alright, my thoughts. even though i genuinely don’t think mine is that important.
the facts are:
1. mark wore a shirt with a confederate flag on it
2. a photo was posted online which is how we found out about it
3. people brought this up to upperroom
4. upperroom posted an apology statement that stated they do not tolerate the meaning behind the symbol
those are simply the facts without everyone’s assumptions and added narratives.
now with that being said, i think:
first and most importantly, he’s ignorant as hell for this.
do i think he wore it with malice? judging from his statement. no. i don’t think so. i think it was just a shirt they found thrifting, hence the word “vintage” being thrown around.
does that make it okay? NO. NOT AT ALL.
mark lee is a public figure who is responsible for making sure he knows what he’s representing. and wearing a symbol you don’t know the meaning of is just plain stupid. he can no longer take away the fact that his name and face is now linked to the confederate flag — even though he rejects that he supports it — that is the consequence of his own ignorance.
i’ve seen people saying that mark is hiding behind upper room and/or separating the two, saying that it’s the labels fault. which i just personally think is ridiculous. how do you hide behind a label under your name? how do you blame a label when he is the label?
there is no one to blame but him. and that will be the case for everything in the future as well. he’s the literal CEO now. everything has to be approved by him. every decision, everything he wears, says, writes, does….it all falls on him.
which is why he needs to be careful and take the time to educate himself. now — i’ve seen a lot of people say he should’ve already known considering he spent time in america. but i’ve also seen so many people find out about the flag TODAY. so i do think it’s a bit unreasonable that everyone expects him OR anyone to know american history. if you do then good for you. but some people simply just do not know. it really depends on who you’re educators are and we do not know what he was taught.
BUT even with that being said — do i still think he’s dumb as hell? YEAH, I FUCKING DO! especially in our world now where information is at the tip of our fingertips. IT TAKES ONE SIMPLE GOOGLE SEARCH. he obviously did not do that.
i do think he deserves all the criticism. but at what point does criticism just turn into blatant lies and hateful narratives? there’s been so many takes/jokes made that are so clearly obvious that people don’t really care.
end of the story is - upper room and mark (you cannot separate the two; he is upper room) have taken accountability for what happened, have specifically acknowledged the symbol and apologized.
it’s up to you whether or not you accept that apology. if you do then ok. if you don’t then ok.
now for me, it’s really all up to time — if his apology is real and sincere, i expect things like this won’t happen again. but if it’s not, and he really turns out to be a racist, hateful individual then trust im the first one out the door. i’m not here to sway anyone to make a choice. nor am i here to defend him. i acknowledge that he’s a fucking idiot and i’m hoping he learns from this and make better decisions moving forward.
you guys can come to your own decisions. you’re all adults and you can all choose for yourselves.
— two best friends, a million missed hints, and one group of very impatient matchmakers.
୨୧ fem!reader 𖦹 ( 1573 words ) ⩇ fluff & crack
You had a problem. A very big problem. And that problem was Matthew.
Matthew was your best friend in the whole world. He had been for a while. Except, somewhere along the way, being around him started to make your heart race, and suddenly, you found yourself harboring a very inconvenient, very distracting crush on him. It was ridiculous, honestly. Your heart only acted up because Matthew was nice. He was sweet to everyone, not just you. Surely, you’d get over this stupid infatuation soon. But the more you tried to ignore it, the worse it got.
It was all his fault. Seriously. Because how were you not supposed to swoon whenever he grinned at you? You felt like a complete fool, getting all giddy like a lovesick teenager when Matthew probably didn’t even notice. He was just being friendly, right? That’s what best friends do!
But there were moments. Little moments. That made you question this. Like that one time, when you went to get coffee before an exam, and he’d taken your cold hands in his, lifted them closer to his mouth, and pressed his lips against them to warm them. You were not prepared for that. You swore your knees buckled the moment he did that, heart beating fast and hands still shaking as you went into the exam.
Or how, in class, he always insisted on sitting next to you. His leg would always be pressed against yours, a constant point of contact that left your skin buzzing. And when you pulled away, you’d see his shoulders slump in disappointment from the corner of your eye.
And then there was the heart. The stupid, wobbly-looking heart he once drew on the back of your hand while you were studying. Normally, he’d just draw a penis to annoy you, but no, this time it was a heart. And he’d done it with that little grin on his face, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
Matthew was infuriating. Infuriatingly adorable. He was also the funniest and kindest guy you knew. No matter how bad your day was, he always greeted you with that infectious smile—the kind that made your heart stumble and your lips mirror his before you could stop yourself. That was the effect Matthew had on you. He was your walking sunshine, and you were hopelessly addicted to his warmth.
Matthew thinks you’re the stupidest girl on earth. And yes, the prettiest too, but he’ll get to that part later. Right now, you were the stupidest girl ever! He was grappling with the fact that despite all the obvious hints he’d been dropping, you were still completely oblivious to his feelings. It was driving him insane!
He’d been trying so hard to make it clear—flirting, being extra touchy and attentive, drawing hearts on your hand (which he swore was a huge gesture)—but you seemed to think he was just being friendly. And don’t even get him started on Taerae, who kept insisting that Matthew’s so-called “hints” weren’t hints at all, just Matthew being his usual bubbly self.
Matthew strongly disagreed. To him, it was crystal clear that he was practically waving a neon sign that read “I have feelings for you!” He was convinced that if he came right out and told you he loved you, you’d just smile and say, “Thanks,” thinking he was just being friendly. It was infuriating, and frankly, a little heartbreaking.
Maybe you liked Matthew just as a friend. Maybe you were immune to his charm. But if that were true, then why did you look at him like you wanted to kiss the life out of him? And why did you turn bright red whenever his hand brushed against yours, as though a mere touch was enough to set your whole world on fire? So many questions in his head, each more perplexing than the last. He felt like he almost had the answers, but then a creeping doubt would settle in—what if he was just reading too much into it?
The more he tried to make sense of your reactions, the more tangled his thoughts became. The way you laughed at his jokes no matter how lame they were, the way you leaned in unconsciously when you spoke to him, and the way your hands would idly reach up to his hair and play with it—it all seemed like more than mere friendship to Matthew. But the thought that he was just seeing what he wanted to see haunted him.
It didn’t take long for your friends to catch on, too. And God, were they annoying about it. Hao would peer at you and Matthew over the top of his glasses, face scrunched up in utter disgust whenever you two shared even the briefest interaction. A smile? Cue the exaggerated eye roll.
Gyuvin and Ricky weren’t any better, making it a point to cough obnoxiously loud whenever Matthew was trying to speak to you.
“Hey Y/N, your hair looks—” cough, cough. “I really like your—” COUGH, COUGH!
It was like being under constant surveillance by a team of over-the-top drama queens.
Gunwook, though, was the real menace. He’d lean in to give Matthew a hug and end up “accidentally” pushing him toward you, sending you both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. And yet, despite the chaos, neither of you seemed annoyed. If anything, you both secretly enjoyed the feeling of being in each other’s arms, touches lingering just a little longer. And though you’d never admit it, your friends knew. They’d just watch you and Matthew smile at each other with knowing smirks.
Yujin took things to an entirely new level. He’d let out a loud, dramatic gasp whenever your hand brushed against Matthew’s, throwing his hands over his eyes like he’d seen the most scandalous thing ever.
And Jiwoong—this guy had a knack for trickery. Somehow always convincing you and Matthew to wear matching clothes or accessories without either of you realizing, until the boys saw you.
The moment you’d walk in with Matthew, both of you wearing an item of the same color or print, they would erupt into cheers, saying that you two were “basically a married couple now.”
Taerae would then start singing a sad ballad, dragging out every note as much as possible, while wiping fake tears from his eyes, while Hao, Ricky, and Gyuvin would start coming up with baby names. The teasing was relentless.
Hanbin was the only normal one among you. The one beacon of sanity. If anything, he probably felt more embarrassment than you or Matthew ever did. While everyone took a chance to push you two together, Hanbin would just watch from afar, arms crossed, head shaking in disappointment. And when he noticed that you and Matthew actually enjoyed the teasing? Oh, that made it even worse.
Like that one time at a café. The whole group was seated, enjoying their drinks, when Gyuvin decided to be, well, Gyuvin. “Kiss her! Kiss her!” he chanted loudly, just because you’d taken a sip of Matthew’s drink. And of course, the others immediately jumped in, some even banging their fists on the table like they were at a sports game rather than a quiet café. They yelled louder and louder, forgetting about the innocent people around who were probably annoyed by the chants. Hanbin, as usual, just stood off to the side, pretending not to know any of you. His face was buried in his hands as the barista shot your group a death glare. The inevitable happened: you were all kicked out. And Hanbin, red-faced and mortified, sighed deeply as he trailed behind the rest of you.
But nothing could compare to the stunt they’d pulled just now. You and Matthew had cluelessly stepped into the elevator, like you always did, only for it to break down while you two were trapped inside.
“Shit, what do we do now?” you asked, pressing the buttons on the elevator with urgency.
Matthew wrapped his hand around your wrist and gently pulled you toward him. “Don’t worry, it’s probably just the boys playing another prank,” he said softly.
You relaxed at his words. Ricky probably paid someone to do this—at least, you hoped. You went to stand beside Matthew, leaning on the cold elevator wall next to him.
After a few moments of comfortable silence, you rubbed your temple and said, “Honestly, they’ve lost all sense of shame.”
Matthew chuckled at your words and turned to face you. “You know, maybe we should just save them the trouble and go out.”
You cocked an eyebrow at him, but the grin on your face gave your feelings away. Matthew’s hands were immediately on your hips, pulling you toward him.
The others waited with bated breath, hoping you’d be stuck long enough for something to happen, hoping this would finally force you two to make a move. And it worked. When the doors finally pried open a few minutes later, there you were, mid-kiss, with Matthew’s hand tangled in your hair as you both finally gave in to the tension that had been building for what felt like forever.
The second Gyuvin saw you, he screamed at the top of his lungs, “THEY FINALLY KISSED! OH MY GOD!” as he jumped around. Meanwhile, Yujin stood there, completely flabbergasted at the sight in front of him, mouth hanging open.
i love you, mark lee. i hope you know we will always support you in your next endeavor 💚
You like to stare at your boyfriend’s face when he’s sleeping.
He calls you creepy, but there’s something so serene in watching him when he has no sense of the obligations he holds on his shoulders or the weight of the burdens he carries. You gaze at him as the sunlight peeks through the curtains, smiling when the corner of his mouth twitches.
“If you keep looking at me like that, you’re going to regret it.”
You giggle. “You just look so cute, that’s all.”
One eye peeks open. His hand instinctively wraps around your waist, tugging you close to his frame and pulling up the comforter to huddle you in his warmth.
“How often are you doing this?” He asks groggily, his voice still heavy with exhaustion.
“Don’t worry about it,” you say, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “Just go back to sleep.”
“How can I when I know you’ll be staring at me the whole time?”
You laugh, slipping a hand underneath his shirt to run your fingers over his stomach. You’re instantly engulfed in happiness, in the feeling that you’ve chosen the right person to love. You could stay in this moment forever with him.
“Do you know how hard you work, Mark Lee?”
He hums softly like he doesn’t want to broach the topic this early in the morning. You’ve had arguments before about how overworked he is, how he should take a break, and this list goes on and on. You understand why he would rather not get into it today.
“I like seeing you when you’re just… you. If you want to call me creepy again, so be it.”
His lips press against yours and you sigh, wishing you could savor this a little longer before you have to get up and start your day.
“You can stare at me for as long as it makes you happy, baby,” he murmurs, slowly drifting back to sleep.
You brush your fingertips over his jaw, smiling.
You hope he never has to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders ever again.
mark looks terrible, has the deepest bags under his eyes than any other time you've seen in the 2 years you've been together. his shoulders drop so low you'd think he was standing straight while asleep. when you open the door he immediately steps closer to you, mumbling, "can i hold you?" you nod desperately, any traces of sleep immediately fading from your senses and muscles, badly needing his comforting embrace despite the heated argument you had last night that ended on a high note. you only knew he left to haechan's place from the younger's rapid texts. you feel his warm hand softly caress your hair, pressing you firmly to his body. "i'm so sorry, baby." you feel his lips brush against your temple, his hands holding you like he's afraid he'd lose you. you'd forgiven him long before the clock on your bedside table spelled 4:30 a.m., when you saw the little bubbles on his side of the chat pop up for a while before disappearing again.
renjun fiddles more than actually does with the teaspoon, watching as the wisps of vapor waft up and into the dark of the room. the tea grows colder as more time goes by. he has half a mind to walk over to the foyer for the hundredth time that night just to fiddle with the keys you left hanging by the doorknob. he straightens your shoes back by the line of the overstep. come morning time the teacup is now rinsed and drying by the sink, teabag now drying out in the little succulent you insisted on bringing home from the bookstore right off the gates of campus. he thinks of calling your mom to make sure you're coming home in time for dinner. that's when he'll let the wisps of apologies leave his tongue, pull you into his embrace the way you seek him for comfort like your bones want to fuse into his.
jeno watches the digital clock flicker to the time that seems to keep passing no matter what he does to stop it. it's evening where you are, he knows this, even though the sun has just risen on his side of the world, rays pushing through the draping curtains in his hotel room. his hand reaches for the phone he'd thrown aside, and as he unlocks it his screen shows the last texts that had come in from you. he hates when you get drunk you can't even see correctly anymore, let alone when you get drunk because of him. he hates that you're so far from him right now, that he has to wait a few more days until he's there so you can just hit him and call him an idiot instead of the poor plushie he'd won for you from the shooting game at the arcade. he hates making you cry most of all. he hates seeing you get hurt from anything. he cannot risk booking a flight back home, not with the concert being mere hours away. he needs you to be okay. he rechecks his delivery app, seeing your favorite around-the-corner hot soup deli store delivery just minutes away from reaching your home. he sends the text alerting you the deliveryman had left the food by your doorstep, hoping you'd get it before it gets cold.
donghyuck is scarily silent whenever his mood takes a damper. his brows settle into a line, lips bright red from him biting down on it so he doesn't accidentally let out anything that might hurt either of you any more. the quietness carries on to the morning. you'd slept with your backs against each other, the first time since university when you were so convinced he didn't want anything to do with you (really, he was so in love with you he knew he wouldn't let go of you the second he laid his eyes on you. he still is. you know this. he knows it too.) where laughter usually bubbles from the kitchen as he makes you your morning cup of coffee, is replaced with merely the rumble of the coffee machine. which makes the sound of your slippers against the wooden floors all the louder than it usually feels like. he's not where he usually is, leaning against the countertop, tugging you in by the drawstrings of your pyjama pants to get his morning kiss. instead, there is a note, reminding you of your lunch appointment, and to text him if you would like to be picked up afterwards.
jaemin can hear your footsteps padding around the bedroom, still slumped against the door. he doesn't hear you say anything, doesn't dial anyone on your phone either, just hearing you sigh and sniffle as you seem to be gently petting lucy, the kitten's little purrs more audible than usual what with the silence of the aftermath of the fight. either you woke up early or you did not sleep a wink at all. luna comes up to his lap, and her big grey eyes blink up at him. she scratches at the door, begging to be let in, usually cuddled up in bed with the both of you. he understands her completely; he misses the lull of your heartbeat and your jasmine scent just as much as she does. his heart pounds with every step he hears you take to get closer to the door, and feels more than sees you turn the knob and crank the door open just the slightest bit. he's relieved to see you out of bed the next morning, if only because he'd timed his waking up to the sound of you rolling out your carry-on luggage to the doorway, just to catch you leaving a tear tracked note about the vet's emergency contact should anything happen to the babies while you were away.
chenle hasn't gotten any balls in the hoop for a while. nothing he does to his throwing or his steps helps him score any points. how can he when every time he blinks the image of your tear-tracked cheeks and shaking lips paint the back of his eyelids. the court is empty so early in the morning, and he'd left daegal in the apartment so she could be with you even if he isn't at the moment. as he walks back to your shared apartment he spots your favorite to go matcha stall, the only one here that also serves hojicha, because you prefer the roasted blend over the natural one. when he comes back, he sees the lock necklace he gifted you in the marble dish by the door, daegal's leash not hanging from its usual hook, and he breathes in the perfume that lingers by the door where you'd silently left through, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes at the weight that sits atop your chest even though the necklace was off.
jisung honest to god doesn't know how to make it up to you. he doesn't know how you're feeling because he can't see you. you wouldn't pick up his call at all after last night and he knows you left sometime after midnight because your slippers were switched out for your sneakers, the ones he likes to help you lace up despite your protests you could do it on your own. he tries to text the other guys but this is something only the both of you know your way out of. he calls for any nearby florists that are already open taking rush orders, because he needs that moment when you walk back in to be not perfect, but clear of his remorse and empathy. none of what he said last night was fair, childishness surging at your rising pitch and crack of syllables, but you slowly realise these are growing pains for both of you. this will not be the end of your life together.
pairing: lee jeno x fem.reader
genre: established relationship, smut, fluff
wc: 8.6k
summary: When a night of kinky experimentation leaves Jeno at his girlfriend’s mercy, he discovers a new side to both of them - and he likes it. A whole lot.
content warnings: explicit sexual content, fem!dom, sub!jeno (switch technically), light bondage, edging/orgasm denial, unprotected sex, healthy exploration of kinks, rough sex, begging, swearing, biting/marking, mild objectification, sex toy usage (on jeno), oral sex (m. receiving) . lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: hiii guys!! here’s a cute little fic (it is absolutely not cute, do not be deceived) that i wrote in honor of the JNJM unit debut 🤍 jaemin isn’t in this one, i know, i know, but i promise a proper nomin fic is coming in the future to make up for it. the concept for this was heavily inspired by doja cat’s song “freak”, and also by jeno in those JNJM teaser photos bc HELLO??? that man in office attire??? HELL YEAH. i fear i had no choice but to write this. anyway. enjoy responsiby.
"Tie him down to my queen bed, tease him just enough for him to hate me."
It’s a law of the universe that polar opposites are irresistibly drawn to one another. Perhaps it’s the allure of complementary forces coming together in perfect balance, each half making the other whole. Yin and yang, light and shadow, order and chaos.
Jeno and you were a textbook case of antipodes attracting. Where you were colorful sweaters and mini skirts, he was crisp dress shirts and tailored slacks in somber shades of black and navy. Your voice filled any room you entered, words tumbling out in an endless torrent, while Jeno was a bastion of calm quietude, content to listen with undivided attention. You created chaos wherever you went, a beautiful disaster leaving a trail of forgotten items and unfinished projects; Jeno brought order to that world, everything in its proper place, not a hair out of line.
When you first got together, your friends took bets on how long you’d last, convinced your differences ran too deep. A month, tops, most predicted. “He’s too boring for you,” they said, convinced that some fundamental law of life would surely tear you apart.
Eight months later, you were still going strong. Oh sure, you had your share of lover’s quarrels - more often than not sparked by some silly thing you got into your head to be upset about. But your sweet Jeno, ever patient, couldn’t bear to see you sad for even a moment. He made it his mission to soothe whatever ailed you, even when your “ailments” were petty and ridiculous.
“Baby, I really don’t know what’s got you so upset,” Jeno said, his voice edged with fond exasperation.
He’d always come to your place straight from the office, not a crease or wrinkle marring his crisp white button-down, hair slicked back in that severe style that never failed to make your knees weak. The way his fitted slacks hugged his toned thighs was downright criminal.
Even now, annoyed as you were, you couldn’t help but ogle him appreciatively. If you worked together, you’d never get anything done, too busy staring at this gorgeous man all day. You frequently fantasized about showing up at his workplace and mussing up that perfect hair, undoing a button or five on that shirt, making him come undone on a desk…
“I am not upset,” you huffed, but a pout was already forming on your lips quite without your permission.
Jeno chuckled, a warm, pretty sound that reverberated through his chest as he pulled you onto his lap. You went willingly, already feeling your irritation start to melt away.
"Is that so? Then why are you all..." He trailed off, imitating your pouty frown before quickly kissing it away, as if he just couldn't help himself.
"This is just my normal face. If you don't like it, you can always dump me or whatever." You crossed your arms, but the action ended up pushing your boobs up and practically into Jeno's face.
His gaze drifted down, eyes darkening with desire as he took in the view. God, he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in your soft curves, to get lost in you for days. But first, he had to figure out what was bothering you.
"Why would I ever want to break up with you? You're my girl." His hands slid down to span your lower back, fingers splaying across the dip above your hips.
"I don't know. I can just tell when a guy's not as into me anymore," you muttered, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze.
Jeno frowned, all traces of amusement wiped from his face, replaced by confusion and concern.
"Hold on. Where is this coming from?" He sat up straighter, the sudden movement making you bounce lightly in his lap. If you weren't so annoyed, you might've taken the chance to tease him a bit, maybe wiggle around and really get him going. "Baby, what are you talking about? When have I ever made you think I'm not completely crazy about you?"
"Well, I don’t know... You've been working late constantly, I barely see you these days. And then the other night, you clearly didn't want to...you know..." You waved a hand vaguely. "Touch me."
"Oh, that... it's only because I—" Jeno sighed heavily, shoving a hand through his perfectly styled hair and messing it up. "Well, I... I thought I hurt you then. I didn't want to make it worse. Sometimes I just get too carried away because, god, I can't control myself when you're under me like that. Baby, I was trying to hold back so I wouldn't hurt you—"
You pressed a finger to his lips, silencing his rambling explanation. "What, why do you think you hurt me?"
He dropped his gaze, shame etched into every line of his handsome face. But for the life of you, you couldn't recall a single moment during sex when he'd caused you pain. If anything, Jeno was always too gentle, as if you might shatter if he dared go too hard.
"Well... you were crying..." he admitted slowly.
An incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat, but you managed to tamp it down to a grin when you saw how genuinely distraught he was about this.
"Jeno, oh my god." A giggle escaped despite your best efforts. "I only cried because it felt good," you explained, gently grasping his chin and tilting his face up to meet your gaze. His eyes went wide, lips parting in surprise.
"Good? But... you've never cried before," he said, confusion clear in his expression. In that moment, he looked so boyish, his eyes shining with an almost innocent bewilderment.
"That's just because...you've always been so careful with me. And don't get me wrong, I love that. But the other night... I don't know, it was different. It felt like you weren’t holding back anymore. And, well... I really, really liked it."
Jeno was completely at a loss. He had no idea you felt this way. Being significantly taller and more muscular than you - a result of his rigorous daily gym routine - he always took great pains not to be too rough during sex. It took immense restraint, too. Because his deepest desire was to well and truly ravish you, to fuck you through the mattress until you were screaming his name and woke up sore. But when it came to you, his own wants and needs always took a backseat. He only wanted what was best for you.
But now, to discover you wanted the same thing all along? Well, color him shocked.
"What's with that face? Are you just now realizing you've got a freaky girlfriend who wants you to manhandle her with these big, strong arms?" You punctuated your teasing by giving his bicep an appreciative squeeze.
Jeno let out a breathless chuckle. "I just never thought my self-control was leaving you unsatisfied," he admitted. "I didn't realize you wanted me to be...rougher."
"Jen, you're so unbelievably hot, I practically have to physically restrain myself from jumping your bones every second we're together. Honestly, I'm the one holding back here."
A fierce blush crept up his neck. Why was he feeling so shy all of a sudden? For god's sake, you'd been together nearly a year, sex was a near-daily occurrence - sometimes more than once a day even. But now it turns out he didn’t know the first thing about your preferences? Upon reflection, your sex life was pretty vanilla. He'd assumed you were content like that, but now a horrifying thought struck him… What if you'd been faking it this whole time?
"Oh god," Jeno groaned, burying his face in your neck. "I'm the worst boyfriend in history."
"What? Don't be ridiculous. Of course you aren't. You're the best, most incredible boyfriend a girl could ask for, Jen. You're perfect."
He emerged from your neck, glasses adorably askew. With a tender smile, you adjusted them, then let your fingers card through his hair as you settled more firmly in his lap. "Whatever ridiculous idea is running through that brilliant, overthinking brain of yours right now, it's not at all what I meant."
Somehow, with a single glance into his eyes, you'd read his mind like an open book.
"You mean the fact that I've probably never truly satisfied my girlfriend even once because I stupidly thought I was being considerate by holding back? And that she's probably faked countless orgasms just to spare my fragile ego?" His tone was laced with self-recrimination.
"Okay, whoa! That's completely absurd, baby. None of that is even remotely true, and you know it." Your fingers continued their soothing path through his hair, and he let his eyes flutter shut, momentarily lost in the calming sensation. “But I'll admit, this is partly my fault for not communicating my desires more clearly”
"And what exactly are those desires?" he asked, hands once again finding a spot on your hips.
Now it was your turn to blush and avert your gaze. Why oh why did you have to open this particular can of worms? How were you supposed to look your boyfriend in the eye and confess all the deliciously filthy, kinky things you wanted him to do to you - and you to him?
"Um, was that the dryer?" you blurted out, making a feeble attempt to extricate yourself from his embrace, only to be tugged right back down onto his lap.
"Y/N." The use of your full name made it clear he wasn't fooling around. "Tell me. Please."
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "It's stupid, really. Not even worth discussing. Aren't you exhausted after working all day?" you deflected, fussing with his now-wrinkled shirt. He covered both your restless hands with one of his own (god, his hands were massive), stilling your fidgeting.
"Believe me, I have no problem staying right here all night until you talk to me. I'm quite comfortable like this, actually," he murmured, a hint of amusement coloring his words.
You sighed in resignation. "I just don't want you to think I'm some kind of weirdo or something..."
"I could never think that, pretty girl," he reassured you, punctuating his words with a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. "Go on, tell me."
"Well..." you began, nervously twisting your fingers together. "There's something I've always wanted to try with you. But I thought it might be a bit...much."
Jeno's curiosity was piqued. "Okay, what is it?"
"God, this is so mortifying," you whined.
"Come on, it can't possibly be any worse than that time you confessed to having a massive crush on Shrek," he teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Oh, to hell with it. You'd come this far, might as well just let it all out.
"I've always wanted to...to tie you down. To my bed, I mean." The words tumbled out in a rush, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.
Jeno was perfectly still for all of two seconds before he let out a slightly strained chuckle. But then, seeing the deadly serious look on your face, he sobered. "Wait... what exactly do you mean by that?"
You cleared your throat. "Just that... I want to tie you up... and do whatever I want to you, for as long as I want."
"Oh." Jeno blinked owlishly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "That's, uh... Wow."
You couldn't quite decipher the look on his face. Shock, definitely. But was that a spark of intrigue in his eyes, or were you just projecting your own desperate hopes onto him?
"I know, I know, it's super weird. Just forget I said anything," you babbled, squirming in his lap, suddenly desperate to escape this mortifying situation. "I mean, what kind of girlfriend wants to tie up her boyfriend like some kind of pervert, right? God, I'm so embarrassed, I can't believe I actually told you that. Can we please just pretend this conversation never happened and go back to—"
"I want to try it," He blurted out, his deep voice cutting through your nervous rambling.
You froze, certain you must have misheard him. "Wait, what?"
