaddya say we put this post-concert adrenaline to use and give her another show?”

you don’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this.

jeno doesn’t say a word, just angles his body so that he was facing haechan yet still beside you, and he leans in, fisting your boyfriends hair and tugging harshly, making the older boy yelp in surprise right before kissing him. it’s a nasty kiss full of desperation and passion, with haechan whimpering against jenos mouth. at one point you see a flash of tongue, and you’re surprised that not once did your boyfriends tempo falter. the scene is so incredibly hot, you can’t believe it’s real.

after a couple seconds, jeno releases his hold and takes a step back, leaving haechan dizzy yet he still fucked you with so much energy.

“did that turn you on?” jeno whispers to no one in particular, and both you and haechan nod your heads, “good. now would you mind if i fucked your pretty girlfriends mouth? i’m so hard right now… i just need release.”

for the first time since he stepped in the room, you speak up with astounding clarity and coherence, “after that performance, why don’t you have haechan do it.”

it was meant as a joke, but jeno looks at your boyfriend expectantly. the both of them burst into laughter, “pretty girl, i don’t want my dick in his mouth no offense. that kiss was just a little something for you.”

you’re so close to seeing stars when haechan switches up his pace, driving circles against you, “o-okay but i don’t- can’t you fuck me jeno? not my mouth…me?”

the two boys exchange looks, one of jealousy shadowing on haechans, but jeno waits patiently for a response.

“just let me cum first okay? then i’ll give you what you’re really looking for baby.”

your boyfriend quickens his pace again, brushing your sensitive walls with the head of his cock. his fingers dig into your side as he loses himself in the feeling of your cunt sheathing him. a string of curses falls from his lips, mixed with your name. jeno just stands and watches with an amused expression, and it’s not long before milky white ropes of cum are painting your walls, the skin of your inner thighs, and some dripping onto the floor. haechan keeps going until the sensitivity is too much and his face is scrunched in pleasurable pain. “fuck, fuck okay.” he pulls out slowly and fixes himself in his stage outfit, “come on baby, let’s go.”

a laugh bubbles in your throat and pops out when he picks you up and brings you to the couch. haechan lays down on his back and pulls you on top of him, “lay down on top of me baby, but spread your legs a little for jeno.”

you do as your told, and before jeno has time to walk over, you realize what haechan is doing; he’s sandwiching you between him and jeno. “you’re fucking nasty babe.” you whisper, only for him to hear, and he chuckles, kissing your cheek.

“come on jeno, don’t you wanna fuck my cum back into her before it drips all out?”

“don’t gotta ask me twice.” the younger boys voice is deep and husky and sends a wave of pleasure rippling through you.

haechans hands thread through your hair to keep you in place before kissing you deeply. you stay like that for what felt like hours, kissing your boyfriend while laying on your belly, his cum dripping down your thighs, before finally your feel the couch dip under the weight of three people.

jeno furrows his brows and grunts, “think ‘m a little bigger than haechan.”

you moan out a response against haechans lips, but the sound dies in your throat when you feel the head of jenos cock moving against your entrance. in a split second, he’s pushing into you, filling you up so much more than haechan had.

“fuck, fuck, please, jeno right th–”

haechan is quick to grab your jaw, “you don’t get to say his name, okay? mine should be the only one you’re remembering…call him something else or don’t acknowledge him at all.”

“what am I supposed to call him?” you squeak out, jeno now finding a pretty quick rhythm that suits his style. usually he liked fucking rough, but with haechan under you, he knew he couldn’t drive you into the couch cushions like he wished he could.

“call me daddy, pretty girl.”

your boyfriend almost bursts out laughing underneath you, “you have a daddy kink? that’s kinda perverted”

jeno’s voice drops ten octaves, “you better watch what you say while i’m fucking your girl. might just have to put a baby in her.”

haechans laugh is cut off quick, and he squirms underneath you as if he was trying to push you off, but he doesn’t say anything.

“right there daddy!!” you squeal.

jenos cock plunges in and out of your sopping cunt, abusing your g-spot, but what has you jolting in pleasure, is his hand snaking around your waist to rub at your clit. he hits the right spot instantly, pushing you into such a euphoric state, you feel like you’re floating.

your first orgasm hits harder than you’ve ever felt, leaving you reeling and moaning into a kiss hyuck has you captured in, and quickly, your second snakes up on you before you know it. by some miracle, you’re still coherent, no matter how hard your legs are shaking.

the boy behind you doesn’t let up, no matter how much you beg him to slow down. it seemed like he knew your body better than you did, and you could tell your boyfriend was growing evermore jealous.

“i think she likes daddies cock more than yours,” jeno taunts haechan, who only rolls his eyes, and keeps kissing you, “want my cum pretty girl?” you try to moan out a response, but jeno angles his cock so that he’s brushing over your g-spot so intensely, all you let out is a high-pitched whine, “gonna take that as a yes.”

it’s not like you notice when he finishes in you because haechan has taken up all your other senses. his hands grab at your dress, pushing and pulling the fabric so he could touch the skin of your neck, peck kisses along your throat and leave tiny bruises in his wake. for some reason, he’s moaning underneath you, as if the vibrations from jeno pounding into you from behind has somehow traveled to his own dick. “you’re so fucking dirty, yeah? liking it when my friend floods that pretty pussy.” you incoherently nod your head, “you should be thanking me for allowing this to happen.”

you don’t respond. all too busy with the feel of jeno practically splitting you open.

when you don’t respond, haechan pokes further “come on, say thank you for letting jeno fuck you.”

“thank you sir for letting jeno fuck me.” the boy behind you lets out a long groan as he empties himself into you, messily mixing his, haechans, and your arousal. he stays there for a few, gently rocking his hips into you again and again until haechan pushes up.

“get the fuck off of us now, i’m getting squished down here.”

moving off of you, the dark haired boy stands up and fixes himself decent, “i like being called daddy, but something about the way she says my name… you’ve got a good one hyuck.”

you can barely speak, but the words dribble out of you slowly, “i feel like i’m being objectified right now.”

haechan wraps his arms around you, “not at baby… not at all.”

you feel sleepy, but you had enough sense not to doze off in the rec room as the busses would be leaving soon. god forbid they left you behind like they left renjun that one night.

“come on, lets go find a bathroom to get you cleaned up.” your boyfriend rubs your back gently, placing soft kisses to the top of your head, “and remind me to tell the choreographer the glass box is a hit. i’ll perform in it every night just for you.”

[neochan]

breeze (m).

pairing: study buddy!mark x afab!reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: whatever was in the air, it left mark desperate, and you were the only one close enough to help

warnings: sex pollen, needy!mark, fingering, creampie, breeding, mark finishes like four times or something crazy like that, by far the worst paced fic you've probably ever read

a.n: welcome to the first fic of kinktober. yes, this is supposed to read as fast and desperate because that's exactly what mark is. leave a like or a comment if you enjoy <3

You and Mark had been cramming in the back corner of the library for hours. His laptop was open, highlighter caps littered the table, and your notes were a mess. College sucked.

“Another chapter?” he asked, already yawning.

“Sure,” you muttered, dragging your pen across the page.

It should’ve been normal — just another late-night study grind — except for the weird little potted plant his biology professor had shoved into his hands earlier. “Keep an eye on this until the lab’s open tomorrow.”

Neither of you noticed when the plant bloomed. The faint sweet scent that filled the air seemed harmless enough at first.But then Mark shifted in his chair, tugging at the collar of his hoodie. His cheeks flushed bright pink.

“You hot?” you asked, frowning.

He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “Kinda. I dunno, I just—fuck, I feel weird.”

────୨ৎ────

It didn’t take long before weird turned into desperate.

Mark couldn’t sit still anymore. His leg bounced hard under the table, his jaw tight, fingers digging into his thigh. His hoodie was already shoved off, and sweat clung to the back of his neck, dampening the collar of his t-shirt. A vein stood out in his temple, pulsing fast.

“Mark?” you whispered, worried. “Are you okay?”

He looked up, and his eyes were blown wide, pupils dark, chest rising and falling too fast. His lips parted like he was about to answer, but nothing came out.

“I can’t—” He shoved his chair back with a screech, running a shaky hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “Fuck, I can’t think. I just—” His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there like he’d never seen them before, hunger sparking in his expression. “It’s not my fault.”

“Mark—”

He didn’t let you finish. He grabbed your wrist and yanked you up, pulling you down the rows of bookcases with quick, frantic steps. You tried to protest, but he was too strong, too desperate. His body practically radiated heat, palm slick against yours.

“Mark, where are we—”

He slammed into the bathroom, locking the door behind you with a shaky hand. The second the lock clicked, he shoved you against the wall, his mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was hot, sloppy, teeth clashing, his tongue forcing past your lips like he was starving. His breath was harsh, almost animal.

You gasped into his mouth, hands pushing at his chest, but he just groaned, grinding against you. His cock was hard, pressing thick and urgent against your thigh, the weight of it unmistakable.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, eyes wild and glassy. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I need you so bad, I can’t think...”

His hands tugged at your clothes, fumbling with your jeans, yanking them down just enough to shove his hand between your thighs. His fingers pressed against your underwear, rubbing hard over your clit, his knuckles rough.

“Look at you,” he gasped, forehead pressed to yours, his hand working faster, thumb circling harder until he could feel the wetness dampen your panties. “Already wet—fuck, maybe you need this too.”

Your knees buckled, a moan tearing from your throat, and if he wasn't pressing you against the door, you would have fallen to the floor. His grin was shaky, desperate, more unhinged than cocky.

“Yeah, that’s it. Let me hear you.”

He yanked your underwear aside, plunging two fingers into you without warning. You choked on a cry, your hands grabbing at his shoulders as his pace turned frantic, fingers fucking into you fast and messy, curling just right to make your eyes roll back.

“Mark—” you gasped, back arching, walls fluttering around his fingers.

“I can’t stop,” he groaned, rutting against your hip, cock straining painfully against his sweats. “I’m gonna lose my mind if I’m not inside you.”

He pulled his fingers out and spun you around, bending you over the sink. The mirror reflected your wide eyes, your lips parted as you watched him shove his sweats down, cock springing free, flushed and leaking as he lined himself up behind you.

“Please,” he begged, his voice breaking, guttural. “Please, I’ll die if I don’t...just let me.”

And then he pushed in.

The stretch was brutal, your walls clenching tight around his cock as he bottomed out with a strangled moan. His hands gripped your hips hard, holding you in place as he started thrusting, fast and sloppy, the sound of wet skin echoing in the bathroom.

“Shit—fuck...y-you’re so tight,” he groaned, head dropping onto your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. His cock drove deep, hitting the perfect spot over and over until your vision blurred. “I can’t... I can’t stop.”

Every thrust rocked you against the sink, your palms flat on the counter, eyes fixed on his reflection behind you. His face was flushed scarlet, sweat dripping down his temple, jaw clenched like he was in pain.

“Say you want it too,” he gasped, hips pounding into you. “Please—say it.”

Your moan broke into a cry, legs trembling. “I—I want it—”

Mark let out a choked sound, fucking you harder, his cock dragging deep inside you. The heat, the desperation, the way his body pressed heavy against yours—it was too much. You came hard, sobbing into the mirror, your cunt squeezing him tight.

He groaned loud, thrusts turning messy, desperate. “Fuck—I’m gonna cum—shit, I can’t—”

Mark’s first orgasm hit so hard he almost collapsed over you. His cock twitched inside, pumping hot cum deep while he groaned against your shoulder, sweat dripping down his face, his hips jerking helplessly.

Normally, he’d have pulled out, slumped against the wall, embarrassed as hell. His cheeks would’ve gone scarlet, his stammered apologies tripping over each other, and you would’ve had time to catch your breath.

But not this time.

He was still hard. Rock hard.

Mark froze for a second, his chest heaving against your back, breath ragged and broken. His cock twitched inside you, too heavy, too stiff, like it hadn’t just spent itself. He swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his temple, the sound of it hitting the porcelain sink sharp in the silence.

“What the fuck…” His voice cracked, half a whisper, half a groan. He lifted his head, looking down at where your bodies were still joined—your swollen, slick cunt stretched around him, his cum already dripping out to coat the base of his cock. The sight made his stomach clench, made his hips twitch forward before he could stop himself.

Then his gaze flicked up, catching the reflection in the mirror. The two of you—wrecked, panting, pressed together, skin flushed and glistening. Your hair stuck damply to your cheek, your lips parted, eyes hazy with overstimulation. He looked unrecognizable too; jaw tight, eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon.

His eyes went wild.

His hips started moving again before he even finished the thought.

The slow grind turned into a thrust, then another, until he was driving back into you, groaning like the need was tearing him apart from the inside. Cum leaked down your thighs, sticky and hot, and he groaned at the way his cock dragged it back inside, making everything messier, wetter, louder.

“I’m still hard,” he muttered, almost disbelieving, his words breaking on each thrust. His hands clamped on your hips, bruising, anchoring himself. “I never—god, it’s like I can’t—” His words cut off in a strangled moan, his head dropping against your shoulder. “I need to cum again. I have to.”

You whimpered, the force of it making your body jolt against the sink. Each thrust drove you forward, your palms slipping against the counter with how slick your skin had become. His chest pressed heavy to your back, suffocating in the best way, cock pistoning into you like he had zero control.

“Mark—” you gasped, voice catching, your thighs trembling. His name became a mantra, echoing throughout the empty bathroom.

“You too,” he rasped, his tone cracking. His hips snapped faster, dragging out broken sounds from your throat. “Please cum with me again. I can’t—fuck, I can’t hold it.”

Your orgasm tore through you, ripping a sob from your lips as your cunt squeezed him mercilessly. The mirror blurred in front of you, stars sparking behind your eyes, your body shaking as you collapsed against the counter.

Mark’s own release followed instantly. His cock jerked deep inside you, spilling another hot flood, his hips grinding desperately, as if he could force every drop deeper. His groan was guttural, broken, echoing off the bathroom tiles like he’d been split open. His whole body trembled, muscles twitching as he collapsed forward.

For a moment, he went still; panting, lips pressed to your shoulder, his chest slick with sweat against your back. His eyes squeezed shut, his knuckles white where they clutched your hips.

Then it hit him.

He was still fucking hard.

Mark let out a shaky laugh, half-delirious, almost hysterical. “No way. No fucking way…You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He pulled your body up, turning you around and hoisting you onto the sink. “One more?”

His mouth crashed onto yours, sloppy and feverish, his cock already pushing back inside your sore pussy. He moaned into your mouth as he bottomed out, grinding hard, sweat dripping down his temples, the counter rattling beneath you.

“God, you’re taking me so good,” he panted, thrusting deep. “I don’t even care if this kills me—I’ll die fucking you.”

Your nails clawed down his back as he fucked you harder, hips snapping between your thighs. Your cunt fluttered around him, overstimulated, slick dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

He buried his face in your neck, groaning, “I’m gonna cum again—fuck, I’m gonna—”

His third orgasm hit like a wave, hot cum spilling out of you and over the counter, his whole body shaking as he ground deep inside, cock jerking until you were sure he had nothing left to give.

But even as he panted, sweat-soaked and trembling, he stayed buried in you. His cock was still hard, twitching, ready.

Mark pulled back, dazed, eyes glazed over. “What the hell is happening to me…” He looked down at you, completely wrecked under him, your thighs shaking, your lips swollen. His breath hitched.

He should’ve been done. He should’ve slumped to the ground, out cold.

Instead, he lifted his head, dazed, panting. His cock was still hard.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, looking between your bodies. “I just—three times? I’ve never—” His words cut off in a ragged groan as his hips twitched forward again, grinding into you.

You whimpered, sore and overstimulated, but he caught your face in his hands, eyes blown wide and frantic.

“I can’t stop,” he whispered, almost panicked.

Before you could answer, he pulled out, spun you around, and bent you over the sink again. His cum dripped down your thighs as he shoved his cock back inside with one brutal thrust. Both of you cried out—him in disbelief, you in overwhelmed pleasure.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, hips snapping fast, desperate. “It’s like my body won’t stop until I ruin you.”

Every thrust was harder than the last, your reflection in the mirror showing your wrecked expression, hair sticking to your damp forehead. Mark’s hands dug into your hips, his nails leaving crescents on your skin.

Your cunt clamped down hard, another orgasm ripping through you without warning. You sobbed into the mirror, shaking as your legs gave out.

Mark lost it. His cock jerked inside you, another orgasm tearing out of him with a guttural groan, hot cum spilling into you for the nth time. He pressed his chest to your back, grinding deep, shuddering as he filled you.

But he was still hard.

Mark’s laugh was broken, disbelieving. “No way. No fucking way.” He pulled you up against his chest, lips dragging over your shoulder, your neck. “I’m gonna break you.”

He dragged you off the counter and onto the floor tiles, laying you on your back before crawling over you, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. His body hovered above yours, heavy and trembling, cock still leaking and hard as steel.

“Look at me,” he begged, eyes glassy. “Please, don’t look away. I don’t know how many times I can do this, but I need every single one inside you.”

He pushed back in, slower this time, groaning as he bottomed out again. His thrusts started sloppy, overstimulated moans leaving his mouth with every movement. His whole body shuddered with the sensitivity, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“Fuck—too much—but it feels so good,” he gasped, forehead pressing to yours. “You’re gonna kill me, I swear.”

You cried out, nails raking down his back, and he kissed you through the mess of it—desperate, wet, panting.

When he came the fourth time, it was almost painful, his cock jerking hard as cum spilled deep inside you again, dripping out immediately to pool on the floor beneath you. His whole body trembled, muscles twitching, his voice breaking on a hoarse groan.

He collapsed against you, chest heaving, sweat-slick and trembling. His cock twitched inside you, still hard, refusing to soften.

Mark laughed weakly, almost hysterical, his lips brushing your ear.

“…fuck. I think I could go again.”

────୨ৎ────

Mark looked like death warmed over.

His hoodie was wrinkled, his hair stuck up in every direction, and there were dark smudges under his eyes from getting absolutely no sleep. Not because he didn’t try—he did try—but every time he shut his eyes, his cock twitched, his body remembered, and he was hard all over again. He lost count of how many times he came after dragging you back to your apartment, how many times he swore that was the last round only for his body to betray him.

Now, the stupid little potted plant sat in his hands, looking perfectly innocent. A neat bloom of white petals, fragrant and harmless.

Mark marched into the biology lab like a man going to his own execution. He set the plant on his professor’s desk a little harder than he meant to, the pot clinking against the wood.

“Here,” Mark croaked, his voice shot, like he’d spent all night screaming. “Your, uh… project.”

Professor Han, a lean man with glasses sliding down his nose, looked up from his laptop. He peered at the plant, then at Mark. His brows lifted.

“You kept this in your dorm?”

Mark shifted uneasily. “Library.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing everywhere but the professor’s eyes. “Why?”

Professor Han smirked faintly, like he knew something Mark didn’t. “That species isn’t exactly… stable. The pollen tends to have a very specific effect on mammals.”

Mark froze. “Effect?”

Professor Han leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Let’s just say it enhances reproductive drive. Unethical to test on humans, of course.” His gaze slid over Mark, taking in the disheveled hair, the hoodie, the way Mark couldn’t stand still. “But you look like you might’ve had firsthand exposure.”

Heat flooded Mark’s face. “I—what—no!” His laugh came out too loud, too forced. “I mean, I was just—studying, and—”

Professor Han cut him off smoothly. “Be thankful it burns itself out after a day.” His eyes glinted behind the lenses. “Otherwise, you’d be in real trouble.”

Mark’s mouth opened, then shut again. He grabbed his backpack, muttered something that could’ve been “thanks,” and bolted out of the lab as fast as he could without breaking into a sprint.

Behind him, the professor chuckled under his breath, jotting something in his notebook.

“Always the library,” he murmured. “Those poor girls never see it coming.”

[withlovemark]

“A CELEBRATION” — OR THE SIX MONTH ANNIVERSARY PT. 1

total word count: 9k+ | genre: fluff, smut | featured couples: 💘🪽, 🐾🐰 , 🕷️🐈‍⬛

synopsis -> none of the dream boys saw this coming. the same guys who once turned late-night texts into sport, who treated flings like trophies, who swore commitment was a curse word. and yet here they are now — the so-called retired fuckboys, better known these days as the loverboys — six months deep and hopelessly whipped for their girls. half a year might not sound like much to anyone else, but to them? it was monumental. and if there’s one thing they knew how to do, it was to celebrate in style.

“i’ll never get tired of loving you.”

pairing: jaemin x angel | word count: 3.3k+ | warnings: extreme fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), mutual masturbation

anniversary date: march 8, 2025

the park by the lake was quiet during the evening except for the soft hum of cicadas and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. you followed the little trail of fairy lights strung along the grass, curiosity growing with each step leading to the place your boyfriend texted you to meet.

when you finally reached the clearing, your breath caught. your favorite spot, the one you always went to after long classes, where you liked to paint and he liked to take pictures, was glowing. strings of fairy lights draped from the branches of huge oak tree, twinkling like stars had spilled onto the ground. a sage green picnic blanket spread out, topped with pillows, candles in jars and a large picnic basket.

you laughed, a soft, disbelieving sound, “jaemin…”

before you could finish, warm, solid arms slid around your waist from behind, pulling you back against a familiar chest. his chin rested on your shoulder as he murmured, “surprise, angel.”

turning in his arms, your hands instinctively found his shirt, curling into the fabric. he looked absolutely unfair under the glow — messy soft hair, shining eyes and that hopelessly lovesick smile he wore only for you.

“you’re too sweet,” you whispered, smiling even as your heart pounded in your chest.

“only for you,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, “come on.”

he guided you to the blanket, his hand never leaving yours. the moment you sat, you noticed the snacks — the exact ones that you craved on study nights, down to chips you once swore you hated but always stole from him.

before you could tease him about how well he knew you, jaemin pulled something from the picnic basket — a thick white scrapbook tied with a pink ribbon. his hands trembled slightly as he placed it in your lap.

“open it?”

your chest tightened. you untied the ribbon and opened the book — and immediately, tears stung your eyes. page after page was filled with photographs of you from the past six months of loving him. not staged. not pretending. just you. laughing with paint smeared on your cheek, sketching in this very park, stealing bites of his fries, sleeping with his hoodie draped over your shoulders, curled into his blankets, messy hair and everything, in the soft morning light. and each photo was surrounded by messy little notes in his handwriting:

❤︎ i’m on my guard for the rest of the world, but with you, i know it’s no good.

❤︎ just keep on keeping your eyes on me.

❤︎ in this moment now, capture it, remember it cause i don’t know how it gets better than this.

❤︎ angels do exist because you’re the proof.

“jaemin…” your voice broke, a tear slipping down your cheek.

he was there in an instant, thumbs brushing away the tears, kissing your skin between every word, “don’t cry, angel. it’s supposed to make you happy.”

“it does,” you whispered, clutching the scrapbook against your chest and looking up at him with those glass-stained eyes that made him weak in the knees every time, “i just…you love me so much.”

“of course i do,” he smiled, leaning in closer, his forehead pressing against yours, hands cradling your face. his voice was gentle, tender, steady–

“thanks for letting me fall for the real you. she’s my favorite.”

you sobbed a laugh, arms wrapping around him desperately. he held you tight, pressing kisses to your hair, your cheeks, your lips, smiling against your mouth.

“you’re so cheesy,” you whispered against his grin, hands cupping his face.

“and you love it,” he replied, kissing you again, longer this time, until you sighed against him.

the snacks were forgotten. music faded into the background. he pulled you closer. you kissed him harder and harder.

“angel…” he groaned, hands gripping your hips like you might disappear.

you tugged at his hair just enough to make him gasp, “you planned all this just to make me fall harder, huh?” you teased.

“worked, didn’t it?” he laughed breathlessly, before crashing his lips back onto yours – hotter this time, urgent, messy, teeth clashing, lips swollen.

you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, cheeks flushed, “wait,” you whispered, softly pushing him back and reaching into your bag by the picnic basket.

jaemin leaned back, boyish grin returning despite the heat in his eyes, “you’re killing me, angel. what could possibly be more important than me kissing you right now?” he groaned softly, like you’d just stolen his oxygen.

you laughed but your heart raced as you pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box, “this. i got you something too.”

his grin softened instantly, almost stunned. he sat up straight, brushing his fingers over the boy before glancing up at you, “you didn’t have to…”

“i wanted to,” you whispered, “open it.”

he untied the pink ribbon carefully, peeling back the paper until it revealed a silver bracelet, simple but polished, with a tiny charm shaped like an artist’s palette. his lips parted in awe. then you brought attention to the silver chain already circling your wrist, turning it over until he saw the miniature camera charm dangling from it.

his laugh cracked, soft and disbelieving, before it turned shaky, “you’re kidding.”

you shook your head, “nope…it’ us,” you smiled shyly, holding his gaze, “so now, even if we’re apart, we’ll still be carrying each other.”

his eyes filled with so much love it nearly knocked the breath out of you, “can you put it on for me? please.”

your fingers trembled slightly as you fastened the clasp around his wrist. when it clicked into place, jaemin caught your hand and pressed it flat against his chest, right over the rapid thrum of his heartbeat.

his voice dropped, wrecked and full of awe, “i’m so in love with you,” he whispered, bringing your hand up to his lips and placing a soft kiss in your inner wrist, making your smile grow impossibly wider with every gentle action.

the matching bracelets glinted in the fairy lights as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you against him again. his lips found yours, soft at first, like he was sealing the promise into you before it deepened. he pulled you onto his lap without hesitation, until you were properly straddling him, your dress wrapping around the both of you.

the makeout session built quickly, your hips rolling down against him until he groaned low, muffled against your mouth. his lips trailed down to your jaw, your neck, sucking softly, making your nails dig into his shoulders.

“jaem–” you whispered half plea, half warning. he knew exactly what that meant.

“never stopping,” he breathed, kissing you rougher now. his hips pressed up into yours, slow and deliberate and you arched against him with a soft moan. the fairy lights, the soft background music, the world itself faded – leaving only heat, hung and the blinding certainty of love.

his hand slid to the small of your back, lowering you onto the blanket, his large frame hovering over yours. your legs parted instinctively, drawing him closer. his mouth claimed yours, desperate and all-consuming. his weight pressing you down in the best way.

he pulled back just long enough to see you — lips kiss-swollen, hair mussed, cheeks flushed under the glow of the golden fairy lights and his chest ached with how much he adored you.

he brushed your bottom lip with his thumb, whispering, “you’re so beautiful…i don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you.”

you kissed his palm, tugging him down with a grin, “then don’t.”

he smiled, worship already in his gaze as he kissed his way down your jaw, your throat, your collarbone — slow, unhurried, savoring every inch of you. by the time his hands wandered under your dress, your breath was coming in shaky little gasps.

he glanced up, lips brushing your skin as he murmured, “can i, angel?”

your nod was all he needed — in one smooth movement, he slid down the blanket, spreading your legs gently, reverently, before ducking under the fabric of your dress. the cool brush of his nose against your inner thigh made you jolt, a startled whimper escaping your throat.

“relax,” his voice rumbled from under the thin layer of fabric, lips sucking open-mouth kisses against your inner thighs, “i’ve got you.”

and then he was pushing your panties to the side and his mouth was on you. the first slow lick tore a breathy moan from your lips, your hands flying to clutch at his broad shoulders. his tongue worked over you like he’d been dreaming about this forever — slow, purposeful, savoring every flick, every press. he moaned softly against you, the vibration sparking through your core and making your hips jerk.

“jaemin–” you gasped, voice breaking despite your effort to stay quiet.

“i know you can be louder,” he murmured against your heat you can practically feel his smirk before his tongue swirled slowly, “i want to hear you.”

“w-were in public,” you whispered, fingers trembling around his shoulders.

in answer, he sucked harder, moaning against your skin like he wanted the vibrations to drag the sounds out of your throat. you bit down on your lip, but the noise still escaped — a broken, breathless sound that made him grin in satisfaction.

“fuck, angel,” he groaned between licks, his arms wrapping around your thighs, pulling you together against his face, “always so sweet for me.”

your hands scrambled down, bunching your dress up a little higher but not enough to reveal you. just enough so your fingers could twist in his hair as if he were the only thing tethering you to the earth.

he hummed at the tug, burying himself deeper, sucking gently until you were gasping his name like a prayer. every part of him was focused on you — his tongue circling, dipping, teasing. his nose brushing exactly where you needed it most. every moan he let spill into your skin sounded like encouragement. he didn’t let up, didn’t rush. he took his time to properly worship you.

a broken cry tear from your lips before you could stop it. “that’s it,” he whispered against you, his voice wrecked and reverent all at once, “that’s my angel, let go for me. i want to feel you fall apart on my mouth.”

his pace was devastating — the wet glide of his tongue dragging up and down your folds, prodding though your hole then sucking and swirling on your clit in that way that had your toes curling and your thighs trembling around his head as you tried to ground yourself in the messy pull of his hair. he only groaned like he loved the way you’ve trapped him there.

“jaemin—god—i’m so close,” your voice cracked, breath stuttering.

the pressure built fast, sharp and overwhelming until it snapped all at once, pleasure flooding your veins so fiercely your body shook. you cried out his name, pulling at his hair, grinding helpless against his mouth as wave after wave ripped through you.

jaemin worked you through it, steady and relentless. only when you were whimpering and shaking did he finally lift his head, pressing one last tender kiss against your inner thigh before sliding back up. his mouth was shiny with you when he kissed you deeply, lingering, warm, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before finally pulling back.

he grinned, smug and boyish, tucking himself against your side and pulling you into his arms like he couldn’t stand the thought of not touching you. you curled into him automatically, cheek pressed over his racing heartbeat, your legs tangled together.

the world was still spinning. you could still feel the echo of his tongue, the way he’d wrecked you with nothing but his lips.

but your boyfriend wasn’t done celebrating.

his lips caught yours again, hot and hungry, stealing the breath straight from your lungs as his hand slipped beneath your dress once more. his fingers moved with purpose, slow but sure, finding the damp heat of your panties and sliding past them with no permission this time like he owned the right.

you gasped into his mouth when he slid two digits into your slick and in the same moment your hands left his chest, dragging down his chest to tug open the button of his jeans, slipping inside to return the favor.

the first stroke of your hand around him made his body shudder. his groan vibrated against your mouth, low and guttural, even as his fingers pressed inside you, curling with devastating precision. he worked you open with deliberate thrusts but his own control kept faltering — because your fist was stroking him the way you knew ruined him every time.

he bucked helplessly into your hand, lips falling part against yours, “angel–” his voice cracked into the kiss, a ragged moan slipping free before he could catch it, “fuck, you’re–oh my god.”

you smirked against his mouth, your thumb brushing over the slick head. his whole body jolted, a desperate whimper vibrating against your lips. you swallowed it with another kiss, pumping him tighter, faster, teasing the sensitive underside with your palm.

“you’re so hard,” you whispered against his lips, voice shaky with your own pleasure as his fingered pressed deep inside you, “and you’re falling apart already.”

his answer was a broken groan. he shoved another finger into you, pumping fast, thumb circling your clit in messy, desperate strokes. the stretch overwhelming. meanwhile, the moans tearing out of him grew wrecked and uneven, every thrust of your hand unraveling him. he buried his face in your neck, muffling the filthy moan there s your wrist twisted around him just the way he loved.

“god–please,” he choked, every muscle tense under your touch, “you’re gonna make me–” he lifted his head just enough to kiss you again, sloppy and desperate.

your own climax was surging fast under his relentless hand, fire licking through your veins. his hips kept bucking into your fist, torn between chasing release and holding on. you whimpered into his kiss, your free hand coming down to clutch his wrist like you’d break if he stopped, your other hand stroked him faster, coaxing him closer, coaxing him to break.

the kiss turned frantic – tongues sliding, teeth clashing, both of you swallowing each other’s moans like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“fuck–fuck, angel, i’m gonna cum,” he panted, biting at your lip, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. his whole body shook in your hold, every breath shallow, broken.

“me too—don’t stop,” you begged, clinging to him, hips grinding helpless against his hand.

the heat swelled between you until it was unbearable, bodies tightening together, hands moving in frantic, desperate rhythm. his thumb pressed harder against your clit and you cried out into his mouth just as he spilled hot and messy in yours.

the sound of his moan, the way his body shook apart in your hand, was enough to drag you under with him. your climax hit violent and hard, wetness gushing over his fingers as your thighs locked tight around his wrist.

the world dissolved into heat and trembling limbs and breathless, messy kisses. he collapsed against you, chest heaving, sweat dampening his hair, while your hand stayed on each other, still trembling even though you were both utterly undone.

for a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing and the wild thrum of your hearts. sticky, shaky, you clung to each other like lifelines.

then, with a sly, exhausted smile, jaemin lifted his hand between you, fingers glistening in the low light, slick with your release. you felt your face burn as he brought them to his lips without hesitation, sucking each finger into his mouth slowly. his eyes never left yours as his tongue curled around them, tasting you ilke you were the sweetest thing he’d ever had.

“jaemin–” you whispered, half scandalized, half aroused all over again.

he hummed around his fingers before pulling them free with a soft pop, “couldn’t waste a drop,” he winked and before you could reply, he caught your wrist, bringing your sticky palm to his lips as he kissed and licked the traces of himself from your skin, tongue warm and gentle as he cleaned you just the same.

“y-you need to stop that before i go for a round three,” you said sternly, though your voice trembled.

his laugh burst out, low and wrecked but still boyish, “i’m ready when you are.”

but before either of you could test it, your stomach betrayed you with a loud grumble. jaemin froze. then snorted. his grin breaking wide as he carefully fixed your dress with exaggerated care and zipped his pants back up.

then he reached for the picnic basket, mischief dancing in his eyes, soft and smug all at once before flipping open the lid, “good thing i came prepared,” he announced proudly, grabbing the wipes and cleaning his hands up first before pulling out neatly packed containers.

you blinked, sitting up straight now as each one came to view – one stacked with glistening slices of samgyeopsal, another with fresh lettuce leaves and a smaller tub of kimchi. the sight made your mouth water immediately.

“refuel first?” he teased, flashing you that boyish grin.

“god, i love you,” you whispered slowly, eyes wide while he was already rolling a perfect lettuce wrap with practiced ease.

he chuckled softly, “just doing my boyfriend duties,” he said lightly, but the way he glanced up at you, eyes warm and almost shy, betrayed how much it meant to him, “feed you before and after i wear you out.”

you smacked his chest, laughing. he only grinned wider, holding the wrap just out of reach, “say ah.”

you roll your eyes, but the second he leans forward and presses the wrap to your lips, you don’t argue. you take a huge bite, juice dripping down the side of your mouth. jaemin watches you amused, thumb catching the sauce before it can trail down your chin. the savory, smoky flavor melted on your tongue and a groan of delight escaped before you could stop it.

“good?” he asked, already making another.

“good?” you glared at him, chewing furiously, “this is incredible. you’re perfect.”

“and you’re beautiful,” he countered easily, leaning over to lick the smear of sauce off your bottom lip with no hesitation. you freeze, breath hitching, while he grins against your mouth like he knows exactly what he’s doing, “hmm, tastes better this way.”

you swat his chest, but your laugh betrays you, and jaemin just keeps going — feeding you another bite, teasing every spill, “accidentally” brushing his thumb against your lips only to chase it with his mouth again. by the time he lets you return the favor and feed him, you’re both laughing too hard to chew properly, cheeks aching from smiling.

then in the middle of it all, he kissed you — soft and slow and innocent. his smile brushing warm against your skin as he whispered—

“happy six months, angel. i’ll never get tired of loving you.”

you looked up at him, lips curving into a smile you couldn’t fight. the world felt small and safe in this moment — just you and him.

you were about to tease him again for being so cheesy when you noticed him digging in the picnic basket. instead of food, he pulled out his polaroid camera.

“wait—jaem—” you started, laughing as he held it up.

“smile for me,” he said, eyes twinkling.

before you could protest, the shutter clicked, the flash bursting under the fairy lights. you groaned, burying your face in his chest, “i probably look insane right now.”

“you look perfect,” he said without hesitation, shaking the photo until the image slowly bloomed into focus. he held it up between his fingers, eyes softening as though he’s just caught proof of magic. there you were — flushed and glowing, hair a little mussed, and that sparkle in your eye — the one that always appeared when he was the one behind the camera.

his thumb brushed lightly across the glossy surface as if the captured version of you were just as precious as the real thing in front of him. a low, satisfied hum slipped from him, as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss on your forehead.

setting the camera aside, he reached for the scrapbook he’d gifted you earlier, flipping to an empty page with practiced ease. he slid the fresh photo in and pulled out a pen. his handwriting was messy, but careful as he scrawled beneath it:

six months down, forever to go.

𝜗ৎ

“i’ve never known a life without you and i don’t ever want to.”

pairing: jeno x bunny | word count: 5k+ | warnings: extreme fluff, smut, sex, nipple-play, implied riding

anniversary date: april 16, 2025

the day started with jeno showing up at your door with a mischievous grin and his car keys swinging around one finger.

“no hints,” he’d said, holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, “just trust me.”

and of course you did. you always did.

the drive was easy, familiar. your shared playlist hummed in the background, his free hand drumming on the wheel, occasionally reaching over to tap your knee like he couldn’t go too long without touching you.

it didn’t take long before the streets started to look recognizable — your neighborhood. you blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked out the car window. the old corner store. the bakery your mom loved. the rows of houses with chipped paint that you’ve memorized by now.

“bunny,” he said softly.

you glance at him, “yeah?”

“we’re home.”

your chest squeezed. technically, it wasn’t like you hadn’t been here recently — the two of you always came back together every christmas break. but there was something different about being here now, in the middle of your busy semester, away from the chaos of university life. it felt like a secret pocket of time, a stolen breath of fresh air.

“i like being here with you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

his smile softened, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, “yeah. me too,” he says, before placing a soft kiss on your inner wrist.

as if on cue, he turned the car into the little park you both knew by heart. the one where your parents used to push your strollers side by side before either of you could walk. where scraped knees and sticky popsicle fingers had defined entire summers.

and of course, the same park where you had stolen his first kiss. not out of romance, not back then, but out of sheer curiosity — two kids daring to figure out what the big deal was about kissing.

he pulled you toward the old swing set, plopping into the seat and gesturing at the one beside him. for a moment, it felt like the years had folded in on themselves. you could almost see your younger selves running barefoot across the grass.

“do you remember when our moms used to bring us here almost every morning?”

you sat beside him, the chains groaning like they always had, “yeah, i remembered you used to be scared when it would get too high,” you point out.

his ears turned red, “i was, like, seven.”

“you cried,” you teased.

“did not!”

“did too!”

your laughter tangled together as he pushed off, rocking the swing lazily. the sight made your heart flutter. because no matter how old you got, this was still jeno — the boy who lived next door, who shared snacks and secrets, who held your hand when you cried, who never let go even as you grew up. the boy you love wholeheartedly.

from the swings, he tugged you over to the monkey bars, pressing a hand against the hot metal, “you got stuck up there when you were ten.”

you groaned, “don’t remind me.”

“you cried for your dad but guess which big strong man climbed up and got you down?” he smirked, puffing his chest, and flexing his arms, showing off the biceps he definitely didn’t have when he was ten years old.

“please,” you scoffed playfully, “you were shaking and you nearly broke your arm,” you reminded him, poking his side, “in the end, we were crying together.”

“at least you weren’t crying alone,” he winked, earning a laugh from you as he pulled you again, this time stopping right in front of the slide.

the metal glinted faintly in the morning sun, still chipped. his grin turned sofer this time, more private.

“this is where you stole my first kiss,” he said quietly.

your stomach flipped. you remembered it perfectly — the sun dipping low, the air sticky with sugar and sweat. you’d been sitting at the top of the slide, legs dangling, when you’d suddenly turned to him and blurted, “wanna try it?” he’d blinked, wide-eyed and confused behind his thick glasses, and you’d clarified, “kissing.”

fourteen year old jeno had nearly fallen off the slide. but before he could respond, your lips were already on his.

you smiled at the memory, “you were so awkward.”

“i was terrified,” he admitted with a laugh, “i thought you were playing some trick on me.”

“and then i kissed you and you ran away.”

“i didn’t run,” he defended, eyes narrowing in mock offence, “i…strategically retreated.”

you burst into soft giggles, leaning against him. he let you, his arm automatically curling around your waist. the closeness felt different now than it had back then. familiar, yes — but charged too, humming with something deeper, older, more permanent.

he tilted his head toward you, his voice softer this time, “i still remember exactly how it felt, though.

your heart stuttered, "really?”

“yeah,” he murmured, gazing down at you with that steady, warm look that always melted your defenses, “i think…maybe i started falling for you even then. i just didn’t know what it was.”

you blinked, stunned in silence for a moment. he just smiled, giving your waist a little squeeze, before his finger soflty tipped your chin up, his eyes glowed with that same warm, steady affection you’d known all your life. something that now made your stomach twist in that new, dizzy way you were still getting used to.

“what?” you asked, self-conscious under his gaze.

“just thinking,” he said softly.

“dangerous.”

that earned you the grin you were fishing for, but he didn’t take the bait. instead his thumb brushed over your cheek, “you stole my first kiss here,” he murmured, “kinda feels like i should take it back.”

and then he was leaning in, no hesitation this time. the kiss was nothing like the clumsy blur of lips years ago, nothing like the panicked half-second you’d laughed about later. this was slow, sure, sweet, the kind of kiss that said i know you, i’ve always known and i want you still.

you sighed against his mouth, melting into the familiarity of him, the way his hand cradled your face, the way his chest pressed warm against your side. when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his grin was lopsided but soft, “there. properly reclaimed.”

you swatted his arm weakly, though your heart was hammering, “you can’t just reclaim a kiss like it’s lost property.”

“yes, i can,” he teased, nuzzling his nose against yours, “especially when it was stolen in the first place.”

from the park, it was only a short drive before jeno was pulling into the tiny corner lot of the ice cream shop. the same one with the faded white cement and the squeaky doorbell that had greet you every summer since you were kids.

the inside hadn’t changed a bit. same baby blue striped walls, same glass case full of too many choices, same smell of sugar cones and waffle batter clinging to the air. even the old owner waved when she saw you two walking, like she always did, calling you by name.

“two scoops?” she guessed, already reaching for the scooper.

jeno grinned at her like a little boy, “make mine three this time, please.”

you groaned, elbowing him lightly as you leaned on the counter, “still vanilla, huh? you’ve had the same flavor every year since forever.”

“why fix perfection?” he shot back, smug, “besides, vanilla is classic. reliable. like me.”

you snorted, “more like boring.”

the teasing only grew when you got your usual, chocolate chip cookie dough in a waffle cone with the tiniest drizzle of fudge on top. jeno eyed it like it was forbidden treasure.

“you’re not even gonna let me have a bite, are you?” he asked as you both slide into your old booth by the window, the one with initials carved into the side from when you were fifteen.

“last time i shared, you ate half of my scoop,” you reminded him, holding your cone possessively.

he leaned across the table, eyes gleaming, “that’s because chocolate tastes better when it’s yours.”

you rolled your eyes and with a reluctant sigh, you offered the cone toward him, “one bite. that’s it.”

jeno’s lips closed around the tip of the cone, tongue flicking against the melting fudge before he hummed like he was tasting fine wine, “mmm. yep. even better than i remembered.”

he shoved his cup towards you, “here, fair trade. try mine.”

you eyed the vanilla, “neno. it’s vanilla. what could possible surprise me?”

he jutted the cup closer, “don’t diss the classics. just try it.”

with a dramatic sigh, you scooped a spoonful and popped it into your mouth. simple. smooth. sweet. just like him.

when you looked up, he was watching you too closely.

“well?” he asked, feigning casual.

you shrugged, “again, it’s vanilla,” and then, just to mess with him, you added, “it tastes like you.”

that knocked him back — his ears turned pink instantly. six months of being your lover and he still wasn’t used to hearing words like that fall so easily from your lips, “you can’t just say stuff like that,” he muttered, shoveling a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, like maybe ice cream could cool the blush spreading down his neck.

you only grinned wider, licking your cone smugly, “what? it’s a compliment. you’re sweet.”

his eyes narrowed over the rim of his cup, “you’re enjoying this way too much.”

“obviously,” you said brightly, taking a dramatic lick of your ice cream just to rub it in. and when his gaze flickered to your mouth for half a second too long, you caught it. the grin that spread across your face made him groan.

then, without warning, he scooped a bit of vanilla with his spoon and dabbed it right on your cheek. you gasped, sitting back, “JENO!”

he smirked, spoon still raised like a weapon, “that’s what you get for running your mouth.”

“you started a war you can’t win,” you shot back, shoving your cookie dough ice cream straight onto the tip of his nose. his eyes crossed trying to look at it, then he burst into laughter so hard his shoulders shook.

within seconds it devolved into quick, messy swipes — him dabbing little spoonfuls of vanilla on your jaw, you smearing cookie dough across his cheek. neither of you could go far in the cramped booth so it turned into close, playful nudges, your knees bumping, your laughter echoing in the small space.

“look at you,” he teased, leaning just enough to admire his work, “sweet and sticky.”

you shoved at his chest, giggling, and before you could react, he leaned in and licked the smear of vanilla right off your cheek.

your eyes went wide, nose scrunching at the ticklish swipe of his tongue, “jeno! that’s disgusting!”

“effective,” he countered, grinning, “see? clean.”

you groaned, dabbing your cheek with a napkin, “you are so gross.”

he just shrugged, shoulders shaking with laughter, “hey, you brought this on yourself. tease me and i’ll fight back.”

by the time the “battle” ended, both your desserts were beyond saving — your cone was cracked down the middle, ice cream dripping onto a pile of napkins, and jeno’s once-perfect vanilla was more soup than scoop from all his reckless spoon attacks.

“look at us,” you said between giggles, trying to wipe the sticky residue off your hands with yet another napkin, “two university students acting like kindergarteners again.”

jeno leaned in closer, “your fault.”

“you started it!” you shot back, dabbing at the mess on his jaw. his skin was warm under your touch, his smile softer now as he held still and let you properly clean him up.

“you’re good at this,” he murmured, eyes following your movements like it was the most natural thing in the world to let you fuss over him.

“good at babysitting?” you teased.

he chuckled, gently plucking the napkin from your fingers and returning the favor, brushing it across your cheek with the gentlest care, “good at taking care of me.”

the quiet that settled after was comfortable, filled with the hum of the shop. he pressed one last napkin to your nose, making you wrinkle it and laughed softly, “there. all clean.”

and when you both stood up, there was no hesitation — his hand found yours, fingers slotting together like they’d been doing it all their lives. the bell above the parlor door jingled as you stepped back into afternoon air, the faint sweetness of vanilla and cookie dough still lingering on your lips, laughter still bubbling in your chest.

“you know,” you teased, bumping his shoulder with yours as you walked, “if you wanted an excuse to lick ice cream off my face, you could’ve just asked.”

jeno squeezed your hand, that boyish grin sneaking back, “who said i needed an excuse?”

your laughter bubbled over again as the two of you strolled down the familiar street, hand in hand — a sticky mess but happier than ever.

by the time the car rolled into your driveway, the half melted streaks of vanilla on your shirt felt sticky under the sunlight, you grimaced, tugging at the fabric like it was the biggest tragedy in the world. you jogged lightly to the front door, the sticky remnants of chocolate chip cookie dough still clinging to your fingers, and reached under the little potted plant by the doorstep, tugging the door open and stepping inside.

the smell of home hit you instantly — faint cedar, your dad’s aftershave lingering somewhere, and the comfort of everything you’d known for years. the house was silent. your dad was out golfing with jeno’s dad. the thought made you smile. it was just the two of you. just the creak of the stairs as you tugged jeno up toward your room.

he stepped inside after you, shutting the door quietly behind him. his presence immediately filled the familiar space in a way that felt… different. electric, charged, thrilling. you’d been here together dozens of times before — homework sessions sprawled across your bedroom floor, movie marathons, laughter echoing through the halls — but never like this. never as your boyfriend.

his eyes flicked around like nothing had changed since he was last here — except, of course, it had.

“god,” you muttered, glancing down at your stained shirt, “i look like a kid who lost a food fight.”

jeno leaned against your bedroom door with that lazy grin of his, arms folded as his eyes trailed over you, “still the prettiest loser i’ve ever seen.”

you threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly, “don’t start.”

“what? it’s true,” he pushed off the door and crossed to you in a few strides, his hands sliding naturally around your waist. his voice dropped lower, teasing but threaded with heat, “besides, you don’t have to change. you know i like making a mess out of you.”

your pulse skipped, “jeno–”

“you’re the one who dragged me in here. you knew what you were doing,” he chuckled, kissing your temple before stealing the hem of your shirt between his fingers like he was just curious

you swatted at his chest half-heartedly, “at least let me clean up first.”

he smirked, leaning down until his nose brushed yours, “fine. but i’m helping.”

which, of course meant he’d do the exact opposite of helping. you barely managed to tug open your dresser for a clean shirt before his hands slid over your hips, his mouth tracing the line of your jaw, leaving soft, teasing kisses that made your knees weaken slightly.

“jeno,” you groaned, laughter tangled with exasperation, “you said you’d help.”

“i am,” he said innocently against your skin, teeth grazing your earlobe just enough to make you shiver, “helping you take this off.”

you tried to hold your ground, but it was impossible with him so close. his palms slide higher, carefully tugging your shirt over your head before tracing the curve of your waist, then lower, fingers sneaking through the belt loop of your jeans.

“jeno—” you whispered, trying for stern, but your voice betrayed you when he sucked a wet kiss at the side of your throat like he knew exactly how to get you. he was everywhere at once – warm, insistent, the familiar weight of his large hands now exploring with a new, bolder purpose.

“hmm?” he murmured, all feigned innocence while his fingers slid down the waistband of your jeans just to toy with the button.

you caught his wrist weakly, “you’re not helping,” you mutter, a small smirk on your face.

the room felt charged, your childhood walls suddenly too small to contain the tension winding between you. every brush of his fingers, every soft kiss, felt like it echoed louder than the creak of the floor beneath your feet.

when he finally popped the button of your jeans open with a practiced flick, you swore you felt your heart jump into your throat. his hands lingered at your waistline, playful but heavy with intent.

“you don’t mind, do you?” jeno whispered, his nose brushing your jaw again, eyes glinting as his fingers tugged at the zipper just enough to tease.

your breath hitched and before you could answer, jeno’s hands tightened at your waist, turning you in his arms with a suddenness that made your back press to the dresser. the half-smirk on his face melted as his mouth found yours — hungry, unyielding, stealing every bit of breath left in your lungs.

your jeans slipped lower with his insistence, pooling at your ankles before you even registered him nudging them down, leaving you in your underwear, body molding instinctively to his as he pressed closer. he was still fully dressed, the rough denim of his jeans and the soft cotton of his shirt brushing against your bare skin in contrast made you shiver.

the unfairness of it only fueled the heat between you — him towering over you, teasing you, still so put together while you felt like you were unraveling his arms.

his lips broke from yours just long enough to murmur against your mouth, his breath hot, teasing “see? much better like this.”

you rolled your eyes even as your fingers wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer, “you’re so annoying.”

“hmm,” he hummed, kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands roaming shamelessly over your bare back, tracing down the curve of your spine, “and you like it.”

the kiss deepened, greedy, until jeno’s hands slid lower again, gripping the back of your thighs. you let out a startled laugh into his mouth when he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist like instinct.

“neno—” you tried, but the protest melted the second his tongue swept against yours, swallowing the sound whole. he carried you across the familiar room with a steadiness that made your heart hammer, his mouth never leaving yours except to trail wet kisses down your jaw. when your back hit the edge of the bed, he lowered you slowly onto the mattress, hovering above you.

the mattress creaked under your weight, the sound strangely loud in the silence of the house. jeno braced one knee on the bed, leaning down to kiss you again, his palms sliding from your waist to your ribs, his thumbs grazing the edge of your bra.

“we should’ve done this years ago,” he murmured, his voice husky, a private admission against your lips.

your laugh came breathless, a little shaky, “better late than never?”

his grin curved against your mouth as his hands finally skimmed higher, bold now, cupping you through thin fabric. your back arched at his touch, a sharp gasp slipping past your lips. he drank it all in, every reaction from you a personal reward. your gasp spurred him on, the sound making his smirk deepen as his fingers worked at the clasp of your bra. it gave way with practiced ease, the straps sliding down your shoulders until the fabric fell away completely. his eyes flicked down, dark and reverent, before his mouth was on you.

“god, you’re perfect,” he groans as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking softly, teasing with this tongue in slow, deliberate circles. his hand cupped the other, thumb flicking over the hardened bud, making you arch beneath him.

your breath stuttered, a broken “jeno–” slipping out before his mouth pulled harder, sucking until your toes curled against the sheets. he hummed against your skin, clearly pleased, his other hand sliding lower. calloused fingers tracing over the band of your underwear before dipping beneath, brushing against your slick warmth. the lightest graze over your clit had your hips twitching upward, a sharp inhale leaving you.

“already so wet,” he whispered against your breast, his tone both teasing and awed, the words vibrating against your skin as he sucked again. your nails dug into his shoulders, half wanting to push him closer, half needing something to ground yourself.

“neno—please—” you whined, softly, squirming under his touch, needing more.

he chuckled, low and smug, “all those days playing video games when i could’ve been playing with you like this,” his fingers pressed harder against your clit, rubbing faster, making your breath catch, a whiny moan slipping past your lips, your reply stuck somewhere in your throat as heat coiled low in your belly.

your voice came out broken between gasps, “neno, i need you—”

the words cracked something in him. his teasing session immediately replaced by something hungrier. you tugged at the hem of his shirt impatiently and he let you strip it off him, both of you fumbling with urgency, your laughter catching in between kisses when his hair got ruffled from pulling it over his head.

your fingers traced over the lean muscle of his chest before you slid lower, brushing over the bulge in his jeans that was already straining. he hissed, biting down on his bottom lip as you made quick work of his belt and zipper and then he was helping you shove the denim down.

the moment he was free, your breath hitched. he was already hard, flushed, throbbing against his stomach. he kissed you then, soft and slow, forehead leaned against yours as he pushed your underwear down.

“ready?” he whispered, his voice ragged, almost breaking with restraint.

you nodded instantly, pulling him closer, wrapping your legs around his hips, “always.”

that was all it took. his breath caught as he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. he kissed you again as he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you with a delicious ache that had your nails digging into his back.

“fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, his hand gripping your thigh tighter as he sank all the way in, filling you completely. he stilled there, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing heavily in the silence of your childhood bedroom as he gave you time to adjust to him.

when he finally pulled back, his thrusts were slow but hard, each one dragging every nerve-ending raw. the steady rhythm of his hips rocked through you, deep and unrelenting, the sound of your bodies moving together drowned out by the soft, desperate gasps spilling between kisses.

“god, you feel so good,” he whispered against your lips, kissing you again, swallowing every moan he drew out of you.

the longer he stayed buried inside you, the harder it was for him to hold back. his rhythm faltered, stuttered, his hips beginning to snap harder against yours. your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him in deeper, nails clawing at his back.

“jeno,” you gasped, meeting him thrust for thrust.

he broke from your mouth, groaning low into your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged, “i–fuck–i can’t go slow,” his voice was strained, almost desperate.

“then don’t,” you panted, your body arching to meet him again, harder this time, chasing the way it made your breath catch, “—harder, neno—please.”

the plea snapped the last of his restraint. he pulled back just enough to look at you — flushed, hair sticking to your forehead, eyes blown wide — and then he drove into you with a force that made the mattress squeak beneath you and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

he buried his face against your throat, his thrusts now messy and unrelenting, each one harder than the last, his large hands wrapping around the small of your back as he arched you up towards him. you met him eagerly, hips slapping against his to match his rhythm, your voice breaking s you urged him on, fingers digging into his shoulders to pull him in impossibly closer,

“yes—ahh—neno—just like that—please”

he groaned in response, gripping your waist so tight you swore he’d leave marks, pounding into you with a need that was raw and overwhelming.

“god, bunny,” he gasped, your name falling apart on his tongue, “i’m s-so fucking gone for you.”

the knot inside you coiled unbearably tight, each deep, messy snap of his hips sending sparks down your spine.

“jeno–” you gasped, eyes squeezing shut, your voice cracking, “i’m gonna cum—i’m gonna cum—”

his rhythm turned frantic, desperate, his moans muffled against your lips as if he was trying to swallow every sound you made until the coil inside you snapped all at once, your climax tearing through you with a force that left you crying out his name, body clenching around him so tightly, it dragged a ragged groan from his chest.

he barely managed another thrust before he was gone too, hips slamming against yours as he came undone, hot and overwhelming, spilling inside you with a broken moan of your name. his whole body shuddered, collapsing against you as if you’d stolen the last of his strength.

for a moment, the only sounds were your uneven breaths and the frantic pounding of his heart against your chest until the rush of it all faded into warmth. the kind that settled deep in your chest. jeno stayed pressed against you for a while, his breath fanning over your collarbone, lips brushing lazy kisses there as if to soothe you both down from the high.

eventually he rolled over to your side, wrapping you tight into his side. naked skin against naked skin, your legs tangled like you’d always belonged this way. his fingers traced absent little shapes on your waist while your own hand rested over his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat.

the silence was comfortable like every other moment of your lives together, except now it hummed with something sweeter.

“you’re staring,” you murmured eventually, catching the weight of his gaze.

he grinned, sheepish but unashamed, “can you blame me?”

you groaned, burying your face into his chest to hide your blush, “you’re so sappy.”

“yeah,” he chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead, “you make me this way.”

the two of you stayed wrapped up like that for what felt like forever, giggles breaking the quiet here and there when jeno’s hands wandered to tickle your side or when you teased him about how messy his hair looked. it was soft, silly and so completely you two.

then, jeno shifted, leaning over the edge of the bed to grab something from the pocket of his jeans that were discarded on the floor, his palm closed tight around something.

your brows furrowed, curiosity sparking, “what’s that?”

he bit back a smile, opening his hand to reveal a small silver ring, simple, but etched with both of your initials.

“jeno…” your voice cracked softly, eyes widening in slight shock, “you’re not proposing, are you?” you teased, arching a brow at him, trying to keep it playful and calm your beating heart.

jeno let out a laugh, warm and boyish, his head dropping briefly to your shoulder as if you’d just said the funniest thing. when he lifted it again, his grin was wide enough to crinkle his eyes in that way you loved so much.

“propose?” he repeated, shaking his head, “you really think i’d propose with a ring this small?”

you swatted his chest, giggling, “hey! it’s perfect.”

he caught your hand mid-swat, kissing your knuckles softly before letting his eyes meet yours, all fondness beneath the teasing, “it’s not a proposal. not yet—” he smirks teasingly before his eyes turned soft, filled with adoration, “— it’s a promise.”

his voice softened, the words wrapping around you warmly. he slipped it onto your finger with careful hands and you let him, his thumb brushing over your knuckle as his voice softened, the words wrapping around you warmly —

“i’ve never known a life without you and i don’t ever want to. happy six months, bunny.”

you felt your throat tighten, tears threatening to fall even though he was still smiling at you like it was nothing. and with that, you pulled him back in your arms, the ring cool against his warm skin as you held him close, knowing that you’d just fallen even harder.

“so…” you sniffled, trying to cover your emotion with another smirk, “if this is just a promise, what would a real proposal look like?”

jeno only laughed, tucking you against his chest, murmuring against your hair, “guess you’ll just have to stick around to find out, bunny.”

you giggled before tilting your head, brushing your lips over his jaw. once. twice. slow, deliberate.

jeno shifted slightly, catching on, his chest rumbling with a low laugh, “already?”

“mhmm,” your hum vibrated against his skin as you pressed another kiss beneath his ear, “you can’t just say things like that and expect me not to want you all over again.”

he smirked, hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you tighter against him. and just like that, the charged air returned, sweet melting into hungry as you rolled on top of him.

“taking charge, huh?” he murmured, voice husky but amused.

you bent to kiss him, slow and unhurried, “just returning the favor.”

his laugh melted into a groan as you sank down on him, his grip tightening like he couldn’t bear to let you go. the world blurred — all warmth, soft sighs, and the promise circling your finger catching in the light as you braced yourself over him.

𝜗ৎ

“you’re it for me.”

pairing: mark x kitten | word count: 1.3k+ | warnings: extreme fluff, implied sex

anniversary date: may 4, 2025

you slipped your key into the lock, twisting the knob open to the familiar hush of your apartment. as soon as you entered, you were greeted by the unfamiliar flow of fairy lights, pink balloons floating gently at the ceiling and roses, pink and fresh and perfect, filling every vase, every corner. your coffee table was spread of all the your favorite takeout containers stacked together.

and then you noticed the walls — sticky notes. dozens of them. a patchwork of pastel colors, each one messy with the handwriting you knew by heart. you stepped inside slowly, your shoes forgotten by the door, your eyes catching words as you passed.

❤︎ i still can’t believe you’re mine.

❤︎ every song i write starts and ends with you.

❤︎ my life is in pieces but you could always put it back together with your fragments.

❤︎ all the rom-coms in the world can’t portray the kind of love i have for you.

❤︎ who needs spiderman, when i have you?

❤︎ loving you is the easiest thing i’ve ever done.

❤︎ kitten, thank you for letting me love you.

your throat tightened painfully, tears prickling before you could even stop them. and then you felt it — his arms, sliding around your waist from behind. the brush of his lips against your temple. the warmth of him, always anchoring you.

“surprise,” mark whispered, his voice low, rough like he’d been holding it back all night, “happy six months, kitten.”

you gasped softly, leaning into him instinctively, your fingers wrapping over his where they pressed against your stomach, “mark,” your voice cracked, small and trembling, “you did all this?”

“too much?” he turned you gently, facing him. his smile was soft, almost shy, but his eyes were steady, shining like he’d been waiting for this moment.

you shook your head instantly, voice breaking, “no. it’s–” you laughed as a tear slip from your eyes, his thumb quick and careful to brush it away, “it’s perfect.”

mark’s smile softened, “wanted to show you what you mean to me,” he murmured, forehead tipping against yours, hands brushing over your waist like he was still nervous, like he hadn’t been yours for six full months already —

“every note on these walls? they don’t even come close to what i feel, kitten.”

your tears spilled freely now, though you were laughing, shaking your head as you cupped his face, “you’re going to ruin me, mark lee,” you whispered, voice thick with love.

he only laughed quietly, dipping down to kiss the corner of your mouth, gentle like a secret, “good. then we’re even,” he teased softly, though the sincerity never left his eyes.

before you could say more, he shifted, tugging your hand, “come here, i have one more surprise.”

you let him guide you to the couch, still blinking through tears as he sat you down. he kissed your temple once, lingering there, before stepping away. when he crouched, reaching behind the couch. your brows furrowed in curiosity – until he pulled out his guitar, worn and familiar in his hands.

