mel

25 || she/her

[neogotmycookie]

here, again | l.mk (part three)

summary: Mark suddenly has to face the quiet of your absence, and he comes to terms with the fact that he's made a big mistake. Will he choose to let it go and move on with his life, or will he succumb to what his heart really wants? You. pairing: student!mark x female student!reader.        genre: university!au, fluff, crack, angst, situationship to…, smut! mdni!  word count: ~12k      warnings: (DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS) markie is a sad boy! like sooo sad :(, he's anxious too, alcohol consumption, partyyyyy, awkwardness, unprotected sex (i beg go buy them condoms, these two are horrible role models), creampie (yuck), emotional sex, crying (before and during sex), just…too many emotions, you get the gist.  a/n: i give you the finale!!! thank you to all the baddies and cuties who read this story and gave it so much loveeee. as always, your comments and messages are always appreciated and they always motivate me to write more! i poured my heart into this so pls be gentle. i tagged whoever i could :) love, cookie <3 Part 1 | Part 2 | masterlist | ko-fi

Mark slumps into his swivel chair, letting his head fall back. His dissertation is finally submitted. About ten minutes ago, he clicked submit and deleted the tab, feeling like he could breathe again. Like maybe air wasn’t just a concept. Free. Supposedly.

But free doesn’t feel like freedom. Not really. Not when the quiet of his room presses in, thick and oppressive. Not when finals are over, everyone else is out celebrating, and he’s sitting here wondering if you’ve finished your exams, if you’ve slept properly, if you’re eating anything other than instant ramen, if you even think about him at all.

A month has passed since that day he last saw you on his way to class. Since he decided to let you go. To walk away from you.

Weeks of silence. Weeks of avoidance, and now the echo of your absence fills every quiet corner. His thoughts circle back to you constantly—small things, big things, every little memory twisting in his chest.

He wonders if you’ve smiled today.

Mark knows he did this to himself. He's accepted that he gave up too easily. But he thought he was making the right decision at the time. He was losing himself in you. He felt more fragile than ever, so he refused to let himself completely shatter for someone whose feelings were never clear. 

But you're not just ‘someone’. He knows that now. You're the girl he never admitted his love to. Simply because he was too scared. He's not entirely sure of what, and it doesn't really matter either. Because Mark's heart and head are both in shambles anyway. Utterly fucked.

His heart, especially… in constant pain. 

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. The ceiling offers no answers. The laptop stares back at him, blank screen reflecting his own eyes. He hasn’t moved since sending the file. He hasn’t wanted to. Uni is over, but he still feels like he’s trapped in some long hallway with doors that won’t open.

A knock at the door pulls him out of it.

“Markie?”

He doesn’t bother moving. “Yeah.”

The door opens anyway. Giselle leans against the frame, arms folded loosely.

“You’re alive,” she says.

“Barely.”

She huffs a small laugh and glances around his messy room. Laptop open, notes everywhere, half-empty mug on the desk.

“Done with the dissertation?”

“Yup.”

“Look at you.” She smiles. “Free man.”

He hums. Doesn’t feel like it. Free should feel like air, not this tightness in his chest.

She rocks back on her heels. “There’s a party tonight. Everyone’s going.”

Mark’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Everyone?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “Post-exam thing.”

He leans back in the chair, hands fiddling. Fingers catching the little scar from where he absentmindedly cut himself during his last revision session.

He snorts indifferently. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It might be,” she says easily. “But it could also be fun.”

He doesn’t answer. Fun is a word he hasn’t attached to anything in weeks, and the idea of seeing you there, laughing with everyone else, makes his stomach twist in a way that isn’t exactly dread, isn’t excitement either—something heavier, sharper, and quieter, all at once.

Giselle studies him for a moment, then adds, casual, “I ran into Jaemin earlier. He said Y/N and the others are going.”

Mark stills. Of course you are.

He looks back at his desk instead. Pretends to be interested in the blank Word document, the half-formed sentences, the cursor blinking like it’s mocking him.

“Right,” he mutters.

Silence stretches. It’s not uncomfortable exactly, but it’s thick with everything he’s thinking and not saying. He can hear his own heartbeat, slow and steady but loud in his ears, like it’s daring him to make a decision he isn’t sure he wants to.

Giselle doesn’t push. She just leans against the doorframe, patient, watching him like she’s waiting for him to either explode or shrink into the floor.

“You don’t have to go,” she says after a moment.

“Good.”

“But,” she continues lightly, as if testing the air, “you’ve been locked in here for weeks. Might be nice to see people again.”

He rubs his face. Frown deepening. Maybe she’s right. Maybe seeing people again would be good. But maybe seeing you would make him wish he’d stayed locked in here for another month.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Another pause. He stares at the desk, at the half-drained mug, at the laptop he’s not looking at. Thinking about how free he is in theory, but how tied he still feels to you. Every quiet corner of his day, every thought that drifts past, loops back to you. The way you laughed at his silly jokes. The curve of your smile. The simple way you used to lean against him like you belonged there.

And you do, don’t you? You always have.

Then he glances up at her. “You trying to trick me into emotional damage or something?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “No. Just suggesting you leave the cave.”

Mark exhales slowly, letting his hand fall from his face. He looks at the blank wall again. He’s not sure if he wants to see you. He’s not sure if he’s ready for what that will do. But he can’t stop thinking about it either.

Giselle pushes off the doorframe, taking a small step into the room. “Think about it,” she says. “We’re not going for a while anyway. No rush.”

He nods absentmindedly. Just thinking about it is enough for now. He doesn’t have to decide yet. The party is hours away, and he can let the worry twist in his gut until then.

She pauses at the door. “And Mark?”

He glances over.

“You survived three years of uni. I think you can survive a party.” She says with a smile before she disappears down the hall. Quiet footsteps, nothing else.

Mark leans back in his chair again. Free, apparently. And yet every time he lets his mind wander, every quiet second, it finds you. He wonders if you’ve been resting, if you’ve been laughing with Jaemin, Karina, anyone. If you’ve thought about him even once in these weeks.

Of course you have, he tells himself, but the rational part of him—the stubborn, pessimistic part that keeps him locked in his own head—snorts at the thought. You’ve moved on. You’re happy. You probably don’t even remember what it's like having him around.

Mark stares at the ceiling. He’s free. Really free. But he isn’t. And the tight coil in his stomach says it won’t ever completely loosen until he sees you again.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The music hits him before he even steps through the door. Heavy bass leaking through the walls, vibrating faintly through the floorboards as the front door swings open and someone he vaguely recognises from a seminar last year shouts something unintelligible over the noise.

Chenle steps in front of him immediately, grabbing his shoulders excitedly, big smile adorning his face.

“Finally,” he exclaims, already tipsy. “Thought you were gonna become a hermit.”

Mark smiles at his friend's enthusiasm but doesn’t answer. He’s too busy taking it all in.

The house is packed. People everywhere. Shoes kicked off by the door, bodies brushing shoulders in the narrow hallway, someone laughing too loudly in the kitchen. The smell of alcohol and cheap candles and something sweet in the air.

Giselle nudges his arm gently as she steps inside behind him.

“You good?” she asks quietly.

He nods automatically. “Yeah.”

He isn’t. His palms are already sweating.

It’s stupid, really. It’s just a party. He’s been to a hundred of these before. But it’s been weeks since he’s properly been around people like this. Weeks of isolation, dissertation stress, quiet library corners and empty rooms.

Weeks of thinking about you. And now you might be here.

Somewhere.

That thought sits heavily in his chest as they move further into the house. Chenle greets three people before they even make it to the kitchen. Mark offers small nods, brief smiles, half-hearted greetings. Conversations brush past him without sticking.

His attention keeps drifting. Scanning the room. Kitchen. Living room. Hallway.

You’re not there. Which doesn’t help. Because now he’s hyper aware that you could appear at any moment. Walking down the stairs. Coming in from the garden. Laughing with someone in the doorway.

His stomach tightens every time someone new enters the room.

Giselle disappears into a quick conversation with someone from her course. Chenle is already halfway across the kitchen grabbing a bottle. Mark lingers near the edge of the counter, trying to look like he belongs here. Trying not to look like he’s waiting for someone.

He tells himself to relax. Just talk to people. Act normal. But his brain won’t shut up.

Is she here already? Has she already noticed me? Would she leave if she saw me?Would she pretend I don't exist?

His chest tightens at the thought.

Then—

Movement across the kitchen catches his eye.

Jaemin. Leaning against the counter, laughing at something someone said. Karina standing beside him, one hand wrapped loosely around a drink as she gestures animatedly while talking. Mark feels the small jolt of recognition immediately.

They’re here. Which means—

His eyes flick around the room again instinctively. But you’re nowhere to be found. Not next to them. Not by the sink. Not leaning against the counter like you usually would, chiming in halfway through someone else’s sentence.

Strange.

A quiet tension settles into his shoulders. Maybe you’re upstairs. Maybe you’re outside. Maybe you haven’t arrived yet. He isn’t sure which option makes him more nervous.

“Yo, Markie Lee!” He looks down. Chenle has shoved a small plastic shot cup into his hand.

“When did you—”

“We don’t ask questions now,” Chenle says cheerfully. “We drink.”

Mark stares at the liquid for a second. “Dude, you’re not even a graduate. What are you celebrating?”

“Feminism?” He says like it’s the first thing that pops into his mind.

A couple of people around the counter laugh. Someone raises their cup. “Here's to unemployment!”

Mark sighs quietly. He lifts the shot glass to his nose anyway. The smell alone is enough to make him grimace.

He hasn’t even taken the shot yet when—

“THERE YOU ARE!” Karina’s voice cuts straight through the noise. Loud enough that half the kitchen turns.

Mark freezes.

His brain recognises the tone instantly. He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t need to. Your voice follows a second later.

“Oh my god, this dude just wouldn’t get off my back,” you say, breathless and amused. “Clingy ass whore.”

Laughter erupts somewhere behind him. His heart slams once against his ribs.

Then—

“Y/N!” Chenle yells it like he’s just seen his long-lost sibling.

Shut up, you little demon, Mark thinks to himself.

He finally turns. And his chest already hurts, lungs feel empty. You’re standing in the kitchen doorway. One hand still gripping some girl's wrist behind you like you’d dragged her through the crowd. Your hair slightly messy, like you’ve been outside in the warm air for a while. And for a moment Mark genuinely forgets how to exist.

You look— God. You look good. Really good.

A cute tube top sits nicely on your body, thin straps and light fabric, summery and so pretty. A short skirt hugging your hips just enough to show off your figure.

Your legs. Bare. Smooth skin catching the warm kitchen light. He remembers those legs wrapped around his waist. Hooked around his hips when you’d—

He forces the thought away immediately as he watches. Chenle barrels toward you before Mark can process anything else.

“Oh my god, hey cutie!” you laugh, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him. “It’s been so long.”

Chenle hugs you back dramatically. “Too fucking long!”

“Aw, good to know you missed me.” you reply. Your voice sounds exactly the same. Warm. Easy. Teasing.

Mark’s mouth feels dry. His fingers trembling.

You pull away from Chenle and your eyes land on Giselle.

“Hey Gigi,” you say, stepping forward again and pulling her into a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Giselle smiles wide. “You?”

Giselle laughs at whatever you say. The whole thing feels so normal. Too normal.

Mark is still standing a few steps away. Still holding the untouched shot in his hand. Still staring at you.

You smell the same.

He notices it even from here. That familiar scent that used to cling to his hoodies after you borrowed them. Then—

Your eyes meet his. And you stall. Just for a fraction of a second. Anyone else might miss it.

But he sees it.

Your eyes widen slightly. Surprise. Maybe even a hint of panic. Then it disappears. Your expression smooths over so quickly it almost feels rehearsed. Like you’ve already decided exactly how this moment is supposed to go.

You walk toward him. And hug him.

Mark’s entire body goes rigid.

Your arms slide around his shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like nothing between you ever changed.

“Hi, Markie,” you say casually. “Good to see you.”

Your cheek brushes his for half a second. Warm. Familiar. Then you pull away. Already turning back toward everyone else. Already smiling. Already laughing with Chenle.

Like the hug meant nothing. Like his entire nervous system didn’t just light on fire the second you touched him.

Mark stands there in stunned silence. The shot is still in his hand. He doesn’t even remember lifting it.

You’re talking again. Your hands moving as you explain something about a youtube video to Chenle. Your head tilting back slightly when you laugh. That same little wrinkle appearing near your eyes. You look…Fine. Relaxed. Comfortable.

You lean casually against the counter next to Karina like you’ve been there the whole time. Like his presence doesn’t affect you at all.

It all hits him slowly.

You look so unbothered. Just chatting with everyone like nothing happened. Like the hug you just shared didn’t burn your skin the way it burned his. Like he never mattered. Something heavy settles in his chest. Because the truth is—

He did this. He ended it. He’s the one who decided it wasn’t worth the risk. The one who stepped back because he was scared of getting hurt. And now you’re standing right in front of him. Laughing. Moving on. While he’s still stuck exactly where he left you.

Mark swallows hard. His eyes drift over you again before he can stop himself. The faint shimmer of lip gloss when you talk. The curve of your smile. The way you roll your eyes at Jaemin. All the tiny details he hasn’t seen in weeks. All the things he used to notice without trying. And now he feels them like a punch to the ribs. Because you don’t look like someone who’s been thinking about him. You look like someone who's already forgotten.

Mark finally realises something then. Something that makes his stomach drop.

He didn’t just end things. He gave up. And now you’re showing him exactly what that looks like.

You living your life like he was never part of it. And he can’t stop staring. Because the version of you standing in front of him now—

The confident, laughing, completely unbothered version—

Feels even further away than when he forced himself to walk away from you on that pathway a month ago. And for the first time since that day…Mark understands the full weight of what he did.

He lost you.

And you look perfectly fine without him.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The air outside is noticeably cooler. Not cold — early summer, the pavement holding onto the warmth from the day — but it’s enough to make Mark realise just how stuffy the house had gotten. The music is muffled now, bass thumping faintly through the walls behind them. Every time someone opens the front door it spills out louder for a second before being swallowed again.

Mark stands near the low brick wall bordering the front garden, arms crossed over his chest. He’s staring down the street without really looking at anything.

Cars parked unevenly along the curb. A group of people laughing further down the road. The quiet hum of late-night traffic somewhere in the distance. Anything to keep his mind from drifting back inside. Back to you.

Giselle stands a few feet away from him, leaning casually against the porch railing. He feels her pity before she can even say anything.

“You’re not even trying,” she says eventually.

Mark lets out a slow breath through his nose. “I did.”

“Yeah, for like fifteen minutes.”

His eyes roll in frustration. “It felt longer.”

She snorts softly, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve barely spoken to anyone.”

“I spoke to Chenle.”

“Chenle forced you to do a shot.” She says pointedly.

“Which, by the way, tasted like piss.”

Giselle shakes her head, but the corner of her mouth lifts slightly.

Mark drags a hand through his hair, fingers catching slightly before he lets his arm drop again. His gaze drifts back toward the house, watching the flicker of light every time the door opens.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” he mutters.

Giselle groans immediately, tipping her head back dramatically. “Oh, come on.”

“I’m serious. You stay.”

“You just got here.” She whines dramatically.

“Dude, it’s been two hours.” He can’t help but chuckle at her reaction.

“And you're still alive,” she says, faking a shocked expression.

Mark stares down at the ground for a moment, scuffing the sole of his sneaker against the concrete. “I feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Like…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “I dunno, just weird.”

Giselle studies him for a moment, her expression softening.

“That’s just because you haven’t socialised in weeks,” she says gently. “Your brain forgot how.”

“Cool, so I’ll just go home.” He offers the sweetest smile he can put on.

“I really don’t think that’s gonna help.“ She scolds with a sigh. “Mark, you're the one who ended it. If you still—” 

Before Giselle can argue further, the front door creaks open behind them.

They both glance over.

You step out onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind you with one hand while adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder with the other. For a moment you don’t notice them. You’re looking down at your phone, scrolling in thought.

Then Giselle brightens immediately. “Look who it is.”

Too loud for Mark’s buzzing ears.

You glance up, a cute startled expression adorning your face. “Oh— hey.”

You walk down the porch steps toward them, your black converse tapping lightly against the ground before landing on the pavement.

Up close, you look a little tired, cheeks flushed. Not messy, just softer around the edges. Hair slightly looser than it was earlier, your makeup still neat but less perfect.

“You leaving?” Giselle asks.

You nod, rubbing lightly under one eye with the back of your index. “Yeah. I’m exhausted.”

“Already?”

You shrug one shoulder, shifting the strap of your bag again.

“It’s been a long week,” you say, gaze meeting Mark’s for a second and he instantly panics, heart racing.

“Well,” Giselle says casually, “Mark was just about to leave too.”

Mark blinks. He was?

You look between the two of them, your expression immediately skeptical.

“Right,” you say slowly.

“I mean,” Giselle continues, entirely too innocent, “you guys could just walk together.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly. “It’s fine, I was literally about to call an Uber.”

Mark opens his mouth before he even realises he’s about to speak.

“No, I’ll walk you.” The words come out quickly. A little jumbled. He sounds embarrassingly keen.

For a second nobody says anything.

Your eyebrows lift slightly in surprise or maybe amusement.

The pause that follows is small, but it stretches just enough to feel awkward. Mark suddenly becomes very aware of Giselle standing right there beside him. Watching.

“Umm…” He clears his throat quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… if you want.” He adds.

You study him for a moment. Not suspicious exactly. Just… unsure.

Then you shrug lightly. “Okay.”

“Perfect,” Giselle says triumphantly, already getting ready to head back inside.

Mark shoots her a quick threatening look she pretends not to notice.

“Text me when you get home,” she instructs loudly.

“Yes, ma'am.” you reply with a smirk. 

God, he's missed you.

You glance back at him, your expression is calm, neutral. Like this isn’t strange at all.

“Ready?” you ask.

Mark nods. “Yeah.”

He steps away from the wall, falling into place beside you as you start walking down the street together. The music swells again as someone opens the front door. Then it fades. And just like that, the two of you are alone on the quiet pavement, the noise of the party slowly disappearing behind you.

The first few seconds of silence are what Mark would define as ‘torture’.

He’s starting to think that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. He should’ve let you get an uber and he should’ve walked alone. Maybe in that scenario he’d want to disappear a little less than he does now.

His eyes drift over at you quickly before focusing on the pavement again. And he can’t help but feel very conscious of your eyes on him.

“So, how have you been?” Your calming voice breaks the unbearable silence and Mark feels like screaming from relief.

He sighs instead, and then tries his best to sound convincing. “Yeah, not too bad. Busy with deadlines, you know.”

You nod in understanding. You seem to relate, and Mark wonders if you’ve been stressing as much as you normally do when it comes to exams and assignments. You always used to pretend stressful situations don't affect you, and to be fair, you were good at it. But he could always tell. It was so obvious and he hates that he's not been there to say the right things. To calm you down with a hug. With his fingers in your hair. With a kiss on your cheek.

He’s missed feeling you giving into his comfort, allowing him to coddle you and treat you like you deserve to be treated. He can almost visualise the moment your shoulders go from tense to relaxed, your body melting into his with trust. The sigh you’d let out. The way you’d bury your face in his chest. The way you’d breathe him in like his scent is some kind of stress antidote. He can almost feel the softness of your skin. Almost.

He doesn’t think he’s missed anyone the way he misses you right now. Even as you’re walking beside him. Even as he feels the warmth radiating from your bare arm brushing his.

“You?” He asks, his walking pace slowing down to match yours.

“Same.” You say with a light tone. But it holds something. Melancholy. “Not too bad. Just hard to believe uni’s over.”

“Yeah, I know.” He breathes out a bittersweet laugh. “Kinda feels like I’ll still be revising tomorrow.”

You let out a low hum of agreement. “Weird right? We’re like, real adults now.”

“Speak for yourself.” He jokes, and he’s pretty sure that’s the first time in a while. He barely recognises the tone of his voice. You have that much effect on him.

The little chuckle that escapes you, makes something in his chest bloom. Another thing he’s missed.

“Please, if one of us is the adult, that’s you.” You say with a smirk, eyes meeting his for half a second.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” You blurt without hesitation. It’s subtle, but it’s a reminder of facts. Because you do know. You know so much about him. Too much.

It’s quiet again for a few moments. And then Mark succumbs to asking a question he’s been dying to ask since you started hanging out.

“So, what’s your plan now?” He hesitates to look at you, eyes on the concrete.

“I’m staying here, actually.” You state plainly, like it's not news.

Now it’s inevitable. His head lifts quickly, surprised eyes meeting your neutral ones. “Really?”

You nod once. “Yeah, I’m starting an internship next month.”

“Oh, shit.” He exhales. “That’s—wow, congrats.”

“Thank you.” Your amused smile blinds him. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not surprised you got an internship. Just didn’t think you’d be staying.”

“How so?” You ask curiously.

“I thought—you know, cause of the year abroad, maybe you’d move to a different city? I dunno…” He explains, still sounding a little taken aback.

“You thought or you hoped?” You ask, bluntness evident.

Mark stares at you, a little baffled. “Why would I hope—”

“Don’t worry.” You wave your hand in dismissal. “Forget I said that.”

“Y/N,” A confused sound leaves his throat. “I’m happy for you. Genuinely. Whether you stay here or move to fucking Antarctica.”

Your small laugh sounds real. Genuine.

“Thanks.” You purse your lips in thought, an indication of nervousness. “Are you staying or…?”

A hopeful smile threatens to spread on Mark’s face, but he tries his best to hold back. You care about his plans. And he can tell you're not just being polite. He can sense the genuine interest. “Yeah. Both me and Gi. We thought it’d be best for interviews and job stuff.”

You bob your head adorably, your subtle grin difficult to miss. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

The rest of the walk fills itself with safe topics. Exams. Deadlines. Job applications. Anything neutral enough to avoid the things sitting between you.

Mark keeps wanting to ask things he’s not allowed to ask. He also keeps hoping you’ll ask him questions you shouldn’t be asking. But you don’t. Neither of you do.

And when you both reach your apartment building, another unsettling silence engulfs you as you move to stand in front of him, swaying back and forth with your hands behind your back. You’re so adorable like this, it hurts him.

He looks around, unsure of what to say next, but once again you save the day.

“Thanks for walking me back, you didn’t have to.” You say with a gentle voice, smile lopsided, eyes warm, reminding him of moments that he never really stopped thinking about.

“I wanted to.” His honesty slips, but he doesn’t really mind at this point.

You look like you’re close to saying something before closing your mouth again. “Okay, well, it was good to see you.”

“You too.” It was more than good. It was painful. It reminded him things he’s been trying not to cling onto.

“Bye, Markie.” You utter the cute nickname with such ease, like you never stopped saying it. Like you never stopped thinking it.

Mark hates this. He hates that you’re right here with him while he feels incapable of telling you what has been tormenting him the last few weeks. He feels like his brain and heart are working overtime. To come up with something. Anything to let you know that he’s regretted letting you go since the moment he forced himself to.

So, as he watches you approach the main entrance, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m glad you’re staying.” It barely makes sense, the words a little too jumbled, voice raspy due to the dryness in his throat.

You halt, keys already in hand, the little jingling sound echoing. He notices the subtle movement of your shoulders, tensing and loosening. And then you turn around again, eyes hard, but glossy, jaw clenching visibly. And Mark can tell.

You’re holding back tears.

He instinctively moves closer, hand stopping mid-air and then dropping to his side before he can touch you as you take a step back. Like any contact would have caused pain.

You might as well kill him. The shaky breath you let out almost does. Too vulnerable. Too fragile.

“I think you should go.” You whisper, voice sounding unlike you. He really has never seen you like this before. Your composure hanging on by a thread, eyes refusing to meet his as you blink quickly.

“No.” He rushes. “Wait.”

You don’t move this time when he takes another step forward. You just keep staring at the ground. And what scares him the most is how quiet you remain. Not a single word uttered. It’s just your breathing that he can hear. And his heart that he can feel trying to jump out of his chest.

He pushes past the fear and carefully reaches for your hand, expecting you to flinch or push him away.

You don’t.

You let him hold onto your fingers. Loose. Gentle. But it’s enough for him, after not being able to touch you for such a long time. It’s much more than he can ask for. Definitely more than he deserves.

He feels the slight twitch of your fingers, but you don’t pull away, and he finds himself exhaling in relief.

“I don’t—“ He stops himself to take a deep breath, hating how unstable it sounds. “I thought I knew what I’d say if I saw you tonight, but now I can only think of one thing.”

“What?” You whimper, and he feels an ache in his chest. Not because you refuse to look at him. Not because your eyes shut closed. But because of the tear that rolls down your cheek.

He doesn’t need to think too much when he weakly confesses, “I miss you.”

For a moment you stay quiet, eyes still shut, lips pursing, and then your head drops forward, the hand that's not in his lifting to cover your face. The sob that tumbles out is quiet, a little broken, more than enough to shatter Mark’s heart.

“No, no, no.” He panics, immediately wrapping his arms around your trembling shoulders. “No, please, don’t cry.”

It’s pointless now. Too late. You’re already sobbing harder, but at least now he’s holding you, your face hidden in his chest, and he wishes he could keep you there forever. He breathes in the familiar scent he’s missed so much. Your shampoo mixed with your perfume, but your little cries prevent him from feeling relief and happiness. He’s just desperate to make you stop. To make you feel better. To make you happy.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers against your hairline. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure if he’s apologising for making you cry or for the way he handled things. But he hopes you know. He’s sure you do. You always know.

He tries to soothe you by pressing you closer, carefully, making sure there’s not a single centimetre separating your body from his, swaying you gently from side to side, fingers stroking the back of your head.

He keeps you there, safe, until your sobs eventually turn into cute little hiccups, until you’re finally starting to breathe properly again. But when he attempts to create some space so he can look at your face, your arms come to slither around his middle. Light at first, and then he feels you grabbing onto his shirt, letting him know you’re not ready to face him yet.

So he patiently waits. He gives you time. It’s the least he can do.

If Mark ever doubted you, now he knows for sure that he’s made a big mistake. He’s fucked up. Massively. Not only because he hurt both of you in the process of trying to protect himself. But because he let you down. Because he misjudged you. Because he undermined your feelings for him.

But now he knows. You don’t even have to use words. He just knows. And he’ll happily spend the rest of his miserable life making it up to you if he has to. Because there’s no chance he’s letting you go now.

“Talk to me.” He says softly, desperately needing to hear your voice, even if it is you shouting at him, he just needs to hear you. “Please.”

Your hands come to his sides, your head slowly lifting, and when your tear-stained face comes into view, he can only hold it. His palms envelop your cheeks, shaky thumbs clumsily wiping at the fallen tears.

“You just left.” You sniffle, voice still trembling, your eyebrows tense. “You didn’t even hear me out.”

“I know, I know.” He hates hearing you say it. Hates how he treated you that day. Almost like a stranger. He still remembers feeling like he was going to be sick after. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“I know I hurt you that night we had a fight.” More tears fall as you speak, but now your eyes are blinking up at him, all pretty and needy. “I wanted to apologise.”

He quickly shakes his head. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

“No, I do. I know I do.” Your hands fist his shirt again as you swallow. “I was mean and I’m sorry. I’ve thought about what I said to you every day, I swear.”

“Y/N—“

“But I didn’t deserve that.”

It hurts him. That you’re the one to say it first. Because Mark is very aware of what he did and what he should have done.

“I know you didn’t.”

“Then why—“

“Because you were right. I’m a coward,” He admits. “And I acted selfish. Cause I thought I was protecting myself. I’m sorry.”

You let out a little sigh. “You said that this isn’t for you.”

He remembers the look on your face when those words left his stupid mouth. Betrayal.

“I lied.” He says truthfully. “You know you're right for me, Y/N.”

“But—“

“I love you.” The words roll out naturally, like he’s said them a million times, and in his head he has. They’ve been sitting in his chest for weeks, burning a hole through every excuse he’s tried to hide behind. “You don't have to say anything, but I think you should know. I should've told you sooner.”

Your eyes are wide, the epitome of shock as he continues stroking your cheeks with his thumbs while taking in your reaction. Your chest moves up and down erratically, hands grabbing onto his wrists, then his elbows, as though you’re unsure what to do with them, until they settle on his chest.

“Are you lying again?” You whisper, searching around his face for proof. For a second Mark feels like his chest caves in. The idea that you think he might lie about this makes him sick.

“No.” He shakes his head so quickly he gets a head rush.

“You love me?” You repeat the words like they’re forbidden.

He doesn’t think twice when he leans down to connect his lips with yours. It’s the only way he can answer your question without stumbling over his words. And he almost pulls away when you don’t reciprocate right away, but the hand that curls at the front of his collar holds him in place. And the soft exhale you let out against his mouth, makes him kiss you a little harder.

He’s sure he’s ascended to heaven when your lips start moving in sync with his, your little whimpers making his heart ache with adoration.

“I do.” He breathlessly mumbles mid-kiss. “I really fucking do.”

You make a sound that’s something between a sob and a whine, and Mark swears he forgets how to breathe. So he just keeps kissing you, now tilting his head so he can deepen the kiss, fingers curling in your hair as your taste invades his senses. Exactly the same as he remembers, mixed with a hint of saltiness, from your tears.

You let him in like he’s come back home, curling your tongue with his, still letting out those little sounds that render him useless.

“Say it again.” You plead — gasping before kissing him again — like you’re not sure the words will still exist if you stop hearing them. “Please.” 

He accidentally moans at your neediness, relishing in the way your hands tangle in his hair, and he doesn’t even realise that you’re walking backwards, until he’s got you backed up against the wall next to the entrance of the building.

“I love you.” He whispers pliantly, as he lets his lips descend, leaving tiny soft kisses along your jaw. “I love you.” Then your neck. “I love you.” Then he’s back on your lips. “I love you.” Then your cheek. “I love you.”

He wishes he could drown in you. Suffocate in your sweet scent.

Before he can say it again, your hand that trails up to the side of his neck pulls him back up with more determination, this time your tongue invading his mouth, making his knees feel weak. So much that he stumbles forward, his hands finding the wall, searching for balance, body flush against yours, the erection he didn’t realise he had, poking into your tummy.

He decides to pull away when you mumble something incoherent between kisses.

You’re both panting loudly, foreheads touching briefly before your hands cup his face in the sweetest manner. Like they always used to.

You’re staring at him like he’s someone precious, like he matters so much. And before he can speak, you beat him to it.

“I love you too.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You barely register the ding as the lift doors slide open, too occupied with Mark’s mouth devouring yours. He presses into you, warm and insistent, and your hands twist into his hair, pulling him closer as you struggle to maintain your balance.

He catches you, arm wrapping around your waist, holding you flush against him as you stagger down the corridor, mouths still locked. Breathless, messy, desperate.

Your apartment door is right there, and your hands fumble with the keys. They shake, making noise, but all you can hear is the smacks of your lips and Mark’s low moans. You bite your lip, too flustered to focus as he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Sucking a little too hard, making you whine as your back finally crashes into the surface.

“Shit—hang on.” Your fingers fumble with the lock, shaking too much to line the key properly. The metal slips against your skin, and you curse again, breath hitching as he shamelessly licks a wet stripe up to your ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth.

“Here,” he murmurs, low, brushing his fingers over yours. He guides the key, helping you fit it in the lock without breaking away. His mouth barely leaves your skin as he shifts, pressing you gently against him while you twist the key.

Click.

The door swings open, and you messily tumble inside together, lips still tangled, completely lost in the heat of the moment. Keys and bag hit the floor behind you, clattering, door slamming a little too loudly but you couldn’t care less.

He’s here. In your space again. After what feels like an eternity of hell.

He presses you against the wooden surface again, gently but firmly, hands on your waist and lower back, pulling you closer as his mouth finds yours in a wet kiss, sloppier than before. He’s greedy, and your knees tremble against him. You moan softly in delight, tilting your head, letting him taste you. Needing his tongue in your mouth. Needing to feel the rush you’ve been missing for weeks.

The strap of your top slips fully from your shoulder, sliding down your arm. You barely notice it, brain foggy, too busy focusing on the heat radiating off his skin. Your hands yank at the hem of his T-shirt, at his chest, anywhere, trying to press closer, to pull him into you even harder, and before you know what you’re doing, his jeans are unbuttoned and you’re shoving them down along with his boxers. Just enough for his cock to spring out.

He lets out a surprised gasp but still doesn't hold back from grinding into your stomach and within seconds your panties are shoved down to your ankles, his hands bunching up your skirt as you try to step out of the flimsy and now soaked through material.

Mark lifts you suddenly, too smoothly for your walls not to clench around nothing, one arm under your ass, the other secured around your waist, and you wrap your legs around him instinctively, skirt at your hips now. The press of your chest into his, the sway of your bodies as he holds you tight — it makes your head spin, makes your breath catch, makes everything you’ve been holding in for weeks feel unbearable. The friction, the heat, the ache of being pressed together like this — it’s all-consuming.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your nails catching lightly as your hips press into him, legs tight around his waist, ankles locked. Kisses become more chaotic, tongue meeting tongue, teeth clashing, moans tumbling from both of you in uneven bursts. Your head tilts, his groans vibrating against your lips, and you feel your knees weaken further against him. The ache in your chest is almost unmanageable, but it makes every touch, every press, every frantic motion more intense.

Your brain malfunctions when you feel the tip of his hard length brushing against your hypersensitive clit.

“Please.” You whimper with a wiggle of your hips, tongue messily swiping across his bottom lip before licking directly into his mouth, one hand curling behind his neck, holding him in place.

He lets out a strangled breath. It sounds so devastating your chest hurts.

The hand on your ass sneaks between your bodies and as you’re about to beg again, you feel him prodding at your soaked entrance. With a single thrust he’s breaching past the tight opening, just the bulbous head making it in before you clamp down on him with a broken cry, the burn more intense than normal, and that’s when an ounce of sensibility flickers in your fogged-up brain. The situation suddenly dawning on you. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” you gasp, voice trembling, breath caught in your throat. Your pulse races, your chest heaving against his.

“Shit. Sorry. Sorry, fuck, I—” His forehead rests against yours, lips hovering, dark eyes intense. 

“I can't.” You whisper, barely audible, shaking. You need air. You need solid ground. You need to feel your own body against something other than his. “Put me down.”

He hesitates, fingers tight on your waist and thighs, then he carefully slips out before lowering you. Your legs slide down, skirt slipping back into place, top strap fallen and forgotten, and you adjust, chest still heaving, heart hammering, pulse racing.

You take a shaky step back, trying to catch yourself, glance flicking to his heaving chest, then his hands. The tremble in them. Just like yours.

He stays close, body brushing yours, still radiating heat. The pull, the ache, the want, hasn’t diminished in the slightest, but before he can touch you again, you quietly walk past him, fingers touching your tingly lips as you head toward the kitchen, feet unstable, hands shaking as you grab a glass and pour yourself water. The simple sound of liquid hitting the glass echoes faintly in the apartment, grounding you slightly.

You gulp down half the glass, finally feeling somewhat sane.

His presence is subtle but still easy to feel as he leans casually against the counter behind you, letting you breathe, letting you regain control, giving just enough space while still being there. Weeks of wanting, aching, longing for him, all compressed into this single, messy moment.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You turn to face him as you hold out the glass. “Here.”

He takes it, fingers brushing yours, lingers with the touch, then lifts it to his lips. You watch him drink, quiet, steady. The air between you is thick but calmer, a slow settling after the chaos of whatever just occurred.

“Better?” you ask softly, letting yourself glance up at him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low, still rough.

He’s slightly more presentable, his baggy shirt now hanging low enough to cover the front of his trousers. The clank of the now empty glass touching the counter makes the wires in your brain come to life, yet you still keep quiet for a few moments.

You approach him with a sigh, calmer this time, more composed, but still unable to hold off touching him. He doesn’t help either, arms slinging around your waist like it’s their rightful place.

“I just needed a moment.” You explain quietly, hands loosely linking behind his neck, thumbs caressing the skin. “Felt overwhelmed.”

“Don't explain.” He smiles adoringly, the dimples you’ve missed so much making their appearance. “That went from zero to a hundred real quick.”

You let out a shaky laugh that sounds more like a gasp.

“I feel like,” You purse your lips in contemplation. “We should, you know…”

“Talk?” He tries, smile still intact.

You nod, feeling shy suddenly, not used to having conversations this serious with him.

“We can.” He reassures, already better at this than you are.

“Can you help me out?” You ask with a bashful smile. “I don’t really know how to go about this.”

He chuckles softly, shoulders shaking under your arms. “Do you wanna start by telling me how you feel right now?”

You think about it for a few seconds, eyes focusing on the loose collar of his top before drifting back to his face. “I feel relieved. And my chest doesn’t hurt anymore, but I'm scared.”

“Okay.” He nods understandingly. “Why scared?”

You shrug. “I’m not sure.”

“Are you scared I’ll fuck up again?” He asks tentatively, sounding like he hates bringing that up, eyes full of regret.

“No.” You admit. “I’m just worried this whole thing makes no sense.”

He blinks. “To me it does. More than most things in my life right now.”

“Stop.” You whisper, covering his mouth with an unsure hand, his words sounding too good to be true, flustering you. 

“I'm serious.” He gently takes hold of your wrist, pressing your palm to his chest. 

You exhale shakily, taking in his sincere expression. “So, like…”

“I wanna be with you.” He states with such certainty, you feel like crying again. “Like, for real. Properly this time.”

You never thought words could make you feel safe. Mark’s silly confession does though.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tight this time, bringing him as close as possible. He instinctively leans in, nuzzling in your shoulder while you bury your face in his neck, breathing in his aftershave.

“Okay.” You say with an inevitable smile. “Be with me then.”

He lets out a satisfied hum against your skin. “I’ll make you so happy, I promise.”

“You already do.” You steal a tiny kiss off the base of his neck, sighing as he holds you tighter, arms firm and safe around you, chest warm against yours.

And when he kisses you again, it’s slow. Patient. Soft. A lot less chaotic than before.

“Can we just sleep tonight?” He asks, voice sultry, not really helping. “I haven’t slept properly in weeks.”

You know he’s not just referring to the stressful exam period, and instantly you nod.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You don’t know what time it is when you wake up, but you know it’s too early. There’s definitely an hour or two left before sunrise, and even though you feel tired, you can’t find sleep again.

Mark hasn’t moved a single limb since the moment he dozed off — arm still draped heavily over your waist, holding you close, face hidden in your chest, bare legs tangled with yours.

You’re suddenly hit with the memory of the first time you woke up in the same bed as him. Almost three years ago now, when you were just fresh into uni and you barely knew anything about life. It’s so bizarre how it works. Who could’ve known back then? That this random boy whose dorm you sneaked out of would be your favourite person three years later. The boy who entirely owns your heart. Someone life wouldn’t make sense without.

You tried it. A whole month without him. No sense.

He was there one night, then he wasn’t. And now after all this time, after the whole shit show that uni is, he’s here, again. In your bed. Exactly where he belongs. Like he never left.

His leg twitching brings you out of your trance, leg hair lightly tickling you. He mumbles something incoherent, hot puffs of air hitting your chest, and you hold him close, hand curling around the back of his head.

And then he’s speaking more clearly. “Pass the ball.”

“Mm?” You glance down in confusion only to find him still sleeping soundly.

Then again. “Ball…pass here.”

Is he…dreaming about basketball?

You unintentionally let out a snort at the hilariously annoyed expression he’s sporting. Frustrated about a ball even in his sleep.

“Markie?” You whisper, fingers stroking his hair softly.

He responds with a moan, clearly still asleep, leg twitching once more between yours. And you’re about to let him settle back into his slumber before he abruptly shoots up, like someone electrocuted him.

“Yo…” He says, completely out of it still as he glances around the room like he’s lost. “We won.”

Another quiet laugh slips out as you wait for him to recognise his surroundings. And then he looks down at you, eyes squinting in the dark, trying to adjust.

“You’re not Chenle.” He mutters groggily, voice still holding confusion.

“Sorry.” You say with an amused grin, and then allow yourself to laugh more freely as he slumps back down onto the mattress with a tired huff.

“Dude, what the hell.” He buries his face in your chest again, a cute sleepy groan vibrating between you as he tries to get comfortable again, cuddling closer into you.

“Good game?” You tease, resuming your absentminded threading through his messy strands.

He hums in response, voice a little deeper than normal. “So good I thought I jizzed my pants.”

You muffle a laugh in his hair, the fluffy strands tickling your skin.

“Sexy.” You joke, shuffling closer, leg bending to curl around his hip. You can’t prevent your smile when his hand sneaks under your long t-shirt, making direct contact with the small of your back. You try to ignore his pinkie slipping under the waistband of your panties. “You often dream about Chenle?”

“Why, you jealous?” He retorts, a little too quick, almost sounding sassy, and then glances up at you.

He looks too good for someone who’s just woken up from a dream about a basketball match. Hair messy, lips a little puffy from sleep, but it’s his raspy voice that affects you the most.

You hold back a smile, thumb outlining his bottom lip carefully. “Yeah, actually, I am.”

“Hm.” He brings his face close enough that your noses are touching. “Don’t worry. I dream about you pretty much every night.”

Your heart flutters at the unfiltered words. “Really?”

“Mhm.” His delicate touch trails up your spine, knuckles leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Probably cause I think about you too much.”

“As you should.” You say teasingly, thumb still tracing his bottom lip lightly as he smiles cheekily. You forget your next words when he presses you as close as possible, your hips flush against his, his palm flat on your back, and his quite prominent erection nudged into your belly. And you couldn’t be more thankful that he chose to sleep only in his boxers. “Are you hard because of Chenle or because of me?”

He doesn’t give you much time to tease him for longer. You don’t realise when his hand travels to the back of your neck, forcing your lips onto his, clearly much more awake now.

“You.” He mumbles, the answer very serious compared to the mischievous nature of your question, indicating that he’s not in the mood to play around anymore. “Always you.”

Your moan is low, but it’s still audible in the quiet of the early dawn, and you don’t even contemplate on giving into him. You know you want to. And so he’s flat on his back in an instant, with you sitting right on his hard length, only your panties and his briefs separating you as you both desperately seek for some friction.

It turns frantic quickly, neither of you holding back. Lips parted, tongues gliding together, moans and whines mingling as his hands sneak down to your ass, pressing you down hard, the cotton of your underwear jumbled messily between your wet folds already, his cock so hard against your pubic bone, it feels like it’s bruising as you grind back and forth.

“Ah, fuck.” You exhale into his mouth, struggling to keep up with his intense kisses, your mind too clouded with want and so many sensations. You choose to sit up, hands planting on his chest, hips slowing down, picking up a lazy pace, which he doesn’t seem to mind.

His hands slip under your shirt, holding onto your hips, thumbs digging into your hip bones as he breathes frantically, his eyes focusing on your face first before dropping down to the mess between your legs.

The way he’s staring at you, makes you want to please him, show him everything he's been missing, and the fabric of your top suddenly feels too suffocating.

“Shit, baby.” He pants as soon as your shirt hits the floor and your naked body comes into view. “So pretty.”

And before you can resume the movements of your hips, he’s sitting up, arms are locking around you before you’re swiftly manoeuvred onto your back, your legs instinctively parted far apart for his hips to slot between as he hovers above you, chest just centimetres off yours.

You whine in frustration, needing him closer and he seems to catch on quick, understanding flickering across his soft features as he lowers himself until you’re skin on skin. Your erect nipples deliciously rubbing on his warm chest, the heat radiating off him so grounding and safe-like, making you sigh in contentment.

“Yeah? Better?” He whispers into your neck, scattered kisses amplifying your need for him, the throbbing between your legs unbearable at this point, pussy throbbing with emptiness as he takes his sweet time with you.

“Please, please, please.” You beg like you’ve never begged, not really knowing what else to do, your whole body shaking from all the emotions. “I’ve missed you. I miss you so much. Please.”

A broken moan echoes from him, hot breath hitting your wet skin as he grinds his hips into yours a little too hard, making you cry from ache and pleasure. And when your hands bury in his hair, finding something to hold onto, his lips are back on yours, tongue in your mouth, messily tangling with yours. It’s wet and it’s dirty and it’s everything that you need but not enough either.

The kiss is cut short as he pulls back with a loud wet smack, and then his hands are impatiently tugging at your panties. You lift your hips, knees bending to help him out and when he’s back on you, you don’t waste time shoving his boxers down as far as you can reach while he tries to kiss you again. Your foreheads lightly bumping at the awkward angle, but neither you or Mark seem to care.

“Just fuck me.” You plead when you’re both completely naked and he’s kneeling between your legs. You’re out of breath, totally lost in him, not caring about foreplay. All you want is to feel him inside you, as close as possible, to feel that stretch your body's missed so much, that slight sting that feels more good than painful.

“Baby,” He leans over you again, bracing one arm beside your head, weight settling over yours comfortably. His other hand engulfs your jaw, thumb stroking your skin tenderly, eyes full of adoration as they stare into yours, calming the flame in your chest just a little. “Wanna take care of you first.”

You shake your head in protest, hands cupping his cheeks. “N-no, I just want you. Please, Markie…please baby.”

You would normally feel embarrassed, pleading like that. You’re near tears, your voice trembling with insatiable need as you hold his face like he’s the only thing that can keep you grounded. You can tell by the shift in his eyes that his resolve starts to break, and before he can react, you’re claiming his lips with yours in a hungry kiss, all tongue and spit. You try to focus on the way he kisses you, slow enough to make you impatient, deep enough to make your hips buck into his.

And when his cock slips between your folds — a perfect slide — rubbing against your clit, you let out the most shameful moan, outright pornographic, yet you can’t bring yourself to give a single fuck.

“C’mon, just be a good boyfriend and fuck the shit out of me.” You whisper in a sultry voice, the challenge clearly getting to him as he ruts into you with a deep grunt.

“I’m tryna be fucking sweet and take my time with you.” He whines, frustration laced with his tone. He rests his forehead on yours, eyes shut, patience hanging on by a thread.

“I know, I just need you right now.” You’re so close to breaking him. “You can fuck me nice and slow after.”

His jaw slackens when you grab onto his ass, fingers digging into the flesh, urging him to move his hips with yours. “Fuck.”

“Feel how wet I am?” You whine, the sound of his cock sliding through your slick is obscene. “I’m such a mess, Markie, I’m gonna fucking lose it, please.”

“Yeah?” He pants, sounding almost drunk, his eyes dark when they meet yours, gaze intense. “You’re a mess for me?”

“Yeah,” You whisper, completely at his mercy.

“Keep talking.” His tone hushed, eyes refusing to leave yours and you love it. You love the intensity of it all, the raw passion, the way the tip of his cock meets your clit every time he thrusts forward. Everything.

“Want you in me.” You blink slowly, your legs spreading even more for him, knees bending all the way until they're touching your ribs. “Wanna feel how much you missed me.”

A groan rumbles in his chest, eyes rolling back for a second before his mouth crashes into yours. “Gonna fuckin ruin you.”

“Mmhm,” Your hands grab onto his shoulders, nails clawing, and you hope they leave a mark. “Yes, please.”

You’re so beyond composure, you moan too loudly even at his hand slipping between your bodies, just at the thought of what could come next. And when you feel his hand cupping your whole sex, your legs start to shake. He slides his fingers over the whole expanse of your mound, spreading your arousal everywhere, creating a mess, setting your skin ablaze and without warning his middle and ring fingers circle your clit once — too lightly for your liking — before sliding through your slit and down to your entrance.

“You think you’re the only one who’s a mess?” He whispers against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom one before he sucks onto it. “My dick stopped working because of you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His fingers get replaced by what you recognise as the tip of his thick erection. He slides it up and down your slit, stimulating your clit just like he always used to before entering you. “Haven’t been able to cum since the last time we fucked.”

“I’m sorry.” You whimper, feeling guilty but also a pang of pride in your chest. “I couldn’t either.”

“Did you try?” He asks, prodding against your leaking hole, igniting all your nerve endings as he slowly starts pushing in. Just the tip, but still enough to make you bite down on your lip to keep quiet. “Did you think of me?”

You nod, eyes watering at the memories of loneliness, of the miserable times your fingers unsuccessfully tried defusing a heat that was his to defuse. “Always thought of you. Still didn’t feel the same.”

He returns the nod, length sliding in just another inch, making your eyes flutter up at him. A tear escapes, rolling down your temple. Not from the stretch, just from the unbearable ache in your chest.

“Felt wrong?” He asks softly, hand coming to cup one side of your face as he starts kissing the other side. “Like nothing was good enough?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, relieved that he knows the feeling. Your hands slide down his sides and then back up to his chest, feeling his sweaty skin until your arms loop securely around his neck, hugging his body close to yours. “Felt empty.”

With one smooth thrust, he’s completely sheathed in. To the hilt. His hips flush against yours, making your breath hitch and your walls flutter. At how the emptiness you felt for a whole month has started to dissipate. Your body and heart basking in the delightful fullness. The love you feel for him.

“My pretty girl.” He murmurs against your neck. “I’m so sorry.”

You let out a pathetic sob, the heartfelt apology sitting heavy in your chest as he starts moving his hips, pulling out before sinking back in slowly, giving you time to adjust even though the slide is easy. Careful, shallow thrusts gradually turn into deeper rolls, his tip brushing your cervix each time he bottoms out, and when you bury your hands in his hair, lips finding his, you feel more tears escape.

He slides an arm around your waist, angling your hips up just enough to start hitting the spot inside you that makes you roll your eyes back. The sounds of wet slaps reverberate around the room as he starts delivering faster — but still not hard enough to hurt — snaps of his hips. It’s quiet apart from that and the soft cries you let out along with his muffled breaths that hit your damp skin.

“Always feel so good.” He whispers softly, sounding completely lost in pleasure, tongue making contact with your skin as he starts kissing across your collarbone. “Missed you so much.”

You feel useless, only able to cling onto him and wrap your legs around his waist, not letting him pull out more than half his length. You bury your face in his shoulder, lips parting in a quiet moan when he increases the intensity of his thrusts, finally fucking you properly. Hard and fast. Exactly like you’ve been begging him to.

“Oh my god, yes.” You sigh in relief, completely surrendering to him, letting him do as he pleases. Because you’re his.

“Like that, yeah?” He rasps, his free hand curling in your hair, forcing you to look at him. “Take it, baby.”

He looks so dreamy, it’s earth shattering. His swollen lips nothing short of delicious, his eyes hooded, glazed with pure desire. It’s scandalous. He shouldn’t be allowed to look at you like that. 

Unable to stand it, you cup his chin in one hand, gently squishing his cheeks before devouring his lips in a heated kiss. Your tongue shoves in his mouth like nobody’s business, and your pussy clenches at the way his mouth parts for you. Like it’s second nature.

His grunt vibrates against your tits, your nipples achy and sensitive against his slippery chest. You love how you can feel him everywhere all at once, your whines getting louder by the second as he keeps plunging into you, stretching you in the best way possible. It’s all too much, but so good. Too good. 

His cock drags against your walls in a way that has you hyperventilating, your cunt squeezing around him like he’s not allowed to pull out.

“You gonna cum?” He asks mid-kiss, although it’s more breathing in each other’s mouths than a kiss.

“Yeah, don’t stop.” You pant in urgency, voice hoarse, almost unrecognisable. “Fuck fuck fuck, right there, I'm so close.”

He moans in response, maintaining the same vigor and angle. He doesn’t even need to use his fingers, his pelvis is stimulating your clit just perfectly in quick intense slaps that drive the tip of his cock right into your g-spot.

“God, you’re squeezing me so good—ffuck.” He’s hugging you so close, one arm still around your waist, the other one curled around your shoulders, hand cupping the back of your neck as you grip onto his shoulders and arms like a lifeline.

Your legs start shaking violently, pussy clamping around his thick length, body locking up for a second.

“Please baby, cum for me.” He utters in his soft voice that you adore so much, lips brushing against yours. And then he nearly kills you. “Love you.”

It’s all-consuming. Soul-crashing. Life-altering. You feel like you have no control over your body anymore. Completely giving yourself to him as the tension in your lower abdomen unleashes. You cum with a shattered cry, body convulsing with intense pleasure, walls clenching, uncontrollably kneading his length in quivering pulses.

His thrusts increase in tempo, fucking you harder, becoming messier, pushing through your climax as he lets out a choked up grunt. 

“Love you too,” you whisper, eyes shut in white bliss. Legs tightening around him, trapping him exactly where he needs to be. 

“Look at me.” He requests softly, his arm unlocking from your waist before he grabs onto your thigh, prying your legs open again, one still bent over his hip, the other one hooked over his elbow. The new angle allows him to pull more of his dick out before slamming back in. Harder. Faster. Making you mewl from the sensitivity.

You do open your eyes, meeting his heavy-lidded ones, pupils blown out. His skin is flushed as he rams into you, lewd slaps and wet noises sounding around the room, making you unintentionally clench around him. 

“You gonna cum for me?" You whisper, voice needy and strained. 

He nods, eyes closing for a second when you adoringly cup his face in your hands. And a tiny ‘Yeah’ falls from his pretty lips. 

“Wanna cum inside me?” It sounds like you're pleading. Maybe you are. 

His eyes flutter, full of hope. “Fuck, really? Please, can I?” 

He's definitely pleading, and you're in love with this side of him. So in love. “Yeah, baby, wanna feel you.” 

He groans and lowers himself a fraction, lips crashing into yours, arm releasing your leg and coming to rest by your head, caging you in, as he lets his body rub against yours. His tongue licks obscenely against yours, the sounds he lets out swallowed by the kiss as you clench your cunt intentionally this time, urging him to let go. 

“Oh my god.” He whines, sounding unlike any other time you've been with him. The pants he breathes are burning hot against your skin as he gives up on trying to kiss you properly, mouth hanging open against yours now. 

“That's it, keep fucking me like that.” You breathe, feeling like you're close to another unexpected climax just from looking at his face. He's drenched in sweat, hair swaying around his face messily as he fucks desperately into you, eyebrows pinched with a look that resembles pain as his lashes flutter. 

The brutal pace he's set, combined with all the longing and intensity, sends you through another frenzy as you cream all over his cock again. The sensation so unreal you have to look down, and you can see it. The white substance coating his length each time he pulls out. It's filthy. And perfect. 

He gasps, almost chokes out, “Yeah, god- I'm cumming…fuck, baby gonna-" 

“Uh-huh.” You nod eagerly, hands still grabbing onto the sides of his face. “Yes, yes, yes.”

His body tenses, and then you feel a familiar warm sensation spreading inside your snug walls as he plugs you to the hilt, burying himself as deep as he can, making you shiver. His release shoots out in a hot mess, filling you up in the best way possible.Your pussy still clenching as you feel every throb and jerk. 

His arms relax, allowing his weight to slump on you completely, hips slowing down, lazily thrusting into your heat, milking himself and extending both your orgasms for as long as possible while causing some of his cum to spill out, making you feel dirty and content at the same time. 

You don’t know who moves first, but you’re suddenly kissing. Slow and deep. Lips somehow matching the rhythm of your bodies. Touches become gentle, your fingers gingerly trailing up and down his spine as you breathe against each other like it’s a need.

“Shit.” He whispers tiredly, sounding like he's realised something, head hanging low as he stares at the mess between your bodies. 

“It’s okay.” You reassure him with a chaste kiss on the lips. “I’m way past my ovulation, you’re good.”

He visibly relaxes after that, forehead resting on your shoulder with a sigh, and you both hiss when he slowly pulls out. Your legs twitch a little before dropping limply on either side of him. You lean down a little, reaching for the tangled covers, now resting just below his cute bum, and you bring them up to his shoulders, cocooning him in your chest and then wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers combing through his damp strands.

You lie in the quiet after he rolls you both on your sides. His arms holding you safely, skin still tingling, breathing slowly returning to normal. The memories of the month apart — the ache, the loneliness, the empty nights — feel distant now, replaced by the warmth of him pressed against you and the first hints of sunrise.

It all feels familiar, yet it doesn’t — no blurred lines this time. No wondering. 

Just contentment and soft touches and fluttering hearts.

You press a soft kiss to his chest. “If you ever leave me again, I’ll hunt you down and kidnap you.”

He sighs a tiny laugh, nuzzling your hair. “I’d probably come crawling back anyway.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

It's only after a few days that you and Mark finally decide to leave the comfortable confines of your love bubble and socialise with your friends. 

It's one of the first hot days, sunshine all over the place, everyone very much still riding the end-of-exams high, still excited to celebrate and make the most of the remainder of student life before summer. 

The reality of everything sort of hits you when you and Mark are walking down the street, his fingers intertwined with yours while he's on the phone to Chenle, trying to figure out the whereabouts of the picnic your friends have decided to organise. 

"Dude, what damn tree?" He complains with a laugh. “It's a fucking park, there's plenty of trees. Can you just turn on your location? No one's stalking you for crying out loud.” 

You hear muffled voices through Mark's speaker before he just agrees to something with a hum. “Alright, sweet, we'll see you in a sec.” 

His eyes are instantly on you the second he hangs up, smile bright. “Shall we go pick up some drinks? There's that corner shop just before the bridge.” 

You nod excitedly, smiling at the way he playfully sways your connected hands. “Yeah, it's too hot to raw dog it.”

The sun is hitting him just right, his skin glowing, eyes looking a brighter shade of brown in the light, outfit simple but sexy at the same time. Baggy white tee and cargo shorts. Effortless. 

Dreamy as always.

When you're in the store, trying to decide whether you want to get a peach ice tea or a canned cocktail, Mark's hand casually comes to rest at the small of your back, just above your ass. The gesture is so small, barely noticeable, yet so domestic. And of course, you do notice, butterflies letting loose in your stomach, giddiness difficult to contain. 

“Just get the iced tea and a couple of those aperol spritz cans you like.” He suggests, his front pressing against your side. Gently but enough to cause goosebumps. “You always get them for pre gaming, don't you?” 

He's not even looking at you, totally oblivious to the effect he has on you. He's too busy scanning through the shelves, warm hand absentmindedly trailing to your hip, thumb stroking ever so softly, the subtle heat of his arm around your back seeping through the thin fabric of your summer dress. You're thankful for the store's aircon being on, somewhat helping with the heat creeping up on your cheeks. 

For some reason, the moment, though insignificant, makes you feel so many emotions. You carefully observe his side profile. The way his eyelashes touch his cheek each time he blinks. The way his lips form the most adorable pout as he's in deep thought. The word ‘boyfriend’ keeps ringing in your head and you find it hard to believe that Mark finally holds that title. 

Your boyfriend. 

You realise you haven't spoken for a few seconds when he looks down to inspect your face, expression baffled. “What?” 

You shake you head, bringing yourself out of the trance, eyes staring into his. “Nothing. I just love you.” 

His face beams. Eyebrows shooting up, eyes wide as a blinding smile takes over his features, teeth on full display. “I love you too, baby.” 

The hand on your hip, drags you closer as his lips press the sweetest kiss on your cheek. The skin-on-skin contact settles your heartbeat a little, but the flutters in your tummy persist. And you accept that they'll be there for a long long time. 

It’s all clearer than ever to you now. Because you just know that you and Mark Lee were meant to be ever since that first messy night in freshers’ week. And annoyingly, even back then, you could tell he wasn’t just a fleeting encounter. He left an imprint you were never able to erase. 

Looking back now, you realise that you should’ve just accepted your fate. You should’ve let him in your life much sooner. 

But he’s here now. 

And everything finally makes sense.

taglist: @neotannies, @ppeachyttae, @14juno, @meowieshibal, @withlovemark, @haluenx, @snapcracklen, @aliquidexnihilo-blog1, @cathamada, @hyusunn , @slightlyunhingedsagittarius, @mellikestoread, @malak41, @monoseoul, @yutasloverr

©neogotmycookie

[neogotmycookie]

here, again | l.mk (part two)

summary: After three months of nights, mornings, and almost-too-close moments with Mark, you’ve settled into something familiar. Something too comfortable. Moments that feel ordinary are anything but. Eventually, ambiguity and pretence bite you both in the ass.  pairing: student!mark x female student!reader.        genre: university!au, fluff, angst, situationship to…, smut! mdni!  word count: ~18k      warnings: okaaaayyyy lesssgo! lots of kissing with tongue, teasing, edging, dirty talk, dom!mark, brat tamer mark, power play, unprotected sex (pls wrap it, this is fiction), fingering, oral (both), hair pulling, choking, impreg kink (i hate myself), squirting, overstim, spitting, tears, rough sex, multiple positions, sloppy toppy, light degradation, mark is a menace in this one (not just in bed), but he's still sweet, emotional constipation, arguing, miscommunication, they're both annoying ngl, oc cries (i also cried), alcohol consumption, i think a vape is mentioned once, mommy giselle is a queen in this one, so is karina, lmk if i've missed anything (probs have)  a/n: right it's way past my bedtime and im pretty sure i've run out of brain cells :) tumblr will NOT let me post this as a whole so i've had to split it in two. DON'T WORRY THIS IS NOT THE ENDING. I WOULD NEVER DO THAT!! part 3 (which is the final one) will just be a little shorter but you'll have it over the weekend. i promise!! anyhoooo, i've never written angst like this before so do let me know your thoughts. i hope this ruins your panties and not your makeup. i am sorry in advance pls pls pls don't hate me ILY <3 Part 1 | Part 3 | masterlist | ko-fi

There are very few things that make you lose your temper. Having always been somewhat of a calm-spirited soul, you've thrived in stressful situations, performed well under pressure. In fact, you’re positive you could list all of the things that genuinely irritate you.

Paper cuts. People that play music on their phone speakers, especially on public transport. Slow walkers. Long voice notes. Forgetting to use a bookmark. And of course, people who eat kiwis with the skin on. Because why?

Surely you could find a few more to add to the list, but you’ve always taken pride in the fact that you rarely lose sleep on other people’s accounts. Not that you’re a careless or insensitive person. You’ve just always been rather good at keeping your cool. Protecting your inner peace and what not.

Enter Mark Lee.

Mark fucking Lee and his lovely cheekbones and his soft round eyes and the way they crinkle when he smiles at you. Mark Lee and his pretty hands and the way they feel on your skin. Sometimes gentle, other times not. Everything about him really. It’s all encarved in your brain. How he speaks, how he laughs, the faces he makes when he’s deeply immersed in a conversation. All fascinating and infuriating at the same time.

He’s your first thought when you wake up and your last before you fall asleep. It’s fucking annoying. You’re not supposed to lose sleep because of another individual. Let alone a man. But, for Mark, you really are losing hours of sleep. Every night. Whether he’s in the bed next to you or not. But mostly when he’s not. Because you — no, you can’t miss him. You’re simply just so used to his presence that it’s difficult to sleep alone. Surely, that’s it. A habit and nothing more. Hopefully, if you keep repeating the word in your head, you’ll eventually convince yourself.

It’s just a uni fling. Soon you’ll be graduating and you’ll probably never see each other again. It’s how these things work. Right?

You’re on the phone to Jaemin when your phone buzzes.

Marklee: 2 mins away x

“Alright, Jaem, I have to go.” You interrupt your friend’s rambling.

“Awh, I was just getting to the good part.” He complains with a whine.

“You can tell me tomorrow after class. Although, so far it sounds like she’s in the right.”

“Boooo! I knew I should’ve called Rina instead.” He exclaims frustratingly.

“You do know me and Karina share one brain cell right?” You exhale as you lazily get up from the blanket cocoon you’ve created on your small sofa.

“Was that your doorbell?” Jaemin inquires with a hint of insinuation.

You buzz Mark in, trying your best to sound as unbothered as you can. “Twas indeed.”

“I thought you were having a night in.” Jaemin teases and you can hear the smirk.

“I am having a night in.” You respond casually.

“Mmmm, just not alone.”

“It could be take-out, you know.” You defend as you open your apartment door the second Mark exits the building lift.

Jaemin utters something indistinct over the phone. You’re too busy checking Mark out as he approaches you with a sweet smile. His duffle bag hangs off his shoulder, navy blue oversized jumper hugging his broad shoulders just right, grey sweatpants a little too baggy but stylish as always. You can tell he’s come straight from basketball practice. His hair a little damp still, making him look sexier than ever. You’re about to convulse when you realise it’s shorter than last time you saw him.

You remember him saying he had a haircut appointment a couple days ago, but you didn’t expect much of a difference. And you certainly didn’t expect a fucking undercut.

“Yo.” Mark whispers, clearly having noticed you’re on the phone and you make room so he can slip inside your apartment before shutting the door behind you.

You observe him as he drops his bag on the floor and discards his shoes next to yours like it’s his norm. It might as well be at this point.

“Hellooo? Are you still there?” Jaemin’s obnoxiously loud voice interrupts your gawking session.

You clear your throat before speaking. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait! Is Mark there? Can you ask him for his opinion? Should I apologise or—“

“Kay, bye, Jaem.” You hang up before your friend can get another word in, too distracted to actually listen to more of his ranting.

You turn your attention to Mark again and this time he’s already got his eyes on you as he casually leans against the back of the sofa with a small smile adorning his pretty face. Before you can apologise for being on the phone, Mark’s arms open, welcoming you as you eagerly slot yourself in his embrace, phone tossed on the sofa behind him.

“Hi.” He mumbles in your hair and you sigh in relief as his familiar scent surrounds you.

“Hi, Markie.” You coo in his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his middle as his squeeze around your shoulders. You can’t help but smile when he rocks you gently from side to side.

“Miss me?” He asks softly and something tightens in your chest.

You should dismiss it, say something lighthearted, but your mouth utters the words before your brain can filter them. “So much.”

His light chuckle vibrates through his chest, calming you a little, telling you he likes your forward response, even if accidental.

“Did you?” He feigns disbelief with a little gasp.

You feel the heat creeping up on your cheeks and you mentally thank his chest for shielding your face. “Shut up.”

“Aw c’mon.” He shakes you playfully. “I missed you too.”

The little statement is whispered close to your ear and you can’t help but look up at him this time. Chin resting on his chest as he loosens his hold around you just a little.

“What?” He asks with a smile as you take in his shorter hair again. So handsome.

“You look good.”

His bashful grin as he lightly ruffles his hair with one hand makes the butterflies in your stomach cause havoc. “You dig the undercut then?”

“Oh I dig it alright.” You poke his sides lightly as you stand on your tippy toes, leaving a quick kiss on his cheek.

He doesn’t let you back away more than a couple of inches before grabbing the back of your neck and surprising you with his lips on yours. It’s light at first. Gentle. Almost innocent. And you barely have time to kiss him back when he’s about to pull away. So you don’t let him. You chase him with a pathetic whine instead.

“Cute.” He breathes, laughing softly against your lips before finally giving in.

Your hands remain at his sides, bracing onto his jumper, searching for some sort of support as he holds both sides of your face, fingers slipping into your hair, thumbs stroking your cheekbones a little too carefully, lips dragging against yours with more precision now. You’ve only exchanged a few words since he came through the door, yet his tongue is in your mouth as though it belongs there, deeming you helpless, giving you no choice but to slacken your jaw pliantly, giving him room to explore and taste and lick as he pleases. And he does so with no hesitation.

A very audible whimper rolls out of you as he tilts your head to the side, his tongue gliding against yours savouringly, giving you what you’ve been craving for a whole week. He lets out a satisfied hum in exchange, and you feel it in your spine, making you shiver in delight as your clit pulses. This is fucking ridiculous. A kiss is not supposed to make you feel so weak. So unsteady but safe at the same time.

“Mh—Mark.” You try to get his attention but it comes out more like a muffled plea and he kisses you harder. Filthier.

It’s so messy, you’re pretty sure there’s drool on your chin. Kiss so wet with the amount of saliva you’re exchanging he might as well spit in your mouth. You can’t help but moan at the disgustingly crude thought, feeling almost embarrassed knowing that you’d happily swallow.

You’re suddenly very aware of the gush of slick that drips from your entrance, making a mess between your legs, and that’s when you put your hands on his chest, lightly pushing him away, needing to break the kiss in order to collect your thoughts but also breathe.

He reluctantly obliges after leaving two quicker smooches on your already abused lips, sucking on the bottom one briefly just to get a whine of protest out of you.

“Oops.” He says teasingly as he eyes you suggestively, hands dropping to your hips momentarily, before sneaking to your ass, shamelessly squeezing over your jeans. “Got carried away.”

You lightly swat at his chest in fake warning, forcing a cute snicker out of him, which makes a smile break out on your face. You’re so aware of it, your cheeks hurt.

“I need to shower.” You mutter breathlessly.

“Is that an invitation?” He asks a little too eagerly. Almost too adorable to resist.

“Actually, no.” You pout and he mimics your expression. “Sorry, I need some girly time.”

He furrows his eyebrows in genuine curiosity. “As in, like, you need to finger yourself in the shower or…?”

“No, you moron.” You shove your hand in his face, pushing him backwards. “As in shave and moisturise.”

“Ohhh.” He leans his head back in realisation before looking back at you with a mischievous grin. “My version sounds more fun though.”

He’s rather playful tonight. Slightly more than usual, and you can’t help but want to play along with him.

“Maybe I’ll indulge then.” You say skeptically as you let your hands travel down his torso, eyes still fixed on his curious ones. “Maybe I should just finger myself in the shower while you sit here and wait for me like good little boy.”

His lips part slightly as his expression becomes more serious than ever. No shock, just conflict maybe.

“Or maybe you’d prefer it if I dragged you in there with me and made you watch, hm?” Your tone is demanding as your hands reach his waistband, fingers barely slipping inside before going past it.

His breathing contrasts his still composed expression. He lets out a little gasp, hands squeezing your ass a little harder when your palm brushes over the prominent bulge pressing against your front. Still no words leaving his mouth, but his jaw flexing speaks volumes. He’s trying to compose himself. Very clearly refusing to break. To give into your teasing. How admirable.

“Does that still sound fun?” You push with an innocent smile, making sure to flutter your eyelashes while you press the heel of your palm against his tip, making sure to rub a little. Stubbornly testing his limits, wanting to see how far he’ll let you go.

Something shifts behind his eyes. You see it. For a fraction of a second before it’s gone again. It’s almost scary, making you regret your antics. But then he smiles. Nothing sinister behind it, just a simple gesture. Sweet. And then he leans a little closer, the tip of his nose touching yours. Sweet again. And just when you think he’s about to kiss you, a hand in your hair catches you off guard, pulling harshly, setting your scalp on fire, making you blink in shock. And, god, the girlish squeal you let out is truly humiliating.

You feel his breath on your ear when he speaks.

“So, the thing is…” He pauses for a moment. Chills run down your spine at the sudden change in his demeanour and all you can do is swallow the dryness in your throat and hold onto his jumper like a lifeline as he starts to walk you backwards. 

You yelp when your back touches what you assume is the aisle that separates the kitchen from your tiny living room space. 

“I’ve had a long fucking day,” He continues as he nuzzles against your neck and his other hand comes to wrap around it. Not so sweet this time, but your eyes shut in pleasure nevertheless, the press of his fingers on your pulse points making you feel lightheaded. 

This is sick. And hot. But mostly sick. 

“And silly me, the one thing I was looking forward to, was seeing you,” Both his hands tighten slightly, driving your heart rate through the roof. “But now, I’m kind of pissed off.”

Fuck.

“So, you’ve got two options.”

“Mark, I was j—“

“Don’t interrupt me.” He squeezes harder, very close to suffocating you before releasing slightly. You don’t complain. Just hold onto him tighter as you wait for him to speak again.

Patience is a virtue. Apparently.

“Number one.” A little kiss is placed on your cheek. A little too delicate for a situation like this, but it comforts you. “You take a five-minute shower, ten tops, and then you come out and we have our fun.”

“But—“

“Number two.” He ignores you, his thigh forcing itself between your legs as a warning. You go mute again. “I fuck you now. Quick. Maybe you cum, maybe you don’t. You have your long girly shower, finger yourself for all I care, but I’m going to sleep.”

He slowly releases you after that and you gasp a little too loudly, instinctively bringing a hand around your own neck, where he was just touching you. You don’t know why. Maybe to make sure this is actually happening? Because what the actual fuck. The man has simply lost it.

In the three months you’ve been hanging out with Mark, you believe you’ve gotten to know him on a decent level. Intimately and not. You don’t even know how many nights (or mornings) you’ve spent together, let alone how many times you’ve fucked. Initially, you were keeping track of the times he made you cum, but when you reached thirty-something, you just gave up. 

And it’s not like he’s some kind of perverted sex god. Yes, he’s the best you’ve had, but only because he pays attention. He asks what you like. Listens. Observes. Doesn’t push boundaries unless you make clear that you want him to. Even then, he’s careful. Not necessarily gentle. Just careful. There’s always been an untouched territory you can’t really name or place.

He’s never indulged in leaving any marks on you. He’s never acted possessive or jealous. Maybe a few glances here and there when guys would approach you on a night out, but nothing major. People know you two are somewhat inseparable now. Your friends know your…situation. His certainly do too, having witnessed plenty of your drunken make-out sessions in bars, clubs, parties. 

Poor Chenle found out in the worst way possible. House party. Bathroom. Chenle trying to sober up in the bathtub. Shower curtain drawn. Mark bending you over whatever surface was somewhat clean. Chenle screaming something incoherent to make his presence known before anything too incriminating actually took place. It was hilarious, but you’re pretty sure the younger boy is scarred for life. His blush appearing every time he bumps into you certainly gives away that much.

Yes, sex with Mark has always been too good. Exciting, sensual, hot, messy, maybe even a little too passionate at times. You’ve tried many positions. Experimented at times. Your vibrator got involved others. But you’ve usually been the one to initiate different things. Not that he’s shy. You know he’s not. He just happens to need a push sometimes, or at least confirmation that you’re comfortable.

So, him hitting you with the dominant card tonight, is definitely something you did not expect. Pleasant undoubtedly. Just unexpected. And you wonder what has actually triggered it, because it can’t have been just your teasing. You tease him almost all the time. He’s either reached some sort of pinnacle and had enough of your shit or there’s some underlying tension about something you’re unaware of.

Either way, it’s got your pussy throbbing and your brain malfunctioning.

“So, what will it be?” His low voice breaks you out of your trance, reminding you of the pressing matter at hand.

You blink up at him when you realise he’s staring down at you expectantly, and you almost flinch when he raises a hand to your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip lightly before dragging it down. You involuntarily bite down on where he touched as he brings the digit down to your chin.

“May I speak now?” You ask tentatively.

“You may.” He almost breaks character, you can tell by the little twitch of his lips, but you don’t risk teasing him again. Not now.

You relax a little as he cages you against the counter, his hands on either side of you, resting on the surface, as his warmth surrounds you again. Calmer this time. So calm you almost miss the thrilling chaos you just experienced.

“I need to wash and condition my hair, then shave and moisturise.” You move a little closer, hands desperately tightening at the collar of his jumper as he rolls his eyes dismissively. You feel like you’re begging while barely having said anything. “Markie, five minutes is not enough and I have so much on tomorrow, I won’t have enough time to—“

“I said ten tops.” He corrects. His tone a little lighter now, but his arched eyebrow shows finality. “Hair, rinse, shave, rinse again. I’ll help you moisturise after.”

You sulk childishly and you catch him biting the inside of his cheek. This motherfucker is laughing at you and you’re here trying not to have a heart attack.

“You’re bluffing. You won’t actually go to sleep.” You challenge with a pout, and the tiniest smirk makes an appearance on his face.

“Alright, bend over then—“

“Wait, no. I didn’t choose yet.” You grab onto his biceps as he’s now holding onto your hips, halting from turning you around.

“Baby, you could’ve been out the shower by now.” He whispers in your ear scoldingly, arms circling your waist now, pulling you closer.

You drop your forehead against his shoulder with a defeated sigh. You know you’re right. He won’t just go to sleep even if he fucks you now. But still, as impatient as you are, as much as you actually want him to bend you over right here, you’ve thought about him, waited to see him a whole week. You can wait a little longer.

“Option number one, please.” You really sound like a spoiled child and you hate that he’s made you act like this. It’s all his fault.

His light chuckle shakes you a little and the little tap on your bum, urges you to look up at him. “Good girl.”

You don’t have time to react to the taunting pet name. His lips touch yours in a quick peck and then he’s gone. You’re stuck on your spot as he casually drops on the sofa, pulls his phone out of his pocket and sprawls comfortably, legs spreading as he sinks into the cushions.

“Ten minutes, baby.” He reminds you, not a single glance thrown your way as he keeps scrolling.

You hear his obnoxiously cute giggle when you practically sprint for the bathroom without another peep.

True to your word, you’re back out in under ten minutes.

Barely.

Not because you rushed like some obedient little thing — absolutely not. You refused to sprint. Refused to skip steps out of principle. You conditioned properly. You shaved properly. You even stood there for a few extra seconds just to prove to yourself you weren’t scrambling for him.

But you were efficient. Strategic.

And when you step back into the living room, steam spilling lazily out of the bathroom behind you, hair still dripping in slow, shameless trails down your neck and chest, you know you made it on time.

Your towel is secure under your hands — gripped tightly at your chest, more for pride than modesty.

Mark looks up from the sofa. You hate the way his eyes drag. Not hungry. Not desperate. Not even impatient.

Measured. Like he knew you would make it.

He’s ditched the jumper. Of course he has.

He’s just in a black t-shirt now. The one that fits just right — not tight enough to show off, not loose enough to hide anything either. It clings to his arms when he pushes himself up from the couch, and you swallow before you can stop yourself.

“Eight minutes,” he says casually.

You scoff immediately. “Nine and a half.”

Because you’re not letting him shave time off your victory.

One eyebrow lifts. “Still under ten.”

The calm certainty in his voice makes something twist low in your stomach.

You’ve never felt intimidated by him before. Not once. Not when he’s had you pressed into mattresses, counters, walls. Not when he’s whispered filth into your ear or made you come undone with nothing but his hands. He’s always been careful. Attentive. Equal.

Tonight feels different. Tonight he’s steady in a way that makes you feel slightly off-balance.

And it’s exhilarating. And deeply annoying.

Since when does he have the upper hand?

He closes the distance without waiting for you to answer whatever silent challenge is sitting between you, his palm finding your waist like it belongs there. Warm. Solid. Certain.

“Counter,” he says, softer now, guiding you back into the bathroom.

You consider arguing.

You don’t. And you don’t know why. Because you normally would.

You climb up, towel still clutched tightly, the marble cool under your thighs. The mirror behind you is fogged, the bathroom light too bright against your damp skin. Your hair keeps dripping — onto

your collarbone, onto the swell of your chest, one rebellious drop sliding down to your stomach.

He steps between your knees. Like he always does. Like he always has. But tonight it feels intentional.

There’s a bottle in his hand — your body lotion — and you hate that he remembered exactly where you keep it.

You expect him to rush. To make a point. Instead, he squeezes a generous amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together slowly before touching you.

The first touch is warm. Slower than you expect.

He starts at your ankle, working the lotion into your skin with deliberate strokes. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just thorough. His thumbs press into the softest part of your calf, fingers wrapping around the back, kneading gently but firmly.

His hands have always been nice. Big enough to ground you. Rough enough to feel real.

You inhale sharply when his thumb brushes over the thin pink line on your left leg.

He stops.

His eyes flick up. “What’s this?”

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Shaved too fast.”

He hums quietly — not impressed — before smoothing more balm over it, slower now. Careful. Not as gentle as you’d expect. Just careful.

Your hair drips again, this time onto his forearm. He doesn’t move away.

His hands slide higher. Over your knee. Up your thigh. Pressing the balm in with long, steady strokes that make it very difficult to pretend you aren’t hyperaware of every inch of your own skin.

You tighten your grip on the towel when it shifts slightly as he lifts your leg to rest against his hip.

He notices. You just know he does.

“Chill dude,” he murmurs.

You don’t. “Fuck off, calling me dude right now.”

You’re not sure why you’re so pissed off. Whether it’s because you simply refuse to submit so early — or because you’re not used to being the one unraveling first.

Either way, this is all a little too much. Too much for what you thought you had signed up for. Yet the thought of stopping him feels like something you’d regret later. Simply because you don’t want to.

Yes, it’s too much. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good. Too fucking good.

“What should I call you then?” He asks indifferently.

Hand slipping under the towel, palm massaging your inner thigh. Fingers digging into the flesh a little too hard. And when he slides further up, thumb digging into the crease that separates your thigh to where you really need him, your leg twitches slightly.

He doesn’t comment on it. And you know the graze of his knuckles against your folds is not accidental. It can’t be.

You were almost expecting him to pull something like that. You pictured it when he said he’ll help you ‘moisturise’. It’s all a fucking act and you both know it.

So why does your breath stutter?

“I don’t know.” You snap back into the conversation, trying your best to come across as unfased. “Think of something else.”

“How about…” He hums in thought as he spurts more lotion in his palm. Eyes glancing at you momentarily before reverting to his hands rubbing together. “Pookie?”

A laugh bubbles in your chest, coming out as a snort. “Be for real.”

He smirks. Hands repeating his previous actions on your other leg, caressing just right. “I am. Pookie is elite.”

You intentionally shuffle a little closer. Ass just on the edge of the counter, but his body between your legs preventing you from slipping off.

Even as you sling an arm around his shoulders, he maintains focus on his task. Unbothered. Hands massaging your thigh thoroughly.

You’ve had enough of his shit quite frankly. Patience running thin as his thumb trails closer and closer to your throbbing centre.

“Markie?” You say calmly, not really expecting him to look. And he doesn’t.

“Hm?” At least he’s listening.

“You can’t choke me and then call me pookie.” You mean for it to come out assertive, but it sounds more like a whine.

The teasing grin he sports is incredibly irritating. He doesn’t respond straight away. Too busy torturing you it seems.

He removes his hands before he can touch you where you ache this time, and you exhale in relief. Or maybe disappointment.

He thankfully moves closer. Your chests would be touching if it weren’t for your hand still gripping your towel.

He seems bothered by it. A flicker of emotion appearing on his features for what feels like the first time tonight.