Jeno’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze intense and unwavering on yours. "I said... I want to try it. What you said, about tying me up and..." He cleared his throat, a distinct flush creeping up his neck. "...having your way with me."
"You... You do?" you asked, scarcely daring to believe it.
"Yeah, I really do." He leaned in close, his breath against your lips. "The thought of being at your mercy, completely helpless while you do whatever you want to me... It's really fucking hot."
Your breath caught in your throat, desire pooling hot and heavy in your belly at his words. "Oh my god, Jeno..."
"So," His large hands slid down to cup your ass, pulling you flush against the rapidly growing bulge in his slacks. "Why don't you show me exactly what you want to do to me, hm? Let me be a good boy for you."
You didn't need to be asked twice.
He’d barely finished the sentence before you had his tie undone and draped around your own neck for later use. You felt the unmistakable shiver that ran through his body as you worked open the top buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. It felt almost illicit, the way he allowed you to take control so easily.
Jeno. The consummate rule-follower who color-coded his gym schedule by muscle groups, who maintained a spreadsheet tracking his protein intake down to the gram, who ironed even his workout clothes—breathtakingly vanilla until this very moment. Here he was, his abdomen tensing with each shallow breath as you traced the hollow of his collarbone with your tongue, tasting salt and clean soap. His pulse hammered visibly beneath the thin skin of his throat when your teeth grazed his jawline.
It was amazing how a few words could completely upend someone's entire operating system. Yours included—desire unfurling hot and liquid in the pit of your stomach, climbing upward through your chest, making your fingertips tingle and your thighs clench as it threatened to spill from your lips in a gasp or a command, you weren't sure which.
You had always felt a little bit monstrous about your deepest desires. Not in a depraved way, you would never dream of doing anything without enthusiastic consent, but there was a shadowed, primal need within you, an itch at the base of your skull to be the one in control, the one who upset the delicate balance just when things began to feel too predictable.
The kind of need that often got suppressed in relationships, because men liked the idea of a woman "taking charge" until, inevitably, she actually tried it, and then suddenly it was too much, not sexy anymore, a bridge too far from the unspoken script. But apparently, Jeno was different.
"You want to be a good boy for me?" you purred, relishing the effect your words had on him. His breath quickened, Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to conceal his shudder with a slight tilt of his head.
Jeno never allowed himself to relinquish control. Not at work, not at social gatherings, not even at the gym. But now, under the heat of your gaze and your touch, he was so beautifully vulnerable it made your heart flutter wildly in your chest.
You paused your kisses on his neckline, mouth hovering above his skin, and let your breath fan out in a slow exhale. His fingers flexed on your hips, tightening imperceptibly. Just the faintest tremor. It was a revelation, seeing him so uncertain and yet so hungry at the same time.
"Lie down," you commanded, surprising even yourself with the steadiness of your voice.
He complied, moving onto the bed with a curious sort of grace, as if he feared shattering the charged atmosphere by making one wrong move. The mattress dipped and groaned beneath his weight. You smiled, giddy with the thrill of this newfound power, but also a little awestruck. Was this alright? Was it too much, too fast? Jeno gazed up at you, his eyes swirling with both trepidation and anticipation.
You looped the tie around his wrists, securing it with a knot, and gently pressed his bound arms above his head. The action felt at once absurd and profoundly meaningful--as if you'd crossed a point of no return together, one that had been beckoning to you all along.
"You know, people usually have a safe word for this kind of thing," you said, settling your knees on either side of his hips. His thighs tensed, then relaxed, as if you'd just handed him a Get Out Of Jail Free card and he'd simply ripped it to shreds right before your eyes.
"Should I choose one?" he asked, and the sheer guilelessness of his tone made your heart ache for reasons you couldn't quite articulate. Perhaps it was because Jeno had never looked at you quite like this before: vulnerable, eager, a little lost. The dynamic had always been slightly inverted--him guiding you, patient and careful, a steadying hand at the small of your back in a crowd. You thought you enjoyed being cared for, and you did. But this thrilling new arrangement, with him splayed out beneath you, ignited a heat low in your belly that threatened to consume you from the inside out.
"Yeah," you breathed, trailing your fingertips down the smooth expanse of his chest with agonizing slowness. "If you want."
He hesitated, his lips silently forming and discarding a litany of options, before finally settling on: "'Spreadsheet.'"
A surprised laugh bubbled up from your throat, the unexpectedly nerdy choice conjuring an oddly arousing mental image of Jeno in a sexy office roleplay, his tie askew and his glasses fogged. "You want your safe word to be 'spreadsheet'? Really?"
"Too dorky?" he asked, a little self-conscious.
You leaned in close, hands planted on either side of his head, and murmured, "It's perfect. Just like you."
Before he could protest or make a joke, you captured his lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of your desire, your adoration, your hunger into the press of your mouth against his. Jeno melted into the mattress, surrendering himself completely to you. His hands, bound in that tidy little knot, flexed helplessly. You suppressed a grin. This look suited him, the utter lack of control, the complete surrender. It made you feel not only powerful, but deeply trusted.
You refused to let him off easy, though. Where other women might have pounced on him, riding a fleeting high of feminine dominance for a scant few minutes before gratefully lapsing back into the familiar status quo, you enjoyed every second of this reversal like it was the last luscious bite of dessert on earth.
So you took your sweet time. You explored him as if laying eyes on him for the very first time, mapping the contours of his chest, his jawline, even the delicate shell of his ear with gossamer, butterfly touches. You let your tongue swirl around his nipples, languid and unhurried, drinking in the way his eyes widened first in bewilderment, then understanding, then abashment. (He'd always been oddly self-conscious about his pecs, as if they were some shameful secret. Perhaps they were too sensitive, or maybe he'd simply never had a lover lavish them with genuine curiosity rather than perfunctory attention.) You suckled gently, barely applying any pressure, and he arched beneath you, his entire body shaking once before he instantly reddened, averting his gaze as if mortified by his own visceral response.
"Are you--fuck, enjoying this?" Jeno gasped, his chin tucked to his chest, a bashful, almost petulant furrow marring his brow.
"God, yes," you breathed, and to underscore your sincerity, you laved a leisurely path up his sternum, savoring the salt of his skin and the heat emanating from beneath. "You're so sensitive here, baby. It's adorable."
He tried to match your breezy tone, but his voice cracked when he protested, "It's not adorable. It's humiliating." He was achingly hard now, a fact he couldn't possibly hide with your thighs bracketing his hips and his arms pinned above his head.
You let your fingertips tease along the edge of his waistband, but left his pants in place, the fabric pulled taut by his obvious erection. Instead, you splayed your palm over his clothed erection, letting the heat and weight of your hand linger there. Jeno went still, his breath coming in shallow, rapid puffs. You waited. Then you eased your palm just slightly, applying a little more pressure through the fabric, and watched as he bit down hard on his own lip. So serious. So determined not to give you the satisfaction of hearing him beg. You decided to test how long that resolve would really last.
You murmured, “If you want something, just ask, baby.” You gave a gentle squeeze to the base of his cock, feeling, through the layers of his trousers and underwear, the heat and tension coiling there. You softened your touch, tracing lazy circles with a single finger. Jeno squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, his wrists flexing against the tie, but he said nothing.
You loved this about him. The quiet stubbornness. You wondered how many people in his past had ever seen him this exposed. How many had been allowed to glimpse the frantic need pent up in his body, or the brittle fragility behind his wit? You felt almost protective of it.
You bent low, lips grazing the edge of his trembling jaw. “I like you like this,” you whispered, your hand stroking down the length of him, just to watch his composure slip. “You don’t have to hide how much you want it. You know I could do this all night, and you’d just get needier, wouldn’t you?” His whole body shuddered with the effort of not answering.
“Word?” you asked softly.
Jeno’s laugh was hoarse. “Spreadsheet,” he replied, so fast it was almost a moan.
Abandoning his groin, you circled back to drag your nails up his sides, then dipped your head to press a kiss to the hollow at the base of his throat. "So sensitive," you type, this time letting a note of faux astonishment color your words. "Who would've guessed?"
He shot you a baleful look, but with his arms trussed up, it only served to make him appear more deliciously helpless, more endearing. "You're mean" he grumbled, though his hips canted upward of their own volition when you ghosted your lips over his collarbone.
You almost felt guilty. Almost. Instead, you pulled back, eager for his next reaction with the slightly cruel edge of a cat toying with a cornered mouse. You knew exactly what he wanted. You could sense it in the desperate way he strained toward you, in the way he flexed his hands against his bindings, in the way his breathing had gone from even to erratic and labored. But you had no intention of giving in, not yet.
"Is there something you want, baby?" You let your fingertips dance up and down the sensitive skin of his inner arms, gossamer-light, so soft it tickled. He shuddered, his muscles rippling beneath your ministrations.
"I'm fine," he bit out, his voice strained.
You beamed down at him. "You sure?" you pressed, leaning in to nuzzle the tender spot just behind his ear. "Because you're about to burst."
His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking. "I'm not—"
You nipped at his earlobe. "You're not what?"
He pressed his lips together, eyes screwed shut. "I'm not going to beg," he ground out, his voice scarcely louder than a whisper.
You clicked your tongue, feigning disappointment. "That's a shame," you slid off him just enough to trail your hand over the length of his body, lingering at the waistband of his trousers. "Because I think you're dying for it." You unbuttoned him with a slow flick of your thumb, savoring the way his chest lifted with each shallow breath. He wore sleek black boxer-briefs under his slacks, and the sight of him—so painfully, embarrassingly hard, a dark stain already spreading at the tip—gave you a rush of adrenaline.
You drew back, just to drink in the sight of him, to admire the delicate flush staining his cheekbones and the desire smoldering in his eyes. His lips were kiss-swollen and slightly parted, as if poised to say something before he clamped down on the words and glowered up at you, defiant.
God, you wanted to absolutely wreck him.
He thought he could out-stubborn you? How funny. You'd been emotionally tormenting older siblings and exes since you were in middle school. Jeno, for all his seriousness and self-discipline, was woefully outmatched by the age-old feminine art of slow-burn, high-stakes teasing. If he wanted to engage in this battle of wills, you'd ensure he regretted the day he ever underestimated you.
You charted every last inch of his torso, every rib and divot, every spot that elicited a hitch in his breath or a twitch of muscle beneath your touch. His nipples were exquisitely responsive, and you traced languid circles around them with the tip of your tongue, just once, before neglecting them entirely as he squirmed under you.
You bit his hipbone, and he startled with a strangled whine that reverberated through the room. Grinning, you pressed a soothing kiss to the spot immediately after. "Sensitive everywhere, aren't you?" you mused, your fingers skating over his erection.
He managed an incredulous groany laugh. "I didn't realize you were this intense," he panted, his head tipped back against the pillow, exposing the vulnerable line of his neck. You took the invitation for what it was, trailing the line of his vein with your tongue before sucking a dark mark on the hollow above his pulse.
His hips jerked, and he muffled another moan. Your grin was uncontainable. The way that mark appeared, raw and red, right where only you will see it tomorrow, triggered a curious protective urge, as if you wanted to carve your initials into Jeno’s skin, make him unmistakably yours. Perhaps it was caveman logic, or the months of restraint, but you wanted, all at once, to break and cradle him, to see him undone and then stitch him back together.
You cursed yourself for not buying actual restraints. That trendy boutique you passed with window displays promising sturdy vegan leather harnesses, silk ropes dyed in neon, handcuffs shaped like Hello Kitty--why had you hesitated? You’d dismissed it as a fantasy, as something people like you only joked about over brunch, not something real-world couples like you and Jeno attempted for more than a fleeting, tipsy weekend. But you refused to let a lack of props stop you now.
You leaned in and whispered, in your best threatening purr, "Move again, and I'll edge you so long you’ll cry."
Your mouth watered at the sight of him when you finally pulled his boxers down: thick and flushed, rigid and throbbing.
Even now, every molecule in Jeno’s body radiated tension, a desperate need to do something, anything, to get you to touch him. You didn't. You sidestepped his need and worked your way methodically down, kissing the jut of his hip, the springy line of dark hair trailing from his navel to his groin, the smooth roundness of his knees, the curve of his calves. His thighs jumped when you so much as breathed warm air over them.
He made a noise like laughter, disbelief sparkling in it, until your mouth closed around his tip and his head thudded back so hard against the bed frame you worried he'd bruise.
You were not, in fact, a blowjob expert-- your exes had been content with clenched eyes and an awkward "that feels good, baby" while you did the obligatory motions, but not one of them had ever surrendered their body with such single-minded attention as Jeno was doing now.
He looked down the line of his body at you, glasses askew, cheeks flaming, breathing ragged, and eyes so tender. You let your mouth hollow around him, your tongue mapping the throbbing ridge of vein, then backed off.
"D-don’t stop," he breathed as you dragged your tongue through the sticky spill at the tip and smirked.
"Patience is a virtue, baby," you crooned and kissed his tip again.
You dragged your mouth up his length slowly, and felt a shiver that started at his toes and climaxed in a delicious, helpless buck of his hips. The tie binding his wrists strained, but held fast, and his hands flexed and unfurled in an unconscious search for something to grab onto.
"Oh, fuck, Y/N," he gasped, voice ragged and breathless, the syllables bouncing off the ceiling and landing between your ribs where they took root and blossomed into hot, sticky pride. You slowed, dragging your tongue along the side of his cock, swirling around his head, once, then again, flicking just the way you secretly knew he liked it.
You pulled off, lips glossy, letting the air hit him cold and sharp. He whimpered, a pathetic, beautiful sound. "Why," he said, voice a thin whine, "do you keep stopping?"
You grinned up at him. "Because you're so fucking cute when you pout."
You crawled up, letting your hair trail his chest, and hovered just above his mouth. "Want to kiss me?" you provoked, already knowing the answer.
He nodded helplessly and strained for your lips. You let him sweat a moment longer, watching the need bloom in his eyes, before planting a ferocious kiss that left you both gasping. You knew he could taste himself on your tongue and wondered if it would weird him out or if he’d find it as electrifying as you did.
You kissed him until he writhed, until the friction between his cock and your belly painted his stomach with a slick smear. He tried to deepen the kiss, tried to tilt up, but you pulled back, dragging your teeth over his bottom lip and biting down just hard enough to make him gasp. His hips jerked again, straining unconsciously, his cock fully engorged and weeping.
You grabbed at the nightstand, a fierce need to see just how far you could take this. The top drawer gaped open, revealing its pile of treasures: tattered paperbacks, loose hair ties, a flattened tube of lip balm, and—hallelujah—a vibrating ring you’d once gotten as a gag gift at a bachelorette party and promptly forgotten about. You held it up between two fingers, watching Jeno’s eyes track it warily.
“What’s that…?” He cut off, a flush creeping from his neck to the tips of his ears.
You smirked. “Color-coding and spreadsheeting every aspect of your life, but you never thought to research sex toys?” You plucked the cellophane wrapper open with your teeth, tossed it aside, and switched the ring on. You let it shake against your palm before slipping it gingerly over the base of his cock. His whole body jolted as if you’d wired him directly into a light socket.
You let the ring do the work for a moment, watching Jeno struggle not to buck into the sensation. Every trembling muscle in his body begged for more, but you made him wait. You made him watch as you undid the buttons of your shirt, slow enough to make him keen in protest, his dark eyes never leaving the skin you revealed inch by inch.
You toyed with the clasp of your bra, letting the anticipation stretch enough to make him whine a little, his bound hands flexing in the air above his head. When you finally flicked the clasp open and let the scraps of lace fall away, Jeno exhaled a curse word so filthy it made you grin. You basked in the raw hunger on his face, the way the sight of your bare breasts made him bite his lip so hard it went white.
You shimmied out of your skirt with a little flourish, the hem catching on your thighs and making Jeno whimper softly when he realized you’d gone without panties. He drank in every movement, every exposed surface of you, like it was oxygen. You stood over him for a second, drinking in the view, too: your gorgeous, brilliant man undone by a ten-dollar battery-powered ring and a men's tie, his face open and desperate and so, so in love with you.
You straddled him again, and let your heat hover just above the flush, taut head of his cock. It took every ounce of self-control not to simply drop and ride him until you both blacked out. Instead, you hovered, pressed slightly, let the electric brush of the ring buzz against your clit, then drew away.
Jeno whined your name in disbelief, arching up like he could make you take him inside. You refused, just for the pleasure of watching him suffer. Maybe he deserved it, after all the nights you’d lain awake, quietly vibrating with need while he snoozed with monastic stoicism, all that serious energy funneled into containing what you now realized was a feral hunger.
You pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, so close he was probably tasting your slick heat with every nerve in his body, and then, with a grin, you let him watch as you languidly circled your clit with two fingers. The sight made Jeno sob out a half-choked plea, but you stilled him with a palm flat to his chest. “Not yet, baby,” you whispered, raking your nails lightly down his sternum.
He whimpered, and if you’d ever suspected in your life that the sound could be made by a guy like Jeno, you’d have called yourself a liar. You marveled at yourself for being able to draw forth such primal noise from someone so reserved; you couldn't help but feel slightly monstrous for it.
Each time you teased yourself with your own fingers, his breathing grew harsher, his cheeks more flushed. Even restrained, his body was a livewire, shoulders pressed deep into the mattress, thighs trembling with the effort not to buck, breathless with the burden of not asking, not pleading, even though you could see just how close he was to breaking.
You kept him on the edge so long that he started babbling. “Please, please, I can’t—” and you only giggled, pulling away every time you judged him too close, just to watch his face twist from relief to exquisite frustration.
“Fuck, st--stop teasing me” he gasped, but you could tell from the frantic way he strained against his bonds that he would do anything for you right now, say any ridiculous, humiliating thing just for a minute of your time and the pressure of your walls around his cock.
When you finally, finally slid down onto him, it was so overwhelming you both gasped. He was huge, perfect, and the vibrator at your clit sent shocks through your core.
For a second, you just sat there, pressed full and tight. You wondered if you looked as fucked out and vulnerable as he did, hair wild, mouth open, every muscle trembling from restraint. You rolled your hips, grinding down slow and steady.
“Y/N,” he breathed, “please, god, I want—”
You clamped a hand over his mouth. “Good boys take what they’re given.”
He moaned into your hand, eyes rolling back, and the tension that traveled through his body was so immense it was like riding the aftershock of an earthquake. The tie at his wrists went taut. His legs strained against the bedposts, all of him desperate to consume and be consumed.
You wrapped your hand around his throat gently and rode him in long, greedy plunges that had him gasping for air. His hips bucked up, desperate for friction, but you kept your pace slow. The wild look in his eyes confirmed it: he loved every second of this, the helplessness, the hunger, the way you reduced him to pure need.
The mattress creaked, your knees ached, sweat beaded between your breasts and along your hairline. You swore you could feel every inch of him on a cellular level, every twitch and pulse and trembling, needy plea.
At the apex of each bounce, you ground down with ruthless precision, sending shocks through your own body that almost knocked you loose from your seat. You’d had sex that was wild before, and loving; you’d had sex that was disappointing and transactional; but you’d never known pleasure that could be this mean, this strange, this deeply, vibrantly alive.
“F-fuck, I, I, I can’t—Y/N, I’m—” The words broke loose from his mouth in a choked growl.
You leaned forward, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, your voice low and breathless: “You can. You will. But only when I say.”
You eased off, sinking your nails into his thighs as you lifted until only the tip of him remained pressed at your entrance. The vibrator thrummed against you both. You could feel the way he trembled, the way his cock pulsed in time with his racing heart.
“Say it,” you commanded, teeth grazing the curve of his jaw. “Tell me you’re my good boy. Tell me you’ll wait for me.”
He whimpered, face twisted in frustration. “I’m your good boy,” he choked out. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you, baby, please—”
You smiled against his cheek. “Good.”
His mouth fell open, but nothing came except a low whine, his bound arms flexing so hard you could see the cords standing out on his forearms. You lifted off him enough so that the ring buzzed unencumbered between your bodies, and Jeno’s head twisted on the pillow like he was in pain.
“Please,” he managed. His face was red, sweat beading at his hairline, and you could see the actual glimmer of tears poised in the corners of his eyes.
You froze, suddenly worried you’d gone too far, but the frantic shake of his head and the way his hips bucked up told you he was exactly where he wanted to be. You shushed him, stroked his cheek, and rode him a tiny bit slower, let the pressure and the build accumulate until it was an agony you shared, both of you perched together at the edge of some wild precipice.
You kept him there, squirming under you, for as long as your own resolve would allow, which, embarrassingly, wasn't very long considering how fucking good it felt to have him stretching you. You'd always suspected Jeno would be incredible if you ever managed to get him to just let go. Still, you'd never imagined he'd be the sort of lover who could, with nothing but muscle and sheer willpower, fucking snap an expensive tie.
He’d waited for you to get greedy, to close your eyes and tip your head back, and then he pulled.
The tie snapped apart, and suddenly his hands were on you—gripping your hips with a bruising force, pinning you so you couldn’t wriggle away. You gasped, the shock of it slicing straight through your haze. His arms wrapped around your waist and yanked you down, impaling you down onto his cock like a spike. The sound you made, the way your back arched involuntarily, must’ve gone straight to Jeno’s lizard brain, because his next thrust was pure animal: no hesitation, zero self-restraint, just the greedy sound of your slick cunt and his ragged moans.
“My turn,” he growled.
The grip on your hips was bruising, but you welcomed it, craved it, felt yourself go liquid in his arms—finally, finally those massive hands pinning you to his pleasure. You barely had time to yelp before Jeno was sitting up, bearing you with a single arm around your waist, the other sliding into your hair and fisting it so roughly you lost your breath. His mouth crashed against yours, hungry, bruising, and the taste of you and him and the faint aftershock of salt and sweat became the whole universe.
His hands found the curve of your ass to hold you in place and fucked into you hard enough to make you see white. The vibrator slammed your clit with every punishing thrust, adding a delirious edge to every bounce. You realized you were the one whimpering now, begging, though the words were incoherent nonsense.
He lifted you off and spun you to your hands and knees in one fluid movement. You tried to protest, to issue some token resistance, but your own body betrayed you, shaking with anticipation as he manhandled your hips into place. You’d always suspected he was strong enough to snap you in half. His hair was a ruined mess, his glasses knocked askew and threatening to fall, the tie a shredded half-garter dangling from his wrist. The sight of him like this nearly undid you.
He fucked you hard, in a way you’d never have dared request. You braced yourself on trembling arms, moaning with each slap of his hips against your bare ass, your whole body ricocheting toward the headboard with every thrust. His hands were everywhere: spanning your waist, squeezing your ass, one palm smeared up your back, and grabbing a fistful of your tangled hair so he could yank you upright, your spine arched like a bow. The change in angle made you see stars, the vibrator wedged between clit and cock pulsing so tight and mean you nearly howled.
“Look at you,” he said, voice thick, “so desperate. My good girl, now.” Mirth and pride bled into the claim, and you leaned into his hand as it tangled deeper in your hair.
You were drooling now, face hot and wet, mascara streaked and running down your neck in wild, black rivers. You weren't sure what noises you were making, but they echoed obscenely—full of plaintive whimpers, shattered syllables, “please” and “god” and “don’t stop.” Jeno responded to each with a wordless, hungry grunt, his palms kneading at your hips, pounding into you so hard the headboard started to knock the wall in a syncopated rhythm.
His eyes burned, black and wild; his jaw set with a kind of furious adoration, as if he’d realized all at once that he’d been starving himself for no reason and now he was going to eat and eat and eat until he was sick on you.
“Didn’t you want it hard?” Jeno growled. “Then fucking take it.”
You couldn’t even find your voice, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except take him whole and clutch at the handful of sheets he left you to grab onto. You wanted to say something to show you were still in charge, but his mouth found your neck and his teeth grazed the curve of your jaw and you bit down on your tongue to keep from screaming. Your vision blurred, the edges of your world tunneling down into the center of your body where Jeno was battering you open, his cock hard and insistent and so fucking perfect you wanted to cry.
You felt his entire body go rigid, pinning you so hard you couldn’t move except to open wider, give him everything. “You’re so—fuck, you’re—
He flipped you onto your back and grabbed your ankles, pressing them toward your shoulders until your knees nearly touched your chest. Each thrust came with such force that the bed frame groaned in protest beneath you. Behind your closed eyelids, pinpricks of light bloomed like distant stars.
There was nothing in this world except the slippery glide of your bodies, the hurricane of need, and the wild, wet convergence of your souls at every point of contact. You clawed at his back, at his shoulders, at the sharp planes of his chest, leaving crescent moons in your wake. When he locked his lips to your collarbone and bit down, you gasped, the sensation igniting along your spine and straight to your core.
Somehow, even in this frenzy, it was Jeno who noticed you were about to come apart, who braced himself on trembling arms and slowed, just barely, so he could see the look on your face as you shattered. He fucked you through it, his eyes never leaving yours, his own release spooling tighter and tighter but held back by brute force. You wondered how he managed it, how he could even think with this much pressure building between you.
“Jeno—”
Jeno let go completely, unleashing months of bottled-up hunger and self-denial. He fucked you like it was his last earthly act, piston-strong and brutal and god, you’d never come so hard, your orgasm slamming through you like a dropped elevator. You shrieked, and he bit your shoulder, and you clung to each other as if you could fall through the bed and into some other universe entirely, a universe where nothing existed but friction and heat and want.
You were still shaking when you felt him shudder, felt the slow-motion ripple of his release telegraph through his core, a split-second tension and then pleasure so strong it blurred the boundary between your body and his. He muttered your name softly, then tipped his forehead against yours.
He didn’t let go, not even after the tremors in both your bodies had subsided. Aftershocks radiated up your thighs, your chest, where his grip had left fingerprints already blooming. You could only stare at him, at the incredulous, almost boyish smile stretching across his lips, lashes trembling as he blinked down at you.
He reached down, gripped the slick rubber ring, and in one smooth motion eased it off, tossing it onto the crumpled sheets beside you. "Jesus Christ," he said, voice shredded with wonder. "Why do people even bother with CrossFit when that exists?"
You snorted, a full-body laugh that left you splayed and shaking. Jeno collapsed beside you, bracing a muscular arm under your neck and tucking you close.
"Never pegged you for a quitter," you managed, struggling to catch your breath.
He groaned, rolling you into the crook of his arm. "It's a temporary strategic withdrawal. I'll destroy you in round two."
You pressed your nose to the hollow just below his earlobe and inhaled the mix of his skin, his cologne, and the dizzying, bitter tang of sex.
“So,” you rasped, “how long have you been hiding Mr. Hyde under that Clark Kent routine?”
“I honestly didn’t know I had it in me,” he admitted, as if confessing to a minor crime.
For a long time, you simply lay there, letting your blood pressure slowly work its way back toward human parameters. The room was a disaster—your blouse stretched inside out over the lamp, the ruined tie hanging limp from the footboard, the nightstand’s entire contents spilled onto the floor like a piñata.
Neither of you spoke until Jeno grunted, propping himself up on one elbow and poking at the remnants of the tie with a rueful finger.
"You know how expensive that tie was?"
You snorted. "I know exactly how expensive that was," you said, propping yourself up to inspect the ruined silk. He rolled his eyes, like he wanted to appear annoyed, but the effect failed when his mouth kept twitching at the corners.