“mark…” your voice softened, half a laugh, half disbelief, “you didn’t.”

“i did.” he said simply, settling into the spot beside you, guitar across his lap. his fingers skimmed over the strings, the movements so natural, like the instrument was an extension of him. he glanced at you once, sheepish but glowing, before focusing on the frets.

“it’s not… polished—” he said, almost nervous now. he wasn’t sure why he even said it. he made sure this was perfect, went over it almost a million times. “—but it’s ours. just listen, yeah?”

you nodded, tucking your legs up on the couch, hugging a pillow close to your chest as though it could hold in the tidal wave already building in you.

and then he played — the first chords slipped into the air, raw and imperfect but beautiful. his voice was quiet at first, low and vulnerable, like the words were meant for you and you alone. you’d heard him sing a hundred times, but this was different. this wasn’t for the world, wasn’t for an audience—this was his heart in melody, every line written with you in mind.

you pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to contain the sob threatening to escape. every lyric pulled at something deep inside you — the girl who once swore she’d never believe in love again, the girl who thought she’d lost that part of herself forever — he had found you, piece by piece, and brought you back to life.

when he finally strummed the last chord, the silence that followed was heavy with everything unsaid.

mark looked at you then, almost nervous, like he hadn’t just handed you his entire heart in a song.

“it’s true,” he whispered, setting the guitar gently aside, his hand found yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles, “when i’m lost, you guide me home.”

the tears you’d been holding spilled freely, and you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him before words could even form. he caught you instantly, pulling you into his lap, his face buried in your neck as you both shook with laughter and tears all at once.

“i love you,” you breathed against his skin, over and over, as though you could etch it into him the way he’d just etched himself into you.

and mark, smiling through the dampness in his eyes, whispered it right back, soft and certain, “i love you too, kitten. more than anything.”

his words melted against your skin, warm and certain and when he pulled back just enough to see your face, you cupped his cheeks and leaned in. your lips met his in a kiss that was slow, unhurried, almost trembling with how much it carried.

mark sighed into you, the sound soft and content, his hands cradling your waist like you were something fragile and sacred. the kiss deepened with the weight of all the months you both had been afraid to believe a love like this was real.

your mouths curved into quiet smiles against each other, kissing again and again, sweet and lingering. he pressed one to your jaw, your temple, the tip of your nose — little reminders that he loved every piece of you.

“kitten,” he whispered between kisses, voice husky but tender, “you’re it for me.”

you laughed softly, your forehead resting against his, whispering back like a vow, “and you’re it for me.”

and in the hush of your apartment, surrounded by fairy lights and roses, you kissed again, slower time time — just love in its purest, gentlest form.

mark’s hands slid carefully along your sides, coaxing you back until you were lying down against the couch cushions. he followed you, bracing himself above you, his smile soft and almost shy, even now.

he bent to kiss you again, just as slow, before his lips wandered — tracing down your jaw, lingering at the hollow of your throat. each kiss was reverent, tender, like he was memorizing you all over again.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice warm and low, like he couldn’t help but say it out loud.

his lips never hurried, never rushed — just a trail of warmth over every inch of you he could reach, each kiss steady and full of quiet devotion. your laughter slipped out in little bursts whenever his stubble tickled against your skin, only for him to hush you with another kiss, grinning against your collarbone.

the world outside didn’t matter, not with the way he held you down so gently, as if you were something precious, irreplaceable.

his whispers brushed against your skin between kisses — “my kitten,” … “mine” … “i love you so much” — until the words blurred with the rhythm of his mouth, his touch, his steady presence.

you pulled him closer, hands tangled in his hair, your quiet gasps breaking into soft laughter when he nipped at your shoulder just to hear you squeal.

the fairy lights flickered low, the roses perfumed the air, and mark kissed his way back to your lips, swallowing your smile with his own.

and there, wrapped in roses and his love, you let yourself fade into the sweetness of him — his weight, his warmth, his endless worship — until nothing else existed but the two of you.

𝜗ৎ

an: happy sunday! the first loverboy bonus scene is yours! hope you liked it <3 let me know what you think!!!!!! thank you for loving these couples as much as i do. see you next next sunday for the next four anniversaries ;)

love tags: @dearlyminhyung @hyuckluvr-com @fancypeacepersona​ @chvngm1nz @hyunkaluv @iluvgnabnahc @n-jules @haesunlover2 @nottkwiwin @alexameliamg @ihatefrvits @amazinggraxia @karleereadssmut @drunkhee @bamjjwi @mahae @ncityswrld @jaeminiwrld @httpsxnox @blubb0 @pocketyoun @multifandomania @mey-archive @zuzu-the-simp @markiepoo4eva @jungwooie @jwikyo @withapairofwings @cookydream @meowieshibal @remgeolli @yutasputa @kyungsooislifeu @dior-15 @hyucksnctzen @bridgertonletsgo @leleszn @hjjjjjku79999 @afterhvours @mangoescrazy @vantxx95 @nctubatu

TAGLIST: CLOSED.

[withlovemark]

“A CELEBRATION” — OR THE SIX MONTH ANNIVERSARY PT. 2

total word count: 7.6k | genre: fluff, smut | featured couples: 🐻👑 , 🏀🎀

synopsis -> none of the dream boys saw this coming. the same guys who once turned late-night texts into sport, who treated flings like trophies, who swore commitment was a curse word. and yet here they are now — the so-called retired fuckboys, better known these days as the loverboys — six months deep and hopelessly whipped for their girls. half a year might not sound like much to anyone else, but to them? it was monumental. and if there’s one thing they knew how to do, it was to celebrate in style.

“you’re the plot twist i didn’t see coming, the epilogue i prayed for and the sequel i never want to end.”

pairing: hyuck x princess | word count: 4.2k+ | warnings: extreme fluff, hyuck writes smut! and acts them out!, nipple-play, fingering, blowjob, sex, riding

anniversary date: november 23, 2025

you got the text while you were rehearsing lines in your bedroom.

hyuckie 🐻💕: auditorium. 8pm. don’t be late.

you rolled your eyes at the last part. six months together and he’s somehow gotten bossier. and still here you were, exactly at 8pm, standing outside the university’s auditorium.

the doors creaked open and the second you stepped inside, the curtain rose. you froze. the stage glowed the spotlights spilling golden light over a single table in the middle. a white tablecloth, two mismatched chairs, a candelabra that you’d swear was stolen from the props closet and a bottle of wine completed the setup.

“hyuck?,” you called out, blinking into the lights.

then he appeared — your boyfriend, wearing a blazer a size too big, holding two stapled sheets of paper in one hand and a sunflower bouquet in the other like he was auditioning for the bachelor. his grin was half-smug, half-nervous. the exact expression that always got him into trouble and somehow out of it too.

“my princess,” he declared with a bow so exaggerated you can’t help but giggle, “welcome to our six month anniversary dinner-slash-world premiere — a play i wrote, directed and produced for your eyes only. titled: the only juliet i’d ever choose.”

you blinked, then bursted out into laughter, as you walked towards the stage, “you did not write me a play.”

“oh, but i did,” he offered the bouquet first, pressing it into your hands with mock solemnity before leaning in to steal a quick kiss from your cheek. then with the kind of exaggerated chivalry he never pulled off without giggling, he extended a hand to you, “allow me to escort my leading lady.”

rolling your eyes but smiling anyway, you let him take your hand. he walked you to the table with a seriousness that was completely ruined by the giddy sparkly in his eyes. when you reached the chair, he pulled it out like the perfect gentleman, pausing only to press another kiss against your temple before guiding you to sit.

“you good?” he asked softly, searching your face as you adjusted in the chair.

“mhm,” you said, biting back a smile at how earnestly sweet he looked.

“perfect,” he murmured, brushing your knuckles with his thumb before slipping the stapled script into your free hand. only once you were settled did he circle around and take the seat across from you, flipping his own copy open with exaggerated flair, "—because the curtain has officially risen. you’re the star. i’m the star. mr. doyoung could never.”

“wow, humble as ever,” you teased, shaking your head, already grinning and glancing down at the first page. within two lines, you were laughing out loud.

“juliet enters, looking unfairly pretty in a way that makes romeo regret every dumb thing he’s ever said,” you read it out loud, raising your eyebrows, “unfairly pretty?”

“don’t act like i’m wrong,” he shot back, lounging but watching you closely, thumb tracing the edge of his script.

you tried not to smile, flipping to the next bit, “romeo says: juliet you’re kind of annoying but also the best thing that’s ever happened to me and if you think i’m ever letting you go again, you’re delusional.”

your cheeks heated, though you masked it with al laugh, “wow, i’m so lucky. so romantic. so poetic."

“i’m rebranding shakespeare,” he said seriously, “less star-crossed lovers, more ‘my girlfriend is hot and i’m obsessed with her.’”

“catchy,” you teased.

you flipped the page, already bracing yourself, “romeo gazes at juliet like she personally hung the stars in the sky and paid the electricity bill for the moon,” you snorted so hard you had to pause, “hyuck, seriously?”

he shrugged, all innocence, “accurate.”

“you’re unbelievable,” you muttered, fighting a grin as his voice filled the stage, reading the next line–

“juliet, you are my favorite notification, my favorite song, my favorite color, my favorite food, my favorite girl – my only girl,” he winked.

you covered your mouth, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, “oh my god, stop — no actually—keep going.”

“gladly,” he said, leaning forward, eyes glittering at your reaction, “this only act one, baby.”

you scanned the next line, choking back a laugh, “romeo kneels dramatically, declaring: juliet, i’ll peel all the oranges and shrimps in the world for you”

you burst into giggles, “now that’s true love.”

he watched you, amused, chin propped on one hand. you flipped to the next bit and before you could read it, his voice cuts you of—

“you’re the plot twist i didn’t see coming, the epilogue i prayed for and the sequel i never want to end.”

your smile softened, your voice dipping, “okay…that one’s actually sweet.”

“good,” he said, softer now, “because i mean it,” then, clearing his throat, he gestured at the bottom of the page, reading the next line, “happy six months, my princess. may our next acts be even better than the last six.”

your chest tightened, warmth blooming in your ribs. but before you could respond, you caught the next line. and promptly choked.

“romeo says: juliet, you’re also the reason i’m constantly distracted in rehearsals because every time you look at me, i start thinking about things we cannot act out on stage.”

you gawked at him, “hyuck!”

he smirked, unbothered, “hey, the script doesn't lie.”

“you drive me insane — in the auditorium, in the dressing room and especially when you’re wearing my hoodie and nothing else,” he continued, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

you hid your face in your hands, laughing and groaning at once, “you cannot read this in front of anyone else.”

“obviously not,” he said, scooting his chair closer to you, his voice dipping into a low murmur that sent heat crawling up your neck, “this script’s rated for your eyes only.”

and then he was on one knee, pulling out a tiara from under the table like the world’s most chaotic prince.

“my princess,” he said, softer now, “six months ago, we were on this stage pretending. now, i don’t have to. you’ve always been the only juliet i’d ever choose, the main character — even when i was too dumb to admit it.”

your heart clenched, laughter dissolving into something fuller, deeper.

“i love you,” you whispered as you bent toward him, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“that’s not on the script,” he murmured against your lips, earning an eye roll from you as he sets the tiara on your head, grin softening, “but i love you more. and according to act two, scene one, you’re supposed to kiss me senseless right about now.”

you rolled your eyes, though your lips were already curving, “oh, is that so?”

“mmhm,” he sat back on his chair, tapping the page like it was gospel, “says here: stage direction,” he announced, voice booming, “juliet kisses romeo’s lips breathlessly then her lips wander down to his neck slowly until romeo makes that sound he pretends isn’t a whine.”

“so, you admit, romeo is a whiner?” you tease, a brow raising playfully.

he just smirked, head tilted back, offering himself up, “go on. it’s in the script.”

you shoved his shoulder, laughing, “you’re crazy.”

“fine,” he said with a dramatic sigh, dragging his chair so that he’s next to you now before taking a seat, flipping the page, “act two, scene two: romeo pulls juliet into his lap–”

his arm shot out with no warning, hooking around your waist before you even registered and suddenly you were straddling him in the middle of the stage, the hard wood echoing the scrape of the chair.

“hyuck!,” you squealed, hands flying to his shoulders, trying to fit yourself on the chair without tumbling over.

he grinned, wicked and smug, “don’t blame me. i’m just respecting the playwright’s vision.”

you peeked at the script in his hand, and there in printed letters, were those actual words. you shoved his shoulder fighting laughter and heat, “you’re actually insane.”

“juliet grinds down,” he read, voice dropping low as his hands settled firmly on your hips, guiding you against him until heat sparked between you, “— while romeo thanks every god he knows for his girlfriend’s thighs.”

your breath stuttered, “you’re really doing this, huh?”

“thank you, gods,” he countered, pressing a kiss to your jaw, lips hot against your skin, before scanning the next line, “juliet distracts romeo by kissing him so deep he forgets his own name.”

this time, he didn’t wait for you. his mouth crashed onto yours, hot and hungry, stealing every thought you had. your lips quick to respond as you kissed him back, just as hard, lips moving in perfect rhythm, teeth clashing in the kind of kiss that left no room to breath.

when he finally pulled back, breathless, his grin was pure menace, “wow. that stage direction was really good.”

you tried to glare, but it melted into a shaky laugh, “you’re ridiculous.”

“next stage direction,” he read in mock-seriousness, “juliet grinds harder, because romeo’s dick deserves the spotlight.”

your laugh got lost in gasp when he rolled his hips up into you, the thin barrier of clothes doing nothing to hide how hard he already was. the pressure made your thighs clench around him instinctively, heat flooding your core.

“romeo removes juliet’s top before she can overthink it and worships her boobies.”

and just like that, he was tugging your top over your head, the cool air hitting your heated skin before his mouth immediately closed over the curve of your breasts through your bra. you gasped, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging, anchoring yourself to him. he groaned low, cupping your breasts before dragging your bra down just enough for him to suck on your nipple, tongue flicking, lips greedy.

“fuck…” he groaned, breath hot against your skin, “i wrote this part so well.”

he stayed there for a while, marking your breasts, giving each one attention until they ached, before flipping to the next page with a flourish like this was still a rehearsal.

“romeo’s hands…oh wow, look at that…finds her under her skirt,” he glanced up with a wolfish grin, “i might need to rehearse this part a few times.”

his grin widened as his hand slid up your thigh, slow and deliberate, until his fingers brushed the edge of your panties, “hyuck—” you breathed, already trembling.

“shhh,” he wiggled the paper for emphasis, voice smug, “it’s literally on the page, princess. i’m just acting my part.”

then two fingers slipped beneath the lace, grazing over your soaked folds. the faintest touch had your whole body seizing up, a broken whimper spilling from your lips as your forehead dropped against his shoulder.

“there it is,” he murmured, grin sharpening, as he traced your wetness, deliberately avoiding where you need him most, “confirmed — juliet’s already soaking for romeo. god, i’m a genius.”

your weak swat at his arm turned into a shaky clutch at his sleeve when his fingertip finally circled your entrance, teasing, dipping just enough to make you jolt before pulling back.

“hyuck, please—” your voice cracked into a gasp when he finally pressed one finger inside you, slow, unhurried, filling you just enough to make your walls flutter around him. he paused halfway, savoring the feel, savoring your stuttering breath against his neck.

“fuck, princess,” he groans, voice low and reverent as he pushed the rest of the way in, “so fucking tight—this is way better than writing about it.”

“hyuck—shut up,” you whined, nails digging into his blazer, hips twitching as he began to move. not fast but agonizingly slow, dragging his finger out until the tip remained, then sliding back in deep. every thrust was deliberate, controlled, like he wanted you to memorize the stretch, the pulse of his knuckle rubbing inside you.

and then he added a second finger. your mouth fell open, a sharp gasp leaving you as your walls clamped down around him, the stretch delicious, burning in the best, most addicting way.

“oh, fuck yes,” he hissed, forehead tipping to yours, his own breath stuttering as he felt you tighten around him. his thumb found your clit at the same time, rubbing slow, cruel circles that made your hips buck helplessly against his hand. you whined, the sound embarrassingly needy in the way he loved. he groaned at it, curling his fingers just right inside you. the pressure had your thighs trembling already, slick sounds echoing between you with every thrust of his fingers.

“juliet rides romeo’s fingers like she’s trying to break him,” still reading his script, though the page trembled in his hand.

and sure enough, your body obeyed him before your mind could resist — grinding down into his hand, chasing friction, fucking yourself on his fingers like he demanded.

“yeah, just like that,” he whispered, eyes dark but soft as he watched you move for him, “fuck the script—you’re writing this part yourself.”

the squelch of wetness grew louder, obscene in the quiet auditorium, until every thrust of his fingers was met with the sound of your body giving in. you whimpered his name against his throat, and he laughed, breathless, curling his fingers deeper, harder, relentless.

“that’s it, princess,” he praised, as his thumb pressed harder against your clit, kissing the corner of your mouth before pulling back just enough to watch your face, “you’re about to lose it, aren’t you?”

you tried to shake your head, tried to hold on, but the way he twisted his fingers had you bucking into his hand, thighs shaking around him.

“let me check the script,” he teased, snatching the stapled sheets off the table with his free hand while still fucking you with the other.” he scanned it with fake concentration, “ah, here we go, juliet falls apart on romeo’s fingers, moaning his name like she was made for him.”

“hyuck—you’re so— ahh—fuck—annoying–” you say in between pants.

“say it,” he demanded, low and wrecked, curling his fingers harder.

your back arched, a cry of his name ripping from your throat as your walls clenched violently around him, whole body jerking as you teetered on the edge, heartbeat slamming in your ears. and when he twisted his fingers just so, dragging them perfectly against that sweet spot inside you, the world shattered. you cried out, loud, raw, echoing across the empty auditorium as your climax tore through you, soaking his hand, your panties, his shirt under your thighs.

“yes—fuck—there it is,” he hissed, burying his face in your neck as you convulsed in his lap, “god, princess, you’re dripping. you’re perfect. the script never lies.”

you clung to him, shuddering through the aftershocks, every muscle trembling. he slowed his hand only when your whimpers softened into shaky laughter.

finally, he pulled his fingers out, glistening, and held them up between you with a grin so smug you wanted so smack him and kiss him at the same time.

“intermission?” he whispered, licking his fingers clean, “or are you ready for act three?” he grinned wickedly.

you matched his grin, “what’s act three?”

“act three, scene one: romeo finally gets buried in juliet and neither of them ever wants the curtain to close.”

your chest heaved, lips parted, but your hand was already tugging at his belt with shaky fingers, “act three,” you panted, eyes dark, still dazed from your climax but greedy for more, “definitely act three.”

his grin went wicked, voice dropping something low and wrecked, “fuck—that’s my girl.”

you had his belt undone and zipper down before either of you could breathe, pulling his cock free, flushed and hard against your palm. he hissed through his teeth when you wrapped your hand around him, pumping once, twice, watching his head fall back against the chair.

“princess—fuck—,” his hips jerked up helplessly into your grip, “you’re gonna kill me.”

“romeo deserves it,” you shot back, your smirk shaky but still there. he barely had time to curse before you were shifting, pushing your ruined panties aside and dragging the head of his cock along your slick, catching against your entrance. you both groaned at the sound, the heat, the promise of it.

“you ready, princess?” he asks softly, eyes meeting yours, the question more tender than all the teasing. you nodded, nails digging into his shoulders — and then he pushed in. slow at first, stretching you inch by inch, his cock splitting you open, filling you until your head tipped back and a helpless moan echoed across the empty auditorium.

“fuuuck, princess,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours, blazer slipping off his shoulders, “you feel—holy shit—you feel better than anything i could’ve written.”

you clenched around him instinctively, the stretch overwhelming, delicious, and he cursed again, hips snapping up sharply, burying himself the rest of the way inside. your cry tore out, raw and sweet, and he swallowed it in a kiss, tongue desperate, teeth scraping your bottom lip.

he pulled back only to grin, wrecked but still so cocky, “juliet rides romeo until the stage lights shake,” he rasped and then he grabbed your hips, lifting and slamming you back down onto him, hard enough to rattle the chair beneath you.

“fuck!” you gasped, hands clawing at his shoulders as your body jolted with every move, the spotlight catching on sweat, on your flushed skin, on the way his hands gripped you like he’d never let go.

“look at you,” he groaned, eyes locked on the way your tits bounced with every movement, “you’re stealing the whole show.”

the tiara slipped sideways with how hard he was fucking up into you and he caught it with one hand, laughing breathlessly before throwing it on the forgotten table behind you.

“spotlight’s on you,” he urged, eyes locked on you, dark and shining, “let this stage remember,” his hips rolled deep, dragging a cry from your throat, “now it’s just us. no script. no act. just you and me.”

you moaned shamelessly, riding him harder, chasing the drag of his cock inside you, clenching down until he cursed. you leaned down, kissing him hard, sloppy, desperate while his thrusts only grew rougher, each one stealing your breath. the rhythm turned frantic, your bodies crashing together, stage lights heating every inch of exposed skin.

“god—fuck,” his groaned, face twisted in pleasure, “you’re squeezing me so good, i’m not gonna last—princess, you’re—holy shit—”

every single praise got you closer and closer until you broke first, body locking up, walls clenching around him as your climax ripped through you, sudden and brutal. you screamed his name, head falling back, stars busting behind your eyes as you came, thighs shaking, soaking him all over again.

the sound he made — half-groan, half-laugh, all wrecked — was enough to tell you he was close too. but before he could let go inside you, you pushed yourself up, breathless, skirt falling back around your thighs as you slid off his lap. his head snapped down to watch, jaw slack, when you dropped to your knees between his spread legs, the stage floor cold beneath you.

“princess—what the—”

“encore,” you panted, smirking up at him. he barely had time to whimper your name, voice already trembling, before your mouth wrapped around him, slick and eager, dragging him back into unbearable sensitivity.

“w-wait, i—oh, god—” his protest dissolved into a broken moan, head falling back, throat straining as the words tore out of him high and wrecked. his hands scrambled for you, fingers tangling in your hair like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you away.

every flick of your tongue made him jolt, thighs shaking, as if his body wasn’t his own anymore, “too much, too good, i c-cant—please, don’t stop—” the praise tumbled out between helpless whimpers, his voice cracking in your favorite way.

you hollowed your cheeks, working him with messy devotion, spit glistening as your tongue traced him, sucking harder, desperate to taste him. it was too much, too fast, and yet he clung to you, hips twitching forward like instinct was stronger than his own control, “you’re perfect, so perfect, oh my god—” his words fell apart into choked gasps, the sound of him unraveling filling the space as you pushed him higher and higher.

“princess—shit—i’m gonna—” his warning broke off into a high-pitched whine as you swallowed him deeper, nails digging into his thighs to hold him down — and then he came, sharp and uncontrollable, spilling down your throat as he bucked helplessly into your mouth. his voice shattered with it, whiny and desperate. you swallowed everything, holding eye contact with him until his head lolled back, chest heaving.

when you finally pulled back, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, his wrecked grin was waiting for you. he was still catching his breath, chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted ten laps, but his eyes softened as they landed on you.

“best encore ever” he rasped, voice rough but smug, hand dropped lazily to squeeze your shoulder. his thumb traced slow circles against your skin, grounding you, “you wanna write our next script? because i think we’re killing this whole… stage chemistry thing.”

you shot him a look from the floor, exasperated, “you’re still going?”

he laughed, tugging gently at your arm until you let him pull you up. this time there was no rush, no urgency — just his warm hands guiding you carefully into his lap. he didn’t drag you against him like before, didn’t tease or demand. instead, he shifted you sideways, settling you comfortably across one thigh like you were meant to perch there, innocent and sweet, like you were the only thing he ever wanted in his arms.

“better,” he murmured, brushing your bra straps back up your shoulders and grabbing your shirt that was carelessly tossed on your forgotten chair, tugging it over your head with exaggerated care, as though redressing you was as intimidate as undressing had been.

you blinked at him, chest still fluttering from the intensity minutes ago, but something about his softened gaze undid you all over again. he reached for the wine bottle on the table, twisted it open with a quiet pop and poured two glasses. when he handed you one, he gave a little bow, his smirk returning — gentler this time.

“happy six months, my princess.”

your chest squeezed. you raised your glass, voice quieter than you meant it to be, “to us?”

his grin widened, the mischievous gleam in his eyes dimming into something steadier, fonder, “always to us.”

glasses clinked, stage lights still glowing around you like the world was your theater. for a rare moment, he wasn’t cracking jokes or performing. his fingers traced idle patterns on your thigh, slow and thoughtful.

“you know,” he began, softer now, “six months ago, i thought the best thing about that play was proving i could out-act you.”

you tilted your head up at him, smirking, “newsflash — you didn’t.”

his laugh was low, fond, shaking his shoulders. he pressed a kiss to your temple before whispering, “turns out, the best thing wasn’t winning…it was falling for you.”

your breath caught. you stared at him for a second too long, and he just looked back, unflinching, like he meant every word, “hyuck…”

“i love you,” he cut in quickly, his thumb stroking over your knee, grounding you, “you’ve survived half a year of me, which means you’re basically invincible now.”

you laughed through the lump in your throat, tipping your glass aside so you could kiss him. it was nothing like the fiery, hungry ones from earlier—this one was slow, sweet, unhurried, tasting of wine and warmth and every soft thing you never though you’d get to keep.

“act four,” he announced, puffing his chest out like he was back in character. you groaned, but his grin only widened.

“scene one: romeo and juliet wake up together in their tiny apartment that they live in after university. juliet hogs the blanket, romeo pretends to be mad, but really he just wants her closer.”

your head shot up, incredulous and amused, “tiny apartment? what makes you think i’d move in with you?”

“please,” he smirked, “you start pouting when you don’t see me for three days.”

“delusional,” you muttered, though your smile betrayed you.

“scene two,” he continued, eyes twinkling, “juliet makes coffee in their kitchen, looking so beautiful in pajamas. romeo sits on the counter like a menace, begging for a kiss before she’s had caffeine.”

you snorted, “that sounds less like a romantic scene and more like a threat.”

“accurate casting,” he shot back, then his voice softened, almost reverent. “scene three: romeo watches juliet fall asleep on the couch after a long day, and he swears nothing shakespeare ever wrote could come close to how beautiful she looks right then.”

your chest tightened, heat rushing to your face, “that’s too cheesy.”

“maybe,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth, “but you like cheese.”

you giggled, and he grinned.

“finale: romeo and juliet live happily ever after. no poison, no daggers. just lots of domesticity, late-night kisses, and romeo annoying juliet until the end of time.”

you let out a helpless laugh, swatting at him. “that’s not shakespeare. that’s fanfiction.”

“exactly,” he winked, “our fanfiction.”

and then, because it was hyuck, because he could never resist pushing the last line, he leaned close and whispered against your lips –

“sequel’s already in progress, by the way.”

your chest ached in that stupid, giddy way you’d never admit out loud. so instead, you kissed him again, softer this time, until the stage lights blurred into nothing but your own little universe.

𝜗ৎ

“i love that you’re my best friend and my favorite person at the same time.”

pairing: chenle x baby | word count: 3.3k+ | warnings: extreme fluff, oral (f receiving), nipple-play, rough sex in the gym

anniversary date: december 1, 2025

your boyfriend’s hands were wrapped around your eyes as he guided you towards the unknown venue.

“chenle,” you laughed, stumbling after him, the familiar sound of your shoes squeaking against the gym floor a big giveaway, “if you’re making me practice on our anniversary, i’m breaking up with you.”

he just smirked, eyes glinting with mischief, “relax, baby, you’ll thank me in about thirty seconds — now keep your eyes closed until i say so!”

and then he was gone. a couple seconds later the lights flickered back on and he was by your side, “open,” he whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

slowly, you open your eyes and immediately your jaw dropped. the entire gym has been decorated — fairy lights draped from bleacher to bleacher, balloons lined along them, heart shaped confettis all over the floor with the words i love you on each one and right in the middle is a massive banner hung over center court that read happy six months.

your heart flipped. chenle was watching you with the softest smile you’d ever seen, wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking his chin into your neck, “six months, baby. half a year since you agreed to pretend you were mine in this exact gym. so, i thought…” he placed a soft kiss on your shoulder, “we should come back to the crime scene.”

you shoved him off, though you couldn’t stop smiling, “crime scene? please. you practically begged me to fake date you.”

“and i’d do it again,” he smirked playfully, leaning in to kiss you, quick and sweet but just enough that you felt your knees wobble. six months ago, this was the boy who wouldn’t let you kiss him at all. now he couldn’t seem to stop.

before you could melt into him completely, he pulled back with a teasing grin and grabbed a ball, “game time.”

you groaned instantly, rolling your eyes, “of course you would find a way to still play during our anniversary — chenle, you know i’m terrible at basketball.”

“relax,” he chuckled, “rules are simple: every time i make a shot, i have to tell you something i love about you. and every time you make one, then you say something about me.”

you blinked at him, a smile starting to form your lips, “so basically, we’re gonna spend the next hour with you telling me how i’m the prettiest, hottest, sexiest girlfriend ever and you can’t ever do better?”

“exactly,” he winked. then he sank the first shot. perfect swish. “ —and correction, there is no one better. just you.”

you roll your eyes, pushing him away but the blush creeping up your cheeks gave you away.

the ball bounced hard against the glossy wood, your sneakers squeaking as you sprinted toward the hoop. you threw it once you were close enough and to your surprise, and chenle’s, it swished clean through.

chenle froze, eyes wide, then broke into laughter, “no way…my baby actually made a shot?”

“shut up,” you bit your lip, spinning toward him with a grin, “i guess it’s me first,” you smirked, “hmm—i love how you always warm my hands in your hoodie pocket when it’s cold.”

chenle blinked, mouth falling open, still processing, “i can’t believe you made that shot,” he jogged to retrieve the ball, shaking his head with a laugh, “alright, two can play this game,” he launched it effortlessly, of course, netting it in one smooth motion.

“i love watching you instruct your cheer team, your voice get’s really authoritative. it’s scary but also kinda hot.”

you narrowed your eyes, catching the ball as it bounced back, “kinda hot, huh?” you teased him before shooting. another swish. — “i love how you laugh so loud in movie theaters people glare at us but you don’t care.”

his jaw dropped, “what the hell—did you practice without me?” he grabbed the ball, dribbling lazily before making another — “i love the way you get jealous and then deny it like your life depends on it.”

you gasped dramatically, snagging the ball before he could. another shot — “i love the way you look wrecked after games, hair plastered to your forehead like some tragic k-drama lead.”

chenle doubled over laughing, clutching his stomach, “you’re enjoying this way too much.” he tossed the ball up again — “i love when you steal my hoodies and pretend it’s not stealing because ‘we’re basically sharing.’”

“sharing is caring.” you hit another shot. four in a row now. which had him looking personally betrayed — “i love when you smile so hard your eyes disappear.”

his jaw literally dropped this time, like you’d pulled a trick play, “okay, no way—four in a row? who is he?” you rolled your eyes, brushing him off. he sent the ball soaring — “fine. i love how you always, always, cheer the loudest for me, even when you swear you don’t.”

your eyes narrowed at him before taking another shot — “i love the way you pretend not to care about anything but you secretly care about everything.”

the game kept going, his perfect shots making you blush with every word:

“i love the way you roll your eyes at me but still laugh at my jokes.”

“i love how you look in my jerseys. especially when you pretened you don’t know how good you look.”

“i love that you’re my best friend and my favorite person at the same time.”

your laughters echoed off the gym walls until somehow you managed to sink another basket. your grin was immediate, smug — “i love how you kiss me after every game. constantly. like you’re trying to make up for that dumb ‘no kissing’ rule.”

that one got him. he jogged up to grab you by the waist before you could shoot again, spinning you in a dizzy circle before his smirk softened into something real. eyes locked on yours. without hesitation, he stepped forward, cupping your face, “i admit defeat, you won,” and kissed you right there.

the kiss hit you like a fast break — all adrenaline, all heart. his mouth was warm, urgent, tasting faintly of mint and sweat, and you couldn’t help the way you melted into it. his hand slid to the small of your back, tugging you flush against him as the ball rolled forgotten across the floor.

you smiled against his lips, whispering, “guess you’re not so unbeatable after all.”

chenle chuckled, low and wrecked, his forehead pressed to yours, “relax, i let you win. you know that, right?”

“uh-huh,” your smirk widened before you pulled him back down into another kiss, deeper this time, the kind that left you both stumbling, half laughing, half chasing each other’s mouths like the game wasn’t over.

he pressed you back gently until your shoulders hit the cool wall, the contrast making you shiver. his thumb stroked your cheekbone while his other hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skating fire along your skin — the sweetness of his words still lingering in your chest but the heat in his touch was something else entirely.

you tugged on the collar of his shirt, breathless, “say something else you love about me.”

he grinned against your lips, teeth grazing yours, “easy. i love how bad you are at lying – you do this cute little nose scrunch all the time and it makes me fall harder every time.” his mouth found yours again, hungrier now, the heat rising between you.

you nipped at his bottom lip, whispering back, “i love how you taste after a win.”

that made him laugh into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your mouth before he swallowed both your smiles in something messier, wetter, more desperate. your fingers curled in his hair, tugging lightly and the groan it dragged from him had your knees weakening.

“careful,” he muttered, voice gone husky as he pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, “you keep that up, we’re not making it out of this gym.”

you smirked, almost wickedly, like that was exactly your plan — “i love how you look under me.”

that was his final straw. he blinked at you once, like he was checking if you’d really just said that and then he laughed, low, dangerous, like you’d just handed him the ball for an open dunk.

“i guess the winner should get a prize,” he teased, and suddenly his hands were at your waist, guiding you backward toward the bleachers. you stumbled a little, laughing into his kiss, until the edge of the bench hit the back of your thighs. he pressed you down, sitting you right there, his eyes dark with something far past sweet declarations.

“chenle–” you started, teasing, but your words cut off in a gasp when his hands slid down your thighs, prying them open slow, deliberate, like he wanted you to feel every ounce of his control.

and then he dropped to his knees on the glossy gym floor.

“you’re crazy, what if someone walks in?” you whispered, heat rushing through you as he smirked up at you, thumbs brushing the inside of your thighs like he’d been waiting all night for this moment.

“then they’ll know how pretty everyone’s favorite cheerleader sounds when she’s falling apart on my tongue,” he smirked, kissing the sensitive skin just above your knee, working his way higher. your breath caught when he hooked his fingers in your waistband, tugging your shorts and panties down with shameless ease, never breaking eye contact. the sight of him — your cocky, competitive boyfriend, on his knees in the empty gym — sent a pulse of arousal sharp through your body.

“chenle—” your voice cracked, need already bleeding through it.

he only grinned, mouth hovering right where you wanted him, “say one more thing you love about me.”

you laugh came out shaky, desperate, “i love how you always get your way.”

“damn right,” his smirk widened just before his mouth finally pressed against you, hot and wet and perfect. your laugh cracked into a moan. he gripped your thighs holding you open against the cold wooden seat while he buried his mouth between them groaning low when you bucked forward.

“fuck—lele,” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan into you. the vibration had your hips jerking again, your sneakers squeaking against the bleachers edge.

you tipped your head back, spine arching as your hands found your breasts under your shirt, cupping and palming them without thinking — chasing more, lost in the flood of sensation. your thumbs brushed your nipples, hard peaks straining against the thin fabric and you moaned louder, shameless.

the sight made chenle’s eyes flick up through his lashes and what he saw nearly undid him. his perfect, prim, girlfriend spread out, touching yourself while his mouth worked you open.

his groan vibrated against you, raw, hungry, “fuck, baby—you look so hot like this.”

he pulled back just far enough to smirk, lips shiny, chin slick, “i’ve been dreaming of seeing how loud i can make you in here,” his voice dropped lower, daring, “think it’ll echo?”

your laugh was shaky, your chest heaving as your own hands squeezed your breasts harder, “you’re—ahh— such a show-off.”

“not showing off,” he said, dragging his tongue up your folds again before sucking your clit into his mouth, hard enough to make you cry out. he released it with a filthy pop, grinning up at you, “just pleasing my girl.”

you shoved at his shoulder, breathless, “that was so corny.”

“mmm, you love it,” he didn’t give you the chance to argue, mouth latching back onto you, tongue flicking relentlessly, one hand sliding up to press flat against your stomach, holding you down every time you squirmed.

your head thudded back against the bleacher behind you. the position was uncomfortable but you couldn’t care less with the way your thighs were trembling, your own hands still working over your breasts

“shit, chenle—oh my god—feels so good—”

“you taste so good, baby,” he groaned against you, words muffled but so shameless, so unbothered, “better than any win i’ve ever had.”

“stop talking—” you choked on another moan, tugging harder at his hair, “—and don’t stop.”

that made him laugh into you, the sound vibrating against your clit as he doubled down, tongue sliding in deep while his thumb took over the pressure on your clit. the messy rhythm, his sloppy sounds, the way he devoured you the way he knew exactly how to make you fall apart — and quick. it was overwhelming.

you were already clenching, body tightening as the wave built, when he pulled back again, his lips glistening, “tell me one more thing you love about me.”

“chenle—” your voice broke on a whine.

he smirked, thumb circling you slow, teasing, keeping the heat pooling in your stomach on edge, “c’mon baby, you gotta earn it.”

your chest heaved, your head lolling as your fingers twisted your nipples, desperate, "i love how you ruin me every time.”

his groan was guttural, like those words alone nearly finished him, “fuck—good answer,” his mouth was back on you in the next second, tongue curling inside, his whole body braced tight like he needed this as badly as you did.

it didn’t take long after that — your thighs clamped around his head, your voice carrying, bouncing off the empty gym as you came hard, shuddering against his face. he held you there, lapping through it until you were trembling, hands slipping off your breasts and pushing weakly a his shoulders, too sensitive.

he pulled back at last, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin wrecked and proud, “i love when you push me away every time i make you cum so hard.”

you laughed breathlessly, tugging him up by his shirt until he was between your legs again, “you’re cocky as hell.”

he pressed a messy kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself, his hands sliding shameless under your shirt now, replacing your hands as his own came up, kneading your breast, “and you’re so pretty.”

you moaned against his mouth, nails scraping down his back — “i love when you shut up and fuck me.”

his laugh was low and ragged against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours as his breath fanned hot over your lips, “fuck—when you say it like that, how the hell am i supposed to hold back?”

he tugged his pants down quickly, letting it pool around his ankles before he shifted, one hand gripping the back of your thigh as he stepped between your legs, cock already flushed and leaking where it pressed against your slick entrance. the sight alone — your shorts and panties already tossed to the side, your shirt bunched up from wandering hands, your chest heaving, looking up at him with those innocent eyes — had the last of his restraints snapping.

he hauled you higher on the bleacher bench, rough hands gripping the backs of your thighs. you squealed as he hooked your legs up and over his shoulders, bending you until your knees nearly brushed your ears.

“holy shit, lele—” you gasped, half laughing, half moaning. you could barely believe the position he had you in right now.

“i love how flexible you are,” he smirked, eyes gleaming as he lined himself up, the head of his cock slick against your entrance, “because this is the only way i want you right now.”

and then he thrust in, hard, burying himself to the base in one stroke that had you crying out, the sound echoing through the empty gym. the position had him impossibly deep, every drag of his cock brushing that spot that made your vision spark.

“fuck—chenle—” your nails scrabbled for purchase on the wooden seat beneath you, your body arching, helpless in the angle he’d trapped you in.

he groaned, forehead damp as it pressed to your shin, his grip bruising on your thighs as he pounded into you, “look at you—folded up for me, dripping—shit, baby, you’re so tight like this i can barely think.”

your head tipped back, sweat dampening your hairline, every thrust shaking the bleacher under you, “oh my god—chenle—so fuck—deep—you’re insane.”

he bit at your jaw, breath hot against your ear, his voice dark and taunting, “and you’re crazy for me—look at you, letting me fuck you raw in the middle of the gym.”

his hand came up, palming your breasts through your shirt this time, kneading rough, thumb circling your nipple until you gasped, “god, you’re so fucking hot.”

your back arched, your hands flying to cup your own breasts over his, pushing his hand harder as if to coax more out of him. he let out a strangled grunt, the sight undoing him.

you moaned in answer, head falling back, every movement sloppy and desperate, “don’t stop—don’t you fucking dare stop.”

his laugh came out wrecked, sharp, “oh, i’m not stopping until you can’t sit on these bleachers without thinking about me splitting you open right here.” his fingers found your clit, circling it fast, messy, relentless.

the angle, the pace, his filthy words. it was all too much. your vision blurred as your orgasm tore through you, your body bowing off the bench, thighs shaking against his chest, “chenle—fuck, i’m—ahhh—”

“that’s it, baby, cum all over my cock,” he groaned, thrusting through your orgasm, his hips stuttering as your walls clamped down around him.

he buried himself to the hilt, groaning loud and guttural, “shit—fuck—gonna fill you up.”

the words tipped you over. your whole body locked tight before shuddering violently around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a sharp cry that bounced off the walls.

chenle cursed, loud and guttural, hips stuttering. “fuck—fuck—baby—” his release hit — hot and deep, body shuddering above you. he held your legs tight to his shoulders, grinding into you even as he spilled inside, milking every drop. you pressed your forehead to his, letting your hands splay across his chest, feeling his heart hammering. for a moment, it was quiet except for your mixed breathing and the hum of the gym lights overhead.

chenle eased you down carefully from the position he’d folded you into, pressing kisses along your thighs as he lowered your legs from his shoulders. you were still trembling, breath coming in uneven shudders, and he took his time — smoothing his palms down your calves, rubbing small circles into your ankles, like he could coax the ache away.

“hey,” he whispered, lips brushing your knee, “breathe for me, baby. you’re okay.”

you let out a shaky laugh, “okay? i can’t feel my legs.”

his grin was crooked, proud, but softer now. he leaned up to press a kiss to your lips before crouching to scoop up your discarded panties and shorts from the floor, “lift for me, i got you.”

obediently, you raised your hips, letting him carefully slide the fabric back up your legs. the tenderness of it made your chest squeeze — his hands, rough from basketball, being so careful not to tug or rush you. he smoothed the waistband of your shorts once they were in place, then pressed a kiss to your shoulder, lingering there.

when he finally sat back on the bench, right next to you, he reached into the waistband of his own pants, “i have one more present for you,” he muttered, a little sheepish now.

your brows furrowed in confusion, until he pulled out a small black box that looked hilariously out of place in a sweaty gym. he flicked it open, and inside were two silver bracelets, glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“lele….” your breath caught.

he grinned, but there was a nervous edge in it, his thumb rubbing over the hinge of the box. “our matching jersey numbers and also because you’re the only one for me.”

you laughed, teary and stunned all at once, “you’re such a sap. who are you and what did you do with my ‘romance is fake’ boyfriend?”

“please,” he chuckled, a little pink at the tips of his ears, “he died a long time ago...can’t even play it cool anymore.”

you laugh, reaching out and taking one of the bracelets, rolling it between your fingers before holding your wrist out, “well?…put it on me, then.”

his grin widened, wrecked and boyish, as he slid the chain around your wrist and fastened it, then he held his own out, smirking, “your turn.”

when you clipped his on, your eyes caught, and for a moment it felt like the whole gym faded away — just the two of you, sweaty, messy, but tethered together by something bigger than either of you had expected.

𝜗ৎ

an: happy sunday! the second loverboy bonus scene is yours! these two were so much fun to write! they’re all such yappers fr. i hope this made you laugh! see you next next sunday for the last two anniversaries ;)

love tags: @dearlyminhyung @hyuckluvr-com @fancypeacepersona @chvngminz @hyunkaluv @iluvgnabnahc @n-jules @haesunlover2 @nottkwiwin @alexameliamg @ihatefrvits @amazinggraxia @karleereadssmut @drunkhee @bamjjwi @mahae @ncityswrld @jaeminiwrld @httpsxnox @blubb0 @pocketyoun @multifandomania @mey-archive @zuzu-the-simp @markiepoo4eva @jungwooie@jwikyo @withapairofwings @cookydream @meowieshibal @remgeolli @yutasputa @kyungsooislifeu @dior-15 @hyucksnctzen @bridgertonletsgo @leleszn @hjjjjjku79999 @afterhvours @mangoescrazy @vantxx95 @nctubatu

TAGLIST: CLOSED.

[sincerelyneo]

diet pepsi | n.jm

“losing all my innocence in the back seat”

📀now playing: diet pepsi by addison rae

❯ summary: Jeno has one rule — his little sister is not allowed at street races. Jaemin knows this, and still, he can’t help but feel a thrill when he spots you sneaking out to watch him race. That is, until he sees you with another guy, and suddenly, he’s all in favor of Jeno’s rule. And he’s pretty sure that rule also means he should intervene and give you a ride home.

❯ pairings: jaemin x virgin fem!reader

❯ genre: brother’s best friend, smut, racing!au

❯ words: 5.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, swearing, arguing, jealously, pet names, car sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering, virginity loss, slight corruption kink, bit of angst, ‘daddy’ mentioned once but not in a kink way?, jaemin is lowkey a dramatic asshole in the first half, mention of marking, reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just a jealous brother’s best friend trope because it eats every time

Jaemin’s blood runs cold when he sees you—wait, what are you even doing here?

He’s never been so tense in the driver’s seat before. He’s usually all calm and controlled, razor-focused on the track, with only one thing on his mind: winning. And he’s pretty damn good at it. But today, he can’t seem to focus. Not with you—Jeno’s little sister—standing right there on the sidelines, sticking out like a beacon in a crowd of rowdy onlookers.

So out of place, timid and awkward. Normally, he’d find it cute if he wasn’t so pissed that you’re even here. You don’t belong among his reckless racer friends, the ones with wandering eyes; and the girls with short skirts, heavy perfume, and sharp eyeliner.

He’s never been this distracted at the starting line before, never found anything particularly interesting to gaze at through his freshly cleaned windshield. But there you are. 

Ripped blue jeans clinging to every curve that he’s spent years thinking about—too many nights with his hand wrapped around his cock, imagining how his fingers would mold and print into the soft flesh of your skin. And those cherry-red lips—they make pride swell in his chest, a small thrill from knowing he’s the only racer here with a red car. It’s probably just a coincidence, but Jaemin lets the possessive part of his mind take over, because he wants nothing more than to see that red smeared around your cheeks as he kisses you—wants it to stain him like a claim.

God, what’s he even thinking?

You’re his best friend’s little sister. Off-limits.

Speaking of which, why are you here? Jeno’s not racing tonight, and he’d kill you if he found out. Actually, Jeno would kill him, even though Jaemin had no idea you’d even show up. Jeno hated you being at the races on a good day, let alone when he wasn’t here to keep an eye on things.

And maybe that’s why, for the first time, Jaemin’s gaze drifts to his side mirror as he speeds off. Because Jeno’s not here to watch over you—so he has to. Yeah, that’s it. It’s for Jeno’s sake. Definitely not because he’s worried about you. And definitely not because he likes the way your cherry-red lips part in a cheer—a cheer he likes to imagine is all for him.

Who’s he kidding? Jaemin loves knowing you’re here, watching him race. Honestly, it’s the biggest rush he’s ever felt—the purest shot of adrenaline—and he’s never pushed this hard on the track. But right now, he only wants to win for you.

And he does, slamming on the brakes, coming to a screeching halt the second he crosses the finish line. A few friends clap him on the back as he gets out of his car, congratulating him, but he doesn’t care about them. He only wants you—to hear you say he did great, to see that proud look in your eyes. He wants you to beg him not to yell at you for sneaking in tonight… or worse, promise he won’t tell Jeno.

Except, Jaemin’s not so sure he can negotiate on the “no yelling” part of that deal. Not when he spots you in the crowd, looking up at Jisung. Jisung, who’s got your attention on him instead of his win. Jisung, who’s making you laugh—and Jaemin knows he’s not that funny. Jisung, who’s handing you a can of Diet Pepsi—and you’re just taking it, smiling at him with those red lips, lips that don’t belong to him. 

Jaemin knows Jisung doesn’t have a bad bone in his body—Christ, the guy wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he’s one of his racer friends. Still, he doesn’t like the way you lean in when you laugh or how you’re looking up at him with pretty eyelashes fluttering. It makes something stir in him, something sharp and possessive. Without thinking, he storms over, snatching the damn can from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

You gasp, the sound almost too soft, "Woah, Jaem–"

"What are you doing here, Y/N?

You stumble back, heart skipping in your chest. He’s looking at you like he’s about to devour you whole. Gaze locked with yours, primal and urgent, scanning you with a heat that makes your breath hitch, throat going suddenly dry. You came here to see him—no one else. But the way his eyes are on you now...you don’t know whether telling him that would be a good idea. 

You swallow hard, feeling small beneath the weight of his stare. “I—uh, I—I’m just… here to watch,” you mumble. "I didn’t think it’d be a big deal..."

Jaemin doesn’t respond right away, his eyes narrowing as they flick over you, then over to Jisung, then back to you. "Alone?" he finally asks. "You just showed up here by yourself?"

“Well yeah–I didn’t think anyone would mind..."

"Jeno’s gonna fucking kill you when he hears about this," he mutters exhaling sharply, the tension in his jaw is visible as he crosses his arms. "You know he doesn’t like you being here.” His eyes flicker to Jisung for a moment before they shift back to you, a little colder. "And I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know you’re accepting drinks from other racers, huh?”

Your brow furrows, a tinge of annoyance creeping in. "It’s just a can of Diet Pepsi, it’s not—"

Jaemin cuts you off. "It doesn’t matter what it is," he snaps. "What matters is that you’re here, without telling anyone where you were going. Without Jeno knowing." He shakes his head in disbelief. 

You scoff. "I’m an adult, Jaemin. Jeno’s not my keeper, and neither are you–"

Jaemin’s jaw tightens, and something flickers in his eyes—something dark. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. "That’s not the point, Y/N," he growls, his voice lowering. "The point is you’re here, at a street race, by yourself. You think that’s smart? You think that’s safe?" He takes a step closer.  "What if something happened to you?" 

"I’m fine, Jaemin. I can take care of myself, okay?" Your voice cracks, frustration spilling out, but the sound doesn’t make Jaemin soften like it usually would.

He steps even closer, towering over you, his presence dominating, and you can feel his breath on your face, hot and quick. “This—this shit—" he gestures around to the crowd, the cars, the racers that surround you both, "this is not safe for you. You shouldn’t be here."

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, jaw set as you refuse to back down. "Why? You and Jeno come here every other weekend?” What’s the big deal?" 

"The big deal, Y/N, is that you're a pretty girl, surrounded by a bunch of horny assholes who'd love nothing more than to corrupt a sweet little thing like you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and your mouth goes dry as his words hit you like a punch. You blink, trying to process, but the anger in his eyes is enough to make your pulse quicken. Jaemin must realize what he’s said because there's a brief moment of hesitation. He clears his throat, trying to regain control.

"And you never told anyone," he tries to add, his voice a little less steady now, "And you're letting random guys buy you drinks—"

"I already told you. It was just a Diet Pepsi, Jaemin. You’re blowing this way out of proportion!" You cut him off. 

You don’t even know what you’re arguing about anymore— and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t either—it’s like he’s mad for the sake of being mad, the two of you going around in circles.

And frankly, you're tired of it. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. You’ve always had a thing for Jaemin, and now was supposed to be your chance—your shot to make him see you as more than just Jeno’s little sister. You knew he’d be distracted with the race, but you thought if you showed up, maybe he’d finally notice you, really see you. But instead, he’s making it perfectly clear that you’ll never be anything more than that girl he feels the need to protect.

“Stop treating me like a child, Jaemin,” you sigh. “I’m not some fragile little girl who needs you to babysit her." 

You turn on your heel, ready to walk away from him, but before you can take more than a few steps, Jaemin’s hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"No. We’re not done talking."

He steps forward again, grip on your limbs tight but not painful, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s pulling you toward the exit, the sound of your shoes hitting the pavement is far too loud in the heavy silence that’s settled. 

"Jaemin, wait!" You tug against him, stumbling slightly, trying to free your wrist from his grasp. "I’m not going anywhere with you. I told you, I don’t need you babysitting me—"

"I’m not asking." His voice is low and final. "You’re going home, and you’re going with me."

"Let go of me!" You hiss, still trying to yank free, but he just tightens his grip, pulling you with him as if you’re a ragdoll.

Jaemin finally stops, turning to face you, his eyes sharp with frustration. He growls at your protesting, stepping into your personal space. "I’m taking you home, Y/N. Don’t argue with me."

You stare up at him, chest heaving with anger and something else—something you don’t want to admit to yourself. "You’re insufferable," you mutter, but it’s weak. 

You know you’re defeated. There’s no point in fighting him anymore. His presence is suffocating, overwhelming, and every fibre of your body knows he’s not going to let this go until he’s got you back home. You have no choice but to comply really. And you groan whilst slipping into the passenger seat of his car, imagining the story he’s going to muster up for your brother. 

Jaemin gets into the driver’s seat, his body tense and irritated, and you almost feel bad that he can’t celebrate his win—almost. He places the can of Diet Pepsi in the cup holder, the soft clink of the can echoing through the car. Then, without breaking his focus, his gaze flicks to you, his voice low and commanding.

“Seatbelt.”

You huff, rolling your eyes as you slide it on. “Yes, daddy.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, Jaemin’s jaw tightens, the muscle flexing under his skin. His eyes darken for a split second, a dangerous glint flashing, something that makes your pulse stutter for just a moment. His fingers curl around the steering wheel, gripping it a little tighter than necessary as he tries to compose himself.

He clears his throat, shifting slightly in his seat, nostrils flaring. “Don’t push your luck, Y/N.”

You sink into your seat with a sigh. The silence in the car hangs as he drives, thick with awkwardness and annoyance. Your throat still feels dry from the argument, and before you can even think about it, you reach for the can. The cold metal soothes your fingertips. But the second your lips brush against the rim, you can feel Jaemin’s eyes on you—hot, intense, and focused.

You can feel him watch your every move, and as you pull the drink away from your lips, his eyes narrow in on the red stain your lipstick left on the silver rim. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, jaw tightening with it, his gaze flickering between your lips and the can in your hand. Without warning, he snatches it from your fingers, one hand still on the wheel, eyes focused and full.

Then, Jaemin presses his own lips against the spot where yours just were, right over the mark you left. Sipping the drink slowly — savouring it.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask, voice a little breathless, startled.

Jaemin’s eyes widen, and for a split second, his grip tightens on the can before he abruptly pulls it away from his mouth, tossing it into the cup holder without a second glance. His brows furrow as he tries to make sense of his own actions, as if he’s suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must look. His mind is reeling—over a simple lipstick mark on the rim of a can. Something so innocent, yet it’s driving him crazy.

He clears his throat, trying to regain an ounce of composure, but his voice cracks slightly. "I was, uh..." He hesitates, biting back a sharp breath, his eyes flickering to the road before snapping back to you. "Just making sure it wasn’t spiked…?"

It sounds weak, even to his own ears, and he knows you’re not buying it. The way your lips part tells him everything. You narrow your eyes at him, a little too sharp for comfort. 

“Spiked?” You glance at the cup holder, where the can now sits innocently. “How would you even know from the taste, Jaemin? Not to mention Jisung gave me this, that boy wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Jaemin knows that. Still, he curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair as the frustration builds in his chest. His entire excuse is a mess, just like the thoughts spinning in his head.

"Look, let’s call it precautionary, okay?" His voice is clipped and there’s a tightness to it. "Don’t make it a big deal."

You lean back in the seat, a small bitter laugh escaping you. “Me making things a big deal? Oh, the irony.”

He doesn’t respond or bite back or try for the final word and it makes the silence thicker. Jaemin’s grip on the wheel is so tight his knuckles are white, and honestly, you don’t know how long you can keep doing this.

“You're impossible, you know that?" The words slip out before you can stop them, and your chest tightens as soon as they do. "I didn't come here for you to babysit me or make me feel like I need your protection. I came here because I—" You stop yourself. 

Jaemin's head snaps to you, "Because you what?" 

For a second, you can’t speak. The words are right there, but they feel too big, too much to let out. You’re caught between the urge to spill it all or keeping it hidden, scared to change the dynamic. But you’ve been pretending for too long, playing by the rules, and now, you want to stop hiding.

“I came here because I wanted you to see me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not as Jeno’s little sister. Not as some kid. I wanted you to see me… as me.”

Jaemin doesn’t react, not at first – well, he does, but it’s subtle. His hands go completely white around the wheel, his jaw clenched so tight you can almost hear it. Without saying a word, he pops the indicator on and pulls over, the tyres screeching slightly as he brings the car to a sudden stop.

You freeze, and a small wave of panic bubbles up inside your chest. Did you say the wrong thing? Did you make it weird? He’s your brother’s best friend, and now you’ve crossed that weird line that’s bound to make everything awkward. Jeno’s gonna kill you.

You swallow hard, waiting for him to snap, to tell you how messed up this whole thing is.

But he kisses you. 

His hand on your cheek, without warning, pulling you into him, and consuming your lips with a force that steals the air from your lungs. It’s not gentle like you expected him to be. He’s typically always gentle with you — unless he’s mad, which right now, he is. This kiss is desperate. Hungry. And you like it because it’s the kind of kiss that makes your body forget how to breathe. The kind of kiss that tells you he doesn’t see you like a kid – like Jneo’s little sister.

“You drive me fucking insane, you know that?” Jaemin growls, nudging your noses together. His hands find your waist, to grip it. “You walk around in those jeans clinging to your ass, with your cheeks flushed, and that fucking lipstick the same shade as my car.”

You giggle softly against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You noticed?”

“Of course I fucking noticed,” he groans.

Jaemin’s lips trail down your jawline, each kiss slow, and teasing, and needy. The desperation in his movements is evident like he’s trying to savour every inch of your skin. The feeling is foreign to you—each soft press of his lips sends a rush of heat through your body. The simple touches make you gasp, drawing a low, satisfied groan from him as he feels the reaction in your body.

His breath catches, lips brushing softly along the sensitive curve of your neck as he pulls you closer. His hands tighten around your waist, and the pleading in his voice intensifies, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in it. He’s holding back, trying to keep his composure.

“Tell me this is a bad idea, Y/N,” he whispers, his lips grazing your skin with kisses. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Your breath is shallow and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The way your hands find their way into his hair, fingers threading through it as you desperately tug on it, unsure of what else to do. 

“Please, angel, you have to say no,” he murmurs into your neck, his voice low and desperate. 

“Don’t want to,” you whimper, shaking your head again. “Want you, Jaem. Always wanted you. Only you.”

"Fuck..." he groans, his lips trailing away from your skin to look at you.

And what a pretty sight you are. Eyes glazed with lust, pupils blown wide, dilated with something raw and needy. So innocent, so forgiving, so eager – so fucking his. It’s enough to make him painfully hard, though he was already straining. Hearing you say you've always wanted him – and only him – had already sent a rush of heat straight to his cock.

Jaemin can’t help himself. His hand reaches out to caress your cheek again, his thumb teasing the softness of your bottom lip. You gasp, and his pupils darken, fixating on the way your mouth parts, the red colour staining his thumb. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of—a perfect fantasy. 

“You’re gonna get me in so much trouble, gorgeous.”

He’s still hesitating, and you can feel it — you fucking hate it. Something takes over you, and without thinking, you take his thumb into your mouth, deep, sucking hard. Jaemin practically growls, his lips parting as a hiss escapes him from the sight. 

A switch flips, and in one smooth, deliberate motion, he yanks his thumb from your mouth, kills the engine, and climbs into the backseat. His eyes are sharp as they focus on you, which tells you to follow suit. He doesn’t care that on paper this is a ‘bad idea’. His cock is telling him it’s the best one he’s ever had.

It’s clear the moment you climb into the backseat, the way his body shifts into something animalistic. You try to settle beside him, but Jaemin doesn’t let that happen. He grips the hem of your shirt, yanking you down and onto his lap. The heat from his body radiates through the thin fabric of your clothes, his chest pressing hard against yours as his hands slide possessively around your waist.

His hands roam down your back and you can feel the hard press of him against your ass. It makes your pulse spike and your sweet red lips fall open for him, making him smirk with pride. His lips trail down to your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he murmurs your name, low and rough.

It’s all-consuming. Hot and desperate. Panting and breathless. Bodies moving in sync. The car heats up from your bodies softly grinding against each other. His hands are everywhere. 

“Angel,” he growls, his voice low with restraint, “if you keep grinding on me like that, I won’t be able to stop.”

You bite your lip, keeping your rhythm steady, your hips pressing into his. “Good.”

Jaemin catches a hand around your jaw pulling you away from his lips. “I’m serious, Y/N. Are you sure you want this?”

You nod, your gaze heavy with need.

He shakes his head, “I need words, gorgeous.”

“I want this.”

Such a simple phrase shatters his restraint, unravelling him completely. With a growl, he tosses you onto the back seat, lips trailing hotly down your body until he’s between your legs. His fingertips graze the waistband of your jeans, and he leans in, voice a low whisper.

“Can I?”

You nod, but he shakes his head, his eyes dark with hunger. “Say it.”

“Yes...” You breathe, the word barely escaping your lips, but it’s all he needs.

The jeans slide down your hips and ass, past your thighs, until they’re bunched around your ankles. Jaemin’s eyes flicker down, landing on your panties—darkened with dampness.

"So wet from just a little grinding?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "So fucking cute."

A rush of heat floods your chest. You’ve never done this before. And suddenly, it’s all too much, too fast. His words, your own desperate need, the car, the argument... everything crashes together. Without thinking, you press your legs closed, embarrassed by your body's reaction.

Jaemin's brows furrow as he watches you closely. "You okay?"

Your cheeks burn with a blush, stuttering as you struggle to find your voice. "I-I-uh," you falter, hoping he’ll say it, ask you the question. But he doesn’t. His eyes are fixed on your mouth, waiting for you to say it.

"I’ve never done this before."

Jaemin’s eyes flicker with something dark before he hums lowly. “You still want this?”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Words, Y/N.”

“God—yes.”

A satisfied smirk curves on his lips. “Good,” he murmurs. “Your body’s a fucking work of art I’ve been dying to see, and I never want you to feel embarrassed about showing it to me—and only me, yeah?”

This time, you don’t nod. You meet his gaze, voice steady as you tell him, “Yes. Only you.”

