WHO IS Y/N L/N? A DEEPDIVE INTO LANDO NORRIS' PARTNER.
for both old and new fans alike that want to get to know more about one of our favorite wags in f1!
written by ﹫f1atelier
🌷 Y/N'S EARLY LIFE
born in a small town in north carolina, united states, on august 4, 1999, y/n grew up as an only child with her both her parents and their two family pets: a pomeranian named ozzy and a calico cat named meow. she grew up in a fairly humble household where her mother was the breadwinner of her house and her dad stayed at home to take care of her.
from an early age she would always seemingly have strong passion for fashion with experimenting with looks throughout her secondary school years. to even starting her own fashion blog where she posted and documented most of her fashion wins and, of course, losses. during her middle school years (6-8), y/n would also spend time with her aunt in glastonbury who owned a small boutique where she would work at during her stay. this soon helped y/n's sense of styling and would eventually set her on the path of fashion.
she would eventually pursed fashion design at esmod in paris and following it up with a postgraduate 2-year master's degree in luxury brand development and global marketing. during her college years, y/n would also be growing her online presence and platform mainly on youtube and instagram. during 2020, when the world was on lockdown, she would also venture to tiktok thanks to her fashion videos where she gave advice, outfit inspos, ootd/ootw, trend breakdowns, aesthetic breakdowns, etc.
── y/n during her college days via instagram
after college, y/n would choose to remain in paris where she would be able to expand her connection in the fashion world and begin attending fashion weeks as a guest rather than as an assistant like she did during her college years. her fashion week videos would also garner over 20 million views on tiktok alone as it often showed a more in-depth look into what went into attending a show at fashion week.
── cherryn via instagram
in-between making fashion content and attending fashion shows, y/n would also begin her main job as a stylist for both in-person and anyone online wanting fashion advice on how to style the items they already own.
fans can still, as of june 2026, hire y/n as a stylist and consultant on either her own website or through websites such as indyx.
y/n has also said that her ice breaker fact about herself is that she can speak three languages: english, french, and japanese.
🌷 EARLY STAGES OF Y/N & LANDO
"it was an in-door karting place in london – i went there with my friends and him with his buddies were already there. he was arguing about something when we made eye contact, and at first i thought it was a little overconfident [laughs] especially when he came up and was trying to flirt with me. we only got each other's names before i had to leave ... but later that night i guess he managed to find me on instagram and followed me. the rest was kind of just history." ── Y/N L/N FOR ELLE MAY 2024 : "HOW HAS F1 INFLUENCED MY FASHION CHOICES AND CHANGED MY LIFE"
during the later half of 2022, y/n and lando would meet and begin a semi-serious long distance relationship from august to october of 2022. y/n would jokingly claim they were just talking, but lando would say he was full-on serious about them. during the time of their early talking stage, y/n would attend several grand prix races including: the italian gp, united states gp, and mexican gp.
the pair would also spend time with each other whenever both their schedules would allow. y/n attending said races and lando spending time with her in paris apartment.
fans would seemingly get small, rare glimpses of y/n in the paddock during both the italian and united states gp. with her face never being shown, fans would dub her as "lando's mysterious wag" while also theorizing about who his new girlfriend could potential be.
and of course what's a secret relationship without almost getting caught. after the italian gp, lando – and y/n, though unknown at the time – was spotted having a "romantic" dinner in imola. many fans going crazy over not only the rather iconic outfit, but also the fact that some had caught y/n and lando kissing outside the restaurant. the picture spread like wildfire, but lando never addressed it.
and throughout the three month period (august–october) both y/n and lando would slowly be soft-launching that they were both in a relationship – or at least seeing someone.
── soft-launching evidence from cherryn & lando via instagram
"he asked me out right after the [united states] gp. he had finished p6 in the race and we were in our hotel room. it was quiet and we were talking about ordering room service or door dash cause i was hungry [laugh] and then... he just asked me. like right out of the blue, totally caught me off guard – we both looked at each other like deer in headlights. and, of course, i said yes because i had been waiting for about two months for him to want to make it official, and... and he did and my life has never been the same." ── Y/N L/N FOR VOGUE SEPTEMBER 2025 : "Y/N TALKS ABOUT FALL TRENDS AND HOW THE INTERNET SHAPES PEOPLE'S STYLES"
it wouldn't be until after the mexican grand prix that lando would officially hard-launch their relationship on his instagram. he would post two instagram stories of them in mexico a few hours following the race. this would ultimately officially confirm the relationship between the two.
── lando via instagram
during their first year together, the couple was seen constantly together. out of the twenty-two races, y/n would attend twelve of them throughout the year when her schedule would allow.
and while fans loved seeing the paddock appearances from our favorite grid couple – seeing the two outside would happen more often. lando often spotted in paris – where y/n was still currently living at the time – when he had a week off from racing. y/n would also be spotted in monaco and holding lando's hand as they walked down the street together.
y/n often cites 2023, as one of their most important years as a couple as they hit many milestones together like meeting each other's parents, going on vacation together for the first time, spending holidays together, etc.
🌷 MOVING TO MONACO
sometime between the end of the 2023 season and the start of 2024, (fans aren't sure and neither y/n or lando have expanded on it) it was revealed – by the couple themselves on accident during lando's stream – that y/n had moved into lando's apartment with him.
landoyn-nation lost their minds over this.
it has also been confirmed over the recent years that y/n has not only moved into lando's monaco apartment, but also seems to have many decorative/clothing/etc. items in his other houses. his london apartment being another major place the two of them often call home, along with comporta.
── glimpses of their monaco apartment from cherryn via instagram
some fans of both y/n and lando after the reveal expressed odd concerns about y/n suddenly moving in with lando. many of y/n's fans claiming that lando was rushing her and their relationship while lando's fans claimed she was a clout chaser and gold digger. however, the couple seemingly ignored the fan discourse.
fans were given a glimpse into the couple's domestic life when quadrant posted a video "i ate and trained like lando norris for 24 hours" was posted. the video only showed brief looks at not only the apartment that was fans often joked "looked like a bachelor pad, but now was a honeymoon haven" with items that represented both y/n and lando.
the youtube video also showed how y/n's pink yoga mat could be clearly seen tucked in the corner of lando's home gym along with the fridge being heavy decorated with magnets. pictures of both lando and y/n together where seen hanging on the wall as well. ginge even pointing out the tiny figurines – sonny angels and smiski – were all over the house, but mainly around lando's helmets.
"why does each helmet have several little strange buddies with it? [looks to y/n off camera] i fear this is going to turn into an intervention instead." ── ANGRYGINGE IN "I ATE AND TRAINED LIKE LANDO NORRIS FOR 24 HOURS"
with y/n now confirmed living in monaco this also allowed fans to have more sighting of the couple. lando often driving the two around the city in one of his many, many sports car. y/n's content wouldn't change much after moving to the lavish, rich city – she was still posting her ootd/ootw tiktoks and fashion advice with many fans foaming at the mouth at the glimpses of lando's luxury apartment.
however, y/n would seemingly steer clear of showing off too much of her and lando's private life when they weren't traveling or going on vacation.
along with all the other citings of the couple, fans were greeted with the gift of y/n attending the monte carlo masters for the first time in 2024 with lando. which fans often like to use pictures of y/n from as reaction memes due to her deadpan look the whole time.
── y/n and lando at the monte carlo masters 2024 via instagram
🌷 COMING INTO THE WAG LIGHT
from a girl from a small town in north carolina to a fashion stylist to an f1 wag – y/n has shown she is a woman of many colors. easily adapting to traveling with her british boyfriend and vacationing in europe with friends and doing photoshoots for the likes of magazines of vogue and dazed with brands like chanel knocking at her door.
it is clear to anyone who pays attention that y/n is a rising star within the fashion world. having attended multiple chanel shows and collabing with them for magazine covers, our favorite wag has been named as "one of the chanels" by many online forums. among other luxury brands such as chloé, vivienne westwood, dior, lowe, and miumiu also getting a taste of the paddock's it-girl.
thankfully, when she's not filming fashion content and instead at the paddock, y/n has been able to connect with several other paddock regulars (fellow wags) such as alexandra leclerc, partner of charles leclerc, rebecca donaldson, partner of carlos sainz, and even lily zniemer, the private partner of oscar piastri. she is often seen walking around the different paddocks with said females among others right before the races and in between practices and qualis.
y/n has mentioned before that she loves hanging out with the other partners of the other drivers as they all seemingly understand each other and the exhaustion of traveling. but also able to build friendships with them thanks to sharing interests like fashion and tv shows.
"i think miami will always hold a special place in my heart because it was lando's first win, and i got to witness that with him." ── IN YOUR DREAMS WITH OWEN THIELE (2026) : "I'M BECOMING AN F1 BADDIE WITH Y/N"
one of the most memorable moments of y/n's wag career is obviously when lando got his first win at the 2024 miami gp! clips of lando running to her and nearly dragging her over the barrier to kiss her is still one that gets shared and used in edits today! truly a memorable moment as y/n often cites miami as one of her more favorite tracks to visit each year.
"i'm honestly so happy she's been with me to every race so far. i had to beg her to come with, and i know it can be a lot with the constant traveling, but i wouldn't want to do it with anyone else. she's my partner no matter what and if i become world champ or not, i want her there– waiting for me when i cross the finish in abu dhabi." ── LANDO WITH BRITISH VOGUE (2025) : "I WANT TO ENJOY EVERY MINUTE I CAN"
f1's 2025 season was something many fans of the sport considered to be a whirlwind with the two mclaren drivers, lando and oscar, along with red bull driver, max, constantly fighting for championship points. this, also, translated into another busy year for our dear wag as y/n attended every race of the 2025 season in order to support lando.
and sure, the 2025 season had its highs and lows for our beloved lando, but we're just glad he was able to get through it and bring home the championship!
some of our favorite y/n moments from 2025 was of course her outfits – but also watching lando rush to her after every win. silverstone being emotional as fans got to witness lando crying into y/n as she held him. gosh, it gets us every single time.
and of course, how can anyone forget when she walked into the paddock on race day at the hungarian gp with– a butter yellow kelly birkin bag. a birthday gift from none other than mr. lando norris himself, the bag itself had the internet screaming especially when clips of you swinging it and seeming attaching $2 charms like it was just any other bag. to make the race weekend even better – lando brought home the p1 trophy and dedicated his win to his lovely girlfriend.
in 2026, y/n has also collabed with brands like monster energy and raybans, along with being able to attend the met gala with chanel. several blogs and fan forums have labeled y/n as "the most influential wag of the current grid" due to her high engagement, ability to sell out several items just by wearing them, and influencing trends amongst fans – and even other wags.
she has also been able to use her status to help promote and donate to organizations like the muscular dystrophy association and donating clothing and feminine products to several women's shelters in both england and the united states.
🌷 Y/N'S INSTAGRAM
y/n originally started her instagram back in 2013 with the original handle "ynscene" and would post a mixture of her life and fashion. she still updated her early fashion blog during this time, but also began to crosspost on instagram.
it would be about late-2018 when she started college, that y/n would change her handle to "cherryn" which she has now become wildly associated with.
y/n's instagram would originally hit 1 million followers in 2019, and then hit 10 million in 2021. currently (as of june 2026) y/n sits at 14.3 million followers with her engagement continuously high.
her demographic has shown that 70% of her followers are female, 20% is non-bindery or not specified, and the remaining 10% is male. over 50% of her followers also identify as lgbtq+ and/or poc. many of them are also from either the united states, england, brazil, japan, or south korea.
apart from her fashion content and dating lando norris – y/n is also known for her highly aesthetic instagram feed. her posts in more recent years since gaining her wag status usually shows her travels during race weekends, she still covers her usually fashion content as well. however, more her tiktok has now become the main hub for her fashion content as she currently has 60 million followers on the app.
along with her life and travel, there are also several posts spread throughout including lando. many fans online joke that if lando fans want an update, they'll usually check her page first.
y/n's previous instagram profile pictures:
── ynupdates via instagram
🌷 Y/N'S MOST ICONIC PADDOCK LOOKS
and of course, we can't talk about y/n and her influence without talking about her most iconic looks she has brought the paddock. many fans (both inside and outside the f1 circle) online have expressed that they see y/n as their style icon and main inspiration for their outfits.
she has also been named as one of the internet's most stylish icons for multiple years in row by high profile magazines like vogue.
y/n has been featured in several magazines such as vogue, elle, dazed, i-d, marie claire for several different countries including the u.s., france, japan, and the uk.
here are some of our favorite fashion moments so far.
── paddockprincex via twitter
alongside her paddock looks, y/n is also heavily known for owning and wearing several juicy couture tracksuits – yes, in different colors, of course. fans in monaco are constantly graced with being able to spot y/n in a juicy couture tracksuit no matter the day. she doesn't wear them outside of monaco and often wears them when out and about in the city or when with lando. despite this, some fashion accounts for wags in general have catalogued all the current colors y/n owns.
and this isn't to forget the iconic custom-made papaya color tracksuit that was gifted to her by juicy couture themselves! y/n is seen wearing this specific suit when she did a hot lap video with lando last year at silverstone.
along with her some of her iconic paddock looks – y/n's style goes just beyond her clothing, but also her hair. in 2024, y/n shocked fans by showing up to the canadian gp with pink hair. she kept the hair for three months before she went back to her natural color by the time summer break was over and the dutch gp was happening. a lot of her fans online still consider the pink hair one of her best eras to date.
the pink hair was so iconic that fans even dubbed her as "the paddock fairy" due to have whimsical and pretty she looked with it.
along with pink hair, y/n has also experimented with orange hair just last year in 2025! she surprised fans once again by hiding the new hair color under a blonde wig and attended a club with lando in spain. this of course caused quite the discourse as many landoyn fans assumed that the f1 driver was cheating – le gasp – on y/n. but, thankfully, it was resolved the next morning when both y/n and lando posted that the blonde woman was in fact... y/n in a wig. the orange only lasted a month, but fans were still excited about the hair and only solidified the fact that y/n could pull off any hair color.
── hourlyyn via twitter
y/n has been labeled as the paddock's it-girl based on everything we've written here... we can't possibly disagree! her presence throughout the years has made her a staple within the f1 world from her fashion moments to her emotional podium kisses, her and lando have been through it all!
f1atelier photos are just placeholders! yn doesn't have an actual faceclaim please imagine yourself or whoever you want in these pictures! thanks.
f1atelier shoutout to @/bloominmiracles and @/foumevie bc i seen they did profiles for their characters and it made me want to do one of my own 💕💕💕 this took me several HOURS and is NOT proofread so i'm sorry if there are mistakes. will probs do one for bambi and little miss later on when i get the chance. i hope you enjoy it!!
after the canadian gp, you decide to take a break from social media and relax. hoping to enjoy just ten minutes with lando where you don't worry about social media and he doesn't have to think about racing.
lando norris x f!reader ୨୧ word count : 1.4k ୨୧ warnings : language, implied sex, mentions of being burnt out, nicknames (princess, baby) ୨୧ note : if you enjoy don't forget to comment/reblog!
part of the lando's heart series.
lando is convinced that after almost four years together, sometimes you just wake up and... decide on the most random things. which usually involves you dragging him on a "side quest" as you like to call it. but this time was different.
after the total disaster that was the canadian gp, and dragging you to indianapolis within the same day – lando could tell you were exhausted. especially with all the traveling the two of you have been doing in the past two months. he had truly never seen you this tired before.
he felt bad. especially when he realized just how upset you were about him tricking you into going to indiana with him. he knew you needed at least this week to relax. which is why when he woke up on tuesday morning after a 10+ hour flight, he wanted to make sure you could sleep in.
and sleep in you did, cause even by almost noon you were still asleep. buried under the covers with the curtains still drawn. when he went to check on you, that's when he noticed your phone wasn't plugged up. did you forget to do that in favor of sleep? probably.
when you did finally stir, you stumbled into the living room, hair mussed as you walked in wearing only one of his old karting shirts. your cheeky patterned underwear peeking out underneath and lando certainly isn't complaining on the view.
"hey, sleepy, you finally decided to join the world of the living, huh?" he asks as you climb into his lap. straddling him as you rest your head on his shoulder. lando's arms immediately circle around your waist, holding you close to him as he feels your lips just barely graze the column of his neck.
"didn't mean to sleep so long, 'm sorry," you mumble out and lando can't help but chuckle at how cute you sound.
"its okay, princess, i figured you were just tired." he replies, not able to bite back the smile that paints his lips when you tiredly nuzzle your nose against his jawline. his stubble rough against your own skin, but you don't seem to mind.
the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and lando is almost convinced you had fallen back asleep in his lap. not that he cares – he quite enjoys having you in his lap. the british driver lets out a soft sigh as he adjusts the two of you, still holding you close to him as he props his feet up against the coffee table. his eyes trained on the tv that was replaying a golf match, his hand absentmindedly dragging up and down your spine.
"lan..." your breath hitches when you call his name, and lando bites his lip at the sound of your voice mixed with how he could feel the chill running down your spine. you move your head to look up at him, your hand running down his side overtop his hoodie before lazily trailing underneath.
"hands are cold, baby," he laughs out before pressing a kiss to your forehead. you let out a hum before you're adjusting your hips against his – your core sitting exactly where he wants it.
"can we..." you start softly, eyes somehow bright despite the heavy tiredness behind them as you look up at lando. "can we do this all day?"
"of course, princess, but didn't you want to go to that one restaurant today?" he asked, knowing that you had been talking nonstop the other day about this one restaurant that had been continuously recommended to you. "did you not want to go anymore? you were so excited about it."
"i'm just..." you pause to let out a sigh, "i'm tired, lan. i have so many emails and posts and pr to look through, but just the thought of doing any of that right now... just makes me exhausted."
"are you burnt out?"
"maybe? i don't know," you huff out and lando doesn't even need to look to know you have a pout on your lips. "i don't even think i plugged my phone up last night, so who knows if it's dead or not."
"i noticed that," he says with a small chuckle, "i figured you just forgot to do it before you went to bed."
"i did, kind of," you say with a breathy laugh, "i'm just not in the mood to look at anything my phone has to offer."
"well, if anyone tries to reach you then i guess they'll call me if its important," he says, tilting your chin up to peck your lips.
there's a beat of silence between the two of you – the only sounds in the apartment are your light breathes, the ac, and the golf match still playing on the tv behind you. it was nice and you realize that you don't want to ruin the silence.
"i like this," you whisper, moving your body up lando's as you wrap your arms around his neck, your face right in front of his. your lover smiles as his hands rest on your hips, fiddling with the elastic waistband of your panties. "the quiet, not having to worry about anything, you."
"i like this too," he agrees as the two of you share a soft kiss. "i like when my attention can be solely on the most important thing in my life." his words immediately send a flurry of butterflies through you.
"you're so cheesy," you say, hiding your face in his chest. you feel lando's chest rumble underneath your cheek as he laughs.
"it's true though and you know it," he says, squeezing your hips as he's pulling you down against him. "my spoiled princess."
"and whose fault is that," you laugh as you slowly roll your hips into lando's.
"mine," he answers, pulling you flush against him as you begin to kiss his jaw and down his neck. "fully, wholeheartedly my fault that i made you spoiled."
the two of you smile at each other as you cup his face and kiss him again. your mouth slowly opening and allowing his tongue to slip inside and tangle with yours. you let out a soft whimper at the feeling of his tongue tasting you as one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair. loosely gripping it to hold you in place as your own fingers thread through his mop of curls.
his tongue was mapping your mouth like he didn't already know it – and the rest of your body – like the back of his head. completely making you breathless as every time you tried to catch your breath, lando would move his head to deepen the kiss. then, without breaking the kiss, lando flips the two of you – laying you against the couch as his hips press against yours like a heavy weight to keep you place. your legs wrapping around his waist to anchor him even closer.
when lando finally broke the kiss, you couldn't help the moan that left your lips as you noticed the line of spit that still connected the both of you. "fuck..." you whimper as lando trails his lips down your jaw and neck.
"you know," he starts, moving so he can hover over you, his arms caging your head between him and the couch. "i don't think anyone would be upset if you took this week off to relax."
"y-yeah? i think your fans would beg to differ," you tease lightly, hand still combing through his hair.
lando let out a small tsk sound in response, "fuck them, they'll get over it and survive."
"not very public figure of you to say that about your fans."
"i'm being serious, y/n, you're exhausted and burnt out. take a break from social media and stuff for this week. especially with the monaco race coming up i know you're going to need it, baby."
you think for a minute, eyes looking into lando's hazel ones that are swimming in color and devotion. "can we... still go to that restaurant tonight?"
you don't think lando's smile could get any brighter, but he never ceases to amaze you. "of course we can, princess. we'll do whatever you want this week."
"even this right here?"
"especially this right here," he assures you before his lips are crashing against yours again. your body melting into his as you both spent the rest of the day between each other's legs.
summary. everyone at your work place thinks seungcheol was a calculator– not just because of his weird math skills, but because of the look in his eyes every time he did something.
warnings. porn with no plot lol, cunnilingus, pussy eating, kinda face riding? Idk, use of pet-names hers darling, sweetheart, love his cheol
a/n. can u tell this was inspired by that one ateez interview where mingi called hongjoong a calculator? 😭 anyways hi! i will be publishing more soon, i’m so sorry for being mia love u all
If you had anything to say to your work bestie right now, it would be– “Hah! I proved you wrong, Minseo!”
But unfortunately, you were in no position to speak, breathe, or even think for there was a deviant between your legs who had stolen your breath away.
Choi Seungcheol.
In the office, he was practically invisible. While everyone else buzzed about their day, he quietly roamed the halls, clutching a Stanley Cup and typing away on his MacBook, a blank expression lingering on his face.
To his colleagues, he was just the exceptionally bright guy who seemed to drift through their conversations without leaving a mark—too absorbed in his own thoughts to ever truly engage. It was as if he was a ghost in a sea of chatter, always there but rarely acknowledged.
But he was eye candy to you and Minseo, one of the more attractive males on your floor.
And right now, his handsomeness was tenfold as he carefully ran his fingers down your leg, purring to himself.
“You’re sensitive,” he muttered, making an observation as he pushed up the skirt of your dress.
Tonight was the office get-together, where you and all your colleagues celebrated your survival of the year-end. What was supposed to be a casual dinner turned into a bet amongst you and Minseo.
The topic? Seungcheol, obviously.
“How good can he even be in bed? He looks like he doesn’t even know how to get a girl wet,” Minseo had laughed.
Your breath hitched when you sawSeungcheol’s eyes darken, that familiar twinge of his calculating personality swimming in those brown irises.
He’d pushed your dress up fully and was now face to face with the dark spot on your underwear.
“Is this from the kissing earlier?” He asked, voice raspy.
You wanted to say yes.
You wanted to scream at him– ‘Yes, Seungcheol! This is what happened when you kissed me against the wall and spread my thighs with your knees and and–’
But you simply nodded, not trusting yourself to make any noises.
“Mm... I like it,” He nodded, his fingers tracing your pussy through the fabric of your panties. A short breath left your mouth and his eyes instantly snapped back up to meet yours.
You knew exactly what he was doing.
You’d seen him do it countless times before, especially when he truly locked in. That distant, intense look in his eyes—like he was plotting, scheming, and unraveling a plan in his mind.
And now? He was going to figure you out.
Seungcheol’s fingers gently prodded at your clitoris, lightly rubbing the bundle of nerves through the fabric. His fingers were exploratory, cautious. His eyes switched between watching you and looking at the dark spot in your panties increase in size slowly.
Even just the clitoral stimulation had your thighs twitching, the gentle flick flick flick of his thumb against you made jolts run up your spine.
“May I?” He asked softly. You looked down to find his beady eyes staring at you, free hand ghosting against the elastic band of your underwear. The sight made you want to kiss him. But it was evident that he was too focused on your pussy to give a shit about that.
You managed another nod, watching him peel the panties off of you, his eyes calculating.
The second that the layer between your most intimate spot and his sharp gaze was gone, Seungcheol let out a groan, his palms on the side of your cunt’s pout, gently spreading the skin to see you.
“God, she’s beautiful,” He muttered, the warmth of his breath making you whine. He noticed it, of course. The bastard always noticed.
His eyebrow raised, the thick hair creating a beautifully slanted line as he stared at you for a brief moment before blowing a stream of cool air into your pussy.
“Jesus fuc–” your breath hitched, back arching slightly as you looked down to find him staring at your cunt like he’d unlocked a hidden gem.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he leaned in, making you choke on thin air. “That feels nice, hmm?”
Before you could even think, his mouth descended on you, placing a sweet, soft kiss onto your mound. The contact made you sigh, fingers shyly finding his hair as you tugged, urging him to go deeper, do something.
But Choi Seungcheol had other plans.
The man placed another kiss along your folds, hissing softly as you tugged the strands on the back of his head. The third kiss came right on your clit before his tongue snaked out, moving from one side to the other, toying with you.
Seungcheol looked up at you, eyebrows scrunched together and that familiar glint in his eyes deepening as he heard your breathing pattern change.
He flattened his tongue, licking a languid stripe up your cunt before puckering his lips and slowly sucking the clitoris into his mouth.
Your slick oozed out of your folds, breathy moans mixing with the mild hum of his air conditioning as he dipped his head lower, his tongue parting your lips and sneaking inside.
“Oh...”
His nose nudged your clit and your grip on his hair tightened, tugging sharper as you whined, dragging your hips upward to catch his nose again.
But his palm roughly flattened against your stomach, pinning you down. The way his thumb brushed against your skin had goosebumps rising.
“Let me– Please,” Seungcheol whispered, like he was some mind-reading maniac who had figured out what you wanted despite you doing nothing but moaning pathetically.
He shifted the position of his head, nose bridge rubbing right against your nerves, his tongue flattened over your pussy as he mouthed at you like an animal lapping water.
You were not going to last.
Seungcheol figured that out too.
“I got you, darling,” he hummed, mouth lapping at you as he bobbed his head up and down, the friction against your most sensitive button and the pressure of his treacherous tongue against your intimates had you crying out his name like a war cry.
You came fast and hard, vision going white for a split second as you breathed loudly, hips grinding to ride out the high on his mouth. He let you use him, before finally coming up for air.
With lazy eyes, you almost giggled at the way he was staring at you. Internally, Seungcheol was making a mental checklist— likes to get her clit played with, sensitive skin on her lower stomach, gets very breathy when nearing an orgasm...
hii could i request a scoups fanfic. pls where hes ur husband:
You come home from work exhausted. He’s at his desk doing some work, typing away (ugh his hands especially with his ringss) and looking sooo fine. Even though he’s busy, he notices you walking past, trying not to disturb him, and calls you over. He sits you down on his lap and asks about your day. He’s still typing while you talk, but he’s listening so attentively, asking questions back. It’s just very meaningful, especially when you come home after a tough work day.
the way home feels softer with him — s.coups
🎧 now playing: Same dream, same mind, same night — SEVENTEEN
“you don’t have to pretend you’re okay around me.”
The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside.Not silent never silent when Seungcheol was home.
There was always something : the soft clicking of his keyboard, the low hum of music from his speakers, the occasional sigh when he got stuck on work. Familiar sounds. Comforting sounds.
Tonight, the clicking reached you first.
You slipped your shoes off carefully by the door, shoulders aching from a day that felt ten hours too long. Your bag nearly slid off your shoulder as you walked past his office space, already planning to shower and collapse into bed without saying much. Seungcheol looked devastating.
White t-shirt. Glasses sitting low on his nose. Dark hair slightly messy from running his hands through it too much. Rings glinting against the keyboard as his fingers moved quickly across the keys.
God.
You tried not to stare.He noticed anyway. “Baby.” Your steps paused immediately.You peeked toward him. “Hm?” His eyes flickered up from the screen, softening the second they landed on you. “Come here.” “I don’t wanna disturb you,” you murmured. “You’re working.” “Come here anyway.”
There was no arguing with that voice. You walked over slowly, exhaustion practically dragging behind you, and the moment you got close enough, Seungcheol reached for your wrist gently. Before you could react, he tugged you down onto his lap with practiced ease.
You let out a tired little sound, instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders to steady yourself. “There she is,” he murmured quietly. The warmth of him hit you immediately. Warm hands. Warm chest. Warm voice. Home.
His arm settled around your waist while his other hand returned to the keyboard, fingers resuming their rhythm like nothing happened. “How was work?” You laughed weakly. “Horrible.” “Mm?” His brows pinched slightly. “That bad?” You nodded against his shoulder.
“One customer yelled at me because they forgot their own appointment time, my manager kept changing everything last minute, and I skipped lunch because we were busy.”
Seungcheol clicked his tongue softly under his breath. “That’s why you have a headache.” You blinked. “How did you know I had a headache?” His fingers paused for half a second before continuing again. “You keep rubbing this side of your forehead when you get one.”
The casualness of it made your chest ache a little. Because of course he noticed. Of course he did. “You ate anything at all?” he asked. “A granola bar.” He looked away from the monitor finally, giving you a look. “That’s not food.”
“I know.”
“No, baby, seriously.”
You sighed dramatically into his neck. “I knowww.”
A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest. His hand squeezed your waist once before he continued typing, eyes scanning something on the screen while still listening carefully to every word you said. And somehow, that was the part that always got you. Not grand gestures. Not expensive gifts. Not even the way he could make your heart stop with one look.It was this.
The way he made space for you even in the middle of his own chaos. Like loving you wasn’t something extra he had to fit into his day. It was natural. Essential. “What happened after that?” he asked suddenly. You lifted your head. “You were listening?” He gave you an offended look. “Obviously I was listening.”
“You were literally answering emails.”
“And?”
You laughed for real this time, the first genuine one all day. A tiny victorious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth the moment he heard it. There it is, his expression seemed to say. That was what he’d been trying to get back all along.
You kept talking after that. About the rude customer. About your annoying coworker. About how exhausted you felt lately. And Seungcheol listened to every single thing, occasionally asking questions, occasionally kissing your temple absentmindedly while typing with one hand.
At some point, his fingers slowed. Then stopped completely. You looked at the screen.His work document was untouched for almost ten minutes. “Cheol,” you whispered, “you stopped working.”
“Mhm.”
“So finish.”
“In a minute.” He leaned back slightly in the chair, tightening his arms around you until you were practically melting into him. “You looked sad when you came home.” Something in your throat tightened painfully.
Not because he said it dramatically. Not because he tried too hard. But because he noticed. Again. His thumb rubbed softly against your side. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay around me, you know.” Your eyes burned a little from sheer exhaustion.
“I know.” He pressed a slow kiss against your forehead.“You work too hard.” “Says you.” “Yeah, but I have you to take care of me.” You stared at him for a second. Then groaned quietly and buried your face into his shoulder again. “You’re so unfairly husband-coded.” His laugh filled the room instantly. “‘Husband-coded?’”
“Yes.”
“I am your husband.”
“Exactly. It’s sickening.”
“Mm.” He kissed the top of your head. “Good.”
And for the first time all day, the exhaustion didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
Summary: It is one of those days when you and Seungcheol are both working from home. Notoriously, no work gets done on days like this one.
Word count: 6.6k
Genres/warnings: smut, pwp (plot? what plot?); non-idol au, loser!nerd!perv!seungcheol, established relationship, honestly i can stop at pwp, cheol is a simp and we're not surprised; lmk if i skipped anything important
Smut warnings: Minors DNI, thicc dicc!cheol, implied size difference, dirty talk (of course), slow piv sex, unprotected (this is how we roll here; but please be safe irl), creampie, they continue being horndogs, reader takes charge, light hints of pet play; oral (f rec), face sitting, some brief hand job (m. rec), orgasm denial/control, edging, kinda ruined orgasm, cheol is down bad as always, he's sweetly pathetic, reader is on the phone with her manager when cheol fucks her (oops, don't do it irl kids); see anything i missed? please lmk
A/N: everyone say thank you, seungcheol for that live he held. it gave me the idea of writing a full scene of what i only mentioned briefly in the main fic, though the action here takes place after the main story. as always, enjoy your read and i’ll be happy to see your feedback in any form you’re comfortable with: comments, asks or reblogs. and i will see you in my next fic ᙏ̤̫
You can read it separately but I would recommend reading all of it for the full experience of this couple :)
If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.
Masterlist. | PART 1
Seungcheol is forty-seven minutes deep into this video call and he has absorbed precisely none of it. His manager's voice comes through the headset like a monotone hum. He can swear this woman's voice is designed to sandpaper the edges of his sanity. On screen, a grid of eight faces, all feigning attention, and his own small rectangle in the corner shows a man who hasn't blinked in thirty seconds because he's too busy tracking a silhouette moving past the doorway.
That's you. Just a flicker of movement—bare legs, the hem of an oversized t-shirt he knows is his, the soft grey one you stole three months ago and never gave back—and his concentration detonates. His cock twitches against his thigh, a slow, traitorous swell that has nothing to do with whatever the hell his manager is droning on about.
Seungcheol leans back in his chair, the springs groaning under his weight, and tilts his head just enough to catch a sliver of the kitchen through the gap in the doorframe. You're at the counter now, back to him, reaching to open the microwave. The t-shirt stretches, outlining the curve of your butt. Suddenly, the fabric rides up as you tiptoe to grab something from the cupboard above and the very bottom of your ass peeks out, bare and soft-looking, and he has to swallow a sound that would get him fired.
"—and moving forward, I think we need to restructure our code reviews which are taking two days on average," his manager drones, and Seungcheol wants to scream. Fuck them code reviews. He's going to lose his mind. He's going to combust in this ergonomic chair and they'll find him as nothing but a pile of ash and a half-hard dick.
His fingers drum against the armrest. He risks another glance. You're bent over now, rummaging in the fridge, and the t-shirt has ridden up so high he can see the crease where your thigh meets your ass. Seungcheol knows exactly how that crease tastes. He knows the sound you make when he presses his tongue flat against it and drags upward. He knows the way you shudder, the way your hand fists in his hair, the way you always whisper his name in a mix of a curse and a prayer.