After a while, he grew serious, his gaze softening as he studied your face. "Why didn't you tell me you liked it like that?"
You shrugged, tracing lazy patterns across his bare chest with your fingertip. "I don't know. I guess I thought you might freak out, or think I was weird or something. You have this... reputation, you know? The Human Spreadsheet. I figured it was missionary or bust."
Jeno pretended to take offense. "I'll have you know, I am well-versed in many positions." His voice took on a pompous, academic tone. "It's right there on my resume, under 'extracurriculars.'"
The joke was so unexpected, so quintessentially Jeno, you almost fell off the bed. "You're such a dork," you said, and he beamed, all bashfulness gone. "You love it," he challenged, and you couldn't argue. Especially with the evidence dizzying your every cell, with the sweet ache between your legs or the sated, floating calm that was even now settling into your bloodstream.
You prodded at the bruises forming in earnest on your hips, the faint crescent of his teeth in your shoulder. "Guess we're truly incompatible now. According to my mom, the odds of making it past the one-year mark with a bruiser are statistically null."
Jeno mused, "I suppose we could always break up and bed different people, maybe do a spouse swap, and come crawling back to each other in time for your mom to lose her bet." He winked.
"Or," you countered, drawing out the word like taffy as you sprawled across his chest, "we could just keep this up for the next sixty years and die hot and mysterious in our sleep, so people have to invent all sorts of theories about us."
"I like your plan more," Jeno said. He tilted his head back on the pillow, brow furrowing in the adorable way it always did when debating which of the three hundred brands of protein bar to buy, or now, presumably, which post-coital metaphor was most apt.
You waited for him to say something else, but he just laced his fingers with yours and held them to his chest, where you could feel the hammering sound of his heart. After a minute, you realized the only thing louder was your own pulse, tripping over itself trying to outpace the clock.
Through the open window, traffic noises rose and fell, and in some vaguely zen way you understood that somewhere in the city people were tallying invoices or slicing sashimi or folding hospital corners into bedsheets, their hearts trundling along in their own prosaic fashion. In here, the room still spun with the afterimages of hands and heat and all the odd, gooey data points that, to your mind, elevated sex from a commodity to an existential event. You thought of magnets—how sometimes the only way to split up a pair fused together by attraction was to shatter them outright. Or better yet: melt them, so they pooled and alloyed into something altogether new and improbable.
Jeno then shifted until he was more or less lying fully on top of you, something he’d normally never allow for fear of “crushing you, or oxygen deprivation.” Just like that, you went liquid, one arm around his, one leg tossed over his thighs so thoroughly you could practically feel his DNA rearranging yours on a molecular level. He mumbled something into your hair, insensate and boneless, and instead of feeling smothered, you felt safer than you’d ever known.
---
thank you for reading!! lmk your thoughts about the fic!! <3
MDNI !! hey peeps!! just so you know, i will be making another list of shorter fics ( under 1k ) and a haechan smau masterlist!! lmk if youre interested, will also keep on adding to this list btw!!
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pairing: grad student!haechan x grad student!reader
genre: fluff, slight angst
word count: 10.2k
synopsis: academic validation and beating lee donghyuck are your only motivations in life. spoiler alert: you end up achieving only one of the two.
author’s note: this was supposed to be released for holo LMAO better late than never? anyways ladies this is fiction <3 do NOT ever give a male english major the time of day - signed an english major (p.s. i mention christmas exactly one time in this so this counts as a holiday fic)
warning(s): sexism in academia, brief descriptions of sexual harassment
playlist: rose-colored boy by paramore ― enemies by lauv ― always, everytime by the wrecks ― let it happen by gracie abrams ― running home by jade lemac
Act I) And when I close my eyes, I see you for who you truly are, which is UUUG-LAY.
When it comes to receiving bad news, you would consider yourself pretty good at handling it. You’ve always been the type to compartmentalize and try to find the most rational way to react. Having such an analytical personality is part of the reason why you decided to pursue an English degree in college. Sure, some may consider you cold and elitist, but to that you respond―well, yes!
That being said, you’re about 30 seconds away from hurling up your breakfast burrito and $8 matcha latte in a projectile fashion.
You stare at Dr. Min, the Program Director of the English Department and your mentor, like she just dropkicked you in the gut. Normally, your mouth would be agape with despair and horror, but you smartly keep your lips sealed tight due to previously mentioned urge to spill chunks all over her pristine office.
The situation is worsened by the fact that there is a creature standing right beside you, looking only slightly disgruntled. Like he just received a cup of cold coffee level of disgruntled. As if Dr. Min didn’t just casually destroy your entire world.
The creature goes by the name of Lee Donghyuck. He’s barely a human, simply masquerading as one with his fluffy hair and glowy skin. Rather, he’s just a walking, talking literary reference to the most pretentious authors ever. His sole reason for existence is to compete with you for teacher’s pet. The two of you have been vying for Dr. Min’s attention since you both got into grad school. More specifically, you both have been competing for the eventual letter of recommendation that you’ll need from her in order to get into the highly prestigious PhD program. She’s super selective of who she will write the letter for, so you and Donghyuck essentially have been in a constant WWE brawl to kiss her ass.
“Two graduate faculty members are on sabbatical, so the amount of staff available to vote on your papers are an even number,” Dr. Min had explained, “Hence, why we’re in this situation. You both have the same amount of votes.”
“Can’t you just be the tiebreaker, Dr. Min?” Donghyuck asks, carding a hand through his brown hair. It’s still tinted a light purple hue from when he dyed it to cosplay Rafayel from Love and Deepspace for Halloween. Yes, he does play a gacha dating sim about random men who look AI-generated. Of his many sins, this is low on your list.
Dr. Min shakes her head, smiling apologetically. “You know I always abstain from voting when it comes to my mentees’ papers.”
“So, what’s going to happen now? Which one of us will be going to the symposium?” you ask, finally managing to gather yourself and speak up. Despite your best efforts, you feel another wave of nausea hit you when Dr. Min glances your way. There’s something about the way she’s so poised and collected that always makes you think she’s silently judging you.
“That’s what I’ve called you both here for,” she trails off, clapping her hands together. “I’ve decided that, for the first time in this university’s history, we will be sending two representatives to the annual Shakespeare Scholars Research Symposium!”
Dr. Min pauses, most likely expecting celebratory cheers from the two of you. However, she’s met with stone-cold silence. You and Donghyuck just stand there stiffly, arms hanging limp by your sides and faces scrunched like you just ate the dog food flavored jelly bean from the BeanBoozled game.
“Don’t get too excited, now,” Dr. Min jokes awkwardly. “Why the doom and gloom?”
“But…our papers are way too similar. It wouldn’t make sense for both of us to go,” you protest.
As much as you hate to admit it, you and Donghyuck are often interested in the same topics and themes when it comes to your research papers. This time is also no exception. For this paper, you decided to write about the female empowerment in the classic 1999 romcom 10 Things I Hate About You compared to the original source material, Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. Meanwhile, Donghyuck (because he’s incapable of not riding on your coattails) decided to write about gender identity in the classic 2006 romcom She’s the Man compared to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.
“Well, the concepts are certainly similar, but the actual content is different,” Dr. Min replies, “Besides, I think we need more pop culture in academia.”
When you and Donghyuck fail to respond again, she huffs. “Come on, you guys! I know the two of you are competitive, but it’s a wonderful opportunity. This is going to look amazing on your CV when you apply for the PhD program.”
The mention of the PhD program makes you and Donghyuck perk up like meerkats, and you know Dr. Min did it on purpose.
“Thank you so much for the opportunity, Dr. Min. We would be happy to represent the university together,” Donghyuck quickly says, putting on the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. His eyes sparkle in a way that reminds you of those shiny plastic dolls that end up having a demonic spirit in them. Then he looks over at you and beams through grit teeth, “Wouldn’t we?”
A fake smile of your own slowly spreads across your face like paralyzing venom as you glare at Donghyuck. “Yes, of course.”
“Good.” Dr. Min nods, satisfied. “I’m glad to see that you two are getting along better. I’ll see you on Friday at the airport, bright and early.”
You and Donghyuck say your goodbyes to her before marching out of her office like the twins from The Shining. The moment the door closes behind you, the two of you recoil from each other like being within 6 feet of one another will make your skin melt off. You both start speedwalking to the exit of the building at the same pace, completely parallel to each other on opposite sides of the hallway.
“You are such a two-faced liar,” you hiss in a hushed whisper, “Always making me look like the difficult one while you’re all happy-go-lucky, kumbaya.”
“Well, if it always looks like it, then maybe it’s the case, don’t you think?” Donghyuck sweetly retorts.
“Ooh, burn,” you say sarcastically, “Your words might actually have some merit if there wasn’t steam coming off the top of your overinflated, egoistic head. I know you’re just as pissed about this as I am.”
“Oh, Y/N. You are always so shortsighted,” Donghyuck sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “Don’t you see the bigger picture?
“Oh, this will be good,” you say wryly, crossing your arms and waiting for him to continue.
“Elementary, my dear Watson―” he starts.
“Doyle never wrote that line―” you quickly interrupt.
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t deserve to be Watson. You’re Moriarty.”
“Why do I feel like I have to go through the Labors of Hercules in order for you to get to your point whenever I talk to you?” you demand.
“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, this symposium will be a great opportunity to settle this once and for all. You know they always give out a Best Research Paper award at the end. We may have tied today, but our tiebreaker can be that award. Whoever wins gets the recommendation letter from Dr. Min,” Donghyuck smugly explains.
“You know, maybe there’s not just Helium in that skull of yours,” you smile, “I think that’s a great idea. I suppose a broken clock is right twice a day. ”
“You are so eloquent when it comes to insulting me, yet I don’t see any of that fire in your actual writing?” Donghyuck questions, blinking innocently.
“Oh, I’ll show you―”
You’re just about to rattle off another one of your eloquent insults when a loud howl of wind from the outside interrupts you, making the two of you jolt. Just as you reach the doors to the building, you see through the glass that the sky is a smoky, hazy gray. Rain is starting to fall, and it looks like it's about to become a torrential downpour in a little bit.
You curse under your breath, thinking about your five minute walk to the bus station and whether or not you can beat out the thunderstorm.
“Well, this certainly has to be a bad omen,” Donghyuck says unhelpfully.
You jerk your head towards him and jab a finger in his direction. “This isn’t over. I have to catch the bus before I get waterboarded by this rain. I’ll deal with you on Friday. Until then, stay out of my sight.”
Donghyuck shrugs, fishing out an umbrella from his backpack. Because of course he needs to flaunt the fact that he has an umbrella and you don’t.
“Sounds good to me,” he replies casually.
Steeling yourself for the rain and wind to pelt your face, you open the door in one fell swoop and walk outside―except you’re not getting wet because Donghyuck is trailing behind you and holding his umbrella above your head.
“Uh, why are you following me?” you ask as he moves to walk beside you, even though you know his car is parked in the opposite direction.
“Curb your main character syndrome, Y/N. I have somewhere to be, and it happens to be in the same direction,” he sighs.
“Where?” you probe, suspicious.
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” he answers snottily.
“Then why are you sharing your umbrella with me? Did you get visited by three ghosts on Christmas?” you demand.
“Is it really sharing if you’re just standing next to me and happen to be in the radius of my umbrella?” he ponders.
“You’re like a bridge troll that asks people three riddles before letting them pass,” you sigh.
“Please. As if you could ever solve my riddles.”
You respond by flipping him off, and he just grins.
The two of you walk the rest of the way in silence, the sounds of the rain growing heavier and cars speeding by serving as your only background noise. Occasionally, his elbow bumps your arm due to your proximity to each other. The mixture of the thick humidity in the air and the drifting scent of his fabric softener makes your head swim.
When you make it to the bus station, you don’t say bye to him, nor does he say it to you. Instead, he swiftly turns on his heel and walks back. He doesn’t look back at you either, so your eyes linger on his back for just a tad longer than they should.
You notice that one of his shoulders is damp, the sleeve of his shirt sticking to his skin, as raindrops roll down his arm.
Act II) Ooh, see that, there. Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?
Donghyuck is being eerily quiet this morning, and it’s starting to unnerve you.
He didn’t even jump at the opportunity to compliment Dr. Min’s new haircut (that she got specifically for this conference) the moment she arrived at the airport. When the three of you walked over to the security check line, he just stood there, thumbs tucked underneath the straps of his backpack as he bounced on the balls of his feet. If he heard even a second of the conversation you and Dr. Min were having, he gave no indication of it.
He’s never this silent unless he’s scheming something.
At one point, you started eyeing the security cameras nearby to see if you had accidentally gotten yourself on a prank show. As if this was all an elaborate setup by Donghyuck in order to humiliate you, and you weren’t going to the symposium after all. For a brief moment, you imagine Dr. Min also being in on the ruse and laughing with him about how awful your paper was and how funny it is that you actually thought you had a chance.
Maybe your therapist was right about you having paranoia issues.
Your delusions begin taking over your mind until you finally can’t take it anymore. Once the two of you get situated on the plane (Dr. Min got put up in first class, and you and Donghyuck were relegated to economy as lowly grad students), you finally ask:
“Okay, what is your problem? You’re acting weird―er than usual.”
Donghyuck is looking straight ahead, peering at the folded tray table on the seat in front of him. It takes him a second to acknowledge your words, turning towards you with a strained smirk.
“Wow, are you worried about me?” His voice trembles.
It isn’t until he turns towards you that you finally get a good look at his face. His normally glowing complexion is completely blanched, and his expression is strained, twisted into a grimace. In other words, he looks completely terrified. It scares you a little too.
“Jesus,” you breathe, leaning in, “now I kind of am. Are you sick?”
“I guess that’s one way to describe it,” he laughs, closing his eyes and leaning back. “Mentally and physically, yes. But not, like, in a stomach flu kind of way.”
You pause, studying his face. “Are you…afraid of flying?”
He opens one eye and glances over at you. “How much aura would I lose if I said yes?”
You lightly shove his arm. “Be serious. You have no aura anyways.”
“Ouch. That’s one of the more hurtful things you’ve said to me recently.”
“Seriously, are you okay?” you ask firmly.
“Of course,” he replies, inhaling but his breath hitches, “I’ll have to be. This paper isn’t going to present itself.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“What good would that do? Besides look super lame and give you another thing to hold against me,” he jokes.
You snort. “Why would I hold this against you when I have actual legitimate reasons to find you lame?”
Donghyuck looks genuinely taken aback, eyes widening like a newborn doe. His voice is quiet and hopeful, almost innocent, when he says, “...Yeah?”
He sounds so sincere that you feel your face grow warm. “That is so rude. What kind of monster do you think I am? No matter how much I hate you, I’m not such a terrible person that I would make fun of your phobias.”
He blinks. “No, that’s not what I meant―”
“Whatever. I don’t want you to think I have something over you now, so we’ll make it even,” you announce, “I’ll tell you one of my fears too.”
“Y/N, you don’t have to―”
“When we were going through security earlier and you were being super quiet, I fully thought you and Dr. Min had planned an elaborate prank on me in which I wasn’t actually going to the symposium and that you were only letting me believe I was when, in fact, my paper was terrible,” you confess, blurting everything out in one breath.
Donghyuck stares at you, completely bewildered. “So, you think I’m such a monster that I would―”
“My point being,” you continue, “that I have an irrational fear of being left out. Because I’m not good enough.”
“Y/N―”
“But this doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna kick your ass at the symposium. I will be getting that award. Just…sometimes I gaslight myself into thinking the opposite,” you quickly add, realizing that you may have just given away a little too much of yourself.
That’s the thing with Donghyuck. It’s really easy to forget about everything else when you’re bickering with him. You’ve never had to worry about what to say to him. He’s so smug and annoying and irritating that it makes you feel like you can do anything if it means being able to beat him.
Maybe that’s why you freaked out so much when he was so quiet this morning. Maybe that’s why you’re telling him this now.
“You know, you could’ve just said spiders or something,” he finally says after a long pause, a shit-eating grin finding its way to his lips. The color has come back to his face, and he’s got that mischievous spark in his eye again.
“Firstly, I’m not afraid of spiders. Secondly, you’re an unbelievably huge asshole.” You cross your arms. “I can’t believe―”
“Y/N.” Donghyuck reaches over and gently tugs on the sleeve of your sweater. His touch makes you fall silent. “I’m only going to say this once. And if you try to bring it up again, I’ll deny it, so listen carefully.”
You roll your eyes, waiting for another terrible joke.
“Look at me,” he whispers, leaning in to make sure your eyes meet his. His brown eyes are so dark that they almost look black, like pools of obsidian, yet his gaze is so warm and firm as if you were being enveloped by a warm sunrise. The soft expression on his face anchors you to your seat, and you can’t bring yourself to look away despite knowing you probably should.
“You are brilliant,” he states, as if they’re the truest words in the world.
His sincerity catches you completely off guard, and your mind goes blank. All you can think about is the way he’s looking at you like he’s never been more sure of anything else.
The two of you flinch when you hear the roar of the airplane’s engine, indicating that it’s about to take off. Donghyuck clenches his jaw and pulls away, and you can see his entire body tense as he grips the armrest so hard that his knuckles turn white.
Ripping your eyes off of him, you reach under the seat for your backpack and fish out your AirPods with trembling fingers. You’re still so shaken from earlier that you randomly select a playlist before handing one of the AirPods to Donghyuck. When he raises an eyebrow, you simply reply, “To help you relax.”
He wordlessly takes it and puts it in his ear, taking in the song. A few more seconds pass by before he, stifling a laugh, asks, “So, your idea of relaxation is playing death metal at full volume?”
You gasp, looking back down at your phone and realizing you had selected your road rage mix by accident. Too embarrassed to admit it, you reach over to take the AirPod out. “Fine, be ungrateful then. I’ll listen by myself.”
Donghyuck tuts and leans his head away from your hand, nearly hitting it against the window. “Excuse me, I am trying to relax.”
“You’re obnoxious.”
“Can’t hear you over the sounds of my relaxation,” he says in a sing-song voice.
“Whatever,” you sigh, but you’re fighting a smile.
Throughout the flight, you occasionally sneak glances at Donghyuck, checking to see if he’s uncomfortable. He’s always fast asleep, head leaning against the window and lips slightly parted. To your relief, he looks much more serene than he did at the start.
He still doesn’t budge when the flight attendant comes around to hand out Biscoff cookies, and you’re tempted to steal his pack for yourself but decide against it. Instead, you begrudgingly put them in his lap. If you were anywhere else, you one-hundred percent would, but it doesn’t feel right this time.
After scarfing down your cookies, you drift off yourself and don’t wake up until a crackly announcement from the captain that your flight will be landing soon startles you awake. When you look over at Donghyuck, he’s still asleep. Shifting in your seat, you hear plastic crinkling in your lap, and you look down in confusion.
A pack of Biscoff cookies.
Taking a shaky deep breath, you lean back against your seat. The two-pack, cinnamon-flavored shortbread cookies sit in your lap like a ticking time bomb. You think about sharing an umbrella under the rain. You think about Donghyuck’s fear of flying. You think about how he thinks you’re brilliant. You think about these damn Biscoff cookies.
Suddenly, you wish you weren’t sitting arm-to-arm with Donghyuck; you wish he was always a hallway’s distance from you. Because that was the distance that you can think clearly when he’s around you. Because that was the distance before―
Before.
Act III) Nonsense! You don't need a man to wear a beautiful dress!
“Somehow, there was a misunderstanding and only a single room was booked for the both of you.”
Well, so much for distance.
Dr. Min looks like she wants to crawl in a hole. “I am so sorry, you guys. The hotel is used to each university only bringing one student, so they weren’t expecting two. And the hotel is fully booked for the symposium, so they don’t have an extra room.”
You and Donghyuck exchange defeated glances, too exhausted from the flight (for many reasons) to even react.
“None of the nearby hotels have any available either,” Dr. Min continues, “so, I can’t believe I have to ask this of you guys, but would you mind sharing a room? The room also has a sofa pull-out bed, and maybe you guys can rock-paper-scissors for it.”
This certainly throws a wrench in your Avoid Lee Donghyuck Like the Plague weekend plans, but Dr. Min looks so stressed that you really don’t want to further complicate things for her. When you look over at Donghyuck (something that you had been explicitly trying not to do), he’s already looking at you, waiting for your answer.
“It’s fine,” you finally say, sighing, “We’re all grown-ups, after all.”
Dr. Min turns to Donghyuck, expectant. He just shrugs, replying, “If Y/N’s okay with it.”
“Great. Thank you guys so much!” Dr. Min exclaims, clapping her hands together before handing you the room key. “You guys can take some time to get some rest and freshen up. Don’t forget we’re going to have dinner with a few of my colleagues tonight too. Meet me here at 7:30 sharp.”
The two of you say your goodbyes before trudging over to the elevator. You don’t say anything to each other even as you enter your cramped room, equipped with a single queen-sized bed and a sofa pull-out couch that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since the 60s.
You and Donghyuck just stare in disbelief for a moment before he turns towards you and holds out a fist. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Huh?”
“Rock, paper, scissors!” You don’t even have time to react as Donghyuck starts counting down, lowering his fist on every word.
Without thinking, you pick scissors, only for him to pick rock.
“Looks like I get the bed,” he says smugly.
“You ambushed me. That’s not fair,” you demand, crossing your arms.
“Two out of three?”
“Rockpaperscissors!” you blurt at the speed of light, trying to catch him off guard.
This time, he picks scissors while you pick paper.
“You suck,” you snap, shoving his hand away and stomping towards the pull-out couch before dropping your bag on it. Donghyuck’s laugh rings throughout the room like a bell from behind you.
This feels more like before―when he pissed you off more than anything. Donghyuck from before was too nice, too soft. It’s actually better that you’re sleeping on the musty pull-out couch; this is more of your dynamic with him. Before he shared his umbrella with you. Before he told you about his fear of flying. Before he called you brilliant. Before you nearly had a panic attack over some Biscoff cookies.
“I’m getting ready first,” you say petulantly.
“Be my guest,” he replies, raising his hands up like he’s surrendering, “Take as long as you need.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Because of the double standard, of course. Women have to uphold a much higher beauty standard, and there is more societal pressure for them to feel like they have to dress up―”
“Holy performative male.” You roll your eyes. “Do you cry when you think about women getting their periods, too?”
“Only when I’m drinking my matcha and reading Sylvia Plath.” He winks.
After grabbing a change of clothes and your skincare regimen, you promptly push past him and close the bathroom door in his face.
.
.
.
In the end, it does take you a while to get ready. Between doing your skincare, putting on a full face of makeup, and styling your hair, you made sure to put in extra effort since you could be potentially networking with Dr. Min’s colleagues. You even brought your best evening gown in anticipation.
When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Donghyuck is sitting on the bed with his laptop, furiously typing away. His eyes briefly glance up at the sound of the door opening and returns to the screen before he does a double take, eyes widening when he finally sees you.
“What are you doing?” you ask, nodding towards his laptop.
“Oh.” He stops for a moment. “My presentation notes. For the presentation. Tomorrow.”
“What a vast vocabulary you have there, English major,” you tease, sitting on the edge of the bed so that you can slip your heels on. “Are you that nervous for tomorrow?”
Donghyuck laughs, but it’s more like a breathless huff that he releases. “Something like that.”
“You’re talking in riddles again. Whatever, just hurry up and get ready. We have to be down there in forty minutes,” you say after glancing at your phone.
Clearing his throat, he gives you a quick two-finger salute before closing his laptop and grabbing his stuff. He stiffly walks around you at an odd angle, as if you had an invisible force field around you, and keeps his eyes straight ahead.
While Donghyuck is getting ready, you scroll on TikTok, watching meditation videos and tutorials on breathing exercises in order to relax. You so badly want to make a good impression on Dr. Min’s colleagues (and, subsequently, on Dr. Min too) that you’re making yourself nauseous from imagining all the ways things could go wrong.
You’re in the middle of a third attempt to completely clear your mind for a meditation exercise when Donghyuck steps out of the bathroom. Like the pain he is, he completely destroys any hope of a clear and sound mind as he walks over to you.
Donghyuck is wearing a navy blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and the top two buttons undone, tucked into a pair of black slacks. His hair is lightly gelled, and you hate how effortlessly handsome he is.
“What are you doing?” He asks, gesturing to your phone that’s still playing a video of a woman sitting cross-legged and telling you to breathe in and out.
Hurriedly, you lock your phone and put it away in your purse. “Nothing.”
“Why are you watching meditation videos? Nervous?”
“Why do you ask if you already know?” you retort.
“I enjoy the validation,” he replies smoothly, “So, is that a yes?”
“Yes, if you must know, I am nervous. Not all of us are natural-born ass-kissers, you know,” you hiss, “I need to get on their good side. Connections are everything in academia.”
“Ah, but you don’t need meditation or ass-kissing to make a good impression. You forget the simplest method of all,” he points out.
“And that is?”
“Being yourself,” he beams.
“Thanks for the advice, Sesame Street. You think I wouldn’t be doing that if it worked?” you ask wryly.
“How would you know if you’ve never tried it?” He crosses his arms.
You stand up, suddenly feeling slightly offended. “What are you implying?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
“That is so rich coming from you. You’re the fakest of us all,” you snap, jabbing a finger in his chest.
“I never said it works for me.” Donghyuck smiles, tilting his head.
You pause, blinking as your hand falls limply to your side. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know?”
When you can’t think of a response, he shrugs. “Or maybe you don’t.”
You watch him walk past you to get the room key from the nightstand, slipping it into his wallet, before grabbing your purse from the bed and handing it to you. “Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.”
And just like that, dinner is the last thing on your mind.
.
.
.
“It’s so surreal seeing you two in such fancy clothes. You guys look amazing!” Dr. Min gushes, as the three of you take your seats inside a fancy restaurant whose name you can’t even pronounce. A salad from here probably costs a month’s worth of rent. Luckily, you’re not paying.
“You look stunning tonight as well, Dr. Min,” Donghyuck instantly responds, turning up his ass-kissing to 100.
You just sip on your glass of water, trying to distract yourself with a task by picking up and setting down your glass continuously. Eventually, a waiter comes by and dramatically refills your glass without you even asking. You murmur a quick thank you before going right back to your routine.
“Oh, here they are!” Dr. Min stands up and waves to someone behind you, and you quickly set your water back down. You smooth out the bunched up dress in your lap and tuck your hair behind your ears. As Dr. Min ushers her colleagues over to your table, you feel Donghyuck’s warm hand gently on your knee, stilling your leg that you didn’t even know you were furiously bouncing.
He doesn’t say a word, only looking at you for a second before pulling away, standing up and plastering on a big grin to greet Dr. Min’s colleagues. Your leg burns like his fingerprints individually branded you.
Mind whirring, you shakily stand up and hope that your face is doing something similar to a smile.
“Donghyuck, Y/N, these are my colleagues. This is Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory,” Dr. Min introduces, gesturing to two middle-aged men in suits who are both wearing glasses. Frankly, they look identical to you, but such is the case with the elites in academia.