He smiles, hands resting on your knees as he gently eases them apart, his gaze fixed on you, completely mesmerized. If someone had told him this was how he’d be celebrating his win tonight, he’d have laughed in disbelief.

But now, his knuckles brush over the front of your underwear, a feather-light touch that sends a spark through you. Your hips react on their own, bucking slightly as his fingertips tease your sensitive nerves through the thin damp fabric.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

He drags his fingers to your waistband, sneaking underneath to run a soft finger up your slit, drawing a gasp from your lips. He takes that as permission to slip the pair down your legs, meeting the same fate as your jeans somewhere in his car. 

Jaemin keeps his eyes dead set on you as his fingers work to find your clit. The moment he does, he starts working slow, taunting patterns against it, each movement deliberate and unhurried. The sensation is leg-numbing, sending waves of pleasure through you—so much better than when you do it yourself. 

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands, “I wanna know how I’m making you feel. Tell me.”

Your mind is spinning, words slipping through your grasp, and all you can manage is a choked, incoherent moan. It’s not enough for him. Dissatisfied, he sinks his middle finger into your pussy at your silence. You jolt at the intrusion, the feeling intense and foreign, but his eyes stay locked on you, waiting.

“Tell me,” he groans, relishing in the feeling of how tight you grip around his finger.

“F-feels good,” you manage to stammer.

“Yeah?” he taunts, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he slowly picks up the pace. “Want more?”

“Yes–” you nod eagerly. He wastes no time, slipping his ring finger inside to join the first, matching the rhythm, savouring the warmth encapsulating around him, and you unravel beneath him.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes, breaths shallow and quick, completely undone from the tortuous pace of his fingers. Jaemin’s expression softens as he takes you in, a quiet, satisfied coo slipping from his lips.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, “So sweet… so vulnerable just for me.”

A low chuckle escapes him as he feels your walls threatening to tense, wanting to flutter around his fingers, and it sends another wave of pride through him. He shifts his eyes down, and without hesitation, takes your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue in slow, devastating circles.

If he’s going to make you cum for the first time, it’ll be on his fingers and his mouth—he’ll make sure of it.

“S-so good, Jaem—” you gasp, voice trembling as his mouth and fingers work in perfect sync, pushing you closer to the edge.

He hums against you, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through your body. “Yeah?” he murmurs, lips still pressed to your skin. “Gonna let go for me, huh? Let me feel it.”

His words, his touch—it’s all too much, and you can feel every nerve on fire as he coaxes you over the edge until you’re cumming from the steady rhythm of his fingers and the relentless, teasing laps of his tongue. You're a shuddering mess beneath him from the orgasm he’s given you. 

He fucking loves it, looking in complete awe.

As you start to come down, muffled whines still slip from your lips, riding out the aftershocks of your release.

“What is it?” he prods, his voice smooth but persistent, but all you can manage is a frustrated sigh, annoyed with his stupid teasing tone. “Angel..I don’t know what you want if you don’t tell me.”

"All I want is—" You gasp when he lightly brushes your sensitive clit again,"—your cock."

A smug smirk tugs at his lips. His hand slides to rest possessively on your hip as he moves to hover above you, his gaze locking with yours.

“Are you sure?”

You nod, your lashes fluttering with need, and he takes that as permission to rid himself of his pants, his hand wrapping firmly around the base of his cock. He positions himself carefully, just at the edge of your pussy. 

It’s not how you’d pictured your first time—definitely not the romantic, cute scenario you’d always fantasized about. But one thing was certain: Jaemin was here, and that’s all that really mattered. Though, you hadn’t expected him to be this… big.

He picks up on the hesitation in your eyes, sensing the tension coiling tight in your chest.

With deliberate slowness, he slides his length teasingly between your drenched folds, making your breath catch as your nerves tense.

“I’ll take it slow,” he pulls down to murmur against your lips. 

You nod, your lip caught between your teeth, biting down hard enough to taste the metallic tang as he presses his tip against your cunt. His other hand grips your hip, his fingers digging in as he applies pressure, holding you in place. He stays perched above you, eyes fixed on your face. 

"Keep looking at me," he says, watching the way your face squirms. "Please."

His begging has you fighting to keep your eyes from fluttering shut, staying locked on him as you watch the way his pink lips part, the way they twitch, holding back a moan when he inches forward just enough to feel his tip slip past the threshold.

He pushes forward in a slow, savouring motion, and when he finally sinks into you completely, you stretch around him. Your brows furrow, caught between the sting of pain and the rush of pleasure. His teeth catch his lower lip, holding it there as a low, skin-tingling moan rumbles deep in his chest, his body staying still, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Please move,” you beg, barely able to get the words out, desperation lacing your voice.

He struggles to keep his breathing steady as he watches your face, studying it for any sign of discomfort. Once he’s sure you’re fine, he begins to draw his hips back slowly, his movements deliberate and deep, wrecking you as he rolls his hips forward, filling you again.

Your eyes want to flutter shut, the bliss almost too much to keep conscious but you want to please him. Jaemin pulls you closer, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, and you moan into it, the sound pulling a breathless, stomach-knotting whine from him.

He increases his pace, and you cry out, your head falling back as your hips begin to meet his. One of Jaemin’s hands tightens around the side of your waist, grounding you as he drives deeper, faster, harder — greedy. 

You move feverishly, hips bucking wildly as you try to take him deeper, craving the way his cock stretches you, hitting every nerve with overwhelming pleasure.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he gasps. "Keep looking at me. I wanna see how pretty you look when I’m making you feel good."

You can only respond with a breathless gasp that catches in your throat as he buries himself deeper, rolling against you whilst your nails dig into the fabric on his shoulders.

His hand slips from your hip for a moment, reaching for your fingers to guide them down where your bodies are connected. His fingers curl around yours, bringing your hand to your throbbing clit. You take the hint, fingers moving instinctively to find the sensitive bundle, desperate to ease the tightness building in your abdomen.

"Not gonna last long, angel," he breathes, his voice ragged. "But I need you to feel good."

"Fuck," you whimper. Your hips begin to writhe, chasing the pleasure as every part of your body burns with need.

“So fucking warm and wet and tight,” he groans, forehead slick with sweat. 

Your bodies feel like they’re burning, the car steaming up with heat, the windows fogging so thickly that you leave a handprint on the glass as you steady yourself against Jaemin’s building deliberate thrusts. 

He’s fucking into you with an erotic urgency, as if he’s trying to spill out every fantasy he’s ever had about you since Jeno introduced you. It’s like he’s remembering, all at once, that he’s broken all the rules—off-limits, bro code—and he doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t regret it one bit. Because the feel of you on his cock is totally worth it.

Your stomach starts to tremble as warmth floods your lower half, your muscles contracting and fluttering around him. The feeling overwhelms you, and it only encourages him to slow his rhythm, to drag out your orgasm as long as possible. 

Jaemin finally caves, moving his face to nuzzle against you. Your hands find his hair, tugging him up so you can kiss along his neck, your lipstick staining his flesh, marking him with that signature red colour.

You keep your hips rolling with his, even after the earth-shattering orgasm he’s just given you. Every cry, whimper, and moan spills from the back of your throat at the force of him, your voice chanting his name in a string of desperate mumbles. Your body convulses and shakes as you clamp around his length, and he grunts at the feeling, whispering praises to coax you through it.

He snaps his hips upward, grinding his body against you to savour the feeling. His muscles begin to shudder, jolting as he gasps for air, his own orgasm hitting him hard.

Hearing and feeling him lost in so much bliss only stretches the aftershocks of your release, both of you a mess of limbs and shameless sounds. Then, you feel him still completely, his release erupting in warm spurts, filling you and making you feel full of him. He’s everywhere—his scent, his kisses, his cum.

You’re left utterly spent, like a limp puddle, but Jaemin stays closely intertwined with you. You both inhale ragged breaths, neither of you daring to break apart. You’re reduced to fluttering glances weak panting and slick skin.

Jaemin’s eyes shift toward the side window, his fingers gently combing through your hair before he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

And when he finally tries to move, there's a sudden clink, and the faint sound of liquid splashing. You both glance down at the Diet Pepsi can now toppled over and spilling its contents all over the car seat. A muffled chuckle escapes Jaemin's lips as he shakes his head.

“That stupid fucking drink,” he mutters with a grin. 

“You should be grateful,” you hum, “Without it, we probably would never have fucked.”

Jaemin shakes his head and laughs, but the humour quickly fades as his expression turns serious. He leans in close again, his lips brushing yours. 

“Not true,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted you ever since I met you. I would’ve made a move eventually.”

“Oh yeah?” You tilt your head, teasing him. “What’s been stopping you?”

“Jeno,” Jaemin says quietly, and it’s like it hits you both at once.

Your stomach twists in knots, the mention of your brother, Jaemin’s best friend, suddenly making everything feel... wrong. 

“What are we gonna tell Jeno?”

[kongjjen]

threatened ⋆☀︎. lee haechan

SYNOPSIS: captain of the football team, lee haechan claims he has it all. but he doesn't have you, who's always been so unattainable, yet somehow you still end up dating the student body president and his rival. but he's not one to give up easily because he knows he always gets what he wants, and your boyfriend should definitely feel threatened by him.

PAIRING: athlete!haechan x female reader

GENRE: college au, enemies to ? au, love triangle!au, angst, smut, cheating!au

WORD COUNT: 23.5k

CONTAINS: riize's sungchan (im sorry once AGAIN). psychological negligence, jealousy, one sided rivalry (for the most part). love triangle of sorts, cheating, smut (only between haechan and reader). unprotected penetrative sex, cream pie, fingering and oral (female receiving), public sex, big dick!haechan, emotional distance. author's note at the end.

inspired by michael jackson's song threatened.

read more of TASTE OF SUN HERE

©️ KONGJJEN 2025. all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

Lee Haechan claims he has it all. 

He’s a twenty-something year old, good looking guy, he has the charms, he has the smile. His eyes hold an immense power that could seduce even a blind person, and his voice could lull and enamour the deaf. 

He’s an excellent presence around campus, everybody knows him. And how could they not, when he’s the captain of the football team? The only team in the entire college that made it out of local matches against other local teams, the NCIT Bears Football Team made it big thanks to Lee Haechan’s tenacity and raw talent.

He’s a leader, he leads. He never follows, not even when it’s about his academic wellbeing and following his professors. He’s surrounded by people who look up to him, and he thinks there isn’t one single person who doesn’t know who he is, in this whole campus. 

Heads turn and mouths start whispering as soon as he passes people on corridors, in the parking lot, even at the coffee shop at the corner just outside of campus. He lives and thrives off the attention, and he’s well aware of it.

His friends think he’s a showoff and sometimes he exaggerates, taking things to next level or making situations escalade when there’s no need to do so, but he doesn’t care. And as much as he loves his friends and cherishes whatever it is they have to say about anything he does, Lee Haechan has a big pride and ego. He’s proud, nothing goes unnoticed and words will start stinging as soon as they leave his mouth when he’s not happy. He’s proud, his ego drips with self love and shameless confidence, which leads to him not taking challenges lightly — ever.

Lee Haechan claims he has it all. But he knows that’s not true — he doesn’t have you.

The reality stings every single time he sees you around campus, with friends or that monstrosity you introduce to everyone as your boyfriend — Jung Sungchan. What does that loser have, that he doesn’t? What exactly did you see in him that made you think ‘Wow, he might just be the one for me,’? Lee Haechan wonders. Because you could have gone for anyone else in this campus and he wouldn’t have cared this much, but you’re literally in this supposed romantic relationship with his rival, out of all people.

What exactly do you see in him? What does Jung Sungchan have, that Haechan doesn’t? Is it because he’s the Student Body President? Haechan swears he’ll call for an impeachment and he’ll steal his spot, if that’s the case. 

Do you like smart guys? Haechan never picked you to be one going after big brains instead of good looks — but he swears he’ll do anything to get even better grades than he already does, if it means you’ll spare him a look.

Because each and every interactions the two of you had so far, they have been disastrous. With you avoiding him, not replying to him or to anything he has to say, it took you a few months before you actually started fighting back. And that’s precisely the problem. If you just shut up for a bit longer, Haechan would have given up eventually, and he’s well aware of this fact, as well as his closest friends who have literally begged him to stop losing his mind over you, since you were obviously uninterested. 

But then you snarled back at him, and Haechan felt like an angel just spoke to him words of love and encouragement to go on professing his interest — even if said angel literally told him to ‘fuck off and die’.

It was enough of a sign for Haechan to go on, to make it obvious to everyone around him that he wanted you in all the ways possible. From literally staring at you with heart shaped eyes as you took a sip of your coffee and literally spilled it on your cream coloured hoodie, to doing everything in his power for your paths to cross coincidentally, it was obvious to everyone witnessing that you poked Haechan’s interested.

And seeing your boyfriend walking hand in hand with you hasn’t ever discouraged him. Because one thing is certain — Lee Haechan’s ambition knows no limits, and he eventually gets what he wants. And Jung Sungchan should definitely feel threatened.

There’s something tugging at his chest every single time he looks at you, and then he feels like he’s been hit with a brick when he sees you holding hands with Slanderman’s cousin.

You hear him before you can see him, because he’s always been obnoxiously loud — during classes, on hallways, in the cafeteria on the fourth floor that you used to pick just so you could avoid seeing him.

Sharing a class with Lee Haechan has always felt like a grieving experience. He’s terribly nosy, incredibly noisy for a man, but you can’t deny the way he never lacks. He’s always sporting that insufferable grin when he sees he got an excellent mark, he’s always doing that arrogant poking the cheek with his tongue he always does when someone retorts something back to him, he has the cockiness of a thousand peacocks when he scores a goal.  

Granted that he has something to be cocky about, especially when it comes to his abilities and achievements as the captain of the football team, you still really can’t stand him. You’re also not sure where his sick obsession with driving you insane comes from, but you don’t want to find out either. You just want to be left alone.

“And then I told this girl that I will try making female hygiene products free for all female students across the entire campus,” your boyfriend bit into his own sandwich after explaining the brief meeting he had with student representatives this morning. 

Sitting in the bleachers of the football field, you enjoy lunch while the sun kisses both of your faces after a long and busy morning. He’s had meetings on top of courses, and you just finished a cramming session in the most secluded spot of the library, where you knew no one was going to find you. No one, not even him.

“You can do that?” You ask, mouth half full with your own sandwich that he so carefully and lovingly made for you today.

He nods, chewing and looking you straight in the eye, “As a matter of fact, I can,” his eyes sparkle in the sunlight as he looks at you, “As the President of the student body, I can at least bring it up and fight for it,”

This is exactly why you love him. Sungchan has never been selfish, deciding to run for president of the student body so he could cater to the real needs of student, and not just asking for funding for the university’s sports teams and for useless appliances. He’s kind, he stands up for what he believes in, and doesn’t let a certain asshole demoralise him. 

“I want to help you out, I can go around and get people to sign your petition or something…” You propose, feeling the crazy need to be as involved in this as he is. You can learn a thing or two about kindness, especially from your boyfriend, who’s the salt of the earth. 

“You would do that?” He asks with his mouth full, and the expression he’s sporting makes warmth spread all throughout your chest, “For me?” He points at himself, and you can’t resist the urge to kiss him.

You lurch towards him, grabbing his face with your free hand to bring him closer to you, and you peck his lips in a repeated motion a few times.

“Not for you,” you whisper, letting him go, “For women,” you correct him, and he fights the urge to laugh.

He clears his throat, “Right, my bad! What was I even thinking?” His tone drips with sarcasm, and he slaps a hand across his forehead in a joking manner.

His gesture makes you burst out laughing, and the sound is so sweet and crystalline to Sungchan’s ears, that he pulls you in for a sweet kiss. You feel him smiling as your lips press against his, responding to his kiss even if his gesture took you by surprise.

But the moment is suddenly interrupted when a ball hits Sungchan’s shoulder, making him stand up to catch the ball that had landed just a few feet away from you after hitting him, and making a screech escape you. 

Sungchan spins the ball between his fingers, looking at you, “Are you okay?” He asks all worried, but you know he’s the one who took the hit, the ball didn’t even touch you. 

You nod, the erratic beating of your heart making your ears ring. You see Sungchan turning his head to the side, prompting you to do the same. Your blood starts boiling when you see the culprit running towards you, bright smile on display like he’s ready to frolic in a field of daisies.

You should have known Lee Haechan was going to ruin your lunch, because somehow he always ends up ruining your mood by appearing out of nowhere when you’re in public, walking or just simply chilling with your boyfriend. 

And you know that this one sided rivalry he has with your boyfriend started the moment they both ran to become President of the student body, but ultimately Sungchan won. And what did he expect? He already was the captain of the football team, had girls lined to get to please and know him, he already had everything he wanted and anything imaginable lined in orderly manner at his feet. His greed knows no bounds, you’re now aware of it, because what was he even thinking, trying to monopolise this entire campus? Ever since your boyfriend won the race to becoming president, Haechan has made it known that he hates him, and tried numerous times to make his life a living hell — apparently even trying to hit his head with a ball just because he’s sitting somewhere in the bleachers.

“Sorry guys!” He screams as he jogs leisurely towards you. His fake smile still plastered on his face, his hair bounces around like he’s the embodiment of innocence. Why is he even here? You made sure the football team didn’t have practice when you decided you were going to have lunch here, “Didn’t mean to hit you,” 

You scoff, “Are you sure about that?” You retort, jumping to your feet as soon as he gets closer enough for you to see the shadow of a smug smile in the corner of his mouth, like he’s fighting for his life not to give himself away. 

“Well, I didn’t mean to hit you,” he accentuates the word, making sure that this time you’ll understand what he means, “And I didn’t, didn’t I?” He finally breaks in a smile, throwing a lazy glance towards your boyfriend. You know he did this on purpose — damn this man’s perfect aiming.

“What if you actually hit her, though?” Sungchan asks calmly, and you don’t understand how it’s possible for him to always be this calm. With Lee Haechan showing how much he despises him, and with you getting hot headed every time this nuisance of a man is brought up, you wonder how he’s still so cool. 

That’s why you love and admire him, he’s always so collected, so gentle, and even when he’s well aware that Haechan’s ball was aimed at him, he still doesn’t mind. You are his main concern, because he knows he can take physical hits and insults, but you shouldn’t be in this position, you should never have to go through something like this.

“But I didn’t,” Haechan shrugs, uninterested, and his gaze falls once again on your figure. You’re nearly trembling with anger, and your fist is literally begging to be shoved down his throat — but knowing him? You think he’d like it. “I never meant to hurt her. You on the other hand…” Haechan tsks, shrugging again like he’s absolutely innocent, even if he just admitted to purposefully aiming at Sungchan.

You don’t allow Sungchan to reply back, because you know he’s probably going to bring up Haechan’s behaviour and trying to talk things through, or maybe he’s going to bring up the fact that he could denounce Haechan to the dean — so you take matter into your own hands, literally. 

Snatching the ball from Sungchan’s hands, you throw it at Haechan’s head with all the force you could muster up, but your attempt fails miserably when the ball lands on his chest and he blocks it with his arms, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“It’s almost as if you didn’t wanna hurt me…” he lets a daydreaming sigh escape past his lips, and he looks at a spot behind you with a glimmer in his eyes.

This is another thing you hate about him. He doesn’t take anything seriously, and there’s just no way for anyone to win against him when he’s involved, be it a nerve wrecking situation, a mocking, or a fun one. 

“I will take that ball and shove it up your ass,” you say through gritted teeth, and you hear Sungchan sighing, moving beside you to gather all your things, including the leftover sandwiches scattered to the side — because he hates littering. 

He mumbles a ‘Let’s go,’ in your ear, knowing you’re going to start to verbally abuse Haechan if he doesn’t take you far away from said man soon, but you don’t hear him or anything else he might have added, too busy being focused on Haechan and the crystalline and amused laugh that escaped him as he plays with the ball in his hands.

“Well, baby, don’t threaten me with a good time!” He rasps amused when he’s done laughing, and it only makes your blood boil even more, but Sungchan’s arm is draped around your shoulders, guiding you away from the bleachers and consequently away from the football field.

And just one look back to where Haechan is still standing, just to see him throwing you heart fingers as you walk away with your boyfriend, and you raise your middle finger for him to see. But it does nothing to irritate Haechan, on the contrary — you hear him mumble a ‘cute’ before he walks backwards towards the empty football field.

Lee Haechan might not have it all right now, but he knows that everything is going to change at some point. Everything will be his.

Your leg bounces as you feel like you’re being kept on pins and needles. The cool air of the night gives your bare thighs goosebumps, your skirt too flimsy to keep you warm as you totally ignored the weather forecast that called for a windy evening. 

The autumn air is setting on everything around you, the falling leaves, the cool wind that blows in random and powerful gusts, the unpredictable weather that doesn’t give anything away — not even the fact that tonight you should have put on a pair of jeans instead of a skirt. 

You’re growing cold, and more impatient as the time passes without receiving a sign from your boyfriend. You’re standing right outside the theatre’s doors, ready to go in and relax while the warm air engulfs you, yet instead you’re still left outside hoping you’ll get a sign that he’s close to getting here. 

It’s date night, you’re about to go watch a revival screening of one of your favourite films ever — Bridget Jones’s Diary — something that Sungchan came up with in the first place, yet you still didn’t get a text back from him. But you know he’s not to blame for the lack of communication, not tonight, because he told you he was going to be in a meeting with the dean and the university’s board members to try and fight for that one project involving the feminine care products, telling you that he’ll join you for date night straight out of the meeting. 

But his tardiness is what’s making your leg bounce. Will he make it? You don’t like spending date nights by yourself, even if it’s a film you hold so dear to your heart thanks to the romantic comedy excellency. And while you’re anxious about him missing date night and the lack of communication from his part, you also want his meeting to go well. 

Sungchan’s kindness and heartwarming personality knows no bounds, and if he succeeds and his project is approved, everyone around campus is going to truly love him. You can’t imagine what the student body could have become if the other candidate won this race — you guess it was all going to be about his team getting financing for some new equipment and a ton of balls they can kick. 

You drape your leather jacket around yourself, trying to overlook the cold that’s starting to seep through your sweater, and you just as you start thinking you should probably go in and buy tickets for whenever Sungchan is going to get here, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your jacket.

‘So sorry Y/n, I’m still in the meeting,’ you read Sungchan’s text, and you see the three dots appearing right after he sees you’ve seen the text, ‘Let’s go to the next revival’ . 

You sigh, and as much as you try remaining positive, you can’t help the disappointment filling you, your heart feeling heavy with guilt and selfishness as you try to decide what you should or should not feel in this moment. 

You feel so incredibly selfish for wanting to spend time with your boyfriend right now, like it doesn’t even matter that he’s away for a good cause, and you feel like you’re contradicting yourself. You claimed you’re happy he’s doing a good thing for the student body, yet you’re disappointed this meeting is happening tonight of all nights — and that date night is completely ruined. 

You know it isn’t his fault and that there was nothing he could have done to accelerate the meeting, especially because he’s not as important as the other people in that room, so negotiations must have felt nerve wrecking to him. Yet you’re here bouncing your leg — in anger, this time. 

You reply curtly to his text, also sending an emoji so his positivity doesn’t deflate but also because you don’t want to make him overthink this whole situation and make him feel bad, especially now, and you start walking back to the dorms. 

Your inner emotional turmoil helps you with ignoring the cold, or the growing speed of the gusts of wind that feel like a slap against your delicate cheek. The disappointment takes over the selfishness and guilt, and your thoughts start battling against each other once again. 

There’s a honk that makes your heart suddenly skip a beat, and you look to your left out of reflex, trying to see where the loud noise comes from. 

Driving at a slow speed as close to the curb as physically possible, the window rolls down with an electric grinding sound, “Y/n! What are you doing in the rain? Get in!” 

You roll your eyes, immediately recognising whose voice it is, and you just go on walking faster. You were so deep into your own head that you didn’t even notice the big droplets coming down on your forehead, already starting to wet your hair.

“You’re gonna catch a cold!” He insists, speeding up a bit when he sees you picking up your pace — nearly running, “Hey! Don’t ignore me!” 

As if I ever could, you think to yourself. You always hear him before you see him, the timbre of his voice so unmistakably him that it’s absolutely painful to try and ignore. You always end up hearing stuff you couldn’t care less about, but still unable to block out his voice and the words he articulates. 

And then you flinch hearing his prolonged honking, that you try to ignore as you try to look at the path ahead of you through all the rain coming down and straight into your face. He keeps honking, at some point picking an annoying rhythm before returning to the usual prolonged one, and it becomes clear to you that he won’t stop until you get into his car. 

The fact that it’s evening and it might become a disturbance to the people around, especially to those who live in the area, and you really don’t want to be accused of enabling this behaviour, you decide to give in — just this once.

You lurch towards his car, opening the door and getting in before he could blink twice. One more honking and you were going to flip his car off the road, you’re sure. You slam the door after yourself, making him suck air through his teeth as he picked up a normal speed.

“Jesus, Y/n, whatever did that door do to you…” he comments stopping at a red light, and you scoff while fastening your seatbelt. 

But you ignore his comment, throwing him a quick look, only to find him already looking at you. Lee Haechan’s features are sparkling in the red hue of the traffic lights, damp locks covering the sides of his face after being rained on as well, most probably. 

“What?” You sigh, averting your gaze from his piercing one.

“What were you thinking, walking in the rain?” He nags, and by the way he’s not adding anything else, you can deduce he’s actually waiting for an answer instead of being sarcastic and a nuisance like he always is.

“Like you even care?” You laugh, but it lacks amusement. As creepy as it might seem to actually think of it, Haechan knows your real laugh. He’s heard it numerous times, when you laughed at something your friends told you, or during your shared class when your professor made a joke. Your laugh rings louder and brighter than all, and Haechan knows something’s off right now. “As if you didn’t throw a ball at my head last week,”

He clicks his tongue after hearing your smart mouth, “I didn’t throw a ball at your head last week. But I did throw it at your boyfriend’s,” he corrects you, eyes back on the road as you’re stuck in traffic. 

“So now you admit you wanted to hit him,” you turn around a bit in your seat, and you see a shadow of a cocky smirk.

“Baby,” he turns around to look at you, black irises glinting in the red lights, “I admitted to it already, straight to his face,”

“What exactly is your problem with Sungchan?” You’re getting worked up, not liking how relaxed he’s being with admitting to committing aggravated assault.

“Where is he, by the way?” He asks as matter-of-factly, still looking at you to see your reaction to his words, “Why did he leave his girlfriend alone in the cold rain?” He goes on, but his tone is light — and it doesn’t have to be an accusing or mocking one to annoy you, “Did he ditch you?”

Your eyebrows furrow, scoffing, “He did not ditch me!” You lie, shaking your head at him, “He’s busy with presidential tasks,” 

“Yeah, right,” He laughs, and moves his other hand on top of the steering wheel to rest, “That’s why you were waiting in the cold and then you left when it started raining. He didn’t ditch you like, at all,” He’s ridiculing you, because he knows the truth — even if you’re not sure of how or why he does.

“Do you believe the lies you’re telling?” You try to defend your honour once again, because Haechan really doesn’t need to get an insight into your relationship with Sungchan. 

He lets a huff of laughter escape him, “No,” he shakes his head, and the car finally starts moving, “Do you believe the lies you’re telling?” He accentuates the word, and it hits a nerve. How can he know so many things about you, even when you’re trying your best to keep a mask on? 

“Where am I taking you?” He asks as he didn’t just read you like an open book.

You shrug, “Sure, wouldn’t you like to know where I live? So you can stalk me, most probably,” you accuse, looking out the window. You try to keep your usual mocking tone, the one you always use on him, and you really hope he doesn’t pick up how shaken you are by the whole thing. You’ll have to do some serious introspection when you get home.

“Okay,” he claps his hands quickly, startling you, before placing them back on the steering wheel, “Maybe I should just take you to my place instead,”

You panic, straightening into your seat, “Just turn right after the lights,” You point, sighing defeated, and he bursts out laughing.

For some reason, your attitude is easily deflected tonight, and Haechan doesn’t find it as enjoyable to tease you. Maybe it’s because your boyfriend isn’t here to be his own personal punching bag, receiving mockery and insults and multiple balls across his head, or maybe it’s just that he sees you’re not really in the right mood for your usual back and forth. So he drops all banter, he doesn’t open his mouth for the rest of the drive, and only listens to your soft breathing and the quietness of your voice as you tell him whether he needs to take a turn to the right or a turn left.

He knows where you live already, and not because he stalked you or anything. He swears he hasn’t gone that far, but because he once hooked up with a girl living in your same hall, and coincidentally on your same floor too. So when he tried quietly sneaking out in the middle of the night, you were just coming home, too drunk to even acknowledge that he was a few feet away from you.

“Thanks… I guess,” You thank him before getting out of his car, but you don’t wait to hear his reply, running to the entrance to your building. 

And Haechan should feel ecstatic that he’s managed to have this interaction with you. While every other time he’s ever talked to you, you snarled back at him or straight up ignored him, tonight you gave in a little. For fucks sake, you even asked him what his problem with your boyfriend was, and what exactly were you expecting him to say? That this isn’t actually about the fact that he won the election over him with so many more votes than expected, because he actually didn’t really care — because it was more like an extracurricular activity he wanted to pick up, but wasn’t dying to actually win the election; or should he have told you that it all comes back to when he realised he liked you after sharing a class, but took your rejection lightly because he thought it was only going to be a matter of time until you gave in to his charms, only to then see you holding hands with his rival?

So you, the one who was so hard to get, so hard to get past the high walls you had built around yourself, you actually gave in and started dating Jung Sungchan, out of all people?

Haechan couldn’t let that slide, couldn’t live with the thought that the girl he has always wanted was now under the spell of his rival’s charms. And what charms, exactly? Does he talk to you about how he excels in his statistics class? Does he rizz you up by talking about numbers? 

Out of all the people you could have gone public with, Sungchan being the one you chose really hurt Haechan’s ego. And from being hard to get and unattainable, you started holding hands and kissing that man in public for everyone to see. So you weren’t that unattainable, after all. And by the way Haechan has picked your mood tonight, he knows that your mask is not that hard to crack.

The amount of greetings you went through today has you genuinely concerned. You never knew how many students this university has, you never knew that there are about a gazillion people roaming the hallways and the public spaces of this campus, yet here you are.

Faces that you’ve absolutely never seen before, faces that seemed so happy to see you even if you didn’t know who they were. People who seemed to know you, yet you don’t remember ever seeing them around. 

That’s how your day went, at least for the first part of it. Running around campus to gather signatures on your boyfriend’s petition, and there haven’t been many people refusing to sign it. Because Sungchan actually did it — he managed to get the approval from the dean and the board if he could gather enough signatures, from females and males alike, and like the good girlfriend you are — and because you promised him — you split his forms in two and started roaming around different parts of campus. 

And unfortunately, no amount of happy faces and chatting about your boyfriend’s initiatives and feeling so proud of him could preserve the good mood you had until you reached a certain part of campus. The football field — where Haechan and his team are practicing right now. 

You guess you could spend some more time trying to find others who still haven’t signed your — or Sungchan’s papers yet, or you could get the football team’s ones easily and on the spot. 

So you walk over to the group of men running around like a herd of sheep, and your walk is determined. Some might think that you’re determined to burn the whole zone down to the ground, but you give everyone small smiles as they look at you confused.

Even them are freaked out about seeing you close to their captain — such a dangerous thing to witness. And then you hear him, telling them to go on with practicing, and he runs over to the spot you’re waiting in. 

“Isn’t this a nice surprise?” His tone is saccharine sweet, panting a little from all the running around. You can’t believe people actually enjoy this sport, “What can I-”

“Please sign this. Here, and write your full name down here,” you interrupt him, instructing him about what he needs to do by pointing the pen on the blank box top of the list.

“What’s this?” He furrows his brows at you, throwing you a confused look. You take a good look at him, he’s breathing heavily through his small nose, confused eyes scanning the front introductory page of the form. There’s sweat glistening his forehead, his cheeks are hot and rosy from being so active, and his fringe is damp with sweat, combed back and away from his forehead as he tries getting some cool air on his heated skin. There’s something about the way he’s so focused, so lost into thought that he brings his tongue out to dampen his bottom lip, something that makes your insides churn. Has his profile always been this good-looking? 

“Nah, no way,” he pushes the form back into your hands when he sees your boyfriend’s name on the front page, “I’m not signing this,”

“What?” You bark, thinking your ears are deceiving you.

“Good initiative, but I won’t sign your boyfriend’s petition,” he explains, shrugging, turning his back to you as if the conversation is really over.

But it really isn’t, not until you say otherwise.

You grab him by the forearm before he can leave your side, “If it’s a good initiative, then why don’t you sign it?” You push, tone high with irritation, because he’s really pushing your buttons. Does a small disagreement between him and your boyfriend mean he’s going to overlook the needs of an entire — and important part of this community?

“I won’t do your boyfriend any favours,” he explains apathetically, looking at you briefly before his eyes land on your hand still squeezing his forearm. Your palm is tight around his tensed muscles, his skin is covered in a light sheer layer of sweat, and you feel like the skin of the palm of your hand is burning as you’re keeping him into place.

“But you won’t be doing him a favour now,” You explain, and you fail to notice the way Haechan’s eyes soften while looking at you. You’re still so upset that he doesn’t want to help you, you know threats and verbal abuse do nothing but turn him on so it’s of no use right now.

“Oh, is that so?” He relaxes, or so you think — or feel, as you feel him relaxing his arm. He leans a bit closer to you, but he really can’t help it. You’re so upset that your smart mouth doesn’t make any comments right now, doesn't insult him or his sport, and you don’t even notice how his chest is almost touching your arm.

Except you do pick up on his proximity to you, you pick up on the heat that comes out of his body — or maybe it’s just the sun and whatever’s making your insides churn that makes you feel this hot all of a sudden; you pick up on his faded perfume mixed with a light smell of sweat, you pick up on the way he’s looking down at you right now, even if your gaze doesn’t meet his, even if you don’t find it in yourself to move your eyes away from a spot on his jersey.

You gulp as discreetly as possible, pointing the pen at the empty box designed for his name, “You would be helping me,” Your voice is small, almost as if you never wanted him to hear you, to let him hear those words come out of you. 

Usually you’d tell him to fuck off and die — comeback that he claims he loves and never wants you to stop saying, to the point that he thinks you’re doing it on purpose just to rile him up because there’s no way you don’t know how much he loves it — but not right now. There’s something, a force, something that’s unconsciously pulling you in and keeping your feet glued to the grass of the football field.

“What is it? Didn’t catch what you said,” He mocks you, touching his ear.

“You’d be helping me, not him,” Your words are music to Haechan’s ears, especially after not using the term boyfriend or his government name either, just a simple pronoun — but enough to have a smirk forming in the corner of Haechan’s mouth, that he’s hardly trying to hide, or barely even trying.

He tries concealing his smirk, pushing the tip of his tongue in the inside of his cheek as he turns his head a bit to the side. 

“Well, in this case, let me sign this for you only, baby,” He rasps, and you recognise he’s using his full of shit tone on you, but you look at his face as he snatches the pen out of your hands to write his name down messily in the empty box, “Guys! Get here,” He shouts so everyone on the field can hear him, “C’mon, all of you!” He shouts once again, this time towards a couple of players that you know are his friends.

Once everyone gathers around you, he snatches the form from your hands, and points his finger towards one of the players, “All of you, sign Y/N’s petition,” he hands the pen to one of the players, “It’s for a good cause,” he completes, and no one actually questions him or his instructions, not caring enough to even ask you.

You’re not sure what’s going on, how you managed not to blow up from all the anger inside you. But you realise that this time there is none, not even a shadow of it. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have made it out of this place without at least one popping vein in your temple, and the only heavy feeling inside of you was caused by the anger the nuisance of a man caused you. 

But now it’s really not the case. One more look at him, at the way he’s looking over his players making sure everyone signs your papers, authority spilling out of every single pore of his tanned skin, and you wonder if he’s ever been this way. Has he always been this tanned? Or is it just the burning sun getting to you for staying out in the field for too long? Or maybe it’s his glistening forehead that’s what’s bringing a certain hue to his skin. 

And it doesn’t even matter right now, what could have been or what is the cause. You know that your stomach feels weird, and that you can’t really explain it. And most importantly, you can’t explain why it’s difficult to leave his side right now.

You don’t see Haechan for a bit over a couple of weeks after he signed the petition, which is weird and totally uncharacteristic of him. He was all up in your business, if he heard you laughing he’d pop off laughing even harder just to get your attention or get a reaction out of you — even if a bad, annoyed one. You swear he had a sensor for every time you were out enjoying your free time with your boyfriend. 

Like that one time he popped out of nowhere when you were having lunch sitting in the bleachers, only to proceed going for your boyfriend’s head. Or that other time when you were studying with Sungchan at one of the tables in the communal areas and he popped up, once again from nowhere, to ask you for your ‘notes’ from a class you remembered he totally attended. 

And not having him around felt off, felt like there was something missing, like the gusts of wind weren’t cool enough and like the leaves didn’t actually crunch under the soles of your shoes as you walked around. 

You’re not sure what was going on, but you stopped seeing him during classes too, and that’s when things became suspicious. What had happened to Lee Haechan? But most importantly, what was wrong with you? 

While you felt a dark cloud on top of your head, looming and inducing anxiety like you’ve never felt happiness ever before, you looked at Sungchan and tried to let everything behind. Nothing really mattered, and the cloud you felt looming was probably due to the pressure of overachieving you always felt. Maybe you were just burned out. 

But then things felt like they were shifting, and not in the right direction. Everything felt off, like there was a cosmic imbalance that your mood picked up on, like the food was insipid, like the water wasn’t thirst-quenching enough, or like your boyfriend started being too busy around campus with all his responsibilities.

If before you spent every day with Sungchan, both around campus and free time after courses were done for the day, you are now aware of the fact that these meetups have come down to one every two, three days. 

You know he has so many more responsibilities now, trying to keep up with his studies, his hobbies, his responsibilities as the rep of the student body. Too many things to do and so little time to take care of all. And you are his girlfriend, so who else could understand him better, if not you? Who’s going to be there for him when he falls asleep, exhausted from all the work he’s doing just to make everyone who trusts him happy, if not you?

At times you fail to understand, like those times when he falls asleep with the lights on at eight in the evening after getting out of the shower at your dorms, when you want to spend some alone time with him. Not even intimate times, it doesn’t have to be all that, always, because you enjoyed your time with Sungchan doing absolutely nothing even before — like eating lunch on the bleachers, or sitting on a bench outside of campus to look at people and their dogs passing you by, making up scenarios about what their lives could be like, and seeing if the dogs looked like their owners.

The small things, the real intimacy. The watching films on a random tuesday afternoon, or feeding him cereal as he speeded through a three thousand-word essay he had a deadline for at midnight that same day.

But now Sungchan tries compartmentalising his time, getting his coursework done for the whole week during weekends, and tuesday afternoon he has meeting with professors about any complains brought up to him by fellow students. And the monotony, but especially the loneliness you feel while also being surrounded by people — including your boyfriend, are literally destroying you.

Did you already notice that the leaves don’t make the crunchy sound anymore as you step on them?

“You okay?” Sungchan asks, paper cup in his hand as he takes a sip from it. You barely register his question, but you know that your repeated sighs have prompted him to bring this up.

You hum, giving him a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, doesn’t even make your cheeks full like it always does. Even if he notices, Sungchan doesn’t bring it up, and while strolling together around the streets, a huge paper cup — full of hot chocolate enough for the both of you — in hand, he hopes your sighs are just a momentary and general discontent you’re feeling. Because everyone is allowed to have those.

“Saw there’s a revival tomorrow night, for Bridget Jones, the edge on reason,” He brings it up, hoping your mood will improve after knowing one of your favourite film franchises are slowly becoming once again available on the big screens, “Wanna go together?” He proposes, giving you one of his most genuine smiles, and seeing it plastered on his face makes your heart stop.

You missed seeing your boyfriend so relaxed, so easy going for the first time in nearly a month. Autumn has already settled, and hot chocolate, popcorn, and a viewing on the big screen of Bridget Jones are the perfect anecdote to dullness and apathy. 

But maybe you’re not ready to get rid of this dull feeling that’s making your insides churn with graveness.   Maybe you’re not supposed to go through with the disappointments and unhappiness you feel at times, because not even your boyfriend can help you get out of it. And in all honestly, how could he even do it, if he can’t be punctual to the date he organised? 

Bridget Jones, a nice outfit and your favourite perfume, and then maybe making out at the movies like they used to do a long time ago — and your boyfriend is nowhere to be found. You can’t even reach him, knowing his phone is on dnd mode, you can’t reach him not even in case of an emergency. 

Frustrated out of your mind, and determined not to let your boyfriend’s missing date night ruin tonight completely, you decide to walk into the theatre, letting the warmth of the ambience engulf you. The typical smell of the old leather seats tickle your nose, and the velvet drapes around the entrance leading up to the ticket booth making you feel so calm, so at home, so excited that you finally decided not to be so dependable  on someone you relied on for so long. 

And being an old theatre, your ticket shows no seat. The film has just started, barely five minutes in, and you struggle to make your way through the dark as you try to find an empty seat to also please your needs as a viewer. 

You hear some shuffling of clothes, and then a piercing whisper, cutting through the silence coming from the other viewers, “Psssst, Y/n!” Someone calls your name, but your ears seem to perk up at the whisper, somehow recognising the voice, “Here!” The person whispers once again, this time also waving their phone’s screen your way.

Someone else shushes the person talking to you, and you hear your caller apologise, only that this time the low timbre of his voice too grave to be concealed by a flimsy whisper, and you would recognise that timbre anywhere. You squint your eyes through the dark, making your way towards the person, and you smile when you enter the last row,

“Haechan!” You whisper back, and you see him giving you a cheesy smile. He looks cozy, wearing a large sweater, you know he’s here to relax. “What are you doing here?” You frown at him, not thinking you’d finally find the Lee Haechan at a revival screening of Bridget Jones, while wearing cozy clothes and ruffled, unkept hair. It’s an image you never thought you’d ever see, “Where the hell have you been? It’s been such a long time-”

“Whoa, seems like someone missed me,” he bats his eyes at you, and his irises sparkle in the dark thanks to the white on the big screen.

You punch him, “Don’t flatter yourself, I was worried no one would be there to throw a ball at my head like, ever again,”

He rolls his eyes at you, clicking his tongue but pressing his lips in a tight line as he realised the noise he made might earn him another scorning look and a series of shushes from other people. 

“Again, for the hundredth time, I didn’t throw it at your head,” he tries to keep his voice down, but you see his mocking expression.

‘I know, I know,’ you mouth for him to see, moving your hand as if to dismiss him. There’s something endearing about him in the dark, when his features blend and make him look like he’s never wronged you in his entire life. The crimson sweater he’s wearing makes him look like the perfect geek who leads a double, more exciting life out of his studies. Funnily enough, in real life he’s the jock — but not right now. Right now, he’s just Haechan, who’s never really wronged you.

Haechan looks at you, at the way you pause to look at the screen. You’re not sitting comfortably like he is, you’re seating on the edge of the seat like you’re impatient to talk to him, fully turned towards him so he can hear your whispers. 

Your eyes are beautiful, sparkling with every flashing on the big screen, you try to suppress a smile when you hear one of the lines. He looks at the way you’re dressed — you look like you’re ready to go on a date, and a lump sets in his throat, even if he tries gulping it away as soon as possible. Just for a few minutes, he’ll imagine he’s your date, and that you’re actually excited to see him tonight.

You suddenly turn around to look at him once again, and Haechan is caught off guard, caught staring, and it’s not like he hasn’t been caught doing it before. But up until this moment, his staring was intentional, deliberate so as to get a reaction out of you — be it even anger. It didn’t matter to Haechan, as long as he could have a bit of attention coming from you, straight directed to him, he was happy.

But now you look at him. You don’t roll your eyes, you don’t scream at him, you don’t threaten to run him over with one of the electric bikes around campus. You’re looking at him like you’re enjoying this moment, like you’re happy to actually see him, like there are so many things you want to ask him but don’t know where to start — and Haechan is confused. What changed in the last weeks, so drastically that he doesn’t have to jump through loops and do backflips into a pool full of sharks just to get your attention?

“Why did you disappear? Where did you go?” You ask him, and Haechan’s ears perk up at your question. You seem sincere, like you actually care.

“I had a few matches out of town, with the team you know?” He tries whispering, but looks around himself to see if he’s bothering anyone around the two of you — knowing that sometimes whispering can be such a hard thing for him to do, “Then I fell ill and my parents insisted on going home to get back on track,”

Someone turns around to look at the two of you, but clearly eyeing Haechan to send a message, then turning back to look at the screen once again. 

Haechan rolls his eyes, showing the back of the man’s head a clear middle finger, even if you’re the only one who can see his gesture, and it makes you snort.

He turns around to look at you once again, ears delighted after hearing your reaction, “All the boys were away, you really didn’t notice anyone missing?” He inquires, talking about his players.

You shake your head, looking at him confused, “I don’t care about the boys,” You admit, and you see he takes a few seconds to process your words before that usual smug smirk makes an appearance in the corner of his mouth.

“So do you finally admit you care about me?” His voice is just a bit above a whisper, raw, teasing, and his words make you roll your eyes at him. You see him laughing quietly, then looking you up and down with a teasing smile, “Date night? Where’s that fuc-” 

But you interrupt him, placing two fingers on his lips in order to shut him up.

It takes him by surprise. Not only are you kind to him, and excited to see him, but you’re also touching him in a delicate way. His gaze finally meets yours, and you shake your head, giving him a sad smile.

Did your boyfriend start fumbling you? Has Haechan been away for that long?

The way you keep your cold fingers on his lips, and the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, doesn’t even reflect a gram of happiness coming from you, and the way you shake your head at him asking him to stop talking about your boyfriend makes Haechan wonder — are you asking him not to denigrate your boyfriend for the nth time, or are you asking Haechan to stop talking about him because you’d rather not hear about him right now?

Haechan decides to take his chances, hoping it’s the latter option, but it makes him curious, it makes him wonder how bad it is. Is this why you’re being so kind to him right now? 

Your fingertips are cold yet velvety on his lips, and he grabs your hand away from his face, squeezing it gently in his. He looks at you, looks for any sign of repulsion or hatred in your eyes, and there’s none.

Lee Haechan’s ambition has always been his biggest and best trait. One jump and he could reach the stars, if that’s really what he wanted. Lee Haechan has never been known to be one gifted with patience, but when it came down to you, he thinks he’s been rather good with the whole waiting for you — even if it took you long to finally give in, and even if he made it his personal mission to get on your nerves. But what was he supposed to you? Getting on your nerves was the only guarantee he had that you would never forget him, his face, his voice, or his antics. He thinks he’s done a pretty good job at that.

He lets your now warm hand go, and he grabs your chin. His touch is delicate on your face, almost as if he’s fearing to touch you, but you don’t move. Right this moment, this is the most excitement you’ve felt in weeks, a month even — and you indulge into his touch. You need this moment to ground you, to bring you back from the uncertainties and the dark pits where your thoughts have taken you lately. 

So when he gets closer to you, tentatively inching closer to you, you don’t pull back. His cologne fills your senses when he gets closer to you, inebriating you, making you totally ignore the alarm going off in your head. You’re about to kiss Lee Haechan. 

“Stop me if this isn’t something you want,” he instructs, his voice laced with reassurance, warmth, still giving you full control of the situation. He’s dying to kiss you, but if you’d rather insult him and go back to your usual back and forth banter, that’s fine for him still.

But you don’t oppose, you don’t turn him down, you don’t stop him when his thumb caresses under your bottom lip, just enough to feel a bit more of you without inching in closer to you, without going directly for your tempting lips.

And seeing as you grab his wrist, as if you hold onto it to ground you and brace you for what’s to come, Haechan doesn’t hold back anymore. 

His lips touch your slowly, sweetly, taking his sweet time savouring this moment that he wasn’t sure was ever going to happen. Because as much as Haechan has always stroked his own ego about getting you one way or another, sometimes doubts flooded his brain as well, fogging his judgement and leading to a jealousy that he’s never experienced before — not when he dated, not when he wanted something — or someone, badly. 

But then again, Haechan has never wanted to be with someone as badly as he wanted to be with you — all unattainable and carrying yourself majestically like no man was ever good enough for you, not even him, and then you ended up dating someone that Haechan thought could have been the last man on earth before he got with a woman. And irony made it so that that man got with you.

Irony was crude, the facts laid in front of him were like a cold slap against his face, and it only fuelled his desire to break you even more. 

Lee Haechan finally feels like he has it all — now that you’re reciprocating his kiss with ardour, now that you’re still holding onto his wrist for comfort, now that your lip balm is smeared against his own lips. And it is exactly like he imagined it would be.

You place your other hand on his chest, pushing him away from you slightly, “Stop,” you mumble trying to catch your breath, and he pulls back to search your gaze. It’s not remorseful, it’s not bashful either, but you still take a few moments to search his eyes before making a decision that could alter the way your life is going to be from now on. 

But you’re willing to take the risk, especially after getting a taste of what the man in front of you is promising you, after getting a taste of the thrill that crosses all throughout your body — a feeling that you never realised was missing from your life, until now.

Haechan looks at you concerned, or so you think, “Lets just go somewhere else,” You whisper to him, looking around yourself hoping no one else has caught up on the activities going on in the last row of seats while the film is loud and rolling. 

Haechan can’t believe your words, but he doesn’t take more than a few seconds before he stands to his feet. He doesn’t want to waste time, he doesn’t want you to overthink this.

Is this right on his part — to knowingly mess with someone’s feelings? No, it totally isn’t. But Sungchan’s a big boy, and he’ll learn to cope. Or at least that’s what Haechan hopes.

He hopes your mind won’t travel back to your boyfriend, that you won’t care about him when Haechan is the one here with you. Haechan wants to be selfish until the end, and he really wants you. He’s ready to put his reputation on the line if that means he’s finally getting you to be his — or with him.

Haechan can’t keep his hands away from you, not as you make your way out of the screen room, not as you make your way out, stepping onto the carpeted hallways of the theatre. 

You turn around to look at him as he follows your steps, and Haechan doesn’t waste any more time. He grabs both sides of your face and brings you closer to him, lips crashing against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. You struggle to keep up with his rhythm, and you think he’s literally trying to devour your lips, wet tongue playing with your bottom lip in a nasty and hot game of dominance. 

But you don’t mind the messiness, you don’t mind the desperation — you’re rather glad that it’s happening this way, because you never thought you’d be able to rile someone up this way, specifically him out of all people. 

You catch up to his rhythm when your lips finally grant him access, and he gets lost in the heat of the moment while sucking slightly on your wet muscle, getting a small whimper out of you that has the corner of his mouth raise with that cocky satisfaction that you’ve always wanted to wipe off his face.

Your insides tingle with anticipation, and you squeeze your thighs, hoping to get at least a bit of relief in the heat of the moment. And being the smug and annoying man he always is, Haechan notices immediately. Notices the shift of weight from one leg onto the other, notices the way you’re starting to reciprocate his desperation. 

He grunts the moment his lips have to leave yours, and his hands finally let your face go, “My place or yours?” He rasps, and the sound of his voice sends another wave of tingles straight between your thighs.

You bite your lip, looking up at him. Your place or his? You shake your head, thinking of all the indiscreet people living in your hall, and that’s the last thing you want right now — to be seen hand in hand with another man, who also happens to be famous around campus, while your own boyfriend is still slaving himself to the presidency tasks he has to put up with. Not to mention that he’s quite popular himself. 

And the prospect of not going to either one of your places sounds so much better to you right now, especially with how impatient you’re feeling — and you’re sure Haechan feels the same, judging by the look in his eyes, only that he’s letting you decide whatever works best for you right now.

You look around yourself, trying to get inspiration from literally anything that might remind you of a place you could go to. And then Haechan sees a sneaky smile spreading across your face as you look somewhere behind his figure, at the end of the hallway.

Lounging your arms around his figure, hands reaching for his nape where your fingers touch the strands of hair, you bring him towards yourself, catching his lips in a feverish kiss that you initiate this time, and you drag him after yourself.

Neither one of you deepens the kiss, and he follows your lead like a lost puppy that doesn’t know better. He grunts against your lips, feeling your fingers still playing with his hair, and this time you’re the one smiling into the kiss.

Walking backwards and dragging him after yourself, your back touches a door, and you push it open, snatching Haechan by the collar of his leather jacket.

Haechan huffs the moment you lock the door after him, finally letting your lips go, and he looks around himself to gather his bearings. 

He turns around to throw you a bewildered look, he’d have never picked you to be into public sex. 

“Never had sex into a public restroom before,” You tell him, as if you could actually read his mind.

He cocks an eyebrow, “I guess there’s always a beginning, right?” He rasps, picking a strand of hair to fix behind your ear, right before he touches the velvety skin of your face, fingers gentle against the plush of your cheeks as they travel down to your neck, “Are you sure about this, baby?” He asks, because he doesn’t care if things are at stake once you two seal the deal, but he still wants you to be sure of this.

And when you nod, there’s nothing holding Haechan back. With your back still against the door, he picks you up into his arms, and places you on top of the sturdy sink just a few inches away from the two of you.

His hips sway to make room between your thighs, and his lips find yours like that’s routine for him, like it’s just so normal to be able to get to kiss you even if he had his eyes closed. 

Lee Haechan feels insane. Like a mighty power has just sent him a sign, a blessing, like he’s able to kiss and cherish and feed off the sun itself. Your mini skirt moves up your thighs, and his fingers touch you, your cold skin, travelling under the hem of the skirt to push it out of his way.

He finally lets your lips go, and your panting fills the room. The anticipation is making your insides melt, and you don’t think you’ll be able to wait much longer. But luckily for you, Haechan seems to be just as impatient as you are, and his mouth travels to your neck, kissing the pulse line down to your collarbones.

“No marks, please,” you whimper when you feel his teeth grazing the frail skin of your neck. Him marking you is the last thing either one of you needs right now. 

And surprisingly enough, Haechan actually listens to your plea, making sure he comes right up to catch your lips once again — because if he can’t bite and mark you, he still needs to keep his mouth busy someway. 

Haechan’s fingers slide up your thigh, making their way to your panties, and he’s actually surprised at how soaked they are once his digits make contact with the drenched fabric covering your core.

Do you want this just as much as he does? He wonders. Apparently so, he concludes once one of his finger slides under the front of the panties in order to set them to the side, and it glides inside of your wet core with ease.

Both of you moan at the same time — you because of the slight relief his hand is bringing you, and him because he’s literally getting drunk on you. You’re here, basically at his mercy, trembling for him to touch you, and there’s nothing that can impede him not to do as you wish. 

You’re wet, your core is burning, and Haechan slides a second finger inside of you, making you moan into his mouth once again. His lips try to muffle your panting and noises you make, because you need to keep quiet if you don’t want to get caught, and even if Haechan would love to hear you scream his name, he knows neither of you can afford being caught having sex in a public restroom. 

Your hand travels in between you bodies, tentatively touching his crotch — and you’re not surprised to feel him hard as a rock under the palm of your hand. A little pressure, and the friction you apply against his groin has him sucking air through his teeth, tilting his head back and biting on his lip as to not moan your name loud enough for the entire floor to hear. 

“Need you,” he mumbles as he removes his fingers from your underwear and slaps your hand away.

He sees your eyes sparkling with anticipation, and if he weren’t a fucking frenzied loser whose dick throbs in his pants with every little pant and whimper you let past your lips, he’d have taken his sweet time teasing you.

But he’s just as eager for this as you are, if not more. He’s sure the sparkle in your eyes can’t even compare to the pathetic look on his face, yearning to finally have you, and maybe show you that he’s not as bad as you have always thought of him.

You hold onto the sink as you wait for him to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, and just the pure sight of how heavy he looks and the colour of his glistening tip has your mouth watering. But you have to gulp it down, because you’re far too turned on right now, and indulging into sucking Haechan off isn’t really an option right now. Not with how you feel, and you know it’s out of the question for him as well, judging by the look he’s giving you when you bring your gaze back up to meet his.

You nod, biting your lip with anticipation. He slides the tip of his cock up and down your glistening slit a few times before lining himself up to your entrance. The moment he slides inside of you, a sigh leaves the two of you at the same time, and Haechan patiently waits for you to adjust to the stretch.

The sting of the stretch feels deliciously satisfying, and your nails dig into his covered biceps for comfort. You feel so full, and the sensation has you inebriated, waiting for Haechan to properly move inside of you.

And when he actually starts moving, giving both of you the friction you need, his lips clash on top of yours once again, trying to eat up all the sounds you’re unable to keep to yourself. The squelching of your pussy already echoes throughout the restroom, and Haechan can’t risk it and have anyone hear the sinful sound you’re making — albeit you’re really trying your best to keep it down.

Haechan is holding onto you like his life depends on it, his hand keeping your body close to him as he pounds into you with a steady rhythm, and you fear the print of his hand will be left behind on your skin as a souvenir of the indiscreet activity involving you two.

But it feels to ecstatic, too good to care. Your blood feels like it’s boiling with the rush of adrenaline you’re feeling right now, your cheeks are dusted with a tinge of red tint, and one look at Haechan’s face lets you know he’s trying his best to keep it down as well. Biting his lip like he’s about to rip it off, with eyebrows furrowed — it’s a clear sign that even if he’s keeping it down, it does’t mean that he’s feeling less good, and the thought is driving you insane.

If the shushed grunts, the panting and huffing are already enough of an indicator of how good he’s feeling, but clearly kept down due to the location you’re in right now, just the mere thought of what he’d sound like if there was nothing restricting him makes your walls throb around him.

His head falls in the crook of your neck, and your perfume inebriates him even more, “You have no idea for how long I’ve wanted you,” he rasps against your neck, lips leaving a trail of kisses up to your lips, and it feels like the words of affirmation he’s leet past his lips are what’s getting you to reach your climax. 

“I’m so close,” you cry, but Haechan already knew. You feel so tight around him and he’ll be damned if you leave this restroom without being the first to climax, “Haechan I-”

“That’s it,” he grunts, pelvis hitting the plush of your inner thighs as he starts making fast, erratic movements, and you recognise he’s close too, “Right there, baby,” 

And the pet name is enough to make the buildup pressure in your pelvis finally snap, with your thighs trembling around Haechan’s waist as he starts kissing your neck to help you ride your orgasm properly until the end. Every little spot he kisses becomes sensitive under the pressure of his flaming lips, moist pecks left behind in a trail up to your ear, and then the overstimulation becomes too much — for both of you.

The pulsing of your walls around his dick are becoming too much for Haechan to bear, and you hear a grunt and what you think is a muffled version of your name said against your shoulder, as you milk him for all his worth.

He stays inside of you a bit longer, panting against your neck as he tries to gather his bearings, and you take a sharp breath as you feel suddenly so empty once he pulls out of you. 

He gives you a kiss before he takes a few steps back and starts arranging his clothes, pulling his pants and jeans back up like before.

You jump off the sink, and you’re glad your wobbly feet did not fail you, because they certainly feel like jelly right now, especially after experiencing one of the most intense orgasms ever. You arrange your panties as they were before Haechan set them to the side, and you turn around to fix your makeup in the mirror.

“Let me give you a ride home,” he proposes, but it comes out more as a question. You look at his reflection in the mirror as you get rid of the faintest smudges of mascara under your eyes, and you see him looking right back at you in the mirror, while buckling his belt and arranging the clothes around his waist.

Your gaze falls on his waist, and you hate to admit that you were too busy bickering with this man to notice that he’s incredibly gorgeous and with a perfect body. Or maybe you’ve always known, and that’s what made you dislike him, plus the arrogance and talking back that added to the whole thing.

Stupid, stupid girl, you think to yourself as you look him in the eyes as he’s standing behind you, waiting for your answer.

You turn around, giving him a small smile as you take a few steps towards him, “I think I’ll just walk,” you tell him, and God knows you need it right now, “I’ll see you around, Haechan,” you get on the tip of your feet to reach for his lips, only giving him the shadow of a peck, with your lips barely touching.

And then you walk out the restroom, leaving him behind, but you can hear an incredulous huff escape him right before you close the door shut behind you.

What happened tonight doesn’t really hit you until you’re into the elevator of your student hall. After the cool air you endured on your walk home, the warmth of the elevator — and the typical smell of the student hall’s hallways that you associate with the smell of home — is making you come to your senses.

You cheated on Sungchan. You actually did it, and thinking about it right now makes you realise you didn’t think twice before doing it. You cheated on your boyfriend, so why do you feel so fulfilled right now?

But it doesn’t last long, because the moment you open the door to your room, you immediately notice the lights on. Sungchan jumps off your bed to come straight to the door, pushing it closed as he drags you inside to take a good look at you. You know he got in by using your spare key, like he always does.

“Oh my god, Y/n, where have you been?” You can see he’s worried, and you know him well enough to know there are a few things weighting on his mind right now, “I’m so sorry for earlier, I should have put on a reminder and then when I looked at my phone I remembered date night,” he squeezed your arms, and you feel the emotions weighting in his voice, “I came to the theatre but it was too late into the screening and the staff didn’t let me in so I came here to wait for you,”

You blink a few times, looking up at him and his panicked state, and you place your hands on his chest, “Why are you so worried?” You ask him, and you see him inhaling through his nose like he’s trying to calm himself down from having a panic attack.

“You didn’t answer your phone so I was very worried, I guess you finally put it on dnd,” he hints at all the times your phone rang with notifications, waking him up when you two spent the night at either one’s place, and he literally begged you to put it on dnd so as not to wake him up, “I feel so bad for missing date night and being away all the time, I’m so, so sorry Y/n,” he breathes out, and a lump forms in your throat.

He crouches down, engulfing you in a hug and actually picking you off the ground, squeezing you into his arms as he hugs you, “Did you have fun watching Bridget Jones?” He asks, voice muffled into your shoulder.

Guilt starts pooling in the pit of your stomach, and you feel like you’re about to hurl when the events of tonight replay into your head. You cheated on Sungchan. 

“Yes,” you gulp, trying to get rid of the lump, “I had a lot of fun,”

And the worst thing is, that besides the guilt you feel about cheating on your boyfriend, you actually had a lot of fun, indeed.

A few days ago, you made a few grave mistakes.

Mistake number one, you cheated on your boyfriend. Event that literally induces the worst case of guilt and anxiety you’ve ever experienced in your life.

Then, there’s mistake number two, which basically revolves around who you cheated with. Because he’s been the worst thing that has ever happened to you — but also the best. 

Moving on, mistake number three, the fact that you’ve found yourself thinking about Haechan in all the ways you really shouldn’t be thinking of right now, not when there’s a whole other man sending you ‘I love you’ texts every night before bed. 