Fuck. His cock is fully hard now, a rigid line trapped in his sweatpants and boxer briefs in a way that's becoming painful. He shifts in his seat, trying to find relief, and accidentally knocks his knee against the underside of his desk with a dull thud that makes his microphone—that he forgot to mute—spike.
"You okay there, Seungcheol?" His manager's voice cuts through, and for one horrifying second his heart stops. But he quickly realises that it's just the noise that drew her attention. Just the thud.
"Yeah, fine," he says, and his voice comes out strained, a little too tight. "Just—hit my knee on the table."
He mutes himself. Lets out a breath that shakes. Rubs his palm over his face and tries to think about spreadsheets. Deadlines. Anything except you currently being in the kitchen or the way you looked this morning when you rolled out of bed, hair a disaster, his t-shirt swallowing you, and kissed him on the forehead before padding to the bathroom. Domestic shit. Soft, sweet, married-couple shit that still makes his chest ache even now, months in, even after everything.
It's worse now. That's the thing. He thought it would level out—the insatiable, clawing need that's been devouring him since that first drunk night on the couch. He thought once the novelty wore off, once you'd had each other in every conceivable position on every conceivable surface, the fever would break and you'd settle into something manageable. Normal.
It didn't.
It got so much worse.
Last Friday, for instance. You both worked from home. By his generous estimate, you managed three hours of actual productivity between you. The rest of the day dissolved into a blur of skin and sweat and the obscene, wet sound of his cock sliding into you over and over. He bent you over your desk during what was supposed to be a fifteen-minute coffee break and didn't pull out for forty-five. You sucked him off under his desk during a monthly team call on Google Meet, his teeth sinking into his fist and leaving marks just to keep from moaning into an unmuted mic, his eyes watering with restraint of not rolling back into his skull. Seungcheol fucked you against the hallway wall on the way to the bathroom, one hand clamped over your mouth, your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails carving trenches into his shoulders through his shirt. By the end of the day you couldn't walk straight. Neither could he. You ordered pizza and ate it cross-legged on the floor of your living room, half-naked, feeding each other slices and communicating with humms and grunts because forming full thoughts and voicing them felt like mission impossible. And then he got hard again just from watching you lick grease off your thumb, and you let him lay you back on the soft carpet and fill you up again, until you were both too wrecked to move.
So yeah. It didn't level out. It metastasised.
And now it's Tuesday, and he's been on this call for almost an hour, and you are a room away, in the kitchen, heating up leftovers, and his entire body is humming with want. He can smell you from here. He swears he can—that faint, familiar scent of your body wash and underneath it, the warm scent of your skin that makes his mouth water and his brain go syrupy and stupid.
"—so if everyone could have their reports in by Thursday," his manager is saying, finally, mercifully, "that would be great. Any questions? No? Great. Thanks, everyone."
The call ends. Seungcheol doesn't even say goodbye. He yanks the headset off, tosses it onto his desk, and is out of the bedroom before his chair stops spinning.
You hear him coming. He's not particularly secretive about his arrival—the heavy, purposeful tread of a man who spends too much time at the gym and hasn't learned to move quietly in a shared apartment. But you don't turn around. You're standing at the counter, reaching for the microwave handle, when his arms wrap around you from behind and his body folds over yours like a collapsing star.
He's so big. That's the first thing you register, the same thing you register every time—the sheer, enveloping mass of him. His chest presses against your back, solid and warm through the thin fabric of your—his—t-shirt. His arms circle your waist, thick and possessive, and his face buries into the crook of your neck with a sound that can only be described as a whimper.
"You're done?" you ask, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice.
"Finally," he mumbles against your skin. His lips move as he speaks, brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you have to suppress a shiver. "Thought she was never going to shut up. I was losing my mind."
"Yeah, I could hear her from here. That voice is something else. Like a sadistic lullaby."
Seungcheol huffs a laugh, his breath warm and damp against your throat. "It's not funny. I was suffering."
"Poor baby." You tilt your head, giving him more access without thinking, your body responding to his proximity the way it always does—on instinct, on autopilot, like your nerve endings have been rewired to recognise him as a primary need. Purely Pavlovian response. "My heart bleeds for you and your very important corporate meeting."
"Don't be mean." He pouts. You can't see his face but you know he's pouting—you can hear it in the way his voice goes soft and petulant, the way his lower lip juts out. "I missed you."
"I was literally a wall away."
"That's a wall too far."
The microwave beeps. You reach for it again, but Seungcheol's hand catches yours first. His fingers slide between yours, locking them together, and he pulls your hand back down, pressing it flat against the counter top. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt and settles on your lower belly, palm warm and broad and possessive.
"Food can wait," he murmurs.
You open your mouth to argue, to tease him about being a needy, insufferable menace, but then his palm presses down. Just a little. Just enough to apply pressure, to make you aware of the heat pooling low in your abdomen, of the way your body responds to him on a level that has nothing to do with conscious thought. An involuntary sound escapes your throat—small, breathy, embarrassing—and you feel your pussy clench around nothing.
"That's what I thought," he says, and there's a smile in his voice now, satisfied and soft and infuriating.
His lips find the junction of your neck and shoulder. He kisses you there, slow and open-mouthed, and then his teeth graze your skin and you stop breathing for a second.
"Cheol."
"Mm?"
"You're doing that thing."
"What thing?" He does it again—a gentle scrape of teeth, followed by the wet, soothing press of his tongue—and your knees go weak.
"That thing where you—where you turn me into—" You can't finish the sentence. His lips have found a new spot, just above your collarbone, and he's sucking a bruise into existence with the kind of focused intensity he usually reserves for boss fights in Elden Ring. Your brain fills with static. Your hands grip the edge of the counter. "—into a—fuck."
"Into a what?" He pulls back just long enough to speak, his voice low and rough and dripping with false innocence. "Use your words, baby."
"I hate you."
"No you don't." Kiss. Bite. Suck. "You love it. You love when I make you all dumb and shaky. When I take my time and turn you into a little mess before I've even touched you properly." Another kiss, this one pressed to the shell of your ear. "I know you're clenching even without touching you, baby. You think I'm not aware? Oh, I am. I know your body better than I know my own at this point."
You think of saying something sharp, to cut through the haze and reassert some semblance of control. But Seungcheol is right. He does know your body. He's spent months mapping every inch of it with his hands and his mouth and his cock, learning every spot that makes you gasp, every rhythm that makes you fall apart. And right now, with his palm still pressing on your lower belly and his lips trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, the only thing your brain can produce is a stream of increasingly pathetic sounds.
You think, distantly, about the irony of it. Months ago you called him a loser to your friend. You rolled your eyes at his compression shirts and his anime figures and his inability to talk to women. And now here you are, melting into a puddle of need because he's kissing your neck and breathing on you. Your friends have noticed, of course. Because you can't exactly hide it. You walk into every brunch, every cafe meetup, wearing the unmistakable glow of a woman who's getting thoroughly, regularly, devastatingly fucked. Loud and proud as they say.
Seungcheol's fingers have trailed lower while you were lost in thought. They're resting on the waistband of your underwear now, tracing the elastic edge with a maddening lightness that makes your hips twitch.
"Mmm, bet you're so wet already," he murmurs, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice, the smug, reverent delight. "I haven't even done anything and you're soaking through your panties, aren't you? What am I going to do with you?"
"I don't know," you manage, your voice coming out embarrassingly breathy. "Maybe actually fuck me instead of just talking about it?"
"Impatient." He nips at your earlobe. "I like it."
His fingers dip lower, pressing against you through the damp cotton of your underwear and finding his theory to be true. The pressure is light, teasing, nowhere near enough, and you can feel your pussy clenching and throbbing again, desperate for more, desperate for anything. Behind you, pressed against the curve of your ass, his cock is a hard, insistent weight. He's been half-hard since the call started—you could guess from the way he was squirming in his chair, the way his eyes kept cutting toward the kitchen—but now he's fully erect, thick and hot even through the layers of his sweatpants and your t-shirt that barely covers your ass anymore. He rocks against you, a slow, deliberate grind, and the friction makes you both groan.
"Thought about this the whole call," he says, his voice dropping into that lower register that makes your stomach flip. "Thought about bending you over this counter. Thought about pulling these little panties to the side and sliding into you while you're still trying to heat up your stupid breakfast leftovers. Thought about filling you up so full you'd be leaking me all afternoon while you sit in your meetings pretending to be a professional."
"That's—" You swallow, hard. "That's what you were thinking about? During a work call?"
"Every second." Seungcheol grinds against you again, and this time you can feel the full length of him, the girth that still makes your mouth water even after all these months. "Couldn't focus. Couldn't think about anything except your tight little cunt and how bad I need to be inside it. How bad I need to use it."
He says that and lets out a shameful pathetic mewl.
The word "use" and the desperate sound that escapes him land in your chest and detonate. You know what he's doing—he's working you up, talking filth the way he knows you like, the way that makes you weak and pliant and ready to let him do anything. And normally you would let him. Normally you would let him spin you around, bend you over, and fuck you stupid right here against the kitchen counter, and you would come apart on his cock and thank him for it afterwards.
But thanks to his little pathetic display you're feeling something else. Something sharper. Seungcheol spent an hour squirming in his chair thinking about using you? Fine. But you spent that same hour catching glimpses of him in his stupid soft flannel shirt, his hair messy, his brows furrowed, his plush lips wrapped around his water bottle, and you've been simmering with your own kind of want. And maybe it's the oncoming ovulation hormones, or maybe it's the way he whimpered when he first wrapped his arms around you and mewled just now, but something in you decides that today, you're not going to be the one who gets reduced to a mindless, begging mess.
Today, that's going to be him.
His fingers have slipped under the waistband of your panties now, tracing through your slick folds with a slow, exploratory pressure that makes your breath hitch. He's about to push inside—you can feel the tension in his wrist, the way his breathing has gone ragged against your neck—when you reach around with your free hand and squeeze his cock through his sweatpants.
Hard.
Seungcheol makes a sound you've never heard before. A choked, strangled yelp that's half surprise and half something else entirely. His whole body jerks against you, his hips bucking into your grip, and his fingers freeze where they are.
"What—" he starts, but you squeeze again, and the word dissolves into a whimper.
"Here's what's going to happen, baby," you say, and your voice comes out breathless but somewhat steady. "You're going to take your hand out of my panties. You're going to get on your knees. And you're going to do exactly what I tell you. Got it, hmm?"
Seungcheol doesn't answer immediately. His chest is heaving against your back, his cock throbbing in your grip, and you can feel the war happening inside him—the instinct to take over, to reclaim control, wrestling with the part of him that loves this, the part that goes soft and eager and desperate when you turn the tables.
"Got it?" you repeat, and you twist your wrist just enough to make him gasp.
"Yeah," he breathes, voice going a little higher than usual. "Yeah, okay. Got it."
"Good boy."
The words hit him like a physical blow. You feel the full-body shudder that runs through him, the way his cock kicks against your palm, the way his breathing goes even more ragged and uneven. He pulls his hand out of your panties slowly, reluctantly, and you release your grip on him just long enough for him to step back.
"Strip," you say as soon as you turn around to see him.
He does. He pulls his t-shirt over his head first, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the thick shoulders and defined pecs, the trail of dark hair that runs down his stomach and disappears into the waistband of his sweats. Then his pants go, pushed down over his hips, and his boxers with them, until he's standing naked in the middle of the kitchen with his cock jutting up toward his belly, flushed dark at the tip and already leaking.
You take a moment to look at Seungcheol. It never gets old—the sheer size of him, the thickness, the way his cock curves just slightly, so pretty. The way it twitches under your gaze like it's begging for attention—and you bet it is. The way his balls hang heavy and full, a reminder that he hasn't come since yesterday morning, which in his case means he's already backed up and desperate and so, so easy to break.
"You're so pretty," you murmur, and you mean it. "Look at you. Standing there dripping for me. Such a desperate pathetic mess already and I haven't even touched you."
His cock gives you an eager reaction, twitching and bobbing up and down at your words, and you smile at how it throbs, almost like it's whining and jumping for you to touch it. Seungcheol's ears go red. That very deep, mortified flush that you've been watching since the very first night, except now it makes your chest ache with something tender and possessive instead of irritated. "Baby—"
"On your knees," you order softly, lips stretched in the sweetest of smiles.
He drops so fast you hear his knees hit the tile. You wince, breaking character just for a moment, worried, but Seungcheol doesn't seem to care at all, he is looking up at you with those big brown eyes, pupils blown wide, lips parted, and he is so fucking wreckable in this very moment that it makes your pussy clench and you don't even notice as you slip back into the little play the two of you are orchestrating.
"Please," he whispers, and he doesn't even know what he's asking for. He just knows he needs something, anything, as long as it is from you.
"Please what?" you hum, watching his eyes turn even shinier than before. He's so pretty like this it is unfair. Not for the first time he's giving you aggression urges.
"Please let me taste you. Need to put my mouth on you. I've been thinking about it all morning—thinking about how you taste, how soft and warm you feel on my tongue—please, baby? I need it—"
"Shh." You step forward, close enough that he can smell you again—his nostrils visibly flare when he silently inhales you—and you can feel his exhale ghost against your thighs. "I know. I know you've been a desperate little puppy all morning, couldn't even pay attention to your stupid meeting because you were too busy thinking about my pussy. Isn't that right?"
He nods, frantic, his hands twitching at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from grabbing you. You wouldn't mind if he did, to be fair. "Yes. Yes, that's right. Couldn't—couldn't think about anything else. Just you. Just your sweet pussy. Just how bad I wanted to be inside it." He whimpers and squirms on his knees, and his cock twitches again at the image growing vivid in his head.
"And instead you're on your knees." You reach down, thread your fingers through his hair, and tug—not hard enough to hurt, only to tilt his head back and make him look at you. "Because you're not in charge right now. I am. And I decide when you get to touch me. I decide when you get to cum. Understood?"
"Understood." His voice is wrecked already, and you haven't even started.
"Good." You release his hair and hop up onto the edge of the counter, spreading your legs. "Now be a good boy and get to work."
You pat your thigh and Seungcheol doesn't need to be told twice. His hands find your thighs, tugging your underwear off with urgent impatience before spreading you wider to make room, and then his mouth is on you and the world dissolves into sensation for both of you.
Seungcheol eats pussy like he's been starving for years and you're the first meal he's been served. His tongue is broad and wet and relentless, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit with a pressure that makes your hips immediately buck against his face. He genuinely moans when he tastes you, like the flavour of your arousal is the best thing he's ever experienced—and the vibration against your clit sends a shockwave up your spine, makes your soles tingle and toes curl.
"Fuck," you breathe, one hand bracing against the counter, the other fisting in his hair. "That's it. That's—right there—"
He stays there. His tongue circles your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, and then his lips close around it and he sucks, and your vision whites out for a second, an involuntary squeal leaving your mouth.
"Oh my god—" you pant, voice getting strained and high-pitched with pleasure.
He hums against you, pleased, and the vibration makes you jolt again. His hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks, holding you open for him, and his tongue keeps working you in a rhythm that's devastatingly precise. He knows exactly what you like. Of course he does. He's spent months learning your body like a language, and now he's fluent.
But you're not going to let him make you come just yet. You tug on his hair, pulling him back, and he looks up at you with his face slick and shining, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes hazy and half-lidded with want.
"Why'd you stop me?" he whines. "I wasn't done. You taste so good, baby, please let me finish—"
"Because I want to sit on your face."
His eyes go wide. Then darken. His cock, which has been bobbing neglected against his stomach, twitches and throbs visibly, a fresh bead of precum welling at the tip.
"Fuck," he whispers. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I want that. Please."
"Get on the floor then."
He lies down on the kitchen tiles without a shred of dignity, his cock standing up like a flagpole, his chest heaving. You slide off the counter and stand over him for a moment, looking down at the picture he makes—this big, muscular man, sprawled on the cold floor, looking up at you like you're the sun and the moon and every star in the sky, his cock leaking all over his own stomach.
"You're so pathetic," you tell him, and you mean it as the highest compliment.
"I know," he breathes. "I'm your pathetic little puppy. Now please—please sit on my face. I need your cunt on my tongue. Need you to smother me with your sweet pussy, baby."
Gosh, you both are so fucking nasty for each other, you chuckle and lower yourself down, kneeling carefully over his head. The first contact of his tongue against your pussy makes you both groan—him from the taste, you from the sensation of his mouth working you open while you settle your full weight onto him. Your thighs bracket his head, and his hands come up to grip your ass, guiding you, pulling you down harder, to sit your entire weight on him.
You let Seungcheol work for a while. Let his tongue fuck into you, let his lips close around your clit, let him moan and whimper against your flesh while you rock your hips in slow, lazy circles. But you have other plans for him, so you twist just enough to reach back, your hand finding his cock where it's standing rigid and neglected.
The sound he makes when you wrap your fingers around him is muffled by your pussy, and you feel the desperate, broken groan that vibrates through your entire body. You stroke him slowly, from base to tip, your thumb swiping over the slick, swollen head to collect the precum that's been pooling there just to massage his frenulum and make the man twitch and jerk his hips uncontrollably, losing all pace of his oral ministrations.
"Look at you," you murmur, looking down at him. "So hard for me. So wet. You're dripping all over yourself. Such a pretty mess, hmm."
He can't answer. His mouth is full of your cunt, his tongue buried inside you, and all he can do is whine and buck his hips into your grip, either encouraging or just sensitive.
"Is this what you wanted? When you were sitting in your meeting with your cock all hard and aching? You wanted to be on your back on the kitchen floor, being used like a toy?"
Seungcheol nods frantically, his nose bumping against your clit, and the sensation makes you gasp.
"That's what I thought. You're nothing but a dumb mutt when I get my hands on you. What a sight, huh? A big, strong man reduced to a whimpering mess on the floor. Your friends have no idea, do they? Do they think you're this alpha male now? That you're the cool guy of the group after you bagged me, hmm?” You apply more weight onto his face and Seungcheol groans against you, soft tongue licking deeper into your heat, coaxing a moan out of you. "Should we let them know that you actually love getting on your knees for me? Love being a good puppy for me?"
You twist your wrist on the upstroke, and his hips stutter, his cock pulsing in your grip. He's close. You can feel it in the way his thighs are tensing, the way his breathing has gone ragged and uneven, and the way his tongue has lost its rhythm against your pussy because he can't concentrate on anything except the pleasure you're wringing out of him.
"Are you going to come?" You ask sweetly. "Are you going to spill all over yourself and make a mess like a good little slut?"
He tries to nod again, but you're already pulling your hand away.
"Too bad," you say, and his desperate, wounded keen is the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. "You don't get to cum until I say so. And I haven't said so."
"Please," he gasps, his mouth finally free of your pussy because you've lifted your hips just enough to look down at him. His face is a mess—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, chin slick with your arousal. "Please, baby, I need to cum. I've been thinking about it all day. I can't—"
"Oh, but you can." You climb off him, and he whines at the loss of contact, his hands reaching for you instinctively. "Get up. Bend me over the counter."
Seungcheol scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly slips and you snicker, telling him to be careful. His cock is an angry red, throbbing visibly, a steady stream of precum dripping from the tip on every twitch. He looks ruined already, and you haven't even let him inside you yet.
You turn around and brace yourself against the counter, arching your back, presenting yourself to him. You're soaked—your thighs are glistening, your pussy is swollen and dripping with a mix of your juices and his spit, and you know exactly what he's seeing right now.
"Now you can fuck me," you tell him. "Slow. Exactly the way I want it. And you're not going to come. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he breathes, steps closer behind you. "Yes, I understand. I'll be good. I'll be so good for you."
He lines himself up. You feel the blunt, thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and even though you're wet and open and ready, the stretch is still overwhelming. Seungcheol pushes in slowly, inch by inch, spreading your walls, filing the empty space that begged to be filled, and you both groan in unison as he fills you.
"Fuck," he whispers. "Fuck, baby, you're so tight. You're always so tight. How are you still so tight?"
"Shut up and move."
He pulls out almost all the way, making you feel the way his veined shaft drags against your sensitive walls, and then pushes back in. Seungcheol fucks you exactly the way you told him to—slow, deep, each thrust deliberate and measured. His hands are gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and you can hear the effort it's taking him to hold back, the way his breathing is coming in ragged gasps, the way he's trembling against you.
"You feel so good," he babbles again. "You feel so fucking good, baby, I can't—I don't know how much longer I can—"
"You can last as long as I tell you to last." But your voice is shaking now too. The angle is perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every slow, grinding thrust, and you're getting close yourself. "Don't you dare cum without permission. Don't you fucking dare."
"I won't. I won't, I promise, just—please, can I go faster? Please?"
"No. Keep it slow. I want to feel every inch of you."
He whimpers, but he does what he's told. His thrusts stay slow and deep, his cock dragging against your walls, and you can feel the orgasm building in your core, coiling tighter and tighter—
Your phone rings.
Your intuition immediately screams at you that it must be someone from work.
"Fuck," you hiss in half frustration, half panic. "Fuck, Cheol, stop, I have—have to take this—"
You try to pull away, but his grip on your hips tightens. "No," he whines. "No, baby, please, I'm so close, don't stop me—"
Somewhere in the back of your mind you feel bad for the man, he sounds so ruined.
"I'm not asking." You pull yourself off his cock with a wet, obscene sound, and Seungcheol makes a noise like you've stabbed him. His cock bobs in the air, angry and neglected, throbbing and jumping with denied orgasm. A thick strand of your combined fluids connects him to your pussy for a brief moment before it snaps. He whines out a sob.
"You ruined it," Seungcheol breathes, and he sounds genuinely devastated. "You ruined my orgasm. Baby, why? I was right there—"
"Stay here," you order, already grabbing your phone from the kitchen table where it was resting forgotten all this time. "Don't move."
You answer the call as you walk toward your room, your voice switching to a semblance of something professional and pleasant even though your thighs are still wet and your pussy is still aching and empty. "Hey, yeah, sorry, just give me one second—"
You don't get your one second. Because Seungcheol, your sweet, pathetic, desperate boyfriend, has followed you despite what you told him to do.
You feel him before you see him—his body pressing up behind you, his hands gripping your hips, his cock sliding between your thighs, still slick with your arousal. You're standing in front of your desk, phone pressed to your ear, and he's already bending you forward, already lining himself up.
"No," you mouth silently, turning your head to glare at him. "Don't you dare."
Seungcheol meets your eyes. His are dark and wild and desperate, and there's something almost feral in his expression. He doesn't stop. He pushes inside you in one smooth, harsh thrust that jolts your entire body, and the sensation of intrusion is so sudden and overwhelming that you have to bite down on your own hand to keep from crying out. This leaves you with no support, which means you pretty much topple over, suddenly pressed into your desk with Seungcheol's hand that was applying pressure between your shoulder blades.
"—and so I was wondering if you could take a look at this document before the meeting this afternoon," your team lead is saying in your ear, her voice cheerful and oblivious. "I know it's last minute, but I think there might be an error on page five."
"Of course," you manage, and your voice comes out surprisingly steady considering the fact that your boyfriend is currently buried balls-deep inside you, his hips already starting to move. "I can—I can do that. No problem."
Seungcheol fucks into you with slow, deliberate strokes, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel how close he still is from before, how desperate. One of his hands slides up and down your back, pressing you down onto the desk before you can even think of lifting your upper body into an upright position, and the other grips your hip hard enough to anchor you in place.
"Great, thanks," your team lead says. "Also, I wanted to ask about the client presentation next week. Have you had a chance to—"
He chooses that moment to thrust particularly deep, his cock hitting your cervix, and a tiny, strangled sound escapes your throat before you can stop it.
"You okay?" your team lead asks.
"Yes," you say, and your voice is definitely too high. "Yes, sorry, I just—stubbed my toe. On the desk. It's fine."
Seungcheol leans down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your free ear. "Little liar," he whispers, so quiet only you can hear. "What will your boss do if she finds out you're getting fucked during your working hours?” He can't help a chuckle that escapes him when he comes up with his next question. "Hmm, does it make you a slut for fucking me and getting paid while doing so? Technically…" he trails off and your pussy clenches traitorously as soon as your brain registers what he just said.
You want to kill him. You want to kill him and then marry him and then kill him again.
"—and if you could send me the updated slides by end of day, that would be perfect," your team lead is saying.
"End of day," you repeat, barely processing the words. Seungcheol has picked up his pace, just slightly, and the sound of his cock sliding into your wet, messy pussy is so loud in the quiet room that you're sure your team lead can hear it if the line stays silent for a moment too long. "Yes. Slides. I'll—I'll send them."
"Are you sure you're okay? You sound a little off."
"I'm fine. I'm great. Just—writing it down."
Seungcheol muffles a laugh against your shoulder. His hand leaves your hip and snakes around to your front, finding your clit with devastating accuracy. Your whole body jolts.
"That's the spot, isn't it?" he breathes in your ear. "That's the spot that makes you stupid. You're going to come on my cock while you're on the phone, aren't you? You're going to soak me and she's going to hear it."
You shake your head frantically, but you can't speak. Your team lead is still talking, something about deadlines and team meetings, and you're nodding along and making vague sounds of agreement while your boyfriend rubs circles on your clit and fucks into you with deep, punishing strokes. You're trying so hard not to start panting or moaning, and your brainpower continues to slip from your grasp.
"I'm going to fill you up," he whispers. "I'm going to pump you so full of cum it'll be dripping out of you for the rest of the day. And you're going to sit in your meetings and feel it leaking into your panties, and you're going to think about me. About this. About how I ruined you while you were trying to be professional."
"Okay," you say into the phone, and you have no idea what you're agreeing to. "Okay, sounds good. I have to—I have to go now, I'll send those slides."
"No rush," your team lead says. "Talk later!"
You hang up with confused fingers, missing the red button on the screen a couple of taps before you finally manage to end the call. The phone clatters onto the desk.
And then you let yourself fall apart.
"Cheol—" It comes out as a loud sob, half fury and half desperate, overwhelming need. "You—you fucking—I can't believe you—"
"You loved it." He's not even trying to hide the smugness in his voice, but it's undercut by the way his hips are stuttering, the way his rhythm is falling apart. "You loved every second of it. I could feel you getting wetter and clenching around me when she asked if you were okay."
"I'm going to kill you—after—after I come—"
"Yeah?" He presses harder on your clit, circles it with the perfect pressure that he knows you enjoy, and the orgasm that's been building since the kitchen finally, finally explodes. "Then come for me. Now, baby. Let me feel it."
You shatter with a mewl. It rips through you like a thunderclap, your whole body seizing up, your pussy clamping down on his cock in rhythmic, pulsing waves. You scream—you can't help it, the sound tears out of you raw and unguarded after long minutes of trying to suppress it all—and Seungcheol groans and buries himself to the hilt, spilling inside you in hot, copious pulses.
He keeps thrusting through it, fucking his cum deeper into you, and you can feel it flooding you, filling you, leaking out around his cock in a white obscene ring and dripping down your thighs. He doesn't stop until he's completely spent, and then he collapses over you, his weight pressing you into the desk, his breath hot and ragged against the back of your neck.
For a long moment the room is silent. The only sounds are your mingled breathing and the faint, distant hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
Then: "You're a menace," you whisper, swallowing thickly and heaving a sigh.
He laughs, breathless and giddy and a little bit wrecked. "Yeah. But you're the same. And you love me."
You don't argue. You can't. Not when his cock is still inside you, still half-hard, still plugging you full of his cum. Not when you can already feel it starting to drip out despite his best efforts. Not when your legs are shaking so badly you're not sure you can stand if you try.
"Next time," you manage, "I'm locking you to a piece of furniture before I take a work call."
"Hmm, I think next time," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade, "you'll let me do it again. Because you're just as depraved as I am."
You hate that he's right. You hate it even more that you don't hate it at all.
*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.
boyfriend!seungcheol x f!reader (honestly this reads like Bun & Cheol to me hahaha)
based on this YT video
genre: fluff
summary: Seungcheol’s confidence in the kitchen takes a blow.
word count: 994
SVT Shorts Series | Masterlist
Thanks to you all so much for the love you've been showing these!
It’s a lazy evening. You’re laying back against the sofa arm, book in hand, feet resting on Seungcheol’s thighs as he scrolls aimlessly through his phone. The sun is starting to set just enough that you reach back to turn the lamp on, filling the room with warm light.
As you come out of your comfortable haze, you realize that you’re hungry. Seungcheol must realize the same thing, because he proclaims, “I’m going to cook us dinner.”
You lower your book to give him an uneasy look. “I was thinking I’d just make us something simple tonight.”
But he’s got that determined look on his face that you know you won’t win against. All you can do is go along with it and hope things turn out okay.
“What’s for dinner?” you ask lightly, hoping your voice doesn’t betray your anxiety. Seungcheol doesn’t often cook but when he does, it never turns out quite right. Meat cooked a bit too long, soups a little overseasoned. His heart is in the right place, but he lacks the technique to see his creations through.
You’ve tried to teach him over the years, but he’s stubborn. He’s convinced he has the “chef instinct” and it’s just a matter of unlocking it.
“Sundubu jjigae!” he announces cheerfully. He lifts your ankles before setting them back onto the cushion, and heads into the kitchen.
Sighing, you slip your bookmark between the pages and slide your book under a throw pillow. Overseasoned soft tofu stew it is. At least there’s instant rice. He can’t ruin rice.
That’s not true, you realize. He’s microwaved it almost to burning before. Maybe you should offer to handle the rice.
Seungcheol is already pulling things out of the fridge. You can hear him humming as he painstakingly chops the vegetables. No matter how many times you’ve tried to show him how to properly chop, he always brushes you off and continues doing things his way.
Which is why you can’t bear to go in there and watch what he’s doing. You take your time fluffing the sofa pillows, refolding the blanket that Joshua lovingly crocheted the two of you as an anniversary gift. It’s a bit itchy and sometimes your toes get caught in the gaps, but it’s a sweet gift so you keep it on the sofa anyway.
Seungcheol often remarks that he’s glad Joshua gave up that particular hobby before it got more out of hand; secretly, so are you. Similarly, you wish Seungcheol would give up his desire to cook. Your cookware wishes the same thing.
“Ow!”
Unable to delay the inevitable any longer, you head into the kitchen. There’s a mess of half-chopped vegetables on the counter and a cutting board overflowing with uneven ingredients. Seungcheol is rummaging in the fridge.
“Are you sure this is right?” You hover near the pot, which is close to boiling over.
Seungcheol nudges you out of the way to check. His hair is pushed up on one side where he keeps touching it while he checks his phone. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s supposed to look like that.”
“But is it supposed to smell like that?” you press, fighting the urge to turn down the stove. When Seungcheol insisted on making dinner tonight, you were wary. Now, seeing him in action, you’re downright stressed.
“Seungcheol–”
“Have some faith in me, will you? I read the recipe this time, and I–oh!”
The bubbling pot really has boiled over now; reflexively, he grabs for it before you can stop him, getting hot liquid over his fingers.
His pained whine hurts your heart. Clicking off the stove, you drag him over to the sink and thrust his hand under the cold water. The two of you stand there for a minute, letting the water rush over his reddened fingers.
When you finally shut off the water to check the extent of his injury, he sighs. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I know. I definitely know.”
The burn isn’t too bad. Using a clean towel, you dry off his hand before turning towards the stove. Maybe you can at least salvage dinner.
Except, looking at the remains of the soup, you’re not sure you want to. It doesn’t look edible.
“I give up,” he says, tossing the towel onto the counter. “I can’t cook.”
“Darn,” you tease him, hugging him from behind and resting your cheek against his broad back. “No house husband for me.”
“I can do other things,” he protests. “I can clean stuff. Laundry…take out the trash. Stuff like that.”
“Mm. Looks like we’ll just have to split the responsibilities. I can get behind that.”
“What about dinner?”
“Spam egg rice sound good?”
While Seungcheol gingerly cleans up the mess he’s made, you fry off some cubes of spam and scramble some eggs with green onion. Sliding the fluffy eggs over some steaming instant rice, you add a little drizzle of kewpie mayo and some more green onion and sesame seeds for decoration before presenting him with a bowl.
“Nothing fancy, but how’s that for a quick dinner?”
He takes the bowl, looking morose all the while. “Just once I’d like to be the one making you something delicious. I don’t know why I have a kitchen curse.”
“No. Hansol has a kitchen curse,” you correct. “You just don’t listen very well.”
“I try.”
“You don’t. You’re stubborn and ridiculous about it no matter how many times I try to tell you what to do.” Seeing the pout spreading across his handsome face, you pinch his cheek. “And I love you so much anyway.”
He gives you a sulky look that makes your heart fond. “How much?”
“So, so much.”
“How much is so, so much?”
“Enough that I’m willing to put up with you destroying my pans.”
He glances at the stove before ducking his head. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
“Yes, you will. Now let’s go eat before it gets cold.”
Like legit so Bun & Cheol coded hahahaha, I might include this in a sequel or something.
synopsis: In your brain, men start to become Thing 1, Thing 2, Annoying Thing 3, Righteous Thing 4, and so forth. Throughout your college experience, your stringent standard, which practically was the 'bare minimum', you haven't found a single man to shock you. Until, you met this flustered, and surprisingly bulky nerd, named Choi Seungcheol, in an unexpected crowd.
pairing: nerd&gym rat!scoups x vice president!f.reader
genre: college au, smut, slight crack
word count(teaser): 1.5k
cw(teaser): mention of mingyu, not beta read gah!, nothing else major... if anything, lmk!
cw/tw(full): MDNI 18+ content, puppydom!scoups LMFAO thats all i can say right now idek myself
a/n: i feel like you guys can tell i'm still not over this scoups... its been months yo, and these pictures are literally my laptop wallpaper.. gulp guilty as charged i guess.... anyways any comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!! i want to hear your guys feedbacks and possible tips too. i just have this big picture of a puppy boy scoups so... hopefully u'll want to stay for the full piece hehe
one:
Men are so boring. They're all one note, as they made one niche thing their whole personality.