You all say your greetings before sitting down, and thankfully, Dr. Min orders the food for you, rattling off fancy French dishes that you couldn’t even begin to spell. She also orders a few bottles of super expensive wine, though you and Donghyuck choose to abstain. Despite your initial nerves, the dinner isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be. The conversation flows naturally between everyone, and you even get a few laughs from Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory, which gives you a slight confidence boost. It isn’t until dinner is starting to wind down, and the professors are flushed and slightly slurring that Dr. Gregory turns towards you, saying, “You know, Y/N, you’re such a pretty girl. If only you would smile a bit more. You’d be a real stunner if you smiled more.”
The pungent scent of wine on his breath wafts over to you as he continues, “Don’t be so uptight, you know?”
Your entire body freezes, and you suddenly feel sick to your stomach. This isn’t exactly your first time dealing with creepy old men, but you’ve never had to do so with creepy old men that could control your future in your career. Especially not with your mentor’s colleagues―the mentor that you revere and want so desperately to impress.
You feel your face burn with shame and humiliation, as you try to think of something to say that will diffuse the situation but also not offend Dr. Gregory. Dr. Min and Dr. Collins look uncomfortable as well, but they don’t seem like they know what to do either.
“Oh, lighten up! It was just a joke,” Dr. Gregory finally says after noticing the tense atmosphere, “You young people never have a sense of humor.”
“Pray tell, what was the joke?” Donghyuck asks, his words dripping with a venomous sweetness. He’s gripping the cloth napkin in his lap with such strength that you think he might rip it. He’s seething with so much rage that you can feel it radiate from his body like heat waves. You’re worried he’s about to jump across the table and attack Dr. Gregory, so you slowly reach under the table and place your hand on top of his.
It’s not worth it, you want to tell him.
Without looking at you, Donghyuck releases the napkin and flips your hand with your palm facing upwards before lacing his fingers through yours, keeping your entwined fingers tucked into his lap. He holds your hand tightly but not enough to hurt. Just enough that you know he’s not going to let this slide.
“Explain the joke,” Donghyuck continues to press, “What’s so fucking funny?”
Dr. Gregory just stares at him in a drunken daze, and Dr. Min hesitantly glances between the two, finally stammering, “N-Now, that language isn’t appropriate, Donghyuck. However, Dr. Gregory needs to apologize to Y/N, too. Gosh, Dr. Gregory, you always get too drunk for your own good.”
“You know, Dr. Gregory,” Donghyuck starts, completely ignoring her, “you’d be a real stunner if you went to an AA meeting instead of lurking around at research symposiums and sexually harassing female students.”
“How dare you accuse me of―” Dr. Gregory begins sputtering, face turning even redder.
“Oh, lighten up! It was just a joke. What, you old perverts don’t have a sense of humor?” Donghyuck raises his voice, so that the surrounding tables can hear him. He stands to his feet, taking you with him, before using his free hand to slam a glass of water in front of Dr. Gregory. He uses so much force that the glass clatters loudly against the wooden table, and water splashes all over the table and Dr. Gregory’s lap.
“Sober up, you piece of shit. Talk to her like that again, and I’ll make sure you’re drinking your fancy wine through a tube in your neck.”
Donghyuck drags your chair out of the way, making sure to scrape the metal against the floor so that it makes a screeching noise, and leads you away from the table and out of the restaurant. Against your better judgment, you look back at the table. The three professors just sit there, shoulders slumped, looking smaller and smaller as you walk away. In the past, they stood tall like the highest peak of a mountain that you could never reach. Now, you can’t help but think that they look so…pathetic.
Donghyuck doesn’t speak to you as you make your way back to the hotel; he just holds your hand like you’ll slip away if he doesn’t. After a few minutes, he takes your intertwined fingers and puts them in his pants pocket. He’s walking so fast that you start to stumble over the uneven pavement in your heels.
“Wait, Donghyuck―”
You nearly trip, but he quickly turns around and catches you. His hands are on your waist, warm and firm, as he carefully steadies you.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say quietly.
Donghyuck takes in a deep breath, his hands linger around your waist as if he was the one being steadied. When he speaks, he unconsciously pulls you in a bit closer. “Yeah, I should’ve done a lot worse.”
“Come on, you’re a grad student who’s cooped up at home all day writing research papers. You’re not exactly Mike Tyson,” you try to tease. You’ve never seen him this angry before.
“I could definitely kick his teeth in.” He looks a little too determined for your liking.
“And then get an assault charge?” You sigh. “I’m not paying your bail.”
He seems to soften up a bit as he studies your face. His hands flinch at your sides, seemingly realizing that he’s cradling you against him, before he takes a step back. His palms drag against your dress as he lets go of your waist.
“Are you okay?” Donghyuck doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, as he lifts them back up before putting them back down.
“Of course.” You give him a halfhearted smile. “Not exactly my first rodeo with this kind of stuff.”
You can see a muscle in his jaw spasm.
“It was nice seeing you cuss him out though. Took the words right out of my mouth. But, you know, I would probably get called a bitch or something if I said it.” You shrug.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Misogyny?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you on your performative male shit again?”
“Well, anyone who knows me knows that I am a staunch feminist. An ally, if you will.” Donghyuck raises a fist in the air, and you roll your eyes, though you can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. When you meet his gaze again, he hesitantly chews on his lip for a moment before continuing, “But…I’m also sorry that you had to listen to him speak to you like that. I wish there was something I could do that was more productive than kicking his teeth in.”
“Hm,” you hum, tapping your chin, “I suppose I could forgive you if you ordered room service. I’m starving. All that bougie French finger food Dr. Min ordered basically evaporated into thin air the moment I put it in my mouth.”
You give him a mischievous grin, and the tension visibly leaves his body.
“Deal.”
.
.
.
That’s how the two of you end up lounging on the bed together, a pepperoni pizza and chicken and waffles feast sprawled out in front of you. One of the television channels is playing a rerun of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, so you and Donghyuck keep your eyes glued to the screen like children with their iPads. Occasionally, one of you will comment on how much both of you hate Gale and kick your feet when Peeta says his iconic “if it weren’t for the baby” line.
Once the movie is over and the food is completely cleared out, you both flop onto your backs, feeling like stuffed turkeys with how much you ate. The two of you lay there in content silence for a second before you let out a sigh.
It was a lot easier to not think about anything when you had all these distractions, but now that the night is winding down, reality is setting in quickly.
“Tomorrow is going to be so awkward,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Dr. Min is probably pissed.”
Donghyuck furrows his eyebrows. “Surely, you don’t mean she would be pissed at us. Not when it was her creepy ass friend’s fault.”
“Well, we certainly didn’t act very professional either.”
“Y/N. Look at me, please.” You feel his hands gently swat yours away from your face.
Begrudgingly, you turn your head towards him. His face is a lot closer than you’re expecting, and your eyes wander as you start to count all of the moles on his smooth skin. Your gaze briefly flickers to his heart-shaped lips before hurriedly traveling back up to his eyes.
“You are not the one who should be worried about tomorrow,” he states firmly, “Dr. Min is the one in a position of authority. It’s her job to protect you.”
“I hope that’s the case,” you mutter.
“It is. She will.” He sounds so sure.
“Well, it doesn’t matter―”
“It does.”
“―I just need to get through this presentation, and I’ll never have to see any of these people ever again.” Truthfully, you probably will since academia circles run small. Donghyuck knows that too.
“Do you―” He hesitates, scanning your face carefully. “Are you going to file a report against Dr. Gregory?”
You laugh humorlessly. “Would anyone believe me?”
“You have three witnesses.”
“That I would be asking to jeopardize their own careers for me,” you point out, “I know we’ve had quite a spirited rivalry, but even I wouldn’t try to sabotage you like this.”
His expression is twisted into something you can’t quite discern. “What―”
“I’m not going to file a report,” you state matter-of-factly, “It’s not worth it.”
Donghyuck goes quiet, clearly trying to collect himself, before whispering hoarsely, “It’s your decision.”
He stares at you for a very long time when you don’t respond. Without even realizing it, the two of you had turned your bodies toward one another on the bed. Your legs are curled upwards, and if you wanted to, you could shift just slightly and bump his thighs. If you wanted to, you could reach out and brush the stray curl from his eyes.
“Y/N.” He murmurs your name so softly that you almost don’t hear him. In fact, the syllables blend together almost as if he were sleeptalking.
“Yeah?” You hold your breath.
“Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever you decide to do, just know that I’m on your side. Always.”
You don’t remember what you said back; you don’t even remember what he looked like when he said it, no matter how desperately you try. You almost wonder if it was just a dream.
All you know is that you wake up wrapped in Lee Donghyuck’s arms the next morning. His bicep is under your neck while his hand is cradling the back of your head. His other arm is slung over your waist, fingers splayed across the small of your back. The hem of your evening gown has ridden up to your thighs, and your bare legs are tangled with his. Your cheek is tucked snugly into the crook of his neck, and every time he exhales, you feel his lips brush the crown of your head. He smells like faded cologne and warm skin.
Sunlight streams into your eyelids when you blearily blink, but you’re so distracted by the peaceful expression on Donghyuck’s face that you barely notice. Without even thinking, you brush the stray curl from his eyes. He slightly stirs at the movement before pulling you in closer, stilling once again after another second.
Against your better judgment, you lean forward, burrowing your face into his neck and feeling his skin against yours. As you listen to the sound of his breathing, it doesn’t take you long to fall back asleep.
Act IV) But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
When you wake up, you’re under the covers. Donghyuck is gone.
Except when you turn to the right, he’s curled up in a cramped fetal position on the pull-out couch with no blanket. His back is facing you, but you can see his shoulders steadily rise up and down.
You’re more impressed by how deeply you were sleeping to not notice him tuck you under the covers and then set up the couch.
Shit, what if you drooled on him and that’s why he moved?
Your hand frantically flies to the corner of your mouth, but it’s dry. Almost cracked. Then you realize that you slept in your makeup, and your skin is probably gasping for any sort of hydration.
Swinging your feet over the side of the bed, you tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Carefully shutting the door behind you, you quickly begin your morning routine of brushing your teeth, washing your face, and taking the hottest shower you can handle. You stand still, letting the scorching water run down your body, as you recall the events from the night before. In the end, not even the scalding temperature can burn away the feeling of being enveloped in Donghyuck’s arms.
Furiously scrubbing your face, you wish you had just gotten up and moved to the pull-out couch when you woke up the first time. Instead of cuddling Donghyuck like a psycho. He probably felt you clinging to him like a koala and promptly escaped, even though you were the one who lost rock-paper-scissors.
Better yet, you wish you had never come here in the first place. Maybe then your professional and…personal lives wouldn’t be in complete shambles.
Eventually, the water starts to run cold, and you have no choice but to step out into the steam-filled bathroom. Your phone chimes on the corner of the sink, and you reach over to check it―
Your heart is nearly regurgitated out of your mouth.
It’s a text from Dr. Min inviting you to breakfast. Just you and her.
.
.
.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me privately.” Dr. Min is nervously wringing her hands as you awkwardly push around the omelette in front of you.
Honestly, you had contemplated waking Donghyuck up and dragging him down with you, but then you came to your senses. You’re not sure when the switch happened that he’s the first person you turn to for help, and it freaks you out exponentially. Especially when just 48 hours ago, you would’ve rather hacked off your arm than ask him for anything.
Besides, this is nothing you can’t handle. You’re pretty sure.
“No problem.” You try your best to look cool and composed.
“I wanted to apologize for Dr. Gregory’s behavior last night. He got way too drunk, and it was completely unacceptable. He also wants to extend his sincerest apologies. I will make sure this never happens again.”
You’re not sure what to say in response. She’s waiting for you expectantly, almost as if she wants you to exonerate her from her guilt. Normally, you would rush to tell her that everything is okay and it’s all in the past now. But the expression on her face reminds you too much of last night, of how small she seemed.
“Okay.” You nod stiffly. “I appreciate you letting me know.”
There’s an awkward, drawn out pause between the two of you before Dr. Min clears her throat. “Okay. Good.”
You start getting up to leave, but you hear a shrill, “Wait!”
In all your years of knowing her, you’ve never seen Dr. Min look this nervous before. She can barely even maintain eye contact with you as she fidgets with her sleeve. “I, um, need to talk to you about something else. About the symposium.”
So much has happened that you’ve barely even thought about the symposium. It almost relieves you to hear about something so normal, considering how…not normal everything has been.
That is, until she says her next words:
“There’s been a bit of a mix-up. Initially, they were planning on having a keynote speaker. However, the speaker ended up canceling, so the schedule was made without his inclusion. The problem now is that the speaker informed us last-minute that he’ll be able to make it after all. So, I’ve been asked by the organizers to cut one of my students from the program, since I was the only one who brought two.”
You shakily inhale when it dawns on you that this is the real reason she called you down here. That it was always going to be you. The truth of being inferior feels like someone just knocked the wind out of you. You’re struggling to breathe properly, but you will yourself to maintain your composure; you’ll be damned if you have a panic attack in front of Dr. Min.
But all that goes through your head is not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.
“It’s not because your paper isn’t up to par,” she quickly insists, “in fact, your paper was brilliant―”
She couldn’t have picked a shittier adjective. That word is another gut punch.
“―it’s just that Donghyuck is more of what they’re looking for. What they’re expecting.”
That makes you pause. “What?”
“The judges have their…biases. They’re much more inclined to respond to him,” Dr. Min responds vaguely, almost as if she’s too afraid to say what she really means aloud.
“Because Donghyuck is a man?”
“Trust me, as a woman, I understand. It’s ridiculous that academia is still such a deeply patriarchal system. I’m just trying to play by their rules. If Donghyuck gets the Best Research Paper award, it’ll look really good for the university,” she explains as if it’ll all make sense to you now.
“So, you acknowledge how academia has fostered an incredibly sexist environment, yet you want to continue upholding that culture?” you ask incredulously, “Or is it because you’ve, against all odds, already succeeded in this environment so you don’t want to upset the status quo? You’re willing to close the door behind you if it means that you can retain your position?”
“I have always championed for more female scholars in our field, Y/N. This is different. It’s beyond that,” she answers defensively.
“Because your reputation is on the line?”
Dr. Min purses her lips. “I am doing what is best for our school. I hope you’ll understand that some day. I’m sure Donghyuck will as well.”
“We’ll see about that.” You clench your jaw.
“Don’t further complicate things,” she warns, clearly perceiving your words as a threat, “I really am sorry that this happened. I know this would have been a wonderful addition to your CV and your application to the PhD program. I promise I will write you that letter of recommendation if things go smoothly today.”
You actually laugh at her, a hysterical shriek bubbling in your throat. “You were my hero, you know.”
Without waiting for her response, you get up from your seat and walk away, never once turning around to look back at her. You’re not sure how you gathered up the strength to return to your room without collapsing once, but you swear you’re going to faint when Donghyuck peeks his head out of the bathroom when he hears you come in. He has a running blowdryer in one hand and a round brush in the other. He looks so happy to see you that you feel nauseous.
“Hey! I was wondering where you went. For a moment, I thought my snoring scared you off―what’s wrong?” In an instant, he’s set everything down and is making his way over to you.
You sidestep him before dragging your numb body to the edge of the bed, sitting down with your back turned against him. Squeezing your burning eyes shut, you try to remember the breathing exercises you had been watching the day before.
“Are you sick?” You hear Donghyuck’s soothing voice in front of you, but you don’t dare look at him. “Do you need anything?”
You shake your head, feeling a sob rack your body.
“Please tell me what’s wrong. What can I do? Tell me what to do, Y/N.” He sounds so scared that you know you won’t be able to tell him the truth. You’re not cruel enough to make him throw away this opportunity for you.
“Nothing,” you finally manage to get out. When you open your eyes, he’s kneeling in front of you, desperately scanning your face. What a sight he’s probably getting with all the tears and snot. “I’m not presenting today. There was a scheduling issue, and they had to cut someone from the program.”
“What? Why would they cut someone when it’s their own fault? And why you?”
You shrug halfheartedly. “Dr. Min didn’t tell me. Maybe my paper was just not as good as yours.”
“No,” he responds immediately, “that’s impossible. There had to have been another reason. If anything, Dr. Min should have cut me. I was the one who acted out of line.”
You smile bitterly. “When you do it, you’re a badass. When I do it, I’m a bitch.”
It was a sentiment you had echoed last night, but you had no idea just how ironic those words would turn out.
“Then take my place.” Donghyuck says it like it’s the simplest solution in the world.
“What, no,” you say in bewilderment, “Dr. Min has made it clear that she wants you to present. Besides, your name is on the program.”
“Fine. I won’t present either.” He crosses his arms and looks away like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Are you insane? What’s the point of all this if neither of us presents?” you demand.
“I’m not going to do it if you’re not.”
“Don’t you want the recommendation letter from Dr. Min?”
He stares at you in disbelief. “You think I care about that?”
“In case you forgot, you’re the one who suggested the competition―”
“Y/N, that was before―” he pauses, wetting his lips, “before this.”
Neither of you seem to know what this is.
“It hasn’t been a competition to me for a while now. The letter, the award, this whole symposium, none of that matters to me. I just care about you.” Donghyuck’s voice breaks slightly. “The only thing I want is you.”
“But you hate me. We’re…sworn enemies.” Your voice is barely a whisper.
That gets a chuckle out of him. “Maybe, initially. Maybe I didn’t like how much smarter you were than me. Maybe I didn’t enjoy the way you would always rip me a new one during class discussions. But―no matter how much I fought it, I started looking for you in every room I stepped into and only cared about what you had to say. I told myself a million different reasons for why I was acting the way I was. I thought whatever was forming was loathing, that you were just someone that I needed to prove I was better than. I convinced myself that I needed to tease and annoy you in any possible way because it was a tactic to gain the upperhand. When in reality, I was just doing whatever I could to get your attention. I suggested the competition because I would finally stop thinking about you if we settled our rivalry once and for all. But, Y/N―”
Donghyuck gently reaches up and cups your cheek with his hand, running his thumb along your cheekbone. You subconsciously lean into his touch, eyes fluttering.
“Y/N, the award has always been yours. You’ve won from the very start, and I never stood a chance. I’m not doing this without you.”
The boy you’ve spent your entire college career trying to outshine looks at you like you’re his North Star.
Your fingers slide up his forearm before gently closing around his wrist, cradling his hand against your face. Tilting your head downwards so that you’re level with his kneeling position, you place your forehead against his. Donghyuck lets out a soft gasp like you just sent an electric shock through his body.
“You have to do it. Something good has to come out of this shitshow,” you insist firmly.
He tries to pull away to protest. “No―”
“You said you’d be on my side.”
He looks at you like you’ve physically hurt him.
“Okay.” He finally relents, slumping his shoulders. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
You surge forward, wrapping your arms around him. Donghyuck catches you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, burying his face in your neck and holding you like he exists only to do so. He holds you so lovingly that you almost break and tell him the truth.
But you don’t.
Instead, you let him go and tell him to hurry up and get ready. You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you even as he walks away.
When the two of you finally make your way down to the conference room where the symposium is being held, Dr. Min is already waiting. You slightly flinch when you see her, and to your dismay, Donghyuck seems to notice. He gives you a quizzical glance before looking at Dr. Min, gauging her facial expression. Dr. Min, on the other hand, pretends like nothing happened, and it scares you how good she is at it.
“There you guys are! Come on, Donghyuck is up first.” She ushers you both behind a makeshift stage that they’ve set up. “Okay, make sure to take a few deep breaths. Don’t bury your nose in your notes. Make sure to make eye contact with the audience.”
Donghyuck isn’t paying attention to her whatsoever. Instead, he’s peering around the stage, clearly up to something. You don’t even have time to ask him what he’s planning before the announcer calls his name.
Suddenly, Donghyuck doubles over, clutching his stomach in pain. “Owww!”
He drags the last syllable, getting progressively louder the longer he holds the word. Both you and Dr. Min slightly jump at the volume of his voice.
“What’s wrong?” she asks frantically.
“Oh, my stomach is killing me,” he moans dramatically, “I think it might be the shitty French food we ate last night. Oh, I’m going to throw up.”
He makes dry heaving noises, and Dr. Min takes a step back. “Um, okay. Let’s get you to a bathroom.”
“What about the presentation?” he asks in between vomiting sounds.
“You can’t present if you’re sick. We’ll―”
“Oh, I have a wonderful idea.” He claps his hands together. “How about Y/N presents in my place?”
You should’ve known Donghyuck would have something up his sleeve.
“And look! A copy of Y/N’s paper magically showed up, so she’s all set! Wow, Shakespeare must be in the building with us on this beautiful afternoon.” He whips out the folded pieces of paper in his back pocket that you had thought was his paper. When he notices your death glare, he places the back of his hand on his forehead. “Oh, I feel so sick…”
“Lee Donghyuck, I’m going to kill―”
“We don’t have time for this,” Dr. Min snaps, snatching the paper from Donghyuck and shoving it into your arms. “I don’t know how you two planned this, but I’ll deal with you afterwards. Just go and present.”
“But I―”
Dr. Min grabs your shoulders and essentially manhandles you onto the stage. You stumble out in front of a giant crowd full of confused scholars who definitely just heard all the ruckus Donghyuck made. Awkwardly shuffling over to the podium, you clear your throat into the mic by accident, causing a piercing feedback noise.
“Oh, uh, sorry about that. I’m not Lee Donghyuck. He had…other issues to deal with. My name is Y/N, and I’m here to present on―”
You pause for a moment when you look down at your paper. Written in red ink are loopy, sprawling letters at the top of the page that read:
You are the badass.
Looking back up at the expectant crowd, you take the pages of your paper and rip them in half, the sounds of paper tearing echoing throughout the room.
“I originally planned on presenting about female empowerment in the 1999 film 10 Things I Hate About You compared to the source material, The Taming of the Shrew. However, I cannot, in good faith, speak on this topic without first recounting my own experiences this past weekend. Isn’t it a Shakespearean twist that all we do is sit around and discuss political and sociological issues being acknowledged in works of literature yet we can’t recognize those same problems in our own field? I hope my words force us to acknowledge our own internalized biases.”
.
.
.
In the end, you don’t receive the Best Research Paper award.
In fact, security escorts you out of the conference room shortly after you finish speaking.
You’re not sure what the repercussions of what you just did are going to be, but you can’t find it in you to care. When you’re deposited in the hotel lobby, Donghyuck is already waiting for you.
“How’s your stomach?” you ask sarcastically.
He just shakes his head and chuckles incredulously. “You always find a way to one-up me.”
“So, you’re admitting defeat?” You close the distance between the two of you, stepping so close that your chests nearly touch.
Donghyuck swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Y/N, I―”
You throw your arms around his neck and bring him down to press your lips against his. He snakes an arm around your waist and lifts you up, pulling you tightly against him. He kisses you like he’s on his dying breath, and he holds you like you’re everything he ever dreamed of. For the first time in your life, you know you are.
“Complete and utter defeat,” he whispers against your lips.
Academic validation and beating Lee Donghyuck are your only motivations in life. You end up achieving only one of the two.
.
.
.
It isn’t until when you get back from the symposium the next week that you discover multiple sexual harassment claims were filed against Dr. Gregory after your speech and he was fired by the university. Additionally, Dr. Min was put on administrative leave for allegations of discrimination and abuse of power. She apparently is also being investigated separately by the organizers of the symposium for attempted bribery of the judges by not disclosing the fact that she habitually took them to dinner (who were actually Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory).
“Now, that’s some Shakespearean karma.” Donghyuck winks when he shows you the news article.
“I guess we’re not getting those recommendation letters.” You sigh.
He throws his head back and laughs.
Lacing your fingers through his, you lean your head against his shoulder as the two of you walk down the sidewalk―the sounds of the rain growing heavier against your shared umbrella and cars speeding by serving as your only background noise.
pairing: slytherin! haechan x ravenclaw! fem. reader
genre: rivals to lovers, smut, angst
wc: 21k+ (full fic)
summary: Lee Haechan was a pure-blood heir raised to hate everything you are. You, a half-blood girl who knew better than to let your guard down around someone like him. You were never supposed to want each other—until one disastrous kiss shatters everything you’ve worked to protect.
cw: explicit sexual content, jealousy themes, toxic family dynamics, blood status discrimination, public sex, use of magic during sex, oral (m. receiving), marking, unprotected sex, mean lee haechan, miscommunication, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, secret/forbidden relationship.
a/n: soo i did pass out from exhaustion last night hence why this is being posted later than intended lol. while writing this fic, i had the realization that magic can make the smut much more interesting and i explored that here so enjoy akskdkd pls let me know what you guys think<33
READ PART 1 HERE
"You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love." — Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
Your mother never summoned you to her office.
Conversations, when they happened, took place over tea in the sunroom, or in passing as she adjusted her hair by the mirror. But this time, a folded note slid under your bedroom door. Her unmistakable script read 'We need to talk. Office. Now.' The familiar knot in your stomach that came with anything regarding her tightened.
She was standing behind her polished desk when you walked in, every line of her posture sharp with restrained tension.
“I’ve just received the updated intern roster,” she said coolly. “Care to explain why you’re working with Lee Haechan?”
Your lips parted, caught completely off guard. “It’s not like I requested him. We were assigned.”
“I can fix that.”
“What?”
“There’s an opening in the Magical Transportation Division,” she replied, crisp as frost. “I’ll make the arrangements by tomorrow.”
“No.”
The word slipped out before you could temper it.
Her brow arched. “Excuse me?”
“You’re the one who forced me into this internship, mother. You wanted me to be useful, and now that I’m doing it, there's suddenly a problem?”
“I obviously didn’t expect them to pair you with that boy.” she scoffed.
You stepped forward. “I’ve already started the project and we’re making great progress. I’m not switching just because you don’t like that boy”
There was a second of silence. Her face didn’t change, but you felt the temperature in the room drop. It was rare for you to contradict your mother’s orders. The few times you did, she made sure you regretted it in some way.
“His father nearly cost me the election,” she said at last, her tone clipped, as if she was speaking to a political rival and not her daughter. “That family doesn’t make allies with people like us. You think working beside him is safe? Smart?”
“I don’t know,” you said, teeth clenched. “But it’s my decision.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Just be careful, Y/N. That boy was raised to play games at the highest level. Don’t think for a second you’re immune.”
You didn’t answer. You just turned and left, fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms. For the first time in your life, you walked away from your mother and her commands.
On the other side of the city, Haechan stood just inside the heavy oak door of his father’s study. Mr. Lee reclined in a leather armchair, firewhiskey swirling in his glass.
“You’re progressing nicely,” his father began, voice smooth and cool. “That Portkey proposal is attracting the right sort of attention.”
Haechan remained silent. Compliments from his father were never just compliments—they were lures, baited with hidden intent. Tonight, something about it set his nerves on edge.
“I hear you’ve been partnered with the Minister’s daughter.”
“Yes, father.”
“That’s convenient. Even I must admit, she’s grown into quite the pretty little distraction.”
Haechan’s jaw tightened instantly, but he held still.
“Though, I suppose one can’t expect too much refinement from a girl of her… blood status,” his father continued with a faint curl of disdain at his mouth. “Still, sometimes mixing blood has its uses… if not for lineage, then at least for entertainment.”
A flare of anger shot through Haechan’s chest and he bit the inside of his cheeks to keep him from cursing at his own father but he still couldn’t stop a reply from spilling out.