And finally. Mistake number four, setting your phone on dnd. Because you reflected on this, and the fact that Sungchan couldn’t reach you and no notifications made it onto the screen of your phone the whole night, might have added to the out of character behaviour you have shown a few nights ago. Because you’re sure that seeing his name would have grounded you somehow, would have made you remember that you’re into a committed relationship.

The only problem? You started doubting yourself and all the bullshit you tried selling yourself about the whole remembering your boyfriend, when you realised you replaced the thought of him with actually thinking about Haechan. 

Right after you arrived back from the theatre, right after your boyfriend calmed down and decided to spend the night and sleep over, right after you heard his breathing even out after falling asleep — you fell victim to Lee Haechan once again. You tossed and turned in bed while thinking about him, about his lips on yours, about his lips on your skin, the impatient fingers that caressed your thighs and core, the whining and grunting and whispering, the way he made you feel. It all drove you insane. 

For days and nights, and it’s like this man has casted a spell on you, because you think about him permanently. And it only makes you feel frustrated and guilty, especially because you’re in a committed relationship. 

But you came to the conclusion that you need to talk to him, sort things out, and try to get him to understand that no one has to ever know about the indiscreet actions that took place a few nights ago.

You learned at what hours the football practice takes place, and you waited for everyone to leave, thus granting you the opportunity to be left alone with their captain. 

Guilt starts pooling in the pit of your stomach once again, when you remember that you lied to Sungchan once again, just a bit earlier — telling him your afternoon classes were postponed and that you’d be home studying. Technically, you didn’t really lie, because your classes have been postponed and he could check if he really wanted to — although you know Sungchan is not that kind of person. But worst thing of all is the fact that you knew he’d be away until late at night and he won’t be even thinking about you today, or crashing over to your place anytime soon either, given the fact that he is back to being busy. His worrying and guilt from that night have done absolutely nothing to change that aspect of your relationship, for he was back to being busy every day, and you were back to feeling alone and neglected. 

You finally straighten your back, sitting up in your seat when you notice Haechan’s team leaving the locker room. You count them, noticing that Haechan is not walking along with them, so you move as discreetly as possible towards the locker room, light steps not making one sound as you move closer to the door, and only one other voice can be heard on its other side — a light melodic humming.

You slowly push the door open, peaking inside to see an empty room, and you lock the door behind you — not risking being caught in the locker room with the captain of the football team by anyone, not even by his bobblehead team players.

You follow the humming, and you recognise the timbre of his voice, even if it takes you aback. You never picked singing to be another addition to Haechan’s long list of skills, and you hate that he’s good at literally everything, even the weirdest or most unimaginable things, you could find out one day that he’s a master at those as well. 

The room smells like sweat and old leather, and the humid air coming from the showers in the other room tickles your nose.

You can’t help but sneeze, and Haechan flinches in front of his locker, turning around to look at you like a deer in highlights. He’s freshly out of the shower, with a towel hanging low on his hips — too low, so dangerously low that it has you gulping, making you avert your gaze as soon as possible before all the thoughts you’ve had lately come back to you right now.

His face lights up after seeing you standing in the middle of the room, “Ah yes,” he sighs dreamily, “They always come back for more,”

“Don’t compare me to one of your skanks,” You roll your eyes, scoffing after hearing his words, “We need to talk,”

He gives you a smile, dragging his shower flip flops as he moves around the room, getting closer to where you’re standing. His towel is still hanging dangerously low on his hips, droplets of water still on his skin, sliding down his torso. 

He snaps his fingers in front of your nose, “Then maybe you should stop eyeing me, and start talking,” he retorts, placing his hands on his hips, waiting for you to snap out of your reverie.

“What?” You gulp, looking at him confused, too busy looking at the tanned skin of his torso to remember what you were saying.

“You said we need to talk. What I have to say might anger you, so you should go first,” he explains, and what he’s implying is unsettling to you. 

“What happened the other day can’t happen again,” you start, not willing to waste time, especially because Haechan seems to be back to his old ways — doing whatever he can to disturb your peace of mind.

“The other day?” He repeats, looking at you confused, “What happened the other day? I think you’ll have to remind me,” he shrugs, pouting with fake innocence.

“Can you stop acting this way for just one minute? This is serious!” You push at his chest, yet he doesn’t flinch. His skin is still wet and so incredibly smooth to the touch, and your hands are begging for you to keep them on his chest — maybe even slide down on his torso. You shake your head slightly, trying to shake the thoughts away and snatching your hands away form his figure, “This has to remain between the two of us, and it won’t happen again,”

“It won’t?” He pouts, and starts inching dangerously closer to you.

You hate his mocking, patronising tone, but you don’t have it in you to fight back, not when you can literally smell the scent of his shower gel on his skin.

He’s getting so dangerously close to you, and you try stepping back. His steps are slow, calculated, a small smirk of victory plastered on his face when your back touches one of the lockers, and he brings one arm up, placing the palm of his hand on the locker behind you, nearly caging you.

And you’re once again at his mercy.

“Oh, poor baby,” He pouts once again, tone light and sarcastic like he knows you’re about to be putty in his hands, “Is this about your boyfriend?” He asks, not dropping the mockery in his tone. His index travels on your skin, and you swear you feel goosebumps forming all the way down your back, “Do you feel sorry for him? After I fucked you in the restroom the other night?”

Your cheeks grow hot after hearing his words, and he notices them immediately, pinching your left cheek lightly with his fingers. 

“Answer me baby,” He rasps, and you hate the way his voice is making your insides tingle once again, “Is this about your boyfriend?”

“No,” you lie, but he doesn’t buy it — you know this by the way he lets a huff of laughter escape past his lips, and he looks down at you as if he’s deciding wether to let it go or just go on with his act. 

He wets his lips, “Are you sure baby, that this isn’t about him? That you don’t actually care about him?” 

You shake your head, finally raising your gaze to properly look into his eyes, “That’s precisely the point!” You retort, shaking your head at him, like he’s stupid and he just can’t understand your words — but he does, he understands too well, and he can’t let it happen, “I care about him and want to protect him!”

“Oh,” He scoffs, mocking you, “Is that right?” He raises his brows, not buying a single word that you’re so adamant to make him believe, “You cared about him when you were moaning my name? Or when you let me cum inside you?” He mocks you, an incredulous sigh leaving him as he look down at you.

Your body feels on fire — out of shame, but also because you know he’s right. But you can’t let him win, you can’t let him know that you agree with every single word he’s saying. The truth stings, and the truth is that you blatantly cheated on Sungchan with someone you never even thought you had it in you to stand.

“He can’t know,” Your voice is small, and you look down to his V line just to escape his piercing and mocking gaze. Your cheeks are on fire as you feel like you’ve been caught red handed and put to shame.

“Oh, poor baby,” He pouts again, his tone babying you around. He grabs your chin between his fingers, slowly pushing it upwards so he can take a good look at your eyes, and you don’t fight it, “He doesn’t have to know,” He concludes, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb.

His words feel heavy with implications that you’re not willing to desiccate right now, not when his gaze is  this intense. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel so small under his gaze, but you honestly can’t believe the amount of feelings that come crashing onto you violently — too hard to navigate right now when you feel like he’s a predator waiting to take a bite out of you. 

Haechan doesn’t let go of you, and you don’t make a move to get away from him. You genuinely feel trapped — trapped between his body and the way out of the locker room, and trapped between your boyfriend and the man in front of you, who’s been on your mind more than you’d like to admit.

Why is it so hard for you to push him away and leave? It’s like his gaze and allure is keeping you here, glued to the lockers and doomed to be impossibly close to his half naked body. Your eyes fly over to his defined bicep, that he’s not even flexing to show off, yet the outline of his muscles makes your stomach flutter. 

“Eyes up here, baby,” He commands, and your eyes follow his instructions as soon as the words leave his mouth. He crouches down a little, lips close to your ear, “What would he do if he knew about us?” His whispering gives you goosebumps, and you gulp as discreetly as possible, “Would he come for me? Would he cry?” He lets a deep giggle escape him, and warm breath fans down on the skin of your neck as he moves his mouth just below your ear.

“You wanna protect him, or us? Hmm?” He goes on, rasping down your neck as his nose nuzzles your pulse line, “Did you feel good the other night, baby?” 

You inhale deeply when you feel his free hand playing with the hem of your shirt. His fingers travel under your shirt, and he caresses your abdomen from your navel all the way to the plush of your sides, that he squeezes gently as a warning for you to answer to him, and you can’t find the words to answer him, instead just nodding slightly. 

He hums once again after feeling your almost imperceptible nodding, and he starts playing with the button of your jeans. 

“I can give you so much more baby, if you’d allow me,” He picks at your jeans, fingers lingering for far too long on your skin. His digits leave you burning, and your insides start tingling once again with anticipation, “Only between us,”

He doesn’t need to tell you anything else, because the way you grab his hand so gently, as if you’re doing it to try and stop him but he knows you’re only holding onto him because you need him just as much as he needs you. Just the thought of him corrupting you into giving in to your deepest desires and overlooking all the lies you just told him, is making his cock twitch with excitement.

He grabs your hips, moving his fingers under the waistband of your jeans, trying to get to touch as much skin as possible. Haechan shows his affection through actions, gestures, touches, and to actually get to touch your soft and velvety skin makes it hard for him to refrain from letting a whimper escape past his lips.

He drags you after himself, moving you around like you’re putty in his hands, fingers still massaging your waist. He drags you to the nearest seating spot in the room, a medical bed in the corner and the mere sight of it has your skin burning with anticipation. Your oversized shirt feels too tight on you all of a sudden, like it’s burning your skin, like it’s suffocating you. 

“Will you allow me, baby?” He rasps, voice raw and low, that sends waves of excitement straight in between your thighs. 

You nod immediately, not sparing it much thought. Your thinking process needs to be studied, you think, because how has your attempt to shut Haechan up about your indiscretions turned up to have him with a hard on on him that has you gulping, and you feeling helpless as you get enticed to actually do anything for the man in front of you? Like he has some sort of power over your mind and body.

Haechan doesn’t need to be told — or shown — twice, pushing your jeans down your hips, letting them fall to the ground before he helps you out of them. 

“Take this off,” He commands, slightly pulling at your shirt, and you discard of it as instructed. He doesn’t waste any time, immediately handling you around, grabbing you by the waist to place you on top of the medical bed. 

He looks at you briefly. Your pupils are blown out with anticipation, cheeks burning even before he’s even started his ministrations on you. He wishes he could kiss the pout on your lips away, help you discard all thoughts and worries, and then it hits him — he doesn’t have to wish for it, because you’re almost naked in front of him and he can do whatever he wants.

So he kisses you, he catches your lips in a sweet, slow and anticipatory kiss that promises you you’ll be taken care of. That’s all he ever wanted, and he’s so glad you’re finally here, allowing him to do all this — agreeing to let him past your barriers even if you tried your best to stand true to your supposed principles. Yet here you are, barely covered in front of him, ready to actually give yourself to him once again. 

Haechan looks at you once again, right before he bends down to give you small kisses all across your neck — his favourite part on you, due to your intoxicating scent, — and your collarbones. His fingers start playing with the strap of your bra, finally pushing it down, taking the garment fully off you to leave you in all your glory, and finally and fully at his mercy.

“Lay down,” his tone is full of authority, and you don’t think twice before following his commands, laying your almost bare self on the bed.

Haechan looks at you from head to toe, laying so prettily for him to finally touch you. Your blown out pupils are adorable, and it’s so hard for him not to make a comment about it. Yet he refrains, because he sees you’re wearing a pretty matching set, and he knows what this means.

You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to him. Not when the signs are laying bare in front of him, not with the matching set, the hard nipples poking through the lace of your pretty bra, and the goosebumps covering your skin.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he rasps, getting on top of the bed with you, settling at the foot of the bed right in between your open thighs. He bends over your figure, leaving open kisses over the waistband of your panties, “Such a good girl for me,” He rasps, and the pet name has you whimpering, hips bucking with anticipation, and a devious smile appears on his face, “So impatient,” He tsks, placing the palm of his hand on your lower abdomen, a clear sign to make you relax back down. 

His fingers slide under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them somewhere behind himself, right before he comes up to look at you in all your glory.

“Such a pretty baby,” he comments more to himself, but you hear him nonetheless, and his fingers tentatively move up and down your slit, between your folds, down to your entrance and then up to your clit.

The moment his digits find your bundle of nerves your hips buck up once again, and you gasp when he takes his hand away, suddenly too disappointed not feeling his touch anymore. 

He gets comfortable at the foot of the bed, laying on his stomach, and he doesn’t waste time before his face settles between your spread thighs. Breath fanning hot on your glistening core, you feel like you might be going insane when you see him only looking at you, like he’s savouring every bit of the torture he’s subjecting you to. Is this his punishment for you? For coming by today and bringing up what happened between the two of you, so he makes sure you can’t run away and forget about him? It sure seems like that’s exactly what he’s doing, and you feel strangely aroused by it. 

And like he knows what’s going on inside your mind, he starts leaving open mouth kisses on your inner thighs, like he’s asking you to be patient just a bit longer, but also testing your limits. The trail of kisses travel across your thighs, and you bring your hands up to your hair, slightly pulling at it out of exasperation.

And that’s exactly when you least expect it, that’s when Haechan’s mouth finds your core, plump lips settling directly around your clit, latching onto it before his tongue twirls around it.

“Fuck, Haechan,” you moan his name, and slam your hands on the bed to your sides, fingers fast with grabbing the edges of the mattress and holding onto it like that’s going to prevent you from making any more noises and losing your sanity.

Haechan chuckles, bringing a hand to push your leg upward, making space for him to have you at his mercy. His tongue swirls, his lips slurp, and his nose bumps your clit with every movement his tongue makes to your entrance, teasing it. 

“Keep it down baby, if you don’t wanna get caught,” he grunts, words muffled with his mouth still latched onto your core, and the vibrations are almost too much for your aroused self. 

He lays on one elbow, head resting on the plush of your inner thigh, and he brings your free hand down, placing it on top of his head. Your fingers move out of instinct, taking his still damp fringe away from his tanned forehead, one of your favourite features of his, now in all his glory as he looks up at you with dark eyes, mouth still working around your clit.

He brings a hand up, and slides two fingers inside if you. You’re aroused and dripping, enough for him to slide in and out of you easily — way too easily. The stretch feels good, but it’s almost not enough, and he scissors his fingers inside of you, with his tongue working relentlessly around your clit, and the sensation and his unpausing ministrations make that specific pressure build up faster than you’d have ever expected to happen.

He moans when your fingers scratch his scalp, as you move his hair away from his eyes, and his fingers slide in and out of you at a faster pace.

He whimpers at the feeling, hips rutting onto the harsh fabric of the towel, bringing his hard on a bit of relief. “Pull my hair,” He pleads, and it doesn’t take you more than two seconds to follow his instructions. Haechan’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he lets a moan escape him, so loudly that it echoes throughout the entire emptiness of the locker room, and you hope no one’s outside to hear the lewd noises both of you are making. 

But the pleasure feels like it’s just too much, and you forget about any last bit of shame you might feel if there was anyone outside hearing you. Your insides are burning, and the view between your legs does nothing but build up the pressure in your lower stomach an unbearable amount.

“Fuck, Haechan I’m- I’m so close,” but he does nothing but hum against your almost throbbing clit, and you pull his hair, trying to unglue his head from between your thighs, “I don’t wanna cum like this,” 

And that’s enough for Haechan to stop, unlatching his lips away from your clit and taking his fingers out of you. He was going to have you melting on his tongue, but he’s willing to do anything for his baby — anything his baby wants. And if you need to have him fucking you through your orgasm, who is he to deny it to you?

You look at him, at how his chin is glistening with your arousal yet he doesn’t seem to care, and frankly neither do you. He jumps right up on his knees, and gets rid of his towel from around his waist, and the sight of his V line leading right down to his perfect, girthy cock is making your walls clench around nothing.

He moves his cock up and down your slit, but he doesn’t move forward. He bends down, peppering kisses across your abdomen all the way up to your breasts, and his tongue traces your chest, the curve of your breasts as his hands squeeze them, keeping them together for him to nuzzle into them, plump lips soon latching onto your nipples like he’s a dying man and that’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

You cuss under your breath, and you move your hips around, lining his cock to your entrance — and you hope he gets the message. And he does, but being the ever so insufferable being, he still chooses to ignore you. The corners of his mouth curl up into a cocky smirk, and the fact that it’s arousing you even more doesn’t help.

Finally coming up to your level to catch your lips with his, he kisses you. He’s wanted to do it ever since you laid down on this bed, ever since you bit your lips so much in order not to let out all the sounds he was trying to get out of you — making them plump and calling for him. You’re so sweet, and he can’t get enough of you.

He bites down on your bottom lip, playfully, and breaks the kiss, “Tell me what you want,”

“You,” Your reply is curt, cut to the chase. You’re willing to scream it for him if it meant he’d stop playing around and would just fuck you already. 

“Who?” He raises one brow, looking down at you. But he can’t resist the way you look, and the realisation that he’s once again about to fuck you hits him, so he bends down to give you another kiss. 

It isn’t desperate, but it doesn’t make it less hungry. He lets you decide the pace of it, and the moment you feel you’re in control of the whole situation, you wrap your legs around his waist. You suck on his tongue, gently biting the tip an making his whimper.

He breaks the kiss, throwing you a smirk, “Are you sure you want me? I thought this couldn’t happen again,”

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire once again, and he takes mercy on you this once, finally choosing to both end your suffering and stop you from trying to come up with a smart reply to what he just said. He pushes into you, and you grab him, latching onto his biceps. 

Gasps of relief escape both of you, because to put it frankly, Haechan felt like he was going insane just as much as you. The warmth of your pussy welcomes him, while his girth stretches you deliciously, and Haechan’s hips freeze as he bottoms out into you, allowing you to adjust to him. It take him all the self control he can muster not to move right now, and the way your walls are throbbing around him it’s making him almost ready to spill into you. 

He kisses your neck, trying to make you relax, he soothes your waist, caressing your middle up to your breast. His lips travel all the way to your jaw, finally reaching your lips, and he focuses on the softness of them, the rhythm you pick up as they sync with his, the way your hands grab each side of his face, bringing him closer — as if that was physically possible. 

And then Haechan feels you relaxing a bit around him, and his hips starts moving slightly. The friction feels too good, and he’s filling you fully, making you feel so drunk on him and everything he has to offer. 

“Fuck, baby,” A low grunt escapes him, and he pushes up and away from you, moving your legs around so he can get to a new angle, “You feel so good,” 

He tilts his head, relishing into the feeling of your warmth and wetness welcoming and taking him so well. You’re so eager for him, so ready to take him all. And the picture painted in front of you makes your walls clench around him. The way he’s holding your legs apart, head tilted on his back — neck exposed and asking for you to mark his tanned skin — his entire body that looks like the best artist has spent the longest time meticulously sculpting him to make him perfect. 

You see droplets of sweat on his chest, and you claw at his navel in a pathetic attempt to ground yourself. He’s moving inside of you with ease, setting a delicious pace that makes your insides burn and the pressure inside your lower tummy building up once again, this time at an alarming pace.

It feels insane when you think that Haechan turns you on to this extent, but one more look at the man moving in and out of you right now makes it more believable, understandable.  

“You want to protect him, huh?” He growls, moving one hand to your stomach to keep you under his control, “I’m the only one you need,” 

It feels like a threat, the echo of his grunting repeating into your head even through all the inevitable noises the both of you let out. A threat that no man is ever going to be enough for you ever again, a threat that no one will do it like he does. 

And the worst part of all is that you actually believe his words right now.

“Oh my- Fuck, Haech-” You don’t have the time to finish, interrupted by the climax hitting you out of nowhere, and he comes down once again, caging you between his arms as he kisses you, trying his best to muffle the sinful sounds you’re making.

“I know, baby,” He tries to reassure you once your legs start trembling from all the overstimulation, and his own climax hits him when your legs wrap around his waist tightly, caging him.

He falls on top of you, mouth latching onto your nipple once again just so that he can keep it busy somehow, otherwise he knows he could wake the dead with how obnoxious his sounds can get.

And when he finally lets go, he relaxes on top of you, staying close to your chest, panting down on your breasts as he tries to catch his breath. 

You bring your hands up out of instinct, fingers playing with his hair in order to soothe him, and you swear you can nearly hear him purr as he relaxes under your touch, cheek glued to your hot skin.

You gulp, thoughts once again flooding your mind.

This can’t happen again. 

It happened again. 

And again, and again. And again. You lost count of how many times it kept happening.

Your little arrangement with Haechan came up to last for a few months, all the way through autumn, up to nearing Christmas. Sneaking around, Haechan spent the nights with you more than you’d like to admit. Either at your dorms or his apartment, Haechan knew how to take care of you, spending every other night together like it was routine already, like he was your boyfriend, the one meant to sleep on your pillows and use your expensive shampoo, like he was the one meant to get to kiss you every time he felt like doing it, like he was the only one meant to witness you at your most intimate and vulnerable state.

Haechan’s greed knows no bounds, he wants to have it all with you, even if it means the two of you have to hide for a while. Haechan wants it all — the kisses, the cuddles, the moans, the holding of hands, the intimacy. He wants it all with you, and the fact that he knows you’re not committed to him like he is to you literally kills him.

He doesn’t mention it anymore, he just lives in the moment, but one thing is for sure — he doesn’t let you get away from him. When your boyfriend is busy with tasks, which means about five nights a week, Haechan would be there with you. When your boyfriend is too tired to be spending time with you, Haechan’s there for you. Sure, he can’t take you out, he can’t hold your hand, he can’t kiss in you in public whenever he feels like it, but he can do it in the privacy of your dorm that has almost become his space too, that has almost started smelling like him too. 

Haechan loves loving you, loves pleasuring you, loves being devoted to you, but he can’t help but wish that things were different, to the point that he started suggesting outing yourselves to everyone — even suggested talking to Sungchan about it.

You always picked a fight with him, telling him he’s insane for even thinking you could do it or even thinking that the two of you could ever be together like that, for the whole world to see. Fights and arguments that hurt him, your words piercing through his chest and ego as if you never actually chose to be actively involved with him, like you never call him even to ask what he’s doing or what he’s eaten for the day. Fights that always end with him leaving you behind, but always coming back to you at some point because he can’t seem to be able to go on without you in his life.

As much as your words sting, and your actions infuriate him, Haechan knows he has developed a real dependency when it comes to you. And he loves it when you don’t seem to mind him being all up into your personal space, into your life. Sure, you seem to be worried about your boyfriend finding out, but Hacehan doesn’t really care. Haechan want to be able to tell the entire world that he’s obsessed with you, that he’d give up his reputation he so carefully worked on just to be with you. The heart wants what it wants, and his heart wants you.

He doesn’t care about Sungchan at all, no remorse, nothing that can make him feel guilty about it. But he sees how guilt gets to you out of nowhere, ruining your night — thoughts flooding your head and making it unbearable for you to live peacefully.

“Maybe you should tell him,” Haechan suggested one night, right after you ended a call with a very exhausted Sungchan who told you he couldn’t see you that night. You already knew that, and that was precisely why you were already spending it with Haechan.

You turned to look at him, “What?” You barked, shaking your head, “Are you insane?”

He shrugged looking down to his bowl of ramyeon, “I’m just saying that it might help you ease your mind,” He slurped his ramyeon like he didn’t just stir the internal conflict going on inside of you.

“What do you mean?” You asked, keeping your voice down, not wanting to cause a scene before he actually explained himself.

“I mean that he’s always so fucking busy that he won’t mind you breaking up with him anyway, or the other way ‘round,” His words felt like a slap to your face, and you set your own bowl of ramyeon aside.

“Are you implying that he doesn’t care about me? Or that I don’t care about him?” Your voice started raising in volume, and Haechan could tell by the crease between your eyebrows that you were about to go ballistic on him.

“Does he care about you? Not even bothering to call you or make some time to be with you,” He spat, tone venomous, but he didn’t stop there, “And you? Do you care about him like you claim you really do? It’s only Wednesday and I already fucked you four times this week,”

You picked your bowl, standing to your feet and walking towards his kitchen, “I’m leaving,” you threw the bowl in his sink, too upset to stay in the same space as him. 

Exactly like he thought you would do, escaping him and his trying to just talk with you, you decided it’s best to leave instead of listening to him.

“Mmhh-mhm,” You heard him humming right before you slammed his door. 

But Haechan really hates seeing you so miserable, and most of all hates when you dismiss him. When will you see that he’s the one for you? When will you see that he has all the answers to your questions? When will you see that he cares about you, and that he actually has feelings for you?

You’re so blind — blinded by the guilt eating at you every single day. You’re scared, having to confront your boyfriend and come clean to him, hurt him, only because you felt neglected a while ago and you fell for somebody else in the meanwhile? Isn’t it such a diabolical thing to do to the one you’re supposedly in a committed relationship with? That’s precisely why you chose to postpone the talk you needed to have with Sungchan a while ago, now long overdue.

But at the same time, while postponing such an important thing, you never declined yourself the pleasures of being with Haechan. 

And your poor boyfriend, bless his heart, he has absolutely no idea what’s going on. You see him so rarely, even when you’re both on campus, and you haven’t been intimate in months — with him being too busy and tired to pay attention to you, and with you being too into whatever you have going on with Haechan. 

The relationship status shifted, you almost felt like Haechan took Sungchan’s place into your life without too much difficulty, and the worst part of all was still not having your boyfriend by your side. Because if you did, you could have dismissed Haechan properly, but you knew Sungchan wasn’t present and certainly the doubts and guilt ate at you every single day of the past few months.

Yet Haechan has always been there to soothe it all, even if he had to wait to be at home in order to take care of you and show you just how much he wants to be in your life. You slowly came to realise that Haechan might be everything you’ll ever want and need into your life, and the thought of it scared you. 

You felt protected, at ease, you felt appreciated, taken care of. But the thought that you might be ruining someone else’s life because of your reckless behaviour eats at your chest like a disease.

You were sure Sungchan was about to find out about your affair with Haechan, during the last game you attended. 

Sungchan’s love for sports was a given, and the so called rivalry between him and Haechan has never stopped him from being present in the bleachers for some games. With you sitting next to him, your insides churning with anxiety at the thought of Sungchan catching on what was going on based on the location and your behaviour alone.

And you felt like the sky fell on you when Haechan looked through the bleachers as he was roaming around the field. He’d never done that, it was so uncharacteristic and it sparked debates among the sea of people watching the game. A new girlfriend, a special someone, a friend — he had to be looking for someone.

And then the idiot pointed at you right before a penalty kick. Your breath stopped seeing him pointing towards where you were sitting — granted that you knew everyone saw the area and not the direct spot you were in, thanks to the distance. And then you felt on the brink of passing out when you saw Sungchan straightening his back, and then his gaze landed on you.

“Y/n…” He started, and your heart nearly stopped. You swear your ears were ringing and your head spinning terribly, “Babe do you think he’s going to aim at my head again?” He sighed, looking at Haechan, “I feel like he’s going to do it,” He kept going, and you would have laughed if it weren’t for your panicked state.

It’s been two weeks since, and everything that happened on that day goes on haunting you. To the point you can’t deal with it anymore, because it’s consuming you in the worst of ways. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat properly, you can’t focus on your tasks and studies, and you definitely can’t be intimate with Haechan.

Well thank God, you’d think that getting laid was the last of your worries, but you still chase the high and the feelings you feel when you are with Haechan, and not being able to climax because of all the stress you are being subjected to is a pretty big deal to you, a question mark that you certainly know the answer to — and it is long overdue.

That’s why you’re right in front of Sungchan’s door, knocking twice instead of using your key he’s given you. You feel like you’re visiting an old friend you love and care for, instead of your boyfriend, and using your key feels absolutely wrong to you.

“Y/n? Babe, what are you doing here?” He asks, opening the door to let you in. 

He is busy as always, and he already told you he’d be calling it a night very early. He’s still studying, books and papers scattered around the wooden floors of his place, and you feel so out of place in his small studio. 

“Is everything alright? I thought we talked on the phone about this but I think we should actually order something to eat?” He rambles, and you know he’s doing it out of excitement that you’re there with him, despite telling you he’s too tired to entertain you tonight. 

“Would you like pad thai or maybe mandu?” He pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose as he thinks of all the things he’d like for you to have, “Or maybe we can have pho? But that’s best if we have it fresh and it’s more lik-,”

“Sungchan I slept with Haechan!” You burst suddenly, closing your eyes at the outburst and word vomiting. He was getting too cheery and too talkative and it didn’t help with the internal and mental turmoil going on inside of you.

Your world stills, and you’re sure his does as well, with the way his excited words are left hanging in the air. Silence settles, and you wish you could tell you feel a bit better after telling the actual words, but it’s really not the case.

“What?” He whispers, squinting his eyes incredulously.

“I slept with Haechan,” You confess once again, this time calmly, but it doesn’t mean that you feel less guilty about it. You look into his eyes, and you see the sparkle fading.

He inhales sharply, straightening his back, “How many times? One?” He tries, exhaling when you don’t give an answer, not even a nod or a shake of your head, “Two?” He touches his stomach, and you know his very anxious self feels like throwing up right now.

He might just throw up on you right now. You know you deserve it.

You shake your head imperceptibly, lips forming a straight line as your gaze bores into his, “More than twice,” you confirm to him, not having it in you to tell him more details of the ordeal you committed, “I felt so out of place and alone and I don’t even want to find an excuse for it, but it happened and I’m sorry for it,” you have another bad case of word-vomiting when you see him keeping his mouth shut.

He sighs, taking his glasses off and throwing them tiredly on top of the table nearby, “I think you should go now, Y/n,” He mumbles, averting his gaze, and you wish you could talk things through with him, apologise profusely about everything you’ve done to him, but you know that you staying here for longer might hurt him even more.

You nod, walking past him and going straight up to the front door, and you only look back once before exiting. 

Sungchan doesn’t turn around to look at you. 

You were hoping that coming clean to Sungchan was going to help with your anxiety and feelings pooling in the pit of your stomach, but you guessed wrong.

What the fuck is wrong with you? You cry, barely seeing where your steps are taking you. The look in his eyes still haunts you, and that unbearable feeling of being the scum of the earth follows you around like a shadow. 

Will Sungchan be ok? But you also can’t help but wonder if you will be as well, at least at some point. You deserve to know no happiness, because you hurt one of the most amazing guys you’ve ever met, and for what? For sneaking around and playing house with the man you once thought you hated?

Oh, and Haechan. What are you supposed to do now? Go on happily with your life with Haechan after breaking another man's heart? What even were you thinking? What are you supposed to tell Haechan now? That you want to be with him and act as if you didn’t just exit a relationship? 

The thought somehow repulses you, because you know you’ve been selfish up to today — giving into your pleasures after feeling lonely, liking Haechan’s attention, developing feelings for him. That’s right, developing feelings for Haechan seems an insane thing to do or even think about. But it happened, you realise it now that you somehow put an end to your relationship with Sungchan, and the fact that someone had to suffer just so you could feel a bit better about what you were doing — by postponing the inevitable talk — only makes you think that you have to be punished somehow, for the way you played around with people’s feelings.

Are you supposed to live your life as Haechan’s girlfriend now? Freshly out of another relationship? Yet there’s a thought looming over your head like a dark cloud. What if you just played yourself? What if this was never meant to be something genuine, what if it was just Haechan’s sick and twisted way of showing you that he always wins and always gets everything he wants?

You can’t stand the thought of it. And there’s only one solution to alleviate at least a bit of all your worries and the guilt you’re feeling like it’s eating at your chest from the inside.

The football field is loud as you see Haechan’s team running around during their practice, and somehow he sees you as soon as you set foot into the lightened side of the bleachers. 

It’s cold outside, you see their breaths in the air as they exhale, and you still can’t understand why this sport exists. You put your nose down, covering it with your scarf, and you see Haechan’s fluffy hair bouncing around as he runs towards you, after telling everyone to take a break. 

He’s certainly surprised to see you here, because everyone needs to be under the impression he doesn’t even exist and you don’t know anything about his existence — or so you’ve told him before. But you’re here, and besides the initial excitement he felt when he saw you coming to one of his practice games, Haechan’s stomach now drops instantly to his ass when he notices you cried.

Panic sets into his bones when he gets closer to you, and your beautiful eyes are bloodshot, you’re literally trembling as you’re sitting on the bleachers, nose and chin deep into your fluffy red scarf, but you feel off. He knows it, he doesn’t need to ask you if anything’s wrong, because he already knows you’re not feeling like yourself right now.

“What’s wrong,” He rasps worriedly as soon as he reaches you, and you don’t bother moving from your spot on the seat. He’s standing in front of you, seemingly patient, but he’s literally boiling on the inside.

You raise your chin, so he can hear you clearly, “I told Sungchan,” You mumble, and your bottom lip quivers, making his heart break for you. 

Are you crying because he hurt you? Did Sungchan tell you hurtful things? Is this the cause of all the distress you’re feeling right now?

“Oh,” Haechan mumbles in understanding, and he fights the urge to ask anything because he knows he might anger you with his irreparable humour. 

“Yeah… oh,” you repeat after him, voice heavy with emotion. Haechan never wanted to see you cry, he never wanted for anything of what you’ve been doing to lead to any of this.

In his defence, he warned you. You should have put a stop to your relationship with Sungchan a while ago, when things weren’t as complicated and entangled as they are now.

“Is he… is he okay?” Haechan doesn’t really care, but he sees how affected you are, so he thinks things might have been bad and heavy while you talked to your now ex-boyfriend. 

Or is he not your ex boyfriend? Haechan’s stomach drops at the thought of this being a possibility.

You shrug, exhaling a shaky breath. 

Haechan isn’t one compatible with anxiety, the term isn’t even part of his vocabulary. But right now Haechan feels anxious as hell, and his leg starts bouncing — not from the cold outside, rather from the cold feeling settling through his bones at all the thoughts racing inside his head.

“Then… what’s wrong?” He tries once more, and you finally break.

“You don’t understand!” You have a sudden burst, getting to your feet in a millisecond, “We ruined everything, and you still don’t understand!”

Haechan doesn’t understand, indeed. 

“I was happy, you were just someone I couldn’t stand, and I was in a happy relationship with my boyfriend. And then you ruined everything,” you cry, trying to keep your voice down.

Haechan can’t believe what he’s hearing. Are you accusing him of ruining your life — and consequently Sungchan’s as well?

He scoffs, no shadow of any smirk or grin on his face, “It takes two to tango, Y/n!” He bursts as well, tone impatient, “Are you blaming it on me? After the last months spent together?” He’s in disbelief, and the look in his eyes is a raging one, nostrils flaring trying to even his breathing.

“We are both equally responsible for it,” you nod, knowing that it’s the truth, “But it was a mistake, and I’ll pay for it for the remainder of my days here at this campus,”

“What the fuck are you implying right now?” He barks, trying to get closer to you, yet you move out of reach, away from the bleachers.

“This,” you move your hand between your figure and his, “Shouldn’t have happened! What the fuck were we even thinking?” You ask, but it sound more like a monologue, to which he’s only a spectator.

But Haechan’s chest feels heavy all of a sudden, because he knows you. He knows who you are, what and how you are, what goes on inside your mind at all times, and this moment doesn’t look good to him. 

It all becomes more real when he sees you taking a few steps back, and he feels like his heart is ready to lurch out of his chest.

He shakes his head, “Whatever it is you think it’s the best choice right now, it really isn’t, Y/n,” he tries, but you shake your head at him, not wanting to hear a word of it, “It’s not the best choice for us right now,”

“There is no us! How can you even think that there can ever be?” You cry once again, tears staining your cheeks, already red from the cold.

“Don’t,” he warns, trying to stop you by walking towards you, and you take a few steps back.

“Remember what you said to me? No one has to know. Let’s just keep it this way,” You walk away, but Haechan stays still, too in shock to even process what just happened.

Tonight, you broke up with him as well, and you weren’t even together — and the fact that Haechan has absolutely no idea why you did it is making him want to hurl.

“Y/n!” He screams after you, but your feet are quick to take you as far away from his as possible. 

Haechan’s stomach feels funny, like it’s boiling over, and he bends down a second before hurling. He can’t believe what just happened, and everything feels too hard to digest right now — but one thing is certain, Haechan feels like he might hurl his heart out next.

For the remainder of the time before your Christmas break, you spend your time laying low. In and out of lectures, you skip the one you share with Haechan. You skip the place where you know Sungchan spends his time, and if there’s even remotely the slightest of hints that he’s around, you pack your things and go.

Sungchan never approached you, and to be completely honest and true to yourself, you don’t feel like much has changed in your life. With him being away all the time even when you were together, sometimes only speaking on the phone and through texts, you feel like only that small part has changed now that it’s completely lacking. 

There’s still the burden you have to carry around with yourself — the thought that you played with Sungchan and behaved like an idiot. Nothing is ever going to fix this, the anxiety you’re feeling when you see or hear something about him around campus. The shame, the guilt, the sleepless nights spent being haunted by the last conversation you had with him.

And there’s Haechan, and the thought of him devastates you, because you know you got used to life with him and now you have absolutely no one left to rely on, or be with. You lost Sungchan to the role of President of the student body but it wasn’t always like this — yet as he advanced through the years of study, his responsibilities only grew and so did whatever was demanded of him. The last year in this position is what stole him away from you, and you found yourself to be lonelier than ever without even realising it in the first place.

And then you lost Haechan to the unbearable feeling of betrayal you felt, only that the one betraying was you and no one else. You betrayed Sungchan and that was the worst you could have done to someone you claimed you loved — and worst thing of all, you did it with Haechan.

Haechan made you feel like you were reborn. Besides the initial bickering that subsided as you and him started seeing each other more regularly, you felt seen and appreciated, and you’d go as far as to say that you felt loved.

Crazy, you think to yourself, but that’s genuinely what you felt. He drove you insane, literally. Between always getting down and busy and get you into bed, putting your pleasure first absolutely every single time, he spent time with you — seeing you, supporting you, being there for you. 

But that’s also out the window, because you refuse to open up to him about your expectations and how you felt about him — in fear of being seen as silly, stupid even.

You wish you could tell if everything you went through with Haechan has been genuine, but there really isn’t a way to tell it. You know it has been, at least from your part, but who can vouch for him? He’s never really liked Sungchan, and he loved riling you up at any given opportunity, so what if he just wanted to prove a point?

Haechan tried crossing paths with you a few times, but you either changed directions, or you found friends you could talk around with. This way you knew he could never approach you to talk about absolutely anything.

You’re sure that you’ll mend, both in relation to what you’ve done to Sungchan and to come to terms with the reality after going through the whole Haechan situation. You know you’ll learn to forgive yourself one way or another, even if it might take time, even if you’re aware of the fact that no man can ever compare to Haechan.

He’s turned your world upside down, he’s made it a mess. Every bit of integrity and everything you believed in destroyed by a simple scoff and plump lips pouting and reaching for yours.

You’ll be fine. You’ll have to be.

Keeping to yourself in your secluded spot at the library has become your salvation, besides the comfort of your dorms. No one can ever find you here, no one besides Sungchan, because he used to hide here with you all the time whenever he felt overwhelmed by his duties.

And you flinch when you feel someone setting a backpack on your table, right in front of you. You raise your eyes, and your heart nearly stops when you see Sungchan standing right at the opposite end of the table. 

“You look like you haven’t slept in a while,” he whispers, sparkly eyes scanning your face,

You show him a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, “That’s because I haven’t slept in a while,” You confirm.

He bites on his bottom lip, and he touches one of the chairs, “Can I sit down with you?”

You nod, and you take a good look at him. Tall, tidy, handsome as ever, wearing one of the sweaters you got him for Christmas your first year of dating each other. 

“Did he fuck up already?” He asks you, and you furrow your eyebrows, not understanding who’s he talking about. “Haechan,” he clarifies for you to understand, and your lips form an ‘oh’ of understanding.

“I have no idea what he’s doing, but knowing him you’re probably right. He must have fucked up someway,” you gulp, not knowing what you should say to your ex boyfriend, about the guy you cheated on him with. 

“He’s fucking up in a lot of ways,” he plays with his bottom lip, “He’s fucking up the team, he’s fucking up his reputation, he’s fucking up your relationship,” everything Sungchan says feels like a big question mark, but especially the last part.

“Our relationship? There’s no relationship,” you shake your head, confused, “I actually want to give you a proper apology about everything,”

He stops you before you can continue, “I actually want to give you a proper apology, myself,”

You look at him confused, but he goes on before you can ask him anything, “I realised that I kept you hostage in a relationship that didn’t work out. I know you were unhappy, I realised this after you left that night and I came to terms with the fact that it was my fault in the first place,” he explains, looking you straight into the eyes.

You gulp, and there’s a splitting headache taking over you.

He clears his throat, “I should have set you free instead of keeping you in a relationship that didn’t feel as rewarding as our first year and a half together. I’m so sorry for being selfish and overlooking your needs,” 

You can’t believe your ears. You should be the one apologising right now, instead he’s here doing it and basically understanding you and why you did it? You’re in utter disbelief.

“Still, that doesn’t change the fact that I betrayed your trust,” you whisper, almost on the verge of tears.

“That’s right,” he concludes, completely agreeing with you, “But I’m here saying that I wasn’t the best boyfriend either, so I’m choosing to give you the benefit of the doubt. It took me a while to understand this, that’s why I’m here only now,”

Your eyes brim with tears while looking at him, at his composed self, and the little smile he’s throwing your way just so he can reassure you. Your heart breaks once again realising what you have lost with him, or what you never actually had to the fullest.

“You said no relationship?” He asks confused, and it doesn’t click right away that he’s talking about Haechan, “Is this why I saw him around campus wearing flip flops through the snow?” He asks curiously, throwing a thumb behind his shoulder to indicate the campus, “Is this why he’s acting this way?” 

“What way?” You’re not sure what he’s expecting from you. You really haven’t kept up with Haechan ever since you left him behind on the football field a while ago.

“He’s destroying the team and university’s reputation. He doesn’t go to practice, doesn’t show up for important stuff… I think I have a few students complaining about his behaviour around campus too,” he explains, and he seems surprised seeing how you don’t know any of this. 

You seem to have done a perfect job at protecting your peace. 

“Na Jaemin called me earlier, telling me Haechan is refusing to play today, and the disciplinary committee is sitting in the bleachers,” He just keeps going, and you’re sure that if you let him, he’ll have a dozen other things to add to the list of problematic things Haechan has done lately.

“That can’t be good,” you mumble worriedly, and he nods at you.

“It isn’t. Trust me. That’s another reason why I’m here now,” he sees you cocking a brow, so he goes on, “I know you’re the one who can make him get back on track. Go get him,” and the moment he sees you looking at him like he’s kidding, he snaps his fingers a few times, “Go, Y/n!”

You jump to your feet, trying to pack all your stuffs, and Sungchan’s hand slaps yours, “I’ll take these for you and I’ll come see the game. I’ll see you there,” he grabs you by the arms, manhandling you and pushing you away towards the library’s exit, “And please tell that fucker I placed good money betting he’ll win, so he’d better not let me down,” 

“What?” You bark, outraged, totally forgetting where you are right now and the fact that you need to keep it down, “You bet on him? Money?”

Sungchan rolls his eyes at you, “Go!” 

And you sprint away, leaving Sungchan to deal with a wave of shushes coming from everyone sitting quietly in the library, and with your things.

Your heart is racing, mostly after finding a gram of piece after seeing Sungchan and talking to him, but also because you know what your destination is. Now there’s only one more person you have to talk to.

You reach the locker room in record time, and honestly you don’t even know how you made it seem physically possible to run all the way over here in such short time. You open the door to the locker room, and the atmosphere feels heavy. 

You recognise the team, you look around the room to see Haechan’s friend and roommate, Na Jaemin — and he jumps to his feet to reach you, dragging you just outside. 

“I could honestly kiss you right now,” he tells you, eyes big as saucers.

“I’d rather you didn’t do that,” you warn him, looking up at him. You’ve always had a suspicion that Jaemin knew what was going on behind closed doors between you and Haechan, but he never made comments. 

“I’m scared shitless, Y/n, please do something,” he shakes you by the arms, and you nod, pointing your head at the door to the locker room, signalling him to open it for you.

He does it in a millisecond, pulling it wide open, “Everyone get out, now!” He rasps, his voice echoing throughout the otherwise silent room, and everyone obeys.

You go in, inspecting the place. You suppose he’s here somewhere, and then your eyes look for the familiar medical bed you and Haechan put to use a few times after his practice, sneaking around.

And there he is, sitting on his side, his back facing you, not even realising you’re there with him. You pull up next to the bed, shaking him, and he snatches his arm right out of your grasp as soon as you try to get his attention on you.

“Haechan!” You warn, pinching him, and he lets out a whine of pain before turning around to look at you.

“What- How?” He asks confused, turning his body so he can face you. “What are you doing here?” 

“What are you doing here?” You accentuate the word, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Fucking around with your reputation as well as the team’s?”

He shrugs, looking up at you, “I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore,” 

You slap his chest, “Oh my god stop whining, you sound so depressing!”

“I am depressed!” He fights back, lips pouting, “I shouldn’t even be here right now, but Jaemin did scare me into getting into his car…”

The implication of Jaemin scaring the man that cannot be scared of or threatened by anything is making you fight back a snort. 

“Why are you depressed? You have it all, and the disciplinary committee is also attending,” you explain like he’s five years old.

“I don’t have it all!” He sits up, raising his voice with a whine, “I don’t have you! And I want you! I’ve wanted you from the very beginning and you just ended up with Slanderman himself!”

“Hey!” You retort, pinching him once again, “Be nice! I wouldn’t be here to tell you that I love you if it weren’t for him,”

“Oh my god, you met up with him before me? Just kill me now,” he whines, throwing himself back down onto the bed. It takes him a few seconds to go through the words you spoke, now echoing in his head.

He pushes right up, blinking at you. You blink right back at him a few times, and his gaze doesn’t falter, instead there’s a sparkle settling in.

“Do you mean it?” He sits on the edge of the bed, and you get closer to his figure.

You peck his lips, “I mean it, and we should have a proper conversation later,” you peck his lips again, this time moving to pepper some kisses in the corner of his mouth as well, “But Sungchan told me to let you know he bet serious money on you losing tonight, so wouldn’t it be nice to show him he’s wrong?”

Haechan’s lips are immediately on yours, yet you don’t fight back. The moment you saw him pouting with despair you knew you wanted to kiss him. He holds you still by placing his hands on both sides of your face, and you give into his pace, rhythm — his hunger making the kiss incredibly messy and desperate. 

“Don’t talk dirty like that, my dick is getting hard as we speak,” He jumps off the bed after letting you go. 

Your chest blooms with pride after lying to him, remembering how Sungchan placed a bet on Haechan winning, but you know that twisting it a bit to make your own version would have stirred the ever so competitive Haechan to prove Sungchan wrong — and you’re extremely happy, even if you’ll have to tell him the truth later after the game.

Haechan gets ready at the speed of lightning, while also stealing quick kisses from you. Pecks all over your face, neck, playfully pulling at you hoodie, everything he can do while still getting ready to go out on the field on time.

And eventually he joins the game, and of course the Lee Haechan wins — but because he has something, or someone to fight for. 

His ego is big, his chest blooms with pride because he knows what he’s capable of. And Lee Haechan can proudly claim he does have it all right now — because he has you, yet everyone should still feel threatened by him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: to everyone who read who is it... im sorry it had to be sungchan once again </3333 this fic was supposed to be up around his birthday and i couldn't allow it (◞‸◟,) i want to thank my sam @taeeflwrr for helping and putting up with me and my endless talks about this series and the songs chosen (ily!) but also for making the banner for this fic! <3<3<3 and thank you to everyone who read, i appreciate and love every single one of you! i hope you enjoyed and i'll see you for the next one ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა

TAGLIST: @hyuckmoon @ridinhyuck @imnotrosiee @kissyfacekoo @nctubatu @daryaa8a @winnietheboos @saiuoma @kakutoz @dudekiss3r @crzyhyuck @jirsungs @cinnayomiroll @gomdoleemyson @vantxx95 @jenzyoit @prettymoles @simjakyuu @bamjjwi  @d6llce @hyuckluvr-com @ihatefrvits @mystverse @fullsunflowerfield @positionslab @xbmbea @afterhvours @leleszn @neotannies @hypneosis @doiejaeyo @honeynanamin @xtrataerrestrial @neocityscreamer @bbyjayb @haesluvr @notmastyle @luvvhaechan @yuthabitz @itzafran @ohmysion @sunflowerhae @kyungsooislifeu @serenedreamscape @lelecidio

[angstama]

14 ; spaces between us | l.jn

pairing: dad!lee jeno x f!reader (ft. na jaemin)

genre: angst, slight fluff, co-parenting

synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.

a/n: hey loveliessss~ chapter 14 is finally uppppp!!!! thank you all so much for all your patience while waiting for me to push this chapter out :"))) i'm currently still in europe and could only write whenever i get back to my accommodation so i ask for your patience for chapter 15 too 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ i hope you guys enjoy reading this as this version had seen at least five revisions before i was okay with uploading it :"))) *cries* see you guys again in the next chapter! i'll be replying slowly to all your asks too in the meantime <3 i've also started writing a new fic so stay tuned everyone hehehehe! love you guys!!!!! (also i'm so sorry i wasn't able to tag any more readers into the taglist due to the 4096 word count thingy? i'm not sure what that is so if anyone knows how to deal with it do let me know🥹)

chapter music: the prophecy - taylor swift

sbu m.list | previous | next chapter

jeno had been your greatest heartbreak.

but jaemin’s words… they were a different kind of wound altogether. you never thought you’d feel this small again—not after you’d sworn you’d never let anyone reduce you the way jeno once did.

but it was jaemin.

and that was the cruelest betrayal of all, because you had trusted him to be different. you believed in him—in na jaemin—to be a constant in your life. the one who chose you and stayed. the one who, from the moment he decided to hold on, might even become someone for jun.

instead, na jaemin went back on his words and left you as if the two of you never crossed paths in the first place. as if whatever the two of you had, were just your own delusions. the quiet yearnings of wanting to run away together, the little acts of service, everything... everything wasn't real. or at least it was never real for jaemin.

you should've known better.

you stepped out of the office lobby, the metals doors closing behind you with a hush, when the elevator across the other side slid open. and out stepped soomin.

her presence struck you before her voice did—her gaze, unwavering and cold, hooking into yours across the distance. for a fleeting moment, you froze in that stare, as if like a deer caught in the headlights. then you turned, willing yourself to walk away, to keep your world separate from hers.

but her voice followed you, sharp and deliberate.

“well, look who it is,” she chuckled, each word sweetened with malice. “fancy seeing you here, when you shouldn’t have anything to do here anymore.”

her voice crawled under your skin, and your feet betrayed you, stopping in their tracks. something inside you tightened, an old ache stirring, and against your better judgment, you turned back to face her.

“yeah,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “fancy seeing you too. shouldn’t you be busy preparing for the trial with your lawyer?”

soomin smiled then, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that screamed joy. it was thin, curved with intent, the kind of smile that drew satisfaction from your unease. “i was,” she answered simply, “i was with jaemin, our new representative.”

the name struck you like a blow you hadn’t braced for. jaemin. the sound of it tore through the thin armour you had wrapped around yourself, exposing every raw edge. your stomach dropped, heart sinking fast as if gravity had suddenly chosen sides.

you tried to mask it—to grab ahold yourself under her gaze—but the truth was already written in the silence that followed. she had wanted to hurt you, and she had succeeded. and in that mere seconds of silence, you felt the ground beneath you shift, tilting the world into something colder, crueler, than it had been a breath ago.

“you didn’t know, huh?” soomin’s lips curled into a smirk, her words laced with quiet triumph. “don’t worry—you’ll get the official documents in a few hours.” her eyes traveled over you, eyeing you up and down, as if measuring every inch of your unraveling.

“you must be terrified,” you said, stepping closer, your voice steadier than your pulse. “switching lawyers at the last minute? hope jaemin told you that throughout our years at university, he never once beat me in a mock trial.” you said lowly.

soomin doesn't flinch, only leaning in just slightly, her presence brushing against yours like a shadow that refused to move. “past victories are just that—the past,” she whispered, her tone sharp but calm. “this is the present. and the present isn’t yours.”

she walks away, brushing by you before stopping again, turning just enough for her voice to reach you like a blade. “oh, and one more thing—stop clinging to jeno. he’s not coming back to you. get a hint.”

the words landed harder than you wanted to admit, a part of you wanting to go up to her and ask her what her deal was. but she was gone, leaving only the echo of her steps behind.

your footsteps quickened down the hall, each step heavy with the weight in your chest. by the time you reached your office, the sour taste of betrayal had already climbed up your throat.

then you saw it—on your desk, a brown envelope waiting like a trap.

“y/n—” renjun shot to his feet the second you entered.

“he wasn’t here, right?” you snapped, breath uneven as you pushed past him and snatched up the envelope. tearing it open, your eyes landed on the bold print.

change of legal representative notice.

and beneath it—jaemin’s name.

“what the fuck?” the words tore out of you, raw and furious. the paper crumpled in your fist before you threw it to the floor, as if rejecting the reality it carried. jaemin. the betrayal burned sharper than anything you had ever known. “why would he—” your voice cracked as you turned to renjun, eyes pleading, desperate for sense where there was none.

renjun only shook his head, his face tight with helplessness. “i don’t know either. he… he came and left without saying a word.” you couldn’t believe jaemin would do this to you. you never imagined he’d be the kind of man to hurt you this way—not after all the promises he’d whispered over the past few months, not after the plans he had painted for the two of you. even with the letter in your hand, a part of you still wanted to believe in him.

“what’s going on, y/n?” renjun’s voice broke through, gentle but urgent, as he noticed the tremor running through your body. he guided you down into a chair before hurrying off to fetch a glass of water.

“i don’t know, renjun…” your voice cracked as the words slipped out, barely a whisper. “he said we were never real. one day we’re us, and the next—this.” you gestured weakly toward the crumpled paper on the floor, your hands then burying into your hair. “it’s like he woke up and decided he doesn't want me anymore."

renjun’s brows furrowed disbelief clouding his face. he couldn’t connect your words with what he had seen himself—jaemin beaming just a week ago, asking him and chen le for vacation recommendations, already imagining a future where you’d be there, part of the picture.

jaemin had made plans. he had wanted you in his tomorrow. for him to treat you like this now felt not only cruel—it felt impossible.

you leaned into renjun’s arms, the last of your composure unravelling with a soft, helpless sound. “i’m so tired, renjun…” you whispered, voice gone thin. he turned you gently, shielding you from the open room so no passing colleague would see you fall apart.

the office buzzed on — phones, footsteps, polite small talk — a world that continued to spin while yours unraveled in silence. it was all too much: the letter on the floor, jaemin’s name like a cold wind, the way promises unmade now lay between you like broken glass.

you pressed your face into his jacket and let the tears fall. they felt less like relief than confirmation — proof that something you’d hoped for could be taken away so easily.

it was too much. all of it.

and somewhere in the mess of it all, a thought crept in, one you hated yourself for having—maybe you weren’t meant to have good things. maybe love was something you were never really meant to keep.

jaemin's pov

“this isn’t a choice, jaemin. it’s an order from your boss,” taeyong barked, his patience fraying. “and i’m telling you, you can’t order me on this,” jaemin snapped, voice rising. “i’m the one bringing in the biggest clients into this firm. that gives me the right to choose who i represent and i am not touching jewel corporations.” his hand raked through his hair, the frustration almost boiling over.

taeyong’s jaw tightened. “they’re a major shareholder. you take the case and win, senior partner is yours. why are you being so damn difficult?”

“because i said no.” jaemin’s glare was sharp enough to cut. “a year ago you would’ve killed for this opportunity.” taeyong shot back, leaning across the desk, refusing to back down. “what the hell changed?”

jaemin’s fists curled at his sides. his chest heaved, but he didn’t answer. because taeyong wasn’t wrong. a year ago, he would have jumped at the chance. senior partner had been everything—his finish line, his crown, the only thing that mattered after years of clawing his way through long nights and endless cases. he would have thrown himself into the fight head first, without question.

but somewhere along the way, jaemin had stopped chasing after it and it was all because of you.

you, who had became the centre of his thoughts. you’d come into his life quietly at first, then all at once, until you were everywhere. suddenly, the long nights didn’t feel so endless because they ended with your voice on the phone. the mornings weren’t so heavy because they began with your smile. you had crept into the center of his world without trying, and before he realised it, his ambitions bent towards you.

he started to think that maybe winning wasn’t everything. that maybe contentment didn’t look like a title on an office door but the way you fit into his arms at the end of the day. with you, he’d stopped chasing, and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid of standing still.

and now, standing here, the thought of it being gone was unbearable.

he winced at the ache that came with pushing you away. the empty nights stretched long in his mind, the side of the bed cold, untouched. he could picture it too clearly—the way you reached for him in your sleep, how your hand would search for his chest in the dark. to know he had torn that away with his own hands was worse than anything taeyong could throw at him.

“it’s a conflict of interest,” jaemin shook his head, his voice calm but his jaw tight.

taeyong leaned back in his chair, a scoff slipping out as if jaemin’s words weren’t even worth the air. “because of that community lawyer?” he asked, mocking, his brows lifting. “you’ve lost your mind. get your shit together, jaemin. this isn’t worth throwing away over a girl.”

the words landed like a slap, but jaemin didn’t flinch. his arms folded across his chest, shoulders squared. “i’m not throwing it away because of her,” he bit out. “i can still get the title without this case.”

taeyong’s eyes hardened. the easy mockery vanished, replaced by a sharp, cutting authority that filled the room. “you don’t seem to understand how this works,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, heavy. “jewel corp didn’t just ask for representation. they asked for you. the case is already yours. you don’t get to pick and choose when shareholders are involved.”

he leaned forward then, elbows on the desk, gaze locking on jaemin with the weight of a man used to being obeyed. “and if you can’t handle that, maybe you’re not the man i thought you were.”

the silence stretched, thick and suffocating, before taeyong finally leaned back again, his attention already shifting to the glowing screen of his computer. “now get out of my office.”

the dismissal wasn’t loud, but it was final. the kind of final that left no room for argument. jaemin stood there, his defiance slipping, the fight in him drained by the sheer coldness of taeyong’s authority. the office air felt too tight, the walls too close, until the only option left was to storm out in frustration.

jeno knew it was wrong.

wrong to be standing outside your door when his pregnant girlfriend was waiting for him back at their temporary apartment. wrong to keep finding his way back into your life when he was the one who had chosen to walk away first.

but that night, with the smell of warm cookies drifting through your kitchen and jun asleep in his room, it all slipped away. he let himself remember—what it felt like to laugh with you, to call you his, to believe you were the love of his life.

and his memory carried him back to the first time he met you.

jeno had never cared for physics. not then, not ever. he was halfway through another yawn, eyes wandering anywhere but the projector screen where miss jung was droning on. stretching lazily, his gaze slid to the window. and there you were.

sitting by the window in the classroom below, hair ruffled slightly by the spring breeze, silver-framed glasses slipping down your nose. your head bent over your notes, ignoring chenle’s endless chatter beside you. jeno couldn’t recall seeing you before. maybe it was the way you frowned in concentration, or how absorbed you seemed, but something about you caught him. held him.

then, as if you had felt it, you lifted your head. your eyes met his.

jeno panicked, whipping his head away, hiding behind his hand. thirty seconds crawled by before he dared to look again—only to find you still watching him. your gaze was intense, curious, unflinching. the very same gaze that, years later, he would fall in love with over and over.

you tore a page from your notebook, scribbled quickly, and held it up.

creep.

jeno’s jaw dropped. heat rushed to his cheeks as he scrambled for his pen, writing the first thing that came to mind.

am not.

you laughed, shoulders shaking, before penning your reply.

kidding. pay attention to class!!!!

and jeno, who had never believed in love at first sight, felt his heart stumble, trip, and fall all at once. he would tell you many times later that it was that moment—the spring air, the window, the grin on your face—that made him want to marry you.

and so it began, the strange little routine between two classrooms. notes held up across the distance, teasing reminders to focus. nothing more, nothing less… until one day jeno realised that wasn’t enough. that he wanted to see you up close, not just through a pane of glass.

you were buried in your notes when jeno shyly stumbled into your classroom, sweat at his temples and hands jammed into his pockets as he scanned the room for you.

"y/n! y/n!" chen le jabbed your shoulder until you looked up, eyes widening at the boy who'd been trading crumpled notes with you for weeks — standing at the front of your classroom with a dumb, hopeful grin. you mouthed a soft hey and a stifled giggle escaped; jeno looked like his heart might burst.

he took a step forward, then froze as your homeroom teacher appeared behind him. "what are you doing here, kid?" mr. lee cleared his throat, and jeno jumped, scratching the back of his head. chen le snorted and rolled his eyes. "he doesn't look that bright, y/n," he teased.

"i… i just have to give y/n something," jeno blurted, then hurried over. he pressed a folded note onto your desk and melted back towards the door before anyone could say more, leaving mr. lee and the class watching the exchange like it was half a performance, half a scandal.

"try to focus on your studies, miss l/n. boys like that aren't worth your time," mr. lee warned, but you ignored him. with chen le peering over your shoulder like a nosy spectator, you unfolded the paper.

the handwriting was small and nervous, but the question was impossible to misread:

will you let me take you out on a date?

it was all very cheesy. but you'd always be the girl who stole lee jeno's heart.

and somehow jeno wished, he never forgot that. because at the end of the day, jeno always regarded you as the special person in his life.

what a shame, then—how easily he let you slip through his fingers.

“daddy!” jun practically launched himself forward the second he spotted jeno sitting on the doorstep, nearly knocking him back with the force of his hug. jeno caught him easily, arms wrapping tight around his son. you were just getting out of the car when you saw him too, soomin’s words instantly replaying in your head like a bruise pressed too hard.

“jeno? what are you doing here?” you asked as you unlocked the door. jun darted inside, then hesitated, glancing back at the two of you like he knew he was intruding on something fragile.

“i, uh—” jeno scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “i brought dinner. for the two of you. hope you don’t mind.”