You never came across a man who truly piqued your interest. Or had a real personality, and emotional intelligence. It was either one or the other, and it really confused you. Where and why are these guys so hard to find? And why is asking for the bare minimum a crime?
You spent twenty-two years on this planet, and yet even your brother and father cease to disappoint you in how men behave.
With that determination in mind and your senior year cracking down, you're desperate to find one. To at least save yourself from wanting to beat up a man.
---
As the ambitious, and very social Vice President of the school's Student Government Association, commonly referred as SGA, you've familiarized yourself with a lot of other students. You would assume that at least one of the guys you've met would at least make you go 'wow.'
But... Here you are, standing in the local gym nearby campus. Your eyes scanned over your surroundings as that rubbery smell sent you back to your horrific high school gym class. You were unsure if a gym was the right place to search for a respectful and well-mannered guy, but you needed to try everything.
You shook your head in disbelief that you're really here, and going such lengths to search for a man.
A man. It gave you goosebumps at that thought.
You heard your name being called from behind you, a familiar tall and very bulky figure walked toward you.
Kim Mingyu, your dreadful President in SGA.
He spewed constant bullshit about how much he went to the gym, how much he worked out, and how much protein he ate in a day. So, he was your best bet to have a productive workout, and hopefully know someone.
"Hey! You know, I'd never expect you to actually want to go to the gym with me. Usually no one can keep up." Mingyu mused, chuckling to himself as he set his stuff down. He was the only gym-rat you'd actually be able to tolerate, but after that remark, you don't know so much...
"Uh-huh." You responded dryly, trying to pretend you care. Your eyes scanned the gym again, trying to find a new face.
"What are you looking for? Oh, and I was thinking about hitting arms today for myself." Mingyu rambled on, but you weren't listening. You never really were listening in the first place.
With the absent roll of words from Mingyu's mouth, the mixture of people moving around, and the hum of treadmills, you finally landed your eyes on this unfamiliar looking guy.
He was wearing this black tank, and a cap with his headphones on. His biceps looked like carved mountains by the goddess Gaia, as they tugged down on the lat bar.
When you heard Mingyu's lisp, you knew he was trying to get your attention.
"Huh?" You finally brought your eyes back to him, noticing how he's almost pouting but trying desperately to play it off.
"What?" You repeated, giving him an incredulous stare at his petulant attitude.
"I asked if you wanted to hit arms with me like four, five times." He mumbled, fussing with his newly permed hair. You had told him not to get it, he'd look like a mushroom if he did, but he refused to listen to you. Now he looked like a mushroom, and now he regretted not listening to you.
"Oh." You thought about it, you could approach that guy if you did arms.
"Yeah sure, that sounds like a great idea, Gyu." You answered, tying up your hair neatly.
You told Mingyu you'll be right back and you needed to stuff your duffle bag into a locker.
He gave you a side long stare before nodding.
"Okay... well, I'll be by the cable machine when you come back."
You watched him walk off and you made a beeline toward the locker rooms.
An unusually heavy sigh left your lips as you stared at the locker. Your master plan started to run through your mind and you couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. Would he be like every other guy? Or would he be awkward and introverted, then you'd be the weird one? Or even maybe he'd be a pervert and start acting weird?
A brief reminder that Mingyu is waiting for you shook you out of your thoughts. You didn’t want him running rumors about your undiagnosed IBS right now, especially when you’re trying to seem approachable.
You finally landed eyes on Mingyu, biting his lower lip as he acted like he was pulling the heaviest weights in the world.
You tried to stifle back a laugh, but the amusement that glittered in your eyes was obvious.
He stopped his rep to weakly smile at you with crinkled eyes. Glinting that million dollar smile he always does at each conference.
"What?" You responded, trying not to sound breathless. Handsome men were always your weakness...
You were close with Mingyu, because you kind of had to, given you're his vice president. So seeing this gummy smile, that looked like it was reserved for someone special, was the usual for you.
"Nothing, you look stupid." You responded quickly, trying not to dwell on this conversation further. You had this grandiose dream you needed to execute.
Mingyu ignored your remark. He spotted that renewed energy blooming in your eyes, "What now? You have that scary look on your face."
You shook your head, trying to snap out of that brief fake conversation you just had in your head.
"What are you talking about? I always look driven to succeed, Gyu." You teased back.
He shook his head in disbelief, standing up to look in the direction you were. His eyes narrowed on the guy too, his bulging biceps as he pulled the lat bar down. You could see each muscle working when he pulled down the bar. You'd be lying if denied the fact you were practically drooling at the sight.
"Him? Seriously?" Mingyu whipped his eyes between you two, he stood slightly in front of you. His stupid gesticulating had you smacking his hands down.
"Stop it." You said behind clenched teeth, trying to be inconspicuous, "you're making it obvious!"
He audaciously laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.
Before you could scold him any further, he started walking straight towards that guy. You immediately panicked, your eyes widening.
"Gyu- no. Come back here!" You whisper-shouted, walking after him.
"Seungcheol!" Mingyu called out. He used his charming voice, that playful frat guy tone he used around guys. It kind of, just kind of, made him insufferable
The man you were just drooling over, looked up at Mingyu with a resting face.
Without the obstructing cap, you could see his features, and fucking hell, this guy was hot.
He wore specs, and behind those glasses, were a pair of stunning eyes with black, thick lashes framing them. A nose tall enough to do unimaginable things you shouldn't imagine when you first see a man. Full lips that make you wonder how they would feel under yours.
Fuck me. You thought, and here you stood, mouth ajar and stunned by this man's beauty. You prayed that maybe he'd be the man you were searching high and low for.
Mingyu was talking to him, but he was looking at you with that same stupid face. Lips parted and wide-eyed. In your honest, and very humble opinion, he looked much more attractive than you at that moment.
“Anyways, Seungcheol, this is my vice president—” Mingyu had started, but his low voice cut him off.
“I know her.”
Three words shut the both of you up, and now you and Mingyu share that same stunned face.
“Y-you do?” You asked, sounding more stupider than you anticipated.
“Yeah.” He responded, looking back and forth between you and Mingyu.
Both of you two started talking at the same time, and face palm at the same time. Seungcheol blinked, like he was seeing double.
“Well, um. It was nice to meet you Seungcheol, I'll probably see you around campus, yeah?” You prompted, praying that this first impression won't make him think anything bad of you.
He simply nodded. Nodded. A shaky exhale left your lips, a tight smile forming on your face.
“Okay, I'll see you around.” Your voice wavered, and as soon as you turned around, you grimaced.
When you two walked back, Mingyu smacked the shit out of your shoulder, your body almost tumbling forward. Sometimes he, and you, forget he's strong. But you two are equally as embarrassed, stumbling and walking away with your head in your hands.
“Fuck off. Shut up, I don't want to hear a single word of your mouth.” You gritted out, elbowing his ribs.
He yelped in pain, backing up. “Okay, in my defense, I've never seen you so flustered by a man.”
Those words sink inside your gut. Flustered? No fucking way.
“God forbid a girl gets anxious! Gyu— my god— Gyu, you didn't give me time to prepare!” Your hands flew up, trying to defend yourself.
He snorted, “Sure, it was my fault then.” He patted you back, and you smacked his forearm away.
“Let's just workout.” You exhaled, pinching your nose bridge.
a/n: interested in the teaser? join the taglist for the full work!!! im not so sure if ill really get this work done.... scratches head, i just wanted to see how many people would anticipate it!
cosplayer! cheol whose personality does a whole 180 degree change while he's on character. All clad in costume which suits him unfairly well. Tactical gear that's fit and tight in all the right places, showcasing his great form because apart from a nerd he's a gym bro.
cosplayer! cheol who runs into you, whose clueless and noticeably annoyed at the unusual amount of people crowding everywhere; turns out there was some kind of convention at the mall. You're balancing a couple shopping bags in your arms exiting your favorite store when you collide with someone, hard. You stumble, but that someone's quick to outstretch his arms and steady you, hands on your waist while yours shoot up blindly finding purchase in his biceps.
you stand there frozen staring up into a pair of dark brown eyes as they look down on you, wide with concern that most likely mirror yours. It's all you can really see because he's wearing a black mask that covers the lower half of his face, soft strands of equally dark hair falling over his forehead; and they're enough to take your breath away again in less than a minute.
once your brain catches up to the situation, you snap out of your trance. he reacts, straightening you both up and checking with you if you're okay. his voice is deep and slightly muffled by the mask. You note how your hands are feeling over the big muscles in his arms still (they're not built up in the suit, those are real) and it takes you a second too long before you're putting them away.
cosplayer! cheol whom unbeknownst to you is terrible at talking with women on a good day, now is standing in front of the prettiest girl he's ever seen and fearing he might turn this accidental interaction even worse but, is he being overly optimistic or are you really looking at him with interest? at least he believes you're flirting with him and somehow he's answering back, a sense of pride washing over him when you laugh at something he said.
cosplayer! cheol who tries not to show how disappointed he is when you mention you were about to head out. Well, he was too, he voices as he takes off the mask hiding the rest of his face from you. And you stare, because why couldn't he choose another costume that'd put a face like that one to good use as well? Not that you know anything about that but you'd sure let this handsome stranger tell you all about it. Preferably somewhere more private.
cosplayer! cheol that somehow ends up stumbling into his apartment with you.
cosplayer! cheol who can't figure out how things came to this, as he has you now splayed on his bed with your hands all over him. you, who don't even let him take off his suit entirely before you get to it.
cosplayer! cheol who's still in bed afterwards, turning into a stuttering mess as you ask for his phone to leave him your number. you, whom before you go, are pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips leaving behind the perfect imprint of your freshly applied lipstick (amongst the other marks you were able to cover him on), pleasantly spent after probably the best fucking of your life.
a/n: don't look at me. 🫣 I know this is quick and short bc it's just an idea lol. this is what my very sleep deprived brain could do while nursing a big ass headache so ignore possible typos (apart from the lower case bc that was intended). I can't even think of writing smut while I feel like this lmao. in another episode of me sidetracking and coming up with other stuff instead of sticking to one thing, here I am thinking thoughts about cosplayer! cheol. I'll let you take a guess about what prompted this. This is separate from my previous cheol stories I just love writing him with nerdy loser vibes. (is there something wrong with me? lmao)
february 2026 : a surprise collaboration between monster energy and lando's flavor makes the internet go crazy.
lando norris x f!reader ୨୧ warnings : language, fan culture, some hate comments, suggestive / thirsting comments (fans) ୨୧ note : just a quick chapter bc aespa literally blessed me and work has been kicking my ass this week 🥹 also, aespa (winter and ningning) is used mainly as the fc for this chapter! if you enjoy don't forget to comment/reblog!
part of the lando's heart series.
📅 february 21, 2026
liked by mclarenf1, oscarpiastri, lnfour, lando and 49,223 others
monsterenergy can you taste the monster? #monsterenergy #comingsoon
View all 209 comments
user WHO IS THISSSSSSSSSSSSS
user omg why is lando in the likes
user OSCAR TOO
user umm..... maybe bc they both follow and are sponsored by monster???
user yeah but like when do either of them just like a random monster energy post??
user BRO WHAT IS THIS????????!??!?!?!?
user oh i don't think monster has ever served this much cvnt before
user monster what are you cooking????
monsterenergy 👀 👀 👀
user whoever this is told monster they needed to step up their game for her 🤩🤩🤩
user is this lando related??? and posted right after the pre-season testing too 🤔🤔🤔
user omg you're right!!!
user whoever this is they are serving so much right now
📅 february 22, 2026
cherryn just updated their story !
replies
user MY PARENTSSSSSSSSS
user wait a minute...
user i just know the mini monster fridge kills yn every time she sees it in the living room 😭😭😭
user monster needs to release this in the us cause i NEED to get my hands on his energy drink 😭😭
user LANDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
user AINT NO WAY MONSTER JUST REPOSTED THIS STORY
📅 february 23, 2026
♫ Skillet · Monster
cherryn and monsterenergy can you taste the monster?
lando norris zero sugar is now available nationwide in the u.s. 💚
#monsterenergy
View all 928,387 comments
lando my fav model 💚💚💚 liked by author
lnfour the best model for lando's zero sugar 🤪
lnfour no one doing it like our it-couple liked by author
oscarpiastri 👊👊👊
mclarenf1 the green looks good but maybe we can try orange next time
cherryn ofc 🤭
user WHAT DOES THIS MEANNNNNNNNNNN
user if mclaren get yn as a model i will pass away
user THE MYSTERY WOMAN WAS YNNNNNNN WTFFFFFFFF THIS IS SO AMAZING
user IT WAS FOR LANDOS ENERGY DRINK 🥴🥴🥴
user this is ACTUALLY insane
user monster getting lando's gf to model for his new drink 🤤🤤 that's how you do it
user ugly
user sooooooooo can we all agree that yn is probs the one who came up with this photoshoot concept 👀👀👀
user oh absolutely she 100% did 🤭
user the brand consultant side of her came out for this and ATE
user YOU ATE QUEEEEN
user can brands stop using wags to promote their stuff??? this is getting so old 😪
user fr honestly didn't think monster of all brands would go this low
user would rather yn work with monster than rhode and alo like all the other ones 😭
user 'london boy x american girl' agenda striking again 🥺
user omg wait– you're sooooo right
user no bc i forget yn is from america until random things like this remind me
f1wagupdates monster energy reveals stunning photoshoot with y/n in order to announce the u.s. nationwide release of lando's monster energy drink. fans reportedly going crazy over announcement
📷 credits cherryn and monsterenergy
View all 24,389 comments
user no because this WILL be my personality until the season starts
user models should be lucky yn chose to be a wag x influencer instead
user oh i need her to do more modeling 😫 cause she's stunning
user born to be a model forced to be a world champ's gf
user just a reminder she has more followers than lando...
user lando using HER for clout /j
user WAIT A MINUTE HER INSTA STORY FROM THE OTHER DAY WAS A HINT!!!!
user OH SHIT YOU'RE RIGHT HOW DID NO ONE NOTICE
user FUCKING FINALLY I CANT WAIT TO GET MY HANDS ON THAT DRINK
user just shows that lando needs yn more than she needs him
user i mean.... you're def not wrong 😭
user why????? would you????? say this?????
📅 february 25, 2026
♫ Aliyah's Interlude · IT GIRL
cherryn can you taste the monsterrrrrrrr 👅⚡️💚 #monsterenergy
View all 837,584 comments
lando i can def taste something 😏
cherryn you dog 🤭
lando sorry not sorry that i'm obsessed with you 🤷♂️
user HE ADMITTED TO BEING OBSESSED 📸
lnfour THE IT GIRL 👅 liked by author
ari.archive sooooooooo sexyyy 👅
rebeccadonaldson 💚💚💚
lilymhe those photos turned out so good!!
cherryn thank u love 💚
carmenmmundt 💚
user i'm literally obsessed with this concept of yn promoting lando's stuff – like i NEED more of it
user 🐷🐷🐷🐷
user the song choice EATSSSSSSSS
user the 2026 season hasn't even begun yet and i'm ALREADY thirsting after yn 😫 how is this fair?????
user mother served so hard that i went out and bought lando's flavor 😮💨
user mother has influenced us all 🤤
📅 february 26, 2026
♫ Chanmina · WORK HARD
cherryn and monsterenergy the monster is ready. can you taste the monster?
lando norris zero sugar is now available nationwide in the u.s. 🩷
#monsterenergy
View all 994,389 comments
lando so fucking sick
lnfour obsessed 🤩🤩🤩
withmia my pretty best friend 🩷
cherryn ☺️☺️☺️
valentinexx can't get over this entire look liked by author
oscarpiastri model for mine if i get one?
cherryn ofc 🥰 i would be honored 🫶
user AINT NO WAY OSCAR JUST ASKED YN THAT
user YOOOOOOO CHAT WHAT????
user OSCAR ENERGY DRINK 2026???????
user first the 'london boy x american girl' and NOW 'australian boy x american girl' 😩 pls i love oscaryn so much
user umm... pls don't be weird about oscar and yn 😭
flavy.barla sexyyy 🩷
ciscanorris1 soooooo iconic girl liked by author
kikagomes that's hot 🥵
user i thought the first set of photos were hot but these... 🥴🥴🥴
user MOMMY??????
user i'm gonna tell my kids that this was barbie
user omg monster energy barbie 😱😱😱
user new nickname unlocked
user SHUT THE LITERAL FUCK UPPPPPPPPPPP
user SURELY LANDO CANNOT FIGHT US ALL
user get you a girl who can model your energy drink 🥴
user these promo posts are some of monster's most liked and interacted with posts 😳 the power of yn
user the power of our monster energy barbie!!
user i LOVE when yn decides to do little random sidequests
user WAIT– was her outfit she wore to the pre season testing a hint?!?!?
user oh shit i think you're right
user our girl was dropping hints and we literally had NO IDEA
user her brain is so big
user and i will NEVER shut up about this photoshoot
user ugh at this point lando and mclaren are just shoving her in our faces 😒😒😒 she's not even that pretty compared to other wags
user ummmmm are we looking at the same woman???
user get your eyes checked mate
user this photoshoot just confirms to me that yn is mastermind behind this whole concept 🤩 but i'm complaining
user if i only had one chance 😭
user buddy wouldn't we ALL like one chance
f1atelier photos are just placeholders! yn doesn't have an actual faceclaim please imagine yourself or whoever you want in these pictures! thanks.
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.
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.
summary: Seungcheol and you are bound in a nameless pact, existing only in confined walls of your apartment. The secret visits cease when either of you falls for someone else. Your confidence in this arrangement is put to a test as your crush, friends, and feelings get involved.
genre: Seungcheol xf.reader, friends with benefits au, smut, romance, fluff, angst, found family au.
prompt: As friends (even with benefits) they told each other if there was someone in their life they were crushing on. But the reactions to it changed over time. (@/creativepromptsforwriting)
warnings for this chapter: MDNI, this is unedited, swearing, daddy kink, dominant cheol, also kinda asshole cheol, reader is diabetic
wc: 4.7k
c's note: i tried to write the ending scene but im hating it with my life so i have divided the chapter into two and posting the first half i hope you understand and did i tell you i love slow burn :) please let me know your thoughts and comments etc etc
playlist: fallingforyou by the1975, moth to a flame by theweeknd, swedish house mafia, hey jude by the beatles
chap - 1 chap - 2 chap - 3
Work is gonna kill you soon. Or you are gonna kill your lead. One of it might happen if your lead doesn’t end the meeting right now. He has been going on and on about the low sales numbers, monotonously, reiterating the same point for a hundredth time. The directors are restless in their seats, tapping their pens on the wooden table waiting for a valuable point that’s not product placements and how their positioning ruined the sales.
You grip onto the edges of your notebook, the sharp papers cutting into your delicate skin. Fuck, you suck on the burning spot, hoping it wouldn’t take more time to heal. Paper cuts are worse than a heartbreak. You look down on your empty notes, blinking, your stomach twisting as anxiousness overtakes your hatred over your lead. The unanswered texts, and missed phone calls sit on your phone, a constant reminder that you can’t avoid forever.
“...the advertisements of the product could only take us so far, uh,” Rob stutters, flipping the presentation slide, realising the topic on the hand is about the next quarter projectile, “moving on, the next quarter the sales are gonna be up.”
The numbers are red. You roll your eyes in agitation. When is he gonna end this god awful meeting, and let you guys go. It’s lunch soon, and you are hungry.
Mingyu catches your attention from across the room. He mimics your eye roll, part mockery and part understanding. You narrow your eyes at him. He smiles, his sunshine and everything in this world is fine smile, clutching his ear in apology.
The agitation simmers down, you can’t help but smile back at his cute way of holding onto his ear. Mingyu’s eyes widen, and your smile drops. You face Rob again. He is droning on and on, making your presentation and findings shameful. The two nights you stayed up, pulling in the data and going out of your way to make it useful is gone a waste. Rob has studied one point and thought he could wing it. He didn’t, clearly.
The slideshow rolls to an end. You never were this thankful for a meeting to end. Not even one-on-one with your manager is this stressful and painful to sit. You cap your pen and close your notes.
“Will send an invite to discuss our product launch and the strategy to market it better. In the meantime, bring your ideas along with you.”
Jihoon snaps his laptop shut, a little too loudly for the safety of his screen. He pulls the long sleeves of his shirt to his elbow, openly glaring at the man who is behind the annoyance bubbling through him.
You can always count on him, to go through the same emotions as you. Not leaving you wondering, if you are the only one fucked up.
Everyone in the room excuses themselves, chatting about the lunch options, Friday night plans, and the work cut out for them. An incompetent lead doesn’t suffer alone, he drags everyone down with him.
“It’s high time he quits.” Jihoon grumbles, opening his laptop and checking for cracks. None. He sends a silent thank you. “Or he can be asked to resign. I mean this meeting is enough ground for him to be fired.”
“Agree.” Mingyu pops behind you, his notepad and capless pen in his hands. “He dragged in two departments that had nothing to do with this meeting.”
Jihoon stands up, stretching his arms and legs, “I’m surprised your department didn’t send a long ass email hauling his ass.”
“I see it coming.”
You collect your things, ready to leave and pass time for the rest of the day. It’s Friday, and you are done with this week.
The two fall silent for a brief moment, gauging your face. You hug the notebook to your chest, defences raising their walls. “What?”
Your phone vibrates. A new message sits on your notifications.
Seungcheol: free tonight?
“Nothing, it’s just that,” Mingyu rubs the back of his neck, “nothing. A new bakery opened around the corner. Can we hit it for lunch?”
You slide the message notification, clearing your screen. “New bakery?”
“Yeah. Something with Paris or Italy in its name. The cakes are to die for. Their triple chocolate cake is my favorite, given I have only tried that single one.”
Jihoon gives him a pointed look.
“What? I have gone only once. Hyesun tried something with hazelnut but the bottom of that cake is weird, but the triple chocolate,” he moans, closing his eyes, is that a sway in his footsteps, “you have to try.”
Another team knocks on the glass door, “are you occupying the room now?”
The three of you mumble a no and rush out of the meeting room.
Jihoon eyes you and proceeds to decline, “she can’t have—”
“Triple chocolate.” You hum, wondering about the cake that made this six feet tall man sway in the middle of a meeting room, “I am down.”
“Are you sure?” Jihoon jumps in. “Are you absolutely sure?”
You give a firm nod. “Just need to wrap up a couple things and send meeting minutes. And we can go. Is that fine?”
Mingyu runs his hand down his tie, straightening it. “Yeah,” he eyes Jihoon who returns a nod. “That’s a plan then. Meet you at the elevators in ten minutes.”
He walks away to his cubicle. You and Jihoon take your time in reaching yours.
Jihoon asks, “are you okay?”
You look at him in surprise, rolling out your chair and sitting on it. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”
Jihoon sets his book down on the desk. He shrugs, “you are acting different. Weird.”
“I’m good, Jihoon. Thank you for asking.” You move the mouse bringing your system alive. “You are the one being weird. Asking me about my welfare.”
Jihoon leans his hips on his desk, folding his hands across his chest. A glint sparkles over his glasses as he says, “well, you don’t usually spend days staring off into void, or take long bathroom breaks—” you are about to question his dignity “—and come back with swollen eyes. Or a red nose.”
“Wow. Are you a stalker?” You open the email chain, and type the meeting minutes, and possible reminders, “I would like some privacy, please, thank you.”
“Something happened.” Jihoon trails off, thinking into the void, “you have been off, since Wednesday, that means something must have happened on Tuesday. You were fine till the evening. Party.” He snaps his fingers, proud of his detective skills, “Something happened at the party.”
You pause smashing the keypad, and turn to your co-worker, friend originally but he is prying too much into your life right now, dumbstruck. “Wow. Soonyoung is right for the first time. You really don’t have life. Trying to be the next Detective Conan?”
“Big fan. Actually.” He shrugs, “Watched a few episodes last night.”
“I can see. If you don’t mind,” you wave at your system, “I have an email to send and a hungry giant lurking near the elevators.”
On cue Mingyu raises his left wrist, tapping on it. Jihoon lets you be, passing time over his phone till you are done with your task. You are glad that Jihoon can be distracted easily.
—
The said cafe, with a name that you are sure you’ll spell wrong and butcher the pronunciation, has a small line. The fiber intake you never miss before any meal helps you only a little with the hunger and the craving for something sweet.
“Heard the party was a huge success.” Mingyu shoves your shoulder, “what? You guys don’t talk about it or tell me anything, really.”
Jihoon scrolls through his phone, “was good. Soonyoung made a fool, no, no, everyone did, they had a twerking battle, didn’t they?” He looks up at you for confirmation, once you nod, he continues, “they are hilarious. Like a personal circus, each one in their own league.”
Mingyu jutts his bottom lip out. “Sounds better than my lame housewarming party. There are tons of questions involved and all are about my furniture.” He looks up at the cloudy sky that carries a threat to rain anytime. “Want to meet them. Hey, why don’t you invite me.”
He doesn’t let you defend yourself, continuing, “I mean, you two threw shade on me for hosting a reasonable party on a Tuesday night, only to ditch me and have your own. With no solid reason.”
“There was a solid reason. My friend wants to hook up with this girl and wants help.” You reason.
“So did he?” Jihoon asks.
You nod. “They are going on a date this Saturday. Soonyoung has been driving us nuts sending outfits to choose from.”
The line moves a little, now you are standing in the doorway.
“Wow,” Mingyu looms over you and Jihoon. “The famous Musketeers. I can’t wait to meet them. Only people capable of making you throw a party.”
“Trust me you don’t want that.” You crane your neck, reading through the available options or more like ogling at the delicate deserts. It’s been so long. “They look good.” You mumble to yourself. Your friends will probably die for a bite.
Your phone buzzes, the group chat not taking a single break ever since it is created. Soonyoung sent another outfit. You pocket your phone. Relieved that it is only the group chat.
Mingyu is still waiting for you to continue, “oh, you will regret knowing them. Jihoon does. They are like leeches. They’ll suck you dry.”
Another vibration. You anxiously check on the message again. It’s Mina replying on behalf of everyone else, asking him to shut up and find a good date place first. You can’t believe Soonyoung is invested in clothes rather than finding an ideal location. Men. Disappointing men.
Vernon sends an amen.
“Jihoon doesn’t hate them. Trust me. I know how he behaves when he hates something. Bringing up excuses like checking schedules and ditching us.” Mingyu grumbles.
“Imagine Soonyoung and Mingyu in one room. The chaos.” Jihoon shivers. “Still, it’ll be entertaining I guess.”
“I can’t help but feel petty that you guys threw shade at me only to galavante your way to your own party.” Mingyu grumbles, now closer to the counter as you three loom over the display case more than in the line. “That’s the triple chocolate I’m talking about.”
“Oh.” You lean into the glass display, mouth watering already. “Looks pretty.”
Mingyu mirrors you, his face inches away, “I know you will love it.”
You turn to him in confusion. You aren't a big sweet consumer given your health condition and wonder how he knows your likes and dislikes.
Mingyu grins, all sunshine and too bright for your taste. “It has that vibe. Your vibe.” He shoves your shoulder again, and stands up, straightening his tie again, and zips up his jacket. “Ready to order?”
Jihoon gives you a pointed look, pushing his glasses up his nose. Detective Conan. You roll your eyes, straightening and half hiding behind Mingyu as he tells his order, and looks down at you.
Other cakes look appetizing too, hazelnut calling to you with all the nuts and creamy decorations. You glance at the triple chocolate and remember Mingyu words. Whenever someone gives suggestions, it is your tic to go in the other way, your own little rebellion or being annoying.
You point at the triple chocolate. Mingyu grins, his Vampire canines and all. He happily adds your order and Jihoon’s.
“You’ll love it.” He is brighter than before and you wonder how many shades of brightness he has.
The phone in your hand buzzes. You settle at a table, sitting on the chair, your heart skipping another beat seeing Seungcheol’s profile picture and one new message notification. You are quick to unlock your phone and read it through the notification bar.
Seungcheol: let me know
Seungcheol: need to talk
“And circling back,” Mingyu taps on the table asking for your attention, “why don’t you invite me to any of your parties? I can use some relaxation too, you know.”
You let out a short breath, locking your phone and setting it on the table. “You were hosting your own party. You couldn’t have made it even if I asked you to come.”
“You never know that!” Mingyu shrieks, and adds, “if you had invited me, I would have.”
Your heart skips a beat. He wants to come because it’s you who is inviting?
“Keep that in mind.” Mingyu sing-songs, “oh they are coming.”
Jihoon is watching you, dissecting your feelings and moods. You turn away, looking out of the window.
Another vibration. Your eyes flit to the screen to see another new message from Seungcheol. You lick your lips, staring at his picture, your stomach twisting. He’s good in that photo, the one you took in the middle of the night and captured his rare grin.
You look up, Jihoon looks up from your phone to you. His head tilting in deep thoughts. You flip your phone and join Mingyu in his excitement over the desserts.
Mingyu hands you the fork, “ready?”
Jihoon lets it go, and you hope he doesn’t piece it together.
—
Friday nights are your absolute favorite. After spending five days in the office, working like a slave to a company that doesn’t give a dime about their employees’ welfare, you can’t wait to have the next two days to yourself.
The sky still carries the threat of rain, heavy downpour at any point. You slowly walk on the pavement along with your dog, Clementine, who has an excited spring in her steps. She stops over a shrub to sniff every single leaf until it satisfies her thoroughly. Your heart settles inside your ribcage watching her smile at you in between, finally able to take a breather.
Clementine, seemingly done with the shrub, moves past it, dragging you along. You hold onto her leash watching the traffic move slowly, the traffic lights changing colors. What should you do for the next two days? You can’t sit in your home, until you want to spend the time moping around. Or worse, berating yourself for your idiotic decision making skills.
Your phone buzzes in your jacket pocket. Soonyoung. It has to be him with his outfit options or something worse. He has a date coming up this weekend, meaning there’s less probability for your group of friends assembling. Clementine runs over to a tree, the sudden pull has you stumbling over the sidepath as she chases a squirrel.
“Clementine!” You tug her back, “One second I look away and you—”
She turns around, panting with her tongue out, and smiling at you. You sigh, you pet her, “let’s go. Enough sniff time for you today.”
Tiny drops of rain falls on your arms. “Oh, it started. Let’s go, baby, I can’t bathe you again if you get wet.”
You forcefully drag her, pacifying her with the lure of treats and cuddles. The wind picks up, it will only get worse. This city has its way to drag you through a blizzard and roast you in the next second. Unpredictable with its weather. But still, you remain here, carrying the memories since your childhood.
You turn into your block, your apartment building closer now, one more minute and you will be in the safety of your home. Clementine slips through your hand as you are adjusting your jacket from the wind. She runs to a man, barking, her body a white flash from how fast she runs to him.
Seungcheol braces himself for the impact, leaning away from his car. Clementine jumps onto him, her paws on his leather jacket. He laughs, cooing, “okay, okay,” she spins around, circling around his legs and jumping on him again.
The wind carries over the roughness of his voice, pacifying your excited dog. You falter in your steps, standing still, watching the two coddle outside.
Seungcheol sits on his haunches, rubbing the back of Clementine’s ears, locking his eyes with yours. “Good girl.”
You turn away, folding your arms across your chest, pressing your fingers into your arms. How dare he?
He straightens up, holding your dog’s leash, walking towards you. “Hey.”
His voice cradles you, pulling the chains you wrapped around your heart. He left you, you remind yourself. You push back your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ears, only for the wind to rattle them out.
Seungcheol stands before you, tall and shielding everything else. Dressed in a black jeans, a white t-shirt paired with a leather jacket, his signature outfit, so casually thrown but delicately tugging at your heartstrings. You remember taking off this jacket, that shirt and rubbing yourself over his pants.
Did he have a laugh? Did he share a cigar with his friend crooning over how desperate you were for him?
She rubbed her face over my crotch. I mean, who does that? Except for a slut?
Clementine looks up at you with stars in her eyes. You barely hold yourself together, the thoughts plague you, the imaginary laughter he might have shared with his other friends has your foundation built over the years shaking.
I left her. In the middle of it. If I go back to her she will be crawling back. Bet.
Tears sit in your eyes. Universe, the love hate relation you have with it, helps you out this one time. The rain covers your tears with its droplets, now closing into a downpour.
The saner side of you, or the positive side, comes out of the grave, helping you keep your back straight and not let succumb to the haunting noises in your head.
Choi Seungcheol, the man who never yields to anyone, gives a second look while standing in front of you after days of continuous messages and sporadic calls. He doesn’t even let you know he is visiting sometimes, too much work, he says. He has been trying to reach you.
But why?
He has his girl back in his life. Jieun to lick and kiss his ego. The one who can make Seungcheol dance to her tune. And you are nothing but a fling. Someone he can discard.
But he is here. Standing.
He calls out your name. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He reaches out for your arm, his thumb tracing the crescent marks from your nails.
You jerk away. “Clementine,” you call. “Let’s go.”
Seungcheol presses his lips in a thin line. Your dog wags her tail, running to you, Seungcheol grabs on to the leash pulling her back.
Hot red flares inside you. How dare he. “Let go, Seungcheol.”
“I’m sorry.”
The apology knocks your breath out. Seungcheol restless on his feet, yet holds onto the leash tight around his knuckles.
He turns away, breathing out, not minding the rain drowning him, from head to toe, that his expensive shoes are making squelching sounds. He faces you, blinking hard, his long eyelashes wet and struggling, “I’m sorry.”
You duck your head, a mortified chuckle slips past you. Sorry. He says sorry and that should make it up for everything he put you through? You reach to the leash, tugging it.