“Her blood status isn’t relevant.”
His father gave a cold chuckle, eyeing him knowingly. “Of course it’s relevant. She’s half-Muggle, raised without any real sense of tradition. It shows. Though perhaps that’s part of her charm, there’s something compelling about a girl who doesn’t fully realize her own value yet. Makes her easier to handle.”
“She’s not a prop, father,” Haechan bit out sharply, his voice harder than intended.
His father’s expression darkened instantly. Haechan exhaled slowly, trying to regain composure. “I meant she’s useful… professionally.”
Mr. Lee set his glass down with a soft click. “Spare me the schoolboy morals. Everything is leverage, even you. The sooner you accept that, son, the smoother this will go.”
Haechan always felt like cold water was being poured down his spine whenever he talked to his father. Perhaps he should be used to dealing with the man by now, after all, he’d been groomed for these games since childhood.
But tonight, his venom felt stronger than usual.
“Understood,” Haechan said finally, voice flat but vibrating with barely checked anger.
His father gave a slow, satisfied nod and reached again for his brandy. That was his way of dismissing him without a word. Haechan’s fingers curled at his sides, but he turned and left before the mask cracked.
He didn’t go to his room. He went straight to the Floo. Because if his father saw you as a pawn, Haechan needed to remind himself you weren’t—and, if he was being honest, remind himself he wasn’t either. Tonight, he needed one choice that belonged to him alone.
He apparated silently in the shadowy alley across from your home, his robes instantly dampening in the evening drizzle. He drew his wand, scanning the formidable iron gates and the darkened windows of the imposing Ministerial residence.
He knew the security enchantments protecting your house weren't a joke. They were designed to deter intruders, and specifically enemies of the Minister, so they recognized magical signatures instantly. One wrong move and alarms would blaze, calling Ministry Aurors to appear.
But Haechan hadn’t come this far to turn back.
So he approached the gate carefully. He’d studied enough ward breaking magic to know that subtlety mattered far more than power. He drew a quiet breath and raised his wand, whispering the careful countercharms he'd memorized from watching his father’s dealings.
One by one, the protective enchantments yielded reluctantly under his gentle pressure. He felt sweat trickle down his neck despite the chill night air. His pulse hammered as the wards strained, uncertain, hovering on the brink of recognition.
Then the charms faded back into place, accepting his magic as familiar enough. He stepped carefully through, heart slamming wildly against his ribs.
He moved soundlessly across the manicured lawn toward the side of the house. Climbing ivy clung stubbornly to the aged stone of the manor, it felt slick under his fingertips as he located your window. There was a light inside from a small lamp, which told him you were awake. He took a quick, anxious breath before reaching up and knocking lightly against the glass.
You flinched, wand whipping toward the window reflexively before your eyes widened in shock at the sight of Haechan standing on the narrow ledge beneath your window. You hurriedly unlatched the lock and slid the window open just enough to whisper furiously, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Let me in,” he breathed, desperate and shaking slightly from adrenaline. “Please.”
You hesitated only a fraction of a second before pulling the window fully open, helping him awkwardly inside. He tumbled through onto your bedroom floor, landing softly in a half-crouch, rainwater dripping from his robes onto your plush rug.
“Are you insane?!” You hissed, closing the window quickly. “The wards—”
“I know, I almost didn’t get through.”
“Why would you risk it?” you demanded, though your voice softened as you took in his shivering state. “My mother will have your head if she finds out you’re here.”
“I had to see you,” he admitted roughly. “I didn’t know where else to go. Everything’s so damn complicated… and the only one I trust right now is you.”
“I assume you also had a talk with your father.”
You reached toward him instinctively, fingers gently brushing the damp fabric of his robes.
“Yeah.” He sighed. The tiredness in his eyes and the tension in his jaw was enough to tell you that the conversation went as well as the one with your mother did.
“Let’s get you dry,” you said after a moment.
This wasn’t wise. It was barely safe. If your mother found out, Haechan would be in the kind of trouble you didn’t even want to imagine. But the quiet desperation in his eyes made it hard to think about any of that.
You waved your wand, murmuring a silent warming charm. Dry air spiraled from the tip making him shiver, eyes shuttering as the spell did its job.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“Your clothes are still a bit wet,” you scolded softly then faltered when you realized what you just implied.
He gave you a lopsided smile. “Permission to remove them?”
“Only because you’ll ruin my rug.” you looked away shyly.
He shrugged off the heavy coat and you levitated it away into the coat hanger in the corner. When he started on the pants, your fingers moved first, unfastening the buttons faster than his shaky fingers. They fell down his legs, leaving him only in his boxers and a thin shirt that clung damply to his torso.
“Arms up,” you muttered. He obeyed without comment.
You peeled the wet fabric over his head and your gaze stuck to the skin exposed—tanned, goose-pimpled, marked by a trail of tiny moles from collarbone to ribs.
“Enjoying the view?” he murmured, fond teasing curling the words.
“Just checking,” you said loftily. “There were rumors around Hogwarts that you had a nice form.”
Slowly, you pressed your mouth to a mole below his collarbone causing him to inhale sharply.
“And what was that for?” he whispered, amused.
“Experimental verification.”
You kissed the next mole, then the next, mapping them with your lips. He stood still, breath catching each time your mouth grazed his warm skin. By the time you kissed the last mole, over his throat, his hands moved to your hips.
He bowed his head, letting his forehead rest against yours. “I’m sorry for showing up out of nowhere. I just—-” He broke off, searching for something he couldn’t quite say. Whatever his father told him tonight, he locked it behind his teeth.
“You can stay the night if you want,” you whisper.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Please.”
You lead him toward the bed, shimmied out of your sweats and tugged him under the blanket. He curled behind you, one arm around your waist, fingertips tracing patterns over the slope of your ribs until your breathing slowed.
“Tomorrow’s going to be complicated,” you mumbled drowsily.
“It always is.” He brushed a kiss behind your ear.
Morning sunlight spilled across the duvet in stripes, warming your shoulders a moment before it reached the long line of Haechan’s body curled behind you. His palm rested open on your stomach, thumb stroking lazy half-circles under your night shirt.
“Good morning to you too,” you muttered.
“Good morning, princess,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep. His lips found the shell of your ear. “Any chance Ms. Thatch will accept a late proposal?”
You smiled into the pillow. “Only if you can convincingly argue we were under hard circumstances.”
“Hard?” He noses aside your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. “Well, something’s definitely hard.”
You didn’t realize what he was talking about until he shifted his hips closer and you felt it hard against the small of your back.
“Are you serious?” you said, turning your head.
“It’s not exactly something I schedule.” He exhaled a slow laugh.
“And here I thought you came over just for some emotional stimulation.”
He leaned down and kissed you slowly, morning-sweet, but at the same time his hips nudged you for more.
“I'll stimulate whatever you need, princess”
You choked on a laugh until his hand slid further under the hem of your shirt.
“Is this your idea of a morning greeting?” you asked breathlessly.
He leaned in, mouth brushing your collarbone. “This is my idea of relieving some tension.”
Your thighs parted to cradle his hips instinctively when he moved on top of you. His mouth traced the line of your collarbone, then lower, until he was kissing your perked nipples over the shirt. Your fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers and squeezed boldly enough to make him curse softly into your chest.
He palmed your other breast in response, thumb flicking your nipple until your back arched. You bit your lip to muffle a whimper, then pushed him onto his back with delicious authority.
“My turn.”
You shimmied down, lips dragging across the constellation of moles scattered across his chest and stomach. Every kiss made him sigh softly. You pulled his boxers down fully and when your mouth closed over his cock, he choked on a breath.
Haechan speared shaky fingers through your hair, muttering every filthy compliment he could remember. You licked the underside of his cock, then took him in almost fully, resisting the urge to gag when he hit the back of your throat.
You sucked as far as you could and stroked the rest of with your hand. Haechan’s head fell back, mouth open in delight. “Fuck… ah—fuck that feels… so good—“
His hips started shaking under you but suddenly he stopped you and flipped you over. “Need to be inside you.”
Heat flared when he settled between your thighs, the hard length of his cock pressing where you were already aching. One hand cradled the back of your knee, guiding your leg around his waist and the other cupped your cheek as he kissed you again.
“Tell me how you like it,” he whispered, rocking just enough to tease. You arched, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.
“Like this,” you answered, voice gone rough. “Just—please—”
He slid in, filling you in one smooth glide that knocked the breath from your lungs. A broken sound escaped his throat. “Fuck, baby—” The rest dissolved into a soft groan as he drew back and thrusted again, deeper.
Your hands roamed his back, nails grazing lightly down muscle and spine. Each slow stroke dragging delicious friction inside you.
“Eyes on me,” he whispered, pupils blown wide. Your eyes fluttered open and the contact stole your breath more than the thrust that followed.
Pleasure starts to flow through you quickly when he slid his hand and started stroking your clit, your body tightening around him in response. He felt it and swore softly causing his pace to falter.
“Don’t stop,” you warned, looping both arms around his neck and pulling him close.
He kissed you hard, hips snapping a little faster, rhythm still controlled but hungrier now. Every glide set off sparks, every slide of his thumb over your clit pushing you closer.
“Hae…I—I’m gonna cum,” you gasped against his mouth.
“Me too, fuuck” he groaned.
He angled his hips deeper, and the change nearly sent you tumbling. Your walls clenched, pleasure hitting in a blinding rush. Your cry is muffled against his shoulder.
He followed with a hoarse groan, hips stuttering as the orgasm crashed through him. He kept moving in soft thrusts until the tremors faded and your limbs loosened.
He collapsed to his elbows, weight braced so he doesn’t crush you, brushing damp hair from your forehead with trembling fingers.
“That,” you managed breathlessly, “was incredible.”
He laughed and kissed the tip of your nose. “I live to please.”
The mantle clock in the sitting room chimed eight-thirty. And you remembered the briefing you had in thirty minutes. You groaned while he grinned, entirely unrepentant.
“We can still make it,” he said, stroking a thumb along your cheek. “Five minutes to shower, two to dress. That leaves twenty three for breakfast and another round.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you sighed, but the fondness in your voice undermined any scold. You press a final kiss to the mole on his neck, then roll out of bed, summoning clean clothes with a flick of your wand.
“Shower,” you declare.
He pushed up, stretching like a satisfied cat. “Lead the way, Ravenclaw.”
Haechan left your house first so as to not draw any suspicion in case your mother or any of her workers were around. You arrived at the Ministry with an armful of research notes, ready for the briefing. Haechan said he’d wait for you outside the lifts so you expected to see him leaning against the wall and making some sarcastic remark about your supposed “lateness”.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
Five minutes turned into ten, and frustration melted into annoyance as you glanced around. Eventually, irritation won out and you began to make your way to the briefing room.
It wasn't until you heard the soft click of footsteps behind you that you looked over your shoulder, and there was Haechan.
But he wasn’t alone.
Beside him was a girl you vaguely recognized from Ministry galas. She had impossibly long legs, hair so pale it seemed woven from moonlight, and appraising green eyes. The kind of ethereal beauty that belonged to Veela rather than witches, an almost unsettling allure that made you instinctively stand straighter.
"Sorry…" Haechan muttered as they approached. His eyes carefully avoided yours. "Lost track of time."
The girl turned smoothly toward you, offering a delicate hand adorned with expensive rings. "Cassia Selwyn. I'm an old friend of Haechan’s."
You forced your expression into neutral politeness, shaking her hand briefly. "Y/N. Nice to meet you."
Cassia tilted her head, silver-blonde hair slipping gracefully over one slender shoulder as her eyes slowly took you in. "Haechan’s told me all about you and your…little project. Sounds charming."
Your spine stiffened at her patronizing tone. "Yeah, well, it's important work."
"Oh, I’m sure," she purred indulgently, already dismissing you as she turned back toward Haechan. Her slender fingers reached out to adjust the knot of his tie, a gesture so familiar and easy it made your stomach twist. "Don't forget dinner tomorrow. My father's expecting you."
"I haven't agreed—"
Cassia leaned in, her voice dropping into a coaxing tone. "You know how disappointed he'll be if you don't show. Your father as well.”
Haechan’s jaw twitched—a subtle tell of annoyance you’d learned to read over the years—but he remained silent, clearly unwilling to argue further in front of you.
"I'll see you soon, Hae," she murmured sweetly, eyes sliding back to you briefly with faint amusement. And then she swept away, leaving a trace of expensive perfume in the air.
You stared after her for a tense second. "Cassia Selwyn," you said eventually. "That name sounds familiar."
Haechan let out a short breath, eyes glued stubbornly to your notes on the table. "Her father's head of International Magical Cooperation. He's also my father's closest political ally. She’s… uhm, she’s also interning here at a different department.”
Recognition clicked as soon as he said that. You remember reading about the Selwyns in Hogwarts' registry of notable pureblood families. Their ancient lineage was so prestigious, the closest thing you could relate it to was the British Royal family. Cassia’s effortless elegance suddenly made a lot of sense.
"Ah." Your voice felt strained, even to your own ears. "Well. Now I see why you needed to rearrange your whole schedule around her."
Haechan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's complicated."
"I bet," you muttered, jealousy slipping out despite your best efforts. "Maybe next time, give me some notice before you skip out on research to handle your personal affairs."
His eyes flashed defensively but he remained silent. Somehow, the quiet felt worse than any argument. At least when you were fighting, you knew where you stood. Now you felt lost in uneasy silence.
Before you could fully descend into that bitter feeling, a flying memo fluttered overhead, dropping onto your outstretched hand. You read it aloud, quite grateful for any distraction from the tense atmosphere.
"Ms. Thatch wants to see us before the briefing," you announced stiffly, walking away without waiting for him.
"Oh, there you are!" Ms. Thatch beamed as you entered. Her eyes flickered briefly behind you. "Where's Haechan?"
"Right here," he said flatly, stepping in a second behind you.
"Good!” she chirped, either not noticing or purposely ignoring your frosty demeanors. "You’ve both heard about our summer charity event, I presume. Since your project is the most promising out of all the interns, I have volunteered you to present at the event. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to find sponsors. The Minister herself will be there, as will your father, Mr. Lee."
Your eyes darted toward Haechan, who was stubbornly silent, making no effort to voice his usual objections.
"Actually, Ms. Thatch," you said quickly, "we haven't fully finalized the proposal yet. It might be too early to—"
"We'll do it." Haechan interrupted calmly, catching you completely off-guard.
Your gaze snapped toward him, incredulous and suddenly furious. He carefully avoided meeting your eyes.
"Wonderful!" Ms. Thatch clapped her hands enthusiastically, lipstick-stained teeth on full display. "I'm certain you'll manage beautifully! As I said, you're the strongest interns we've had this term. I’m not just saying that because of your parents."
A stiff smile was all you could muster in response, leaving the office after she finished explaining all the details.
You were hot on Haechan’s heels, ready to confront him about exactly what the hell he thought he was doing. But before you could even open your mouth, a deep, familiar voice stopped you cold.
"Son," Mr. Lee’s smooth, cold tone sliced through the air behind you.
You both turned slowly. Haechan’s expression hardened instantly, tension sharpening the lines of his face.
His father’s eyes flickered briefly over you, before settling firmly on his son again. "A word. Alone."
Haechan glanced at you for a second before nodding stiffly at his father and walking away, leaving you alone in the echoing corridor, with nothing but dread twisting tight in your stomach.
The next morning you found a fresh stack of parchment waiting on your usual table in the Archives with Haechan’s handwriting. A terse note sat on top.
Finished cross-referencing 1908–1911 tariff updates.See margin for flagged conflicts.—L.H.
When he finally appeared, he offered only a curt nod before sliding into the seat opposite you. For two hours he spoke in clipped sentences—“Need the ledger from shelf three-C,” “Double-check the French translation,” “Sign here so Thatch can log the revision.” Every time your questions strayed toward anything personal like Cassia, the meeting with his father, or even how he’d slept he deflected with a pointed glance at the parchment and a quiet, “Focus, Y/N.”
By the end of the week the chill had crystalized into routine: he arrived early, buried himself in research, left the moment your tasks ended. No playful shoulder-bumps in the corridor, no midnight trips for coffee, no sly grins when you corrected his footnotes. Only efficient partnership, as if the night he’d fallen asleep in your bed belonged to someone else’s life.
You told yourself it didn’t matter—you had a proposal to polish and sponsors to impress—but the hollowness followed you everywhere, rattling like a loose Snitch inside your chest.
The Ministry gardens glittered beneath strings of floating lanterns; orchestral music drifted over rows of donation tables. You arrived with a stack of project summaries tucked under your arm, determined to network, to prove Ms Thatch’s faith wasn’t misplaced.
You were halfway through charming a prospective backer when the crowd started murmuring., everyone’s attention sliding toward the main archway.
Haechan walked in at his father’s side, looking immaculate in midnight-green robes. Cassia Selwyn glided beside him, her hand nestled in the crook of his arm. Her pale hair swept over one shoulder, her expensive gown shimmering frost-silver under the lights. Together they looked carved from an old pure-blood portrait.
Your throat tightened. Haechan’s expression was cool, polite, but you saw the moment he spotted you. A flicker ofregret? Apology? But it vanished as Cassia leaned in to whisper, her crimson lips close to his ear. He nodded once, mask settling back into place, and let himself be steered toward the VIP tables.
“So,” your potential sponsor prompted, oblivious to the scene, “does the phased tariff model begin year one, or do you anticipate a six-month grace period?”
You swallowed, forcing your voice steady. “Six months,” you replied, though your eyes kept drifting to the far end of the lawn where Cassia laughed lightly at something Mr Lee said, her fingers still resting on Haechan’s sleeve.
For the rest of the evening you played your role but every glance across the crowd found him beside her, shoulders squared, distance in his eyes. And each time, the hollow flutter in your chest grew a little sharper.
When the orchestra launched into a waltz, sponsors swept onto the dance floor. Cassia turned, hand outstretched in silent invitation. Haechan hesitated before taking it.
They moved flawlessly together, was she all poised grace, and he the perfect partner. Applause rippled as they passed, Ministry officials nodding approval. You stood at the edge of the lawn clutching your untouched glass of elf-made wine, wondering how something that had never officially started could sting so much.
Your mother appeared suddenly at your elbow, startling you so badly you nearly spilled your drink.
“Are you romantically involved with the Lee boy?” she asked coolly.
Your gaze snapped up, shock widening your eyes. “What? No! Why—why would you even think that?”
She raised an eyebrow slowly. “You know I’m not one to entertain gossip, darling. But whispers at the Ministry tend to travel fast.”
You swallowed, heart rising to your throat. “What whispers?”
“The Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports approached me the other day about something he overheard.” She paused to sip her wine, calm and unbothered. “A rather heated conversation between Mr. Lee and his son... apparently about you.”
Your stomach tightened uncomfortably. “About me?”
“Yes. It seems that Mr. Lee explicitly instructed his son to stay away from you. I dismissed it as ridiculous at the time. How involved could you possibly be with that boy to warrant all that fuss?” Her sharp eyes turned toward the far end of the garden, landing pointedly on Haechan. “But tonight, seeing the way he’s been parading around with the Selwyn girl, smiling only for the photographs yet repeatedly throwing you those longing glances… I suspect perhaps Mr. Lee was right to worry.”
You felt your face flush deeply, skin prickling under your mother’s scrutiny. She'd always read you far too easily.
“Mother, I—”
She shook her head slightly, cutting you off. “Don’t lie to me, Y/N. It’s written all over your face.”
You lowered your eyes, lips pressed tight to avoid betraying anything further.
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” she continued impassively. “Don’t let yourself get more tangled with him than absolutely necessary. I’d hate for you to find out the hard way exactly why I'm warning you about this.”
She touched your arm briefly before walking away from your frozen form. The only sound your brain could register after that was the anxious pounding of your heart and the echo of her words.
You were still reeling when a familiar shadow fell across the refreshment table.
“There you are,” Haechan said softly. Up close, his formal robes looked stiff and constricting, as though he’d rather be wearing else.
“Got bored of your date so soon?” you muttered, trying to sound disinterested.
“She’s not—” His jaw worked. “Forget it. I actually came to review our talking points. Thatch expects us to pitch before dessert, and this” he lifted his champagne “isn’t helping me focus.”
“You’ve memorized those points twice over.”
“Just humor me, please?” His eyes flicked toward the hedge-lined maze beyond the garden. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
“Fine,” you sighed reluctantly after a minute of glowering.
The both of you slipped through the open arch between garden walls, careful to make sure no one was watching. Not that it mattered. Even if your intentions were innocent—and you weren’t entirely convinced they were—people would talk. They always did.
The deeper into the maze you walked, the more muffled the party became. Only the sound of your heels against cobblestone and Haechan’s steps behind you remained. You reached a quiet alcove surrounded by ivy and waited with arms crossed, pretending not to notice the way his eyes dragged across your bare shoulders.
“Okay,” you said, grabbing it from him. “What point of the presentation were you so desperate to—?”
“Your dress,” he murmured instead. “It’s distracting.”
You blinked. “That’s not a point in the presentation.”
“No,” he agreed, stepping closer, “but it’s why I couldn’t focus back there.”
“Try a little harder then, we need to present this soon”
“Mm,” he hummed, pulling out the folded parchment with your notes from his jacket pocket. “Start reading then.”
You took the parchment and started reading, brows furrowed as you scanned it. “The primary concern is the—”
Suddenly he was behind you, his hand reaching for your waist. You paused. “Haechan…”
“Keep going,” he said quietly. “I’m listening.”
You swallowed hard and stared at the words, trying to focus. “The primary concern is the inconsistency between—”
His hand slid higher.
“Are you seriously—?”
“This helps me focus,” he said, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of his breath at your neck. “Don’t stop now. You’re doing so well.”
The rasp in his voice and the way his hands kept feeling you over your clothes was making it very difficult to even breathe let alone read the stupidly messy words on the parchment. Why was his handwriting so bad?
“Keep reading,” he murmured again, lips grazing your ear.
You tried. “Um—the projected savings…and… and the reallocation of private funding—”
His thumbs skimmed small circles through the thin fabric of your gown, sliding higher to the tense line of your ribs. The parchment fluttered in your fingers.
“…and, uh, incentives for small-scale producers…” You hated the tremor in your voice, he clearly loved it. You could practically hear him smirk.
“You missed the compliance clause,” he whispered, letting one hand slide under the fall of your hair, settling against the back of your neck.
You licked your lips, found the line, forced the words out. “Clause sixteen… sets non-compliance penalties at.. at seven percent—”
His other hand traced the curve of your waist, sliding lower, drawing you back until you felt the press of his chest. The parchment crinkled. The pulse point in your neck pulsed wildly against his mouth.
“Seven percent is too lenient,” he murmured. “We should make them beg to meet the standard.”
You swallowed hard. “We should… probably get back.”
“In a minute.” He nudged your hair aside and pressed an unhurried kiss below your ear that made your knees wobble slightly.
“Is this really the time?” you gasped.
“Shh.” His hand at your neck slipped forward, guiding your chin to tilt slightly. “Eyes on the notes, princess.”
You tried, and failed, to focus on the words. Every line blurred as his lips traced slow paths from your jaw to your shoulder. The maze felt impossibly still, as though even the garden itself was holding its breath.
“Haechan, if someone finds us—”
“They won’t.” A gentle nip at your earlobe. “Read the next bullet.”
You forced your gaze down. “Improved… audit protocol… mandatory quarterly—” Your voice broke when his hands slid to your hips, drawing you back against him fully. You felt the unmistakable evidence of how little “reviewing” mattered to him just now.
“Quarterly audits,” he echoed, his tone husky. “Brilliant idea.”. Soft lips drifted to your collarbone.
“This is— spectacularly stupid,” you whispered, though your body melted under his hands.
“Stupid,” he agreed, skating calloused fingers up the slit of your gown until night air kissed your thighs. “Let’s be quick, then. Prove we’re brilliant later.”
The parchment crinkled in your grip, words dissolving into texture. Somewhere beyond the maze someone laughed too loudly, and you discovered recklessness had the flavor of champagne and something breathtakingly alive.
“This... this is too risky,” you breathed, head tilting back as his fingers ghosted over your skin.
“I’ll be quick,” he promised, mouth dragging along your jaw.
Of all the things you’d done with Haechan, this was easily the most idiotic. More reckless than letting him go down on you in the Archives. More dangerous than that kiss behind the velvet curtain at the gala. Especially after the warning from your mother—you knew better. You should have walked away.
But Haechan always knew how to get what he wanted and he knew exactly how to make you want it too.
The thought that he was here, fingers sliding past your underwear, while your mother, his father, and Cassia Selwyn were probably sipping champagne and wondering where you’d slipped off to... gave you a guilty rush that made your legs open slowly.
“Okay,” you whispered at last.
His hand slid under your panties in response, fingers cupping you firmly and spreading you open. You were already, shamefully, soaked.
“Always so eager for me,” he muttered, rubbing teasing circles over your clit. “For someone who whines so much.”
“We… don’t have time for your mouth,” you snapped breathlessly, shoving him back against the ivy-covered wall and yanking at his belt.
“I love it when you boss me around,” he groaned, eyes half-lidded as you worked his trousers down. “Makes me feel like a very bad boy.”
“You are,” you hissed. “A fucking disgrace.”
“Fuck” His boxers hit the ground, cock slapping up hard against his stomach—red, slick at the tip, and twitching.
You grinned. “Someone’s happy to see me.”
“You have no fucking idea,” he rasped, grabbing your hips and dragging you closer. His hands slid down, squeezing your ass. “Every time we’re in the same room, all I can think about is this.”
“If only you weren’t so busy playing daddy’s little puppet…” you purred, kissing along his jaw.
His breath hitched, but the smirk didn’t fade. “Don’t talk about my father while your hand’s around my cock.”
“Oh?” You tightened your grip enough to make him hiss between his teeth. “Does it kill the mood?”
“No,” he groaned, rolling his head back against the ivy. “Makes me want to fuck that little attitude out of you.”
That was all the warning he gave before grabbing your waist and hoisting you up easily. Your back hit the ivy wall as his hips jerked forward, cock grinding hard between your thighs. Not inside yet but pressed right where it hurt most, dragging against soaked lace.
“Haechan—fuck—”
“You wore this for me, didn’t you?” he whispered fingering your lacey panties, lips at your throat. “This little slit that barely covers anything. You wanted me to rip them off you tonight.”
“Shut up and do it,” you snarled, grinding against him.
He growled something unintelligible, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, then reached between you to yank your panties so hard they ripped easily. The head of his cock slipped through your slick folds and you both gasped.
“You’re so wet,” he rasped, voice breaking as he dragged the tip over your clit once. “Fuck, you were ready for this before I even touched you.”
He slid in with one hard thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs. You gasped, eyes fluttering shut, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Eyes on me.” He growled, snapping his hips forward again, deeper this time.
You looked at him and whatever was in your expression made him moan. “There she is,” he whispered. “Fucking beautiful when you give in.”
His thrusts turned punishing, dragging against everything inside you that made your spine arch and your thighs clamp tight around his waist.
“This—” he panted, “—this is mine. This body. These sounds. You can pretend otherwise but—” he slammed into you, hard enough to make you cry out, “—this belongs to me.”