“Let go.” He instructs. Nose running along the side of your face, nuzzling against your temple.

“No.” You fixate on his jaw, refusing to meet his eyes. Still, you feel his irritation.

“Let go.” He repeats. Hand wrapping around your wrist.

You resist. Stubborn. “No.”

You know why you’re doing this. He most likely does too.

You want him to break again. You hate that you do. But you can’t get the thought of him manhandling you off your mind. Bossing you around. Controlling you. Ruining you.

He doesn’t though. He instead does something that turns you on even more. He lets go of your wrist in the most dismissive manner.

“Fine.” He says calmly. “Enjoy fingering yourself.”

You feel him retreating. One step back before you link both arms around his neck, pulling him in again. Towel finally forgotten, but still in place.

“No. Markie, wait.” You plead. Pitiful.

His hands come to your sides, holding you in place and you sigh at the minimal contact. The tiny kiss left on your shoulder doesn’t help. It makes you squirm in need.

You’re positive you’re leaking on your towel. Walls throbbing uncontrollably. It’s mortifying. He’s barely done anything.

“Please.” You breathe in his neck, tits pressing against his chest, and by the way your nipples drag against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, you know the towel is no longer in the way. Just messily bunched up around your waist.

“Please what, baby?”

You moan at the intimate tone. It’s not intentional. It just slips out and you hate that he’s made you so pliant.

“Anything.” You whisper. Eyes closed in humiliation. Tomorrow you’ll be scolding yourself for giving into a man so easily. Right now, it doesn’t matter. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

You’re near tears when he buries a hand in your hair. Gentle this time. Tugging just enough to get you to look at him.

How on god’s green earth is he still so calm? You’re begging. Throbbing. Already sweating even after a shower. And he’s just looking at you.

Like he’s inspecting you. Like you’re some shiny toy he might get bored of later.

He blinks. Once. Twice. “Say you’re sorry.”

What. The. Fuck.

“What?” Your voice is trembling. You heard him. Loud and clear. You’re just having trouble understanding why your cunt clenches at the words.

This is nothing like you’ve ever experienced. Not just with him. With anyone.

“Say you’re sorry.” His grip on your hair tightens slightly as his other hand untangles the towel from your body. Regardless of your naked state, his eyes don’t leave yours.

“I’m not, though.” You choose to stand your ground one last time. It’s pointless. You know it. But you refuse to back down just to boost his ego. And it’s true. You’re not fucking sorry.

“You will be when I’m done with you.” His free hand grips your thigh, pulling you closer to the point where there’s no space between your bodies.

“I’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” You put on your best brave expression.

“That’s a lie and you know it.” His thumb strokes along your jaw until it’s on your chin and then on your lips. You obediently part them for him, tongue slipping out slightly, licking the pad of his digit. “Suit yourself."

You suck greedily. Imagining it’s his thick length penetrating your mouth, tongue swirling obscenely when he pulls out a little, before pushing back in. He repeats the action a couple times before smearing your spit on your chin.

Your eyes search for his, but he’s too busy eyeing your naked body up and down. You take advantage of his unfocussed state and quickly bring your hands to the waistband of his bottoms.

You don’t waste time.

Even as you sense the protest bubbling in him, you shove the fabric down. His flushed cock springs out proudly, pretty as always, fully hard, doing nothing but giving you the tiny boost of ego you’ve been craving all night.

He’s not that indifferent now.

The moment of pride is short lived.

Before you can react, his mouth crashes on yours, finally giving into you with an animalistic grunt. His tongue sloppily fucks into your already open mouth, giving you no choice but to try and match his chaotic rhythm. It’s not smooth or sweet. It holds force, almost making you lose your upper-body balance, and his hand slipping from your hair down to your throat, squeezing just the right amount, has you slapping a hand on the counter behind you, needing to brace yourself somehow.

You know it’s more mental than anything. You know he’s got you. His arm around your waist is holding you just fine. Yet, you need to touch something else other than him. To remind yourself that you’re not going completely insane.

You’re in your fucking bathroom, dripping on your fucking counter, whining and losing yourself because of a fucking boy that hasn’t even touched you properly yet. Because of Mark Lee.

Just because he wants you to. Simple as that.

This is his fault. Yet, he wants you to be sorry? Absolutely not.

Your fingers flex on the slippery surface of the counter, while your other hand grabs onto Mark’s hair. Pulling a little too hard. Needing to get a reaction. And you do. Just not the one you were hoping for. No desperate moan. Just a warning squeeze of his fingers on your neck. Wordlessly telling you to behave.

You feel so lightheaded, your mouth involuntarily goes slack against his, lips just brushing. Barely able to kiss him back through your laboured breaths. And when you feel a significant amount of moisture landing on your tongue and bottom lip — all messy and slippery — you have no choice but to flutter your eyes open.

“Swallow.” He whispers against your lips. And you do. With a moan that’s a little too loud for your liking. Too submissive.

You kiss him again. Refusing to stay separated for too long and you suddenly realise his top is still on. So you clumsily pull at the hem with both hands, and he complies, yanking the piece of clothing from the collar.

You don’t know where it lands. Instantly pulling him in for another messy kiss. One hand holding onto his nape — the other grabbing onto his bicep — nails digging into the skin.

You let your head loll back when he drags his lips down to your neck. It’s all so messy. So wet. He’s kissing, biting, licking, sucking hard. And it doesn’t take long for you to realise that he’s finally marking you for the first time. Just above your collarbone.

“Fuck, yes.” You hold him there. Forcing his mouth on your wet skin. Needing him to claim you in more ways than you should.

When he pulls back his eyes linger on the sore spot. His breath hitting your damp skin in hot puffs and you can’t hold back a low moan that slips on account of his stupidly pretty face.

His now shorter hair is messy. Strands flying everywhere. His eyes hooded. Gaze unfocused. Lust evident. It’s his lips that catch your attention though. Puffy — prettiest shade of deep pink — slightly parted and wet.

You lean back on both hands. Not minding a few moments to observe how handsome he looks right now.

His hands take hold of your hips, dragging you to the very edge of the counter, trapping you with his body, and you part your legs for him even further, lifting them a little to make sure he’s got full view of your pussy.

Apart from a shaky breath, there’s nothing else. Just his thumbs drawing slow circles on your hip bones.

He’s just staring up and down your naked torso. Lip chewed on by his teeth in deep contemplation.

“What?” You prod, with a subtle but still inviting roll of your hips.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About what I wanna do to you.”

You clench around nothing, hoping he can see it. The tensing of his eyebrows is just the confirmation you need. “What do you wanna do to me?”

“Not very nice things.” The point is made with his tip prodding at your sopping hole, making you throw your head back, damp hair still sticking on your skin.

“Who said I want you to be nice?” You challenge, a whine slipping out as he pushes in just a tiny bit, giving you a taste of pleasure before retracting. “Fuck.”

“You’re soaked.” He points out in awe. “It’s fucking insane.”

Another little teasing thrust, cockhead barely going in before it drags through your slit and up to your pulsing clit. “Mark—“

“Are you ovulating or something?” He grins mischievously, but you can tell he’s actually curious.

“What are you, my tracking app?” You almost choke on your spit. He’s got one hand around his cock now, flicking your clit with his tip in side-to- side motions, making your hips stutter and your legs shake.

You’re too fucking turned on. And yes, you’re also ovulating.

“Pretty sure I know your body better than a stupid little app.” He retorts, one hand coming up to play with your tits. Squeezing the flesh and pinching your nipples just right, until they’re erect, causing more arousal to flow out of you, mixing with his precum as he slowly keeps sliding his length up and down your folds, making sure the tip is always bumping into your sensitive nub.

“Yeah? Did you know I’m dying to slap you right now?” You say, with nothing but neediness laced in your tone.

He chuckles lightly. Mockingly. 

“Hmm no.” His thumb unexpectedly brushes your clit just a tiny bit, sending chills down your back, making your hips jerk and then the same thumb is prying your lips open, shoving into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. “But I know you’re dying to get fucked silly.”

You let out a tiny whimper as you try to distract yourself with his thumb. But then it’s gone. And it’s one of your nipples that gets attention now. Breast engulfed in the warmth of his hand as he circles the hypersensitive peak with the wet pad of his thumb.

“Markie.” You nearly cry out at the stimulation. So hyperaware of every part of your body he’s touching, you nearly give in and apologise like he wants you to. Nearly. “Please put it in.”

He moans at your words, thumb returning to your clit and staying this time, flicking up and down harshly. His cock slips inside your pussy just an inch, surprising you nevertheless, the sting minimal but still there due to the lack of prep. It’s oddly pleasurable. And when he pulls out just a tiny bit with a loud squelch, and his thumb brushes against the perfect spot on your clit, you unexpectedly cum. Hard. Squeezing around his tip, sucking him in. And he yelps in surprise.

“Fuck!” You exclaim in bliss but also because he’s abruptly thrusts his whole length inside your pussy. To the hilt. Not a single inch left out. Thumb still somehow rubbing on your poor clit.

“Jesus—fuck, baby.” He pants with a grind. “Did you just cum?”

You try to form words, but all you can do is moan shakily. Your legs still quivering at the overstimulation.

“Mm—y-yes—fuck fuck fuck—Mark, s-stop!” You instinctively grab onto his wrist, forcing him to stop the abuse on your clit.

He grants you just that wish. But instantly forces another cry out of you as he grabs onto your ass, a hand cupping each cheek greedily, slightly lifting you off the counter before he starts delivering brutal thrusts. The angle exactly right for his cock to hit that spot deep inside your walls, not allowing you any time to recover from the haze of your orgasm.

It’s pure filth. All of it. Both of you. It’s rough and it’s loud and it’s mind numbing.

He’s giving you things you didn’t know you were craving. Fucking you like you owe him something he needs to forcefully take.

You glance at his face briefly. Fringe sticking to his forehead, eyebrows furrowed like he's angry at something, gaze clearly interchanging between your pussy and your bouncing tits, nose scrunched in a way that would be cute if it weren't for the circumstances, lips parted beautifully, tongue poking at the corner of his lips. 

So fucking hot.

You feel it before you can process it. It’s abrupt. An intense pressure in your lower abdomen. Unknown. Nothing you’ve felt before. Bordering the need to pee.

“Wait—fuck—slow down.”

He doesn’t.

“Cum again, I don’t care.” He breathes harshly.

“N-no. I’m—“ You grab onto one of his biceps in desperation as his hips keep loudly slapping against yours, cock hitting a spot no one has ever discovered before. Not even yourself.

And then it’s happening. Your walls squeeze so hard, he pulls out with a loud moan. And before the sensation slips away, two of his fingers are inside you. Thrusting hard and fast. Demanding something you’re not sure you can give. But your body gives it anyway. Responding to him like it always does.

And when you feel something trickling down your ass, you let go completely. Your cunt feels aflame, eyes rolling back into your skull as you release the tension in your abdomen. Oddly liberating. A strange feeling of relief taking over you. A little splashing sound.

“Oh my fucking god.” You wheeze, struggling to get your lungs to function. Your brain definitely lacking oxygen.

Still, to an extent, you’re aware of the comforting arm wrapping around your middle. Mark’s familiar warmth helping you resurface.

“Wh-what the fuck just happened?” You mutter against his shoulder.

His drenched hand resting on your thigh is enough confirmation, but you refuse to acknowledge it.

“Pretty sure you just squirted.” He points out with a breathless chuckle.

The gentle kisses scattered on your shoulder make your heart almost jump out of your ribcage. Your arms tremble as they slither around his shoulders of their own accord. His warm chest pressing against yours, forcing out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding.

“I take it that was a first.” He mumbles into your skin.

“How did you do it?” You wonder out loud, the question slipping without you realising.

“I didn’t do shit.” He pulls back just enough to look at you. “I was just fucking you harder than usual and you started pushing me out.”

“This is fucking embarrassing.” You hide your face in your palms.

“What are you on about?” He’s forcing your hands away instantly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, refusing to face him.

“Yo,” He cups your face in his hands, his damp fingers against your skin a reminder of what just happened. “Y/N. It was fucking hot. I promise.”

You allow your eyes to open, taking in his genuine expression. “Really?”

“Yes.” He confirms without a second thought. “In my head, you were just really turned on because of me. Do you know how sexy that is?”

“I was really turned on.” You admit openly, knowing that it mostly has to do with him. “Like, more than—“

You cut yourself before oversharing, but his hands drop to your waist to squeeze in encouragement.

“More than what?” He whispers, lips too close to yours, nose rubbing against yours intimately. “Tell me.”

“I just feel like—“ You pause again, inhaling deeply to calm yourself. What are you even trying to say? “You might not wanna know this.”

“Yes, I fucking do.” He says eagerly. Tiny smile on his lips. “I feel like I already know anyway. Just say it.”

“It’s just, sex has never felt this good with other people.” He nods and you continue. “I know it might be weird—“

“It’s not.” He reassures you. Face more serious than ever. “I’ve thought about it too.”

You don’t really know what to say. This feels strange. New. A little too deep for a conversation that’s supposed to be only about sex. Surely it's just your raging hormones.

Pushing your overthinking to the back of your head, you lean in. Silently asking for a kiss he doesn’t hesitate to give you. It’s slow. Not innocent or gentle. Just slow. Almost romantic. Like there’s something unsaid. Something you don’t even want to try and uncover.

He guides your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before he effortlessly hoists you up. Kiss uninterrupted as he carries you while trying to navigate around your small apartment.

After a couple of stumbles and a few muffled giggles your back finds your soft comforter.

He easily parts your legs, taking his place between them as he hovers close.

“What do you want?” He asks softly, teeth catching your earlobe, sucking playfully as he waits for your response.

You sigh when he descends. Leaving open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. Lips leaving goosebumps in their wake, making it impossible for you to form any coherent thoughts. Even the ceiling looks complicated now.

Your hips lifting off the mattress — trying to meet his — betray you. Fresh heat blooms in your belly again, insatiable, difficult to ignore.

He breathes out a teasing laugh against your damp skin. “You wanna cum again, hm?”

“I’m still sensitive.”

“Not what I asked.” His tongue makes contact with your skin, licking over the spot he marked earlier.

“Yeah.” You breathe out half-heartedly.

“Yeah, what?” He presses, kissing lower and lower, until he’s between your tits.

“Yeah, I wanna cum again.” You huff, hating that you oblige so easily.

His mouth takes in one nipple, licking and sucking harshly before moving across, repeating the same action. Decisive hands push your breasts together, squeezing as he continues leaving wet kisses down your body, and before you know it, he’s grabbing your ankles, dragging to the edge of the mattress as he kneels on the floor, face disappearing between your spread thighs.

Your legs threaten to close around his head when you feel him dribble on your clit, but he forces them open again, folding you in half.

“Markie, baby, please.” You moan, letting your fingers cling onto his hair like a lifeline. He hums in satisfaction when you tug, letting you know he enjoys your neediness.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He confesses, making you whine at the choice of crude words. Maybe in humiliation, maybe in pleasure. And the blob of wetness you feel dribble out of your entrance must give you away. You know he sees it. “You like it when I talk to you like that?”

“Mhmm.” You tug his hair a little harder. His hot breath hitting your clit, testing your patience. “Keep talking.”

“Fuck.” Two of his fingers spread your arousal along with his spit, rubbing up and down your slit, making a mess all over your folds. “You’re a mess, baby.”

“Mm, yes.” You lift yourself on your elbows, needing to see the unholy image. He looks drunk. Completely fucked out. Almost a little insane. Like his mind is not present.

“Remember that time you let me cum inside?” He asks, sounding like he doesn’t even need an answer, before licking a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit. Tongue swirling around the nub lightly, surprising you. You flinch, hips jerking from the overstimulation.

“Oh, fuck—yes.” You pant, whining as his free hand grabs on your thigh a little too roughly. Blunt nails digging in flesh.

“Did it feel good?” He speaks all muffled into your cunt, tongue slipping down to your hole momentarily, lapping up your slick. “Having my cum in you?”

You defeatedly drop back on the mattress with a huff, eyes shutting, brain only focusing on the pleasure and his voice.

“Yes.” You grind against his face as he sucks your clit in his mouth again, tongue flicking over it in quick motions. “So good. Felt so good, Markie.”

He groans, the vibration delicious, going straight through your core.

“Should probably stop fucking you raw.” He mumbles. Two of his fingers joining, rubbing against your entrance teasingly before entering. The slide smooth.

“It feels so good like that, though.” You mewl, being nothing but honest. The feeling of his bare cock inside you, irreversibly engraved in your memory. Incomparable to anything else.

“I know, baby, but you’re always too tight.” His fingers start pumping in and out, curling just how you’ve shown him you like it. “What if I get you pregnant?”

You moan a little too loud at his words. Fucking disgusting. You’re a deranged human being. A lost cause.

“What the fuck.” You think out loud.

He quickens the pace of his hand, tongue slipping out to flick again as he glances up at you. “You want my baby or something?”

You force your mouth and your eyes shut in fear of admitting something you can’t take back later.

He exhales a mean laugh of realisation. “Fuck, look at you. You’re literally dripping.”

“Shut up.” You pant in exasperation, eyes rolling back as he starts jamming his fingers into your quivering hole. The sloshing sounds deafening. An insult to the composure you’ve always tried to maintain.

“Want me to fuck a baby in you? Is that it?” Your legs start shaking. “I’d consider it if we were a little older, you know.” Your back arches. “Bet you’d look sexy pregnant.” Your walls tighten around his fingers. “Wish I could fill you up anytime I wanted.” Your hands shove his face into your cunt again, needing him to shut up. Of course, he doesn’t. “You’d let me, right? You’d just let me take whatever I want, wouldn’t you?”

What is dignity?

“Yes.” You comply without a second thought.

“Yes, what?” He demands, fingering you at an inhuman pace, your g-spot getting abused repeatedly. You’re so close you can taste it. Completely at his mercy.

“I’d let you. Anything you want.” You rasp in relinquishment.

“Good girl.” He sucks on your clit, before giving it a gentle flick and with that little praise, you’re gone. “Mm—that’s it. Make a mess for me.”

You’re giving into another high, gasping at the waves of pleasure, eyes watering from the intensity as they shut completely. You feel a single tear escape and the high-pitched wail you accidentally let out? Unrecognisable. Mortifying.

You’ve barely regained consciousness when he tosses you higher up the bed. You head not even close to the pillows. You’re pretty sure you’re sprawled out diagonal on the mattress, but the thought evaporates when his lips find yours in a heated kiss. It’s sloppy, full of tongue, tastes like you and you have to put serious effort in keeping up with him.

His rock-hard length rests heavy on your tummy and dread washes over you, realising that he still needs to finish. You bet it’s painful for him. But you’re also very aware of the throbbing between your legs — need tangled with overstimulation. Your clit still very raw and tingly. Your inner thighs smeared in slick.

He did this to you. Turned you into some plaything he can just lash out on. It’s fucking annoying. And so arousing. Which makes it even more annoying.

Your frustration slips out in a harsh bite on his bottom lip. You don’t even realise you’re doing it until he pulls away with a pained moan, swollen lip snapping back into place, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths. It breaks when he licks the spot you bit on.

“What was that for?” He asks, a teasing edge in his tone, eyes inspecting you.

“You deserve worse.” Your voice comes out weaker than you expect.

“Turn over.” He ignores you, hand possessive on your hip.

“Uh-uh.” You shake your head in denial. You definitely look like you’re begging. “No way I’m doing doggy right now.”

“Who said anything about doggy?” He arches an eyebrow inquisitively. A bead of sweat dripping next to it. “Just lie on your front. You won’t have to do anything.”

You lean up a little, giving him a chaste kiss, and you feel the little smile that forms on his lips.

“Fine.” You murmur in defeat, too weak to challenge him.

He lifts himself off you, giving you room to flip on your stomach before straddling your thighs, keeping your legs together.

“So fucking perfect.” He praises sweetly as he gropes your ass, hands lift your hips off the mattress just a little, your back forming a tiny arch as you let your face bury in your folded arms.

You exhale in a shudder when you feel his hot breath on your shoulder and a long whimper rolls out when the bulbous tip of his cock kisses your still soaked entrance. The fit is tighter like this. And you’re so horny you find yourself wishing he ruins you. Hoping he fucks you so hard you can’t walk for days. Hoping he claims you his.

Is this normal?

“Ffffuck.” He moans as he bottoms out. Forehead dropping on your shoulder. One hand flat by your head supporting his upper weight, the other on the arch of your back, making sure the angle is right.

He’s stretching your cunt perfectly, making your jaw slacken in a quiet moan. “You feel so big like this.”

“Yeah?” The first drag of his length against your sensitive walls feels too good. The second even better. “Your ass looks fucking unreal like this.”

He punctuates the statement with a harsh thrust. Hips slapping against your behind before he grinds deeper. Cock tickling the perfect spot inside you.

“Harder.” You plead in urgency, needing to feel more. The stimulation too much and not enough at the same time. Too addictive.

For what feels like the first time tonight, he obliges.

You let yourself smile in victory, but it’s cut short when he drops his weight on you. Hot, sweaty skin meeting your back. His face tucked in your neck, breaths ragged as his thrusts increase in momentum. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, mixing with your whiny sounds.

“Ass up for me, baby.” He sounds almost panicked when you unintentionally drop flat on the mattress. You correct your position instantly, but he still slips a hand under you, palm pressing into your tummy to support you, fingers digging into your pubic bone, dangerously close to your clit.

You feel him everywhere. You’re surrounded by him. By his touch. His scent. His deep sounds of pleasure. His insane heartbeat on your spine. And still, somehow, you want him closer.

You lift your head, neck craning so you can see his face.

“Kiss me.” You whisper.

Something soft flickers in his eyes. And he does.

A hand at the base of your neck holds you in place. Grounding you as his lips slot with yours, his head tilted just right for the kiss to start off as deep as you need it to be. His tongue in your mouth, stroking yours. Slow. Sensual.

A perfect juxtaposition with the animalistic thrusts he’s delivering.

The knot in your tummy is there again, tightening fast. Too fast. Pressure building more intensely than your body can handle.

“Mm-Mark.” You mumble into the kiss. “Please, just cum, I can’t.”

“Yeah you can.” He breaks the kiss, lips still grazing yours. “You’re right there, I can feel you.”

Your fingers are digging into the comforter, needing to hold onto something as you feel the familiar throb of another climax approaching. Mark’s forehead is resting on your temple. The intimate gesture calms you but makes your chest ache too.

It’s scary.

He’s making everything strange.

It’s the hand on your abdomen that helps you get to the finish line. Fingers slipping between your folds, the angle a little awkward, but still enough for him to rub harsh circles on your clit.

You cum with a choked-up scream. It’s too addicting. Consuming in an unhealthy way. A sharp peak you feel like you’ve been climbing towards for hours. Your walls spasm violently around him. The indecent slurping sounds of your cunt vacuuming him in are too fucking loud. Your muscles tensing. Feet kicking in despair. Toes curling.

You’ve lost complete control. You’re sobbing against Mark’s arm, practically drooling on his skin as he talks you through it.

“I’ve got you.”  “You’re okay.” “Pretty baby.” “So good for me.” “Gonna make me cum.”

The sweetest praises whispered in your ear slowly guide you through the aftershocks.

You don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s his voice. Or the way his thumb gently strokes the side of your neck. Or the way he’s now messily thrusting in short stuttering pumps, dragging out your lingering orgasm.

Maybe it’s just you feeling incredibly vulnerable. You really don’t know. But for some reason, the words you whisper next, come so easily to you.

“I’m sorry.”

He immediately halts his movements, burying himself as deep as possible.

“What?” In your hazy state he sounds surprised, confused even. Like it’s the last thing he expected.

You nuzzle against his arm, head turning slightly so you can look at him. He’s already staring. Pupils dilated.

“I’m sorry.” You say more clearly, blinking slowly as you take in his baffled expression turn into a blissful one.

His eyes roll back as you tighten around him on purpose, ass grinding back on him a little. You don’t get the chance to tease as much as you’d like.

He pulls out with a short grunt, the abrupt drag of his cock in your tender walls forcing a sharp hiss out of you. But before you can complain he’s spilling on your lower back. Hot white ropes of his release painting your already drenched skin, like a tramp stamp, laying a claim on you.

You can’t help but moan with him as you look over your shoulder. His fringe is soaked, messily matted to his forehead, sweat dripping from his temples down to his neck, chest flushed, his face contorted prettily as he milks himself dry with his tight fist, the last drops of his cum landing on your left ass cheek.

He looks ethereal like this. Just utterly ruined because of you.

You come to the conclusion that you’re both sickos. No doubt.

You so easily shattered to the thought of him knocking you up, meanwhile he’s just busted a nut because of a half-assed apology. How poetic.

He rolls off you and onto his back with a tired huff. Arm extending for you to use as a headrest, but you shuffle even closer. Head settling on his chest, ear just above his racing heart as you both try to regain your breaths.

He hugs you closer by the shoulders, fingers stroking up and down your arm and you close your eyes to the comforting feeling.

“You okay?” He asks softly when you sigh a little too loud.

“Mhm, just thirsty.”

He exhales a little laugh. “Yeah, same. Give me a minute and I’ll go get us some water.”

“Could you help me clean up first?” You ask sweetly, referring to the drying mess on your back that keeps you from moving too much.

“Nah.” He says jokingly. “I got you. Just need to breathe for a second.”

“It’s stickyyy.” You whine childishly, biting down on his chest gently. A tiny giggle erupts from you when he pokes your side as a warning.

You both lie in comfortable silence for a little while, basking in the afterglow. His fingers not stopping the gentle strokes on your skin, helping you into a more relaxed state. His cum on your back forgotten now.

You lift your head when his heart has slowed down to normal. “Since when can you last that long?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The ridiculous question catching him off guard.

“Ummmm. Rude?” His lips form a fake pout.

“Oh, come on.” You challenge suspiciously. “Your stamina is good, but that was crazy.”

He smirks. Free arm draping over his face, covering his eyes. “I may have had a wank before coming over.”

Oh?

“Where? You had practice.”

Silence.

No way.

“Ew Mark!” You exclaim in disgust but still can’t prevent the laugh that tumbles out. “The locker room?”

He chuckles along with you. “Well, in the shower. I waited until everyone left. I’m not a heathen.”

“Still pretty grim.” You disapprove with a scrunch of your nose.

“You’re the one who kept sending me nudes!”

“A bikini pic in a dingy changing room is not a nude, sorry.” What a silly man. “I just wanted your opinion, you doof.”

“Which I gave.” He points out with a hand gesture.

“And then thought, hmm might as well rub one out.”

“That’s none of your business.” His cocky expression making you want to squish his face.

“You kind of made it my business when you decided to rearrange my insides.” You retort with a pinch of his nipple, earning a exaggerated yelp from him.

“Yo, that’s on you.” He sits up carefully after leaving a smooch on your cheek and a second one on your shoulder. “Not my fault you’ve got attitude.”

Your eyes dreamily drag over his back muscles down to his small waist as you keep lying on your front, cheek squished on your arm. “I don’t have attitude.”

He hums skeptically as he stands and starts looking around for what you assume are his boxers. “Yes, you do. But that’s fine.”

“Is it?” You question innocently. You could remind him that his bottoms are discarded on the bathroom floor but his cute butt is a little too nice to look at.

“Yeah.” He gives you a gorgeous smile as he stands by the doorway, letting his gaze trace over your naked form, mimicking yours as it lingers on your ass for a second before meeting your eyes again. “Cause you said you’re sorry.”

“Get out.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Mark has given up on trying to figure out what exactly it is you want from him. At times, he likes to think he’s able to read your mind. Read your likes and dislikes. What irritates you. What makes you kick your feet with excitement. But your neutrality gets in the way most of the time. And so, he’s settled with ‘she still wants me around, I guess I’m doing something right’.

He’s been thinking about what you said the other night for days now. Sex has never felt this good with other people.

And you’re right. It hasn’t. For him it’s not just the sex that feels good though. And he’s accepted that.

He’s accepted that he might be more into you than you are into him. He’s also accepted that he might just be wrong about that. Because you really are an enigma. For all his knows, you might be in love with him and he’s just too thick to understand. Though, he highly doubts that.

He knows you like him—as person. That you enjoy his company and feel comfortable around him. No matter the setting. Whether you’re alone or just chilling with friends. You always look at him with appreciation. You always find a way to touch him somehow. A hand on the shoulder. Or his knee. Your side leaning into his. Your arm linking with when you’re talking to someone else. Like it’s instinct. Like you just need to be touching him at all times.

He knows it’s not that big of a deal. Friends touch each other all the time. But then again, are you two just friends?

It would be a hell of a twisted friendship.

Of course, you’re friends to a certain extend. But admittedly, Mark has never had a friendship like this before.

He’s had complicated relationships before. Relationships that didn’t hold the entire sense of a committed relationship. But those were never with friends. Those were just with girls he didn’t know what he wanted from or girls that didn’t know what they wanted from him.

Maybe that’s where his insecurities stem from. Or his lack of initiative.

He should have asked you ages ago. What you want from him. From this. Where this is headed.

But when he realised you’re more than okay with just hanging out and whatever it is that you two are doing, he talked himself out of asking for too much. If you wanted something more, something stable, you would have asked for it, surely. You would have called him out. You of all people would not hesitate to demand what you deserve.

And you really do deserve a lot more than just hang out sessions that always lead to sex.

He’s considered asking you out. He’s come close to saying the words more than a few times. But the thought of you rejecting him and disappearing like you did in first year of uni has always lingered in the back of his mind.

Because not having you in his life would really fucking suck. Especially now that he knows what it’s like to have you around.

Before, it was just wondering. Now it’s an expectation.

He dreads the days he doesn’t see you as it is. He can’t possibly imagine what it would be like to not see you at all. He basically doesn’t even recall what life was like before you and it’s only been three months since that night in Chenle’s spare room.

Graduation is approaching though. And he always feels a little too devastated at the thought of losing touch with you. At the thought of life and other people getting in the way. You clearly don’t want him to be your boyfriend, meaning that eventually someone else will be. And where does Mark stand when that happens?

Nowhere near you for sure. Because what kind of an idiot would be okay with his amazing girlfriend hanging out with her ex-fuck buddy.

Not that Mark would be okay with that scenario either. He’d probably cry and then distance himself if you started dating someone.

Because fuck witnessing that. And fuck being the old flame.

He’s seen too much of you. Tasted too much of you. Felt too much.

And he can’t undo any of it. It all sits there, crowding his brain. Flashes before his eyes repeatedly.

Even when you’re not with him, you’re all he sees. All he feels. All he thinks of. And even when you’re with him, he misses you. He often worries he’s being too much, but he can’t help it.

You’re all he looks forward to after a long day. A text. A call. A meme. Anything from you.

He knows he’s long gone. There’s no saving him from eventual heartbreak. It will happen. He’s sure of it.

But right now, all he can think of is how good and warm your mouth feels. And how pretty you look on your knees for him.

And what he’s sure of is he won’t last long. Not if you keep swallowing around him like that. Lodging him in your throat like you want him to suffocate you. Like you want to suck the life out of him, not just his cum.

It’s absurd. How deep you’re taking him.

This was not what he had planned. You were both supposed to be at a stupid disco event with all your friends by now. The QR codes are saved on his phone waiting to be scanned, yet he’s stuck on your sofa with you between his spread legs, sucking him off like your life depends on it. Moaning around his throbbing cock like you’re the one losing it. Like you’re the one who’s about to crash.

“Jesus fuck—Y/N, baby, slow down.” He rasps, hating how weak he sounds.

You whine in protest when he tugs at your hair a little too hard, the vibration going straight through him.

You slowly drag your lips off, your hand still jerking him off, mainly focusing on the tip as you let a glob of spit dribble down on him, using it to rub him faster, fist tightening, making him see stars.

“Just take it.” You mumble breathlessly, eyes glancing up at him, looking a little crazed.

He doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. Not because your makeup and hair are done. Not because you’re wearing the sluttiest dress he’s seen you in. He’s seen you in Kuromi PJs plenty of times and still gotten hard and fucked you senseless with your pink top still on.

It’s your eagerness to please him that gets him.

The fact that you couldn’t care less about messing up your lipgloss. Which you really have. It’s smeared all over his cock now, mixed with your spit and his pre-cum. A shiny mess.

It’s how feral you look.

Since the second he stepped foot in your apartment, all hyped up and ready to go to the venue and show you off. All you did was look him up and down once before grabbing him by the collar and shoving him on the sofa.

It’s been maybe five minutes since then and he already can neither think straight nor breathe properly.

His free hand is twitching, fingers digging into the sofa cushion as he struggles to keep his eyes open, refusing to look away from you. Your pretty face. Your soft hands touching him. The arch of your back. Your cute ass sticking out in that illegal tube dress. Thin straps fallen off your shoulders, gathering at your upper arms. Cleavage on display. Your tits jiggling from the rapid movement of your hand.

He almost finds it hard to believe. How willingly you got on your knees for him. Like it was all you’d been thinking all day. Like you’d been plotting to ruin him.

You’re certainly succeeding.

“You look so good.” He moans. It resembles a complaint. And maybe it is. Because why do you look so good?

“Yeah?” You drag your lips over one side of his cock, scattering soft kisses as you keep your fist tight around him, quickly pumping his tip only. A torture. “You like my dress?”

“I like everything.” He admits without hesitation.

“Really?” You look up at him with innocent eyes, tongue poking out just a little to lick him from-base-to-top, like you would an ice lolly, swirling around the tip just to make a spectacle. “Everything?”

He bobs his head in a quick nod, not trusting his voice. You start pumping his whole length now, a little slower than before as you lean up, free hand grabbing his thigh, using it as leverage to bring your face closer to his.

“Wanted to look pretty for you tonight.” You confess, like it’s a secret.

“You do. You always look pretty.” He gives in to your taunting without a care.

He’ll happily act pathetic for you whenever you want him to. He is pathetic. But right now, he really needs release. He’s desperate for it. And the only thing he can think of is how good your lips look all wet and swollen.

So he leans down a little, the hand in your hair pulling you closer, his free one cupping your jaw. And then he’s kissing you. And you’re letting him.

You taste like candy — probably your lipgloss — with a hint of saltiness — probably him — and he can’t get enough of it. His tongue is curling with yours messily, needing to taste as much of you as possible. And the moan you let out against his lips drives him into a frenzy.

Without much thought, he’s pushing your head down again, a surprised yelp leaving you but you oblige anyway. Lips wrapping around his tip immediately, tongue swirling a couple of times before you suck gently. Then hard.

He’s got hold of your head with both hands, keeping your mouth on him. And when you sink lower, he thrusts, reaching the back of your throat, biting his lip at the choking sound you let around him. He holds you there. Lets you adjust a little before he starts fucking up into you, fucking your mouth, using your throat like he would your cunt.

He really hopes you’re leaking down there. Throbbing like he is. As sick as it might sound, he hopes it hurts. He hopes there’s a puddle on the floor.

“You know when you look the prettiest?” He asks, knowing it’s impossible for you to actually speak.

You respond with a muffled hum anyway. Your throat tightening a little, making him grunt.

“When you beg.” He thrusts a little deeper to punctuate the word, and you gagging sounds would normally make him slow down. Not now. Now they spur him on.

So he keeps fucking your throat, hands buried in your hair, holding you hostage. You still take it like a champ. The only sign of protest is your nails digging into the muscle of his thigh, both hands bracing, allowing him to push your head down all the way.

He can’t help the deep moan that tumbles out when your nose brushes his pubic bone. He’s so fucking deep.

When you grab onto his wrist, squeezing, he pulls you off, knowing it’s you signalling you need to breathe.

You gasp for air loudly the second you’re back on the surface, your eyes full of tears, only few escaping as you blink fast. He finds himself wishing your mascara isn’t waterproof, wanting to mess you up completely. To see you shatter.

“Fuck.” You manage to get out between pants. It sounds broken. You're clearly turned on. He loves it.

“You can take it, right baby?” He coos, voice full of sarcasm.

You nod, eyes wide, looking up at him like he’s hung the stars. For you, he’d hang the whole fucking universe if he could.

“Yeah? Want my cum in your pretty little mouth?” He adoringly strokes his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, wiping away your tears.

“Yes.” You scoot closer, full of eagerness, tits squished up against the edge of the sofa. “Please.”

You knew exactly what he needed. And you gave it to him. You begged.

“Go ahead.” He wraps a hand around his base as he urges you closer, cradling the back of your head.

When you stick your tongue out obediently, he gently slaps his cock on it a few times, edging both of you, rubbing the tip along your bottom lip. And he feels deranged when he thinks that his precum looks better than your lipgloss.

He lets you get to work when he’s had enough of teasing you, your little squirms confirming that you’re suffering just as much.

You bring him right on the edge only after a few quick jerks, combined with your warm mouth sucking hard on his tip.

His body tenses, eyes rolling back in bliss.

“Holy shit, Y/N, I’m cumming.” He warns with a low grunt.

When he releases down your throat, you swallow everything, making sure to not miss a single drop. Licking up and down his length, getting whatever escaped the corners of your lips, cleaning him up like he’s your little toy. And he’s so pliant, he thinks he might as well be.

You give a few more lazy but still torturous pumps, milking him until he has to wrap his fist around yours to halt your movements. Too drained to actually utter words.

With one last suckle, you pull away, looking all satisfied and content, while he still struggles to regain his breath.

He lets his head fall back in defeat as you tuck him back into his briefs. And even when he feels your weight on him, knees on either side of his hips, he still lies there limbless, eyes closed. He does smile at the cute giggle you let out against his neck, though. It’s impossible not to.

“Are you dead?” You speak softly against his ear.

His arms come back to life, wrapping around your middle as he leans forward, face burying in your neck, inhaling your sweet perfume. He shudders at the softness of your fingers combing through his hair, nails scratching his scalp just right.

“My hands feel numb.” He mumbles sleepily. You feel so soft, so comfortable. Like home. And he inevitably squeezes you closer, relishing in your warmth and the thump of your heart against his chest.

“Isn’t that a sign for a heart attack?” You reply teasingly.

“That’d be embarrassing.” He laughs weakly. “You’d have to explain and all. Yeah, not sure, I just sucked him off and he died.”

“Good way to go, though.” You joke, leaving a little kiss on his temple before cupping his cheeks in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

Your lips are still swollen, and he reaches up to wipe the lipgloss that’s smeared on your chin with his thumb. You smile sweetly, your gaze intense enough to make him feel giddy.

He doesn’t think too much when he leaves a quick peck on your lips, and your blush is all he could ask for in return. Before he has time to pull away completely, you pull him in for another quick kiss. And another one. And another one. Until you’re both laughing in each other’s mouths.

“So, like,” He mumbles against your lips. “What exactly came over you?”

“What do you mean?” You give him one last kiss before staring at him with the fakest expression of innocence.

“You know what I mean.” He slumps his weight back on the sofa to get more comfy and look at you better. “What made you go all berserk?”

“Berserk?” Your hands rest on his chest as you sit on him properly, crotches pressed together, only his boxers and your panties in the way. And he swears he can feel your wetness seeping through. He ignores it for now, stroking your upper thighs just beneath where your tight dress has ridden up.

“You practically pounced on me.” He tries not to laugh at your squirming. He loves getting you all flustered. It doesn’t happen often.

“Just felt horny.” You shrug, trying to cover it all up with nonchalance.

He’s not having it. “So you sucked me off?”

“Are you complaining?” You challenge with a raised eyebrow.

“Not at all.” He smirks, fingers slipping under the hem of your dress. Just a little. “Just want you to be honest.”

Your eyes close for a second, a sigh escaping when his thumb extends to your inner thigh, just an inch off your centre. “You just look really handsome.”

There it is.

“Really?” His thumb drags closer, your nails digging into his chest.

You nod. Eyes all cute and innocent. “Wanted to make you feel good.”

God, you’re going to be the death of him.

“You always make me feel good.” He admits with nothing but sincerity.

You spread your legs further apart when he presses into the crease of your thigh, thumb slipping just under the seam of your thin panties.

“Do you still wanna go to the event?” You ask, hips dragging forward.

Fuck. He’s getting hard again.

“I’ll go if you wanna go.” His eyes trained on your face, seeking for a reaction.

He doesn’t want to go. He really fucking doesn’t. And he knows you don’t either. But he wants you to say it. Loud and clear.

“What about Chenle?”

“What about him?” Mark chuckles at the silly question.

“He always accuses me of stealing you away from him.” A guilty smile on your face.

“Eh, he’s just petty I prefer spending time with you.”

You chuckle at that. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying.” He lets his free hand sneak to your ass, dragging you over his erection slowly. You let him. “Don’t worry about Chenle, he’ll have fun with or without us there.”

“Okay.” You say, eyes fluttering closed, clearly affected by the friction.

“Okay what?” He finally lets his thumb slip between your folds, immediately finding you swollen clit.You’re drenched, and he wonders how you’ve lasted so long without complaining. 

“Let’s not go.” You surprise him by eagerly pulling his boxers down again, and he instantly raises his hips in compliance.

“You sure?” He clumsily tugs your panties to the side.

“Yeah.” Dress bunched up above your ass now as you shuffle a little closer, exactly where he needs you. “We’ll go next time.”

“Yeah, fuck—“ He rubs the tip up and down your slit, gathering all your slick. “Next time.”

“Uh-huh.” Your lips are on his and then you’re sinking down. Slow. His hands careful, on your ass, holding you steady as you accommodate to the stretch.

Fuck going to a stupid disco event. Fuck the money he paid for the tickets. He is not moving from this sofa until he’s completely ruined your make-up and you’re begging him to stop making you cum.

Mark is sure Chenle will understand. And if he doesn’t, well, he can cry about it while busting moves to Boogie Wonderland.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“Right, so what’s the deal with you and Mark?” Giselle shouts over the loud music as you both queue at the bar for a drink.

The boys are all standing in a little further behind, still fully immersed in a discussion about how Chenle missed a hoop during a game. You could almost hear the younger boy’s whining over the bass.

“He’s your friend, why are you asking me?” You respond with a teasing smile.

“He doesn’t tell me shit!” Giselle complains with a laugh and you can’t help but join. “All he says is ‘yo, I’m out’ and I just have to somehow guess he’s coming over to yours.”

You try to hide your smile, eyes focus on the bottle collection behind the bar. “In his defence, there’s not much to tell.”

Giselle raises her eyebrows interrogatively. “Seriously? You guys have missed so many nights out just to spend time together and there’s not much to tell?”

“Honest.” You shrug. “We hang out. We fuck. Sleep. Repeat.”

She blinks once. “So, like, you’re not exclusive?”

“Haven’t really had that chat.” You say plainly. You try.

“Well, what if — and I’m not saying that he has — but what if he slept with someone else?”

You certainly have thought about this. Plenty of times. So you just lie. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Yes, you have. You’d fucking slit his throat.” She dismisses your poor attempt of deceiving her and quickly shouts ‘two vodka lime sodas’ at the bartender.

“I guess it would have to happen for me to know how I’d feel.” Another lie. You know how you’d feel.

“I got this one. You can get the next round.” She says with a smile as she taps her card on the little POS machine, and you can only smile back as a thank you.

“Look,” She continues. “I’m not here to air no one’s business, especially Mark’s, cause he’s really a gem. But I’ll just say you’d be an idiot to think he has eyes for anyone else but you.”

You hesitate for too long and she speaks again. “What I mean is, if you also happen to not have eyes for anyone else, well, you’d have to be the one to admit it first.” She quickly hands you one of the two drinks the bartender leaves in front of you. You might have to down it if this conversation goes on for too long. “Not because he has some big ego, you know that already, I’m sure. He’s just the kind of person that won’t risk saying the wrong thing.”

Again, you hesitate, and she smiles appreciatively. The woman sees right through you. You hate it. But you like her.

“Just think about it.” She grabs two straws and plops one in your drink. “And I’m saying this with nothing but respect.” She steps a little closer, her face more serious now. “If you’re just in it for the sex, end it. I know that’s not the case, but I’ve gotta say my piece. He’s my bestie.”

You’ve known Giselle for a few months now. And seeing her this serious does strike something in you. Intimidation maybe. She’s one of the sweetest people you know, no doubt. But right now, she’s not your friend. She’s Mark’s friend. This is her indirectly saying ‘don’t hurt him’, and in all honesty, it makes you like her even more. It soothes you that Mark has people looking out for him.

You can only nod with a tight-lipped smile, and she does the same.

When you start walking through the crowd to get back to the group, you see Karina and Jaemin have arrived too and you wave at them excitedly. But then you notice a girl you don’t recognise. She’s talking to Mark. He’s smiling. Her hand on his arm. He doesn’t pull away.

Hello?

Before you can jump to any conclusions, Giselle saves the day again. “That’s Luna. Just warning you, she wants your man.”

“Huh?”

She snorts. “She’s had a crush on him for ages, bless her. Obviously he’s not interested, but thought you should know, in case you wanna... you know.”

“Pee around him?” You say with a knowing look.

She smirks. “Well, I was going for something a bit more classy, but that sounds better.”

You look at Luna again, and there she is still, talking to your man— Mark. Talking to Mark. More like chewing his ear off with how close she’s standing.

You really don’t want to be that person. The jealous one. The possessive one. The one that needs to mark their territory. You’ve been that person before and it only brings back bad memories.

The difference now is that you don’t even have a valid reason to act all mental. Mark hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just standing there smiling politely, with a drink in his hand. He’s just standing there waiting for you to get back. Like a boyfriend would.

The thought sits heavy in your heart.

He’s never really implied that he’d like to have that title. Your boyfriend. And quite frankly, you’ve not allowed yourself to indulge in the thought the he would actually make such a great one. A dreamy boyfriend. Simply because you know he would and you’re not so sure you’d be able to be an evenly good girlfriend.

And so you choose ‘classy’ in Giselle’s words. You choose peace. No territory marking.

When you join the group again, you have a catch-up with Karina and Jaemin first, turning your back on Mark and Luna. You almost turn to look when you hear an obnoxiously loud laugh. Surely hers. Why the fuck is she laughing? He’s funny, but he’s not that funny.

No. Classy. Stay classy.

A few minutes go by. Everyone is laughing. Shouting over the music. And you’re trying to stay involved. Present in the group. You really are, but you feel like your brain’s on fire. You’re struggling to focus on what Chenle is joking about, very aware of the two people behind you, still having a conversation.

After what feels like ages, you feel a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. Familiar. Warm. The scent of his aftershave calming you.

“Yo.” He says in your ear as he slowly sways you from side to side. It’s loud enough only for you to hear.

You can’t help but smile triumphantly. Relief washing over you. You turn in his arms and proceed to wrap yours around his waist, leaning up on your tiptoes to reach his ear.

“Yo.” You mimic, before leaving a tiny kiss on his cheek.

“Having fun?” He asks with a sweet smile, his eyes twinkling in the low lights of the venue.

You nod. “You?”

He shrugs. “I’m a bit bored.”

“Mm, maybe you should stop having boring conversations then.” Your eyes widen at your slip up, and so do his. Surprise written all over them.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Then it shifts. His features soften. A tiny grin.

“What?” You say, trying to maintain a neutral face.

“Nothing.” He’s still smirking. Fuck.

“The fuck you smiling at?” You ask in irritation. Almost like a threat.

“Nothing.” He presses. Head shaking in defence. Lopsided smile still on his stupid face.

“Shut up.” You mumble, face burying in his shoulder, hands tightening around his torso to ground yourself. This is fucking ridiculous.

“Awww, dude.” He chuckles softly. “Did you get a little jealous?”

It’s whispered but it still makes you shiver. “No.”

“Hmm okay.” He leans down to leave a kiss on your hairline. A sweet intimate gesture he shouldn’t feel that comfortable making. Just like you shouldn’t be acting all jealous.

Because he’s not yours. Simple as that.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You finalise.

He holds your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “Would it really be so bad if you were?”

“I’m not.”

He laughs. Perfect teeth on display.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying to contain a smile.

“Okay, well,” He purses his lips in thought. “Just in case I wasn’t clear before.” Another kiss. “It’s okay if you are.”

You frown for a second, but try to cover it with a blasé look. “Why do you want me to be jealous?”

“I—“ He looks taken aback. “I don’t. I just—I wouldn’t mind if you were is all I’m saying.”

“Why?” You press, hands curling around his wrists.

It’s very clear he’s nervous now. Maybe a little confused too. “Because you’re allowed to?”

“I’m not, though.” You point out casually. The energy has shifted between you and he’s noticed. You can tell he has when his hands drop from your face and pull out of your hold.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows. “Okay?”

You don’t really know what else to say. And neither does he, it seems. You’re both just standing there awkwardly, while he looks around. As though looking at you is the wrong thing to do.

“Mark—“

“So now we have boundaries.” His forwardness takes you by surprise, and so does his sarcastic tone. He’s annoyed. Offended even.

“Why are you pissed off?” You clap back, matching his attitude.

“Because you’re lying.”

“I’m not—“

“You are.” He steps closer. “You’re jealous and you can’t accept it, even though I said it doesn’t bother me. And you hate that I can tell, so you’re deflecting.” His harsh voice reaches your spine. It’s not pleasant. Not familiar.

“How am I deflecting?” You try to defend. It’s futile, you know.

He scoffs. “Never have I said that you’re not allowed to be jealous, and you still thought that would be a good argument.”

“I can’t be bothered with this.” You say dismissively, you temper getting the worst of you, eyes already burning. You’re just embarrassing yourself, but you can’t back down.

“Cause you’re wrong.” He said simply.

“You really wanna have a row here?” You raise your eyebrows in challenge, hand gesturing your surroundings.

“Okay, so, let’s go outside.” No hesitation, he grabs your hand, not in the sweet delicate manner he usually does. His touch devoid of any warmth as he drags you through the crowd.

You briefly catch eyes with Karina, who’s obviously witnessed the whole interaction transpire. She gives you a very awkward thumbs up, as if to say ‘you got this’ although her expression says more ‘you’re fucked’ than anything else.

Then Luna. She’s just standing there, pretending to be paying attention to whatever some other girl is going on about. But her attention is on you and Mark. And all you can try and do is ignore her. She’s the least of your concerns now.

When you’re both outside, in the smokers’ area, Mark leans against a wall and you realise you're still holding your drink, the condensation, dripping over your fingers.

You're focused on him though, staring at his face like you’re a lost cause.

His eyes aren’t on you yet. He’s looking around as he exasperatedly rubs his jaw. He looks unsettled. Like he has things to say but hasn’t found the words yet.

“Mark, what is happening?” You fail to come across as calm. It’s just sheer panic that coats your voice.

“Give me a second.” He dismisses you, one palm running down his face as, you assume, he gathers his thoughts.

Then he meets your stare and you realise you’re chewing on your lip a little too hard, tasting metallic. Why are you so scared?

“So, like, what do you think is going on here?” He demands, arms crossing over his chest. You feel even smaller than before now that he’s watching your every move.

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

He nods. “Okay. I’ll put it simply. We’ve been fucking for three months, correct?”

You know where this is headed, and you can tell it’s not a good direction, but you have no choice but to go along at this point.

“Correct.”

“Cool.” He pauses for a moment, gaze intense. “To my understanding, this is not some ‘no strings attached’ bullshit. We talk, we’re affectionate, we ditch plans with other people to hang out, I’ve basically moved into your flat and you’re here telling me you’re not allowed to get jealous. So, I’m asking you again, what the fuck do you think is going on here?”

Silence. You swallow, a little too loud, your mouth feeling dry, your stomach heavy. “I don’t—“

“Don’t say you don’t know.” His hand waving disdainfully, shutting you down in an instant. “This is a long overdue conversation and you know it. I just haven’t put pressure on it cause I could always tell you needed time. And that’s fine, but I’m not gonna act all righteous when you’re talking nonsense.”

“I’m not t—“

“Yes you—“

“Stop interrupting me!” You shout, unintentionally, having reached your limit. It seems to put him back in his place, his eyes wide, his lips sealing tightly.

You take a deep breath to compose yourself, looking around and noticing some people staring, Chenle and Jaemin being two of them. They’ve clearly paused their vaping session, too immersed in your situation. You throw them a glare without meaning to and they both immediately look away.

Mark is still, back against the wall as he watches you and you bite the inside of your cheek while you let the chaos in your head settle.

“When have you ever made your intentions clear, Mark?” You succeed at keeping your voice steady this time. You know there’s no answer to your question, because he hasn’t, but you want to see him try.

He doesn’t stall. “You know I want you, don’t play stupid.”

“Wanting me and wanting to be with me are two different things.” You retort quickly and his scoff pisses you off even more.

“Fuck off with your technicalities. You're full of shit.” He’s a lot better at arguing than you expected, and if you weren’t incredibly aggravated, you’d think he’s insanely attractive right now.

“Alright, since we’re being open and honest then, I think you’re a fucking coward.”

“Excuse me?” His eyes are wild, tone a little more high pitched.

“You’re acting all brave and offended right now, when you know damn well you’ve been so comfortable fucking me and getting all the perks you’d get from a relationship without facing any consequences.” You got him. His face drops, ears flaming red and you can almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. “That’s not righteous, Mark, that’s fucking pretentious.”

“So, if I'd asked you out, you would’ve said yes.” He states with a raised eyebrow, tone laced with sarcasm.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I don’t like living in hypothetical scenarios.”

He breathes out a humourless laugh. “So what the fuck do you want then?”

It’s an easy question, though, you do hesitate for a split second. 

“I want initiative, and I want clarity, and I want someone who won’t just go with the flow." You explain as calmly as you can. 

He doesn't seem to appreciate your honesty, expression sour and confused. “I'm not gonna beg you to date me. You've made it pretty clear you don't want that.” 

“But you think it’s expected of me to get jealous?” You let out an incredulous laugh at his stupidity. "Listen, we can argue all you want on this, but essentially what you’ve asked me tonight is to be emotionally vulnerable when you’ve never actually reassured me. And sex doesn't count.” 

That seems to shut him up. Classic.

You breathe for a moment, struggling not to sound too harsh. “And I’m supposed to feel bad because, what? Your ego got hurt? Because I won't admit that I'm jealous? That’s unfair, don’t you think?”

You’re bitter. You know you are. But for some reason you can’t back down. And you know you’re both right as well as wrong in some aspects, but you’re disappointed, and frustrated, and tired, and quite frankly, sad.

“I don’t need you to feel bad.” He argues, with an unreadable expression. You’ve lost him in this moment, you know you have. You’re just hoping you haven’t lost him in the long run. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t said any of this before.”

“Because, Mark, we’re not in a relationship.” There it is. You’ve said it. What you’ve both been dancing in circles around.

He nods. Again. This time in defeat, eyes empty. “Clearly.”

“Look, we can go back to mine and talk if you want, but—“

“Nah.” He says abruptly, taking you aback with a tone that's so cold but still burns somehow. “I’ve ditched my friends enough times. You’re more than welcome to leave if you want, but I’m staying.”

He leaves you speechless with that. It's so out of character. So hurtful. And now it’s your turn to just nod emptily, your eyes stinging. “Okay.”

And just like that, Mark Lee walks away from you, without another word. And you’re left with a heavy heart, chaotic thoughts and a single tear that you quickly wipe the second it escapes.

Karina approaches you quickly when you head back inside to gather your things, and like the great friend she is, she calls an uber, insisting on coming back with you. You don’t really have the energy to refuse, so you just give her an appreciative smile. And just as you’re about to step out the main doors, you look over your shoulder once.

He’s by the bar. Expression a little less angry when your eyes meet, but still stern. His lips part for a second, like he’s about to mouth something at you, but then he looks away. Uninterested.

Clearly having chosen not to concern himself with you anymore.

You do get a text from him later in the night. Not what you’d hoped for, but it’s something.

marklee: home safe?

That’s it. No emoji at the end. Just plain letters.

You reply with a ‘yep’, and all you get in response is a thumbs-up reaction.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Karina listens to you when you’re in the comfortable confines of your bedroom. Both in PJs, make-up off, munching on some forgotten snacks you had on your snack shelf. And you hate that you’re holding onto the bag of haribos like it’s something precious. 

They’re Mark’s favourite. You’re pretty sure he’s bought them. How ironic.

“Okay, I’ll be real with you.” Karina says as she pops a Malteser in her mouth, the crunch loud. “I do see where you’re coming from, I do. But.”

“Oh—“

“But!” She insists, index finger raised as though she’s about to lecture you. She probably is. “You were pretty harsh.”

“Yeah, I fucking know that.” You grumble, the sweet in your mouth suddenly tasting sour.

“And I do sympathise with him, I’m not gonna lie. You’re pretty hard to read sometimes.” She gives you a pointed look when you roll your eyes. “You are! And I’m saying that as your best friend. I can’t even imagine what it’s like from a guy’s perspective. Especially from Mark’s.”

“Why especially from Mark’s?” You mimic her voice.

“Uh, not too much attitude.” She warns, and you immediately settle down with a bored look. “He’s just a precious little munch.”

You snort at her characterisation. It’s true though.

“And yeah, he does lack initiative, but he clearly is obsessed with you.” She says with a sad pout.

You throw the empty bag of sweets at the foot of the bed and dramatically lie down, head in Karina’s lap as you curl into a ball. “Well, now he hates me.”

“Okay, let’s not be dramatic.” She strokes your hair — hopefully with the hand that’s not covered in melted chocolate. “He’s just angry. He’ll come around sooner or later.”

“Yeah, but what do I do?” You ask helplessly, all muffled.

“I think you should give him some space first. You’re clearly both not in the right headspace to have a conversation that won’t lead to more misunderstandings.” She hums in thought. “Maybe let him come to you?”

“He won’t.”

“He might.” She defends.

“And what if he doesn’t?” You sound pathetic.

“Then we kidnap him.” She says like it’s a given, managing to make you breathe out a tiny laugh.

“I’m serious, c’mon.” You poke her thigh.

“Then you go to him.” She speaks more gently now. “And if that doesn’t work, then you have your answer.”

“Which is…?”

She sighs. “Which is…he might not be the guy for you.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

When Karina suggested you gave Mark some space, you’d assumed maybe a day or two, three tops. Not a week.

A whole fucking week. With no text, no call, nothing. You haven’t even seen him around campus like you usually do. It’s like the universe is conspiring against you. And every morning when you wake up and see no notification from him, the same thought hits you.

He doesn’t miss me.

You could easily reach out first, take matters into your own hands, be an independent woman and all that, sure. But you feel like you’ve done that more times than you can count with him — and every other guy you’ve dealt with. You’re exhausted of taking matters into your own hands. Why can’t he just take the first step?

You stare at the last two messages you exchanged every day. That stupid thumbs up reaction laughing in your face. Mocking you.

The one person you can’t face is Giselle. Not after what she so openly discussed with you. You’re so embarrassed you skipped your pilates session this week. Plus, you’re too drained for physical exercise, having barely had any sleep. Your thoughts keep you awake at night. Sometimes it’s the crying. Sometimes both.

The first couple of days you had hope, but after day four, you started to realise that maybe Mark Lee is more hurt than you thought he was. Or he’s just decided you’re not worth the hassle.

One thing you’ve realised is that Mark had become a constant. A fixture in your daily routine. A safe harbour even. A presence you always looked forward to. And now that he’s not there, it all just feels…empty.

As days go by you feel him slipping even further away. And sure, Karina and Jaemin are great, supportive friends, who are always there for you. But they’re not your Mark. No one is. No one can be.

You miss him. A tremendous amount. So much you can’t even put it into words. So much it hurts your heart.

And just when you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that you might actually never see him again, there he is, walking down that same pathway. The one he was walking down when you bumped into him three months ago. Only this time he’s all alone. No Giselle. Just him with his big headphones on, hands in his hoodie pockets, backpack slightly swaying. He seems distracted. Lost in his own thoughts as he stares at the pavement.

Your chest tightens. Breath catching in your throat. And your feet just decide to work on their own.

You’re heading towards opposite directions. He doesn’t notice you at first, and you entertain the thought of swerving him, leaving him be, but at the last second you actively block his way, forcing him to raise his head. He halts his steps immediately, eyes widening, eyebrows raising.

God, you’ve missed his face.

You stand there, facing him, not too close, but close enough to get a whiff of his laundry detergent, as you clutch onto your bag straps. And then he’s removing his headphones, letting them rest around his neck.

“Hi—“ 

“Hey—“

You both speak at the same time, laughing awkwardly. So you try again when he remains silent.

“Where you headed?” You start casually, or eagerly, you can’t tell.

“Class.” He points his thumb towards the Arts and Literature building, and you remember, it’s Monday afternoon. He’s got that ‘Medieval Romance Poetry’ class that he always complains about.

“Right.” You say with a smile, hoping to get one back. 

You do, but it’s forced. You can tell. It’s not the signature smile that radiates warmth. It’s distant.

“You done for the day?” He asks, and you feel relief at the thought that he also remembers your schedule.

“Yeah, just heading home.”

He gives a simple nod, and you can faintly hear the music that’s playing from his headphones. Maybe Mac Miller?

“Okay, well—“

“Do you think we can talk sometime soon?” You say it before you can back down, and you hate yourself for it.

“Umm,” He hesitates, face too neutral for a positive answer. “I don’t really think there’s much to talk about if I’m honest.”

Your heart rate quickens at that. Your hands clammy, fingers twitching. And you feel like crying. “No?”

“We clearly want different things, Y/N.” He drops it so naturally, like he’s rehearsed it.

He can’t be serious. “Mark I’m—“

“Look, it’s fine. I get it, we don’t align.” He takes a deep breath. “This is just not for me, I’m sorry.”

“Why?” It comes out as a whisper, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just angry.”

You’re hopelessly trying to salvage something that feels beyond you now, and it doesn’t feel right. This is not how it’s supposed to go. This is worst case scenario, not what you hoped for. He can’t just not want to be with you anymore. He can’t just be over it so quickly.

“It’s done. Let’s just leave it there, okay?” Now he’s smiling? Really? “For both of our sakes.”

You can’t cry. Don’t cry. You keep repeating the words, hoping they’ll register in your brain. Hoping your eyes will listen. And you’re praying this is a prank. This isn’t your Mark. It can’t be.

Was he always this cruel? Or is this some kind of a sick joke? God, please let it be a sick joke.

“I honestly wish you the best, no hard feelings.” He steps closer, but only so he can walk past you. “I have to go, but maybe see you around yeah?”

You manage to look in his eyes one last time. You want to. Just to see if you can still read them.

It’s just politeness that you find. Polite eyes, a polite smile. And just like that, Karina’s words echo in your mind.

He might not be the guy for you.

So you push through the clogging of your throat, even if it hurts. And you smile back, as unbothered as you can muster. “Yeah, see you around.”

And then he’s walking away. For good.

This time leaving you with a chest that feels hollow, like he reached inside and scooped something out, and a face that’s too difficult to dry, because your tears keep falling.

And you realise something you never thought possible.

Mark Lee, the sweetest boy you know, just broke your heart.

taglist: @neotannies, @ppeachyttae, @hi00000234567, @markyosuh, @meowieshibal, @withlovemark, @haluenx, @leehaechie, @snapcracklen, @aliquidexnihilo-blog1, @cathamada, @hyusunn, @wachimingox, @14juno

©neogotmycookie

[neogotmycookie]

here, again | l.mk (part one)  

summary: One night during freshers’ week, followed by a quiet disappearance. No promises, no numbers exchanged, no reason to ever see each other again. But when you run into Mark on campus two years later, it becomes painfully clear that some nights don’t stay in the past — no matter how hard you try to leave them there. pairing: student!mark x female student!reader.       genre: university!au, fluff, crack, angst, strangers to lovers, smut! mdni! word count: ~15k    warnings: emotional slow burn, blurred lines, it’s giving ✨situationship✨, mark is a sweetheart, like tooth-achingly sweet, alcohol consumption, lots of flirting and awkwardness, he’s shy but confident at the same time(?), he says ‘dude’ a lot (obvs), talks of pregnancy, menstruation and sanitary products, oc is one confused human being pls don’t judge her, smut: fingering, unprotected sex, pull out method is used (don’t be silly), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, light choking, lots of teasing, nipple play, he’s a hard!dom for like a sec and then pathetic again, multiple positions, oral (fem receiving), brief masturbation (he watches lmao), cumshot, cum eating<3, he makes her cum while she’s on her period bc he's a king (she’s wearing a tampon dw), probs more…ya'll should know how unhinged i am by now so read at your own risk. a/n: hi hi hi hi!! After many many requests, I wholeheartedly give you Mr. top yearner himself, Mark Lee! This part is mostly smut and emotional turmoil bc I had to somehow introduce their backstory. The second part is where shit goes down, so there will be a lot more plot in that one. This story is very dear to me bc it’s basically inspired from real life events (yes, I used to be a messy bitch back in uni, sue me), but my Mark wasn’t as nice as the one in this fic. Anyway, I genuinely hope you guys love it as much as I do and pleaseeeee do let me know your thoughts!! I would also appreciate ideas and guesses for part two as I’m still currently working on it. I can’t wait to read your comments and asks. Please don't hesitate to bombard me.  Love always,  Cookie <3 Part 2 | masterlist | ko-fi

Mark squints against the morning sun, nursing the headache pounding at his temples. Coffee in hand, he trudges along campus with Giselle beside him, who’s already mid-rant about something he’s only half-listening to. Maybe a date? He’s pretty sure it’s not too important anyway.

 Last night’s party is still hanging around in his skull like a bad song he can’t skip. Every step feels like it’s happening underwater — students rushing, bikes clattering, the faint smell of coffee — but Mark barely notices

 “—and then he—ugh, I can’t even—” she huffs, flopping her arm dramatically against her tote bag.

 “Mm,” Mark mumbles, focusing on nothing in particular, willing the throbbing to ease.

 Out of the corner of his eye, movement. Someone rushing. Head down. Bag bouncing. Textbook late-for-class energy.

 “Giselle!” a voice calls, sharp but friendly.

 Mark freezes. Head still fuzzy. He glances over—and it clicks.

 Y/N. Shit. What the actual fuck. No way.

 His chest stutters in a way that’s both familiar and alarming. Two years ago. One night. One too many drinks. Memories creeping in before his brain has a chance to protest.

 Giselle, oblivious, smiles warmly. “Oh! Y/N, hey!”

 Mark blinks, still stunned.

 “Mark,” she says, gesturing to him, “this is Y/N. We…uh, go to the same Pilates class.”

 Simple. Casual. Like nothing else exists.

 You raise an eyebrow, calm, clear recognition. “We actually know each other,” you say lightly, voice teasing but neutral. “Small world, huh?”

 Mark’s throat goes dry. Words stick. Coffee threatens to slosh. His hangover doesn’t help. He wants to say something witty, something—anything—but his brain refuses to cooperate.

 You glance at your phone, already in motion. “Sorry, I’m actually so late. Catch you later Gi!” You pause for a moment. “Good to see you.” That last bit is directed at him and all Mark can do is bob his head like an idiot.

 “See you tomorrow!” Giselle exclaims, her chirpy voice penetrating his throbbing skull.

 You dart off without another word, back straight, long strides taking you in the opposite direction from the library.

 Mark stands frozen for a second, watching the familiar sway of your shoulders disappear down the path, stomach twisting, headache forgotten.

 Giselle nudges him. “You good?”

 Mark snaps back, clutching his backpack strap like a lifeline. “Yeah…yeah, fine,” he mutters, voice rough. But inside? His heart refuses to behave.

 This must be some kind of joke.

 “Dude.” Mark’s voice comes out in a whisper. As though he’s wary of people hearing.

 Giselle takes an inquisitive look at him. “Why are your eyes so big?”

 Great, now he looks insane.

 “How do you know her?” Mark asks, completely ignoring Giselle’s valid question. He needs to know.

 “I literally just said Pilates?”

 “Oh…right.” He keeps walking and Giselle quickly follows. Her expression nothing short of baffled.

 “Umm. What am I missing here?” She speaks in a rushed manner as she tries to keep up with Mark’s quick strides. Who is he even running from?

 “Nothing.” Mark deflates as he quickens his step. The library couldn’t feel any further.

 “Oi, spaz!” Giselle grabs onto Marks elbow. “Slow down and fess up.”

 Her demands get through to him. He halts his pace and turns to face his friend properly for the first time since you walked away from them. With a heavy sigh he accepts that even the slight attempt of hiding something from her, would be futile.

 “We slept together first week of uni.” The words come out so jumbled, he’d be surprised if Giselle caught them.

 “Pardon?”

 “We fucked. Two years ago.” He rephrases. Slower this time.

 “Sorry. What?” The question more of an indication of shock than a demand of clarification.

 “Ever heard of sex?” He tries sarcastically.

 “Uh-huh.” Giselle’s frown almost resembles an animated character’s.

 “I’ve had it. With her.” He points a thumb towards the direction you earlier walked off to and he can’t help but feel amused at Giselle’s flabbergasted reaction.

 “How-”

 “A party. Fresher’s week. C’mon dude, switch on please.” He’s embarrassed. Maybe even slightly irritated that his reckless escapades from freshers’ week have become such a big matter of attention.

 “Okay. Sorry, I just- I pictured it and now I need someone to reset me.” Giselle pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes closing as if trying to erase the picture from her brain.

 Marks rolls his eyes at his friend’s exaggerated gag. “I could flick your big fat head.”

 “Okay, okay. So…” She trails expectantly, completely dismissing his irritation.

 Mark doesn’t really know what more he can say. He’s elaborated enough.

 “Yeah..?” He gestures his hand for her to continue.

 “Well, what happened after the…you know.” Giselle’s eyebrows shoot up suggestively.

 “The sex?” Mark points out on purpose and snorts a laugh when his friend scrunches up her nose in disgust. He might as well make her feel as uncomfortable as he is.

 “Yeah, that.” Giselle nods, the pained expression still on her face.

 “I haven’t seen her since. Well, hadn’t.” He admits simply. It’s the truth.

 “Shit, so you quite literally just fucked.” It’s a statement but it comes out more like a question.

 “Pretty much.” Mark shrugs, struggling to keep an unbothered front. “She sneaked out in the morning and I just never saw her again.”

 “You didn’t get her number or…?”

 “I mean, I didn’t really get the chance. Plus…” He pauses to think. Or more like reminisce.

 It was his first night out on campus, and you? You were the first person he noticed when he stepped foot in that house party. The first girl he brought back to his tiny, undecorated dorm at the time.

 He didn’t really expect anything more than what he got. That’s what he approached you for initially. But he also didn’t expect you to disappear without so much of word after the night you had together.

 Mark still thinks about it sometimes. Not because it was magical or anything of the sort. If anything, his performance could easily be described as bang out average.

 What he really thinks about is how you two stayed up for hours. Naked. Talking, kissing, fucking then talking and kissing, then fucking again. He thinks about how he felt so comfortable. So at peace but also confused at the same time. How you’d only known him for a few hours but still trusted him enough to fall asleep on his chest, in that small first-year dorm bed.

 Mark, never having been the naive type, he knew he couldn’t just date the first girl he met at the first party he went to on campus, but spending days typing your first name in his instagram search bar definitely wasn’t on his bingo card. Not only that, but unintentionally searching for you at pubs, bars, parties, uni corridors for weeks? Yeah, that certainly wasn’t on his bingo card.

 “Plus, it wasn’t anything serious.” He concludes, sounding almost defensive.

 “Aww, Markie poo. Did she break your heart?” Giselle pouts performatively.

 “Tsk.” Mark kisses his teeth in annoyance, adamantly refusing to succumb to her mocking, as he resumes his quick steps. Giselle, of course, unfortunately for him, isn’t one to let things go. So she matches his pace.

 “Oh, come on. I’m just playing-

 “Wait. So, if you’re, like, friends,” Mark abruptly turns, index accusingly pointing at her, his steps coming to a halt again and Giselle exhales in relief. “How come you’ve never mentioned her?”

 “I literally met her a month ago. She was on a year abroad last year.” Ah. Well, that certainly explains a lot.

 “Damn, that’s cool.” He utters in surprise, as though he was hoping you were some kind of loser who was hiding out in a library. Meanwhile, you were out in god knows what country, doing god knows what and god knows who.

 “Damn, you falling back in love already?” Giselle coos annoyingly and Mark starts walking again, dismissive of her teasing. “Wait! I’m sorry! At least tell me if the sex was good. Oh my god, is she like the best you’ve ever had? Is that why you’re hung up on her?”

 “You’re a nuisance.” He mutters grumpily.

 “Awh, really? I mean I could invite her to Chenle’s on Saturday but if I’m such a nuisance then I guess I won’t bother-

 “Wait. Actually?” Mark’s head snaps toward his friend a lot quicker than he can comprehend, sounding too hopeful and probably a little pathetic, and Giselle’s sinister grin makes him realise his slip up.

 Damn it.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Mark’s patience started to waver about two days ago. Now it’s close to non-existent.

 There’s no way you’re not toying with him. You’re everywhere. Wherever he goes. The library? Tick. The park? Tick. The main building cafeteria? Tick. The psychology building cafeteria? Tick. His favourite café? Tick.

 How can someone go from not existing to occupying every corner of this plane earth?

 He’d gotten accustomed to not worrying about bumping into you, but now he’s always wary. Always alert. He’s even started putting more effort in his outfits, just in case you see him. Even though, he’s pretty sure you never notice him. At least not like he notices you.

 And however wary he is, he still feels taken aback each time he comes across your presence.

 And now, Mark is annoyed. Because he simply can’t enjoy his Saturday night like he always does.

He can’t get absolutely plastered with his friends like he always does to forget about deadlines and assignments. Because what if you’re here, at this very party? Yeah, Giselle did invite you and of course, you gave a very vague response — something along the lines of ‘yeah, that sounds like fun’ — and of course, you’re allowed to do as you please, but what if you turn up out of nowhere while Mark is blackout drunk? What if he embarrasses himself in front of you? Or worse, what if his big gob utters something stupid? God forbid.

 And so, he takes it easy tonight. Small sips. Slowly consuming whatever his cup contains. He thinks it’s vodka with some kind of tropical mixer. Not really his cup of tea, but he settled anyway.

 “What sort of pace is this?” Chenle asks, sounding almost offended.

 “Huh?” Mark looks up from his cup, one hand swirling the liquid in his cup, the other splayed on the back of the sofa behind Chenle’s shoulders.

 “Your drinking pace is embarrassing.” The younger boy explains. “We got no practice on Monday, so the whole two-day hangover excuse ain’t gonna save you this time.”

 “I got other commitments too, you know.” Mark side eyes his friend. “Basketball isn’t my only worry, I’m in final year.”

 “Blah blah blah. Don’t give me that shit, you’re acing all your exams. Pretty sure you’re on for a first class.” Chenle babbles loudly, definitely tipsy by now and Mark can’t help but wrap his arm around his friend’s shoulders, playfully trapping him in a headlock. Chenle doesn’t even fight him off, comfortably resting his head on Mark’s shoulder.

 “Since when do you worry so much about me, huh?” Mark teases, squeezing Chenle into his side.

 “Since when are you so affectionate?” Chenle questions suspiciously.

 “I thought you said being a little gay for your bros is acceptable.” Mark defends, referring to the time they spooned while having a drunk, deep meaningful conversation about their childhood trauma and then fell asleep.

 “Don’t remind me. I’ll get hard.”

 “Get off me.” Mark shoves a giggling Chenle away, squishing him against a random girl sat next to them. And just like that, in the midst of apologising, Chenle’s already compromised attention span works in Mark’s favour, because a few minutes later, the younger boy is entrapped in a flirty conversation with the girl that laughs a little too loud at his bad jokes.

 Thankfully, Mark’s gaze catches Giselle’s, who’s stood by the kitchen counter. She excitedly waves him over, holding a shot of clear liquid in each hand and he can’t help but scrunch his nose in disgust. The tilt of her head along with the disappointed expression on her face does enough to convince him.

 Fuck it. One shot won’t hurt. He’s a big boy.

 He spills a bit of his drink as he squeezes through the swamp of people that occupies the living room. Pitbull blares through the speakers and Mark realises that shot is definitely needed. He’s too sober for this chaos, so he rushes for the kitchen.

 “Honestly, how the fuck does Chenle get girls so-

 Mark is pretty sure the colour drains from his face the second he steps in the kitchen vicinity. There you are. Again. Like his fucking shadow. Haunting him. Only this time you’re mid-laugh, perched up on the counter, a filled shot glass in your hand and Mark realises that he’s walked right into Giselle’s trap.

 “Hey, loser.” Giselle interrupts his trance, casually shoving the spare shot glass in his free hand. “Here. Do a shot with us.”

 “Umm. Yeah, okay.” Mark doesn’t have the time to ponder his actions. As though he’s on autopilot, the second you and Giselle down your shots, he tips his head back, doing the same. He doesn’t even flinch at the burn, probably in need of it and the second his eyes land on yours, Giselle starts violently coughing.

 “Jesus.” He mutters, quickly grabbing an empty glass from the counter, filling it with tap water before passing it to his struggling friend. “Down it, you idiot.”

 And Giselle starts doing just that, but before she can finish the contents of the glass, she’s covering her mouth in panic. Mark steps closer, and the second he touches her shoulder in concern, she’s running out of the kitchen and down the hallway where the bathroom is.

 Fucking brilliant.

 “Do you think she needs help?” Your voice penetrates his ears, urging him to turn around and face you. As always, taken aback by your presence.

 “I- um- nah. Nah don’t worry. She’ll be fine.” Mark tries to sound reassuring, but his voice has a slight tremble to it. Get a grip, dude.

 “I can go check up on her if-

 “Honestly, she’ll be fine. The woman can never stomach shots. Trust me.” His words are rushed. Partly because he’s telling the truth, and partly because he refuses to miss the opportunity of whatever this is.

 “Are you two together then?”

 “What? No.” He shakes his head so fast his neck slightly cramps. “No, we’re not. Just friends. We live together.”

 He relaxes a little when you nod. A tight lipped smile adorns your pretty face and for the first time in what feels like forever, Mark finally gets the chance to take you in.

 Here you are, again. Right in front of him. So close. Looking at him. As pretty as he remembers you. Albeit looking different in a way, still carrying the same calm aura.

 “What?” You ask softly, smile a little lopsided.

 “Nothing. Just — don’t worry.” He shakes his head again, eyes drifting down to his hands, twirling his drink in his cup again to distract himself from his fast heartbeat. “It’s weird.”

 “I like weird.” You’re still smiling when he meets your eyes again.

 His eyebrows raise a little when you pat the spot next to you, silently asking him to join you on the counter as more people crowd the kitchen.

 His shoulder brushes yours briefly when he hoists himself up, the warmth hard to miss. He does his best to steady his breathing but feels like he’s miserably falling when he breathes in your sweet perfume. “I dunno. Just weird seeing you. Feels like I’m seeing a ghost. Kind of.”

 God, that sounds so lame. He almost winces in pain.

 “Wait, how do we know each other again? I know we do, but I’m having trouble placing you.” You say in genuine wonderment and Mark feels his heart drop to his stomach. He miserably prays that you’re playing a horrible prank on him, but your perplexed eyes tell him otherwise.

 “You don’t re- we- um- freshers week? C’mon. Surely you remember.” He tries subtly, hoping he won’t have to spell it out for you.

 You shake your head in denial. “I honestly have no clue what you’re on about.”

 Fuck. You have actually forgotten. Were you that drunk or was that night so insignificant to you?

 This is fucking horrifying. A nightmare he's hoping he can wake up from. “Yo, seriously?”

 “Remind me?” You suggest lightheartedly, with the most innocent smile. “I have the worst memory, I’m sorry.”

 What the actual fuck.

 “Wha- you actually don’t remember? Like no recollection whatsoever?” He checks one more time, hating that he sounds so desperate. He really finds it hard to believe that you’ve forgotten a night he remembers so vividly. A night he often has to lock up in the back of his mind.

 You snort, a short laugh escaping as your face shows nothing but amusement. “You’re really gullible, you know.”

 Jail. You belong in jail for that. He’s suing you for emotional damage.

 He scoffs loudly, hating that he almost fell for it.

You laugh a little louder this time and he can’t help the little smile that curls on his lips. “You fucking- are you having me on?”

 “Sorry, it was just too easy.”

 “Dude.” He whines, hiding his face in his hands. “That is actually vile behaviour. You’re going to hell.”

 “For being too funny?” Your comical expression would have normally pissed him off if you weren’t this captivating.

 He doesn’t have a comeback. He just stares straight ahead, jaw clenching to retain a smile, hands struggling not to squish the plastic cup in them and he almost flinches when your foot kicks his. Intentional, playful, soft as ever.

 “Of course, I remember.” Your gaze burning his side profile is so difficult to ignore. So he succumbs. Head turning to face you, eyes finding yours. “Kinda hard to forget.”

 “Really? That bad?” He jokes, although, he’s worried he might be right.

 You breathe out a cute laugh, eyes dropping to your fumbling hands, fingers playing with the rip on your jeans. “I’m not insulting your performance, Mark Lee.”

 He’s positive he’s blushing. His face and neck feel hot, hands are sweating and he’s very aware of your proximity. The music is loud enough for you to lean closer to speak.

 “What are you insulting then?”

 “I could be praising you know.” You side eye him for a reaction he refuses to offer. “Unless you’re not into that anymore.”

 He can’t help the shocked laugh that escapes his throat. How can someone be so forward? Bringing up a kink of his you clocked back then? Outrageous. Uncalled for. And honestly? Kind of sexy.

 “Well, this is embarrassing.” Mark nervously downs the remainder of his drink in a big gulp at a failed attempt to cool down as he’s pretty sure steam is coming out of his ears that don’t fail to pick up at the loud snort you let out.

 “See? I remember a lot more than you think.” You tap your temple with your index finger. A harmless gesture, which Mark finds inexplicably attractive.

 “Why hard to forget?” He redirects the subject, refusing to have a nervous breakdown before he finds out what’s important.

 You seem skeptical, as though you’re assessing your words before you utter them and Mark’s nerves resurface. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you now.”

 “What?” He presses impatiently.