Seungcheol holds Clementine hostage who is just enjoying the rain. Bless her. You try again. He doesn’t relent. He knows you will die for her, and you’ll do anything for her. That means, standing in the rain, listening to him say something that’s either going to keep you occupied with your own gruesome thoughts or something shattering like he is back with Jieun.
He must have gone back to her. He should, and you should stop depending on him for your needs.
Your eyes flick down to the chain hanging down his neck, it propels you back to the nights it hung on your face, sweaty bodies and praises being whispered in your ear. You take a shaky step back, hands shivering by your side.
“I’m not letting Clementine or you go until you hear me.” Seungcheol doesn’t let you reply, continuing, “I’m sorry.” He ruffles his wet hair, droplets flying around like a wet puppy shaking itself off. “That night, I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have.”
“Clementine!” You shut your eyes, shoving all those grins you received at the end of your nights. The shiver that runs through the edges of your words rattles you, you don’t want him to know how weak he has you. “Let’s go, baby.”
A lightning pass through the sky, brightening everything around you for a second. Seungcheol is wet, the rain flattening his hair, and the pants clings to his skin. He holds the leash tighter, wrapping it around his palm, instructing her to sit. The sweet dog she is, follows his command.
He calls your name, softer and gentler. The sweetness whips your heart, your eyebrows arching up. His eyes run down your face, pausing on your neck, he takes a step towards you. He calls your name again, now his gruff voice cradles your heart, almost cooing at its beauty.
You press your palms over your eyes, shaking your head, tears spill down. The wound is still fresh, and even a gentle touch turns to a poke into the wound, worsening it. You have been doing good, holding it all together, keeping it all close. And now, he is here, calling your name with a gentle lull you have been craving your entire life for someone to call you.
Clementine barks, seeing you in distress. She moves to you only to be restrained by him.
“Clementine.” He calls her in the same delicate way. Clementine momentarily forgetting about you, wags her tail running to his side. Your heart sinks to your stomach. A whiplash. This feels all too familiar.
A pet resembles their owner, and Seungcheol is here, looking at you, standing there with his single I’m sorry and expecting you to go running to him, wagging your tail. Tears brim up your eyes either in frustration or in sadness, you are not sure, because your hands are itching to run down his chest, hide in his arms that are all too familiar, safe, and predictable.
He will hold you tight tonight, and disappear tomorrow. You know the steps to this dance. A dance you are performing one too many times.
“Let me go, Seungcheol.” You wipe the rain off your lips. The rain shows no mercy, falling down harder. Your clothes stick to your skin, hair too sticking to your neck and shoulders. A squelching sound from your shoes every time you move has you at the edge of your nerves. “Please.”
Seungcheol presses his lips in a thin line, eyes forming slits before he calms himself, exhaling shakily. He hovers over you, repeating the words again and again, tonight, “I’m sorry.”
He is closer to you now, his breath hitting your head, the shaky exhale and the chopped inhale. You have never seen him this shaken, this stubborn and this adamant on getting his words across you. “I’m sorry. I have been an asshole.”
He looks away, a raindrop slides down from his hair to his temple and running down his cheek, making you aware of how beautiful each part of him is.
“I didn’t mean to,” he turns to you, his eyes desperate, “really, I never, that night,” he brings his hands higher, gesturing wildly, “it was an emergency. Jieun was stranded, her car broke down and,” he flinches, meeting your eyes, “are you.. are you crying? God, fuck.”
The night is still running in your eyes, as if it’s happening right now, to you. “Let me,” you suck in air, breathless, “let me go, please, Seungcheol.”
Seungcheol closes the gap, his nose tip brushing against yours, you turn away, “I regret it, please, hear me out, please, baby,” his voice now a whisper, his nose nudging into your cheek, “ever since that night, I.. I.., I had to go. Jieun was stranded and crying! I-I-I couldn’t let her be alone at night. And she was crying and..and please, I had to go.”
“Go?” You step back, looking at him in the eyes, “go, Seungcheol? Do you even re—” your voice cracks “—realise how you have left me?” You push his chest, “do you know what it did to me?”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to come back, but it was early in the morning. And you wouldn’t open the door.”
“Did you try?”
“You didn’t answer my texts. And you are suddenly so busy! Ditched every meeting! Even now,” he closes in on you, towering, his voice taking a low note, “if not for Clementine, you wouldn’t even see me.”
“You don’t deserve it.” You push his chest. “Not even my exes treated me this shitty, Seungcheol. And here you are, walking all over me, and coming back with an apology that I know is half-assed! I’m a human too, and a person with feelings.”
Clementine gets restless, tangling the leash around your legs and Seungcheol’s.
“I’m here, repenting.” His hold on your chin is gentle, “I will never—”
“You will.” The rain has taken its strongest form, obscuring your vision, you rub your eyes to get a clear view, “you oh so will. The moment Jieun or anyone calls, you’ll abandon me and run away. Again.”
“I won’t. Trust me I won’t.”
Seungcheol eyes the building behind you, “can we please go in?” He points to your anxious dog pacing around restlessly. “For her sake.”
“You can go back to your Jieun. Or your home. Or someone new. I bet she’s gonna let you fuck her the way you like.” The filter has vanished on your mouth.
Seungcheol still doesn’t give you the leash. “Inside. Now.”
Frustration bursts out like a volcano. Emotions flying everywhere. Just why, why can’t he just let you be. Why does he want to come in and talk?
“No—”
Seungcheol cradles your chin, leaning down. You turn away, stepping back. His touch burns your skin. You don’t want him anywhere. He grabs your waist, pulling you to him making you lose your breath.
“What the fuck—” you push his chest, he doesn’t budge, “Seungcheol!”
He leans down, you tilt your head, his finger slides down the slope of your neck, moving the hair that’s stuck onto your skin from the rain. You try to jerk away, he holds your waist, his fingertips digging into your skin.
He nuzzles his nose into the slope of your neck, you try pushing him away again, he growls, his fingers digging into your waist and his teeth grazing over your skin in a warning.
Your voice meek, “go to your girl, Seungcheol. I bet she is better than me,” you sniffle, tears pooling in your eyes, “lets you do everything you want and—” he kisses your neck “—lets you call her daddy too.”
He sinks his teeth into you at the word, nibbling, leaving a bruise. You hit his arm, he doesn’t budge, you bark, “stop it. I don’t want to be your charity. We are done. We were only together because of my kinks and your needs. I bet hundreds of girls will fall to your feet and enjoy being your, your..” your voice falters as Seungcheol licks the hickey he left, peppering it with tiny kisses, “Seung..Cheol.. let me go.”
“We aren’t done.” He looks at the mark that is blooming on your skin, he nods to himself, “we aren’t done,” he looks at you, “I know to whom I should go and do what. I’ll come again, and we will try again.”
“No.” You spat.
“We will have this conversation again.” He looks up at the sky, “when it’s not raining and you aren’t weaving stories in your head. I’ll come, answer my texts and calls, and open your door to me.” He kisses the mark on your neck one last time, “go take a bath and warm up. Don’t catch a cold.”
He bends down, chuckling at the confused Clementine, “oh, my poor baby, you are drenched. Sorry,” he ruffles her wet fur, “had to talk with your mommy. You know how stubborn she gets. I’ll come again, baby. Don’t let your mom die from starvation and make sure she eats.”
The audacity of this man. “Leave.” You grab the leash from his hands and make your way to your apartment without even sparing a single look back.
summary: after 90 years of cryosleep, you wake to a world that has left you behind. the red room is eradicated. hydra is in hiding. you are the living remnant of a long-gone super soldier project that shaped you into the ultimate weapon. but now, the other side of the same coin has awakened, and you're the only one who can rein him in before its too late.
wc: 11.5k
cw/tags: winter soldier!seungcheol x black widow!reader, angst/comfort with fluff and a happy ending, reader's red room alias is an OC (basically the red room equivalent of a supersoldier) but no other description is given, implied fem!reader, cameos from 3mix and antman!dk and spiderman!hansol, dark content ahead, please read below warnings before reading
dark content warnings: graphic violence, descriptions of blood and death, discussions of handlers/shock therapy/mind control/bloodlust/assassins and other themes associated with marvel comics' winter soldier character, dangerously protective seungcheol, even more dangerously protective reader, alcohol/drinking, food/eating, the bad guys are slimy and gross and misogynists (it's ok we kill them), themes of codependency, please let me know if there are others I should add and consume media at your own discretion!
note: i spent wayyyy too long figuring out how to photoshop seungcheol's face onto sebastian stan as the winter soldier's body so do NOT say it is AI or i will feed you to kwon soonyoung. anyway hope you like this, i luv luv luv luv luv infinity saga mcu (don't ask me about current mcu...) so this was one of my favorite fics to write ever hehe. also shoutout @noniesgummysmile for feeding my winter soldier!scoups delulu...couldn't have done this without you eia lol. enjoy!
likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! <3
Casablanca, Morocco – 2025
The port has changed since you visited 90 years ago.
The weather remains relatively the same, the city bathed in constant humidity from the adjacent ocean and comfortably warm in stark contrast to the sweltering summer days. A mild breeze carries the smell of salt and tanker oil, the latter bringing more pungent scents than the steam ships you remember. Below you are rows upon rows of shipping containers in every color and size imaginable, outnumbering the wood-paneled warehouses you’d traversed in 1935. The soft lapping of waves is overshadowed by humming machinery, buzzing electric lines, and distant rattling of various machines. You find no quiet in the sky, dark and obscured by the lights illuminating the port. Even after two years of waking up in an entirely new millennium, you still aren’t used to the cacophony of sounds that comes with decades of technological advances.
It’s so loud. Everything is louder in this new age.
“Are we sure he’s coming?” Nayeon’s voice crackles through your earpiece and you startle, nearly falling backward off your perch on the catwalk of a massive crane. You hear her chuckle and she waves at you from her position on another crane. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Don’t be fooled. The more you get to know her, the more you get to know her tricks, too,” Jihyo adds, barely visible under the cranes from her spot between two containers.
“They’re both tricky. Let’s leave it at that,” Jeongyeon concludes, and your ears are overrun as the other two adamantly do not leave it at that. You let yourself smile, if only a little bit. The Red Room never allowed you to make friends, much less ones as close as the three ex-Widows that had helped you adjust to the new world. You were still hesitant to call them friends despite how easily they referred to you as one, even going so far as to volunteer themselves to help you capture Choi Seungcheol.
Shit.
You take a deep breath and refocus your energy on the task at hand. The watch on your hand–an analog one you chose when you politely declined a newfangled digital thing–reads nearly midnight.
“I’m not sure, honestly. He's…programmed,” you choke on the word like poison, “to return to Casablanca and be retrieved by Hydra handlers after every mission. Even if he's just as unnerved as I was by this new world, his brain will guide him to what it knows, and that's Casablanca.” You hesitate and remember how you were also programmed to do something similar, though your rendezvous point was Jakarta. “This is all a hunch, though, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared of getting put back under if this whole plan fails.”
“We’d never let that happen,” Jeongyeon promises you. “Plus, the world doesn’t work like that anymore.” You sigh.
“Two years out of a test tube and I still don’t know how the world works,” you frown.
“That’s okay. Just know that no one’s getting put on ice again as long as we’re around.” The sincerity in Jihyo’s voice makes your chest a little lighter.
“Except maybe Mina, just to see her reaction. I think it'd be funny,” muses Nayeon and you finally crack a smile. However, any smart remark that you could contribute dies in your throat as a flash of silver dashes between two containers a few yards away from Jihyo’s position. Your heart drops like a stone into your stomach.
He’s here.
“Jihyo, 4 o’clock. Eyes up,” you order, your voice lethally serious. The energy in the entire port seems to shift as you double check your descender secured to the rail of the crane. “Remember, he doesn’t know you and he’s not trained to find out.” He probably doesn’t even know me anymore. “He’ll eliminate adversaries on sight and we’re about to ambush him. Proceed with caution.”
“Copy,” Jihyo confirms, already slipping through the containers like a shadow.
“I’m in position,” Jeongyeon states and you catch the clinking of a tranquilizing tube being loaded into her rifle. “Get me eyes on him and I’ll wait for your signal.”
“Got it. Nayeon, on my mark.”
“Ready when you are, boss,” she murmurs, dangling off the catwalk like an impatient spider.
“Be careful, all three of you,” you warn. “And as a personal favor, try not to fuck him up too badly. Please?”
“We won’t kill your boyfriend, we promise,” Jeongyeon swears with a teasing lilt in her voice. You swallow thickly and ignore the rising warmth in your face but don't argue.
“Okay. Jihyo, you have permission to engage,” you state and Nayeon is already halfway down her rope by the time you start descending. Warm air rushes past your face as your controlled fall brings you to the ground within seconds. You unclip the descender from your belt and sprint in the direction of Jihyo and Seungcheol. Nayeon throws herself into the fight with a roundhouse that Seungcheol blocks easily with his metal arm, shoving her off and using the momentum to swing at Jihyo, but she’s too quick. Both her and Nayeon play their parts perfectly, keeping Seungcheol distracted enough for you to find an opening to hit him with a syringe of the same tranquilizer in Jeongyeon’s rifle. As the best sharpshooter of her generation in the Red Room, Jeongyeon was the last resort if you, Nayeon, and Jihyo were incapacitated.
You stalk through the shadows, circling the fight while sweat beads on your forehead and a feverish sensation chokes your body. The monster that the Red Room trained within you was baring its teeth, eager to kill and kill and kill the way you were built to. That carnal, animalistic part of you whispers to throw Jihyo and Nayeon aside and take down Seungcheol yourself, a side effect of the Red Room’s supersoldier serum that only you had survived experimentation with. You were itching to fight him, like some part of your brain recognized him as your true equal and wanted to consume him entirely. Your serum-infected psyche recognized him as your enemy, and you wanted to tear him to shreds. The urge nearly overwhelms you but you fight it down like bile, gripping the syringe tighter and waiting for the other Widows to do their jobs.
You have a handle on the bloodlust until Jihyo falls down and stays down, and your vision goes scarlet red.
It’s as if your mind takes a backseat to your body, lunging forward to grab Seungcheol’s metal arm by pure instinct and twisting as hard as you can, the jerking movement making the syringe fall from your other hand. Nayeon is quick to grab it and retreat backward, dragging an unconscious Jihyo away. Your arm trembles with effort, your super strength against his until your muscle gives way and you duck as he swings on you, your leg shooting out like lightning to throw him off-balance. You exchange bruising blows with him and find yourself panting from the effort it’s taking to restrain the side of you that wants to claw out his throat entirely. You’re barely thinking clearly, partially registering that the other Widows are saying something to you but not knowing what they’re trying to convey. Your mind is at war with itself, hellbent on the urge to kill and shaking with the restraint of keeping him alive enough to tranquilize. He’s in full tactical armor, including a dark mask covering the bottom half of his face, so your best bet in subduing him completely is to get the tranquilizer into his neck. You risk a glance over your shoulder and feel a sobering chill run down your back as Nayeon touches Jihyo’s head and gapes at the sticky blood coating her palm.
With a shudder and a cry that tears itself from your throat, you let the bloodlust take over and all but drag him onto the floor. It's the perfect opening to seize Seungcheol’s metal arm and force it in a direction you know it’s not supposed to go. He thrashes like an animal in a trap, clawing and slamming his fists against your leg that keeps him from escaping, but the pain is nothing but numbness in the face of your single goal of crippling his greatest weapon. He roars in rage but you keep your grip on the metal limb until it wrenches off of him entirely with a sickening crunch. He goes limp and you briefly panic that you killed him until you spot the shallow rise and fall of his chest. You don’t fare much better; your vision is spotty and you feel like you’re watching yourself from a third-person perspective as Nayeon tosses you the syringe. You catch it in one hand and sink it into the side of Seungcheol’s neck, keeping him in your hold until his eyes shut completely.
You lay there on the floor, heaving and half-dead until Jeongyeon arrives to secure Seungcheol’s restraints. You somehow manage to bring yourself upright as the extraction team arrives, squinting in the blinding headlights of the armored vehicles. Waving off the EMT trying to get you onto a gurney and mumbling something that resembled an apology to Seungcheol is the last thing you remember before you black out entirely.
—
Madripoor – 1939
You first meet the Winter Soldier two weeks after you’re given the serum.
A modified version of Hydra’s supersoldier formula is what you were told was injected, trading the parts that would give you muscles as large as a gorilla’s for enhanced vision and metabolism. You were meant to be the ultimate weapon of stealth, a knife in the dark slipped into the ribs of the Red Room’s enemies. The scientists succeeded, for the most part–you were the deadliest Widow in the program before the serum and only became more lethal after it. What the scientists didn’t account for were the sudden, overwhelming fevers of bloodlust that possessed you whenever you trained with other prospective serum recipients. The serum whispered to you like a demon, pushing you to use any means necessary to survive…even if it meant your hands were covered in blood by the end of an everyday spar. The Red Room had blurred the lines between creating a soldier and creating a monster, and you were the sole survivor of all consequent experimentations. They called it ‘Project: Arachne,’ but you later took on the moniker solely as your own after the others disappeared.
The monster you had become paled in comparison to the shell of a man that Hydra was puppetting.
“Where did you find such a creature? Such strength, such rage,” one of your handlers remarks, circling the Winter Soldier as he stands like a statue in the center of the room, a private chamber in the back of a dive bar that reeks of mildew. The air sticks to you like moldy glue, sweat running down your back and threatening to melt off the picture-perfect face of makeup you were required to wear. Once a pirate stronghold, the island nation was now a cesspool of criminal activity, brimming with drug kingpins and mercenary gangs that kept the streets in a constant state of warfare. Madripoor is a chaos you cannot control, a steaming shithole completely opposite of the pristine halls of the Red Room. If you had to choose, it would be the last place you would ever set foot in again. “What a beast you have created!”
“He was a soldier that had fallen off a freight train in the Alps; we found him and made him into something we could use,” the Winter Soldier’s primary handler explains with a smile that looks more like a sneer. “Of course, there were some fixes to account for,” he continues, gesturing to the bionic metal arm on the Soldier’s left side. “Except for this, however, he was a picture perfect specimen.” The sight before you makes your stomach turn. The serum and the Red Room’s experiments had left you with at least some semblance of your own mind, but it seemed like the man in front of you was nothing but a machine activated whenever Hydra needed someone disposed. But without that role? The Soldier was a puppet, his eyes empty and his face blank in a way that nauseated you.
“You’ve put us miles ahead of our enemies with this creation,” a deep-voiced stockholder that frequented the Red Room booms from behind you. The Soldier remains motionless, the bottom half of his face covered by a dark mask, but you catch his eyes flickering to the source of the voice and narrowing, ever so slightly. His face was blank, but his distrust of those who had brought you here was apparent.
“You are too kind, really,” a beady-eyed Hydra scientist declares with a humble hand over his heart. You suppress the urge to claw his insect-like eyes from his skull when his attention turns to you, looming over you as you sit perfectly poised on your seat, your legs crossed and back straight like a fucking doll. “But I would like to discuss this beauty. Does she speak?” A clammy hand moves in slow motion to caress your face and you catch his wrist in your fingers, sinking your nails into his flesh not enough to make him bleed, but enough to make him hesitate.
“This beauty can speak for herself, sir,” you correct with a saccharine smile. Your handlers chuckle at your antics and a firm hand on your shoulder makes you release the Hydra scientist. Your nausea increases tenfold at the touch and you fight the instinct to stiffen, knowing that reacting in such a way would only make your handlers upset. Instead, you turn to the handler behind you with a kind look that falters when you see him looking at the Soldier rather than at you, a sort of sick amusement flashing behind his eyes.
You turn back to what could be drawing his attention and see the Soldier’s hand resting on his gun. His face is expressionless, but you swear the muscle in his jaw has tightened. He’s staring past you at your handler and his hold on your shoulder, eyes dark as a storm. He makes no move to draw the firearm, yet the mere presence of his hand against it is enough to sour the jovial atmosphere in the room. If he wanted to, this Soldier could have all of you in a puddle of your own blood before you could blink, and the polite conversation tapers into tense silence as those in the room make the same realization. As if testing what the Soldier would do, your handler tightens his hold on your shoulder and you swallow. The Soldier’s, in turn, tightens around his weapon.
“I believe your soldier is threatening me,” the handler behind you observes lightly. The Soldier’s stare is molten, and if looks alone could kill, your handler would be halfway to Hell already. “It seems he does not appreciate my interactions with Arachne,” he continues, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that has you sinking your nails into your palms to keep from jerking away. The Soldier’s eyes dart to the imperceptible shake in your hands.
Before you finish blinking, everyone in the room is pointing a gun at each other, and the Soldier’s pistol is aimed straight between the eyes of your handler. You stand on instinct and draw your own gun from its holster on your thigh, leveling the barrel at the Soldier’s forehead. He doesn’t even blink, his gaze remaining past you and your weapon. Your handler’s grip remains and he seems unbothered when he speaks, though the sharp edge of his voice tells you otherwise.
“I thought he was completely erased of morality, doctor,” the handler grits.
“Perhaps one more round of shock therapy will do him some good, just to kill that last part of him that might remember his life before,” a Hydra scientist chuckles nervously, eyeing the Soldier with unease. A dozen guns or more are pointed at the Soldier like a morbid sort of halo, yet all you can see is the rage burning behind his eyes. Whether he was conscious of it or not, the Soldier was ready to kill your handler for touching you. It makes your heart unwillingly flip.
“‘Perhaps’ is right, doctor,” your handler agrees. “We wouldn’t want our stakeholders questioning the loyalty of their prized weapon.” The handler’s grip on your shoulder finally leaves, and the Soldier returns his gun to its holster. The rest of the room takes a breath, but you still feel air catching in your throat when the Soldier’s eyes meet yours and you recognize your own anger flaming in his dark irises. Your chest aches in a way more painful than any wound you experience during training. Two guards who the Soldier could probably snap in half like toothpicks grab him by the arms and escort him out of the room, leaving you with the Hydra handlers as well as your own.
Your mouth is moving before your mind can realize what you’re questioning, damning you to several days worth of harsh training as punishment for speaking out of turn.
“What is his name?” You ask, your voice low and guarded. You feel the irritation of your handlers stick into the back of your neck like needles, but you have to know. It feels wrong not to know.
“He is the Winter Soldier, Arachne,” someone answers patronizingly and you shake your head.
“Before. Who was he?” You turn to the scientist that wanted to caress your face and blink up at him through your eyelashes, putting on the mask of a stupid, innocent girl who asks the wrong questions at the wrong time. Your gamble works and the weak-brained one indulges you.
“‘Choi Seungcheol’ was the name on his dogtags when we found him, but he doesn’t answer to that anymore.” You nod, satisfied, and stare at the closed door where the Winter Soldier had been dragged away. “This won’t be the last time you see him, Arachne. You’ll be working together frequently on missions while Hydra and the Red Room sort out the kinks in the supersoldier serum formula.” I don’t want to work with him, you think to yourself. I don’t want him to have to be whatever it is they want him to be.
I don’t want him to live like this. Like me.
“Understood,” is all you reply with.
—
When Seungcheol dreams, moments pass in and out like sunlight refracting through water.
At first he’s stepping out of Mingyu’s Chrysler, helping a girl whose name he’d already forgotten hop out after him. It’s before the war, before the guns and the metal arm and you. Mingyu and his latest lady-friend are already hand-in-hand and skipping toward the entrance of the dance hall, leaving Seungcheol with this random girl who he thinks he might have seen at the soda fountain a few times before. Her hand is soft and clammy in his when she grabs it and drags him along too, talking airily about the importance of having a matching headscarf whenever one dons a dancing dress. Ever the gentleman, he nods along and pretends to be interested, even when he feels like a goldfish flopping around in the middle of Times Square.
When they finally push into the dance hall, Seungcheol finds himself looking for a face in the crowd that he’s not sure belongs in this memory, yet searches for anyway. The music of the big band roars and he’s on the dance floor in a blink, mechanically sorting through awkward movements while the girl in front of him slowly loses her patience. His limbs feel like gelatin and wooden logs at the same time, and his date soon becomes bored of him and latches onto the arm of another boy. Later in this memory, Seungcheol knows the boy will become too handsy with her. Mingyu will have to drag Seungcheol away from killing the guy after the latter slams his fist into the creep’s nose, and Seungcheol will remember it as the first time he felt vindicated in causing someone pain.
He enters a set of double doors at the back of the hall and finds himself in a different memory. If the thrill of the dance hall is distorted from noise and fluorescent lights, this one is soberingly clear. Same sticky air, same mildew stench, same dark shadows. He’s in Madripoor and his arm is extended, pointing the barrel of his pistol at a shithead Red Room agent that’s been keeping his hand on your shoulder for far too long. Whatever Hydra had done to him had made his body answer to his handlers rather than his own mind, so Seungcheol wasn’t completely sure how he was able to move independently in the first place. Maybe it was muscle memory, maybe it was the way the silent panic in your eyes made his vision go blood red. He didn’t know you, not yet, but his mind snarled around like a caged animal at the idea of someone laying a hand on you. The anger superseded any brainwashing Hydra had done to him, and only fortified itself after the subsequent rounds of shock therapy made in an attempt to rid him completely of his own sense of self. Call it Fate or divine connection, but something deep within Seungcheol’s soul outright rejected the idea of you being harmed. In this dream, he thrashes against the hands that drag him away, screaming for you. When he looks back at you, your handler’s hand returns to your shoulder and he’s slammed with so much white-hot rage that he nearly blacks out.
The memory shifts again, and Seungcheol is falling. Frigid air whips past his face, stinging like knife cuts, yet he’s flailing about in slow motion as the snowy canyons of the Alps envelop him like a casket. Mingyu’s hoarse cries are lost among the sounds of the chugging steam train and the splash of Seungcheol’s body as it collides with an icy river, the same river that keeps him cold enough to stay alive until he’s found by Hydra scouts. His vision blinks in and out of focus, the stark-white blizzard sky being replaced by the dingy hallways of Hydra’s medical facilities, where he’s all but blinded by a huge circle of light as the surgery to remove his left arm commences. He blinks again and he’s lying on cold concrete, having had his ass handed to him by another Winter Soldier candidate. His metal arm creaks as he pushes off the ground, spitting a glob of blood and saliva against the floor before rising to face his opponent again. He’s too slow to dodge the next swing and his head hits the ground hard, his body landing with a defeated thud.
The world lurches and he feels the sensation of wet earth between his fingertips. He’s tense, waiting for the next trauma-inducing event to begin, but there’s nothing but the setting sun and the endless rows of tulips surrounding him. Amsterdam. He blinks against the fading light and stands. You’re a few feet away in tattered tactical gear covered in blood that isn’t your own, looking out over the fields of flowers with a kind of sadness that makes panic flare in Seungcheol’s chest. Of all the memories Seungcheol was bombarded with when he slept, this was the one he hated the most.
“They’re gonna put me under soon,” you whisper, your voice raspy like you’d been crying. You watch the horizon like it’s your next adversary. Not only had you slipped away from the Red Room long enough to eradicate nearly every agent under the Winter Soldier program, you’d also brought Seungcheol’s mind back to himself. You had broken a dam in his mind that Hydra had so painstakingly built, allowing the flood of memories and emotions and all the things that made Seungcheol human to come rushing back to him. “They’ll know it was me, and they won’t like what I did to you.”
“You freed me,” Seungcheol says. He wants to reach out to hold your hand, or at least brush your fingers, but that’s not the way this memory works. He didn’t do it then, so he’s tortured by the inability to do it now. “You broke whatever words they put in my head.”
“I didn’t break the words, I killed the ones who used them,” you croak, frustrated. “Someone else could come along and find that God-forsaken book with the trigger words and take control of you again, and I won’t be there to stop them, and–” A sob tears itself from your throat and he sees the same rage that he adored so much burning in your eyes. You were the only one whose anger could ever come close to matching his own. “They could make you worse because of me, and it would be my fault that they did.”
“They would have to catch me first,” Seungcheol says with grave seriousness. He knows it’s foolish for him to say, knowing damn well Hydra does capture him and put him in the cryo-tube again until they figure out how to reprogram his mind to do what they wanted him to do. “I won’t let that happen.” He does let that happen, unfortunately, as he’s lured into an abandoned nuclear facility two weeks later under the pretense that you would be there.
“I wish I knew you under different circumstances,” you scoff bitterly. “Or I wish the Red Room ripped out my brain entirely so it could never learn how to care for you so deeply.” He knows you don’t mean it to cause him pain, but his heart winces all the same. Maybe in another life, you would be the one he’d take dancing. Before the war, before the fall off the train, before everything. It would just be you and him, laughing at Mingyu’s shenanigans and dreaming about a future you didn’t know how to want.
“Do you really mean that?” When he meets your eyes, the fire behind them has dulled into tired coals.
“I do. I hope that, in another universe, we’re together…and we’re happy,” you wish, and that’s where Seungcheol’s mind cruelly refuses to play any other memories. You and the tulips fade into darkness, and he succumbs to dreamless sleep.
—
Avengers Headquarters, Upstate New York – 2025
“That’s about to be the fourth one you break this week, and it’s only Wednesday,” notes a teasing voice from the doorway of the training gym. SLAM! Your wrapped fist completes its arc into the punching bag and, just as Jihyo had predicted, the rope it hangs from gives way, sending the bag flying across the room. You pause, catching cold, dry breaths of air conditioning, before retrieving the downed bag and tossing it into the growing pile in the corner. Only then do you turn to Jihyo, who’s watching you with a clever glint in her eye.
“You shouldn’t be so far from the med-bay,” you point out and she shrugs.
“I had a concussion, not a broken spine,” she reasons. “I’m fine.” She looks fine, in most senses of the word, but guilt still weighs on your shoulder for putting her in that situation. You look at her for a few moments, still skeptical, but relent and move to hang a new bag. “Hey, aren’t you gonna ask why I’m here?”
“It better not be to spar with me. You’re supposed to be on bedrest for another three days.”
“Which I think is overkill, but agree to disagree,” she grumbles and you shoot her a look. “It’s been nine days since we captured him and I got knocked around a little bit. If I’m being honest, I’d say you’re faring worse than me.”
“How so?”
“For one, you’ve been in this gym more often than your own room, which means your sleep schedule is fucked up.”
“Sometimes I hear Seungkwan’s TV through the walls and it bothers me,” you protest. “I come here because it’s quieter.” Jihyo raises an eyebrow.
“Nayeon caught you pacing outside the containment ward even though Jihoon said you’re allowed to go in.”
“There’s a laundry room across the hall from the entrance. I was waiting for a load to finish,” you protest. The ex-Widow’s frown deepens at your blatant half-lie and she gestures to the many broken punching bags you’d sent flying in the days since recovering from the capture mission.
“You can look me in the eyes and tell me that is normal?”
“Stress appears different on everyone, Jihyo,” you conclude too carefreely and something different blinks across her face. The light frustration shifts into a muted sort of sadness, like she was purposefully dialing down her emotions to avoid upsetting you.
“You haven’t been eating meals with us. Jeongyeon, Nayeon, the rest of the girls. We miss you,” she says quietly and your shoulders slump. You drag your hand down your face.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just,” you inhale, trying to find the words. “I don’t want to burden you all with my baggage. Seungcheol, he’s the last person I would expect to show up from my past, and it hurts. Seeing him like that…it hurt.” Jihyo nods.
“I get it. I felt the same seeing you in the cryotube on that last raid,” she sympathizes. You chew the inside of your cheek. “We’d heard stories about the Arachne project and how the last surviving participant had disappeared. We couldn’t have imagined we’d find you, but I’m so glad we did.” Jihyo approaches you now, taking your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay for you to open up to us about how you’re feeling. You don’t have to go it alone anymore.”
“Since when did the Red Room give empathy classes?” You ask wryly and she chuckles.
“Since we broke out of their mind-control and started leaning on each other more,” Jihyo replies, nudging you with her shoulder. “We’re the only ones who will get it, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Thank you,” you say. “I haven’t had the chance to properly–” She cuts you off with a wave of her hand.
“You don’t need to say all that. It’s just what friends do for each other,” she cuts in and you finally give her a tired smile. “Now, are you finally going to let me tell you why I came over here?”
“It wasn’t just for a motivational speech and to tell me to stop bulldozing the punching bags.” Her chuckle turns into a bark of laughter.
“That, yes, but I also came bearing news,” she shares with a sparkle in her eye. “Choi Seungcheol is awake.” Your heart stutters.
“He is?” Jihyo exhales.
“He’s awake, and he’s refusing to cooperate unless he sees you first.”
—
Casablanca – 1942
After three years of assignments in collaboration with the Winter Soldier, you’ve done something extraordinary–you’ve helped him recover some semblances of his memories.
Granted, it’s an ongoing process that brings more backtracking than it does progress. You’re not entirely sure how you did it, but somewhere during the downtime of missions, you began asking him questions just to see if he had the facilities to answer them. To your surprise, he was able to answer you almost immediately, though sometimes his expression twisted like he was trying to wrench the memory out of his brain with his bare hands. Over time, you learned small things like his hometown, his friends, and fractals of his life before becoming the Winter Soldier. Your single-sided questions gradually transformed into full conversations, and your talks helped ease the strain of being the Red Room’s most prized weapon. In another world, you could see yourself being friends with Choi Seungcheol, perhaps even something more.
Sometimes, he remembered too much.
That’s when Hydra wiped him and started from scratch.
“Are you real?” He rasps unexpectedly from beside you on the external catwalk of a shipping warehouse. Question number one. You watch him from the corner of your eye, your focus never wavering from the bustle of a ship making a stop for the night at the port. He asked the same question every time his mind returned to him, even if it was only temporarily, like it was a ritual. He had to make sure you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.
Seungcheol has been dead silent since you met with him in Budapest, the biggest indicator that Hydra had ‘wiped’ him–that is, they shocked his brain into oblivion until the only thing he could understand was his handlers’ commands. When Seungcheol didn’t talk, it meant that he couldn’t remember what he had to discuss with you, but it didn’t mean it was completely gone; it was just deeper in his psyche, and it was up to him to pull it back out.