“oh.” you forced a small smile. “yeah, of course not. come in, jen.” you stepped aside. your guard was up though, unsure if he knew you had ran into soomin earlier. jun, on the other hand, was buzzing, thrilled to see both parents in the same room again, like some part of him still believed that was possible.

jeno handed you the paper bag—warm and fragrant from the salt-baked chicken place the three of you used to go to—and you felt the tug at your chest, a ghost of easier days. “did you tell soomin you’re here?” you asked while sliding plates out of the cupboard and setting the table, fingers moving with practiced calm.

jeno sighed. “no.”

you paused, a dish towel still in your hand. “you can’t just hide things like this, jeno. it’s not healthy. i don’t want to be the person who breaks up someone else’s family.” the word family scraped like an old, half-healed wound and you flinched when you said it.

“i know,” he said quietly. “i just… wanted some time with jun.” his gaze lingered on you, like he was waiting for permission to exist here.

you finally set the food down and said, almost under your breath, “i met her today.” your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. “your girlfriend thinks i’m clinging onto you.”

“what—no.” jeno’s head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes. “i’m sorry. i’ll talk to her, i’ll explain. it’s not you, it’s me. i promise.” his words tumbled out too fast, he could see the weight on you: the slump of your shoulders, the tired frown that made everything else look hollow. “are you okay? i can leave if you want.”

you stopped what you were doing and let the warmth of the kitchen settle around you. his concern was a small knife and a salve at the same time. tears pricked the corners of your eyes before you could stop them.

“no,” you croaked, voice thin. “stay.” you reached for jeno before you could talk yourself out of it, and he immediately embraced you into a hug so familiar it hurt—the kind that remembered the shape of you.

“what’s wrong, y/n?” he asked into your hair, his voice small.

you let yourself collapse into him, forehead against his shoulder. “i thought i could move on. start fresh. but everything… it’s all falling apart again.” your words stumbled out in ragged breaths. “i keep thinking i’m… unlovable. that everyone always leaves.” the sob that came after was ugly and honest— in a way that hurt jeno to the very core.

“you’re not unlovable, y/n.” jeno’s voice was barely a whisper, his hand moving in slow circles against your back—the same way he used to when nights got too heavy and silence felt unbearable.

“then why did you leave me?” your words cracked as you sniffled, pushing lightly at his chest until he let you look at him. your eyes searched his face, desperate, accusing, broken.

jeno swallowed hard, guilt written in every line of him. “because i was a coward,” he admitted, the words raw, dragged from someplace deep. “our marriage didn’t end because of you—it ended because i let my insecurities eat me alive. i doubted myself, doubted what i could give you… and instead of fighting for us, i ran.”

he reached for you again, his fingers trembling as they found yours. you didn’t pull away. you let him hold you, because this was lee jeno—the man who had been there through every high and every low, until the day everything finally burned to ash.

his voice broke when he said it, eyes glassy with the weight of a truth too long unsaid: “you are the most lovable person i’ve ever known. and leaving you… will always be my greatest regret.”

after jeno left, you stayed in jun’s room far longer than you meant to, curled up on the edge of his bed as he played quietly with his toys. you refused to leave his side, as if his small presence was the only thing anchoring you in place. somehow, though, jun seemed to sense the heaviness clinging to you.

“mummy?” he tilted his head, big eyes blinking up at you. “are you sad?”

the question made your breath hitched. you forced a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “why do you ask, baby?” you pulled him gently into your lap, tucking him between your legs and wrapping your arms around him from behind, holding him close.

“i saw you crying just now,” he murmured softly, almost careful with his words, fingers fidgeting together.

your chest ached. you never wanted him to carry pieces of your sadness, never wanted your little boy to shoulder any part of your pain. “mummy’s okay. don’t worry, baby,” you whispered, combing your fingers through his hair the way you always did when he was restless.

“i hope mummy always stays happy,” jun mumbled, clutching his eevee plush to his chest. after a moment he stood on the bed to face you, small but earnest, his voice barely louder than a sigh.

his words pierced you, pulling back the conversation you’d once shared with jaemin—the whispered promises about leaving this place, about starting over somewhere far away. a life where you weren’t haunted by ghosts of the past, a life where jun might even have someone new to call father. for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe in it. but that dream felt further than ever now, fraying at the edges.

“what if we leave this place, jun?” you asked softly, your arms tightening around him. “would you like that?”

he pursed his lips, thinking in that serious way he sometimes did, before nodding. “i think that’s okay. if that makes mummy happy, junnie is okay.”

the simplicity of his answer shattered you. tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them, your body trembling as you buried your face against his small shoulder. how had you been given a son so gentle, so empathetic, with a heart so much bigger than his years?

jaemin hated himself for the way he’d left you at the lift lobby.

he never meant the words that came out of his mouth. they slipped past his pride before he could stop them, sharp and reckless, and now they haunted him. he knew how much they’d hurt you. he knew he’d gone too far. and he also knew it was already too late—you probably wanted nothing to do with him after the stunt he pulled.

“the nerve you have to call me here,” chenle sneered the second he spotted jaemin. jaemin didn’t even look up, just kept his eyes fixed on the table, shoulders sinking. chenle rolled his eyes and dropped into the chair opposite, crossing his legs like he was daring jaemin to waste his time.

“if you have something to say, say it now. or i’m leaving.”

jaemin stayed quiet for a moment before reaching into his bag. he pulled out a first edition copy of the alchemist—the one you’d been searching high and low for—and slid it across the table.

“y/n really wanted this book.” his voice was flat, almost swallowed by the noise of the café. he picked up his cup, taking a slow sip of earl grey. “could you hand it to her for me?”

“no.” chenle pushed it back without hesitation. “i’m not going to help you pass anything to her. if you’re going to disappear out of her life, then i think it’s best you disappear fully.” he leaned back, arms crossed tight.

jaemin’s eyes slipped shut. “you don’t have to say it’s from me.”

“she’ll know it’s from you. only you have the kind of money to buy any first edition books.” chenle’s tone was sharp, cutting.

anger flared in him then. “i can’t believe you had the cheek to ask for our blessings to go after our best friend and betray her like this!” chenle snapped, his voice low but full of venom. “i encouraged you, jaemin. i trusted you. and you still hurt her.”

“she’ll never love me! so what’s the point?” jaemin burst out, frustration finally breaking through. “i want to be with her more than anybody, but it’s clear as day she doesn’t see me that way either!”

chenle’s jaw dropped. “you must be fucking blind, jaemin!” his hands flew up, disbelief written all over his face. “y/n fucking loves you! you got the girl! but for some reason you decided—oh, fuck her, i don’t want anything to do with her anymore. and for what? because you think she doesn’t love you? you know what that is? pathetic.”

jaemin snapped back before he could stop himself. “if she’s so fucking in love with me, then what’s she doing with jeno? baking in her kitchen like they were back together, huh?”

“because you fucking broke her heart and he happened to be there to drop jun off!” chenle fired back, his voice rising. “she went to your place to confess to you, jaemin. and what did she find? you with another girl. what the hell was she supposed to think?”

jaemin faltered, his expression freezing. “i—what?”

chenle’s glare hardened. “for someone so smart, you’re actually pretty fucking stupid.” he shook his head, disgust written across his face. “we never did anything. she was just a friend.” jaemin tried, but the words felt hollow even to him.

“i don’t care,” chenle snapped. “i’m just glad you’re out of her life now. and out of mine too. because if you can’t understand that jeno will always be part of y/n’s life—that he’ll always be there because he’s jun’s father—then you’re not ready to have the conversation about whether you can accept both y/n and jun fully into your life.”

// to be continued

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[sximsoc]

“i’m in love with my best friend

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 ”

pairing: prince ! mark lee x princess ! reader

synopsis: princess of isle caliriel, you naturally become best friends with the neighboring prince , mark lee of eloweth. always together and hardly ever apart , however, a marriage proposal from another isle looms over your head. mark feels himself spiral as he tries to support you , but even you feel indifferent to the proposal , why is that?

word count: 46.9k

warnings: childhood best friends to lovers , major fluff , a little angst, suggestive , nothing major , first in the series but can be read as a stand alone

Friendship is easy, it’s a breath of fresh air and it’s a company one longs for. Friendship was also hard to come by, especially when you’re a part of the royal family. You are the crown, your life is the crown and it’s a title you must live up to. You are the eldest daughter of the royal family, princess of Caliriel of the Seven Isles. Your family, the Choi family, has been ruling the Isle of Caliriel since its conception. Your blood dates back generations of change and tradition. Being the oldest, your beautiful world is in your hands, something you cannot run from. So, naturally, it was hard to find friends. While local children run around and play in mud, you were learning how to run a country, learning your place in the world as a princess in this society. You had to rule, had to learn the ways of the treaty, the rules, the laws of the land, and how to keep the peace. The Isle of Caliriel was the peacemaker within the Seven Isles. Your land had a pause in time, a sense of security in its green blankets and a calm nature with the way the Earth breathes with the people. It was your land, your sacred land you had to learn to take care of. 

The only other person who understood, was the only person you could call your best friend; Mark Lee of Eloweth. Mark Lee was a nice boy when you met him all those years ago, he was the prince of the neighboring Isle of Eloweth. Eloweth and Caliriel were close in distance and close in relations. They were close allies, closer with one another compared to the other Isles, so it was only natural that you and Mark became close, close in age and similar in the way you both wish to rule your Kingdoms. You still remember the first time you met him all those years ago, it was for your fifth birthday celebration, the one you actually remember meeting him instead of hearing that was the nth time meeting Mark. Nonetheless, you remember playing around with some village children on the royal grounds, the vines and leaves rustling around when you spotted a quiet boy standing off to the side. Your little feet coming to a halt as you try to catch your breath. Your little lungs filled with air as you don’t know what compelled you to approach the young boy, but you did. 

“What are you doing here alone?” You asked as soon as you faced him. His little head looking up at you, sweaty as your one tied up hair stuck to your face in a mess. Your face flushed red as you stopped chasing your village playmates around to talk to him. “Are you not having fun?” You tilted your head to the side, brows furrowed as your little mind couldn’t comprehend why this boy around your age was standing off to the side like he didn’t belong.  

The boy shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know anyone” He mumbled out, his voice softly spoken as he fiddled with his hands. “My mom told me I’d make friends and that I knew the princess, but I don’t remember meeting her” 

“The princess?” You questioned as he nodded his head. “That's me! See you do know someone, you know me! Come on, let's play!” You exclaimed, not caring for his next words as you grabbed his hand, pulling him along to play with the other children. 

Your parents watched in awe, noticing how you chased Mark around as he didn’t fully understand the game you and the other children were playing. The Queens of Caliriel and Eloweth gushed and beamed at how cute you and Mark looked playing with one another. The giggles coming out of you both as you slowly separated from the village children to play your own game. You both shared secrets, both talked about your families and made jokes about random things. Mark would mention something about Eloweth and you’d look at him like he was speaking a different language as you don’t know what Eloweth was. Despite going several times as a baby, your brain didn’t remember those visits, so you listened in awe as he spoke about his favorite spots and the magic well he swore could grant wishes.  

“Oh! I want to grant a wish! I want my wish to come true!” You yelled at the top of your lungs, looking straight at your mother as you ran to her, Mark running behind you. “Mama! Mark told me about a well that can grant wishes! I want to go! I want my wish to come true!” You exclaimed, tugging on her dress as the two Queens looked down on you with such soft smiles. Your mom nodded, telling you how one day you’ll plan a playdate to Eloweth soon. “I can’t wait, we have to go now!” You exclaimed, tears filling your eyes as you wanted to see the magic well so badly. 

“We can’t go now, it's a three day journey, and you have school lessons tomorrow” Your mother explained, bending down to meet you at your height. 

You were stubborn, it’s a trait you got from your father, stubborn and always wanting to have everything you wanted. Call yourself spoiled, but maybe you were headstrong and it came with a cost. “B-but, the magic well” You blabbered, fat tears threatening to leave your eyes, but you tried to keep them in as you didn’t want to cry on your birthday. 

“It’s okay” Mark spoke up, making you look at him while your mother and his, looked at the quiet boy who spoke up. “I’ll make sure you get to see the well” Mark nodded, looking up at his mom who looked at him with such pride. This was the son she was raising him to be, true and kind. “Right, mom?” He asked, she offered him an affirming nod to which he beamed his smile at you. 

“Really?” You asked, voice cracking you wanted nothing more than to see that well. 

“I promise” He replied enthusiastically, holding out his pinky finger to seal it all. 

You couldn’t help it, your tears were dry and your smile took up your whole face. “Okay!” 

That’s how the friendship started. Years and years of visiting each other when possible, mostly at family events and birthday celebrations where you made sure Mark got the first invite. He was your best friend growing up, you saw the well and it was a frequent hang out spot between the two of you every time you visited Eloweth. While on the Isle of Caliriel, the castle garden was where you two spent most of your time on his visits to you. During diplomatic meetings between Caliriel and Eloweth, you two were supposed to attend, supposed to sit in and listen and take notes to learn the ways of how to rule a country, and yet the two of you hardly showed up, leaning that responsibility on your younger sister. The two of you would sneak off, hiding behind corridors and statues to hide from the guards who were after you. Every nook and cranny the two of you fit in was a new hiding spot as the adrenaline filled your bodies. The heavy footsteps of the guards coming after you, calling out your names as the two of you try to hide your laughter. 

You still remember the day it was an important meeting for your families, talks about your Unveiling day, which was just a fancy way of presenting you to society as a potential wife to someone. It was an outdated tradition that was heavily influenced by the Isle of Aurethiel, you didn’t want to be a part of the conversation, so you convinced Mark to sneak away again. “Come on! I don’t want to be in there while they talk about giving me away like a cow” You complained as you both were in your room, you pacing in your dress as Mark sat on your bed. He was so comfortable, shoes kicked off and to the side as he leaned back on his arms as he watched you pace with his head lolled back.  

“It’s tradition” Mark replied, trying to be a voice of reason. “Besides, if anything, it’s more of a birthday party than an Unveiling” He pointed out and he was right. The Unveiling was held on the person's 18th birthday, the day they are seen as an adult, ready for marriage. 

“Still! Unveiling?” You questioned, completely perplexed at the idea of a grand ball being thrown in honor of you being of age. “It’s like they are offering me up as meat! I’m not ready to get married, let alone proposed to!” 

“I don’t think they’re wanting you to get married right away, it's just a formality to let the neighboring Isles know that you’re open to it” Mark explained with a calm voice, the same voice that could always bring you down from the pressures of royalty when it got too much. When he noticed how you didn’t respond, but put your hands on your hips as you continued to pace in a dress that he knew was one you didn’t pick out, he signed. Standing up, Mark grabbed you by the shoulders to stop your pacing and held you still. “We’ll skip it, but if we get caught, I am throwing you under the well” 

“You wouldn’t” You mumbled out, eyes narrowed as you knew that if you were caught, your parents wouldn’t let you hear the end of it. 

“I will” He replied, holding out his pinky and you knew he was serious. Smacking away his pinky, Mark laughed at your stubbornness. 

Suddenly, there was a knock at your door, letting the person know to come in, the door opened and your younger sister came in. “Mom said to come down, they’re ready to speak about your Unveiling” 

You smiled, letting her know that you and Mark will come down soon. Your younger sister looked at Mark and offered him a shy smile. Despite knowing him for all her life, your sister was still shy around Mark, it was odd considering how much time he spent in your castle, and yet she looked at him like he was a stranger. Nonetheless, she nodded and left the two of you alone in your too big of a room. 

You looked back at Mark with a smirk as he knew what to do. The two of you were quiet in your steps, slowly opening the door and you peaked your head out with Mark’s right above yours as you both looked for any guards that were out in the corridors. “Coast is clear” You mumbled out, opening the grand door more as you both carefully stepped out. The two of you were trying so hard to not make a lot of noise as you walked down the halls of your castle. Each corner turned was a risk that you both were willing to make, it was something you and Mark knew well. Years of sneaking off meant you knew each guard rotation, each secret passage, and knew where each vine perfectly hid your bodies. Still, it was always important to be watchful since by now your parents would have sent out a message to find you and the prince. 

Gently grabbing your hand, Mark led you down the hallway, the vines covering the arches as you heard the familiar fast footsteps of a guard running to the other. Quickly, you pulled Mark in the opposite way as you both hid behind a pillar that held up the arch as you heard the faint voices of the guards. “The Queen has said to look for the prince and princess, they’re sneaking off again” you could make out their words. 

“Cats out the bag” You mumbled to Mark. 

“Let's keep moving” He instructed, waiting until the footsteps were further so you both could move again. Once the coast was clear, the two of you began moving again, your heels gently clacking on the stone floor as Mark’s shoes made soft sounds as it hit the floor. Your breathing was in sync as the Earth breathed with each step, bringing a bigger sense of anticipation of being caught. 

A few more corridors and you'd both be free to the village grounds, unfortunately, that didn’t happen. The downside of the vines and flowers wrapping around your castle meant that a sneeze was inevitable to people who weren’t local. This meant that despite trying so hard to keep his sneeze in, when you and Mark passed a violet flower, he just couldn’t help himself. You could sense his sneeze as the hand he was holding tense up. 

“Mark, don’t you dare sneeze” You whispered, warning him to hold it in. It was no use, he paused in his step as he let it rip. The sneeze echoed in the hall as you closed your eyes in pain at the realization that you were in for it. 

Mark slowly turned around to face you, an apologetic smile on his face as he sniffled. You were about to tear into him when you heard the yell of a guard. “Hey!” you both turned around to see a group of guards running your way. 

“Should we run?” Mark asked, knowing that usually, you just let the guards take you, but this time it was different. When you would usually say no to his question, this time you replied: “Yes”. 

Your hand reached for his again and you bolted, Mark lagging behind as he tried to catch his footing. “Stop!” The guards yelled as you ran with Mark, the two of you laughing as you turned corners and tried to lose the guards. “Hey! Princess!” They kept yelling, wanting you to stop this chase, but you didn’t let up. You didn’t want to sit down with your parents and Mark’s parents and discuss gowns, decorations, food, dances, music and least of all, potential husbands that would arrive at your ball. It was something you disliked, sure as a kid the idea of love and a ball thrown for you sounded appealing, nice even, but as you grew up, you disliked the idea. Your Kingdom was more important than a lousy marriage out of convenience. Sure, maybe you’d grow to love the person you end up marrying, but is it so bad to want to be friends with someone first without the implication or the impending doom that you’d be married to him soon? You never enjoyed courting, you hated it. It was annoying and vigorous, it was tedious and time consuming. It also felt forced, unnatural and uncomfortable. Honestly, you blamed the Prince of Auretheil for your disdain of courting. He courted you as young kids, bothering you, wanting to go on dates, asking you out on dates in front of your parents during the meetings you had with the Isle of Aurethiel, even in front of Mark once. It was childish, so juvenile in nature that it put you off. If that was what courting was, you didn’t want any part of it. 

Turning one corner, your feet came to a skidding stop as Mark’s momentum became too much as he equally tried to stop, causing you both to almost fall just a few feet away from some guards who noticed you two. “There they are!” They yelled, causing you and Mark to start running again down another hall, running so fast that you and Mark couldn’t help but laugh as you tried to escape. You and Mark reached a dead end, causing you both to panic, however you saw how the vines were hiding a door and if someone, like the guards, were too busy to find you, they'd never notice the door handle hidden behind the green leaves filled with white flowers. 

“Quick, here” You called for Mark, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the small door, opening it up and shoving him in there first as you closed it behind you. It was a small hole in the wall, hiding you away from the guards as you could hear their voices conspiring to find you two. You let out a sigh of relief as the guards ran away while Mark was slightly hunched over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Why…Why did we run?” Mark asked through huffs, standing up straight to look at you as you equally tried to catch your breath as you felt your hair sticking to the back of your neck. “We usually let them catch us” 

Putting your hands on your hips, you shook your head, looking away in shame as you denied tradition. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to discuss textures and decorations. I don’t want to be courted and I don’t want to be a potential wife” You explained, the fear of being nothing more than a wife looming over your head. 

All your life it was put into your head that you were a princess, a future queen, a future ruler, a person who had power. You saw the way your father and mother ruled and knew what you wanted to be, knew what you had to do, and knew you wanted nothing more than to wear your family's crown proudly. You wanted future generations to look back on your time as queen and know that you were great. You wanted to be great, otherwise you felt as though you’d be nothing. Being nothing was a fate worse than marriage, and you fear that marriage would cause you to be nothing. Sure, sometimes you wish you were normal, that feeling amplified when you were younger, a child thrown into classes to be wise and proper made you dislike the royal life until you got to sit in a meeting with the Kings and Queens of the Seven Isles. How your father carried himself, how your mother was a voice of reason, how your father spoke to people about his land, how your mother spoke about the families and how much they mattered more than the royal family. They spoke so highly of their subjects and suddenly it all shifted for you and you knew that this was your calling. Being queen, being the one to advocate for your people, that was the dream. So, you wore the responsibility of being princess, you wore it well, even when it was hard, even when you at times longed for normalcy, you knew it wouldn't measure up to being queen one day. 

“I want to be a queen, Mark, I want to be something. I don’t want future historians to look back and see me as nothing more than a wife to some bloke king” You explained, your insecurity of being a speck of dust in your husband's shadow haunted you at night the more your parents spoke about your Unveiling. 

Mark just looked at you, studying how your face contorted into displeasure at the mere thought of someone asking for your hand in marriage. How your dress was one you would never choose as you disliked the frills and fuss it had and how despite you being so out of breath, you looked so composed and spoke clearly like a queen would. Mark knew you were destined for greatness, he knew it from the moment he met you at your fifth birthday, he knew it when you saved him from almost falling into the well when he showed you it for the first time, and he knew it now as you stood tall with your decision. Your stubbornness, seeming as a flaw to the majority, was an attribute Mark relished in, one he loved and one he admired. Mark lives for how stubborn you are as he knows it’ll make well for a future queen. 

“You’ll never be “just a wife” in history books” Mark stated as he used quotation marks. You looked over at him with little to no hope. He noticed and he hated how you looked at him like that, hated how you looked so defeated. “You’re supposed to be great, you are great. You’re going to be the greatest Queen Caliriel has ever seen. Being a wife won’t stop you, but if you don’t want to be a wife, don’t let them force you” 

“Am I really supposed to be great?” You asked, an insecure seventeen year old feeling the weight of the crown on her head as her 18th birthday approaches. 

Mark deeply understands this insecurity well, he knows it like an old friend and wears it like a childhood blanket. Outgrown and yet still feels like home. He can’t let you think like that, live like that or even believe that. You weren’t  just destined for greatness, you were destined for so much more and Mark believes that like a religion. 

“I think you can be so much more” 

All you could do was smile, a sense of relief and assurance filled your body. Maybe that was what you needed, to hear those words come from him. Mark knew you so well, knew you inside and out and knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. Hearing that you’ll be a great queen from your parents was one thing, it was heavy, it was like a mantra, a manifestation they had rather than a belief. Mark, however, his words held such power, rather than a manifestation, it was a statement, one he believes with his whole soul that it could be felt to the Isle of Mariethen. 

“You’ll be so much more too when you rule” You replied, his own reassuring words echoing as your own. The same statement believed like a religion. “A true and honest King” You nodded, a firm nod like one would give their subject when speaking.

“You think?” He asked, a blush creeping up his neck and hitting his ears. 

You smile, ease filling the air as the scene outside of guards rushing around to find you both disappeared from your minds. “Of course, it’s who you are. You have a way with words and I think that’s the best quality one can have when it comes to being a ruler”

“Are you saying I have a large vocabulary?” Mark asked, a teasing tone filling his voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Mark, you are the only person I know that uses “Pulchritudinous” to describe something you find beautiful” You retorted, calling him out on his use of unnecessarily fancy words to describe something. 

“It’s an honest word” Mark defended himself as he shrugged his shoulders. 

“It’s pretentious”

Mark let out an exasperated sigh. “As if that isn’t a big word”

“It isn’t!” You exclaimed, both sharing a laugh when the door to the closer was pulled open with string force. You turned around and both yours and Mark’s face fell as your father stood tall with hands on his hips with a downturn face looking at the both of you. “Uh oh”

“Uh oh, is right, young lady” King Choi replied with his softly spoken voice and yet it held so much weight. He looked between you and Mark before his eyes settled on your frame. “Care to explain why you and Prince Mark are hiding away in a broom closet?”  

“Would you buy it if I said that Mark spilt something in my room and we tried to find a broom?” You asked, giving him a sheepish smile as that usually works on him. However, this wasn’t the time it worked. 

“That wouldn’t explain why my guards told me that you ran from them after they caught you sneaking off”

You let out a small click of your tongue as you tried to lighten the tense mood. “Heard that through the grapevine didn’t you?” You asked, cautiously laughing in awkwardness as Mark remained tensed up behind you. 

Your father signed, taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes before he opened them to look at Mark. “Prince Mark, your mother is calling for you. I do hope you will make your way to her and not run from my guards” Your father ordered, his voice quiet but you knew it could be heard for miles. 

“Yes, King Choi” Mark instantly replied, bowing to show his respects to the king. Mark quickly walked past you, but not without a small touch of his hand on your arm, squeezing it to let you know that he’d see you later. 

When Mark was out of sight, his footsteps a mere whisper in the corridors, you looked at your stern faced father with desperation. “Father, it isn’t his fault” 

“I do not care whose fault or idea it was. What I care about is that my daughter isn’t at one of the most important meetings of her young life.” He explained, getting ready to give a lecture. However, you stopped him before he could go on as you didn’t like the current position you were in. 

“Before you lecture me, can we do it when I’m not in a broom closet looking at you through vines?” You asked a joking question to ease the stern tension your father is bestowing upon you. 

Even he couldn’t help but feel a smile crack at the corner of his lips. He too realized how he was looking down at you through the cracks in the vines. “That would be most ideal” 

He turned in his heel, you following him with your head low as he held his high. You could feel the tension rising and the peacefulness of the castle being disturbed with your act of rebellion. Peaking to your left, you see one of the guards who was chasing you around giving you a curt nod. The nod was a signal, a sign that you shouldn’t have to worry, that the King, despite being upset, was open minded and willing to understand why you snuck off. 

That’s one of the things you adored about your father. He was open minded, even when he shouldn’t be. Every time you snuck off with Mark, he was upset, beyond disappointed and yet, he constantly heard you out and tried to understand you. Even though he didn’t agree with your reasons 99% of the time, he still heard you out and let you make your case. He claimed it was good practice for when you advocate about your people, a good way to practice public speaking when under pressure as these conversations were based on how quick you could come up with answers to his questions. 

Your father opened up the doors to the throne room where you see your mother standing aside with Mark's mom. Their heads turn to the loudness of the double doors opening to find you and your father walking in. You see your mom visibly sigh as she stands calmly and yet there was still a tenseness in her shoulders. 

You gave her a tight lipped smile to hide your embarrassment, but it didn’t help. “Hey, mom” You mumbled out, acknowledging her and then turning to look at Mark’s mom. “Queen Lee” You curtsied to show your respect. 

“My son tells me he put you up to sneaking off” She announced, her voice soft as she looked at you for more answers. “I’m assuming he’s telling the truth?”

“No, it was all my idea, I talked him into it” You corrected her quickly, not wanting Mark to suffer a consequence he had no right to. “I deeply apologize for the trouble I caused you all” Mark’s mom nodded at your confession, already knowing that her son was lying as he’d do anything for you. 

“Well, now that that’s cleared up, we have to be headed back” Queen Lee said, the three of you instantly showing your respect with your curtsy and bows. As she was walking past you and your father, she paused in her steps and put a hand on your shoulder. You looked at her, your young face reminding her of a simpler time as a princess, knowing she’d do the same thing as you. “Next time, if you get caught, ditch my son, he will drag you down. Doesn’t know how to run properly” 

“He was lagging behind me, but I can’t ditch him” You replied back, a soft chuckle coming out of both of you. 

She hummed, gently patting your shoulder as her kindness melted into your bones. “You’re a loyal friend, I’m happy Mark has a friend like you”

“I’m lucky to have him as a friend” You replied back, her smile soft and wise. Nodding, she made her way out of the throne room, her heels clacking against the stone as you looked back at your parents as they stood watching you. “Am I grounded?” Was the first question that came out of your mouth. 

Your father signed as he pinched in between his brows, a quiet annoyance you felt with him. You were witty, quick with responses and although that made great for a queen, it annoyed your father, as any father would be. He raised you this way, you are your fathers daughter. 

“Yes, you are” Your mothers sweet voice spoke up. “However, we must discuss your Unveiling” You felt yourself groan at her words, your shoulders slumping over as your mother quickly tried to speak over your groan. “It’s only tradition! Listen, you can have it be whatever you want, any colors and any fabrics, really!”

“I don’t care what color it is or if it's silks or satin” You spoke up, your parents looking at you. Your father's stone faced while your mother was one of concern. “I don’t want an Unveiling. I don’t want to be seen as a potential wife when I am only eighteen” 

“It’s tradition” Your father spoke up. 

“So I’ve heard” You exclaimed, your voice tired as it let out more breath. You signed, closing your eyes as you took a few steps closer to your parents. “I love our Kingdom and its tradition, but I cannot let myself be seen as a mere wife when I am supposed to be a queen one day” You explained with sincerity, trying to convey your words without hostility. 

“No one sees you as a wife!” Your mother exclaimed, her tone exasperated as she wanted to get through to you.

To your mother, the Unveiling was more than what tradition called it. To her, it was a celebration, a way to present you to the world, not as a potential bride, but as a future Queen. It was a way to fully integrate you into society, formally introducing you as the next Heir, the next in line and a working monarch in the Seven Isles. It was also a way for her to see you as a grown up, or someone trying to grow up and mature. To her, it was something she’d been dreaming of seeing, you in a dress that signified your coming of age, dancing around with your friends and potential suitors from neighboring Isles, watching you run around and sneaking off with Mark as she assumed you’d do, and of course, just watching you smile with glee at the introduction of you, Princess of Caliridel, future Queen Choi. It was an honor to have an Unveiling and while yes, it had its problematic undertones and past, to your mother it didn’t negate the newer meaning it had in recent society. Your mother wanted nothing more than to have a reason to throw you a ball in your honor. You could see the want, the longing, the itch to go to your fitting, be a part of the planning, the fuss of it all, your mom wanted to be a part of it. 

Your mother gently approached you after noticing your resolve falling. Her hands gently cradled your face like you were a porcelain doll. So fragile, so young, so sweet and peaceful. “You are going to be a great Queen one day. You’re going to be the glue, the peace, the one the future kings and queens turn to. The Isle of Aurethiel might have the gold, but you my darling, you are your people. You are going to rule with such grace like I’ve raised you to. Your father and I are so proud, this Unveiling is so much more than a party with kingdoms and their subjects, it’s a way to introduce you to society. I get to brag about what a beautiful daughter I have and your father gets to talk politics with his friends while including you into the conversation” 

Her words struck a chord in you, something you didn’t know you had. A sense of pride, almost, a sense of responsibility. You knew the Unveiling was something you had to do, something a responsible princess would do without question. Maybe it was a shift of waiting to be different and rebel, change the royal life to not being complicit, but changing the meaning within the system. Adapting, changing, and living, that’s what you realized when your mother spoke. You knew and understood your place in the world, knowing you’d do anything for your people, you’d lay down your life for them. This Unveiling was a way to do that, you are a product of your mother and father, but also a product of your Kingdom and its people. You are your people and you are going to show the Isle’s who Caliriel are. 

That is the only reason you say, “Okay, I’ll do it’ 

And that's how you end up here, in your silky sage green dress that reminds you of the enchanted forest your Kingdom resides in. The subtle embellishments of sparkles catches the light from the chandelier and reflects shimmers that resemble the fairy light that hides within the trees. The subtle layers going down diagonally from your hip down to the floor reminding you of the flowing streams you used to swim in as a child, memories of you and Mark spending your days there. The servants in the castle did their job so well, rearranging the way the vines of your castle fell, the way the flowers seemed to shimmer a bit more than usual and how the floor sparkled like tiny diamonds. It was beautiful, soft flower petals falling from the sky as the natural ruins added to the comfort of your Kingdom. The bustling and chatter of the people from all around made your ears hum. The laughter coming from your mother as she brags about your dress and how your hair is done, thanks to her. Your father’s low voice could be heard as he talked about politics with the King of Sylveris and King of Mariethen. 

You stood tall, the music numbing your ears and the performers played traditional music of your land. Your back was straight and shoulders were back as you peered your neck out to find the one face you wanted to see. You kept craning from the top of the balcony as you looked down at the people. Where was he? It was almost time to call you in and announce you to the world and he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Princess, we’re ready for you” A royal guard announced as he stood tall with stiffness. You looked at him and looked back at the huge crowd in hopes to find him. 

“Do you know if the Lee family from Eloweth came in?” You asked, looking back at the guard with a plea. You saw him sternly shake his head, he didn’t know. 

You wanted to see Mark before you got presented as you could feel the nerves build in your stomach and your hands growing sweatier and colder by the second. You wanted to see him, see if he could ground you with his calming voice and wise words that were too large in meaning for you to understand. And yet, with his big words and a maturity you sometimes loathed, it calmed you, brought you back down to Earth, he comforted you in a way hardly anyone else could. 

“Okay, let’s just get this over with” You mumbled out, heels clacking against the pristine floor that had been around for generations. Walking down the stairs to where the throne room and other balcony that had stairs leading down met, you stood behind the double doors with your heart on the floor, stomach in knots and a body vibrating with anxiety. You felt yourself swallow a lump in your throat as you heard the hushes and murmurs of people quieting down as a royal guard began to announce your name. 

“The Princess of Caliriel!” He announced after your name, the double doors opening as you felt your feet move forward, head held high so as to not let your tiara fall. Your hands by your side as you entered the room, your eyes softly looking around the room as they applauded your arrival. They cheered for you as your hand came up to wave at them from the balcony, smiling with all your teeth as you made eye contact with as many people as you could. 

You made your way down the stairs, people stopping you to congratulate you, shake your hand and pulling you in for a hug. You tried to stay present, but you couldn’t help the way your gaze kept scanning the crowds for his face. It’s like your mind and body knew he wasn’t here, or that he was and he was hiding from you, but all you knew was that you needed to see him. Mark’s presence was an anchor you never had a second thought of needing since he was always there, until now. Making your way through the crowd, you find your mother and father sitting at their throne, you walk up to them and join them with your sister on either side of your father and mother as they sit in the middle. Taking your seat, face the front as all the people in the room show their respects with a bow and a curtsy. Your father stands, holding his hand up to let the people know to stand again. 

He cleared his throat as he began his speech. “My daughter is of age, how great is that. It is like yesterday, I found out my dear wife was pregnant with our child. And then, she was born, this tiny little thing, so small, so dear to me and instantly, I knew I loved her with so much of my heart. Then her sister came along and it was like my heart was split evenly into four as each part belonged to the four things I love most, my wife, my daughters, and my people!” Everyone cheered at his passion for the things he loved. You looked at the sea of people, noticing the familiar faces of King and Queen Lee of Eloweth, but their son was nowhere to be found. “I know my daughter will be a graceful ruler one day” Your father continued, catching your attention as you looked at him. “My wife has raised her right, with grace and dignity. I like to think I raised her to be a head strong ruler, someone who advocates for peace and for her people. My daughter" He said, turning to look at you, his eldest daughter. “May your reign be as beautiful and harmonious as you are” He looked back at his people and held his glass of wine high along with everyone else. “To my daughter!” He exclaimed as everyone else chanted your name. 

The musicians began playing their tune, people mingling and dancing as you sat in your seat, waiting for Mark to show up from the crowd. You sucked in a deep breath as you noticed your mother staring at you. She got up from her seat and walked over to you, bending down to put a hand on your arm. 

“What’s wrong, my love?” She asked, her honey voice infiltrating your ears over the loudness of the ball. 

“I don’t see him” You mumbled out, your eyes scanning the crowd for what seemed like the millionth time tonight. “I see his parents, but I don’t see him”  

Your mother signed, knowing that Mark was late due to him not finding the right gift for your birthday. It was just like Mark to be late because he didn’t find the perfect gift for his perfect best friend. Mark is a perfectionist, he wants everything to run smoothly, so your mother knew Mark had trouble finding you the perfect gift, the thing that’ll make your eyes shine brighter than the chandelier hanging above you. What he didn't know was that you didn’t care for grand gestures or extravagant gifts, you just wanted him to be here, his presence was enough for you. Mark could give you a leaf or a branch from the forest and you’d cherish it until your dying breath. 

“He’ll be here soon, my love” Your mother reassured you, her hand gently stroking your arm in a comforting manner. She looked at you scanning the crowd, looking towards your gaze to see the crowd of Seven kingdoms and your respected people who got an invitation dancing around and conversing with one another. “Why don’t you join them?” She asked, looking back at you as you felt your shoulders slump. “Go, have fun. It’s your Unveiling after all” She reminded you, looking at her with a small smile. 

You nodded your head, standing up from your throne to join the party goers. You usually hated this part, talking to others without Mark. He was a comfort, a way for you to feel at ease in a way. You and Mark were so attached to the hip that where one went, the other followed, it was a buddy system that couldn’t be broken no matter how much people tried. You remembered one birthday, it was Mark’s 15th and you two were isolated from the rest of his friends and neighboring princes and princesses. You remember the teasing of Prince Haechan from Aurethiel along with the laughter from Prince Chenle from Sylveris. Oh, how they teased you and Mark for sneaking off to enjoy each other's company rather than entertaining others. Their words are annoying and so true, “Look, the usual love birds alone. Chenle, you think they’ll get married one day?” Haechan would ask loudly with a playful smirk on his face. 

Chenle would laugh as he nodded happily. “Totally. Look how they sneak off alone together every time. Even at the Isle gatherings they sneak off and discuss their own politics” Chenle pointed out, reminding Haechan of how every gathering where all the princesses and princesses of the Seven Isles gathered for bonding, a way for the Isles to keep the peace. 

Haechan scoffed a playful noise, holding a hand to his mouth as he yelled at you and Mark. “Get married already!” 

Yours and Mark’s head whipped towards the noise and saw the two playful princes laughing. You felt your eyes roll while Mark spoke up on both of yours behalf. “We’re just friends! Go back to fawning over the Princess of Lioralis!”

You laughed watching Haechan’s ears burn red while his face burned the same shade, maybe one darker. Chenle’s laugh was heard through the garden as Haechan smacked his shoulder and walked off. You turned to Mark and the two of you went back to talking about random things until your mothers called you both for the cake. 

You heard your name being called and suddenly, you were back to reality. You turned around and sure enough, Haechan was standing behind you with a hand in his pocket and a glass of cider in his hand. “First off, happy birthday and second of all, you’re alone. Where’s Milk? Aren’t you two like always together?” 

You rolled your eyes at his tease. “He’s running late. Why? Miss your crush?” You teased back, turning around to walk away from him. 

“Hey! Just because Mark and I grew closer over the past year doesn’t mean I have a crush on him” Haechan defended himself, following you through the crowd as you smiled politely at people and he did the same. “Besides, you’re just upset because I’m stealing your best friend” 

“If by stealing you mean annoying him until he gives in, then sure, I’m totally jealous” You replied sarcastically, reaching a small table filled with finger food as you grabbed a small plate and filled it up mindlessly, trying to keep yourself busy. 

Haechan stood next to you, his body facing yours as you reached for things you don’t even like, but grabbed anyway. “Save me a dance, would you?” Haechan asked, making you sigh in annoyance. 

“Why would I do that?” You asked, looking at him with an unamused look. Haechan leaned in closer, his eyes flickering right past behind you before looking back at you. 

“Unveiling’s originated from my Kingdom, so it’s only natural for the Prince of Aurethiel to dance with you” He explained, making you roll your eyes, turning your head away from him, but he quickly grabbed your chin so gently to move your face towards his. “Besides, you look really pretty tonight” He whispered, making you freeze at his flirtation towards you. 

You knew Haechan was a flirt ever since he grew a sense of self that blurred the lines between ego and confidence. It was hard to tell between the two, however, this flirtation made you freeze because while Haechan flirted with every woman possible, he never did it with you. You knew Haechan since you were children, just like every other Prince and Princess, but Haechan never flirted with you the way he flirts with other women. Your sister was a subject to his flirtatious remarks, but you? He never did it, you didn’t know why, maybe it’s because you never responded or gave into it which fed his ego, but even then, you thought that your disdain for him would make it all so much better when you did cave, not that you ever would. 

You were about to respond when you heard someone clearing their throat, the noise making you turn around and Haechan letting go of your chin. You felt relief washing through your body like the sun peaking through the trees in the forest. You felt yourself smile as you saw Mark standing tall, looking between you and Haechan. 

“Mark, you’re here” You said, a happiness radiating in your body as he smiled at you. 

“Course I am. Couldn't miss my best friend's 18th birthday” He replied, a softness in his voice as he looked down at you. However, his mind was still filled with why Haechan leaned in so close to you, why his hand was on your chin and why was he so close to you? Were you and Haechan close all of a sudden? “Haechan” Mark said, addressing Haechan with a cold voice, one that made Haechan raise a brow at the coldness he was facing. 

“Markie!” Haechan gushed, ignoring the cold voice Mark was giving him, rushing to his side and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “I was just telling our little Princess that she looks so pretty tonight, don’t you think?” Haechan asked, a playful tease in his voice as he felt the need to bring you and Mark together. 

Mark finally looked at you and he really looked at you. The way your dress made your skin glow from the inside out, how it made your eyes shine brighter than any star Mark found in the night sky and how it made you look like you, not a potential wife like you were terrified to be. Mark looked at you and saw a future ruler, a Queen the Isle of Caliriel would be so proud of. 

“You look great” Mark complimented, his real words getting stuck in his throat as he didn’t want to confess that you didn’t look pretty, that was too simple of a word to describe how you looked tonight. Mark felt himself gulp as Haechan let out a disappointed sigh. 

“Thanks, Mark” You replied, still curious as to why he was late. “Haechan, do you mind if Mark and I speak alone?” You asked, trying to give him the hint to leave and annoy someone else or flirt with a different girl.  

Haechan groaned in annoyance. “You two are always alone! Ever since we were kids it was always you and Mark, Mark and you. Socialize outside of each other" Haechan advised after complaining like a child. Haechan always called you two out on hanging out with only each other and honestly you can’t blame him because it was true. 

“I socialize with Jaemin all the time” You defended, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Haechan shook his head, humming out a small ‘No’, denying your defense. “That doesn’t count, he’s practically your neighbor like Mark” He pointed out, gesturing to a quiet Mark as he watched your easy banter with him. Since when was your banter with Haechan so fluid? Mark was so confused right now, watching you two argue and speak like an old married couple. 

You rolled your eyes at his shifting of rules. “I talk with your sister too” 

“She also doesn’t count, she socializes with everyone” Haechan shot you down again, annoying you even further and Haechan was enjoying seeing you all riled up. It was entertaining. “It’s so fun getting under your skin” 

“Okay, Haechan, I’m gonna steal her now” Mark stopped you from saying something mean in response to Haechan’s tease. Grabbing your arm and pulling you with him. “Before she says something not nice”

Mark pulled you away from Haechan and dragged you to the other side of the ball room. “He’s so annoying! How are you friends with him?” You asked, grumbling all your words as the tease from Haechan got well under your skin. 

Mark’s legs came to a stop after escaping from the crowd and pulled you behind a pillar. “Well, he is fun at times” Mark explained, watching as you raised an eyebrow at him like he said something offensive. “He’s a funny guy, when he’s not teasing you. Besides, it’s Haechan, he’s always teasing us” Mark brushed off your annoyance with Haechan, knowing that the more he brushed it off and changed conversation, your annoyance would go down and you’d return to normal. “So, how’s it going? Any potential suitors asking for your hand in marriage?”

You smacked his shoulder, his chuckle coming to a stop as he felt the sting from your hit. ”Not funny!” You chuckled out, making him smile at you. You signed, the easiness in your body coming back as the annoyance disappeared. “So, are you gonna tell me why you’re late?” You asked, Mark’s shoulders dropping as he hoped you didn’t notice, key word being hope. 

Mark knew you’d noticed his absence, question it, wonder about it, and then in turn, be upset about it. Mark is punctual, he’s always on time, always there, always a reliable person. Mark is your person, he’s always there for you, from beginning to end. However, the reliance wasn’t one sided, you were there for him too. Every birthday party, every hang out he wanted, every break down he had, every time he came to you with a problem or something he just wanted to share, you were there. It was easy to be there for one another, like you both did it without a second thought. So, when one of you was absent or late, it was a cause for concern. 

“No reason, just, I was late” Mark lied, his lie being felt through the two of you and he knew you knew he was lying. You two knew each other for far too long to know when the other is lying. So, it’s why you furrowed your brows, confused and a little hurt as to why he was lying to you. 

“That's a horrible lie and you know it” You called him out, standing up straighter and trying to catch his gaze that he was purposefully avoiding. “Mark” You called out his name, his shoulders slumping as he finally caught your gaze. 

“I was last minute gift searching” Mark confessed, a shy look on his face as you felt your lips curl into a smile as you could the embarrassment from him. You couldn’t help it, a laugh escaping your lips as Mark felt his ears burn red at the embarrassment. “It was hard! I was trying to one up you from my birthday gift you gave me” You laughed even more at his explanation, making him grumble under his breath for you to stop laughing at him. 

Your laughter died down, a smile staying on your lips as you looked at Mark with such a soft look, one that spoke so many unspoken and unrevealed emotions you didn’t even know you had, was shown all over your face. 

“Mark” Your honey-like voice catching his full attention, his dark brown eyes looking at you with such attention, like you were the only thing in his line of sight. “I couldn’t care less about what you get me, I’d be happy with a piece of parchment that says ‘Happy Birthday’.” 

Mark shook his head, disagreeing with you and your words. “You might be happy with that, but I wouldn’t” He explained, the moment so intimate as you two gravitated closer to one another, not realizing how close you two were standing. “I want you to have the best birthday gifts ever because every birthday gift you give me is better than the one from the previous year” 

“Mark, you being here is enough of a birthday present”

“You love my company too much” 

“That is true, I do” You replied with a cheeky smile, Mark opening his mouth to say something, but heard someone call your name, making you turn around to see Haechan walking towards you with a huge smile, a knowing one as a soft song was playing. “Oh, Lords” A pained expression on your face as Haechan reached out a hand to you, asking for a dance. 

“Don’t look like you’re in pain, you promised me a dance” Haechan announced loudly, catching the attention of a few people around you. You felt their gazes and the pressure of their whispers hitting you. “Come on, dance with me” 

You turned around to see Mark, annoyance written all over his face, but when he looked at you, it evaporated. You silently begged him to do something, maybe interject and say he was going to dance with you first. However, he didn’t, he didn’t do anything other than gesture for you to join him. 

“Go dance with him, I’ll see you after” Mark assured you, your shoulders slumping as you turned back to look at Haechan with a small polite smile. 

You grabbed his hand and he looked so happy and excited to be stirring the pot between you and Mark. “Don’t look so happy Haech, it’s just a dance” You whispered in a low voice, the two of you joining the dance floor. 

“A slow dance with the future Queen of Caliriel? Of course I’m happy” Haechan answered, a hand resting on his shoulder while the other held his hand and one of his hands resting on your waist. “You, my lovely friend, are the most sought out maiden in all of the Seven Isles, I’m just lucky enough to be a friend of yours" He explained, bringing up how you're a well loved Princess that a few Princes’ had their eyes on. Which was an uncomfortable thought to have in your mind, especially since the Princes’ who are looking at you are ones you grew up with.

“Are you trying to tell me you want to court me?” You asked, your eyes squinting in question to his intentions. 

Haechan rolled his eyes, annoyed at how dense you are. “No, I’m not ready for marriage. I like flirting way too much” He pointed out, twirling you around before dipping you and pulling you back up. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if a marriage proposal was soon in your future” He prophesied, making you internally shiver at the idea of a Prince asking for your hand in marriage. 

“Never gonna happen” You mumbled out, continuing to dance with him while on the other side of the ball room, Mark stood where you left him. 

He was just watching you dance, a sour look on your face only he could see. He could feel an angry bubble in his stomach, he didn't know why he was angry, but he was. Mark just assumed it was because Haechan interrupted your conversation, yeah, that was why, no other reason he can think of. However, there was something he did know, dare he say, he wishes he was in Haechan’s place right now. Mark wanted to be the one to be dancing with you, dipping you, twirling you around like a ballerina. Mark wanted his hands on you, not Haehchan. However, that last thought felt too intimate for him to admit it to himself. 

“She’s pretty isn’t she” Mark heard Chenle’s familiar voice behind him, his gaze looking at him, however, Mark’s gaze never left your figure. 

“She’s breathtaking” Mark confessed, breathless at how your dress followed behind you, how the sparkling lights hit you at every perfect angle, and how stunning you looked, it rendered him speechless. Mark had no thoughts passing through his mind when looking at you dressed like it, it made him rethink his favorite color from being blue to the shade of green you were wearing. 

“Why can’t you say ‘beautiful’ like a normal person?” Chenle asked, teasing the boy who spoke like a poet with his big words that confused his counterparts. 

Mark broke his gaze away from you to look at Chenle, making a deeper point than he expected. “She deserves more than normal” Mark mumbled out, making sure Chenle understood how serious he was about this. Mark knew you deserved so much more than a lousy compliment you hear all the time, the same words, the same phrase, it all felt too repetitive. Mark didn’t want you to hear that from him, so he made a point to give you so much more with his words that confused you, but you still looked them up in a dictionary just to understand what he told you. 

The gentle claps began to fill the room as the dance came to an end. Mark felt his hands gently coming together as Chenle made his exit and you began walking towards him, a shy smile on your face while he said all the words deep down in his heart that weren’t ready to come out yet, it wasn’t time. 

“I hated that” You mumbled out, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the ball room and out onto a balcony that looked down on your Kingdom. The village lights were like twinkling stars or fireflies, the vines and flowers on the balcony, their scent filled your senses as you took in a deep breath, the warm air hugging you. “It was so cold in there, needed some fresh air” You mumbled out, the comment Haechan made still ringing in your mind. 

Mark could sense that there was something on your mind, something heavy with societal pressures. “What did he say?” Mark asked, his voice soft as he looked at you, you avoiding his gaze as you felt an uncomfortable amount of attention on you from him. 

While it was easy to talk to Mark, easier than you ever thought, it was also hard sometimes. Mark is a safe space, a safe person, and a safe atmosphere because he created it. Mark is a comforting person and that hasn;t changed since you met him. You honestly don’t know how he does it, how he can make people confide in him so easily, like he speaks and instantly you want to tell him your deepest darkest secrets. 

You took in a deep breath, biting your lip as Mark continued to bear his eyes on you, his gaze hot. “Haechan said something stupid” You replied, shaking your head as if to brush it off, a chuckle leaving your lips to ease the tension. “He said that I was the most sought after maiden in all of the Seven Isles, which is crazy” 

“He’s not wrong” Mark replied, making you finally look at him like he was insane. No way was Mark agreeing with Haechan about this. “You know you’re beautiful, any Prince would be lucky to marry you, let alone court you” 

“I don’t want to be courted” You confessed, the confession weighing heavy on both of you. “I told you this, I don’t want to be married or thought of as a wife. I have a duty to my people, that comes first before any ring” Your voice was stern, borderline yelling because it honestly felt like no one was listening or understanding you. You’re only eighteen, so young, too young to even be thinking about marriage. While you were too young to be thinking about running a country, that felt more reasonable than thinking about which Prince to pick as your husband. 

“No one is asking you to get married now” Mark assured you, but it felt like he wasn’t listening to you again. The gentle frustration of being heard, but not understood simmered in you. You weren’t frustrated at Mark, he didn’t understand as he was a man, he heard, but didn’t understand, that’s not something you faulted him with. 

“I know, they want me to get married later in life, but I don’t think I want that” You confessed gently, like it was a new revelation to the both of you. Suddenly, the idea of marriage was no longer an after thought that you knew would happen one day, but one you disowned. Did you want marriage? Did marriage seem like a good road to go down on? Sure, being a wife wouldn’t stop you from being a good Queen, but for some reason, you felt as though that it would drag you down. 

“You don’t want to get married?” Mark asked, eyes slightly wide as he never heard that come from you before. When you both discussed marriage in passing, you were indifferent to it, but you weren’t opposed to it, knowing the day would come eventually. But now, you felt like that day was coming faster and faster and it terrified you. 

“I don’t know!” You exclaimed, your hands coming up to hold your head as you rested your elbows on the balcony. You signed, the pressure of trying to give Mark an answer made you clench your jaw. Mark gently rested a hand on your back, warm and comforting as you lifted your head. The night was quiet, warm and cold at the same time that it felt comfortable. “It’s just, I feel all this pressure all of a sudden to either get married now or get married later on in life, but I don’t even know if I want that” 

Mark felt his brows furrow, not confused by your words, understanding that people change their minds all the time, and the idea of marriage changed your mind from accepting it, to no longer wanting any part of it. “Why don’t you want to get married?” He asked, again, not because he was confused, but just out of curiosity. 

“Other than only being seen as a wife and not a Queen?” You asked, a scoff like a chuckle leaving your mouth. Shaking your head, you looked out at your kingdom, the gentle whisper of the air and the calming heartbeat of the land filling your body. “I don’t know, marriage is so deep, so intimate and I don’t know if I can do that with someone. I don’t know if I can bear my soul to someone and tie it with them for the rest of my life” 

Mark couldn’t help it, bearing your soul to someone was hard? He couldn’t believe that. “You seem to bear your soul to me fairly easily” Mark chuckled as he saw a smile break out on your face, you finally looking at him with a light look. 

“Thats because we’re best friends” You replied carelessly, just like you’ve done so many times before. It was easy to call yourselves best friends because you were, there was nothing more to it, not right now at least. Sure, the teasing was annoying and made you second guess your friendship with Mark at times, late at night where you wondered what if you and Mark dated, what if they were right and you both like each other more than friends? However, those thoughts went away the next day when you and Mark met up, the easiness of it all dismantled all those what if’s because the last thing you wanted was to destroy this friendship with a what if. 

“The best” Mark replied back, his smile growing, but he couldn’t help but wonder. “But, come on, you show me everything about yourself, why can’t you do that with someone else?” 

“Because no one else makes me feel as safe as you do” Your confession was filled without hesitation, it was a truth you knew and was comfortable with. You knew it, Mark knew it, everyone knew how easy it was for you to confide in Mark, how he is your safe person. Mark made it too easy to bear your soul to him, his calming nature, his understanding mind, his advice, his presence made you drop your walls, not that you ever had any with him anyways. “We’ve all been friends for years and yet, the first person I want to tell someone something, is you, not Jaemin, or Chenle, definitely not Haechan, not the Princess of Mariethen, or Lioralis, not Jisung, no one, just you” 

“Really?” Mark asked, a little surprised, despite knowing this, it still shocked him to this day. How could that be possible? Mark is the first person you want to tell something to? How? Even though he felt the same way, hearing it out loud was a different feeling than knowing it without words. 

You could see Mark feeling happy about this, maybe too much that you couldn't help but tease him. “Renjun is a close second”  

However, that tease about Renjun didn’t affect him at all. Despite your light laughter, all Mark saw was a person shining so bright that you looked like the North Star they follow in the sky. “I also want to tell you everything, only you”  

“I wonder why that is” You replied, a sarcastic tone falling from you as you both knew the reason. 

“Me too” Mark replied, a shy smile on his face. It was silent, the comfortable silence that could last and not feel awkward. The two of you just looked at one another and it didn’t feel weird, didn’t feel odd, didn’t feel anything, but nice. Mark felt his heart stutter a bit, a skip in its rhythm that caught him off guard. He took a shaky breath, letting it out with a sigh. He looked away from you, following his gaze as he looked out at the night sky. “Haechan’s right, we do spend a lot of time together” 

You chuckled, going back to leaning on the balcony railing, Mark following your lead. “You’re the only one I tolerate” You replied. 

“Tolerate? Big word for you”  Mark pointed out, making you gently push his shoulder as he let out a chuckle. “I learned from the best” You mumbled out, knowing how much you tease him for his big words he uses that you incorporate his words into your vocabulary. 

So, anything else you want for your birthday?” 

“God, I don’t know” You groaned, thinking about the table full of gifts from people you know and don’t know. “I think I have enough gifts as it is. Did you see the table?” You asked, brows raised as you looked at him, your hand stretched out to gesture to the arch that led to the inside of the castle. Mark looked over, seeing the light stretch onto the balcony you both were on, hearing the soft tune of the orchestra playing and the gentle hums of laughter and voices. 

“Tables, there was more than one” Mark corrected you, smirking at how you reacted with your face falling. 

“Really?” You asked, looking horrified at the discovery. You closed your eyes like you were in pain as gifts weren’t something you were too fond of. Of course you loved gifts, they were a sweet gesture, but you aren’t a materialistic person. Being given gifts was an uncomfortable situation for you, you don’t know why, but it was. “Oh, no, I blame Haechan” 

“What did Haechan do?” Mark asked through his giggle, watching you be in agony over the mere thought of having tables filled and piled high with gifts from people. 

You shrugged your shoulders, turning around to lean back on the railing, your back facing the kingdom as you looked back at the archway leading to the inside of the castle. “I don’t know, but he did something, I know it” 

Another space for silence bubbled between you two. You staring off into the distance, your future slowly creeping up in your mind. The idea of growing up was so abstract, so far off in the distance that it felt imaginary and dreaming about the future was so grand. You could be anything in the future, but you wanted to be a great Queen, you wanted the grand balls, the crown, the life, and the Kingdom you were about to inherit. That was the future you dreamed about, that and that when you were Queen you’d make everyday national candy day. But the other thing you always saw was Mark next to you, it was an innocent thought you'd have as a child before falling asleep. You’d imagine the future, you as Queen in your too big dress and a heavy crown and Mark being right there with you. In what way? You never thought about that, but you knew he would be in whatever Mark way he’d be. 

Mark also saw you in your future. Even as a quiet kid when he first met you, he knew you’d be with him for a while. However, he didn’t think that would actually happen. After years of friendships and petty arguments, you were still here with him, by his side and him by yours. It was weird to think about, to look at it through an outside perspective, years and years of friendship and still not falling out? Even then, why you two? Why were you and Mark best friends out of everyone? You had frequent meetings with the other Kingdoms, tradition to keep the peace that all Kings and Queens would meet and their children would bond, growing relationships that were surface level and yet, you and Mark were stuck to the hip. You both went to every birthday party of the Princes and Princesses, talking with them, bonding with them, and being friendly with them. However, those connections weren’t as strong as yours and Marks, it was cosmic, something deeper and so you two remained close. 

But futures were weird, they used to be so far away and suddenly, you're in it. Eighteen years old and the future doesn’t seem so abstract or covered in glitter. It was dim, a clear path, one that has been mapped out for you since your birth and you’re just now getting the rule book. However, at least one good thing remained, your connections with the people you grew up with. Your younger sister, your parents, and of course, Mark. 

“You really don’t want to get courted?” Mark asked, breaking the silence as the idea now started to confuse him. You didn’t want anyone to court you? Why? What was so wrong with the idea of being courted? Maybe it was the people who were proposing to court you? Would you have this reaction if he were the one to court you? Woah, wait, that is not a thought he should be having because now all he felt was a burning sensation in his stomach when that question passed his mind. 

“Why would I want to be courted when you take up all my time?” You asked, a tease that made Mark;s heart stutter again. That has happened more than he’d like, weird. 

Mark decided to tease you back, mostly in effort to calm his speeding heart rate. “You love it when I take up your time” 

“Wouldn’t want it any other way” 

“Jesus, Haechan is right” Mark breathed out, tensing his shoulders as your words made him think twice. “We sound like an old married couple”

“Don’t old married couples argue all the time?” You asked, knowing that the comparison didn’t exactly work. 

Mark rolled his eyes, the easy conversation continuing to flow despite changing subjects. “An old married couple that still love one another”

“What? An argumentative old married couple still be in love with one another” You pointed out. 

“Are we really arguing about old married couples right now?”  

You jokingly rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the one who brought it up” 

“Fine, fine, let's talk about something else” 

You two began humming, trying to think of another topic to discuss when one hit your mind. “Oh, the Princess from Lioralis has a crush on you”

“What? Which one?” Mark asked, instantly perking up, which you took as an interest in the eldest daughter. At first you didn’t think much about his body language, but you questioned if he had a small crush on her. You wouldn’t be surprised, they knew each other their whole lives and whenever they interacted, it was friendly, maybe too friendly that it was like you and Mark. Odd. 

“Second child” You brusted his bubble after being brought back down to Earth when the second thought hit your head that you probably shouldn’t be thinking this about Mark. Mark couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, his hand coming up to hide his laughter. “Don’t laugh! She’s sweet!” 

“Shes like fourteen!” You exclaimed in her defense, smacking Mark’s shoulder a bit harder this time. “It’s sweet! Besides, she told me, she was like, you sure Mark isn’t courting you? And I’m like ew, no, that’s gross, and so she's like--” 

“Wait, me courting you would be gross?” Mark asked, interrupting your explanation. His question caught you off guard, making your eyes widen a bit as he stared at you with such intensity that it almost seemed like he was waiting to hear you say that it wasn’t weird, not at all. 

“Well, y-yeah. ‘Course it would be, it'd be like if Haechan courted me” You stuttered out, trying to come up with something and settled on a comparison with Haechan. 

“Did you just compare me to Haechan?” 

“What? No? No!” You exclaimed when Mark gave you a look that he didn’t believe you. “it's just, I’d be flattered, but like, it wouldn’t work out” You explained, avoiding his gaze as you cleared your throat. 

“How do you know that?” Mark asked, his voice gentle and quiet, like he wanted to shift the atmosphere from a joke to an honest conversation. Why? Why was he pressing you on this? 

“I don’t, but I think it wouldn’t work out” You confessed, your voice small like your confidence in your answer. Honestly, you never thought of Mark that way, courting you, loving you in a way more than a friend. It felt illegal to think that way so you never did and it didn’t bother you. However, now, your brain is working fast, zooming through scenarios between your and Mark and courting. How in hindsight, you two would work. You and Mark have an understanding of one another, a connection that went deeper than a normal friendship and you see him in your looming future. It would work, hypothetically of course, because at the end of the day, you and Mark were just friends. 

Mark could feel your awkwardness, but one thing about Mark, he’ll always make it more awkward with that mouth of his that speaks before his brain. “I think we would work” 

Your eyes widened, your face burning with heat. “You’re crazy” You mumbled out, a nervous chuckle leaving your lips while you shook your head in disbelief. 

“I’m serious!” Mark exclaimed, wanting to defend his thinking. “Like in a hypothetical way, if I courted you, I think you’d fall for me, I’m very romantic” 

You looked over at him, tilting your head at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it” 

“So you do want me to court you?” He asked, even though it sounded more like a statement of truth. Did you want that? In a hypothetical way, would you want Mark to court you? 