 Did he get you pregnant or something? Oh god, is that why you disappeared? Does he currently have a two-year old child running about?

 “Okay, don’t make it a big deal.”

 “Shit. Do I have a kid?” He accidentally thinks out loud.

 “What? No, Mark, what the- no!” Your loud laugh helps him relax a little and he can’t help but notice the way you lightly shove him by the shoulder as you throw your head back. At least one of you is amused. “I was just gonna say— that it was my first time.”

 Oh.

 OH.

 “Huh?” It comes out louder than intended. He can’t help it. You’re definitely lying. “As in you never— before that?“

 “Yes.”

 “Really?”

 “Yes.”

 “Shit.” He can feel his eyes widening to the max as he looks around in shock. “I’m sorry.”

 “What for?” You’re clearly holding back a laugh and Mark feels like he desperately needs air. Or a whole bottle of vodka. Yeah, that would do.

 “I don’t know.” He panics. “I just— I mean, your first time is— you know, important. It should mean something. No?”

 You narrow your eyes at him for a second and Mark decides he’s going to die. Here, tonight, in Chenle’s fancy kitchen. “First of all. That couldn’t be more of a stereotype. Second of all. Who said it didn’t mean anything?”

 “I mean, it was pretty obvious it didn’t.” The words roll out like waterfall.

 “What?”

 “How much could it have meant if you just…left?” That seems to shut you up, your eyes wider than before, mouth slightly open. “Without a word.” He adds. He had to say it. After all this time, he finally gets to complain about something that bothered him long enough and he feels relief. A weight lifted off his shoulders.

 He expects you to argue. To defend yourself, and the little nod you give, somewhat shocks him.

 “Fair point.” Your attention returns to the rip on your thigh, your fingers pulling at the loose threads.

 “I didn’t do anything weird, right? Like, I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable in any way, or…?” He can’t help but worry that maybe it was all too much for you, considering you hadn’t been with anyone else prior to that. Maybe that’s why you quietly escaped in the morning?

 “No. Not at all.” You quickly shake your head with a sweet smile. “If anything, I don’t think it could have been any better.”

 Mark feels relief wash over him, his limbs instantly relaxing. He nods with a satisfied pout on his face but inside he’s proudly gloating.

 “Well, I’m glad I—ummm, you know.” He realises that whatever he’s about to say, could easily be misconstrued.

 “You’re glad you took my v-card?” You ask with an amused frown and he can’t help but roll his eyes. Mostly at his stupidity, but also at your relentless teasing.

 “No.” He gives you a pointed look. “Just glad I didn’t ruin it for you.”

 Your fond smile makes him feel warm. In a good way this time.

 “Can I ask you something?” He blurts out, curiosity getting the better of him. You simply give him a small nod as you take a small sip of your drink. “How come you didn’t say anything? Not that you had to obviously. I just feel like I would have been more careful if you had.”

 “That’s exactly why I didn’t.” Your purse your lips in thought. “I would have. But, with you, I figured it was unnecessary.”

 “Oh, sorry, was I a little too vanilla for you?” He complains sarcastically.

 “I’m not gonna give you feedback.” You retort with a grin and Mark swears your cheeks weren’t as flushed a minute ago.

 “I didn’t ask you to.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

 It could be his delusion, but Mark feels tension brewing, and he wonders if it’s just him. Maybe it’s the alcohol finally catching up to him, but your silence betrays something he can’t quite decipher.

 “Was it not obvious then?” You interrupt his inner thoughts, the question simple, easy to answer, but Mark’s brain short circuits for a moment.

 “I mean, I wasn’t that experienced myself.” He clears his throat once. “I just thought we were both shy. Clearly that’s not the case for you anymore.”

 “That a problem?”

 “Nah. It’s been what? Two years? And you’ve spent a year in a foreign country. I’d be surprised if you were the exact same person.” He explains and he circles the rim of his cup slowly, suddenly a little bashful, but content at the same time.

 “What about you? You think you’re still shy?” You slowly reach over, hand gently wrapping around his wrist gently before you bring his hand to your lap. Mark is about to question your actions but your fingers delicately untying the knot of his bracelet make him hold back his protest.

 “At times.” He responds as he watches you fix the knot carefully.

 And when you’re done and he’s about to remove his hand, your hold tightens, preventing him. His breathing stutters and so does his pulse. The heat of your skin on his, too much for him to handle, but he still obliges, letting his hand rest limp on your thigh, palm facing up, unable to properly touch you, but still enough for his brain to remember things. To remember how he touched you that night. How you touched him.

 “What about now? Feeling shy?” You don’t meet his gaze when he looks at you, your eyes still on his hand as your thumb traces his pulse point. Goosebumps litter his skin, the tiny twitch of your lips telling him you’ve noticed.

 “I don’t know. Do I seem shy?” Answering with a question is the only way his brain can muster.

 “Hmm.” You finally eye him, carefully inspecting his face, and he feels exposed. “Maybe a little. I kinda think that’s part of your charm, though.”

 His eyebrows lift in genuine surprise. “My charm?”

 “Mhm.”

 “You think I’m charming?” He can’t conceal the stupid smile that erupts on his face. Weak man. Maybe he does have a praise kink.

 “You managed to get me in your bed. I’m not that easy.” You say with a casual shrug. Too casual. And Mark has to look away. If he could, he’d run away, but your damn hand is still wrapped around his arm, locking him down. It’s your fault he can’t escape and definitely not the fact that he doesn’t want to ever pull away from your touch.

 “Dude, are you, like, flirting with m—“

 “Do you wanna come back to mine?” Again, you’re too casual. No ounce of hesitation, just plain expectation.

 “Now?” It’s the only word he can come up with.

 “I mean, at some point tonight would be ideal, yes.” Your smirk irritates him. He wants to kiss it off your face. Maybe he can if he agrees to go back with you.

 Should he?

 “You want me to fuck you again?” He only realises he’s said the lewd words out loud by the widening of your eyes. Why does he always end up putting his foot in his mouth?

 “To put it plainly, yeah, I guess I want you to fuck me again.” You say with the most demure smile.

  The contrast scares him. You scare him. He should have been wise and ran for the hills the second he laid eyes on you two years ago.

 “I didn’t mean to say it like that.” He rushes to apologise but you cut him off with a squeeze around his wrist.

 “Yay or nay?” You ask, a hint of impatience in your tone that makes Mark bite his lip to hide a smile. You’ve got one eyebrow raised, expression almost offended at the delay in his reply.

 He quickly hops off the counter, empty cup forgotten on the surface, the skin on the arm you were touching only seconds ago, already tingling. But he’s made his decision.

 You seem taken aback, the crease between your eyebrows betraying your confusion. And if Mark were to take a guess, he could say there’s a trace of disappointment in your eyes.

 You’re about to hop off the counter when he cages you in. Almost in panic at the thought of you walking away from him. Your ass is on the edge of the surface and he can’t help but smile at the way you quickly grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself.

 “Where you off to?” He asks quietly, only for you to hear. His hands settling on each side on you on the counter as he steps closer.

 “Nowhere.” You match his tone, legs parting, allowing him to take up the space between them as your hands trail down to his chest. Your touch soft on his jumper, but he can still feel the weight of it.

 He’s positive you can feel his insane heart trying to jump out of his rib cage. He doesn’t mind. Not when he gets to have you this close and feel the heat radiating off your body.

 “Do you think about it?” His voice comes out in a whisper but he knows you hear him. “That night?”

 “Sometimes.” You admit. Eyes anywhere but on his; avoidant.

 “Are you embarrassed?” He leans down a little, levelling with you and you smile bashfully as you finally meet his gaze.

 “More like flustered.” Your hands travel down to his stomach as your knees squeeze him in and he moves even closer, his torso flush against yours.

 “Tell me. What do you think about?” He whispers, his lips brushing against the bridge of your nose as your hands slowly slide lower, until your fingers hook into his belt loops.

 “Not here.” Your breath hits his chin and he desperately wants to lean in, but he refrains, enjoying your squirming a little too much.

 “Why not?” He tilts his head, your lips just millimetres away. His hands decide to move on their own, finding their way to your waist as you inhale deeply. “Whatever it is, I’ve probably already thought about it.”

  Your cocky expression annoys him. “Do I often occupy your mind?”

 “You used to.” He admits openly as he delicately strokes along your ribs, thumbs smoothing over the undersides of your bra, your thin top making the touch more intense.

 You smile smugly as you let your fingers slip under the hem of his hoodie, finding the bare skin of his lower abdomen and he hates that the simplest of touches affects him so much. It’s all effortless. Just a trace of a finger has him weak in the knees, his breath unstable, lips aching to be on yours.

 “Mark?” You lean closer, your forehead dropping on his shoulder as you exhale a trembling breath.

 “Hm?” He traces his knuckles up and down your spine, his other hand splaying on your lower back, where your skin is uncovered.

 “I’m so wet right now, it’s fucking embarrassing.”

 “Jesus.” He whispers, lips touching your ear and he feels your shudder as his hand slithers in your hair, lightly tugging to get you to look at him.

 Your hands clutch at his belt, not really initiating anything, just holding. It’s enough for his blood to rush where it shouldn’t, heart pounding. Your hooded eyes don’t help either, and if it weren’t for the people occupying the kitchen, he’d be bending you over this counter right this second. The scandalous thought very unlike him.

 “There’s a spare room here. I stay in it sometimes after basketball practice.” He suggests carefully, not really possessing the patience to go back to either of your apartments. Fuck being in an uber with a hard on.

 You seem skeptical for a moment. “You ever fucked anyone in it?”

 “No.” He answers quickly. “I don’t really do one ni—“

 “Okay, yeah.” You nod, teeth trapping your bottom lip as you not-so-subtly stare at his mouth.

 He knows what you want. He wants the same thing. But when he kisses you, it’s going to be private. No people staring or interrupting.

 So he pulls away. Your shaky exhale makes him smile proudly. He made you nervous.

 “Come.” He takes your hand in his when you’re back on your feet and he feels giddy at how easily you comply, how you follow him, naturally clinging onto his arm as he guides you through the crowd.

 You squeeze on his bicep with the hand that’s not in his to get his attention and he slightly leans down to hear you over the music. You point your chin over to the occupied sofa, cheeky smile taking over your face as you take in the sight of a perfectly healthy Giselle, laughing her lungs out at something Chenle is so passionately rambling on about.

 Mark shakes his head with a smile, but mentally makes a note to later grill his friend about the totally fake throwing up incident. He doesn’t even say anything, just keeps walking down the hallway, where both bedrooms are.

 When you both enter the neat spare room, he shuts the door behind him and sighs at the loud crowd and music becoming nothing but a background noise.

 “Is this Chenle guy rich or something?” You ask curiously as you look around, inspecting the spacious room.

 Mark lets out a quick laugh, eyes following you around, observing you. “Yeah. His parents are loaded. Pretty sure his dad owns this whole building.”

 You nod with an approving pout and all Mark can think is how adorable you look as you fumble with the bedside lamp, trying to figure out how it works. The second it illuminates, you let out an exaggerated gasp, your eyes widening and Mark doesn’t know what takes over him but he flicks the main lights off, surprising both of you.

 He leans back on the door, resting his weight there, hands at the small of his back as he patiently waits for your next move.

 “Smooth.” You comment with a small grin as you place the small lamp back in its spot.

 He just shrugs, mirroring your expression as you slowly retrace your steps, walking back towards him. It’s difficult for him not to blush as you get closer and closer; his heart threatening to beat out of his chest again and again and he awkwardly lifts a hand to rub against his jawline. His eyes rake over you unintentionally, taking in the outfit you’ve got on tonight. It’s simple; an off-shoulder crop top and light-washed baggy jeans. Pretty. Easy to remove.

 He feels hot at the thought of undressing you. What if he’s too clumsy? What if your earrings get tangled in your top? What if he accidentally pulls your hair?

 “Are you just gonna stand there?” You speak tentatively, as though you’re enjoying the silence. You seem a lot more composed and calm than him. Not like someone who not too long ago uttered the words ‘I’m so wet right now. It’s fucking embarrassing’, but then again, maybe you’re always like this. Fluctuating.

 “Where do you want me?” He asks, not intending for the words to sound sexual, but somehow, they do, and he has to close his eyes for a moment. Composure slowly slipping away.

 “To be honest, you look pretty good just like this” You halt in front of him, but still out of reach. “But for tonight’s purposes, ideally, I’d want you on the bed.” Fuck. “Unless you have any other ideas.”

 Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 “Dude.” He exhales a pained laugh, hand covering his eyes in frustration. You simply just giggle at his misery.

 Without him seeing, your hands are suddenly on him; one touching his chest, the other peeling his hand away from his face, forcing him to look at you. And he’s definitely not complaining. Before he has time to take in your pretty face, your palm is engulfing the back of his neck, pulling him down to your level.

 He’s not sure who finally closes the gap, his mind too occupied with the softness of your lips and the way they slot with his. So effortlessly. Deja vu is inevitable when your arms wrap around his neck, holding him closer, and his limbs suddenly come back to life; the sliver of skin between your top and jeans so soft under his touch and so are your hands trailing from his hair down to the sides of his neck.

 The kiss is slow, sensual, almost romantic and the little noise of satisfaction you let out goes straight to his already hardening cock. The way you kiss him, contrasts the demeanour you've held up until now. You’re going along with the pace he sets. You’re not leading and he wonders if it’s deliberate. Can he just do however he pleases with you or will you eventually take the upper hand?

 He decides it’s worth a try by slipping a hand into your hair, tilting your head to the side so he can easily slip his tongue into your eager mouth and he’s rewarded with a low moan of yours, your lips parting for him, allowing him to taste you properly as you lazily glide your tongue with his.

He moves on autopilot, slowly walking you backwards. One hand still in your hair, the other hovering above your ass, keeping you close.

 “Shoes—mph—off.” He mumbles against your lips before you obscenely lick into his mouth and he can’t hold back the grunt that escapes his throat.

 It all becomes messy so quickly. His hands clumsily unbutton your jeans as you rush to kick your shoes off without breaking the kiss, both of you gasping and laughing as you stumble over your feet. You’ve somehow managed to turn the situation around and he only realises when the backs of his knees hit the mattress.

His back hits the covers with a push from you and within seconds, you’re straddling his thighs; bare legs on either side of him as you go back to kissing him. He surprises himself with the noise he lets out when both his hands grope your ass. Not just because it’s your ass he’s touching, but mainly because of the lack of underwear, and he’d love to comment on your hastiness but at this point he doesn’t really care. As long as he’s got you naked and in bed, he’s a content man.

 “Take your top off.” He instructs in a whisper, and you oblige without a question, sitting up in a heartbeat and removing the last piece of clothing you’ve got on. No bra underneath and he mentally thanks the heavens. “Fuck.”

 His hands caress your thighs absentmindedly as he takes in the sight above him. There’s something about the fact that you’re fully naked, while he’s not removed a single article of clothing. And you’re not rushing him either, patiently letting him enjoy the view, hands on his chest, ass directly above the very prominent bulge in his jeans. You seem comfortable in your nakedness and that turns him on even more, cock twitching in its confines.

 “C’mon. Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Your voice is sultry, patience clearly wearing thin as his hands remain on your thighs and he abruptly sits up, crashing his mouth onto yours. One hand holds the back of your neck as the other slips between your bodies, shamelessly cupping your entire pussy, the heel of his palm rubbing against your undeniably swollen clit.

 “Fuck, you’re…” He’s not able to form a complete sentence, interrupted by the loud moan you let out against his lips.

 “I told you. It’s embarrassing.” Your fingers thread in his hair, desperately pulling, driving him insane.

 “It’s fucking hot.” He’s corrects, completely enamoured with the way your body responds to him. You’re literally grinding on his hand, seeking relief, kissing him like a starved woman, spit coating both of your lips as he sucks on your tongue, earning a cute whine from you.

 “Feel like I’m dripping on your jeans.” You complain, breathing harshly as the pads of his fingers slide between your drenched folds, spreading your arousal, making a mess between your legs.

 “Cause you are.” He whispers with a smug grin.

 He purposely avoids your clit, in the mood to tease you as his lips drag from your jaw down to the base of your neck. His tongue makes contact with your sweaty skin, tasting salt, your scent engulfing him as his hold on your hair tightens, pulling your head back to gain full access to your sensitive skin.

 “Please, I really need you to fuck me.” You murmur weakly, the hoarseness of your voice causing his heart to quicken and his cock to throb painfully.

 He’s so fucked. Beyond salvation. And you’re so fucking needy. But he doesn’t want to give into you just yet. It’s his turn to torment you a little.

 “In a bit.” He dismisses your pleas with another suck on your neck, your crazy pulse delicious on his tongue.

 “Mark—“

 “Shh. You can wait a little longer.” Two of his fingers tease your entrance, slowly circling, dipping shallowly before slipping out and repeating the action.

 He almost feels bad when your body starts trembling, so he snakes his arm around your middle, holding you as close as possible. Your messy kisses on his neck are cut short the second his fingers ease into you, following the curve of your cunt until they’re knuckles-deep. And when he curls them slightly, your walls tighten and so do your arms around his neck, face burying in his neck as he starts to slowly pump in and out, making sure to repeatedly hit that spot that made you tremble.

 “This feel good?” He whispers against your shoulder, arm tightening around you, the pads of his fingers almost reaching your side boob.

 “Yeah.” You sigh, sounding wrecked already and that urges him to quicken the pace. He starts jackhammering his fingers into you, cunt greedily sucking them inside, your slick dripping down his wrist, smearing on his jeans and the sleeve of his jumper. The filthy thought of never washing his clothes again crosses his unhinged mind.

 You’re both sweating unimaginably, and now he wishes he’d at least taken a layer off, but he pays no mind to that as your body tenses. “You close?”

 “Yeah. Don't stop.” Your nails dig into the skin of his nape, most likely leaving crescent moons and he desperately needs you to come before he combusts in his trousers.

 He starts slamming the heel of his hand into your clit, making sure you’re being stimulated to the max and your whiny exhale reassures him. “Cum.”

 And you do. Body tensing up for a moment before you start trembling against him, the secure arm around you helping you stay upright as you gasp for air.

 “Oh my god.” Your hips buck up, pussy spasming violently around his fingers as he fucks you through it all.

 “You’re okay.” His knuckles caressing your spine, attempting to calm you down as your body gradually goes limp on him.

 “I think I just saw god.” You mumble half-conscious, causing Mark to let out a little laugh.

 “Did you say hi?” He steals a little kiss off your cheek as he slowly pulls his fingers out. Your shudder makes him smile fondly and he lets his fingers lazily caress your slit, before they gently circle your swollen bundle of nerves.

 “You’ve definitely been in at least one relationship since l last saw you.” The statement catches him off guard, and he pulls back a little to look at you.

 “What makes you say that?”

 You blink lazily, sweat dripping down the sides of your face. “You found my g-spot. Real fucking quick as well.”

 “I need a girlfriend for that?”

 “Well, someone’s taught you.” Your smile is teasing and so is the light touch of your fingers on his jaw.

 “Situationships, I guess. No girlfriend though.” He takes in your expression, heart beating a little quicker at your silence. “Red flag?”

 You give him a sweet smile. “I just came. All your flags are bright green right now”

 He mirrors your expression as he leans in, silently asking for a kiss, which you easily give, slowly dragging your swollen lips against his.

 “Wanna keep going?” He speaks softly, praying for an affirmative response.

 “Yes, please.”

 He moans at your words, hands trailing up your sides until they’re cupping your tits, tongue sloppily licking into your mouth. The whine you let out as he pinches your nipples, spurs him on, and he squeezes the supple flesh a little harder.

 “Can I just fuck you? Please? I promise I’ll go down on you later.” The begging tone his voice carries almost makes him cringe. Pitiful.

 You let out a yelp when he flips you over, your back on the mattress now, and he can’t help but notice the way your tits bounce a little as well as the slippery mess between your spread thighs.

 “Yeah, no more foreplay.” You sit up as he stands between your legs that hang off the edge of the bed. “And take that stupid jumper off right now.”

 He chuckles lightly at your frustration but obliges anyway. His jumper and t-shirt are off in one go and he quickly kicks his shoes off as you start unbuckling his belt, lust-clouded eyes gazing up at him.

 “Don’t look at me like that.” He rasps as his hands join yours, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping.

 “Like what?” Your seductive tone clouds his head and the kisses you start leaving down his happy trail make his hands shake.

 You don’t give him time to answer, immediately shoving both his boxers along with his trousers down, deeming him incapable of thinking properly. Your warm exhale hits him straight where it hurts, his throbbing length twitching the second you wrap a hand around the base.

 “Get on your all fours.” He instructs, tone purposely devoid of any warmth. He’s had enough of your games now. But still, his hands engulf each side of your face, thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks. “Or I just cum on your face and we call it a night. Up to you.”

 Your smirk is sinister as you scoot up the bed until your head hits the pillows and you swiftly turn on your front, knees spread wide, supporting your lower half as you arch your back like a pro, tits squishing against the mattress.

 “Holy shit.” He exhales in awe.

 You’re on full display. Ass up in the air, cunt staring right through his soul, inviting him in, and who is he to decline such an invite? As though the mental breakdown he’s experiencing isn’t enough, you shamelessly slip a hand between your legs, two fingers sliding through your dripping folds.

 “Markie, please. It hurts.” You briefly look over your shoulder with a performative pout, shamelessly putting on a show for him.

 “What the fuck.” He’s lost for words, standing there butt naked, staring at your fingers circling your clit before they slowly trail up, catching at your clenching hole and easily slipping in.

 You’re an evil evil woman. He decides right there and then. And the moment you start fucking yourself, he sees red, any resolve left, completely forgotten.

 He’s on his knees behind you within seconds. Hand ripping your fingers away before shoving your face against the pillows by the back go your head. His cock slips inside easily, walls vacuuming him in and he doesn’t wait for you to adjust; his free hand grabbing your waist as he starts slamming into you.

 “You’re fucking filthy, you know that?” He grunts through your high pitched moaning. “Been torturing me since day one.”

 Your muffled voice sounds like a song he’s been trying to find for a long time and he’s finally succeeded.

 “M—markie,” You sound like you’re crying and he loves it. “Fuck, it's so good.”

 “Shut up.” His thrusts become more intense, balls harshly slapping against your pussy, the wet sounds of your walls suctioning around him each time he pulls out, sending him into a frenzy. “I bet this is what you wanted—fuck—to piss me off. Huh?”

 “N-no — I just wanted you.” You mumble in your delirious state, and of course, it goes straight to his head.

His eyes focus on the way his cock slips in and out of your sopping hole. A white ring of slick has already formed at his base and he’s afraid he might finish sooner than expected.

 So he buries himself to the hilt to take a much needed moment. His head dips back in ecstasy, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he tries his best to compose himself and when he looks back down, your droopy eyes are already on him, neck twisted as you stare over your shoulder, face half-hidden.

 You look nothing short of ethereal. Your skin glowing in sweat, back still arched beautifully, eyes glistening with want and unshed tears as they roll back briefly the second Mark experimentally grinds a little too deep.

 “Mark?” Your voice is broken, his name sounding like a prayer.

 “Hm?” He leans down, nose nuzzling against yous jaw as he keeps grinding his hips slowly, relishing in the mewls you let out.

 “Want you close.” You whisper into the pillow, a little whimper adorning the end of your sentence. Your desperation breaks him.

 “I’m here.” He reassures you with a sweet kiss on your cheek. “D’you wanna change positions?”

 Your tiny nod pulls at his heartstrings in a way that’s foreign to him. He’s always been gentle by nature, soft spoken, sensitive. But this is untouched territory.

 “Alright,” He leaves a kiss on your shoulder as he pulls out. Gentle hand patting your thigh. "C’mon, turn around."

 With rushed movements, you eagerly flop on your back and his hips find home between your parted legs, the soft skin of your inner thighs dragging against his sides, making him shudder as he slowly slips back into you with a choked moan.

 “You can still be rough. Just wanted to touch you.” You admit bashfully, eyes blinking up at him, eyebrows tensing as he bottoms out with a loud squelch.

 Your hand delicately brushes the hair off his drenched forehead, your fingers threading through the strands and the clenching and unclenching of your velvety walls cause his eyes to flutter closed —the intense feeling of contentment clogging his brain up.

It’s unholy. The effect you have on him. It’s fucked. It makes no sense to him. He barely knows you, yet he welcomes everything you give him. Gives into everything you ask for, like it’s some sort of ritual. Something predetermined. A done deal with the universe. Like he’d burn in hell if he resisted.

 “Do you actually want me to be rough?” He searches your face for a sign, but he only finds conflict.

 “I dunno. I’m confused.”

 “About what?” He carefully settles his weight on top of you, arm by your head, free hand caressing your ribs delicately, barely cupping the underside of your breast.

 “I um—I liked it just now. How you were. But I kind of just—“ You sigh in frustration, hips slowly raising for some friction.

 “Want it slow?” He matches your rhythm, grinding into you, going as deep as he can as he awaits for a verbal response. He doesn’t need it. Your bent legs spreading even further is enough confirmation, but he wants to hear it anyway. “You know I don’t mind vanilla.”

 His joke lands. Your breathy laugh, hard to ignore as it hits warm on his shoulder.

 “Don’t make jokes right now.” You scold with a little whine.

 “Why not?” He gives you a chaste kiss before setting a slow pace; deep languid thrusts, his fingers fisting the pillow by your head as he tries to hold back from giving into the sensation of your warm, gummy walls enveloping his sensitive cock.

 “You’re literally balls deep inside me.” Your hands pull his face closer, connecting your lips again, small pants mingling as you kiss him as slow as he’s fucking you.

 “Whatever.” He mumbles dreamily in your mouth, palm finally engulfing your boob, gently squeezing the soft flesh and he involuntarily delivers a harsher thrust. “Shit, sorry.”

 It’s not his fault. Your pussy tightening every time he does something new, has him reeling, losing the little control he’s got over his actions.

 “No, keep going, it feels good.” You kiss him harder, holding both of his cheeks desperately as he quickens his movements a little, hips lightly slapping against yours, the lewd, squelching sounds of sex, loud enough to echo alongside your wet kisses and intense breathing. “Fuck—Mark—you—oh shit—right there.”

 “Yeah?” He pants, unrestrained.

 It’s pathetic. Beyond pitiful how your incoherent but praiseful words turn him into a whiny mess. He feels dizzy, and he’s pretty sure he’s drooling on your lips as his jaw goes slack, tongue slipping out a tiny bit, attempting to taste you in the hazy mess. His eyes roll back in raw bliss as your nails scratch down his back, arms trembling on either side of your head.

 He feels helpless.

Your legs lock around his hips, only allowing him to pull a tiny fraction of his cock out before thrusting back in; quick short pumps seeming to do the trick for you both.

 “Shit. You gonna cum?” He asks in awe. Your suffocating walls and trembling breaths a clear sign, but he still asks, needing to hear you as he looks down, taking in your flushed body. Your bouncing tits, a sight for sore eyes.

 “Mhm.” You nod quickly, eyebrows tensing in a cute frown before your face nestles in his shoulder, your hot breath hitting his damp skin as he starts scattering a dewy mess of kisses up and down your neck. “Oh my god, I'm-”

 “I know, I know.” He gasps as he puts extra effort in keeping up the same rhythm as your cunt squeezes him, his impending orgasm clouding his brain.

 You go completely quiet for a few moments, before becoming a trembling mess beneath him and he knows you’ve reached your peak. He relentlessly pushes past the tight grip your walls have around him, desperate to keep your pleasure going as he starts fucking you harder through it, the cry you let out against his shoulder, a reward to his efforts.

 “Shit—I’m close.” He feels lightheaded, breathing laboured as he tries to hold on for a little longer.

 “You have to pull out.” You utter in panic, a thread of sensibility still holding onto one of you at least.

 “Yeah, I will.” He rasps, hand grabbing onto your thigh, fingers digging. “If you fucking let me.”

 “Shit, sorry.” You mumble in realisation.

 You quickly unwrap your legs from his waist, the tremble in them still noticeable as he sits up a little, delivering three more stuttering pumps before dragging his sensitive cock out with a grunt, his release immediately spilling all over your pussy, a spurt landing on your inner thigh, a few on your tummy, while some of it drips on the comforter. He pumps himself empty, until he’s got nothing more to give.

 You hold him close when he collapses on top of you with a tired huff, not even caring about the mess between your bodies.

 It’s quiet for a few moments. Just muffled music and heavy breathing. Just your hands combing through his damp hair. Just his cheek squished up against your chest. Just his fingers tracing random patterns on your ribcage.

 It’s only when his index accidentally brushes against your sensitive nipple that you whine, breaking the silence and causing him to breathe out a small laugh.

 “My bad.”

 “You’re good.” You pet his head gently. “Dude.”

 He snorts at your mocking tone. A little surprised at how not awkward this feels.

 “My guy.” He says casually, still a little out of breath, but joining the silly joking session regardless, and your chest vibrates under him in a giggle that makes him feel giddy.

 “You got a really peachy ass you know.” Your unexpected comment makes him raise his head to look at you in question.

 “Thanks, I guess?” His eyebrows furrow in a funny expression as his hand sneaks beneath your weight, playfully squeezing your asscheek, forcing a cute screech out of you. “I prefer yours.”

 “Ah, of course. An ass man.” You state with a playful roll of your eyes. He likes it.

 “Hmm, I dunno. I like your boobs just as much.” He drops his gaze to your chest in a very unsubtle manner. Intentional. An action which, of course, earns him whack in the head. “Yo, that hurt!”

 “Stop being a guy.”

 “I am a guy!”

 “And for that, you’re suffering.” Your tone is sweet and so is your smile, but there’s an edge hidden.

 “I’m actually having a pretty good time right now.” He retorts, making sure to add some smugness in his voice, though, it’s become abundantly clear that you’re not one to back down. Your free hand sneaks down his back, nails harshly digging into the muscle of his ass, making him yelp in pain. “Ow! Watch it with the claws.”

 “I’m actually having a pretty good time right now.” You imitate his tone, mocking him.

 “What kind of twisted way of flirting is this?” He hides his face between your boobs, nuzzling against the soft skin of your sternum as he allows his arms to circle around you, the gentle thump of your heart easing his nerves.

 “Who says I’m flirting?”

 Mark is aware of how oblivious he can be when it comes to girls, but he also knows a thing or two. And it’s the way your fingers scratch the back of his scalp soothingly that betrays you. Maybe even the goosebumps on your chest, just under the spot he kissed a few seconds ago. Or maybe it’s your legs tightening around him, holding him right where he wants to be. Could be the slight twitch of your hips under him as he moves to get more comfortable. Can it be the whimper you accidentally let slip when his lips start kissing across your chest?

 “My bad, my bad.” He murmurs as he presses a wet smooch just millimetres off your clearly hardened nipple. “I must be losing the plot.” He continues, sarcasm intentional, and so is the light flick of his tongue against the erect bud. “You’re not flirting.” His words sound mindless, but he’s definitely aware of what he’s doing to you. And he’s loving your cute little squirms as his release from earlier smears between your lower halves. “You’re just being a brat, as per.”

 “Don’t remember you being this annoying.” You complain breathlessly, back arching as you chase his tongue when he pulls back a little.

 “Mm, things change.” He feels himself getting hard again, but he ignores it. He’s got other plans. Teasing you seems to have become his priority and you don’t seem to mind either. “I don’t remember you being this needy.”

 “Fuck you.” There’s not an ounce of a malice laced with your tone.

 A deep moan escapes your chest the second his lips wrap around your wet nipple, sucking lazily as his tongue licks obscenely. He releases it with a lewd pop before letting the tip of his wet muscle flick, forcing louder sounds out of you.

 He hopes the remaining people in Chenle’s living room can hear you, discretion the last thing on his mind.

 He lifts his body a little, creating space for his hand to slip between your legs. The wet mess even worse now, but perfect nonetheless, and he doesn’t hover this time. Two of his digits find your clit in no time, circling the same way his tongue circles your abused nipple. Slow. Gentle.

 He can tell you’re still sensitive, overstimulated. But he wants more. Needs more. So he takes it. And you give it.

 It’s sloppy, the mixture of both your essences making everything slippery and he feels the subtle pulse of your bud under the pads of his fingers as he rubs with a little more precision; your laboured breaths nothing but an encouragement. His mouth hangs open against your chest, lips dragging aimlessly, your skin covered in his spit and he can’t help but moan lowly when you tug at his hair a little too hard.

 He really needs to feel you unravel again. The desire might as well be engraved in him by now.

 “Can I go down on you?” He looks up, gauging your reaction and you’re nothing but hooded eyes and flushed cheeks.

 “If you feel like tasting your own cum, go for it.” You respond casually, a lazy smirk forming on your lips.

 “I’m an introvert, Y/N, not a fucking prude.” He mumbles carelessly as he descends kisses down your body, no hesitation behind his actions when he reaches parts painted in his release. He just licks it all up, like he’s done it a million times. And Mark realises he actually never has. Sure, he’s kissed girls right after they’ve given him head, but eating his own cum off someone’s skin is something he’s never explored before.

 He greedily makes out with your pussy the second he settles between your thighs, tongue gliding gently up and down your slit, dipping a little when it reaches your entrance, your taste combined with his own, intoxicating him. The more he teases, the whinier you get.

 You get so restless he has no choice but to wrap his arms around your thighs to hold you down — one hand splaying just above your pubic bone to ground you, the other just settling for your thigh — and when his fingers pull the hood of your clip up, just a tiny bit, revealing the cute nub, he sucks. Hard. Then he flicks. Mercilessly. And he keeps interchanging between the two, letting your sounds guide him. Hard sucks and vigorous flicks just where you ache the most. He doesn’t need to do much more.

 Within a few minutes—maybe two, maybe three—he feels the quaking of your legs, hears the intensifying cries, relishes in the hard tugs on his hair and when you’re cumming on his tongue, just like he wanted you to, he’s moaning with you, helping you ride the high for as long as possible.

 “Fuck, s—stop.” You beg helplessly when it gets too much and he delivers one last kiss on your swollen bud before climbing up your body again.

 Your tongue is in his mouth, tangling with his before he can process what’s just happened, arms wrapping securely around his neck, as though he would escape otherwise. You flagrantly lick in his mouth, tasting everything like you need it. And maybe you do. He doubts you need it as much as he does though.

 You don’t seem to have a care in the world that his chin is smearing your combines fluids on yours. It’s dirty. Filthier than anything he’s ever experienced. And he feels corrupt. You simply have corrupted him. Ruined him without even trying, like it’s some daily routine of yours. And he’s gobbling it all up like a much needed fix.

 He needs air. Needs to breathe. But all he seems to be able to do is kiss you again and again and again, until you release him.

 “Do you think we’ll have to wash the bed covers?” You ask with a sincere look of curiosity, albeit out of breath.

 It takes a second for the random question to register due to his hazy state, but when it does, Mark can’t help but let out a weak laugh.

 “I think we might have to buy new ones.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──  

It takes you a second to realise why you feel so warm when you wake up. At first, you assume it’s the sun slipping through the curtains and hitting the skin of your back where the covers have fallen off.

 But then you shift slightly. Your eyes flutter open, looking for the real source of heat.

 Mark.

 He’s on his side, facing you, his face tucked gently against your bare chest like he drifted there without thinking. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, heavy and warm, hand resting at the small of your back. Not gripping. Just there. Like holding you is something he does without effort — even unconscious. Like even in a deep slumber he’s decided you’re something to hold onto.

 You stay still. Still taking it all in.

 He looks unfair like this.

 Sleep has softened every sharp edge he usually carries. His brows, normally expressive and quick to knit together, are smooth now. His lashes rest against his cheeks — longer than they have any right to be — casting faint shadows in the morning light. His lips are slightly parted, relaxed, the corners tilted just enough to make him look younger. Gentler.

 Pretty.

 The word slips into your mind before you can stop it.

 There’s something almost innocent about him like this. No teasing smirk. No knowing glances. Just warm skin and steady breathing and a boy who trusted you enough to fall asleep pressed this close.

 The faint stubble along his chin brushes against you when he shifts, softer than it looks. You trace it lightly with your fingertips, watching the way his mouth moves in response — a tiny unconscious reaction. His nose nudges closer, breath fanning against your skin. It tickles a little.

 Your heart speeds up.

 You hate that it does. Why would it?

 You hate that it isn’t just physical. That it isn’t just leftover heat from last night. It’s something else. Something quieter and far more dangerous. It’s odd. The way your chest feels tight just looking at him. The way you’re memorising the exact shape of his lips, the slope of his nose, the soft curve of his cheek in the sunlight.

 He’s too handsome first thing in the morning. Too warm. Too real.

 Your pulse thuds harder than you’d like, and you swallow, trying to steady yourself.

 This isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s too simple for it to feel like this. You’ve slept with the guy twice over the course of two years for crying out loud.

 His fingers flex faintly on your skin, tightening for a brief second before settling again. Even asleep, he pulls you a fraction closer, like he’s afraid you might slip away. Just like you did last time.

 Your heart betrays you again.

 You brush his hair back gently, letting your fingers linger in the softness. He stirs at the touch, lashes fluttering before slowly lifting. His gaze is unfocused at first, hazy with sleep, and then it lands on you.

 He freezes.

 You watch awareness dawn in real time — the slight widening of his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. A faint flush creeps up his neck.

 “Hi,” he murmurs, voice rough and small in the quiet room.

 It’s so shy, it almost doesn’t sound like the guy from last night.

 You don’t answer. You just keep looking at him, taking in the softness that hasn’t fully faded yet.

 His lips press together briefly before he adds, quieter, almost unsure, “Still here?”

 The way he says it makes something in you constrict.

 Before you can respond, he ducks his face back into your chest, hiding like he regrets letting you see that vulnerable edge. His arm slides a little tighter around your waist, pulling you in closer. You feel the warmth of his cheek against you — and then, softly, almost absentmindedly, he presses a small kiss on the skin between your breasts before settling there again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 You should say something. Make a lighthearted comment. A joke. Something. Anything.

 You don’t.

 Instead, you tilt his face up gently, fingers brushing along his jaw. He looks startled for a split second, brows lifting slightly.

 And then you do something that you shouldn’t feel that comfortable doing. You kiss him.

 It’s soft. Slow. Not teasing. Just your lips pressing against his like you couldn’t not do it.

 He makes the tiniest sound of surprise against your mouth — a quiet, breathy little noise that’s so embarrassingly cute. His hand flexes at your waist like he forgot what to do with it.

 But he kisses you back.

 Careful at first. Shy. Still waking up into it. Then a little surer, lips moving softly against yours, warm and unhurried.

 When you pull back just enough to breathe, he’s looking at you differently. Still flushed. Still flustered.

 Still holding you close.

 “You can’t just do that,” he mumbles, even though his thumb is tracing absent patterns against your waist now.

 And your heart, traitor that it is, keeps beating too fast.

 “Do what?” you whisper back, close enough that your lips almost brush his when you speak.

 He hesitates. You feel it — the flicker of nerves beneath the warmth. His gaze drops to your mouth like he’s debating something with himself.

 It doesn’t take him too long to decide, it seems. His lips are on yours in not time again.

 Not shy this time. Not startled.

 Just slow. Sensual.

 His hand tightens slightly at your waist, fingertips pressing into your skin as if to anchor himself. It all starts soft — just the gentle press of his lips to yours — but there’s intention behind it now. A quiet hunger that wasn’t there seconds ago.

 You feel the shift immediately. The undeniable throbbing between your legs. Your breathing matching his quickened one.

 His mouth moves more deliberately, head tilting to deepen the kiss, nose brushing lightly against your cheek as his tongue grazes your bottom lip, asking for permission you instantly give. Mouth parting for him without a thought, too excited to taste him. The faint rasp of his stubble grazes your skin when he adjusts closer, and you can’t help the small inhale that slips out of you.

 He hears it, of course. You feel the corner of his mouth lift against yours before he kisses you deeper.

 Your fingers slide into his hair again, nails barely grazing his scalp, and he exhales into your mouth — warm, shaky, almost reverent. His arm around your waist pulls you flush against him, his thigh pressing between yours, the warmth of him suddenly impossible to ignore when his skin drags against your sensitive and already wet cunt.

 The sound of it — soft breaths, fabric shifting, the quiet press of skin on skin — fills the room and it all feels… different compared to last night. Unrushed.

 Like he’s not trying to impress you. Not trying to prove anything.

 Just kissing you because he wants to.

 Your heart pounds harder than you like. Harder than it makes sense. You barely know him outside of dim lights and late-night tension and shared heat — and yet the way he’s touching you now, feels careful. Thoughtful. Like he’s memorising the shape of you through his hands.

 No one’s kissed you like this.

 Not like they could do it for hours. Not like it could become routine.

 His hand slides slightly higher along your spine, slow enough to make you aware of every inch it travels. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up, leaning into him, hips shifting unconsciously closer, grinding, looking for release against the muscle of his thigh.

 He makes that soft sound again — the small, surprised hum you’re starting to recognise — but this time it’s deeper. Less startled. More affected.

 The kiss grows wetter, heavier, until breathing becomes necessary. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, lips parted, eyes darker now as they take in your lips. You can only imagine what they look like, judging from his swollen, glistening ones.

 The innocence of it all has disappeared as his hand travels down your back, settling when it’s reached your ass, kneading softly. Once. Twice. And then just resting there. Intentional and comfortable.

 Dangerously comfortable.

 You realise, with a slow creeping clarity, how easy this would be. To wake up like this again.

 To fall back into this again. Into him.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──  

Next time you sleep with Mark, it’s in your bed. The one after that, is in his bed. And the one after that, in your bed again. And the one after that is memorable because he makes you cum in any position you can think of. The time after that, he’s rougher than he’s ever been; manhandling you like it’s his job, fucking you so hard, pain mixing with pleasure, your tears blinding you, your cries deafening you, until his hand is around your throat, shutting you up.

 It gets to a point where the nights (and mornings) you’ve spent together, blur into one. It all easily becomes a habit. Calling him, texting him, meeting with him between classes. It’s all normal. Like it would be with a close friend.

 For you at least. You’re not really sure how he feels, but the fact that he’s never complained, comforts you in a way. Other times, it makes you doubt everything. You try not to dwell on those thoughts.

 Random hang-out sessions, that turn into lazy movie nights, become a frequent occurrence between the two of you.

 Much like right now.

 “What the hell?” You exclaim all aggravated, sitting up a little from your lying position on the sofa. Your feet shift on Mark’s lap and you can’t see his hand under the blanket, but you feel its warmth around your calf, through the cotton of your sock. It’s comforting. “Is that it?”

 Mark chuckles lightly.

 “I mean, yeah.” He shrugs casually as he pops a piece of pop corn in his mouth. “Thoughts?”

 “I’m fucking sad.”

 “Aww, dude, why?” He sits up a little too, getting more comfortable so he can look at you better as the credits keep rolling. “They said they’ll meet again.”

 “Yeah, but we don’t actually see that.” You complain loudly, making him chuckle again. At least one of you is entertained.

 “That’s the whole point.” He squeezes your calf once. “It all ends before sunrise for them, hence the title, but they get to experience so much in just one night that they don’t really need to know if they’ll actually meet again.”

 “Is that why it’s your favourite movie? You’re into the whole soppy, enigmatic love trope?” You tease with a smirk, loving his flustered reactions a little too much.

 The cute roll of his eyes makes you smile wider, without realising.

 “I guess we’re not watching the second one then.” He says with a playful pout and you can’t help the excited yelp you let out.

 “There’s a second one?”

 His eyes widen a little at your excitement, tiny amused smile taking place on his face. “And a third one. But I’ve never seen it.”

 “Well, we have to watch them.” You catch yourself moving closer. His hand slips higher on your leg, just below your knee, the warmth seeping through your comfy sweatpants.

 “Oh, we have to?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, making your heart skip a beat at his subtle way of teasing you.

 “Yes, we.” You say stubbornly, refusing to let him have his way. “You’re the one who suggested this ridiculously sad shit.”

 He stares at you for a moment, in thought as he spreads his legs a little, letting your own dangle between them, bent knees hooked over his thigh. You instinctively move even closer, one of your arms stretching behind his shoulders, against the back of the sofa, as your free hand starts playing with one of his hoodie strings.

 The familiar scent of his after shave mixed with a hint of detergent engulfs you. It’s distinct. The kind that could traumatise you if things ever went south with him.

 “Did you not like it then?” His voice comes out quite this time.

 You purposely avoid eye contact, though, you can feel his gaze on you, and you have to actively force yourself to not focus on the way his hand caresses your inner thigh. It’s nothing but innocent, but that does something to you. It feels domestic. Absentminded.

 “No, I did.” Your eyes are still on your finger twirling the string on his chest. “Just hoped for a happier ending is all.”

 “Hmm, you can’t always have a happy ending, though.” He says skeptically and for some reason the words sit heavy in your chest.

 You ignore the unpleasant feeling and force your eyes onto his. “When did you become so wise?”

 “Tsk, I’ve always been wise.” His cute nose scrunches a tiny bit as his eyes narrow in a challenge.

 You try your best to mirror his expression as you tickle his chin with your index finger. “Sure, you have.”

 Your teasing gets interrupted quickly. A giggle erupts from you as he playfully tries to bite your finger off. His pearly whites making an appearance; a silly imitation of a cat making you act all giddy.

 He’s too cute for his own good.

 And so you give into the urge to drop a very sweet kiss on his cheek. Your hand cradles his jaw as he tries to pretend an escape.

 When you pull away, you have to bite your lip to hide your smile, your cheeks hurting.

 He looks away, attempting to hide his own smile from you, tongue poking the inside of the cheek you just smooched a little too loudly.

 “You’re still so shy with me.” You observe quietly and his frown makes you let out another giggle.

 “No, I’m not.” He pouts adorably.

 “It’s okay.” You lean closer as he sulks. Another kiss on his cheek, this time a tiny bit closer to the corner of his lips. “I like it.”

 “Do you really think I’m shy with you?” He searches for a reaction in your eyes as he wraps a hand around your wrist, urging you to wrap your arms around his neck.

 You give in too easily. It’s too difficult not to with his face so close to yours.

 “Not always.” You admit, as you start playing with the hair at his nape. “You’re shy, like, maybe fifty percent of the time.”

 “Fifty?!” He shrieks with an offended tone. “Dude, that’s still high.”

 “And I still like it.” You scold, arms tightening slightly around him as his hands rest on your thighs, still draped across his lap.

 “You just like being a pain in my ass.” He states with a knowing smirk, and you can’t even deny it.

 “See? You’re not shy now.” You deflect, enjoying the back and forth dynamic you have going on with him.

 “Stop flirting.” He scolds, hand squeezing your thigh softly.

 “Mm, no.” You cradle the back of his neck gently with one hand as your other arm drapes casually around his shoulders.

 “No?”

 “No.”

 “Just like that?”

 You simply nod. “Just like that.”

 He nods back with an approving pout. “Fair.”

 The second he leans in for a kiss, a dull pain in your lower abdomen reminds you of your state and you panic.

 “You can’t stay tonight.” You blurt out. The surprise evident on his face as he pulls back.

 “Umm, okay?” His confusion pulls at the strings in your heart. “Is something wrong? Like, did I—“

 “No.” You interrupt him, before he can make things even more awkward. Arm still around him. “I’m just on my period. So, we can’t…you know.”

 Realisation downs on him. Eyebrows raising slightly, lips parting. “Oh.” He nods once. “Right.”

 “Mmhm.” You give him an awkward, tight smile.

 You could have cancelled tonight. Should have. But you hadn’t seen him in almost a week due to a stupid essay you had to focus on. And you hate to admit it even to yourself, but you missed him. A little more than you a friend misses a friend. But that’s another story.

 “Are you feeling okay?” He asks a little too casually, but still concerned.

 The way he sneaks an arm around your middle, is too smooth. It’s with effort that you manage to maintain your composure as he pulls you closer into his side, his hand resting on your lower back. Gentle and reassuring.

 Your heart does something weird at the intimate gesture. “Yeah, I’m good. It’s the third day, so, it’s not too bad.”

 He nods understandingly. “Okay, well…I don’t know if I’m being too slow, but why exactly can’t I stay?”

 The question definitely catches you off guard, but you manage to stay grounded. “I mean, you can. You’re welcome to. We’re just not having sex.”

 “Yeah, fuck that, I’m off.” He moves to playfully shrug you off, but laughs at the way you childishly whine, refusing to move, stubbornly clinging onto him. He settles back with a huff and you bashfully hide your face in his shoulder. “Y/N, I obviously don’t care. I’ll stay if you want me to.”

 His voice is too soft. Too sweet.

 You exhale loudly, feigning annoyance. “Fine. Stay then.”

 “Ugh. Fine, I will.” You feel the delicate nudge of his nose against your forehead and, inevitably, you look up at him, still tucked safely in his side with your legs comfortably resting on top of his spread ones. “So, like, is kissing out of the question too?”

 You snort at the silly question. “No. Kissing’s allowed.”

 You’ve realised over time that you have a soft spot for his cheeky side. It’s rare that Mark Lee drops his serious stance, but you’ve managed to break through a few times now and each one of those has felt like a special reward.

 His lips find yours for the first time tonight. The hand cradling your jaw shouldn’t feel that good on your skin and the arm around your waist shouldn’t feel as safe as it does. But you savour everything, matching his slow pace.

 The kiss becomes less innocent with each drag of his lips against yours, but you can’t bring your self to pull away. Blame the raging hormones, blame the way he’s holding you so close, blame the universe.

 You need him to keep kissing you.

 The whiny sound you unintentionally let out, betrays said need, but Mark doesn’t seem phased at all. If anything, he deepens the kiss. More intent behind his touches.

 “Come here.” He mumbles against your lips as he tries to manoeuvre you, and you quickly oblige, throwing a leg over him, straddling his thighs without a second thought.

 He doesn’t seem to approve of your hovering as he shamelessly pushes you down by the hips, encouraging you to properly sit on him. And you do.

 He lets out a delicious sound, which you hungrily swallow as your crotch meets his. Hard length familiarly nestling between your thighs, nudging against your needy clit, and you’re glad you opted for a tampon instead of a pad earlier.

 “Are you comfortable?” He asks, pulling away slightly, watching your face for any sign of discomfort.

 “Yeah.” You nod as you allow your hands to rest on either side of his neck.

 “Is there anywhere I’m not allowed to touch?”

 You smile at the cryptic question. He’s clearly testing the waters, while trying to be respectful of any boundaries. You can see right through him.

 “My boobs are a little sore still, so be gentle.”

 He nods. “Anything else?”

 Your breath hitches as his fingers sneakily slip under the waistband of your sweatpants, eyes silently asking for permission.

 You give him a chaste kiss. “You can’t finger me, if that’s what you mean.”

 “Not exactly what I meant, no.” He murmurs as his hands completely slip inside your bottoms, cupping your ass over your underwear, deliberately urging you to drag your hips against his, fingers slightly digging into the flesh of your bum.

 He devours your lips in another kiss. Heated, but lazy. Slower than ever.

 Your tongues gliding languidly makes you unintentionally grind a little harder, allowing your sensitive clit to drag against his clothed cock and you feel your underwear slipping between your folds messily. He’s got you all wet and needy when he really shouldn’t.

 “Fuck, I really want you naked.” He whispers in your mouth, hands travelling up your back, taking the hem of your baggy t-shirt with them.

 There’s nothing else to do other than give him what he wants. So you reluctantly break the kiss, letting him remove your top before you rush to do the same for him.

 Your sports bra is gone in no time, both your top and his hoodie are somewhere on the living room floor and the second your tits are free, he’s got both his arms tightly wrapped around your middle, biceps flexing deliciously. Your nipples feel extra sensitive as they rub on his skin; breasts squished against his warm chest, the sensation comforting and arousing at the same time, you can’t help the sigh you let out against his lips.

 “Don’t really know where we’re going with this.” You speak all muffled as he eagerly tries to lick into your mouth, lips a little uncoordinated but you love it.

 You’re more than aware of the double meaning your words carry, and the hesitation in his eyes when he pulls away, tells you he is too. You both seem to ignore the complicated side of the statement.

 “I can still make you feel good, no?” His fingers splay in between your shoulder blades as his eyes inspect your face, lingering on your spit-kissed lips for a little too long.

 He doesn’t wait for an answer. He pulls you by the back of your neck, his mouth finding yours in another wet kiss, lips parted wide as tastes you with a quiet hum, and you feel more wetness seeping out of you, drenching your panties.

 A buck of your hips forces a moan out of both of you as your hands bury in his hair, gripping tight, searching for an anchor. You lean your head back with a soft exhale when he starts leaving wet kisses along your jaw, down to your neck. He licks, sucks, bites your flushed skin, tongue swirling on each mark he leaves behind, turning you on more than ever.

 This is so fucking inconvenient.

 He takes you by surprise when he licks a stripe from between your tits to your collarbones, painting your skin with his saliva.

 “Ah, shit.” You tighten your hold on his hair and he lets out a little grunt that vibrates against your sternum, his quick breaths hitting your damp skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your nipples harden uncomfortably, asking for attention and he must notice as his hand cups one of your breasts, gently massaging the underside.

His lips find the raised peak, kissing around it, teasing you, forcing needy sounds out of you, and when he softly sucks it in his mouth, tongue swirling, you can’t help but grind down harder with a loud whine.

 “Careful.” You whisper weakly when his tongue flicks a little too hard, making you jolt.

 “Sorry.” He apologises with a sweet kiss between the space of your tits, and for a few moments, he gives all his attention to your slightly swollen mounds. Licking and sucking, carefully massaging them in his palms until you pull a little too hard at his hair, singling that it’s too much for you.

 You force him to lean back as you trap him between your body and the back of the sofa. The sound he makes when you wrap a hand around his throat, exhilarates you, and you give into another make out session as you let your fingers lightly press on his pulse points, loving the effect you have on him.

 You’re completely lost in his kisses and the way his firm chest feels on yours. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time and you really just don’t know what to do with yourself. So you just try to relax on top of him, arms loosely wrapping around his neck as you relish in the wet smacking sounds of your lips.

 It’s his hand that sneaks between your crotches that urges you to pull away, but he holds you there, his other hand on the back of your head.

 “Can I try something?” He mutters as his fingers slowly start undoing the knot at the front of your waistband. “Stop me if it’s weird.”

 Fuck Mark lee and his persuasiveness. “Okay.”

 You probably shouldn’t. It’s too intimate. Too vulnerable. And you normally wouldn’t let anyone else, but when Mark slips his hand past the front of your waistband, you let him.

 He’s careful. No rushed movements as he holds you close, lips brushing yours as he gauges your reaction and your mouth parts against his when you feel the warmth of his palm, engulfing the seat of your underwear. He rubs lightly over the drenched fabric until his fingers find your clit, pressing a little harder, evoking a half desperate half surprised sound out of you.

 You self-consciously wonder if he felt the thin string of your tampon when his fingers brushed past your entrance, but whether he did or not, he doesn’t really let on.

 He starts rubbing you in slow tiny circles, the gentle friction making you breathe harder, fingers shaking in his messy strands.

 “Can I touch you properly or is that a bit too far?” He must sense your contemplation as his fingers come to a brief halt. “I’ll stay here.” His fingers press on your clit, signalling what he means. “Won’t go anywhere else.”

 You pull back a smidge, the need to look at his face getting the better of you. His pleading eyes, full of adoration, overwhelm you and you cowardly hide your face in his neck, arms wrapping tighter around his shoulders.

 “What if I bleed all over your hand?” You whine dramatically. The thought of that actually happening, too embarrassing.

 He breathes out an amused laugh. “I’ll live.”

 “Yeah, well, I won’t.” You joke halfheartedly, but inhale sharply when he presses against the swollen bud again.

 “At least you’ll die happy.” He giggles at the warning bite you leave on his shoulder, playfully shrugging you away, but his arm around your middle holds you close. “You wanna cum. I wanna help. So let me.”

 “Fuck sake.” You sigh in defeat, forehead dropping against his shoulder. “If you touch anywhere other than—“

 “I won’t. Promise.” He seals it with an intimate kiss on your shoulder, making you shiver.

 “Okay.”

 He slips his hand inside the front of your cotton panties, quickly finding your pulsing bud and you instantly melt against him with a relieved whimper, the skin on skin contact already feeling a million times better. His two fingers send you reeling, making you moan in his neck, your jaw slackening when he speeds up a little, rubbing harder, more precise circles on the bundle of nerves. His hold around you tightens when you start slightly shaking on his lap and you feel dizzy when he starts flicking from side to side, bringing you closer and closer to a dangerous high.

 It’s addictive. The way he touches you, holds you, breathes on you like he’s the one being pleasured. It’s all out of this world. Too good. Too mind-numbing.

 “Mmph—f-fuck—right there.” You beg, all out of breath and flustered. His fingers keep brushing a spot on your clit, too sensitive, the pleasure so intense, you can barely handle it.

 “Yeah? Feels good?” His breathy tone adds to the hot sensation between your legs, your toes and fingers tingling as your eyes inevitably roll back.

 “So good, Markie.”

 He grunts when your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulder. “Fuck, baby. Wanna see you cum.”

 “Oh my god.” You whisper with a tremble, mouth ajar against his shoulder, your saliva smearing on his skin as you struggle to breathe, to keep a little bit of your sanity intact. “Mark. Ffffuck.”

 Your release crashes into you with force.  A muffled shriek erupts from your throat, resonating in the silence of the living room. You sound broken as he keeps rubbing fast and hard. Until your whole body shakes in ecstasy. Until the overstimulation is too much to endure.

 Your walls are spasming so hard you’re worried they might accidentally squeeze the tampon out, and you have to grab his wrist in panic, forcing him to stop his torturous ministrations on your abused clit.

 You slump forward. Body completely spent. Weight dropping on him in surrender as your brain floats somewhere unknown.

 The gentle scratch of his blunt nails against your scalp, helps bring you somewhat back to the surface.

 “Fuck, that felt—” You pant, struggling to form anything coherent. Your throat feels dry when you swallow.

 “Intense?” He finishes your incomplete thought for you.

 He has a tendency of doing that. Understanding you better than you can understand yourself sometimes. Unveiling thoughts and feelings you didn’t know you were capable of carrying.

 You don’t like it. The grip he has on you — you feel it most when he's not even touching you. When he's not even with you.

And it’s too intimate. More than you can handle.

 You often feel scrutinised under his gaze. Especially in raw, unfiltered moments like this. It never feels transactional. Whatever you have with Mark. It’s never just about fleeting pleasure. There’s always something underlying but undeniable at the same time.

 Something undoubtedly there, but difficult to define in your head.

 Something you wonder if his complex mind has been able to translate into words you always fail to find.

 ©neogotmycookie

[claudiadpdl]

so you can shoot a black child in the back as he's running away and get away with it with zero consequences, but god forbid a black child defend himself, because that'll land him thirty-five fucking years in jail—which is basically a life sentence. half of his life will be over when his sentence is up. all the fake talk of progress in this country has just been a way to silence black people for speaking out against the countless horrific injustices we're forced to experience, from microagressions to outright murder. you literally cannot go a day without hearing about another black person falling victim to systemic racism and then having to listen to people justify why they deserved it. and we're supposed to hold no animosity whatsoever as we grin and bear it.

[vhyunjinverse]

𐙚 — Fix your Attitude C.K

𐙚 plug!choso x fem!reader | divider by @/cursed-carmine | mdni | m.list | art by @/_7undeed on twt

𐙚 “The fuck is your problem?!” “YOU’RE my problem!”After not seeing your plug Choso for a week, you give him attitude that he has no problem fixing for you.

It wasn’t often that you argued with 𐙚 plug!Choso. In fact, you didn’t really argue at all. So when you came over as you usually did, you were quiet while he fixed the blunt up in the pretty pink papers he gets just for you.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, how’s school?” He coughs, eyes flickering up to your face just to see you not even looking at him. Instead you were tracing circles on your thighs. He watched you shrug, which takes him back- the fuck?

“It’s been alright. The usual.”

Even your tone was off. Choso makes a face but he stares back down at the tray. Pink, hello kitty themed. The grinder he used was one he ordered just for you, pink and also hello kitty themed. Hell- he had a whole fucking set just for you when you came to smoke with him. Everytime was fine except now.

“…Alright cool.” He murmurs, “How many you wanna smoke today?”

“None. I want my stuff to go.” Your arms folded over your chest. Choso’s tongue licks alongside the paper before rolling, and he laughs. You look over at him- finally look at him. The whole set up pink, contrasting with his grunge-like attire.“What’s funny?”

“You’re funny.” He sets the tray down, inspecting the pink joint before grabbing his lighter and lighting the end. You watch as he his tips back, arm outstretched on the back of the couch as his body relaxes into the furniture. The end of the blunt entering his pierced lips before he inhales deeply, blowing the smoke out. “…I’m not doing that.” He leans back up, eyes dead locked on yours.

He watches the watch your brow twitches with that cute pout on your lips. “Cho, I’m serious.”

“So am I, princess.”

“I want my shit to go.”

“Now she’s cursing at me.” His eyes widen, smile on his face growing. Usually you bossed Choso around, he liked it, but he could tell something was bothering you and that this wasn’t an act. “Seriously, what’s wrong?” You smack your lips before rolling your eyes and getting up.

“If you’re not gonna do your job then I’ll go see what Sukuna’s sellin-“

I’m sorry? He pauses, the smile fading from his face.

“…Sit down, princess.” It wasn’t often Choso talked to you like that either. He spoiled you too much. He was always soft and gentle with you, hurting you was something he never wanted to do. His deep voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you froze for a second before huffing and turning away from him.

Choso took another drag of the blunt, “Not gonna tell you again.”

“Then don’t.” And you had a smart ass mouth. “Stop acting like you give a fuck.”

“The fuck is your problem?!” Choso shouts. You flinch for a second before giving him the middle finger. He’s never raised his voice at you…well, in a serious manner, only at others who really, really got on his nerves. You’ve seen every side of Choso and how he was with others, not you.

But Choso knew you well, and he knows that you don’t like being yelled at. “You’re my problem!” You grab your bag, shuffling to put on your shoes.

“Princess-“

“Shut up Choso!” You bolt for the door, slamming it shut as you left. Choso stares at it for just a second in disbelief, playing the words back in his mind before he followed you out. You haven’t even left from in front of his door before he’s grabbing you by the waist and pulling you back in (and locking it).

He presses you up against the door, bros furrowed as he stared at you- down at you. “You wanna repeat what you said?” He questions. His breath fanned over your face. His face slightly red, you could hear the panic in his heart beat. He held your hands firmly but not tightly. You could definitely break free from his grasp. If you wanted to that is.

You could also tell that he was worked up by the way he panted. “Repeat what you said to me.” A demand this time.

“…Shut u-“

“Before that.”

“I…I’m gonna go see what Sukuna’s selling.” You swallow back a whimper. You watch as his lips twitch before he lets out a breath. He looks away for a second, in disbelief. Why would you, of all people on campus? Of anyone even remotely close in what Choso sold- fucking Ryomen Sukuna?

“Yeah?” The tone in his voice made your heart thump against your chest. You hadn’t heard it in a while. Choso’s face gets closer to yours, down by your neck. You didn’t even realize how hard you were breathing, his voice deep in your ear, “You gonna go fuck him too?”

“No-“

“That what you did while I was gone? Is that why you’re acting like a damn brat right now?” And you shudder, thighs squeezing together. “I leave for a week and suddenly you wanna have an attitude with me.”

“N-No- s’nothing like that.” His lips graze your neck, your eyes fluttering shut as you let out a small sigh of relief at his lips on you. He licked the spot, teeth grazing it before sucking. “Cho-“ You whine.

“Nuh uh, tell me you’re gonna go see Sukuna again.” Choso takes the skin between his teeth, humming as you squirmed. His lips felt gentle on your skin even when he teased you. He kisses the spot once more before letting your hands go, his eyes filled with annoyance, but Choso wasn’t one to dwell on things for too long, and he surely didn’t want to be upset with you.

Instead, he waves you off, turning away from you to sit back down in his spot on the couch. You watch him pick back up the neglected blunt and light it back up. You swallowed thickly, your breath heavy as you just…watched. The spot on your neck throbbed, knowing he left a hickey there that he’d usually get yelled at for.

His tired eyes drag over to you, low as he blew out smoke. “Go on, Y/N.” It’s been so long since Choso’s called you your actual name. The feeling cold in your chest as you bit your lip. You didn’t think he’d get that upset. “I’m not gonna charge you for anything since you didn’t smoke… If that’s all you can leave.”

Everyone knew that Choso and Sukuna were related in some way, but they didn’t like each other for plenty reasons, one being how they were technically in competition with each other.

You hadn’t see Choso in a week. Maybe your reaction was a bit petty over a man that wasn’t your boyfriend. A man who spoiled you with anything you asked for like it was nothing. Someone who smoked and fucked you and took you out afterwards. You talked everyday, but for a week the contact was silent.

Standing by the door, you found yourself picking at your nails. Choso was there when you got them done. He watches you before sighing, leaning back into the cushion. “Cmere.” Voice soft, gentle yet still laced with annoyance. He pats his leg, and you shuffle to take your shoes back off, walking back over to the couch, the rug soft beneath your feet.

“Take the blunt.” His hands rub over the curve of your hip. the moment you straddled him. You hold the joint between your fingers, knowing that Choso was the man you’d only ever buy from- except your services were free.

He watches your gloss covered lips take the pink blunt between them. Your eyes close instantly, the warmth clouding your lungs. Your body relaxes into his grasp like it always did. “That’s it..” He hums, scooting you up closer until he could feel the softness of your breast against his chest. His fingers graze your chin before his lips are on yours, smoke traveling from your mouth to his. You whine softly as he bites down on your lip. The kiss greedy- hungry. You missed him. He missed you. Choso lets out a grunt, his hand finding the back of your neck to pull you in deeper. The metal on his tongue flicking against the roof of your mouth.

Choso swallowed all of your whimpers, your clothed cunt rubbing against the fabric of his pants. He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing until a loud smack ! has you pulling back and flinching with a yelp. “Cho-“

“You still mad at me?”

You bite down on your lip, looking down at his chest. “..Yeah.”

Without a word, Choso scoops you up into his arms, holding your legs around his waist while you held on tight- wrapping your arms should his shoulder. “What are you doing- put me down Choso!” You huff.

The man says nothing, carrying you all the way to his bedroom. You’re immediately hit with the scent of soft vanilla, the room a mixture of him and the random things you had over- a hello kitty plush on his bed (the only plush on his bed), little figurines sitting on his desk that you’d got together on various trips, your strawberry lipgloss (that you thought you’d lost) sitting right there on his nightstand. He lays you down on the bed, body hovering over you.

His fingers trail up your thighs up to the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down without a word, kissing moving down your body. Your panties were soaked, and you felt shy in his arms. “…Say something.” You try to close your legs but Choso shakes his head, prying them open wider. With a soft hum he pins your arms above your head with one of his hands, the other slipping into your panties.

“Need to fix this attitude of yours.” Choso kisses your forehead. His finger circles your wet clit as you whine, gasping softly. You stare up at him, the wrinkle between his brow deepening as he flicked your pearl faster. Taking his lip between his teeth, he adds another finger. “Cho…” You whimper, your breath picking up as your back arched slightly, legs opening wider. More, you wanted more.

“Feel good?” His fingers dip down between your slick folds, dragging the slippery mess up to your clit. “Y-Yes—!” You moan, your hands twitching in his grasp. “Yeah?” He whispers, your legs twitching. Slippery fingers pressed down on your clit.

“So wet for me..” Choso groans, his fingers rubbing faster. Your breath hitches, mouth falling open as another moan passes your lips. Your hips start sputtering, rubbing into the hand for friction. “M-Mhm- fuck— fuck Cho g-gonna cum.” Your high so close you could taste it, eyes closing as your body relaxed in his grasp. His touched that you longed for and it had only been a week. The heat building into your lower stomach as you whimper, awaiting the orgasm that never came.

Your eyes opened immediately. Choso pulls his fingers out of your panties, taking them into his mouth with a small groan. “Cho.“ You frown, eyes staring wide up at him. Watching the fingers in his mouth go right back to those panties.

“Yes princess?” He traces your clit teasingly through the fabric. Down to that waiting hole of yours, leaking so much that you couldn’t help the small noises you were making. “I-I didn’t cum.”

“I know.” He grabs hold of the wet fabric, tugging them to the side until a loud riiiiiip ! of the material shouts throughout the room. “My panties!— The fuck Choso-” Your hands tugging to be freed while you glared up at him.

“Shut up, I’ll buy you some more.” He huffs.

Choso was messing with you right? Trying to scare you from going to see Sukuna. It made perfect sense. Is that why he didn’t let you cum? …It had to be….

It was torturous. The way your legs shook, his palm rubbing against your clit while three fingers thrusted deeply inside of you- so deep they touched that pretty spot inside, curling.

“F-Fuck—!” Your back arched, but Choso kept you down. His brows furrowed in concentration, the wet sound filling his ears alongside your pleasure filled cries. Your pussy squeezed around the fingers, the squelches getting louder, but Choso knew your body well.

You hiccuped, small test slipping down your cheek as your orgasm neared for the fifth time. “You wanna cum?” He asks sweetly, softly above you, as if he was going to let you. Still, you whined, “p—please!” and for a second, Choso considered letting you have your way. You always got your way with Choso.

Your chest felt heavy. You couldn’t think of anything, nothing but the man whose fingers played between your legs. Sweat beaded your forehead. You were close..so close. Sniffling softly, you hiccup, biting down on your lip.

“You look pretty so pretty princess.” Princess. You realize just how much you missed him for that one week. How badly you wanted him to call you by the name he’d whisper into your ear everytime he fucked you like you were really his.

“Cum for me.” He pulls his fingers out, quickly rubbing them against your clit. Your body jerks, “Choso—fuck I-I’m—“ Your toes curl, a broken moan falling from your lips as your orgasm finally hits you “Fuck- fuckfuck-“ You were seeing stars, vision clouding through the overstimulation.

His fingers still caressed you sensitive clit as you felt your pretty pussy gush between your legs, making the creamy mess even messier. “There we go…thats my pretty girl.” Your body clinging to Choso’s voice as he touched you until the very last drop spilled.

You felt the cool metal of his lip piercing and the softness of his lips on your forehead, working down to your nose and finally to your parted lips. “You did so good princess.”

Choso makes quick work of his shirt, throwing it somewhere in the room. “So perfect for me.” He murmurs, sliding the torn fabric of your panties down your legs. His lips kiss your thighs softly. He wipes the tears from your eyes, carefully slipping your shirt off and tossing it. “I-“ Love you, he wanted to say

He pulls your body gently into his arms as he laid on his side. The cool air of his room hitting your skin just the way you like, with his body cradling yours. He kisses your forehead, your head leaning into his chest, eyes fluttering shut.

When you woke up you were surrounded by Choso’s scent, but not the man himself. You rub your eyes, feeling around the bed. Changed sheets and covers, but your plush the same. “Cho?” You had on one of his shirts. When he didn’t answer you bit your lip, going into the living room.

“Cho?”

The smell of smoke hits your nose. You peek into the kitchen to see him leaned up against the counter, blunt hanging from his mouth with his eyes closed. On the stove was a pot with the isle on low. His eyes peel open, holding his arms open. You hug him tightly, tucking your face into his chest. “I made you something to eat. Want some rice and stew?”

“Mhm…”

“..Im sorry for earlier.” He murmurs, arm wrapping around your body, fingers running through your hair. “…Could you tell me what I did to make you mad?”

You tuck your face farther, the hand in your hair pausing. “You don’t have to-“

“Haven’t talked to you in a week.” You mumble, “I was overthinking is all.”

“Overthinking?” Choso puts out the blunt in his ashtray, pulling your body back to look down at you.

“Yeah.. I know we’re not dating, but I got really used to your company and then it just went radio silent so I figured you wanted to go back to just strictly business or you figured I started catching feelings and was pulling away and-

“Slow down, princess.” He puts the blunt out in the ashtray on the counter. “One, I asked you if I could be your boyfriend before I left. Two, I also told you I’d be in the mountains for Yuji’s birthday week without service…You don’t remember?”

You stood frozen, searching your mind for the memory of two weeks ago. The last time you hung out with Choso before he left you’d tried something new he had got a hold of. “I…fuck I have to stop smoking.”

He laughs, running a hand down his face. “Fuck, you…really had me nervous.”

“Nervous enough to edge me?” You huff, reaching behind him for a bowl, your stomach growling.

“Because why the fuck would you even mention going to Sukuna-“

“Why else?” You stick your tongue out, tapping the hickey on your neck.

[byunbaekcult]

but fuck sake i'm already yours ☆

pairing: lee haechan x f!reader

genre: pg

synopsis: for the first half of your life, you’ve always loved lee donghyuck. you finally learnt to stop loving him but the universe plays a cruel joke by making him your marriage partner.

word count: 22.9k

tags: drama, childhood friends to lovers, arranged marriage, unrequited love, unresolved feelings, mentions of mild panic attack, fluff, angst with happy ending

playlist recommendation: urs by niki, blue moon by niki, drop dead by olivia rodrigo, bleach by 5sos, start over by 5sos

authors note: tbh I’m surprised I even finished writing this but since it’s done and his birthday aligned with the completion of my fic, I thought I should just post this here. happy birthday haechan and to everyone else, enjoy!

The first meeting between you two happened when you were mere children. You were taller than him, by a handful of inches of course but it still mattered to him. Donghyuck didn’t like it. The adults teased him relentlessly while you were oblivious to it.

“What a cute pair!” His grandfather would say. You had your usual gummy smile when you heard that, simply accepting the truth. You liked Donghyuck. You think he was smart, confident and cute. You were his best friend and he was yours. If all the adults had the same opinion about you two being a perfect match, the only consensus to your younger self is that it must be true.

Donghyuck, ever the boy, would openly frown at any sweet comments about the two of you but when it was just the two of you, things were different. He would fix your pigtails when it came loose. When you came over to his house for a play date, he would surprise you with a dress up doll. His actions were confusing but that didn’t deter you. It felt like a secret between the two of you. The way he quietly showed you care and concern made your tiny heart swell. It was enough if it meant keeping Donghyuck by your side.

When you reached your tween years, the meetings naturally grew lesser. From seeing him once every season to seeing him annually, your relationship had shrivelled but your hope hadn’t. The yearning had always lingered at the back of your chest. It was an ache you ended up growing up with.

Polite smiles and cold gazes are exchanged and beneath it all was your longing. Every change does not go unnoticed by you. Donghyuck has grown taller, brazen. He has his own group of friends that hangs around him during year end parties while the rest of the crowd can only stand in the sidelines, admiring their presence. His laughter is more interesting than the crowd.

It stays the same for a few years up until you turn seventeen. You had wished for a quiet celebration with your loved ones but your mother had insisted on a bigger celebration. She had rented out a popular restaurant in the heart of the city. It had an open rooftop concept and the party was swarming with guests, majority had been decided by your parents. Your own friends and relatives were there, thankfully.

You stuck with your new best friend for moral support. It was much needed when Donghyuck walked towards your table. He carried his usual self with suave, a complete difference from the panic rising in your chest. You leaned in closer to your cousin when your best friend Yizhou says, “I’m not drunk am I? That is Lee Donghyuck.”

There is barely any time to recover from your shock. Donghyuck saunters to the table. Your mother is overjoyed, her face splitting into a wide smile as she gets up to greet him. Your father joins her and you force yourself to rise, slowly approaching them. You barely notice the friends he had brought with him, your eyes are glued onto him.

Donghyuck finally turn towards you and you hope the hitching of your breath isn’t audible. “Happy birthday,” he says as he extends a wrapped present to you.

“Thank you.” You mumble, stiffly accepting the gift. Your mother forces a laugh as if to compensate for your lack of emotions.

“Go. Enjoy the party boys!” Your mother tells him and his friends.

“It’s so nice of him to show up.” You hear your father say.

When Donghyuck disappeared into the crowd, you confronted your mother. “Why did you invite him?”

She takes a sip of her wine, fixing you with a smirk. “It’s your birthday dear. Everyone is invited.” While you love your mother, her ambition has always been bigger than your own interests. The worst part is that you can’t find it in you to be whole heartedly mad, the little girl in you is pleased by Donghyuck’s presence. It makes you feel pathetic. You thought that once you had grown older, you would have grown out of your affection for him. Clearly you were wrong.

It’s your birthday party but your attention has drifted towards Donghyuck. It should tick you off that he is the centre of attention at your party but you’re relieved to have this small chance to collect yourself.

“Hey, I need a toilet break.” You inform Yizhou as you pass your gift to her. Your cousin overheard you and tried to call after you, but you waved her off, rushing to the bathroom.

It’s times like these you wished you picked up smoking. You settle for gently patting your face down with water. Your hands are pressed against the sink, staring down at your own reflection. In a matter of hours, your birthday glow has faded and you’re back to the lovesick girl you used to be.

The thought brings tears to your eyes. “Fuck, no.” You refuse to cry over him, not when he’s a few feet away from you. You can’t even hate him. It is not his fault that you harbour such helpless feelings for him.

Looking at your reflection again, you try to smile. It comes out small and uncertain and you can’t help but laugh at the silliness of it all. You feel more like your usual self, taking it as a sign to join the party again.

You push the door ajar and the person behind it yells, “Oh, fuck!”

“Oh my god!” You try to shut the door again, eyes clenching shut but you’re met with resistance. You slowly peel your eyes open and meet the victim of your actions. The only intelligent reply you could come up with is prolonged silence.

Donghyuck clears his throat and gently tugs the door handle towards him, urging you to step out of the bathroom and into the corridor. “Right, I am sorry about that. Thank you for holding the door and um,” you pause, doing a once over at his appearance. “Are you hurt?”

His soft laughter surprises you. “I’m okay.” The grimace from your face doesn’t fade so he adds, “Didn’t you used to say that I was strong? I can handle a door.” Donghyuck winks as if to prove a point.

Your eyes dart towards the direction of your party, ignoring the flutter in your chest. You side step Donghyuck, getting out of the tiny corridor. The reason for your brief escape just had to appear right before you.

“Were you going to the men’s? You should go. I am leaving too.” You ramble, already walking away.

“No.”

Your steps halt and you slowly turn around. “Huh?”

There’s a decisive look in Donghyuck’s eyes and the way your stomach churns tells you that whatever is going through his mind, you will inevitably cave into his whims.

“I saw you leaving your party so I followed you.” He takes a step toward you. “I– Do you wanna dance with me?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

There’s a redness that fans his cheeks but Donghyuck remains confident, even going as far as offering you his hand. The music is fainter in this part of the rooftop but even then, the scenery felt perfect. The potted trees were decorated with fairy lights to illuminate the area, along with the warm lights installed along the trees.

As far as your imagination goes, having Donghyuck willingly giving you his sole attention is much better than anything you have ever imagined.

“Are you sure? Don’t you miss the dance floor? I know it calls your name.” You tease.

At your remark, Donghyuck affectionately rolls his eyes. “The dance floor could use a little breather from my presence.”

You break into a shy grin when you slip your hand into his. “Okay. Then let’s take a breather together.”

It’s like the whole night was leading up to this moment. The song transitions to a slower beat, giving you the opportunity to sidle up Donghyuck and try to relax.

His mouth brushes the side of your head. “Follow my lead,” he softly instructs. It is as good as a warning you got from him. Donghyuck pulls you close so that you’re chest to chest. His free hand rests slightly above your hips, merely holding you but the reaction for you instant. It feels like his warmth is burning through the expensive material of your dress. Your eyes nervously dart around his figure.

Donghyuck’s voice softens. “Look at me.” Your eyes slowly shift towards his face. It starts at his forehead where stray strands of hair effortlessly frame his head, then it lands on his arched brows. They’re perfectly shaped because of course, the heir of the Lee’s has a beautician to tidy up his god sent feature. You purposely avoid his eyes, moving onto the slope of his nose and his inviting lips.

Bad move. You make a misstep and Donghyuck holds you firmer than before, his hand pressing into your hips to support you. You clutch onto his back a little tighter, probably leaving wrinkles in his pristine suit. This time you do meet his eyes, albeit apologetically. “I‘ve never done this before,” you tell him.

Donghyuck smiles and he slowly dips you, letting you lean back onto his sturdy arm as he brings his face to yours. “You have done this before though.”

You almost missed his reply. Your mouth part in confusion, a question already leaving your lips. “When?”

He brings you back to your proper position but this time, you feel caged in. Your brows are furrowed and Donghyuck’s humour dims. “You really don’t remember at all?”

When you shake your head, Donghyuck sighs wistfully. “It was my uncle’s wedding. You were seven and I was eight. We danced on the dance floor that day.”

You squint at him as you try to jog your memories. Slowly, bits and pieces of your earlier memories from your shared childhood comes back to you. It was an outdoor wedding on a sunny day. You were appointed as the flower girl and Donghyuck was the ring bearer.

“Wait,” you said as the memories came flashing in. “You were the ring bearer and you tripped on the carpet at the end of the aisle. Oh I remember now!”

You were grinning widely but Donghyuck wasn’t all too pleased. “Seriously? You couldn’t remember our dance but you remembered my embarrassing moment?”

You shrugged sheepishly. “Help me remember more of that day.”

Donghyuck laughs. “We weren’t really dancing, just swaying like this,” he says before changing the pace to an uncoordinated rhythm, causing you to squeal.

“Are you sure?” You exclaimed as you latch your chin over his shoulders.

Donghyuck suddenly stops. “Still don’t remember?” You lift your head to look at him and he’s already staring you, an unspeakable thing glimmering in his eyes. You shake your head.

“I spun you around.” You take it as a queue to pull back from his chest until you’re eye to eye. The first spin comes, with his arm raised above your heads. You try your best to follow his lead and you end up resting your hand on his chest, a bubble of laughter erupting from within you.