You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Your breath was caught in your throat, stars flashing behind your eyes as the heat coiled lower and lower.
“You gonna cum for me?” he whispered, biting at your earlobe. “Right here where anyone could walk by? Your mother. My father. Cassia.”
“Don’t stop,” you begged, voice shaking. “Please, don’t fucking stop—”
“Say it,” he demanded, hand sliding between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit. “Say who’s making you cum.”
“You,” you gasped. “You. Fuck, Haechan—please—”
You cried out when your orgasm hit, nails scoring red lines into his back as your walls clenched around him. He groaned low and rough, fucking you through it. Seconds later, he spilled into you with a strangled moan, forehead pressed to yours.
Only the sound of your panting, the distant music from the gala, and the rustle of ivy around you could be heard.
“That was a good review.” He whispered against your lips.
His cum was still dripping down your thighs when he kissed you again, but only for a breath. Then he pulled back, and looked down at his wrist watch.
“We still have about ten more minutes before the presentation” he said, voice wrecked.
“So…?” you asked, still trying to catch your breath.
“I wanted to try something”
Before you could ask what, he flicked his wand and your dress vanished in a puff of smoke.
You gasped. “Are you serious?”
“Very,” he murmured, tapping your sternum next. “Desino gravitatem.”
Your body lifted off the ground like a marionette cut from strings, floating weightless as the ivy trembled behind you.
“What the—”
But his hands were already back on you, guiding your hips forward in midair. You were suspended, spread and hovering high enough for him to slot between your thighs again. He flipped you with a wrist flick, your back now to him, ass lifted, legs dangling.
“Perfect,” he muttered, gripping your waist like he was trying to memorize the feel. “Jaemin once bragged about using this spell on a girl. complete bollocks, by the way—he can barely do a simple leviosa half the time. but i’ve been dying to try it ever since.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to maybe ask first?” You snapped, flailing slightly.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“… I mean, I hardly have a choice now, do i?”
he chuckled, the sound warm and low against your back. “I promise you’re gonna love it. Prefect’s honor.”
“You were never a prefect.”
“Yeah, but I’m very committed to pleasing you.”
He pushed back inside you with a groan, the new angle making you curse violently as your body trembled in midair. His hand wrapped around your throat with enough pressure to steady you as he thrust upward into you.
Every time his hips slammed into you, your body jerked forward. The lack of gravity and the angle made it feel like every thrust reached your head.
“You like this?” he growled. “Being my little floating fucktoy?”
“I hate you.” You moaned.
He smacked your ass. “Try again.”
“Fuck— s’good… don’t stop—” you whimpered.
“Better.”
Your moans were getting louder, echoing through the enchanted ivy, the charm he’d placed keeping you perfectly in place even as you writhed midair.
And then he did something insane.
He cast Gemino, the duplication charm.
Instantly, a spectral copy of himself shimmered into view in front of you. The second Haechan—transparent and golden at the edges—grabbed your hair and kissed your mouth while the real one kept fucking you from behind.
Your brain nearly short-circuited, too overwhelmed.
“This is crazy,” you moaned into the phantom’s mouth, barely coherent.
“So’s half the shit we’ve already done,” the real one panted.
And when his fingers slid between your legs again, teasing your swollen clit as the illusion bit down gently on your lower lip, you came so hard you screamed his name loud enough that it had to echo into the party.
The hovering charm flickered, and Haechan caught you against him before you could drop, still inside you, panting.
“You’re deranged,” you whispered, clinging to him.
His mouth was at your ear. “I know you loved it.”
“Please bring my dress back.” you said, shivering slightly.
He quickly made your dress appear again.
“What even were those spells?”
“Why? You wanna try them on me?” he smirked.
You shoved him and summoned a hand mirror to fix your appearance. Every bit of your makeup was smudged and your hair was a mess. You sighed and fixed it. Haechan simply brushed his hand through his hair. You reached up and wiped off some lipstick that was smudged on his lips. Also, put a glamour charm to cover the bruises that were starting to bloom where your lips had been on his neck.
“Ready to kill this presentation then?” He asked.
“Let’s go” you replied.
And kill the presentation, you most certainly did.
The Ministry atrium felt almost gentle the day after the fundraiser. Probably because you were still riding the high of a perfect presentation, the fact that many donors had signed, Ms. Thatch had all but done a cartwheel, and the Portkey Tariff proposal just needed a last polish before being sent up to the Department heads. Life, for once, was cooperating.
You arrived early, as usual, so you stopped by the breakfast nook near level five to enjoy a quiet moment before the day started. You even let yourself order the overpriced chamomile from the enchanted dispenser.
The peace lasted precisely three and a half sips, until you noticed two witches at a nearby table. One pretending to stir her tea for the tenth time, the other tilting the Prophet so conspicuously towards you it might as well have had your name printed on the cover.
You checked your face in the reflection of your spoon but nothing was off. No food in your teeth, your lipstick wasn’t smudged, no eye buggers. Nothing on your face explained the sudden interest.
A weird feeling twisted in your guts. Your first thought was, no way. Your second thought was, check anyway. So you walked to the newspaper stand and picked up a copy.
The front page was an article about the Turkish Minister’s retirement, nothing crazy. You scanned further, flipping pages of Quidditch standing, goblin policies, and other uneventful news. Until you finally found an article about the fundraiser on page six.
You scanned the article quickly. It was mostly praise for the decor, attendance from international guests, and a nod to the interns’ presentations. And then, just beneath the column, in a faint gray box labeled Social Notes & Curiosities:
"Not all moments at this year’s gala were on the official itinerary. Several sharp-eyed partygoers noted that two unnamed interns vanished into the hedge maze for “several curious minutes” during the height of the festivities, returning just before the closing presentation looking flushed and disheveled. Sources declined to identify the pair, but wondered aloud whether young ambition sometimes… overgrows the path.”
Blood drained from your face so fast you felt light-headed. No names…but anyone with half a brain could add them. You folded the paper with shaky hands, and left the nook on autopilot, hunting for Haechan.
Before rounding the corner toward the Archives hall you heard voices whispering in a heated argument.
“I just wonder if you’re serious about your future, Haechan.” you recognized Cassia Selwyn’s silk-smooth voice.
“So you planted that story?!” Haechan sounded pissed.
“Don’t look at me like I'm the villain. You and I were promised to each other before we could even read. You wandering off with her—”
“Is none of your business.” He spat.
Cassia's tone sharpened. “It is when it jeopardizes the alliances our parents built. I won’t let a half-blood charity case ruin everything just because you’re in your rebellious phase.”
You pressed flatter against the wall, pulse roaring.
Haechan’s reply was almost a growl. “If you ever bring her into this again—”
“You’re the one who brought her into this,” she cut in. “But soon enough you’ll remember why duty always wins over puppy love.”
Something, maybe his fist, hit the wall. You flinched though it was a few meters away.
“I’m warning you, Cassia. Stop your little games.”
He stormed off in the opposite direction; Cassia’s heels clicked leisurely the other way. Only then did you realize you hadn’t breathed for a full thirty seconds.
You were already seated when Haechan walked into the briefing room.
He pulled out the chair next to you like he always did. Your fingers kept moving over the edge of your parchment, smoothing the crease you'd created while standing outside that hallway, listening to Cassia carve pieces of you apart.
"You okay?" He asked under his breath.
"I'm fine." Too fast.
You didn’t need to look to know he was frowning.
"You sure? You kind of—"
“—We're starting,” you cut in, straightening as Ms. Thatch entered the room with her usual whirlwind energy.
“Brilliant work last night, everyone!” She said, stacking folders with a flick of her wand. “Now, just a few corrections and then the proposals will officially be on their way to senior review. And”—she paused, smiling brightly—“We’ve got a new addition to the team for the rest of the internship.”
The door creaked open behind you.
“This is Emil Chartier,” Ms. Thatch announced. “Our international liaison from Beauxbatons. Top of his class in Diplomatic Transmutation, fluent in six languages, and here to help polish our draft for European compatibility.”
You turned just as he stepped forward. He was tall, with a willowy frame, and wearing robes in a midnight-blue cut so precise the velvet seemed poured onto his shoulders. He had sun-touched blond curls, one errant lock deliberately tucked behind a narrow ear. High cheekbones, a mouth that hinted at a permanent half-smile even when perfectly neutral, and eyes that looked grey at first glance, but slightly amber at the edges when the light caught.
He stepped forward on soft-soled dragonhide shoes and stopped at a conversational distance from the table.
“Bonjour,” he said, voice smooth as warm honey. “I’m very excited to join you all. I’ve read your project outlines, they were brilliant.”
“I’m thrilled to be here. Your project outlines were brilliant.”
The words floated over the entire table, but his gaze never wavered from you.
Haechan scoffed next to you. It was barely a breath but you felt it. Then his quill bent as he pressed down just a shade too hard, blotting ink across his notes.
Emil continued obliviously. “I’m especially interested in the tariff-equalisation clause. The logic is elegant, I’d love to discuss it in more detail.”
His smile was soft, earnest. Yours flickered back before you could help it.
Ms. Thatch clapped her hands. “Very well! Then Y/N and Haechan can work closely with Emil for this final stage.”
“Magnifique!” Emil chirped, pulling the chair beside you. He gave Haechan a polite nod, then turned back to you. “I was especially impressed by your cross-referencing in the North Sea tariff section.”
Haechan made another annoyed sound but you didn’t look at him.
“That was all her,” he said, voice casual but tight around the edges.
“Then she deserves the praise,” Emil replied easily, eyes sliding toward you with warmth. “I admit, I was curious to see if the one behind the proposal was as impressive in person.”
You managed a quiet laugh. It was almost disorienting, being noticed in the way Cassia had said you never would be. As if your worth was obvious, not conditional.
You reached for the inkpot, intending to refill it. Emil caught the movement and reached over first. “Allow me,” he said, voice low. “Can’t have ink stains ruining those clever hands.”
Haechan’s quill snapped with a quiet crack. No one else seemed to notice—Ms Thatch was already launching into the agenda—but you caught the tiny muscle that jumped in his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed a fraction before he repaired the quill with a flick of his wand.
Emil blinked at him, then whispered to you. “Should I be worried I've offended someone?”
“Not at all,” you murmured, returning the smile, even as your heart twisted in your chest.
You didn’t wait around after the meeting ended. You gathered your notes and slipped out before the room even cleared. The air in there felt too suffocating. You needed quiet and space.
But of course, you didn’t get that.
“Y/N—wait.”
Haechan’s voice chased you halfway down the northeast spiral before you finally stopped, turning sharply just outside the records annex.
“What?” you snapped.
He blinked. “...You’re upset.”
“Wow, nothing gets past you.”
Haechan stepped closer, one hand gripping the railing. “Okay. sarcasm noted. Can you just…tell me what’s going on?”
You gave a breathy, incredulous laugh. “What’s going on is I just found out you’re playing with me while you pretend you’re not already betrothed to.”
His eyes darkened. “You heard that conversation.”
“All of it.”
“Then you know she’s full of shit.”
“Doesn’t really matter, does it? Because she still has a claim to your future.”
He moved to speak, but you weren’t finished.
“And you know what the worst part is? I already expected it. I should’ve known that someone like you would end up with someone like her”
“Is that what you think?” he said finally, voice too soft.
You crossed your arms. “I spent the morning reading about us in the prophet and then i had to sit next to you like nothing happened. while that new intern—who doesn’t even know me—managed to actually say something nice about my work the way you never have.”
Your voice broke a little on the last word, but you pushed through.
“And it just made me realize... maybe it wouldn’t be this hard with someone else. Maybe I wouldn't feel like I have to prove myself every second just to be taken seriously.”
Haechan's jaw clenched. “Why are you even bringing him into this?”
“Why not?” you snapped. “He’s not the one being yanked between his family’s expectations and his own guilty conscience.”
“You don’t think I'm trying?” he said, louder now. “I'm walking a tightrope every damn day trying to keep my father from pulling me out of this internship entirely. If he knew what happened in the maze—if he knew how far this has gone—”
“He’d what?” you challenged. “Marry you off faster?”
The silence was confirmation was enough.
You sucked in a breath. “So that's it. Cassia was right.”
“No,” he said immediately, stepping forward. “She’s not. She doesn’t know how I really feel about you. She doesn’t get to decide that. Not her, or my father, or anyone.”
His eyes were shining with rage and desperation.
You stared at him for a long second, heart racing, unsure if you wanted to slap him or kiss him or cry.
“…I can’t do this if i’m just a rebellion phase for you,” you whispered.
His expression shattered.
“You’re not.”
The words hung limp between you, nothing to cling to, nothing to soften the fall. You turned and walked away, fingers curling into fists at your sides. Not because you didn’t believe him.
Because you did.
And that made everything worse.
You found yourself in one of the small auxiliary lounges on level seven—mostly unused, with a cracked fireplace charm and mismatched armchairs that smelled dusty. You curled into one near the window, letting the sun slant across your skirt as you stared down at the proposal draft without reading a single word.
You didn’t cry. You were past that. You were just angry and hurt. And tired in a way that had nothing to do with spellwork or policy corrections.
A soft knock broke your silence.
“May I?” Emil asked gently, gesturing to the seat across from you. “I noticed you left in a hurry.”
You hesitated, then nodded.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said after sitting down.
“For what?”
“For… Perhaps inserting myself too comfortably this morning. I didn't realize things were so tense.”
You exhaled, shaking your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Actually, you were the only person who treated me like… just a person today.”
He offered a small smile. “Well. You are quite an impressive person.”
You gave a tired laugh, but it came from your chest this time. “You barely know me.”
“True. But I saw how your colleagues looked at you when you spoke in the meeting. Especially him.” Emil's tone stayed neutral, but his eyes were kind. “Whatever else is happening… I don't think you’re as alone as you feel.”
You looked down at your hands. “I don't know what I am to him. And I'm scared to ask.”
“Then don’t,” he said gently. “Not yet. Let him decide if he’s brave enough to make it clear.”
You sat with that for a long moment. He didn’t press just reached into his satchel, pulled out a little wrapped croissant from the café cart, and placed it on the table between you without a word.
“Is this for me?”
“Consider it strategic morale support.”
You smiled despite yourself.
Haechan stared at the shredded parchment in his hands. His third failed attempt at rewriting the trade summary. Ink had smudged from his fingers to his temple sometime during the last hour, but he hadn’t noticed. Or cared.
Your voice still echoed in his head. “Maybe it wouldn’t be this hard with someone else.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face and stood abruptly. The movement knocked over a stack of annotated notes and sent one sliding under the archive cabinet. He let it stay there.
He didn’t know why he always did this—why he always ruined the one thing that felt like it mattered the second it got real.
His father’s voice drifted in his memory: “Sentiment makes you weak. Attachments make you vulnerable.”
But you didn’t make him feel weak. You made him want to be braver.
His eyes flicked to the small framed article pinned to the wall. A piece from last year’s Ministry Gala, featuring his father’s speech about legacy and honor and discipline. Haechan wondered if anyone would ever write something about him without including the word Lee in the headline.
He couldn’t fix this with you. Not until he figured out how to stop being a coward.
So he kept quiet. Let his father go on assuming he’d ended things. Let him believe the engagement to Cassia was back on track. It bought him enough time to work out how to unravel the noose his father had spent years looping around his neck.
In reality, this wasn’t just about you. It was also about being looked at like a pawn, about being maneuvered like his only use was to cement power through maintaining the bloodline.
Cassia was the first knot he had to cut.
He knew it had to be public. Loud enough that no one—especially his father—could twist it into a temporary setback or a lover’s quarrel. It had to be permanent.
The perfect opportunity was already on the calendar.
Cassia’s father’s birthday dinner which was set to be held at The Gilded Laurel, an old wizarding restaurant perched on the Cornish cliffs. Known for its fairy- enchanted chandeliers and tables that float slightly above the floor, it was a staple for the pureblood elite. Every detail of the evening would be noted, photographed, whispered about. If he broke it off there, in front of her family, in front of his father, in front of the Prophet’s most loyal leeches… there would be no going back.
He wasn’t nervous about facing everyone. He was only terrified of what you’d think by then. Of whether you’d already decided you were done waiting.
Because every hour that passed without him telling you the truth… It was another hour you might spend believing that you didn’t matter. That he’d chosen her. That you’d just been a mistake in between his family’s expectations.
But you weren’t. And he’d prove it, even if he had to burn everything else down to do it.
The night of the dinner party came faster than expected. Haechan arrived with his father’s hand resting on his shoulder. Cassia greeted them at the entrance in a blue satin dress and a smile as perfect as porcelain.
“Try to look happy,” she murmured while the photographer adjusted his focus.
“Working on it.” Haechan replied noncommittally, eyes already scanning the room for the biggest audience.
The crystal goblets chimed and soup bowls floated down onto their table. Conversation swelled about trade numbers, Ministry gossip, Quidditch brackets. Haechan nodded in all the right places while cataloguing where the reporters were.
After the plates were cleared and dessert was served, Mr. Selwyn rose with his glass aloft.
“To family, old alliances, and future unions.” His gaze lingered on Cassia and Haechan. Polite applause followed.
Haechan stood before it died away.
“I’d like to add something,” he started.
“I know this dinner is meant to celebrate Mr. Selwyn, as well as our families and legacy.” He looked at Cassia, who was staring at him with a frozen, perfect smile. “But it would be dishonest of me to sit here and pretend like this engagement is moving forward.”
A cold silence flattened the whole room, nothing but the sound of a few utensils falling onto plates could be heard.
Mr. Lee’s smile held, but his eyes flared sharp. “Haechan, sit down.”
“No, father.” Haechan answered, louder. “I need everyone here to hear me say it clearly. I’m not marrying for Cassia Selwyn.”
Cassia’s chair scraped back. For a second she looked sixteen again—hurt, furious, the mask of perfect grace gone. “You’re being ridiculous. We’ll discuss this in private.”
“No,” Haechan said, softer. “We won’t.”
Around them, guests exchanged delighted whispers. Without waiting for permission, without offering another explanation or bowing out gracefully, he turned his back on the table and walked straight out the gilded doors.
The last thing he heard before exiting was his father yelling his full name, followed by the distinct clatter of a wine glass hitting the floor.
He didn’t look back.
He only hoped it wasn’t too late to go find you.
The Floo spat him out inside the Ministry's atrium, ash on his robes and adrenaline still curling in his throat.
He hadn’t even stopped to breathe a second. Just left the restaurant, ignored the growing swarm of reporters trying to get a quote, and apparated straight to the only place he knew you'd be this late.
Because you never missed work. Not even when you were heartbroken.
The records floor was humming with cataloguing charms, but mostly empty. He moved through the aisles, scanning each reading nook, until he saw the sliver of warm light at the far end.
And you half-asleep on a bench with a file open in your lap, hair pulled into a messy knot, as if you'd given up on keeping it tidy hours ago. Peeking out from the edge of your notes, was a crumpled copy of The Daily Prophet.
The headline was impossible to miss. “Selwyns Host Private Dinner Amidst Engagement Rumors” A charmed photo of Cassia smiling beside him at the Summer Fundraiser. The article’s subheading speculated—rather confidently—that an official announcement was imminent.
Haechan swallowed, guilt tangling hot in his chest. The paper looked crumpled, proof you’d read every word and probably re-read it.
He approached quietly.
You didn’t look up when he got close, but your spine straightened defensively.
“I thought I’d find you here.” He said softly.
You didn’t answer.
“I ended it.”
That made you turn.
He looked a little wild. Hair windswept, face flushed, pupils still blown from whatever reckless high he'd just walked out of. But his voice was calm and clear.
“What?”
“I broke it off at her father’s birthday dinner. In front of the whole Selwyn clan. My father. The press.”
“Really?” was all you managed to breathe out.
He nodded once. “I said I wouldn’t marry her. That I never planned to. And then I left.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that.”
You stared at him.
For weeks he’d let the world believe what it wanted. Let it write another name next to his. Let you become a mistake he’d made. And now, here he was, standing in front of you after the storm finally broke.
Haechan stepped closer as if he’d been reborn in the fallout. Shoulders squared, back unbowed, silk tie loosened like he could breathe for the first time in years. The usual tension around his mouth was gone, replaced by a flicker of something almost boyish. Relief, or maybe exhilaration at finally choosing his own future.
He looked lighter, taller, as if someone had cut the invisible strings that kept him posed for family portraits. And when his gaze found yours, it wasn’t apologetic but certain.
For the first time, he was standing in front of you looking sure of what he wanted.
“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said. “And I’m not expecting it. But I needed you to hear this from me first.”
You couldn’t find any words to reply, all your thoughts were a mess. You almost thought he was a figment of your tired mind for a second.
He continued. “You said something the other day that stuck with me. That it felt like you had to try harder to be liked around me.”
“I hated that,” he said. “Because you’re the only person I’ve ever liked without trying at all. The only person I actually wanted to be seen with, not hidden. And I’ve been an idiot… No, worse than that. I’ve been a coward.”
You looked away, eyes burning.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen with my family after tonight,” he continued, voice quiet now. “But none of it matters if I lose you.”
“You could’ve told me,” you whispered after a few seconds.
“I know.”
“You let me believe I was just…” You swallowed hard. “nothing.”
“You’re everything to me, Y/N.”
He took another step and kneeled down, your eyes finally met his.
“Tell me what to do,” he said. “And I’ll do it. I don’t care if I have to claw my way back. Just give me a place to start.”
You were quiet for a long time, heart beating so hard it would surely bruise your ribs. “Why should I?”
“Because I’m in love with you.”
The words hit you harder than that rogue Bludger had in your third year. No wind-up or grand speech. Just the truth, raw and terrifying, dropped between you like a vial of undiluted Veritaserum.
You stared at him, eyes growing shinier with unshed tears. “You waited until now to say that?”
“I waited until I could mean it with every ounce of my soul,” he said. “I was a fool. I kept thinking I could keep you close while trying to satisfy the expectations placed on me. I thought maybe if I stayed quiet long enough, I’d find a way where no one got hurt.”
“Well,” you said, laughing without humor. “That didn’t work out so well, did it?”
“No,” he admitted. “It didn’t.”
“I don’t know what to say…”
“That’s okay.”
“And I still don’t know if I’m just something you want because your father told you not to.”
“Y/N, I promise—”
You cut him off. “But I missed you.”
His mouth parted, eyes flickering with shock and relief. As if he’d been waiting to hear those words, and didn’t think he deserved them.
“May I?” he asked, voice tight, almost broken.
You nodded.
He stepped into your space, slowly, reverently, afraid you might vanish. His forehead touched yours first. Then his lips.
This kiss wasn’t like the ones before, hurried or frantic or reckless. It was slow, as if he was building a home in the shape of your mouth.
You gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, kissing him back with all the ache of the weeks you’d spent apart. Your tears slipped between his lashes, and his hands shook slightly as they cupped your cheeks.
“I missed you,” you breathed, pressing your forehead to his. “You fucking idiot.”
“I missed you more,” he said, smiling softly. “You brilliant, beautiful girl.”
His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you so tightly that for the first time in weeks, your ribs didn’t feel hollow anymore.
this was going to be longer, but i felt like the scenes i cut out did not match the vibes i wanted in the end… soooo there’s a bonus scene here if you’d like to support my writing
pairing: slytherin! haechan x ravenclaw! fem.reader
genre: rivals to lovers, smut, angst
wc: 21k+ (full fic)
content warning: explicit content, unprotected sex, public sex, oral (fem. receiving), rough sex (hair-pulling, light spanking), marking (hickeys, bruises), forced proximity, toxic family dynamics, blood status discrimination, mean haechan, usage of wizard ver. of a slur, canon divergence (post-hogwarts /ministry setting), their relationship gives whiplash i apologize in advance, emotional hurt/comfort.
summary: Lee Haechan was a pure-blood heir raised to hate everything you are. You, a half-blood girl who knew better than to let your guard down around someone like him. You were never supposed to want each other—until one disastrous kiss shatters everything you’ve worked to protect.
a/n: AT LAST it is here!! my blood, sweat, and tears went into this u guys. i hope it was worth the wait. also i somehow ended up with a very dramione-coded fic (yes, this is me coming out as a dramione enjoyer). it’s so long i had to split it into two parts because apparently i don’t know when to stop. part two should be up right after this one (unless i passed out from exhaustion). pls enjoy and scream at me about it in the comments <3 ps: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BABYGIRL HAECHAN!!! ILYSM!!!
READ PART 2 HERE
“I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask why I do so? I do not know, but I feel it, and I am tormented.” — Catullus, poem 85
What you and Lee Haechan had could only be described as pure, unadulterated rivalry. Or it started that way, at least.
Your mother and his father had been political opponents for as long as you could remember—two towering figures in the wizarding world, constantly at odds in public and behind closed doors. While your mother built her career on progressive reform and transparency, his father operated in shadows, pulling strings and building alliances that made him one of the most quietly feared men in wizard politics. When your mother was named Minister of Magic, it was only by a thin margin, one that turned their rivalry into something closer to open war.
Because of your parents’ standing, and their closely intertwined conflict, you were often forced to share space. Too much of it. Not just at Hogwarts, but everywhere. Ministry galas, private events, summer functions.
Haechan was like a buzzing fly in your ear, a little gremlin who made it his life’s mission to drive you up the wall. You didn’t like him. You didn’t like his voice, or his slouchy posture, or the way he looked at you with those half-lidded eyes. You didn’t like the stupid pattern of moles on his face or the way he always knew exactly which button to press.
Everyone who knew you, knew you couldn’t stand him. If anything, the daily verbal sparring made it pretty damn clear. But what no one could’ve ever predicted was how quickly this would change.
A change that started when your mother was officially sworn in as Minister.
The announcement made headlines across every wizarding publication, and for a brief moment, your name was something people said with admiration. Students congratulated you in the corridors, professors gave you subtle nods of approval, and even the portraits seemed more polite than usual.
Your mother had been a respected Ministry official long before taking office, a well-known pureblood figure who shocked everyone by marrying a Muggle-born wizard, a choice that set tongues wagging long before you were born. Eventually, your father cracked under the pressure of a world he never fully belonged in, leaving your mother in favor of a simpler life with a Muggle woman.
Because your mother was so busy with her political career, you grew up with your father in the Muggle world, isolated from magic entirely until the age of ten, when strange incidents like your hair changing colors overnight, glass shattering during arguments started happening and forced your mother to intervene.
She brought you into a world you didn’t know then. Hogwarts became your fresh start, your chance to prove you belonged in the magical world despite whispers about your blood status, your father’s scandalous departure, and your upbringing.
Which was exactly why, when you walked into the Great Hall a few days after your mother was sworn in and saw the headline The Daily Prophet had run, it hit so viciously.
“Merlin’s beard, Y/N. Have you seen this?”
Hannah Parkinson’s voice stopped you on your way to the Ravenclaw table. She unfolded her copy with a dramatic flair and shoved it into your face. Your stomach dropped as you read the words.
“THE MINISTER’S HALF-BLOOD HEIRESS: RAISED BY MUGGLES, GROOMED FOR POWER?”
Under the headline was a moving photo of you walking through a Muggle market wearing jeans, scuffed trainers, and a second-hand T-shirt. You hadn’t even noticed the photographer.