“Don’t twist my words around” You mumbled out, looking away from him. 

“Whatever” Mark shook his head, looking away from you as you both resumed your gazes to the inside of the castle. “Well, if we’re talking about crushes, I think Haechan has a crush on you” 

“Haechan has a crush on everyone, even you” You brushed off, knowing that Haechan was a soon to be play boy. One day, when he’s older, he’d have every girl and boy wrapped around his finger. He’s a flirt with so much confidence you wondered if it was real or fake. 

“Yo, what?!” Mark exclaimed, standing a bit taller in shock at you saying that Haechan had a crush on Mark. “No, no he doesn’t” 

“Haechan’s a flirt, he flirts with everyone” You pointed out, assuring him with how flirty Haechan was with everyone that it had to be taken with a grain of salt. 

“Yeah, but not you, so I think he has a newfound crush on you” 

You shook your head, not believing a word Mark was saying. “No, he doesn’t, he’s still convinced we have a crush on each other” 

“Oh my, he thinks that so much, convinced Chenle of it too” Mark added on, remembering how teasing Chenle was to him when watching you and Haechan dance, egging him on to confess something. 

“Oh, God” You groaned, shaking your head once more. “He’s deluded” 

“You can say that again” Mark mumbled. Honestly, having a crush on you never happened to Mark, it never crossed his mind, never once made an appearance. Sure, the teasing made him wonder why, but it never prompted a oh, maybe I do have a crush on her. No, that never crossed his mind, until now. Seeing you dance with Haechan, it shifted something and now this conversation was making him nervous, making him breathe just a bit faster. “I don’t think we’d ever have a crush on each other” 

“Totally, never” You replied, an awkward chuckle being shared between you two as the air tensed up. “Me and you? Crazy” You sang out, clearing your throat as you noticed Mark didn’t say anything. “You really would never have a crush on me?” You don’t know what prompted you to ask that, you really don’t, but it came out, it just came out. 

Mark looked at you with wide eyes, something stuck in his throat as he struggled to come up with an answer. “Uh, w-well, I, uh, I guess not? I don’t know, I never thought about it, I guess” Mark stuttered, clenching his jaw as he took in a deep breath. “Would you ever have a crush on me?” He asked timidly, slightly scared to know the answer and he didn’t know if it was because he was scared you’d say no, or you’d say yes. 

“I never thought about it, I guess” You told him, your words echoing his. “We’ve been friends for so long and our dynamic has always been friends, so it just never crossed my mind” 

“Yeah, we really have always been friends, haven't we?” He asked a rhetorical question, knowing the answer would be yes. 

You smiled, remembering how when you thought about the future, you always saw him. “You know, as a kid I always thought about the future. Wondering what it would be like to finally wear that crown and be a Queen, be a role model or something. It was always so grand, so big and yet in the quieter times of thinking about it all, I always saw you” You confessed in this quiet moment between the two of you. No one else, no mothers calling for you, no men asking you for a dance, no one pulling Mark away for a chat, and no teasing from Haechan and Chenle in your ears. “You were always in my future Mark and I hope you still are” 

It’s like you both finally saw one another. Like it was you first and last time seeing one another, like this was the last gaze before the world ended. It was quiet, private, and different compared to your other deep conversations. It was a quiet confession, one you both had yet to acknowledge. Mark was rendered speechless, not because he didn’t know what to say, he knew what to say, but because he didn’t want this moment, this look, this tension to disappear with his words. He didn’t want to steal your moment, your confession with his own. Your words hung in the air, usually expecting to hear a response, but for once, you were happy that Mark didn’t say one. 

It was palpable, the tension, the atmosphere, and the damn connection you both had. It had shifted so hard that it felt like an earthquake. Both your hearts skipping the same beat only to fall in line with one another, your breaths slowly synchronizing as you borrowed each other's breath. So close to one another that you both didn’t realize how you were leaning in, sharing each other's space and closing that distance that once harboured friendship. 

You could feel Mark’s breath on your lips, the buzz in your body feeding off of him, and the rapid heart beat in your chest made your fingertips itch to touch him. You gently reached up for his face, timid and scared that a simple touch would bring him back and make him retreat into the comfortable space that held you apart. However, when your hesitant hand cupped his face, he didn’t retreat, he didn’t snap back into the reality you drifted away from, but leaned into it. Mark’s warm face leaned into your touch, his own hand coming up to hold yours that was on his face. That simple touch gave you the go ahead that you needed, finally closing the gap between you two, soft lips meeting gently chapped ones that tasted like the champagne he was drinking not too long ago.

It was soft, not rough, not hungry, not filled with a longing like you both yearned for this to happen, it was innocent. The kiss was simple, inexperienced mouths slowly finding their rhythm together, slowly finding their way and slowly connecting with this person they felt drawn to. It was like candy, a new kind of candy you weren’t sure about, but the second your tongue tasted that sweet candy, instantly you loved it. Dare you say it reminded you of your beloved Enchanted Forest, the soft breeze, the trees, the smell of grass and dirt. How when it rained, the air smelled like it, smelled like wet grass mixed with the scent of the flowers. It was everything good in the world and you honestly couldn’t get enough of it. 

As for Mark, to him, it reminded him of his wishing well on a gloomy day. You weren’t gloomy and the kiss was anything but gloomy, it was peaceful. Gloomy days were quiet and peaceful for Mark, especially by the well where’d he’d write in his journal, ponder about things, read books that gave him ideas or taught him new and big words to annoy you with, and it made his mind go quiet, even if it was just for a few minutes until he was called back inside. That’s what this kiss reminded him of, at his well, at his home. You were home for Mark, a comfortable and peaceful home he could come back to when his day was bad or good. 

When you both pulled apart, needing the shared air between you both, your eyes opened to see Mark’s eyes blown wide and they looked sparkly. They looked so shiny that you confused them with stars while what he saw was a glow. You were glowing, you looked alive and radiant. You were a sun while he was the stars. Maybe that’s how it's supposed to be. 

“I see you in my future too” He replied, a smile growing on his face as he connected your forehead together, his hand still on yours as you smiled wide, a chuckle leaving your mouth. 

“Best birthday present ever” You mumbled out, making Mark laugh with pride. 

However, that sweet and pure moment was seven years ago. Seven years had passed and ever since that night, you and Mark never spoke about it as the next day you both saw each other, it was awkward. Mark tried his best to act like nothing happened, talking to you like normal, but he seemed to bite his tongue a bit more. You didn’t like that, you hated that, hated how this kiss changed you both, changed your easy dynamic. Most of all, you hated how Mark acted like it didn’t happen at all. You wanted to talk about it, wanted to unpack it and see where it could take you. You knew your heart had shifted with Mark, you honestly assumed it also shifted his, but now you thought otherwise. 

So, you equally bit your tongue, continued on like normal and eventually, after what felt like years, when it was actually four months, you and Mark were normal again. Well, as normal as you both could be. But, four months turned into a year, which turned into four, then six, and now it’s been eight years since that night. You and Mark are different now, older, wiser, and responsible. You both aren’t impulsive teenagers anymore, you’re adults now getting ready to actually be Kings and Queens. Mark had been crowned King a year prior, twenty six and is now King of Eloweth. You were twenty five, just of age to be crowned and suddenly it terrified you. The dream and the pride you once had was fading away as your coronation loomed over your head. Not only that, but, you are twenty five and have no husband, no children to be your successors to continue to the royal bloodline. 

Marriage was still an option, but the window of opportunity was closing. Society expects women to be married by an early age, twenty one to about twenty three and by then you’re expected to have a child within that year of marriage. More pressure was put on you due to being a woman, seeing as Mark had no rush to get married and hardly had any thoughts about it. You, however, needed a husband. Your mother even integrates that talk with you, bringing up potential bachelors. “Prince Xiaojun of the Southern Isles is single” She’d say, or "Remember how King Taeyong’s wife died a couple years ago? Heard he’s looking for a new wife” So many mentions of Kings and Princes from far away lands and you were growing tired of it, annoyed by the subtle mentions and annoyed by how you knew what you had to do in order for your Kingdom to remain for centuries to come. Suddenly, the idea of being Queen no longer felt freeing, it felt bounding. 

“Come in” You announce, hearing the familiar knock of one of the guards at the door. Opening it up, you turned your head over your shoulder to see the guard walk in a bow before standing up straight. “The King of Eloweth is here to see you my future Queen" 

You signed, looking down at the seamstress who was working on your coronation gown. She was working tirelessly, adding the finishing touches to your gown for your coronation later tonight. “Doesn’t he know I’m busy?” You asked, not expecting a response from the workers. 

“And don’t you know that it took me three days to come here for your Coronation?” Mark asked, appearing in your room as you saw him in the mirrors. 

You gently shook your head, disapproving of his poor timing. “I’m in a fitting, Mark. Can’t this wait?” You asked, your voice calmer and more mature. 

“I can see you’re in a fitting, but come on, Princess. I haven’t seen you in a while” 

“You’re King, you have more pressing matters to attend to” You pointed out, a small understanding smile on your face. “But, I am happy to see you” 

“Me too” He replied, a smile growing on his face as that familiar and now comfortable tension grew between you two. The seamstress tensed up as she looked up as her gaze looked between the both of you. Your tension with Mark has been growing and simmering for seven years, seven years of stolen glaces, subtle jealousy, and a quiet knowing that you two were more than friends, but never spoke about it. It was a mutual agreement now, don’t bring up and kiss and don’t bring up the tension. “You look--the dress is beautiful” 

You looked down, the heavy and tight corset of a light green trailed down with layers and layers of fabric, white and green, light and dark, it reminded you of Caliriel. Caliriel was so green, so in tune with the Earth that it only ever felt right to dress in such colors the way Mark dresses in a dark royal blue that speaks to Eloweth wishing well and the river that connects it to Velendra. 

“Well, Miyeon has done an amazing job” You complimented the young seamstress. 

“Thank you, your highness” She thanked, her voice nervous as she was still getting used to her new job at the castle. 

“Is Haechan coming to your Coronation? Or is he busy flirting with every maiden on the planet?” Mark asked, going to your bed to take a seat, messing with your pillows. 

Rolling your eyes, you looked at Mark through the mirror as you continued to remain still for Miyeon. “Yes, Haechan is coming to the Coronation, he sent me a letter begging to be first on the list” 

Mark perked up at that information. “Did you?” He asked, hoping that he was the first on the list, not Haechan. 

“No, of course not. I’m not going to inflate his ego” You denied, not wanting Haechan to grow a bigger head than he already has. 

“Whos first on the list?” Mark asked, his voice full of hope that it was him out of everyone. 

“Renjun” You replied quickly, making Mark groan as you laughed at him. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! It’s you, of course it’s you. My best friend gets privileges of being first on the list and totally not because you’re the first one of us to be King” You whispered that last part, hoping he didn't hear. 

“I heard that!” Mark exclaimed, hearing your whispering words. “Me being King doesn’t change everything” Mark mumbled out, knowing that it did, it changed everything. He was busier, tending to his people more, hearing their problems and trying to find a solution, finding more peace between neighboring Isles and far away kingdoms for trading goods. It was a lot and you could see the stress in his shoulders and his face.

“Mark, it changed everything” You replied, sounding sympathetic. “You’re King, your people need you so much, you are their way of survival. They depend on you”

“My mother has told me that you’re looking for a husband now” Mark brought up, changing the subject as he didn’t feel like discussing his inner turmoil about the royal life right now. Not when it’s your Coronation day. 

You looked down in embarrassment as his words made it sound like you were desperate. “Yeah, I kind of am” 

Mark furrowed his brows, confused by the sudden shift in your stance on marriage. “Why? You’re still young” He stated something you already knew. 

“I’m not, not to society at least. I need a husband and I need children to continue my family bloodline” You explained, not expecting him to understand, but expecting him to accept this fact. 

“Marriage is supposed to be for love, not some obligation” Mark told you with a stern voice that was steady and strong, like he knew he was right. The worst part was that he is right, marriage is supposed to be about love, not some contractual agreement. 

“You don’t understand” You mumbled out, shaking your head as you turned around in your Coronation dress that made Mark’s breath run out. “My mother had me at nineteen, my sister at twenty one, she was crowned Queen at twenty three and I was four years old at that time. I’m twenty five, no husband, no children, and no future if I don’t continue the royal bloodline” 

Mark stood up from your bed, walking towards you with such determination for you to let go of societal pressures and be your own person again. “You don’t have to be like your mother or like any other women in society. You can get married whenever you want, have children at whatever age you want. It’s your life, not societies” He preached, his body invading your personal space bubble and the tension bubbled over like you were the only two in the room. 

But you weren’t. Mieyon cleared her throat, making you break eye contact with Mark to look at her. “I’m sorry to interrupt your highness’ speech, but the Coronation is in ten hours and I still need to finish this gown”  

“Of course, Mark was just leaving” You announced his departure, looking at him with no emotion on your face. One thing about you, your pride and stubbornness never grew out of you. 

“I’ll see you at your Coronation" He replied, taking a bow before leaving your room. 

You signed, thoughts filled with the Coronation and marriage. “Your highness, may I speak?” 

“You may” 

She paused, thinking about her words before asking another question. “May I speak candidly?” 

You furrowed your brows, looking down at her as she continued to sew in the embellishments. “You may” You replied, a little suspicious with what she was going to say. 

“You and King Mark, you’re best friends, correct?’ She asked, you hummed with a curt nod of your head. “May I just say, best friends don’t look at each other the way you two look at one another” 

You tensed up, the flashbacks to your eighteenth birthday flooding your mind. The kiss, the moment of confession, the hypothetical you both spoke about that theoretically, you both would be perfect for one another. It’s an odd thing to feel this kind of love for your best friend that is blurred between platonic and romantic. You love Mark so much that your love for him was borderline insanity. It felt like an aggression inside of you whenever you and Mark hung out as adults. The conversations were deeper, sexier with innuendos of his own escapades with women as Haechan tried to push him out there. The conversations were filled with this tension as you both got more toxicated, his cheeks were flushed red and his lips looking softer ever since you introduced him to a lip treatment your maids cooked up for you, and is hair was always so perfectly tousled after taking off his crown and running a hand through it. He was this enigmatic person that was pulling you deeper and deeper into his ground. 

“It wouldn’t work” You lied, your voice coming out sweet and sad, a melancholy feeling that Miyeon saw so clearly.

 A longing in how you avoided your gaze for her to not see the subtle pain the thought that Mark wasn’t yours and wouldn’t be because you both never spoke about it. Both are so terrified to speak about it because if you did, it would become real and the realer it is, the more it would hurt when the relationship failed and your hypothetical would be wrong. And you’re both cowards, scared of the unknown and scared that if you speak about these unknown feelings because none of you knew if they still lingered in one another. What if Mark confessed and you don’t feel the same, or what if you confess and he says no. Feelings can grow out of people, you’re both terrified that you outgrew one another. 

“Besides, Mark isn’t exactly husband material. He’s brash, unfiltered and well, he’s Mark” You replied, standing up taller as your hands gently felt the material of your gown, trying to ground yourself. “I must find a husband worth something, an agreeable one, preferably quiet, sweet, and kind. Maybe one who understands and listens, and of course have a love for the forest we have” 

“Sounds like Prince Jaemin from Velendra” Miyeon mumbled out, a smile on her face as she remembered the young Prince from the neighboring Isle. 

“Jaemin?” You asked, a chuckle barreling through you as you recount your civil interactions with Jaemin. He was quiet, sweet, kind, loved his land with so much heart that it matched your own. Jaemin Na, he’s always been friendly to you, after all he is just the land over, right next to your Kingdom. You traded your goods with one another, were close, and were always civil. Your conversations didn’t go deeper than scratching the surface, but anyone could tell that he was intelligent and carried himself well. “Jaemin” You mumbled a bit clearer, not with laughter, not with question, but with conviction. 

Soon enough, the throne room was filled to the brim with every royal highness and several trusted King appointed civilian trustees. Their loud murmurs and whispers filled you with anxiety as you stood behind the two double doors. You felt your palms get sweaty, your heart beating fast and your mind racing with several different scenarios about you you can trip and fall, maybe you’ll miss a step when going up to the throne, or maybe you’ll drop your orb and it’ll make a loud noise, or maybe your scepter will slip through your fingers, you don’t know what, but you were terrified to make yourself a fool. 

“Hey, they’re gonna be ready in a couple minutes” Your sister said, coming up to you in her own dress that was calmer in tone. She noticed how you didn’t respond, didn’t even look at her and was just pacing around like you did during your Unveiling. “Hey, you okay? You look like you’re gonna pass out” 

“Oh, do I?” You asked, a little out of breath as you tried to calm down, stopping your pacing to close your eyes and breathe. “What if I make a fool of myself?” 

“You won’t make a fool of yourself, you never do” Your younger sister said, her reassuring words hitting you, but that panic still remained. She called your name, making you look over at your younger sister as she held your shoulders and stared at you. “You are going to be the best future Queen of Caliriel this Kingdom has ever seen. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re kind and you’re everything sweet in the world. You got this, and if you do fall, I’ll be sure to remind you every year on this day” 

You remained silent, the simple joke making you smile with ease. She returned the smile as you put your own hands on her shoulders as you looked back at her, finally back in your own body and not in some panicked reality where everything went wrong. Suddenly, your sister being all grown up hit you like a ton of bricks. She was older now, wiser, and no longer the silly little girl you used to play dolls with. She was her own person, twenty three years old and so young and yet, not so much with the way she spoke and carried herself. 

“When did you get so grown up?” You asked, making her playfully roll her eyes. 

“Five years ago when I turned eighteen” She replied bluntly, making you giggle as you stood up straight, your hands falling to your sides as she followed your lead. 

“Your highness?” A royal guard called, making you both turn around as he bowed to you both. “They are ready for you now, if your sister may join your parents please” He ordered. You looked over at your sister and nodded, signaling her to leave with the royal guard. He bowed as he began to escort your sister to the other entrance to join your parents. 

You looked ahead at the double doors, taking in a deep breath as the doors opened. You stood up straighter, your face stern and cold as you tried to show no emotion. Your breath was being held as everyone stood to watch you walk down the aisle, it seemed longer and further to the throne that awaited you with your parents standing tall and proud. You didn’t dare to look at the pew, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone here as you can hear the familiar whispers of Haechan and Mark. Haechan mumbling about something and Mark shushing him. 

You made it to the front, stepping up the steps to your proud father and the archbishop. You smiled at your family as you looked at the archbishop, bowing and waiting for the heavy weight of the crown to hit your head. As soon as it made contact with your head, you felt it, you felt the whispers of Caliriel, the heart beat of the ground you walk on and the emotions of the people you now serve. Standing back up straight, the archbishop held out the orb and scepter of your Kingdom, its familiar detail of vines wrapping around the scepter and the way it glistened underneath the sunlight peaking through as you began to reach for it. It felt heavy in your hands, the coldness hitting you as it made you shiver. You took in a deep breath, turning around as you faced the people and the archbishop began saying the familiar all hail. The rest of the people echoed this chant as they cheered, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

Turning around, you handed the scepter and orb back to the archbishop, smiling to your parents as they pulled you into a hug. “I’m so proud of you, my love” Your mother said in your ear, making you feel instantly relaxed as your father just said he was proud that Caliriel will have you as their Queen. 

Soon enough, the ceremony had moved to the ball room, you standing up on the throne as you watched everyone mingle and dance around with the familiar tunes of new music being played. You could feel someone staring at you, however, a new gaze that felt stronger. You tried to find it, looking around until your eyes fell onto Jaemin from Velendra. He smiled at you, a kind one as he lifted his champagne glass up towards you, a silent toast as he brought it to his lips. The action made you blush, a bashful smile growing on your lips as you looked away in an attempt to hide it. You bit your lip as you looked back, Jaemin smiling as he felt proud that he got you to smile. 

He began moving, taking his steps towards you as he had a mission in mind. Jaemin was in dire need of a wife before he was crowned King and he heard that you were looking for a husband to marry. To be honest, it was a good transactional deal, he gets a wife and you get a husband. 

“Your highness” Jaemin bowed, making you shake your head. 

“Jaemin, please, we’ve known each other since we were kids, you can call me by my name” You reminded him, letting him know that it was okay and that there should be no awkwardness in honorifics. 

Jaemin said your name, familiar to his lips and yet it all felt new. This new atmosphere that felt foreign to you as you hadn't felt this kind of tension with him, only with Mark. How was that possible? You and Jaemin have known each other since you were babies, little kids running around, chasing one another and now you are here, flirting with one another with glances and tones.

“You want to dance?” Jaemin asked, a smile on his face and just as you were about to respond, you heard a familiar cough coming from next to you. You looked over and there was Mark, looking between the two of you. 

“She can’t, uh, she’s dancing with me, right?” Mark asked, looking at you as you furrowed your brows, confused because you never promised him a dance. 

Mark looked at you with pleading eyes, practically begging you for a dance for no reason at all other than not wanting to see you have your first dance with Jaemin. 

“Uh” You stuttered out, not knowing or sure of what to say, but you looked at Jaemin and remembered the comment made by Miyeon. It sounded like you were describing Jaemin. “Actually, I’m going to dance with Jaemin first. I’ll dance with you later, Mark” You offered him a smile as you took Jaemin's hand as he led you to the dance floor. Mark followed you both, clenching his jaw as he looked visibly annoyed with this situation. 

“Markie boy!” Haechan’s familiar voice rang through his ears as he wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Mark didn’t say anything, continuing to look at you and Jaemin dancing, laughing and smiling like an annoying picture he’d hate to see in his castle halls. Haechan followed his gaze and it stumbled upon you and Jaemin. “You’re seriously letting Pinky Pie steal your girl?” 

“She’s not my girl. She can do anything she wants” 

“And anyone she wants with how she's cozying up with Jaemin” Haechan pointed out, sighing as he watched Jaemin pull you in closer to whisper something in your ear making you let out a loud laugh that caught the attention of other people around you. “Didn’t know Jaemin was a funny guy” 

“He’s not” Mark mumbled out, growing more annoyed by the minute, walking out of Haechan’s grasp to grab another glass of champagne. 

“She thinks he's a funny guy” Haechan replied, following Mark around the ball room, smiling and winking at potential girls to speak to. “Look at her, she’s laughing and smiling so much” 

“Yeah, I can see that, Haech” Mark groaned out, grabbing a glass from one of the people walking around with trays. 

“Why’re you so upset about this anyways?” Haechan asked, not confused as to why Mark was upset about it, he just wanted to hear it from him. 

“I’m not” Mark instantly defended himself, whipping his head over to look at Haechan who looked unfazed by it. “I’m not upset,” Mark said again, not as convincing as the first time. 

“Yeah, sure you’re not” Haechan stated, he did not believe Mark’s words, not one single letter that came out of his mouth was true. “But hey, at least she’s smiling with Pink Muscles over there, you know” Haechan said, holding his hands up in surrender, walking towards Mark and standing next to him, following his gaze that led straight to you. “Heard she’s looking for a husband, is that true?” 

“Yeah, said she feels the need to find one” Mark replied quietly, not showing an emotion as he carefully watched how Jaemin’s hands held you so closely, with such conviction that the tension was palpable as he could feel it all the way across the room. 

“Heard Jaemin’s looking for a wife” Mark whipped his head over to look at Haechan. “Yeah, he’s looking for a wife” He confirmed again, Mark looking back at you and seeing how at ease you looked with him. You hardly knew him! You both weren’t friends, you both weren’t close, hell, he didn’t even know that you still wish on the Wishing Well in Eloweth because you’re convinced that your wishes will come true one day. “Sucks really, one of these lovely and beautiful Princesses will be swept up by sweet and sexy Jaemin”

Mark signed, rolling his eyes at this news. How perfect, how perfect that you’re looking for a husband at the same time that Jaemin is looking for a wife. “Well, color me surprised, that’s perfect for them” 

“Match made in heaven” Haechan egged on, watching Mark’s reaction closely. He was tense, a twitch in his jaw, his shoulders shaking with how tight his muscles were, and his gaze wasn’t even on you and Jaemin, just you. It was softer compared to the rest of him, his gaze on you could never be mean or harsh, it was always gentle, like if he stared at you too harshly, you’d crumble. 

“Totally” Mark whispered out, flashes of you and Jaemin in the future passed through his mind. You in white, Jaemin at the end of the aisle, kids with a mixture of yours and Jaemins face like some sick and twisted happy family. 

And a sick and twisted couple you were, at least to Mark you seemed that way. God it annoyed him, how happy you looked speaking about him. After the Coronation you spoke about Jaemin, how you danced with him all night, completely forgetting about your promised dance with Mark. You also went on and on about how you both clicked, like despite not being close and only being friendly with one another, and only seeing each other a handful of times a year, you both clicked once you actually got talking. He was funny, kind, cared about his Kingdom and understood the pressure you feel with getting married and having kids. It was like meeting someone just like you, if that made any sense. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing yourself and that scared you in a good way.

“So, is he going to propose then?” Mark asked one day, you were both in his garden, walking the grounds slowly. 

Your eyes went wide as you paused your current explanation of your most recent date with Jaemin. “Uh, I don’t know. I’d assume so, but even he told me he was equally courting others” 

“Wait, he’s courting other Princesses?” Mark asked, completely perplexed by the idea that Jaemin could court anyone other than you, let alone confess that to you.

“Well, in his defense, he is looking for a wife” You defended, mostly because the idea of Jaemin courting other women didn’t bother you. Sure, you enjoyed his company and he was a nice guy, but the idea of him with other Princesses didn’t upset you. You didn’t know why, but you assumed it was because you’ve only known him fully for two weeks.

“And you’re looking for a husband, but you’re not going around courting other Princes’” 

“Because I’m the one supposed to be courted” You replied, your steps falling out of step with his. You looked at him like he was insane, why was he so agitated by that?  “It’s not my fault the other guys don’t want me, Jaemin does” 

“Until he finds someone else” Mark mumbled out, looking away as he watched how the breeze went through the bushes, making them sway. 

“Maybe, but I’m being honest. He’s sweet and kind. He’s a good person” You replied, so sure in your words that it made Mark feel this bubble of anger at the tip of his toes. He rolled his eyes, annoyed with how much praise you give Jaemin. “Yeah, and so is Haechan, but you don’t see me marrying him” He compared, making you furrow your brows at the comparison of him marrying Haechan. “Besides the point” You mumbled out, changing the subject from Mark marrying Haechan--to which Mark looked really embarrassed about saying--back to Jaemin “I have to do what’s right”

“And what's right is marrying him?” Mark asked, trying to understand you, however he was really trying to understand and come to terms with the situation. 

You hesitated, because he's right, that is what is right in your mind. If Jaemin asked for your hand in marriage right now, you’d say yes. You don’t think it’s out of love, but out of a common understanding between the two of you, you both needed one thing from the other so it worked out. Hypothetically, you and Jaemin would work. It would be transactional, of course, but you think you could learn to love Jaemin and you hoped he’d learn to love you later down the line. Right? 

“I am fond of his company” You replied, your words sounding so adult and so careful that Mark could have sworn it was rehearsed.

“You’re fond of his company?” He asked, echoing your words back to you to see if you’ll elaborate even more, or even realize how odd it sounded when talking about someone who is courting you. 

You furrowed your brows, confused as to why Mark was sounding like a pissed off person right now. Like he was judging you for wanting to find a husband and be a good servant to your people. It’s what you have to do, it’s your duty, why was he so upset about that? “Why are you acting like this?” You asked, stopping in your tracks as you looked at him with annoyance. “Like what?” He asked, confused at your question, stopping his steps to stand in front of you. 

You shrugged your shoulders, arms coming up to cross over your stomach. “Like you hate the guy” 

“What? Come on, I don't hate the guy” Mark denied, but you stopped him. 

“It sounds like you hate the guy” 

“I don’t hate the guy” Mark denied again, but you didn’t buy it. Mark signed, looking at you with a soft look, like he was finally giving into the idea of you and Jaemin. His shoulders falling and his face relaxing. “I just, you’re my best friend and I don’t want you rushing into something that is for life, this is for life” 

“I’m fully aware of the Mark, but it’s only been like two weeks since my Coronation, maybe someone else will come along” 

“Like who?” His question didn’t come out malicious, not to be mean, but a genuine question. No one else had spoken up to court you, not Renjun, not Chenle, not Haechan, no one, not even Mark. 

You shrugged your shoulders.  “Haechan, you did say he might have a crush on me” 

“Like seven years ago” Mark chuckled out, making the mood lighten up a bit as you smiled at him. 

“So, he doesn’t have a crush on me?” You asked, teasing the man standing in front of you. 

Mark groaned, picking up his feet as he started walking again, you following him. “Haechan is a man whore, he flirts with everyone and kisses so many girls” 

“I’m not hearing a no” You pointed out, laughing as Mark sighed in annoyance at how you were bringing up old news. You heard a royal guard call your name, pointing at the hourglass in his hand. You looked back at Mark who looked confused at the time limit you both suddenly have. “Oh, I have to go” 

“Where are you going?” Mark asked, brows furrowed. 

You gave him a small smile. “I have a date with Jaemin, he’s going to give me a tour of Velendra” 

“Haven’t you already had a tour of Velendra? Like when you were eight?” He asked, a displeasing tone coming through that you didn’t hear, but he did, he felt it too. You already saw Velendra, why take another look? 

“It’s honestly an excuse to just talk with one another” You came clean, looking down to avoid his persistent eye contact. 

“Is that all you guys do? Talk?” 

“Yeah, it is” You said with a soft smile, images and memories of yours and Jasmin’s conversations flashing through. The soft gentle laugh of his at a funny story you said, the way he’d give you his full attention when speaking, and how he’d always have a story to entertain you with. However, it was only a millisecond with the flashes of Jaemin as the rest were filled with Mark. You and Mark, the calmness of it all, the sweet whispers as you tried to not get caught sneaking around each other's castles as young children. Not to mention the shushes your parents would give you both when you laughed loudly at each other's jokes. “Kind of reminds me of us” 

“Reminds you of us?” Mark asked, his voice clear of any displeasure and filled with nostalgia. He didn’t even care that Jaemin reminded you of him, but the fact that you equally cling onto the conversations you have. 

If it’s one thing Mark enjoyed about your friendship, it’s the conversations. The mindless ones, where you go on and on about nothing, the silly ones that make you both laugh until your stomachs hurt, and the sad ones, the emotional ones that choke you up, but find comfort in one another. It was odd, even though you and Mark would speak for hours on end, eventually run out of things to talk about, the silence was never heavy, never uncomfortable, never too much. “Well yeah, all we do is talk too” You replied, chuckling as Mark gave you a tight smile. Clearing your throat in the silence, you gestured back to the guard who was waiting to escort you. “I gotta go, I’ll see you soon” 

“See you” He muttered back, his face falling as you walked so quickly to the guard, like you were excited to see Jaemin.

What was so special about Jaemin anyways? He was kind, sure, and understanding, and he’s a listener, and sure, he’s handsome and a sensitive soul while also having a hard shell to use when necessary. But that could also be anybody, so Jaemin wasn’t special, he was just as normal and as boring as they came. However, how boring could Jaemin be if he has your attention? Especially like this where you smile so fondly at memories between you and him, but then again, Jaemin’s so boring that those memories get swept away by the memories between you and Mark. So, really, who is the winner here? Because it isn’t Jaemin. Why does Mark even care about a winner and a loser? It’s just Jaemin, he’s harmless, right? 

“Gods, I’m a moron” Mark groaned out, putting his head in his hands as his crown gently hit his fingers. 

“You really are” 

Mark gasped in shock, jumping at the voice of one of his closet guards, Johnny. “Johnny, you scared me”

“I apologize, your highness” Johnny quickly bowed, apologizing for his actions. “But Sire, may I speak freely?”

“You already do” Mark replied, sitting down on one of the stone benches as Johnny approached him.

Johnny sighed, looking off into the distance as he tried to come up with proper words so as to not come off disrespectful despite asking to speak freely. Johnny had the utmost respect for King Mark, especially when no one believed that Johnny could be a good Head of Knights, but Mark believed in him and gave him the position. Johnny promised himself that day when being appointed was to not only protect the King of Eloweth at all costs, but to be respectful to the man who gave him the freedom to prove himself. However, Johnny also knew that Mark needed someone to push him, and who better than his Knight. 

“You got to tell her you love her” Johnny confessed, feeling a bit lighter after telling the truth to him. 

Mark raised a brow, not out of defiance or offense, but out of shock. He was shocked, love her? Of course he loves you, why wouldn’t he? “Excuse me?”

“The Princess? You love her don’t you?” Johnny asked, more rhetorical than a genuine question since everyone knew the answer. 

“Of course I love her, she’s my best friend”

Johnny rolled his eyes, annoyed by the obliviousness Mark has when it comes to you. Love? Yeah he loves you alright, but not in a best friends kind of way that he describes. “Best friends my sword, you’re totally in love with her”

"You're going mad, there’s nothing between us” Mark scoffs, shaking his head at the mere idea that he could be in love with you. 

Mark wasn’t in love with you, he couldn’t be. You and Mark were best friends and as much as a broken record it is, you are. Friendship was all you two had ever known with one another, courting and marriage and everything in between was never a conversation, never a feeling, you two were just bonded. 

“What about that kiss?” Johnny asked, bringing up the infamous kiss that had such a good feeling in the moment, but a bittersweet after taste in his mouth. 

“From her Unveiling?” Mark asked, trying to act cool about it all, as if he didn’t blush every time he thought about it when falling asleep. “That was seven years ago, we were just kids then. It didn’t mean anything” 

“Then why did you write about it in that dusty old journal of yours?” Johnny asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You read through my journal?” Mark asked, standing up as he looked completely disheveled at the information. Johnny laughed at how Mark felt exposed. “Not cool!”

Johnny shook his head, watching how Mark was trying to keep his cool. “Oh no, I didn’t read through your journal”

“Thank Lords” He signed out in relief, knowing that Johnny wouldn’t lie to him, but still, how did he know about his journal? 

“Prince Haechan and Prince Chenle read it when they were here a few weeks after the incident and told me about it”

Of course that’s how he found out about it. Mark groaned, rolling his eyes as he took a seat again. “I’m going to murder them”

“You can’t murder them, Sire. It’s again the laws of the land” Johnny replied, like it was a script he had memorized. Which he did, he had to memorize all the laws of the lands in order to be the Head of the Knights for Eloweth. 

“I know the law!” Mark exclaimed, in complete distress that Haechan and Chenle read his super secret journal he kept in the second drawer of his nightstand next to his bed. Shaking his head, he decided then and there that he’d deal with the maniacs later. “Still, we were kids then. We did a stupid kid thing and we never spoke about it”

“Because you never brought it up” Johnny pointed out. 

“She didn’t either” Mark sassed back. 

“Because she was waiting for you to bring it up!” Johnny exclaimed, getting slightly frustrated with how dense the young King is. For a ruler of a whole Kingdom, he can show his age with how little he understands you. “Sire, with all due respect, you’re quite the idiot with women” 

“So I’ve been told” Mark signed out, his shoulders slumping. “It’s too late to bring it up now. Happened years ago and she’s being courted by Jaemin, who is perfect for her, clearly”

Johnny chuckled. “Her and Jaemin won’t last, your highness” 

“How do you know?” Mark asked, trying to come to terms with you and Jaemin heading down the path of marriage. Soon enough, Jaemin would go down on one knee and properly ask for your hand in marriage, then you’d meet him down the aisle. He tried to come to terms with it, tried to accept it and he’s already half way there in his opinion, but Johnny saying you two won’t last is making him doubt his own acceptance. 

“Because she looks at you like you’re the Wishing Well. So much admiration and whimsy” Johnny confessed, always observing the young King and young Princess when together. 

Ever since he became Head Knight who solely takes care of the King, he’s noticed how you and Mark interact. How you look at him with such magic, like he is the person whose breath and heartbeat you feel on your Kingdom lands. How Mark looks at you like you’re the one who will grant his every wish with a snap of your fingers. It wasn’t easy to not notice the soul connection your and Mark have, it was as clear as the water that surrounds you, as written in the stars as the ones your ancestors charted when they first discovered this land. You and Mark were everything, your friendship was blurred between friends and lovers and Johnny thought that that’s what makes you both so perfect for one another. How seamless it should’ve been, how easy it should’ve been to just court you.  

“She looks at me like that?” Mark asked, his voice calming down and no longer looking like a beat up deer. Doubt creeping into his mind of how much he thinks you like Jaemin. 

“I’d never lie to you, Sire”

“I appreciate that” Mark replied, taking a deep breath before letting it out. “So, what do you think they’re even talking about?” 

Johnny shrugged his shoulders with ease. “Something with zero substance” 

You and Jaemin were walking his lands, fields of green grass, the fog contrasted your own land that was constantly bathed in sunlight. It was odd, the fact that your lands were next to one another and such a different climate, like the land was speaking and showing different sides of itself. The air was warm, the grass was damp with dew, it seemed like such a far off land, like it wasn’t a part of the Seven Isles, it was its own little world.

“I forget how peaceful it is here” You say, breathing in the warm air as the sun briefly peaks through the fog. “It’s nice” 

“Yeah, it is” Jaemin mumbled out in awe, his own gaze admiring his peaceful and quiet Kingdom. Jaemin has always been proud of his Kingdom, always been the first one to talk about it highly, always speaks with a smile on his face like his land is so much more than hills and valleys. He spoke about it like it had a soul, similar to how you spoke about your land. “It’s been a while since you’ve been here. Last time you were here was what? Five years ago?”

“Yeah, I think” You smiled politely as the faint memory of it all came back to you. To be completely honest, you mostly remember it because you and Mark conversed in whispers when night fell, trying to keep quiet as everyone else fell asleep. “I remember it was for your twentieth birthday and you only invited me, Princess of Lioralis, and Mark” 

“Yeah, we ate and stayed up all night drinking the wine my mother only brings out for special events” Jaemin reminded, smiling fondly at the memory of you, drunken smile, giggly, happy, a radiant beam of light in his gloomy Kingdom and it fit so well. Jaemin remembers that night because of you, and you remember that just because of Mark. Tragic. “She got so mad, grounded me for five months” 

“She grounded you?” You asked, shocked at how a twenty year old man could be grounded. However, it made sense, his mother is a sweet woman, but so strict as well. It makes you chuckle, the idea of Jaemin being locked away in his room for a month. “So that’s why I didn’t hear from you in a while” 

“Yup, twenty years old and still get grounded” Jaemin joined in on your laughter, because it was ridiculous to think about. 

“What about now? You still get grounded?” 

Jaemin shrugged his shoulders, your footsteps falling in time with one another. “From time to time, mostly lectures now” 

“Me too, lectures everywhere” You complained, your ears hurting as the echoes of your father ring in your mind. “Make sure to do this as Queen, make sure to do that”

“Never let your people down, Son” He quoted his father as you did yours. 

“We really are neighbors, my father says the same thing” 

“So, what is it like being Queen now?” He asked. 

You paused, eyes squinting as you tried to think of what to say. What’s it like being Queen? It was a difficult question to answer because there wasn’t any. There was no answer, at least not a definitive one. “I don’t know, despite being Queen, I feel like nothing has changed” You explained, your words holding a certain weight that Jaemin understood. “My father still holds so much more power, still tells me what to do and what to say in his name. If anything, I feel like a speaker than a Queen” 

Jaemin understood you, knowing that his own parents still kept him on a short leash when he was first crowned King. It was difficult to navigate the new title when you still felt trapped by the shackles of Prince or Princess. King and Queen felt so freeing, felt so real, and yet it still felt like a box you were trapped in. It wasn’t until a heated argument with his parents that he found out the truth for their control.

“You are his daughter, maybe he’s afraid to truly let go of you” Jaemin pointed out, an observation that didn’t make much sense to you. 

“How so?” You asked, confused because your father, while keeping a short leash, always told you that despite him speaking to his people through you, you were still Queen. He isn’t King anymore because you are the new ruler and your word is final, despite him still convincing you to choose his words over yours. 

“You’re his little girl” Jaemin began, wanting to give a new perspective. “Suppose you have a child and that child grows up and suddenly, they aren’t that little baby you held, helped, taught, were there to clean every tear they shed, and now they’re suddenly a ruler” You

listed intently, eyes burning into his as you both slowed your walk as he spoke with such conviction that it felt holy. “I’d equally be a little afraid to let my daughter go without the reins of parenting” He finished, making you slowly come to a stop in your step, your brain working and slowly understanding the newfound perspective. 

“I guess I never thought of it that way” You mumbled out slowly, coming to accept the idea that your father. maybe, might not be ready to see you as a Queen because to him, you’re still his little girl that sat in his lap while he listened to his people’s concerns. You smiled, taking a step as Jaemin followed you. “You really have a way to put things into perspective” 

Jaemin felt himself blush. “I guess I do, I don’t know” He knew he was good with his words, knew he could think intellectually and deeply, it’s how he was raised. However, hearing that praise from you, how he could show you a new perspective, something you hadn’t thought before, it was a compliment he took to heart. 

“Do you ever think about children?” You asked, changing the topic easily as you didn’t want the conversation to end. Even then, you wanted to know. 

“Like having them?” He asked, a little taken aback at the topic change. You nodded, not seeming fazed or uncomfortable and it made him ease into it, feeling safe with this. “I haven’t, but I wouldn’t mind having them. I think that with the right person, we’d be great parents” 

You smiled, the image of Jaemin holding his baby, giggling and babbling at the silliness Jaemin would bring made you smile. “I think you’d be a great dad. You were raised by amazing parents, they were always kind when I met them” 

“Well, they love you” Jaemin confessed, making you chuckle nervously before denying it all, but he wouldn’t let you. “I’m serious! When I told them I wanted to court you after your Coronation, they were ecstatic. Said that you’d be perfect, that you are perfect. Told me to treat you right and if I didn’t my mother would ground me for a year” 

You both laughed at his joke, the tension growing as you gently made the first move, reaching for his hand and your fingers intervening together. “You better treat me right then” 

“I definitely will” Jaemin replied with such certainty that your connection shifted. No longer was it Jaemin figuring out who to marry or you figuring out who would come with a proposal. Suddenly, it was a known fact that when Jaemin asks for your hand in marriage, you’d say yes. 

“You’re back” Your younger sister said when you appeared at the front gate of the castle. She was walking around the castle grounds with a royal guard, observing the new flowers that were growing on the vines. “How was the date with Jaemin?” 

You smiled curtly, the reality settling in that your small moment with Jaemin wore off. “It was nice, always good to see Velendra again” 

“What about seeing Jaemin again?” She asked, a raised brow at how you chose your words. She knew you were careful when speaking, usually saying what everyone wanted you to say, so she knew something was up. 

You thought for a moment, a sudden tug of war in your mind. “Jaemin’s sweet” You replied, walking past her to enter the castle. 

“Sweet?” She asked, echoing your words as she followed you in with determined footsteps. You signed, wanting to head to your room and think about what you’ve done. “What do you want me to say?” You asked, waking up the grand stairs to the floor where your room was in the west wing.  

“Something other than sweet, that’s all you use to describe him” She pointed out, a call out on how you use such rudimentary words with Jaemin. He’s sweet, kind, nice, did she mention sweet? It was all so simple, so easy.

You groaned internally, stopping in the corridor to look back at her. “He’s understanding” 

“Understanding?” 

“A gentleman?” You said, more so questioned to see if that word would suffice her. 

Your younger sister cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms over her chest like she was interrogating you. “Why did you question it this time?’ 

“Will you stop that!” You exclaimed, getting annoyed with how pushy she is with trying to get something out of you. You took in a deep breath, your corset suddenly feeling too tight and uncomfortable with the attention your sister was giving you. “Jaemin is a good man, he’d make a perfect husband to someone one day” You said calmly, trying to be level headed. 

“To you?” 

“What?” 

“He’d make a perfect husband to you, not somebody, you” She corrected, pouting out on how you said ‘somebody’. That somebody is going to be you, you thought it when you grabbed his hand, you thought it when he said ‘we’d be good parents’ you thought it again when he told you he would treat you right. The worst part is, you knew he’d do anything right by you. “He’s courting you after all” 

“Of course” You replied, a little out of breath as you felt your words catch up to you. Your sister looked at you weirdly, a weird stare that felt like she was reading you like an open book, or a damn painting she was trying to figure out. “You’re staring at me weirdly” You told her, brows furrowed as you looked her up and down. 

“Am I?” She asked, her brows raising as if she was questioning you about how you questioned her for looking at you weirdly. Gods, your sister was very good at these mind games. 

You groaned, just wanting her to say whatever truth or revelation about you she wanted to share. “Yes, you are. Come on, say it” 

“Your highness, if I may” 

“Oh, shut up” You rolled your eyes at the silly title she teasingly calls you. “Just tell me” You gently hit her shoulder. 

Your sister had her mouth open, ready to say something, but her shoulders and face fell before she said anything’s “I can’t tell you with that stupid crown on your head” She grumbled out, your hands reaching up for your crown. “Makes you look too much like mom” 

“Fine” Your gentle hands grabbed your golden crown that imitated leaves and had five emerald gems hanging down. Your crown now was held in your hands as you looked at your sister with raised brows. “Out with it then” 

She signed, clenching her jaw as she prepared her confession. “I don’t think you enjoy Jaemin as much as you say you do” 

“What?” You asked, completely baffled at her words. You scoffed at them because how could she say that? Say it like it was a known fact? Like it was written in history books? “That’s an insane thing to say, of course I enjoy Jaemin. I think very highly of him” 

“Yeah, highly, not fondly, or happily, or even lovingly” She pointed out, using more personal words than something you’d say to a stranger. 

“Lovingly? We barely started going out a couple weeks ago” You told her, emphasizing how you only just started really talking recently. 

Your sister held her hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying, when you first started hanging out with Mark, you said you loved his company” 

“I was six!“ You exclaimed, growing frustrated with how she thought you didn’t feel as deeply for Jaemin as she supposedly thinks you feel for Mark. My vocabulary was minimal, it was either I love his company, or I hate it” 

“You said Haechan was a degenerate at the age of five” She said, her lips pursed as she caught you lying. Sure, you never use big words on a daily basis, but when you feel something, something deep and real and raw, you use those big and beautiful words Mark teaches you, or you teach yourself to prove yourself to Mark. “Your vocabulary was more advanced than you think” 

“That's-it’s-it’s not the point!” You stutter out, not knowing how to defend yourself when your sister feels so  confident in her words. You gently shook your head, it was an unbelievable thought to think that you don’t enjoy Jaemin’s much as you do Mark. “Mark and I are friends, just friends. Of course I love his company and think Haechan is well, Haechan, that says enough” You explained, wanting her to understand that you and Mark are never going to happen. “Also, I had hung out with Mark for a full year before I said I loved his company, and the word I used was adored” 

“That’s not helping your case” She replied sarcastically, as the word adore held more weight than love. You yelled her name, getting frustrated with how she was catching you in your words. Annoyance and displaced anger filling you up. Angry at her for how she twisted your words, angry at her at how she’s able to see right through you, and angry at yourself for not finding a way to get yourself out of this hole you dug yourself into. Sure, in another life it was going to be you and Mark, but it isn’t going to be this one. It’s too complicated, too much and too little all at once. You can never confess it out loud, how after your first kiss with Mark, you wanted to kiss him again the next day, and the next, and so many days after that. It wasn’t embarrassing to confess, it was horrifying, horrifying to know that you want to kiss your best friend, you want to hold hands with him, hug him for longer and do all the things you see your mother and father do. The longing stares, the adoration, the gentle touches of how your fathers pinky gently reaches out for your mother when they stand next to each other. That love was something you wanted to experience one day when you were younger, as you grew older the want expedited. However, when you kissed Mark, those wants came back because you wanted to do it with him. How scary is that? Because the next time you saw each other, he didn’t bring it up, he acted like nothing happened. Like your kids and feelings weren’t real, just a dream. 

“I love Mark, I do” You said in a quiet voice, like saying it out loud would be taken out of context or for granted. “But him and I? We can never be more than friends, he knows it, I know it, and you know it” 

“No one knows that” Your sister replied, her voice equally as quiet as your own. Like this confession, this realization was a secret that no one, but you two could know. You said her name gently, like a mother trying to calm their passionate child. Your sister wasn’t having it, after observing and watching and waiting for so long for you and Mark to finally get it through your thick skulls that you belong with one another, she couldn’t hold her tongue back. “So what? You settle for Jaemin thinking you’ll be able to fill that depressing Mark hole you have?” She asked, a look of disappointment covering her face, like she couldn’t believe her older sister, the one she looks up to, is using someone to get over the person she loves. “Jaemin is a person, not a replacement” “I’m not replacing anything or anyone!” You exclaimed, offended by how she painted you to be. You like Jaemin, you really do. You didn’t choose Jaemin because Mark didn’t choose you. Jaemin chose you, he had his fair share of women and today it changed and you knew he wanted you. You’d be happy with Jaemin, so happy and so fulfilled because it’s Jaemin. “Jaemin is a good person, I like him, I’ll eventually grow to be fond of him or even love him. I’m just not there yet” You confessed, knowing that your feelings for Jaemin were only creating a pond before harboring an ocean. “You can’t compare a young and naive child to an adult. I’ve grown, I know more about feelings now. I love Mark, but I like Jaemin” 

Your sister signed at your words, understanding where you’re coming from, but still, she hated watching this. “You just seem so happy with Mark” She said, her voice lingering with sadness. 

“You saw me at the Coronation, how did I look with Jaemin?” You asked her a question she could answer and see the difference between how you look with Jaemin versus how you look with Mark. Because not only did you think you looked at Jaemin differently, but you felt different things with Jaemin than you did with Mark. 

With Jaemin, it was cool, a soft summer breeze that tickled your skin. He was sunny, sweet, and cold. Coldness might be a bad thing to some, but to you it was crisp, like the morning when you wake up and your room is the perfect temperature to stay in the warm covers in bed and just bask in it. He’s comfortable, he’s like a not so funny joke, but when you think back on it, the joke turns out to be funny. You don’t know how else to describe how you feel with Jaemin, other than sweet. 

With Mark, it’s way too different. Mark isn’t cold, but he also isn’t warm. He’s a burning hot sun beating on your skin. Mark’s company, while enjoyable, is an all consuming experience. Mark takes up every space when you’re with him, it’s how it makes you feel, like he invades every single inch of your body and burns every inch of your skin. He’s like coffee, hot, thick, sometimes it sits heavy in your stomach, but you don’t mind it because it gives you a burst of energy. That’s how Mark makes you feel. 

“Lost, lost in some kind of infatuation, maybe lust” Your sister listed off, the word lust falling so easily from her lips. 

You looked down, your brain picturing yours and Jaemin’s laughs and easy conversations. “Jaemin and I flow, we have chemistry, he gets me and I get him” 

“The thing about infatuation and lust, they run out. Because with Mark, you look at him with a pureness I only ever see when mom looks at dad” Your sister confessed, her truth hitting you in your chest. 

In hindsight, she was right. Lust and infatuation fade as the rose tinted glasses begin to lose their color. Is it possible you’ll lose your color with Jaemin? No way, he’s the perfect choice for a husband, anyone would be happy to marry him, even you. Even you? The verbiage sounds like an interesting fact, something unexpected. However, Jaemin is the only person who showed interest in you, so might as well marry him. Does that mean that if someone else shows interest in you, you’ll deny Jaemin? 

“If Jaemin asks me to marry him, I’m saying yes. That’s final” Guess not, you’ve made up your mind. If and when Jaemin gets down on one knee, your words will be yes without a second thought. 

Your voice was so stern, so sure of yourself that your sister visibly shut down. You were lying to yourself, lying to others, lying to Jaemin. It was all a huge lie, or a coverup of feelings because of what? A marriage you needed? A reason to stay relevant in society? To appease it? It was sad to see, especially for your sister to witness. A younger sister looks up to there older sister, wanting to be like them, wanting to join them on every little thing to feel close to them. She remembers wanting a friendship like you had with Mark, the closeness, the comfort, the burning hotness you both had with each other. It was passionate, alive and real. Your sister wanted that with someone, and wanted to be like you. And now, watching you throw away your feelings in the name of an assumption that you both won’t work out so you settle for someone else? Not only was it tragic, but disappointing because marriage is a huge commitment, and to settle for someone? A real person who has real feelings? It’s distasteful. 

“Of course, your highness” She replied coldly, taking her curtsy and leaving you in the big and empty hallway. The vines that were once so green and filled with flowers now looked sad, lifeless and the vines losing their color. 

You signed, one of your hands coming up to rub your face. You shook your head, feeling heavy and gross. You turned around to walk to your room, your crown still staying in your hands rather than putting it back on your head. 

It felt weird, being judged for your choice of groom by your sister. Honestly, you’d be happy with any person she decided to marry as long as she was happy. Did you not look happy? Is that why she’s so adamant that you’re not being truthful and judging you on your choice? Jaemin is the perfect choice and it’s not like Mark is objecting to the courting. Why were you caught up on this? So, who cares if your sister doesn’t approve, you approve of it, Jaemin does, so do his parents and yours, kind of. Okay, so you and your parents really haven’t had the talk yet regarding your relationship with Jaemin, but to be honest, you’re fearful for what they have to say.

Would they equally be as unhappy as your sister? Or would they be happy and want you both to be married now? When they found out Jaemin was courting you, it was met with a simple smile from your father, saying that Jaemin is a good man and a sliver of excitement from your mother, saying that Jaemin was handsome . They were simple reactions, because to them, courting was a stepping stone because someone else can always come along. However, now you’re thinking about marriage with him and how you’ll say yes. That’s a switch up that takes time, but for you, it only took a matter of a couple weeks. 

Why the rush? Was society honestly pressuring you that much? Or was it all self-inflicted? Were you putting pressure on yourself because you felt your own time was running out? It was a difficult thing to answer, mostly because if you did, you would erase your feelings for Jaemin, writing them off as a result of your own pressure to marry. Jaemin would be a tool, not a human you felt genuine feelings for. You didn’t want to think of it like that, you didn’t even want to think of yourself like that, the kind of person who uses another because they feel the need to do something. 

But then again, you could argue that he is also using you as much as you use him. Jaemin was transparent with you, saying how he is looking for a wife, how he is wanting to marry someone. He’s said he’s courting other women, some from far away lands and others right here on the Seven Isles. So, couldn’t he equally be settling down for you because you’re the only one whose shown an interest in marrying him? Is he equally choosing security over passion? 

Cold versus hot is an ancient rivalry that still holds to this day. People love the cold and hate the hot days, while people loved and breathed the burning hot sun and hated it when it got below a certain amount of degrees. Could the same be said about love? How cold could represent the normality, the settlement, the peace and the predictable nature of love, while hot represented that passion, that grit, the complicated parts of it all that seemed so shaky that with every breath you felt like it was your last chance at love? 

Hot versus cold, it’s safe to say if you had to choose the perfect kind of weather, you’d choose scorching days over a freezing winter. 

“So, my darling, how’re you and Jaemin doing?” Your mother asked during dinner later that day. Her voice is quiet and soft. 

Your fork stopped licking at the food in front of you as you looked up at her. You gave her a small smile, nodding your head. “Fine, he’s a gentleman. I like him”

“You like him?” She asked, raising a brow at this. You hummed like it was no big deal, nothing new. “What do you like about him?”

You began to think, simple things coming to mind. “He’s a good listener, makes me think about different perspectives, and he’s just so calm and yet can be funny with so much ease” Your smile growing on your face as you listed these things off.

Your mother looked at you with pride, a happiness in her eyes as she watched you barely gush at the idea of Jaemin and his qualities you find yourself liking. You never expressed much interest in boys, it was never a topic of conversation and you never had a crush. Or at least a crush on someone where you knew it was a crush. Your mother knew you had so much love to give and so much love to receive, honestly she thought Mark would be that person on the receiving and giving side. Your mother watched you and Mark grow up, both your mothers predicting that in the future, you and Mark would get married. It wasn’t a far-fetched idea as you two spent so many days together, it was obvious you both had a deeper connection than most that they both hoped it would turn into love. However, here you are, prematurely gushing about a different man. 

“He sounds lovely” Your mother said, the food on her plate slowly disappearing as she ate away at the food the cooks made. “What about you my dear? Anything new?” She asked your younger sister who shook her head. 

“Nope, same old same old” She replied, her tight lip smile over taking her as she pecked at the food on her plate like you did. 

“Nothing to share?” Your mother asked, egging her on to create conversation at the table. Your sister shook her head again, making your mother sigh and look at your father sitting at the end of the table. “And you, my love?” 

Your father looked up from his food that was being devoured. He cleared his throat, swallowing his food that was still being chewed in his mouth. “What about me?” He asked, clearly not in tune with the conversation at hand. 

“Your day” Your mother replied.

Your father made a face of recognition, nodding as he tried to think of something to say. “Well, life as a retired King is treating me well. I no longer feel the impending doom that I will fail our people anymore” He chuckled, sarcasm oozing from his words. 

“Your sarcasm makes me feel uneasy with my new role as Queen, father” You pointed out, making the table laugh with ease. 

“Don’t be uneasy, my daughter” Your father said, reassuring you that everything is okay, that you are okay. “You’re doing great as a leader, carrying on our legacy with grace and pride, just like I knew you would”

You sucked in a breath, keeping in mind Jaemin's words and his perspective of things. However, you had to say something. “Speaking of, father, I’d like to ask you something” 

“Of course”

“I understand I’m your daughter and you want to look out for me, but is it possible for you to…” You trailed off, his hand putting down his fork as he realized this conversation was turning serious with how you wanted to articulate your words. It was a maturity he’d grown to know, he knows when you’re serious and lighthearted. Right now he can sense that you’re being serious. “How can I put this nicely? Back…off”

“Back off?” He echoed, you felt yourself internally cringe at the way your words sounded coming from him. He furrowed his brows, trying to wrap his head around. “I’m not following”

“Well, whenever I address our people or they speak to me when I’m out and ask me questions, you always tell me the answer and want me to strictly use it” You explained, your words coming out slowly and carefully. You could feel the tension growing between you four. You could feel your mother watching you both with careful eyes and your sister slowly observing with watchful eyes.  “I want to rule with the people, not rule with you”

Your father nodded his head, his face slowly hardening, not with anger or with discontent, but with a prideful look, one he used when addressing his people, it was one of a leader. “You forget I am King, I have been ruling far longer than you. I understand where you come from, however, I don’t want you to make mistakes when ruling, that is why I am guiding you in this time of transition”

“I understand, I just feel as though you have too much of a hold on me” You explained, feeling the restraint he had on you and your way of ruling. “I want your advice and want your wisdom, I just don’t want to feel forced to say words that aren’t mine” You pointed out, trying to come up with a compromise where he can have his input and you can listen to it, but you won’t use it unless you also agree with what being said. “I don’t want to be a cloned version of the King you once were” 

“We’ll talk about this later” Your father replied, a tense smile on his face as he felt his heart pound in his chest. 

“Father—”

He stopped you, his voice stern and low. “We will talk about this later” 

You feel yourself swallow your pride, swallow your words and swallow your crown as you remember that this is your father, the great King of Caliriel for years. “Of course” 

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, with calm conversation and speaking about the political and economic state of the Isles. Everything was fine, of course, no real issues since the early days. The tension between you and your father, it was felt, but not suffocating. You were both stubborn, it was a flaw you both had and it caused you both to butt heads. However, your father would be lying if he said it wasn’t one of your most admirable traits in his mind. Your stubbornness could be seen as strong, never one to back down from their decision once you set your mind to it. Your father found that inspirational, but also proud. He was proud because it was a trait you inherited from him. Anyone would say that you are your mothers daughter, both you and your sister are your mothers daughter's. You inherited her grace, her beauty, her courage, and all the sweet and peaceful things that melted all the cotton candy in the world. However, your stubbornness, your loyalty, your bravery, your pride, and your ambition to be the best Queen you can be, that all came from your father. Your father saw himself in you when those traits popped up, when your fathers personality peaked through, it made his chest swell with such pride. 

Even though most of your disagreements were because of how stubborn you both were, he honestly wouldn’t trade it for the world because at least he knows that his daughter can hold up her own. 

When dinner was over, you remained seated in your chair as your father did the same. Your sister looked between you both before standing up, bidding her goodbyes before heading to bed. Your mother signed, standing up before giving you both a glare.

“Please, respect one another” Your mother ordered, her gaze falling on your father. “Especially you, my love” Your father looked at her with wide eyes, confused at how he was the one singled out.

“What? Your daughter is the one who is stubborn!” Your father exclaimed, your mother shaking her head at him. 

“And where did she get it from?” She asked, walking over to him to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Listen to your daughter”

Your mother gave you one last look of encouragement. You smiled at her and she walked away, you looked at your guards in the dining room, nodding your head to send them away for privacy. 

Your father took note of this and looked towards you, his hand gesturing in front of him. “Plead your case”

“Father, if we could drop the formalities” You told him, not wanting to feel on trial for expressing your opinion. He gently hummed while nodding his head. “I’m not coming to you as a Queen, I’m coming to you as your daughter, your flesh and blood” You said, heart pounding so loudly you could hear the rhythm growing faster and faster as you tried to calm your nerves. “I love you and I love your guidance, but like I said, it’s like you’re still rolling over the people and not letting me hold the reins. I’m twenty five years old, I read every book, I did every lesson, I aced all the tests and I’ve proven myself over and over again that I am a good Queen. I don’t want to be a puppet any longer”

“You’re not a puppet?” Your father denied, questioning your choice of words. He scoffed, shaking his head as he felt his pride get attacked. “It’s quite offensive to think of yourself that way and to think I’m some sort of puppeteer” 

“It’s how I feel” You replied. “I feel like I can’t do anything because it might not be what you want or what you might do. Father, you had an amazing reign, you ruled our people with so much conviction and everyone loves you for it. You were an amazing King. But I am Queen and I want to be better than you because I believe that in order for Caliriel to thrive, we must be better than the rulers before us” 

“I was just trying to help” He replied quietly, voice curt and void of any real emotion as he felt the familiar wall of being King building. He signed, quickly recognizing how his King facade was growing directed to his daughter, he couldn’t have that. His wall diminished, looking at his daughter with the kind eyes he gave her when he wanted to come to an understanding. “It’s not easy hanging over the crown so easily to someone who hasn’t fully grasped the responsibilities that is running a Kingdom”

“I understand that I’m new to all of this, but that doesn’t mean you should undermine my ability to be Queen” You told him, his silence letting you speak again. “You said it yourself, I will advocate for my people and keep the peace between the Seven Isles. So, please father, let me be that peace” You said, your hand gently reaching over to touch his own. 