“That was clumsy of me.” Donghyuck agrees with a smile. “Try again,” he softly says. This time you are prepared and when you spin, you barely even trip. You beamed brightly as you look up at Donghyuck for approval and he nodded encouragingly.

Your smile drops a little when you tell him, “Unfortunately, I still don’t remember the wedding.”

“Hmm?” There’s a lilt in his voice that you didn’t expect. “Maybe this will help you remember.”

A soft peck lands on your cheek, taking you by surprise. You look at Donghyuck and he’s blushing when he pulls away. The tension between the two of you is palpable, your faces inches away from one another. It would be so easy to lean upwards and close the distance between you but you remained rooted in your spot.

“I think I’ll remember this better than our first dance from a decade ago.” Your voice comes out as soft as a whisper, barely heard above the noise.

Donghyuck releases you from his hold and he takes a step back, withdrawing himself from your shared space. You try to school your features to hide your hurt.

“I guess I’ll see you at the end of the year. Happy birthday Y/N.” There’s a guarded look in his eyes and you want nothing more than to scream at him but you don’t. You can’t. A lot of unsaid words were stuck in your throat and endless thoughts running through your mind as you watched Donghyuck turn his back on you, walking away from you with your fragile heart in his hands.

You didn’t tell any one of that sacred incident, opting to keep it to yourself. When you returned to your party, Donghyuck was long gone even though his friends stuck around. You ignore the skeptic glance they sent your way and plaster a smile for the rest of the night.

That same night, your dreams took you back to a forgotten memory, one where you’re dancing with your childhood best friend. His grip in your hand is warm and clammy but you didn’t mind, flashing him a smile. You’re still taller than him but even you can admit that Donghyuck is catching up to you in terms of height difference. The rest of the wedding-goers fade away and Donghyuck is leaning in. There’s alarm bells going off in your mind but you let it happen, his soft lips leaving a chaste peck on the apples of your cheeks. Donghyuck is saying something but it sounds garbled. You try to focus on his shy smile as the dream sequence slowly slips away from your consciousness.

When you wake up, you dart straight for the pile of gifts in the corner of your bedroom. You dig through the stacks of presents and take the wrapped gift that Donghyuck had given you. You’re sitting on your calfs, carefully tearing at the wrapping paper to unveil a sleek red box with gold embossing on it.

You cover your mouth with your hands, staring at the gift in disbelief. Inside the box, a gorgeous Baignoire in gold sits in there, waiting to be worn. You want to reach for your phone to send Donghyuck a text but you realised that you don’t even know if you had his number to begin with.

Amidst your shock, you finally notice the card that came with the present. You take the card to read what was written on it.

I can’t believe you’re 17 now. Time surely flies by when you’re busy growing up. I know you’ll wear this well.

lee donghyuck x

You don’t realise you’re crying until a stray tear lands on the back of your hand. You quickly wipe away the tears and gather his gifts in your arms before going to your storage trunk. In it is your most valuable possessions. It has started when you were young and you had developed an obsession with pirates. Donghyuck would always use it as his hiding spot for hide and seek.

You’re hit with a wave of nostalgia when you open up your trunk. There’s plenty of room for more possessions that you hope to collect in years to come. You carefully set the card down and put the jewellery box on top of it, just to hide it from any potential prying eyes. With a heavy heart, you will yourself to close the trunk.

“It’s his twenty first, you should be there!”

“I dunno,” you say as you turn the party invite around in your hands. Your thumb caresses the family crest embossed into the card. It has been ages since you had received an invite to Donghyuck’s birthday. To say you were curious would be a lie. “Besides, why would he have a party at his parent’s house? Shouldn’t it be at a club?”

Yizhou shrugs. “I don’t know? The Lee’s run a tight ship I guess with him being their heir and all that stuff. It would be safest to host a party at their estate.”

You’re not fully satisfied but her logic makes sense. “Your family got an invite too?”

“It was addressed to me, just like how your invite has your name on it.” Seeing as how you’re not convinced, Yizhou tries a different approach. “A masquerade sounds fun doesn’t it?”

“Yeah but it’s Donghyuck’s. Something isn’t quite right.”

“Then come to the party with me. Find out whatever it is that you’re suspecting him of.”

Without meaning to, you glance over at storage trunk situated at the end of your bed. It has been almost three years since you had received the priceless gift from him. It remains untouched by you.

“Okay,” you said softly.

“Okay?”

You nodded, holding the urge to take your words back. Yizhou squeals. “Yes! Thank you!”

You pull your best friend in for a hug, smothering Yizhou as she struggles against your strength. Your bright laughters carry through the night and your unease sits at the back of your mind.

And so, you’re left with a moments notice to scramble for an outfit. You have been to plenty of parties but a masquerade is a whole new ballgame. There’s a slight thrill behind the anonymity of the event and it serves as a comfort for you to lean into. Your mother is beyond thrilled to hear that you had accepted the invite. She had given you free rein on your choice of outfit and in a small act of rebellion, you decided to find yourself a vintage dress worthy of your mother’s credit card.

All that’s left was the mask. You browsed countless websites for a mask suitable to your likings and one finally caught your eyes. That purchase had also gone onto your mother’s credit card.

Even though it was not expected of you, you still wished to bring Donghyuck a present. Yizhou and your close cousins were of no use so you turned towards your father for help.

“Could you help me find out from Mr Lee what Donghyuck would want for his birthday?”

Your father tilted his head sideways. “Are you sure you came looking for the right parent?”

You walked further into the study room and dramatically dropped onto the vacant seat. “I don’t want to ask Ma for help. She will end up taking control of the gift and probably terrorise Mrs Lee.”

Your father snorts in agreement. He takes in your dejected mood and his face softened. “I don’t think me or Mr Lee would be of much help. Whatever the gift is, I know Donghyuck would appreciate it because it came from your heart.”

His words were true. You had been trying to avoid personalising your present but a meaningless present would be pointless for the both of you. “He grew up well,” your father suddenly says.

“What do you know of him? We only see him once a year.” You can’t help but challenge your father, curious as to what he thinks of your childhood best friend.

He clicked his tongue in disagreement. “No, you and Ma only see him at the end of the year. I have seen him socialising at the country club.”

Donghyuck is charming and has ambition which makes him a threat in your societal pool. While you typically choose to distance yourself from society, Donghyuck was rising through it, making all the right connections one handshake at a time. As far as you know, he was still in college. To think that he was juggling his ambitions on top of school was impressive to you.

“What does he do there?”

“He mostly plays tennis.” You hummed thoughtfully. It’s enough of a lead for a perfect gift. You thank your father and take your leave, occupied with a mental list of potential gifts for Donghyuck.

The day finally arrived. You went through your day slowly, not wanting to rush into it for fear of your nerves getting to you. By the time you were finished scrubbing yourself clean, you were left with sufficient time to get ready and head to the Lee’s estate.

Your family driver drove you to the party and you spent the majority of the ride stuck in your head, fiddling with the rings you had slipped on. You look downwards and gaze at your wrist, where a simple chained bracelet sits. The thought of wearing the watch Donghyuck gifted you had crossed your mind but you weren’t sure if you wanted him to notice you tonight.

“Y/N?” You’re startled out of your daze by your family driver. He turns in his seat, sporting a deep frown on his face. “Y/N, are you unwell?”

“No.”

“Are you sure because I can take you back home and–”

You cut in, “I am fine. I promise. I just had my mind elsewhere.”

The frown on his face loosens and he nods, respecting your wishes. “I’ll bring the car around at midnight but if you wish to stay here longer, or wish to leave earlier, do call me.”

You smile, grateful for the loyalty of your family’s employees. “Got it.”

Your hand reaches for the car door when your family driver hurriedly adds, “I think Mr Lee will be pleased to see you tonight.”

“What?”

“You are stunning. Even a mask cannot hide your brilliance and he would be a fool not to know that.”

It was what you needed to hear, a firm push to get you out of the car and into the party. You tied your mask onto your face and gathered your handful of belongings in your hands. Security and a staff checks your party invite and you hand over your gift at the entrance hall before being escorted into the main room.

You hadn’t known what to expect but Mrs Lee’s party planning blew your expectations out of the water. Waiters walk around the room with a tray of drinks and by the corner, there’s a buffet table with an assortment of sweet treats.

A masked stranger walks up to you, stealing your attention away from the party decor. “Fine evening Miss.”

You awkwardly smile, thankful to be able to hide behind your mask. “Hi. You don’t have to be formal with me.”

His laughter is warm, a low timbre that is surprisingly pleasant. “I’m sorry. I guess I got nervous given the fact that half of the room is looking at you.”

Confusion clouds over your eyes. “Me? You probably meant us.”

He shakes his head. “You,” he repeats with more emphasis.

Slowly, you look around the room and notice the crowd has grown bigger during the time of your conversation. Maybe the masks serves as a shield for everyone tonight. People barely shy away from your gaze, comfortable to watch you from afar behind the safety of a mask. Your skin prickles uncomfortably and your smile grows tight. “I dont understand.”

The lights in the room brightens up and the murmur of the crowd increases. Donghyuck enters, gliding into the room. “Come on,” the kind stranger beckons and you follow, the two of you moving through the crowd to get closer to Donghyuck.

He’s donned a silky blouse in a shade of baby blue. The blouse leaves little to no imagination, a bold opening at his chest and the strings were barely tied together. His trousers are just as tight. You kept your gaze on his mask. It’s intricately designed and it helps distracts you from your wandering thoughts.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight. My parents, who aren’t here tonight, bestowed this party onto me for my twenty first.” Donghyuck pauses and the crowd chuckle. “However, I am thankful for the overwhelming turn out. I want to keep it short and sweet. I wish everyone has an enjoyable night." Anyone who was holding a drink raised their glasses in the air, toasting to Donghyuck's speech. You watch him as he smoohtly downed a flute of bubbly. The ones nearest to him hoots and hollers at his bravado, some even patting him on the shoulder.

The crowd had disperesed but your gaze remains on Donghyuck's figure as you finally piece your thoughts together. This man is a stranger to you, just as much as you are a stranger to him.

A soft touch to your arm pulls you away from your thoughts. You look at your companion who was patiently waiting for you. "Do you mind if you were to keep me company tonight?"

Seeing as how you have yet to find Yizhou, you accept his kind invite. You offer him your hand and he gladly accepts it. "I'm Jung Sungchan, by the way."

You vaguely remember hearing his name in passing though you cannot recall his face. "And I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

His face brightens, probably with recogniton but he doesn't press on about your identity which you are glad for. "Have you taken a proper look around the room?" Sungchan asks you and you shake your head. He breaks out into a wide grin, almost conspiratorial. "I'll show you which dishes to avoid."

The night takes a pleasant turn. You and Sungchan tried various food and drinks, stuck in your own bubble and genuinely enjoying each others company. You find out that Sungchan used to play soccer with Donghyuck in the little leauges, a past time you hadn't known Donghyuck had gotten involved with. In exchange, you tell Sungchan that you're Donghyuck's distant family friend.

His company was much needed and you hadn’t realised it. Sungchan makes you laugh when he breaks out dance moves that mismatch the beat of the song. Sungchan makes you laugh when he spins you around on the dance floor. Sungchan makes you laugh when he properly showcases his dance skills.

“You are such a fucking liar!” You yell over the music. Your tongue is looser than your usual poised self. Thanks to the unsupervised crowd, the two of you shared several glasses of alcoholic drinks. Now, the alcohol courses through your veins, leaving you a little unguarded. “You can dance! Hell! You probably invented dance!”

Sungchan chuckles and gently pulls you in. “You are drunk. Let’s get you some water.”

You reluctantly follow him, letting Sungchan pull you through the throng of partygoers. He stops in front of Donghyuck, quickly greeting him.

“Hyung! Happy birthday!” Sungchan greets.

Donghyuck looks at Sungchan then at the masked girl standing close to his back. Their fingers are loosely wrapped together and Donghyuck smirks. “Picking up a girl at my birthday party?”

“What? No!” Sungchan insists. “Y/N’s tipsy. Or drunk? Either way, I’m bringing her out for some fresh air. We’ll be back though!”

He takes a proper look and recognition dawns over him. “Y/N?” Donghyuck’s confusion gets drowned by the noise. Sungchan successfully pulls you through the crowd and you two disappear from Donghyuck’s sight. He belatedly notes that you didn’t acknowledge him. A sudden heaviness weighs on his chest as he realises that you’re at his party, spending time with his close friend.

Outside, you take in a deep breath. Sungchan had guided you into the Lee’s estates gardens. It felt like you had stumbled into a forgotten memory having been ages since you had last stepped foot in there.

You undo the tie of your mask and blindly toss it onto the bench behind you. Sungchan does the same. He chuckles, amused by your drunken behaviour. “Do you know who I am?”

You open your eyes and look at him. “Surprisingly, I do and I am drunk.” You decidedly plop down on the empty bench.

“Can you stay put? I need to go back in and get you some refreshments, maybe scavenge for whatever snacks there are left.”

“Okay but while you’re at it, can you find Yizhou and bring her to me?”

Your request is silly, you don’t even know if Sungchan knew her but Sungchan indulges in it. “Sure. I’ll be back.” Sungchan spins on his heels and takes his leave.

For lack of better things to do, you begin riffling through your purse. You take your time to fix your makeup then unlocking your phone to take some selfies. After a series of blurry pictures, you give up and start taking pictures of the garden.

“What are you doing?” The unexpected interruption causes you to let out a shrill scream, nearly dropping your phone in the process. You turn to glare at your intruder. Donghyuck is standing at the end of the bench, staring at you unapologetically.

“What the hell,” you cussed instead of answering his question.

He wordlessly offers you a mug. It’s nothing like the fancy glassware that is being used at the party. Your eyes narrow in suspicion. Donghyuck sighs deeply. “It’s warm water. I heard you’re drunk.”

“No I’m not.” You say rather petulantly as you accept the drink. “Thanks,” you quickly mutter before taking a sip.

Without your invite, Donghyuck settles down into the empty space beside you and you glare at him again. He merely ignores your childish reaction.

The warm water helps and gives you a little clarity but you don’t want to admit it out loud to Donghyuck so you remain silent, clutching the mug close to your chest. You decided to keep your gaze straight ahead, focusing on a bush of roses.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” He quietly admits after some time.

“Of course I did. We’re still friends even though we haven’t acted like one in a long time.” You replied, equally as quiet.

The obvious distance between you two can no longer be ignored. You can’t help but ask. “Why did we stop being friends?”

Donghyuck surprises you. “I guess I wanted to see if I could be a big boy and live my life without you circling in it. Make my own choices instead of trying to live the life everyone wants for me.”

The corner of your lips twitches, partly amused by his raw honesty. “And are you doing well?”

You turn to look over at Donghyuck and you note the dozens of emotions swimming in his eyes. He seems lost and your heart aches for him.

“No, I am not.” Donghyuck shakes his head, “I am not worthy of you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches. You’re instantly sobered up. Even without explicitly saying it, you know what Donghyuck is referring to. You feign ignorance. “What are you on about?”

“Y/N… You are a remarkable woman. Don’t get tied down to me. You deserve a chance to find someone else, meet other people. Anyone you end up marrying would be lucky enough to have you as their partner.” Donghyuck chooses his words wisely, deliberately rejecting you before you’ve even gotten a chance to try.

“And so? You want me to marry someone else just because you’re insecure?” Your words sting Donghyuck and he visibly flinches away from you, seeking comfort in the distance between you two.

“That’s not it,” he tries again but you’re not having it. “Then what is it Donghyuck?” You ask, exasperated by his confusing nature.

“It’s not fair because neither of us has a say in this marriage agreement.”

You shakily inhale. “Does the fact that I want you scares you?”

Your heart lurches to the bottom of your stomach. His silence is deafening, a reply in itself. You turn your head away from him, refusing to let Donghyuck see the beginnings of a breakdown surfacing onto your face.

“Donghyuck, I didn’t come here tonight to beg for your attention. I only came because I was intrigued by the fact that I had received an invitation. Whether it was your decision or your parents, I don’t care anymore. You don’t want me here? Fine, I’ll leave but you terribly confuse me. Why did you come here to take care of me at your own party? Why did you tell me not to leave? Why did you dance with me and kiss me on the cheek only to run off? Why did you get me an expensive gift and a handwritten card for my birthday just to ignore me? I don’t get it.”

Donghyuck’s mouth parts open to say something, anything, but the words are caught at the back of his throat. He’s never seen you this devastated before and he is the cause of it. Your high strung emotions had finally snapped and it came out pouring out of your mouth, no longer able to push it down.

You abruptly stood up from the bench. “At least now I know what you think of me. I am just a burden from your past and I’ll stay there. I will get out of your way.”

Every step away from Donghyuck hurt more than you’d like to admit it. You wanted to look back at him. You wanted him to chase after you. You wanted him to comfort you.

You’re so caught up in your greed and hurt that you don’t notice two figures hiding behind the nearest pillar. A clothed hand reaches out and pulls you into their hiding spot. You recognise Yizhou through your blurry vision. “Ning,” you manage to croak out before bursting into tears.

Yizhou pulls you into a comforting embrace and Sungchan moves, covering you with his broad figure. Your heartbreaking cries are loud enough for anyone nearby to hear but you couldn’t care less. You fail to notice Donghyuck standing a couple of metres from the three of you, an anguished look on his face. Sungchan glares menacingly at him and Yizhou fixes him with a look of disappointment.

Donghyuck returns to the kitchen through the staff entrance, mug in one hand and your masquerade mask in another. He is too dazed and he doesn’t notice the whispering staffs as he passes through the house, decidedly ditching his own party. Donghyuck carefully places your mask on his nightstand before falling into bed, recounting the night before everything went wrong with you.

Life moved on, making it feel as though nothing had changed between the two of you. You had no idea what ran through his mind and decided that it was not worth fixating on. Again, you grew up without him by your side. You went off to college and moved out of your parent’s place much to your mother’s dismay. There was still one thing in your life that she could control which was your marriage prospects.

Over the years, the Lee’s hadn’t hinted any change in uniting your families in matrimony and you had no interest in finding a prospective marriage of your own. It is the only reason why you allow your mother to meddle.

One day, your livelihood had changed under the guise of your monthly family dinner. Instead of your usual spot, your parents told you to meet at a fine dining restaurant nestled in the heart of the city. Your clothes were rumpled from running around campus the whole day. You were sure that your hair had lost its curls over the course of the day.

“Y/N? You wore this the whole day?” Her thinly veiled judgment was not out of the ordinary but your suspicions should have been raised when she subtly spoke with the hostess.

Too bad you hadn’t noticed because your father was speaking with you. He brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “You look beautiful. Your mother is just on edge tonight.”

“For what?” You frown as the two of you trailed behind your mother.

“We have guests tonight.”

Before you could press him for more answers, the hostess stops in front of a pair of sliding doors. You have no choice but to brace yourself for whoever is waiting behind those doors.

The door slides open, revealing a married couple and their son. “Please come in! We’re so glad you could make it to dinner.” Mrs Lee says.

Your parents naturally step forward into the room, greeting their friends. You wish to stay rooted in your spot but the hostess is looking at you funny. You slightly bow to them and make your way inside, standing closely to your parents.

“You remember Y/N?” Your father asked the Lee’s.

“Of course!” Mrs Lee answers. You offer her a shy smile and she returns it by enthusiastically pulling you down into a warm hug. Mrs Lee, just like your parents, had grown too old for socialising at year end parties. Your generation had taken over the scene which meant that the last time you had met the Lee’s was over five years ago. She still wore the same perfume and you relaxed into the hug, now wearing a genuine smile on your face.

Mrs Lee lets you go and you turn to greet Mr Lee. “Thank you for the invite Mr Lee.”

He casually waved you off. “No need for the formalities. You seem like you’re doing well, Y/N.”

“I am. I hope you are doing well.”

From behind, you heard Donghyuck’s voice. “Mr Y/L/N. Mrs Y/L/N. It’s so great to see you again.”

You finally turn towards him. While your mother showers him with compliments, you stay silent, observing Donghyuck. He smiles and laughs appropriately, even bantering back with your mother.

Mr Lee addresses the room. “Let’s settle down. We’ll catch up over the courses.”

The elders easily settle into their seats which leaves you no choice but to sit next to your father, the seat that is directly across from Donghyuck’s. You keep your gaze down.

After the first course is served, conversation picks up amongst the elders. You keep your reactions to yourself and train yourself not to react whenever Donghyuck speaks.

Mr Lee changes the flow of the conversation. “And Y/N, are you in your final year of college?”

You lift your head and look directly at Mr Lee before replying. “Yes. I came from school. I was writing my dissertation and consulting with my professor.”

Mrs Lee chuckles. “You’re so hardworking. I don’t even remember Donghyuck working this hard during his final years of college.”

The table laughs and Donghyuck says, “Knowing Y/N, she’s probably working ten times harder than necessary. I am not lazy. Y/N is just an overachiever.”

Donghyuck is already staring at you when you bring your gaze over to him. Your eyes are clouded, a stark contrast to the practiced smile that has graced your face. Your mother swoons. “That’s our Y/N. You still know her well.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his face. “I had great memories with you.”

It’s terribly awkward and you are all too aware of the adults listening in on your conversation. “We did. How could I ever forget my childhood companion.” You say and quickly take a sip of your drink, desperate to end the interaction between you two.

Thankfully the next course is being brought in and you channel your focus onto the waiter clearing your dishes. The door slides shut and Mrs Lee speaks up. “It is good that you kids go way back. It does make your future look promising.”

The elders exchange furtive glances, leaving you and Donghyuck in the dark. Luckily, Donghyuck is impatient enough to ask them the million dollar question. “What future?”

Mr Lee places a reassuring hand over Mrs Lee’s. He turns to look at his son for a second, before turning over to you. “The two of you are to be wedded.”

It feels like all of the air has been knocked out of you. You’re almost certain that you heard wrong but the sound of Donghyuck’s chair dragging across the floor confirms that your present situation was real. Donghyuck stands, taking the cloth and throwing it into his seat.

“I wish to be excused.” He’s out the door before you even realise it. Tension hangs over the room upon his departure. You’re baffled by the way Donghyuck had chosen to flee the scene, leaving you alone at a time of crisis. Hurt blooms in your chest but you tamper it down.

You face Mr and Mrs Lee, putting on your practiced smile. “I am honoured that you think so highly of me. Thank you for your generous consideration but clearly this will not work out.”

“It’s already been decided.” Mrs Lee states.

A blank expression takes over your face before you could stop yourself. You hear your mother force out a laugh. “After decades, you still hold onto our promise. Your family is loyal and we are grateful.”

Your father adds on. “Thank you for accepting Y/N as your daughter.”

The elders are back in good spirits, raising their glasses for a toast. Meanwhile, your clouded gaze darts over the empty space in front of you, wondering the outcome of your shared fate.

His rejection is still fresh in your mind. It replays on loop without your consent, distracting you from your priorities. The sting that has long been associated with Donghyuck’s name returns but this time, there’s extra pressure pressing onto your chest. Your pride is bruised by the fact that your chance has been taken away from you again. Donghyuck hadn’t even given you a second thought before storming out of the room.

Were you really that unappealing to him after all these years? You weren’t madly in love with him anymore but the impact is still as painful as it once was.

You didn’t want to tell Yizhou or any of your cousins so you called up your last option.

“Y/N! What’s up?” Sungchan greets you.

The only positive outcome from that particular memory was your friendship with Sungchan. He quickly got over his initial crush on you and the two of you forged a strong friendship. Your mother had attempted to make you two a couple but you firmly stopped her each time.

You sit up from your bed. “Hey, are you busy?”

“Not really. I’m running right now.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re crazy.” Sungchan laughs and you continue, “I need to talk. Can you find somewhere to sit?”

After a brief pause, Sungchan returns to the call. “Okay, I’m ready.”

You take a deep breath. There’s no easy way to break the news. “I’m getting married to Lee Donghyuck.” A beat of silence passes through and you begin to worry about Sungchan’s wellbeing. “Hello?”

“No, I’m still here. Sorry I just– What?” Sungchan stumbles over his words. Normally you would laugh and tease him but the situation is too grave for you to crack a smile.

“Yeah. I got ambushed yesterday by both my parents and his parents. He was there too.”

Sungchan quietly asked, “And he accepted you?”

The sting of rejection returns but you keep your voice levelled. “No. He stormed out of the meeting. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Sungchan makes a noise of frustration and cusses. “What a fucking asshole. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I need to tell somebody before all hell breaks loose.” You brush your hair through your hands, already imagining the widespread effect of your marriage announcement. Yizhou would fly back to Seoul in a matter of hours.

“Okay. Just keep me updated, yeah?”

You nodded. “Of course. Thanks Sungchan.”

The call ends and you drop your phone onto your bed, watching it bounce around. Despite your tarnished history with Donghyuck, getting married to him is the best outcome for your family’s wellbeing. You’re capable of compartmentalising your feelings but you can’t say the same for Donghyuck.

Worry etched onto your face. You throw yourself into your fluffy pillows, smothering your face in it while letting out a frustrated scream. Whatever it is that Donghyuck throws your way, you must overcome it.

You did not know whether to be worried or amused. You had walked into your apartment lobby, surprised by the sight of Donghyuck in the lounge area. He looks up from his iPad when he hears the doorman greeting you.

“Finally,” Donghyuck mutters as he gathers his belongings. From the looks of it, he had set up a makeshift office in the lobby. You come to a stop in front of him, the front of your shoes narrowly touching his.

“What are you doing?”

“I came here to find you. We need to talk.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who stormed out before we got the chance to talk.”

The security guard behind the counter looks on curiously, wondering if he should intervene. Donghyuck closes his eyes to compose himself. “I am sorry.”

“Thank you.” You said and then turned your back on him, strutting towards the lift.

You can hear Donghyuck scrambling and you smile to yourself. “Wait!”

The security guard reaches you first, putting distance between you and Donghyuck. “Ms Y/L/N, is this man harassing you?”

“Ha– Harass?” Donghyuck sputtered out as if he couldn't even fathom the idea of him causing trouble. “No, I am not a harasser!”

The security guard throws a cold look at his direction and Donghyuck shrinks slightly. The lift arrives and you make your decision.

“Come with me Donghyuck. This is your only chance.” You announce. The security guard seemed reluctant to let Donghyuck near you but you gently assure him, thanking him for his service. The ride up is silent much to your surprise. You walk ahead of Donghyuck and he trails behind you, like a dog with his tail tucked behind his legs.

It feels oddly natural to have Donghyuck follow you into your apartment. He lined his shoes beside your shoe rack in a neat manner and you passed him a clean pair of house slippers to put on. As you make your way into your apartment, Donghyuck marvels quietly at the decorations on display. Upon entering your living room, you hear the unmistakable sound of the camera going off and you stop to turn around. He looks guilty but he clutches his phone tightly.

“What did you do?” You try to intimidate him.

“Just getting some inspiration.” He lies.

You take a step closer to Donghyuck, an attempt at asserting dominance. “This is your first and last time here. Now, spit out whatever it is that brought you here in the first place.”

Donghyuck pockets his phone. “Here’s the deal. I can’t marry someone who hates me.”

“I am lukewarm about you, at most.” You deadpanned.

He gives you an unimpressed look. “There’s no way you don’t hate me. Are you sure you haven’t submitted my name to an Etsy witch?”

“My life stopped revolving around you for a long time now. You’re good.” The tips of Donghyuck’s ears redden at the implication of your words but you maintain your nonchalant stance. “This marriage would be good for my family and if you really detest it then take it up with your parents, not me.”

Donghyuck frowns. “Did you plant the idea in my parents head?” His tone is accusatory which causes you to snort mockingly.

“I haven’t spoken to your parents in ages. Find someone else to blame your misery on.”

It’s written on his face, the way Donghyuck doesn’t seem satisfied with his findings. He sighs heavily and his shoulders sink into his figure. A tired man remains standing in his place and you almost feel sympathetic for him. Almost, if not for the fact that he has been trying to pin the blame for your shared situation entirely on you.

You gently comb your hair back with your hands as you speak up, “I am not going to beg for you to marry me but just know that I will not fight against anything. Not marrying you is a bigger loss to me. I hope you know where I stand.”

Donghyuck meets your gaze, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Is it really that easy?” He asks. His question surprises you but you try your best to conceal your shock.

“Yes.” The air in the room shifts and it was at that moment you knew that you could only keep up with the act of lying to yourself for a little longer. Impending doom lingers in the air but you ignore it and usher Donghyuck out of your life, for now.

The days leading up to your engagement ceremony was emotionally bearable but the day itself was bad enough to dampen your spirits. Your engagement was a quiet affair, as if your relationship was meant to be kept under wraps from the public eye. Whether it was up to Donghyuck or his parents, you don’t know but it didn’t matter because your own feelings were never considered in the first place.

It’s an odd experience to finally get engaged to Donghyuck. His best friends keep a polite distance from you, looking at you as if you were some stranger barging into their lives and not Donghyuck’s childhood best friend. Your own family were scattered in the hall based on a seating chart created by your future mother in-law. At least from your seat, you could easily see Yizhou and Sungchan three tables away from yours. You stuck out your tongue playfully to silently express your gratitude.

Your father had prepared a speech, bringing you to tears and the crowd cooed at you, warmed by your reaction. Much to your surprise, Donghyuck gets up from the seat beside yours and takes the microphone from your father. The room quietens and the attention shifts onto your fiancé, yours included.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight. Thank you to my father and future father in-law for the speeches,” he pauses with a light laugh. His gaze sweeps around the room as he resumes his speech, “I am glad to share this momentous occasion with all of our loved ones. As much as I want to keep it brief for everyone, I also want to make it memorable for Y/N. I don’t know where our future will take us but I am willing to build a forever with you.”

Your face burns as the whole room looks at you again. You stare ahead at Donghyuck, a strong mix of emotions riding in your chest nearly breaking your composure. Knowing that everyone was waiting for your reaction, you settled on blowing Donghyuck a kiss. The room bursts into cheers when Donghyuck catches it.

The dinner carries on smoothly but there is an unspoken tension stringing between the supposedly happy couple. Your moves were controlled and you kept your physical touches to a minimum. It took every ounce of effort to not tug harshly on Donghyuck’s arm when you slid your hand into his. Your fingers were loosely wrapped around his arm, barely clinging onto the fabric of his suit. The facade you had on cracked as soon as you stepped into his car.

The engine revs to life and your seat belt clicks into place. “Why’d you do that?” You accuse him.

Donghyuck furrows his brows. “What?”

You match his annoyance. “You heard me.”

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “My parents told me to make a speech.”

“And you dedicated it to me?”

“Why are you mad at me? I thought this was what you wanted? I thought you wanted to marry me?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I do but why are you starting our marriage with empty promises! Building a forever with me? If you wanted to lie and perform you should have just gone all the way and said ‘I love you’ to seal the deal.” You rolled your eyes.

He scoffs in retaliation. “Seriously? And what about you and your fake kiss?” It was a pointless bicker but Donghyuck’s anger still rose, causing him to heavily breathe out of his nose. His hand on the wheel tenses.

“Everyone was expecting something from me because of you.” You punctuate the end of the sentence, every word hitting him heavily.

A pause fills the space between you two, every ticking moment ringing loudly in your ear. Donghyuck says, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The engagement band on Donghyuck’s finger glimmers as the streetlights pass through the car windows. The overwhelming feelings from before return and your stomach clenches. Your voice weakens. “I want you to be real in our marriage.”

The car falls silent again and the only sound comes from the traffic outside. You don’t know if Donghyuck had heard you and you’re too prideful to repeat yourself so you remain silent, waiting for him. The car slows to a stop in front of a red light and Donghyuck’s breathing evens out.

“Tell me nicely next time instead of starting a fight, will you?” Your heart jolts at his unexpected reaction. “We could start by setting some boundaries. I was serious about my speech, Y/N. Let’s not make this any more difficult.”

His kept his voice was low and firm. The soft thrum of the engine keeps you calm as you process Donghyuck’s words. It sounds like he’s compromising with you based on the circumstances of your situation. They seem sincere enough for you to believe even though it’s unexpected of him. When Donghyuck drives into your apartment, you gather up your senses to apologise.

“I am sorry,” you loudly confess. Your eyes are cast downwards. The engagement band on your own finger is too hard to ignore at a time like this. “If you have time, you can come up and we can discuss such boundaries.” Your voice trails off at the end.

“I can’t.” Your gaze snaps towards his face, a small frown on display. “Not today but maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You nod but remain seated in place. Now that it was time to leave, you find yourself wanting to stay with him longer. All fight has left you and the newfound peace is inviting as ever. You don’t know if you’ll be able to maintain it with him.

“Y/N,” Donghyuck says before he’s leaning in across the console, his lips lightly brushing against your cheek. You go completely still. “Text me when you’re in your apartment.”

You blindly reach for the door, seatbelt still strapped in and you can see Donghyuck giggling at you from your peripheral view. You glare at him and unbuckle yourself, tearing the passenger door opening and jumping out of the car. Donghyuck has the cheek to unwind the window, revealing a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“I’m leaving. See you tomorrow I think,” you announce as you spin on your heel and the echoes of Donghyuck’s laughter ring from behind you.

When you’re kicking your shoes off, you unzip your bag to take your phone out. You click on your chat with Donghyuck and send a simple thumbs up emoji. The message receipt changes immediately but you don’t get a response. Donghyuck clearly is still a menace who enjoys teasing you. You lock your phone and go about your night, ignoring the way your heart seems to race at the thought of your fiancé.

You hadn’t planned far enough.

While you knew you were getting married to Donghyuck, you still hadn’t made up your mind on whether you should fall in love with him again or protect your own heart. There’s a constant war of push and pull within you and you are not ready to let your pride down. Whenever you find yourself feeling the tiny bit giddy about Donghyuck, you immediately reel yourself in and remind yourself that your marriage will be built on camaraderie, not romance. Boundaries, rules, protocols. These were not norms of a couple romantically involved.

A soft knock on your workspace door interrupts your flow of thoughts and you look up to find Donghyuck sticking his head through the door. You slightly close your laptop to give him your attention.

“Wanna eat?” Donghyuck simply asks, holding a lunchbox above his head.

You quickly tidy up your work desk and Donghyuck makes himself comfortable, singing under his breath as he unpacks the contents of his lunchbox. You catch the melody of his favourite song. It sounds sweeter when he’s singing it.

The table is filled with comforting side dishes and your mouth waters at the sight of it. He saves the final box, pushing it towards the centre and cheekily glances over at you. “Hope you’re hungry because this is going to blow your mind.”

What Donghyuck doesn’t know is that you have been eating less than usual in the past week. You could barely count a banana and multiple cups of coffee as a meal but it was enough to keep you powered through your reports. Your stomach grumbles loudly, the savoury scent of chilli oil and chicken broth infiltrating your senses. Donghyuck had made steamed dumplings.

“Tada! The viral lasagne dumplings. All for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. I ate the first batch at home. It was too good to pass on.”

You quietly raised your brows as you picked up a clean set of chopsticks. He’s watching you intently, hands tucked under his chin and his elbows are resting on the table. You ignore him and focus on the food.

“Is it good?” He asks. You’re frowning as you chew. Looks like you found another unfair quality Donghyuck upholds, his ability to cook.

Your frown deepens. “This is amazing.”

Donghyuck laughs. His glasses slip from the bridge of his nose as he throws his head back. “You look so angry but you’re actually happy with my cooking.”

“This is my happy face,” you tell him.

“Right,” he shakes his head fondly and pushes the side dishes closer to you. “Eat up.”

You had thought your meal would be filled with endless chatter from Donghyuck’s end but a phone call suddenly takes over his attention. He stands at the edge of the table, phone in hand as his body leans against the table for support. You sit through your meal taking peeks at him and scrolling on your phone, catching familiar words but not fully grasping the situation. Your name is mentioned a few times followed by some hush remarks.

“Can’t you and Jeno lead the meeting? What do you even need me there for?” A tight expression draws upon your fiancé’s face. His eyes meet yours and you see a flash of anger in it. You quickly cast your eyes downwards and feign ignorance. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

The room is expectantly silent and you break it by sending him away. “Go. Whatever it is, it needs your attention.”

You’re not looking at him. You keep yourself busy by cleaning up the table. Donghyuck exhales. “I’ll see you around.”

Your will is stronger than expected. As he takes his leave, you make sure not to look at him. Donghyuck’s grip on the door falters and you don’t even notice. The door falls shut and tension in your body releases. You could hardly comprehend what had transpired between the two of you but you knew better than to let Donghyuck in. It’s clear that you will not be a priority to him and you will treat him the same.

As soon as the investors left the table, Donghyuck slumped into the seat. Chenle glared at him. All the niceness at the table had dissipated along with their investors.

“We almost didn’t close the deal because you’re distracted.” Chenle coldly remarked.

Donghyuck cocks his head. “You got what you wanted. Why complain?”

Jeno shakes his head. “We know you have a lot of things going on at home but Donghyuck, we need your one hundred percent commitment. Not unless you want this endeavour of ours to fall apart.”

Donghyuck takes a swig of his drink. The burn of the alcohol smoothly slides down his throat. Chenle challenges, “Are you done playing house?”

“Chenle,” Jeno says warningly.

“You’re letting Y/N cloud your priorities. Leaving work early just to see her? Hanging around a college campus to see her? Trying to ditch an investor’s meeting? Dude, it’s an arranged marriage. Why are you trying so hard? Stop wasting time–”

“I’ll have to stop you right there. You guys don’t know the full story because I choose to keep some information to myself.” Donghyuck straightens up and leans forward, maintaining a steady gaze on his friend’s faces. “Talk shit about me all you want but not my marriage and definitely not Y/N. I don’t care how unhappy you are with me. That is not an excuse.”

Chenle dryly scoffs. “Sure. Fine. I’m sorry for that.”

“Thank you.” Donghyuck nods. His shoulders drop and he offers them a small smile. “I’ll try to be more proactive. Just bear with me a little. Y/N’s important to me.”

Chenle and Jeno share a silent look, Jeno wordlessly urging the younger to tone down his anger towards Donghyuck with a raise of a brow. Chenle sighs and waves a hand in the air. “You get one more chance to talk about Y/N for tonight and that will be the last!”

Donghyuck’s face splits into a wide smile as he leans forward. “Have I told you guys about the time when we went on a holiday to her family’s ski lodge?”

The past few years for Donghyuck had been a blur. While you went on to make a future for yourself, Donghyuck had found himself stuck in the past.

By the time he tried to put a name on his feelings, time had passed and the distance between you two had grown wider than before. He did not know how to cross it, if you would even let him shorten the gap just for him to offer up an apology. Ignoring your existence was easier than reaching out to you.

When his parents had hinted that they were arranging a marriage for him, he wasn’t all too happy but he conceded with their decision. His life was never his to begin with even though his heart longed for yours.

Maybe Donghyuck was naive or maybe he didn’t want to accept the truth when you walked into the room. He let his polished persona take over to distract himself from his impending panic. You hated him. You wouldn’t even look him in the eye and Donghyuck can’t blame you. After all, he had inflicted hurt upon you. Donghyuck can tell from the hardened gaze you throw his way and your closed off body language that you wanted nothing more than to run off from the dinner meeting.

The pretense of the meeting had unveiled itself. Ultimately, his father uttered the words that would trigger his fight or flight instincts. Donghyuck stupidly fled the scene. Tears clouded his visions as he fumbled with the car handle. The girl who had once loved him, the same girl who got hurt by his avoidant nature is now betrothed to him. What a horrible twist of fate.

Donghyuck took a strangled breath in and collected his emotions, at least enough for him to drive to Mark. Aside from Yizhou and Sungchan, Mark was the only other person who knew of the tragic end of your friendship. His hands are shaking but he manages to connect Mark to his car speakers.

“Mark hyung,” Donghyuck rasps out.

“Yo, shit?” Mark immediately replies. “What’s wrong?”

Donghyuck restlessly drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Are you home?”

“Yeah.” He presses harder on the pedal. “I’m coming over.”

Mark wordlessly led a tear-stricken Donghyuck into his living room. He came back with a mug of warm water but it remained untouched by Donghyuck. Mark sits upright in his own chair, observing his best friend. “What happened?”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to try and speak but the words don’t come out. His tongue darts out as he sighs heavily. “I’m getting married to Y/N.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t deserve her. I never did. I never will. I am total fuck up.”

Mark frowns. “Wait. This whole time your parents were set on getting you two together?”

“Turns out the future partner they were looking for me had always been there. Y/N.” Donghyuck laughs dryly at the circumstances of his life. He threads his fingers through his hair, channeling his frustration into messing his hair. “I’m so afraid that she’ll resent me even more. I realised my feelings for her too late. I did not even try to understand my feelings. I did not want to fall into the expectations surrounding us. I thought I could choose my own destiny but our fates were always going to be entangled. I was too foolish to grasp that.”

Mark stays silent as he allows Donghyuck’s words to sink in. He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Did Y/N say outright that she hates you?”

“No.”

“Then why are you adamant that Y/N hates you?”

“I see it in her eyes.” Donghyuck firmly says. “We have spent so much time apart in our formative years. We are basically different people now. I feel so inadequate to be her lifelong companion. People don’t get it. She doesn’t get it.”

Mark, ever so earnest, grows frustrated with his best friend’s stubbornness. “To be frank, I don’t get why you’re having an inferiority complex over Y/N. You are doing great things at your father’s company and your own independent business as well. The name you are building for yourself is remarkable. What more could impress Y/N?”

Donghyuck throws a hand in the air. “Maybe an emotionally intelligent guy who doesn’t suppress his emotions.”

“Then be that man!” Mark urges him. He stands up and walks over to Donghyuck. “Go and initiate things with her. Make things better between you two. Let it start with you.”

“You really think I can do that?” Donghyuck asks him in a small voice.

Mark grins encouragingly. “Sitting around here and moping about the girl you love is not enough. Go chase after her.”

Donghyuck feels his heart thudding in his chest, a surge of hope coasting through his body. “Well, maybe not today. I am kinda burnt out from this rollercoaster of emotions.” He says lightheartedly.

And so he tries because in spite of your strong demeanour, he can feel the gap between you two bridging slowly. You entertained his small talks with wordless gestures such as a quirk of your lip or twitch of an eye. You sent him an emoji every time you made it home after a meeting with him and his parents. And ever since the engagement ceremony, your dynamics have settled into a comfortable pace, similar to a partnership between two business partners.

Your boundaries had been laid out for him and Donghyuck feels hopeful about your marriage. He hadn’t realised how much his friends disapprove of your presence in his life until that dinner experience. If only everyone knew how Donghyuck treats you with utmost care because he wants to make it up to you for hurting you all those years ago. It wasn’t just him that was holding onto that memory. Donghyuck can still recall the curt smile Sungchan gave him at the engagement ceremony, obviously still holding a grudge against him.

The indifference you show him is subtle to others but Donghyuck can read you even after all those years apart. You barely show any reaction to his quips and your facial features are controlled to reveal just a fraction of emotions. He silently cusses Jeno and Chenle out for causing the setback in his progress.

You two are having dinner at the Lee’s estate. You’re seated on his left hand side, ever so poised and mannered. You only muttered one word replies to Donghyuck since he picked you up from your apartment. His mother leads the conversation and Donghyuck is grateful for that.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but your friends are Jung Sungchan and Ning Yizhou?” She suddenly asks.

You nod your head as confirmation. “Yes, why? Is there anything wrong?”

Mrs Lee laughs cordially. “Nothing wrong. It’s just that for a while, before we approached your parents about your marriage, we were all under the impression that you were being courted by Jung Sungchan.”

Donghyuck tenses. He remembers his mother prodding him about you and Sungchan and he mindlessly waved her off. It was pretty known that you two were close friends and it was natural for speculation to arise. He himself had believed in them at one point.

You nearly choke on your bite of food. Donghyuck panics and passes you your glass of water which you graciously accepted. “No. Not once have we ever been involved. I can assure you,” you say after collecting yourself.

“It’s not me you have to assure,” Mrs Lee finishes off with a hearty laugh.

Donghyuck doesn’t miss the crack in your composure, the side glance casted in his direction as he stares at the interesting patterns on the ceramic plate.

His parents retire to their room and only the two of you remain. You finish the last of your dessert, gracefully dabbing your napkin on your lips. Donghyuck had been unexpectedly silent. He barely looked at you for the rest of the night. The elephant needed to be addressed. “You were worried about me and Sungchan?” You causally questioned him.

Donghyuck shyly raises his gaze to meet yours. “No.”

“No?” You echoed.

His eyes draw away from yours as he replies, “I mean, my mother was asking about you. I just told her what I thought– what everyone thought.”

“Which was?”

He looks at you almost pleadingly but you remain firm, wanting to hear him admit it out loud. Donghyuck concedes in a small voice. “You and Sungchan? Everyone thought you were involved.”

“And you were worried.” You reminded him, your tone was steadier compared to his.

“I– I was not. Intrigued? Maybe.” He stuttered out.

Clearly you were unconvinced. You smirk at his flustered expression, leaning comfortably into your seat. It was a sight to see Donghyuck embarrassed but the humour only lasted briefly. “Just so you know, nothing happened between me and him. Nothing will happen in the future. We’re bound to each other now.” You tell him, hoping you sound as sincere as possible.

He doesn’t give you a verbal answer but you can tell from his body language that he’s partly relieved. Donghyuck still looks at you with a heavy gaze, as if he’s thinking deeply about you while you’re seated inches away from him. You raise a brow at him, the most expression you’ve given him lately. He’s so transparent. You can see it on his face when he loses his internal battle.

“Y/N, do you remember those questions you asked me on my birthday?” Donghyuck quietly asks. Maybe it was meant to be a rhetorical question but the shift in mood made it hard for you to believe so. You nod stiffly. “I found the answer for it. I won’t tell you now but one day, I will.” His shoulders are squared like a soldier who’s ready to walk into battle. Suddenly, the gravity of his words hit you.

A promise? Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words. If you were understanding his vague statement, it would mean that Donghyuck had figured out what you meant to him. It sounds terrifying and you are slightly grateful that Donghyuck was willing to delay the conversation a little longer.

Even tossing and turning in bed didn’t help soothe your anxiety. You itched to ask him outright and revisit the conversation from that night but it is still too emotionally taxing for you to revisit it.

Instead, you let yourself focus on wedding planning. You frequently met up with your mother, future mother in law, fiancé and the wedding planner. It took up a good chunk of your attention which managed to keep your sanity at bay. You give a lot of input considering the fact that it’s the only time you’ll ever be wedded in this lifetime. You even managed to negotiate with the elders to find a bridal dressmaker of your choice. Slowly, your dream wedding came to life. You had the groom you had always wanted even though the circumstances were not ideal.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Yizhou eyed you warily.

The two of you were seated on the patio of a café, lined along the alleyway of hipster buildings. Yizhou was back in Seoul for business and you had barely managed to squeeze in a meet up with her. You caught her up with your stale love life and now she’s staring at you with apprehension.

You nod sagely. “I’ve accepted the truth long ago.”

“Do you still love him?”

You hum thoughtfully, carefully picking your words. “It’s hard to say honestly. He meant the world to me. I think Donghyuck will always leave a deep mark on me. As long as nothing romantic happens between us, I’ll be fine. My feelings for him will remain dormant.” His promise crosses your mind as you speak but you decided to ignore it, resolute in your own words and beliefs.

“But you’ll be married forever. How can you be so sure nothing changes between the two of you?” Yizhou had a valid point and you didn’t have a proper answer for it.

You offer her a shrug and a half-hearted grin. “I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge if I ever get there.”

Wedding planning has been going well. You were set to marry a week after your last submissions, a terribly packed period for you but one that worked in favour for both parties. It was right before the fourth quarter of the year which gave you a chance to be introduced as a wedded couple during year end celebrations.

You had been cooped up with your assignments all week long but your appearance was needed for the venue viewing. The grease in your hair had built up over time and you dragged yourself to the shower, indulging yourself to a relaxing hair wash. The most put together outfit you have worn this whole week was a stained sweatpants and a tattered concert tee.

You had just stepped out of the shower when your phone buzzed with a message from Donghyuck, notifying you of his arrival. You grimaced and you plucked your phone from your nightstand. You immediately called him.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, I need you to park. I just got out of the shower.”

Donghyuck feels his mouth go dry. “Hmm?”

“Just park by the side and tell the guards that you’re coming up.” You tell him as you stand in front of your closet, eyeing your options with your phone lazily positioned close to your face. Donghyuck has yet to disconnect the call and you can hear him making his way to you, a soothing constant sound you needed to fill your room.

The tale-tell sound of the lift lobby resounds through your phone. “I’m entering the lift,” Donghyuck mutters.

You grab a long sleeved dress and hurriedly pull it over your body. You still have to dry your hair and do your makeup. You were plugging in your hair dryer when Donghyuck spoke up again. “Hey, I’m outside your door.”

You rattled off your code without a second thought. From your room, you could hear the door being unlocked and his successful attempt to let himself in. “Y/N?” Donghyuck called out.

“In here!” You replied, knowing that you had left your door ajar.

Your heart thrums with anticipation but you keep yourself focused on your task at hand. A soft knock on the door followed by Donghyuck sticking his head through the door. It’s quite the sight and you find yourself staring at him through the mirror. You turn the hair dryer off.

“Come in,” you invited him.

He freezes for a second and you nodded encouragingly, coaxing him into entering your room. “I need ten more minutes.”

Donghyuck glances at his wrist. You guys would inevitably be late but Donghyuck doesn’t mind the wrath his mother might incur on him. “That’s okay,” he says as he stands in a random spot by the door. You can see the clear restraint on his face which makes you laugh.

You turn in your seat, looking him in the eyes. “You don’t have to stand there. You can sit on my bed or look around my room.”

Donghyuck pointed towards the bed for confirmation and you nodded. While you are occupied with your hair and makeup, Donghyuck sits on the edge of your bed, simply taking in the details of your room. Your bookshelf is filled with books of all kinds of genres. He squints at a dark red box by the shelf above your bed frame. It sits underneath a stack of DVDs, titles of albums he doesn’t recognise. There’s several other memorabilia like a figurine or a photo frame on the shelf. It’s soothing to be in your space and having your presence nearby. He can imagine it, a near future where he’s all moved in, sharing mundane moments with you. He wants it all.

“Okay, I’m done.” You announce, snapping Donghyuck out of his reverie. You finally get a proper look at Donghyuck and realise how your outfit complements his. There’s something dizzying about the way Donghyuck stared at you. You subconsciously fix your hair.

“Wow,” he mumbled.

Not wanting to be swayed by Donghyuck’s reaction, you choose to glare at him. “We’re late! Let’s go.”

He giggles, knowing that your glare has no real heat to it. You break out into a matching smile having given up on being serious. “Come on.”

Donghyuck was in a good mood. His phone was ringing with incoming messages from his mother and a call quickly came along. He gestured at you to pick it up, knowing that if his mother heard your voice, she would be kinder.

“Lee Donghyuck, where are you? Did you know we’re running twenty minutes behind schedule?”

You cringed but worked up the courage to answer. “Hey Mrs Lee, it’s Y/N. Donghyuck is driving.”

“Oh! Y/N,” Mrs Lee perks up. She laughs offhandedly, “My Donghyuck is a troublemaker. Are you okay?”

“Actually, I was the one who was running late. I am sorry but we’re nearby. I promise! I think we’re five minutes away?”

You glance over at Donghyuck for help and he chuckles, leaning over to speak into the microphone. “We’re ten minutes away. Just calm down and sip some wine.”

“Yah, Donghyuck.” Mrs Lee starts and your eyes widens, panic creeping in.

Donghyuck mouths, “Hang up. Now.”

You do as you are told and the car lapses into silence for a brief moment. You were the first one to burst into laughter, crouching forward in your seat, eyes tightly closed as all you can think of was Donghyuck feeding into your future mother-in-law's anger.

“What?” Donghyuck asks, a lilt to his voice. He has not seen you unpoised in so long. Your bright laughter and relaxed posture is rare to him.

“Nothing,” you finally say as you straighten yourself out. You shake your head almost fondly. “Nothing really.”

Your smile remains on your face which betrays your attempt at being composed. Donghyuck sneaks a glance over to admire the sincerity of the moment and he decides to stay silent, afraid of disturbing your newfound glee.

By the time you two arrived at the venue, you had already calmed down enough. There’s the remnants of your smile on your face and only Donghyuck knows the details behind it. The thought sends a thrill up his spine.

Maybe your joy was infectious enough for his mother’s bad mood to disappear or perhaps Mrs Lee was relieved to see her future daughter-in-law finally feeling settled in the arrangement. Whatever annoyance Mrs Lee harboured disappeared when she happened to witness the way you and Donghyuck looked at each other. The mirth in both of your faces was similar to your childhood memories. She pulls the wedding planner to her side, happy to give the engaged couple some privacy.

The phone call comes while Donghyuck wraps up his report. Your name flashes on the screen and he jumps for his phone, waits for a second and then answers the call.

“Hyuck,” you drawled into the phone. The background of the call is loud but Donghyuck is more distracted by the old nickname.

“Y/N?”

“Everyone’s teasing me. They want you here.”

“They? What about you? Do you want me to come?” He asks even though he’s already digging through his pocket for his car keys.

You gasped dramatically. “You can’t ask that!”

An overlap of voices cut through the call and Donghyuck can vaguely hear you scolding your friends. You cuss them out before returning to the call.

“Sorry, my faculty mates are so nosy.” Your voice is clearer now, like you had stepped out to talk to him.

Donghyuck stands by his car. “Should I come over?”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly. “I want you here.”

“Share your location with me?”

He finds you seated alone in the outdoor seating of the bar. “Y/N!” Donghyuck calls out as he gets out of his car. You spot him, waving enthusiastically at him from the other side of the road.

He jogs over to you. “Why are you out here alone?”

You tilt your head to the side, not quite understanding the worried undertone of his voice. “I was waiting for you.”

Donghyuck steels himself to remain firm with you. A pout had formed on your lips. You’re irresistibly cute when you’re drunk, even now as an adult. He softens his tone, “Thank you for waiting out here but I don’t think it's safe that you’re out here alone. Maybe next time ask a friend to keep you company, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled.

You remember your friends teasing you relentlessly about Donghyuck and your eyes widened at the memory. “Wait.” You grab his hands, pulling him and he stumbles into your space. “Everyone thinks you’re my secret partner. They think we’re madly in love with each other. My classmates, they don’t know what we know.”

Donghyuck blinks as he processes your words. He nods slowly. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

You distractedly play with his hands, pressing your own palms against his. It’s warm to the touch. Your smooth slender fingers splayed over his thick roughened fingers. “Last time we held hands like this, we were still kids,” you offhandedly remarked.

“Y/N…” Donghyuck’s pained tone urges you to look up. “What do you want to do?” His voice is quiet but his plea is loud enough for you to hear.

The corners of your mouth twists with contemplation. Deep within you, the last walls that contained your affection for your fiancé, have cracked open. There’s too many thoughts running through your head and you’re not sober enough to confront them. It hurts to pretend you don’t notice the expectant look on Donghyuck’s face but it’s better than acting rashly.

“Can we just go inside? I’ll introduce you to my friends.” Donghyuck concedes with a nod of his head. You laced your fingers with his in one hand and slowly let go of the other. Throwing on your best smile, you look over your shoulder and try to lift the mood. “You’re going to love this place. There’s a pool table I want to show you.”

Embarrassing doesn’t even cut it.

Maybe the Lee’s estate is a homeground of your embarrassing moments like this one, where you wake up in the guest room of their estate as a disheveled mess. You wake up sprawled across a pillow with the Lee’s family insignia on it, the cursive font in the significant family colour. The longer you squeeze your eyes shut, the more memories you manage to recover. Nursing a hangover at your future in-law’s house is a terrifying situation you have landed yourself in.

You look around the room and thankfully, your phone is on the nightstand, plugged into a power outlet. Donghyuck’s name sits at the top of the list of notifications. You quickly read it, thankful that Donghyuck texted you to call him when you had woken up.

You have a small window of time to freshen up before facing him. Standing in front of the sink, you study yourself. You look put together for a person who had a chaotic night out. Your makeup has been removed, your hair a little tangled from sleep and you’re wearing a comfortable pyjamas set. The Lee’s family insignia is subtly embroidered into the collar of the shirt.

You’re in the midst of brushing your teeth when a soft knock comes from outside. Just like before, Donghyuck cautiously peers into the room before letting himself in. You step out of the joint bathroom to lean against the frame of the door, uncaring that your toothbrush was still hanging from your mouth.

“You’re up earlier than expected,” Donghyuck muses. You give him a small glare and hold your hand up before disappearing into the bathroom to rinse your mouth.

He’s seated on the bed by the time you get back. “Are your parents home?”

Donghyuck raised a brow. “They left this morning for church and whatnot but they know you’re here. Nothing ever stays a secret in this house.”

Your eye twitches. What a horrific impression you have made of yourself. “Why didn’t you send me home? You know my code!” You practically yell.

He raises his voice back. “I tried to! Wha– Wait. You don’t remember?”

You’re stumped. Hadn’t you recalled everything that happened last night? “Remember what?” You carefully asked.

Donghyuck’s hesitant response could not prepare you for the truth. “You wanted to follow me home. That’s why we’re here.”

“Oh, fuck.”

A deep frown settles on your face. You can only remember getting into Donghyuck’s car, the rest of the ride was a blur. You can’t think of a reason why Donghyuck would lie to you which meant that you were the clingy person you vowed not to be.

If he were being honest, Donghyuck was scared of you. Would you be mad at him and push him away? After last night, Donghyuck only wants to hold you closer to him. He’s seen before how much hurt he can unravel. He can only hope that things turn out differently.

You lightly tug at your hair, stressed out by the turn of events. “I’m going home.”

“Let me drive you home.” Donghyuck stood up. You didn’t try to fight him. Instead, you walk around the room trying to find your clothes from the night before but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Where’s my clothes?” Donghyuck pads across the room and opens the wardrobe, revealing your outfit from last night. Your top and jeans were hanging separately in a tidy manner. You stood a few inches behind Donghyuck. “You did this?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry though, my helper did the difficult job of undressing you.” Donghyuck grabs your clothes and offers it to you.

You scoffed to hide your embarrassment. “Difficult?”

Donghyuck is uncharacteristically silent and when you look at him, you find that he’s red in the face. He’s definitely recalling something that you did last night. Probably something embarrassing and life ending information that makes you wonder if you even wanted to gain back those memories. You narrowed your eyes and let out a harrumph, making a show out of walking past him and heading off to the bathroom.

The staff greet you and Donghyuck each time you pass them, completely blowing any sense of discreetness you tried to uphold. At the very least, his parents were still out which helped you save your last strand of dignity.

The car ride is mostly silent save for the occasional sound from Donghyuck when he sings under his breath. Your favourite song comes on shuffle and Donghyuck turns the volume up. You look at him, having not expected him to remember such a specific detail about you. You had thought you were the only one who held on tightly to your shared past but Donghyuck’s natural reaction says otherwise.

You’re still deep in thought when Donghyuck reaches the entrance of your apartment. He waits quietly, knowing better than to interrupt you. He’s staring blankly ahead and wonders about the weight you’ve been carrying alone, if you’re ready to put it down.

“Hey, I’m not sure what I did last night but thanks for putting up with me.”

He turns to you and sees that you’re shyly tucking your hair before your ear, looking down at your lap instead of him. Donghyuck couldn’t help himself from saying, “Do you think you’re a burden to me?”

This causes you to look up, shock written across your face. “What? Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t put up with you, Y/N.” His voice is soft but firm. “You’re going to be my wife. We both agreed to this. You are a priority in my life.” You nervously chew on your lower lip. Again, you’re not in a proper mindset to be having such a heavy conversation with him. Despite that, you’re still affected by Donghyuck’s confession, leaving your stomach fluttering.

Your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Donghyuck breaks out into a small smile, an underlying melancholy to it. “You don’t have to say anything. I needed you to know that, that’s all.”

It doesn’t seem right to leave wordlessly so you lean across the console, craning your neck to leave a peck on his cheek. “Thank you,” you whisper before pulling away. The wistfulness from the two of you was palpable and you weren’t completely relieved from it. The crack in your walls grows wider and you don’t know if you’re ready for them to fall.

In a room full of people, Donghyuck would rather be alone with you.

He’s at a party with his friends but he’s not participating. Donghyuck has chosen to stick to the walls to watch his friends shake hands with potential business partners.

“You look mad.” Jaemin siddles up to him, his usual charming smile on full display.

“You could say that.” Donghyuck nods in acknowledgement.

“You miss her,” he says to Donghyuck as a matter-of-factly. Donghyuck stares at him with suspicion. He has never confided in Jaemin regarding you and he knows Mark would never gossip about him. Jaemin snorts. “Chill. I can tell because you’re miserable and you can’t stop playing with your ring.”

Donghyuck instantly stops fidgeting, his finger resting against the cool metal of his engagement band instead. He was not fully aware of his own actions. How can it be that Jaemin had managed to see through him?

“I think it’s nice.” Jaemin adds offhandedly.

Donghyuck drops his hands to his sides. “What’s nice?”

“That you’ve found someone to cherish. To love.”

The way you pleaded with him while you were drunk plays like a constant loop in his mind. A glimpse of your younger self had shone through that night before your matured self took over, demanding that you be taken back to the Lee’s estate. Even in your drunken state you were able to outsmart him by claiming that it is your marital right to stay there. Donghyuck smiled fondly. “She’s always been there. I just had trouble seeing what was in front of me all along.’

“Can I ask what made you come to a realisation? I think the Donghyuck I knew never really cared about settling down.”

“I didn’t just hurt Y/N. I crushed her.” Donghyuck looked down, collecting his thoughts to put it into perspective. “It was scary to see her devastated because of me and I hadn’t realised that I had inflicted hurt onto her. I care for her so much to the point that I didn’t even understand it until she walked away from me.”

His face crumpled up without meaning to and Jaemin takes a good look at his friend. Anyone can see the remorse eating away at him. Jaemin lays a comforting hand over Donghyuck’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Give yourself a chance to be forgiven.”

And Jaemin was right. All the hesitation could not prolong any more.

The sky is bright and cloudy, the perfect weather to be out enjoying the sunshine with the presence of another but you’re cooped indoors. You should be at home, the deadline for your dissertation inching closer day by day but as of late, your time has been occupied by your wedding. The only consolation is Donghyuck being there with you.

You had your first meeting with the bridal atelier of your choice two months back and now you’re back for the try on. The flutes of champagne remain untouched. Your fingers thrum against your thigh, feeling restless as the tailors prepare the dressing room for you. Donghyuck wordlessly slips his hand over yours, grounding you to the present moment. You peek over at him and he’s already looking at you. There’s an unspoken devotion in his gaze. You wonder when he had started looking at you with stars in his eyes.

“Ms Y/L/N? We’re ready for you.” You jump away from Donghyuck, clearing your throat. You offer him a small smile and he nods.

You’re careful when you try on your wedding gown, still in great disbelief about the fact that your dream dress has come to life. The assistant showered you with praises as she zipped you up. You let out a gasp as you gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

“Absolutely gorgeous. He is a lucky man.” The assistant said from behind you, startling you out of your reverie. “I’ll give you a moment. Let us know if you need anything.”

You touch the fabric of your gown with reverence, thumbing the rich silky fabric elegantly draped across your figure. A smile finds its way onto your face and you set your shoulder back to meet Donghyuck.

Donghyuck looks up from his phone when he hears the curtains open. His jaw goes slack when he sees you stepping into the room. Your hair has been pulled into a messy updo, stray pieces of hair framing the sides of your face. You’re looking at him with hope and Donghyuck can see the rest of your lives playing out before his eyes.

He rises to his feet. “Wow. That doesn't even cut it.”

You fold your hands in front of you. “Hyuck,” the old nickname slips out of your mouth, “stop. Be honest. Is it alright?”

“Alright?” He gawks. “Y/N, you're drop dead gorgeous!” Donghyuck exclaims before collapsing into his seat. Your laughter carries through the room, filling it with light.

“Whatever you say, Hyuck.” You giggle.

“You don’t believe me! Come here.” He beckons as he walks over to you. Donghyuck meets you halfway to stand face to face with you. “I cannot wait until you say the words ‘I do’ and I become yours.”

You’re blushing furiously but you don’t want to run away from the moment. Taking a leap of faith, you reach out for his hands, guiding it to rest on your waist. His hands are splayed firmly against the bodice of the gown, pressing into your body as a constant reminder that you’re not dreaming.

“I don’t know what to say.” Your voice is quiet as you confess to him.

Donghyuck shakes his head gently, leaning downwards to be closer to your face. “Just say ‘I do’ when the time comes.” And in that moment, you felt the final crack in your chest, the once impenetrable walls that had protected you, crumbled upon the promise of a loving future. You simply cannot wait.

You’re staring at your ring, letting yourself get distracted by it. Your mother is talking your ear off about wedding preparations while the rest of the table waits for Donghyuck’s arrival. You have never thought you’d be praying for his presence to offer you respite from your mother’s overwhelming chatter.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” You shoot up in your seat at the sound of his voice. After a long day bent over your laptop, you needed to see a comforting face.

Donghyuck goes over to your parents first. A firm pat to his back from your dad and a tight hug from your mom. He flashes you a glimmering smile when he gets to you and you feel your face redden under his attention. You turn in your seat to greet him and Donghyuck bends to your level, leaving a peck on your cheeks in greeting. “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

You know your parents are watching but you still try to keep your voice low enough for Donghyuck’s ears only. “Better now that you’re here.”

His eyes flicker to your mouth and back to your eyes. “Yeah,” Donghyuck thoughtlessly replies.

Across the table, your father coughs and Donghyuck scrambles into the empty seat beside you. You avoid his eyes and keep your head ducked, allowing your father to lead tonight’s dinner.

“I was just talking about the wedding. We’re so close to the date.” Your mother beams.

Donghyuck casts a glance over his shoulder and notices your dampened mood. He takes a small sip of water. “There’s always so much to prepare and on top of it all, Y/N is working hard on her dissertation.”

Your father smiles softly as he speaks, “That’s right. How’s it going honey?”

“I’m almost done. If my upcoming consultation with my professor goes well, I might be able to turn in my paper sooner than expected.”

“That’s great news darling,” Your mother says as you share the good news with them. She continues, “I’ve been worried that school was going to delay everything.”

Your smile dims and your eyes flicker over to Donghyuck, wishing if he could disappear. You hate moments like these with your mother as she dismisses your hard work, giving you backhanded praise as she priorities her pride over your emotions. The closer the wedding gets, the more remarks your mother makes and she’s clearly stopped holding herself back around Donghyuck. Your face grows red in embarrassment and you feel yourself go mum.

Donghyuck shifts in his seat. He gives your mother a stiff smile as he says, “I would wait however long to marry Y/N. We are to be wedded for life. A brief delay means nothing to me if it’s to ensure Y/N’s happy.”

You see the whiplash your parents experience from Donghyuck’s assurance. Your brows are raised but you choose to remain silent, happy that someone else is protecting you for once. Donghyuck’s shoulders are squared and his eyes are full of unapologetic pride. He slides a hand to grab yours from under the table, offering you silent assurance.

“Glad to know that Y/N’s your priority. Let’s make sure to keep her happy.” Your father says in a rather diplomatic manner. He casts your mother a side glance and she nods along, keeping silent. Under the concealment of the table, you squeeze Donghyuck’s hands in appreciation, all while maintaining a casual expression in front of your parents.

Your dissertation was ready to be submitted earlier than scheduled but you didn’t want to tell your parents yet. Instead, you wanted to initiate a night out with your friends.

Or at least you were trying to. Yizhou was out of the country again and Sungchan was dealing with business outside of Seoul. Your clothes had been picked out. Your preferred club already in mind. All you needed was friends to go with. You scrolled through your contacts and realised the only other person you were comfortable calling up was your fiancé.

After contemplating your options, you caved in and called Donghyuck.

“Are you busy tonight?” You asked him, keeping your voice light. After all, it was a random weekday. He is a busy business man with plans stacked in his calendar.

“Not particularly. What’s up?” Not the answer you were hoping for. You had no choice but to bite the bullet and ask him out. “I was wondering if you’d go out with me tonight. I have good news and I want to celebrate.”

“Celebrate? Where?”

“The clubs.” You coughed into the phone. Donghyuck makes a sound of disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut and plead with him, pulling out a desperate move. “Are you in or are you not?”

Donghyuck giggles and you know you have him onboard. Even when you were kids, your pleadings were persuasive enough for Donghyuck to give into you. “Should I meet you and your friends there?” He asks.

“Actually, none of my friends can make it tonight.” Your voice pitches to a loud tone as you try to play it off. “I want to go out though, so I called you.”

“Just a crazy idea that I’m throwing out here,” Donghyuck slowly says, already thinking about dragging his friends out of the comfort of their homes. “What if I invited my friends? You have never met them properly and this seems like a good time to introduce you.”

You think back to all the times you’ve had the opportunity to be in the same room as Donghyuck’s friends. Not once have they ever treated you in a friendly manner outside of the forced pleasantries that were expected of them. You can’t help but grimace. “No offence Hyuck but I think they hate me.”

“What! No!” Donghyuck says unconvincingly. You did not need to know that you had once been a topic of argument within his friend group. He rubs his temple, thinking of a solution. “Okay, Mark will be there and he is a great social lubricant.”

“Uh-huh.”

He senses the distrust in your voice and considers his options. “You trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me on this. I think it will go well or at least improve the coldness between you guys.”

“And whose fault is that?” You ask half jokingly.

“Mine. Sorry,” he replies in a small voice.

Your wedding was inching closer and meeting his friends would be an unavoidable experience in the long run. “That’s okay. Go ahead and invite them. I’ll give them a chance as long as they’re willing to do the same.”

Donghyuck grins, already cooking up ways to convince his friends for a night out. “I’ll see you soon.”

After pleading with Mark to help him be the voice of reason, Donghyuck manages to get all of his friends to agree to meet up. Renjun even offers to contact his close friend to get a couch reserved in a popular club. He instructs one of the family drivers to fetch you and you’re the last one to arrive. Donghyuck waves you over as he stands in a circle of his own, surrounded by familiar faces. From afar, they look rather intimidating and you have half the mind to turn around and run off but you steel your nerves, forcing yourself to get the meeting over and done with.

“Hi guys.” You offer them a small wave. You’re awkwardly standing alone and fortunately, Donghyuck slides up to you to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. The tension in your body slightly ebbs away. Jaemin gives you two a long stare and smiles wickedly wide. It’s slightly off-putting but you offer him a friendly smile despite your apprehension.

Mark clears his throat as he takes a step towards you. “Great to finally meet you.” Mark sticks a hand out and you firmly accept it.

A rather fashionable fellow who you recognised as Renjun comes up to you guys. He flashes you a charming smile. “Our table’s ready so let’s move inside and we can have a proper chat!”

“Table?”

“Oh, your man here has gone all out for you.” The rest of the group murmured in agreement which led you to look at Donghyuck for help. He merely shrugs, choosing to maintain indifference.

Renjun decides to pull you out of Donghyuck’s hold, guiding you to the very front of the group. “Just enjoy it. You should take his card and go crazy,” he leans in conspiratorially as he loops your arms together.

Behind you, Jeno snorts, making his presence known. You both exchange friendly smiles. “Hope you enjoy your time tonight, Y/N.”

Your group breeze through security with a flash of a smile from Renjun. It makes you wonder how well-known Donghyuck’s friends are. You have heard of the notorious wait list for this particular club which was bad enough to fizzle out your interest in coming down.

You are led to a table beside the dj booth. The expanse of the couch is much larger than expected. It could probably hold double the amount of people present at the moment. You stand by the sidelines. “Uh, are we expecting people?”

Everyone turns to look at Donghyuck who’s sporting a sheepish expression. “It was either this or we would have to stand at the tables. I’m not making you stand for the entire night.”

Your jaw dropped. Chenle hollers from where he’s seated. “Get a room, you love birds.”

With his eyes still trained on you, Donghyuck flips Chenle off. The table breaks out into snickers but you’re still hung up on the fact that Donghyuck had spent an incredible amount of money on you. “Are you mad?” He asks.

“No?” You shake your head. “I just– we could have gone elsewhere? I don’t know, I want to make your money’s worth.”

Donghyuck frowns. “You are worth every dollar I have.”

You blinked in surprise, not having expected Donghyuck to take the conversation to a personal level. You stepped forward to slip your arms around his, gently tugging him closer to you. “We’ll revisit this tomorrow,” you say before planting a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for being thoughtful.”

Donghyuck can feel his cheeks reddening and he’s glad that the lighting in the club makes it hard to see. You disappear from his side, welcoming the chaos with open arms as you approach the table. Donghyuck watches you as he silently nurses a drink in one hand. His eyes danced around your figure, the confidence radiating off you was magnetic and it felt like a treat to be in your presence. Donghyuck focused on the little things like the way your nose scrunches when the alcohol hits too strongly for your liking or the way your body folds, laughing gleefully at whatever stories his friends tell you. He barely notices the music or his friends sharing wordless looks throughout the night.

Jisung scoots down the couch to be next to Donghyuck, lightly knocking their knees together for his attention. Jisung offers his hyung a small smile before leaning in, “You should ask her to dance.”

“What?”

“You look like Jay waiting on Daisy,” Jisung giggles drunkenly, head thrown back as he leans back into the leather couch. “Just go up to her.” He says encouragingly.

At that moment, you look over your shoulders and lock eyes with Donghyuck, flashing him a shy smile. His heart stutters in his chest as he rushes to his feet to move towards you like a lovesick fool in a trance. Donghyuck downs his drink, setting it down as he passes the table before finally reaching you. You never once looked away from him. Mark’s chatter comes to a halt when he senses Donghyuck’s presence and he makes a silent escape, sensing the shift in the air.

To Donghyuck’s surprise, you beat him at making the first move. “Let’s dance!” You cheered.

You had slipped your hand into his and led him onto the dance floor. Donghyuck naturally stands close to your back but the crowd pushes him into you. While you seemed unaffected by the skin on skin contact with passing strangers, Donghyuck had a frown on his face that seemed to grow deeper whenever a stranger did a double take at you. It was as if you could feel the anger radiating from behind you. You manoeuvred your joint hands to your stomach, forcing Donghyuck to stay pressed against your back.

He barely registers the close contact that’s happening between you two when you stopped walking, seemingly satisfied with the spot you had chosen. You lean your head backwards to smile up at Donghyuck. It’s a little lopsided but still full of energy. He wants to kiss you. The moment is cut short when the music transitions to an upbeat tempo. Your back is facing Donghyuck again as you move to the beat, still holding onto his arm which leaves him no choice but to stay close to you.

The alcohol he’s consumed barely compares to the intoxicating feeling of having you in his arms, bare skin brushing against each other while fully immersed in the moment. It’s not the same feeling as when you two first danced as kids or during your birthday party. There’s an underlying current of tension that’s building between you two, one that’s growing tauter as the wedding day approaches.

Donghyuck leans forward, his mouth inches away from your ear. “You never told me what we’re celebrating tonight for?”

You suddenly spin to face him and Donghyuck tightens his hold on you. “I never told you?” He shakes his head, his lips curling upwards. Donghyuck is absolutely smitten by you. “I finished my dissertation early!”

“Y/N!” Donghyuck cheers as he embraces you. You squeezed him tightly, happy to share your achievement with someone who cared about your wellbeing. “I’m so proud of you.” He presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. You don’t know if you were meant to hear it but you nuzzle your face in his shirt for a moment longer than necessary, allowing yourself to indulge in Donghyuck’s presence.

When it’s time to end the night, Donghyuck books a ride to your apartment. You’re slumped over his shoulder, a tired smile on your face but you’re still dazzling to Donghyuck. He gently touches your cheek. “Sleep,” he commands.

Your power nap was interrupted by a melodious voice, stirring you awake. You slide your hands into his while muttering farewell to the patient driver. Donghyuck follows from behind, enjoying the way you drag him around, leading him into your apartment. He watches you kick off your shoe on your own, holding onto the wall for support. After watching you fail, he decides to close the distance by kneeling in front of you, sliding the other shoe off your feet.

Your face burns and you dart your eyes away from him. “Thanks, Hyuck.”

You set a second pair of house slippers for him, staring at him expectantly. Donghyuck toes his shoes off at record time and slides into the house slippers. You offer him a satisfied grin and reclasp your hands with his. “Stay the night.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widened. “Sure? I’ll put you to bed.”

This earns a surprised laugh from you. “I don’t need your help!”

He shakes your joint hands, whining petulantly. “Let me win. I just wanted an excuse to take care of you.” You roll your eyes but the smile on your face never fades. Donghyuck knows he has won and he childishly celebrates with a hurrah.

You lightly tug his arm. “Take me to bed then.”

You’re happy that this time, you’re sober enough to be in the moment. You get the chance to admire the attention Donghyuck holds for you. The comforting feeling of seeing Donghyuck in your space helps you relax. He’s kneeling on your bed while he has you sitting cross legged in the middle, gently wiping away the makeup from your face. Every swipe from him is full of utmost care. You have never been gentle with yourself. It makes your heart flutter from such a simple gesture.

“That’s all of it,” Donghyuck says, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration.

“Thanks.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You’re partly entranced by him but another part of you is distracted by your growing affection for him. It’s times like these you wished things were simpler between you two.

He pulls away first, giving you the chance to make your escape however you choose to linger by the entrance of your en suite bathroom. You stared at him expectantly. “Stay the night, yeah? I need to get you something clean to sleep in.”

“I’m sure I’ll make do with whatever.” He gestures to his outfit and you raise a brow, unconvinced.

“Wait here,” you instructed softly as you walked off to your guestroom.

You come back to see Donghyuck seated by the edge of your bed, his body angled towards the door as he anticipates your return. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he beams at the sight of you.

“Here.” You pass him a stack of clean clothes. He eyes it suspiciously, accepting it with a pout playing on his lips.

“This doesn’t belong to an ex boyfriend right?”

“No.” You snorted. “It belonged to Sungchan,” you offhandedly answered.

The look of surprise on Donghyuck’s face was priceless. His jaw tensed, torn between anger and shock while his eyes were openly showcasing his stirring emotions.

You laugh in his face. It was too good of an opportunity to tease him. “I’m kidding! Oh my god!” The stony expression on his face has yet to crack so you scoop his hand into yours, offering him assurance. “I swear on our lives, the shirt belongs to my dad. As for the pants, they were too big for me and I was too lazy to return them.”

Donghyuck squeezes your joint hands and the prior anger melts away. “Okay,” he mutters before bringing your hand to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. His lips graze your skin and your body tingles from the heat. “Thank you.”

You gently pull your hand out of his hold, eager to put some space between you two. You press the clothes into his chest and spin on your heels, making a swift escape to the bathroom.

After an unnecessarily long time in the shower, you decided to bite the bullet and face Donghyuck. You thought you had steeled yourself enough but the sight of Donghyuck standing in the middle of your room has you jumping in surprise.

“Donghyuck!” You yelled, a hand pressed to your chest.

He looked equally surprised. “I’m sorry, I was just coming in to set a glass of water and painkillers.”

Your shoulders dropped and your eyes moved behind him, catching sight of your nightstand. True enough, Donghyuck had brought in a bottle of medicine and your favourite mug.

Donghyuck purses his lips, his eyes moving towards the door. “I’ll be in your guestroom if you need anything.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? If you need someone to hold your hair back while you’re bent over the toilet, just wake me up.” He teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward. “Get out,” you demanded but the ghost of your smile still remained.

Donghyuck holds his hands up in surrender. “Goodnight Y/N.”

You stayed rooted in your spot, offering him a small wave. “Goodnight Donghyuck.”

Silence enveloped your room and you didn’t mind it, knowing that Donghyuck was rooms away from you. You gingerly sat down by your bedside, gripping your mug as you tried to make sense of your heart. You were without a doubt, falling in love with Donghyuck all over again and you had no intention of ever stopping.

The morning of your wedding was a blur. You were first introduced to the beauty and styling team that you hired for the wedding. The day progresses quickly and the bridal room is open to visitors who file in and out like a constant stream, eager to bless you with their well wishes. A lot of small talk and hugs occurred and you could barely catch up.

Sungchan drops by to greet both you and Yizhou, the three of you enjoying a round of champagne and taking many pictures. Sungchan gives you a tight hug as he leaves.

Moments before you’re scheduled to walk down the aisle, you’re finally left alone. The silence that surrounds you weighs on your shoulders. Your eyes subconsciously drift to your ring finger, knowing that this is the last time it’ll be empty for the rest of your life. A mix of emotions cloud your mind. You reach for your bouquet when a loud knock resonates through the door, signaling that your time has arrived.

You loop your arms around your father’s as you walk to the back of the line. “Y/N,” your father softly muttered. He waits for you to look at him and you note the tears brimming around the corner of his eyes. “I hope I made the right choice. I hope he makes you happy.”

You clutch the bouquet of flowers closer to your chest. It was a bundle of sunflowers, hydrangeas and primroses, a mix comprising both of your favourite flowers. “You did.” You assured your father, confident of your answer.

The wedding march had begun and you quickly gave your father a peck on the cheek right before your veil was lifted over your face. Your cousin walks out first, joined by Jaemin. You watched from the end of the line as Yizhou accepted the arm Mark offered her. They reach the altar and finally, it was your turn to walk down the aisle.

Upon your first step, the piano notes shift into a different melody. Your eyes land on Donghyuck who has a small smile on his face. It comes as a genuine surprise to you once you register the melody of the song. Your heart thuds against your chest and you’re torn between breaking down into tears or leaping for joy. It is evident that Donghyuck hadn’t forgotten dancing with you at your birthday party all those years ago, the same song playing as you walk down the aisle towards him.

It’s a big cliche but you never stopped looking at Donghyuck. Not now, not when he’s openly staring back at you. There’s a matching secret grin that only you two understand. You can’t look away, you simply refuse to. Your father offers your hand to Donghyuck and he accepts it with so much tenderness, his fingers enveloping yours as he guides you to stand in front of him. You’re toe to toe, aligned with each other.