Now it seemed, as you watched the dockworkers begin to unload the ship, he’d returned to you.
“I’m real,” you say without any noticeable emotion, as stable and neutral as you can manage.
“Are we in danger?” Question number two. On a few rare occasions, you would spend an entire mission with Winter Soldier-only, completely wiped Seungcheol, only for his true self to appear in a relatively inopportune moment (e.g. getting shot at). He described it to you as being in a dream; he knew what the mission was, where he was located, and the task he had to complete, but it was like watching it from an outside perspective. Only when he registered that you were you did he feel like he was back in control of his body.
“No, we’re not in danger,” you answer, shaking your head. Your eyes narrow on a large crate with a bright red ‘X’ painted on it. One side of the crate is the size of your entire armspan, yet the item inside was a vial no larger than your pointer finger. You didn’t know much about it beyond that, other than that the Red Room wanted it and you were tasked to grab it. “We will be soon, though. That’s our target.” You nod to the box and Seungcheol’s gaze follows it as it leaves the cargo hold and is moved in the direction of your position.
“Did–” Question number three. He swallows and you wait for him, finally turning to look as he steadies his breathing. “Did I hurt you?” You shake your head again.
“No, you did not hurt me.” Seungcheol breathes a visible sigh of relief.
“Okay.” You check your descender and practice the timing one last time in your head–you drop onto the package, Seungcheol covers you as you open the crate and retrieve the vial, then throw a smoke bomb and disappear.
“Ready?” His eyes darken over his face mask.
“Ready.”
The sensation of falling is familiar as the rope goes taut and you drop from the catwalk. The crate wobbles as you land on top of it, the dockworkers startling with a shout of alarm. As you jump down to open the package, you see their shadows reach for something to use as a weapon, but Seungcheol is already there. He’s the closest thing to a demon you’ll ever see, stalking through the darkness and downing enemies. As he takes down the last of the dockworkers near the crate, you grip the side of the wooden box, channel the strength given to you by the Red Room’s serum, and pull.
Nothing happens.
You give another strong tug, then another, then another until you realize that the side of the crate isn’t budging. You scowl. The serum had given you strength, but there were also other tradeoffs to increase your speed, agility, and enhance your senses for covert operations. For a moment, you toss around the idea of punching a hole in the crate, then realize that you risked damaging the vial inside. Before you can ask, Seungcheol is already at your side, staring at the unopened crate with you.
“It’s still closed,” he monotones and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.
“I see that,” you grumble. “Not all of us got the serum that gave us biceps the size of milk jugs.” He motions for you to back up. “Don’t you dare punch that shit.” Even under his mask, you can tell he’s staring at you incredulously.
“What do you take me for, an animal?” Yes. He thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “Don't answer that.” Seungcheol then grips the same spot that you had with his human arm and tugs. The side of the crate gives way as easily as ripping a sheet of paper, and you can’t tell whether to be mad that he got more super strength or mad that you can’t stop staring at his arm. He’d ripped off the side of a wooden crate, and he didn’t even need to use the metal arm. “There you go.”
“My knight in shining armor,” you say dryly, stepping up to observe how the vial was encased. Thankfully, it was only a few layers of anti-shock plexiglass that you remove easily, and soon the vial is safe and sound in your belt. Mission accomplished. “Let’s get out of here. You know the way?” Seungcheol nods.
“Keep close,” he says before ducking into the darkness.
You follow him through the dim-lit streets and alleys of Casablanca to the bar where you would be retrieved by your handlers. It isn’t too late in the night and there are still a generous amount of patrons around as Seungcheol opens the door to the bar, putting you in a state of unease while you slide onto a barstool. Seungcheol stands beside you in between your stool and the next, leaning against the bar with his metal arm hidden by a glove and his jacket sleeve. He’s removed his dark mask and, to any untrained eye, you look like a pair of unassuming shadows that happen to haunt the bar.
“You don’t want to sit?” You ask after Seungcheol quietly orders you an Old Fashioned, rye with extra bitters, without you needing to request a drink. He’s positioned himself between your barstool in the next, his back to the counter and his head tilted to look at you while also keeping tabs on the rest of the room. Your voice is soft, barely perceptible in the raucous noise of the bar, but Seungcheol doesn’t need to hear anything else right now.
“I’ll stand. Easier to be close to you,” he says and you hate the way it makes your heart flip. Affection and love were not something afforded to you, yet you loved to look over the edge of what it would be like to care for Seungcheol freely. “Need anything?”
“Not unless you have a Tiffany bracelet hiding in your pocket,” you say lightly and he does that same huff-laugh again. His eyes are dark but the shadow that typically hangs over them is softened in the yellowed light.
“Tiffany & Co. That’s in New York, right?”
“It is. Do you remember New York?”
“New York from before, or New York now?”
“I rarely ever ask how you remember things now, Seungcheol,” you point out and he nods, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “What do you remember about before?” He’s silent for a few moments and the space between his eyebrows pinches.
“Mingyu liked to pick up girls in the diners. Said paying for a girl’s meal was the way to get her heart,” he recalls slowly and you fight back a snort.
“He really believed that?”
“Mingyu believed a lot of things,” Seungcheol continues, “and most of them were about how to properly woo a woman.” The bartender returns with your Old Fashioned and Seungcheol only nods to him rather than paying him, a kind of silent agreement that your drink would be on the house. You don’t question it. The rye is cheap and there are a normal amount of bitters, but it’s smooth enough as it runs down your throat.
“And how do you believe you should properly woo a woman?” You posit, momentarily forgetting who you were and who he was. This was the fine line you walked, indulging that desire to be normal and flirt and want, all these things the Red Room had trained out of you.
“I don’t remember most of the things,” Seungcheol begins honestly, “but I do know that knowing how she takes her alcohol is a good start.”
“It’s an excellent start.” You smirk over the rim of your glass and fight the urge to shiver when his gloved hand brushes your lower back. The noise around you dims and you scan his face slowly, cataloging every detail of it. What draws your attention the most are his eyes, always his eyes. There was a rage that burned behind them, but it seemed to temper itself when you were near. You didn’t know what to make of it and didn’t have the words to describe it, only that you liked his rage. It matched your own, and it made you feel seen. “Want a sip?”
“Alcohol doesn’t affect us, Arachne,” Seungcheol reminds you quietly and you wave him off.
“It’s not about getting drunk. It’s about feeling normal,” you correct. He looks at you curiously.
“And alcohol, it makes you feel normal?”
“As much as I can, considering what we’ve been made into.” You shrug and he carefully takes the glass from your hand, rotating the cup so that his lips make contact at the exact spot where you had taken your sip. Your breath catches. He doesn’t break eye contact even as he takes one, long drink, swallowing like it was water and handing it back to you like he hadn’t just thrown your entire brain into a live volcano.
“Pretty good,” he murmurs. “Up to your standards?”
“I’ve had better,” you lie. You’ve never had alcohol outside of missions, and even then, you tended to fake drinking to blend in with the crowd. “Drinking with company tends to raise my mood, though.”
“Am I good company?” Your eyes sparkle.
“You’re the only company I want.” Before he can reply, movement in the darker shadows of the bar catch his attention. Half a dozen men in three-piece suits huddle together, murmuring, but their gazes remain on you for a duration that makes Seungcheol’s skin crawl. Their eyes rake hungrily over your body and his vision starts going red, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists. He imagines five different ways he could dispose of each of the men, starting with the one that just licked his lips and seemed to be preparing to approach you. “Why do you look like you’re about to kill everyone in this bar, Seungcheol?” You ask in a low tone, your voice coming much closer to his ear than previously. You’ve leaned even closer to him, the smell of your perfume intoxicating him worse than any alcohol.
“Assholes at your six,” he snarls. You gently but firmly take his cheek in your hand and pull his face to look at you.
“Why the fuck should I care about them?” His face is inches from yours, but his fiery eyes remain on the group behind you.
“You shouldn’t.” The muscle in his jaw is tense enough to cut diamonds.
“So why do you?” You inquire and Seungcheol’s face burns from something he can’t name as he finally meets your eyes.
“Because they’re looking at you like they own you. No one owns you,” he seethes, his anger boiling over. Your face remains unchanged except for the slight pinch between your eyebrows. You seem to think on his words for a moment and then nod to yourself, removing your hand from his face and downing the rest of your drink in one swallow.
“It’s stuffy here. Let’s leave,” you order suddenly and Seungcheol’s anger sobers. “We can wait for the rendezvous outside.”
“Did I say something to upset you?” You smile in a way that doesn’t reach your eyes and lace your fingers in his, tugging him toward the exit.
“No, you just say things that make me think a little too hard on things I’m not allowed to want.”
—
Avengers Headquarters, Upstate New York – 2025
You’re not sure what you’re expecting when you enter his area of the containment ward, but you’re caught off-guard all the same.
They’ve put him in a dark shirt and pants that stretches over the rippling cords of muscle you, once upon a time, could never stop staring at. Instead of a hospital bed, they’ve transferred him to a fortified metal chair with cuffs as thick as your arm holding his limbs in place. His breathing is ragged when you step into the room and he raises his head to look at you slowly, like he was moving through syrup. When his gaze falls on you, you see sparks of recognition try to come to life in his eyes.
“It’s you.” You wait just outside of the painted lines on the floor that put him in an imaginary box, remaining just out of reach. You’d been put into the cryotube before he had, so you had no idea what had happened to him in the time between you going under and him going under. What he had become in that time without you was a mystery, and there was a real chance that they had programmed him to kill you on sight. Staying out of his reach was not only for your physical safety, but also to keep you from breaking and succumbing to the urge to touch him for the first time in decades. “I know you.” You just keep staring at him, face blank and still as a statue. Your silence makes him hesitate. “Are you–are you real?” You nod stiffly.
“I’m real.” His muscles flex as he subtly tests the strength of his restraints. You pretend not to notice. “The chair’s just a safety precaution.”
“Are we in danger?”
“Not if you keep your mind,” you answer truthfully. Panic flashes across his face, like it was truly a possibility he might lose himself again. “I won’t let them take it from you again.” His eyes scan your body, narrowing on the bruises and scars left behind from the fight during his capture.
“I hurt you,” he croaks. Your heart twists. That’s not the question he’s supposed to ask.
“You were doing what you needed to survive,” you correct gently, stepping over the line on the floor and into his space. Seungcheol stills as you draw nearer until you’re on one knee in front of him, close enough to feel his ragged breath. One wrong move is all it takes for him to headbutt you into the afterlife, yet you feel no shred of fear as you shakily reach for his face. He seeks your touch almost immediately, leaning into your palm with a slump of his shoulders. “You’re with me again, and that’s what matters.” He shakes his head like he thinks you’re a hallucination and you pull away your hand.
“I don’t understand.”
“Widows infiltrated and took down the entire Red Room. They found me in the cryotube during a raid two years ago.” Your voice falters. “I’d been asleep since 1944.”
“You’ve been alone.” The ghost of a wry smile tugs at your mouth.
“For the most part, though I did have the ones who found me. Three of them helped me find you in Casablanca.” Realization hits Seungcheol like a bucket of cold water.
“The one who was bleeding, is she–”
“She’s alive. All three of them are, thanks to some well-timed bloodlust on my end that only you have the capabilities of matching,” you state dryly. It’s meant to be reassuring, but you can tell it only makes Seungcheol uneasier. “They hold no grudge against you, nor do I.”
“Maybe you should,” he murmurs. Your face hardens.
“Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare think I can hate the one person that understands what I am.”
“You’re not a what; you’re a person,” he grits and your chest pangs. “You have to believe that. If you don’t, how am I supposed to believe that I’m human too?”
“That’s not fair to either of us,” you whisper. “I can’t hold you together if I don’t know how to hold myself together first.”
“You’re pretty damn good at doing it without trying, Arachne,” Seungcheol says softly. “You make me human, even if you don’t see yourself as one.” He holds your gaze a moment longer and lets the tension hang like thick fog, before sighing and sitting up straight. “How long do you think until I can walk around freely?”
“Depends on how well you behave,” you reply, the corner of your mouth tugging upward. “You’ll be let go as soon as the doctors say you’re psychologically sound.”
“As in, I won’t rip out the throats of everyone who breathes in my vicinity,” he deadpans and you nod. “Got it.”
“I’ll come again in a few hours.” You stand to leave, your legs still slightly sore from the fight during his capture, but Seungcheol rasps your name with a strangled, panicked cry.
“Wait. Please don’t go. Not yet.” You still, staring down at a man you’ve stood beside–killed beside–as he’s begging you to stay for the sake of his own sanity. “Can you stay a little longer?”
“Seungcheol, you need rest,” you insist.
“Please. Just for a bit.” You exhale and nod. His shoulders drop in relief.
You snap after Hydra wipes Seungcheol’s mind for the eighth time.
It’d taken him three days for him to even show some semblance of recognizing you, and five more hours of reconnaissance for him to fully remember what you were, who you were. He’d broken out of his trance with a violent thrash, collapsing against the wall with such force that it cracked. You sat on the floor with him, his face in your hands as you forced him to look at you, for what seemed like forever until he finally won over whatever Hydra put in his mind this time. By the time it was over, you were both drenched in sweat and shaking like leaves in the wind. For the first time since you’d known him, the fire in Seungcheol’s eyes was nearly gone, replaced by something broken and tired.
It made you want to burn the world to the ground.
He knew what you planned to do, at least some semblance of it; part of you was grateful that he didn’t offer to help you, nor did he try to stop you. You understood each other’s rage, and the only way for you to channel it was to seek vengeance against the only person you cared about.
Logistically, there was always a period of up to twelve hours after you requested extraction from a mission, enough time for you to track the coordinates Seungcheol had given you and slip into the Winter Soldier Project’s base of operations. You beeline for the security room, dispose of the guards as easily as blinking, and lock every door in the facility before cutting the power completely. The base falls into complete darkness and you bypass turning on the emergency lights. Your eyes, enhanced by the Red Room’s serum that made your night vision akin to a cat’s, adjust immediately and you let the familiar silence of darkness wrap around you like a security blanket. A low siren indicating a security breach echoes against the concrete walls, and you stalk into the void with knives in your hands and your gun locked in its holster.
You don’t fire a single shot that night. Every soul that you send to the underworld dies by your hands or the blades in them as proof of your rage and to feed the carnal need for blood that roared every time you remember what they did to Seungcheol. The scientists and doctors are easy enough, as are the handlers. The other test subjects that received the serum prove to be a challenge, but they aren’t trained to fight in darkness as well as you are. Their serum also does not make their eyes as strong as yours, so they sacrifice power for accuracy that never lands. In less than an hour, every Hydra agent in the facility is on the floor and your boots are slick with blood. After the last body hits the ground, you breathe in the copper-tasting air. You don’t regret it, not a single kill, and soon enough you’ve nabbed a truck and started on the road for Amsterdam.
—
Seungcheol is wary of almost everything in this new age, but there are three things he knows for certain. One, that the food he eats for breakfast alone is miles better than whatever he was eating a century ago. Two, that cars of this era can go faster than he could even blink. Three, that you are just as much of an anchor as you were before you said goodbye in that goddamn tulip field.
“Earth to Seungcheol, hello? Are you reading?” You say with a tilt of your head, lightly tapping his temple with your finger. It’s been a few months since you’d found him in Casablanca and everyday feels more reassuring than the last. In the soft sunlight of the Avengers compound common area, you look almost at peace, a stark contrast to how Seungcheol normally saw you. You’re a completely different person now that the Red Room isn’t breathing down your neck, and it slowly encourages him to bring his guards down as well. His stiff, awkward interactions with the other former Widows has evolved into some interesting conversations that don’t require your patient mediation. It isn’t abnormal for people to see you together like this, you with a computer or a notebook scribbling down whatever your next mission is, and the former Winter Soldier just sitting beside you, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
“I don’t have a book with me, how could I be reading?” He frowns and you smile. The act alone makes his heart trip over itself.
“It’s just an expression. Instead of reading books, you’re reading signals, like how the space people did when humans went to the moon,” you explain and his confusion deepens.
“Space people as in aliens, or…?”
“The people controlling the spaceship,” you laugh. “The ones making sure it didn’t crash and burn on national television.”
“Right. Television. That’s a thing now.” He scrunches his eyes shut and drags his metal hand down his face, a new Vibranium-reinforced appendage that you’d called in a favor for after Seungcheol began complaining that his old one was creaking. “How’d you do this alone? Adjust to an entirely different world?” You pause, your pencil hovering over the page of your notebook.
“It was hard at first,” you admit. “But it got easier when I realized that nothing ever really changes, it just evolves. The bones of everything I knew are still there, but they just look different.” An idea lights up in Seungcheol’s mind.
“Are you able to find information about places on that thing?” He asks, nodding at your laptop. Your face pinches like you’re fighting a laugh and he gives you a pointed look.
“I didn’t say anything!” You protest with your hands raised in surrender.
“You didn’t need to. I could hear you laughing at my cluelessness in your head from over here,” he shoots back with no malice. “Can you just–can you look up a restaurant downtown? Darling Diner.” You shrug and your fingers clack against the keyboard. Your eyebrows draw together and you lean closer to the screen, clicking around for an amount of time that makes Seungcheol feel embarrassed that he even asked. “It’s probably dead now, sorry for making you–”
“It’s still open,” you interrupt, surprised. “‘The original Darling Diner, serving New York since 1928.’ Is that the one?” He leans over to you and you turn the screen to face him. The exterior color is changed and the neon sign is in a different font, but the building is the exact same as the one where he and Mingyu used to go after school.
“Holy shit. That’s the one,” Seungcheol mutters. “I can’t believe it’s still around.”
“Did you frequent it often?” Seungcheol chuckles.
“Often? Mingyu and I were there every day of the week. All the staff knew us by name, even tried to set us up with their daughters.” An amused glint shines in your eye.
“Oh? Do tell about all the girls you’ve romanced at this diner,” you tease and Seungcheol stutters, his face suddenly hot. He swallows and the silence makes you stifle a snort, another sound that he’s never heard before but would never tire of hearing. “I’m kidding, I promise. You’ve told me all about the times you’ve third-wheeled Mingyu’s dates.”
“Yeah, that jackass always made me take a walk up and down the street when he wanted to give the girls a kiss goodnight,” he reminisces.
“Jesus, how many girls was he kissing?”
“I lost track after the fifteenth.” He shrugs and you both burst out laughing until your stomachs hurt. When the giggles die down, Seungcheol takes a deep breath and steels his nerves. “Does it…does it say when the diner closes?” You blink and scroll around a bit before nodding.
“1:00 in the morning, every day,” you reply. “Why?”
“Do you have any dinner plans?” Seungcheol asks and you try not to look too excited.
“I do not.”
“Would you let me take you out to dinner then? I can tell you if the quality is as good as I remember it being.” Your smile is brighter than every star combined.
“I would love to.”
A few hours later, you’re tucked into a well-worn leather booth scarfing down a plate of food as large as your head. The sun is giving its final bows and the diner is humming with hushed conversation amidst the soft clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen. Seungcheol has regaled you with at least six new stories about his escapades with Mingyu before they enlisted, and for a minute you let yourself imagine that this was a normal life. You were on a normal date with a normal guy (with a totally normal arm) in a normal diner on a normal night. Normal. How odd.
“Where’d you go?” He asks as the waitress in a grease-stained apron clears your entree plates from the table. You blink back to the present and try to ignore the way Seungcheol’s arms are flexing under the sleeves of his henley shirt. You offer an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, I’m not sure. I guess I got too caught up in the moment.” You fidget with a crumpled straw wrapper, if only to not get flustered by Seungcheol’s unwavering attention. “I like this. Being with you.” He nods almost solemnly.
“I do too.”
“I’m half-expecting someone to barge in and try to recapture us,” you chuckle dryly, though you’re not entirely kidding.
“Is that why you keep glancing at the door like we’re still on the run?” Seungcheol gently questions.
“A habit I can’t shake, unfortunately,” you sigh. “Nayeon calls it ‘the white rabbit’ theory.”
“Like from that book about the girl who smokes with a caterpillar?”
“Among other things, yes,” you snort. “It’s essentially a fear that whenever something feels too good, something bad comes along to ruin it. The white rabbit gets you, is what she says. I guess I’m…I’m waiting for the rabbit to come through the door.” Seungcheol is quiet as he digests what you’ve shared with him. Then, slowly as to give you time to pull away, he reaches for your hand. You let him take your fingers in his and run his thumb over your bruised knuckles, an act so delicate that you forget to breathe. The rest of the diner falls away until it’s just you and him in the dingy yellow light, holding on to a moment that isn’t as fragile as you think it is.
“If the rabbit comes in, I’ll shoot him,” Seungcheol mumbles after a while. You choke on a surprised laugh that falters when you see the grave seriousness etched into his features. “I’m serious.” He thinks back to Amsterdam, to the suppressed panic you were trying to hide from him in that fucking tulip field, and how he let you go without so much as lifting a finger. He could have done more to protect you. He should have done more. “I’ll die before I ever let someone take you away again,” he promises and your eyes start watering unexpectedly. You swallow thickly and nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady.
The waitress arrives with a single strawberry milkshake like a car horn on a quiet street, making both you and Seungcheol startle and swear colorfully under your breaths. She tosses two more straws onto the table and leaves without another word. You both share a look as you stifle your laughter, the moment effectively ended but not broken.
“Damn, maybe the real rabbit was our waitress,” you joke and Seungcheol makes a noise from his throat that sounds vaguely like a chuckle. “A little cliché, isn’t it? Sharing a milkshake with two straws?” You unwrap both and stick them on either side of the glass.
“You say cliché, but I remember it as Mingyu’s special closer,” replies Seungcheol. You lean in and take a sip and he does the same, your noses nearly brushing. “Good?”
“Delicious,” you whisper. His eyes dart to the corner of your lips and his thumb wipes your mouth without thinking. You don’t stiffen, but he does halfway through the action, pulling away abruptly like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Sorry, you had a…something on your face.” Your eyes are too knowing and he flushes under your gaze.
“It’s okay, I didn’t mind.” Your voice lowers and you lean forward over the glass again so close that Seungcheol can count the different flecks of color in your eyes. “Though you could also just kiss me next time that happens,” you murmur with a clever smile. “Unless that was also part of the Mingyu Special, in which case I don’t really want to–”
“I get the point, sweetheart.” Your teasing is cut off by Seungcheol closing the distance and softly placing his lips on yours, like you would explode if he moved too suddenly. He feels you smile against the kiss, though it might’ve been because he was smiling first. You hum and pull away just enough to nudge his nose with yours, the milkshake between you forgotten. “You taste like strawberries,” he grins.
“Is that okay?”
“More than,” he confirms. “I like kissing you.” He hesitates before speaking again. “I…I like you.” Your joy falters.
“I’m not the easiest person to be with, Seungcheol,” you remind him uneasily.
“I don’t need you to be easy,” he murmurs. “I just need you.”
“And if I prove to be too much trouble?” Seungcheol shakes his head adamantly.
“You said it yourself. I’m the one who’s made to match you. I’m asking you to let me.” You search his face but find nothing but conviction and raw determination.
“You’re sure about this? About me?”
“If I wasn’t, you’d have never been able to break me from Hydra’s control,” he says and the tiniest part of you starts to believe him.
“As long as you don’t let the white rabbit get me,” you caution with a poorly-hidden smile. “Now c’mon, let’s finish this and get out of here. Jihoon’s car isn’t gonna speed itself.”
—
Casablanca – 2026
“We really should stop meeting like this,” jokes an all-too-familiar voice over your shoulder as you watch the waters of the port shine in the early afternoon sunlight. You push your sunglasses up onto the top of your head and turn to look at Seungcheol as he approaches, looking too good for someone who was just on a flight for over twelve hours. When he’s close enough, you loop your fingers until the belt loops of his pants and tug him to kiss you. You hum in contentment when his hands immediately position themselves on your hips. “Someone’s happy to see me.”
“Mmm, I know you like when I’m clingy,” you reply and he shrugs.
“I plead the fifth. Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re right on time,” you reassure him. “They’re about to engage.” Seungcheol’s stomach turns uneasily.
“You’re sure they’re okay to take this on their own?”
“They’ll be fine. They’ve been training together for months. It’s about time they did a mission on their own.” You grab the earpiece case from your pocket and pop one into Seungcheol’s, connecting him into the comms system as the two trainees take their places. “Ant-Man, Spiderman, confirm positions.”
“I am in a position,” replies Seokmin through crackled static. “Not sure if it’s the right one.” Seungcheol gives you a skeptical look and you wave him off. You’re starting to feel relieved that you didn’t assign them a night mission as their first job. “You don’t happen to know where my extra vial of Pym particles are, do you?”
“You won’t need any more than you usually use during training, so just be smart with how you shrink. It’s just like the training simulations,” you explain patiently. Seungcheol has begun pacing back and forth and checking the magazine of his guns.
“Am I allowed to use web-bombs on this mission?” Hansol inquires and you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Also I’m in position. I have no idea where Seokmin is.”
“You can use web-bombs sparingly. Be sure to call out when you’re going to use them, since you tend to get Seokmin caught in the crossfire as he’s shrinking and growing.”
“Wait! If I go gigantic, you’ll be able to find me!” Seokmin proposes with too much enthusiasm.
“Do not go gigantic, Ant-Man. I repeat, do not go gigantic,” Seungcheol commands.
“I didn’t know Seungcheol was supervising us too,” mumbles Hansol a little indignantly. “Pressure’s on, I guess.”
“Wow, scary!” Seokmin adds. “The most terrifying Avengers making sure we don’t mess up. I guess I can’t be funny today.”
“No, be funny,” Hansol frowns. “It makes this more fun.”
“Your mission is to identify the contents of a shipping container. Where the fun lies in that, I’m not sure,” Seungcheol states incredulously. He presses a button on the earpiece to mute his microphone and turns to you. “Are you sure we shouldn’t just handle this? We could be in and out in under five minutes.” You shake your head and squeeze his hand.
“The Winter Soldier and Arachne are here as backup. We don’t need to be scary on this job; we need to be mentors,” you remind him gently. “Trust me, I’m just as nervous for this mission as you are.”
“I doubt that,” Seungcheol laments and you chuckle. Your smile drops suddenly when five different shipping containers fall over with loud metallic crashes as Seokmin’s Ant-Man suit grows to become as tall as the cranes. Swinging on his arms and throwing web-bombs like no tomorrow is Hansol, and the dockworkers are running about in a state of panic. The targeted container is nowhere in sight, and half of Seokmin’s leg is now in the water. You and Seungcheol share a look and sigh. “Well, shit.”
“So much for subtlety,” you agree, unhurriedly pulling your batons from their sheaths on your thighs. Seungcheol dons his black mask and pulls the detachable sleeve away from his Vibranium arm. “I could use an Old Fashioned after this.”
“Rye, extra bitters,” he continues. The corner of your mouth turns down when you realize you’ve misplaced a knife on your belt, and Seungcheol is quick to hand you one of his. “Maybe I’ll give it a try today. Seems like a drinking kind of night, if we survive this.”
“This is easily survivable compared to what we’ve done in the past,” you scoff, adding the knife to your array and stretching your neck from side to side.
“Sorry, I mean the press conference that’s gonna come our way once the press hears that Ant-Man got half his foot stuck in a crane,” corrects Seungcheol and you shrug.
“Just another day, isn’t it?” You smile at him and he winks at you.
“Guess so.” He cracks his human knuckles.
“Got my six?”
“You know it.”
“Great,” you grin, pressing one more kiss to his cheek. “Let’s clean up their mess.”
in case you didn't know: reblogging is the best way to support your favorite authors! if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi!
The fluorescent glow of the convenience store flickers slightly as you step outside, a bag of snacks in one hand, a cold drink in the other. The streets are quiet, the late hour settling over the city like a thick blanket. You should probably be at home, curled up in bed, but the craving for something sweet had been too strong to resist.
You flip the snack over in your hands, eyes scanning the label, not really paying attention to where you're going.
And then the deafening screech of tires rips through the silence.
Your head snaps up just in time to see headlights cutting through the night, blinding and too close. Your breath catches in your throat, your body freezing in place—
The car stops mere inches from you, the force of its abrupt halt vibrating through the pavement.
For a moment, nothing moves then, the driver’s side door swings open with a sharp click.
A man steps out.
Dressed in black, broad shoulders tense under the dim streetlight. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, framing sharp, striking features. Even in the low light, his presence is overwhelming, like a force of nature. His gaze locks onto you—dark, intense, and filled with irritation.
“What the hell were you doing?” His voice is low, edged with frustration.
You blink, your breath still uneven. “I—I wasn’t—”
“Looking?” He scoffs, running a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “You were too busy staring at whatever’s in your hand to notice you almost walked into a moving car.”
You shrink back slightly, gripping the plastic bag tighter. “I didn’t mean to…”
His jaw clenches, and for a second, it looks like he’s debating whether to say something else. But instead, he just shakes his head. “Be more careful.”
He turns on his heel, already reaching for his car door.
You should just let him leave. This is already embarrassing enough. But before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Um—thank you for stopping.”
He pauses. Just for a second. Then, without a word, he gets into the car, the engine roaring to life. You stand there, heart still pounding, staring after him.
Who was that?
You push open the door to your apartment, still slightly dazed from what just happened. The faint scent of the vanilla candle Jihyo always insists on lighting.
Jihyo is sprawled on the couch, her legs tucked under a blanket, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting on her lap. She barely glances up from her drama before doing a double take.
“Why do you look like that?” she asks, eyes narrowing.
You blink. “Like what?”
She points a finger at you. “Like you just saw a ghost. Or like you committed a crime. Did you commit a crime?”
“No! What—why would that be your first guess?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, you do look suspicious. And you’re clutching that bag like it’s your last meal.”
Only then do you realize how tightly you’re holding onto your convenience store snacks. You exhale, finally setting them on the counter before collapsing onto the couch beside her.
“I almost got run over,” you mumble.
Jihyo gasps, sitting up so fast the blanket slides off her shoulders. “WHAT?”
You wince. “Okay, maybe not that dramatic. But this really fancy car came out of nowhere, and I wasn’t looking, and he had to brake really hard.”
She stares at you, horrified. “Are you okay?! Did he yell at you? Wait—was he hot?”
You sigh, sinking further into the couch. “He looked scary.”
Jihyo raises a brow. “Scary how? Like, actually scary or hot scary?”
You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Why are those the only two options?”
“Because that’s how the universe works.”
You groan again. “Jihyo.”
“What? I’m just saying.” She waves a hand. “Did he at least make sure you were okay?”
You pause, remembering the way he had sighed before telling you to be more careful. The brief hesitation before he drove off.
“…Kind of?”
“Did you get his name?”
“No.”
Jihyo pouts. “Ugh, tragic.” Then, after a beat, her expression brightens mischievously. “But don’t worry! If fate wants you to meet your mysterious scary-hot man again, it’ll happen.”
You roll your eyes but can’t help the tiny smile on your lips as you retreat to your room.
Fate? Well, hopefully, fate lets you not embarrass yourself next time.
Turns out fate is not on your side at all. Either that or you have a knack at embarrassing yourself.
Balancing a stack of art supplies and teaching materials while pushing open the café door is not your smartest idea. But your kids needed these for their next activity, and you were too stubborn to make two trips.
You shift the weight in your arms, carefully maneuvering your way inside and walk straight into someone.
“Whoa—careful.”
The deep voice sends an odd shiver down your spine, familiar in a way you can’t place right away. You look up, breath catching slightly as you meet dark eyes framed by sharp features and messy black hair.
It takes him half a second to recognize you.
“You.”
Your eyes widen. “M-me?”
His gaze flickers over you, and something shifts in his expression—mild surprise, a trace of amusement. “Yeah. You almost walked into my car the other night.”
Your stomach twists in a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. Of course, fate just had to throw you into his path again.
“I—uh—” You flounder for words, cheeks burning. “I was distracted.”
“Yeah. I noticed.”
You glance down, pretending to readjust your grip on the supplies. “Thanks for catching that.”
“You should really work on watching where you’re going.”
You scowl, but it lacks any real bite. “I do watch where I’m going.”
He tilts his head slightly, clearly unimpressed. “You sure about that?”
You huff, adjusting your things. “I was just in a rush.”
He eyes the stack in your arms, then sighs before reaching out and effortlessly taking half of it from you.
Your mouth falls open. “What—wait—you don’t have to—”
“Just tell me where you’re going,” he says, already turning toward the counter. “Unless you want to drop everything in the middle of the café.” You stare at him, completely thrown off by the unexpected gesture.
Who is he?
You follow him toward the counter, still slightly dazed by how effortlessly he took half of your things.
“I—I can carry it myself,” you mumble, though the words come out weaker than intended.
He doesn’t even glance back. “You were barely holding onto them a second ago.”
You press your lips together, feeling your face heat up. The café is comfortably warm, but somehow, standing next to him makes it feel ten degrees hotter. As you reach an empty table, he sets your things down with ease.
A beat of silence stretches between you before you clear your throat.
“Um… about that night,” you start hesitantly, shifting on your feet. “I—I never really got to say it properly, but… I’m really sorry. For, you know, almost getting run over.”
He leans against the chair, arms crossing over his chest as he looks at you. His dark eyes hold something unreadable, something that makes you feel even smaller under his gaze.
Then, to your surprise, his lips twitch slightly. “At least you admit it this time.”
You duck your head, flustered. “I admitted it before…”
“Mm. Not really.”
You peek up at him, only to find that he’s watching you with mild amusement, as if he finds your reaction entertaining.
The realization makes you even more shy, and you quickly look away, fiddling with your sleeves. “W-well, I mean it. I’ll be more careful next time.”
He hums, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “Good.”