“You really aren’t the young girl who begged for me to sing her a lullaby anymore” He pointed out, his eyes looking down at where your hand was gently resting on top of his. The memories of you as a young child, smiling so happily in your frilly dresses and crooked tiaras. 

“Yeah, I’m not” You replied, sitting straight, crown sitting perfectly on top of your head and your dress more elegant than the last. The person your father sees now isn’t the girl he once knew anymore, it was hard to come to terms with. “I still need you and want your advice, but I don’t want to feel forced to speak for you to our people” 

“I’m sorry, I guess I never realized how much of a leash I kept you on” He replied, the peaceful nature of his tone making you realize why Caliriel is the peacemaker it is. “It’s just, I look at you and all I see is that little girl running around the castle halls, giggling as she ran away from Princess lessons because she wanted to travel to Eloweth to see the Wishing Well, or to spend time in the Enchanted Forest and climb the trees” 

“I know” You nodded your head, understanding his view of you. “I love you father”

“I love you too, my daughter” He replied, making you smile as the tension died and all that was left was understanding and a mutual agreement that he’d let you be the Queen he raised you to be. 

“So, did you speak with your father?” Jaemin asks, his voice curious and filled with intent as he looks at you. He held your hand gently, his hands cold with yours, making your fingertips feel numb. 

“Yeah, I did” You replied, following him to the stables on his land. “You were right, he was still seeing me as his little girl, but he said he would take a step back and let me rule without feeling forced to say something I didn’t come up with”

“That’s amazing!” He exclaimed, your contentment with your father raiding off of you and onto him. “I knew he’d come around”

“You know everything, Jaem” You replied, a joke that was supposed to generate a chuckle from him, however he remained quiet. You looked at him, a pang of fear as he looked at you with shock, his silence making you panic that maybe your joke didn’t lang. 

However, Jaemin wasn’t in shock or silence because your land didn’t joke, in fact he intended to laugh with you, it’s just something else that caught his attention. “Jaem?” He asked, the new and unfamiliar nickname falling from his lips, echoing your own voice. 

“In, Jaemin” You corrected, add the second part of his name back in your speech. You felt embarrassment run down your spine, your neck heating as you felt your face heat up as well. 

“You called me Jaem” Jaemin teased, a smile growing on his face as you looked away, wanting to hide your heated face. 

“What? No, I didn’t, I called you Jaemin, silly” You brushed off, still facing away from him, but he just laughed, a simple laugh that made you look back at him. 

He seemed so touched, so enthralled by this little nickname that came so easily from you. You said it without a second though, said it as though you’ve said it so many times before, so comfortable with the syllable that it made his heart clench at the idea of hearing it again. 

“You so called me Jaem” He scoffed out, looking away from you as he suddenly felt a familiar blush reach his face. 

You shook your head, a light laughter falling from your lips. “I think you’re hearing things” 

“You’re so stubborn.” Jaemin replied, his shoulder gently bumping into yours as he continued to lead you through his garden to the stables. 

“So I’ve been told” You mumbled out, the stables coming into view as you looked over at Jaemin. “So, what’s the plan today?” 

“Well, I was thinking we could go riding in the Enchanted Forest” He replied, his hand gently leaving yours as he reached for one his horse he’d been riding since he was a boy. “You told me you’ve been wanting to go, so I figured we could go together” 

“Really? You remembered that?” You asked, a little taken aback at how he remembered and how he wanted to do it. Riding in the forest was always a pastime, one you slowly lost time for when you became Queen as that took up most of your time. You mentioned it off handedly, not expecting him to take note of it. 

Jaemin hummed, nodding as he opened up his horse's stable. “Yeah, it wasn’t that long ago that you mentioned it” 

“Jaem, I mentioned it like a solid month ago.” You reminded him, making him roll his eyes playfully, as if he felt insulted that he wouldn’t remember the things you told him. 

“Well, maybe I just have an amazing memory.” He joked, making you laugh as he opened up another horse’s stable for you to ride. He grabbed the reins, handing them to you. “Come on”

You grabbed the reins, mounting the horse as he did the same. Both of you began riding, not going fast, but just trotting around. The path to the forest was nice, it was enjoyable to see a different way to the forest than the one you’re used to back on your own land. Jaemin’s path was filled with rocks and pebbles, trees and fog that added to the magic in the forest. It smelled like rain and wet grass, it was a sweet smell you grew to love. 

Jaemin let you lead the way, following you where you wanted to go once you left through the gates and entered the green forest you love so much. The fairies zipping around, fire flies glowing and the critters running around and climbing the trees. It was beautiful, the laughter you and Jaemin shared while racing to get to the Four Brothers Rocks. 

You won, obviously, Jaemin trailing behind you as your horse slowly came to a stop. Jaemin slowed down, his horse letting out some noises as you both took in the view of the four giant rocks that were curved around one another and the Blue Lake that glowed so brightly. 

You signed, taking in the sight. “It’s so peaceful here, so quiet” You replied, getting off your horse as Jaemin did the same. 

He chuckled, tying his horse to a nearby tree, prompting you to do the same. “You really do like the quiet, don’t you?” He asked, his question more of a statement because he knew you did. 

“I love it” You replied with a smile on your face, slowly walking towards the lake. “It’s like when I’m in the quiet, it feels like time stops and I can be in my body and be here without having to worry about royal duties” You explained, the aftermath of the busy Queen duties catching up to you. You could feel the exhaustion, the stress and the pain you’ve accumulated in your shoulders after looking over so much paperwork. You bit your lip, sitting down on the plush green grass and Jaemin joined you as you both looked out at the lake. “I love my people, I really do, and I love Caliriel, but sometimes a quiet escape is freeing”

Jaemin hummed, his hand finding yours as he rested his hand on top of yours. You looked down at it, the coldness was inviting in a way. Usually, you’d want your hands to be warmed up, but Jaemin’s cold hands and nimble fingers felt more and more comforting. 

“Did you always want to be Queen?” He asked, looking at you with raised brow. 

“Not at first” You breathed out, an awkward chuckle leaving you when you began to think about being a kid. “I was a kid, so I didn’t understand the weight of it all. I loved being a Princess, the dresses, the tiaras, I hated the classes, but I also wanted less responsibility I guess?” You questioned, Jaemin nodding as he listened with such attention you’d think he had an assessment on this topic soon. You cleared your throat, beginning to speak again. “Growing up, I always knew what I had to do, who I had to be and I don’t know, I guess I ended up wanting to be Queen because that’s all I knew really”

“You didn’t have another aspiration? Like in another life, you would want to be?” 

You began to think and all that came to you was you and Mark, sitting in your library or his garden with journals and pens scribbling away with every thought you’ve both ever had on the cool paper that smelled so nice. 

“A writer maybe” You answered, nodding your head as you felt sure of your answer. 

Jaemin perked up at this, not expecting it, but also not surprised. “A writer?”

“Yeah” You mumbled out, chuckling as you remember having to ask Mark for synonyms for words as you didn’t want to repeat so much. “As kids, Mark and I, he always used big words and I always had to look them up because I didn’t know what he was talking about. I thought he was so pretentious and so annoying with that, but it got me to read more books and I ended up picking up his language and I don’t know, I ended up liking to write” You smile warmly ag the memory, Jaemin taking note of how almost every memory you’ve had starts and ends with Mark. It’s so interesting how intertwined your lives were to Jaemin, how much you spoke of him and how much you cared for him. “We both ended up writing together, silly little things, or essays because of lessons, but we also just wrote stories as kids. It was fun” 

“You and Mark really are close” Jaemin pointed out, not malice and no jealousy, just a pure observation that made you look at him with confusion. “I never fully noticed it until now”

“How so?” You asked, intrigued with how he got to this point. 

“Every conversation we have, he’s always mentioned”

You felt yourself blushing in embarrassment. Did you honestly bring him up that much? Did it annoy Jaemin? No, he didn’t sound annoyed, but his tone can only tell you so much of his inner thoughts. 

“Do I mention him a lot?” You asked, a short sitter in your words as you felt guilt forming in the pit of your stomach. 

Jaemin shrugged his shoulders, not bothered by your close friendship with Mark. “He’s been in your life for forever, I’d be surprised if you didn’t”

“Yeah, he really has been in my life for a while” You mumbled out, almost shocked by how long you’ve known Mark. Sometimes it surprised you, how much time you’ve spent with Mark over the past twenty years, other times it felt like no time had passed. Shaking your head, you took in a deep breath and looked at Jaemin with curiosity. “What about you? Did you always want to be King?”

“No, Gods no” Jaemin chuckled out, relaxing a bit as he knew that he didn’t want to be King and didn't want the responsibility of anything that came with it. He was born into it, it felt more and more like an obligation than an aspiration. “I hated the idea of becoming King, I hated how much pressure I had and how much responsibility I had. Don’t get me wrong, I think that pressure made me the person I am today, but for a kid? I don’t know” Jaemin explained, you understood his dislikes of it, understood the indescribable pressure and the amount of responsibility the title had. While other kids worried about exams over basic mathematics, you were worried about peace treaties and how to abide by them and even write them. 

“What did you want to be then?” 

“A doctor” 

“A doctor?” You asked, brows raised as he smiled happily at the thought he had as a child. 

“Yeah, a doctor” He reaffirmed, mind flooding with the familiar memories of running around with a stethoscope and checking everyone’s and everything’s heartbeat, even the inanimate objects, he’d check the heartbeats. “I wanted to help people, wanted to cure them in any way I could. But, as I grew up I realized that I could help the people by being King, I couldn’t cure them from illnesses, but I could help aid the doctors here with anything I can”  

You felt your heart skip a beat as his golden heart. His nature is healing, it was hard to deny, it was careful and clean. “You’re a good person, Jaem” You said softly, your body slowly and naturally leaning in. 

“Yeah, you too” Jaemin mumbled out, his free hand gently coming to cup your face, his cold hands making a shiver run down your spine. 

You felt your gaze look down at his lips, his own looking at yours. It felt right, felt like that peaceful nap in the middle of the day. Once his lips hit yours, sparks didn’t fly and nothing exploded. It wasn’t passionate, and wasn't filled with heat or hunger. You honestly thought it was lackluster. However, it was quiet, gentle, and so silent that it reminded you of Jaemin as a person. This kiss was Jaemin putting himself in it, giving himself to you with this one kiss. So, no, it wasn’t this new candy you were trying, it wasn’t home and it wasn’t even yours, it was his. You honestly felt guilty for feeling this way, knowing that it felt more like Jaemin kissing you than you both kissing one another, but that didn’t mean you didn't like it. You did, you liked the kiss, you enjoyed it. You love the quiet so you loved the kiss, it was like you’d done it a million times and maybe that was the problem.

Is it possible you’re too comfortable with Jaemin that it just wasn’t there? The sweetness of a candy? The smell of wet grass and trees? The simple breeze that was such a sweet melody when you walked through the forest? The smell of paper and books, how the dust tickles your nose but you didn’t mind because—no. Your mind can’t go there. It’s Jaemin, it has to be Jaemin. Jaemin is the quiet, the fog and the comfort you’ve grown to love about your relationship with him. You weren’t settling because it felt normal or because you felt like this was it. Jaemin is a good man, he’d make anybody happy, even with just a smile, that person feels important because that’s just how Jaemin makes people feel, even you. 

And yet, the kiss, it couldn’t compare to your first. 

“Come in” You voiced when hearing a knock at the door, your paintbrush grabbing more paint to throw on the mess of a canvas. Painting was a nice hobby you once had as a child, putting your feelings onto a canvas and watching the picture slowly come to life. Being Queen however, it made you drop several of your hobbies, but in the small moments you had to yourself, you either wrote, read, or painted. 

The royal guard that was assigned to you entered your room filled with your paintings. “Your highness, King Lee of Eloweth is here to see you” Yuta announced, making you look over at him in shock. 

“Mark is here?” You asked, your painting drying with every passing second you tried to remember if you were supposed to meet up. What is he doing here? 

Yuta nodded, his head held high when speaking to you. “Yes, your highness” 

“Let him in” You replied, watching as Yuta left your room only to reappear with Mark in tow. Yuta closed the door to leave you both with privacy, even though he could faintly hear your voice from outside the doors. “What’re you doing here? Were we supposed to meet?” You asked, setting down your palette on a nearby desk, along with your paintbrush in a jar of water. 

Mark shook his head, seeming so calm and yet so frazzled, like him arriving was a last minute decision. “No, but I’m not busy so I decided to come” He lied.

Mark wasn’t busy, sure, but he didn’t exactly have enough free time to make the visit to Caliriel. After all, it was a three day journey. However, Mark hadn’t seen you in a while, not since you had to leave to see Jaemin for your supposed date. Mark missed you and it wasn’t a crime to want to see your best friend, it equally wasn’t a crime to end your meeting with the King of Marithen because you claimed you had an important matter to attend to, especially if the King didn’t know that the important matter was seeing his best friend. But, that’s all besides the point. 

“You decided to take a three day journey to see me?” You asked, very much confused at how Mark could just up and come here despite his busy schedule. 

Mark shrugged his shoulders. “One and a half, I kind of took a horse here and you know me, I ride fairly fast” 

“I see” You mumbled out, your arms crossing over your stomach as you looked at him with a questioning face. “Is everything okay?”

“I haven’t seen you in a couple weeks, or heard from you” Mark replied, sounding a tad desperate since he felt as though you’d gone off the face of the Earth. No message, no meet up, it was silent in your end. “Got me worried, I guess”

“Worried? Mark, I’m fine”

Mark nodded, looking around the room as he grabbed the baoding balls you kept near. “Is everything going well with King Na?” He asked, his gaze fixated on the smooth balls rotating in his hand to fidget. 

“Jaemim?” You asked, dropping the honorifics as you expected Mark to do since you all knew one another for almost all your lives.  

Mark cleared his throat, finally looking up at you. “Yeah, Jaemin”

“Everything’s fine with him” You replied, confused at how awkward it felt talking about him. 

Mark nodded his head, mumbling small ‘Cool, cool’ under his breath. You slowly looked away from him, looking back at your painting as you tried to remember where you were with it. Mark noticed your silence and walked up to you, his gaze following yours tk the canvas and noting the familiar sight he was seeing. 

“You’re painting again?” He asked from behind you, his voice quieter now, making it hard for Yuta to listen in on.  

“I had a free moment” You replied, shrugging your shoulders as you stepped away from him, beginning to clean all your things. “I have a few duties to do in a few moments, so I don’t have much time” 

“I see” Mark replied, watching how you moved from place to place, cleaning your brushes and drying them with your smock apron. Mark looked back at the painting, noticing the familiar trees and the shimmering Blue Lake you both would visit when you learned how to ride horses. “You’re painting the forest again?” 

“You know I love the forest” You replied, turning around to look at him studying the painting. 

“That I do” He said, a small smile growing on his face as he looked at you with those brown eyes that reminded you of the night sky you both looked at. “I remember for a solid four years of my life, you always gifted me a painting of the forest every birthday” 

“Hey, you loved my paintings” You defended yourself, Mark humming as he looked back at the painting. 

“I did, still do” He corrected, making your heart do this weird flip and your stomach felt like it was falling. Clearing your throat, you continued on with drying your plant brushes. 

“So, why are you here?” 

“To hang out? Isn’t that why we always see each other?” He asked, looking over at you, confused as to why you kept asking him why he was there, as if he was an inconvenience to you. 

“Yeah, but we usually plan them out, why the sudden drop in?” 

“Can’t your best friend be spontaneous?” Mark asked, his voice rising in pitch as he tried to act cute.  

You raised a brow at him, shaking your head at him. “You’re not the spontaneous kind of person”

“Is Jaemin spontaneous?” He asked suddenly without missing a beat, it caught you off guard, but maybe Mark was curious about the kind of person Jaemin is. 

“Yes, but he’s also a planner” You replied gently, watching as Mark continued roaring the metal balls in his hand to ease his growing awkwardness. 

Mark remained silent, setting the metal balls down on a nearby table. Spotting the chair in your room, he quickly took a seat, relaxing as you continued your pace around the room. “Is he planning your engagement?” He asked, making you turn around, looking at him like he was a little insane to bring this topic up. “Unless, you’re already engaged”

You signed, dipping one of your brushes in a jar of paint water. “No” You replied, shaking your head. 

Mark sat up, your response catching his attention. “But you will be, if he goes down properly on one knee” 

You felt yourself go silent for a few beats, the reminder of how this courtship with Jaemin will inevitably end in marriage. You told your sister this, so why was it somewhat difficult to say this to Mark? You picked up the paintbrush, the dirty paint diluted water dropping from its bristles as it met your damp smock. 

“I’ve already decided that if he asks, I will say yes” You replied, not looking at Mark until the final words came out of your mouth. Yes, you will marry Jaemin and you’ve decided on that already. It was different hearing it from you, how certain you were. 

“You want to marry him?” He asked. 

“He’s a good man, Mark” Mark noticed how you didn’t say yes that time, just going back to your usual praise of Jaemin. It lost meaning the more and more you said it, at least to Mark it did and maybe also to you, you just hadn’t realized it yet. Or did you? 

Mark scoffed, not liking your answer as anyone can be a good man when raised right. “So is Haechan and you’re not lining up to marry him”

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before” You pointed out, making Mark look at you with a blank expression, waiting for your explanation. “No one else has courted me so I choose Jaemin, or more so, Jaemin chose me. I’m happy with that”

“Yeah, but if someone else courted you, would you still marry Jaemin?” A new perspective opened up, one you hadn’t really thought of, but still, that wasn’t the reality. 

“Depends on who that person is” You replied, knowing that if someone better came along, someone better than Jaemin, maybe, you might marry them. But again, that’s not the reality. “I like Jaemin, that’s just how it is”

“But do you love him?” He couldn't help but ask. You were his best friend, the subtle worry of you not being in love with someone and marrying them? It scared him, that you’ll end up in a loveless marriage and resent your title and resent him, especially yourself. The last thing Mark wanted was for you to be unhappy. 

You felt your heart drop, the silence thick as Mark stared you down like you were on trial and he was the judge. “Excuse me?” You asked, perplexed at the question he asked you. Love? You barely missed Jaemin a few days ago and suddenly the question of love comes up? 

“Do you love him?” He asked again.

You scoffed, clenching your jaw at the absurdity Mark questioned you with. “Love is further down the line, but fondness? That’s right now”

You heard a gentle knock, signaling for Yuta to come in. He stood tall, feeling the tension, but feeling it simmer down as well as you were both interrupted. “Your highness, it is time”

“Time for what?” Mark asked, not ready for you to leave yet. 

“Royal meetings with some important people in our Kingdom. Nothing major” You shrugged off, taking off your smock and placing it randomly on a stool. You smoothed out your dress and put your crown back on.  “How do I look?” You asked, turning around to face Mark who got up from his chair. 

“You look prepossessing” Mark replied shyly, a curt smile as you felt the growing heat in your stomach you assumed was indigestion, not because of Mark and his too big of words that made you blush with ease. “You are prepossessing"

You chuckled, trying to play it cool. “I’m assuming that means beautiful?”

“You’re picking up my language” He smirked, feeling a bit flirtatious, but quickly cleared his throat before it went too far into uncharted territory. 

“I’ve picked up a couple more books” You pointed out, the easiness of conversing coming back. “I have to go, I’m sorry we could only talk for a few moments”

He shook his head, fully understanding your leave. “It’s okay, you have important things to do” 

“I’ll be back in two hours, if you’ll still be here?” You asked, prompting an impromptu hang out with him as he was already here. 

“I’ll always be here”

You smiled widely, Mark seeing it so friendly and never romantic. However, you bore all your teeth to him, a shimmer in your eyes, a pureness you only ever showed with Mark. “I’ll see you in two hours” You replied, having a bit more pep in your step as you approached Yuta who held the door open. 

“I’ll be counting down the seconds” Mark replied cheekily, making you laugh. The sound echoed through the halls and into the room, making Mark feel full with life. 

It was odd, the feeling you gave him when you did anything. It was gushy, sweet like candy and warm like fire. It was so much better than honey and so much warmer than the spring in Aurethiel. It was beautiful, the sound of your laughter filling his ears as it made his brain go all fuzzy. Everything about you reminded him of home, of the wishing well, the magic that fills the air of your land, and the wonder of life, the impossible questions to answer and the philosophical reasonings behind the world. You were an impossible thing to him, something he wants to figure out forever, despite him knowing everything about you, he wants more.

Mark Lee wants you. He hadn’t admitted it before, not until right now as he watched you walk away from him, laughing because he made you laugh, smiling because you knew he’d still be here in two hours. Mark did that to you and he wants to keep doing it until you take your last breath, even if he’s already buried deep in the dirt. 

Mark felt his smile falter as the realization that he wants you settled in. It doesn’t falter because he doesn’t want to want you, it falters because of you and Jaemin. Jaemin was your supposed future, at least in your eyes and Mark will be damned if he steps in the way of that, in the way of your supposed happiness. Even if you don’t love Jaemin. 

“You’re pathetic Mark Lee” He mumbles out, taking a lousy seat back in the comfy chair he got up from. Mark sighed, shaking his head as he couldn't believe his thoughts. 

Wanting you? Mark Lee never wanted you, well, he never realized he wanted you. When you both were kids, it was never a thought because there was no room for it. Kids were curious things, silly little creatures that didn’t have the compacting for the want of another person. All Mark knew was that he was enamored with your company and wanted more of it. You were best friends, it all felt platonic because again, you were kids and the concept of love and affection was foreign to you. You both just had a deep fondness for one another and everyone knew that. But then that stupid kiss you both shared, yeah, it was a spur of the moment kind of thing, but that didn’t make it mean any less. 

The kiss was innocent, inexperienced and sweet. It was so juvenile that even though you both expected the kiss to break you both up, it didn’t. Mark continued on like nothing happened and you did the same because what was the point? If both of you were too scared to say anything but also too scared of the aftermath and the potential falling out, why risk it? So, you both remained quiet and the subtle want of one another subsided. It was buried deep in your chests, locked away and it wasn’t brought up again.

However, that didn’t mean you both didn’t have your moments of romantic tension. How Mark would sneak glances at you when you didn’t look, how during his Coronation, you were the only girl he danced with, his hand lingering longer on your waist and pulling you closer than a friend should. It also didn’t help that you would write about him in your silly journal, small things about his smile, his eyes, his stupid dad jokes he likes to tell you, how he chuckles before telling you something new that he learned or found funny, or how he’d use new big words so much until they lose their meaning, only to find new ones to use. Small things you took note of stayed with you in your pages you kept under your pillow. 

Maybe you wanted Mark Lee as much as he wanted you, but you were yet to realize that, because Jaemin was still at the forefront of your mind. Even during those two hours of meetings, all you could think about was a potential wedding with Jaemin, how handsome he’d look, how cold his hands would be as his warmth tended to radiate in his chest. How you’d be happy, at least you think you’d be happy. Of course you’d be happy, anyone would be happy to marry Jaemin, anyone. But why were you questioning if you’ll be happy or not? This was Jaemin after all, it’s not like you were marrying Mark. 

Your marriage with Mark would fail as fast as him riding from Eloweth to Caliriel. You wouldn’t be happy, but how would you know if you didn’t try? You were happy with Mark now, the only difference would be a ring and a ceremony, and a kiss, and a consummate, and potential children. Huh, yours and Mark's kids would be cute—that’s not a right thought. You should be thinking about kids with Jaemin, a marriage with Jaemin, and yet, it all seemed fuzzy. It wasn’t clear like the imaginary marriage you thought of with Mark just now. How clear his face was, how clear the image of you and him dancing at your wedding ceremony and how clear the mixture of your facial features with his plastered on little bodies that run around the castle halls. 

That image was clear, why wasn’t Jaemin’s? 

When the meeting was over, yours and Mark’s hangout was like any other. Giggles, laughter, silence and quiet. It was peaceful and like there was no space between you two, no break, just a continuation. It was so fun, funner than you expected, dare you say you prefer your hangouts with Mark than Jaemin. Was it because there wasn’t the looming expectation of marriage? The ease of being with Mark because there was no ending? You didn’t know, with Mark it just felt right, easy, and not quiet, which is weird because you love the quiet.

Even in the silence, when there was nothing else to be said between you two, there was still noise. The subtle shift of Mark moving around, how he gently hummed himself, how you would sigh every now and then as you messed around with something. It was quiet, but not empty. It was full, small sounds and movements made the silence not deafening, but like white noise. White noise, you preferred it over the quiet. 

A few months passed and the new season was upon you. Spring was blooming, the grass was becoming greener and the vines were blooming new flowers that exuded so much joy and abundance. You and Mark were outside in his garden, a blanket on the plush green grass as the Wishing Well echoed your past and future wishes. You were writing down in your journal about the previous day where you went on a date with Jaemin and how you could feel a proposal in your future soon. You smiled to yourself at the idea, the idea of marrying Jaemin, the idea of being his wife. It was a nice idea to picture. 

Mark caught you smiling at your journal, he was writing too, mostly about his duties of being King, but he was mostly watching you write. After realizing how he wanted you in a way that went deeper than friendship, he began to analyze every single situation where he was with you. Even from the beginning of your friendship as kids, he over analyzed it. He began to think, when exactly did he end up falling so deeply into you? And how? 

Mark came up with no conclusion, no set date or moment of when he ended up wanting you and no real reason as to how this happened. All he knew was that you were best friends and he always wanted you around, loved your presence and was enamored by your peaceful existence. How you crinkled your nose when you didn’t like something, how you always stay true to yourself and your decisions, you don’t back down, your stubborn, but he finds that as a power rather a weakness or a negative trait, and he finds your sensitivity to your Kingdom and the way you treat Mother Earth so inspiring. Mark loves you, he always has, and at some point in time that love turned into something so deep that it felt like you were running through his veins, you were in him and without you, the world felt obsolete. 

Every interaction, every lingering glance he gave you, every time he replayed that kiss in his head before sleeping, it all meant something. Your first kiss meant something to him, but he was so scared, he was only nineteen and so scared of what you would say, if you would reject him, or worse, say it didn’t mean anything because it meant the universe to him. You meant the universe to him, every smile you had, it was a new star in the sky, every laugh, a new planet in the solar system, every cry, it was a black hole and every single time you said the words ‘I love you’ a supernova. Even if those words were platonic, he took them to heart. You were Mark Lee’s universe and that scares him, even more so because you weren’t his, you were Jaemin’s now. You were Jaemin’s universe. 

“What’re you smiling about?” Mark asked, a teasing tone as he felt a smile reach his lips as he thought, a deluded thought, that maybe you were writing about him. 

You looked up at him, chuckled as he caught you. You were sitting up, leaning against the bricks of the well as he laid on his side propped up on one arm. “I’m writing  about my date with Jaemin” 

Mark felt his heart plummet, the flutters disappear as disappointment and reality hit him like a truck. Of course you were, why was he thinking otherwise? It was Jaemin you wrote about now, Jaemin you wished to see now and Jaemin’s presence you craved. However, their was one straw that Mark gripped with his two hands, Mark’s name was the only name you’ve whispered in the Wishing Well. 

“Yeah? What about it?” Mark asked, trying to be supportive, but his heart tugged at the idea of you and Jaemin being happy. 

God he hated it, he hated it so much. He felt jealousy, something he had yet to deal with or acknowledge. Mark wanted to be happy for you, he really does and he was, back when he didn’t realize how he felt about you. However, everything is different now because his realization was only in his head. Mark had yet to say it out loud, that he loves you so much more than a friend. It was one thing to say it in your head, it was another to let the words fall out of his mouth. And he knew that if he said them, it would become real, Mark didn’t know if he wanted that.

Again, you both were best friends, it was all you both ever were. Feelings were never a topic between you two, you never discussed feelings for one another because they were never recognized. You both never really had crushes and you never spoke about relationships like that. You and Mark were just in each other's space, you were each other's person, that was enough for you both. Except now, so many years down the line after that first kiss, suddenly, everything Mark had ever felt about you hit him like a train and he doesn’t know what to do. 

He wants to tell you, tell you that he believes he loves you, but he doesn’t know if he can because he doesn’t want to mess up  what you have. Mark doesn’t want to be the bad guy in your story, doesn’t want to be a catalyst for a falling out between you both or between you and Jaemin. If Jaemin made you happy, that’s all Mark cares about, but that selfish part of him, the small voice in his head that is yelling at him to tell you, to yell at you to not marry Jaemin or even think about Jaemin, but to marry and think about him. It was wretched to even think about saying those words. 

“Well, he’s acting weirder” Mark perked up at this, weird? what did you mean?. “He’s acting like he’s hiding a secret and I asked my sister about it and she said that maybe he’s planning to propose”

Your smile was infectious, it was so proud and happy, like the idea of marrying Jaemin was exciting. Mark felt his heart crack. Propose? Of course, that’s how the courtship ended, with you and Jaemin at the end of the aisle and wedding bands on your ring fingers. 

“Proposal, huh?” Mark asked, trying to hide his hurt with a fake smile, one you didn’t notice as your mind was flooded with thoughts of marrying Jaemin. Mark sucked in a breath before letting out in a puff. “That’s uh, that’s a serious commitment, you sure you’re ready?”

You looked at him with furrowed brows, why was he asking you that? “Of course, this has been the endgame all along. I knew I had to marry someone and Jaemin’s here”

“So you’re only marrying him because he’s here?” Mark asked, another person questioning your intentions with Jaemin. 

Everyone knew you and Jaemin had to get married, everyone had to get married at some point. It just happened to be that you and Jaemin were looking for partners at the same time and ended up liking one another. It wasn’t a crime to go into a courtship and expect marriage at the end, that’s usually how it goes. You don’t understand why Mark and your sister constantly ask about your real and deep intentions with Jaemin as if they don’t realize that it was a matter of chance that you and Jaemin were looking for the same thing. If they were in your shoes or Jaemin’s, they would expect marriage just like you. 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it” You replied, offended at how easily he can accuse you of this. Shaking your head, you set aside your journal and looked at how annoyed and antsy he looked. “What’s up with you? Why are you suddenly against this?”

Mark scoffed, avoiding your gaze like a child. “I’m not against it”

“Yes you are”

“I’m not, it’s just” Mark groaned, standing up as he couldn’t sit down and face you anymore. It was too much and he knew what was coming, he knew it was happening now. The worst part was, he couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t stop his words from falling out of his mouth and this is what kept the conversation going. “I just find it odd that you were telling me how you don’t want to get married and all of a sudden, you’re like proposal this and wedding that”

You followed his example, standing up yourself. “I can change my mind Mark, and even then, I like Jaemin”

“It’s been months and you still can’t say you love him” Mark pointed out, making you even more annoyed at how detailed he wants you to be. It’s as if he wants you to describe every fiber of your being and feelings you have for Jaemin like some poet: 

“You’re being so nitpicky, what’s up with that?”

Mark’s face went cold, face falling as he stared burned your eyes. “Do you love Jaemin?” He asked the familiar question everyone asked you.

Love? Everyone wants to know if you love Jaemin, why can’t they just accept that you feel with Jaemin, you breathe with Jaemin and you enjoy your time with Jaemin. Isn’t companionship enough? because for you, it was. 

You felt appalled by his question. “What? Yeah, what kind of a question is that?”

“You didn’t say yes” Mark pointed out, making your shoulders slump as you felt a greater divide between you and Mark, a divide you’ve never felt before with him. 

“I didn’t say no either” You said in a low voice, teetering a whisper and Mark could feel the animosity growing. Your jaw clenched as you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as Mark continued to stare at you, like he was trying to look at your soul to see the truth. “Yeah, I love Jaemin. He’s a great guy, is genuine, handsome, a great King as his people have told me, and is great company”

“You really want to marry him?” Mark asked, his confidence depleting as he realized how your stubbornness, a trait he used to adore and admire, was being used towards him in a way he wasn’t used to.

This stubbornness wasn’t just about if you’ll go outside or not, or that you really want to go to the Wishing Well tonight and no one else can change your mind. This was different, this wasn’t a simple stand, this is a commitment. Mark is terrified that your stubbornness is going to make you do something you may or may not regret. But also, your stubbornness isn’t letting you see how desperate and pathetic Mark is. He’s asking you, in a subtle way, to not marry Jaemin, to end things with him because you know you want to. 

“Of course I do” 

Mark’s stomach flipped, his mind racing and his heart breaking. It stung to hear those words, for you to sound so sure of yourself like you came to terms with this months ago. And you did, you really did and he knew that, of course Mark knew you were serious. It’s just, hearing it now, when you’re annoyed with him, it makes it sound all the more real. It was too real, Mark was losing you and he never thought he would. 

“And if I told you not to marry him?” Mark asked, his question leaving his mouth before his brain could tell him to shut up. 

“What? What're you talking about?” A whisper of your voice, confused and so small that it made Mark realize that he’s dug himself a hole. 

“Don’t marry him”

“Why?” You asked, feeling pained at how Mark is telling you to not marry the person you want to marry and you don’t know why. 

“Why?” Mark asked, taking a step closer to you. “It’s so obvious, you know why”

His face turned from cold to warm, so fast and gentle. You could see that familiar shine in his eyes, how it looked like tiny little stars. Mark’s eyes flickering to your lips every few seconds, like he’s contemplating kissing you again after seven years. You know this because he’s giving you that same look he gave seven years ago, right before you both leaned in and he gave you the world's best birthday present. That same soft look that made him look younger than his age, that made him look so pure that it reminded you of the way your father looks at your mother. Mark is so confusing, you think to yourself. One second, he’s kissing you, the next he acts like nothing happens and despite there being tension, he doesn’t say anything. You both moved on with your lives and now? After seven years it hits you like a tidal wave. Mark doesn’t want you to marry Jaemin because he wants you to marry him. 

Your face fell, shaking your head as you took a few steps back. “No, don’t, don’t do this” You quietly begged him, not believing a word he’s saying. 

“I can’t let you marry him” He mumbled out, taking steps towards you, but you kept taking them back. 

You gulped, looking away as you felt a wave of unresolved emotions hitting you and suddenly you felt eighteen again, wondering why the boy you thought you liked didn’t want to discuss your first kiss with him. Your steps came to a halt as you whipped your head towards him, eyes narrowed as tears blurred your line of sight. 

“Why? Because we kissed seven years ago? It’s been seven years, Mark! Let it go!” You exclaimed, wanting to be happy with Jaemin after being indirectly rejected by Mark. You made peace with the fact that you and Mark would only be friends. You honestly thought he felt the same way, but suddenly, it’s like a flip changed in him. 

Mark shook his head, his voice desperate as he grasped at anything to keep you close to his heart. “I can’t let it go, it’s all that goes through my head when I think about you and Jaemin together” 

“You’re—no, no you can’t be saying this” You scoffed out, bringing to walk away, but Mark followed you. 

“I have to, I can’t let you marry someone you don’t love” He confessed, his words striking a chord in you. How dare he say that, he doesn’t know what you and Jaemin have and he’ll never know or understand. 

“And you think I love you?!” You yelled, turned around to look at him. Mark froze, taking in your angry face, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, watery eyes and a flushed face. You were so angry with him, so angry at how he can suddenly come in after so many years and confess so easily that he loves you. How? How can he do that knowing that you’re going to be married to Jaemin at some point. “Mark, I had such deep feelings for you as a kid. I knew I held love for you, I just couldn’t tell if it was platonic or romantic until I kissed you on my eighteenth birthday. Suddenly, it’s like everything clicked and I knew I loved you so much more than a friend and I assumed you loved me too”

“I do—”

“But you don’t!” You yelled, stopping his words as you tried to calm your erratic breathing. “Because the next day we saw each other, you pretended that nothing happened” 

Mark felt pain hit his chest. You were both such cowards and just missed each other by a mere miscommunication. All of this could’ve been avoided if one of you had the courage to bring it up. 

“You didn’t say anything” Mark whispered out, feeling that familiar pang of rejection when he realized how you wouldn't bring up the kiss. 

“Because I was terrified!” You exclaimed, growing tired of his excuse. “I was so scared that if I brought it up you’d tell me it was a mistake or-or that it was nothing” Your hand angrily ripped away a stray tear as it fell down your face. Mark felt so guilty watching you cry because of him. How could he do this to you? He’s hurting you all because he didn’t want you to marry someone else because he wants to marry you. “Gods Mark, just as I start to feel something for someone else, you go and do this?”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset”

“What did you think was going to happen?” You asked, laughing sarcastically as you looked at this beautifully sad man standing in front of you. His confession made your eighteen year old heart flutter, knowing that girl deep inside you would’ve hugged him and kissed him so hard. However, you weren’t eighteen anymore and you had different ways of thinking. “That I was going to run into your arms and say I love you too? Leave Jaemin to his own vices as if we both haven’t been together for the last few months?!” Your voice raised with every word until you stopped, trying to catch your breath as so many feelings boiled over. You shook your head, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to stand there and tell me you love me after seven years. I won’t let you ruin what I have with Jaemin just because it all suddenly hit you like a train” 

“Please—”

You shook your head, holding up a hand for him to stop talking. “No” 

You walked off, your heart hammering against your chest as his heart laid on the once green grass, beaten and broken. It felt so final, the way you walked off and how he didn’t follow you. It felt like a chord was severed, it wasn’t clean, it wasn’t straight, it was frayed and messy. Despite it feeling so strange to hear those words come from him, you knew you couldn’t go back.

You had genuine feelings for Mark, real ones from when you were younger. They weren’t dealt with, they always remained, but they were buried deep inside of you. They were dormant until Mark said those words of implication. A confession jumbled your mind the more you walked away from him. This couldn’t be happening, not when you were so ready to marry Jaemin. 

“You’re here?” Jaemin asked, his voice slightly groggy with how the sun was down and torches were lit. He was confused seeing you and your guards at his gate.  “Thought you were with Mark” 

“Yeah, sorry. Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” You asked, your brain still scattered due to Mark’s voice replaying in your brain. Don’t marry him. “It’s late and I don’t want to have my people ride in the night”

Jaemin instantly nodded, no second guess, not hesitation. He’d do anything for you, even lie for you. He’s perfect, and yet those words kept replaying in your head like a mantra. “Of course, you’re always welcomed” Don’t marry him,  how can those words echo your mind when he so easily lets you in his home. 

You smiled softly. “Thanks Jaemin”

Jaemin and his guards let you and your people in. They took the horses to the stable while the guards went off as they knew you and Jaemin were safe in the castle walls. That and Jaemin gave one stern look to his own guards and they scattered, dragging yours with them. 

“So, how was your time with Mark? Was it fun?” Jaemin asked, genuinely interested in your time with Mark. 

He was always so interested. Jaemin likes to listen to you, likes to watch how your lips move so fast with how fast you speak or how slow they move when you slow your speech down. Jaemin noticed things, even stuff he shouldn’t. Like how at the mere mention of Mark's name, you tensed up, your body going ridged like something happened that he shouldn’t know about. It worried him, but he’s not one to pester. 

“Let’s not talk about that” You said through a small smile, Mark’s agonizing face pleading with you to change your mind. “Let’s talk about something else”

“Okay” Jaemin nodded, continuing to lead you to a spare room in the castle. Jaemin cleared his throat as he remembered the familiar invitation to a wedding coming in this morning. “King Yang Yang is getting married”

Your eyes went wide. “Yang Yang? From the Northern Kingdom?" 

“Yeah, insane huh?” Jaemin chuckled, making you let out a breath of air as it hit you. You were all grown up, everyone you were kids with, suddenly, they were married. 

“Hes the first one of us to get married, anyone who was first it would’ve been insane” You pointed out, shaking your head at how insane it sounded. Yang Yang being the first one was shocking, he always joked too much and never took things too seriously, it’s surprising for him to marry someone. Even then, if Mark married someone first, it would still be shocking. 

“True” Jaemin said, turning the corner before coming to a slow stop in front of a door. “Marriage is so weird”

“How so?” You asked, turning to be in front of him. 

He let out a huff of hair as he decided to tell you his fears about marriage. “Spending your life with someone? So much commitment” 

It’s not that Jaemim was scared of commitment, he knew that he could commit, it’s just the future that scared him. Living with someone, loving someone, kissing someone, holding someone forever? It scared him because he can’t picture it. Jaemin can’t picture being married, not even to you. Jaemin wants to marry you, he does, but he honestly can’t see it happen. He can’t see the early mornings with you, the softness of married life with you, and he can’t see the children that had a mixture of his face with yours. It hurt him that he couldn’t see it, it was all blurry. 

“Yeah, I agree” You replied, taking his words not to heart, but into perspective. 

It is terrifying, being tied to someone for eternity. However, despite disliking the idea of marriage, you couldn’t help but find something beautiful about it. It’s nice to see your parents be so in love and get married, it’s nice to think about the pink and cute life of it all. It’s just the actual marriage that you hate, what it meant for you and what it meant to other people. Right now, marriage feels more like an obligation that you chose to disguise as choice.

“But I think there’s something beautiful about that. Like, wanting to spend your life with someone, always wearing a wedding band connecting you both like a string. It’s kind of beautiful to think about and wonder what it would be like to say vows and seal the promise with a kiss” You explained, a soft smile on your face as you thought about an alternate universe where you loved marriage and enjoyed the reality of it rather than despising the idea. Jaemim stared at you, like something clicked. Suddenly, his future was clear, despite it being so hazy just a few seconds ago, despite it being so invisible, suddenly, it’s like you went in and wiped the lenses for him. Suddenly, Jaemin can see the soft mornings, the quietness in the air as he took you first thing in the morning and the last thing he sees at night. The faces of your children were clear as day, they had your smile and his eyes, your nose and his lips. You could feel how cold his stare was, not mean, just sending a shiver down your spine. “What?”

Jaemin blinked once, then twice, and suddenly, the ring that he hid in his nightstand that once belonged to his mother felt lighter. “Nothing. Just, stay tomorrow, just for a few hours?” He asked, grabbing your cold hands into his own cold ones. 

You didn’t question it because it was Jaemin. Predictable. “Okay” Jaemin smiled and wished you a good night after saying that this was your room for the night. 

The night was peaceful, cold in the room, but warm in the sheets. Despite it being so easy to fall asleep, you couldn’t close your eyes without your mind wandering back to Mark. His confession wasn’t a real one, he didn’t say that he loves you, didn’t say that you should choose him, but it was all implied. You think that’s what made it worse, how you knew what he was trying to say, knew what he meant when he begged you to not marry Jaemin. Everyone suspected that there was something deeper between you and Mark, always a feeling, and it was always voiced. People asking if you and Mark are going to get over it and make it official, people from different parts of the world asking if you and Mark were married. However, you and Mark always denied it, saying that you were just friends and nothing more because you weren’t. 

It was complicated, some days you found yourself wanting to hold Mark’s hand, other days he found himself wanting to hug you for a bit longer, and some days you both felt the urge to kiss one another. The problem was, you both felt as though the feelings weren’t reciprocated, so you continued on as friends. Until now, suddenly, friends felt like a flimsy old blanket that was falling apart at the seams, it was old and useless. Suddenly, friends felt like a phony way of hiding behind a plastic wall to avoid the real conversation. Mark loves you and deep down, you knew you loved him too. But you can’t love Mark, not when Jaemin is down the hall, asking you to stay. You want Jaemin to be your future, you don’t know why, but you do. Jaemin is so perfect, so beautiful and a good person that you know he’d be a good husband. 

But Mark was also perfect, he’s kind, genuine, heartfelt, and sensitive. Mark would be a good husband to you, you knew this since the time on the balcony on your Unveiling. You both knew that you’d be perfect for one another, it’s why you kissed, because it was an unconscious thought that manifested into a reaction. That kiss was supposed to happen, these feelings were supposed to happen and this implied confessed and you understood what he was going to say was supposed to happen. You know Mark like the back of your hand, he’s familiar and well known. Mark is your best friend and yet, you can’t marry him. Not because you don’t love him, you do, but you're terrified to lose him. 

You are terrified that if you and Mark marry one another, you might resent each other. That the feelings you have will turn sour, that they wouldn’t last, that they would fade away and you’d be stuck with one another. Being friends with Mark is so much easier than being lovers, you’ve proved that once with how cowardly you both acted after you kissed one another. If you both couldn’t confront each other then, how can you confront each other now. You won’t, it’s already been proven. Rather than saying the words, don’t marry him, I love you, Mark left it up to you to read his mind, to read the implication and assume that he’s confessing his love for you. Sure, maybe it was romantic how you could read his mind and understand what he meant without needing words, but just from a look. However, you didn’t want that, you didn’t want to have to assume and know based off of vague words or a mere gaze, you wanted words, you needed words. Maybe if Mark said I love you, marry me instead, you would’ve. 

That’s a horrible thought to have, why would you think that. A mere few words is enough for you to throw away everything you have with Jaemin? You’re pathetic for that, but it speaks volume to how much Mark has you. This was all more complicated than it should be, you have to decide here and now who you want to be with. Jaemin, the perfect prince charming that you enjoy, or Mark, the best friend who you know too much for your own good. 

“So, why did you ask me to stay?” You asked Jaemin, the morning was crisp and his hand held yours in such a firm way, like he was sure of something. You didn’t know what though. 

He smiled widely, all his teeth showing as it made you furrow your brows. “Come, I want to show you something” He dragged you down the hallway, you quickly trying to fall in his steps, but always one behind, leaving you to stumble. 

“Okay” You chuckled, your stuttering steps as he continued to speed down his castle halls. Turn here, down the steps there and what seemed like forever led you to a set of double doors. You looked at Jaemin inquisitively, confused at why he led you here. Jaemin let go of your hand and pushed the doors open. Your face fell in shock, a gasp leaving your lips when you walked into a room that was like mirrors into the Enchanted Forest. “What is this place? It’s beautiful” 

You were in awe, how the glass walls felt endless, how the room felt like you were stepping outside into the forest. While it was artificial, it felt so real. The cold, the grass and moss, the smell of wet grass and the cool breeze that made the leaves shift. 

“Velendria has hidden rooms in its castle, this is one of them” Jaemin explained, losing the doors that were made of glass on the inside. When the doors closed, the four walls of the room felt non existent, like you were outside. “It’s supposed to emulate the Enchanted Forest and its grand tree” 

“It’s amazing” You whispered, looking up to see the familiar trunk, the large branches and the leaves that held a special magic in it. How the lights twinkled in the leaves and how the trunk held every memory you had as a child running around. You looked over at Jaemin, smiling softly, but confused. “Why show me this?”

“It’s my favorite room to kill time” He replied, equally looking around and feeling his nerves slowly come down. “I come here when I need quiet, peace, even to just take a nap. This place makes me feel more at home than in my room. That’s how you make me feel” He explained, his voice soft as it impacted your chest with a soft thud. 

It skipped a beat, and just for a moment, you felt a pit in your stomach. It wasn’t a good feeling, it was an uncomfortable one. You don’t know why, but it felt heavy and gross. You were his home, that’s what he was telling you. You should feel over the moon, feel happy and excited and yet, all you feel is weird. 

“Jaem” You mumbled out, an unreadable look on your face, like you’re internally cringing, but also happy? You felt a mixture of emotions, the bad ones outweighing the good ones right now. 

Jaemin, however, didn't notice. The one time he didn’t notice was the time he was confessing this sudden change in his brain chemistry towards you. “I love you, I don’t think I realized this until last night. Hearing you speak about marriage, how you came to me when you needed a place to stay. I just, I love you and I want to marry you” It was his first time saying those words, so foreign on his tongue and yet, it didn’t hit you or him as much as he expected. He expected a grand feeling, fireworks or something, but there was nothing. No explosion in his chest, but it was too late now. Jaemin got down on one knee and pulled out the little box he had in his coat pocket. “So, uh, will you marry me?”

You stared down at the ring, how it was the ring of his mothers. Small and dainty, shimmering in the Enchanted Forest you loved so much. While artificial, still real enough. Jaemin is enough, enough for you to say, “Yes” 

“Mark! King Mark! King Mark Lee!” Johnny yelled his name, his sword clanking against his leg as he ran down the hallway to exit the castle. “Mark Lee!” He yelled again, running down the steps of the palace to enter the grand garden. 

“What?” Mark asked, hearing Johnny's yells and huffs coming from behind. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Mark asked, gesturing to his journal in his hands, getting ready to write down everything his heart desired. 

“She’s—wait, let me catch my breath” Johnny panted out, bending over to catch his breath. Jesus, he forgot how large the castle is and how much he should work on cardio. “Lords!” Johnny exclaimed, standing up straight only to lean back as his lungs inhaled as much air as he could. “She’s—oh, my gods, she’s, she’s getting married?”

“She’s getting married?” Mark asked, acting shocked because who is Johnny talking about right now. “Right, who is she?” Johnny held his breath before letting it out, his face falling as he didn’t need to say your name, because Mark knew. Mark felt his stomach drop and his heart ache. You were marrying him, you really were. “Oh”

“Oh? Just oh?!” Johnny yelled, feeling more passion for the loss of you and Mark. “I ran all the way here after hearing this from your mother for you to say oh?!” 

“There’s nothing to say” Mark replied, sitting down on the bench, slumping his shoulders and taking off his crown. “I told her not to marry him and clearly she is. There’s nothing to say”

“What about telling her you love her?” Johnny asked. 

“I did” Mark pointed out, his eyes softening at how Johnny looked at him with surprise. 

His eyes went wide, Mark actually told her? No way. “You said, I love you?”

“Well, not in so many words” Mark replied, sheepishly as he raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “I implied it, she got the memo”

Johnny scoffed, crossing his arms as he shook his head at himself “Implying is not the same as saying. You gotta tell her”

“I’m not gonna tell her if she already knows! Besides, she’s getting married to Prince freaking Charming, Jaemin” Mark replied, bitter at how perfect Jaemin is. 

“She doesn’t love Jaemin though”

Mark sighed, leaning back in his seat, not looking at Johnny. “At this point, I don’t think she doesn't love him. She has to have some kind of feelings towards Jaemin that ran deeper than surface level” 

“Yeah, but they’re not as deep as her feelings for you” Johnny pointed out, scoffing again before joining him on the bench. Johnny was trying to be encouraging, trying to be that hype person Mark needed to gain the confidence to actually confess to her and not leave it up to interpretation. Johnny smacked Mark’s arm, trying to up the energy. “Come on! You’re inseparable! You’re each other's other half, it’s so obvious it was always supposed to be you two”

“Clearly not, she said yes” Mark moped, trying to come to terms with the idea of you no longer being a Choi, but a Na. 

Johnny could see Mark’s light slowly die out. “You can’t let her go”

“I have to” Mark replied, finally looking at him with his sad doe eyes. “She’s clearly happy with Jaemin”

“She’s not!”

“She is! And that’s okay, Johnny” Mark denied, not wanting to speak about this anymore. You were marrying Jaemin, he can’t do anything about it as you’ve made your decision. “I want her to be happy”

“The only way she’ll be happy is if she’s with you” Johnny pointed out, wanting Mark to understand that this was true. Johnny has only ever seen you and him be truly happy with one another. Just like your sister said, there’s this pureness, this innocence that wraps around you both like a bubble, shielding you from the world. It’s something she’s only seen with your parents. “You both are so stubborn”

“Me? I’m stubborn?” 

“Yes, you are” Johnny replied, laughing because it was funny how much people say you’re the stubborn one between the two of you, but in actuality, you and Mark are equally as stubborn as the other. “She loves you so much and if you can’t see that because you want to hide behind this wall of ‘If she’s happy, then I’m happy’, then fine” Johnny scoffed, standing up as he began to feel fed up with how easily Mark was giving up. 

“Why are you giving me so much attitude?” 

“I’m a hopeless romantic” Johnny replied, shaking his head as he turned back to look at Mark. Young and so in love Mark and how hurt he looks. “It’s always been you two. Don’t forget that”

“You’re getting married?!” Your sister yelled, standing up from your bed to look at you like you were insane. 

“Sister, you knew this was coming, don’t act surprised”

“I am! I am surprised!” She exclaimed, nodding her head as she began to cross her arms over her chest with furrowed brows. “What about Mark?”

“What about him?” You asked, confused as to why Mark would be a part of this conversation. 

“He loves you!” She yelled again, like you were thick headed and nothing ever got to you. You signed, slumping your shoulders as you knew you would get her long peach about how you and Mark were meant to be together. “There I said it, I’ve been keeping it in since forever, but he loves you” 

“I know he does” You replied calmly, like the information didn’t bother you even though it still kept you up at night. 

“No, he loves you, loves you” She stressed, looking at you with a pleading look, not wanting you to marry Jaemin. “Like in love with you, like insanely in love with you”

“I know!” You exclaimed, clenching your jaw as you looked away from her. You took in a deep breath and tried to calm yourself. “He told me. Told me not to marry Jaemin”

The tense atmosphere immediately dropped, your sister no longer upset and agitated, but diffused. Her shoulders softened as she slowly sat down next to you on your bed once more. “Did he tell you why?” 

“Wasn’t a hard guess” You mumbled out. 

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t” You said, your gaze focused on the floor as you tried to refocus your mind on Jaemin.  “I choose Jaemin, I pick Jaemin” You said once more, trying to convince your sister and yourself. It’s like Mark’s implied confession altered your thought process, suddenly, choosing and picking Jaemin didn’t feel like enough and didn’t feel solid. It was shaky and misguided, it felt more like an action than a reflex. “Jaemin is perfect on paper and he did something about his feelings. Mark can spew his words of adoration to me all he wants, it won’t change how he let me believe for so long that my feelings weren’t reciprocated. He didn’t do anything. Jaemin did”

The more you say these words and the more nonsense you say, just trying to justify your choosing, it feels more and more difficult. 

“You’re choosing wrong”

However, you’re stubborn, so you’ll continue the convincing and continue the small white lies. “I’m not. Jaemin is my future, Mark is a mere innocent part of my past” You explained, nodding your head more to yourself than your sister. “A small part of me will always love Mark, I think it’s the young girl inside of me that always saw him as a person I never wanted to leave. But he’s not the person I see myself getting married to right now. It’s Jaemin.”

“You’re going to regret this, you know that right?” Your sister asked, trying to find your gaze and honestly, you had enough of the same question and conversation so much. 

“Why can’t you be happy for me?” You whispered, looking at her with doe eyes, hoping that would work. Sometimes it feels like you’re the younger sister with how observational she is. 

“I’m your sister, not your friend” She denied, shaking her head. “I’ll be happy when you’re turkey happy and not lying to yourself because you won’t let your younger self grow up” Your sister got up and left your room, the door echoing shut that it made you close your eyes. 

When you opened them, you looked at your left ring finger. The way the diamond was shaped, how the gold band wrapped around it, shining like little stars. It was nice, pretty, dainty, and cute. Just like Jaemin was. You signed, closing your eyes and laying back down on your bed, feeling heavier than the ring on your finger. 

Why were you so heavy? Why was your brain not thinking clearly and yet your words were confident? Why were you contradicting yourself and hiding your true feelings? Maybe it’s because you’re in too deep with Jaemin? You didn’t know, but all you knew was that you’re marrying Jaemin and Mark was invited to the wedding. 

“How’s the dress, your highness?” Miyeon asked, standing up as she let you view the dress with a blank face. 

“It’s…” You trailed off, your eyes scanning the silk, the way it hugged you, how it flowed at the bottom. It was so simple, easy, and comfortable. It wasn’t tight, wasn’t loose, wasn’t even ugly, it was just easy. Jaemin is easy. This wedding is easy and your feelings for Jaemin were easy. “It’s a dress”

Miyeon’s face fell, feeling horrified that you hated it because she would hear how out of place you sounded. “Do you not like it?” She asked, eyes wide as she instantly tried to change the angle of the train or maybe it was the veil as she rearranged it behind you. 

“No, it’s exactly what I wanted on paper” You replied, knowing that Mieyon could read your mind so easily when it came to making dresses. It’s why you appointed her as your seamstress when you turned eighteen. “It’s just, it’s not feeling right” You winced, not feeling right anymore. Suddenly, your ring was blinding you, not lighting up a room like it did when you first saw it. It was heavy, your body was heavy, your attitude towards the wedding was slowly turning sour. 

“Not feeling right?” Miyeon asked, sensing the way the mood shifted when the words came out of your mouth. 

“I feel, not like how I thought I would feel” You revealed, turning around and grabbing the dress to step off the small platform. You signed, letting it go as you stared at her with such desperation to feel the way you imagined you'd feel.“I thought I would feel euphoric or excited or-or nervous. Instead I feel kind of dull” Your shoulders slumped, taking a seat on the vanity chair that sat in the room. 

“Well, we could change the detail, maybe move the hemline down, cinch in the waist a bit more” Miyeon instantly shot out ideas, grabbing the parchment that held your design as she started scribbling away. 

You signed, shaking your head as you watched her frantically try to fix what she made. “If you cinch it in more, I won’t be able to breathe” You joked, trying to lighten the mood, but the comment didn’t land as Miyeon looked at how down you looked. Usually brides were ecstatic, happy, and glowing. You were right, you look and feel dull. 

“If I may?” Miyeon asked, following your lead and sitting down as well on a seat. “How are you feeling about this wedding?” She asked lightly. 

“Well, Jaemin is mostly taking care of it. Said he didn’t want his future wife to be stressed” You explained, slightly smiling at how considerate Jaemin is, how he acted and how he cared for you. You slightly perked up at how some memories of Jaemin spoke to you with that soft voice as he showed you different things.“He showed me some flowers, I couldn’t decide and he chose and then he showed me some decorations I couldn’t decide and he chose again” Your smile slowly fell as you felt funny about it. Jaemin chose everything, he made everything, this felt more and more like Jaemin’s wedding than both of your weddings. It wasn’t his fault, you just felt a little out of it. “I just feel a little spaced” 

“King Jaemin makes a lot of choices for you” Miyeon replied, making you look up at her, looking rather calm than in a cloud of gray. 

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m indecisive”

“Not when you’re with King Mark” She crossed her legs, perking up at how you tend to challenge Mark a bit more. 

“Not you too” You groaned, growing annoyed with how much everyone expected you and Mark to end up together, like they were all planning on it. 

“It’s hard to ignore” Miyeon mumbled, smiling as she remembered being a young kid, watching you two interact at Caliriel events. How jealous she felt watching you both because she craved to have a friendship like that, a real love like that. “When you’re with Mark, you are more assertive, more confident and yourself with him. With Jaemin, you’re passive” 

“I trust Jaemin” You replied and she nodded. 

“I don’t doubt that, and I bet you trust King Mark as much as you trust King Jaemin. But I wonder why you choose to be more yourself around Mark if Jaemin is the one you love” Miyeon explained, making you feel caught in a lie you didn’t know you said. 

Shaking your head, your pride was making you stubborn. The last thing you wanted, as Queen, was to be seen as someone who loves another person so they wouldn't love another. “I won’t give into this propaganda that Mark and I are supposed to be together”

“It cannot be propaganda if it holds some truth” Miyeon stopped you, swallowing you saliva as you felt as though Miyeon was holding up a mirror to yourself. She saw right through you and you hated it. “Your highness, you’re settling for someone who, while yes, is perfect on paper, isn’t perfect for you. You need someone who makes you feel like you can speak freely”

“I speak freely with Jaemin all the time” You denied, making it sound like you can speak to Jaemin easily and freely. In reality you don’t, you hold your tongue with him, you let him speak more than you do, and you let him create the moments and conversations rather than creating them with him. This relationship you had, it was more Jaemin than you and Jaemin. 

“Yes, but you lose your breath with Mark because he makes you laugh so hard, you curse at him when he’s being, forgive my words, stupid, and you can get angry with him and yell at him and still be okay because you know that Mark will forgive you as easily as you forgive him” Miyeon said, making you reminisce on how she was right. You could get angry with Mark, he could get angry with you, and yet you never held grudges against one another because you both could always fix your problems. Even then, your friendship was bigger than any argument you both could ever have, because forgiveness is easy with him, it was right with him. “Can you yell at Jaemin? Even say one bad thing about him”

“There’s nothing bad to say about him” But, your stubbornness had other things to say, because how can you confess now that you honestly don’t want to marry Jaemin, you just wanted to marry the idea of it all. The idea of marrying someone or your Kingdom, marrying someone for the idea of your family. It was too late, you can’t say this when you're getting married so soon. “I can’t love Mark the way he loves me. Not now, back then? Of course, but it’s too late now, Jaemin is the one I’m marrying” 

“You’re so stubborn” Miyeon scoffed, knowing how you were spewing lies because it’s not that you don’t love Mark, it’s because you can't and you don’t want to say it out loud, because if you do, it all becomes real and too much to lose. 

You groaned again like a child, standing up as you paced the room. “I’m not being stubborn about this. I like Jaemin, I love Jaemin, he’s great and everything sweet in the candy store. He’s a good person” You confessed, trying to convince her about your feelings. You stopped pacing as you looked down at her. “So, I’d appreciate it if you'd just help me and figure out how to fix this dress for the wedding” You ordered, a stern tone coming out as you went back up on the platform, head held high as you stood up straight. 

“Of course, your highness” Miyeon replied, standing up and bowing before going to fix some things mindlessly as you softly ordered her around. 

It was the night before your wedding, your family was in Velendria, staying in the royal castle with Jaemin and his family. His family resided in the west wing while your family resided in the east. You were trying to fall asleep, however, your mind wouldn't let you. It’s been like this ever since Jaemin proposed to you. Eye bags under your eyes as you tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed as the moonlight etched into your room through the curtains. You signed, throwing the sheets off your body as you got up from the bed. You grabbed your robe from the hanger next to the bed, throwing it on as you stepped outside on the balcony in your room. You stared outside into the clear night, the cool breeze hitting you as you drank in the silence. The stars were shining and the moon was full and bright, it made you feel real, realer than you’ve felt in the past few weeks. 

“You okay?” You heard your mothers warm voice ask as you turned around to see you standing at the doorframe. 

You hummed, nodding as she stepped in as you followed her steps. “Yeah, I’m okay, just getting fresh air” You replied, your mother joining you on the balcony as you both leaned on the railing, looking out at the hills and valleys. 

“Cold feet?” She asked, looking at you with concern. If your mother was honest, even she wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of you marrying Jaemin, especially with how you looked at Mark with such light and at Jaemin with kindness. Your mother isn’t denying that you don’t have feelings for jaemin, she's sure you do, they just don’t run in your veins the same way your feelings for Mark do. 

You didn’t shake or nod your head, it just dipped as you looked at your hands. “Sister thinks I’m making the wrong choice”

“Are you?”

You took in a deep breath before letting it out. Jaemin is too good of a person to say no to, but Jaemin is also too good of a person to lie to. However, that’s what you're doing, lying to him and yourself. “No, I’m making the right choice” You whispered. 