Time seems to move differently when you’re standing in front of Donghyuck, forced to look at him through a veil. There’s an undercurrent of want flowing not just in you, but Donghyuck as well. You try to soothe him by gently brushing your thumb against his palm.

Mark steps forward with the rings and you wet your mouth, eager not to mess up your exchange of vows.

“Do you, Lee Donghyuck, take Y/L/N Y/N as your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part.”

He looks you in the eye, certain as ever. “I do.” The ring slips onto your finger, cool to the touch which leaves goosebumps in its wake. The significance of the ring is setting in.

“And do you, Y/L/N Y/N, take Lee Donghyuck as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part.”

You blindly reach for Donghyuck’s ring, too eager to complete the ceremony. Mark pushes the cushion into your hand and you pick up the ring. “I do,” you say as you slide the ring over Donghyuck’s ring finger. The ring sits perfectly below his knuckles. You squeeze his fingers tightly.

“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Donghyuck tightly squeezes your hands before releasing them. He’s already reaching for your veil when the minister says, “You may kiss the bride.”

The church roused with applause and cheers as your veil was thrown over your head. Donghyuck sneaks his hand to the back of your neck, pressing against it as he leaned forward to capture your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, succumbing to your first kiss with Donghyuck. It’s a hard press to your lips. Nothing too indecent for a sacred occasion but heavier than the shy peck you had expected from him.

You pull away to rest your nose against the slope of his, unable to tame the smile on your face. No coherent thought could come out of your mouth as you gaze into Donghyuck’s eyes.

“Onto forever.” He says it loud enough for you to hear. You nodded and he moved his hand to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you in before you embarked on the mad dash down the aisle. One hand looped around Donghyuck’s neck and the other tightly clutching onto your bouquet, you couldn’t have imagined a better way to leave the church as a newly wedded couple.

It’s date night with your husband.

Three weeks have passed since the wedding and life has adjusted back to normal for everyone else. Meanwhile, you and Donghyuck were still balancing the newly wedded lifestyle. He had gone back to work and you were taking time to unwind from the stressful year that had passed.

Donghyuck had made a reservation for dinner and you had agreed to meet him there. You spend the whole day sitting in your jittery feelings, wildly anticipating seeing him.

Dinner was a lovely affair. You were sitting in a fancy restaurant, situated on the rooftop of an esteemed hotel. Conversation flowed between you two, from anecdotes of Donghyuck’s day at work to recounting the cherished memories of the wedding.

The hostess politely interrupts, carrying a plate of brownies topped with ice cream. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Here’s a complimentary cake from us. Congratulations and cheers to your future.”

The two of you eyed the plate, surprised to see a message written on it. Congrats to the love birds. You cover your face with your hands and Donghyuck laughs in disbelief. “This is crazy,” you said.

“No one taught us how to maximise our marriage.”

You slowly pulled your hands away and discovered that Donghyuck had been recording you the whole time. Shit. “Hyuck!”

“What?” He asks, chuckling from behind his phone.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god. Delete that.”

“Why? You look gorgeous.”

You frown at him but it fails to make an impact on Donghyuck. He takes one last picture of you before putting his phone away. “I wanted pictures to remember this by.” Donghyuck confesses as he takes a sip of his drink.

Your features softened and you were no longer annoyed by him. Taking a clean spoon, you cut into the brownie, scooping a big portion and lifting it to Donghyuck’s face. “Here.” You offered.

He looks from the spoon to your face, face heating up from the attention you were giving him. Donghyuck cranes his neck forward and accepts the offer, taking a bite from the spoon.

“Is it good?” You asked. Donghyuck hopes he doesn’t have any bit of chocolate smudge on his lips as he nodded wordlessly.

He hadn’t expected you to use the same spoon, licking at the remnants of chocolate before diving into the brownie to get a taste for yourself. Donghyuck grows slightly dazed, knowing how unaffected you are by the intimacy. His mouth grows dry at the thought of your lips. It has been three weeks without your kiss after all. He knows he’ll have to keep waiting for a chance to kiss you again.

You lightly nudge him out of his trance, your foot hitting him under the table. Donghyuck looks downward then at your face. You offer him a cheeky smile and he’s back with you, pushing aside any distractions.

It’s a beautiful night and the sky is clear enough to gaze at. You suggest going for a drive near the Han River. It was a refreshing experience for you. You and Donghyuck never had the chance to hang out casually, having missed each other throughout your adolescent years and your early twenties. Now, as husband and wife, you two have the chance to bask in the silence together.

You shiver slightly as the wind blows, your hair falling over your face. A jacket is suddenly draped over your shoulders and you gripped the fabric tightly. “Are you sure?”

“I have to take care of my wife.” You can’t deny that his intentions made you feel warm all over. You accepted his offer without much fight and slid your hands into his jacket, engulfed by Donghyuck’s lingering warmth. You could even smell the remnants of his cologne when you lean closer into the jacket.

Another lapse of comfortable silence passes when you felt a drop of water on the top of your head. You turn to Donghyuck with a frown. “Did you feel that?”

He sticks his hand out and you watch expectantly. Donghyuck jumps in surprise when the droplets of rain land on his palm. He laughs. “Oh shit, we have to go.”

In a matter of minutes, the sky is covered with thick clouds and the rain begins to fall steadily. The car park is a reasonable distance. All around, the trees begin swaying as you two rush to the car. You stopped in your tracks and Donghyuck slowed down to yell at you. “Hurry!”

You fumble with his jacket and create a makeshift cover, running up to him. “Get under.”

He joins you, one arm reaching for the sleeves of his jacket and the other wrapping around your shoulder to pull you close to him. The rain pours down on you two and you couldn’t help but laugh at your current predicament. Your glee was contagious and Donghyuck laughed along, melting into the sound of the downpour.

He ushered you into the passenger seat of his car before running over to the driver's side, his hair completely drenched. Donghyuck starts the engine and you blast the heater, adjusting the angle to blow towards Donghyuck.

“Aren’t you cold?” Even when his teeth are chattering and he’s visibly shaking, Donghyuck still tries to look after you. You rolled your eyes fondly. “You sacrificed your jacket for me. Just defrost a little, okay?”

You don’t miss the smile that’s tugged at the corner of his lips as he snuggles into the driver's seat, giving up his fight. When he deems himself warm enough, he begins the drive to your apartment. You keep your gaze on his profile, staring unabashedly. Donghyuck stares back several times. He can’t quite tame the feelings blossoming in his chest. He clenches the steering wheel, eager to make it back to your apartment.

Your intertwined hands keep each other warm. He follows you through your apartment and as always, he’s happy to have you pull him in whatever direction. You bring him into your room and grab two fresh sets of towels.

“Go in here. I’ll use the spare shower.” You hold the stacked towels and Donghyuck apprehensively glances at it, reluctant to separate from you. His eyes rove back at you and his eyes widen into a pleading look. You frowned. “What is it?”

“I want to stay with you.” Donghyuck shamelessly answered.

Your cheeks heat up and you push the towel to his chest, causing him to stumble backwards. “Don’t be stupid. We are both drenched and will fall sick. It is faster this way.”

His pout is still present but he finally accepts the fresh towel, your hands freed from his. The cold immediately replaces his warmth. “Go. I’ll need to find something you can fit in while waiting for your clothes to dry.” You tell him, keeping yourself away from the thoughts running through your head.

Donghyuck looks at you longingly for one last time before conceding to your instructions. You let out the breath you were holding when you heard the lock on the bathroom door, slouching against the wall to calm your nerves. After laying out the spare clothes you had stolen from your fathers closet, you quickly grabbed your own clothes and rushed to the spare shower.

Alone, surrounded by the tiled walls of your shower, you’re given some reprieve from your racing feelings. You didn’t mean to take a long shower but the stream of hot water was what you needed to unwind. By the time you returned to your room with a towel wrapped around your head, donning an oversized shirt and sweatpants, Donghyuck was already waiting for you on the edge of your bed.

You blinked at the sight. His hair was fluffy after a shower and your fathers shirt sits loosely over his frame, making Donghyuck look cuter than usual. Donghyuck has a sheepish look on his face as he obediently waits for your return.

“Come here,” you say as you walk over to your dressing table. You’re pulling out your hair dryer when Donghyuck stands beside you. You grinned at him. “Sit. I’ll dry your hair.”

Again, Donghyuck easily follows your direction as he settles down in front of the vanity. You work quietly as you dry his hair, brushing it with utmost care reminding you of your younger days, when he would let you style his hair. You gently apply some hair oil to your hands and run it through his soft strands. Standing close to him, you can smell the fragrant scent of your shampoo lingering on his hair. You inhale deeply.

Donghyuck breaks the silence as he murmurs softly, “Your turn.”

The tranquility that sits between you and him is too enjoyable to ruin so you let him have his way, inwardly pleased to have Donghyuck take care of you. He removes the towel from your head and begins working on your hair. Donghyuck is practically a magician. He expertly massages your head as he rubs your hair products into your hair. You’re content with the silence between you two as he brushes your hair before drying it.

When he’s done, Donghyuck tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over your shoulder to whisper in your ear. “You’re stunning.”

You meet his eyes through the mirror and you immediately grow shy, looking away and getting up from your seat. “Thanks,” you mutter as you busy yourself with tidying up the vanity.

Thankfully, Donghyuck gives you some space as he steps back to watch you. You can feel his eyes on you even with your back turned to him. It makes your heart skip a beat.

Once you’ve kept all of your things, you are forced to face Donghyuck again. You slowly turn on your heels to face him and he is already looking at you. Donghyuck’s stare has been fixed on you the whole time and you grow nervous under his stare, the weight of it starting to unnerve you.

Donghyuck’s gaze grows deeper as he straightens his posture, looking you dead in the eye. His resolve has hardened. It was a foreboding moment in which you were powerless to stop but you still tried. “Y/N, I love–”

Your eyes widened in fear. “Stop. Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.” You point at him accusingly.

His gaze falls to the distance between you two, unable to fathom how he ended up in this position when moments ago, you were inseparable. “Why? Are you scared?”

You part your mouth in disbelief. He wasn’t mocking you. Donghyuck was genuinely trying to get through you. The pressure of it all has you cracking under it. “Because I don’t know what’s going on between us anymore! You treat me with so much tenderness and affection, crossing the boundaries we have set, ever so often. My rationality flies out the window when I’m with you. I have a reason to be scared because the last time you treated me this way, you rejected me!” You exploded.

Donghyuck can see the way you’re shaking, a similar visual to the night of his birthday party. Even as the tears begin to gather in your eyes, he forces himself to stay calm for your sake. “I was a fool, Y/N. I am sorry but I get it now.”

“Are you sure you’re not just caught up in the moment?” You ask as your gaze drops to the ground. Donghyuck frowns deeply. You have become so small in the short span of your conversation. It hurts him to see you this way.

“God, no. Never.” He pleads as he steps into your space, one hand gently cupping your head, lifting your chin upwards to look you in the eye. “I love you. I have loved you forever ago and I’ll love you forevermore.”

Your vision blurs completely. “I love you,” you whispered into the hushed silence. Donghyuck slowly leans forward to bring your foreheads together. You blink away at the stray tears that pooled in your eyes. “I love you, Lee Donghyuck,” you repeated.

He nodded and closed his eyes, uncaring when your tears fell on his face. “I love you,” Donghyuck whispers as he holds you close, finally catching you as you fall apart in his palms.

Between job hunting and apartment hunting, your honeymoon couldn’t have been a better excuse to leave the world behind.

The sun shimmers in the sky. You’re leaning against cobbled streets that have been around longer than your existence, when Donghyuck comes over jogging to you. You chided lightly. “Slow down. I don’t want you to fall.”

Donghyuck almost crashes into the wall but he plays it off with a coy smile. “I love falling for you.”

You scrunched your nose, cringing at his joke. “You’re terrible.”

“Too bad. You’re married to me for life.” Donghyuck teases.

“Indeed, I am.” Your eyes flit to the ring on his finger and you smiled softly. “Hey, what took you so long?”

Donghyuck perked up. “I asked the receptionist for some help. He told me a few nights ago to visit a particular bakery. Thought we could venture out before lunchtime.”

You wrapped your arm around his, interlocking your fingers together. “Sounds like a plan. Lead the way.”

Savoury treats, sweet drinks and good company is all you needed and Donghyuck eagerly met your needs. The moonlight reflects on the cobbled stones of ground, a soft glow leading the way around the city. His fingers shyly brush yours after every few steps. It’s only been two months since the confession and Donghyuck has demonstrated impeccable patience with you. You knew this trip was a way to finally start returning the favour.

You timed it correctly, firmly pulling his fingers into your hold and intertwining it together. You can feel the surprise jolting through Donghyuck which elicits a giggle from you.

“What’s going on?” He asks, aiming for a relaxed tone but ultimately, you can hear his underlying worry.

“I felt like holding hands with my husband.” You lift your gaze to smile at him, “I know you like this.”

Just as you had expected, Donghyuck starts blushing. His composure doesn’t break much to his credit. He remains collected and squeezes your hand tightly. “I do. I do like this and I like you.”

“Like?” You asked, voice lilt in an attempt to push Donghyuck’s buttons.

You hear Donghyuck muttering under his breath and you laugh gleefully, knowing he has fallen straight into your trap. It’s too easy to tease Donghyuck. It’s a skill that never faded away even after all those years apart.

“I’m the luckiest girl alive. My husband likes me.” You said loudly. Some passersby give you a quizzical look as Donghyuck’s face burns with mild embarrassment.

“I don’t like you.” His face is red but his eyes are filled with determination. You’ve seen this version of Donghyuck many times under various circumstances. He’s standing his ground. Donghyuck looks at you, maintaining a steady grip on your hand.

“Hm?”

“I love you.” He declares.

You slowly reach out to gently cup his cheeks, caressing it ever so softly. Hearing him say it still makes your world spin round, giddy with joy and excitement. Standing on your toes, you inch your head upwards to give him a peck on the lip.

Donghyuck squeaks out of surprise and the kiss ends as quickly as it happens. His eyes are rounded, seemingly frozen and fixed on you. You smiled sheepishly as pink dust the apples of your cheeks. “I love you,” you said.

Donghyuck blinks and suddenly you’re being pulled into his body, stumbling over your feet as you land on his chest. You exclaimed softly and he wrapped his slender arms around your waist, grounding you.

“You can’t just do that.” His eyes are roving across your face. It’s clear that his restraint has stretched thinly. You pulled your lips into a smirk as you confidently met his gaze. “What are you going to do about it?”

Your eyes fall shut as Donghyuck presses his lips against yours, this time with more pressure than your attempt. He takes his time with you, kissing your breath away, bathed underneath the moonlight. Your fingers find purchase at the back of his neck and Donghyuck groans.

The kiss breaks and you’re smiling wildly at him. “I’m yours, Hyuck. I’m not going anywhere.”

You trail your other hand up his chest, pressing it flat against his shirt to feel his heartbeat. You look at him in awe and he leans down to rub his nose against your cheekbone. Donghyuck utters, “And I’m yours. Forever and always.”

[iheartyuyu]

5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.

oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.

— ☆ —

1. movie nights.

you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.

first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?

for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.

your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.

tonight, everything was perfect.

you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—

bzzz.

you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?

you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.

you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.

so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”

he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.

“can i come in?”

you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”

“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.

holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—

“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”

your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”

you paused. “well…”

“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”

“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”

he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”

“hey—“

he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”

“oh. you didn’t have to—“

“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”

with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.

what. the. fuck.

2. hangouts.

you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.

at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.

however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.

today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.

the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.

“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”

you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”

he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”

you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”

you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”

before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.

and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”

“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“

“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”

you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”

“…did you just call me angel?”

his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”

that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?

you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.

fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.

how horrible for you.

3. aquarium.

you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”

she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”

“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”

she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”

“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”

she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”

you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.

and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.

‘couples only day!’

“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”

“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.

“yes.”

“ask sukuna to go with you.”

you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”

“that is quite literally not what i said.”

“you’re a genius.”

you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.

what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.

you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”

“…where?”

he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”

“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”

his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”

you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”

“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”

you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.

you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.

“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.

“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”

gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.

4. the beach.

you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.

you were freezing.

you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.

oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—

a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.

“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”

ah. your genie.

you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.

fuck. how could someone be so pretty?

he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”

“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”

“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”

“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”

“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”

“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”

he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”

you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.

you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”

he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.

what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.

“…you went early, huh?”

“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.

“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”

you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”

you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“

he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.

holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.

well. at least it wasn’t you this time.

5. studying.

as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.

during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”

“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”

gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”

“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”

gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”

“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”

you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”

“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”

“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”

you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”

“yes, please.”

later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.

you really needed caffeine.

everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—

fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.

sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?

you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.

you: please :c

a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.

“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”

“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”

you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”

he hummed. “good.”

in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.

you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”

he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”

in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”

you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”

his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”

“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”

he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”

was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”

“don’t mention it, angel.”

+1.

against your will, you were dragged to a party.

you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.

you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.

gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.

you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.

sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.

sukuna covering you with a blanket.

sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.

geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.

sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.

after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.

the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”

“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”

“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”

it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.

“…the stars are pretty.”

“mhm.”

he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”

“…mhm.”

he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”

“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.

“fuck.”

“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”

and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”

you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”

he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”

“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.

he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”

that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”

his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“

you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,

he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.

once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”

“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”

“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”

“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”

“…anything you fucking want, forever.”

[scarletwinterxx]

casualties of chemistry - choi seungcheol imagine finale

and here we are🤍 thank you so much for loving this fic. truly it's been a rollercoaster. I had so much writing it, seeing the response it got made me sooooo happy🥺tbh every time i post a fic, that's exactly how i feel. To have something I only imagined, something that only existed in my mind, and have it loved by others it always make my hear feel warm.

see you on the next fic🤍😊🌻

PART ONE | PART TWO

alsoooo i have a kofi acc, if anyone wants to send some coffee thank u in advance😊🌻🤍

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The goodbye itself feels unfinished somehow.

Like neither of you say the words fully because speaking them too clearly might make everything too real. The last day before he went the atmosphere was heavy despite trying to find the light.

Even when the both of you try to not show the fear, the worry was obvious behind your eyes.

The last night, while you help him pack his stuff he takes a simple gold chain from his drawer and put the ring there before clasping it around your neck. He tucks the chain with the ring carefully beneath your shirt himself.

Neither of you says What if this is the last time because neither of you can survive hearing it out loud.

Then he was gone. 

The first few weeks aren’t too bad. You get three updates total. Short. Obviously screened for safety but still it was enough to ease your heart and mind even for a bit. Enough to know he’s alive. Enough to keep breathing easier for another few days.

Cheol: Don’t forget to eat.  Cheol: Don’t drink too much coffee, take a cab if you’re too sleepy to take the bus Cheol: I miss you

After that, it was silence.

Your own messages stop delivering entirely. Calls unreachable. No updates. Nothing. And logically, you know what that means. Operational security. Dangerous mission. 

He told you enough information to know when this happens it means he’s in the middle of it all. The most dangerous part. 

Eight weeks pass then nine. Ten. Then suddenly it’s been twenty six weeks total. One Hundred Eighty Two days. 

Too long. Far too long.

Your shifts become harder somehow during this stretch.

You’re still Dr. Y/L/N in the ER. Still terrifyingly composed during trauma calls but now exhaustion follows you home differently because there’s no one waiting outside the hospital with coffee.

Just silence.

The ring stays around your neck every single day. Simple chain. Simple promise.

Sometimes during particularly bad shifts, your fingers curl around it instinctively beneath your scrubs. Like touching it grounds you.

Nurse Yang notices once while you’re scrubbing in for surgery.

“No news?”

You shake your head once but you repeat his words to yourself constantly now. 

No news is good news.

Meaning somewhere out there… He’s alive. Somewhere out there Captain Choi Seungcheol is still fighting his way back to you.

That thought becomes enough to survive on. But logic becomes a fragile thing at 2 a.m. when you’re staring at your phone rereading old messages like they might suddenly update themselves.

Some nights are worse. You’ll sit alone in his apartment curled into the couch wearing one of his sweatshirts while rain taps softly against the windows.

The city glowing outside. That’s when your mind drifts too easily to possibilities, to worst-case scenarios, to all the things trauma surgeons know too well about fragile human bodies.

Those are the nights you force yourself toward the shelf with his medals instead.

Toward proof that he survived before, that he came back before.

Proof that Captain Choi Seungcheol is too stubborn to lose.

One particularly brutal night after losing a patient in surgery, you come home shaking with exhaustion. You barely make it through the apartment door before sinking onto his couch still in scrubs.

And for the first time since he left, you break. Exhausted tears hidden behind your hands because you miss him so much it physically hurts.

And eventually your hand slips beneath your shirt automatically until your fingers curl around the ring resting against your chest.

You close your eyes tightly and whisper into the empty apartment “You better come home, Captain.”

The silence afterward feels endless but somehow somewhere deep down beneath all the fear you still believe he will.

=

Thursday starts like every other impossible hospital day. Too bright fluorescent lights. Too much blood. Too little sleep.

You’ve been awake for almost twenty hours when you finally finish a trauma surgery that nearly went sideways twice.

By the time you step out of the OR, your scrubs are sticking to your skin and your shoulders ache from tension.

Still you saved them. So you scrub your hands slowly at the sink afterward trying to steady your breathing again.

Another life dragged back from the edge. Another day survived.

You’re already mentally preparing for charting when you push through the ER doors.

And then you see him, an officer standing near the nurses’ station.

Military uniform. Formal posture waiting by the main lobby. At first your brain doesn’t process it. Hospitals get officers sometimes. Paperwork. Routine check-ups. 

You glance around briefly assuming he’s here for someone else.

Then he looks directly at you.

And suddenly every cell in your body goes cold.

No.

No no no.

The world narrows instantly.

You stop walking. The officer takes one careful step forward.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

Your heartbeat becomes deafening.

Somewhere far away monitors keep beeping. Nurses move past. Someone calls for transport but all you can hear is blood roaring in your ears.

The officer’s expression shifts subtly.

Gentler.

Prepared.

And you know. You know before he even speaks.

The floor beneath your feet feels like it physically gives out

“Captain Choi Seungcheol was injured during deployment—”

No.

“—he was airlifted immediately—”

No.

“—he’s currently being transferred to the base hospital—”

No.

“—doctors are already operating—”

Operating.

“—the injuries were severe—”

Your breathing stutters violently.

“—he’s unconscious—”

The word slams into you hardest.

Unconscious.

Everything after that blurs. 

Too close. Critical. Heavy blood loss.

None of it makes sense because this morning you were literally thinking about him while making coffee, because his hoodie you wore last night is still hanging over the couch. 

Because he promised.

You stare at the officer but suddenly can’t feel your hands properly. Your fingers curl instinctively around the ring beneath your scrubs.

Cold metal against shaking skin.

No.

No no no.

Not him.

Not Seungcheol. Not your Seungcheol. 

Your vision blurs instantly. The hallway tilts sickeningly.

Then somewhere nearby “Doctor Y/N?” Nurse Yang spots you talking to the officer, walking slowly towards you.

Bless Nurse Yang. She takes one look at your face from down the hall and immediately knows something is wrong.

“Y/N?”

Your knees buckle before you even realize it. The floor rushes up terrifyingly fast. Then suddenly arms catch you halfway down.

Voices erupt around you.

“Get a chair—”

“She’s pale—”

“Doctor, breathe—”

But all you can hear is:

Unconscious.

Severe.

Operating.

You start crying before you even realize you are. Terrified broken sobs that rip out of your chest uncontrollably while Nurse Yang kneels in front of you holding your face steady.

“Hey hey hey—look at me”

Your breathing turns sharp and uneven

“I can’t—” you choke out “I can’t—”

“Yes you can” her hands wipe your tears quickly like she’s done this your entire life, purely maternal. Grounding. Steady.

You grip desperately at her sleeves

“Where is he?” you choke out in between sobs

The officer answers carefully, “He arrived at the military hospital approximately twenty minutes ago.”

“Is he alive?” The question comes out broken. Barely audible.

The officer pauses just long enough to destroy you further

“Yes.”

You inhale shakily. Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

You cling to the word immediately.

Nurse Yang smooths your hair back gently while you struggle to breathe through the panic crushing your chest.

“You need to go” she says softly

Your eyes snap to hers immediately “But—”

“He needs you more right now.” That nearly breaks you all over again.

You shake violently while trying to stand. Doctor instincts and terrified girlfriend instincts colliding painfully together.

Your brain keeps supplying possibilities automatically.

Internal bleeding. Head trauma. Ventilator. Emergency thoracotomy.

You know too much. Far too much.

“Hey.” Nurse Yang grips your shoulders firmly before you spiral further “Don’t do that to yourself yet.”

Your eyes fill again instantly “What if I’m too late?”

Her expression softens painfully “This is the same man who waited for you for seven hours. I’m betting everything that even now he’s fighting his way back to you”

Neither of you can promise that and you both know it but she still says it to you.

The officer offers to escort you immediately. Someone brings your bag. Someone else presses water into your shaking hands.

The ER around you keeps moving. Life continuing cruelly normal while yours cracks apart in real time.

As you walk out of the hospital, your fingers clutch the ring beneath your scrubs so tightly it hurts.

Your engagement ring.

Your promise.

Your Seungcheol.

Please. Please come back to me.

Because suddenly the thought of a world without Captain Choi Seungcheol in it feels impossible to survive.

The drive to the base feels unreal, it felt like you’re watching someone else’s life happen through thick glass.

The officer beside you speaks occasionally.

You think. Maybe. The words barely register. Everything sounds distorted underwater.

Your hands won’t stop shaking. You keep rubbing your thumb against the ring hanging beneath your shirt until the skin feels raw.

Outside the car window, the city passes in blurred streaks of light. Entire worlds continuing normally while yours feels suspended somewhere between hope and catastrophe.

By the time you reach the military base hospital, your body is running purely on adrenaline and terror.

Everything there feels colder somehow. Security escorts you through corridors too clean and too quiet.

You catch glimpses of uniforms. Doctors moving quickly. Restricted doors.

No one tells you much. Only fragments.

“He’s still in surgery.” “There was significant blood loss.” “Multiple shrapnel injuries.” “Close-range impact.”

Each sentence lands like another crack splitting through your chest. And because you’re a doctor that makes this infinitely worse. You know what significant blood loss means. You know how dangerous shrapnel is, how unpredictable.

How one tiny fragment can tear through organs and arteries like paper.

Your brain fills in every possibility automatically no matter how hard you try stopping it.

You imagine ventilators. Chest tubes. Open abdomen. Internal hemorrhage.

You hate yourself for knowing too much.

They settle you in a waiting area eventually.

Someone offers water, coffee, food but you refuse all of it. You can’t swallow properly anyway.

Hours pass strangely after that. Time becomes measured in footsteps outside the OR and every time the doors swing open your heart nearly stops.

At some point an officer quietly approaches you again.

Older. Gentler expression. The kind reserved for terrible conversations.

Your stomach drops instantly.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says carefully “may we speak privately for a moment?”

No.

You already know what kind of conversation this is before he even finishes.

You stand. Your legs feel numb walking into the quieter office nearby.

The officer gestures toward a chair.

“Captain Choi updated his records before deployment.”

Your chest tightens violently. The forms, the ones at the dining table. The ones you cried over.

The officer continues carefully

“In the event of worst-case outcomes, you were designated primary next of kin regarding medical authorization and personal directives.”

Worst-case outcomes. Your vision blurs immediately again.

The officer slides a folder carefully across the desk. Inside are signatures you recognize instantly.

Seungcheol’s handwriting.

Steady. Certain. Prepared.

Prepared for things he never prepared you for.

Your breath catches painfully.

“There are protocols we may need to discuss if his condition worsens—”

“No.” The word leaves you instantly. Sharp.

The officer pauses gently “Doctor—”

“No.” You back away slightly from the desk

Because if you let this become real. if you let yourself imagine life support decisions and emergency directives and memorial procedures. You’ll shatter completely.

“He’s alive,” you whisper desperately

“Yes”

“So don’t talk to me like he’s not coming back”

Then it was just silence again. Not the comforting kind, heavy. Too loud. 

The officer’s expression softens further. Not pity. Something sadder. Understanding.

“Captain Choi spoke very highly of you” he says quietly instead

You look away quickly before another sob escapes. The officer thankfully doesn’t push further.

Eventually he guides you back toward the surgical floor where the waiting becomes unbearable again.

Hour four.

Hour five.

Hour six.

You don’t move.

Not really.

You sit curled slightly forward in the chair outside surgery with your hands clasped so tightly together your knuckles ache.

Every doctor who walks past makes your head snap up instantly. Every time it’s not his surgeon, disappointment crashes into you again. Someone drapes a blanket over your shoulders at some point.

You don’t notice who.

Your eyes burn continuously from exhaustion and crying.

Still you stay.

Because what if he wakes up? What if he asks for you?

What if—

You can’t not be there.

By hour seven you’ve started bargaining silently with every higher power you’ve never properly believed in.

Please. Take anything. Take sleep. Take years off your life.

Just let him survive this.

Just let him come home.

Please.

Then finally by hour eight the surgery doors open again. This time a doctor steps out removing his surgical cap slowly. And immediately you know this is it.

Your body jerks upright so fast the chair nearly tips over behind you.

Your heartbeat becomes violent. 

The surgeon looks exhausted. Blood still staining part of his scrub sleeve.

You cross the distance toward him before he even fully reaches you.

“How is he?” Your voice breaks halfway through the question

The doctor studies your face for one terrible endless second “He survived the surgery.”

The air leaves your lungs so sharply it hurts.You physically stagger with relief.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

But the doctor’s expression stays serious.

“He lost a dangerous amount of blood,” he continues carefully “There was significant internal damage. We removed the shrapnel we could safely access”

Your chest tightens again instantly.

“He’s critical right now,” the surgeon says honestly “The next twenty-four hours are extremely important.”

Not safe yet. Not stable. But alive. You understand fully what he’s talking about but still it’s like the words are not sinking in. 

You nod shakily while tears spill again despite yourself.

“Can I see him?”

“…Yes.”

And suddenly your legs almost give out from relief and terror all over again.

Because Captain Choi Seungcheol survived.

Barely but he’s still here.

Still yours to hold onto.

The first twelve hours pass with your heart lodged permanently in your throat. You didn’t even dare to sleep even when your eyes hurt and every fibre of your being was beyond exhausted. 

The fear is still flowing stronger in your system that every time you so much close your eyes for 5 seconds, every ugly outcome plays in your head. 

So you stay awake through the night, until the day breaks again and the world continues turning while yours stay suspended. 

Every monitor beep becomes life or death.

Every slight shift in his vitals sends adrenaline through your bloodstream instantly.

You barely sleep. Barely eat. Barely move from the chair beside his bed.

But he makes it through the night.

Then another and another.

By the second day, the doctors cautiously stop using the word critical every other sentence.

By then you finally breathe slightly easier. Not fully but enough to stop feeling like the world might end every time a nurse walks toward his room.

As a doctor, you know exactly what his body is doing right now. Healing takes time especially after trauma like this. You know waking him too early would only strain recovery further.

So instead you wait.

That becomes your entire existence. Waiting, watching, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through machines.

Sometimes talking quietly to him when the room gets too silent.

Telling him about your shifts.

About Nurse Yang threatening to physically drag you home if you didn’t shower soon.

About how Minho nearly cried seeing him in surgery recovery.

Anything. Everything.

Because the idea of him waking up alone feels unbearable somehow.

By day three, nearly everyone on the floor knows you.

The exhausted ER doctor who refuses to leave Captain Choi’s bedside.

The nurses start bringing you coffee without asking, one older nurse even gently scolds you for sleeping bent over his bed like you’re trying to become part of the furniture.

Nurse Yang arrives that afternoon carrying an overnight bag and enough judgment in her face to rival a disappointed mother.

“You look horrible” she says immediately

You nearly cry from affection alone “You came.”

“Obviously.” She hands you the bag then hugs you tightly. Exactly what you needed after all these days.

 “Fresh clothes. Toothbrush. Skin care because frankly this situation is tragic.”

You laugh weakly for the first time in days. Then immediately start crying afterward anyway because exhaustion makes emotions ridiculous.

Nurse Yang hugs you tightly again “He’s alive,” she reminds softly

You nod shakily against her shoulder “I know.”

Still you don’t leave. Even after showering in the hospital facilities and changing clothes, you return right back to his bedside.

Because this is where you belong right now. Beside him. Waiting for him to come back fully.

And finally on the third night Seungcheol wakes up.

At first, it’s pain.

Everywhere.

Heavy. Blunt. Like his entire body’s been shattered apart and stitched back together wrong.

His chest burns. Hiis ribs ache sharply every time he breathes. Something pulls unpleasantly at his arm. Machines beep steadily nearby.

Then memory crashes back all at once.

The mission. The explosion. Blood. Darkness.

And instantly his eyes force themselves open harder.

Disoriented.

The room swims briefly before focusing slowly.

Hospital. Recovery room.

Alive.

Then—

You.

That wakes him fully despite the pain screaming through his body.

His head turns sharply enough to make dizziness hit immediately but he barely notices because there you are curled awkwardly in the chair beside his bed.

Asleep.

Your body slumped at an angle that absolutely cannot be comfortable. Eyes obviously swollen even during sleep. One hand loosely gripping the edge of his blanket even in sleep.

And his hand—

His hand is resting against your cheek like at some point you must’ve taken it carefully and placed it there yourself.

Seungcheol stares at you silently. His chest hurts worse for entirely different reasons now.

You look exhausted.

No—destroyed.

Dark circles heavy beneath your eyes, like the light that was there before he left also went away with him. Cheeks thinner somehow like life drained everything from you the past months he wasn’t present.

His throat tightens painfully.

How long have you been here? The thought alone nearly wrecks him immediately.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts his fingers slightly against your cheek.

Tiny movement but enough to stir you awake. As if even in your sleep, your body is in tune to his movements. 

Your brows twitch faintly then your eyes slowly open. Disoriented at first, heavy with exhaustion. You blink once.

Twice.

Then freeze completely.

Your gaze locks onto his and suddenly you’re awake.

“Cheol?” Your voice cracks instantly

Seungcheol tries speaking but his throat feels wrecked

“…Hey pretty girl.”

The moment you hear his voice awake and real, it took you a second to let it all sink in. And then… you break.

A sob leaves you immediately before you can stop it. You stand so fast the chair nearly crashes backward.

“Hey—”

“Don’t,” you choke out instantly while tears spill down your face “Don’t even start.”

Seungcheol looks at you like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time. Then suddenly you’re gripping his hand carefully with both of yours like you’re terrified he’ll disappear if you let go.

“You idiot,” you whisper through tears “You absolute idiot.”

His lips twitch weakly “There she is.”

“You almost died!”

“I know”

“You promised me!” the words come out broken.

Small, breaking with each syllable and somehow that hurts him more than the explosion ever did.

Seungcheol’s gaze softens painfully while watching you cry beside him. His thumb brushes weakly across your cheek.

“I’m sorry”

“You scared me so bad” your voice shakes violently now “I thought—”

You can’t even finish it because saying it out loud feels impossible. It’s a version of reality you don’t even want to speak out to the universe.

Seungcheol watches you silently for a second before gathering enough strength to squeeze your hand back.

“But I came back.”

That absolutely ruins you. You lean forward carefully immediately, forehead pressing shakily against the back of his hand while you cry silently.

And Seungcheol… even half destroyed. even barely conscious, even in pain looks at you and realizes one terrifying undeniable truth:

Coming back to you was the only thing he thought about while dying.

You cry, you let out all the tears you didn’t know you still had in you even after the past 4 days you’ve cried by his bedside. And Seungcheol, even with the stabbing pain on his side, every bone aching in his body, he holds you close. 

He soothes you as you cry, until it quiets down and you’re sniffling softly still glued to his side. 

You look at him, thankful you get to see those eyes again staring back at you. 

“Don’t you ever, and I mean ever scare me like that again. I swear I will revive you myself just so I can scold you some more” you mumble jokingly, earning a small smile from him. 

Despite the bruises, cuts, and wires still attached to him, you see that dimpled smile. He’s still him. Still your Seungcheol. 

Still the same man who promised he’ll come back to you every single time. 

=

The following weeks settle into something quieter. Like the universe finally decided you both suffered enough for a while.

Seungcheol gets discharged with strict instructions and an even stricter girlfriend.

His doctors barely finish explaining the recovery guidelines before you’re already nodding seriously beside the bed.

“No strenuous activity.”

You nod.

“Limited movement.”

Another nod.

“Absolutely no returning to active duty until cleared.”

You point directly at Seungcheol “You hear that?”

Seungcheol, still pale and sore in the wheelchair, looks entirely unbothered.

“Yes ma’am.”

One doctor snorts into his coffee, another outright laughs but you ignore them.

“This man,” you continue firmly “thinks almost dying means light stretching.”

“It was one time,” Seungcheol mutters

“One time too many” you glare at him

The nurses adore you instantly. Mostly because Captain Choi Seungcheol—terrifying decorated military officer—apparently becomes suspiciously obedient around you.

Back at his apartment, you immediately take over. You of course still refused to leave his side. Not that he minded, he loved it even. Seeing his apartment slowly turn into a shared space with you. 

He sees a plant by the windowsil. He knows you’re definitely the one who put it there. He never stayed home long enough before to bother taking care of anything. 

But that small plant, that was a simple reminder of all the months you waited for him. All the weeks you both were standing opposite sides of the world, under the same sky, different timezones. 

The following days it has become clear you run the house now.  You move his medications into neat schedules. Adjust pillows behind his back before he can complain. Hover whenever he walks too quickly.

And god forbid he tries lifting anything heavier than a water bottle.

On day three post-discharge, you walk into the kitchen to find him reaching for a pan. Your expression hardens immediately.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

He freezes mid-reach, slowly glances over “…Yes?”

“Put it down.”

“It’s one pan”

“You have internal stitches.”

“I was making breakfast”

“You were making bad decisions.”

He laughs while obediently setting the pan down anyway.

Honestly, the near death experience somehow made him worse because now he looks at you with this soft, unbearably fond expression every single time you fuss over him.

Like almost dying only made him love you harder. Which is deeply unfair.

A week after discharge, reality unfortunately catches up again.

You have to go back to work.

You stand near the front door in scrubs fixing your ID badge while glaring suspiciously toward the couch.

Seungcheol lounges there comfortably in grey sweats and a black shirt, watching obiediently before he gets scolded yet again. 

Still healing. Still slower moving. Still the prettiest man you’ve ever seen apparently.

“I will know,” you warn seriously, pointing at him “And I mean it, Choi Seungcheol. I will know if you don’t rest today.”

He raises both hands immediately in surrender 

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t yes ma’am me”

“Yes doctor.”

“That’s worse.”

His laugh rumbles warmly through the apartment.

God you missed that sound so much.

You grab your bag dramatically “I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“No lifting.”

“Mhm.”

“No training.”

“Mhm.”

“No pretending you’re fine.”

That makes his expression soften slightly “…Okay.”

You hesitate then.

Because even after weeks beside him in hospital beds and recovery rooms, leaving him still feels wrong somehow. Like your body hasn’t fully recovered from almost losing him.

Seungcheol notices instantly.

Of course he does.

His voice gentles “Come here.”

Immediately your eyes widen

“What?” You rush toward him instantly “What hurts? Your stitches? Let me see.”

You’re already kneeling beside the couch trying to inspect him before he starts laughing softly.

“Pretty girl”

“What happened? What hurts?”

“Nothing.”

“You said come here in the serious voice!”

“There’s a serious voice?”

“Yes!”

He chuckles helplessly before catching your wrist gently. Then with surprising ease despite the healing injuries, he pulls you closer until you tumble onto the couch beside him.

“Cheol—careful—”

“I’m okay.”

You immediately check his expression anyway.

So instead of teasing further, Seungcheol reaches slowly beneath your scrub top.

You blink “What are you—”

His fingers find the chain around your neck. The one you’ve worn every single day.

Carefully, gently, he pulls it free. The ring catches softly in the morning light.

Your breath stills immediately.

Seungcheol’s expression changes then. Softer than you’ve ever seen it.

No captain.

No soldier.

Just him.

Just the man who came back to you.

His fingers carefully unclasp the chain while you stare silently.

“You kept wearing it,” he murmurs quietly

Your throat tightens “Of course I did.”

His gaze lifts to yours slowly. Then with infinite care he slides the ring onto your finger.

Exactly where it belongs.

Your breath catches sharply the moment it settles there. Seungcheol’s thumb brushes gently over your knuckles afterward. Staring back down to your finger where now the rings sits beautifully. 

“Told you I’d ask when I came back.”

The tears hit instantly. Again.

You let out a watery laugh while covering your face briefly.

“Oh my god.”

Seungcheol smiles softly. Not teasing, almost nervous somehow. Which feels insane considering this is Captain Choi Seungcheol.

“You’re crying already,” he murmurs

“You almost died!”

“And?”

“And now you’re proposing on a random Tuesday morning!”

“It’s Wednesday.”

You stare at him in disbelief “That’s your defense?”

His dimples appear immediately and despite yourself, despite the tears and fear and everything you’ve both survived—

You laugh.

The kind he was terrified he might never hear again.

Seungcheol watches you like the sound itself keeps him alive.

“I was serious, you know.”

Your laughter fades slowly “I know.”

“When I said I want a life with you.”

Your chest aches painfully because you believe him completely, because you can’t imagine if you didn’t get to live this moment. Because you know you can’t see any other version of you and him but this. 

Together. 

Seungcheol reaches up carefully, fingers brushing stray damp hair away from your face.

“I know my life is…” He exhales softly “Complicated.”

“You got blown up.”

“A little dramatic, yeah.”

You glare instantly “Choi Seungcheol.”

“Sorry” but he’s smiling faintly now. Then serious again 

“I can’t promise easy,” he says honestly “Or normal.”

You shake your head immediately “I don’t need normal.”

His eyes search yours carefully.

“I can promise I’ll love you properly though.”

That destroys whatever composure you had left. Your mouth trembles before you lean forward suddenly and kiss him hard enough he nearly forgets every injury in his body.

Seungcheol makes a startled sound against your lips before immediately kissing you back.

One hand cradling your jaw carefully while the other settles against your waist.

When you finally pull back, both of you breathing unevenly, your forehead drops against his.

And finally, finally he asks 

“I used to think coming home meant a place. I used to tell myself I can’t want that, a future, a normal life. That I wouldn’t llve long enough to long for it. And then came you” he breathes out, the most vulnerable he’s ever been in his entire life. 

This is all him, Captain Choi, your Seungcheol, all versions of him you’ve come to love, completely surrendering to you.

“If I get a second chance at life, I want to spend every second of it with you. Will you marry me?”

You’re crying, laughing, smiling, grabbing at his face as you mumble yes over and over again. 

He laughs, holding you close. 

“You know,” you whisper shakily, “you’re really lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

“Obsessed?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Good,” he murmurs “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since the convenience store.”

You freeze then slowly pull back.

“…What.”

Seungcheol immediately realizes his mistake but it’s too late. Your eyes widen dramatically.

“The convenience store?!”

His ears redden faintly.

You gasp loudly. “Oh my god you fell first”

“I’m recovering, be kind.”

“No absolutely not.”

You grab his face immediately “You were gone for the convenience store girl?”

He groans while you laugh helplessly. Sitting here in his apartment wrapped in morning light, your engagement ring warm on your hand while the man you love looks at you like surviving was worth it—

You realize something quietly wonderful.

You made it.

Against every terrifying possibility.

You made it back to each other.

=

One year later, somehow, the world still hasn’t slowed down for either of you.

Your schedules are still terrible. Your sleep schedules even worse.

There are still nights you come home with blood on your shoes and mornings Seungcheol leaves before sunrise without being able to tell you where he’s going.

Some things never change.

But now, now there’s always someone waiting at the end of it.

And that changes everything.

It’s been one year since the hospital room.

One year since the ring slid onto your finger in his apartment while he looked at you like surviving was the only option.

One year of learning each other’s rhythms completely.

Your toothbrush permanently beside his. His clothes somehow invading every corner of your shared apartment. Your coffee order already waiting before shifts.

His hand automatically finding yours whenever you walk beside each other.

Home becoming less a place and more a person.

Tonight you’re exhausted enough to hallucinate.

The ER was chaos from the second your shift started. You barely sat down once.

By the time you finally clock out close to midnight, your shoulders ache and your brain feels fried.

You’re half listening to one of the nurses complaining about a resident while walking toward the hospital exit when suddenly you stop.

Then immediately bolt “OH MY GOD—”

The nurse behind you yelps in shock as you sprint full speed across the parking lot “Doctor?!”

But you’re already gone. Because leaning casually against a black SUV under the parking lights is Seungcheol.

Freshly back from deployment.

Four weeks gone this time, dhorter than before. Still too long.

The second he sees you running toward him, his entire face softens and then you crash into him hard enough that he actually stumbles backward laughing.

“Hey—” “YOU’RE HOME.”

Your arms lock around his neck instantly while his wrap tight around your waist. Lifting you fully off the ground without effort.

You don’t even care that several nurses and staff definitely witnessed you abandoning professionalism entirely.

Let them.

Your fiancé is home.

Seungcheol buries his face briefly against your neck while holding you impossibly close.

God you missed him.

“You almost tackled me,” he murmurs against your skin

You finally pull back enough to look at him properly. Healthier this time. No visible injuries. No bandages hidden beneath clothes.

Just slightly longer hair, tired eyes, and the familiar warmth that settles in your chest every single time you see him.

Your hands immediately grab his face anyway

“You’re okay?”

Seungcheol smiles softly “I’m okay.”

You inspect him suspiciously “Any scratches?”

“Pretty girl—” “Answer carefully.”

He laughs quietly “No scratches.”

“Good”

Then you kiss him. Right there in the parking lot.

Like you physically cannot help yourself.

Seungcheol kisses you back instantly, one hand warm against your jaw while the other stays firm at your waist.

Somewhere nearby someone whistles loudly.

You break apart immediately glaring toward the hospital doors.

“Mind your business!”

The ER nurse cackles while disappearing back inside. Seungcheol laughs helplessly against your temple.

God, he missed this life.

Later, he drives you somewhere unexpected. A convenience store.

Specifically the convenience store. The one where this entire disaster started.

You stare at him as he parks “…Seriously?”

He shrugs innocently “You said you were hungry.”

“You’re sentimental.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Correct.”

Now you both sit outside on the little plastic convenience store chairs under bright fluorescent lights.

If someone told either of you that that night was going to change both you’re lives, you wouldn’t believe it. But here you are now. 

You’re wearing his hoodie over your scrubs while inhaling instant ramen like you haven’t eaten in years.

Seungcheol watches you with narrowing eyes

“How much ramen did you eat while I was gone?”

You freeze mid-slurp “…Normal amount.”

“Define normal.”

Silence. Seungcheol already looks unconvinced.

“Babe.”

You avoid eye contact aggressively

“Y/N.”

“…Enough.”

“How enough?”

You point your chopsticks at him accusingly 

“First of all, your fault.”

“My fault you committed sodium crimes?”

“You stocked the pantry with ramen!”

“Emergency ramen.”

“Every ramen is emergency ramen when you work trauma.”

Seungcheol groans while rubbing his forehead

“Pretty girl, that cannot be healthy. You’re literally a doctor.”

You immediately defend yourself “I barely slept!”

“That’s not helping your argument.”

“You think after twenty hours I’m cooking vegetables?”

“Yes?”

“I could barely identify my own reflection.”

He stares at you in disbelief “So you just lived off ramen?”

You mutter into the cup quietly “…Maybe.”

“Yah.”

“What?!”

“Three weeks!”

“I added eggs sometimes!”

He shoots a fond but disappointed look “That’s not nutrition!”

“It’s garnish.”

Seungcheol looks genuinely distressed now meanwhile you continue eating shamelessly. Then suddenly his hand reaches over and wipes broth from the corner of your mouth with his thumb automatically.

The movement is so practiced now neither of you even pauses.

You look at him while chewing slowly 

“…I missed you.”

His expression softens immediately “I know.”

“No, like seriously.” You slump dramatically against his shoulder afterward “I almost started talking to your plants.”

That makes him laugh, the sound still feels like home to you.

“It was dark times.”

You lean more comfortably against him while the cool night air settles around you. Cars pass occasionally. The convenience store doors slide open and shut every few minutes.

Nothing extraordinary and somehow that’s what makes it precious.

Because your lives are anything but ordinary.

Tomorrow you’ll both go back to chaos again. He’ll return to military briefings and dangerous assignments. You’ll return to trauma calls and impossible surgeries.

There will always be risk.

Always uncertainty.

But now there’s this too.

Plastic convenience store chairs at midnight. His hand resting warm on your thigh absentmindedly. Arguing over ramen like an old married couple.

Love woven quietly into ordinary moments between disasters.

Seungcheol suddenly glances at you.

“What?”

He studies your face for a second.

“Still ran toward me.”

Your brows lift slightly.

“Huh?”

“In the parking lot.” His thumb brushes lightly against your knee. “Every time I come back, you still look at me like that.”

Your chest squeezes immediately.

Because he says it like he’s still surprised, like some part of him still can’t fully believe someone waits for him this way.

You set your ramen down quietl before you  lean over and kiss him once.

When you pull back, your forehead rests briefly against his.

“Captain, I would run through wars for you,” you whisper, giggling against his lips. 

He chuckles, not doubting for a second you would. Just like he would, and always will. 

Seungcheol looks at you silently afterward and even after everything he’s survived but nothing has ever hit him harder than that simple promise.

His hand lifts slowly, thumb brushing over your engagement ring glinting beneath the convenience store lights.

Then he smiles softly.

And sitting there beside him one year after everything almost ended, you realize this is what makes all the chaos survivable.

Just this. Him beside you.

Alive.

Loved.

And coming home every single time he can.

[scarletwinterxx]

casualties of chemistry - choi seungcheol imagine part two

it looks like this will be a three part post😅😭 spoiler haha yes there is still one more part left. i thought it would be only 2 parts but i still have like 20 or so pages to edit and i aaaaaaam fried. but really thank you so so so so much for loving this fic🤍

and yes... i edited this while watching cheol play😅 tmi i guess

PART ONE HERE

alsoooo i have a kofi acc, if anyone wants to send some coffee thank u in advance😊🌻🤍

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

By 8 a.m., you’re surviving purely on five hours of sleep, caffeine deprivation, and spite. Mostly spite.

The ER thankfully isn’t exploding yet, but the overnight shift already left behind enough disaster to ruin your mood.

You stand at the nurses’ station with a chart in hand mid-rant while Nurse Yang calmly drinks tea beside you like she’s witnessed this exact breakdown a thousand times before.

“I’m serious,” you complain “If ortho ignores one more consult page I’m sawing bones myself.”

“Mhm”

“And why,” you continue, flipping through scans aggressively, “did somebody discharge Bed 4 without repeat labs? Why are people like this?”

“Mhm”

“I’m surrounded by incompetence”

Nurse Yang takes another peaceful sip. “You say that every morning”

“Because every morning people continue disappointing me”

Right as you finish speaking, the ER doors slide open. You don’t even look up fully.

“Oh great here we go” you mutter

Instead of chaos, an iced coffee lands gently on the counter beside your chart.

You blink. Look down. Your order. Exactly your order. Your head lifts immediately.

And there he is. Choi Seungcheol stands on the other side of the nurses’ station dressed casually for once. Just broad shoulders and unfairly handsome morning face somehow completely unaffected by the concept of exhaustion.

You stare at him then the coffee then back at him again

“…What?”

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly “You sounded angry over text”

“I am angry.”

“I know.”

Then he casually places another paper bag onto the counter. Curious, you peek inside. Bread. Croissants. Garlic bread. Even melon bread. 

Your head snaps up again.

Seungcheol shrugs once “You didn’t mention which one you liked. So I got a few” 

The nurses around you immediately start making noises.

“Oh my god.

“That’s so sweet.”

“Doctor, marry him.”

“And,” Seungcheol adds calmly, nodding toward another tray behind him, “I got coffee for the staff too”

Head Nurse Yang suddenly smiles at him warmly “Handsome and generous,” she says approvingly 

“Are you perhaps married?”

“Nurse Yang!” You gasp dramatically before Seungcheol can answer 

She ignores you completely “I have nieces.”

“Please stop trying to recruit my man ” you complain immediately. Seungcheol’s eyebrows lift.

Your man.

You point accusingly at Nurse Yang “I called dibs.”

The entire nurses’ station erupts into laughter instantly. Even Seungcheol laughs under his breath. Those stupid dimples appear again. That finally gets a full laugh out of him. Warm and deep enough that several nurses nearby suddenly look interested. 

You immediately grab your coffee before anyone else can flirt with him

“Mine,” you mutter possessively

Seungcheol watches you shove the straw in and take your first sip like your life depends on it. The exhaustion on your face eases almost instantly.

Then you dig into the pastry bag with equal excitement.

“How did you even know my order?” you ask suspiciously between sips

“You complain specifically about bad coffee”

“That doesn’t answer the question”

“You’re predictable.”

You narrow your eyes at him while chewing then point your pastry at him threateningly.

“Careful. I know how to remove organs”

“Yes ma’am.”

Your soul leaves your body briefly. Nurse Yang catches it immediately too because the woman starts smiling into her coffee like she just witnessed something deeply entertaining. You refuse to acknowledge any of it. Instead you focus on the bread aggressively.

Seungcheol leans casually against the counter watching you eat for another moment before nodding toward the hallway.

“Just dropping those off”

Your eyes lift again immediately “You’re leaving already?”

“Office work, reports don't submitt themselves unfortunately,” he says “Then gym. Training.”

You hum quietly, suddenly very aware you don’t actually want him to leave yet. Unfortunately the universe remains committed to ruining your life because a resident suddenly appears beside you looking panicked.

“Doctor, Trauma 2 needs review.”

“There it is.” Back into doctor mode instantly.

“What time are you off?” he asks before you can run away

You glance back while grabbing your chart

“Honestly? No idea.”

He nods once like he expected that answe “Call me. I’ll pick you up”

The nurses around you collectively lose their minds silently behind you. You can literally feel the staring. 

You point at them without looking “If any of you giggle, I’m assigning catheter duty.”

Immediate silence. Then you look back at Seungcheol. And despite the exhaustion, the chaos, the incoming trauma consult… You smile.

“Okay,” you say quietly

By the time you finally step out of the hospital, it’s 4:07 a.m.

The city is quiet in that eerie almost-morning way.

Cold air brushes against your skin as the automatic hospital doors slide shut behind you.

And God you’re exhausted. Your neck cracks painfully when you tilt your head side to side. Your entire body aches from fourteen straight hours of chaos, three emergency surgeries, and one resident who nearly contaminated a sterile field bad enough for you to see your ancestors.

You groan softly while fishing your phone from your coat pocket.

“Cab,” you mumble to yourself. “Need cab. Need unconsciousness.”

Then suddenly your brain catches up.

Cheol.

Your eyes widen “Oh shit.”

You unlock your phone quickly and nearly wince. A few texts. All from him.

The first one around nine.

Cheol: still buried alive in the ER?

Cheol: doctor?

And finally around midnight:

Cheol: You alive?

Your chest squeezes unpleasantly, immediately start typing a reply. Then pause because it’s literally four in the morning.

Any sane person is asleep.

You’re debating whether apologizing via text at dawn counts as emotional terrorism then you hear footsteps echo softly behind you. Seriously considering bolting back inside because you’re the biggest scaredy cat. 

You turn, reado to throw your phone if needed then freeze.

Seungcheol walks toward you from the darker side of the parking area with his hands tucked inside the pockets of a dark hoodie.

No terrifying military aura tonight. Just messy hair from pulling his hood down, tired eyes, and soft grey sweats beneath the parking lot lights.

Less intimidating captain.

More…

Oh no.

More like someone you’d desperately want to cuddle into while sleeping for twelve straight hours.

Mentally, you slap yourself.

Get it together.

“What are you doing here?!” you blurt immediately “It’s four in the morning!”

Seungcheol chuckles quietly, already closing the distance between you both.

“You didn’t reply” Like that explains everything.

He stops right in front of you. Close enough that you can smell faint traces of detergent and coffee on him.

Your sleepy brain finally processes the situation fully.

Slowly, you glance past him. There. His car still parked near the curb.

Your eyes widen then slowly lift back toward him.

“…Wait.”

Seungcheol says nothing.

“…Did you—”

Silence.

“Oh my god.”

“Cheol.”

“You were busy”

“You waited here since nine?!”

He shrugs Like sitting in a hospital parking lot for seven hours is a perfectly normal activity.

Your jaw drops open “Cheol!”

“Oh my god, you could’ve gone home! Rested! Slept like a normal person!”

“I did sleep”

“In the car?!”

“A little”

You look genuinely distressed now. Meanwhile Seungcheol just watches you fuss over him with something warm settling deep in his chest.

Because no one reacts like this over him. Not usually. Most people are intimidated by him first. Careful around him second.

But you, you look personally offended he waited for you.

Your eyes scan him quickly now, checking for signs of exhaustion automatically.

“You look tired,” you mumble

“So do you”

“That’s not the point”

“It kind of is.”

You groan softly and cover your face with one hand “This is insane behavior.”

“You work twenty-hour shifts voluntarily”

“That’s different”

“How?”

“I save lives.”

“So do I.”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

Damn him.

Seungcheol watches the tiny battle happening in your expression and finally laughs properly.

God. That laugh at four in the morning should be illegal.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter.

“And yet,” he says calmly, “you’re smiling.”

Your eyes narrow slightly.

“Did you at least eat?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Again that stupid yes ma’am. Your knees genuinely feel weak from exhaustion and him.

A dangerous combination.

You sigh dramatically before stepping closer and grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie lightly.

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?” he asks quietly.

“You waited seven hours in a parking lot,” you say firmly. “I’m buying you breakfast.”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“There’s a twenty-four-hour soup place two streets over.”

“You need sleep.”

“And you need psychological evaluation.” That earns another laugh.

You start pulling him toward the parking lot slowly, still half awake yourself.

Then suddenly stop mid-step. Your grip on his sleeve tightens slightly.

Seungcheol looks down immediately “You okay?”

You stare up at him with sleepy disbelief “…You really stayed.”

The teasing leaves his expression instantly.

Now it’s just him.

“Of course I did,” he says softly.

And that almost hurts worse than any flirtation because nobody says things like that casually. Nobody waits seven hours unless they mean it.

Your chest feels unbearably warm suddenly.

So instead of saying anything embarrassing, you grumble “You’re lucky you’re handsome.”

Seungcheol’s dimples appear immediately “Mm,” he murmurs while opening the passenger door for you

You barely make it five minutes toward the soup place before your body gives up entirely. One second you’re mumbling something about dumplings. the next…silence.

Seungcheol glances over at the red light and nearly laughs.

You’re asleep again.

Completely out cold in his passenger seat with his extra jacket wrapped around you like a blanket. Somewhere between leaving the hospital and getting into the car, he draped it over your shoulders because you shivered once and looked too tired to notice.

Now your cheek is pressed against the seatbelt, arms folded loosely around yourself.

Soft little breaths. Occasional tiny snore. Honestly the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

So instead of waking you, he quietly pulls into the soup place himself, orders takeout. Gets extra side dishes because you strike him as someone who forgets meals constantly. Then returns to the car where you haven’t moved an inch.

The drive to your apartment is quieter this time. The roads are becoming familiar now. That realization settles strangely in his chest too.

Places connected to you slowly becoming familiar territory in his life.

When he finally parks outside your apartment, dawn is just beginning to bleed faint blue into the sky.

You’re still asleep.

Seungcheol sits there for a second just watching you then eventually reaches over carefully. You make a tiny annoyed sound.

Cute.

Dangerously cute.

He unbuckles your seatbelt gently before brushing one hand lightly against your arm.

“Pretty girl.”

Your brows furrow immediately “Mmph.”

“Wake up”

You blindly swat at his hand without opening your eyes “Go ‘way.”

His hand lifts carefully to cradle your cheek instead. Large palm warm against sleepy skin. So impossibly gentle compared to everything he is outside moments like this.

Your eyes finally crack open slowly heavy with sleep.

“…Why are you still handsome at dawn?”

“You’re half asleep.”

“And yet correct” You glare weakly at him while he takes your bag from the backseat then the takeout.

And finally offers you his hand. You stare at it sleepily for one long second before placing yours into it automatically.

Small against his.

He helps you out carefully, keeping his hand around yours while guiding you toward the apartment building. You walk like someone approximately three seconds from collapsing. At one point you drift directly into his side while walking.

The elevator ride is quiet except for your sleepy breathing and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

By the time he reaches your apartment door with you, you’re practically leaning fully against him.

“Keys,” he reminds softly

“Oh” You blink at your bag like it personally betrayed you. Seungcheol ends up finding them himself with a quiet amused sigh.

When your door finally unlocks, you turn toward him slowly instead of going inside immediately.

“You’re unfair,” you mumble suddenly

Seungcheol’s eyebrows lift slightly “How so?”

You stare up at him for a second too long then admit quietly

“You’re making it really hard not to like you.”

The words hit him straight in the chest. No teasing.

Just you.

You continue before he can answer “And I’ll miss you again…” 

“...when I don’t even know if you feel the same.”

Something in his expression changes instantly. Seungcheol sets the takeout down beside the door quietly before lifting his free hand to your chin.

Tilting your face up carefully until your sleepy eyes meet his fully.

“You know,” he says softly, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw, “I used to not care what happened to me out there.”

Your brows furrow slightly “Cheol…”

“But ever since you…” He pauses briefly like the admission itself surprises him.

Then a small smile pulls at his mouth “All I can think about is you nagging me if I come back with another scratch.”

You laugh sleepily “I would.”

“I know.” His thumb brushes your cheek once more

“And I missed you,” he says quieter now. “Probably more than you missed me.”

Immediately you shake your head stubbornly

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know where I disappear to.”

“I still win.”

Seungcheol chuckles softly “Tough competition then.”

You narrow your eyes sleepily at him “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You sway slightly from exhaustion. His hand immediately settles against your waist to steady you. Instinctive. Protective.

Your gaze drops briefly to where he’s holding you before looking back up again.

“…You’re very soft for a scary military man.”

“Only around you.”

Your heart does one dangerous thing against your ribs.

You point weakly at him “That was smooth.”

“I meant it.”

You groan softly and hide your face briefly against his chest. Seungcheol stills completely. Then slowly…

his arm wraps around you properly.

“You smell nice,” you mumble into his hoodie

“You said that half asleep”

“Still true”

He laughs quietly above your head. The sound vibrates warmly through his chest. You stay there another few seconds longer than necessary.

Neither moving. Neither wanting to.

Eventually Seungcheol brushes his fingers lightly through the loose strands of your hair

“You need sleep, doctor.”

“Mhm.”

“You standing here unconscious doesn’t count.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous activity at this hour.”

You huff a sleepy laugh then tilt your head up just enough to look at him again.

“…You’ll text me next time before disappearing?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I will”

The problem with only sleeping four hours after emotionally life-altering hallway conversations is that reality resumes anyway.

Which means by morning you’re late. Again.

You rush around your apartment half awake and mildly homicidal toward time itself.

By the time you finally stumble into the elevator, you’re running entirely on chaos.

“Okay,” you mumble to yourself while fixing your coat hurriedly. “Need coffee. Need functioning nervous system. Need people to stop bleeding for one day—”

The lobby doors slide open. You step out quickly then stop dead in your tracks.

Captain Choi Seungcheol leans casually against his car outside the building like he’s been there a while.

Entirely too attractive for seven in the morning.

Your brain takes a second to catch up. Slowly, you walk toward him.

“Admit it,” you say suspiciously. “You didn’t go home”

Seungcheol chuckles quietly, already moving to open the passenger door for you before you even reach the car

“I did”

“You’re lying”

“I showered”

“That’s not what I asked”

His mouth twitches slightly.Then he says something that completely ruins your ability to function normally

“Just savoring the time I can do this.”

You stop right in front of him “…Do what?”

His gaze holds yours steadily “Take care of you.”

Your heart betrays you instantly. Complete menace.

“Get in the car, doctor”

“You’re dangerously charming for this early in the morning.”

“You’re cute when flustered”

“I’m never speaking again”

“Liar.”

You slide into the passenger seat muttering under your breath about military manipulation tactics. Then immediately pause.

There on the dashboard.

Two iced coffees.

One black. One your exact order again. Beside it a breakfast sandwich and a protein bar like he somehow predicted you forgot to eat.

Which you did.

You stare at the coffee slowly yhen back at him then back at the coffee. “…Are you trying to condition me like a stray cat?”

Seungcheol closes the driver’s door and settles beside you calmly

“If it works”

“I knew it”

“You respond very positively to caffeine and attention.”

“You studied me?”

“I observe patterns”

“You sound like a serial killer”

“You still got in my car”

You grab your coffee immediately anyway. The first sip genuinely makes your eyes close. Perfect.

You point accusingly at him while drinking “This is intimacy.”

“Coffee?”

“Knowing my order”

“You’re easy”

You stare at him in betrayal “Excuse me?”

“You complain specifically.” He starts driving smoothly out of the parking area. “Extra espresso. Minimal sugar. Too much ice. Every single time.”

Your jaw drops “You memorized my complaining?”

“You make it memorable” Seungcheol glances sideways briefly

“What?”

“That’s actually insane.”

“What is?”

“You pay attention like someone preparing for an exam.”

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly “You’re important.”

Your ears feel warm instantly “You can’t just say things like that before 8 a.m.”

“Why not?”

“My emotional defenses aren’t awake yet.”

He laughs quietly and god you love that sound already.

The car falls quiet for a moment after that.

Comfortable quiet.

“Hey Cheol?”

“Mm?”

You look over at him “…You waiting seven hours yesterday was insane.”

“No argument there”

“But…” He glances at you briefly. You look down at your coffee cup while mumbling softer:

“…Thank you.”

He reaches over without hesitation and squeezes your knee once gently.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

Your pulse jumps embarrassingly fast. You recover by narrowing your eyes at him again.

“Careful.”

“With?”

“This level of treatment is making me emotionally attached.”

Seungcheol smiles slowly like he already knows.

“Too late, doctor.”

=

A few more days passed, then a week turned into two until it’s been a month. Until it became a routine. He’ll drive you to your shifts, wait until who knows what hours. Like clockwork he’ll be there waiting for you. 

Like today.

By your standards, 11 p.m. is practically an early release from prison.

You leave the hospital tired but not soul-crushingly exhausted for once, coat hanging loosely over your shoulders while scrolling through post-op updates on your phone.

And instinctively, before you even fully step out you look for him yhich is dangerous in itself now.

And there he is leaning against the hood of his car beneath the streetlights. Eyes immediately finding you the second you appear.

Usually when he looks at you, there’s warmth there.

Tonight something feels different.

Your steps slow slightly as you approach him. There’s familiarity in that expression and it takes you one awful second to place it.

It’s the same look doctors wear before speaking to families.

The careful one. The preparing-for-impact look.

Your stomach tightens instantly. You stop in front of him and narrow your eyes slightly.

“What’s up with you?” you ask quietly. “You look like you’re about to deliver bad news.”

Seungcheol smiles automatically but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And somehow that’s worse.

Without answering immediately, he reaches over and takes your bag from your shoulder first like he always does.

Your chest starts sinking before he even says it.

“I’ll be gone.” The words land softly but they hit like a bruise.

You stare at him and immediately understand.

Deployment.

Again.

Your throat suddenly feels tighter than it should. You glance away briefly toward the empty street before looking back up at him.

“How long?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know.

Or…  he can’t tell you.

The silence stretches painfully between you both. Finally you just nod once and walk around to the passenger side quietly.

Seungcheol watches you carefully.

The worst part? He thinks he understands exactly what this means. This is always the part where people pull away.

The reality of him.

He should’ve known better than to let this become something real. Still, he opens your door gently anyway. You slide inside silently.

The drive home feels entirely different tonight.

His chest feels heavier with every passing red light.

He gets it, you’re a trauma surgeon with your own impossible life already. You deserve consistency. Presence. Someone who won’t vanish for weeks into classified silence.

Not someone like him.

And yet selfishly, he already knows he doesn’t want to lose this.

Lose you.

By the time he parks outside your apartment building, the silence has become almost unbearable.

Seungcheol kills the engine slowly. Still neither of you moves immediately.

Then finally he gets out first and walks around to your side automatically. When he opens your door, you step out quietly.

He hands you your bag. You take it.

Still silent.

And for one awful second, Seungcheol thinks maybe this is it.

Maybe this is where things shift. Where reality finally settles between you both hard enough to break whatever this has become.

Seungcheol watches you carefully, already preparing himself to hear ‘Maybe this won’t work.’

Instead you step closer and suddenly your arms loop around his waist.

Seungcheol freezes completely. Like his body stops processing for half a second.

Your cheek presses lightly against his chest.

The relief that hits him nearly knocks the air from his lungs. Slowly, carefully, his arms come around you instinctively. One around your waist, the other settling protectively against your back holding you close.

You exhale softly against him.

“I hate this part,” you mumble quietly

His eyes close briefly “Yeah, me too.”

“You leave,” you whisper, “and I don’t know when you’re coming back”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens because there’s no good answer to that, no promise he can safely make so instead he just lowers his head slightly until his cheek brushes your hair.

“I know.”

After a moment you tilt your head back slowly to look at him and the second Seungcheol sees your face something shifts.

His gaze drops.

Just briefly.

To your mouth.

Then immediately back to your eyes.

Your breath catches softly and suddenly the air between you changes.

Seungcheol’s hand against your back spreads wider unconsciously pulling you just a little closer like he can’t help it anymore.

“You’re staring,” you murmur softly

“You’re very distracting.”

The city feels far away suddenly. Muted. Like the entire world narrowed down to this quiet stretch of pavement and the man holding you.

The way he’s looking at you like he wants to memorize every detail before leaving again.

“You’ll come back, right?” 

Seungcheol stills.

You continue before he can answer. “You have to.” Your fingers tighten against him a little. “Or I’ll be really, really annoyed.”

The seriousness in your sleepy voice mixed with that tiny pout finally breaks through the heaviness sitting in his chest.

God. You undo him so easily.

His hand lifts slowly to your face then, large palm cradling your cheek with impossible gentleness. Like you’re something precious, something he already knows he’d protect with everything he has.

He never makes promises like that. Not the I’ll come back promise because reality doesn’t work that way in his world.

Deployments go wrong. People don’t always return.

He learned a long time ago never to offer guarantees he might not survive to keep.

But then you look at him like this and suddenly Captain Choi Seungcheol—who built his entire life around caution and control—finds himself wanting to promise you everything.

Your eyes flick briefly to his mouth then back up again.

“Cheol…” the way you whisper his name this time sounds almost fragile.

His chest tightens painfully.

“I’ll come back,” he hears himself say quietly.

And he means it.

God help him, he means it.

Your breath catches amd for a second neither of you moves. His eyes close briefly. When he opens them again, his gaze drops slowly to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

You answer by pulling him down gently and that absolutely destroys what little self-control he had left.

The kiss starts soft. Careful. Like he’s still giving you room to change your mind. Then you melt into him with a quiet sigh and suddenly it becomes something else entirely.

Something deeper.

Months of tension finally snapping.

Seungcheol’s hand tightens slightly at your waist while the other stays cradling your face like he can’t bear to let you go too far.

You taste faintly like iced coffee. He’s pretty sure he’ll never survive that fact again.

Your fingers slide upward against his chest slowly until they curl near his neck.

Closer. Everything pulls closer.

The kiss deepens just enough to steal your breath. Warm and unhurried and devastatingly gentle for someone who looks like him.

And somehow that gentleness ruins you most because Captain Choi Seungcheol kisses exactly like he does everything else with you—

Carefully.

Deliberately.

Like you matter.

When he finally pulls back slightly, neither of you gets very far.

His eyes stay half-lowered toward your mouth like he’s debating kissing you again immediately.

You blink up at him slowly, visibly dazed “…Wow.”

That makes him laugh softly against your lips “You okay, doctor?”

“No actually.” You stare at him accusingly “I think you altered my brain chemistry”

“Only now?”

“You’ve been emotionally manipulating me with coffee for weeks.”

Seungcheol grins properly then. Dimples appearing.

Your knees genuinely weaken a little.

“You can’t leave now.”

“I have to.”

“I know. Still hate it though.”

His hand slides gently into your hair near the base of your neck.

“I know.”

You lean into him unconsciously and for a terrifying second, Seungcheol thinks he could get addicted to this frighteningly fast.

To you waiting for him.

Holding him.

Kissing him goodbye like there’s someone expecting him to return now.

Your eyes search his one more time before you mumble softly:

“…Come back to me in one piece, Captain.”

Something inside him shifts permanently at those words.

He kisses your forehead this time.

Lingering.

Then quietly answers:

“Yes ma’am.”

=

Before you, four months would’ve passed like nothing to Captain Choi Seungcheol.

Deployment was deployment. Time blurred overseas anyway. Days became operations. Operations became reports. Sleep became optional.

Coming home eventually was simply part of the cycle.

But now every single exhausting day ends with thoughts of you.

The first month away, he catches himself checking the time difference automatically.

The second month, Minho nearly loses his mind because Captain Choi who historically ignored his phone like it personally offended him—is suddenly staring at messages during breaks.

By the third month, Minho officially brands him hopeless. 

There are nights overseas where everything feels too loud. Too dangerous. And for the first time in his life, Seungcheol finds himself genuinely wanting to survive beyond duty alone.

Because now there’s someone waiting for him.

Someone who’d be really, really annoyed if he didn’t come back.

So he does.

One Hundred Twenty One days later.

At exactly 10:14 p.m., your phone lights up while you’re sitting cross-legged on your couch wearing one of his hoodies and arguing with takeout noodles.

One message.

Cheol: Outside.

You stare at the screen then immediately bolt upright so fast you nearly throw the noodles across the room.

“No way.”

Your heart starts pounding violently before you even reach the door.

You don’t bother with shoes properly.

By the time you’re sprinting through the apartment lobby, your breathing is already uneven, the doors slide open.

And there he is.

Captain Choi Seungcheol stands beneath the apartment lights in dark civilian clothes, duffel bag hanging from one shoulder.

And suddenly nothing else exists.

“Cheol—” You run.

His entire face changes the second he sees you then you crash into him hard enough that he has to brace automatically. 

Seungcheol catches you effortlessly around the waist as momentum carries you straight into his chest.

Your feet literally leave the ground.

And God the feeling of you in his arms again after three months nearly wrecks him on impact. You hold onto him so tightly it almost hurts, like letting go isn’t an option anymore.

“Oh my god,” you breathe shakily against his neck “You’re back.”

He laughs softly, arms locking around you just as tightly.

“I’m back.”

“You’re here.”

“Yeah, pretty girl.”

“You’re actually here.” Your voice cracks slightly on the last word and suddenly Seungcheol’s chest aches.

Because he missed this too much. Missed you too much.

He buries his face briefly against your hair and just holds you there while you keep repeating variations of:

“You’re back.”

“You came back.”

“Oh my god.”

Like your brain still hasn’t fully accepted it yet.

Eventually you pull back just enough to look at him. Your hands immediately cup his face like you need proof he’s real.

Tired eyes. Slight stubble. Familiar scar near his jaw. Still handsome enough to genuinely irritate you.

Your eyes go suspicious instantly “When did you get back?”

“Earlier today.”

You blink “Earlier today?!”

Seungcheol winces slightly.

“I landed around noon.”

“And you’re only here now?!”

He laughs quietly at your offended expression.

“Mandatory checkups. Debriefings. Reports.”

Immediately your expression changes. Doctor mode activates. You pull back further from his arms abruptly and start inspecting him.

Seungcheol blinks “…What are you doing?”

“Checking.”

“For?”

“Scratches.”

His laugh breaks out immediately “You’re unbelievable.”

“You lost scratch privileges after calling a bullet wound minor.”

Your hands move over his arms, shoulders, neck. Checking. You even narrow your eyes while examining a faint bruise near his wrist.

“What’s this?”

“Training.”

“Mhm.”

“It is.”

“Suspicious.”

“You’re interrogating me in the parking lot.”

“You made me wait 4 months. You get no rights.”

“I’m okay.”

Your eyes lift to his finally and soften instantly.

He really came back okay. Relief crashes into you all over again so hard your eyes sting unexpectedly. Seungcheol notices immediately.

Then immediately hide your face against his chest again when he smiles.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you missed me.”

His arms tighten around you slowly and when he answers this time, his voice comes quieter.

“I did miss you.”

Your heartbeat stumbles hard.

Then softly, almost disbelievingly, you whisper 

“You really came back to me.”

And thhat one sentence almost undoes him completely.

Seungcheol smiles the second you say it. Then his arms pull you back against him fully, holding you close like he’s still reassuring himself you’re real and standing here.

“I promised, didn’t I?” he murmurs against your hair

Then unfortunately he ruins the moment on purpose “Besides,” he adds casually, “Nurse Yang said she’d introduce me to her nieces if I come back soon—”

“YAH!” You smack his chest instantly. Hard enough to make him laugh.

“I waited three months,” you complain dramatically, glaring up at him. “Three months! I had to literally shoo away anyone who even attempted flirting with me—”

His eyebrows lift immediately “Oh?”

“And,” you continue pointing accusingly at him now, “I cried at least three times because I missed you—”

“At least?”

“Minimum.”

His entire expression softens so fast it nearly derails you.

Now he’s looking at you like you’ve said something precious, every exhausted flight and every miserable deployment day was worth getting back to this exact moment.

To you.

Seungcheol realizes it fully now. somehow you walked into his carefully controlled life and made yourself essential frighteningly fast.

Four months away only proved it harder.

He’s in love with you.

Completely.

Hopelessly.

The realization settles deep and certain in his chest buthe doesn’t say it yet.

Not now. Not yet. Instead, his mouth curves slowly.

“Someone flirted with you?”

You scowl immediately “Yes!”

“What happened?”

“I said absolutely not.”

His grin grows “Oh really?”

“Yes,” you say with full seriousness. “I told them I have a scary boyfriend who can snap them in half.”

Seungcheol laughs softly

“Professionally,” you add proudly

“Important distinction.”

“Very.”

His hands settle lower against your waist while he looks at you carefully now.

he says casually. “So I’m the boyfriend, I take it?”

Your entire face warms instantly “You waited until now to focus on that?”

“I’m enjoying it”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously “You’re smug.”

“You called me your boyfriend.”

“Well technically—” “Say it again.”

You blink “…What?”

“That.” His dimples appear again “Boyfriend.”

Your stomach flips embarrassingly fast “You’re annoying.”

“Mm.”

“And emotionally manipulative”

“You still missed me”

And suddenly the months hits you all over again, months of wondering if he was okay, of checking your phone constantly.

Then suddenly his forehead presses gently against yours again. Familiar now. Your fingers curl lightly into the front of his shirt.

“You better not disappear that long again”

“I’ll try.”

“Not good enough.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You exhale a sleepy laugh.

Then his gaze drops slowly to your mouth and this time neither of you pretends not to notice. Seungcheol’s hand slides from your waist upward until it settles along your jaw carefully.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I thought about this a lot overseas.”

Your pulse jumps “…This?”

“Kissing you again.”

Your brain genuinely short-circuits a little “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I just did.”

“You fight dirty”

“I learned from a trauma surgeon.”

And then he kisses you again. you laugh softly against his mouth right before he kisses you again.

And God.

It’s worse this time. Or better. Definitely more dangerous because now there’s no hesitation left. Just relief and missing each other and months of pent-up affection crashing together all at once.

His hands pull you closer instinctively while yours slide up around his neck.

The kiss deepens slowly, warm and lingering enough to steal your breath.

Seungcheol kisses like he’s savoring.

Your fingers slip into his hair lightly and he exhales softly against your lips at the touch. That sound alone nearly destroys you.

When he pulls back briefly, you barely let him get an inch away before kissing him again yourself.

Which surprises him enough to make him laugh quietly into the kiss.

“There she is,” he murmurs

“Shut up.”

“Missed me bad, huh?” You kiss him again instead of answering. And that was the best answer.

=

The first thing you register is warmth.

The second, the alarm. A loud obnoxious blaring noise cuts through the room and immediately you groan in protest, blindly burrowing deeper beneath the blankets.

“No,” you mumble into the pillow “Absolutely not.”

Instead of cold empty sheets though, an arm tightens around your waist instantly.

Your half-asleep brain catches up slowly as you instinctively turn and bury your face against Seungcheol’s neck instead. He smells like soap, sleep, and faint traces of your shampoo now.

Your favorite combination apparently.

The alarm keeps going somewhere obnoxiously nearby. You ignore it with professional skill.

“M’not going,” you grumble sleepily against his skin

A low sleepy laugh vibrates beneath your cheek.

Then suddenly realization hits. Your eyes crack open slightly.

Wait.

It’s your day off.

You smile instantly against him.

Before you can even tell him though, Seungcheol’s already reaching one hand toward the nightstand blindly without letting go of you. Still half asleep himself.

Hair messy. Voice rough with sleep.

God.

Morning Seungcheol might genuinely become your weakness.

Not that nighttime Seungcheol isn’t already one.

Especially after last night. Technically yes, nothing happened.

Not fully anyway.

But also the memory of his mouth against yours in the kitchen at 2 a.m. His hands on your waist pulling you against him slowly. The way he kissed down your neck once just to hear the tiny sound you made.

Dangerous.

You hide your face further into his neck immediately before your brain fully replays the rest.

Seungcheol finally grabs the phone and squints at the screen with one eye open.

Then sighs “It’s Minho.”

You snort softly.

He answers quietly, voice still rough and low from sleep “What.”