Another brief silence. You wonder if you should say something else, but before you can, a voice calls from behind him.
“Cheol, let’s go!”
You blink as a familiar figure strolls toward your table. Your eyes widen slightly. They know each other?
Seungcheol—Cheol?—glances over his shoulder before turning back to you. “You good with your stuff now?”
You nod quickly. “Y-yeah! Thank you.”
He gives you one last look, then, without another word, he turns and walks off, leaving you standing there, still flustered, still trying to process everything.
As Seungcheol and his friend head toward the exit, you finally let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. But then you notice it. The way the café has gotten quieter. The way people are looking at you.
“…That was Choi Seungcheol, right?”
“Yeah! And Jeonghan was with him…”
“What’s a racer like him doing here?”
You blink, confusion washing over you. Racer?
Your gaze follows theirs, staring at the door as it swings shut behind the two men. The image of Seungcheol’s sharp features, the way he carried himself, the confidence in his stride—it all clicks into place.
He wasn’t just some random guy you almost walked into that night. He was someone. Someone famous. And you, completely oblivious, had apologized to him like he was just any other stranger.
The moment you step into your apartment, exhausted from the day’s events, Jihyo barely gives you a chance to breathe before she’s dragging you onto the couch.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, again” she says, eyeing you suspiciously. “What happened now?”
You sigh, dropping your bag onto the floor. “You remember the guy I almost walked into the other night?”
Her expression sharpens. “Scary-hot guy? Yeah, obviously.”
“Well…” You shift uncomfortably. “I ran into him again today. At the café.”
“And?”
“And then I found out who he actually is.”
Jihyo narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”
You bite your lip. “He’s—um. He’s kind of famous?”
You tell her everything, from that night to meeting him again at the cafe to the stares of everyone there. She blinks. Once. Twice. Then, when realization dawns, she screams.
“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME IT WAS CHOI SEUNGCHEOL? YOU ALMOST DIED UNDER CHOI SEUNGCHEOL’S CAR?!”
You groan, flopping onto the couch. “I did not almost die!”
Jihyo looks absolutely betrayed. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Do you know who he is?”
“I do now!”
“He’s not just famous!” She grips your shoulders. “He’s the Choi Seungcheol! The biggest name in racing right now! Literally the best in the circuit! People would sell their souls just to meet him!”
You blink. “Oh.”
Jihyo groans, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it like it personally offended her. “This is so unfair. People dream about meeting Seungcheol and you—you almost became a headline without even realizing it!”
You groan again, covering your face. “Can you not say it like that?”
She huffs, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. You, the one person in this city who doesn’t know anything about racing, are somehow fated to cross paths with Choi Seungcheol.”
You peek at her between your fingers. “I don’t think fate is the one messing with me. I think it’s you.”
=
It’s the weekend. Your first free day in what feels like forever.
Your plan? Stay in bed, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, and maybe only move to grab snacks. A perfect, peaceful day of doing absolutely nothing. That is until your bedroom door slams open.
“Get up!” Jihyo’s voice pierces through your sleepy haze.
You groan, barely peeking out from your covers. “Go away.” She does not go away. Instead, she marches over, grabs your arm, and starts pulling.
“Jihyo—what the—”
“You’re coming with me,” she declares, already rifling through your closet. “There’s a party. We’re going.”
You blink, still half-asleep. “Party?”
The bar is already alive with music and laughter by the time you and Jihyo step inside. You barely have a chance to get your bearings before Jihyo is leading the way, greeting people left and right like she owns the place.
“Jihyo!” Someone waves her over, and soon, you’re being pulled into a group of her friends.
As you settle in, ordering a drink and chatting with the group, you remain completely unaware of the set of eyes that have landed on you from across the room.
At a booth near the back, a group of men sits comfortably, drinks in hand, their presence naturally commanding attention. Jeonghan, leaned back with a lazy smirk, is the first to notice.
“Well, well.” He nudges Seungcheol, nodding toward the bar. “Look who it is.”
Seungcheol follows his gaze, and his eyes land on you. You, standing with your friends, laughing at something someone just said, unaware of the attention you’re drawing.
Minghao, sitting beside Jeonghan, raises a brow. “Who?”
“That,” Jeonghan hums, “is our little crosswalk girl.”
Vernon, who’s been sipping his drink quietly, looks over too. “The one from the café?”
“The very one.”
Seungcheol doesn’t say anything, his gaze unreadable. He watches as you take a sip of your drink, eyes bright as you talk with your friends, completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve somehow, unknowingly, wandered into his world again.
The conversation flows easily, laughter spilling into the air as the music hums in the background. But eventually, your drink runs low, and you excuse yourself, weaving through the crowd toward the bar.
You squeeze into a spot near the counter, waiting for the bartender’s attention, when a voice speaks beside you.
“Didn’t expect to see someone like you here.”
You blink, turning to find a man leaning casually against the bar, there’s nothing immediately alarming about him, but something about his approach makes you instinctively straighten your posture.
You offer a polite smile. “Someone like me?”
He chuckles. “You don’t really look like the bar-hopping type.” His eyes flick over you, assessing. “First time here?”
You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “Something like that.”
“You should let me buy your next drink, then,” he offers smoothly, setting his glass down. “I can show you around.”
Unbeknownst to you, Seungcheol has already risen from his seat.
“I appreciate the offer,” you say carefully, shifting slightly in place. “But I’m good, thanks.”
He tilts his head, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Come on, just one drink. No harm in that, right?”
The bartender finally makes his way over, and you take the opportunity to place your order, hoping the stranger will take the hint and leave it at that. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he’s telling you some grand secret.
“You look a little lost,” he muses. “Let me keep you company.”
Your polite smile tightens. “I’m really not—”
A presence shifts behind you and suddenly, the atmosphere changes.
It’s subtle at first just a flicker in the air, the feeling of something shifting before you can put a name to it. Then, before you even realize what’s happening, a hand lands on the bar beside you. Close, but not touching.
The stranger’s eyes flicker up, his smirk faltering slightly. You don’t have to turn around to know someone is standing there.
And then
“I think you’re the one lost, man”
A voice. Low. Smooth. Amused, but with an edge sharp enough to cut.
You freeze.
Slowly, you turn your head aand meet Seungcheol’s gaze. He’s standing behind you, close enough that his presence is unmistakable but not intrusive. The man studies Seungcheol for a moment, then exhales through his nose, clearly weighing his options.
“Didn’t know she had company,” he says, raising his hands slightly. “Just making conversation.”
It’s not a threat. Not outright. But it doesn’t have to be. The stranger seems to understand that.
Only then do you fully turn to Seungcheol. For a second, neither of you speak. The music thrums around you, the dim bar lights casting sharp shadows across his features.
You clear your throat. “Thanks for… scaring him off, I guess.”
His lips twitch slightly. “I didn’t scare him.”
You give him a look. “You definitely scared him.”
Seungcheol shrugs, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Didn’t like how he was talking to you.”
You blink. It’s a simple statement, but something about it makes warmth creep up your neck.
“…Yeah,” you murmur, glancing down. “I wasn’t a fan either.”
A beat of silence passes before you glance at him again.
“So…” you start, tilting your head. “Do you just happen to be everywhere I go, or…?”
His eyes flicker with amusement. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I don’t even go anywhere.”
He smirks. “And yet, here you are.”
You huff, rolling your eyes. “Against my will, for the record.”
“You should stick with your friends.”
You blink, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “Huh?”
He nods toward where Jihyo and the others are, still laughing and drinking, completely unaware of your interaction.
“If you don’t like dealing with guys like that,” Seungcheol says evenly, “don’t wander off alone.”
You frown. “I wasn’t wandering—”
He gives you a pointed look.
You hesitate, then sigh. “…Fine. Noted.”
Seungcheol doesn’t say anything else, just takes another slow sip of his drink. For some reason, you can’t help but smile. A strange guy, a rescue, a drink, and an oddly protective professional racer.
Your night just got a lot more interesting.
As Seungcheol steps away from the bar, making his way back to their table, he can already feel the stares. Sure enough, when he reaches the booth, Jeonghan is the first to speak, leaning forward with a knowing smirk.
Seungcheol doesn’t react, just takes a slow sip, gaze flicking toward the bar where you’ve rejoined Jihyo and your friends, seemingly unaware of the conversation happening across the room.
Jeonghan hums, following his gaze. “She’s cute.”
Seungcheol shoots him a look. “Don’t start.”
Jeonghan grins. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Minghao leans back, watching him curiously. “What’s the deal with her?”
Seungcheol exhales through his nose, setting his glass down. “Nothing. Just a familiar face.”
Jeonghan snorts. “A familiar face you’ve run into three times now.”
Vernon glances at Seungcheol. “Fate?”
“Coincidence,” Seungcheol corrects.
Jeonghan nudges Minghao. “He’s in denial.”
Seungcheol rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “You guys are ridiculous.”
Jeonghan just smirks, eyes flickering back to you across the room. “Maybe.” He tilts his head. “Or maybe we’re just paying attention.”
Jeonghan barely leans forward, a teasing glint in his eyes, before he starts, “But she’s really cute, so if you’re not interested—”
Seungcheol’s gaze snaps to him. Sharp. Instant. Jeonghan doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Seungcheol’s stare shuts him down. Minghao raises an eyebrow, glancing between them.
Jeonghan, ever the troublemaker, tilts his head slightly. “Oh?”
Seungcheol doesn’t answer. Just holds his gaze. For a second, the tension lingers.
Then Jeonghan chuckles, leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.”
Seungcheol doesn’t respond this time, just shifts his gaze back to the bar where you’re still standing, laughing at something Jihyo said, completely unaware of the conversation that just took place across the room.
The cool night air is a relief after the warmth of the bar, the buzz of conversation and music fading into the background as you stand on the sidewalk with Jihyo.
She leans against you slightly, humming to herself. She’s not completely out of it, just tipsy enough to be giggly, swaying lightly as she scrolls through her phone.
“You good?” you ask, steadying her when she wobbles.
She grins up at you. “Perfect.”
You roll your eyes, adjusting your grip on her arm. “Uh-huh. Sure you are.”
Your group had started heading home one by one, slipping out with quick goodbyes, and now it’s just the two of you waiting for a cab.
Jihyo hums again, tapping at her phone. “Ugh, the wait time’s so long.”
“We’ll just have to be patient,” you sigh, rubbing your arms against the slight chill.
You don’t notice the familiar figures stepping out of the bar behind you.
Jihyo sighs dramatically, resting her full weight against you. “You’re so warm. You should let me borrow your body heat.”
“Or, and hear me out, you could stand on your own two feet.”
“No fun,” she whines, wrapping an arm around you in a lazy hug. “This is why you need a boyfriend. Someone to carry you when you’re drunk.”
You scoff. “I’m not the one who’s drunk.”
She ignores you. “You’d be so cute with a boyfriend. Someone big and strong.” She giggles. “Like one of those K-drama leads who act all tough but secretly—”
A throat clears behind you.
You both freeze.
Slowly, you turn your head. And there, standing a few feet away, is a group of some familiar and unfamiliar men. Seungcheol. Jeonghan. And two you’ve never met before but you’re assuming are their friends.
You blink.
Jihyo blinks.
Then
“Oh, shit,” she gasps, a little too loud.
You immediately slap a hand over her mouth. “Jihyo—”
She pries your hand away, eyes wide as she leans in close, whispering (badly), “Why didn’t you tell me they were right behind us?!”
“How was I supposed to know?!” you hiss back, mortified.
Meanwhile, the guys just stare, the silence between both groups growing increasingly awkward. Jeonghan, of course, is the first to break it.
“This is entertaining,” he muses, crossing his arms. “Don’t stop on our account.”
You groan, wanting the sidewalk to swallow you whole. “We’re done talking.”
“Oh, no, no—please, continue,” Jeonghan grins. “Something about K-drama boyfriends? Big and strong?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “I hate this.”
Jihyo, suddenly regaining her confidence, narrows her eyes at them. “Wait, why are you guys here?”
Vernon shrugs. “Same reason you are. Leaving.”
“You followed us,” she accuses.
Minghao snorts. “You were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. We walked out and saw you.”
“…Oh.” Jihyo deflates.
Seungcheol, who’s been quiet this whole time, finally exhales. “You two waiting for a cab?”
Jihyo nods. “Yeah, but the wait times suck.”
He glances at his car parked nearby, then back at you. “We could drive you.”
Jihyo perks up instantly. “Really?” You shoot her a look. “No, that’s okay—”
She elbows you. “We should say yes.”
“Jihyo,” you grit out, horrified.
“Think about it,” she whispers. “Free ride. Faster than waiting.”
Then Jeonghan, because he’s the worst, leans in slightly. “Unless you don’t trust Seungcheol’s driving?” Your eyes dart to Seungcheol. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your answer.
You purse your lips. “I never said that.”
“So you do trust him?” Jeonghan smirks.
You scowl. “I didn’t say that either.”
Jihyo groans, gripping your shoulders. “Oh my god, just say yes so we can go home!”
Jihyo grabs your arm in a vice grip, pulling you slightly away from the guys, though her balance is… questionable at best. She leans in, eyes wide, and whisper-shouts, “He’s a good driver! He’s very famous and hot! SAY YES!”
You freeze. She thinks she’s whispering. She’s absolutely not.
The silence behind you is deafening. You close your eyes, inhale sharply, then turn your head only to find all four men staring at you. You want to die.
Jihyo, still blissfully unaware, gives you another shake. “Why are you not saying yes?! He’s right there! He knows how to drive! He’s a racer! Do you know how many girls would kill to be in this position?!”
You force a strained smile. “Jihyo.”
“What?!”
“They can hear you.”
A beat of silence. Then—she smiles, nods, and says, “Good.”
And then she turns back to you, whisper-shouting, “So now that he knows, say yes.”
Seungcheol sighs. “Get in the car.”
Jihyo beams. “See? Told you.” You shoot her a glare but begrudgingly follow Seungcheol toward his car.
You hesitate for a second, eyeing the car. Maybe if you move fast enough, you can slip into the backseat next to Jihyo and avoid—
Click.
The sound of a door opening. You turn your head and—of course—it’s Jeonghan, holding open the front passenger door with a perfectly innocent smile.
“After you,” he says smoothly.
You narrow your eyes. “I was going to sit in the back.”
He tilts his head. “But that doesn’t make sense, does it? You’re the guest, you should take the best seat.”
“I don’t—”
Jihyo, behind you, shoves your back. “Just get in!”
You shoot her a glare before reluctantly sliding into the passenger seat, cheeks burning. Jeonghan shuts the door behind you with an annoyingly satisfied look before moving to take his own seat.
Jihyo plops into the back, sighing in content. “This is nice. I could get used to this.”
You swear you hear Seungcheol let out the faintest chuckle. And then, without another word, he starts the engine—trapping you in a car with him, your tipsy best friend, and the most annoying man alive.
in the backseat, Jihyo is completely at ease. She hums along to the radio, legs crossed, looking like she’s being chauffeured. Next to her, Jeonghan has that smug little smirk the one that says he’s enjoying this way too much.
And then there’s him. Seungcheol, eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, jaw set in quiet focus.
You shift awkwardly, clearing your throat. “Uh… thanks. For, you know… driving us.”
He nods slightly. “It’s fine.”
You nod too, staring straight ahead. “Cool. Yeah. Fine.”
Another pause and then Jihyo ruins everything. She leans forward between the seats, squinting at the dashboard. “Wow. This car is nice.”
Seungcheol hums. “Thanks.”
“What’s the top speed?” she asks, poking at random buttons.
You slap her hand away. “Stop touching things!”
“I just wanna know!” she pouts. “What’s the fastest you’ve ever driven?”
“Not answering that,” Seungcheol replies flatly.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t need to know.”
Jihyo huffs, slumping back. “Boring.”
You sigh in relief, thinking that’s the end of it but of course, Jeonghan isn’t done. He props his chin on his hand, looking over at you. “You still don’t know who he is, do you?”
“I—uh.” You fumble. “I mean. Jihyo kind of told me?”
Jihyo snorts. “I did not ‘kind of’ tell you. I screamed it at you.”
Jeonghan grins. “So? What do you think?”
You blink. “What do I think about what?”
Seungcheol exhales quietly. “Jeonghan.”
But Jeonghan ignores him, still watching you expectantly. “About him. Y’know. The Choi Seungcheol.”
You hesitate, suddenly feeling like you’re walking into a trap. “Uh… cool?”
Jeonghan leans closer. “That’s it?”
“What else do you want me to say?!” you exclaim, flustered.
Jihyo, still tipsy but ever the enabler, chimes in: “You could mention that he’s hot.”
You whip around. “Jihyo!”
“What? It’s true!”
You slap a hand over your face, groaning. “I hate you.”
The car rolls to a smooth stop outside your apartment complex, and you exhale, relieved to finally escape this nightmare.
“Thanks for the ride,” you say quickly, reaching for the door handle before anyone can make this worse—
But, of course, Jihyo beats you to it.
She dramatically stretches in the backseat. “Ahhh, that was nice. Good company, smooth ride—” she winks at Seungcheol through the rearview mirror, “—great driver.”
You slap her thigh. “Get out.”
She laughs but obliges, pushing the door open and stepping out. You scramble out too, making your way onto the sidewalk, fully prepared to run but then Jeonghan’s window rolls down.
“Hey,” he calls out. “Try not to get hit by any cars this time, yeah?”
You glare at Jeonghan. “I hope you stub your toe when you get home.”
He grins, completely unbothered. “You’re cute when you’re mad.” And with that, the car pulls away, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning, as your best friend drags you toward your building laughing all the way.
As soon as the car pulls away, Jeonghan casually switches seats, sliding into the passenger seat with a content sigh. Seungcheol, jaw tight, doesn’t even look at him.
“…Are you mad I called her cute?”
Seungcheol’s grip tightens on the wheel. “Jeonghan.”
“What?” Jeonghan grins, turning to face him. “It’s an honest question.”
Seungcheol exhales sharply through his nose. “Drop it.”
Jeonghan tilts his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “So that’s a yes.” Seungcheol doesn’t respond, gaze fixed on the road.
Jeonghan, delighted, leans closer. “You are mad.”
“I’m not mad,” Seungcheol says flatly.
Jeonghan hums, unconvinced. “Hmm. Sure. Not mad. Just gripping the wheel like you wanna break it.”
Seungcheol ignores him.
Jeonghan watches him for a second longer, then smirks, leaning back in his seat. “You know,” he muses, “she is really cute.”
Seungcheol exhales, long and slow, like he’s summoning every ounce of patience in his body.
Jeonghan grins. “Relax, man. It’s not like you’re jealous or anything.”
Seungcheol’s jaw clenches. “I said—”
“Uh-huh.” Jeonghan props his chin on his hand, looking way too pleased with himself. “Don’t worry. I’ll be nice.”
=
You’re comfortably settled at your desk, working on some lesson plans for your class when Jihyo bursts into your room, nearly giving you a heart attack. Before you can even react, she shoves her phone into your face.
You blink, leaning back. “What—”
She jabs at the screen. “This!”
You squint at the display, confused until you realize what you’re looking at. Choi Seungcheol’s Instagram profile.
Jihyo crosses her arms, looking at you like she just caught you. “So this is what you’re denying yourself?? Explain to me why you are not all over this man.”
Your brain bluescreens. You quickly shove her phone away, face burning. “Shut up!”
She sighs dramatically. “Babe, if it were me who bumped into him that night, best believe I would not have come home.”
You groan, covering your face. “Jihyo—”
“I mean—” She swipes to another photo, this time of him in his racing suit, looking stupidly good. “Look at him. He’s got that whole broody, ‘I’ll ruin your life but in the best way’ vibe.”
She shakes her head in awe. “That jawline should be illegal.”
She grins. “Admit it. You think he’s hot.”
You make a strangled noise. “I’m going to bed.”
Jihyo cackles, watching as you dive under your blanket in pure defeat. “Oh, babe,” she sing-songs. “You’re so done for.”
Despite Jihyo’s endless teasing and your absolute denial, the days pass and nothing happens. No accidental run-ins. No mysterious black car pulling up at the right moment. No smug Jeonghan popping out of nowhere to torment you.
You’re just at the convenience store, minding your business, waiting in line with a basket full of snacks, when you hear it
“Yeah, Seungcheol’s overseas for the big race.” Your ears perk up.
“Oh, right,” another guy says, grabbing a drink from the fridge. “Dude’s been training like crazy for this one. He’s got a good shot at winning.”
You stare blankly at the row of gum in front of you. He’s not even in Korea?
One of the guys chuckles. “I saw a clip of the press conference. He looked so serious, man. Like, no distractions, all business.”
“Hah, that’s Choi Seungcheol for you.”
You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling very silly because here you were, half-expecting some dramatic encounter, maybe another near-death experience (not that you wanted one), or at the very least, something. You pay for your things, walk out of the store, and absolutely do not check your phone for race updates.
It starts with a simple search. Just one harmless search. You’re curled up in bed, snacks within reach, telling yourself it’s just curiosity. And yet the moment you hit enter, you realize you’ve made a grave mistake.
Because there he is.
Choi Seungcheol.
Not just one picture, but thousands. Articles, interviews, highlights from races, candid photos at events. He’s everywhere.
You stare, entranced.
This is the same guy who caught you almost getting run over. The same guy who watched you squint at a menu like an old lady. The same guy who bought your coffee without a word.
You’re still deep in your self-inflicted spiral, scrolling through every article and picture you can find. And then you see it.
The latest update.
Choi Seungcheol Wins International Grand Prix!
You find yourself smiling a little. You don’t even know this guy properly, but still… it’s nice to see.
Then you scroll down. And stop.
Because there’s a picture of him not with his team, but with a girl. She’s standing close to him, a hand on his arm, smiling up at him while he looks at her.
Oh.
You stare at the image, a weird, sinking feeling settling in your chest. She’s stunning. The kind of gorgeous that makes you feel like you should sit up straighter, fix your hair, do something.
You quickly exit out of the tab, tossing your phone onto the bed like it burned you. What did you expect? Of course someone like him would have a girlfriend.
A few days passed. Not that you’re sulking. You’ve decided to move on. You’ve accepted reality. Choi Seungcheol is just a passing encounter in your life.
It’s fine. What’s not fine is this stupid bag of snacks that won’t open.
You frown, wrestling with the plastic as you step out of the convenience store, fully focused on your struggle. You huff, gripping it tighter, about to really go for it when
A loud honk blasts through the air.
You freeze.
The next second, the sound of tires screeching fills your ears. A bright flash of headlights and then a strong hand grabs you, pulling you back just as a sleek black car zooms by. Your breath catches. Heart hammering, you slowly lift your gaze to the person who just saved you
And your brain short-circuits.
Because standing there, gripping your wrist, looking at you like you’re the single biggest headache in his life is Choi Seungcheol.
Fresh off his international win. Back in Korea. And very much here. “Seriously?”
You blink up at him, mind racing, struggling to process the fact that he’s here. Right in front of you.
"Seriously?" he asks again. Before you can even think of a response, another voice speaks behind Seungcheol, and you turn just in time to see Jeonghan
“Oh my god,” he lets out a laugh, looking between you and Seungcheol. “Again?”
“I—” you start, but Jeonghan just shakes his head, looking at Seungcheol. “Be honest. Is she actually in danger all the time, or do you just have some weird sixth sense for when she’s about to get hit by something?”
Seungcheol scoffs, finally letting go of your wrist. “I don’t have a sixth sense.”
Jeonghan tilts his head. “I don’t know, man. That’s twice now. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were her personal bodyguard.”
“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” you mumble, gripping your stupid snack bag tighter.
Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, no kidding.”
“I was distracted—”
“With what?” he snaps. “Your life flashing before your eyes?”
You scowl, shoving the bag toward him. “This wouldn’t open!”
Seungcheol stares at it. Then at you. Jeonghan bursts out laughing.
“Oh my god,” he wheezes, doubling over. “You almost died over potato chips?”
“I wasn’t going to die—”
“You weren’t even looking,” Seungcheol cuts in, eyes narrowing. You freeze, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone.
You swallow, suddenly feeling small. “I—I didn’t mean to…”
His jaw tightens, but he exhales, shaking his head like he’s trying to let it go. “Just—be more careful.”
You nod, looking down at your feet. Jeonghan, sensing the shift in mood, clears his throat. “Anyway,” he drawls, clapping a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Before you fully commit to your new job as her official savior, can we go? I’m running on fumes, man”
Jeonghan grins. “We can drop you off”
Seungcheol glares at him. “Jeonghan.”
“What?” Jeonghan shrugs
You hold up a hand, shaking your head frantically. “I—no, it’s okay! I was just—”
Jeonghan grins wider. “See? She didn’t say no.”
Seungcheol sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”
Jeonghan slaps his back. “That’s fair. Now, come on, mystery girl. Let’s get you home in one piece”
And before you fully process what’s happening, you find yourself being pulled toward the car—toward another unexpected run-in with Choi Seungcheol.
Fate, it seems, isn’t quite done playing with you yet.
You don’t know how this happened. One second, you were nearly flattened by a car (again), and the next, you were being dragged by Jeonghan who apparently has no concept of personal space or asking for permission.
Now, you’re in the backseat of Choi Seungcheol’s car, clutching your still-unopened bag of chips like it’s your last lifeline.
“So, really, where were you looking?” he asks, turning slightly to glance at you. “Because if I was about to get hit, I’d at least want to see it coming.”
You glare at him. “I told you. The bag wouldn’t open.”
Jeonghan laughs. “I still can’t believe that’s what almost took you out. You know they put little notches for easy tearing, right?”
“...Not all of them work.”
Jeonghan sighs, shaking his head. “Natural selection is really out here working overtime.”
Seungcheol, who’s been silent this whole time, suddenly exhales sharply. “Jeonghan.”
“What?” Jeonghan grins. “I’m just saying, it’s a miracle she’s still alive.”
You sneak a glance at the rearview mirror, catching his reflection. He looks… tense. One hand on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road.
You wonder if he regrets stopping for you. Your stomach twists. It’s stupid, but you still feel a little weird about it. And now, sitting here, in his car, after all that unnecessary sulking? You feel… even weirder.
You shift uncomfortably, fingers fidgeting with the chip bag. You barely know these guys. One of them is a literal international racing champion, and the other is his unreasonably charming best friend. Meanwhile, you’re just… you. A kindergarten teacher who almost got flattened over snacks
The contrast is almost laughable.
“…You good back there?” Jeonghan’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
You blink, realizing you’ve been sulking again. “What? Yeah. Totally fine.”
Jeonghan smirks. “Uh-huh. You definitely look fine. Real picture of peace and happiness.”
You scowl, but before you can respond, Seungcheol speaks up his voice calm but firm.
“Jeonghan. Shut up.”
Jeonghan grins. “Ohhh. He’s using his serious voice.”
Seungcheol sighs, gripping the wheel tighter. “I should’ve left you on the sidewalk.”
“And yet,” Jeonghan says smugly, “you didn’t.”
Seungcheol glares at him. You feel like you’re witnessing a very old, very repetitive argument.
“Anyway,” Jeonghan continues, ignoring the daggers being stared into his skull, “since you’re so fine, tell me—how do you feel knowing you’re currently in a very expensive car, sitting behind a very famous race car driver?”
You hesitate. Then—
“…I feel like I should’ve taken the bus.”
Jeonghan bursts out laughing. Even Seungcheol’s lips twitch slightly, though he hides it well.
“Alright,” Jeonghan chuckles, shaking his head. “I like you.”
You don’t know why, but your face warms a little at that. You ignore it, focusing instead on the bag in your hands. Your stupid, unopened bag of chips. The red light feels like it’s taking forever to change.
With a sigh, you look at Seungcheol. “Can you open this?”
For the first time since you got in the car, he fully turns his head to look at you. His expression is blank.
“Seriously?”
You pout. “It won’t open.”
Seungcheol stares for another second before muttering something under his breath. Then, with one hand still on the wheel, he takes the bag from you and effortlessly tears it open with zero struggle.
You stare. He hands it back without a word, eyes back on the road.
Jeonghan looks between the two of you, then shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Ohhh, this is gonna be fun.”
You hesitate for a second, fingers tightening around your newly opened bag of chips, before finally mumbling, “Congratulations, by the way.”
It’s so quiet that you’re not even sure he hears it
“…Thanks,” Seungcheol says after a beat, voice softer than before.
“Cute girlfriend, by the way.” It just slips out.
Jeonghan, who had just taken a sip of his drink, makes a sudden choking sound. “Oh—oh my god.”
Seungcheol’s fingers twitch. You freeze, realizing what you just said, how you just said it, and immediately regret everything. You look up only to find Seungcheol’s eyes in the rearview mirror, dark and unreadable.
“…What?” His voice is flat
You clear your throat, trying to play it off. “The girl. In that picture. Looked… cute.”
Jeonghan, recovering from his near-death experience, turns fully in his seat to look at you, a wicked grin stretching across his face. “Oh wow. This is amazing.”
You glare at him. “What?”
“So, you did look him up.”
Your soul leaves your body. Seungcheol is still silent.
“I—no—I just—” You scramble for a response, but Jeonghan is already grinning like the devil himself.
“You did.” He laughs, clapping his hands together. “Oh, this is good. This is so good.”
“Shut up,” you hiss, face burning.
“I mean,” Jeonghan continues, completely ignoring him, “I knew you weren’t completely oblivious, but this confirms everything—”
“Jeonghan.” This time, there’s a warning in Seungcheol’s tone. Jeonghan raises his hands in surrender, but his smirk remains. You, meanwhile, are trying very, very hard to disappear into the seat.
Seungcheol finally glances at you again, eyes unreadable. “It’s not what you think.”
You blink. “Huh?”
“The picture.” His fingers drum against the wheel. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
Your breath catches slightly, but you quickly school your expression into something neutral. “Oh. I mean—I didn’t—” You clear your throat. “I wasn’t assuming anything.” Lies.
Jeonghan is watching the exchange very closely, eyes flicking between the two of you with amusement.
“Right,” he drawls. “And you totally weren’t sulking when you saw it, huh?”
Your soul leaves your body for the second time in five minutes. Seungcheol sighs, shaking his head. You, meanwhile, are seriously considering rolling out of the moving vehicle.
=
It’s Friday afternoon, and you’re in the middle of prepping lesson plans when your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen.
Seungcheol: Do you have plans this weekend?
Your heart does a little skip. Which is dumb. You ignore that.
You: Why?
Seungcheol: Race this weekend. Sending you a pass if you want to come.
You: Can Jihyo come?
Seungcheol: ...Do I have a choice?
You snort. Nope. He sends an exasperated-looking emoji. Then: Fine. I’ll send two.
You grin, typing back. Thanks, Cheol :)
Seungcheol leans against his car, phone in hand, watching as the dots appear and disappear on his screen. When your reply finally comes through, he stares at it for a second.
Thanks, Cheol :)
His grip tightens on the phone. The hell was that?
His brows furrow. He wasn’t expecting a nickname. Or the stupid little smiley face. He exhales, running a hand through his hair.
“You look stressed.”
Seungcheol clenches his jaw as Jeonghan appears beside him, sipping an iced coffee like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Jeonghan peeks at his phone screen, then grins. “Oh? You invited her?”
“Mind your business.”
Jeonghan just laughs, patting his shoulder. “Can’t wait to see her. She’s cute.”
Come the day of the race. You clutch the pass in your hand, eyes wide as you stare at the sectioned-off area in front of you.
Jihyo whistles lowly beside you. "Damn. You got connections."
You elbow her. "I do not."
She smirks. "Oh, but you do—VIP passes, babe. Not just regular seats. VIP."
You’re still trying to process it. You thought maybe some decent seats but no. This is practically in the pit area, near the teams, where you can see the racers up close.
You fidget with the hem of your sundress, trying to keep it down as the wind playfully tugs at the fabric. Jihyo had insisted you wear it, claiming it was perfect for today. And sure, it’s cute, but you’re not used to wearing something like this.
Your eyes follow the cars as they weave and speed around the track, and even though you can’t see his face, you somehow know which one is Seungcheol. He drives with such control, such confidence it’s ridiculous. It’s nerve-wracking, but thrilling at the same time. When the checkered flag waves, signaling the end, the crowd erupts in cheers.
Seungcheol won.
Then someone is standing beside your seat. He glances at a clipboard, then at you. "Mr. Choi asked me to bring you down to the pit."
"Wh—" You blink. "Me?"
The guy nods. "Yeah, you."
She gasps dramatically. "Oh my God, you’re getting the main character treatment."
You glare at her. "Shut up—"
"Come on." The team member jerks his head toward the entrance leading down to the pit area. "He’s waiting."
Jihyo shoves you forward. "GO, OH MY GOD."
You stumble, gripping your dress, and follow behind the guy as he leads you down. The pit area is loud.
"Hey." You turn at the sound of his voice. Seungcheol is standing a few feet away, unzipping the top half of his racing suit, revealing a black sleeveless undershirt. His hair is messy from the helmet, and he looks like he just stepped out of an action movie.
Your brain empties.
"Hi."
One of the other racers whistles. "Cheol, why didn’t you tell us you had a good luck charm?"
Seungcheol glares at the guy, and he immediately shuts up. He turns his attention back to you, eyes scanning your expression. "You okay?"
You nod way too quickly. "Yes."
His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smile. "Did you enjoy it?"
"Y-Yeah!" You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to compose yourself. "It was… really cool. Kind of scary, but mostly cool."
A beat passes. He watches you for a moment before he shifts slightly closer. "You sure?"
You swallow hard. "Yeah."
Before you can say anything else, someone calls his name from across the pit. He sighs, glancing toward them, then back at you.
"Good."
Just as Seungcheol turns to leave, one of his team members hands him a jacket—a sleek black one with his name embroidered on the front.
The wind picks up right at that moment, making your dress flutter. Seungcheol exhales, a small shake of his head, then without warning he moves closer. He holds out his jacket.