Rita Skeeter’s quill did its best to flay you alive.
“Young Miss Y/L/N may carry a famous surname, but does she carry the polish befitting the office? Sources say the new heiress spent most of her childhood in a Muggle household, blissfully ignorant of wizarding custom until age ten—hardly the upbringing our world expects from a Minister’s child.
Classmates describe her as ‘aggressive on a broom, and foul-mouthed in the hallways’. One wonders whether this half-blood Seeker has the temperament to represent us on the international stage.”
And it continued into the next page, because Skeeter never knew when to stop.
“Her fashion sense appears equally questionable as she’s seen in the picture wearing Muggle denim and a shirt bearing a ‘Misfits’ logo (whatever that means). One hopes Madam Malkin can work miracles.”
The tears welled in your eyes before you could blink them back. Skeeter had somehow managed to hit all of your insecurities with one article—your parents separation, the years spent as the weird kid, the endless fight to prove you belonged in the wizarding world—and splashed them across the breakfast tables of the entire wizarding world.
“Aww, is the Minister’s little charity case going to cry?” Hannah cooed mockingly.
Before you could even find the words or grab your wand to shut her up, there was a loud crack behind you. The paper in her hands tore clean in half, as if slashed by an invisible blade. Hannah stumbled back in shock.
Next thing you knew, Lee Haechan was walking past you, his wand still glowing faintly. Dark hair fell in soft waves over his eyes, his uniform tie was crooked as always, his expression flat with boredom.
“Parkinson,” he drawls “I’d ask if the Prophet’s paying you for distribution, but just like your father you clearly enjoy handing out trash for free.”
A collective ooh rippled across the Hall. Hannah’s face turned an impressively blotchy shade of red before she turned around and stalked off, tripping over the hem of her robes.
Haechan turned then, catching your eye before his gaze dipped to your jeans and the battered trainers peeking out beneath your open robes.
“And you.” His mouth curved into a half-snarl. “If you insist on dressing like a stray Muggle, don’t act shocked when the rats sniff you out.”
You flinched at his words, feeling even more self-conscious than when Hannah was insulting you.
He nudged the ruined paper with his shoe, his voice low so only you’d hear it. “Never bleed where they can smell it.” Then, louder in a mocking tone “Try to keep up, you’re the Minister’s pet now.”
He turned on his heels and strolled back to the Slytherin table, his friends thumping him in the back in glee.
You stood frozen, not knowing how to react. He humiliated you, which wasn’t a new thing in your relationship. But this time, it felt as if he’d thrown the punch so no one else could.
After that day, Haechan was still a nuisance to you. Still the boy whose father would do anything to see your mother fail. But now his teasing felt different. It wasn’t sharp the way it used to be. His taunts started landing just shy of cruelty, aimed to sting you into strength instead of out of it. No one noticed the difference except you.
Bit by bit, you found yourself almost looking forward to it. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.
In the days following the article, you did your best to become invisible—but Hogwarts was not a place that allowed anonymity when your name was constantly on the front page of newspapers. Rita Skeeter’s words spread fast, and soon every corridor was filled with whispers about your family. The attention made you retreat into solitude, often spending your free periods hiding among the furthest library stacks.
One afternoon, as you sat hunched over your Charms textbook, the chair across from you scraped loudly against the stone floor. You looked up, startled and already annoyed.
"Did you lose your way?" you asked coldly, glaring at Haechan as he settled carelessly into the chair opposite.
"Unfortunately not.” He replied with a yawn, dropping his textbooks onto the table with a thud that made you flinch.
"What do you want, Haechan?”
He raised a brow. “Wow, no ‘hello’? No ‘thank you for publicly humiliating a pureblood princess on my behalf’?”
"Right, I almost forgot chivalry’s alive and well in Slytherin.” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"Only when it comes with entertainment value." He leaned back, arms behind his head. "And you're a surprisingly decent show these days."
"Glad I could provide," you muttered. “Did you come here just to annoy me?”
"Nah, I just figured you were desperate enough to tolerate my presence," he retorted, flashing a shit eating grin. "Since your fellow Ravenclaws aren't exactly lining up to spend time with you these days."
You narrowed your eyes. "If you're looking to have a laugh, go bother someone else."
"Believe me, watching you sulk around like a kicked puppy isn’t that fun anymore."
"Then leave," you hissed.
“Can't. I need your notes."
You scoffed loudly. "You're delusional if you think I'd help you."
"Am I?" he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Cause you still haven’t hexed me, which means you're at least considering it."
Your wand hand twitched under the table, and he noticed immediately, mouth quirking upward in amusement. The two of you were used to swapping harmless hexes for years. Silly stuff like changing each other’s hair color, gluing quills to fingers, turning the other’s pumpkin juice to green sludge during breakfast. Nothing scarring, but enough for you to flinch when the other’s temper flared. Haechan’s smirk said he remembered every jinx.
The nature of your relationship is exactly why you weren’t used to having him on your side all of a sudden, and you couldn’t be judged for holding him at a safe distance when you had no idea what his intentions were.
Especially now that his father was capable of doing anything to ruin you and your mother’s reputation with the purpose of hindering her future reelection. Not to mention, you hated feeling like you owed him anything.
"You didn't have to interfere the other day," you muttered bitterly, unable to meet his gaze. "I could’ve handled Hannah myself."
He didn't respond at first. The quiet stretched long enough that you glanced up just in time to catch a strange expression crossing his features. He masked it quickly with indifference.
"Parkinson annoys me," he shrugged.
"Since when?" you raised a skeptical eyebrow.
He leaned forward, voice dropping into a velvety murmur. "Since she started messing with what's mine."
"Excuse me?" you stammered.
"Mine to torment, I mean," he corrected, rolling his eyes. "Merlin, don't get ahead of yourself."
"I wasn't," you snapped, embarrassment twisting sharply in your stomach.
"I know." His smirk returned. "Your pride wouldn't allow it."
You huffed, returning your gaze to your textbook, pretending to read despite the words blurring uselessly in front of you.
He flipped open his own book, pretending to skim through pages in bored silence. After about twenty minutes of silent “studying”, he stood up without looking at you.
"I’ll come back tomorrow for those notes.
You hesitated, feeling the inexplicable urge to humor him, despite every reason not to. "Fine. Whatever."
"And stop hiding in the library every day. It's depressing."
"Fuck off," you shot back sharply.
His answering laugh echoed as he walked away and you sat there for the next few minutes trying to summon any sense of concentration to no avail.
A week later you were back in the library, this time sequestered at a corner table piled with parchment and potion vials. Professor Slughorn had paired the two of you for an extra-credit antidote project—“my favorite students working together!” he’d said with a wink—and neither of you had managed to wriggle out of it.
Haechan wasn’t really doing any work, he just kept twirling his quill and splattering ink blots across your carefully labeled ingredient chart.
“Could you not?” you snapped, blotting at the stains.
“Relax,” he said, slouching until his knees bumped yours under the table. “Don’t you know that chaos is the mother of invention?”
“That mentality is how you melted the cauldron earlier in class”
He grinned. “That was funny, though.”
You rolled your eyes and bent back over your parchment, quill scratching furiously across the page. You could feel him watching you, but you refused to look up.
The quiet of the library was broken by a burst of loud whispers from a nearby table.
“…I bet he only keeps the half-blood around because he feels bad for her—”
“—heard they sneak off after curfew. Wonder what she’s giving him in return…”
You didn’t even need to guess who they were talking about. It was obvious what people thought when they saw you with the Slytherin golden boy, the heir of one of the most ancient pureblood families. They probably thought you were his charity case as well. That you were stupid enough to want him around after all he said to you.
Your pulse pounded too hard in your ears to hear Haechan’s chair scraping back. A second later, the gossipers’ table went silent, punctuated only by the unmistakable snap of someone’s quill being broken in half.
He walked back to your table and dropped into his seat, jaw tight. “Idiots.”
You shoved your notes into a messy stack. “I’m done for tonight.”
“Y/N—” he reached across the table, but you were already on your feet.
You didn’t stop until you reached an unused classroom three corridors away. It was cold and dusty, with cobwebs in the corners and desks scattered around.
The ghost of a bride hovered near the corner, sobbing quietly into her translucent veil. You ignored her as you braced both hands on the windowsill, trying to steady your breathing, willing the sting behind your eyes to fade.
After a few minutes, the ghost floated silently through the wall, giving you a mournful look—as if accepting that you had more reason to cry tonight.
The door clicked open after a few seconds.
“Thought I told you I was done,” you said without turning.
“And since when do I listen?” Haechan closed the door behind him.
You didn’t reply, only sound that could be heard was your quiet sniffles and his slow steps getting near.
“They’re not worth it.” His voice was careful. “A new article will come out tomorrow and everyone will move on. You know people need a new chew toy every week.”
You huffed a shaky laugh. “Easy for you to say. Your family’s never been headline fodder.”
“Sure we have. Just with less sensational adjectives.” He stepped closer until your shoulders brushed lightly. “Besides, if they’re going to talk, we might as well give them something good to gossip about.”
You glanced up at him, puzzled. “Like what?”
Haechan hesitated for a quick second, before his mouth quirked into that half-smile you recognized as the one he gave before saying something ridiculous. “We could pretend to date.”
A surprised laugh burst out of you, louder than you’d intended. “Fake dating? Seriously?”
“Why not?” His expression was deceptively casual, but his eyes stayed serious on yours. “It’s the quickest way to control the narrative. People eat that shit up.”
You shook your head, smiling, expecting him to crack up and admit he was joking any second now. But his expression didn't waver, and you faltered slightly.
“You’re not serious.”
His gaze didn’t shift. “What if I am?”
You stared at him, waiting for the joke, the laughter—but it didn’t come. Still, the idea was too absurd. Fake dating Lee Haechan? Impossible.
You shook your head again, forcing another laugh as you quickly dismissed the notion. “Nice try, Lee. But I think I’ll stick to something easier to manage like maybe getting top marks in our Potions assignment?”
He chuckled, finally relenting. “Suit yourself.”
Another tear escaped as you laughed softly, embarrassed. You swiped at your cheek. “God, I hate crying.”
“Yeah, you’re an ugly crier.” He nudged your shoulder gently
You rolled your eyes, shoving his arm, but he caught your hand mid-motion. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, making your breath catch. For a moment you both stood there quietly, until finally, you let out a slow exhale and allowed your head to rest carefully against his shoulder.
He stiffened for barely a second, then relaxed, leaning gently into your weight.
Neither of you spoke again until the clock tower chimed curfew. Reluctantly, you straightened, feeling calmer but oddly reluctant to move away from him.
“We should finish that antidote tomorrow,” you murmured.
He nodded, eyes searching your face as if confirming you really were okay. “All right.”
When he left, his suggestion lingered in your thoughts, stuck there like an itch you couldn’t scratch.
Fake dating Lee Haechan. You snorted softly to yourself, shaking your head as you walked back to the common room. The idea was not only ridiculousbut completely impossible.
Yet your brain, traitorous as always, circled back stubbornly to it. The thought of Haechan holding your hand in the corridors, leaning closer at dinner, brushing a casual kiss to your forehead in front of everyone...
Heat rose sharply in your cheeks.
Ridiculous, yes… but not completely unappealing, if you were honest. He was handsome and smart, plus he wasn’t as irritating as you originally thought.
You shook your head again firmly, as if to physically dislodge the thought. No. You couldn’t afford to indulge this. It was crazy. Dangerous, even.
But as you walked up to the Gold Eagle Knocker at the entrance of the Ravenclaw common room and answered the riddle, you couldn’t deny the way your heart sped up at the thought of everyone believing you belonged to each other.
You spent more and more days studying with Haechan after that. Or rather, you studying while he studied you. It was a comfortable escape from judgmental whispers and the scrutiny of everyone else’s eyes. Somehow, he’d become your calm in the midst of chaos.
To your surprise, Haechan was actually a good listener, offering better advice than anyone else you'd ever met. It was unexpected for someone who seemed born to antagonize, but behind his cutting remarks was someone who noticed more than he let on.
He was even helping you improve your flying form, despite technically being your biggest rival since both of you played Seeker. But he’d started noticing small flaws in your technique, quietly pointing them out during your private drills. You only learned to fly at eleven, which made you less experienced compared to Haechan who’d practically grown up on a broom.
“You’re still dropping your shoulder every time you dive for the Snitch,” he called over one afternoon, a playful grin on his face as you landed and sat on the grass.
“I do not,” you shot back, brushing hair from your sweaty forehead.
“Yes, you do.” He snorted lightly, tossing himself onto the grass beside you. “It’s why I keep beating you in dives.”
“Whatever.” You sighed, picking at blades of grass. Admitting your weakness felt uncomfortable, but the words slipped out anyway. “It’s just...dives still freak me out a bit.”
His teasing expression softened immediately. Quietly, he stood and held out a hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how to fix it.”
You hesitated only a second before taking his hand. The warmth of his fingers sent a small flutter through your chest.
“Mount your broom,” he instructed gently, letting go once you were steady. “But don’t kick off yet.”
You did as told, gripping the handle tight enough to hide the slight tremble in your fingers. He moved behind you, his presence too close. You felt your breath catch sharply when one of his hands gently settled on your lower back, steadying you. His palm felt impossibly warm through your Quidditch robes.
“You’re way too tense,” he murmured, amused. You jumped slightly when his other hand rested firmly on your shoulder. “Relax a bit, yeah?”
“How am I supposed to relax when you’re—”
“Just trust me.”
You tried to turn your head but he gently redirected your chin with his fingertips, guiding your gaze straight ahead.
“Eyes forward. If you were flying, you'd have crashed already.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from the soft rasp of his voice near your ear and the firm grip of his hands. You swallowed thickly. “It’s hard to concentrate with you right there.”
“I’m just correcting your form,” his fingers moved softly along your spine, and every nerve in your body seemed to spark under his touch.
His grip tightened slightly on your shoulder, pressing it into a more relaxed position. “Keep it down like this. Shift your weight forward without leaning into your broom too hard.” His breath was warm in your ear. “Trust your broom, and trust yourself. And stop tensing every muscle just because you’re afraid you’ll fall.”
“Easy for you to say,” you mumbled, frowning. “You were born with a broom attached to your hand.”
“Just try the dive.” he chuckled.
You hovered mid-air and bent forward, shoulders steady this time as the broom descended. The dive went smoother and your stomach didn’t feel like a bottomless pit.
“That…felt better.”
He grinned. “Told you.”
You dismounted, heart still thumping. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” he said, grabbing his own broom. Then, with a teasing smile, “Just remember who helped you when you finally beat me to the Snitch.”
The following week The Great Hall hummed with the usual breakfast chatter. It had been an awkward morning, people seemed more on edge than usual and you didn’t even know why until commotion started by the Slytherin table.
Haechan’s voice rose sharply with anger, breaking through the murmurs. “Mind your own business, will you?”
Glancing over your shoulder, you saw him glaring down a small cluster of Hufflepuffs who immediately ducked their heads, faces flushed and eyes darting nervously. He snatched a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet from one boy’s trembling fingers. He looked up and his eyes locked onto yours.
“Enjoying this?” he stalked toward you, paper clenched in one fist.
“What are you talking about?” you asked, defensive under the weight of everyone’s stares.
He threw the Prophet down onto the Ravenclaw table. The headline screamed out in black lettering “MINISTRY SCANDAL—LEE FAMILY FACING INQUIRY OVER ILLEGAL DARK ARTEFACTS”
“You happy now?” Haechan hissed. “Your mother’s finally getting rid of the bad press. Congratulations, Minister’s pet.”
“What… I—We had nothing to do with this!”
“Oh, really?” he sneered bitterly, leaning in closer. “Funny how these stories started coming out right after the articles about you. Maybe Skeeter wasn’t so wrong… hanging around Muggles didn’t teach your family much about fair play.”
A few gasps echoed softly around you. You wanted to scream, to hex him right then and there, but your hands shook too badly under the table to even grip your wand.
You lifted your chin, staring back. “What are you really so upset about? That your father’s finally being exposed, or that people might think you’re just like him?”
His expression faltered enough to let you know your barb had landed. Of anything you could’ve said that was probably the worst for him.
Haechan didn’t just resent his father. He was terrified of becoming him. Every cruel instinct he buried, every smirk that masked something darker, every time he played the game too well—he wondered if he was already halfway there. So hearing it from your mouth, that disgust, that echo of everything he feared he might become? It was too much and it shook something in him loose.
“You’re right,” he said with a cruel laugh. “My father’s not a good man. But at least he never pretended to be. Your mother clawed her way to the top on the back of others and you’re just her dirty little project. Filthy blood dressed in silk. And no matter how high you climb, you’ll always reek of where you came from.”
The air drained from your lungs. It wasn’t just the insult — it was how easy it came to him. As if it had always been there, lurking under his tongue. You stared numbly at the crumpled headline on the table.
He was clearly deflecting. Protecting himself and his family’s name. But you never expected him to use words you’d only ever heard whispered by the worst kind of witches and wizards.
Haechan stormed out of the Great Hall, past the whispers and stares, past the first-years who scrambled aside in fear, past the professors who pretended they didn’t see anything. He didn’t slow down until he reached the abandoned courtyard behind the greenhouses, his breaths coming short and shallow.
He braced a hand against the cold stone wall, his pulse pounding sickeningly in his ears.
“Filthy blood dressed in silk”
The echo of his own voice made bile rise in his throat. He’d said it so easily, so effortlessly cruel, exactly like his father would have.
He could still see the way your expression had shattered. Not in anger—that would have been easier to stomach—but stunned disbelief, pain etched deep into your features, your chin held high even as your eyes welled with tears. He’d torn you open, hit you exactly where he knew it would cut deepest, and he’d done it because he couldn’t face feeling vulnerable himself.
“Fuck,” he whispered harshly, sliding down onto the nearest bench and burying his face in his hands. He felt like a coward. No, he felt worse. He felt exactly like the kind of person he’d sworn he would never become.
He’d watched you go through this already, helped you pick up the pieces, telling you people would forget, that it wouldn’t matter in the end. But he’d never imagined his family would become the next target. He’d never expected the anger, the embarrassment, to burn so personally.
He swallowed thickly, head tilting back against the wall, gaze fixed unseeingly on the darkening sky. He needed to fix this. Needed you to understand that he’d meant none of it, that he wasn’t like his father, even if today he’d failed spectacularly at proving it.
But how could you possibly forgive him after what he'd said?
He wasn’t even sure if he could forgive himself.
The courtyard incident never reached the Headmaster, but the castle carried gossip faster than owls. By the next morning everyone knew Lee Haechan had called the Minister’s daughter “filthy blood” to her face. Ravenclaws pitched him glares sharp enough to cut skin. Half the Slytherins avoided eye contact, the rest wore smirks that said at least one of us finally said it out loud.
You refused to be in the same corridor with him, let alone speak. At meals you sat with your team while he took the far end of the Slytherin table and toyed with food he never finished. Whenever you entered the library, he left. Wordlessly. Every time.
The distance should have made things easier, instead it thrummed like a headache behind your eyes.
Thing’s should’ve calmed down after that, but the Prophet ran a follow-up column on the Lee investigation, calling Haechan directly a liability to the family reputation. Skeeter framed his words against you in the Great Hall as proof of the “volatile Lee temper,” the perfect angle to question whether the family’s dark artefact inquiry hinted at deeper corruption.
She quoted unnamed “allies” of the Lee family who feared the heir’s public outbursts were undermining decades of carefully polished prestige. In Skeeter’s telling, Haechan wasn’t just an embarrassed teenager but a wobbling pillar threatening to topple the entire Lee dynasty.
You closed the paper before anyone could see your hands shaking. Whatever anger you still felt, seeing him reduced to a scandalous article—no less than you had been—left a sour taste in your mouth that lasted throughout breakfast.
By the time you slid into Charms class, your stomach was in knots. Professor Flitwick’s flickering quill skated across the blackboard, dividing your Charms class into pairs for the upcoming Presentation on Non-Verbal Counter Charms.
The moment your name appeared next to Lee, H., the knots pulled so tight you thought you might throw up.
Across the room, Haechan twirled his wand between two fingers, deliberately avoiding your gaze. You’d managed to avoid him so well you were half-convinced the castle had sprouted secret passages just to keep you apart, so being forced into proximity again felt deeply unpleasant.
“Partners will demonstrate in two weeks,” Flitwick announced, clapping his tiny hands. “Research and practice outside class is essential!”
Reluctantly, you gathered your things and walked stiffly to the empty seat next to Haechan. He didn’t bother moving his books to make room for you.
“I wrote down a few options,” you said, dropping your notes onto the corner of the desk. “I’ll handle wand movement notation, you can do the theory.”
Haechan barely cracked one eye open. “Pass. Last time I trusted your wand work, I nearly lost my eyebrows.”
“That was in Defense class, and you deserved it,” you snap, voice sharp enough that two Gryffindors glancd over. “Just do the theory, Haechan. It’s not that hard.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—did I miss the part where we decided you’re in charge?” He straightened slowly, finally meeting your glare. “If Flitwick’s grading us on performance, I’m not gonna let you take all the spotlight.”
You exhaled sharply. “Then what’s your brilliant idea?”
“We can meet in the library tonight,” he said evenly. “Let’s practice first, figure out who does what later.”
“Fine,” you snapped.
“Fine.” He leaned back again. “And let’s do something advanced. Your choice, if that makes you feel better.”
You rolled your eyes, muttering a resigned “Whatever”
When you arrived at the library a few hours later, it was mostly empty aside from a Ravenclaw girl who was crying into her Potion notes and Madam Pince who was judging from her desk at the front. Haechan was sitting at a back table, posture so straight it seemed unnatural for him. His eyes flicked up only when you dropped your bag across from him.
“Non-verbal Disillusionment,” you said by way of greeting. “It’s a simple figure eight motion. If you botch it, I’m not explaining to Flitwick why you’re half-invisible in class.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Let’s try partial disillusionment first, just my hand."
He raised his wand, eyes narrowing in concentration. "Stay still," he murmured. His wand flicked in a tight spiral. At first nothing happened, then slowly your fingertips began to shimmer into the tabletop, camouflaging perfectly with the wood.
“Not bad,” you admitted, slightly impressed.
He lowered his wand, the illusion fading quickly. "Your turn."
You focused carefully, tracing a precise spiral in the air. His hand flickered briefly before returning fully visible.
He gave you a faint smirk. "Looks like you need some pointers."
“Just be quiet for two seconds, will you?"
"Maybe try easing up on the wrist movement," he suggested anyway. "Less stiff."
You tried again and his fingertips vanished almost completely. He flexed them experimentally.
"Better," he said quietly.
Halfway through the wand practice he paused. "About the other day, in the Great Hall—"
You tensed immediately, eyes snapping up to meet his. “I’m not really here for an encore performance,” you muttered.
Your counterspell fizzled again, causing reddish brown to bleed through the fading illusion on his arm. He didn’t mock you this time. Instead, he silently recast the charm, patiently waiting for you to try again
“I was a dick,” he said quietly. “And not in my usual charming way. I mean… a proper, full-scale dick.”
“I’m aware.” You said, though you wanted to laugh at the way he described that.
“I crossed a line," he finished, holding your gaze steadily. "I shouldn't have lashed out like that or called you a—”
“A filthy half-blood?” you finished, swallowing around the tightness in your throat.
His jaw tightened. “Yeah. My father always taught me the fastest way to look strong was to punch down. It’s taken me this long to realize how pathetic that is.”
"You didn't have to throw me to the wolves to save yourself."
He exhaled slowly, looking tired and ashamed. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
His sincerity softened some of the tension that had lodged itself inside your chest. After a pause, you gave him a small nod. “Apology acknowledged.”
He tilted his head cautiously. “But not accepted?”
"Still pending," you offered quietly. "But no more low blows and no more humiliating me publicly."
He almost smiled, relaxing slightly. "Fair, truce?"
You hesitated, then held out your hand. "Truce."
He took it firmly, and you felt warmth linger briefly even after he let go. You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of your wand.
“How are you doing, by the way? With... everything. The Prophet. The investigation on your father.”
Haechan looked down at the table, then exhaled a laugh that had no humor in it. “It’s weird. Part of me’s pissed they’re dragging his name through the dirt. The other part…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “The other part thinks maybe it’s what he deserves.”
You stayed quiet, but your hand crept across the table, resting just near his.
“I keep thinking,” he said softly, “if they tear him down, does that mean they’re tearing down part of me, too?”
You bit your lip. “No. You’re not him.”
“Don’t sound so sure.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I sounded exactly like him that day in the Great Hall.
“But that’s not who you are.” You reassured him softly.
His hand moved then, his pinky brushing yours.
“Thanks,” he said, voice barely above a breath.
“Ready to try the full-body charm?”
He leaned back with a teasing smirk. "Try not to make me disappear permanently. I know you'd miss me."
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't entirely suppress your smile. "Don't tempt me."
For the next hour you traded spells and counter-spells. He still rolled his eyes and mocked your notes, but the comments landed softer every time, the edge dulled by something like mutual respect or at least mutual exhaustion. When Madam Pince finally shooed you out of the library, you’re silently looking forward to the next practice.
After that truce in the library, nothing between you and Haechan got any easier.
In private, he still showed up to practice and study. In public, he kept his distance, afraid that more articles would come out. The more time you spent around him, the riskier everything felt.
If anyone had asked, you would have denied thinking about Lee Haechan at all—denied the way your pulse lurched when his broom skimmed too close during matches, denied how your gaze drifted to his mouth when he argued with you in class, denied the fierce stab of protectiveness that flared whenever someone else insulted him.
But your parents were still political adversaries, and it was the middle of the elections which meant everything was so much more fragile. You were starting to think that The Prophet had spies in Hogwarts. The rumor that Rita Skeeter could transform into a fly and that’s how she heard so many private conversations was starting to seem more believable every day.
Because of the complexity of all these things, you hand no choice but to roll your eyes at Haechan in the corridors, call him insufferable beside your friends, and let the castle believe you hated him without exception.
Mostly you stuck with your own Quidditch team since it was easier to pretend around them. Venting about the Slytherin Seeker was practically a bonding ritual.
“He’s such an asshole!” Mika spat after a Saturday match, pushing her dark hair off her forehead.
“I can’t believe Madam Hooch let that shoulder check slide,” Renjun grumbled, ripping off his gloves. “He nearly sent you into the stands.”
“Typical Slytherin, they only know how to play dirty,” you agreed breathlessly, bruised, and secretly exhilarated.
But you weren’t totally innocent either.
That morning at breakfast, right before the match, you’d gotten into one of your usual arguments with him over something silly like who’d scored more points this season or who had better broom control.
“Keep dreaming, Lee,” you said, smirking across the table. “You’ll fumble the second the Snitch shows up.”
He scoffed, chin propped on his hand. “If I win today, I want a reward.”
“A reward?”
“Yeah. Something worthy of beating you.”
You pretended to think, tapping your fork to your lip. “Fine. If you catch the Snitch, I’ll give you whatever you want.”
The words left your mouth with a casual shrug, but the second you said them, his expression darkened with interest.