From the speaker, Minho immediately sounds offended “Wow. Good morning to you too.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes again briefly while keeping you tucked against him.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve been calling you for ten minutes.”

“I was asleep.”

A dramatic gasp echoes through the phone “Oh my god. You stayed over.”

You start laughing silently against Seungcheol’s neck while he rubs tiredly at his forehead 

“You called me for this?”

“I called because you disappeared after saying you’d be home eventually.”

“Mhm.”

“So you’re with her right now.”

Silence which unfortunately confirms everything. Minho immediately starts screaming loud enough that you hear muffled yelling through the phone.

“Keep your voice down.”

“NO. CAPTAIN CHOI SEUNGCHEOL SLEEPS OVER NOW?”

You bite your lip hard to stop laughing. Seungcheol glances down at you and immediately catches your shoulders shaking.

His eyes soften instantly. Meanwhile Minho continues spiraling.

“You used to sleep on military cots voluntarily! And now look at you!”

“Are you done?”

“No, I’m emotionally invested now—”

You shift slightly against Seungcheol trying to steal more warmth. The movement makes your oversized sleep shirt slide slightly off your shoulder.

Seungcheol’s eyes flick downward instinctively.

Then stay there one second too long.

Your sleepy smile grows immediately.

Caught.

He exhales quietly through his nose.

“Bye” Then hangs up before Minho can protest further.

And now there’s just you tangled around him like you belong there and honestly? You already kind of do.

You mumble something incoherent against his neck again. Seungcheol chuckles softly.

“What was that?”

“Warm”

“That helpful, huh?”

“Mhm”

His hand slides slowly up and down your back beneath your shirt absentmindedly.

You tilt your head up slightly finally to look at him.

God.

Sleepy Seungcheol is unfair, wearing that soft expression that only seems to exist around you and suddenly your chest hurts a little from how much you missed this without ever even having it before.

His gaze lingers on your face quietly. Then drops to your mouth.

Then back up again.

“You’re staring,” you mumble

“You’re very distracting in the morning.”

You grin sleepily “You say that at night too.”

“Consistent”

Your hand slides lazily across his chest. Comfortingly solid beneath your fingertips.

And right here he realizes he wants this more than he’s ever wanted anything.

The years spent convincing himself that attachment complicated things… none of it stands a chance against this feeling, against you half asleep in his arms wearing his shirt and mumbling threats about leaving the bed.

His thumb brushes slowly along your waist beneath the blanket.

And with startling certainty, Captain Choi Seungcheol realizes he wants his nights like this. His mornings too.

With you.

Always with you.

He can’t even pretend otherwise anymore, not when you fit against him this naturally.

Not when every part of him already quietly decided—

You’re his.

And somehow, terrifyingly enough—

He’s entirely yours too.

You mumble against his chest, voice still thick with sleep “Can we just stay in bed?”

Seungcheol chuckles immediately, fingers lazily tracing along your back beneath the blanket.

“Tempting,” he says softly. “But give it twenty minutes and you’ll start complaining about caffeine and food”

You sigh happily once he pulls you closer then mumble dramatically

“But tomorrow I have to go back to work.”

“Mhm.”

“And wake up early.”

“Mhm.”

Actual full doctor pouting like an offended child. Seungcheol laughs softly again, unable to help himself.

“You’re cute”

“I’m suffering”

“You’re on top of a heated mattress with no shift today”

“I suffered emotionally”

“That’s not a medical condition”

“It should be”

He shakes his head fondly before suddenly moving. In one smooth motion, he shifts until you’re beneath him instead, sinking deeper into the mattress while he braces himself above you.

Your breath catches immediately.

Because wow.

Morning Seungcheol hovering over you with sleepy eyes and messy hair should genuinely come with warning labels.

He smiles down at you slowly. Entirely too handsome.

“I can just be here again.”

Your eyes flicker over his face.

“Drop you off at work,” he continues quietly. “Pick you up after.”

You shake your head immediately “No?”

You point at him accusingly from beneath him.

“I missed you too much. So, I’ll just file for leave and stay here.”

Seungcheol laughs properly this time.

“You’re a doctor.”

“And?”

“You save lives.”

“Mhm.”

“You can’t abandon the hospital because your boyfriend came home.”

You narrow your eyes “Watch me.”

Seungcheol lowers himself slightly closer until your noses brush “You’re trouble.”

“You love it”

His gaze lingers on your mouth. “Yeah,” he admits quietly. “I really do.”

Your heart stumbles hard enough that he definitely feels it beneath him.Then before you can recover he kisses you.

You sigh softly against his mouth almost immediately, hands sliding up into his hair lazily. Seungcheol melts a little at the feeling.

The kiss deepens naturally after that. Still soft with sleep and morning light and relief but there’s something hungrier underneath it now too. Months apart lingering in every touch.

His hand slides along your waist beneath the oversized shirt you stole from him sometime during the night. Your skin warm beneath his palm.

You shiver slightly at the touch.

Seungcheol immediately smiles against your lips “Sensitive.”

“Shut up.”

He kisses you again before you can glare properly.

Then again.

And again.

Because he can. Because he wants to.

Because after one hundred twenty one days overseas wondering when he’d hold you again, he suddenly feels deeply unwilling to stop touching you now that he finally can.

At one point you’re laughing quietly because he keeps kissing you every time you try speaking

“Cheol—” Kiss. “Seriously—” Another kiss. “I’m trying to—”

He kisses you again just to hear your laugh.

“There,” he murmurs smugly against your mouth “Better.”

“You’re impossible in the morning”

“You’re clingy in the morning”

“I missed my boyfriend.” The words come out absentmindedly.

His expression softens instantly.

You notice immediately “…What?”

His thumb brushes your cheek gently “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

A small smile pulls at his mouth

“Just like hearing you say that”

And somewhere between sleepy laughter, tangled blankets, and too many kisses to count you both silently realize neither of you is getting out of bed anytime soon.

=

Just like that, Captain Choi Seungcheol becomes stitched quietly into the fabric of your life like he was always meant to settle into all your exhausted corners.

Mornings become his hand warm at your lower back while guiding you sleepily toward his car before shifts.

Nights become tired dinners eaten on your couch with your legs thrown over his lap while he half listens to your hospital rants.

On the rare days both your schedules somehow align, entire afternoons disappear inside your apartment doing absolutely nothing important.

And somehow those become your favorite days. The ordinary ones.

The ones where he’s sprawled across your couch in grey sweats reviewing reports while you nap against his shoulder.

It’s domestic in a way that sneaks up on both of you.

For the nights he stays over, he wakes up with you before dawn without complaint. Even when you know he slept barely four hours himself.

Some days are busier. Harder. Those are the days you’ll get random texts from him between meetings or training.

And slowly, without either of you noticing exactly when it happened, the world starts becoming divided into:

Before him. And after him.

Still there are moments when the fear creeps in quietly. When he’s asleep beside you after days without rest. Or when his head rests against your lap while you comb your fingers through his hair absentmindedly.

Those moments hit hardest because sleeping Seungcheol looks younger somehow. Less captain. Less soldier. More just… him.

A man carrying too much responsibility on broad tired shoulders.

You’ll study the faint lines of exhaustion near his eyes and think about all the places he disappears to without being able to tell you.

Think about the kind of calls that pull him away suddenly. The dangers you’re never fully allowed to know.

And your chest aches every single time.

Not because you resent him. Never that.

If there’s anyone who understands duty swallowing whole pieces of your life, it’s you.

You know what it means to choose work over sleep, over meals.

Over yourself.

You know what it means standing inches from death while trying to drag someone back from it.

You understand that terrible instinctive thing inside both of you.The one that says: People need me. So I go.

That’s why you never ask him to choose.

Neither of you needs explanations for those things. You just understand.

Maybe that’s why this works.

But still the battlefield he walks into is different from yours.

Yours is fluorescent lights and operating tables and controlled chaos. His is uncertainty. Weapons. Missions that return him home months later with new bruises he tries hiding from you.

And even though he promised he’d come back, you know the truth. He can never be fully certain.

So instead, you start savoring things. Every sleepy morning. Every coffee run. Every forehead kiss before shifts. Every night he instinctively reaches for you in his sleep.

You memorize the sound of his laugh when he’s genuinely relaxed.

The way he says “pretty girl” quieter when he’s tired.

The feeling of safety every time his arms close around you.

Because loving someone whose life is uncertain teaches you quickly… Ordinary moments are never ordinary.

They become everything.

You love him.

Not sudden. Not dramatic. Just certain.

You love Captain Choi Seungcheol enough that the uncertainty no longer outweighs the wanting. Enough that even knowing the risks, you’d still choose him every single time.Enough that when he falls asleep beside you after another impossible week, you look at him and think: I could do this for a very, very long time.

=

Being awake for thirty-six hours straight does strange things to your brain.

Mainly you stop filtering thoughts ehich is why you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes rambling sleepily in Seungcheol’s passenger seat about one resident who tried stitching a wound “like he was crocheting.”

“He held the forceps like chopsticks,” you mumble dramatically, head leaned against the window “Cheol, I almost resigned.”

Beside you, Seungcheol laughs quietly while driving “You say that every shift.”

“This time I meant it.”

“Mhm.”

“And then,” you continue, pointing weakly, “someone coded because apparently the universe hates me personally.”

“You saved them.”

“I know.” You sigh deeply

His hand reaches over briefly, squeezing your thigh once gently

“Proud of you.”

Your exhausted heart immediately melts.

You yawn hugely afterward and close your eyes briefly. The roads are quieter now.

Less familiar. No turn toward your apartment.

Your eyes slowly open again “…Wait.”

Seungcheol hums innocently. You sit up slightly and look outside. The buildings are taller here. Very much not your neighborhood.

You narrow your eyes at him immediately “Captain Choi Seungcheol.”

“That’s me.”

“Where are we going?”

“My place”

Your eyebrows lift “You have a place?”

That finally gets a laugh out of him “Yes, pretty girl. I do occasionally live somewhere.”

“Why do I feel like you just revealed a second secret family?”

“You’re dramatic when sleepy.”

“I’m observant.”

“Mhm.”

The car finally pulls smoothly into a sleek underground parking entrance.

Your jaw drops a little “Oh.”

Seungcheol glances over briefly, amused already “You okay?”

“No because what is this?”

“You’ve been awake too long.”

“No,” you point at the parking structure accusingly, “this is suspiciously rich.”

“It’s an apartment building.”

Then things somehow get worse because the moment you both step into the lobby, security immediately nods respectfully at him.

Even the hallway carpeting feels wealthy.

You blink slowly while following him toward his door “…You live here.”

“Observant again.”

“Shut up.”

Seungcheol unlocks the apartment casually before stepping aside to let you in first.

Then you walk inside and actually stop.

“Oh my god.”

The apartment is stunning. Just quietly expensive. Clean lines. Dark neutral colors.

The entire place feels exactly like him somehow. Not a single plant.

You turn slowly in a circle then immediately whirl toward him in betrayal

“All this time,” you say incredulously, “you had this luxury apartment and we stayed at mine?!”

Seungcheol chuckles while setting your bag down near the couch “It’s not luxury.”

You stare at him then gesture wildly around the apartment.

“This is literally rich people air.”

“It’s just an apartment”

“You have windows taller than my future”

You continue wandering slowly while shaking your head “I knew military paid well but—”

Your eyes catch on something near the shelving unit. Several plaques. Medals. Pins. Awards carefully arranged with quiet neatness.

Not displayed arrogantly. Just… present.

Your expression softens immediately.

Slowly, you step closer. Most of them mean nothing to you technically but you know enough to understand what they represent.

Service. Danger. Things survived. Things sacrificed.

Your fingers hover near it carefully “…These are yours?”

Seungcheol goes quieter behind you “Yeah.”

A home belonging to someone rarely allowed to stay long enough to live in it fully. You notice there aren’t many personal decorations.

No traces of permanence like the apartment was built for someone constantly prepared to leave again.

Your chest tightens unexpectedly “You’re barely here, aren’t you?”

Seungcheol leans lightly against the kitchen counter watching you “Not usually.”

Then his gaze softens slightly while looking at you standing there among pieces of his life.

You look around once more slowly and the apartment suddenly makes perfect sense.

Of course this is where Captain Choi Seungcheol lives. Everything about it screams him.

You walk back toward him slowly until you’re standing right in front of him.

“One question.”

“Mm?”

“How much does this couch cost?”

His dimples appear instantly “Go shower, doctor.”

“That means it’s expensive”

“You drooled on yourself in the car”

“That’s not related”

He reaches over and tugs you gently closer by your wrist anyway. Warm hand wrapping around yours easily.

“Stay tonight.” The way he says it feels different somehow.

Your tired heart melts immediately. You look up at him and smile softly.

“…Only if you cuddle me.”

“Dangerous thing to demand from a man who missed you all day.”

Your face warms instantly “You flirt too much.”

“You like it”

He’s right.

The shower helps a little.

You change into one of Seungcheol’s shirts left neatly on the counter for you and towel dry your hair while walking barefoot through the apartment.

The moment you step out though you stop.

Seungcheol sits at the dining table, a few papers spread neatly in front of him.

The city lights spill softly through the windows behind him, casting half his face into shadow.

And immediately something feels wrong.

You try lightening it anyway “This,” you say slowly while approaching, “looks like every divorce scene in all dramas ever written.”

Seungcheol chuckles softly but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes and that alone makes your stomach drop.

You slowly pull out the chair across from him and sit.

He looks tired suddenly.

Not physically.

Something deeper.

Then finally he speaks. “These are…” He glances down briefly at the papers “Forms to update my records at the base.”

Your chest tightens.

“Emergency contacts, authorizations. Next of kin.”

Your breath catches instantly.

Different careers.

Same meaning.

You know exactly what papers like these are for.

The room suddenly feels colder “Cheol—”

Only then does he finally look at you and the expression in his eyes almost wrecks you immediately.

“I need to go,” he says quietly “Soon.”

Your fingers tighten slowly together beneath the table.

“How soon?”

“…Day after tomorrow.”

The air leaves your lungs.

“This time…” Seungcheol starts then stops.

His jaw tightens slightly. He can’t finish it. Doesn’t need to. You already understand.

Higher risk. More covert. More dangerous.

Which means the possibility hanging unspoken between you both suddenly becomes too real to ignore.

Your hands begin shaking before you even realize it.

Slowly, you reach for the papers. Your eyes skim them but don’t really process the words.

You’ve been on the other side of conversations like this before. You’ve watched families shatter after one phone call. You’ve stood in quiet hospital rooms delivering impossible news while trying to hold yourself together professionally.

But this… this rattles you differently.

Because now it’s him. Your boyfriend. 

Your vision blurs suddenly.

Seungcheol watches your hands tremble around the papers and something painful twists across his face immediately.

“Hey,” he says softly but your chest hurts too much now.

“You said you’d come back,” you whisper shakily.

“I will.”

“But you can’t know that.”

Silence.

Seungcheol exhales slowly then leans back slightly in his chair like he’s making a decision.

Then quietly he reaches into his pocket. Your brows furrow faintly through the blur in your eyes.

“What are you—”

“Before you panic,” he says immediately, which is an absolutely terrible opening.

He reaches across the table gently for your hand. Warm fingers wrapping around your shaking ones and then he places something small into your palm.

Your breath catches sharply.

A ring.

Just beautiful. Simple. Solid.

Very him.

You look up immediately, stunned “Cheol…”

Before you can say anything else, he speaks first like he needs to get the words out before losing courage

“I’ll ask properly when I come back.”

Your heart cracks wide open. Seungcheol’s thumb brushes shakily against your knuckles.

“So you know,” he says quietly, voice rougher now, “that I fully intend to.”

The tears spill instantly after that.

One second you’re trying to stay composed, the next you’re crying so suddenly it almost surprises you.

Seungcheol moves immediately. Chair scraping sharply against the floor as he crosses to you without hesitation.

“Hey, hey—” He kneels in front of you fast, hands gently holding your face while you cry harder than you intended to.

Not graceful tears. Real terrified emotional ones… because you love him. Because you understand exactly what all this means. Because the idea of losing him feels unbearable now. And because somehow this terrifying man just handed you a promise disguised as a ring.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper brokenly

“For what?”

“I don’t know.” You laugh wetly through tears “Everything.”

His expression softens so painfully it nearly undoes you again.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs gently, brushing tears from your cheeks carefully “Don’t cry like this.”

“You can’t just—” You inhale shakily. “You can’t just hand me a ring before a dangerous mission.”

“I know.”

“That’s insane behavior.”

A tiny helpless smile appears on his mouth “You still haven’t said no.”

You stare at him through tears then let out a disbelieving laugh.

Your fingers close tightly around the ring and suddenly the fear shifts into something else too.

Certainty.

Because even terrified like this, even knowing exactly what loving him means…

You already know your answer.

His forehead lowers carefully against your knee while his hands stay wrapped around yours.

And for the first time since you walked into the dining room—

Captain Choi Seungcheol finally lets himself look scared too.

“I need to come back because I want a life with you after this.”

And that breaks whatever was left of your composure completely. You slide from the chair onto the floor with him immediately, arms wrapping tightly around his neck while he catches you against him.

You bury your face against him crying quietly while he presses kisses into your hair over and over.

“I love you,” you whisper shakily for the first time without planning to.

Seungcheol freezes then his arms tighten around you so hard it almost hurts.

Like hearing those words from you physically wrecked him.

His face presses briefly against your shoulder before he finally whispers back:

“…I love you too.”

❌❌❌❌ END OF PART TWO❌❌❌❌

[scarletwinterxx]

casualties of chemistry - choi seungcheol imagine part one

helllooooooo ~ i feel like it's been so long?😅 i'm just so happy i was able to write again, and sorry it took some time. i rewatched descendants of the sun and got inspired. you'll get it when you read this. hope you like it and see you on the next part!🤍

PART TWO HERE

for my other svt fics, check them here

alsoooo i have a kofi acc, if anyone wants to send some coffee thank u in advance😊🌻🤍

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzz overhead loud enough to make your headache worse.

Your scrubs are hidden beneath your coat, but the exhaustion still clings to you like a second skin. Twenty-one hours awake. Two trauma surgeries. Your shoulders ache as you stand in front of the drink fridge debating whether caffeine at 1:17 a.m. is self-care or self-destruction.

Probably both.

The cashier is half asleep behind the counter. The entire store smells like instant ramen and rain dragged in from outside.

Then

“Give it back, asshole.”

A younger voice. Nervous. Angry.

You glance toward the back aisle. four teenage boys crowd around another kid near the cup noodles section. School uniforms half worn properly, faces carrying that dangerous mix of boredom and ego.

One of them is holding a backpack above his head while the smaller boy tries to grab it back.

“Hyung, seriously,” the smaller one mutters “Stop.”

The tallest teen laughs “Then say please.”

You sigh quietly. Apparently the universe saw your exhaustion and decided you weren’t suffering enough tonight.

You shut the fridge door. The slam makes them look over.

“Hey,” you call out, voice flat from fatigue more than fear “Give him his bag back.”

The boys blink at you. “Now.”

The tallest one smirks “Yah, noona,” he says lazily “Just go home.”

You should. You absolutely should.

Instead you fold your arms.

“I’m giving you exactly five seconds before I decide to become extremely annoying”

The smallest boy looks like he might cry from relief someone intervened.

The taller teen scoffs “Why do adults always act like—”

“Four seconds.”

“You think we’re scared of—”

“Three.”

Another one snorts  “She’s crazy.”

You’re too tired to even deny it “Two.”

The tallest boy starts walking toward you instead. Your eyes narrow.

“Kid,” you warn “I work in trauma surgery. Do you know how little teenage intimidation affects me after seeing a man arrive with a knife through his thigh?”

That actually makes two of them hesitate but the leader keeps coming.

“Scary,” he mocks “What are you gonna do? Lecture me to death?”

You open your mouth when suddenly someone bumps lightly into your shoulder from behind.

Not hard hust enough presence to announce itself.

Instantly the air changes.

There’s a man standing beside you now. Tall. Broad enough to block half the aisle light. Black jacket. Black cargo pants. Combat boots darkened by rainwater. One gloved hand holding what looks like keys.

And his face—

God.

Sharp eyes. Strong jaw. Cold expression carved perfectly still. Not just handsome.

Dangerous almost.

The kind of man people instinctively move around. One glance from him and the entire mood in the store drops ten degrees.

The tallest teenager straightens immediately. You notice it right away, that shift.

Predators recognizing a bigger predator.

The man doesn’t even look at them fully at first.

He looks at you. His gaze flicks once over your tired face, your hospital ID hanging from your coat pocket, then toward the boys.

Calmly, he asks, “Problem?” His voice is low. Controlled.

Military. Or something authoritative because that much aura can’t be tied to a desk all day.

One of the boys immediately shakes his head “No, hyung.”

The man finally turns toward them completely. It’s subtle, but you catch it.

The posture. The alertness. The kind of stillness that screams trained.

“Are you bothering her?” he asks

“No.”

“Bothering him?” He nods toward the smaller teenager, they all stay silent which was answer enough.

The captain—because there is absolutely no way this man isn’t somebody’s terrifying superior officer somewhere—takes one slow step forward.

That’s it. One step and the boys immediately crack.

“Sorry!”

“We were leaving anyway—”

“Let’s go, let’s go.”

The backpack gets shoved back into the younger boy’s chest before the group practically trips over themselves escaping the store.

The bell above the door jingles violently as they disappear into the rain.

Silence settles. The younger teen bows rapidly at you both.

“Thank you,” he blurts before hurrying out too.

And just like that, it’s over.

You exhale slowly. Your adrenaline crashes almost immediately after. The man beside you finally looks down at you properly.

Up close, he’s even worse.

Broad shoulders stretching beneath dark fabric. Wet black hair pushed back carelessly. A faint scar near his jaw.

While his eyes linger on the dark circles beneath yours.

“You shouldn’t confront groups alone,” he says

You stare at him then laugh once in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

His eyebrow lifts slightly “I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious when I say I’m too tired to tolerate being scolded by Batman”

For the first time, his expression shifts. Barely.

“You do this often?” he asks

“What? Interfere when kids are acting stupid?”

“Yes” You shrug tiredly and walk toward the fridge again.

“I’m an ER doctor. My entire career is built around interfering when people are acting stupid.” you continue.

You grab two canned coffees without thinking. When you turn around, he’s still watching you like he’s assessing every movement automatically.

Definitely military.

You hold one coffee out toward him.

“A peace offering since you apparently saved me.”

“I didn’t save you.”

“No?” You tilt your head “Those boys looked one second away from peeing themselves.”

“They were kids.”

“Mm. Terrified kids.”

He takes the can from your hand finally. His fingers brush yours briefly. Warm despite the cold rain outside.

“Choi Seungcheol,” he says after a moment.

“Military?” you ask. He raises a brow at your question so you continue,

“You’re too scary to be an office worker, you’re dressed in all black and let’s not get started on your combat boots”

That earns a chuckle from him.

“Military, Captain. And you? Doctor?” he points at your ID and scrubs under your coat

You nod once  “Y/N.”

“You’re just Y/N?”

“You’re just Captain?” Another almost-smile. Dangerous how attractive that becomes on his face.

The cashier awkwardly clears his throat from the counter like he’s been witnessing a drama unfold in real time.

You both walk up to pay.

“You’re getting off work now?” Seungcheol asks

“At this point I basically live at the hospital.”

“What kind of doctor?”

“Traum, ER, general surgery.”

That finally gets a real reaction from him. A slight widening of the eyes. “You do emergency surgery?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s rough.”

You snort softly “You say that dressed like you came straight out of a classified mission.”

His gaze flickers toward you “Something like that.”

You pay for the coffees When you step outside, the rain has softened into a drizzle. Streetlights reflect gold against wet pavement.

You pull your coat tighter around yourself.

Then notice the black motorcycle parked near the curb. Of course he rides that.

Seungcheol catches you looking “You disapprove?”

“I know the statistics of how many injuries per month are caused by that very vehicle” you say honestly then look at him, head to toe” It’s annoyingly fitting.”

He actually laughs this time, low. Brief. It changes his whole face. You hate how handsome it is.

“You parked far?” he asks

“A block away”

“I’ll walk you.”

You immediately shake your head “That’s unnecessary.”

“At 1:30 in the morning?”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know ” The answer comes instantly. Certain and somehow that makes you pause because he really means it.

Then he gestures down the sidewalk “Come on, doctor.”

Captain Choi Seungcheol looked at you like he already knows you’re capable of handling yourself.

He just doesn’t want you doing it alone tonight.

=

It’s been a few days.

To Seungcheol, you were supposed to be one of those strange late-night encounters people forget after a week.

A tired doctor. A convenience store. That should’ve been it.

Except he remembered things annoyingly well.

Your name. Your face. The hospital ID hanging from your coat. The way you looked half dead but still stepped in front of a group of idiots without hesitation.

And apparently that information decided to stay lodged in his brain.

Which is why he’s currently standing inside the samer hospital he saw printed on your ID badge at nearly noon on three hours of sleep, staring at the giant directory board near the lobby while his best friend talks endlessly beside him.

“I’m telling you, it feels way better already,” Minho says while flexing his shoulder dramatically beneath his hoodie  “I think the medic overreacted.”

“You got stabbed.”

“It barely pierced.”

Seungcheol gives him a flat look.

Minho grins shamelessly “You worry too much, Capt”

They’re waiting outside OPD wing after Minho insisted he was “completely fine” for three straight days before finally admitting he couldn’t lift his arm properly.

The hospital around them moves like organized chaos.

In the thirteen minutes they’ve been standing there, Seungcheol has counted at least nine staff members rushing past.

Nurses pushing carts. Residents jogging with tablets in hand. A doctor speed-walking while eating half a sandwich and reading scans simultaneously.

It reminds him too much of command centers before operations.

Everyone moving with purpose. One mistake meaning disaster.

Life and death.

Just cleaner here. More fluorescent lighting. Less guns.

“You’re not even listening,” Minho complains

“Hm.”

“I said after this we should eat samgyeopsal.”

“You say that every day.”

“Because it’s always a good idea.”

Seungcheol’s attention drifts again toward the ER hallway visible from the waiting area. Your hallway he assumes. He wonders briefly if you’re down there right now yelling at residents.

Then, all of a sudden

“Clear the way!”

The voice cuts sharply through the corridor. Immediate.

Everything shifts instantly. Nurses move aside. Orderlies straighten. People clear space without hesitation.

Seungcheol turns automatically toward the sound snd sees you.

For one suspended second, the entire hallway narrows into a single scene. A trauma bed flies through the corridor surrounded by staff.

You’re on top of it. Actually on top of it. Kneeling over the patient while the bed moves at full speed.

Your bloody gloves press down hard against someone’s chest.

“BP crashing!” Your voice slices through the panic perfectly steady.

“Resume compressions.”

You’re still wearing dark blue scrubs, sleeves shoved to your elbows. Blood streaks across your forearms. There’s something smeared near your jaw you clearly haven’t noticed.

But your face… your face is terrifyingly focused. Locked in.

The same way Seungcheol has seen soldiers during active operations. Pure training taking over.

He watches your hands move with brutal precision.

Compression. Count. Check. Compression. Count.

“Move!”

The bed rushes past. You don’t even notice him standing there. You’re too busy keeping someone alive.

And somehow that hits him harder than expected. Beside him, Minho goes unusually quiet.

“…Whoa.”

The trauma team disappears through double doors. Silence returns slowly afterward.

Distant announcements overhead.

But Seungcheol still stares at the doors. His military career has put him in firefights, covert extractions, hostage situations.

He knows pressure. He knows adrenaline.

Minho lets out a low whistle “Your doctors here are insane.”

Seungcheol’s eyes stay on the trauma doors.

Almost twenty minutes later, he sees you again. You come walking down the corridor slower this time, peeling off bloody gloves with tired movements.

There’s another doctor beside you speaking quickly about scans “…possible splenic rupture but neuro says pupils reacted after—”

“I know,” you interrupt while signing something on a clipboard mid-walk  “Page me the second CT is uploaded.”

Then you finally look up. And stop.

Your eyes land on him instantly. Recognition flashes then confusion.

Captain Choi Seungcheol stands near OPD hall looking offensively calm in all black while your hospital looks like it’s actively collapsing around you.

You blink once “What are you doing here?”

His gaze flicks over the blood on your scrubs “You work like this every day?”

You look down at yourself briefly

“Oh” You rub absently at the stain near your jaw and fail to remove it entirely “Pretty standard Wednesday.”

“It’s Friday,” Minho says helpfully. You stare at him.

“…I genuinely didn’t know that.”

That finally makes Seungcheol huff out a laugh. Small but you notice it immediately.

Annoyingly attractive.

The other doctor beside you looks between the three of you curiously before muttering something about checking scans and walking off.

Then it’s just you, Seungcheol, and the very energetic stranger beside him. Minho brightens immediately.

“I’m Minho,his co-worker, bestfriend, confidante, drinking buddy” he says enthusiastically, immediately you wonder how a man like him is friends with a man like Sengcheol but also it makes total sense.

“OHHH wait you’re the convenience store noona!”

You freeze. Slowly turn toward Seungcheol.

“…You told your friend about me?”

“I mentioned a doctor.”

“He absolutely did not just mention a doctor,” Minho says instantly  “He remembered your full hospital name from your ID badge—”

“Enough.”

You look back at Seungcheol with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t even look embarrassed.

If anything, he looks mildly annoyed his friend exposed him.

“So,” you say slowly “Captain Choi Seungcheol remembers details, huh?”

His gaze meets yours steadily “Yes.”

And for some reason, with alarms ringing somewhere deeper in the ER and your pulse still running on adrenaline that single word affects you more than it should.

You glance down at the chart in your hands, then back at them. That’s when you notice both men staring at you.

You blink. Then laugh tiredly.

“What?” You gesture vaguely to yourself “Need stitching up too?”

Minho looks alarmed for half a second before Seungcheol points toward your face.

“There’s blood on your chin,” he says

Automatically your hand flies there “…Ah”

Your fingers come away red. Right. You probably look horrifying.

You huff a laugh “I look like a crazy person right now.”

“You look like you fought someone.”

“I kind of did.”

Your answer comes so naturally both men go quiet for a beat. Then you shake your head slightly and look back at Seungcheol.

“But seriously,” you say, “why are you here?”

His expression stays calm as ever “Not me” Then he points beside him.

“Him.” Minho immediately waves enthusiastically again.

You stare at him for one second before laughing despite yourself and waving back with your bloodied hand.

“That’s somehow more concerning.”

“He’s dramatic,” Seungcheol says flatly

“I heard that!”

“You were meant to”

You snort softly then somewhere deeper in the ER, an alarm suddenly starts blaring. Immediately your posture changes.

Doctor mode again.

Your head turns toward the sound before your brain even catches up. One of the nurses appears around the corner.

“Dr. Y/N, they need you in Trauma 2”

“I’m coming.”

You look back at the two men.

“Well,” you say while already walking backward “try not to stab yourselves again.”

“It was one time,” Minho protests

Then you disappear back through the swinging ER doors.

For a few seconds Seungcheol keeps staring after you.

The automatic doors swing shut.

Silence.

“Oh my god.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look away from the hallway “Don’t”

“So someone has a crush.”

That finally makes him turn. Slowly. Dangerously.

Minho grins wider immediately “You remembered her hospital, her department, her name, the fact she works ER—”

Seungcheol elbows him hard in the ribs

“OW—yah!”

“You talk too much”

“You absolutely like her!”

“I met her twice”

“Exactly.” Minho points dramatically toward the ER doors “And you already got the brooding military man stare going on.”

“I always look like this.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose and looks back toward the trauma wing again despite himself.

Minho nudges him again with a grin “You should ask for her number next time”

“There won’t be a next time.”

Right then, one of the ER doors swings open again. You walk out halfway, scanning a chart while speaking to a nurse beside you.

Then absentmindedly, you look again towards their direction and you lift your hand and wave once in their direction before disappearing again.

Minho bursts out laughing instantly.

“Oh you are finished”

=

Two months passed. Eight weeks.  Which, in your life, feels more like Eight hours.

Trauma cases blur together. Overnight surgeries become afternoon consults become thirty-minute naps in the call room before another emergency rolls in.

You forget meals. Forget what day it is. Forget to answer texts for three days straight.

But somehow you don’t entirely forget Captain Choi Seungcheol.

Mostly because that would require forgetting a face carved by some genuinely unfair higher power.

Not that it matters. You saw him twice and honestly, you assume he forgot about you too.

Military men like him probably disappear for months at a time doing things you legally shouldn’t ask about.

Then Wednesday evening happens.

Oddly calm for once. No active traumas. No screaming. You’re sitting at the nurse station reading through post-op charts while sipping coffee that tastes vaguely like burnt regret.

One of the nurses pokes her head around the corner.

“Dr. Y/N? OPD asked if someone can check a laceration. They’re short staffed.”

“Mhm. I’ll do it ” You grab the chart absentmindedly while walking.

Male. Thirty. Forearm injury. You barely register the name. Your eyes are too focused on lab notes as you push aside the curtain.

Then freeze.

Oh.

Captain Choi Seungcheol sits on the examination bed in a black compression shirt with the sleeves pushed up.

You haven’t seen him in two months and somehow he still manages to look unfairly intimidating in fluorescent hospital lighting.

His gaze lifts immediately when you walk in. There’s a split second where genuine surprise crosses his face.

“There you are,” he says. Like he’s been expecting you specifically.

You blink once “…Why are you in my hospital bleeding again?”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly “It’s not serious.”

You glance down toward the blood-soaked gauze wrapped around his forearm

“Mm,” you hum dryly “And I’m the queen of England.”

He actually huffs a laugh at that. You set the chart down and move closer. Only then do you notice the faint exhaustion beneath his eyes.

Like he hasn’t slept properly in days. Deployment, your brain supplies immediately.

You pull on gloves “What happened?”

“Scratch”

You slowly look up at him then deliberately peel back the gauze and immediately stop.

“…Captain.”

“It looks worse than it is.”

You stare at the deep graze tearing across his arm. Your eyes narrow slightly.

“That’s a bullet wound.”

“Barely.”

“Bullet wounds count as scratches now?”

“It grazed me”

“By definition, that is still being shot”

His eyes stay on your face while you work. Calm. Observant.

“You know what a bullet wound looks like?” he asks you, the question is casual but there’s something underneath it.

You continue cleaning the injury carefully “Apparently I do”

“You sound experienced”

You shrug one shoulder “Volunteer work overseas during residency”

“Where?”

“Borders near conflict zones mostly.” You pause. “Refugee camps. Emergency field hospitals”

You continue inspecting the wound.

“You?”

A faint smile touches his mouth “That’s classified”

You snort softly “Of course it is.”

“But yes,” he says after a second “Conflict zones”

You nod once like that explains everything because somehow it does.

You’ve seen soldiers before. Not polished recruitment-poster versions ,the exhausted kind, men who scan rooms before resting. Men who downplay injuries because pain becomes background noise eventually.

Captain Choi Seungcheol fits into that category too easily.

You disinfect the wound and he doesn’t even flinch.

“Either you have insane pain tolerance,” you murmur, “or your nerves are damaged”

“I’ve had worse.”

You glance at him briefly. That sentence unsettles you more than it should.

You begin stitching carefully. The room grows quieter.

Outside the curtain you hear distant announcements overhead, nurses chatting faintly, rolling carts passing by.

Inside just you and him.

“You disappeared” you say before thinking The words slip out accidentally.

Why did you say that?

But Seungcheol doesn’t look surprised

“Deployment,” he answers simply

“For a 8 weeks?”

“Longer than expected”

Your eyes flick toward him again. “And you came back straight to the hospital?”

“You’re here”

The answer comes so naturally you almost miss the implication entirely.

Your fingers still. Slowly you look up and he’s already watching you completely serious.

Your heartbeat does one very annoying thing against your ribs. You clear your throat and go back to stitching.

“You flirt terribly for someone this handsome”

That finally earns you a real laugh. Low and warm and rough around the edges from exhaustion.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You don’t even look up “I think you’re bleeding on my examination bed.”

“That wasn’t the question”

You tie off another stitch tighter than necessary. He doesn’t complain.

“You survived covert deployment missions,” you say coolly “You’ll survive not getting compliments.”

“Mm.” but he’s still looking at you like he already won anyway

You finish the last stitch and snip the thread cleanly.

“There,” you murmur “Try not to get shot again for at least a week.”

You peel off your gloves and toss them into the bin before leaning back slightly against the counter.

Now that the immediate task is done, the room settles into something quieter.

More dangerous somehow because Captain Choi Seungcheol looking at you while not actively bleeding is significantly harder to ignore.

Your eyes drift back to his face unintentionally.

Sharp nose. Strong jaw. Tired eyes. And apparently dimples.

You blink once.

Hold on.

He has dimples? You narrow your eyes slightly at him like this is personally offensive.

“What?” he asks

“You have dimples.”

That actually catches him off guard for half a second then he laughs softly again. And there they are. Deep enough to completely ruin your composure.

Oh, you’re in trouble.

You look away first before your dignity fully evaporates.

“So,” you say casually while writing notes on his chart, “safe to assume a man with a dangerous job like yours is single?”

His eyebrow lifts “That’s your professional medical assessment?”

“Absolutely.”

He leans back slightly against the bed, arms folding carefully to avoid the fresh stitches “And what’s the diagnosis based on?”

You pretend to think about it seriously. “Emotionally unavailable tendencies. Mild insomnia. Chronic work obsession.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“It should.”

He watches you for another second before the corner of his mouth lifts again “Safe to assume a woman with a job like yours is also single?”

“Would you like me to confirm or deny?”

His eyes sharpen immediately at the challenge.

“I’d like an answer.”

“Mm ” You tap the pen lightly against the chart “Maybe I enjoy keeping mysterious military captains stressed”

“You think I get stressed?”

“You came into a hospital with a bullet wound and called it a scratch” You tilt your head. “That’s either confidence or brain damage.”

“That’s not an answer either.”

“You’re persistent.”

“You’re avoiding.”

You stare at each other for one suspended second then your pager suddenly explodes to life against your waist.

Of course.

You close your eyes briefly. The hospital truly refuses to let you experience peace for more than twelve consecutive seconds. You glance down at the screen and sigh.

“Trauma consult,” you mutter

Seungcheol watches the immediate switch happen again. The way your entire posture changes instinctively the second work calls.

Like someone flipping a switch.

You grab another pair of gloves from the counter.

Before leaving, you pause by the curtain and look back at him.

“Come back in three days,” you say “I’ll check the wound.”

One of his eyebrows lifts slowly then that smug little smirk appears.

“A date then?”

You stare at him. Honestly stare.

Because the audacity.

Then, against your own will, you feel yourself smiling.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Captain”

“But you’re asking to see me again”

“Medically”

“Mm.”

“And if you reopen those stitches before then,” you continue while backing toward the door, “I’m charging you emotional damages”

His gaze follows you effortlessly.

“What if I come back without reopening them?”

You pause then point at him once.

“That,” you say, “depends how charming you manage to be in three days”

And before he can answer you disappear through the curtain again.

Leaving Captain Choi Seungcheol sitting alone in the examination room with fresh stitches, a slightly racing heartbeat, and the sudden realization that he is absolutely coming back in three days.

=

Three days later, you accidentally spend fifteen whole minutes staring at yourself in the hospital bathroom mirror.

Which is ridiculous. Actually ridiculous.

You’ve gone to work looking half dead for years. You’ve stitched arteries together after thirty-hour shifts looking like a raccoon dragged out of a hurricane.

And yet today you actually combed your hair properly. Your usually rushed bun is neat for once, not held together by stress and blind faith.

You even put on the faintest lip tint. Nothing dramatic.Just enough to make you look less like the hospital crypt keeper.

And the perfume— god. You haven’t touched that perfume in months.

One spray. That’s it.

You blame sleep deprivation. Clearly your frontal lobe is failing.

The second you walk into the ER station, Head Nurse Yang narrows her eyes at you immediately.

Ms. Yang has worked trauma nursing longer than you’ve been a surgeon.

Nothing escapes her. Not fear. Not exhaustion and apparently not lip tint either.

“Hm,” she hums suspiciously

You don’t look up from the charts in your hands “What?”

“Something’s different”

You keep your voice perfectly casual “Huh?”

Ms. Yang continues staring.

“I don’t see it,” you say quickly

“Mhm.” That single hum holds seventy years of judgment.

You ignore her mostly because if you acknowledge it, you’ll have to admit you spent ten entire minutes deciding between two shades of lipstick this morning like a lunatic.

The ER stays surprisingly manageable through most of the afternoon.

A motorcycle accident. Two fractures. One drunk guy insisting his traffic cone was “emotionally supportive.”

Standard Wednesday.

By around three, you’re finishing notes at the nurse station when one of the younger nurses approaches with an amused smile.

“Dr. Y/N?”

“Mhm?”

“Your patient is here” Something in her tone makes your eyes narrow immediately.

“My patient?”

The nurse tries—and fails—to hide her grin.

You look up and there he is. Captain Choi Seungcheol stands near the ER entrance in dark jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt rolled to his forearms.

No tactical gear this time.no visible injuries beyond the healing stitches beneath his bandage which honestly makes him worse somehow.

Because now there’s nothing distracting you from the fact he looks unfairly good standing under fluorescent hospital lights.

His gaze lands on you instantly. His eyes sharpen slightly.

You stand slowly from your chair.

Behind you, Ms. Yang suddenly makes a tiny noise of realization “Oh.”

Traitor. You ignore her with dignity. Mostly.

Seungcheol walks over calmly, hands tucked loosely into his pockets

“You look different,” he says immediately

You cross your arms “You sound like Head Nurse Yang.”

Your stomach betrays you in the most embarrassing way imaginable by flipping slightly. Professionalism. Remember professionalism.

You clear your throat “Did you reopen the wound?”

“No.”

“Fever?”

“No.”

“Pain?”

“Manageable.”

You nod once  “Good. Follow me.”

You lead him toward one of the smaller examination rooms, painfully aware of at least three nurses watching with open interest. The second the door closes behind you, the atmosphere changes.

Quieter.

You gesture toward the examination bed.

“Sit.”

You step between his knees to unwrap the bandage carefully, and immediately realize this was a tactical mistake because now he’s close.

Way too close.

You catch traces of clean soap and something woodsy beneath it. Your perfume probably mixes with it in the tiny room.

Fantastic.

You focus on the wound instead. The stitches look good. Healing cleanly. No infection.

“You listened,” you murmur while inspecting the skin

“I follow orders sometimes”

“Liar”

A soft laugh rumbles from his chest. You glance up instinctively… big mistake because he’s already looking at you.

Not your hands. Not the wound. You. Your fingers still briefly against his arm.

There’s a beat of silence.

“You wore perfume”

Your eyes widen slightly. Oh, he’s observant-observant.

You recover quickly “You noticed?”

“You walked in and three nurses looked at you like they’d discovered hospital gossip for the next month”

“I’m transferring departments.”

He laughs quietly again and there are those stupid dimples. You finish rewrapping his arm carefully.

“Captain, if you flirt while I’m holding scissors, that’s on you”

“I think you like me.”

You look up slowly “Oh?”

“You haven’t denied it once.”

The confidence on this man.

Honestly.

You tie off the bandage tighter than necessary. He doesn’t even react.

“You military men are exhausting”

“And yet,” he says calmly, “you wore perfume”

You finish securing the clean bandage around his arm carefully, fingers smoothing the tape against warm skin.

“Alright,” you say, slipping back into your practiced doctor voice before this room gets any more dangerous. “Keep it dry and clean for another week. No heavy strain on the arm.”

“Yes ma’am.” Your hand pauses for half a second against his wrist.

Oh.

Oh that voice should genuinely come with a warning label. Low. Smooth. Obedient in the most deliberate way possible.

You recover professionally. Mostly.

“Don’t lift anything stupid,” you continue calmly

“Yes ma’am.”

Your soul briefly leaves your body. You clear your throat and refuse to acknowledge the fact your ears suddenly feel warm.

“Also,” you say while reaching for the chart a little too quickly, “if the wound opens, if you get feverish, dizzy, increased pain, redness—come back immediately.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You finally look up at him properly. His expression is completely composed. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

And the worst part? He absolutely does.

You narrow your eyes slightly “You seem very pleased with yourself right now”

“I’m following instructions.”

“You’re weaponizing manners.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. Those stupid dimples appear again.

You need the universe to stop giving this man additional attractive features.

For public safety.

You finish scribbling notes onto his chart before setting the clipboard aside.

Then casually—very casually—you say:

“And for the record…”

His gaze lifts immediately. You peel off your gloves slowly, tossing them into the bin.

“I can actually look like this,” you gesture vaguely toward yourself, “on a good day.”

There’s a beat of silence. Seungcheol looks at you fully then.

His eyes move over your neat hair, your glossed lips, the perfume he already noticed, the version of you that exists outside blood stains and overnight exhaustion.

Then he breaks into a smile. Warm enough to completely transform his face.

Dimples and all.

“Here I was,” he says softly, “thinking you were going on a date”

You raise an eyebrow immediately while reaching for the discharge forms.

“I thought this was one.”

Silence. Then Seungcheol smirks. Slowly. Like he enjoys watching you land hits back just as much as giving them.

Dangerous man. Absolute menace.

You sign off the chart and step outside the room where the assigned nurse is very obviously pretending not to eavesdrop. She startles slightly when you hand her the paperwork.

“Discharge complete” you say with suspicious professionalism.

“Yes doctor,” she answers equally suspiciously.

You turn back toward Seungcheol as he stands from the examination bed.

You pull a business card from your coat pocket and hold it out to him.

“My direct line,” you say

His eyebrows lift slightly as he takes it.

“You know,” you add casually, “for whenever there’s emergency anything.”

His thumb brushes over the card once while reading your name. Then he looks up at you slowly.

“Emergency anything?”

You cross your arms lightly “Bullet wounds. Concussions. Poor decision making.”

“What category is asking you to dinner under?”

Your breath catches for the tiniest second.

This man.

You tilt your head “Depends.”

“On?”

“How good the restaurant is.”

He chuckles quietly “Yes ma’am.”

And there it is again.

That damn yes ma’am.

You genuinely have to look away for a moment just to preserve what’s left of your composure.

Behind you, the nurse suddenly makes a choking sound suspiciously similar to holding in laughter.

Traitor.

You point toward the hallway before your dignity fully collapses.

“Out,” you say firmly. “Before I prescribe bed rest permanently.”

Seungcheol starts walking backward toward the exit, eyes still on you.

“Dinner Friday?”

“You’re very confident for someone recently shot.”

“You gave me your number.”

“For emergencies.”

“Meeting you sounds medically necessary.”

You actually laugh then. Real enough that a few nurses glance over curiously.

And Seungcheol notices that too. The fact he made you laugh and something softer flickers across his face for half a second.

Then he taps your card lightly against his chest pocket.

“I’ll text you, doctor.”

And somehow that simple promise feels far more dangerous than any bullet wound ever could.

=

Friday arrives surprisingly fast.

Mostly because your week disappears under consults, surgeries, and one forty-eight-year-old man who somehow managed to fracture his wrist trying to “race” his nephew.

But eventually—

Friday.

Your actual rest day.

Which feels fictional.

You wake up without an alarm for the first time in weeks and stare at your ceiling in confusion for a solid thirty seconds.

Then your phone lights up.

Seungcheol: 7pm. Don’t be late, doctor.

You smile before you can stop yourself.

The entire afternoon becomes embarrassingly unfamiliar territory for you because apparently you no longer know how to prepare for things outside hospital shifts.

You stand in front of your closet way too long. Reject three outfits. Reject four more and eventually settle on something simple but nice enough to make you feel human instead of clinically exhausted.

You even do your hair properly this time instead of throwing it up in survival mode.

When Seungcheol texts offering to pick you up, you refuse immediately. Mostly because the thought of him seeing you standing outside your apartment nervous makes you want to launch yourself into traffic.

So instead you agree to meet there.

The restaurant he picked is one of those impossible-to-book places tucked between city streets glowing warm with hanging lights and low music.

Packed even on a Friday evening. The kind of place where conversations melt together softly and plates constantly clink against tables.

Then the restaurant doors open.

And there he is. Black button-up. Sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Dark jeans. Hair slightly damp like he showered quickly before coming.

You hate how immediately your stomach flips.

His eyes find you almost instantly across the restaurant.

Then soften like seeing you relaxes something in him automatically.

God help you.

He reaches the table and pauses just long enough to look you over openly.

“You look pretty.”

Straight to the point. No hesitation. You blink once at the sincerity of it.

Then recover enough to smirk lightly.

“You clean up well yourself, Captain.”

“I tried.”

“I can tell.”

His dimples appear briefly when he pulls your chair out for you.

Oh you’re doomed. Absolutely doomed.

Dinner starts easily after that. Too easily.

Conversation flows without effort somehow.

You learn he drinks coffee black enough to qualify as chemical warfare. He learns you once fell asleep standing up during residency and scared an intern half to death. You tease him for being terrifyingly observant. He teases you for pretending not to care while clearly caring a lot.

The food arrives eventually and thankfully lives up to the hype.

At one point you’re halfway through laughing because he admitted Minho once accidentally set off an alarm during training—

Then his phone rings.

Everything changes instantly.

You see it happen in real time. His posture straightens before he even answers.

Eyes sharpen. Expression hardens.

Soldier.

He checks the caller ID once and immediately stands.

“Excuse me.”

You nod quietly. He answers the call a few steps away from the table.

“Yes sir.”

Pause.

“I understand.”

Another pause.

“I’m on my way.”

By the time he hangs up, his jaw is tight. And when he looks back at you—

There it is.

That look.

You know it immediately. Too well.

You’ve worn it yourself after interrupted dinners, canceled holidays, sleepless nights.

Duty first. Always.

The guilt of leaving. The frustration of having no choice.

He walks back over quickly “Y/N, I—”

You smile before he can finish “Go.”

His expression tightens further

 “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s—” “Seungcheol.”

That makes him stop. You lean back slightly in your chair, softer now.

“I get it.” And you do.

Completely.

Because trauma surgery isn’t kind either. You’ve left meals untouched. Missed birthdays. Walked away from people mid-conversation because somebody somewhere stopped breathing.

You know what it means when lives depend on you showing up.

You’ve lived it. So you just smile gently and say:

“Duty calls.”

Something in his expression shifts at that. Like relief mixed with something heavier.

“We can reschedule,” you continue lightly. “Seriously. It’s fine.”

For a second he just looks at you like maybe he expected disappointment or anger or someone who wouldn’t understand this part of him.

Instead you simply hand him an easy out. No guilt attached.

“You sure?” he asks quietly

You nod once “Go save the world, Captain.”

A breath of a laugh leaves him. Then he reaches for his wallet immediately. You open your mouth to protest.

“Don’t,” he says. You close it again. He pays quickly, apologizes to the waiter, then turns back to you one last time.

“You’ll text me when you get home?” There it is again. Even rushing toward danger, he’s still making sure you’re okay first.

You smile softly “Yes, Captain”

He stares at you for one second then laughs despite himself.

“Troublemaker.”

“Go.”

Reluctantly, he does. You watch him disappear through the restaurant doors.

A few moments later you hear it, the deep rev of his motorcycle outside. Then it fades rapidly into the night as he speeds away toward whatever emergency dragged him from dinner.

And strangely enough you don’t feel upset.

Disappointed maybe. A little. But not because of him, mainly because you wanted to spend more time with him.

But mostly you understand him now maybe more than either of you expected.

=

Thirteen weeks pass after the interrupted dinner. 91 Day.

Thirteen long, busy, exhausting weeks.

At first, you check your phone more than you should. Not obsessively. Just… enough to annoy yourself.

A part of you knows better.

Captain Choi Seungcheol warned you from the start without really saying it outright.

Covert assignments. Deployments. Disappearances.

The kind of job where silence sometimes means safety.

Then two days after your date, the news breaks.

Some international incident overseas. Nothing detailed. Just enough military presence mentioned for your stomach to twist unpleasantly.

You stare at the television mounted in the hospital cafeteria longer than necessary.

Then force yourself back to work because that’s what both of you do, apparently.

You throw yourself into surgeries. Into consults. Into twenty-hour shifts and caffeine and organized chaos. And eventually you stop expecting texts.

Stop glancing at your phone every hour.

You accept it quietly.

This is what being involved with someone like him means.

Long silences. Uncertainty. Waiting without asking questions.

Still, sometimes late at night between cases, you think about him.

About dimples and smug smiles and black motorcycles disappearing into the dark.

And annoyingly enough—

You miss him.

Which feels absurd considering technically you only had one almost-date.

Tonight the ER is chaos again.

Not trauma-level chaos. Just deeply irritating chaos.

A group of men got into a massive fight outside some nightclub and now half of them are crowded into emergency bays drunk, bleeding, loud, and incredibly uncooperative.

One has a broken nose. Another possibly fractured ribs. One guy keeps trying to flirt with nurses while actively vomiting.

You’re already tired.

Now you’re tired and annoyed.

“Sit still,” you say sharply while trying to examine a cut above one patient’s eyebrow

The man smells aggressively like alcohol.

“I’m fine,” he slurs

“You’re bleeding on my floor.”

“You’re pretty.”

“And you’re concussed.”

One of the nearby guards snorts quietly. The drunk patient suddenly jerks his arm away.

You grab for gauze before it falls and the man shoves you unexpectedly.

Everything happens fast.

Your balance tips backward instantly. You’re already mentally calculating how badly this floor is about to hurt when a solid arm catches you around the waist before you hit the ground.

Firm. Steady. Immovable.

You inhale sharply. The familiar scent hits first.

Soap. Leather. Cold night air.

Then warmth.

You look up immediately.

And your heart nearly stops.

Captain Choi Seungcheol stands behind you in full uniform. Not casual clothes. Not civilian. Uniform.

Dark tactical gear still dusted faintly with dirt like he came straight from somewhere far away.

Broad shoulders. Heavy boots. Black gloves.

And his face—Jesus. He looks terrifying. Cold enough to freeze the entire room.

The guards straighten instantly.bEven the drunk men go quieter.

Seungcheol barely notices any of them at first. His eyes scan you rapidly instead.

“You hurt?” The question comes immediately.

Your brain short-circuits slightly because he’s here. Actually here.

You blink once “I’m fine.”

His hand remains firm at your waist another second longer like confirming it himself. Only when he’s certain you’re steady does he move. Then suddenly you’re being guided gently behind him.

Protected instinctively.

The shift is so natural it almost startles you.

Seungcheol steps between you and the drunk patient completely.

The room changes instantly.

The drunk guy straightens defensively. “Who the hell are—”

“Sit down.”

The command slices through the ER. Absolutely lethal underneath.

The man actually hesitates.

Seungcheol’s gaze locks onto him steadily “You assaulted medical staff.”

“I barely touched—” “You put your hands on a doctor while intoxicated inside an emergency department.”

“You will sit down,” he says evenly, “and you will cooperate with treatment.”

The drunk man scoffs weakly. “Or what?”

Behind Seungcheol, you almost sigh. Poor idiot.

Because you’ve seen that look before now. The hypercontrolled one. The one soldiers get when violence becomes an option they’re actively suppressing.

Seungcheol tilts his head slightly.

“Or security removes you,” he says calmly. “And I become significantly less polite.”

Then immediately the drunk man sits.

One of the guards coughs suspiciously like he’s hiding laughter. You cross your arms behind Seungcheol, trying very hard not to look affected.

Failing horribly.

Because good lord.

There’s something deeply unfair about this man appearing out of nowhere looking like a military recruitment poster designed specifically to ruin your emotional stability.

The patient mutters curses under his breath but stays seated now.

Seungcheol waits another moment before finally turning back toward you. And instantly his expression changes again.

Softer.

Like the terrifying soldier disappeared the second he looked at you.

“You sure you’re okay?”

You stare at him.

Weeks of no messages. No calls. Then suddenly he’s here catching you mid-fall like some absurd action movie entrance.

Your brain struggles briefly.

“You vanished,” you blurt out before thinking.

His eyes flicker slightly “I know.”

The answer is quiet and annoyingly sincere.

You open your mouth then another patient across the room starts yelling.

The universe truly hates timing.

Seungcheol notices immediately and huffs the tiniest breath of amusement.

“You’re busy.”

“You think?”

His gaze lingers on your face a second longer.

Then lower. To your wrist. Very gently, he adjusts the sleeve of your coat where the drunk patient grabbed you like he’s making sure you’re unharmed without making a scene about it.

Your pulse betrays you instantly.

“I just landed,” he says quietly. “Came straight here.”

Before you can answer, one of the nurses suddenly appears beside you looking between both of you with absolutely shameless curiosity.

“Doctor,” she says carefully, “Trauma 1 needs you.”

Of course they do.

You exhale through your nose. Then look back at Seungcheol.

He steps aside immediately.

“I’ll wait,” he says.

And for the first time in three exhausting weeks you smile without even trying to stop it.

Seungcheol stays near the edge of the nurses’ station after you leave him there, broad shoulders still carrying traces of travel and exhaustion from deployment.

He should probably report back first. Should probably head home. Should probably sleep after nearly twenty hours in transit.

Instead he’s standing in a crowded emergency room at almost midnight watching a trauma surgeon terrify grown men.

His eyes follow you automatically. Always finding you no matter how chaotic the room gets.

You move fast.

A nurse meets you halfway with charts already open and you barely glance down before issuing orders.

“Get repeat vitals on Bed 6.”

“Where’s radiology?”

“Page ortho again and tell them if they ignore me this time I’m dragging them down here myself.”

“Yes doctor.”

Another patient starts yelling about pain medication. You don’t even look up from stitching a split lip.

“You threw a chair at a paramedic fifteen minutes ago,” you say calmly. “You can survive five more minutes.”

The patient immediately quiets.

One of the residents beside you mutters, “Scary.”

You hear it “Then stop forgetting chart updates.”

“Yes doctor.”

Seungcheol almost laughs because there it is again.

That switch. The same one he saw the first day in the hallway when you were covered in blood kneeling over a crashing patient.

The terrifying competence. You become sharper under pressure. Like chaos organizes itself around you instead of the other way around.

It’s familiar to him. Too familiar. In military operations, the best leaders aren’t the loudest. They’re the calmest when everyone else starts panicking.

And youu command this emergency room exactly like that.

People move when you speak because they know you know what you’re doing.

A drunk patient suddenly grabs at a nurse’s wrist aggressively.

Seungcheol straightens immediately on instinct. But before he can move you’re already there.

“Hands off her.” Your voice cuts through the room cleanly

The patient scoffs drunkenly “Relax sweetheart—”

“Security.” The single word lands like a gunshot. Two guards instantly move forward.

The patient starts protesting immediately but you don’t even spare him another glance, already turning back toward your nurse.

“You okay?”

The nurse nods quickly. You squeeze her shoulder once before continuing down the row of beds like nothing happened.

One of the security guards near him notices where he’s looking and chuckles quietly.

“Dr. Y/L/N is usually scary,” the older man says knowingly.

Seungcheol’s eyes remain on you. You’re currently arguing with a resident twice your size while simultaneously putting pressure on someone’s bleeding shoulder.

“Mm.”

The guard grins. “Whole ER’s terrified of her when she gets like this.”

Across the room you snap your fingers toward another doctor “You. Gloves. Now.”

“Yes doctor.”

The guard laughs harder “See?”

But Seungcheol just watches you. Really watches you.

God.

To everyone else in this room, you probably do look intimidating.

Untouchable almost.

But to him you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen in weeks.

Maybe ever.

And that realization hits him with genuinely embarrassing force because Captain Choi Seungcheol has spent years avoiding attachment.

It’s easier that way.

His work requires distance, disappearing without explanations, accepting that one day he might not come back from deployment at all.

People like him don’t build stable relationships.

He learned that early. Yet here he is. Standing in a hospital ER watching you bully drunk patients and overworked residents with stars practically in his eyes.

Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

As if sensing him watching, you glance up suddenly from across the room.

Your eyes meet his immediately and your whole face changes. Just subtly softer around the edges.

Enough that he notices  his chest tightens unpleasantly.

You mouth something that looks suspiciously like: You okay?

Seungcheol nods once.

Your gaze lingers another second before you’re pulled away again by a nurse waving scans at you urgently.

The security guard beside him whistles low.

“…Oh.”

Seungcheol doesn’t bother asking what that means.

Because honestly? He knows. For a man trained to read threats, surveillance patterns, battlefield movement… It’s humiliatingly obvious.

Captain Choi Seungcheol is completely done for.

By the time he gets back to base, it’s nearly 3 a.m. Technically, his day should’ve ended hours ago. Instead, he spent the last several hours lingering in your ER while pretending he wasn’t waiting specifically for your shift to end.

You noticed, obviously.

Around midnight you finally walked over to him still carrying charts under one arm and said, “You know normal people go home and sleep.”

“I was making sure nobody pushed you again.”

Your eyes softened immediately at that. Which honestly felt more dangerous than any deployment he’s survived.

Eventually around two in the morning, your shift finally ended and for the first time since knowing you, Seungcheol saw you genuinely exhausted.

Actually exhausted.

Your steps slower. Eyes heavy. Hair half falling from your bun. You still tried to argue with him outside the hospital though.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s 2 a.m.”

“I’m not getting on your death machine.”

He blinked once “Death machine?”

“Your motorcycle”

“That hurts my feelings”

“It should”

He almost laughed right there in the parking lot. Then finally sighed and held up his keys.

“I took the car tonight.”

You stopped, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“…You own a car?”

“I’m capable of normal civilian behavior occasionally”

“Debatable.”

The drive starts quiet. Streetlights passing across your tired face in brief golden flashes.

At first you try staying awake. You really do. You ask him something about whether military cafeterias are actually as bad as people claim.

He asks if all surgeons survive entirely on caffeine and spite.

You laugh softly at that. Then gradually your replies get slower. Quieter. By the fourth red light, he glances over and realizes your eyes are barely open anymore.

“You can sleep” he says quietly

“M’not sleepin”

“You just lost a fight with your seatbelt five seconds ago”

“No I didn’t” You immediately drift sideways against the window.

A minute later you mumble, barely coherent “Address…” You unlock your phone halfway, fail, then eventually just type your apartment address into the dashboard navigation with sleepy determination.

After that? Done. Completely out cold within five minutes. No hesitation. No worry. Just trust.

It hits him strangely hard because people don’t usually fall asleep around him that easily. But you, you simply curled slightly into the passenger seat and slept. Like some exhausted part of you already decided he was safe.

Seungcheol drives slower after that. Careful over speed bumps. One hand steady on the wheel while city lights blur past the windshield.

At one point you shift in your sleep, face turning slightly toward him.

And God. He’s done for.

Absolutely catastrophically done for.

When he reaches your apartment building, he debates waking you immediately.

Instead he sits there for a second. Just looking.

Your face finally relaxed without hospital stress tightening your features. Soft breathing.

You look younger while asleep. Nothing like the terrifying trauma surgeon ordering residents around an ER.

Eventually he reaches over carefully.

“Y/N.” You make a tiny sound but don’t wake

His mouth twitches.

“Doctor.” Still nothing.

Then finally,

“Pretty girl”

Your eyes crack open instantly. Seungcheol nearly laughs at your betrayed expression.

“You’re evil” you mumble sleepily

“You drool when you sleep”

“I hate you”

“Sure”

You grumble under your breath the entire way to your apartment entrance while half asleep.bHe waits until you unlock your door safely.

Only before stepping inside, you turn back toward him.

Hair messy. Eyes barely open.

Beautiful.

“Text me when you get back”  Then you disappear inside before he can even answer properly.

And now hours later, Seungcheol closes the office door inside the base quietly, exhausted down to the bone.

He tosses his keys onto the desk. Rolls tension from his shoulders.

Finally alone or so he thinks.

“…So”

Seungcheol freezes instantly.

A figure emerges from the darkness of the office couch like an actual demon. Minho sits there with the most evil grin imaginable and a convenience store drink in hand.

Seungcheol stares “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough”

“You’re creepy.”

“And you,” Minho says while pointing dramatically, “are in love.”

Seungcheol immediately starts walking toward the coffee machine instead

“No.”

“Captain Choi Seungcheol voluntarily drove a woman home in his car instead of disappearing into the void after deployment.”

“She was tired”

“She fell asleep in your car?”

Silence. Minho gasps loudly. “Oh my GOD she fell asleep in your car”

“She works thirty hour shifts”

“She TRUSTS you”

“She was exhausted”

“You looked at her while she slept, didn’t you?” Seungcheol pauses for one fatal second. Minho screams.

“YOU DID!”

“Keep your voice down”

“You’re smiling!”

“I’m not”

“You literally have heart eyes right now.”

Seungcheol rubs one hand down his face tiredly whiich unfortunately only confirms everything further.

Minho jumps off the couch immediatel “This is insane. Captain Emotionally Unavailable actually caught feelings.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You drove slower because she was sleeping, didn’t you?”

Silence again.

Minho points aggressively. “Pathetic”

“She asked me to text her when I got back.”

That shuts Minho up immediately. Then slowly his grin returns ten times worse.

“Oh,” he says softly “Oh you’re both gone”

Seungcheol exhales heavily and pulls out his phone despite himself.bOne unread message already waits there.

you: did u get back safe or did the military finally lose their best employee

His chest does something deeply embarrassing. Minho watches his expression carefully then cackles loud enough to wake the entire base.

Minho is still laughing when Seungcheol finally drops heavily into the office chair.

Outside the office windows, the base is mostly quiet at this hour. A few distant footsteps. Radios crackling somewhere down the hall.

Meanwhile his best friend is having the time of his life watching him suffer.

“So,” Minho says while dragging a chair over dramatically, “tell me everything”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar”

Seungcheol leans back and closes his eyes briefly.

Instant mistake.

Because immediately he thinks of your face.

Hair falling loose in the ER. Sharp eyes over surgical masks. Soft sleepy expression in his passenger seat.

“See?” Minho points aggressively. “You’re doing it again!”

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you stare into space like you’re hearing wedding bells.”

Seungcheol opens one eye slowly “I can still have you transferred.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

“You’re too happy lately.”

That makes Seungcheol snort quietly despite himself.

Happy.

Strange word. Not one he usually associates with himself. His life is schedules and classified files and deployments that end with blood on tactical gloves.

Not… this.

Not waiting outside emergency rooms just to drive someone home.

Minho studies him for another second before suddenly asking:

“So how is it? she looked extra scary tonight?”

And annoyingly enough Seungcheol knows exactly what he means. He exhales slowly and drags one hand down his face.

“She does this thing,” he says before stopping himself.

Minho immediately lights up. “OH MY GOD THERE’S A THING.”

“Shut up.”

“No continue.”

Seungcheol stares at the ceiling for a second, Trying and failing to sound normal.

“When she’s focused,” he says quietly, “everything else disappears ”

His mind flashes back instantly.You standing in the middle of the ER chaos while everyone moved around you.

Blood on your gloves. Sharp voice cutting through noise. Completely locked in.

Beautiful.

Terrifying.

Alive.

You're pretty when you're focused, in your element.

Then another image surfaces. You asleep in his passenger seat. Head tilted slightly toward him.

Trusting him enough to completely let go.

His chest tightens again at the memory.

And he can't help but think you're even prettier when you're like that, relaxed, void of any stress, just you.

Then the worst or best one really.  The most dangerous one.

You looking at him. Not doctor-to-patient. Not teasing. Just… looking at him softly after recognizing him in that ER tonight.

Relief hidden in your eyes. Like you were genuinely happy he came back safe.

And that— that one nearly kills him.

“The prettiest,” Seungcheol says finally, voice quieter now, “when she looks at me.”

Silence. Absolute silence.

Then Minho slowly lowers his drink onto the desk “…There you go again.”

Seungcheol blinks once “What?”

“Floating away”

“I’m sitting right here”

“No,” Minho says dramatically while pointing at him, “physically yes. Spiritually? You’re holding hands with her in a sunflower field”

That actually makes Seungcheol laugh.

Minho stares at him in disbelief afterward then shakes his head slowly.

“I have never,” he says firmly, “and I mean never ever seen you like this.”

Seungcheol falls quiet again. Because honestly? Neither has he. He’s spent years carefully detached from people. Not cold just practical.

His job taught him early that attachment complicates survival.

You leave easier when nothing waits for you.

But now there’s suddenly a trauma surgeon with messy handwriting and terrifying leadership skills occupying his thoughts at three in the morning.

A woman who understands duty instead of resenting it. Who patched bullet wounds without flinching. Who fell asleep in his car like she trusted him instinctively.

And worst of all… he wants more.

More dinners.

More late-night drives.

More sarcastic comments thrown at him over coffee.

More of you looking at him like he came back.

Seungcheol exhales slowly through his nose “…This is bad.”

Minho immediately points at him again. “That is the face of a man already planning marriage.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Seungcheol shakes his head once, but there’s no real denial left in it now because somewhere between the convenience store, the ER hallways, and you asleep in his passenger seat…

Captain Choi Seungcheol fell hard.

❌❌❌❌❌❌❌END OF PART ONE❌❌❌❌❌❌❌

[koqabear]

test your luck

♫: Closer, JIHYO, Breathe, Malcom Todd

"Your attraction to Kai's new friend is undeniable— however, dancing around said attraction gets old quick; looks like you'll have to see what it takes to get this push and pull over with."

taehyun x fem!reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, smut, barely any plot

Word Count: 19k

warnings:  dom!th, sub!mc, use of weed, high sex, lots of smoking!! consent is not explicitly stated at times but trust me. they want each other. body worship, slight brat taming, shotgunning, oral (m. rec, f. rec) deep throating, handjob, lots of making out, dry humping, manhandling, tyun carries the reader once, hair pulling, spitting, pussy slapping, biting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, taehyun is an EATER okay he puts that girl through it, squirting, pet names (angel, baby, etc), bulge kink, choking, lots of praise and degrading, creampie

notes: NEVER take the solomon pill this shit gets SERIOUS

When Kai sent you a message asking if you were busy tonight, you earnestly responded that you weren't. When he asked if you wanted to come over to smoke and hang out with a few others, you hesitated— because it was a Thursday night, and he was definitely aware of your nine-am class and the way weed made you feel drowsy the day after. But when he sent you a photo of him pouting and a table full of snacks behind him, you promptly changed your mind.

You're so glad you did— you'd definitely beat yourself up forever if you knew what you were about to miss out on.

Tanned skin, broad shoulders and a criminally narrow waist that flashes beneath the flannel he wears over his tank top— all complimented by a face sculpted by the gods with clear love and care; a plump bottom lip that juts into a pout, tall nose and large eyes that scanned the room curiously— you first made eye contact after Kai let you in, your gaze instantly attracted to the makeshift halo given to him by the lamp he sat in front, his long black hair falling into his eyes. While you instantly looked away, intimidated by how attractive he was, you felt his gaze linger on you for a bit longer.

You let Kai take your hand and drag you to the couch across from this beautiful stranger; some random animated adult comedy show droned on in the background, the only light left after the lamp gets turned off, a few others already taking up space on the couches; you squeezed into the corner while Kai sat to your left, Soobin and Beomgyu taking up the rest of the space— they were nice and fun to talk to, but you only knew them through Kai; you learned it was more entertaining to watch them try to argue whilst high out of their minds.

Across from you, Kazuha and Yunjin wave at you— you were mutual friends through Kai, getting to know them through your econ class after you were paired together for a project; they introduce you to the friends they invited, Chaeryoung and Ryujin. Yeonjun has forfeited a seat on the couch in favor of sitting on the floor, hunched over the coffee table as he rolls up— when you greet him, he gives you a toothy grin, nodding behind him as he introduces you to his invited guest—

"Taehyun." Oh god, you have to try your best not to react too much as he greets you— a polite smile is all you can muster, because you fear anything more than that would give away the effect his mere voice already has on you. It's smooth and deep, with an unexpected gentleness in his tone despite the cool and standoffish front he has going on. You all fall silent, some paying attention to the television while you opt to watch Yeonjun finish rolling up the joint.

He works fast, his fingers nimble and clearly experienced; as much as you like to tease that his skill is concerning, you never turn down a smoke session when it's Yeonjun that's rolling up— you'd like to think that the extra care he puts in his joints add a little extra something that makes your high better. Not that you'd ever tell him that.

You're snapped out of your trance at the sound of Yeonjun calling your name; blinking owlishly, you find him holding out the finished joint and a lighter out to you, eyes tinted with an amused glint.

"Wanna start it off?" he asks— you suddenly feel everyone's eyes fall on you. "You look like you're dying for a hit."

"Am not," you scoff, yet take up the offer anyway; this earns a chuckle from Taehyun, who you can't help but become attuned to instantly. Placing the joint between your lips, you pray that you don't fumble lighting it up and make a fool of yourself in front of everyone.

Then again, it's hard to when you have Yeonjun's work in your hands— you quietly marvel at how quickly the joint lights up, taking a slow drag and watching the tip burn in response. You turn your head to the side to blow out the smoke before passing it over to Kai, settling back on the couch and turning your attention on the show that plays in the background.

As the joint makes its way back to you, a quiet conversation adds to the white noise; you talk about the semester and the finals that approach, listening to Yunjin rant animatedly about her cumulative calculus exam that's driving her up the wall, nodding along in sympathy. Beside you, Kai starts to complain about his job— hyping himself up by saying the same as always: "I'm gonna quit once this semester ends, I swear." The effects of the weed already seem to kick in as you can only muster a slightly slurred remark that he's a hypocrite that's been repeating the same thing for the past two years— when you stumble over your sentence one time too many, the group begins to laugh and you quietly scold yourself to shut the hell up.

It's been a while since you last smoked; you're definitely sure it's showing too, as you proceed to melt into the couch more while the others continue the conversation like nothing— at some point, the others start skipping you when passing the joint around.

Beomgyu and Soobin have started arguing again, something about League and their current rankings. While they have the world's most incomprehensible screaming match, Yunjin drags the girls up and to the kitchen, rambling off about how hungry she is— she turns to you to ask if you'd like to tag along, but when your bleary eyes meet hers and you give her a sluggish shake of your head, she leaves without a fight. Yeonjun trails after them at the reminder of food; beside you, Kai watches his friends fight with a small smile, taking a slow hit from the joint and leaning on your shoulder with a sigh. The two of you curl into each other, and while Kai laughs at the jabs the two throw at each other, you're left unsure of whether they're even speaking a language you know.

A chill runs through your body, and you instinctively turn to the couch across from you— your eyes meet with Taehyun's for the umpteenth time today, but in your high induced daze, you don't feel a panicked urge to look away. Instead, you allow yourself to hold his stare, tilting your head as your eyes begin to wander.

He's shed his flannel; he's left in nothing but a white tank, showing off his arms that are so defined with muscle you're able to pick it up under the low light of the TV. It's unbearable, having such perfect eye-candy on display— even more so when he places his hands behind his head and stretches back, his short tank riding up and exposing his stomach— rather, his fucking abs. You didn't think it was possible to find someone with actual defined abs in real life; Yeonjun always complains to you about how hard they are to maintain.

You're suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is, and you can't control the way you gulp as an attempt to relive the tension. You watch as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back, his back arching as he continues to stretch— a low groan escapes his lips, and before you can look away and feign nonchalance, he's melting back down into the couch and meeting your eyes again.

Your face feels like it's on fire, your eyes widening a fraction as you look away— but not before catching the way his lips quirked up in amusement.

"I don't give a fuck that you were at master tier— you're at emerald now and I'm at diamond. So I'm obviously better."

"When have you ever reached master?!" Soobin's yell cuts off your flustered line of thoughts, jumping closer to Kai from the shock his sudden increase in volume gave you. Kai merely laughs at you, grabbing your thighs to bring your legs up to rest on his lap; he absentmindedly rubs your thigh while watching the two continue to debate on who's better.

"And who had to carry you during last night's match?!" Beomgyu yells back; the two are heated, sitting up and trying to loom over each other, but they keep trying to one-up each other that you think they'll stand up any moment. "How many kills did you get again?!"

"Hey, did you want any more?" Kai is holding out the joint to you, leaning in so you can hear him over the screaming match happening next to you. You think about it for a minute— you still feel light and dreamy, but there's the unmistakable feeling of the fog clearing in your mind, able to keep a better grasp on your surroundings than before— and decide it's too early to let the feeling fade, nodding softly and going to reach for the joint.

Instead, Kai beats you to it. He's bringing the joint to your lips, smiling when you raise a brow in surprise but accept the gesture anyway; you follow his instructions to take a long hit, and when he finally pulls the joint away, you've filled your lungs with so much smoke that you end up having a small coughing fit.

"Shit, my bad— that was probably a little too much," he pushes your legs off his lap and hands you the joint, giving you a pat on your back before standing, "I'll go get you some water."

You're left trying to calm down your coughing fit with the smoking joint in your hand, Soobin and Beomgyu now speaking so fast you feel like you're going crazy— there isn't a single word you're able to pick up on, and all you can do is stare at the rug beneath your feet as the weed begins to course through your system once more.

The joint feels warm between your fingers, and you're suddenly itching to get rid of it; glancing to your left, you immediately rule out Soobin and Beomgyu who have now begun to point aggressively at each other. The only other person you can hand this to is sitting across from you, and already staring when you look at him. Taehyun sends you a small smile, reaching his hand out in a silent plea. He's too far from you, so you're resigned to stand on shaky legs and walk over to hand him the joint.

Maybe you should've paid a bit more attention to your surroundings— because then you would've been able to catch Yeonjun's bag on the floor next to the coffee table, your foot catching on it and sending you stumbling forward; you crash into the couch unceremoniously, able to turn your body at the last second to ensure you didn't crush the joint nor burn either you or Taehyun with it— instead, you almost fall on him, saved instead by his hands that shoot forward to steady you. Your head spins from the sudden movement, panting as your heart tries to calm down from the scare.

"Fuck, that's so embarrassing," you whine, covering your face with a hand in shame— Soobin and Beomgyu's argument is briefly cut off in favor of laughing at you, retreating to their own world in surrender after you send them a glare. You hear a low chuckle next to you, and your heart begins to panic once more as you remember who it is you almost fell on top of.

"I'm so sorry," you say through the gaps of your fingers— you don't have the guts to look at him, holding the joint out to his general direction instead. When he takes it, his fingers brush over yours; they're warm and a bit calloused, and you try to ignore the electricity that shoots through your fingertips into the rest of your body.

"No need to apologize," Taehyun says, "you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine," you say, trying to adjust yourself on the couch— you really don't think you can get back up, especially now that you're high again— you shift away from him, just so you don't have to feel like you're going to shut down every time your thighs press against each other, and frown, feeling a sudden tension in your right hand.

Taehyun takes another hit, and you try to watch from the corner of your eye—his plump lips that wrap around the joint, his brows that knit together while he inhales, looking away from you so he can exhale; you catch him doing a ghost, and you swear you've never seen anyone look so hot while smoking. You're quick to look away so he won't catch you ogling this time.

You're back to watching the TV absentmindedly, the tension in your hand coming back as you shift— frowning, you begin to massage your hand, flinching when your fingers push into the knuckle of your thumb; a stinging sensation shoots through you, and you can't hold back the sharp hiss you let out as you experimentally push in again. Taehyun's head snaps over, watching quietly as you continue to massage your thumb, fingers careful and hesitant as you press into the muscle.

Your eyes that were glued to the hands on your lap widen as Taehyun reaches for your sore hand, bringing it up to his face to examine it; your mouth feels dry as you observe the concern etched into his frown, lithe fingers wrapped around your wrist and turning your hand over in his— his lips clamp down on the joint so he can examine you with his other hand, leaning toward you as he does.

Slowly, his fingers smooth over your skin, fingertips stopping at the knuckle you were tending to earlier. His thumb and pointer fingers move to squeeze your joint experimentally, his eyes flickering up to your face when you grimace and your hand twitches in his hold.

"How bad does it hurt?" he murmurs, his face so close to yours it feels like you've been sucked into a whole different dimension. You can smell the weed that lingers with the joint, the flame beginning to die out, and the clean, calming scent of his cologne— serene and endless, like a cabin in the woods surrounded by the smell of cedar and nature. It's fresh, clean— his face is a mere inches away from yours, and when his eyes flicker up to meet yours, you feel as though you've been kicked in the gut and forced to answer.

"Not— not too bad, I'm sure it's nothing serious," he raises a brow, digging his fingers into your muscle once more— when you let out a choked yelp, the corners of his lips tick up. You let out a shaky breath as you try to be brave and hold his stare. "I think I just landed on it wrong."

"You're sure?" his eyes sparkle with an undeniable mischief, watching with a glint in his eyes as you immediately nod— he presses into your thumb again, just to watch you jolt and try to rip your hand from his; he tightens his hold on you before you can. "Still sure?"

"Okay, maybe it's a little sore," your courage has been snuffed out, your eyes falling to your lap dejectedly. Taehyun chuckles, plucking the joint from his lips before putting it down on the ash tray on the coffee table— his hand has yet to let yours go.

"Thought so," he murmurs; bringing your hand close, he caresses the sore spot slowly. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so rough with you."

Your mind goes blank— his fingers linger on your skin for a second, his eyes fluttering to look up at you once more. He's gently placing your hand back on your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze before he lets go. You're not sure what prompts you into saying the things you do, but the words tumble from your lips anyway.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind."

Beside you, Taehyun stiffens; he does nothing more than nod, letting out a thoughtful hum and leaning back into the couch. The air between you two feels undeniably charged, and you think you might blurt out something stupid again if this tension persists. Instead, you're saved by Kai who finally emerges from the kitchen— you send him a glare for taking so long, and he rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Yeonjun was telling us about his situationship again," he sits next to you, uncapping the water bottle before handing it to you, "I got distracted."

"You're lucky I love you," you murmur, gulping down water— Kai leans in, dropping his voice and whispering in your ear.

"Why'd you switch seats?"

You don't like the tone in his voice— teasing, as though you had ulterior motives. You narrow your eyes at him when you find a coy smile playing at his lips.

"I was passing the joint to him."