“So why worry what she thinks?” She asked, wanting you to come to the conclusion yourself rather than taking your sister's reaction to heart. Your mother knows how close you and your sister are, how she takes your words to heart and how you take her just the same. You were able to be honest with one another, brutally so and it altered your decision making which wasn't always the correct way to go. 

“Because what if she’s right?” You asked, sounding sad and desperate for someone to tell you that what you were doing was right. Wanting that validation because you couldn’t get it yourself. You were so unsure if what you were doing was right ever since Mark told you that he loves you, ever since Jaemin got down on one knee and said that he loves you and presented you with a ring. “What if I am making the wrong choice and I’m not realizing it until right now” 

“Why would you be making the wrong choice?” She asked, gently running a hand through your hair in a comforting manner as you felt stressed with the inner conflict your unconscious and conscious mind was going through. 

“I don’t know” You winced, clenching your jaw as your brows furrowed so much in worry. “I just, it’s all happening so quickly” You whispered, looking at your mother who looked at you with the same worried face you gave her. You straightened up, her hand falling from your hair as your arm extended to your room. “I barely met Jaemin a couple months ago and now I’m getting married to him tomorrow!” You exclaimed, your arm falling as you felt tears rise up in your eyes. 

“It’s usually what happens in a courtship” Your mother responded, trying to be the calm in the crazy storm on your mind. You groaned, running a hand through your hair as the cold breeze began to nip at your skin, making you shiver. Your mother could see something else going on, something that went deeper than pre wedding nerves. “My darling, what’s really wrong?” 

You looked over at her with a sad look, a look so sad that your mother felt her heart crack. Why were you so sad? “Mark told me to not marry Jaemin, because he loves me”

“Mark loves you?” She asked, a little surprised that he actually confessed to it, and the fact that he confessed to it first. She honestly had bets that you’d confess first. “Finally” She whispered under her breath, but you heard her and shoved her arm. 

“Mom!” You exclaimed, groaning as you put your head in your hands. 

Your mother shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to sour her mood as she wanted to be that light that pulled you out of your dilemma. “What? I’m not surprised, he’s always looked at you differently than everyone else” She pointed out, remembering how Mark always looked at you with this whole soul, how even a natural disaster wouldn’t tear away his attention to you. 

“Yeah, but, why tell me this now and not when I wasn’t being courted and thinking about marriage?” You asked, knowing that if it was better timing, it would’ve been Mark waiting at the altar for you, not Jaemin. This seven years battle would’ve been solved and tied if you both had just said something, but you both chose to say nothing, waiting for the other person to say something. 

“Confessions are never perfect, sometimes a confession is just that, doesn’t need action, doesn’t need a response” Your mother explained, making you look at her with that same sad look in your eyes, and yet, you didn’t feel sad, you just felt drained. Your mother gave you a soft smile, knowing that tomorrow, you’d make the right decision for yourself and not for other people. “Maybe Mark just felt the need to say something because everything bubbled over” 

“It’s just horrible timing” You shook your head, looking back out at the foggy night. 

“When would’ve been good timing?”

You signed, standing up straight. “Like seven years ago” 

“Would you have been ready?” Would you? Would you have been ready to take that risk? Being with Mark and no safety net of being friends, because one wrong argument, one wrong anything could’ve jeopardized your entire relationship. 

“I’d like to think so” Maybe you wou;’ve been ready, ready for that love, that commitment, that intensity of letting yourself be in love with your best friend. Things would’ve been so different, maybe you would’ve been married by now, maybe even have kids by now with Mark. Little kids running around with your eyes and his laugh, your hair and his nose, or maybe one would be exactly like you and the other like Mark. It was nice to envision it in these fleeting moments. “I love Mark mom, I really do, but it’s too late” 

“Then why obsess over it?” Your mother asked, knowing why you would obsess over it, but wanting you to come to that conclusion. The feelings you claim to not be strong enough, the  timing you claim to be too far gone, it was all here, it was happening right now. You just didn’t see it yet. “You’re getting married tomorrow, if you’re having second thoughts, Jaemin deserved to know” 

A sleepless night is what you had, the sun slowly rising as soon as you felt comfortable enough to fall asleep. Waking up to the burning sun in your eyes with the loud knocking from Miyeon who was going to help you get ready for the wedding. The morning was chaotic, shoving food down your throat as Miyeon helped you get in your dress and your mother helping with your hair and your sister watching, already dressed and ready to go. It was full of people talking over one another and you trying to breathe as it all came crashing on you. Suddenly, the silly dates you liked became real, the conversations you had with Jaemin about the future were no longer mindless conversations, but plans for the future that was happening right now. Suddenly, the future was no longer so far away, it was only a few hours away from you. It scared you, how you were about to be tied to a man you never thought you’d marry. 

Miyeon was the last person to step out of the room you were staying in. You looked at yourself, how the dress had hardly changed since the first fitting, how it looked like the skeleton of fabric you wore when you were questioned by Miyeon. The more you stared at yourself, the more real and unreal it all felt. It was real, that you were getting married, it just felt unreal that you were getting married in an hour. It felt real that you were in a wedding dress, but it felt unreal that the wedding dress was yours. You then heard a knock at your door, turning your head to yell at them to come in. When the door opened, you expected to see your mom or your sister, maybe even Miyeon. Instead, you saw, “Mark, what’re you doing here?” You asked, confused as to why he was here and dressed so well. 

His blue number had golden accents that accentuated his wealth. How his cape was clearly freshly washed as you could smell the soap they used on it with each passing breeze. How his face was alive and his hair fell so perfectly in place and suddenly, all you could see was him in white, standing at the altar with Haechan standing beside him as you were walking down the aisle in a dress that felt right. Where the moment felt real, and the good kind of real, the real that you wanted to experience right now with Jaemin, but this was stopping you. Your feelings for Mark that were boiling over, your love for him that was no longer hidden and buried, but coming up at full force. Why did it take you until your wedding to suddenly think about calling it off? Confessions weren’t perfect, you weren’t perfect, but maybe you were perfect enough for him. 

Mark couldn’t say anything as he saw you standing there dressed in white. How your hair was up, showing your facial features so perfectly and the way the sun was hitting you was perfect. You were otherworldly to him, you were so much more than beautiful and any other word he could think of. You were so much and all he wanted to do was to kiss you and say I Do. However, he wasn’t the groom, he was just the best friend and you made that perfectly clear to him.

“I just, I’m sorry, you’re—I can’t say” He stumbled out, his mouth dry for water as he just stared at you again, with his whole soul out on a silver platter for you to consume. 

You could feel your heart skip a beat and your brain releasing oxytocin as you realized how Mark did stare at you the way your father stared at your mother. This can’t happen, you were getting married so soon. If only you realized all of this sooner. If only you weren't stubborn or a horrible person for using Jaemin in the way you did.

“Mark, don’t, please” You mumbled, not wanting to hear another compliment or confession. Not because you didn’t want to hear it, but because if you did, you would break. 

“I’m sorry, I was just, I just wanted to apologize” Mark replied, clearing his throat as he nodded, his face growing blank as he stared at you so quietly. “I’m sorry for telling you what I said and just, Lords, I just, I love you, of course I love you and I’m sorry I haven’t said anything and I’m sorry I told you this at the worst time and even now I’m telling you I love you right before your wedding, but if I don’t tell you this now, I’ll never say it and I’d regret never telling you” You told him not to say this and yet here he was, confessing even more. He loves you, he finally said it. It wasn’t up to interpretation and mind reading, he confessed, Mark actually said the three words eighteen year old you would’ve fallen for. “And I’m not asking you to not marry Jaemin, I’m sorry I ever asked you that. If you want to marry Jaemin, marry him. He’s perfect for you, he’s someone you deserve and someone who won’t wait forever to do something like I do. I love you and I just want you to be happy and if you’re happy with Jaemin, then be happy with him” This isn’t a selfless sacrifice, Mark isn’t letting you marry Jaemin, he’s not giving you up like he says he is. He was just telling you to do what is right, do what you want to do. If you want to marry Jaemin, he isn’t going to stop you, but if you don’t want to marry Jaemin, he wants you to pick him instead. You can’t tell if that is out of love, or selfishness. “That’s all I wanted to say. I love you and I’m sorry” 

You were rendered speechless. How could he say those things so easily? How can he say he loves you? Finally, after seven years he says it, but it took him so long and suddenly, you’re eighteen years old again, kissing him and feeling him. You saw his soul, you saw his heart, you saw his brain that contained memories of you and him, you saw everything. You’re feeling everything, those nerves, those euphoric feelings, that ecstasy, everything. Mark makes you feel real. You were about to say something, but a knock came as you both looked at the open doorway to see the familiar face of a guard. 

“Your highness, oh, King Mark” He paused, looking at the King of Eloweth standing with you. He looked between you and Mark, feeling a deep tension as he looked back at you. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, I was just leaving” Mark interrupted, nodding his head towards you before taking his leave as the guard bowed to him. 

You watched as Mark left, his body disappearing behind the corner. Little did you know that he was busy trying to catch his breath after telling you about his love. It was nerve racking for him and he did it, he finally told you. However, he thinks you’ll go through with it, you’ll marry Jaemin and you both will be friends again, trying to be as normal as possible. 

The guard cleared his throat, looking at you for confirmation. “Your highness, we’re ready for you”

“Okay” You mumbled out, still in shock with Mark's "I love you" ringing in your ears. Clearing your throat, you mindlessly stepped down the platform and followed the guard down the winding and turning hallways of the castle. 

When you reached the room where you both would be getting married, the double doors leading to the rooms were closed. You saw your father there, dressed in his traditional clothing as he finally caught you. Your father felt his world stop as he saw you dressed in the beautiful white dress, how grown up you look now. Suddenly, his little girl was getting married. He didn’t understand how time flew by.

“My daughter, you look beautiful”  He announced, making you smile as he pulled you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head. He pulled away and you hooked your arm in his. “You ready?” He asked, raising an eyebrow to make you laugh, but all you did was let out an uncomfortable chuckle. 

“I’m nervous” You mumbled out, shaking with nerves. Your father gently squeezed your hand as he looked down at you with a proud smile. 

“Don’t be, Jaemin is one lucky man” He confirmed, making you smile, but not in relief, but in pain. Jaemin is a lucky man, he’s nice, sweet, considerate, understanding, a brilliant King, more of a peacemaker than you could ever be. And yet, he’s about to marry a girl who doesn’t want to marry him anymore. What were you doing? 

“Don’t let me fall” You mumbled out, one of the guards hanging you a bouquet of flowers as you heard shuffling from behind the doors. They were standing, the soft violins making beautiful melodies as they were awaiting your entrance. 

Your father chuckles, holding onto your arm tightly. “Never” 

The doors opened and everyone's eyes were on you. The pew was full of people you knew and didn’t know. You can see Haechan’s familiar smirk, but it wasn’t full, wasn’t his usual smirk that he usually gioves you. It was different, almost vague. Renjun’s smile was small, not bright like how it usually was when you did something he was proud of. Chenle jist looked bored while your sister stood next to him, looking disappointed. Was no one happy about this? Was no one approving of this? Were you honestly so blind to how much people knew you and Mark were made for one another than you in turn blinded yourself into trying to love someone you knew you couldn’t? The walk down the aisle felt like miles and miles, it felt endless, that when you reached the end and finally looked at Jaemin, it all dawned on you. 

Jaemin, he looked so happy, so ready to commit and so infatuated with you. To him, you were the most beautiful person he has ever seen, even as kids, he thought you were beautiful. He admired you, loved how stubborn you were, how you spoke your mind and how peaceful you can be when it was time to be. He loves you, he really does. You hate how you can see that, how you can see the glimmer in his eyes as he drank you in, about to be his wife. All you could do was force a smile, hoping he wouldn’t be able to notice, but Mark did. He was watching from the pew, longing for you now, wishing and hoping that you would run away with him. He was selfish for you, he wanted you, he needed you. You were the oxygen he needed to breathe and survive. But most importantly, you were the wish he constantly wished for in the well. His whispers of your name and the word “Wife” attached to one another seamlessly. 

“Good day, we are all gathered here today for this holy matrimony between Queen Choi and King Na” The priest announced, his voice loud and full as everyone took their seats. He made his speech, saying what he needed to say, but it all went in one ear and out the other. You were contemplating, trying to be in the moment, but your dress was itchy, your shoes hurting your feet, your body trembling and your mind racing. You swallowed saliva as your throat felt so dry, your eyes burning as you honestly thought you forgot to blink. Blinking your eyes, you gleaned right past Jaemin and a little to your right and saw Mark. Mark, oh Mark, how handsome he is and how lovely he is. How he knew the ways to make you feel better, to make you laugh, to make your tea, how many sugars to add, down to the gram, and how much he knew you hated ranunculus, but Jaemin didn’t know that, it's why he chose the flowers for your bouquet, because he didn't know. 

“I do” Jaemin said proudly, with relief as he smiled so widely that it took up his whole face. He was so happy to see you here, in front of him at the altar. 

They all awaited your response, but you were still in another world where this wasn't happening. “Queen Choi?” The priest asked, looking at you with a questioning look. Jaemin cleared his throat and that caught your attention as people began to murmur. 

“I…” You trailed off, looking at Jaemin with such uncertainty and for some reason, he still couldn’t see it. He thought that you were consumed with so much feeling, overwhelmed that you lost your words. Not that you were feeling so guilty for marrying him, for wanting this, for going so far in this. Because you can't marry Jaemin, you can’t marry him because he deserves someone so much better, deserves better in general. Your shoulders fell as you breathed out the words Jaemin never thought you’d say, “I’m so sorry, I can’t” 

“What?” Jaemin asked, feeling his whole world crashing down in front of all of these people. It killed him, you can’t marry him. The whole room bursts into gasps and whispers as you gently shake your heat at him. 

“I’m so sorry, I can’t marry you, Jaem, I’m so sorry” You apologized over and over again, tears welling in your eyes as guilt washed all over you. Jaemin didn’t break, his smile just fell as his eyes broke into millions of pieces, and yet, he looked so perfect. “You deserve someone who loves you” 

He gently shook his head, his shoulders falling as he felt like this was some nightmare he was going to wake up from. “I don’t, I don't understand. You don’t love me?” He asked, whispering his words as everyone still whispered behind him. 

You looked around, seeing everyone with curious looks, whispering at each other and others trying to listen in. You couldn’t do this in front of everyone, in front of your family and friends, in front of Jaemin’s mother and father, and especially in front of Mark. You grabbed Jaemin’s hand and dragged him out of the room, the gasps and words rising in volume as you dragged him down the aisle through the two doors and down the winding corridor that felt smaller and smaller with each step. Eventually, you found a random door and pulled him in it. It was a music room, instruments here and there, you assumed were his mothers as you remember Jaemin mentioned that his mother loved music and would play in her free time. 

As soon as Jaemin closed the door, the words came spilling out of your mouth. “I really tried, Jaem, I really did try, but I just, it doesn’t feel right and I hate that it doesn’t feel right because you’re perfect” You explained, feeling the tears you were holding in slowly fall down your face. “You’re everything I would want in a husband, you are so many great things and I really did try to love you, I told everyone I did, so many times, but I think I just said those things because I was trying to convince myself and I’m so sorry” 

Jaemin didn’t say anything at first, just letting your words sink in and he didn’t feel sad, just hurt and disappointed. “It’s because of Mark, isn’t it?” He asked, although he already knew that the answer was yes. It was always Mark, he just should have known. 

“I’m sorry” 

Jaemin signed, trying to remain calm, even though his heart felt like it was sinking underwater. “Don’t be. I should’ve known” He mumbled out, nodding his head as he was trying to accept a fact he knew, but decided to ignore. 

“No, you shouldn’t have, I just, I shouldn’t have done this to you” You shook your head, not wanting for Jaemin to feel as though you always had Mark in the back of your mind, because you didn’t, not until recently, not until he proposed. 

“It's okay” He replied, shaking his head. 

You didn’t expect him to be so calm about this, why was he so calm? He wasn’t, he wasn’t calm, he wanted to crawl into a hole and rethink his whole time with you and wonder how many signs he missed, or saw and ignored. He wanted to dissect this whole relationship inside out to see where it all happened, or if it happened since the beginning. Was this relationship only meant to fail? Yes, yes it was. 

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I kind of saw it coming” Half of a lie, he knew you and Mark had a special bond, it was so evident in the way you acted around one another. It was magical like the Enchanted Forest and wishful like the Wishing Well you gushed about so much. “The way you spoke about him, how you looked at him, it always made sense. Even as kids”

“I’m so sorry” You had no other words to say because, what could you say? All you can be is sorry. 

“It’s okay” He replied, watching as you gently slid the ring off your finger, grabbing his hand as his palm opened for you to place the ring there. It was final, you and Jaemin weren’t getting married. Jaemin was the first to leave, walking away and leaving you in this music room as you contemplated on what to do. You’d be lying if you said that Mark wasn’t the first person on your mind, wanting to finally say what you’ve been wanting to say all those years ago. Seven years might be really late, but you don’t want to make it ten, or twenty. 

You ran out of the room, the castle echoing with the voices of people who decided to stay and enjoy the reception. You ran around the corridors, trying to see if maybe Mark was lingering around, but to no avail, you had no idea where he was. Walking down one of the halls, you caught sight of your sister, her pretty dress sparking as she laughed with Chenle at some stupid joke he made. 

You called out her name, her head whipping over to look at you, blotchy eyes and red cheeks and nose. Instantly she knew you were crying. 

“Are you okay?” She asked instantly, furrowed brows as she grabbed your arm in comfort. 

You shook your head, guilt still deep in your stomach, but now you could say what you wanted to say. “No, but have you seen Mark? I really need to speak to him” You asked, craning your neck to look beyond them to see the familiar perfect head of hair. 

“Mark?” Chenle asked, speaking up and you looked at him. “He left, like when you two ran off, he left” He explained, your eyes going wide. He was gone? 

“He left? Where did he go?” You asked, frantically trying to get a response out of Chenle who just shrugged his shoulders. 

You heard a familiar scoff coming from behind you. “Wouldn’t you like to know” Haechan said, sipping from his glass of liquor, your head whipping around to face him. 

“Haechan, please” You begged, walking up to him to meet him half way. You were desperate, needing to know where he was so you could finally look at him and say you love him. 

“No, do you know how messed up this is?” Haechan asked, a little upset at how you’re instantly wanting Mark after this whole calling off the wedding. At the end of the day, you are all the future of this nation, you all have to see one another frequently. It’s going to be awkward, because of you. Some peacemaker you are. “You just broke it off with Jaemin and now you’re running off to Mark? This all could have been avoided if you just didn’t say yes to Jaemin in the first place” “It’s so much more complicated than that and you know that” You replied, knowing that despite Mark being annoyed by Haechan, they were so close, too close. They were brothers, they told each other everything, you wouldn’t be surprised if Mark told Haechan so many things about you two. “It took us seven years, please don’t make me wait more”  

Haechan looked at how small you looked, how desperate, how you were giving him those pleading eyes that made it very hard for him to say no to you. He groaned, rolling his eyes as he gave in so easily to you and Mark. “You make it very hard to dislike you” He grumbled out, chugging the rest of his drink. “He’s staying at the Inn” 

“Thank you” You replied, instantly wrapping your arms around him, hugging him so tightly as he gently pushed you off. You instantly ran, running down the halls in your uncomfortable heels, running out of the doors and down the steps. Your feet slamming on the cobblestone as you run through the village, people stopping and staring, children looking at you with wide eyes because they’re seeing a Queen in a pretty dress. You made a bee line for the Inn, Mark couldn’t have made it to his room in time with how far the Inn was from the Castle. 

Sure enough, a familiar figure in the distance, passing a stall of food. You gasped, your run coming to a stop as you yelled out his name. “Mark!” He instantly turned around at the sound of your voice, confused as to why you were standing out here in your wedding dress, looking disheveled as your hair was falling out of its style. 

He began walking towards you as you followed his steps, meeting him halfway. “What’re you doing here?” Mark asked, confused to see you here. When you ran off with Jaemin after muttering the words “I can’t”, he assumed that maybe you were clearing things up, being honest with him about everything. 

“I love you” You confessed, a smile growing on your face as your chest felt lighter and your feet no longer hurting and the dress wasn't itchy anymore. Everything was perfect, it was right. 

Mark didn’t believe you though, shaking his head as he avoided your gaze. “You don’t need to say that” He mumbled out, trying to ignore the beating in his chest. 

“But I do! I love you, I’ve always loved you. It’s so obvious, I was just terrified that if we were together, it would all get ruined so easily and I don’t wanna lose you Mark. You’re my best friend and I love you. Don’t you see that? I’ve been a mess since you told me not to marry Jaemin because deep down, I was waiting for you to say that, waiting for you to tell me you love me and waiting for you to do something, because as much as I love your words, your actions are so special to me because you don’t do them much. I wanted to know that you really love me and not just some silly interpretation, but the confession you made today, the action of telling me to not marry Jaemin, everything, it was all I ever wanted because I want you” You ranted, words falling so seamlessly like the way words echo off the walls of the Wishing Well you and mark love so much. 

Mark listened to every word with so much attention, his brian making his heart beat faster as all he wanted to do was tell you how much he wants you too, needs you. You were everything to him and so much more. You were his best friend and his love. Mark didn’t have to say anything anymore, because now he can act without the fear of being rejected. Mark grabbed your face in his warm hands, his hands that reminded you of the warm and fiery sun, his lips crashing onto yours as it felt like the world was exploding into a beautiful super nova. Stars and fireworks, waterfalls, and magic were fueled into this one kiss. The first kiss in seven years and it was so much more than you imagined. 

“I love you so much” Mark whispered against your lips before kissing you again, trying to make up for seven years of missed opportunities. 

This kiss was filled with longing, yearning, and so much bittersweet candy. It was bitter because at the end of the day, you hurt Jaemin to be here, but it was so sweet because you could finally love your best friend without the fear of it all ending because you know, deep down in your heart, that Mark loves you more than he needs to breathe. You were so lucky to fall in love with your best friend, so damn lucky. 

“I love you too” 

“Do you, King Lee, take Queen Choi to be your wife?” The priest asked, Mark smiling happily as he instantly nodded. 

Two months had passed since you left Jaemin and chose Mark after years of being apart. It was hard to get things back to normal with Jaemin, you gave him his space until he was ready to see you again. However, Jaemin is understanding, too understanding that he decided to forgive and forget. Jaemin was too good for this world and too good for you, but he told you to stop asking for forgiveness because he doesn’t want to live in the past. He’s still searching for a wife, but you know whoever he marries will be the perfect girl for him. 

Mark was ever so sweet, holding your hand, kissing you so much and being so lovely. Honestly, your dynamic still felt the same, same old jokes, same old banter, just with the added plus of kissing and hand holding. Sneaking off from meetings now felt more exciting as you whispered in the halls, trying to find new places to hide away from your responsibilities. It was exciting, exhilarating, and just so much more than you ever could have imagined. Mark is idyllic, a word you associate with Mark so much after learning its meaning. When he proposed, the ring didn’t feel heavy, it felt light and it never blinded you, but led you to a perfect beginning with Mark. Your dress on your wedding day wasn't itchy, it felt right and felt real, the good kind of real. Your mind wasn't racing, it was slow and timeless as you saw Mark standing at the end of the aisle near the Wishing Well you both used to wish for each other. Your bouquet of flowers was now your favorite because not only did you get to choose, but Mark knew they were your favorite. 

“I do” He replied, his hands sweating as he held yours so tightly because he wanted to be reminded that this was real and not some dream he was going to wake up from. He was finally marrying you. 

“And do you, Queen Choi, take King Lee to be your husband?” He asked, you instantly smiled wider if that was even possible as you nodded. 

“I do” You replied, your stomach growing warm as your mind filled with every laugh, every tear, everything that made you and Mark. 

Your jokes, your hurt, your words, your hugs and longing touches that lingered, the way his hands burned your skin that it was engraved on your skin. How your stare was something Mark could read so easily because he knew you so well, how he can tell when you’re sad, happy, excited, or just quiet. You both were so intertwined in each other that it all made sense, it all made it more real that you two loved one another on top of loving each other as friends. 

“You may now kiss the bride” Mark instantly grabbed your face, his lips gently touching yours as you sealed your marriage with him. 

Years and years of waiting suddenly felt like nothing when you look down at your ring finger a few days from now, calling Mark’s name as he turns around to meet you with a smile. It was always going to be Mark, never once was it going to be about another person because Mark was always there with you. “I love you” You said when you both pulled away from your kiss, everyone cheering with Haechan clapping so loudly and yelling Mark’s name. 

“Not as much as I love you” Mark replied, leaning in for a kiss again, it was so gentle and innocent. It reminded you of your first one and damn do you wish for every kiss to be like this one. Good thing that there was a Wishing Well next to you both.

*gigi speaks*

EEEEEE ITS FINALLY HERE the first installment of the Once Upon a Time series, so exciting. I hope you all enjoyed this monster of a fic, i’m sorry it took me so long, it was just a lot. I loved these two tgt, they’re so complicated and contradicting people with their inner conflict and i just, seven years it took them so long! But yeah, i’m happy with how this came out, maybe in the future i’ll make some edits idk, but honestly, this is prob one of the best fics i’ve written and i’ve worked so hard on it and so much of my blood sweat and tears went into this and i hope you all honestly enjoy this fic

up next is our pretty boy renjun, so excited for that fic because of all the magic, i’ll see you all soon!

taglist: @lelecidio @sunflowerhae @tootles-doodles @saranghoeforanton @haechsworld @jenopilled @pankuya @cinneorolls @remgeolli @notmastyle @tinyzen @constantlybeingbiasedwrecked @nctubatu @aple-piie @waltermitty23 @kittydollzz @lunaryoongie

[sincerelyneo]

when did you get hot?| z.cl

“you were an ugly kid, but you’re a sexy man”

💿now playing: when did you get hot? by sabrina carpenter

❯ summary: Your best friend’s kid brother is getting married—and his best man just so happens to be ridiculously sexy. Wait. Hold on. Is that Zhong Chenle? When the hell did he get hot?

❯ pairings: chenle x fem!reader

❯ genre: pure filth tbh, smut, childhood friends

❯ words: 7.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, cocky!chenle, submissive!reader, older!reader, lots of wedding references, filthy mouth chenle, spanking, marking, biting, a lot of possessiveness, oral sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampies, rough sex, degradation/humiliation kink, basically just chenle putting you in your place for not realising he’s a top shagger

“I cannot believe my little brother got married before me,” Karina announces, balancing the flask she smuggled into the wedding reception on the sink before tucking it neatly back into her bra. “Before both of us, actually.”

You watch as she throws back the freshly mixed Vodka and Coke in one gulp. Not exactly the most hygienic thing, given you’re both hiding in the bathroom like fugitives from her mother trying to avoid the bouquet toss.

A little sloshes down her chin, slides onto her chest, and vanishes between the satin folds of her bridesmaid dress. Christ.

“Oh yeah, totally. I have no idea how Jeno managed to beat us both to the altar.” Another drip of brown liquid traces her neckline. You sigh. “No idea at all.”

“Shut it,” Karina hisses at your sarcasm. She grabs a tissue and blots herself. First her face, then her cleavage. “Don’t look at me like that. Mummy dearest wouldn’t let Jeno have an open bar because she sees this as a prospect convention for me. No alcohol, no fun, no scaring off potential suitors. I have to do what I have to do.”

That sets you off laughing. It’s exactly the kind of thing her mother would say.

Karina throws her head back, cackling along with you. “It’s not funny, Y/N! She thinks this is eighteenth-century England. She swears I’m going to be sent off to a spinster’s asylum if I don’t land someone tonight. And now—” She gestures violently with the tissue. “Now that my fuckass brother’s tied the knot, she’s become a full-blown monster.”

“Give her a break, Rina.” You peer toward the mirror with a smile, dragging your finger along your bottom lip to blend your gloss. “I think she thinks she’s helping. You used to dream about your wedding day when we were kids. It was your favourite game.”

“That was before I discovered men are sloppy. Awful life partners, and need babysitting ninety per cent of the time.”

You snort, watching her adjust her hair, then frown at herself in the mirror like even her reflection has managed to let her down. For a moment, you think she’s going to start ranting about her mother again, but instead—

“You know,” she says, pausing just long enough to hook your attention. “I always figured you’d get married first.”

Oh, not this again. Everyone figured you’d be the first to get married. You’ve heard the speeches before—the what happened with you and Mark? spiels, the pitiful head tilts, the sympathetic smiles. There’s nothing worse than going from the couple—high school sweethearts, city apartment, golden promise ring—to single in your adulthood with a pathetic love and sex life. 

“Don’t start,” you groan.

“I’m serious. You were always the one in steady re—”

“If you mention any of my failed relationships right now, I will seriously revoke your best friend card.”

“Fine, fine,” Karina chirps, swatting her hand. “I’m just saying, Jeno’s got a lot of friends and a big party of single groomsmen.”

“You date one of them then,” you retort. “In fact, why don’t we find your mother and talk about setting you up—”

“Not fucking funny,” Karina sneers. “You didn’t see her trying to meddle in the ceremony. In the fucking chapel, mind you. I won’t have you planting any ideas during the celebration.”

If only you hadn’t been stuck working. You would have loved to watch Karina squirm under her mother’s matchmaking theatrics.

“I just thought since you’re blowing smoke up these guys’ asses, raving about their hotness, maybe you finally wanted to settle down and date one.”

“Date? Settle down? Me?” She scoffs, sharp as a cork popping. “I will be doing no such thing. Fuck? Maybe.”

You shake your head, laughing. “I can’t stand you.”

“Now, now.” She waggles a finger at you. “This is a judgment-free zone. Women should be sexually liberated. Just because you’ve gone months without—”

“Okay!” You slice the word across hers before she can finish. “No talking about dating for you, and no talking about my lack of sex life.”

The bathroom door creaks open before Karina can needle you further.

“Karina.” Giselle, a friend of the bride’s, voice ricochets off the tiles, all flustered breath and flying strands of brown hair as she braces herself against the doorframe. She looks like she’s sprinted through a wind tunnel to get here. “Your mum’s been looking for you.”

Karina doesn’t even twitch. She leans further back against the sink, calm, smug, utterly unbothered by the looming maternal wrath waiting for her on the other side of the door.

“I know,” she drawls, examining her nails.

“No.” Giselle cuts her off, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to stop a migraine. “The best man speech is starting soon. She needs you out there.”

Karina tilts her head, unhurried. “Do I look like a girl who cares about a best man speech? What’s one of Jeno’s little friends going to do, tell childhood stories? Newsflash, I was there for most of them. Y/N too. It’s hardly riveting for us.”

“I couldn’t care less what you think,” Giselle fires back without missing a beat. “But if you don’t show your face right now, your mother will storm this bathroom and drag you out by your hair. And honestly? I don’t want that to ruin my best friend’s day.” She pauses, scanning Karina like a teacher. “Oh—and grab a mint. I know you’ve been drinking in here.”

Karina gasps, clutching her chest in mock horror. “How dare you slander me on my brother’s holy day?”

“Save it for the priest,” Giselle mutters, already yanking the door open.

“I think the priest has heard enough of my sins today, thanks to that sexy co-worker of Jeno’s sitting in the back pew—ow! Did you just punch me?”

“Yes,” Giselle grits. “Can you stop being horny for five minutes?”

Karina sighs dramatically, pushes herself off the sink, and gives her reflection one last disdainful glance. She slips the flask deeper into her bra, tugging at the satin until the outline is no longer visible. “When did weddings get so serious?”

“They’re literally legally binding, Rina,” you deadpan. “I think they’ve always been—”

She claps her hands, cutting you off, and points toward the door. “To my mother.”

You roll your eyes, but fall into step behind her anyway, Giselle marching ahead like a prison guard escorting two criminals. Fugitives found. 

The reception air hits heavier than the bathroom—perfume, champagne, the clink of glasses and forks against china. Music hums low, elegant, almost stuffy. And there, in the centre of it all, Karina’s mother stands fanning herself with the wedding program, face set and ready for battle.

She spots her daughter, and her cheeks flame red.

Karina mutters out of the corner of her mouth, “Is it too late to do a runner? I’m actually scared of her.”

You pinch her arm, already blotchy from Giselle’s earlier assault. “Smile.”

She pastes one on, bright and fake. “Mother dear—”

“Don’t you Mother Dearest me.” Her mother swats her arm with a clutch bag so forcefully you hear the snap of the clasp.

“Ow—Christ.” Karina jerks back, clutching the offended spot. “Can you people leave my arm alone?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Her mother’s voice drops, eyes honed in. She leans closer to Karina’s mouth, nostrils flaring. “Have you been drinking?”

Karina’s eyes widen, the panic flashing quick. She may be an adult, but nobody, at any age, likes a lecture from their parents. She lunges for distraction. “Hey, Ma—look, Y/N’s finally here.”

Before you can react, she’s shoved you forward like a human shield.

Karina’s mother’s face softens immediately, her whole expression rearranging as if you’ve just solved her problems by existing. She’s always liked you—always treated you like a second daughter. Back then, there wasn’t a single evening after school when you weren’t sprawled somewhere in their house, raiding their pantry or making yourself at home.

She scans you from head to toe, approving of the long fitted dress you’re wearing, then she leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. “Y/N, sweetie. You look wonderful,” she says warmly. “Such a shame you couldn’t make the ceremony.”

You laugh weakly. “I know. Just… lots of work piling up.”

“Ah, I understand, I understand.” She waves her clutch like she’s brushing the excuse aside. “Must be expensive living in the city now you have to fund that apartment on your own.”

The words hit a little too squarely, but before you can swallow the sting, Karina cuts in. “Mum!”

Her mother blinks, genuinely perplexed. “What? I’m just saying it’s a shame, is all.” Then she turns back to you. “I really thought you and Mark were going to get married.”

The mention of Mark lands like a stone in your gut. Your cheeks heat, embarrassment written all over your skin, even though you bite down hard on a smile. You hate that his name still does that to you—still flips you inside out. Because, yeah, you really thought you and him were going to get married, too.

Karina clocks your discomfort immediately. Best friend instinct. Her throat works as she swallows, sharp eyes flicking from your face to her mother. “Ma—” she interrupts. “Where’s that guy you said was interested in me? Renjun? I think he’s cute.”

Her mother startles, her focus snapping back to her daughter. And Karina doesn’t miss her chance. She slides her arm through her mum’s, looping it to steer her away, tossing you a tight smile over her shoulder as they disappear. It’s a lifeline. And you’re so grateful she’s willing to throw herself under her mother’s microscope to pull you out from under it.

From there, you settle into your assigned chair and engage in polite conversation with one of the bride’s friends—Giselle, from the bathroom—when the telltale clink of glass rings out. The sound rolls across the reception, shushing tables one by one until all that’s left is a scatter of half-drunk laughs and the scrape of a chair leg.

Best man speech.

You remember Karina saying it was one of Jeno’s little friends. He had a whole swarm of them growing up—sticky-fingered boys who cannonballed into the pool while you were trying to tan, or burped the alphabet at breakfast, or begged to come to senior parties. 

But then your eyes land on him.

The best man.

And—Christ. There is no fucking way this man was ever one of Jeno’s little friends.

He’s standing there in a perfectly tailored suit, like it was sewn onto him. It had to be sewn onto him, because there’s no universe in which you can buy a simple suit off the rack and get it to fit shoulders like that. His mop of brown hair is perfectly styled in a way you should find respectable—but you don’t. Not at all. Because all you can think about is what it would look like completely messed up—your fingers knotted in it, tugging him down as he settles between your—

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to be standing here celebrating the wedding of my best friend, Jeno, and his beautiful bride…”

The man is talking. His mouth—pouty and full and pink and obscenely pretty—is definitely moving. Words are coming out, you assume, because the crowd laughs in the right places. But you can’t hear him. Not properly.

Because you can’t place that face. And it’s the kind of face you should be able to place. Symmetrical. Striking. Fuck-me perfect.

Your mouth goes desert-dry.

You cough, shifting in your chair, and lean toward Giselle. “Who is that?”

She blinks at you like you’ve grown a second head. Probably because the man just introduced himself—probably because everyone else is listening to his speech while your brain is stuck in the gutter, picturing him with his tie undone and his suit jacket on the floor as you play naked twister back at his place. 

Seriously?” Giselle whispers. She purses her lips, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure out if you’re joking. “It’s Chenle. Jeno’s best friend. They’ve been inseparable since they were kids. Surely you know Chenle?”

Chenle.

You do know Chenle. 

The name rattles in your head, but it doesn’t match the man standing at the mic. Straight spine, broad shoulders, sinful lips and confidence that shouldn’t fit into someone you remember being younger than you. Chenle was the boy with braces and curly hair under backwards caps. Chenle was Jeno’s annoying friend who made passes at you when it was wildly inappropriate and wrestled you for the remote like a feral little brother. Chenle was not… this.

You cough again, a weak little laugh breaking out of you. “Huh. Right. Of course. Chenle.”

But your eyes betray you, glued to him. Because the Chenle you remember never made your pulse skitter in your throat.

This one does, though.

You need a drink. 

Clearing your throat, you lean toward Giselle. “I’m just—yeah. I need a minute.”

You slip from the table before she can answer, heels clicking against polished floor as you make a beeline for the bar. The room feels too warm, your cheeks feel too warm. Chenle’s voice is still threading through the air even though you’re doing your best not to listen.

“Dirty martini, please,” you tell the bartender. Expensive, but worth it. You’re willing to pay the price despite cursing the cash bar with Karina not twenty minutes ago.

The bartender sets down the glass. You reach for your wallet—only for a sleek black card to swipe across the reader before you can tap yours.

Your head snaps up, and he’s looking down at you. You watch as Chenle licks his lips and slots the card back into his wallet. Something about the way his eyes never leave your face as he does it sends a wave of heat through your system. 

Your chest rises, falls—uneven—because while he’s glued to you, your own gaze betrays you. Decides to track the movement of his hand instead. Long fingers holding nimble plastic. Thick fingers. Fingers you’re almost sure would be enough to—

“Dirty martini, huh?”

Did he just say something? 

You didn’t catch it properly. Surely not. But maybe he did. You wouldn’t know, because your eyes drag down him once. Twice. And then again. You can’t help it. It’s that mouth. A little crooked, but devastating.

“That’s a triple take now, Y/N.” His voice comes out gravelly, deep in a way that makes your stomach dip. Nothing like the squeaky-pitched teenager you remember. “I haven’t changed that much, have I?”

You choke down a sip of your drink, buying yourself a second. “Triple take? Don’t flatter yourself. I was just… surprised to see you, is all. How long’s it been now?”

Chenle’s mouth curves slowly, and he shifts his weight, letting his shoulders relax into the conversation. “Couple years at least,” he says. “Think I still had braces.”

“Ah, yes, well, congratulations on your new improvements.” You wave vaguely toward his face, praying the vodka covers the wobble in your voice. “First thing people notice is either eyes or smiles.”

“Improvements, huh?” His tone dips an octave lower.

Heat creeps up your neck. “I—what?” Your eyes widen. “No—I just meant, braces. Lots of pain. Congrats on getting them off?”

He laughs then. At you. And it should be irritating, but it’s not. It’s rich. Throaty and deep. It makes you think about how much you’d like to get throaty and deep with his co–

“Relax, I’m just teasing you,” he says finally, amusement still twitching on his lips. “Although…I didn’t realise I made you this nervous. Teenage me is proud of myself.”

You bristle immediately. “I am not nervous!”

“Mhm.” He hums like he doesn’t believe you for a second. “Maybe not nervous. Definitely flustered, though.”

“I am not flustered.”

“Right,” he says, gaze catching yours, pinning you in place without even trying. His face is just that perfect, smug. How have you never seen the vision before? “Must be reading you wrong.”

“Yeah, well,” you suck in a breath, “you always did have a knack for reading me wrong.”

“Hey now.” He shakes his head, mock wounded. “That’s not fair. I was just a kid with a crush on his best friend’s sister’s hot older friend. I never shot my shot seriously because you never took me seriously.”

“Are you kidding me, Chenle?” You scoff, half-amused, half scandalised. The sound of his name on your tongue makes his throat bob—and you curse yourself for noticing. “You used to say you could ‘give me a ride my boyfriend couldn’t’ and tried to perv on me every chance you got.”

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish but still grinning. “Okay, fine. Not my finest moment—but as well as my teeth, my flirting game’s improved.”

“Uh-huh.” You tip back the last of your martini, unimpressed.

A beat passes, just long enough for the air to shift. Then he speaks again. 

“So…where is that boyfriend of yours, anyway?” Your eyes snap to him, blank, and he stiffens. “I mean—the last time I saw your Instagram, you posted a picture of a ring he bought you. I thought you two were engaged, shouldn’t he be he—”

“We broke up.” You throw him a bone, save him from his floundering. “A while ago.”

“Damn. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You wave him off with a flick of your wrist. “I know for a fact you’re not.”

His smile breaks then—wide, cocky, infuriating. “Old habits die hard.”

“Clearly.” You sigh, then oddly feel the need to explain yourself. “We weren’t engaged, either by the way. It was just a promise ring.”

You see it instantly—the way his eyes spark like he’s dying to bite back. Because despite the suit and the smirk and the broad shoulders, he’s still Chenle. Awkward, messy, opinionated, incapable of shutting up and hating your boyfriends. Yeah, old habits do die hard.

“Promise rings are corny,” he shrugs. “Honestly? I think you dodged a bullet.”

A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. “You seem to be the only one who thinks so.”

His brows pinch. “How so?”

“Everyone asks me why I let good-natured, sweet Mark Lee go. Everyone thought we were going to get married.”

“I did too,” he admits, no hesitation. Though his jaw tightens when he says it.

“Funnily enough,” you murmur, swirling your empty glass, “you’re the third person to say that to me today. Maybe Karina’s right. Maybe I should just get off with one of Jeno’s groomsmen.”

That wipes the grin right off his face. His head tilts. “Yeah? And which one of them do you think is gonna measure up?”

“W-what?” You blink, pulse skipping. “It was a joke—”

“Didn’t sound like one.” He leans in, close enough that his cologne slides under your skin, heady and clean and far too distracting. God, he even smells hot. “Do yourself a favour—don’t waste your time on any of Jeno’s friends. They wouldn’t give you what you want.”

You force a scoff, hoping he doesn’t notice how your chest rises unevenly. “Big talk. What makes you so sure?”

His smirk resurfaces. “Because they’re all good. Sweet. Exactly like that Mark guy you let go.”

“And that’s not what I want?”

“I know it’s not.” His voice roughens, and then his finger brushes across your cheek, feather-light. The touch sparks through you like a live wire, and you hate how you shiver, how you don’t move away.

Chenle sees it, and his grin darkens. “Because you’ve been ogling me all night. You ordered a dirty martini because you hate how much you’re attracted to me. And now you’re letting me touch you.” He leans just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I know you want me.”

Your cheeks warm, traitorously, right under his finger. Even if he can’t see the blush, he can feel it—feel exactly how your body responds to this new, devastating version of him. But you don’t want to react. You can’t react. You won’t. This is Chenle. Sticky-fingered, obnoxious, younger Chenle. 

So you scoff instead. “Please. You’re Jeno’s best friend. My best friend’s little brother’s best friend. I don’t want you.”

“Best friend’s little brother’s best friend?” He repeats it with a grin, laughing at the absurdity. “They’re not real stakes, Y/N. There’s nothing forbidden or off limits about it.” He tilts his head. “Or are you just embarrassed to admit you’re attracted to the same boy you used to reject?”

Your mouth parts. “What are you—”

“Is it an ego thing, baby?” He cuts you off, leaning in. “Because I promise I won’t mock you for missing out on all the years we could’ve been fucking.”

Your eyes go wide, but he doesn’t stop.

“But if it’s an age thing…” His fingers trail lower, brushing purposely down the column of your throat, lingering against the bare stretch of skin. “I can’t promise I won’t make you admit I fuck you better than all your older boyfriends.”

God help you—you believe him. Every syllable, every cocky, arrogant drop of it.

Because there’s nothing boyish about the Zhong Chenle standing in front of you now. No juvenility or trace of the kid who used to trail after you. He’s all heat and cut jaw. Dangerous in front of you with how casually he carries himself—like he’s already won. Like, chasing isn’t necessary because he knows you’ll follow.

And you hate him for it.

You hate how much you want him for it.

Your body betrays you, working against your brain. You lean in, a reckless action, tilting up toward that infuriating smirk of his. His mouth is so close, hovering just above yours—close enough to spark fire low in your belly. But…your mouths never connect.

The finger he has on the side of your neck slides into a firm grip on your throat. Not choking, not rough, just enough pressure to anchor you in place. His lips ghost yours, refusing to give you the kiss you crave. The absence is maddening. You swear you’re shaking, yearning. 

Is this what he felt like all those years?

“I’m not doing this here,” he murmurs, roughly.

You blink, dazed. “W-what?”

His thumb strokes lazily at your pulse point, mocking how fast it hammers beneath his touch. “As much as I want every guy in this room to see you all over me…” His mouth skims the edge of your jaw, breath molten, a brand against your skin. “…if you kiss me right now, Y/N, I’ll fuck you right here. Bent over this bar.”

Wetness pools in your panties at the sheer filth of it. The threat. His voice. His mouth. God, his mouth is just as hot as he looks—unapologetically coarse. It’s filthy. It’s everything you’ve secretly wanted and never admitted.

It’s why you’ve been bone-dry for the past year.

Because you don’t want nice. You don’t want sweet. You don’t want the kind of sex that involves careful hands. You don’t want Mark and his gentle kisses that never once made your body ache the way Chenle currently is just by standing close.

You want bad. Rough. Dirty. Everything Mark could never give you. And you’ll be damned if you let this chance slip by.

“So do it,” you breathe. “Bend me over this bar.”

For the first time all night, Chenle falters. His throat works, bobbing in a way that’s so fucking hot you nearly whimper. His grip on your throat tightens— it doesn’t hurt, just holds you still to see the way his eyes darken, go glassy with want.

“Stop it, Y/N,” he grits. “Don’t test me.”

“Why not?” you push, drunk on the power, on him. (And probably the martini.)

His jaw flexes, teeth grinding. “Because I’ve fantasised about fucking you for years, Y/N. And I’m not doing it here, at my friend’s fucking wedding reception—” His mouth brushes your ear. “—and I’m certainly not sharing the view of your legs spread, bare ass, pussy dripping for me… with anyone else.”

Your thighs press together under the bar before you can stop yourself. He notices, eyes dropping, catching the shift of your body, then lets them lift back to your face with a slow, knowing smile.

“See?” he chuckles, mouth curving.“You’re not ready for me. You think you are. But not here.”

You swallow hard, throat dry. “Then where?”

“My place.”

You really hope Chenle doesn’t like that vase on his console table, because as he shoves you through the front door of his apartment—mouth messy, lips pressed hard on yours—your back slams into it. The glass wobbles, thrums, then crashes to the floor.

He doesn’t look like he cares that much. Doesn’t flinch when a picture frame tips off the wall or when the door slams shut behind you. No, Chenle’s got bigger priorities—like hitching your legs around his waist, palming your ass to hoist you up, and carrying you straight to his bed. Fucking you on his bed.

He means, it’s only fair. He’s waited way too long for this—so long he can’t even remember when it started. Years of it. Torturous yearning. But those years don’t hold a candle to the last thirty-six minutes it took him to drive from the wedding back to his place. He could barely hold himself together, hands tight on the wheel, foot pressed to the accelerator, brain playing the same loop over and over: you, giving him the green light to finally take. 

The years felt like a warm-up. Those thirty-six minutes? Pure hell.

A vase his mother gave him is easily replaceable. The marks he’s about to leave on your skin—hickeys, scratches, handprints that brand you his—those are replaceable too. And he intends to replace them, to lay them down again and again until you’ve got no chance of forgetting who put them there. That’s top of his list of replaceable priorities. Not broken glass.

The very second he hauls you into his bedroom, he drops you onto the edge of the bed, the mattress squeaking under the sudden impact. Your palms fly behind you, propping yourself up. He nips your kiss-bruised lips before pulling back. You push up just enough to follow him with your eyes—only to find him already lowering to his knees in front of you.

Chenle. On his knees.

Christ.

He grabs your ankle, firmly, pressing a kiss to the delicate bone before setting your heeled foot on his thigh. His fingers work at the buckle—knuckles brushing your skin, callused pads dragging slow over your arch—and judging from the dark glint in his eyes, you know this is the nicest he’ll be tonight.

Sliding your heel off, he drops it behind him with a careless thud before reaching for the other. It’s the same soothing touch, same process. By the time both shoes are gone, your chest is heaving, thighs pressed tight together like you can cage and hide the need pooling between them.

His gaze flicks down. And when it drags back up, it’s different—darker, meaner, hungrier.

“Open your legs, Y/N.”

Not a suggestion. A command. You like being commanded by him. 

Giving him exactly what he wants, your knees fall apart before you even think. Chenle smirks in triumph.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, filthy. “That’s more like it. Finally not acting like I’m still a kid begging to hold your hand.”

Heat rockets up your chest, because he’s right. You used to swat him away, roll your eyes, laugh in his face when he’d orbit around you and Karina, all braces and corny jokes. He was the annoying kid. Jeno’s shadow. Never—this.

He hooks his hands under your knees and drags you forward on the mattress until the edge bites into your ass. His shoulders spread between your thighs and he slips his fingers under the waistband of your panties. He tugs them down, disregarding them somewhere along with your heels.

“You ignored me for years,” he goes on, mouth hovering just shy of your inner thigh. His breath is hot. Mean. And the bastard has the nerve to blow air on your folds. “Made me feel like a fucking joke. And now? Now I’m here—between your legs—teasing this sweet little pussy.”

Your spine bows at the sting in his tone. You want to answer, to beg, to bite back or spar with him—but your pulse hammers too hard, scattering every coherent thought.

His teeth nick the skin on your thigh and it’s sharp. Sharp enough to make you gasp. He looks up, eyes heated. “Why didn’t you want me, Y/N?” he asks. “Why did you choose to never see me?”

You bite your lip. “Because…you were like a little bro—”

“Shhh,” he shushes you with his laugh. It vibrates against your skin as he drags his mouth higher, lips skating closer to where you’re throbbing, but not giving you an inch. “Don’t say that shit when you’re squirming for me. It wouldn’t be very big sisterly of you, would it?”

And then—he bites.

“Fuck,” you gasp, hands flying to his hair.

Chenle only smiles against your flesh, tongue flicking over the mark he’s carved into your skin. “Look at that. You’re right—those braces paid off.” A featherlight touch sweeps across your inner thigh, brushing too close. “Such a pretty mark on you.”

He doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. One moment it’s teeth and taunts. The next, his hands clamp onto your hips, jerking you forward like he has every right to put you wherever the fuck he wants.

He buries his face between your legs.

“Chen—holy fuck.”

It’s not gentle. He’s not gentle. His mouth is hot and greedy, like he’s been starving for this and finally got permission to eat. Tongue dragging through your pussy, lips sealing around your clit and sucking so hard your spine bows clean off the mattress. You claw at the sheets, at his hair, at anything that might anchor you. 

“Shit—fuck!”

He pulls back, just long enough to spit against you. The sound, the heat of it, has you whining before he’s even licked it up.

“Christ,” he rasps, voice wrecked, chin glossy with you. “You taste better than I even imagined.”

Your whole body seizes. “You—what?”

He laughs, all smug, and drags his tongue over you again, making you twitch. “What, you think I haven’t been jerking off to the thought of this? Since you used to sit around in those little skirts, pretending you couldn’t feel me staring?”

“Fuck you,” you bite out, but it’s ruined—soft, breathy, pathetic.

He looks up from between your thighs, eyes blown black. “You are. Right now. And your pussy loves it.”

And then he dives back in, tongue flattening against your clit, fucking you with his mouth, groaning like he’s getting off on every one of your sounds. Your hips buck. You can’t stop them. Can’t stop the way your legs fall wider, offering more, chasing every roll of his tongue like a woman possessed.

“Chenle—god—please!”

He hums, and the vibration shatters you. His hand slides up, presses flat and heavy against your stomach to hold you down when you try to wriggle away from the intensity.

“Don’t you dare run from it now,” he growls into you. “You’re gonna take it. Every fucking second. After all those years of ignoring me? You owe me this, sweetheart.”

The pressure keeps building, an unbearable amount to fight against it, and you know you’re about to break.

“Give it to me,” he orders, dragging his mouth away just long enough to lift his head, puffy lips swollen, jaw slick, eyes burning. “Cum on my fucking tongue, Y/N. Now.”

The words shoot through you, melting you. You moan, and his mouth can’t help but twist into that cocky, wicked smirk before he clamps back down on your clit, sucking like punishment. You scream. You can’t help it. Your hands fist in his hair, dragging, yanking, and he only groans, shoving your thighs wider until your knees knock against the mattress.

Never mind when did he get so hot? The real question is—where the fuck did he learn to eat pussy like this?

Because you’ve never cum so hard in your life.

Your body breaks apart, pleasure detonating through you, and it’s humiliating. The the way you cry out, the way your hips jerk uncontrollably against his face. He doesn’t let up, not once—tongue lapping, lips sucking, chin grinding—forcing it harder, vigorously, like he’s determined to wring every drop out of you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your cunt, voice muffled. “Fucking dripping all over me. Making a mess on my face like a good little slut.”

Your head thrashes, cheeks burning, mortification flooding your veins as fast as the pleasure does. You can’t stop, can’t quiet the broken sounds tearing from your throat.

“Oh my God!”

He pulls back just far enough for you to see him, the absolute state of him—chin, jaw, lips soaked, eyes utterly crazed. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. 

“You always this loud when you cum, Y/N?” He asks all raspy. “Good thing I got you out of that wedding and in my room, behind a closed door—because those moans? They’re mine.”

Your stomach flips, cunt still throbbing, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Chenle tilts his head. “That’s it, baby. Blush for me. Squirm for me. I like you messy and embarrassed. I like knowing the roles have reversed.”

“What happened to not mocking me for missing out on all the years we could’ve been fucking?” You manage the question, breathless, throwing his own words back at him.

Chenle wipes his mouth with the back of his hand for a final time before rising from his knees. The weight of him slots between your thighs, caging you in. His eyes peer into yours.

“I said that, did I?” His mouth twitches. “Guess I lied. Because I can’t fucking believe you kept this pretty little pussy away from me all these years… when you could’ve had me whenever, wherever. I think you should apologise to me, Y/N.”

Your laugh comes out defensive. “Are you seriously going to punish me for not seeing the vision?”

He hums, eyes flicking down to linger on your tits spilling out of the top of your dress. The mess he’s managed to make of you—whilst both of you are still clothed, save for your ruined panties on the floor—is obscene.

“I wasn’t,” he admits, head tilting. Then his mouth curls into a filthy smile. “But now you’ve said it. I like the idea.”

His hand snakes around your back, fingers trailing until they catch the zipper of your dress. The slow pull sounds loud in the quiet room, elements separating one by one.

“Because I always saw the vision, baby,” he says, eyes burning into yours. “Knew one day you’d be under me like this—spread out, desperate, begging like my perfect little slut. Even if you did marry that fucker.”

When the zipper finally gives, your dress slips loose from your shoulders. Chenle doesn’t bother with finesse—he tears it down your body, satin pooling around your waist before you can protest. His shirt’s next, buttons scattering like casualties, then his belt snaps open with a metallic bite.

“Clothes off, baby,” he rasps, shoving his suit pants down. “I’m so sick of waiting.”

Your pulse spikes. “Chenle—”

He fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head closer to press his mouth against the shell of your ear. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Dress off. Hands on my headboard. Back arched like the slut I’ve been dreaming about.”

His tone makes you instantly submissive. You’re scrambling to obey before you even think, peeling off the rest of the fabric for him. Then, you brace yourself on his bed, knees sinking into his sheets as your palms fall flat against the headboard.

He groans behind you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Fuck. Look at you. Finally where you’re meant to be.” His hand drags over your ass, squeezing hard until it slips lower and his fingers slide through your slick folds. 

You whimper, pressing back against his hand. “Please.”

“Not yet,” Chenle stills, two fingers teasing your pussy without sliding in. “I’m clean, but do you want me to put a condom on?”

“No,” you gasp, desperate. “I’m clean. Birth control. Wanna feel you.”

His chuckle is dark. “So fucking pretty and desperate.”

He lines himself up, the blunt head of his cock pushing at you, spreading you slowly until your mouth parts, letting a choked sound spill out.

“So tight, baby,” His voice cracks with restraint. “All those years, ignoring me, acting like I was just a kid—when what you really needed was me stretching you open.”

Your knuckles go white against the headboard. “Chenle—fuck, please.”

“Beg louder.” He thrusts just the tip in, then pulls out, slick dragging out of you as he does. His teasing is too much, your body can’t help but press back, chasing him. 

“Please, Chenle. I need it—I need your cock. Please, just fuck me.”

He slams into you with one brutal stroke, hips snapping flush with your ass. The scream that rips from your throat could shatter glass. Thank God you already broke everything upon entry. 

“Good girl,” he growls, grabbing your hips, driving into you rough, relentless. “That’s what I wanted to hear. My name, your begging, this messy little cunt gripping me like she knows who she belongs to.”

Your forehead presses to the headboard, nails scraping wood as the room fills with the sound of skin on skin, his filthy groans, your cries. He leans over you, chest pressed to your back, lips dragging wet and messy along your neck.

“You feel that?” he says against your skin. “That’s all me, baby.”

You whimper his name, body arching as his thrusts drive impossibly deeper.

“That’s it. Moan for me. Cry for me. Make it clear who’s ruining this pussy.” His teeth scrape down your throat, then he sucks hard, leaving a bruise that you know will last days. “Gonna paint you in my marks till there’s no hiding I’ve fucked you.”

Your walls spasm around him, and he groans, rutting harder. “Look at that, you’re squeezing me. You gonna cum, baby? Gonna make a mess on my cock?”

“Yes, Chenle—please, I’m so close—”

“Do it,” he snarls, biting into your shoulder, hand snaking between your thighs to circle your clit in messy strokes. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock like the needy little slut you are.”

It breaks you. Your scream is guttural, raw. Your body convulses as the orgasm he gives rips through you. Your pussy clamps down around him, soaking his cock, slick running down your thighs and his.

He groans into your shoulder, biting down harder as your orgasm pulses around him. “Fuck—look at the mess you’re making. Dripping all over me, shaking on my cock. That’s mine, baby. You hear me? This body. These sounds. These marks. All fucking mine.”

“Yes,” you moan in agreement.

And even as you’re still twitching around him, even as your legs shake and your body sags forward against the headboard, Chenle fucks you harder, hips snapping with a feral rhythm. Every thrust drags another broken sound out of your throat, but he only smirks against your skin.

His tongue laps over the fresh bruise he just left, soothing and stinging all at once, before he sucks another hickey into your collarbone. “Gonna cover every inch of you till you can’t look in a mirror without seeing me.”

You sob into the headboard, body trembling. “Chenle—”

He laughs, thrusts still pounding into your overstimulated cunt. “That’s it. Keep saying my name. Keep letting me own you. You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been waiting to fuck you like this.”

You feel light headed, it’s too good. “S-sorry,” you manage. Then swallow. “I didn’t realise you would feel so—fuck!”

“Good?” he finishes for you, lips brushing your ear, his cock slamming into you over and over. “Me splitting you open, fucking you stupid? Is this what you wanted all those years whilst you pretended I wasn’t good enough for the job?”

“Y-yes—” your voice cracks, high-pitched and pleading, but he makes you say it again.

“Say it properly.” His palm cracks against your ass, the sting of a handprint branding hot, just another mark he’s adding to his collection. It’s harsh enough to snap your head back so you can’t bury your face, can’t hide from him. You’re forced to feel every filthy word he growls into your ear. “Tell me this is what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” you sob, tears blurring your vision as your body gives and gives beneath him. “Please, Chenle, I want it.”

His groan is intense, his hips grinding deep, his free hand gripping your hip so hard you know there’ll be bruises. “That’s my good girl. My perfect little doll. Letting me use you just how I want.”

You whimper, pressing your ass back against him, and he laughs. “Fuck, look at you. So desperate. So fucking pretty when you give up and let me take everything.”

He buries his face in your neck, licking and biting, breath hot and broken as he pounds into you. “You’re mine. You’re gonna stay mine. Gonna let me cum in this tight little cunt and mark you from the inside out so you never forget me.”

Your nails scrape against the headboard, body melting into his as you let him take. His pace turns sloppy, frantic, his hips driving with raw need.

“You want it?” he pants, teeth sinking into your shoulder again. “Want me to fill you up? For me to cum so deep inside you, you’ll feel it every time you move tomorrow?”

“Yes! Please, Chenle, cum inside me—”

That’s all it takes. He snarls, thrusts breaking, and then he’s buried deep, cock pulsing as he spills into you, groaning your name. His grip on you is brutal, anchoring you down as if he could fuse your bodies together and never let go.

“Fuck—fuck, take it,” he moans, shuddering through his release. “Take every drop like a good fucking girl.”

When he’s done, he stays there, still inside you, hips twitching, teeth still pressed into your skin like he can’t stop marking you, even now.You try to shift, thighs trembling, but Chenle clamps his hand down on your hip and snarls into your ear.

“Don’t you fucking move.” His cock is still buried inside you, softening but refusing to slip out. His cum leaks down your thighs, and he hisses at the feel of it. “Keep me right there.”

Your face burns, body shuddering as he presses his chest into your back, teeth chafing the fresh bite marks he left on your shoulder.

“God, look at you,” he rasps. “You’re all marked and dripping with me, baby. You’ve never looked better. Never sounded better. All those years acting untouchable… just to end up under me, begging like a desperate little whore.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, mortified at how your body clenches at his words. He feels it and chuckles darkly against your skin.

“It’s cute that you’re trying to pretend you don’t fucking love the feel of me inside you. You spent years looking down at me because you’re older, hotter and more experienced—” he licks the shell of your ear again, dropping his voice to a filthy whisper. “—but now you’re just my fucked-out toy. And you’re never gonna forget it.”

Every word he says burrows under your skin, humiliating, intoxicating. He kisses your cheek almost sweetly, then bites down hard enough to make you gasp. Again. 

Finally, finally, he eases his hips back, cock dragging out of your swollen cunt. His cum spills messily down your thighs, and he watches it with a satisfied groan. His thumb swipes some of it, pushes it back in, and you shudder.

"Perfect,” he mutters. “Messy, ruined, and finally mine. So fucking hot.”

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