"Here."
"W-What?"
He lifts a brow. "You keep fidgeting."
"But—"
"Just take it." His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.
You hesitate, your fingers twitching at your sides. "But won’t you need it?"
"I’m fine," he says simply. "You, on the other hand, are obviously cold."
The sleeves are way too long, and the jacket itself is so oversized that it practically swallows you. But the moment you wrap it around yourself, a wave of warmth washes over you—both from the fabric and the fact that it’s his.
Seungcheol watches you pull it tighter around yourself, then nods in satisfaction. "Better?"
You nod frantically, voice barely above a whisper. "Y-Yeah."
He smirks slightly. "Good."
Then, before you can even process what just happened, he turns around and walks away leaving you standing there in the middle of the pit, drowning in his jacket, and burning with embarrassment.
By the time dinner ends, it’s late, the streets quieter as most of the city starts winding down for the night. One by one, the group starts heading out. Vernon and Minghao take off first, and Jeonghan lingers only long enough to throw one last smirk your way before disappearing too.
Then it’s just you, Jihyo, and Seungcheol standing outside the restaurant.
Jihyo stretches, humming in satisfaction. "Alright, how are we getting home?"
Seungcheol pulls out his keys. "I’ll drive you."
Jihyo, ever the social butterfly, starts the trip off chatting about the food, the restaurant, Jeonghan’s nonsense but after a few minutes, she slowly starts dozing off. By the time you reach the highway, she’s out cold, head slumped against the window, completely knocked out.
So now, it’s just you and Seungcheol. And the silence.
You shift in your seat, sneaking a glance at him. He’s focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily against the gear shift.
You clear your throat. "Thanks for the ride."
"Did you have fun?"
"Huh?"
He keeps his eyes ahead. "The race. The dinner. The whole thing."
You hesitate. Then, feeling a little shy, you nod. "Yeah. It was fun."
A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. "Good."
The rest of the drive was quiet. You're lost in thought when suddenly you hear him,
"We’re here."
You blink and sure enough, the car is parked right in front of your apartment complex. You don’t even think. You just unbuckle your seatbelt, practically launch yourself out of the car
"Thanksfortheridegoodnight!" Then you shut the door behind you, making your escape.
Seungcheol watches, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his chin. His lips twitch.
From the passenger seat, Jihyo stirs, barely cracking an eye open. "She’s so down bad," she mumbles sleepily.
Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh.
=
The week had been brutal.
You loved your job but spending all day surrounded by energetic little humans could be exhausting. And now, finally, finally, you had a moment to yourself. Which was why you were out again, wandering the quiet streets, enjoying the cool air.
And before you even realized it—
You were calling Seungcheol.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Where are you?" His voice was low, direct.
You blinked. "What?"
"You don’t usually call," he said. "Where are you?"
"Oh, um." You rubbed your arm, glancing around. "I’m just out on a walk."
"Alone?"
You frowned. "…Yeah?"
Seungcheol sighed. You could practically hear him shaking his head. "Of course you are."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Stay there. I’m coming to get you."
Your eyes widened. "Wait, what—"
Click. He hung up. You stared at your phone. "…Did he just—"
Before you could even process it, headlights approached from down the street.And there he was. You blinked. Then blinked again.
"How did you—"
Seungcheol gave you a look as he rolled down the window. "You take the same route every time."
You blinked again, your brain still catching up. "I—what?"
"That’s dangerous, by the way, Someone could easily figure that out."
You stared at him. "You just did."
"Exactly. Get in the car."
You huffed, rubbing your temples. "I was just taking a walk."
"And now you’re taking a ride," he countered smoothly. "C’mon, before I get out and make you."
You narrowed your eyes at him. "You wouldn’t."
Seungcheol unbuckled his seatbelt.
Your eyes widened. "Okay! Okay!"
You hurried to the passenger side, pulling open the door and climbing in. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic," he deadpanned, putting the car back in drive. You sat there, hands tucked into your lap, the hum of the car filling the silence.
You swallowed. "So, uh… now what?"
Seungcheol flicked his turn signal on, eyes still on the road. "Dunno. You tell me. You’re the one who called."
You bit your lip. "Right. About that."
He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
You hesitated, suddenly regretting all your life choices. "It was an accident."
Seungcheol scoffed, amused. "That’s a lie."
You groaned, throwing your head back against the seat. "Okay, fine! I just—" You sighed, watching the streetlights blur past. "I guess I just wanted to talk to someone?"
"Rough day?"
"More like a rough week," you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "The kids have been so hyper lately, and I’ve just been so tired. But it’s not even a bad tired, you know? It’s just a lot sometimes."
Seungcheol hummed, a small nod. "Yeah. I get it."
"You do?"
"Mhm." His grip on the wheel tightened slightly. "Racing’s fun. I love it. But there’s always a pressure to be on top, to perform well. Sometimes it gets overwhelming."
Seungcheol sighed, stretching out one hand before gripping the wheel again. "I go on night drives when I need to clear my head."
You stared at him, something clicking into place. "That’s why you knew my route."
He smirked slightly. "Guilty."
"I take walks, you take drives. Same thing, different speeds."
"Guess so." A comfortable silence settled between you. You glanced out the window, watching the city lights glow in the dark.
"Hey, Cheol?"
"Hm?"
"…Thanks."
You glanced at him again, blinking. He was focused on the road, but his grip on the wheel had tightened just slightly.
"For your information, I survived just fine before, you know. And i take different routes like the convenient store"
Seungcheol scoffed, barely sparing you a glance. "You almost got ran over because you were too busy sulking over a picture of me with a girl and almost died"
You choked. "I— What—"
He smirked. "What? Cat got your tongue?"
"I was not sulking!"
"Right. Totally explains why you looked like you were mourning when we saw you"
You groaned, peeking at him through your fingers. "Okay, but seriously. Who was she?"
"Told you already. A model for the brand we were promoting."
You pursed your lips. "And you just let people think she was your girlfriend?"
"Why would I care?"
You blinked at him. "Because rumors like that spread?"
"And?"
You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. "And they can cause misunderstandings!"
"Only if you believe them. You believed them?"
Your face heated again. "N-no!"
He smirked. "So you were sulking for no reason."
"Oh my god, I’m jumping out of this car."
Seungcheol laughed, shaking his head. "You’re so easy to mess with."
You scowled at him, but your heart was doing that weird thing again. You ignored it, sinking into your seat with a grumble.
"Whatever," you muttered. "I survived just fine without you, anyway."
Seungcheol didn’t say anything to that, just tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. A few seconds passed before he muttered, almost too quiet for you to hear
"Yeah. But I still worry"
=
It was just another normal day or at least, that was what you thought.
You were on your way back from grabbing lunch when you passed by a group of girls near the coffee shop. You weren’t intentionally eavesdropping, but the name Choi Seungcheol caught your attention.
"Did you see the pictures?" one of them gushed, holding up her phone. "He looks so good."
"I know, right?" another sighed dreamily. "And the model is there again. I swear, they have to be dating."
Your step faltered.
"She literally flew out just for the event," one of them continued. "If that doesn’t say girlfriend, I don’t know what does."
"They look so good together."
"I bet they’re just keeping it private."
You stared down at your drink, suddenly losing your appetite. Of course the rumors were back. Of course. You weren’t even sure why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t like Seungcheol owed you an explanation. He could date whoever he wanted.
You shook your head, scolding yourself. It doesn’t matter. It’s not your business. And yet, as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like a rock had settled in your stomach.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out, glancing at the screen.
Seungcheol.
You debated ignoring it. You weren’t in the mood. But your thumb betrayed you, swiping to answer.
"What."
There was silence on the other end. You never greeted him like that. Usually, it was your usual bright, shy "Hello?" or a nervous "Hi." But this? This was new.
"...Are you okay?" he finally asked, voice slower than usual, as if testing the waters.
You sighed, pushing open the door to your workplace. "Yeah, I’m fine. Why?"
"You sound—" he hesitated. "Different."
"I’m busy," you muttered, balancing your drink in one hand as you fumbled with your things. "What do you need?"
Seungcheol didn’t reply immediately. You could feel him trying to figure you out, and for some reason, that made you more annoyed.
"I was just calling to check on you," he finally said.
That caught you off guard. Your grip tightened around your phone.
You huffed. "I’m good. Enjoy your event."
You weren’t sure what this feeling was, but damn, it felt good to be glaring at everything.
The printer that took forever? Glare. The kid who knocked over their juice box? Squint. Your coworker asking if you were okay? Tight-lipped smile that was anything but a smile.
Maybe it was childish. Maybe you were overreacting. But at this point, you didn’t care. You didn’t even know why you felt so off. It wasn’t like you and Seungcheol were anything.
Meanwhile, across town, Seungcheol was still staring at his phone, completely thrown off. He wasn’t used to hearing you like that. You were always soft-spoken, shy, a little hesitant—but never cold. Never distant.
“What the hell was that?” he muttered to himself.
"That," came Jeonghan’s amused voice beside him, "was a very pissed-off woman."
Seungcheol shot him a look. "She said she was fine."
Jeonghan snorted. "And you believed her?" He leaned in, glancing at the phone. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," Seungcheol bit out, running a hand through his hair.
"Yeah? Well, she clearly thinks otherwise," Jeonghan mused, nodding toward the crowd of cameras flashing in the distance. "Think it’s the rumors?"
Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. The articles, the fan speculation, the model that everyone kept trying to link him with. He never paid them much attention before.
But you… you might have.
"She knows it’s not like that," he muttered.
"Does she?"
You had just clocked out of work, exhausted, ready to take the bus home and forget about the ridiculous thoughts swirling in your head. But then you saw it. A familiar black car parked near the bus stop.
Hard to miss. And even harder to miss was the very famous racer leaning casually against it, hands in his pockets, watching you like he was waiting for you.
Then, the annoyance you’d been holding in all day came rushing back. You stomped over, stopping right in front of him, arms crossed tight against your chest.
"What do you think you’re doing?" you demanded, eyes narrowing.
Seungcheol barely blinked, like he had expected this reaction. "Picking you up."
"Why?"
"Because you hung up on me," he said simply, pushing off the car. "And you sounded mad."
"I'm not mad," you scoffed, which was a total lie, and he knew it.
"You’re always bad at lying, but that was just embarrassing." The confidence. The nerve. You wanted to stomp your foot like a child. You glare at him, arms still crossed, feet planted firmly on the ground.
Seungcheol watches you, then takes a slow breath, like he’s surrendering. The cocky smirk fades just a little, his posture shifts, and this time, when he speaks, his voice is softer.
"Let me take you home." Not a demand. Not an assumption. A request.
Your glare wavers, just a little.
It’s annoying, really, how easily he throws you off. Just a second ago, you were ready to fight him in the middle of this parking lot, but now? Now your heart is doing that stupid thing again, beating way too fast just because he asked instead of told.
You purse your lips. "You didn’t have to come all the way here."
"I know."
"You’re busy."
"Not right now."
You shift on your feet, fingers gripping your bag strap. You know you should just say no, get on the bus, and pretend none of this is affecting you. But Seungcheol is still standing there, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.
"...Fine," you mumble, looking away.
He opens the passenger door for you, and for some reason, that makes your face heat up more than it should. For a while, he doesn’t say anything neither do you.
You keep your eyes trained on the window, stubbornly refusing to look at him. The tension sits heavy between you, thick enough to choke on.
Eventually, you sigh. "Just drop me off."
Seungcheol exhales sharply through his nose. "You’re mad."
You scoff. "I’m not mad."
You huff, annoyed at his calmness, annoyed at how he isn’t even trying to argue with you, and most of all, annoyed at how that bothers you more than it should.
After a few minutes, Seungcheol speaks again, voice low and even.
"Are you gonna tell me why you’re mad, or do I have to guess?"
You scoff. "I already told you, I’m not mad."
He hums like he doesn’t believe you. "Right. And I’m a kindergarten teacher."
You roll your eyes, ignoring the way your lips almost twitch at his sarcasm. "I’m just tired."
"Tired of what?"
"Everything."
The silence stretches again, filled only by the occasional honk of a passing car and the low music playing from his stereo. The red light ahead slows him down, and when the car comes to a stop, he finally turns his head, fully looking at you.
"You heard something, didn’t you?"
Your fingers tighten around your bag strap. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Seungcheol exhales sharply, like he’s trying to be patient. "You’ve been acting weird since this afternoon. And now you won’t even look at me."
You swallow, feeling trapped. He isn’t wrong. You had heard something—those girls talking, mentioning the rumors, the event, the model. And even though it shouldn’t have affected you, it did but there was no way in hell you were about to admit that.
"It’s nothing," you mutter. "Can we just drop it?"
Seungcheol studies you for a long moment, then makes a sound in the back of his throat—something between frustration and resignation.
"How can I make it better if you won’t tell me?"
You shift in your seat, unsure how to respond. "What?"
"You heard me," he says, sparing a quick glance at you. "If something’s bothering you, tell me. I’m not a mind reader."
"It’s not—" You start, but the words tangle in your throat.
Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair before resting it back on the wheel. "Look, I don’t know what people said, but if it’s about that event, the model, or whatever rumor’s floating around, just ask me."
"Why does it matter?"
"What?"
"Why does it matter if I believe the rumors or not?" You glance away. "It’s not like we—" You stop yourself before you can finish.
The air shifts. Seungcheol doesn’t immediately respond, and when you glance back at him, his expression is unreadable. You regret speaking at all.
"It matters," he finally says, voice quieter. "Because it’s you."
Your breath catches. The words settle deep in your chest, making your heart stutter. You don’t know what to say. And he doesn’t push you to.
Later, you’re just getting your lunch ready for tomorrow to bring to work when Jihyo comes stumbling out of her room
"YOU NEED TO SEE THIS!"
"Jihyo, what—"
"Just look!" she insists, shoving the screen toward your face.
You blink, squinting as your eyes adjust to the brightness. It’s an Instagram story.
Seungcheol’s Instagram story. It’s just a simple black background with white text:
Don’t believe everything you hear. The rumors aren’t true.
That’s it. No explanation. No clarification. No dramatic reveal. Just a straight-to-the-point denial.
Jihyo, however, is losing her mind. "OUT OF CHARACTER BEHAVIOR! THE CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, POSTING ON HIS MAIN?!?"
"What—" You’re still processing.
"WHAT?!?" Jihyo gapes at you like you’ve just declared the sky isn’t blue. "BABE, THIS MAN NEVER POSTS. EVER."
"Maybe he just wanted to clear things up—" you start, but Jihyo flails.
"CLEAR THINGS UP?!?" She throws her arms up. "HE COULD’VE LET HIS AGENCY DO THAT! HE NEVER ADDRESSES RUMORS. EVER."
You chew on your bottom lip, scrolling back to look at the post again. It’s true—most celebrities would ignore baseless gossip, or let their team handle it. But Seungcheol? He chose to say something himself.
Before you go to sleep, your inner demons won and dialed his number.
The phone barely rings twice before he picks up. "You’re not mad anymore?"
"What—"
"You called me, figured that means I’m out of the woods."
You hesitate, picking at the hem of your sweater. "I wasn’t really mad…"
"No?"
"I mean—" You huff, flopping back against your pillows. "I don’t know. It was annoying, hearing people talk. Seeing things that weren’t true. It just felt… I don’t know. Weird."
Seungcheol, of all people, probably knows what it’s like to have strangers talk about him like they know every detail of his life. To have people assume things, spread stories that aren’t real. It makes your irritation feel almost… silly in comparison.
"I saw your post," you mumble after a moment. "You didn’t have to do that."
"I know."
You frown at your ceiling. "Then why?"
"Because I didn’t want you to deal with it."
Your breath catches. It’s such a simple statement, said so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t just Seungcheol, famous racer, untouchable to the world—but someone who noticed when you were uncomfortable. Someone who actually cared.
"…Oh."
"You’re really easy to fluster."
Your face burns. "I— That’s not—*"
"Are you blushing right now?"
"I am not blushing—*"
"You totally are."
"I—" You groan, rolling onto your side. "I should hang up on you."
There’s a grin in his voice when he adds, "Goodnight, trouble."
You hang up. And then promptly shove your face into your pillow, because what the hell is he doing to you?
He laughs under his breath when you hang up. Not because he’s teasing you but mostly because he can hear how flustered you were. How you probably rolled onto your side, buried your face in your hands, maybe even kicked your legs a little in frustration.
And it’s adorable.
It’s been a long time since someone reacted to him like that. Since someone called him without any agenda, just because they wanted to talk to him. Since someone didn’t treat him like Choi Seungcheol, the racer, but just… Seungcheol.
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. His phone is still in his hand, your name staring up at him from the call log. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
=
You don’t know how you ended up here again.
One moment, you were just going about your usual routine, and the next, you were somehow standing in the middle of a VIP section at one of Seungcheol’s races.
This time, it’s just you. No Jihyo. No buffer. The area is packed with celebrities. All of them seem so effortlessly put together, exuding a confidence you can’t even begin to fake.
And then, suddenly a strong arm wraps around your waist. Before you even have a chance to react, you’re pulled against a firm chest, warmth pressing against your side. You don’t need to turn your head to know who it is.
Choi Seungcheol.
“W- Wait, wait… where are we going?” You struggle slightly, but he doesn’t let go.
“Somewhere else,” is all he says.
You don’t know what’s more overwhelming the way Seungcheol is leading you away, the weight of his arm still firm around your waist, or the fact that people are definitely watching. The moment he starts walking, it’s like the entire event slows down just to focus on the two of you.
“Seungcheol,” you hiss, trying to tug yourself free, but his grip doesn’t budge.
“Just keep walking,”
Your heart is pounding. “People are staring.”
“So?” He finally stops once you reach the edge of the track, right where his car is waiting, gleaming under the floodlights.
His expression is unreadable. “You don’t want to be seen here or something?”
Your throat dries. “I wasn’t—”
He tilts his head. Just slightly. “Why?”
You shift on your feet, feeling unbearably seen. “I don’t know.”
“You really don’t know?” The weight of his stare has your pulse stuttering.
“I just...” you start, then hesitate, voice soft, “I don’t know how I fit in this world of yours.”
Something in his gaze shifts. His fingers flex at his side. Then, just loud enough for only you to hear, he says,
“You don’t have to. I’ll fit my world into you”
Seungcheol doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you for a second longer before his hands find your waist again, then he gives a light squeeze, almost reassuring. Almost like a promise.
Before you can process it, he’s already shrugging off his racing jacket and casually throwing it around your shoulders. He lifts a hand, already signaling to someone. Within seconds, a staff member appears, all professional smiles.
“I’ll take you somewhere more private to watch the race, Miss.”
Miss. Oh. You’re that girl now.
It’s the final lap when you step outside again.
The roar of the crowd is deafening, a mix of cheers, camera flashes, and the hum of engines still cooling down. You barely register what’s happening before Seungcheol is out of the car, helmet off, hair a sweaty mess but he doesn’t even care. The moment he spots you, he reaches for you without hesitation.
A startled yelp escapes your lips as he twirls you around effortlessly, his laughter vibrates against you, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.
"You did it," He grins, eyes gleaming under the bright pit lights.
"Of course I did. Had something good to race for."
Jeonghan, standing a few steps behind, clicks his tongue. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just won more than a race, Choi"
Seungcheol only smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders for a brief second before finally walking toward his team. And even as the celebrations begin around you, you can’t shake the feeling that, somehow, everything has changed.
You just got home after the race, staring at the ceiling trying to take everything in when suddenly
“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!”
You whip around to see her clutching her phone like it holds the secrets of the universe. She looks at you, then back at the screen, then at you again. “Babe. You need to see this.”
“What now?”
Wordlessly, she shoves her phone toward you, and your breath catches. It’s Seungcheol’s latest Instagram post. The first picture isn’t of his trophy. It’s not of his car. It’s not even just him.
It’s you and him.
A candid shot. His arm still slung around you from earlier. The caption is simple:
"A good day."
The second photo is of his team, the third of his car, and the fourth—finally—is of him actually holding his trophy. But it’s too late. Everyone has already seen the first picture.
Jihyo is vibrating. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS?!”
Seungcheol posted you. Not a soft-launch, not a story that disappears after 24 hours—an actual post. A permanent, undeniable statement.
You clutch the phone, heat creeping up your neck. “He—he’s actually insane.”
=
Weeks passed and things settled in just right, He calls or drives you around when he’s not busy. Often he finds himself taking slow walks with you.
Meanwhile you usually text after work or just before you go to sleep. None of it feels forced, or too much too fast. Just you and him, on your own pace.
Today Seungcheol has another race, and while the crowd is as hyped as ever, something feels slightly off.
Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not there. The race went well. Another win under his belt but as soon as the post-race interviews start, he can already tell where this is going.
“Seungcheol, congratulations on another victory! You’ve been on an amazing streak lately. How do you feel?”
He adjusts the cap on his head, exhaling slightly before offering the standard answer. “Thank you. The team’s been working hard, and I couldn’t have done it without them.”
“And, of course, I have to ask… Fans have been buzzing about your recent post. The picture from your last race—it wasn’t just of you and your car, but someone else as well. A mystery girl. Care to comment?”
Seungcheol doesn’t react immediately. He just tilts his head slightly, thinking. He could shut this down in an instant. Give them a short, clipped answer, move on.
But he doesn’t really want to.
He glances to the side, as if considering his words. “She’s someone important to me.” His tone is relaxed but firm, leaving no room for doubt.
The interviewer leans in slightly. “So, are you confirming the dating rumors?”
“I’m saying I posted what I wanted to post. People can take that however they want.”
The interviewer raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So you’re not hiding her.”
Seungcheol gives a small smirk. “Never said I was.”
The response is vague—intentionally so—but it’s enough to send the media into a frenzy. Tthe thing is he doesn’t need to explain it to anyone else. He knows who you are to him.
Seungcheol steps off the interview platform, pulling his cap lower over his face as he walks through the paddock. The post-race adrenaline is still buzzing in his veins, but his mind is already shifting elsewhere.
Then he sees you.
For a second, he thinks he’s imagining it. You weren’t supposed to be here. You had work, a full schedule, a whole list of reasons why you couldn’t make it today. And yet, there you are, standing just past the pit lane, scanning the crowd.
He slows his steps, blinking, wondering if maybe the exhaustion is making him see things.
But then you spot him. And suddenly, you’re moving. When you got closer, he reaches out his hand finds the curve of your waist instinctively, his grip firm, steady, as if making sure you’re actually real.
“What are you doing here?”
You hesitate for a second, slightly breathless from hurrying over. “I—”
And that’s when he notices you’re still in your work clothes. Something in his chest tightens.
“I couldn’t just not come,” you finally say, voice quieter now
Seungcheol watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with zero hesitation, he pulls you closer not caring who’s looking.
“You should’ve told me you were coming,” he murmurs, his hand pressing against the small of your back.
You laugh softly, like you can’t believe him. “Would you have let me surprise you if I did?”
He huffs, amused, forehead almost touching yours now. “Probably not.”
Then, just loud enough for only you to hear
“But I’m glad you did.” His grip on your waist tightens just slightly before he leans in, slow and deliberate, giving you more than enough time to pull away. But you didn’t.
So he closes the distance. The warmth of his lips grazes your cheek but then, at the last second, he shifts ever so slightly. The corner of your lips.
The touch is featherlight, barely there, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Enough to send a shock of awareness through your body.
“Oops,” he murmurs, voice amused, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes when he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.
Your face is burning. “Oops?” you echo, scandalized, voice barely above a whisper.
Seungcheol grins, all too pleased with himself, before he tugs his cap lower over his eyes and casually tucks you further into his side.
“Too late now,” he muses, leading you away as more cameras flash in the distance. “Might as well give them a show, right?”
You have a feeling this isn’t the last time he’s going to pull something like this. You can’t help but glance over your shoulder, the flashes still going off, the murmurs growing louder.
“Cheol,” you hiss, tugging lightly at his hold. “You do realize what you just did, right?”
He doesn’t even slow down. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, like he’s making sure you don’t slip away. “Yeah,” he says, entirely unfazed. “What about it?”
You gawk at him. “You kissed me.”
He laughs. A real, genuine laugh, not the teasing one he usually gives you. He tugs his cap lower again before guiding you around a corner, finally stepping out of the media’s direct line of sight.
“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing,” he muses.
You scowl. “I’m acting like someone who wasn’t expecting that in front of hundreds of people.”
His steps slow, his teasing smirk softening into something unreadable. “Would it have been different if we were alone?”
Your breath catches. He doesn’t let you answer right away, though, because suddenly, the door to the team’s private area swings open, revealing Jeonghan leaning lazily against the frame, arms crossed.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls, eyes flicking between you and Seungcheol. “The internet is about to explode, you know that?”
You groan, hiding your face in your hands. Seungcheol, however, just sighs, like he knew this was coming.
=
It had been a few days since The Kiss—as Jihyo so dramatically called it—and the media was still buzzing. Your social media (which you barely used) had gained a suspicious number of new followers, and even your coworkers had started looking at you differently.
But the strangest part? Even the kids were catching on.
“What are you doing here?” you mumble the moment you see him in the lobby of your work
“Bringing lunch.”
You stared at the containers. “For… me?”
“For everyone,” he corrected, smirking. “Figured your kids might like a treat. And you’ve been too busy to eat properly, haven’t you?”
Your coworker let out a dramatic sigh. “Where do I sign up for a man like this?”
You ignored them, still trying to process the fact that Choi Seungcheol, famous race car driver, was standing in your workplace like this was a totally normal thing to do.
Meanwhile, one of the kids had wandered in, stopping short when they saw Seungcheol. Their mouth fell open.
“OH MY GOSH,” they shrieked, running back out. “GUYS, HE’S REALLY HERE!”
Within seconds, a stampede of tiny humans came rushing in, swarming around Seungcheol with wide eyes and excited whispers. Seungcheol crouched down, meeting them at eye level. “You must be her students,” he said with a grin.
The kids giggled. One particularly bold little girl tugged at his sleeve. “Are you her boyfriend?”
Seungcheol just laughed, ruffling the nearest kid’s hair before handing you one of the food containers. “Eat,” he said, his voice softer. “You’ll need the energy for all the explaining you’re about to do.”
Later you sighed as you slid into the passenger seat, tossing your bag onto your lap. Seungcheol was already watching you, a smug little grin playing on his lips as he leaned against the steering wheel. He was waiting.
“…Not a word,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Oh? Nothing to say? Not even a thank you for the food?”
You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed. “Thank you. Now drive.”
He didn’t move, still looking way too pleased with himself. “So… ‘Are you her boyfriend?’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, clearly enjoying himself. “That was a good one.”
You, on the other hand, seethed in silence. Then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.
“You didn’t answer though.”
“Hm?”
“When they asked if you were my boyfriend,” you clarified, staring out the window. “You didn’t really answer.”
“Does it bother you?”
You hesitated. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
You felt his gaze shift to you for a split second before turning back to the road. He was so annoyingly calm, like he wasn’t the least bit fazed. Meanwhile, you were seconds away from combusting.
“It’s just—” You struggled to find the right words. “You could’ve denied it outright.”
Seungcheol made a soft hum, like he was thinking.
“Could’ve,” he admitted. “Didn’t feel like it.”
You turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. “And why not?”
This time, he did glance at you, his expression unreadable. “What if I didn’t want to?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “You’re cute when you’re worked up.”
“Choi Seungcheol.”
At that, he sighed, but there was amusement in his eyes when he glanced at you. “I just meant exactly what I said.”
“That you didn’t want to deny it?”
“Mhm.”
“That’s—” You fumbled for words. “That’s not an answer.”
He let go of the wheel with one hand to shift gears as he smoothly changed lanes. “It’s an answer.”
“No, it’s not. It’s cryptic and vague and you’re doing it on purpose.”
He chuckled again, but this time, when he spoke, his voice was softer. “You really don’t get it?”
You hesitated, the way he was looking at you making you squirm. “Get what?”
Seungcheol was quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the road. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply.
“I like you.”
Your brain short-circuited.
“Wait—” Your head snapped to him, eyes wide. “You—what?”
He was still looking ahead, but you could see the small smirk on his lips. “Did I stutter?”
You were reeling. “But—you never—”
“I thought it was obvious.”
“It was not.”
“I kissed you infront of hundreds of viewers, you’re the first face they see the moment they look up my profile and I’m not being obvious?” he chuckles
You stared at him, absolutely at a loss for words. He liked you? Seungcheol—the ridiculously famous racer, the one who was so effortlessly confident, the one who had somehow made a place in your life before you even realized—he liked you?
“Wha—how—why??”
Seungcheol let out a small laugh, glancing at you before turning back to the road “Are you asking me how feelings work?”
“Yes! No! I don’t know!” You were spiraling. “You’re—you’re you! And I’m just me—how does that even make sense?”
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “You think it doesn’t make sense?”
You groaned, sinking into your seat. “I mean, you’re a famous racer, Cheol. You could have anyone.”
“Could doesn’t mean want,” he said simply. “I want you.”
You were malfunctioning.
Seungcheol glanced at you again, smirking at your stunned expression. “That enough of an answer for you?”
You stared at him, mouth opening and closing uselessly.
Seungcheol wanted you.
There was no teasing in his voice this time, no cryptic answers or vague implications. Just a clear, straightforward confession that had your brain struggling to keep up.
“I—” Your voice cracked, and you immediately shut your mouth.
Seungcheol chuckled. “That’s a first. You’re speechless.”
“I hate you,” you muttered, pressing your hands over your face.
He laughed, clearly thoroughly entertained by your reaction. “No, you don’t.”
=
On weekdays, you were just you. Going to work, wrangling kids, taking your usual walks at night. But on weekends? That was a whole different story.
It was like you were living a double life. One moment, you were worrying about snack schedules and nap times, and the next, you were standing in the middle of a race pit, surrounded by roaring engines and a team that now knew you by name.
Like today.
“Here comes our good luck charm,” one of the team members called out when they spotted you walking in.
“I don’t know where you guys got that idea from.”
Jeonghan, who had been leaning against the car with his arms crossed, smirked. “Maybe because every race he’s had since meeting you, he’s won?”
You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your face warmed. “Pretty sure that’s because he’s good at what he does, not because I’m standing here.”
Seungcheol appeared then, casually throwing an arm over your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t be modest. You are my good luck charm.”
And just like that, your heart did an embarrassing little flip. Seungcheol’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the bustling pit lane, it all fades into nothing when he turns to look at you.
That boyish, handsome smile of his appears, the one that makes your heart stumble over itself. “Stay here, okay?” he says, squeezing your fingers gently.
You nod, swallowing. “Yeah, okay.”
His gaze lingers, scanning your face like he’s committing every detail to memory before a race. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He grins, lifting your joined hands just slightly before finally letting go, heading toward his car. And even as he walks away, helmet in hand, you can still feel the warmth of his touch lingering against your skin.
“Cute,” Jeonghan drawls, suddenly appearing beside you like he always does
You nearly jump out of your skin. “God, can you not?”
He smirks, arms crossed as he watches Seungcheol get into his car. “I could, but where’s the fun in that?”
Jeonghan hums, tilting his head. “You know, I’ve never seen him like this before.”
You glance at him. “Like what?”
“You didn’t see him before you got here—he was all serious, barely speaking. But then he saw you, and suddenly, bam, he’s smiling like an idiot and holding your hand in front of the whole team.”
With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he adds, “I give it two more races before he fully caves.”
You frown. “Caves?”
“Into admitting he’s in love with you.”
Seungcheol, who had been adjusting his gloves and getting ready to step into his car, catches your gaze just before ducking inside. And then—he winks.
Jeonghan lets out a low whistle beside you. “Oh, never mind. I take it back. I said two races, but at this rate?” He gestures vaguely toward Seungcheol, who is now in his car, looking entirely too smug.
“I’d give him until later.”
After the race, which he won again, he still insisted to drive you home despite saying you can just catch the bus since he must be tired.
He parked the car but you notice the street is a little farther from your building. You step out a little confused but taking his hand anyway. His palm is warm against yours, steady and sure, and you let him guide you down the quiet street.
“Where are we going?”
Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away, just keeps walking, his fingers absentmindedly squeezing yours like he’s grounding himself. Then he stops, looking around.
It takes you a second to realize where you are. The dim glow of a streetlamp flickers slightly, casting long shadows over the pavement. It looks different now—quieter, less chaotic—but you recognize it immediately.
“This is where—”
“Where I almost ran you over,” Seungcheol finishes, turning to you with a small smile. “Yeah.”
“Why… are we here?”
His gaze flickers to the ground before meeting yours again. “I don’t know, I just—after the race, I kept thinking about how everything started. And I ended up driving here.”
“You almost hit me with your car,” you point out, trying to lighten the mood, even though something about the moment feels heavier than that.
Seungcheol huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Not exactly the best first impression.”
“And yet here I am, getting into your car willingly.”
“Here you are.”
A beat of silence passes between you, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re stepping closer. The streetlamp flickers again, casting a warm glow over his face. His eyes search yours, as if waiting for something.
And then, in the place where you first met, where he almost ran you over, Seungcheol lifts a hand to your cheek, his touch hesitant but deliberate. His fingers brush against your jaw, his touch featherlight, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in slow, giving you every chance to pull away. But you don’t.
And then, finally, finally, his lips meet yours.
It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. But when you don’t push him away, when you let out a quiet breath against his mouth, he presses in a little more. It’s warm, gentle.
He kisses you like he’s been waiting. Like he’s been wanting to for a while now. Your hands grip his jacket instinctively, grounding yourself as your knees feel dangerously weak.
When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. His thumb strokes your cheek, and he exhales a soft laugh.Seungcheol chuckles, tilting his head slightly so he can press a quick kiss to the corner of your lips, then another, as if he can’t help himself.
“Were you mad at me when we first met?” you ask him jokingly
“No”
“Liar,” you tell him
Seungcheol laughs, the deep, rich sound vibrating through his chest. His arms are still loosely wrapped around you, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your waist.