"And you just had to stay here?"

"Shut up," you raise your voice, smacking his shoulder to get him away from you— while Kai just laughs, you see Taehyun glance over at you from your peripheral. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."

"Yes ma'am," Kai gathers your legs in his lap again, pulling you closer instinctively, "Taehyun, could you pass the joint over here?"

"Sure," he leans forward, picking up the joint before frowning— he gives a testing tug, and when nothing comes out, he shakes his head. "It went out. Where's the lighter?"

"Oh— I have it," you're patting your pockets in search of it, finally fishing it out with a triumphant cheer— you're about to hand it over to Taehyun, but instead of taking it, he leans into you, the joint hanging between his lips.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his— his eyes are dark, and he's raising a brow at you as though your hesitation were odd— he nods his chin toward you, and you're bringing up the lighter, having to flick it a few times before the flame finally emerges. While his gaze is glued to the tip of the joint, you take this moment to get a closer look at him; his black hair that's lit up under the soft flame, stray hairs falling over his round eyes with thick lashes that flutter softly, his smooth skin and slim face, you take it all in like it's the last time you'll ever see him again; when he finally pulls away, you're quick to do the same, afraid to get caught staring for the millionth time tonight.

You face forward, trying to pretend that the moment that passed wasn't enough to startle your heart— when you look up, you're mortified to find Soobin and Beomgyu staring at you with wide, sleazy smiles. When you frown, their grins only widen— you shake your head softly when you see Beomgyu ready to speak, and to your surprise, he actually shuts his mouth with a coy chuckle; you think there might've been genuine fear flashing in your eyes with the way he obliged so easily.

From the corner of your eye, you see Taehyun taking another hit before passing it off to you; you don't hesitate to take it this time, more than ready to ease tonight'sjr&u tension a bit, taking a long hit before passing it off to Kai— you and Taehyun don't interact much for the rest of the night, and while your heart is thankful for it, your brain quietly itches for a little more; a glance, a conversation, something— but Taehyun falls quiet without Yeonjun by his side, and the said man spends the rest of the night in the kitchen ranting to the girls about his recent heartache.

It isn't until everyone is leaving that you run into him again, standing idly in the kitchen and picking at the snacks that were left behind; it's two AM and you've cashed in your best friend privileges to sleep over at Kai's while everyone is saying their goodbyes after finally sobering up. Yeonjun is glued to your side, sneaking in a last few pieces from the candy bowl while you make him promise to catch you up on everything he was spilling to the rest of the girls.

"It's not my fault, you're the one that chose to stay on the couch the whole time."

"Well, you should've tried to come get me again!"

"Why would I do that?" he leans in closer, whispering in your ear with a coy grin, "when you and Taehyunie were getting along so well?"

"Whatever," you shove him off you with a scoff, but he only lets out an obnoxious laugh, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek before bidding you goodbye and running out the kitchen. Taehyun wanders in a few minutes later.

It's ridiculous, really— your heart begins to race the moment you make eye-contact with him, and you're turning to face the counter as a result, picking aimlessly at snacks and candy bowls in a weak attempt to seem busy. You think your heart might stop when you feel him looming over you, his shadow encasing yours as he softly clears his throat; you have to brace yourself before you finally turn around.

"Hey," his voice is deep and a bit raspy, and you get a whiff of mint as he speaks— sure enough, he's chewing on gum, and you realize with a pathetic skip of your heart that he has dimples, one so deep and etched into the side of his right cheek. "Do you have Yeonjun's lighter?"

Oh. That bastard.

"Oh! I do, yeah," you give a weak laugh, an attempt to ease your overactive nerves; sure enough, Yeonjun's lighter is still in your pocket, and you're fishing out the Zippo decorated with stickers and handing it out to him.

"Thanks," he shoves it in his front pocket, and you nod. He takes a step back, and lingers for a moment. "It was nice meeting you. I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," your response is a tad too swift and eager, and though it makes your skin crawl, the smile he gives you evens it out. "It was nice meeting you too."

He gives you a polite smile before turning on his heel and leaving for good— you watch him leave, quietly following up to the kitchen doorway just to keep him in your sight a little longer.

And thank god you do— because the image of his broad back and the subtle flex of his muscles is the last thing you get to ingrain in your mind before Kai shuts the door behind him. Your best friend is instantly turning to you, and you hide behind the wall and pretend you hadn't been caught.

His obnoxious cackle is enough to have your skin heating up with embarrassment, hiding your face behind your hands as you recount the way you acted tonight.

"Dude, you were like a cat in heat."

You can't even fight back, because he's undeniably right.

You can't stop thinking about him. It's been a week, and he's still invading your thoughts; maybe it's because you're starting to notice him on Yeonjun's Instagram posts more, or because you actually pay attention to Kai's rants after finding out he works with him at the local record shop— he's everywhere. He's been everywhere, and you just never realized it. You're anxious to see him again, your heart trembling with every night you had to spend overthinking the few hours you spent together— the lingering gazes, his touch on your hand, the kind glint in his eyes— you're tired of recounting the same scenarios over and over. So when Kai invites you to be his plus one to a party Taehyun's friend is hosting, who are you to say no to your best friend?

"Oh my god, how many times are you gonna ask? I don't know, they look the same to me!"

"They're literally not!" you flip the denim skirts over to show him the back, "the pockets! And the color! One's darker."

"Well they look the same."

"Ugh, you're not helping," you throw the skirts off to the side, flopping on your desk chair with a sigh. From your bed, Kai pouts, hugging your bunny plush closer as he watches you massage your temples.

"What about that one dress you have?" you look up in confusion, and he nods over to your open closet, "the pink one you got for our beach trip."

Your face lights up— that pink dress. The one you found at the mall by sheer luck, flattering and short with a skirt that swayed with your movements and gave others a peek of what was underneath if you weren't too careful. You completely forgot you owned it.

"Kai, have I ever told you how much I love you?" you bat your lashes at him, skipping over to the closet— sure enough, the pretty pink material peeked out from the very back of the rack, begging to be taken out. Kai only hums absently, and you look over your shoulder to send him a smile. "Now can you please get out? I'm gonna change."

You're smoothing the dress down your hips when Kai knocks. It's been half an hour and you've yet to let him back in again.

"Come in," you finally say, turning to the side in the mirror, checking if the halter straps of your dress are tied in that perfect bow you practiced. The fabric of the skirt moves with you, fluttering around your thighs like a blooming flower— you see Kai come into the frame behind you, wearing a tight shirt and jeans that sit just a tad bit low on his hips, skin coming into view when he raises his hand to ruffle his curled blond hair. You glance at your appearance one last time before turning to him.

"Do I look okay?"

"You look great," he smiles, taking you in, in all your glittery glory, "you'll have Taehyun drooling all over you tonight."

"Shut up," you scoff, turning your back to him and scampering to get your purse and heels— Kai's insufferable smirk won't leave his face as he leads you out and to the ride he ordered to take you two to the party.

Kai is graceful enough to drop the subject for the rest of the car ride, choosing to tell you about the actual host of tonight's party so you don't go in blind; contrary to what you previously thought, there's no special occasion for tonight's party— Keeho merely did it for the love of the game. Kai details how Keeho throws parties every month or so, because after having his twenty-first get called a "rager", he decided it'd be fun to keep the title up.

"It might be packed tonight," Kai says, "Taehyun was telling me all the shit he had to get for tonight— from the sounds of it, I wouldn't be surprised if there were like, over a hundred people in there."

"Jesus Christ," you're pulling in to a street, finding the neighborhood lined with cookie-cutter houses that look like it'd take you three jobs to maintain; you can already spot a house toward the end of the cul-de-sac bleeding music loud enough to disturb the neighbors and other cars dropping off people who are already stumbling inside— adrenaline licks up your spine, a smile breaking out on your face at the sight of a party actually living up to the hype. When you turn back to Kai with stars in your eyes, he laughs.

"See what I mean?" He thanks your driver before sliding out the car behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you inside, "He got the reputation for a reason."

"How the hell has this not gotten shut down yet?" you have to raise your voice as you slip inside, the air instantly switching to something foggy and hot— there isn't a single person in front of your that's sober, and Kai has to lean close to be able to hear you.

"I think his neighbors are usually out on business trips," Kai yells, "but I've also heard rumors that he keeps a "special" relationship with them, if you know what I mean."

You do not. And you're sure you really don't want to.

"That's him!" Kai is pointing at the elevated DJ booth, and when you ask who you're supposed to be looking at, he points at the DJ himself— your jaw drops as you take him in, platinum hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and his dark eyes narrowed as he focuses on his deck; he takes off one of headphones as someone approaches him, probably requesting a song stupid enough to warrant the way his face twists with disgust, waving the person away without a second thought.

"Wait!" something in your mind clicks when you see him look up, the confident grin on his face giving you flashbacks to a late night out, "Isn't he DJ K? From the rave we went to?!"

Kai's nod is reciprocated with a slap to his shoulder— when he gives you an offended look, you scoff.

"He's been throwing parties this whole time and you didn't bother telling me you knew him?"

"Taehyun knows him," the mere mention of his name is enough to bring a smug smile to Kai's face, "so if you're gonna be mad at anyone, get mad at him."

Kai's sporting that weird look on his face again, like he's scheming something and you're at his mercy— it's making you nervous, and it must show on your face because your friend is taking your hand and dragging you through the house with a suspicious familiarity that makes you wanna hit him again. Instead, you allow him to bring you to the mini-bar— bar!— they have, ordering a round of shots you gratefully accept. The tequila Kai ordered for you goes down smooth, though you can't stop yourself from making a face, scanning the crowd to try and play it off; you can see Kai laughing at you from the corner of your eye.

"You wanna go dance?" he asks, watching you continue to analyze the crowd before you, "or… are you looking for someone?"

Reluctantly, you look up at him— he sounds like he knows something you don't, so you give in and tell the truth. "Maybe."

"About time. C'mon," Kai offers his hand, lacing your fingers with his and pulling you close, weaving through bodies and venturing deeper into the house— again, with such effortlessness that has you irked. He's leading you to the basement, leaning close to your ear with a grin. "That clueless act was getting old."

His loud laugh and the booming music is enough to drown out the names you curse out, the smell of weed already reaching your senses as the air gets cloudier the more you descend— your heart begins to pound in anticipation at the thought of getting to see Taehyun again.

Right as you reach the last step, Kai lets go of your hand and snakes his arm around your waist instead— when you send him a confused look, he merely shrugs and pulls you in closer.

"Don't want any creeps to try and hit on you."

The basement is relatively dark, only lit up by a line of bulb string lights that go across the back wall— there are small rectangular windows high up that are left open, and a pool table off to the side where a few people crowd, but the real center of attention lies in the center of the room, people melted into the couches that circle a small coffee table, filled up with ashtrays and beer bottles— it's there that you spot Taehyun rolling up, finishing up a joint— not the first one, if the lingering smoke in the room is any indicator. His tongue darts out to lick along the paper, and like some freaky sixth sense, his eyes dart up to meet yours.

"Scary," Kai's hold on your waist tightens, "it's like he was waiting for you."

Your heart flips at the mere thought, but you act aloof as you allow your friend to lead you into the circle, finding a conveniently open spot next between Yeonjun and Taehyun— the former cheers at the sight of you two, opening his arms for a hug you happily initiate.

"Finally!" You're bending over to hug Yeonjun, who's practically one with the couch— Kai hovers behind you to cover your rising dress. "I almost thought you weren't gonna show up!"

"And who told you I was coming?" because it definitely wasn't you— pulling back, you catch Yeonjun's red eyes widen before glancing over your shoulder. You've barely spent five minutes with him, but Yeonjun's already managed to piss you off.

"You came at a good time," Yeonjun says instead, pulling you down by the wrist to sit next to down; Kai squeezes between you two instead of taking the open spot. "Those dumbass randoms took our joint, so Taehyunie's rolling us a new one."

Sure enough, Taehyun's cleared out a small space on the coffee table to make way for his setup; a thought lingers in your head that you wish you could've seen him rolling up, because as he's finishing up the surprisingly pearled joint, your eyes linger on his nimble hands, and your thoughts wander to an embarrassingly desperate place.

Taehyun is fishing something from his pocket, a simple black lighter with the letters K.TH written toward the bottom of one side; he goes to sit as he lights the joint, the action so indifferent that you're convinced to think nothing of the way he falls back next to you, pressed close despite having plenty of space to sit.

He's dressed in all black today; a simple black tee that hugs his body and ends just above the waistband to his jeans, earning you a peek of his navel as he leans back against the couch. The thin silver chain he wears glints under the low light of the flame, complimented by the small silver hoop earrings that decorate his ears. When he looks over at you, you play off your staring by pretending you were waiting patiently for him to pass the joint to you.

You quickly realize that Taehyun is a very quiet person— and it's frustrating. Kai and Yeonjun make idle conversation that you occasionally jump into, but your interest is more on the man next to you that's decided all he can do is nod along to what the others are saying. By the time the joint has been passed back to you for the umpteenth time, you're high to push yourself to try and talk to him— the last thing you want to do is stumble over your sentences trying to woo this man.

"I wouldn't pass it to her, I think she's already out of it," Yeonjun and Kai laugh to themselves, and your head rolls over to them to send a scathing glare. Your sluggish movements only serve to make them laugh harder. "She's a total lightweight."

"You liar!" you're sitting up, crossing your arms against your chest with a pout. "Just because I don't smoke every other day like you, doesn't mean I'm a lightweight!"

"Nah, if you take another hit you'll probably fall asleep," Kai is all in your face with that insufferable grin of his, refusing to stand down, "it's what you always do when we smoke at my place."

You're about to curse Kai out for airing out your business like this— the last thing you want Taehyun thinking is that you're a lame person to smoke with! You're fired up, brows knitting together and lips curling to a scowl when suddenly, Taehyun cuts into the conversation.

"Hey, don't do my girl like that," all heads are snapping over at him: Yeonjun and Kai because they're surprised to hear him join in, and you because you think you're hearing things.

He's leaned back against the couch, arms crossed and showing off his biceps— you have to rip your eyes away from his arms to take in the small, coy smile he dons, the lit joint hanging loosely between his lips. His eyes flicker over to you, his smile widening a tad when he catches the surprise on your face. "If she wants another hit then let her get another one."

"Someone's feeling brave," Kai put his arm around your shoulders, giving you a teasing shake that makes you whine in protest. "Acting like you weren't falling asleep earlier!"

Kai's teasing is persistent, cooing and pinching your cheeks as you try to shove him off and tell him that you'll be fine— your bickering goes on for a while, your foggy brain trying its best to keep up with Kai's childish arguments; it's a losing battle, but when you feel a warm hand land on your thigh, it's like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over you, sobering you instantly.

Taehyun has gotten close— very close, his shoulder brushing against yours as you feel Kai's hand slip from your shoulders; the world around you seems to fade away as he stares at you with low-lidded, dark eyes. His brows are set in a slight furrow and his jaw seems a bit tight, the hand on your thigh squeezing ever-so slightly— not enough to feel aggressive, but enough to make you squirm, breathless as your lips part in anticipation— for what exactly, you're not sure.

"Do you wanna take hit?" his voice is soft, but he makes up for it by leaning closer toward you. You can feel the callouses on his palms as he rubs your thigh slightly, fingertips brushing against the skirt of your dress that's ridden up. You nod, but it's only returned with a shake of Taehyun's head. "I need to hear you say it, or I won't give it to you."

His fingertips have ventured toward your inner thighs— your legs squeeze his hand on instinct, and you feel his grip tighten, nails digging in and making you swallow back a whimper.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out, "I can handle it."

Kai and Yeonjun scoot a bit away from you, looking at each other and pretending to gag— they're lucky you don't catch it, because if you did you might've beaten them up; they can't help themselves from glancing over at you two one last time before they head over to the pool table.

Taehyun takes one last, long hit, doing a french inhale that makes you call him a show-off. He merely chuckles, turning away to blow out the smoke before he's holding up the joint to your lips. Your eyes flutter up to meet his, glittering under the low lights as you part your glossed lips and take a hit— you find yourself a bit intimated by the intensity of his stare, pulling away far too soon and turning away in hopes of hiding your flustered face.

"C'mon, what was that?" Taehyun's hand is slipping from your thigh to cup your chin and pull you back toward him, huffing out a laugh at the pout you sport. He raises a brow at you, mocking. "Don't tell me you considered that a hit."

"I mean," with the way he's smiling at you, you're able to spot sharp canines that bite down on the tip of his tongue teasingly, a dangerous thrill shooting through your spine at the sight. "I guess."

He laughs, shaking his head as he squeezes your cheeks affectionately— you're positively dizzy with the sudden onslaught of attention, shifting on the couch and squeezing your thighs together; Taehyun's eyes flicker down, his brow twitching in amusement before he's bringing the joint back up to your lips. "You can take another hit, can't you?"

You don't hesitate to nod.

"Here. Take a bigger one," he's guiding your face forward to meet him halfway, placing the joint between your lips and watching the tip light up as you inhale. He keeps his hold on you the whole time. "Come on, keep going."

"Little more… there we go," he's practically purring the words out, plucking the joint from your lips and tucking it between his own. His smile is coy as he watches your brows twitch, exhaling the smoke and willing yourself to not fall into a fatal coughing fit. When you fall back against the couch in success, he gives your thigh a soft pat. "Took it like a champ."

You feel like you're losing your mind with the way his words are hitting you with a heat that festers in your core. Your limbs are tingling and you feel a small smile etching on your face, shifting so that you're leaning on your side to face him fully.

"Kinda hard not to when you were holding me down," you giggle, and he leans forward, successfully closing you two off in your own little bubble.

"Can you blame me?" he murmurs, "you were enjoying yourself."

"What, so you're a mind reader now?"

"Nah," Taehyun's eyes crinkle as he smiles, "but it's not hard to read you when you look at me like that."

"Oh yeah?" you reach forward to take the joint from his lips, taking a small hit to hide your smile. "And how exactly was I looking at you?"

"Like you've had enough for tonight," the joint is taken from you yet again, and you're frowning, getting ready to protest— he shakes his head, leaning to the coffee table to snuff out his joint; you're completely melted into the couch while he remains sitting up, hovering over you with low-lidded, red eyes and a gentle smile. His eyes run over your body, stopping at your hips and letting out a small sigh. Reaching up, he tugs your dress down, that familiar tick to his jaw coming back. "Do you realize how short this dress of yours is?"

The smile on your lips only widens, and there's a playful glint in your eyes as you push your hips up, right against his hand that continues to hold the fabric down. "Something wrong with that?"

"'Course not." his hold on the fabric slips, watching it bounce right back up to rest on the curve of your hips, dangerously high. His gaze is shameless as he continues to take you in, and it's enough to have adrenaline shooting through you, a quiet, dazed giggle escaping you and snapping his attention back to you. He watches you for a moment, and there's this soft look in his eyes that has you squirming in place, your boldness instantly quieting down under the weight of his stare.

"You feeling okay?" he eventually asks; you simply nod. "Tired?"

"No," you bite back, though it's true— whenever you smoke with Kai and Yeonjun, you always find yourself falling asleep. But with this strand, you're feeling… different. Instead of that lethargic, dreamy high that settles heavy into your bones and sings you to sleep, you're faced with something brighter, urgent— your body tingles with restlessness, and there's a heavy heat that settles deep in your stomach that you refuse to acknowledge. "It's definitely not that."

You gulp, feeling yourself take the backseat in your own body; you feel absentminded as you continue this back and forth with Taehyun, finding yourself preoccupied with the feeling that continues to build up inside you— you feel good. It feels like the type of high your friends always describe, where they're giggling to themselves, lost in euphoria while you fight back sleep; your mind races as you say something that makes Taehyun laugh, a full body action that you can't help but find endearing.

You're staring. You know you are, but you couldn't care less in this moment, because he looks good. Criminally good, and it's enough to make that heat in your stomach worse.

"Still doing okay?" he asks. When you respond you're just a bit tired, he nods. "Do you want me to get Kai so he can take care of you?"

 "What?" you raise a brow, caught off guard by the sudden mention of him. "Why?"

For the first time since you've met him, he looks embarrassed; under the low light, you swear you see his ears turn a bit red, and he's turning away to look at the pool table across the room. "I mean, it seems like he…"

His words hang heavy in the air. A minute passes before it finally clicks for you. 

"Oh my god, no!" you fall into a fit of laughter, and Taehyun simply watches, confused. It's enough to make you laugh harder. "No, we're just friends. I promise."

"Oh," Taehyun seems deep in thought, and when he shifts, he seems a lot less tense. "Sorry, it's just that you guys are… touchy."

"Hmm, I can see why you thought that," you glance over at Kai and Yeonjun, the two playing a round of pool against two strangers, "but he's also the type to kiss his friends when he's drunk."

He frowns.

You laugh, "his guy friends."

"Oh," his eyes widen, his ears getting a little redder. You're soaking it all in, welcoming the sight of him so discomposed, "somehow I haven't seen him do that before."

Shrugging, you send him a wink. "Maybe you're next."

The laugh he lets out is loud, a bit startled. Your words are lighthearted, but it's clear you both consider it a possibility; you think you might've scared him from being around Kai alone and drunk.

A loud cheer erupts from across the room, and you and Taehyun are looking over to catch Kai and Yeonjun celebrating, loud and shameless as Kai places a kiss on Yeonjun's cheek— Taehyun looks over at you, raising his brows, and you simply shrug as though to say 'see what I mean?'

Your small bubble is popped as Kai runs over to you, an excited puppy as he asks if you saw the way they defeated the guys they were up against. You pat his head and tell him he did great, and you swear you can see a tail wagging behind him— Yeonjun is then perking up as he hears a song he likes playing faintly upstairs, grabbing your hand and urging you to go dance with him— because according to him, it'd be a shame to not show off your cute outfit.

When you turn and ask the remaining two if they're tagging along, Taehyun shakes his head, much to your disappointment. "Not in the mood to dance right now, sorry."

Kai flops down next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and saying he'll stay behind to keep him company— when Taehyun's eyes widen and he looks at you for help, you merely laugh and wave him goodbye.

"Any progress with Taehyunie?" Yeonjun rests his hand on your hip, pulling you into him and whispering in your ear.

"Tons," you grin, glancing down at his hand that taps your hip to the beat. "What're you so touchy for?"

When you look up at him, Yeonjun's grin widens, sending you a wink (or whatever his rendition of a wink is called— a blink, more like.) before kissing your temple and pulling you even closer.

"He's a jealous guy."

Your heart skips, letting Yeonjun guide you up the stairs and looking over your shoulder for one last glance— and sure enough, his eyes are following you the whole way up, his brows furrowed and his tongue poking at his cheek as Kai talks his ear off. The look stays with you the whole night, even after you all reunite to say your goodbyes and go your separate ways— he's much better at hiding his irritation when you're watching, though you were still able to catch the annoyance in his eyes after Yeonjun hugged you close and complimented your appearance one last time, taking your hand and making you spin around for him. When you turn to say goodbye to Taehyun, Kai and Yeonjun suddenly become enraptured in their own conversation a few feet away from you.

"Did you get kissed tonight?"

Taehyun rolls his eyes and chuckles, "No, I didn't."

"Shame," you pout, "maybe next time then."

"Oh?" he cocks his head, raising a brow as he smiles slyly. "You offerin'?"

Taehyun seems to have a knack for catching you entirely off guard at the most random moments; your mouth is falling open and you're left speechless, feeling a heat rush up the back of your neck and flood your face— you can't hide the way he's flustered you, trying to recompose yourself while he watches with a satisfied smile.

"What, do you want me to?"

"I mean," he shrugs. "Who wouldn't want a kiss from a pretty girl?"

You'd like to blame your next action on your lingering high, your hands tingling as you reach to cup his cheek and bring him to you— his eyes widen, but before he can move, you're planting a gentle, glossy kiss against his jawline. When you pull away, you spot the imprint of your lips and smile.

"Goodnight, Taehyun," you say sweetly, "It was nice seeing you again."

You spin on your heels, feeling the skirt of your dress sway with your hips as you walk; you don't dare look back, because the mere heat of his stare is already enough to make your knees weak. This time, you've made sure to leave a lingering impression on him— hopefully it's enough to make him as crazy about you as you are about him.

"Rough day?"

"Fuck, don't get me started."

You feel— and look— a mess. Finals week is fucking you over, the onslaught of work that's being piled on you convincing you that your professors are all in on a conspiracy to overwork you to death. You've just left your final class of the day, some random elective you chose to get the credits you needed to graduate, and your least favorite— because of course the professor would be insufferable and choose to call on you every other class. Even their voice is enough to make your skin prickle, and you've just escaped an hour of the most boring lecture of your life.

You've met up with Kai at your favorite cafe that's just off-campus; it's cozy and a better alternative to the library that's packed with students cramming for exams. You sip on your drink, some fancy latte you only gathered courage to order after Kai told you it was his treat.

"How are your finals going?" the question is more of a formality, because as you take a good look at your friend— clear skin, glowing eyes, hair perfectly styled, a gentle smile on his face— you scowl and shake your head. "Never mind. Don't tell me anything."

He laughs, smug and shameless despite the way your dull eyes glare at him.

"Seriously though, when was the last time you had a moment to relax?" he lets the question hang in the air, and frowns when you can't find an answer. "You wanna hang out this weekend? We could have a movie night and smoke. Get you some proper sleep for once."

"I dunno Kai," you say, "it just… hasn't been hitting the same."

Kai frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's just," you bite your lip, hesitant, "I dunno— when we smoked at the DJ K party, it felt a lot better. I think whatever strand you have leaves me feeling weird the next day, but I didn't feel it when I smoked then."

A small smile flickers on Kai's face— you roll your eyes. "I'm serious."

"No, I know," Kai says, "but that strand you like? I don't have it. You'd have to ask Taehyun about it."

Your stomach flips; despite the clear opening, you can't stop yourself from being stubborn. "What, you can't just ask him where he got it?"

"Think he got it when he went to a music festival," Kai leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. "But if you're so curious, I can call him for you."

"Seriously?" He nods, sporting an innocent smile that doesn't waver even as you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. "I mean, I guess you could."

"Cool," he's pulling out his phone and immediately dialing the said man— before you can scold him that you didn't mean call him now, Kai is sitting up and holding up his hand to tell you to hold on.

"Hello?" Kai's smile instantly switches from innocent to evil— your heart drops. "I have someone who wants to talk to you."

He's shoving the phone in your hands, scooting back and crossing his arms. You scramble, holding the phone in your hands like it's a bomb as you silently curse your friend out— Kai ignores the onslaught of names and insults, motioning to his phone and telling you that 'he's waiting!' The reminder is enough to have you pressing the phone against your ear, your voice shaky as you greet Taehyun and tell him who's speaking.

"Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask you something," despite your pounding heart and the blood rushing in your ears, you hold the phone tight and try to your voice steady— you're sure he can hear your efforts, because he's letting out a soft chuckle, his voice low and smooth as he tells you 'go for it.'

"Do you remember what we smoked at DJ K's party? I feel like nothing's been hitting the same… and I kinda need a bit of a stress reliever." You sigh. "Finals week has been kicking my ass."

"Shit, I'm sorry— I don't remember off the top of my head, and I'm not home right now to see," you're chewing your lip, wondering why Kai put you in this situation in the first place— what the hell are you supposed to get out of this? "And unless you're willing to travel a lot for it, I doubt you'd be able to get your hands on it."

"Oh," this conversation is a total dead end, and you're wilting back against the chair in disappointment. Kai on the other hand is on the edge of his seat, eyes widening in panic. "No worries then. Thanks anyway."

There's a pause on his end, and you're expecting him to end the call with a stiff goodbye— instead, he clears his throat, letting out a deep sigh.

"Tell you what," he sounds a bit hesitant, as though unsure of how to word his sentence. "How 'bout you just have some of my stash? We could smoke and you can tell me all about your finals. Maybe get something to eat."

You're heart flies up to your throat, and you're sitting up in surprise— Kai is leaning forward, mouthing a hasty 'what?!' that you ignore.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course I am," he chuckles, "sounds like you need it."

"I— yeah, I guess I do," you say— you pause, looking up at Kai in panic as you mouth 'he wants to hang out.'

Kai blanches. 'When?!'

You cover the phone speaker. 'I don't know!'

Kai has to hold himself from slamming his hands on the table, his eyes impossibly wide as he pretends to yell 'Saturday!' Even though you try to protest that it was supposed to be your hangout with him, he shakes his head with such fervor that you're caving in.

"Are you free this weekend?"

Kai is halfway across the table— you'd think he were trying to press his head to the phone with how eager he looks.

"I am. Just say when and I'll clear my schedule for you," it's pathetic, the way your stomach flips at that, "You can come to my place. If you're comfortable with it, of course."

"That's fine with me," you're breathless, your hands clammy and forcing you to tighten your grip on the phone, "Is Saturday okay?"

"Yeah, that works. I'll text you and we can plan the rest."

"Okay," you've become unexpectedly shy, your voice quieting at the prospect of this hangout. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

You say a brief goodbye before you're hanging up, placing the phone down delicately like it could dial Taehyun again if you brushed against it wrong. You let a minute pass before you let yourself react, lunging forward to pull Kai's head toward you, planting an exaggerated kiss on his forehead.

"Muah!" Kai protests and whines that you're getting your lip gloss all over his skin, but you truly couldn't care less as ruffle his hair affectionately. "Kai, you're the best. Seriously, what would my life be like without you?"

"You'd probably be single forever." Kai's grumble is met with a swift kick to his shin under the table, and he yelps so loud it has half the cafe turning to look at him. He mumbles a sheepish 'sorry', rubbing his shin and curling into himself.

"That's what you get," you scowl, digging in your bag for your phone before you're sliding it across the table to Kai. "Now, could you give me his number please?"

You can tell that Kai is getting ready to give you another snarky comment, but a single glare from you is enough to have him tucking his tail and typing Taehyun's number into your phone without further complaints. When he gives your phone back, you catch sight of the contact name and roll your eyes.

Future Boyfriend >3<

"Thanks." You roll your eyes and pocket your phone, not bothering to change something that's clearly true.

Taehyun's place is way nicer than you expected for a man in his twenties that lives alone.

You wore your tiniest shorts and a baby tee that hugged your form just right, and he showed up at your doorstep at five PM on the dot— he insisted on picking you up and getting something to eat, stating that it was 'for your well-being'— you ended the day out by getting ice cream and driving back to his place, where he let you rant about your professors and your finals the whole time; he nodded along and pitched in every now and then, listening with a fond smile that made you trip over your words once or twice. When you stopped at a light, he turned to get a good look at your face, his eyes dropping down to your lips.

"You got ice cream on your face." His thumb is wiping just below your bottom lip before you can even utter out an 'I do?' your eyes widening comically as he brings his thumb to his mouth and lick it off, letting out a satisfied hum.

You'd felt a raging heat pool in your stomach then, and it hasn't gone away since.

You've made yourself comfortable on the floor, despite Taehyun's protests that you should just sit on the couch instead— you refused, finding the cool wooden floor comforting after spending the day out in the heat, finishing your ice cream while you watch Taehyun finish rolling the joint from his spot on the couch. When he passed the finished joint to you, insisting you have the first hit, you cooed out a sweet "oh, you shouldn't have."

Holding the joint between your lips, you lean toward Taehyun so he can light it for you— your eyes flutter up to meet his gaze, a small smile growing on your face.

"You do this often?" you can't help but ask, "invite girls over to share your special weed with?"

"Hell no," Taehyun's laughter is genuine, and he's pulling away the lighter once he sees the end is lit. You're propping your elbow against the couch, holding your head as you take a small hit before passing it to him. He grins, taking a hit before he speaks. "I'm not sharing my special weed with just anyone. It was hard to get— I gotta enjoy it as much as I can, y'know?"

"Yet you're sharing it with me?" you say, "I'm honored."

He shrugs, a bit sheepish— you pass the joint back and forth, making meaningless conversation and learning more about each other. He tells you he's also in uni, majoring in music production with a minor in business, he tells you stories about working with Kai at the local record shop— mostly stories where Kai was flirting with customers— and you listened with stars in your eyes, the joint hanging idly between your fingers as you watched the way he talked about soccer and his favorite sports team, his hands moving with such fervor it made you laugh— his rant about his favorite team's recent lapse in performance is cut short, and he's looking down at you in confusion.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing," you say, though another small chuckle slips out, "you're just so passionate. It's cute."

"I'm glad you think so," Taehyun smiles, leaning down a bit— somewhere along this conversation, you've made your way closer to Taehyun, your body pressing along his leg while you rest your head against the couch. "My friends would usually be zoning out by now."

You go to take another hit, but Taehyun is taking the joint from your hands before you can— you're pouting at him, but he simply scolds you for hogging the joint with a chuckle, leaning back against the couch and keeping the joint by his lips. You let your eyes trail from the smoke that blows in the air, down his chest, to the hem of his shirt that's ridden up again. The haze from your high clouds your judgment, and you don't bother to hide the way you drink in the smooth skin that peeks out.

"You always wear such short shirts?"

He raises a brow, playing innocent. "What d'you mean?"

"All the shirts I've seen you in are always a bit short. You're always flashing your stomach," reaching forward, you're go to play with the hem of his shirt, your fingertips threatening to skim over his skin. "Nice abs by the way."

"Thanks," he laughs, and you're utterly shameless as you watch his stomach ripple with laughter. "I didn't think they were visible."

"Barely," your heart pounds in your chest, fingers shakily running along the hem of his shirt. "Could I get a better look?"

The air is thick and suffocating, yet you still find a reckless courage to look up at Taehyun— you find he's already staring you down, his eyes low-lidded as he gulps. When he sees the unwavering resolve in your shining eyes, he nods.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

You're shifting so you're kneeling, able to get better access to Taehyun this way; beneath the recklessness of your foggy brain, you're nervous— your hands are cold as you gently push up his shirt, your freezing fingertips coming in contact with the heat of his skin, a small smile cracking your lips when he flinches. You push the material up until it rests just below his chest, and you're able to catch sight of a mole in the center.

Taehyun's mouth has gone dry— he gulps, watching you handle him like he were a fragile doll, your eyes scanning his body with such heat it makes him weak. There's pure concentration etched in your features as you're finally able to take him in— you don't register yourself reaching out until your hands come in contact with his skin, able to feel the muscle flex under your fingers and your palm that smooths over his stomach.

"Wow," is all you can say; your hands sweep from the top of his abs down to his navel, feeling the ridges of the muscle and watching him crack a smile at the ticklish feeling— impulse takes control of your mind, your fingers splaying out until you've grasped his sides. "Your waist is so small, too."

"Fuck, you're crazy," Taehyun groans, pushing his hair back, only for it to fall forward once more. When you look up at him through your lashes, he gulps. "You have any idea what you're doing right now?"

You shrug, smoothing your hands up his waist and sending him a coy smile. "Appreciating art."

"Yeah?" he drawls, his hips shifting up ever so slightly, an attempt to ease the tension forming, "and what're your thoughts?"

"I like what I see," you hum, bringing your hands down his waist, stopping at his waistband, fingers pulling at his belt, "but I think I'd like to see more."

"Oh god— you can't say shit like that to me." Scooting a little closer, you rest your head on Taehyun's thigh, pressing your cheek against the denim as you look up at him. "I don't think you realize what you're getting yourself into."

"I think I do," you pout, nuzzling your cheek against his thigh. Taehyun lets out a shaky sigh, his resolve beginning to crumble at the mere sight of you.

"You're sure?" he's cupping your face, guiding you to sit up and lean toward him— he's meeting you halfway, leaning down and tilting your chin up to look at him properly. "You think you can handle me like this?"

His thumb caresses your cheek bones, and your eyes glaze over as you nod— it's not the answer Taehyun wants, because he's tapping your cheek and mumbling for you focus.

"Words, baby." His voice is low, a smile growing on his lips. "Say it. I know you can."

"I want you," you stutter out— his smile turns cruel, fangs on display and ready to sink into you. "I can handle it."

"You really think so?" he coos, laughing fondly when you nod, dazed and desperate. "C'mere."

Guiding your face toward his, you're both equally desperate to seal the space between you— the sheer hunger in your kiss is enough to have you lightheaded. You've thought about this more than you'd like to admit— speculations on what Taehyun feels like is nothing compared to this reality, your kiss desperate and impossible to keep up with; his lips are so soft, and you're all but drooling when his tongue parts your lips and enters your mouth, the lingering taste of smoke and ice cream flooding your taste buds as you whimper into his mouth. He smiles, pulling you closer until your lungs burn.

When you part, a string of saliva connects you two before it breaks off— heat rushes to your face, but Taehyun doesn't seem to be phased by it; instead, he's sitting up, taking a long hit from the joint before he's swooping down, his hand on your cheek squeezing your face so you open your mouth.

His lips hover over yours, his mouth parting as he exhales the smoke right into you— you accept it, placing a hand on his thigh to steady yourself; he holds you in place until you can't resist turning away to exhale the constricting smoke, tears pricking at your eyes as your brain scrambles for oxygen. Taehyun merely watches, caressing your head as you let out a weak cough.

"'m sorry, pretty," he says, reaching down to snuff the joint out against the ashtray on the coffee table, "was I too rough?"

You scramble to shake your head and ease any hesitation.

"No. I mean, kinda," you decide it's better to throw your pride out the window and be honest— Taehyun nods, ready to apologize once more when you beat him to it. "But I like it."

"You do?" he's tense, his hand freezing atop of your head— you're nodding, looking up at him with watery eyes, and his hand is sliding down to hold the back of your neck. "My baby likes it rough?"

It should be ridiculous, the way you have to swallow back a whimper as you nod; your head is spinning as you rest your cheek against his thigh once more, fluttering your lashes up at him and rubbing your cheek back and forth on his thigh absentmindedly. He watches with bated breath, caressing your hair and watching your eyes begin to wander— down his face, down his chest, and straight to the bulge that strains against his jeans.

Any shame you had is dissolving from your system as you feel your mouth water and your cunt clench— your body feels as though it were made of little stars, crashing into each other and spreading heat into your heavy limbs, waves of bliss washing over you and bringing a lethargic smile to your face; your hand reaches up to rest on his other thigh, feeling the muscle flex under you as it begins to trail up.

"Mm-hmm— I like when…" you're dazed, unsure if you're even making sense, "I like when you hold me down."

"Is that right?" he drawls, watching your hand rest at the top of his thigh, massaging it softly. You nod, nuzzling your face against his thigh— Taehyun feels dizzy at the sight.

Slowly, your hand makes its way up the waistband of his jeans, lazy fingers fiddling with the buckle of his belt— not enough to undo it, but just enough to loosen it. You can see the deep rise and fall of his chest, your gaze coy as you smile up at him, giving the buckle another testing tug.

"Can I?"

Taehyun's breath hitches, his voice tense. "Yeah."

That's more than enough for you to spring into action— your actions are eager and a bit clumsy, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans; that alone is enough to have Taehyun sighing in relief, his hips unconsciously bucking toward your touch.

You don't try to tease; you can see the need that clouds his eyes, but you're just the same as you're tugging his underwear down to release his cock— he's already so hard, the length bobbing up to slap against his stomach, his flushed tip already sticky with precum. Your eyes drink it all in, your mouth watering; he's not just big, he's thick too, your hand that wraps around his length barely able to grasp him— he's letting out a low hiss at the contact, his jaw clenching as your thumb traces curiously along the vein that runs along the underside of his cock.

When you let go of his cock, his hips chase for your touch— his brows furrows and he opens his mouth to complain, but before he can get a word out, you're spitting in your hand and grabbing his length again, pumping him slowly as you gauge what he likes.

A choked groan leaves him at your touch— you squeeze him a little tighter, and his eyes flutter shut, his head falling back against the couch as your thumb swipes over his tip, gathering the precum that continues to leak out. Slowly, you gather the courage to move between his legs, already spread open in invitation, your pace picking up speed as you lean down to his aching cock.

"Oh fuck—!" Taehyun's bucking forward at the sudden feeling of your tongue, running flat along his balls all the way to the tip before you're closing your mouth around it— peeking up through your lashes, you catch him running a hand through his hair, his chest flushed a slight pink. You take it as your sign to continue, running your tongue along his tip and sucking harder, rewarded with sighs of your name and praises on how well you're doing.

"Fuck, that pretty mouth of yours is so good," he groans, his hand returning to the back of your head, adding just the slightest bit of pressure, "can you take a little more?"

Humming around his cock, he lets out a choked laugh, cursing under his breath before he's beginning to push down on your head— slowly, allowing you to keep up as your mouth widens, his cock heavy and pulsing on your tongue as you continue to take him in.

You're only halfway through before he's hitting the back of your throat— you're swallowing around him, hesitant to accept the intrusion with a whine, and he's pulling back just enough in response. You're not sure when, but your eyes began to water, and his free hand is coming up to swipe tears from the corners of your eyes, cooing at you as he does.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, pushing his hips up ever-so slightly, the tip of his cock teasing your throat, "is it too much?"

His smile widens when you try to hum out a 'no', refusing to pull away from his cock for even a second.

"No?" He echoes, "then why're you crying, baby?"

You don't answer— it's not like you can, anyway. Instead, you try your best to keep his gaze, taking more of his cock and fighting against your gag reflex. You focus on breathing through your nose instead, tears welling in your eyes once again.

"You want more?" he asks, and he's instantly given a 'yes' from you, biting at his lip at the way you hum around him. "Can you take it? You promise?"

Despite your eagerness and your need to take him whole and prove yourself, he holds you in place— he allows you to pull of his cock, eyes falling to the string of spit that connects your lips to his cock before he's looking up at you.

"Please," your voice is a bit hoarse, "use my mouth."

You have a knack for leaving him speechless— Taehyun's staring at you like you're the most precious thing in the world, his cock twitching in your hands as he takes a moment to think it through; you're about to beg and whine when he's guiding you forward once more, your mouth opening in anticipation.

"How did I get so lucky, finding a perfect girl like you?" he says. Your mouth wraps around his tip, sucking harshly just to hear him moan. "Gonna fuck that perfect face just like you asked, okay? Tap my thigh if it's too much for you baby."

When you don't acknowledge his words, attempting to take him deeper, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you off with such ease your mouth hangs open— he's leaning down, his face stern as he speaks.

"Did you hear what I said?" his voice is quiet and cold, his eyes narrowing when you meekly nod. "What'd I say?"

"Tap your thigh if it's too much."

His jaw clenches, and for a second, you wonder if you've made him angry— but he's leaning back once more, your head brought forward with such strength you don't have room to resist.

"Good."

Despite the ability to manipulate your head with ease, he's gentle to bring you down his length, testing the waters when his tip prods against the back of your throat and pulling back when you squeeze your eyes shut and whimper. Instead, he uses his grip on your head to guide you up and down his cock, letting out a groan of your name as you fall limp in his hold, only taking initiative to run your tongue against the underside of his cock and hollow out your cheeks.

You feel the head of his cock brushing against your throat, beginning to linger more and more— he's thrusting shallowly into your mouth, lips pressed tightly in concentration as he watches you take him.

"Such a good girl, letting me use you like this," he breathes out, "gonna make you take it all, okay?"

He's stopping his thrusts into your mouth to guide you to take more of him, his cock going deeper until he's met with the resistance of your throat tightening around him— slowly, he continues to push.

You feel like you might choke; your eyes are squeezed shut and your lungs burn, your hands on his thighs shifting so you can dig your nails into the denim as a way to ground yourself. More, more still, cock continues to push into your throat until your nose is snug against his pelvis and both his hands have found purchase on the back of your head. You remain still, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as you fight back the urge to gag.

"Breathe." He mumbles, and it's only then that you're reminded to do so, trying to breathe through your nose until you finally feel your throat relax— he's in so deep, and he's yet to move, your brain going haywire from the lack of oxygen. His hand moves from the back of your head to caress your cheek. "C'mon baby, stay with me."

His fingers trace gingerly along your jaw, trailing down until they feel along the front of your neck, groaning when he feels the pressure from his cock— he thrusts gently into your mouth, barely an inch, just to feel the way you swallow around him. He's pulling you off his cock shortly after.

You feel delirious as oxygen floods your brain, your eyes fluttering shut and drool slipping from your lips, strands of spit connected to his length as you sputter and cough. Your hands slip from his thighs and onto your lap, and you hear him chuckle as he caresses your head.

"You did such a good job. You're perfect," he says, enamored with your dazed eyes that flutter open and your swollen lips that are slick with spit. "You still with me, angel?"

"Yeah," you barely breathe out.

"Fuck, you're so cute," his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, guiding your face up to kiss him— he takes his time despite his cock that throbs against your hand that's taken him again, pumping his length and twisting your wrist until he's panting in your mouth. Your hold on him tightens and you massage your palm against his tip, and when your other hand comes up, your touch curious as you massage against his balls, he sinks his teeth into your lip, forcing you to pull away with a yelp.

"Don't do that— I'll cum," he pants into your mouth, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to stop your motions, "I don't wanna cum like this."

While you're giggling at his comment, you find he's completely serious— he's tucking himself in before pulling you up onto his lap, earning another laugh from you— you straddle his lap as the Taehyun pulls you in for another kiss, addicted to your lips and the way you pant into his mouth. He's coy, running his tongue along your lip before pushing in, feeling against your tongue before pulling out and nipping your lip just to hear you let out a choked mewl; his move moves to kiss the corner of your mouth, before moving along to your jaw, peppering kissing along it until he's gotten access to your neck.

It feels like he's trying to stake his claim; he's biting and sucking along your neck, aiming for spots that have your hands flying to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips in broken whimpers. You can't help the way your cunt aches from the feeling, your panties sticking to you and the need pulsing inside you until you're searching for relief; your hips bring you down against Taehyun, feeling the hardness of his cock against your thin shorts and grinding against him until his groaning into your skin.

"Taehyun," you whine, your hips careless and your rhythm sloppy as you search for pleasure— you feel him hum against your skin, his hands on your hips as he lets you do as you please. "Taehyun, fuck— please, I need you."

"I can see that," he muses, "pretty girl can't control herself, hmm?"

Shaking your head, you grind against his cock a little harder— his grip on your waist tightens, and he's letting out a low groan, burying his face into your neck.

"Shit," he huffs, "stop— I won't last like this."

Your head is fuzzy and you seem to be lost in a world of your own; his voice feels far away in contrast to the overwhelming pleasure you feel, only amplified more by your high— every grind of your soaked cunt against the length of his cock is enough to have sparks going off in your brain, tuning out the way his fingers dig into your skin dangerously.

"Baby," Taehyun's voice is stiff with tension, "stop it."

"No— I can't," you're petulant, digging your fingers in his shoulders as you chase your own pleasure; your vision is blurry as you meet his eyes, pouting when you're met with a cold, harsh expression from Taehyun, his brow raising at you in warning— it only serves to make you even more restless, and you tilt your head at him. "Don't wanna. Feels… too good like this."

Taehyun's hands grip onto your waist, and he's stopping all your movements with minimal efforts— any protests and whines you were about to let out die in your throat the moment you look at him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest.

He's looking at you just like he had the night of the party; his brows are furrowed, tongue poking at his cheek in annoyance— his eyes are dark and angry, and when he meets your panicked, doe gaze, he merely scoffs.

"You really don't listen, do you?" his voice is dark, laced with emotion you can't quite place— is he fed up with you? Annoyed? You whimper, feeling his fingers push under your shirt, his nails digging into the skin beneath. "Is that cute little brain of yours no good for thinking?"

You frown, ready to defend yourself, but he doesn't give you a chance.

"Come on," his hands slide down to your thighs, and before can catch on, he's hoisting you up and standing; you yelp, scrambling to hold on to him, but he doesn't seem to care about your apprehension as he leads you two into the hall and toward his room. "I'll make you feel as good as you want."

He's kicking the door shut behind him, leading you to his bed before dropping you down unceremoniously by the edge— you try to compose yourself, attempting to shift back on the bed, but Taehyun is caging you in before you can, a hand falling on your waist and the other landing on your hip to keep you still, swooping in to kiss you once more.

"Thought you were gonna be good for me," he murmurs against your lips, "but you're just a needy thing, aren't you?"

His hands come up to your shoulders, and your back meets the mattress with a single shove— your head is spinning from the sudden impact, unable recollect yourself as Taehyun falls to his knees, undoing your shorts and pulling them off with a swift movement; he pulls your hips toward him until they're hanging precariously off the bed, throwing your legs over his shoulder and locking his hands around your thighs— you're rendered immobile in a matter of seconds.

"Cute," he says, eyeing your soaked, pink panties with lace trim and a bow— his gaze zeroes in on the wet spot you've made, a cocky smile pulling at his lips as he looks up at you. "Did you pick these out just for me?"

"Maybe," a heat flushes through your whole body— because what was meant to be an arrogant remark is undeniably true, spending a ridiculous amount of time picking out a matching set, just in case; the way you shift under him is enough to answer, and he laughs.

"Thank you baby," he coos, and you cover your face in embarrassment— he bites teasingly at your inner thigh, just to chuckle at the way your hips jump in reaction; his fingers are hooking under the waistband before he's pulling them down, and you're lifting your hips to assist. He's placing kisses along your inner thigh as he goes, stopping at your inner knee before weaving your legs out. "So thoughtful."

His grip on your thighs tighten, and you're being dragged toward him until you can feel his breath on your skin, able to feel his stare on your dripping pussy; it feels vulnerable, having him stare at you like this, your hazy mind making you close your thighs in a weak attempt to hide away— it doesn't work, and you hear Taehyun let out a soft 'tsk'.

"Don't get shy on me now," he says, and you gasp as you feel him give your clit a soft kiss, "I thought you wanted this?"

"W-well, you're being a tease," looking down between your thighs, you find him already staring; your gaze jumps back up to the ceiling, the sight too intense for you to handle. "Stop staring and just get on with it."

He raises a brow in surprise, watching your hand come down to thread in his hair, tugging him closer to your cunt, your hips restless— he lets you lead him in closer, until his tongue licks a stripe along the seam of your folds, licking up the slick that dripped from your hole; you whine, pulling slightly at his hair and rolling your hips in search for more, and you feel his hand move from your thigh to your wrist, pulling it off his head.

"So bossy," he tongue darts out to prod at your entrance, feeling your legs twitch on his shoulders, "aren't you supposed to be all shy and cute?"

"Taehyun, please," you pant, feeling his tongue trace along your clit, lightly, the touch barely there— it drives you mad. "Just— give me more…"

He shakes his head, planting an open kiss on your clit, running his tongue all over your cunt before teasing the tip of it into your entrance. "I'll do what I want."

Your body feels like a live wire, desperate to feel more than the kitten licks and gentle kisses Taehyun continues to tease you with; he's lingering on your clit, running his tongue around it in circles and pulling back just to breath cool air onto your spit-slick skin— you're tense, grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets and squirming beneath him.

"Taehyun," you're on the verge of crying at this point— he's driving you mad, teasing you with the promise of pleasure but pulling away before you can really indulge, "c'mon…!"

You're bucking your hips up, pressing your cunt against his mouth desperately; Taehyun's nails dig into your thighs, and before you can pull away in shock, he's bringing you forward and attaching his mouth onto your dripping pussy. You're tensing, hands flying up to cover your mouth as Taehyun wraps his mouth around your clit and sucks the bud harshly, pressing his hot tongue against it and looking up at you through his lashes— his tongue slips beneath the hood of your clit, and he's breathing out a laugh against your clit as he hears you squeal.

"C'mon baby, I thought you knew better than that," he murmurs, refusing to fully part from your cunt— a mixture of spit and arousal drips down your cunt, but Taehyun is quick to lick it all up before it can fall to the floor; your thighs twitch around his head as he spits the slick back onto your clit, your head spinning from the impact. "You really think talking to me like that is gonna get you what you want?"

In the back of your mind, you know you're walking a fine line— the way Taehyun is looking at you feels cold and menacing, but you're too far gone to care; all you can pay any mind to is the need that makes your cunt throb and your dazed, hazy brain that tells you to keep pushing.

"I dunno," your words are a bit slurred, a shiver running through you as you feel Taehyun's spit dragging down your cunt, "seems to be working so far."

Taehyun's jaw clenches, his lips drawing tightly together. Before you can joke or apologize, he's bringing the palm of his hand against your cunt with a stinging slap!

"Ah!" A broken whine leaves you, the stinging sensation ebbing through your cunt. Taehyun massages his fingers along your slit in faux apology.

"Too much?" he asks— you remain silent, biting your lip to muffle a whimper. "You want me to stop?"

Through hot embarrassment that flushes through your skin, you screw your eyes shut and shake your head. Another slap lands on your cunt, a little harsher than the last— your back arches, the heels of your feet digging into Taehyun's back; he delivers another. Then another, and another, the final slap to your cunt ringing out into the air and bringing tears to your eyes.

"Fuck!" you sob, feeling Taehyun's fingers massage along your lips, landing another just to tease, "fuck… you…!"

Taehyun doesn't respond, but it's clear your outburst has pissed him off— his brows furrow and his lips close around your clit, sucking and licking at it until you're a shaking mess, yelping his name when you feel his teeth graze the sensitive bud teasingly. His tongue runs down your clit and to your entrance, prodding at your hole just to feel the way it flutters around the muscle— he's messy, drooling all over your skin and slurping up your juices, pushing his tongue past your tightening cunt and pressing into you as deep as he can, his nose digging into your clit as he fucks you with his mouth.

Your hands scramble to grab his head, the build up from his previous teasing making your heart pound against your chest and the coil tighten in your stomach— when you fingers scratch at his scalp and pull his hair, he moans, eyes closed in bliss as he shakes his head side to side against your cunt as if he could burrow deeper inside— you can feel the mixture of his spit and your arousal dripping down to your asshole and falling onto the floor, but it doesn't stop Taehyun from digging his fingers into your thighs and gluing his face to you, your orgasm building up so fast you have no way to warn him.

It feels like everything goes white for a second— it all crashes down at once, the tight coil in your stomach snapping and rendering you a puddle of bones, defenseless against Taehyun's continued assault on your cunt; his pace doesn't cease once, even as your thighs snap shut against his head and your body trembles, tears streaming from your eyes from the sheer intensity.

No, Taehyun doesn't falter for a second, prolonging your orgasm until it begins to twist to something nastier, something painful— the waves of pleasure that gently washed over you are now torrents, every brush of Taehyun's nose against your clit only making you wince and cry out from the sensitivity.

"Taehyun—" you gasp, watching as he slurps up your juices, pretending not to hear you, "Taehyun, it's too much! I just— fuck, I just came!"

"You'll take what I give you," he grumbles against your skin, biting your inner thigh, "it's what you wanted, no?"

"Not— not like this!" you're kicking at Taehyun's back as he returns to sucking and kissing at your clit, "I'm too sensitive!"

A particularly harsh suck against your clit has your body jumping, your heel landing against Taehyun's back a bit harder than you intended it to— hearing him grunt at the impact, you tense, about to apologize when Taehyun suddenly hooks his hands under your knees, pushing forward until you're folded in half, your cunt left on display for him— he's as much of a mess as you are, his lips and chin shining with your arousal, a soft blush coloring his face.

"Give me your hands." He doesn't give you a chance to comply, taking your hands in his, guiding them to the back of your knees and using them to pin your legs against your chest. You've been left completely helpless against him, and you barely have any energy left to protest the way he's latching onto your cunt once more.

He's eating you like a man starved— his tongue runs along your cunt as though trying to memorize you, massaging your clit and tracing along your slit before slipping back into your cunt, lapping at your entrance and fucking you with his tongue— he presses his face firmly against you, pining you into the mattress with his weight. You're a squirming, mewling mess, the painful sensitivity from your previous orgasm bleeding into pleasure. When he feels your hips beginning to buck against his face in search for more, he throws your legs over his shoulders once more, his mouth focusing solely on your clit while he teases two fingers against your entrance.

"Fuck, fuck— I'm close," you sob— it feels like your body has a mind of its own, chasing pleasure that only makes you dizzy; it's too much, it's overwhelming, but it's so, so good, and Taehyun is more than happy to bring you over the edge, inserting his fingers into your sopping cunt, groaning at the way you tighten around him— he curls his fingers, exploring your walls until he finds the spot that makes your moans break and your cunt drool, drilling into the same spot until you're crying for mercy and falling apart on his mouth for the second time.

"Taehyun, Taehyun please, slow down!" you're realizing with delayed mortification that Taehyun has yet to pull away— and at the sound of your pleas, he's going even harder, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you making you hot with shame— you try to plead for him to pull away, but it's all incoherent and broken, the overstimulation melting your brain.

"You cryin'? Again?" he coos, pulling away from your swollen clit just to laugh; his fingers curl inside you, and he licks at your cunt to clean up his mess. "Where's that mouthy brat I had here earlier?"

You try to bite back, say something that shows you still have some fight in you— but you can barely manage to blink away your tears, much less talk through your hiccuping moans.

"You look so pathetic," he says, "is this how you like it?"

Sniffling, you shake your head, attempting to mumble something about it being 'too much'— Taehyun doesn't care to listen, fitting in a third finger in your entrance instead; your eyes roll back at the stretch, feeling him slowly pump his fingers until you begin to adjust to him.

"No?" he's placing soft kisses on your clit, looking up at you from between your thighs, "you got yourself in this mess though. The least you could do is say sorry."

His fingers are precise and cruel as they thrust into you, your cunt begging for mercy as his mouth works perfectly together with his hands— while you try to squirm out of his grip, your nails digging into the back of his hand while your other hand slaps at his shoulder, Taehyun continues to pin you down against the mattress, slurping and licking your cunt's juices, running his tongue on your bruised clit and sucking it as though it were his favorite candy.

The pleasure that builds up inside you is something you've never felt before— it isn't the warm, addicting rise that crashes gently; it's a fire that runs through your body, it's violent, a surge of stimulation that makes you cry out for Taehyun to please, please slow down, this feels weird— all your words do is spur him on, as though he's attuned to your body better than you are.

His words echo in your mind— you vaguely recall your outbursts, all the things you did in search of a reaction— and you begin to say through broken sobs the last thing you think will make Taehyun go easy on you.

"I'm sorry! Fuck, fuck! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You wail, that raw, uncontrollable pleasure beginning to loom over you— there's a pressure building in your stomach, and you feel your muscles beginning to tense. "Please, please please, it's too much!"

"You gonna cum?" Is all he says in response, "I can feel it."

"I can't," you're panting, your hips trying to cant backward in an attempt to run away— but Taehyun won't let you, dead set on making the impossible happen. "I can't, I already— Taehyun!"

It hits you suddenly, your limbs locking up and the pressure in your stomach releasing— your cunt tightens around Taehyun's fingers, trying to push him out to no avail. His pace slows down and you swear you hear him whine— when your ears filter out the sounds of your own pathetic moans to pick up the wet, dripping sounds of liquid slapping against skin and onto the floor, your eyes fly open; sure enough, you've squirted all over Taehyun's face, the liquid continuing to gush out as he helps you ride out your orgasm.

You're melting back against his mattress, equally spent and mortified.

"I'm… I'm sorry," you cover your face with your hands, peeking through the cracks of your fingers as Taehyun begins to crawl over you, entirely drenched from the chin down. Embarrassment licks a hot stripe up your spine, and you're scooting back on the bed to run away from the sight— Taehyun just continues crawling toward you, stopping you with a hand on your hip when you've made it to the center of the bed.

"Really? Now you're sorry?" he says, his knees on the sides of your hips caging you in. Your fingertips dig into your face as you watch a droplet from your release fall from his chin and onto his already wet shirt— you whimper, ashamed, but Taehyun laughs, straightening up and pulling the shirt over his head.

"Oh my god," you mumble, partly because the sight of Taehyun looming over you like this and stripping is a look straight from your wettest dreams, but also because he then uses that same shirt to dry off his face before tossing it behind him. "Oh my god."

"Getting shy on me again?" he smiles coyly, taking off his pants next— his cock is still hard and clearly neglected, his length twitching at the mere sight of you, his tip flushed a deep red. Rubbing your thighs together, you can still feel your cunt throbbing, attempting to recover from the sensitivity. Taehyun runs his hands up your thighs, tracing along your waist before landing on your baby tee. "Take this off for me, angel."

Despite your trembling hands, you still manage to do as he asks— he watches you pull the shirt over your head and unclasp your bra, his brows furrowing and a sigh leaving him when he sees your breasts; he's leaning in to kiss, you, his hands that come up to massage your breasts and play with your nipples so gently you think he'll finally go easy on you.

"I don't accept your apology, by the way."

It feels like you've become a paper doll under Taehyun's grasp; you're flipped over like you're weightless, and Taehyun is quick to grab your wrists in his hand and pin them against the small of your back— his other hand grabbing your waist and pulling you up until you're on your knees and your face is pressed in the mattress, your back arched prettily from where he presses down.

The head of his cock swipes through your slit, and you flat out shiver, nuzzling your face into the mattress— he's only running the tip of his cock along your cunt, but it already feels too much, his thick cockhead parting your lips and lingering at your entrance so you can feel the stretch.

"If you're really sorry, you'll make it up to me, okay?" Taehyun leans down, pressing his chest against your back— the weight of him is grounding, and you can feel his breath fanning on your skin as he whispers in your ear. "You gonna be good and let me use you like a doll?

He's grinding his cock against your entrance as he's speaks to you, and the feeling of his length running along your pussy is driving you mad— burying your face into the comforter, you nod. But truly, you should know better at this point— Taehyun is grabbing your hair and pulling your face out, leaning forward so he can see you.

"Look at me." He says; your eyes flutter open, glassy eyes meeting his stern ones, "Now use your words."

"Yes," his stare is so intense, you can barely hold it. "I want you to use me. I'll be your doll."

Taehyun's cock that was dragging along your cunt is finally aligned with your entrance— he lets go of your hair, letting you slump back into the bed and bury your face with a muffled whine. He straightens up, watching the way your cunt resists his cock— you hear him let out a deep groan behind you once he finally pushes in, his tip already enough to stretch you out. You could barely fit him in your mouth— it's no surprise you're struggling to take him now, the girth of his length filling you up so good, feeling him sink into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass.

"So fucking tight— stretched you out for nothing," Taehyun gulps, his hold on your wrists tightening and drawing out a weak mewl from you, "you're squeezing around me like crazy."

You can't help the way your walls flutter around him— you just feel so incredibly good, your hips pushing back against him to feel his skin flush against yours, his balls pressing against your clit— your jaw is slack and you think you might be drooling against Taehyun's bedsheets once he starts moving, the slow slide of cock making you moan.

"Feels good?" he asks, letting out an airy laugh when you nod. "You feel good too baby."

He's picking up the pace gradually; what starts as slow, deep thrusts into your cunt, pulling all the way out just so he can feel you clench around his tip, is turning into something needier, something desperate— his hips begin to slam against your ass, his cock hammering into spots that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head; the sheer force of his thrusts is enough to have your body jolting forward, but he holds you in place, his grip on your wrists tight while he uses his other hand on your waist to bring you back into him.

"Perfect— pretty cunt, taking me so good," he groans, your cunt clenching down on him in response. He's so rough and deep, it feels like his cock is all the way in your stomach— you're breathless, gasping his name as he continues to use your body to fuck him back, your ass slamming against his hips and making your toes curl.

"S-so— deep—" you're turning your head to the side, your cheek pressed against the bed as you attempt to look over your shoulder; through the corner of your eye, you're able to see Taehyun, a sheen of sweat on his blushing skin, his teeth gritted together as he watches his cock disappear inside you— he catches you staring, raising a brow and leaning down to press his chest against your back.

"What'd you say baby?" he huffs, pressing kisses along your shoulders, sinking his teeth into your skin to hear the way you squeal— he's leaving bite marks all along your skin, licking up your neck and moaning directly in your ear.

"Taehyun— you're so big, m'so full..." your voice breaks, and Taehyun chuckles, planting a messy kiss on your cheek.

"Am I too big for you?" he asks, sitting up once more— his hand on your hip begins to wander, his fingers splaying out on your stomach. His hand is pressing down, and you jolt, the feeling of his cock slipping in and out much more intense. "Fuck, I can feel myself in that cute stomach."

His palm presses harder against your stomach, his hips snapping meanly into you— you're a sobbing, helpless mess, and when Taehyun is letting go of your wrists to play with your clit, pinching and slapping it teasingly, your hands fly up to push against his hips, a subconscious attempt to push him out of you— all he does in response is lean his weight against you more, his cock grinding so deep into you, you start to see white.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks, watching your hands slap on the mattress helplessly, grabbing onto the sheets and trying to crawl forward— he merely watches for a moment, but you barely move before he's grabbing your hips and dragging your body back, his cock bottoming out inside you in a single thrust— your ears burn at the filthy squelch that comes from your abused cunt.

Taehyun has caged you in— his hands come down next to your head, his body pressing yours down until your face is pressed into the bed and your ass is in the air; he doesn't let you adjust when he starts fucking you, his hips snapping violently into you and drawing out a long, high pitched cry from you. He's panting into your ear, placing a sloppy kiss on your temple.

"Stay still and take it," your hands that were holding onto the sheets find Taehyun's hands, one reaching to lace your fingers with his while the other trails up, grabbing at his bicep to stabilize yourself— it's a short-lived attempt, because he's shifting to wrap his arm around your throat, locking your body in place for his cock. "There we go, such a good girl for me."

His muscles flex against your throat, and your mouth falls open, beginning to feel lightheaded, your hand holding onto his forearm— turning your head, your teeth sink into his bicep, and you hear him moan in your ear in response.

"Fuck— look at you, biting me like a cute little puppy," he grins, feeling your teeth sinking into his muscle again from the sheer overstimulation your mind is going through. "Feels good?"

Pulling away, you can't even bring yourself to be embarrassed at the spit that you've left on his skin— not when you're getting fucked this good. "Mh-hmm… t-too…"

"Too much?" he coos, his tone gentle and sickeningly sweet— his hold around your throat tightens, and he's using it as leverage to hoist the two of you up so that you're kneeling; the change in angle has your eyes rolling back and your head falling against his shoulder, feeling as though his cock is somehow even deeper.

"I know, I'm sorry baby," he says, beginning to piston into you from this new angle, "'m almost there, I promise."

Fuck, your mind screams at you, how the fuck is he still going?

Taehyun's hand is coy as it travels to your navel, pushing against your stomach to feel his cock plunging in and out of you before sneaking down to play with your clit once more— your thighs are trembling and if Taehyun weren't holding you up, you would've fallen in a boneless puddle against his bed by now. Instead, you're scrambling to hold onto him, grabbing his arm around your neck and holding onto his hips, your back arching away from him— only to create the perfect angle for him to fuck into you, that same, molten pleasure beginning to creep up on you.

"Fuck fuck fuck, Taehyun, oh god, I'm so— 'm so—"

"Yeah, fuck— hold on—" he's flipping you onto your back before pushing back in, holding your calves by his shoulders as he pushes in, "need to see you… cum on my cock, fuck. You're so pretty, baby."

It really feels like he might break you with this angle— your legs twitch and tremble as his holds them up, rolling his hips deep into your cunt, his eyes flickering back and forth from where his cock disappears inside you to your face, drunk on the sounds you make every time the tip of his cock brushes against your sweet spot.

God, the view is already enough to make you cum— your eyes are hungry as you take in his body, his tanned skin dripping with sweat, carving lines down his chest and dripping into the crevices of his abs, his stomach clenching every time you squeeze around him; there's a blush that runs from his pecs to the tip of his ears, his brows furrowed with pleasure and his mouth parted as soft moans of your name leave him, canines digging into his bottom lip as he wills not to cum too soon. His eyes meet yours, dark and lustful, and you can't help yourself from hiding behind your hands, entirely overwhelmed.

"No— don't hide from me now," he throws your legs over his shoulders and closes in on you, folding you in half and continuing his cruel pace— he pries your hands from your face, lacing his fingers with yours and pinning them beside your head, his mouth inches away from yours. "I need to see you cum on my cock."

The air between you is charged and heated, and you're craning your head up to catch his lips, whining and moaning into his mouth as he brings you close to your climax; your nails dig into his hands, hips bucking up and chasing that peak that seems so overwhelmingly close— you're losing control of yourself, lost in the feeling of Taehyun— his warm body against yours, his hands that hold yours a little tighter, his thick cock that splits you open— and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Taehyun, I'm gonna— gonna cum."

"Do it angel, I've got you— lemme feel it, c'mon—" it feels like time has gone still for a moment; your body arches off the bed, your breasts pressing against Taehyun's chest as you cum with a soft cry of his name, your cunt sucking him in and begging for more.

"'Atta girl… so pretty when you cum," he helps you ride it out, rolling his hips against yours, reaching down to trace soft circles on your clit until you're a trembling mess. He's peppering kisses all over your face, thrusting shallowly into you, pouting when you begin to whine. "I know baby, I know— I'm— I'm so close, just hold on a little more okay?"

"M'kay…" you mumble, feeling him smile against your lips, "Taehyun— cum inside me."

He groans, tracing his lips along your jaw. "Fuck— you can't be serious."

"I am," you can feel him twitching inside you, his hips beginning to lose their rhythm, "I want you to."

"Y-yeah? Want my cum?" he's so close, you can feel him losing control as he fucks into you— you nod, tilting your head to give him better access, "say please."

"Can you cum inside me?" you whine, breathless, "please? Please, I want you to fill me up…"

"Fuck. Of course baby, so cute when you beg," his head falls to the crook of your neck, his hips stilling deep inside you— his cock twitches and his hips subtly rut into you as he cums, hot and thick and endless as he pumps it into you, a thick ring forming at the base— his weight sinks you into the mattress, and all you can do is lie there and let him use your body to ride it out, his teeth nipping at your neck as he nuzzles deeper into your shoulder; you're tilting your head to rest against his, the two of you a panting, sweaty mess.

His grip on your hands loosens, and you're slipping from his hold to snake your arms around him, your nails scratching along his back while your other hand tangles into his dark hair, scratching his scalp— you'd almost think he were about to purr with the way he leans into your touch, his hands sneaking under your back to pull you up and flush against him.

It's silent; your body is cooling down, and you're turning your head to the side to look out his window— it's gotten so late.

"Stay." He grumbles, "sleep here."

You let out a deep breath, nodding. "I will."

"Good…" he's trailing off, his voice softening as he nuzzles your skin. "I don't think i would've had the energy to drive you back."

You laugh softly, feeling Taehyun's hold on you tighten, as though afraid you'd slip away. But you remain still, dragging your nails along his scalp and feeling him melt against you. There's a calm bliss that washes over you, and you think what little high you had left is fading. Taehyun turns his head, kissing the crook of your neck to get your attention.

"You really are beautiful, you know that?" he says, and you roll your eyes and hum. "I don't want this to be a one time thing. I wanna get to know you better."

You can feel butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach, pressing your lips together to stop a giddy laugh from escaping you. You take a moment to ensure your voice is even before you speak.

"Take me on a date then."

He nods immediately. "Deal."

It's quiet again— your touch is gentle on Taehyun's skin as the two of you catch your breath; slowly, you feel his breath even out, his head burrowing deeper into your neck. He's falling asleep, you realize, tapping his shoulder and watching him flinch.

"Taehyun…"

"Hmm?"

"You're still inside me… I'm so sticky," you say, hearing him mumble a soft 'oh'. "And I squirted on your face."

Silence.

"Oh yeah." Taehyun doesn't seem to be nearly as bothered by that fact as you are. "I'll draw us a bath."

Instead of acting on his words, Taehyun lingers in your arms, nuzzling against your skin— you catch him dozing off once more before he's finally getting up with a reluctant groan, as though the thought of leaving your side pained him; you're happily resigned to follow him, allowing him to pamper you for the rest of the night.

[channlust]

fuck it, guess we both ain't shit!

or: being fwb with someone you have feelings for is hard, even harder when he's a douchbag who doesn't even bother introducing you as a friend, like where is the friends in friends with benefits? well, it's none existent now, because you're about to be more than friends, he just needed a little wake up call.

warnings: MDNI! smut with some plot, fwb!chan, generic plot, some angst if you squint, jealousy, possessiveness, he's an asshole (but he redeems himself), college au, college parties.

wc: 4.8k

The sheets were twisted around your legs, damp with sweat and smelling like sex.

Chan laid sprawled next to you, one arm thrown over his face, chest still rising too fast. You watched the ceiling above you, counting the seconds until he’d roll over and say something stupid — or worse, nothing at all.

This was how it always went. A text at midnight, usually after some party where you’d spent the whole night pretending not to watch each other. His place or yours, never sober enough to bother with a condom unless one of you remembered at the last second.

No talking afterward unless it was 'nice' or 'I should go'.

You weren’t his girlfriend. He wasn’t your boyfriend.

It had started last semester, after a particularly messy game of beer pong where he’d cornered you in the bathroom, fingers already under your skirt. Neither of you had asked what it meant. it just happened.

Chan shifted beside you, the mattress creaking as he sat up. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you. “You good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, because that’s what you always said.

He reached for his jeans on the floor, the fabric rustling as he dug for his phone.

The silence stretched too long. You rolled onto your side, pulling the sheet up just enough to cover yourself. Chan glanced at you, thumb still tapping his screen. “You want me to go?”

You almost laughed. “You always do.”

Something flickered in his expression — too fast to name — before he shrugged. “Right. Well.” He stood, hopping into clothes that were scattered throughout different areas of your room.

He didn’t kiss you goodbye. He never did.

The front door clicked shut behind him, and you exhaled, staring at the ceiling again.

It was fine. This was fine.

You had midterms next week anyway.

~

The first midterm exam was a blur of half remembered formulas and caffeine jitters that made your hands shake.

You scribbled your last answer with thirty seconds left, then bolted for the door before the professor could call time.

Outside the lecture hall, the air was thick with the smell spring, too cheerful for the hollow feeling slowly growing in your chest.

You spotted Chan immediately. He was leaned against the bike rack, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just ghosted you for 3 days. His head snapped up when your shoes scuffed the pavement, and his mouth quirked into that stupid smirk that made your stomach flip.

“Hey,” he said, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t left you tangled in the sheets with your thighs still sticky and your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Hey,” you echoed, adjusting your backpack straps. The silence stretched, awkward.

Chan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, thumb swiping absently, and something bitter curled in your throat. “Busy?” you asked, nodding at the screen.

Chan's smirk didn’t waver as he pocketed his phone. "Just a group chat. some study session tonight." He shrugged, "You should come."

You snorted. "Hard pass. I’d rather stab my eyes out with a highlighter."

He answered you with a laugh, and you hated how your chest tightened at the sound.

You were about to make an excuse—library, laundry, literally anything—when a voice cut in from behind you. "Chan! There you are."

You turned to see a girl with a sleek dark ponytail and a textbook clutched to her chest. Her smile faltered when she noticed you, then went back to normal. "Oh. Hi."

"Hey, hae," he said, voice suddenly lighter. Too light.

The girl — hae — sidled up next to him, close enough that her elbow brushed his arm. "You disappeared after class," she said, flicking her ponytail over one shoulder. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab a drink before our next class." Her gaze slid to you, "Unless you're busy."

You clenched your teeth so hard your jaw ached. Chan shifted his weight, "Nah, just catching up with—" He gestured vaguely at you, and the omission stung more than it should have.

Not his girlfriend. Not a friend. Not even a name worth mentioning.

hae’s smile widened. "Cool." She hooked a finger through Chan’s belt loop — his fucking belt loop — and tugged. "Let’s go. You still owe me notes from Tuesday."

You watched them walk away. Your nails dug into your palms, but you forced your face into something neutral, something unbothered. You were fine. This was fine.

By midnight, the anger had curdled into something hotter, something restless under your skin. You were halfway through a half assed attempt at studying when your phone buzzed

u up?

you stared at it before typing back,

yea

his reply came immediately

dorm's empty, come over?

~

Chan was already shirtless when he opened the door, hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. His grin was lazy, familiar. “Hey.”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped inside and let the door click shut behind you.

It was fast, no pretense of tenderness tonight. His hands dug into your hips, your back hitting the wall before you could make it to his bedroom.

You wrapped your arms around him, trailing kisses down his neck, “damn, missed you too,” he snickered.

~

After, tangled in his sheets. again. you stared at the ceiling. again. Chan sprawled beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising too fast. again. The silence was sticky with everything you weren’t saying.

“So,” you said finally, voice too loud in the dark. “hae.”

Chan stiffened. His arm slid away from his face, but he didn’t look at you. “What about her?”

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “You let her drag you away by your belt loop like some fucking lapdog.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “We study together. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sure.” You laughed, “And I’m just some girl you fuck when you’re bored.”

Chan sat up suddenly, sheets pooling at his waist. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” You kept your voice steady, even as your pulse hammered in your throat. “Because, as it seems, we’re not serious. You made that real clear today.”

“You’re pissed because I walked away with hae?”

“I’m pissed because you let her drag you away.” You fully sat up now, looking at him next to you as you tried real hard to hold your tears back.

“You didn’t even introduce me. Just ‘catching up with—’ like I’m some random you bumped into.”

“Oh, so now we’re doing introductions? What, you want me to tell people you’re my girlfriend?” he regret the words right as they spilled from his mouth, and you looked back it him in disbelief.

The word hung between you. before you decided to swing your legs off the bed, reaching for your clothes on the floor. The fabric was still warm from his hands. You yanked your shirt over your head.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply. The floor was cold under your bare feet as you stepped into your jeans, yanking them up. Chan didn’t move, he might have wanted to, but he didn't.

His silence was worse than anything he could’ve said — proof that he’d let you walk away a hundred times before and wouldn’t stop you now.

Your bra was somewhere near his dresser, but you didn’t bother hunting for it. Just tugged your sweater on over your t-shirt. Chan’s fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he stayed put, jaw clenched tight.

“You’re really leaving?” he asked, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually go through with it.

You scooped your shoes off the floor without answering. The laces dragged as you shoved your feet into them, not bothering to tie them.

The doorknob was cool under your palm, and for half a second, you hesitated — stupid, pathetic hope curling in your chest. But there was no sound of footsteps behind you, no hand on your wrist pulling you back. Just silence.

you twisted the doorknob, letting the door slam behind you as you left.

~

The week passed in a blur, your textbooks spread across your desk. You aced the rest of your midterms — probably because Chan wasn’t in your bed, or your head, or your vagina every other night.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. Still, your fingers hovered over his contact in your phone more times than you’d admit, thumb almost brushing the call button before you’d snap it shut and toss it onto your pillow.

The fifth time your roommate, yunjin, caught you staring blankly at the same page of your psychology textbook for forty minutes, she ripped the book from your hands and slammed it shut.

“Nope,” she declared, tossing it onto your bed where it landed with a thud. “We’re done here.”

You blinked up at her, your brain still foggy from three nights of fitful sleep, “What?”

“You,” Yunjin said, grabbing your wrist “are going to a party.” She yanked you upright with surprising strength for someone who subsisted entirely on instant ramen.

“And before you argue — no, you don’t have a choice. I’ve watched you mope around this room like a victorian widow for a week now. It’s pathetic.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Yunjin was already rifling through your closet. She tossed a sparkly cropped black top at your face, followed by jeans so tight you’d have to lie down to zip them.

“Put these on,” she ordered, then paused, eyeing your unwashed hair with disdain. “Actually, shower first.”

The hot water did nothing to loosen the knot in your chest, but the steam cleared your head enough to remember how to function like a human being.

By the time you emerged, Yunjin had laid out your makeup on the desk, textbooks gathered and thrown somewhere, “Sit,” she commanded. and you sat there with your hair still in a towel while she did your makeup.

“You’re being weirdly intense about this,” you muttered as she swiped blush across your cheeks.

Yunjin didn’t pause. “Someone has to be. You’ve been acting like your life ended because one idiot boy can’t figure out his feelings.”

She grabbed your chin, tilting your face toward the light to inspect her work. “News flash, the world is full of idiot boys. Tonight, we’re going to remind you that you don’t need any of them.”

~

The party hummed with the kind of manic energy unique to college students who'd just survived midterms — music too loud, sticky floors, red cups getting passed around.

You let Yunjin steer you through the crush of bodies, her grip on your wrist unyielding as she carved a path toward the kitchen.

The scent of cheap vodka and sweat hung thick in the air, and you focused on that instead of the way your pulse jumped when you spotted Chan across the room, leaned against a wall with some guy friend of his.

He hadn't seen you yet. His head was tipped back in laughter, the familiar curve of his throat exposed under the dim overhead light.

Sakura spotted you first, her face lighting up like a flare in the dark. "Oh my god, there you are," she crowed, reaching across the kitchen island to snag your wrist then pull you in a hug. Her fingers were sticky with punch, but you didn't pull away as she dragged you into their orbit.

chae was perched on the counter beside her, legs swinging lazily as she sipped something pink from a plastic cup. The familiar sight of them loosened something tight in your chest.

"You look like shit," chae announced cheerfully, kicking your hip lightly with the toe of her boot. The bluntness made you laugh. It was the kind of honesty only she could get away with, delivered with charm that it felt like affection.

"Thanks," you deadpanned, stealing her drink for a sip. "Midterms."

Chae wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, don't remind me. I had to bribe my TA just to look at my paper."

She leaned in conspiratorially, her breath warm against your ear. "Also, Yunjin texted us. We're under strict orders to distract you tonight." Her fingers made air quotes around the word, nails glittering under the kitchen's light.

The conversation flowed, uncomplicated for once, the kind of chatter that didn’t require thinking.

You leaned into the counter, letting their voices wash over you, the tension in your shoulders easing for the first time in days.

It was almost enough to make you forget the way Chan’s gaze had flickered toward the kitchen twice already.

Then mingyu stumbled into you, his elbow knocking your ribs as he reached past you for the vodka.

you recognized him, he's someone from chan's obnoxiously big circle of frat guys.

"Shit—sorry," he mumbled, blinking at you with the bleary focus of someone three drinks deep. His face lit up in recognition. "Oh hey! You’re—" He pointed at you, brow furrowing. "Chan’s girl, right?"

The words hit like a bullet. Sakura’s cup paused halfway to her lips. Chae’s eyes widened, darting between you and where Chan was now very much not looking in your direction.

You forced a laugh, "Not even close."

mingyu blinked at your response, then shrugged. "Cool, cool." He leaned against the counter beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

"So what do you go by, then?"

"Just my name works fine,"

He was easy to talk to in a way, no loaded silences. Just easy smiles and stupid jokes. It was casual. Nice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Chan stiffen. His drink hovered halfway to his lips, frozen mid sip as mingyu leaned in to whisper something in your ear, his hand settling lightly on your waist to steady himself.

The music pulsed, loud enough to drown out whatever nonsense mingyu was murmuring, but you laughed anyway.

Chan’s cup hit the counter with a sharp crack. His jaw was tight, fingers flexing at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from crossing the room.

You met his gaze across the sea of bodies, holding it for a few seconds.

mingyu followed your line of sight and snorted. "Damn. If looks could kill." He didn’t move his hand, though. "You sure you’re not together?"

You took a slow sip of your drink, the sweetness cloying on your tongue. "just play along."

Chan pushed off the wall abruptly, shouldering through the crowd toward the backyard. The screen door slammed behind him with enough force to rattle the frame. You exhaled.

mingyu’s thumb stroked absently over your hipbone. "You okay?"

"Fine," you lied.

chae, after watching the entire scene, slid off the counter with a sigh. "I’m gonna go see where Yunjin wandered off to," She paused, squeezing your shoulder. "we'll be back, okay? Don’t do anything stupid."

sakura sighed, "Too late for that." But she followed chae anyway, leaving you alone with mingyu and the ghost of Chan’s stare still burning against your skin.

mingyu’s laugh was low as he leaned in. "So, not Chan’s girl, that means you're free to dance?"

You hesitated, then nodding. "Yeah. Let’s dance."

some time passed. you let him spin you around, laughed at his jokes. It was easy, too easy, to pretend you weren’t counting the minutes since Chan stormed outside.

You were mid sip of some sickly sweet concoction mingyu had shoved into your hands when the crowd parted like a curtain, and chan emerged from the middle.

His gaze locked onto mingyu’s fingers curled around your waist, and something dark flickered behind his eyes.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, but it was not really a request.

mingyu tried to step in, "Hey, man—" but it didn't really work.

"Alone," Chan snapped.

You tilted your head, smiled, "We’re busy."

Chan’s jaw twitched. He stepped closer, his voice dropping low, "Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking."

You hesitated, long enough to watch his throat bob, before sighing. "Fine." Turning to mingyu, "I’ll be back."

"Take your time."

Chan didn’t wait. He grabbed your wrist and pushed through the crowd, his grip firm on your wrist.

he took you to an empty room upstairs, shutting the door behind him. He exhaled sharply, raking his free hand through his hair. "What the fuck was that?"

You yanked your arm free, "Dancing? Pretty sure you’re familiar with the concept.

Chan’s laugh was jagged. "With mingyu?" He stepped closer, crowding you against the wall. but you held your ground, tilting your chin up. "You’re really gonna play this game?"

"We’re not serious," you mimicked, throwing his words right back at him. "That’s what you said, right? Or did your 'study buddy' blow your brain too?"

His hands flexed at his sides. For a heartbeat, you thought he might walk away, he always did, but then he moved, one palm slammed against the wall by your head while the other gripped your hip, fingers pressing into the same spot mingyu had touched minutes ago.

"You think I don’t see what you’re doing?"

You swallowed hard. "Enlighten me."

"Bullshit revenge act." of course, he read right through you. "You wanted me to watch."

You arched a brow. "And if I did?"

"Then mission fucking accomplished."

The party noise faded to a dull roar, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears. Chan’s chest heaved inches from yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.

"You’re such a hypocrite," you hissed, "You don’t get to act jealous when you—"

Chan’s mouth crashed into yours before you could finish, clacking in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than anything. His free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the angle. It was messy, desperate, fuelled with all the pent up anger you suppressed all these days.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, pupils blown wide. "I don’t want him touching you," he ground out, thumb swiping roughly at the smudged gloss on your chin. "Ever."

"You don’t get to decide that."

His grip tightened, fingers pressing into the soft skin just above your waistband. "Watch me."

Chan’s mouth was on yours again before you could protest, his teeth scraping your lower lip in a way that sent a jolt straight to your core. You arched into him, nails digging into the fabric of his tank top as he crowded you back against the wall, his thigh slotting between yours with bruising pressure.

"Fuck you," you gasped against his mouth, but your hips rolled against him on instinct, chasing the friction.

"oh I will," he growled, hands sliding under your top, his palms were rough against your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he yanked the fabric up.

The cool air hit your skin just as his mouth did — tongue swiping over your nipple, teeth following in a sharp bite that made you gasp.

"You’re such an asshole," you breathed, but your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him there.

he laughed against your skin, one hand already working the button of your jeans. He didn’t bother undoing it fully, just shoved the fabric down your thighs enough to slide his fingers past the waistband of your panties.

You were wet — had been since he dragged you up here — and his groan vibrated against your collarbone. "Fuck, you’re dripping," he muttered, dragging two fingers through your folds. "This what you wanted? Me losing my goddamn mind watching someone else's hands all over you?"

You keened when his fingers circled your clit, the pressure almost painful.

"You don’t own me," you managed, but the words dissolved into a whimper as he pushed two fingers inside without warning, curling them just right.

Chan’s breath hitched at the way you clenched around him. "Don’t I?" He worked you ruthlessly, his thumb pressing tight circles against your clit as his fingers fucked into you. "Tell me to stop, then."

any retort died in your throat when he twisted his wrist, fingers crooking, hitting that spot that made your knees buckle. "I—Fuck!" You bit down on your lower lip hard to try to conceal any sounds, but the moan tore free anyway as he sped up, his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust.

"You gonna come for me?" His voice was rough, laced with a challenge. "Or you still thinking about him?" The bastard punctuated the question with a sharp twist of his fingers, and you came with a choked cry, hips stuttering against his hand as he worked you through it, prolonging the pulses until your thighs shook.

Before you even caught your breath, Chan was on his knees, yanking your jeans the rest of the way down. He didn’t give you time to recover, just hooked your thighs over his shoulders and buried his face between your legs.

His tongue was flat and hot against your oversensitive clit, licking into you like he was starving. You writhed, but he held you firm, his fingers digging into your thighs as he sucked gently at your clit before lapping at you.

The pleasure coiled tight again. He hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and you arched off the wall with a gasp, your fingers pulling at his hair for purchase.

"Fuck—Chan," you choked out, throwing your head back against the wall, your eyes screwed shut.

He pulled back just enough to blow a cool stream of air over your wetness, watching the way you shuddered before diving back in with renewed hunger. His nose bumped your clit as he fucked his tongue inside you, savoring the way your hips jerked against his mouth.

You could feel the tension building again, tighter this time, intensefied, your thighs trembling where they bracketed his head.

"Look at me," he growled against your skin, his breath hot.

You forced your eyes open, looking down to meet his gaze through the messy tangle of your lashes. His lips were slick, his chin glistening. His tongue circled your clit lazily, once, twice, then flattened against it with firm pressure.

the sight alone made you cum again with a sob, your back bowing off the wall as your orgasm ripped through you, sharper than the first.

Chan didn't let up, his mouth working you through it until you were whimpering, oversensitive and raw, your hands fisting in his hair to tug him away. He relented only to press a filthy, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.

he rose from his knees, his mouth slick with you, before you could catch your breath, he crushed his lips to yours, messy, desperate, tasting yourself on his tongue.

his hands slid under your ass to lift you up effortlessly. The bed hit your back a second later, mattress springs creaking under the sudden weight as he climbed over you, caging you in with his body.

You arched under him, nails scraping down his back. "Too bad we’re not serious," you taunted, throwing his words back at him with the same smirk he used to give. "Right?"

"You drive me fucking insane," he gritted out, dragging his teeth down your throat. His hips grind against yours, the hard line of his cock pressing into your thigh through his pants.

"You know that? Every goddamn time—" His hand fumbled between you, yanking his zipper down with impatience. "Every time I see someone else’s hands on you, I want to—" The words dissolved into a growl as he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, thick and flushed against your stomach.

Chan’s breath stuttered. He caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as he reached between your legs with the other, fingers dragging through your wetness.

"Shut up," he muttered, but there was no heat in it — just raw frustration as he lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. "Just—fuck—just let me—"

You gasped as he pushed in, The stretch burned. He was bigger than you remembered, or maybe you’d just forgotten how he felt after days of pretending you didn’t care.

"Fuck," he groaned, hips stuttering as he bottomed out. "You’re—god—still so tight."

"Missed your ego, mostly."

your legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper. The friction was maddening, the way he filled you so completely it stole your breath.

Chan’s laugh was ragged, his forehead dropping to yours as he rolled his hips in a slow, torturous grind. "You like that?" he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction when your nails dug into his shoulders. "Missed this, didn’t you?"

"and I missed you"

you let out a shaky sigh at that, his words never sounded this affectionate before.

"You don’t get to say shit like this after—"

Chan kissed you before you could finish, deep and desperate, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he was chasing the taste of your anger.

"I know," he muttered, after he pulled away, "I’m a hypocrite. An asshole. Whatever you want to call me." His hips rolled again, "But i'm yours."

The words barely had time to register before Chan’s hips snapped forward, driving into you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

The bedframe rattled against the wall with each thrust, the sound muffled by the distant thump of bass from the party downstairs.

“Tell me you’re mine, too” he demanded, but it was more like a plea.

The words slipped out before you could stop them—"Yours," you gasped, nails raking down his back as his hips stuttered against yours. "Only yours."

Chan groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your collarbone where his teeth had marked you moments before. His hands slid under your thighs, hooking your legs over his elbows to drive deeper, and suddenly you were full in a way that made your vision blur at the edges.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough with something that wasn't just lust — something desperate.

You arched under him, meeting each thrust with a roll of your hips that drew a strangled moan from his lips. "Yours!" you repeated, louder, eyes rolling back when he hit that spot that made your toes curl.

"You take me so well," he murmured against your sweat slick skin, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Always so perfect for me, fuck—" His hips snapped forward, the angle shifting just enough to drag a whimper from your throat. "Look at you. Mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core, the heat coiling tighter with every filthy word.

His thumb trailed up to your clit, circling roughly as his pace grew frantic. "Come with me," he ordered, his voice wrecked. "Let me feel it—god, please—" he begged.

You shattered with a cry, your back bowing off the mattress as the pleasure crashed over you in waves.

Chan followed with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours as he rode out the aftershocks.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant thump of bass from below. Chan's weight slumped against you, warm and familiar, his lips brushing your temple in a kiss so tender it made your chest ache.

He exhaled sharply, rolling off you to collapse onto his back beside you. His arm flung over his eyes.

The bed creaked as you turned onto your side, studying the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. "I think," you said slowly, tracing a finger down his sweat damp chest, "i think you just proved a point."

"mmm, and what point would that be?"

"That you're an idiot," you said simply.

His arm slid away from his face, revealing dark eyes gone soft at the edges. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. His fingers found yours, threading through them, "But now I'm your idiot now."

"Yeah," you agreed softly. "You are."

a/n: yes I borrowed hae's character from @starlostjisung 's exchange series (I hope u don't mind queen I couldn't think of anyone..), notice how she's a bitch in both universes 💔💔

taglist: @yourqueenlady @kloversung @hycnsung @seagulljk @g0matchi @eyyyylucieeee @zosauce @minniebitesfr @jazz7gnab @stormynight-240 @ariaaleelynn @pedropacals0l0s @caalcyon @hyunjinswife4ever @11racha @straykitten88 @mandmilovehim @hanjinology @breakmeonce @carrotcakeesblog @supernaturalsunny @gwinamlvr @parkairis18 @g0obz @tumvlrgirlsblog @atetheluck @shortcake-whoops @mylovchris @diiv9ne @avchannie @emeraldgem22 @pinkyrec @yourtypicalnerd @skzhyunjinwifey @stryscribbles @jektaev @cb9711 @lostinmymind-daydreaming @b4echo @viisstrayy

[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

[snoobins]

[angstama]

05; all for you | n.jm

pairing: photographer! na jaemin x f!reader

genre: angst

warning(s): heartbreak, toxic relationship

synopsis: you loved jaemin for eight long years. long enough to learn how to keep him in your life in the name of love. loving him meant accepting the faults even when it isn’t yours, changing every part of yourself to be a part of his narrative, wondering when will you ever become someone easier to love. every fight circled the same ache—him telling you who you should be, you apologising and promising that you’ll change. at jaemin’s first photography exhibition, muse, you realised that in a room filled with photos full of faces he chose to remember and hold onto, you were not part of it. and for the first time, you ask the question you’ve been avoiding all along, how much of yourself can you give before there’s nothing left to be seen?

a/n: hii~ think i teared up slightly in chapter 05😮‍💨😮‍💨 truly, i wish to thank everyone for all your patience :") i'm not sure if anyone's loving the series anymore but i figured i should finish up the story soon! stay tuned for the next chapter~ see you guys there!!

˚꩜｡ chapter song: earrings - malcolm todd & tough luck - laufey

˚꩜｡ m.list | previous | next chapter

the after hours following your exit from the home you and jaemin had built over the last eight years felt like a never ending nightmare. jaemin spent the first hour sprawled on the sofa, waiting for the front door to swing open. he was confident you’d return after "going around" to cool off like you always did.

but as the second hour bled into the third, his confidence deflated into a restless, jagged frustration. you weren’t supposed to leave. not right now, not when he had finally begun to acknowledge the cracks in the foundation of your relationship. agitated and unable to sit with his own thoughts, jaemin called saeron—the only person who seemed to make any sense to him these days.

relaxing jazz music filled the bar as the crowd mindlessly swayed to it unbeknownst to jaemin's own sinking thoughts. all he could ever see was the ghost of your beautiful face, the way your expression had shattered before you walked out, causing him to wince in pain.

"y/n left," jaemin muttered, his fingers tracing the rim of a half-empty whiskey glass. saeron draped an arm around him, offering a comforting pat on the back. "i don’t even know if she’s coming back anymore," he added with a bitter, breathless chuckle before downing the rest of his drink.

"what happened jaems?" saeron asked softly, her hand finding his on the scarred wood of the bar. but jaemin didn't pull away, finding some comfort in her touch. "only just five hours ago you were talking about turning things around. now she’s just… walked out?"

jaemin wasn't blind; he knew exactly how his words had destroyed you. he knew there was something fundamentally broken in the way he had treated you over the years, and that he was lucky you had stayed as long as you did. the truth was simple: he had grown comfortable. in the pursuit of his own passions, he had let the "fun" of his career take over, neglecting to love you the way you deserved. he knew that "chasing a dream" was a pathetic excuse for casting you aside and keeping secrets, but facing that reality was harder than to just let the attitude keep going.

"she asked if I saw a future with her," jaemin sighed, the words trailing off. saeron held her breath, her gaze fixed to his side profile. when she had first met him, he was a man who seemed to move with an unshakeable sense of purpose but now, he looked like someone who had watched his entire world slip through his fingers. perhaps jaemin really thought of you as a precious gem in his world?

"i just couldn't answer her." jaemin shook his head, a bitter, breathless laugh bubbling up in his throat. "i don’t even know why."

the lie of it tasted like the whiskey on his tongue. it isn't like he’d never thought about marrying you in this lifetime. in fact, it was the only thing he’d wanted at the beginning of your relationship. you were the only one he was certain he wanted a future with among all his past relationships. you and you only, was the only one he could see walking down the aisle towards him.

but somewhere along the way, the guilt had started to act like a wall. every time he’d snapped at you, every time he’d stayed out late or hidden a part of his life, that future got a little harder to look at. it was easier to just treat you like a soft place to land—someone who would always be there regardless of how much he messed up. he’d stopped trying to earn your future and started just using up your present, until finally, he’d forgotten how to imagine a ‘tomorrow’ that he actually deserved to be in.

"was it because of the kiss?" saeron finally asked.. jaemin winced at the thought of it.

rome

it was the orange garden where jaemin first saw her through his lens. rome was glowing, bathed in that fleeting, golden-hour light where the sky bruised into shades of deep orange and soft pink. jaemin wandered the paths with his eye pressed to the viewfinder, framing the world through his most prized possession, his beloved camera. he scanned the grass where lovers chatted over wine glasses and watched children race their bikes along the pavement, sparrows hovering above the fountain.

until, it landed on her.

she was dressed in a simple black slip dress, her golden-brown hair caught in the roman breeze. jaemin’s breath hitched. it wasn't just her beauty, though that was enough to make his finger hover over the shutter—it was the way she held herself. then slowly, his gaze drifted down to the camera gripped in her hands, and he was sold. she was standing by a bed of roses, looking through her own lens with small smile plastered on her lips.

click!

he captured her before he could talk himself out of it. it was a photographer’s excuse—an easy "in." he’d walk over, show her the shot, and offer to send it to her. but when he finally approached, the words died in his throat.

"nice framing," she said first, a playful tilt to her lips as she looked up from her own screen. she turned her camera around to show him the display and jaemin felt his heart dropped in his stomach. there he was, captured in high definition against the sunset in his own element. "i think i caught the better view," she teased, her eyes locking onto his.

turns out the two of them were looking at each other after all.

oh how romantic?

they spent the rest of the night walking through the cobblestone streets of rome, talking about everything and anything like two old friends who hasn't seen each other in a long time. he told her things he’d stopped telling you, mostly because with her, there was no fear of disappointment. for jaemin, it was intoxicating.

for the first time in awhile, jaemin felt seen, not as the partner who was failing at a long term relationship but rather, as just na jaemin the artist. saeron didn't know about you, who's waiting for him back home. she didn't know about the girl who was currently sitting in her own room, wondering if today would be the day he felt like sending a single update, a sign that he hadn't completely forgotten you existed.

"so jaemin," saeron smiled, leaning back against the stone railing, her eyes searching his. "what’s a guy like you doing in rome all by himself? you don't exactly look like the solo-backpacker type."

jaemin hesitated. he traced the condensation on his wine glass, your name hovering at the back of his throat like a bruise. for a second, he thought about lying. he thought about saying he was just on a work trip. but there was something about the way saeron looked at him—without expectations that made the truth feel easier to spill.

"i'm on a break," he admitted, his voice a little rougher than before. "from my relationship. we’ve been together a long time, and i just... i needed to breathe. i came here to get some air."

saeron nodded understandingly, moving a step closer as her shoulder brushes against his in the cool night air. "sometimes air is the only thing that helps you realise what you’re actually missing," she whispered.

the honesty felt like a match struck in a dark room. jaemin looked at her, and he saw a way out. "and what are you missing jaemin?" she asked, her voice dropping to a low, velvet hum.

he should have walked away then. he should have thought about the times your hands still searched for his even when you were deep asleep, the way you'd travel an hour and a half after a long exhausting day at the lab just to be by his side, the way you picked up cooking because he missed his mom's home cook food. but under the moon, with the scent of saeron’s perfume mixing with the sharp tang of wine, those memories felt like they belonged to a different man.

and so, jaemin didn't answer with words. instead, he leaned in, his hand finding the small of her back as he closed the distance, lips finally meeting hers.

he had spent the whole night pretending he was a free man, and he finally decided to act like one.

mark stayed true to his words, acting as your personal tour guide free of charge and taking you along on a journey that seemed impossible to pass on.

it was the fifth day since you had left your beloved relationship, and today, mark was taking you to the pantheon. you were actually excited—genuinely, for the first time in god knows how long as you tucked your sketchbook into your bag, hoping to catch some of the ancient architecture in graphite.

"morning sunshine," mark chimed the moment you stepped out of your hotel room. he was leaning against the wall, a coffee in hand and a bright smile on his face.

"morning mark," you chuckled, the sound feeling a bit rusty in your throat. he gestured for you to lead the way, following right by your side as the two of you made your way out of the hotel.

"did you sleep well?" he asked.

did you sleep well?

you wished you had. you wished you could have drifted off the moment your head hit the pillow, but the king-sized bed felt massive too massive for a single person. and then there were the texts. jaemin’s messages had lit up your nightstand like a neon sign of guilt, keeping you awake long into the early hours.

jaems♡: i miss you. jaems♡:  are you eating well?  jaems♡ :did you pack enough layers? it’s supposed to be cold today.

each message pulled you further into the void of darkness. it was if jaemin had destroyed a part of you that you had simply given up on and now you're unsure of who you ever are anymore with everything that you had given to to him.

"it was alright," you lied, forcing a small smile. you didn't want to be the person who dampened the mood, not when the sky looked so beautiful and mark was trying so hard. "the bed was just a little too big i think. took awhile to get comfortable."

mark gave a knowing sort of hum and you felt a wave of gratitude for his presence for he didn't ask for the truth, even if he could probably see the faint shadows under your eyes.

"well i think you're gonna love the pantheon." he chirped. "it’s the only one of its kind," mark whispered, his voice echoing slightly as you stepped through the massive bronze doors. "no matter how much the world outside changes, this place stays exactly the same."

you looked up and your breath was caught. high above, the great oculus, the eye of the dome, offered a perfect circle of brilliant roman sky. it was breathtaking to say the least.

the pantheon was a masterpiece of balance, but it was also vulnerable. because of that opening in the roof, whenever it rained, it rained inside the temple. the floor was designed with nearly invisible holes to drain the water away, a silent system built to handle the weather it couldn't keep out.

it reminded you too much of the last eight years with jaemin. you had spent so much time trying to be like this floor corny enough—quietly draining away the tears, the neglect, and the loneliness so that the "temple" of your relationship could look perfect to anyone standing on the outside. you had let the rain in for years, thinking that as long as the structure stayed standing, the damage didn't matter.

you wandered the perimeter of the rotunda with your digital camera in your hand and snapping photos of the intricate marble patterns along the way—details you wanted to preserve on your sketchbook.

mark followed by your side, his hands shoved into his pockets, watching you with a soft smile. while you were busy reading a plaque near the altar, lost in the history of the stone, a sharp, digital click echoed behind you.

you whirled around immediately, catching mark with his phone still angled towards you. "hey!" you pouted. "why are you even taking photos of me?"

"i couldn't help it," mark defended himself, flashing his screen so you could see the shot. the light from the oculus had caught the side of your face perfectly, making you look glowing and ethereal against the dark, ancient backdrop. "you actually look happy here! i had to document it."

"well at least join me in the frame," you chuckled, waving him over. "standing back there and snapping candids makes you look like a total creep."

"should we?" he asked, his grin widening as he stepped into your personal space. he switched his phone to selfie mode, the two of you appearing on the small screen. "we definitely need the oculus in it!" you said excitedly, pointing upward.

mark adjusted his grip, crouching down slightly so he could get the right angle. you leaned in close as he tilted the phone toward the ceiling. from the lower angle, the massive dome seemed to curve around the two of you like a crown of stone, with the circle of blue sky positioned right between your heads.

you made a series of ridiculous faces, sticking your tongue out and flashing peace signs, while mark threw up a "rock on" gesture, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed at your energy.

"see?" you said, looking at the final shot of the two of you grinning like idiots under the eye of the dome. "much better than a candid."

"yeah indeed," mark chuckled, shaking his head in defeat as the two of you continued your exploration of the temple.

you settled on the edge of a weathered stone fountain, tucked away from the main surge of the crowd as mark handed you a coned pistachio gelato, the one that you had been eyeing for since the very first night.

"thanks," you beamed, the cold sweetness hitting you in a pleasant way. "you're welcome," he said, sitting just close enough that your shoulders occasionally brushed.

"i realised i never actually asked," you said, watching the world go by. a couple walked past, fingers entwined, and for a split second, your chest winced. you looked away, focusing on a group of locals drinking espresso at a nearby cafe. "what is it that you actually do mark?"

"i’m a ceramic artist," mark said.

your eyes widened, a genuine spark of interest cutting through your lingering thoughts of home. "no way, really?"

mark nodded, a slightly bashful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "yeah, really."

"are you good at it?" you asked impulsively. the second the words left your mouth, you felt the heat climb up your neck. "i mean—wait, i didn't mean it like that! i mean, obviously you're good, i just meant... do you love it? Is it your passion?" you stumbled over the words, flustered, your cheeks turning a dusty pink.

mark lets out a hearty laugh, waving off your apology with a hand. "i think i'm okay at it," he teased, his eyes crinkling. "i was actually in florence for an expo and everything sold out."

"that’s amazing! so you're a big deal then," you nudged him with your shoulder. "you should totally make me something someday."

"maybe i will," mark said, his voice softening as he looked at you. "but what about you? what do you do?"

"well, i am a chemist," you started, but stopped when you suddenly remembered the scathing email from your supervisor, suho, that had been sitting in your inbox since yesterday a very angry demand for an explanation regarding your sudden leave of absence. "or... i was a chemist." you scratched the back of your head, a sheepish, embarrassed smile tugging at your lips. "to be honest, i’m pretty sure i got fired yesterday."

"aww no" mark said, his face falling into an expression of genuine concern. "i'm sorry, that’s—"

"it’s fine, really," you interrupted, taking a defiant bite of your gelato. you shrugged, and to your surprise, the weight that usually sat on your shoulders didn't return. "i've been meaning to quit for a long time. i was just too scared to actually do it."

saying it out loud made it feel even more real. since graduation, you had been working hard in the lab to earn a future where you and jaemin could live comfortable lives, trading any rest days for extra incentives. you had tried so hard to keep the chemistry right, to make sure nothing exploded, only to realise you were the one being consumed. losing the job felt like losing a set of golden handcuffs.

"so," Mark said, watching the relief wash over your face. "what do you wish to do from here onwards?"

"i don't know," you admitted, looking down at your laps. "i’ve always wanted to be a comic artist. i used to spend hours sketching out original characters and comic strips, i just don't think if i'm good enough."

"you should have more confidence in yourself y/n." Mark said firmly. He leaned in, catching your gaze. "if you don't even trust yourself, who will?"he stood up, brushing the stray crumbs from his jeans, and held out a hand to help you up.

"tell you what. since you’re officially a 'free agent' now, let’s put that dream into work. i know a place—it’s a little cafe tucked away in trastevere. a friend of mine runs it. people go there to craft, paint, or just mess around with whatever project they’re working on. there’s usually some live music, too. it’s the perfect place to start your first chapter."

"really?" you took his hand, feeling the steady strength in his grip as he pulled you to your feet.

"really," he grinned, his eyes bright with encouragement. "i’ll even draw with you, if that helps you feel a little more comfortable."

"i like the sound of that," you said, a genuine laugh bubbling up as you gave him a firm thumbs up, feeling a sudden, electric spark of motivation. "let's go!"

mark hadn't been exaggerating about the cafe. it was a sanctuary of vibrant creativity. the air was a thick, comforting blend of espresso and oil paint, humming with the sound of live guitar and the rhythmic scratch of pens on paper. everywhere you looked, people were lost in their own worlds—some hunched over intricate junk journals, others splattering watercolors onto canvases.

"mark, my boy! you're finally here!" a tall man in a light blue sweater, an apron tied haphazardly over his waist, strode toward you. he caught mark in a handshake so complex and energetic it looked more like a choreographed dance.

"johnny! good to see you man," mark beamed, matching his energy.

johnny’s eyes shifted, landing on you as you stood just behind mark’s shoulder. his face lit up with immediate, unfiltered excitement. "is this your girlfriend?" he blurted out, practically pushing mark aside to offer you a hand.

you stared at the hand in front of you for a split second, surprised by the sudden burst of energy, before slowly taking it. mark made a sound somewhere between a cough and a choke, his face flushing a bright, sudden red.

"she’s a friend!" mark managed to get out, desperately trying to gather himself while you let out a genuine laugh. "i’m so sorry—please don't mind him. he’s always spouting nonsense."

"yeah, just a friend," johnny echoed, though he gave mark a deliberate, slow wink that said he didn't believe a word of it. he turned back to you, his grin wide and welcoming. "and you are...?"

"y/n" you chuckled, finding his energy infectious.

"well, it’s very nice to meet you, y/n. i’m Johnny, mark's best friend," he introduced himself. "mark has been blowing me off all week, but seeing as you’re around, i think i can find it in my heart to forgive him."

mark groaned, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but you just smiled. johnny gave mark one last pat on the back before gesturing to a sun-drenched table in the corner.

"go on, sit. i’ll bring over some drinks—on the house, since mark finally brought someone cool by."

you opened your sketchbook to a fresh page, the tooth of the paper feeling inviting under your fingertips. instead of the stiff, anatomical sketches you usually forced yourself to do, you found your pen dancing across the page, creating small, bubbly versions of yourself and mark. you drew a tiny mark holding an oversized gelato cone, a little "sunshine" doodle over his head, and a panel of the two of you making peace signs under the giant, circular oculus. it was simple and whimsical—but you wanted to simply remember the little trip that mark had took you on.

beside you, mark was uncharacteristically quiet.

he had propped his phone up against a sugar jar, the screen glowing with that photo he’d taken of you at the pantheon. His pencil movements slow and deliberate with brows furrowed in concentration as he used a stick of charcoal to map out the shadows on the paper.

"what are you working on?" you murmured, not looking up from a panel where 'mini-mark' was pointing at a map upside down.

"just practicing my lines," mark replied, his voice low and distracted. "hands are harder than clay honestly."

curiosity got the better of you. you leaned over slightly, your shoulder brushing his, and caught a glimpse of his page. your breath hitched.

he hadn't just sketched a person; he had captured the exact moment you felt the weight lift. in his drawing, the lines of your face were soft, caught in the ethereal downpour of light from the dome. he had focused on the way your eyes looked that seemed wide and full of a blooming wonder.

"mark," you whispered in disbelief, "is that... me?"

mark paused, his charcoal hovering just above the paper. he turned to look at you, and for a second, the bustling café seemed to go silent. "i told you, you looked happy in that photo," he said gently, his voice devoid of his usual playful teasing. "i just wanted to see if i could catch that feeling on paper."

"well you definitely did," you gawked, "do you draw often?" you asked.

"from time to time, yeah," he nodded, his charcoal stick tapping rhythmically against the table. "i used to go around drawing portraits of people whenever i traveled. it’s actually how i met jaemin." he said it so absentmindedly that it took a second for the name to register. when it finally did, mark’s eyes widened, and he looked up at you with immediate regret.

your smile faltered, the light in your eyes dimming just a fraction, but you forced a small, reassuring nod to show him it was okay to mention him. "oh yeah? how did you two actually meet? i realised i never asked. jaemin never mentioned you, and i haven't seen you in any of his photos, so i was curious how you two crossed paths."

mark hesitated, looking down at the beautiful, hopeful sketch of you he’d been working on, then back at your face. he clearly didn't want to be the one to break the bubble of peace you had built today. he shifted in his seat, his voice dropping slightly.

"i mean... we met here in rome, actually," mark mumbled, his fingers nervously smudging a bit of charcoal on the edge of the paper. "i was out drawing near the gardens when jaemin mistook me for a street artist. he came up and asked if i could sketch him and..." mark coughed, his gaze flickering away. "...and saeron. together."

the air left your lungs in a quiet huff. "oh."

"i... i thought they were a couple then," mark added quickly, his voice pained. "they looked so... i don't know. i offered to do it for free since i had the time and i liked the composition."

"oh, i see," you whispered.

the "i see" felt heavy and poignant, a part of you feeling the sense of betrayal once again. that all this time, jaemin had hidden even more lies behind your back. you don't even know if you knew him anymore.

mark reached out, his hand hovering near yours on the table, but he didn't quite touch you. "y/n, i'm sorry. if i had known..."

"it's not your fault, mark," you said, your voice sounding remarkably steady despite the hollow feeling growing in your chest. "you were just drawing what you saw anyways. plus we were on a break," you laughed bitterly.

you looked back at the sketch Mark had made of you today—the one where you looked happy and free. it was a stark contrast to whatever he must have captured in that garden a few years ago.

"how did they look?" you asked quietly. it was a masochistic question, but you needed to know. "in the sketch. did they look... happy?"

mark hesitated, his eyes flicking to the beautiful, light-filled drawing of you he had just been working on. he looked like he was mourning the mood he had worked so hard to build for you today.

"they looked like they were in a bubble," mark said honestly, his voice low. "but looking back now... jaemin looked restless. like he was trying too hard to be someone he wasn't." he paused, reaching across the table, his hand hovering near yours but giving you the space you needed.

well at least now you know where you stood in jaemin's life all along.

// to be continued...

taglist: @neocityscreamer @neotannies @weirdoome @ccoristu @notmastyle @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @alexis20z @horanghyuck @honeybeehorizon @soheeism @dowoonwoodealer @b43ek @lorena-mv33 @markiesfatbooty @kangshinwoolovin @versmeow @cigarettesafterjae @fouldiplomatpapershark @woonhakfeet @ishizhan @jae-n0 @breens-nick @rubiiisyeon @gusgus0517 @kkkkkeonho @horanghaepaws @mayflyfr @ppeachyttae @byunbaekcult@cherry-rosess @nctpjs @imjustheretolearn @javiixsy @dinonuguaegi @alexameliamg

[angstama]

04; all for you | n.jm

pairing: photographer! na jaemin x f!reader

genre: angst

warning(s): heartbreak, toxic relationship

synopsis: you loved jaemin for eight long years. long enough to learn how to keep him in your life in the name of love. loving him meant accepting the faults even when it isn’t yours, changing every part of yourself to be a part of his narrative, wondering when will you ever become someone easier to love. every fight circled the same ache—him telling you who you should be, you apologising and promising that you’ll change. at jaemin’s first photography exhibition, muse, you realised that in a room filled with photos full of faces he chose to remember and hold onto, you were not part of it. and for the first time, you ask the question you’ve been avoiding all along, how much of yourself can you give before there’s nothing left to be seen?

a/n: hi loves! it's been a long month omg i'm so sorry for being away :") but anyways, i've been so hooked to this song you have no idea the feels it puts me into ahhhhhh!!!!

˚꩜｡ chapter song: coming up roses — harry styles

˚꩜｡ m.list | previous | next chapter

back to day one

your love story with jaemin wasn’t anything like the fairytales you used to read as a little girl. in fact, you were only nineteen when you first met him briefly. it wasn’t anything special but you cherished that moment so hard even when he wasn't in your life yet then.

you had just graduated from high school, dressed in your graduation gown and sprawled across the school's football field under the spring air with your arms stretched out beside you as if the grass beneath you was your own bed. the daunting reality of university and adulthood hitting you as you tried to grasp the fact that you're one step closer to having to live in a pressure cooker for the rest of your life.

meanwhile, jaemin was on his way to the hall where the ceremony was being held, having been practically dragged there by his childhood best friend jeno, who begged him to show up for support.

his steps were lazy, gaze wandering over the architecture of the school—until something on the field caught his attention.

he squinted, then rubbed his eyes.

“…there’s no way,” he muttered under his breath.

but it was.

a human figure.

lying flat in the middle of the field like they had given up on life entirely.

his heart started beating a little faster as he approached.

ah what if this person attacks me? he thought, the closer he approached you. he looked down on you, towering above you as he took in your features. your eyes were shut, brows slightly furrowed, lips faintly parted. the sunlight caught on the gloss on your lips, reflecting just enough to pull his attention there for a second too long. sure you didn't seem perfect. your hair was slightly messy, the ends a little dry from neglect—but there was something undeniably cute about you.

then—

your right eye snapped open. the other followed a second later, squinting up at the sudden shadow hovering above you only to make out a blurry vision of a silhouette standing above you. "you okay?" jaemin asked, peering over you as he waved over your head.

your vision finally became clear, the blurry face slowly coming into clear as your eyes directly met jaemin's, your breath hitched at the close proximity between the two of your face. "wha — yes i'm fine," you choked on your words, immediately sitting up.

jaemin tilted his head slightly, studying you. “pardon my nosiness,” he said, glancing at your graduation gown, “but aren’t you supposed to be at the hall right now?”

"well yes..." you huffed, crossing your legs and turning away from him only for him to step right back into your line of sight. you leaned back slightly as he inched closer. "but...?" he prompted.

you blinked at him strangely, unsure of what was the deal with this guy? as if your future stake had anything to do with his. "i'm just not feeling it alright? now can you leave me alone?" you groaned, turning away again.

but na jaemin doesn't back down. oh no no no. he isn't one to give up this easily. especially not on a cute girl like you. he stepped in front of you again, blocking the sunlight once more and you swore you almost hissed at him. "and why's that?" he asked again, tilting his head your way.

it was that damn head tilt that had your heart folding almost instantly. but the next thing you know, you found yourself giving yourself up to the boy who somehow wanna be all up your business. "i'm too dumb to decide on what i wanna do for the rest of my life." you admitted out loud.

jaemin raised a brow, "does that matter now?" he asked. you looked at him as if he's asking the obvious before shaking your head at his naiveness. "of course it does. this is the turning point of everyone's life and i'm not keen on fucking it up,"

"okay. what's so hard to choose? lay it on me ace." he said, face filled with determination.

"i can't decide on passion or money. i really wanna be rich — i'm sorry what's your name?" you paused. "jaemin." he nodded. "yeah i really wanna be rich jaemin. and i have it going for me right now with my grades but i also really just wanna be a comic artist." you let out another sigh. it was at this point that you realised having saying it out loud felt even more real than when it was just swimming in your mind.

"pick money." jaemin answered seriously, looking at you calmly. "wha—how are you so sure?" you asked, dumbfounded. "because you said you already have it going for you right now so pick money. you can always do passion on the side when you're rich enough." he answered simply as if what you had just presented to him was the easiest thing on the book.

"but that just means i'm gonna be doing something that i wouldn't like for a period of time." you said matter of fact, gawking at jaemin in disbelief. "that's better than being poor for the rest of your life." he answers again as if it was the most obvious answer.

you were about the answer when someone screamed your name out loud across the field. "l/n y/n!" you looked over to see a fuming mrs kim with her hands resting on her hips, frustrating written all over her face, "what are you doing at field? get here now! the whole world is looking for you!" she screamed again, patience clearing wearing thin and you realised it sure wasn't good look on her.

“i’m sorry!” you yelped, scrambling to your feet. jaemin offered you a hand without thinking, steadying you as you got up. he bent down to pick up your graduation cap from the grass, dusting it off before placing it gently on your head. “you’ll be fine, ace,” he said with a grin. “don’t worry too much. it’s your big day.”

you smiled without meaning to. and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him briefly. “thank you, jaemin.” you pulled back quickly, already stepping away. “see you around!” you waved, not even waiting for his reply before turning and running toward mrs kim.

you didn’t know it then, but jaemin was already so utterly smitten with you that when he saw you again walking up on stage to receive your award as the top graduate he clapped louder than anyone else in the hall like it was obvious, of course it would be you.

“dude, you know y/n?” jeno nudged him, eyeing him weirdly from the side.

jaemin didn’t even look away from the stage, amused by your cool composure as compared to your crippling melt down earlier. you had it in you after all.

“i guess i do now,” he said with a grin.

it was spring again—a full year later—when you crossed paths with jaemin at the local craft store where you were working part-time. he stood near the entrance, eyes wide with wonder, taking in the neat rows of stationery and art supplies as though he had stepped into a world made just for him.

you, on the other hand, were somewhere far away—your gaze drifting idly across the ceiling, hands absentmindedly framing little objects on the shelves like a director searching for the perfect shot. it was a habit you didn’t notice until your hands stilled, your focus dropping—only to land on a face you knew all too well from the back of your head.

it was in that moment, you could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating for a second.

the boy from graduation!

a year had changed him in ways that felt almost unfair for your young heart. his hair had grown just enough to fall gently across his forehead, the strands catching the light as he moved like something out of a daydream you haven't realise you had been holding onto. and when he looked around, eyes lingering with that same curious softness you remembered, it stirred something small and fluttering in your chest. the kind of feeling that made everything else fade for a moment, leaving only him in focus.

panic came quickly, slipping under your skin as you ducked behind the counter without thinking, fingers fumbling as you pulled out your phone. the camera flickered on, and there you were—caught in your own reflection. hurriedly, you fixed the loose strands of your hair, tucking and smoothing, trying to gather yourself as though you could rewrite the moment before it found you again.

"excuse me?" you heard his voice called out from the other side of the counter as your head snapped up from behind the counter.

and there he was, closer now, standing just on the other side, eyes meeting yours in amusement that made your breath hitch.

“it is you,” jaemin said, a small smile breaking through, like he had just found something he’d been missing. jaemin would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about ever crossing paths with you again, if god could do him a favour of giving him the chance to ask for your number.

“you look…” he started, then stopped, a soft laugh escaping under his breath. “man, you still look really cute.” it wasn’t said boldly. if anything, it felt almost shy—like the words had been sitting with him for a while and only just found their way out.

you felt your face warm instantly. “what ever happened to hi, hello, how are you?” you laughed.

he leaned lightly against the counter, still looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “pardon my lack of manners.” he chuckled. “hey y/n. did you choose money in the end?” he asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his cargo jeans. “yes i did thanks to you, i'm studying pharmaceutical science at seoul national university now,"

"ah you're welcome. i accept payments in dates and phone numbers," he teased. "that's not a very profitable business isn't it?" you joked back, raising a brow.

you let out a small laugh. “that’s not a very profitable business, is it?”

he shrugged, still smiling. “depends on the return.”

"i’ve actually been thinking about you,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck, almost sheepish now. “i even tried to find your instagram,” he added, a quiet grin forming. “but it was private. so… that was kind of the end of my investigation.”

you couldn’t help but to burst into laughter at his confession, “i'm so sorry,” you said, a little embarrassed. “i keep it that way.”

“yeah, i figured,” he nodded, though there was something fond in the way he said it. “still worth a shot.”

you glanced at the items in his hands, tilting your head. “so… what brings you here?”

“oh—right,” he straightened slightly, as if remembering. “i’m trying to make a photobook for my mom’s birthday. i’ve been shooting on film lately and i wanted to print them properly but…” he looked around the store, a little lost again. “i have no idea what kind of paper works best.”

you nodded, already stepping out from behind the counter.

“come with me,” you said.

he followed without question.

you led him toward the back of the store, where the shelves grew quieter, more tucked away. your fingers brushed along the stacks until you pulled out a set of lightly textured sheets.

“this is bamboo paper,” you explained, holding it out to him. “it’s durable, so it won’t wear out easily, and the texture works really well with film prints—it brings out the grain nicely without overpowering the image. plus, it’s easier to bind if you’re making a photobook.”

he took it from you carefully, fingertips grazing yours for just a second too long. “i didn’t even know papers like this existed?” he said.

“most people don’t,” you replied with a small laugh. “unless you’re in the arts or work around it.” he nodded, glancing at the paper, then back at you. “then i guess i got lucky today,” he said.

the way he looked at you—steady, unhurried—caught you off guard. the space between the two of you suddenly felt smaller than it was.

“yeah i guess you did,”

there was a brief pause, neither of you saying anything.

“hey,” jaemin started, a little more careful this time, like he didn’t want to misstep. “about that payment i mentioned earlier…”

you looked at him, already knowing where this was going—yet still feeling your heart pick up. “would it be okay if i got your number?” his tone was light, but there was something sincere beneath it.

“i mean,” he added with a small smile, “i should at least show you how the photobook turns out, right?”

falling in love with jaemin was easy. no words could ever describe the feeling of being loved by na jaemin and having the honour to love him in this lifetime. it was like slipping into something you didn’t realise had been waiting for you all along and a little disarming in the way it settled into your everyday life.

in a lot of ways, you were sure that jaemin was the one. he just had to be. because love, with him, didn’t feel loud or overwhelming. it felt like small, ordinary happinesses that slowly began to mean everything.

like this.

the two of you were sitting outside a small café near your university, late afternoon light spilling lazily over the pavement. your bag was on the ground beside your chair, half-forgotten, while jaemin leaned back with an easy kind of comfort, sleeves pushed up as he scrolled through photos on his phone.

“okay,” he said suddenly, turning the screen towards you, “be honest. this one or the first one?” you leaned in, squinting. “the lighting on the first one is better, but this one feels more vibey.”

“vibey?” he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue.

“yeah,” you nodded. “it looks like you tried harder.”

he gasped softly, offended in a playful way. “i did try harder.” you laughed and it came out harder than you expected, catching the two of you off guard.

that was another thing about na jaemin—he made laughter come easily without even trying. jaemin watched you for a second longer than necessary before glancing over at your drink, then reached over without asking, wrapping his fingers gently around your cup.

“too bitter?” he asked.

“a little.”you nodded.

“you always say that,” he muttered, already pushing it back towards you, “and still order it.”

you smiled into your straw. “you always end up stealing it anyway.”

“because someone has to suffer less,” he said seriously, then broke into a grin when you laughed again.

for a moment, neither of you spoke.

jaemin looked at you then, like he still sometimes did when he thought you weren’t noticing. you had truly wrecked jaemin in ways he never thought another human being could ever. out of so many views in he's seen in this lifetime, you were still the most gorgeous one that he's ever set his eyes on. and god, he's so lucky.

“you’re happy today,” he quipped as if it wasn't already obvious. it

you blinked. “i always am when i’m with you.”

his expression shifted slightly at that—something gentle, something almost shy, slipping through before he hid it behind a small smile.

“good,” he chuckled. “means i’m doing something right.”

you reached across the table without thinking, nudging his hand with your finger. “you’re doing a lot of things right jaems,” you said.

and just like that, in the middle of a normal afternoon, with sun on your skin and his laughter still lingering in the air, it became even harder to imagine a version of your life where he wasn’t in it.

everything had once felt like it was coming up roses until it wasn’t.

you could never quite place the exact moment it began to slip. there was no clear turning point, no single memory you could return to and say, this is where we lost it.  the field of flowers you once stood in together began to feel distant, like something you could see but no longer touch.

it felt like being caught in open water, the current pulling harder with every passing second. one hand clung to jaemin—still close, still there—but no longer steady. he was already moving forward, faster than you could keep up, and you—

you were being dragged along the surface, the waves rough against your skin, breath uneven, unsure if you were being pulled to safety or slowly pulled under.

and the worst part was? you couldn’t tell if he even realised you were slipping.

jaemin’s dedication to his craft was something you had always loved about him. the way he spoke about photography like it was alive, the way he lights up when he's scrolling through the sony catalogue, the way he could lose hours chasing a moment no one else would notice.

you used to think it was beautiful—how passionate he was about something. you didn’t realise then that sometimes, the more someone loves something, the easier it becomes to let other things fall away.

even you.

it started with photography club. at first, it made sense. you were proud of him—of the way he finally found people who shared his interests, who understood the language he spoke when he talked about all the fun facts that you couldn't really understand.

but slowly, the space he gave to that world began to grow.

and the space he gave to you began to shrink.

hanging out started feeling like something he had to squeeze in between everything else. conversations became shorter, more distracted. his attention, once so naturally yours, now felt split—always slightly elsewhere.

one evening, when you asked if you could join him for one of his shoots, he hesitated. “you wouldn’t really get it,” he said eventually, not unkindly—but not warmly either. “it’s kind of technical. you’d probably just be bored.”

you blinked. “i just wanted to be there.”

he exhaled, already looking past you. “yeah, but it’s not really for that. it’s my space, you know?”

my space.

the words sat strangely between you but you nodded anyway because it felt easier than pushing further.

then it was the small things.

the way he sighed when you tried to talk to him about your day, the way he stopped explaining things he used to love explaining to you, the way your presence began to feel like an interruption rather than a comfort.

“you’re literally so selfish, y/n,” jaemin sighed, running a hand through his hair like the weight of you, of the moment, of everything between you, had finally become too much. “i know you don’t have much of a life outside this, but i do. and you’re suffocating me.”

and for a moment, the world stopped moving. the room stayed the same. the air stayed still. even the light through the window looked unchanged.

it was only you who felt it shift.

as if something inside your chest had been yanked apart and set down somewhere out of reach.

you blinked at him once.

then again.

as though clarity might soften what you had just heard.

“i…” your voice came out smaller than you intended. “i don’t understand.”

jaemin exhaled, not looking at you properly now. “this is what i mean,” he said, almost tiredly. “you always do this. you turn everything into something emotional. i’m just being honest with you.”

you tried to find your footing in it, but it kept slipping away beneath you. “i wasn’t trying to suffocate you,” you said quietly. “we just haven;t been spending much time together jaems and i thought we could spend some time tougher before my family trip.”

that made him pause—but only briefly.

“you are part of my life,” he replied, sharper now, like he was correcting something obvious. “but you don’t have to be in every part of it.”

every part.

you nodded slightly, even though you didn’t fully understand where the line was supposed to be.

where you were allowed to stand.

“i just…” you started again, then stopped.

because suddenly, your throat felt tight.

and jaemin—jaemin looked at you the way people look when they are already halfway gone from a conversation. like they are enduring it, not part of it.

“you’re overthinking it,” he added. “you always do.”

like a thread snapping that you didn’t realise you had been holding onto with both hands your vision blurred before you could stop it. you looked down quickly, as if that could hide it. as if that could undo it.

but jaemin noticed anyway.

of course he did.

he always noticed the things he didn’t want to deal with.

“don’t start crying,” he said immediately, a sigh slipping through the words. “this is exactly what i mean. you make it harder than it has to be.” you wiped at your face quickly, embarrassed by how automatic it had become. like even your sadness needed to be managed properly.

yeah, na jaemin was really good at making you laugh.

but he was also very good at making you cry. because even now, even here, even like this with your heart on the line, he was still standing far enough away that you had to hold your own breaking apart by yourself.

// to be continued

taglist: @neocityscreamer @neotannies @weirdoome @ccoristu @notmastyle @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @alexis20z @horanghyuck @honeybeehorizon @soheeism @dowoonwoodealer @b43ek @lorena-mv33 @markiesfatbooty @kangshinwoolovin @versmeow @cigarettesafterjae @fouldiplomatpapershark @woonhakfeet @ishizhan @jae-n0 @breens-nick @rubiiisyeon @gusgus0517 @kkkkkeonho @horanghaepaws @mayflyfr @ppeachyttae @byunbaekcult@cherry-rosess @nctpjs @imjustheretolearn @javiixsy @dinonuguaegi @byunbaekcult @ppeachyttae @mayflyfr

[seungyuhans]

but you belong to me. (01)

pairing: kmg x fem!reader

word count: 6.9k

tags: situationship!au, angst, hurt/comfort, bff!seungkwan, reader just have attachment issues, mingyu lowkey a flirt and an asshole, unresolved fight, co-producer!gyu, fluff in the beginning, matured themes (will have nsfw content in the next part) bad communication

a/n: it’s finally here 😮‍💨 you can read the drabble as a “teaser” for the next part :3 likes, reblogs and comments are so much appreciated! they encourage me to continue writing and will help to post quicker updates >.>

PART 01 | PART 02

The deal was simple.

No strings attached, no feelings involved, no romantic commitment needed.

You had agreed because the idea of getting into a new relationship seemed pretty exhausting. You just got out of a messy breakup months ago, one that left deep wounds. Pain was still there, although faded over time. But still, you couldn’t enter a new one when you haven’t truly moved on.

Mingyu was just nice, kind, caring, and someone you enjoyed having a long conversation with. You ignored the very important part about yourself which is your severe attachment issues, but oh well, he was willing to fill in the void you were so desperately seeking.

“I can’t do relationships either,” he had informed you on a random Tuesday evening, both of you seated next to each other in a karaoke room crowded with your loud friends. Seungkwan’s voice and Dokyeom’s dramatic high notes somehow muted in the background when the piece of information gained your attention the most.

“Why?” You asked, curious. Because Mingyu looked like a person who preferred something real, something genuine, definitely not the type to mess around.

He chugged down an entire glass of soju, softly hissed at the taste of it afterward. His tongue caught his bottom lip in a short swipe, hooded gaze shifting back to you with a small, dangerous smile. “It feels better when people pay attention to you and not expect more.”

You understood immediately.

“I haven’t done this with anyone honestly,” The glass in your lap was left untouched, you barely drank because you thought one person needed to be sober at least. Glancing at your friends, half of them were already tipsy, some knocked out. But the concern for your friends was nothing more terrifying than the deal. You wondered if it was possible for you to try, but the need to have someone close and listen to you after a long day was more tempting. You had been lonely for so long.

Mingyu’s eyes softened as he studied your face, “You don’t have to do it if you’re not ready. We can still be friends.”

You looked up at him, and offered a smile, thankful. He was so sweet. You had only known him for three weeks, first meeting at Seungkwan’s sister’s wedding. Both of you were at the same table when he introduced Mingyu to you. You learned that they used to work together under the same company before Mingyu left. The conversations flowed seamlessly as both of you shared each career's journey, hometown, university and childhood memories which led to numbers being exchanged.

Not much texting at first. Probably because you two were busy adults.

But then you saw a notification that he had followed your Instagram, which was kind of the starting point of your current situation with him.

It went from compliments to playful remarks, then slowly the comments and story replies got a little bit.. flattering. Or so you thought. He could be really honest, but your heart did triple flip regardless when he called you pretty. It was a new, baby pink dress you wore for your friend’s party. You did feel cute and pretty that day, but you were not prepared to see Mingyu leave a heart reaction on your story with the comment once you got home.

“So, your answer?”

You snapped back to reality, neon-colored lights illuminated the dark room with an upbeat song playing in the background. The silence between you and him stretched out, his dark gaze looming over you, looking like he couldn’t wait a minute longer. Your heart skipped a beat.

Mingyu looked so infuriatingly attractive in a simple black leather jacket, hair parted in a way that made you swoon. The scent of sandalwood and soft musk clinging onto his fabric was addictive, and you knew you couldn’t say no to such an offer from the man, not when he looked so good effortlessly. Even more so, when he seemed just as eager to have you.

He wasn’t pushing. But he wasn’t subtle either.

“I'd still like to try,” You finally responded after a minute, and in a brief moment, you noticed his eyes glinted.

Then he grinned, looking rather satisfied with your answer. Your breath hitched when he casually sneaked his hand and interlaced his fingers with yours, thumb brushing softly against your palm.

“Don’t worry, it’s no different than us being friends. We both just need.. a companion.”

That’s what he said.

And you agreed because it was fitting. There were no further questions, because the deal was simple. You didn’t bother asking more, he wasn’t your boyfriend that you need to be particular about every single thing he likes.

And you were fine with that.

—

It was late evening on a Friday when Mingyu suddenly dropped by your apartment. Your eyes widened at the sight of him holding a plastic bag filled with boxes at your entrance.

“Pizza?” He smiled, and you let him in with a laugh.

“I didn’t know I ordered a delivery,” You jokingly teased as he set up the table, the living room instantly filled with the aroma of the freshly baked pizzas. He had a dramatic pained look upon hearing your words, and you couldn’t help but to snort in amusement.

“Well maybe you should’ve checked your phone, ma’am, because this is a limited edition pizza and I almost fought with the manager to give me extra pineapple topping,” He let out a huff, eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t believe they put so little. Good thing I checked.”

You hummed softly as you took a seat next to him. Both of you decided to watch a movie while you had your dinner. “Good thing you did. Though I don’t really like pineapples.”

Mingyu gasped so loud it made you giggle.

“Unacceptable,” He shook his head playfully, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “You should try, seriously. They’re sweet, and pizza tastes better with extra sweetness.”

You made a face at his suggestion and he pinched your cheek aggressively in return, making you giggle out loud. “Brat, aren’t you?”

“Nope,” You grabbed a slice of the pizza and took a bite, the cheese pull was so satisfying that you let out a happy noise. “Mmm..”

Mingyu watched your reaction with a wide, proud grin, “Good, right?”

You gave him a nod and he chuckled. The dinner continued with the two of you chatting about each other’s work, the office drama and some recent gossip surrounding people Mingyu has worked with. You were impressed to know he had so many spicy news under his sleeve. Two boxes of pizzas cleared after an hour of gossiping and laughing at comedic scenes from the movie, Mingyu demanded dessert time and you just so happened to have extra vanilla ice cream in your fridge.

“No chocolate?” You could tell he just wanted to be annoying, so you gave him a soft flick on his forehead instead. His little ‘ouch’ made you grin in victory.

“Brat, aren’t you?” You mimicked back the way he said it to you just now, ready to witness his cute frown but his next action caught you off guard.

His hand moved fast to grab yours, pulling you closer to him on the couch, your back hitting the side of his chest with a soft yelp. You had no time to think about how close you were when he wrapped his arms around you, warmth enveloping your body like a blanket. He rested his chin comfortably against your head and once again you were reminded just how small you were being near him.

“You are.”

It made you feel dizzy.

“Thought you wanted to eat ice cream,” You murmured, ignoring the blush on your cheeks and the rapid beat inside your chest. You heard a soft hum in response, but he didn’t make a move.

“Feed me?”

Oh, god.

You tried to act nonchalant, complaining with a low “what a grown baby” under your breath which he managed to catch, followed by the sound of his chuckle. You scooped up a spoon of the ice cream, then carefully raised to his mouth.

His eyes fell on you first, and you could practically feel your cheeks burning as he remained his gaze on you while he tasted the ice cream.

Both of you didn’t speak, letting the silence thicken and a soft, dizzying hum settled in the pit of your stomach. The way he looked at you was heavy, and his lips lingered on the metal spoon before he slowly pulled back.

“Sweet,” He murmured, but his eyes were not focusing on the ice cream bowl. Your heart did that weird lurching thing.

A fake cough was what you could manage in a frantic attempt to redirect the focus back on the abandoned TV. The room suddenly felt hotter even with the AC running. You tried to pay attention to the movie but could feel that his eyes still fixed on you.

“You’re staring.”

Mingyu shifted, somehow getting even closer as he tightened his arms around your waist. “Hard not to.” Then he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You nearly let out a shaky sigh.

"You have this look on your face when you’re flustered. Like you’re trying to solve a math equation in your head."

It made you roll your eyes, but your cheeks remained flushed nonetheless. He was pretty observant. "Maybe I am. Maybe I’m calculating how much I'm going to charge you for being this needy."

"Put it on my tab," he joked, but then he got quiet. The playful energy shifted into something softer, more grounded. He shifted his head so his temple was resting against yours, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your arm. "Seriously, though. You okay? I know I just barged in here."

There it was. That genuine kindness that made you want to scream.

"I'm okay," you said, and you meant it. His presence did ease some of the tension you had at work. “The pizza helped. The company... isn't bad either."

Mingyu pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, a triumphant, boyish grin breaking across his face. "Only 'isn't bad'? Ouch. I guess I’ll have to try harder next Friday."

You bite your bottom lip, hiding a shy smile. If he tried to be flirty, guess it wouldn’t hurt to do the same. “G’nna see me again?”

Mingyu responded with a faint hum, gently brushing your hair away from your forehead. “Mm. Wanna see you again, many times.”

“Clingy,” you teased, but you were not any different. You liked his attention.

Mingyu, on the other hand, was shameless. “And?” You were about to come out with a smart reply before he tickled your side out of revenge. You shrieked.

“Don’t—!” He laughed, and you made a move to stay a little far away but he was faster to pull you back to his arms, his chest collided against your back.

You were fully seated on his lap now.

“Stay still, bunny,” he murmured, his hold secured around your waist. “Don’t make me use my strength on you.”

Your whine died in your throat.

“Good girl,” he whispered, and heat rushed to your face instantly. He didn't let go. Instead, he reached for the remote, hitting play on the movie that was paused, but the plot was the last thing on your mind when all you could think of was the musky scene of his cologne seeping from his body, the way your head tucked perfectly under his chin, his bigger frame almost enveloped you.

Your thoughts almost drifted to a dangerous territory when a sudden ring from his phone echoed through the room.

Mingyu let out a deep groan and picked up the call, tone quickly adjusted to a more formal one seeing the caller’s name. “Yes? You couldn’t find the files?”

You waited until he finished the conversation which sounded like it needed serious attention. Then you heard him sigh before he turned to you with an apologetic smile. “Bun, I’m so sorry. Urgent matters need to attend. Can I make it up for you next time?”

You smiled back, understanding. “Yes, of course. Don’t worry. Go ahead and get it done before they can bother you some more.” Work can be really tough sometimes, even though it’s already past the working hours. It’s a culture you were very familiar with.

Mingyu squeezed you in a warm hug and placed a brief kiss on your cheek, then a soft pat on your head. “See you later, yeah? Don’t sulk.”

You blinked, mouth agape, cheeks tinted in pink.

He let out an amused laugh and made his way toward the front door. You followed him until he had his shoes back on, ready to leave. He looked at you one last time, a sweet smile plastered on his face.

“Goodnight, bun. I’m glad I could see your face today.”

Your heart did something stupid again.

“Goodnight, Mingyu. Drive safe.”

—

You didn’t think you could make it this far, but you did. It has been four months of no-label thing between you and Mingyu, and the arrangement surprisingly worked well.

Perhaps you just focused too much on your work, and him, and nothing else. It had been easy that way, because adulting didn’t give you much freedom to do anything else unless you had taken days off.

And it was your day off today— a full week, actually.

Which explained why you were bed-rotting instead of cleaning up your room like you had intended to do. Mingyu was also busy, you assumed. Because he didn’t text you as often now. You had asked if he was free for dinner but apparently he was currently in Japan for work. So, no Mingyu until further notice.

You decided to check his Instagram instead with the excuse that you were starting to miss him.

His recent posts were a series of aesthetic shots of the places he went to, some mirror selfies and behind-the-scenes of his work. You found yourself grinning like a middle schooler as you stalked his feed. He could easily pass as a model if he wanted to— being 6’2 tall with an ethereal face and fine muscles everywhere. The aggressive tapping of the heart reaction was simply not enough to convey your obsession with him. Everyone knows he’s madly attractive.

Then you saw the colorful ring around his profile picture. You didn’t notice he had uploaded a story.

Your breath caught when you saw he had reposted someone else's story. It was a candid photo of Mingyu, looking relaxed and devastatingly handsome in a casual knit sweater, leaning across a table at a brightly lit izakaya. He was laughing, that genuine, eye-crinkling laugh that usually only came out when he was comfortable.

The original poster’s handle was at the top— a woman’s name you didn't recognize, followed by a small, fluttering heart emoji. The caption was simple: “Finally back together in Tokyo 🥂.”

Your heart didn’t just sink, it felt like it hit the floor.

You stared at the photo, zooming in on his face. He looked... happy.

The spiral started instantly.

You began to dissect the phrase “back together.” Who was she? An ex? Someone he’d been seeing the whole time while he was busy? Was that why he couldn’t text you?

Then you realized you had no right to ask. You weren't his girlfriend. You weren't even someone he had to check in with. No strings attached, remember?

So why did you feel so heavy at the thought of him with someone else?

“Probably a friend,” you tried not to jump into conclusions, but you couldn’t sit still. A minute later, you tapped on the woman’s Instagram profile next.

The account was set to public.

You contemplated whether to continue, part of you thought it’s pointless to do this kind of work, it will only give you damage if you found something you weren’t fond of. But your curiosity was over the roof. You clicked on her stories, ignoring all the warning signs in your head.

It started with a normal update of her visiting an art gallery, then photos of the painting, two iced matcha lattes from the street then her dinner. The same place Mingyu had been. You focused more on the photo, there was nobody else there. Just two people, two glasses of wine. The next story was the one Mingyu had reposted.

All taken on the same day.

Art gallery, matcha, dinner.

Were they out on a date?

You threw your phone onto your bed with a growing sting on your chest. You had no reason to be upset with who he hung out with, but god, did it hurt.

A laughter escaped from your mouth then, you felt ridiculed at your own feelings, the sheer audacity to feel betrayed by someone who wasn’t even yours in the first place. The flashbacks from the karaoke show rewinded at the back of your mind, replaying his exact words.

“It feels better when people pay attention to me and not expect more.”

He already laid out the first rule for you.

But the implications of it didn’t hit so hard until you finally tasted it.

“A companion,” you repeated his words, staring at the ceiling with a hollow space in your heart. “I’m just a companion.”

The silence in your room felt suffocating. You thought you had it controlled, that you were confident enough this arrangement would work out as long as you don’t try to dig further than what you needed to know. But you did it, the damage has been done and now you couldn’t stop thinking how many people he had entertained too. The mere thought that you were just one of them made you sick.

Ironic. You had agreed. It was your choice.

You rolled onto your side, pulling your knees to your chest. The bed suddenly felt too big. The sting in your chest deepened.

Just then, the screen lit up. A notification banner popped across the top, making your breath hitch.

Mingyu: [Photo]

Mingyu: it’s raining here, and it’s so cold. what are you up to right now?

The casualness felt like a slap. He had no idea the kind of state you were pulled into. Your heart no longer asked you to seek comfort in him, rather it begged you to step away because it started aching. You listened.

The text was left delivered, unreplied.

—

By the second day, he sent a follow-up:

Mingyu: busy? or did you finally decide to clean your room? lol

You felt a flare of irritation. Lol. As if your silence was just a funny little quirk and not a screaming signal that something was wrong. You waited six hours before typing a reply that felt like ice.

You: just busy. enjoy tokyo.

He didn't reply for a full day after that, and the silence felt like a heavy weight on your chest. You went back to your planned agenda for the day. If you had to spend days with free time alone with a heartbreak, you needed some kind of distractions to go through it.

A few days later, another text arrived.

Mingyu: am landing tonight. should i stop by with dinner? found these snacks you'd like at the airport :)

In the past, you would have jumped at the offer. You would have tidied the living room, sprayed your favorite perfume, and waited by the door. But now, all you could remember was the Instagram story. The date he had with a woman he reunited.

You: maybe some other time.

You tossed the phone face down on the carpet. It felt powerful to say no, but it also felt like you were cutting a limb off. You were protecting your heart, sure, but the void you had tried so hard to fill was opening up again, wider and darker than before.

The two weeks of keeping him at arm’s length felt like a slow, agonizing detox. You were training yourself to live without interacting with him, and honestly, you thought you were doing a decent job. You’d mastered the art of the three-word reply.

“Busy with work.” “Already ate.” “Maybe next time.”

You were becoming a ghost in your own life, and for fourteen days, Mingyu seemed to accept the distance. Guess he really didn’t care.

But then, the bubble burst.

It started on a rainy Thursday. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand— a call. Mingyu. You watched the screen glow, his name flashing like a warning sign. You didn't pick up. You just watched it until it went to voicemail, your heart thumping a painful rhythm against your ribs.

Another call. You ignored it.

A minute later, the vibration started again. A text.

Mingyu: are you seriously avoiding my calls now?

You didn't answer. You stared at the phone, trying to ignore the way your hands were shaking.

Mingyu: i’ve been back for two weeks. tried to see you four times. what is going on?

Still, you stayed silent. You felt a tiny sense of satisfaction seeing him lose his cool. Wasn’t this what he wanted? For you not to expect more?

Mingyu: don’t do this. just talk to me. did i do something?

You could feel his irritation through his texts. But you remained silent. He would give up after some time.

Mingyu: I’m outside your building. Pick up the phone or I’m coming up.

Your stomach did a violent flip— a shaky gasp escaped you. He was never this blunt. You finally typed back, suddenly the situation hadn’t flowed like you had narrated it.

You: don’t come up. i’m tired, mingyu. go home.

His reply was instant.

Mingyu: I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’ve been acting like I don't exist since I got back from Japan. If the deal is over, fine, but have the decency to say it to my face.

You sat up in bed— irritated, unsettled, and angry all at once.

You: I just want to be left alone tonight. Or next week. Is that a problem?

You waited, holding your breath. You wanted him to back off, instead, your buzzer rang.

He wasn't leaving.

You marched to the door, the anger finally overriding the heartache. You didn't even bother checking the peephole; you just yanked it open, determined to end this before you lost your nerve.

Mingyu was leaning against the doorframe, looking exhausted and genuinely agitated. His hair was a mess from the rain, and that casual image he usually maintained was completely gone. The second he saw you, his expression shifted from irritation to a flicker of relief, but you didn't give him a chance to speak.

"Go home, Mingyu," you said, your voice flat and cold.

He blinked, taken aback by the ice in your tone. "Are you kidding me? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. You don't just go silent for two weeks and then tell me to go home without a single word of why."

"I don't have to give you a 'why'," you snapped, gripping the edge of the door so hard your knuckles turned white. You were losing patience. "That was the whole point of this, wasn't it? I don't feel like seeing you, so I'm not seeing you."

Mingyu stepped forward, closing the gap between you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. "If I did something to piss you off, just say it. Is it because I was busy in Japan? Is that it?"

A bitter laugh escaped you. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing you'd seen that story. You weren't going to admit you'd spent your vacation wondering who the other woman was.

"You're overthinking it," you lied, mirroring the casual tone he used to have. "I'm just bored of the arrangement. I don't owe you an explanation for how I feel or how I don't feel."

The words came out faster than you thought— even you were surprised.

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardened with a visible frown. Like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.

"I don't owe you an explanation," he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet hiss. "Right. I forgot. We’re just companions when it’s convenient, but the second we’re done, the door is shut."

"Exactly," you said, though it felt like you were stabbing yourself. Swallowing a lump, you pretended to be composed. “So, go back and leave me alone."

Mingyu let out a sharp, harsh exhale that sounded like a scoff. He stepped back, putting distance between you, his face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated anger. He looked at you for one long, silent moment— a look that said he didn't even recognize the person standing in front of him.

"Fine," he spat, turning on his heel. "Have it your way. I'm done trying to figure you out."

He didn't look back as he stormed down the hallway. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed against the walls, and you stood there until the elevator dinked and he was gone.

You slammed the door shut and leaned your back against it, sliding down until you hit the floor. You had won. He was pissed, he was gone, and your secret was safe. But as you sat there in the dark hallway of your apartment, the victory tasted like nothing but salt and regret.

"I'm such an idiot," you choked out, pressing your face into your palms.

The anger that had felt so powerful seconds ago had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a hollow, aching regret. You had wanted to protect yourself, to prove that you didn't care as much as he did, but all you'd done was drive a knife into the one good thing you had left. You had seen him hurt and instead of being honest, you’d used the rules of your deal as a weapon to push him away.

You sat there on the cold floor for what felt like hours. Part of you wanted to run out that door, find his car, and tell him everything. But the other part of you— the one that was still hurting from being one of his many options— stayed frozen.

So you were indeed not ready at all to do this. Not even the slightest bit.

Mingyu had been everything you wanted in a guy. Everything except the part where you wished you hadn’t figured out so soon. Were you so desperate to fill in the space, that you unintentionally projected a version of him that only fitted your selfish needs?

Your lips trembled slightly. You had no right to complain, you reminded yourself many times.

So you went to sleep with a never ending ache.

—

Seungkwan looked like he could murder someone the way he almost snapped his chopsticks from gripping them too hard.

You had to nudge him with your feet to get his head cleared with whatever crimes he planned to commit. “Hey— stop. You’re thinking too much. It’s okay now.”

He gave you a hard look. “Which part of this is okay? Care to explain?”

A soft groan left your mouth.

“He’s literally your friend,” you reasoned, which is true. You didn’t want to cause a fight between him and Mingyu just because you couldn’t handle your situation.

Seungkwan, however, couldn’t care less about it. “And that is why I am giving him hell. But you,” he suddenly pointed his chopsticks at you with a piercing stare. “You should have told me sooner. I could have warned you before you got yourself tangled with this mess.”

“So you knew?”

“A lot.” Your friend sighed. “It’s not news. He’s working in the entertainment industry as a co-producer of popular television shows. His networking is part of his job. He attracted a lot of people.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek. You have heard of Mingyu’s career. Just didn’t think too much about it.

“Never dated any of them?” You didn’t want to know, knowing it will deepen the ache if Seungkwan revealed that he did. But he shook his head, and you felt a tiniest bit of relief.

“They’re all very busy people. Some just wanted to have fun without needing to put extra commitment into something else than their work.”

That sounds like Mingyu.

Then, Seungkwan added, “The girl from the story is one of the production staff, currently based in Tokyo. They used to work together when Mingyu was assigned for a Japanese special, the same one I was featured in for a few episodes. They.. well, they had some kind of history.”

You paused on chewing— the information caused your stomach to sink.

“It was never official—” Seungkwan must’ve noticed the shift in your reaction the way he quickly panicked. “Just, it went on for about one year. I don’t know too much about the relationship. Every time I asked if they were dating, Mingyu just laughed it off and said no. So, that’s that.”

A low, troubled sigh escaped you, “Still doesn’t change the fact that they are still in contact.”

Seungkwan softened his gaze, his chopsticks put down. “You are not the type to do this kind of thing. I know you. Don’t waste your time thinking about him, okay?”

You responded with a soft hum before you picked up your chopsticks again, finishing your meal even if you felt like your appetite slowly disappeared. “I guess he introduced all of his girls to his mom too.”

Seungkwan let out a nasty, aggressive cough. “Sorry— he what?”

You blinked rapidly, heart racing. “What? I just said he probably brought his girls to meet his mom too.”

“Did you see Mrs Kim?”

“I did.” Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why? Is that so surprising?”

It looked like Seungkwan was going to say something but closed his mouth quickly. Then he cleared his throat, his demeanor suddenly shifted from a wild, frantic look into a calmed one.

“No. It’s just— it has been a while since she came to visit. That’s all.”

You stared at him, unconvinced but brushed it off. If it was something important he would tell you. "I figured. She seemed to know her way around the city.”

“Did she suspect anything between you two though?”

“No..” You trailed off, trying to recall the moment you had met Mingyu’s mother.

You were heading to his place to return the jacket he left.

It was 2 pm on a Sunday, and Mingyu just came back from a shooting. You had not thought much, just going to deliver his item and maybe grab some pastries from a nearby cafe afterward. You pressed the buzzer of his apartment, revealing a grinning Mingyu in a comfy, knitted sweatshirt.

“Hey,” he pulled you into a hug. “Thanks, bug. You really didn’t have to.”

You quickly shook your head. “I insist. It’s not a big deal anyway. And it’s your favourite one!”

“My mom’s here,” he’d whispered, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made your heart skip. “Join us? We are about to have lunch anyway.”

You stammered, “I— M-maybe I shouldn’t..”

Mingyu pouted, expression slightly down. “Why not? She’s nice. I promise.”

Your heart raced, mind turning blank. Confusion was understatement, you simply had no idea why he was acting like it was no big deal for you to meet his mother. It felt.. intimate. He seemed to know your internal battle though, the way his eyes crinkled with an easy laugh. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside before you could refuse more.

“Come. She'd be happy to see you.”

When you stepped into the living room, his mother was standing by the dining table, setting down a bowl of steaming rice. She stopped, her eyes widening as she took you in. She looked at you, then at Mingyu, then back at you— specifically at the way his hand was still wrapped firmly around your wrist, as if he was afraid you’d bolt.

"Oh?" her voice hovered between surprise and curiosity. "You didn't tell me you had company coming over, Mingyu."

"She was just dropping off my jacket, Eomma," Mingyu said, his voice dropping into that smooth, casual tone he used when he was trying to play it cool. But he didn't let go of your wrist. "I told her she had to stay for your cooking. You wouldn't want her to go hungry, would you?"

His mother wiped her hands on her apron, her gaze lingering on your face. You felt exposed, nervous, standing there in your casual weekend clothes, clutching a leather jacket like a shield.

"Of course not," she said, her expression shifting into a warm, genuine smile. "Come, sit. There’s plenty."

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

The lunch was... surprisingly comfortable. She didn't grill you like you expected. Instead, she seemed to find your presence a delight. She laughed when you told her how Mingyu was always losing his things, and she grew fond of you the more you ate. She kept pushing the best cuts of meat onto your plate, watching with a soft expression as you thanked her.

At one point, Mingyu went to answer a work call, leaving the two of you alone. The silence was brief before she leaned in.

“Did Mingyu give you a hard time?”

Her question was so random it made your heart pulse ten times quicker.

“N-no,” you replied, folding your hands in between your lap with a polite smile. “He is really a good friend, eomonim.”

She responded with a hearty laugh. “I was kidding. I haven’t seen you before, dear. Did you two recently meet?”

You nodded, “At Seungkwan’s sister’s wedding.”

Her eyes lit up at the mention of your friend. “Ah, Seungkwannie. Haven’t met that sweet boy in so long. You two should come visit us at Anyang sometime. The three of you are close, right?”

“Yes, we are.” You answered with a smile and she returned with a soft chuckle.

“Then it won’t be a problem for Mingyu to bring you all there.”

The way she said it was so casual, yet it made your heart misfire in your chest.

Mingyu stepped back inside, tucking his phone into his pocket, his face returning to that perfectly practiced, effortless smile. He looked between the two of you, his eyes flickering with a momentary tension before he relaxed.

"What are you two whispering about?" he asked, walking over and sliding his hand naturally onto the back of your chair. The heat from his palm seeped through your shirt, making your heart do a frantic backflip.

"Just Anyang," his mother said, her tone perfectly innocent as she picked up her chopsticks. "I was telling her she should visit. With Seungkwannie."

Mingyu’s hand stilled on the chair. It was only for a fraction of a second— but you felt it. He didn't laugh it off. He didn't make a joke. He just looked at you, his gaze deep and unreadable.

"Yeah," he said quietly, then he smiled— warm. "Maybe we should."

The flashbacks had you stuck with a deep, lingering confusion. Even Mrs Kim’s casualness with you was strange. Perhaps she was just familiar with Mingyu’s many friends. Perhaps you were indeed not the only person who had met her.

The thought only made the sting worse.

You were not special.

—

An event for a post-production celebration for a new streaming series was held at rooftop lounges in Gangnam. The air smelled of expensive cologne and nervous ambition. You were there because Seungkwan had dragged you along as his "plus one," claiming he needed "moral support" from his best friend before he could maximize his social skills with the rest of the people he had worked with.

But the universe has a sick sense of humor.

You saw him before he saw you. Mingyu was across the terrace, leaning against the marble bar with a drink in one hand and the other draped casually over the back of a high stool. A woman was sitting there— a tall, effortlessly chic girl with a laugh that carried over the music.

The sight of him made your heart hit a glitch so hard you actually stumbled.

He was leaning in, his head tilted in that specific way that suggested she was the only person in a room of five hundred. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the shell of her ear for a beat too long. It was the same attentiveness he’d given you, the same focus he’d used on you that made you think you were the center of his world.

A sharp, jagged static buzzed beneath your ribs. You felt the blood drain from your face, replaced by a heat so intense it felt like a fever. Your hands, tucked into your coat pockets, curled into tight, shaking fists.

You watched as she whispered something in his ear, and he let out a laugh, the kind that used to vibrate against your own shoulder on Friday nights. He looked happy. He looked like a man who had simply shifted his space to a new coordinate.

Your vision blurred with a sudden, stinging heat. You wanted to march over there, grab that drink, and throw it in his perfectly practiced face. But instead, you stood frozen. You were a ghost watching a living man, and the realization that he could replace your presence with hers so seamlessly made you feel small.

“Don’t mind him,” Seungkwan whispered, a glass of wine in his hand. “He’s working hard to get that casting director’s business card.”

“By being a total flirt?”

“It’s the easiest way for him to make money.”

You let out a bitter scoff. “So I was a victim.”

Seungkwan grimaced, “Don’t say that. You weren’t aware.”

The wine in your glass stirred as you moved it slightly before you finished it. Your throat burned not from the alcohol, but the mere reminder that you were a fool for thinking that you could ever manage a situationship with Mingyu.

“I’m going inside,” you informed your best friend which he nodded. The need to stay away from watching more of Mingyu “working” was palpable. A minute longer at the terrace would result in you losing your mind.

The interior of the lounge was a different world— the lighting was a hazy, neon violet, and the air was thick with the scent of fog machines and expensive spirits. A DJ was tucked into a booth in the corner, spinning tracks.

You slipped into the crowd on the small, packed dance floor. You didn't care about looking graceful, you just wanted the music to drown out the image of Mingyu’s laugh. You closed your eyes, letting the beat take over, your body moving in a way that felt like shaking off a layer of dust.

In the middle of a transition, the crowd surged, and you stumbled back, colliding solidly with a firm chest.

“Whoa, careful there,” a voice laughed, light and melodic over the music.

You gasped, your heart doing a frantic backflip as steady hands caught your shoulders to keep you from face-planting. You looked up, expecting a frustrated stranger, but instead, you were met with a face that looked like it had been carved out of moonlight. Sharp jaw, feline eyes that crinkled with genuine amusement, and hair that shimmered under the neon strobes.

It was Taeyong.

You knew him— everyone did. He was the choreographer and performer who usually avoided these stiff industry parties unless the music was good.

“Sorry!” you shouted over the bass, your face heating up. “I wasn't looking where I was going.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, not letting go of your shoulders just yet. He leaned in so you could hear him, his grin widening. “You were the only one actually dancing instead of just posing. It’s refreshing.”

Before you could stammer out a response, the beat dropped into something infectious and fast. Taeyong didn't pull away, instead, he caught your hand, spinning you back into the rhythm.

“Stay,” he challenged, his eyes sparking. “The fun is right here.”

He started to move, and it was impossible not to follow his lead. Taeyong danced with an effortless energy. You joined him with a laugh— a real, unpracticed sound that tore through the tightness in your chest. Taeyong matched your energy, pulling you into his orbit, his movements playful and bold.

"You have a good rhythm!" he shouted over the thumping beat, his voice a low, teasing hum. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours as he caught one of your hands. He raised it, spinning you in a slow, deliberate circle that made the neon lights smear into streaks of violet and gold.

When you finished the turn with a giggle, you landed right back in his space. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned down, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear to be heard over the synth, whispering something silly about your dancing that had you throwing your head back with a laugh.

The tension loosened, the knot in your chest, which had been twisted into a painful ache ever since you saw the sight of Mingyu, began to unravel. You allowed yourself to dissolve into the dizzying rush of this new person— vibrant, flushed, and entirely untethered.

Unaware that a pair of dark eyes had been watching you from a distance.