“Annoyed?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe a little.”
You scoff, pushing at his chest lightly, but he doesn’t budge. “See! I knew it.”
He smirks, eyes glinting under the streetlights. “But I was mostly surprised. You just walked off without a care in the world after almost getting run over.”
“What was I supposed to do? Stand there and cry?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, but maybe at least look back? Maybe acknowledge the handsome guy who almost ended your life?”
You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “Handsome is subjective.”
He gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “That hurts.”
You laugh, shaking your head, and Seungcheol watches you, his smile softer now. His fingers brush against yours before he intertwines them together, his grip warm and steady.
“I wasn’t annoyed at you,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. “But you did leave an impression.”
“Oh?”
He nods, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “Yeah. I don’t normally go around remembering people who almost get hit by my car.”
“Well,” you say, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for not running me over, I guess.”
“Anytime.”
Seungcheol presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head before simply continuing to walk, your hand still firmly in his. He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t need to. His grip on your hand is enough.
The way he slows his pace to match yours, the way he swings your hands slightly between you casual, effortless, like this has been a habit for years.
You glance up at him. “You do this often?”
He hums, tilting his head toward you. “Do what?”
“Take late-night walks,” you say. “You seem… natural at this.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Not really. Usually too exhausted after training or races.”
“So why are you doing it now?”
He squeezes your hand lightly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you like them.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. You don’t know how to respond to that.
How do you respond when someone like Seungcheol, who has an entire world waiting on him, cheering for him, chasing after him, chooses to slow down just to walk with you?
You tug on his hand, making him stop mid-step. He blinks at you, a little confused but patient, his thumb still brushing against your skin.
“What?”
“You’re…” You hesitate, suddenly shy. “You’re really unfair.”
His brows furrow. “Huh?”
You huff, letting go of his hand to cross your arms instead. “You just—” You motion vaguely toward him. “You do these things, say these things, and then expect me to just… hust be normal about it?”
You groan, turning your face away, but he just leans in, amused.
“You’re blushing,” he teases, voice low, warm.
“Shut up,” you mumble. You bite your lip to stop the smile threatening to form, but Seungcheol sees it anyway.
“This,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “This is worth more than any trophy.”
He remembers the first night. The near collision, the way you glared at him, completely unafraid. The way he should have just driven off but instead found himself watching you walk away, something inexplicable settling in his chest.
Then came the second meeting. The bar, the stranger who had gotten a little too close, and the way he stood up without thinking. He hadn’t even known why he did it then.
And then, the countless moments after. The dinner where you sat across from him, red-faced and shy but undeniably present in a way no one else was. The quiet phone calls, the late-night walks. The race where he had looked up into the stands and seen you there, fidgeting in your sundress, not quite used to this world of his but still showing up.
He remembers the moment it hit him.
The night he couldn’t stop thinking about you. When he realized it wasn’t just amusement. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name but felt all the same.
And fate, as if conspiring against him, kept bringing you back.
Again and again, until there was no denying it.
“You were never supposed to happen to me. I didn’t think I had time for this. For… you. But somehow, no matter what I did, I kept finding you.”
Your breath catches, lips parting in surprise. You don’t know what to say, but maybe you don’t have to because Seungcheol is already stepping closer, already looking at you like you’re the finish line he’s been chasing all along.
Seungcheol has spent his entire life making calculated moves. On the track, in his career, in the way he approaches every decision with precision and control. He’s built his success on strategy, on knowing exactly when to push forward and when to hold back.
And yet, here he is, standing on the very street where fate first threw you into his path, admitting defeat not in the way he ever expected, but in the way that matters most.
Because for all his careful planning, he never planned for you.
“I don’t think I’ve ever let anything just… happen to me before,”
“And now?”
His lips curve, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile—something softer, something unguarded. “Now, I think I want to see where this takes me.”
The weight of his words settles between you, heavy with meaning. He, a man who has always dictated his own path, is choosing to let fate take the wheel.
And as he pulls you closer, the city moving around you, the distant hum of life filling the air, you realize—maybe this was always where you were meant to end up.
drabble.⠀⠀wc: 676⠀⠀tags: seuncheol x fem!reader, established relationship, fluff, pet names (cheollie, baby/babe, princess), domestic, mentions of menstruation, slighty suggestive.
“Cheollie!” you whimpered, crossing the front door with the biggest pout on your lips and glistening eyes. That was enough for Seungcheol to stop doing whatever he was busy with and give you his full attention.
He was sprawled all over the couch, watching some TV junk food in a plain white oversized tee and pajama pants. He looked very cozy and relaxed. Yet, in the moment you started walking towards him, looking like a kicked puppy, all his muscles tensed, then he immediately fixed his posture, opened his arms, and pulled you into his lap.
“What happened?” he said with a gentle voice, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “Mm?”
“I had a terrible day”, you hid your face in the junction of his neck and shoulder, melting into him.
“Did you?”
You nodded.
“I woke up late, with a terrible tummy ache and cramps”, you began telling him your tale of woe, “my breakfast was tasteless, my coffee went all cold and disgusting because it took me a while to finish my boring breakfast, and you know how I hate cold coffee,” you pouted.
“Yeah, baby, I know.” his hand found its way beneath your skirt, tenderly caressing the side of your bare thigh under the thin fabric.
“Then there was so much traffic, it was unbearable. The weather is so hot and I felt like melting throughout the day. My lunch was also bad and I missed you the whole day…” you whined again, hugging him tightly.
Choi Seungcheol is a very observant man. He knew a scenario like this would happen soon, since last week you were all over him, touching here and there, always looking for an excuse to be close, and actively seeking intimacy with him.
At first, he thought it was your ovulation making you be so clingy and need him badly, but then, in the middle of a messy make-out session, he did a quick calculation and realized that your period was just around the corner.
He didn’t complain whatsoever. He enjoyed intimacy with you just as much as you, but he knew he had to be prepared for anything you needed; he bought painkillers, refilled your pads drawer with large and overnight-sized pads. He bought some chocolate and your favorite red fruit tea. He even bought you two new sets of cotton panties just to make sure you had something comfortable to wear.
You’ve told him multiple times that he doesn’t have to do all that, that you can buy your period supplies by yourself, but he just won’t listen.
It's not like you don’t appreciate it. You do. And you always keep in mind how attentive he is. You simply don’t want to feel like a bother.
The first time you voiced the fear of annoying him with your menstrual stuff one random night in bed, he almost gasped. The expression on his face was nearly offended.
“Babe… What?” he blinked twice, before practically smothering you in bed, “don’t you ever think such a thing again. Nothing about you could ever bother me.”
“You’re being a little dramatic.”
“I can’t let you think you could ever annoy me with something like that. Maybe with refilling the water pitcher, but not this."
“Ugh, back off, you're so annoying” you pushed his shoulders, trying to get him off of you, but it was useless; he’s just too big and strong.
“Mm, no,” he teased, and peppered your face with small kisses between whispers of sweet nothings.
You’re truly grateful he’s stubborn because, if he weren’t, he wouldn’t be cuddling you on the couch. His hand deep under your dress, stroking the small of your back, where he knows it always aches the most when you have cramps.
He’s carefully listening to you, kissing your forehead every once in a while, and holding you so steadily, he grounds you with his soothing caresses.
“Tomorrow will be a brighter day, princess. And if it’s not, I’ll be here just to hold you and love you. As always.”
Pure self indulgence because I'm on my period and that was literaly my day. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Likes, rebogls and comments are appreciated 🫶🏼 specially if you have any writing suggestions. English is not my first language so I'd like to know how I'm doing so far, hehe. 🩷
bend the brake: beyond the tracks - choi seungcheol imagine
so... u know those other fics i mentioned i was going to write... well it's not going where i want it to go... instead i got this done😅 still adorable still in the feels. tbh when i wrote bend the brake i didn't know cheol was into F1 at all, heck i don't even know anything about that world i just wrote it bcs in my head i thought he would look hot as a racer 🤭😅
so here we are... kind of like a sequel? bonus scene? hahaha anyways enjoy!!
s1 - bend the brake , s2 - chasing fire , s3 - headlights and headliners, s4 - rings and roadblocks
You look up from your mug of coffee, brow arched when Seungcheol, who’s sitting across from you at the breakfast table, suddenly asks,
“So… what’s your dream car?” It’s random. Out of nowhere.
The man has been quiet all morning, scrolling through his phone between spoonfuls of oatmeal and sips of black coffee. Now he’s looking at you with those deep eyes that could probably silence an entire press conference.
You blink at him. “My dream car?”
He nods once, setting his phone down, giving you his full attention. That heavy, focused kind of attention that still makes your stomach flip even a year into marriage.
“Yeah,” he says, voice smooth and even. “Like… if you could have any car. What would it be?”
You hum, thinking. He probably expects something sleek. Something fast. Maybe an Aston Martin or a Porsche something that looks like him: dark, expensive, and a little dangerous.
So when you say, completely serious, “A baby Bronco.”
His head tilts slightly. “...A what?”
“A baby Bronco,” you repeat, smiling a little now. “The bright baby blue one. It’s so cute.”
He just stares at you. The kind of stare that says you’re joking, right? You’re not.
“It’s got that boxy, chunky shape? And it’s not too big. Plus it’s got the soft-top version for when the weather’s nice. Tell me that’s not perfect.”
Seungcheol blinks once. Twice. Then lets out a low breath, leaning back in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Baby blue,” he repeats slowly, as if tasting the words. “You… want a baby blue Bronco.”
You grin. “Yes. Baby blue. Like, the color of the sky right after it rains.”
He presses his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “I race GT cars for a living,” he says flatly. “My wife wants a… pastel box on wheels.”
“Exactly,” you shoot back, eyes glinting. “You’ve got enough horsepower for both of us. I just want something cute.”
He shakes his head, but that quiet, fond smile starts to creep over his face the one he only ever shows when it’s just you and him, no cameras, no fans, no managers.
“Cute,” he mutters under his breath, pretending to grumble. “You married a racer and picked cute.”
You shrug, sipping your coffee. “You married a preschool teacher. What did you expect?”
He laughs. that soft, breathy laugh that makes your heart do a somersault, before leaning forward across the table, his hand finding yours.
Because, of course, when Choi Seungcheol asks what your dream car is… he’s not asking. He’s planning.
It starts a few weeks before your anniversary. The idea hits him while he’s scrolling through his phone at the team’s HQ between meetings. He’d just gotten out of a call with a sponsor when his thumb stops mid-scroll on a photo. A baby blue Bronco.
He remembers the way you’d said it — eyes sparkling, voice full of this warmth he never quite gets used to.
“It’s so cute, Cheol. Like, the color of the sky after it rains.”
He’d laughed at the time, but now… yeah. He can see it. He can picture you behind the wheel, smiling, sunlight bouncing off the hood. So, naturally, the next thing Jeonghan hears when he walks into the office is:
“I need to find a Bronco. Baby blue. Fast.”
Jeonghan stops dead. “...A what?”
Seungcheol doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “A Bronco.”
Jeonghan blinks, setting his coffee down. “Like… Ford Bronco? Boxy thing? The one that looks like a Lego car?”
“Yes.”
“And you want it in—wait for it—baby blue?”
Now Seungcheol looks up, deadpan. “You done?”
Jeonghan just grins, sinking into the chair across from him. “No, because I’m trying to imagine you, the great Choi Seungcheol, the man who owns more matte-black cars than the Batcave, trying to buy a pastel-colored SUV.”
Seungcheol’s jaw twitches. “It’s for my wife.”
That’s when Jeonghan loses it. He nearly chokes on his drink, laughing so hard he doubles over. “Oh, this I have to see. You pulling every contact you’ve got—just to get something cute.”
“I’m serious,” Seungcheol says, tone calm but firm, the kind that silences an entire pit crew during race prep. “I want it delivered before our anniversary.”
“Wow,” Jeonghan says, still chuckling. “You’re really whipped, huh?”
Seungcheol glares. “Watch it.”
Jeonghan just raises his hands in mock surrender, eyes glinting. “I’m just saying, this is new. Last year you threatened to fire a guy for calling you ‘soft.’ Now you’re ordering a baby blue Bronco.”
“She likes it,” Seungcheol mutters, typing something into an email. “That’s all that matters.”
For the next few days, the garage sees something no one’s used to: the team’s usually stoic captain pacing with his phone glued to his ear. “No, not that blue. Lighter. Think… sky blue.”
Jeonghan keeps popping his head in just to tease him. “You sure you don’t want to throw in a matching bow? Maybe some fuzzy dice?”
Seungcheol shoots him a glare that could curdle milk. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t make you the bow.”
But still — the man does pull strings. Calls in favors. Quietly reaches out to someone at Ford Korea, then an overseas contact when he can’t find the exact color. Gets the vehicle shipped, detailed, and parked near the house at dawn, ribbon and all.
The delivery guy nearly faints when he realizes who is personally inspecting it, crouched down to make sure there isn’t a single scratch on the paint.
“You good, sir?” the man stammers.
Seungcheol straightens, gives a curt nod. “Yeah. My wife’s gonna love it.”
The morning starts slow, the way you both like it. No alarms. No calls. No press. Just sunlight spilling in through the half-open curtains and the weight of his arm slung over your waist.
You’re tracing lazy shapes on his forearm when he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep, “Happy anniversary, baby.”
You smile into the pillow. “Happy anniversary, racer boy.”
He groans softly at the nickname, burying his face against your shoulder before pressing a kiss there. “Can’t believe it’s been a year.”
“Mm. You say that like I didn’t have to put up with your mood swings before every race,” you tease.
That earns a quiet chuckle, low and warm. The kind that always makes your chest ache a little.
When you finally pull yourself out of bed, you rush to the kitchen before he can follow, clutching the small box you hid inside the cabinet. You spent weeks sneaking around for this, painting it after your preschool classes, praying he wouldn’t notice the faint smell of acrylics clinging to your clothes.
You set the box in front of him at the table. “Don’t laugh,” you warn.
He gives you that curious tilt of his head. “Why would I laugh?”
“Just—open it first.”
He does, careful fingers unwrapping the tissue paper until the mug comes into view. It’s white, slightly uneven, hand-painted with small red cherries all around the sides. A faint shimmer of gloss from where you glazed it yourself.
On one side, in shaky lettering, it says: For my cherry boy.
He blinks, quiet for a long moment. Then his lips twitch. “Cherries?”
You grin. “They reminded me of your cheeks. You know—when they turn red in the cold.”
That’s when he breaks, head dropping forward, a laugh bubbling out of him. You watch as the great Choi Seungcheol, terrifying to the media, stoic on every podium, melts into something soft and so very yours.
He turns the mug in his hands like it’s made of glass. “You made this?”
You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah. It’s not perfect, but—”
“It’s perfect,” he cuts in gently. “It’s you.”
You don’t even get to protest before he’s leaning in, cupping your cheek, kissing you slow and sweet. The kind of kiss that says more than words ever could. And then, just when you think that’s the end of it he grins, that mischievous spark lighting up his eyes.
“You think I’d forget our first anniversary?” he asks.
Before you can reply, there’s a knock on the door. Then another. Loud enough to echo through the apartment.
You frown. “Who’s—”
He stands, that smirk growing wider. “You’ll see.”
You follow him to the door, still in your pajamas, still clutching your mug. The moment he opens it, you’re hit by the scent first — fresh flowers, hundreds of them. Roses, tulips, peonies, and your favorites tucked between them, all bundled into the biggest bouquet you’ve ever seen.
“Seungcheol—”
He shrugs casually, but you can see the shy pride under his calm exterior. “Wanted you to see something beautiful first thing today.”
Your chest tightens. “Cheol, this is—” But you don’t get to finish because he’s already guiding you toward the window, the one that overlooks your quiet little street. You squint against the morning light
and then you see it. Parked right outside, wrapped in an enormous red bow, is the baby blue Bronco.
The same one you’d only joked about.
You gasp, turning to him, wide-eyed. “No way.”
He smiles, stepping closer, brushing his fingers along your jaw. “You said it was your dream car.”
“I didn’t mean actually—Cheol, you—”
He presses a kiss to your forehead, voice soft. “You wanted something cute. So I got you something cute.”
You can only stare at him — at the man the world calls ruthless, unshakable, unapproachable — now standing there in sweatpants, holding flowers bigger than your torso, grinning like he’s just won another race.
And in that moment, with your handmade mug in his hand and your dream car glinting outside, you realize the truth:
The great Choi Seungcheol might belong to the world on the track…
…but off it, he’s entirely, beautifully, yours.
“You—” you gasp, looking between him and the window again. “You bought me a car?”
“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL!”
You don’t even bother putting on shoes. You bolt for the door, the sound of his quiet chuckle chasing after you as you fling it open and sprint outside. The early morning air hits your skin, cool and crisp, but all you feel is the wild rush in your chest.
There it is. Your baby blue Bronco. Sitting pretty in front of your house, gleaming like a dream under the sunlight. The ribbon still tied across the hood, fluttering in the breeze.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, hands covering your mouth. You circle the car once, fingers brushing over the side, the color even prettier up close—soft, cheerful, so you.
You catch your reflection in the window, still in pajamas, hair a mess, barefoot on the concrete—and you laugh, a sound that’s half disbelief, half joy. “He didn’t. He really didn’t—”
Behind you, the door clicks open, and Seungcheol steps out, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, that quiet smirk curving his lips.
You whirl around to face him. “You bought me a car!”
He grins. “You said it was your dream car.”
You stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “People say things, Cheol! I also said I wanted to move to Paris once, are you gonna—”
“Don’t tempt me,” he cuts in smoothly, that teasing lilt in his voice.
You point at him, trying to look stern but failing miserably because you’re smiling too hard. “You’re insane.”
He starts walking toward you, slow and steady, eyes soft with that look—the one that still makes your heart stutter even after a year. “Maybe. But you like that about me.”
And when he reaches you, he takes your hand and presses the keys into your palm. The tiny keychain has a small cherry charm attached, glinting in the sun.
Your throat tightens. “You—”
“Happy anniversary, baby,” he says quietly. “You deserve every soft thing in the world.”
For a man who’s known for being cold, unreadable, ruthless on the track—his voice right now is nothing but warmth. You launch yourself at him before you can stop yourself, arms wrapping tight around his neck. He laughs against your hair, hugging you back easily, lifting you slightly off the ground.
“You really got me a car,” you mumble against his shoulder.
He presses a kiss to your temple. “Of course I did.”
You pull back just enough to look at him, eyes glinting with mischief. “You know this means I’m driving next time, right?”
That makes him laugh “Over my dead body.”
But then he looks at you again—barefoot, glowing, standing beside your bright baby blue Bronco—and his smile softens into something pure, something that says I’d do it all again, just to see you like this.
You’ve never seen the great Choi Seungcheol look more in love.
=
It hits him on a quiet Sunday afternoon. the day he finally agrees to teach you how to drive your new car. He’d been teasing you about it all week, casually dangling the keys in front of you.
“You sure you can handle it, baby?”
“It’s not a toy, you know.”
“Don’t crash my gift before I even get to ride in it.”
You’d just roll your eyes, chin up, saying, “How hard can it be? You make it look easy.”
So here you are, sitting in the driver’s seat of your baby blue Bronco, hair tied up, eyes narrowed in fake determination while he stands outside the passenger door, arms crossed, already questioning all his life decisions.
“Seatbelt,” he reminds.
You huff, clicking it in place. “Yes, Coach Choi.”
“Mirrors.”
You adjust them. Kind of. He winces. “...You’re looking at the backseat.”
“Oh.” You blink, fix it again. “There.”
He sighs but opens the passenger door anyway, sliding in. “Okay. Ignition. Slowly—”
You immediately slam your foot on the gas. The car jerks forward with a growl.
“Y/N!”
You squeak, stomping on the brake so hard the two of you lurch in your seats. He braces a hand on the dashboard, exhaling through his nose. “We haven’t even moved two meters.”
You glance at him sheepishly. “Okay. So maybe I’m more of a passenger princess than a driver.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t say.”
It’s not like he didn’t suspect. Honestly, he’d known. The signs had been there since day one.
When he first met you, you were crossing the street with your head buried in your phone, completely oblivious. His car had stopped inches away from you.
That was how it started. The first time Choi Seungcheol realized you were both the most unaware and the most disarmingly honest person he’d ever met. And now here he is — married to you, watching you grip the steering wheel like it might explode.
“Okay,” he says patiently, tone the same one he uses in post-race interviews when he’s trying not to sound annoyed. “Let’s try this again. Gently. Ease into it.”
You nod, tongue between your teeth in concentration. The car rolls forward smoothly for all of three seconds until you hit the turn signal instead of the brake.
“Babe.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s… the blinker.”
“Oh. Well, at least I’m signaling my panic.”
He stares at you for a beat before bursting out laughing, the sound echoing inside the cabin.
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me,” you say, chin up proudly.
He looks at you — really looks — and shakes his head with a helpless smile. “God help me, I do.”
By the time you make it around the block (with him coaching every single move), his knuckles are white from gripping the door handle, but his eyes are warm, amused.
When you finally park — miraculously not hitting anything — you beam, clapping your hands.
“See? No casualties!”
He exhales dramatically, leaning back. “Barely. I aged five years.”
“Still worth it though, right?” you tease.
He glances at you, soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Worth it.”
Then, under his breath, with a smirk, “But I’m never letting you near a racetrack.”
You swat at him, laughing, while he watches you with that familiar fondness — the same look he had the day he almost ran you over, the day he realized trouble and tenderness came in the same package.
=
He tells himself it’s for your safety. That’s the official excuse. Unofficially? It’s for his sanity because after the near heart attack he suffered watching you parallel park outside your house and your proud, “What? I only hit the curb once!” — he realized something: this couldn’t continue.
So here you are. At his racetrack. The holy ground of Korean motorsport, where crews whisper when he walks by, and entire teams go silent when he puts on his helmet. The same place where he’s broken records, secured sponsorships, and terrified journalists just by looking at them.
Now he’s standing there… holding open the driver’s door of a practice car. For you.
You, his barefoot-in-the-house, cherry-mug-making wife, clutching a travel tumbler of iced coffee and staring at the car like it might bite.
“Are you sure about this?” you ask warily.
“Yes,” he says, with the kind of grim determination he usually reserves for pre-race briefings. “If you’re going to drive, you’re going to learn properly.”
Behind him, his manager and a couple of technicians have gathered, pretending to “check tire pressure” but really just watching in silent amusement. Jeonghan’s here too of course, leaning against the pit wall with his arms crossed, grinning like Christmas came early.
“You’re insane,” Jeonghan calls out. “Teaching her manual?”
Seungcheol ignores him, opening your door wider. “Come on, sweetheart. You’ll be fine.”
You glance at the row of people watching. “They’re all looking at me.”
“They’re looking at me wondering if I’ve lost my mind,” he mutters, then softer, “Focus on me, okay? Forget them.”
You take a deep breath, climb in. The seat swallows you, the dashboard a maze of buttons and dials. “There are… too many pedals.”
He slides into the passenger seat, calm as ever. “Three.”
“Three too many.”
He laughs quietly. “Left’s the clutch, middle’s the brake, right’s the gas. You’ve got this.”
Behind him, someone whispers, “This is gonna be good.” He shoots them a look so sharp they immediately scatter.
You grip the wheel like it’s a lifeline. “Okay, so what do I do first?”
“Clutch in,” he instructs patiently. “Good. Now, gear into first—no, first. That’s third.”
“Why can’t they label these things like normal people?”
“Because they assume drivers know how to drive.”
You turn and glare at him, and he fights the urge to grin. You’re adorable when you’re mad. Step by step, he walks you through it clutch, gear, slow release, gentle on the gas.
You stall the car immediately.
You gasp. “Did I break it?”
He closes his eyes, inhales deeply. “No, you didn’t break it. You just stalled.”
“That sounds like breaking.”
“Trust me. You’ll know when it’s broken.”
He reaches over, hand covering yours on the gear shift, his tone softening. “Hey. Look at me.”
You glance up, frustrated.
“You’re doing fine,” he says quietly. “Again.”
This time, you exhale, focus. The car jerks but moves actually moves. You squeal. “I did it! It’s moving!”
“Yes,” he says dryly, “and so is my blood pressure.”
From outside, the crew starts clapping. Even Jeonghan joins in, mock-cheering.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Korea’s newest racer!” You beam, giving a small wave out the window.
Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re supposed to be watching the road, not waving like you’re on a float.”
“But they’re cheering for me!”
“Baby, they’re cheering because I haven’t died yet.”
You burst out laughing, and even he can’t hold back the small smile tugging at his lips. By the end of the day, you’ve stalled five more times, hit the cone twice, and nearly gave him a minor existential crisis but when you finally ease to a smooth stop, the proud grin on your face makes every gray hair worth it.
“See?” you say breathlessly. “I’m improving!”
He leans back, arms crossed, pretending to think. “You didn’t scare me as much this time.”
“That’s progress!”
He chuckles, turning toward you. “Yeah,” he admits softly. “It is.”
And as he watches you step out of the car, hair messy, cheeks flushed, grinning like a kid realizes he’s doomed because the sight of you behind that wheel, even at five kilometers an hour, is the most dangerous thing he’s ever seen.
And the most beautiful.
When you finally park smoothly this time, thank God, you turn toward him. Cheeks still flushed with adrenaline. There’s a playful gleam in your eyes that makes him immediately wary.
You tilt your head, grin widening. “Okay… my turn’s over. You drive.”
He quirks a brow, already suspicious. “I just did drive—coached you through it for the past two hours.”
“No, no,” you say, waving your hands. “I mean really drive. Like, the way you do on the track.”
He blinks once. Twice. Then lets out a sharp laugh. “Absolutely not.”
You pout, leaning closer. “Oh, come on. Just once! I want to see what it’s like from your side.”
His expression shifts. Still fond, but there’s that unmistakable firmness in his tone when he says, “No.”
You fold your arms. “Why not?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He’s quiet, gaze flicking to the track stretching out before you. The long straightaways, the sharp corners, the marks of burned rubber etched into the asphalt like battle scars.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low. “Because when I drive like that, I’m not thinking. It’s instinct. The car and I—we move together. There’s no room for hesitation, no room for fear.”
You listen quietly, heart softening. He rarely talks about his craft like this.
Then he looks at you, eyes dark and steady. “I trust myself. I trust my car. But I don’t trust the world enough to risk you in that seat beside me.”
The words hang there, heavier than the roar of any engine.
You blink, your teasing faltering. “Cheol…”
He reaches over, hand finding yours, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. Over where his ring sits on your finger.
“I’ve done laps in the rain, on slick tracks, at speeds that could kill me if I so much as blink wrong. That’s fine. That’s me. But you—” he swallows, jaw tightening— “you’re the one thing I don’t gamble with.”
You feel that lump rise in your throat, your lips parting to say something, but he’s already smiling, trying to lighten it.
“I’ll take you for a drive,” he concedes softly, “but not like that. You’ll get the calm version. No 200 miles an hour, no corner drifts.”
You frown. “You’re no fun.”
He laughs, reaching over to flick your forehead. “I’m keeping you alive. That’s very fun for me.”
Still, when you get out and he switches seats, there’s this shift. He drives you off the pit lane and onto the main track. Not fast, not aggressive, but smooth. Effortless. Every movement is precise. You watch the way his hands rest on the wheel relaxed, sure, like he’s born for it. The way his gaze sharpens on the stretch ahead, but softens every time he glances at you.
“See?” he says, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Still fast enough to make your heart race?”
You roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. “Maybe. But that’s probably just you.”
That earns a low chuckle. “Good answer.”
By the time the car slows to a stop, the wind has left your hair a mess and your heart thrumming. He turns to you, grinning that boyish grin he usually hides from cameras.
“You get why I love it now?” he asks.
You nod, breathless. “I think I do.”
“Then that’s enough,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand again. “You don’t need to feel the danger to understand it.”
You look at him. this man who can make the world blur past at impossible speeds, yet always slows down for you and you realize something simple but certain:
The world calls him fearless, but with you, he’s careful. And that’s exactly how you know it’s love.
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!🤍
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.
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.
Seven weeks. 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…
pairing: scoups x reader
genre: fluff, est. relationship
wc: 1.1k
a/n: i used a lip plumper for the first time. my lips look like two bums now lmao. anyhoo this is part 3 of kissy face cheol uwu
part1 part 2
"How much time do we have left?" You shout from your shared bedroom. You take one last look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing down the front of your outfit before reaching for the tiny tube sitting on the vanity.
The lip plumper you bought three days ago after getting influenced by a girl on TikTok with impossibly glossy lips.You grab it with a quiet hum, twisting the cap open before smoothing the cool product carefully across your mouth.
From outside the room, you hear Seungcheol's voice carrying lazily through the apartment. "Baby, we're not late yet, take your time."
You smile to yourself automatically. He says it so casually, like it's obvious he'd wait forever for you if he had to.
And honestly, he probably would.
Seungcheol has never once rushed you while getting ready. Never complained when you changed outfits four times. Never sighed dramatically or checked the clock every thirty seconds like some boyfriends did. If anything, he liked watching you get ready. Liked sitting nearby and talking to you while you did your makeup.
You give your lips one final press together before grabbing your bag and stepping out into the living room.
Seungcheol is exactly where you expected him to be—spread comfortably across the sofa with one arm resting behind his head, phone balanced in his hand while he scrolls absentmindedly through something. He's dressed already, dark jacket thrown over a simple shirt, hair slightly messy in that way that somehow only makes him look softer.
The second he hears you approach, he looks up and smiles lovingly.
"There's my girl," he murmurs, locking his phone and sitting up properly. "Ready to go, babe?"
You nod while walking toward him, already leaning down instinctively before you even stop in front of him. "Mhm."
Your lips brush against his in a quick kiss. His hand settle naturally against your waist, thumb rubbing absent circles through the fabric of your outfit before you pull away.
"Lemme just put on my heels," you mumble, pressing a kiss on his dimple.
By the time you're out, Seungcheol has already taken out the car. As you slide into the passenger seat,you see him tapping lightly against the steering wheel to the music playing softly through the speakers. The inside of the car smells faintly like his cologne and the iced coffee he insisted on grabbing earlier.
The moment you settle into your seat, he turns toward you slightly.
"You warm enough?" he asks automatically.
"Yes, dad."
"I'm serious," he says, reaching over to tug lightly at the sleeve of your jacket. "Last time you said you were fine and then stole my coat an hour later."
"That's because you're basically a human heater."
"You love it."
You do.
Instead of answering, you lean across the center console and kiss him again before buckling your seatbelt. This kiss lasts longer than the one from earlier.
Seungcheol kisses you lazily, one hand still resting on the wheel while the other comes up automatically to cup your jaw for a second. His lips are warm against yours, soft and familiar enough that kissing him feels less like an action and more like muscle memory at this point.
When you finally pull away, he looks faintly dazed for a second before starting the car properly.
The drive begins quietly.
Your phone rests in your lap while you scroll mindlessly through notifications, occasionally glancing up to look outside at the passing streetlights. Seungcheol hums softly along to the music under his breath, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
Suddenly, you hear a tiny hiss from your side. Your brows pinch slightly, but you ignore it. When it happens again, you immediately glance up.
Seungcheol's face is scrunched slightly in confusion while he presses his lips together awkwardly. His tongue darts out to wet them before he bites lightly at the bottom one like he's trying to figure something out.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
"Dunno hun." He glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. "My lips feel weird."
"Weird how?"
"I don't know?" he tilts his head. "Like…burning?"
Your gaze drifts to his mouth,and the second you properly notice it, laughter bursts out of you so suddenly you nearly choke on air.
Seungcheol's head snaps toward you immediately. "Why are you laughing?"
"You—" you gasp between laughs, pointing uselessly toward him. "Babe, your lips."
"What about my lips?"
"Your lips got bigger." You wheeze.
"Babe stop playing." His voice drops.
"I'm serious!"
The panic on his face appears almost immediately after that. One hand flies up to yank down the vanity mirror above him while the other keeps the wheel steady. You watch his expression morph from confusion to absolute betrayal in real time.
"WHAT THE FUCK?"
The sound that leaves your mouth after that is somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze. Because his lips really are noticeably puffier now—soft and swollen and ridiculously glossy from him constantly rubbing them together.
"Oh my god," he groans, still staring at himself in horror. "Why do I look like I lost a fight with bees?"
"It's the lip plumper!" you finally manage to say. "I forgot I put it on!"
"You forgot?!" He looks genuinely scandalized. "You can transfer that stuff through kissing?!"
"I guess so!"
Despite his complaining, he keeps absentmindedly touching his lips every few seconds, brows furrowed while he processes the sensation.
Honestly, it's adorable. Especially because beneath all the whining, he still keeps leaning toward you at every red light like his body naturally gravitates in your direction.
"Babeuhhh," he whines miserably, sinking lower into his seat. "What am I supposed to do now? Your parents are gonna open the door and immediately start laughing at me."
"They are not." You place your hand over his thigh.
"Yes they are! Look at me!"
You laugh harder at the genuine panic in his voice
"They honestly don't even look that different," you insist. "Your lips were already big.”
He gasps softly, turning to look at you. "…You flirting with me right now while I'm suffering?"
You shrug casually, leaning across the center console again. This time, when you kiss him, he lets out the tiniest wounded whine into your mouth because the tingling definitely got worse but he still kisses you back immediately.
You pull away at the sound, eyes narrowing offended. "Do you not want me to kiss you?"
"When did I say that?" he mumbles instantly, pouting.
The pout only makes his lips look bigger.
You wanted laughed again. Instead, you lean in and kiss him once more. And despite the burning sensation, despite the whining, despite the fact that he keeps complaining every thirty seconds—Seungcheol still tilts toward you every single time like he physically cannot help himself.
i like scoups just a little bit @cheolcolatechip - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