“Anything?” He asked, lowering his voice enough so only you could hear. “You might not like what I want though.”
You blinked, suddenly very aware of how close his knee was to yours under the table.
His gaze flicked briefly down to your mouth, then back up. “See you on the pitch, then.” he said softly, pulling away with a smirk that left your cheeks burning.
You’d said it as a joke. Obviously. But now, after the match, with bruises blooming on your ribs and your teammates fuming about missed fouls, you couldn’t stop replaying that look on his face. And to top it all off…
He’d caught the damn Snitch.
You waited until your teammates were gone and the Slytherin tent was empty to walk in. Haechan was sitting on a bench there, shirt half-off and hair damp with sweat.
“Took you long enough,” he sighed, leaning back in his arms.
“You’re lucky the wind was on your side today.”
“Aht! Aht! Don’t come at me with that now, you were still confident enough to bet.’
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, you’re not even going to cash that in.”
“Oh, but I am.” He pushed off the bench slowly, stepping closer. “You can’t offer something like that and expect me to just forget.”
You crossed your arms. “What do you want, then? A box of Fizzing Whizbees? A foot massage?”
“Tempting. But no.” His fingers reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before letting his hand drop.
“I want you to admit I’m the better Seeker.”
“Come off it.” you laughed.
He leaned in a fraction, his voice lower now. “Alright then. I want you to ask nicely.”
“What?”
“Please, Haechan, what do you want from me?” he said, mocking your voice. “Say it.”
He was getting too close. Your eyes flicked to his mouth for half a second, and you knew he caught it.
“Is this the part where you make me kiss your boots or something?” you scoffed, looking at a point behind him instead of his eyes.
“I have a better idea of what you can kiss.”
An annoying flush crept up your neck, lips parting in disbelief at the implication.
“Excuse me?” you asked, with a laugh that came out shakier than intended.
“You heard me.” He didn’t look away, didn’t even blink.
This wasn’t your usual banter anymore. The kind you could dismiss with a scoff and a snide remark. This felt infinitely more charged.
“Oh, you’re disgusting.” You muttered.
“We made a deal,” he said, stepping even more into your space. “And I won.”
You backed up slightly, only to hit the wooden lockers behind you.
“What exactly do you want from me, Haechan?”
“That,” he started, his voice lower and raspier now “is a great question.”
He moved slowly as if he was offering a chance to run but you didn’t. Maybe you should have.
His hand came up, knuckles brushing your jaw. “You want to know what I want?”
You swallowed hard and nodded.
“I want to know what happens when you stop pretending you hate me.”
“I don't pr—”
“Don’t lie. I've seen the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching, you’re so obvious.”
You tilted your head, defiant even now. “Fine, let’s say you're right. What then?”
He gasped so slightly you barely caught it before his smirk came back in full force.
“Then we need to do something about it.”
You stared up at him, close enough to count every damn mole on his stupid, perfect face.
He leaned in until his lips brushed your ear. “Unless,” he whispered, “you’re scared you’ll like it.”
Your hands twitched at your sides.
“As if.”
You kissed him so hard you knew it would bruise later. And for a second it wasn’t about politics or Quidditch or the Prophet or who hated who first. It was just his mouth on yours, insistent and warm, and the way his hands gripped your waist possessively.
The kiss only lasted a few seconds before he pulled back, breathless.
“That was definitely better than a foot massage.”
He barely finished the words before your mouth crashed onto his again, hungrier this time, any shred of dignity gone. Your fingers slid up his neck, tugging him down by the collar of his robes.
Haechan chuckled into your mouth, and you felt him press you harder into the wood, his body trapping you there.
“So much for hating me,” he murmured, breaking just far enough away to speak, his breath hot against your lips.
“Shut up,” you hissed, fingers tightening in his hair as you pulled him back down to you, kissing him roughly to silence that stupid mouth.
He groaned against your lips, slightly annoyed at how good you were at this. Your hands caressed his jaw where stubble was growing. His hands found your hips and squeezed firmly.
You gasped, lips parting to give him an opening, and he took it immediately, deepening the kiss with the kind of reckless arrogance that made your knees tremble. One of his hands slid lower, slipping under your Quidditch shirt to brush bare skin.
“Fuck—” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut when his mouth pulled away to trail along your jaw. “Haechan.”
He hummed, pleased at the way his name sounded from your lips. “Say that again.”
You shook your head stubbornly, pulling his mouth back to yours, swallowing the cocky smirk you could feel forming. You needed him silent, you needed to stop thinking, stop remembering that this was Lee Fucking Haechan.
His thigh pressed between your legs, and suddenly it was harder to pretend you didn’t want this with every fiber of your being. Especially when you were arching against him, hips chasing the friction shamefully. He noticed and pressed harder, savoring the breathless sound you made.
“Not so mouthy now, are you?” he teased, nipping your lower lip.
“Just—god—stop talking,” you breathed, dragging your nails down the back of his neck, earning a rough groan that vibrated through you.
Your head spun from how quickly this was happening, how eagerly your body surrendered to him.
He smirked against your lips. “But I like watching you argue.”
You grabbed his jaw firmly, forcing his gaze down to yours, reveling in the way his breath stuttered at your sudden boldness. “Haechan, I swear—”
“What?” His voice was challenging, eyes glittering with excitement. “What are you gonna do?”
The answer came in the form of your hand sliding down to palm him through the fabric of his quidditch trousers, smiling sharply when his confident expression fell, eyes squeezing shut as he bit out a moan.
“That.” You murmured, stroking him again, slowly.
He recovered quickly and was kissing you again with a hand tangling in your hair, tugging firmly enough to make you gasp.
“Two can play dirty, princess.” He growled softly, hips pressing forward into your hand.
“Then fucking play,” you challenged, breathless.
His fingers swiftly undid the buttons of your trousers. Nothing but heat flushed your skin as he slipped his hand lower and under your panties, fingers finding exactly where you needed him.
You cried out sharply, hips bucking into his touch.
“So sensitive,” he teased, voice shaking just slightly as his fingers circled your clit gently, then pressed inside you. “I wonder if your team knows their perfect little seeker gets this wet for a Slytherin.”
“Shut—ah—” your retort melted into a moan, hips grinding shamelessly against his hand.
Your head fell back against the locker, lips parted in a silent gasp as Haechan’s fingers worked you over. Your legs were already trembling, breath hitching in time with every curl of his fingers.
The need to to wipe off the fucking look on his face of pure cocky satisfaction was overcoming. He was watching you unravel like this was the victory he really wanted—not the snitch, not the match, this is what he’d been craving the most.
“Who knew,” he murmured. “That you’d look this pretty falling apart all over my fingers.”
You couldn’t even glare at him, all your strength focused on moving your hips against his hand, chasing that high, chasing him. Until the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching froze you both on the spot.
His hand stilled immediately, and you slapped it away in a a panic. Your pants were unbuttoned, his shirt was still half-off, your lips were swollen, and you could feel your pulse between your thighs, desperate and unfinished. This was not exactly how you wanted to be caught dead.
“Shit,” you hissed, shoving him back as quickly as your wobbly knees allowed.
Haechan grabbed his wand and muttered a cleaning charm under his breath, wiping any visible evidence from his hands and your legs. Then, he schooled his expression into that bored and slightly annoyed mask he wore in class.
You barely had time to fix your clothes before a voice rang out from outside.
“Haechan? You in here?”
The Slytherin beater, Na Jaemin.
Haechan stepped out of the tent as if he hadn’t just been knuckle-deep inside you. “Just grabbing my wand,” he lied smoothly. “I didn't know I needed a hall pass to change.”
Jaemin laughed. “Hey, was someone else in there?”
You forced yourself to step out, tucking your shirt in with trembling fingers and praying to every god in the castle that your face didn’t look as wrecked as it felt..
Jaemin blinked at you, confused. “Oh.”
Then he looked between the two, and you could see the pieces falling in place.
“Right…” he said, drawing out the word. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. Just figured you’d want to see the scoreboard. They’ve posted top players.”
Haechan raised a brow. “Top players?”
Jaemin gave a pointed look. “i think you’ll be surprised.”
Then he turned and walked out, leaving behind a thick silence in his wake. You let out a breath, arms crossed tightly over your chest.
“That was a close call.” He said, still looking way too proud for someone who’d just been caught mid-debauchery.
You glared. “I'm going to kill you.”
He smirked. “Only if you say please.”
The Ministry’s Galas always felt like a battlefield in ball gowns, but this year it was worse. Your mother moved through the ballroom with effortless grace, every nod and handshake a subtle show of dominance. You followed half a step behind, champagne flute untouched in your hand.
“Y/N, darling, try to look engaged,” she murmured, looping her arm through yours as she guided you toward yet another tedious cluster of political allies. “This is the perfect opportunity to make connections before graduation.”
“Can I at least enjoy dessert before I get offered a job I don’t want?” you said under your breath.
She laughed lightly as if you’d said something charming. “You have options, dear. The International Magical Cooperation office is always interested in young minds, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has already reached out. You could even apprentice under Councilwoman Fairbairn, she’s been watching you.”
You blinked, trying to summon enthusiasm. “That sounds... overwhelming.”
“It sounds like a future,” she corrected, smiling at a passing Wizengamot elder. “We can’t all be Quidditch captains forever.”
You clenched your teeth behind a tight smile. This entire night was curated around your mother’s standards. From your dress, your hairstyle, to your perfectly timed laugh. And you were so bored you could scream.
So when she paused to speak to a pair of visiting diplomats, you used the opportunity to escape toward the dessert table. You stuffed a sugared pumpkin tart into your mouth just to have an excuse not to answer questions about your “career trajectory.” If anyone asked again about your post-Hogwarts plans, you were going to throw yourself into the enchanted punch fountain.
The peace lasted until you felt that familiar prickle between your shoulder blades. You turned just as Haechan bowed to a council witch, and walked straight toward you.
“Enjoying the pastries, princess?” he asked, stopping close enough that the chandelier lights caught a storm of gold in his eyes.
“You should focus on your father’s damage control, not my dessert plate,” you replied, forcing a smile that hurt your cheeks.
“Trust me, he’s better at politics without me. Besides, I’m here to make sure you don’t die of boredom.” he said with a crooked grin.
Then as if it was the most common thing, he wiped a bit of powdered sugar from the corner of your lip. The action shocked the reply out of your mind, and you had to look around to make sure nobody saw that. A passing journalist drifted too near so you stepped back on instinct and lifted your chin to reply.
“I would rather be bored than babysat by you.” The reporter’s quill twitched happily and moved on.
Haechan’s eyes cooled, but a corner of his mouth lifted. “If you keep insulting me that sweetly, people might think you mean the opposite.”
“Are you ever serious about anything?” you rolled your eyes, yet your pulse thudded hard enough to blur the string quartet.
He offered his hand. “One dance. You can call me names the whole time.”
“Not a chance,” you hissed but a council member brushed past and mistook your glare for a smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N, would you lead the next waltz?”
Before you could refuse, Haechan’s hand slid to your back. “She’d be delighted,” he said smoothly, steering you onto the glassy floor.
You settled your palm against his shoulder, felt muscle tense under velvet, and tried to count the steps. But his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist and the numbers scattered.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“It’s the tempo,” you lied.
The waltz spun you through three agonizing minutes of perfect posture and silent arguments fought with eyes alone. When the final note faded, applause burst around you, and you let go as if burned.
You escaped to a side corridor lined with stained-glass portraits. Halfway down, you heard his footsteps. You spun, skirt whipping.
“You had no right—”
“No right to what? Save you from making a scene?” He stopped an arm’s length away, breathing hard. “I’m pretty sure we’re here to keep appearances.”
“Oh, thank you,” you snapped. “But I can fight my own battles.”
“I’m aware.”
A flickering wall sconce threw silver across his cheekbone, your eyes followed the droplets of melted snow that still clung to his hair from the ride here. He looked beautiful, and you hated it.
“Why do you always do this,” you said, softer now, “You always make everything harder than it needs to—”
He stepped closer. “Do you really not know why?”
Your breath caught, his gaze dipped to your lips.
“Haechan… this isn’t right,” you whispered.
“I know,” he answered, not moving back. “But tell me you don’t want it too.”
A voice rounded the corridor corner—two aides chatting about the banquet. Without thinking, you grabbed Haechan’s collar and dragged him into a narrow alcove behind a velvet drape. The aides passed but you still held onto him.
“You’re truly such a pain,” you breathed.
“You’re one to talk.” He said and kissed you before you could come up with another retort.
His hands framed your face, thumbs stroking away shock. Yours fisted in the silk of his robe as you kissed him back, matching every demand. The gala’s distant music thumped through the walls, but inside the alcove everything narrowed to the press of mouth on mouth, the soft catch of your breath, the relief of finally, finally shutting each other up.
When you broke apart, you were both trembling. He rested his forehead against yours.
“This is so dumb,” you breathed.
“I have to disagree.”
Another set of footsteps came from outside and you pulled away smoothing your hair. He straightened his lapels with a tiny smirk on his lips.
“Lose the grin, Lee.” you said, slipping out first into the hall, masking swollen lips behind a polite smile. He followed a minute later, expression schooled into neutrality again.
Across the hall, your mother caught your gaze. You forced yourself to move toward her, while behind you his fingers brushed across the back of your hand before letting go
A week went by without much thought. The bruises from the gala’s waltz, the little half-moon marks his fingers left on your wrist, had faded. But the memory of that alcove kiss refused to. Unfortunately, life went on, and in your household that meant tea with the Minister at precisely eight in the morning.
Your mother was already seated in the glass-roofed conservatory, steam curling from a delicate china pot. She greeted you with the smile she reserved for diplomats.
“Sit, darling.”
You obeyed quietly but anxiety bubbled in your chest. She only used this much ceremony when she was about to drop a bomb.
“I’ve been thinking about your future,” she began, pouring. “You’ve always excelled in Defense, but I know how fond you are of languages as well. So I called in a favor.”
Your stomach dipped. “Mom…”
She set a parchment envelope on the table. “A summer internship in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, right after NEWTs. You’ll shadow the Trade Accords division, they might even pay if you impress them.”
“I didn’t apply for this,” you said tightly.
“I applied on your behalf. They accepted instantly, obviously. One look at your marks, your pedigree—”
“Exactly,” you cut in. “My pedigree. When do I get to make a choice that isn’t pre-selected for political optics?”
Her expression cooled by a few hard degrees. “Opportunities like this don’t wait. You’d be foolish to refuse.”
The conversation spiraled quickly with her measured reasoning, your rising temper, and the clink of china as you set your cup down too sharply. In the end she dismissed you with a gentle but immovable, “We’ll speak once you’ve calmed down.”
You left the conservatory shaking, the parchment still unopened in your fist.
You considered skipping but pride shoved you into the Ministry lift at 8:59am. You wore sensible robes you hated, hair pulled back into a ponytail that was giving you a headache, and your heart was still hammering with resentment. But if you had to do this, you would do it well… and spitefully prove you didn’t need your mother to pull strings.
The lift grill rattled open onto a marble corridor lined with signage that said Level Five, International Cooperation. You approached the reception desk, rehearsing a polite introduction. Then you heard a laugh that froze you on the spot.
Haechan was leaning against the counter, chatting easily with the receptionist. He was wearing dark robes, and his hair was slicked back. The receptionist pointed toward a stack of orientation folders, he thanked her with a wink, and turned towards you.
His eyebrows shot up in shock when he saw you, then his mouth curved into a slow smile.
“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here on a Monday morning.”
You gave him a flat look. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you, I’m guessing. Interning because my father thinks letting me rot on a beach all summer would reflect poorly on the family name.”
You raised a brow. “Was this the only department desperate enough to take you?”
“Actually,” he drawled, stepping closer, “Magical Law Enforcement was my father’s first pick but it was too much work so I requested this department specifically.” He tilted his head. “Imagine my surprise when I saw your name on the roster last night. Made this whole endeavor infinitely more entertaining.”
Heat crept up your neck, equal parts anger and something far less convenient. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Lee. Stay out of my way.”
“That might be difficult,” he said, tapping the crest on his folder. “Trade Accords division, same as you.”
Of course. Your mother couldn’t have orchestrated a more ironic punishment if she’d tried. But grateful relief pooled in your stomach anyways. At least you wouldn’t be alone in a sea of strangers, at least the one person who could keep up with you (and rile you up) would be right there. But you couldn’t show that. The whole structure of whatever twisted thing existed between the two of you depended on pretending you’d rather kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
The program coordinator, Ms. Thatch approached you, beaming at you both. “Wonderful! Our Hogwarts pair. Minister Y/L/N spoke highly of you, and Mr. Lee comes with stellar references. You’ll be working together on our project about Portkey Tariff revisions.”
You swallowed a groan, Haechan’s grin only widened.
“Looking forward to our collaboration,” he said sweetly, extending his hand. Ms. Thatch watched, expectant.
You shook it, pretending your pulse didn’t spike when his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist in a silent echo of the waltz from the gala. His eyes flickered with the same memory.
“I hope you can keep up,” you murmured under your breath.
“When have I ever disappointed you?” he answered, squeezing slightly before releasing your hand.
The morning of your first official group session, you found Haechan sitting on the arm of a leather sofa in the Ministry atrium, twirling his wand mindlessly and balancing a croissant on his knee. You approached slowly, arms full of color-coded folders of all the research you’d done already. He looked up, eyes dragging over your thoroughly professional appearance before raising a brow.
“Someone’s ready to storm the Wizengamot.”
“I can’t say the same about you.”
He popped the last bit of croissant into his mouth and spoke through the crumbs. “Relax, this thing’s just a formality. They don’t expect us to have actual solutions yet.”
“I’m not here to coast,” you huffed. “I’m not going to let anyone say I got this internship because of my mother.”
“Of course not. You’ve got enough pressure breathing down your neck without adding my laziness to it.” he replied with a dramatic sigh.
“So you admit you’re lazy.”
“Ah, I'd call it strategic,” he corrected with a grin. “Why waste effort on a rigged game?”
You stared at him, genuinely annoyed now. “Why even be here if you’re not going to try?”
“Because I was told to be,” he said, still smiling but something behind his eyes hardened.
You opened your mouth to press, but Ms. Thatch appeared, waving the two of you over to the briefing room where interns settled around the long mahogany table. Ms. Thatch stood at the front, adjusting her elegant tortoiseshell glasses.
“Welcome back, everyone. Today we’ll outline initial proposals for the Portkey Tariff Revision project,” she said briskly. “I trust you all reviewed the necessary documents in preparation for this.”
You glanced quickly at Haechan, who was leaning back and looking bored in the chair opposite you.
When Ms. Thatch’s gaze landed on you, she smiled encouragingly. “Miss Y/L/N, let’s hear your proposal first.”
You straightened, ignoring the faint twitch at Haechan’s lips, and began clearly, “The current tariffs favor Western European trade. I think we should revise the rates using updated data from underrepresented regions, especially in Eastern Europe and Asia. It would make things fairer across the board.”
Ms. Thatch nodded appreciatively. “Very good, any thoughts?”
Haechan leaned forward, eyes glinting as they locked onto yours. “That sounds good on paper but it ignores our current diplomatic priorities. Adjusting tariffs too quickly risks alienating our key European allies. I’d suggest a phased approach, start with targeted reductions for certain regions while giving our main trade partners time to adjust.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly, feeling irritation rise at the implication that your idea was naïve. “So we just let the imbalance drag on for years while everyone tiptoes around it?”
He tilted his head, annoyingly calm. “No, we just need to be smart about timing. If we push too hard and too fast, we could lose cooperation completely. It’s not just about fairness, it’s about what’s actually doable.”
“Diplomacy requires action,” you shot back, voice sharpening despite your efforts to remain composed.
“When has rushing things ever gotten us anywhere?” he asked with a raised brow.
The other interns glanced between you two with barely hidden fascination. Ms. Thatch cleared her throat delicately. “Passionate debate, but perhaps we can find a middle ground?”
You flushed slightly, biting your lip. Beside you, another intern whispered something like awkward, but you ignored it.
“Well,” Haechan started, “we could try a hybrid approach. Immediate adjustments where the gaps are the worst, but phase in the rest over time. We could also offer incentives like better magical goods regulations for countries willing to work with the new model early on.”
You blinked. It wasn’t a terrible suggestion. It was annoyingly logical. Worse, you’d briefly considered something similar before dismissing it because it felt too cautious. You glanced at Ms. Thatch, whose expression was encouraging.
“…That could work,” you said reluctantly. “As long as we set clear timelines for change and don’t let it get buried in process.”
Haechan gave you a satisfied smile. “Look at that teamwork.”
Ms. Thatch clapped once, pleased. “Wonderful! A joint proposal from Mr. Lee and Miss Y/L/N. Excellent demonstration of cooperation.”
Your face warmed up at her compliments, but you were still annoyed because you'd unintentionally made Haechan look good too. He reclined in his chair again, twirling his quill lazily, with a little smirk on his face.
When the meeting ended, you gathered your parchments quickly, eager to escape the lingering awkwardness. But as you stood, Haechan slipped smoothly into step beside you.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured, leaning slightly toward you.
“For what? Pointing out flaws in my idea?”
“For saving your impulsive approach from alienating half of Europe,” he corrected.
“Why do you act like you care about the outcome now?” you snapped softly.
“You’d be surprised.”
The lift chimed before you could answer. You stepped in first, forcing a slow breath. Haechan followed, positioning himself at a polite distance but still close enough that his body heat seeped through your robes.
The enchanted car lurched upward, then swerved left, then right in its usual nauseating zig-zag. Your boots slid and you lost your balance. Haechan’s hand shot out, pulling you against the solid plane of his chest.
“Careful…” he murmured.
“Thanks,” you managed, the word thin and embarrassingly high.
He released you the moment you steadied, but the imprint of his fingers stayed on your skin. When the doors finally opened on the Atrium, your pulse was thudding so hard you could hear it.
“See you tomorrow, partner,” he murmured, throwing a knowing glance over his shoulder as he exited.
You watched him disappear through the bustling floor realizing it was going to be a very long internship.
The next few days consisted of nothing but research. Haechan seemed more interested in the project after your argument. He claimed he was committed to helping but you suspected he just enjoyed contradicting your findings.
“Page six,” he announced, flipping your draft around. “Your import tariff curve is off by half a point.”
“It is not.” You muttered without looking up.
He leaned forward. “Wanna bet?”
You rubbed your temples, eyes throbbing from going through three decades worth of parchments. “Fine. Show me.”
Haechan stood and bent over your chair, his cologne wrapping around you. He pointed to a neat column of figures, far closer to your face than necessary.
“See?” he murmured. “You adjusted by seven percent, but the 1903 clause moved the baseline to eight.”
“Good catch,” you conceded through gritted teeth.
He straightened, grinning. “Say it louder, the ghosts in the basement might’ve missed it.”
You rolled your eyes, then pressed two fingers to the side of your neck and winced. All those hours of hunching had finally caught up with you.
Haechan’s smirk faded. “You okay?”
“Just sore,” you muttered, rotating your shoulder. “Thanks to someone who insisted we cross-reference three languages and thirty years of footnotes.”
“That same someone happens to give excellent massages,” he said, sliding behind your chair before you could protest. “Turn.”
You opened your mouth to refuse but then another sharp twinge shot down your spine. So with a reluctant sigh, you let his hands settle lightly on your shoulders.
“Don’t break me,” you mumbled, cheeks heating.
He chuckled, low. “You’ve survived Bludgers to the ribs. I think you’ll live.”
His thumbs worked slow circles into the knotted muscles at the base of your neck. Heat unfurled under your skin; the room seemed to narrow to the quiet rasp of parchment and the steady press of his hands.
“Better?” he asked, voice a breath from your ear.
“A little,” you managed, pulse thudding far too fast for mere relief.
He kneaded deeper, tracing careful circles. Your breath caught as his thumbs slid higher toward your neck. He paused, and you didn’t realize he was leaning in until you felt the faintest ghost of a kiss graze your bare shoulder where your robes had slipped. Your entire body stiffened in surprise.
“Haechan—” The name broke on a gasp as he kissed you again.
“I’ll stop if you want,” he murmured but his lips only drifted higher. Another kiss landed below your ear, teeth grazing a spot that made your breath hitch. He nudged your hair aside, mapping the exposed skin with his mouth.
“What are you doing…” you breathed.
“Just helping you relax,” he whispered, mouth warm on your neck.
You turned without thinking, and his mouth met yours, stealing the rest of your question. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer.
He stood from his chair and eased you back until you bumped the table. His tongue brushed yours; a low sound caught in his throat when you arched into him. Your hands found the loosened knot of his tie and pulled. He broke the kiss just long enough to trace your bottom lip with his thumb.
“Feeling better?”
You swallowed thickly. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm, we gotta keep going then.” He kissed you again, deeper this time, hands sliding down to your waist and gripping tightly. His hips pressed forward, drawing a sharp gasp from you as you felt the heated line of his body. Your fingers tightened in his shirt, clinging as he kissed along your jaw, teeth gently scraping your skin.
“We shouldn’t—” you breathed, though you tilted your head to grant him better access.
“I know,” he said hoarsely. But neither of you stopped.
His hands slid down to explore the curves of your body through your robes. You felt dizzy, entirely consumed by him. He lifted you slightly onto the table, knocking scrolls and parchment to the floor, but you hardly cared. There was no one around in the Archives at this hour and all you could focus on was him—the fierce heat of his mouth, the soft catch of his breath when you bit his lip.
Your robes shifted upward, exposing bare thighs. His palms skimmed your skin, rough fingertips igniting sparks along your nerves. He kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours as you parted your knees instinctively, drawing him in closer.
“Lie back.” He murmured.
Your heart kicked up as you leaned onto your elbows, breath already shallow. His eyes didn’t leave yours, not even as he dropped to his knees, hands sliding up your thighs and pushing them apart with slow pressure. With his other hand he bunched your robes higher, the cool air hitting your skin in sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him.
“Haechan—” you gasped, tensing when his mouth brushed the inside of your thigh.
You hadn’t expected how soft he’d be. How careful. He kissed higher, lips dragging up inch by inch until his breath was warming your core. You squirmed closer, needing him closer, needing somethinv to relieve the pressure building low in your stomach. His eyes flicked up to yours with a silent question in them. You nodded without hesitation.
His mouth was on you in a second. A sharp main escaped before you could stop it, echoing off the dusty shelves. His tongue moved slowly at first, learning you, and then with more purpose. Your hands fumbled for the edge of the table, gripping tight as your breath caught again and again. The sensations were overwhelming, so much better than anything you’d let yourself imagine.
“Fuck,” you breathed. “Haechan—”
“You’re so fucking sweet,” he said between strokes. “Tastes better than I thought.”
“Don’t stop,” you gasped, voice cracking. “Please—”
“Not planning to.” His fingers dug into your thighs as he dragged his tongue in tight circles. “Gonna make you fall apart on my mouth.”
He groaned low against you, and the vibration nearly sent you over. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging, desperate, but he didn’t slow. His tongue worked you relentlessly, fingers digging into your thighs as you twitched.
“Haechan—fuck—” you choked, voice high and strangled as you came hard. Your thighs clenched around him but he still didn’t stop until you started to shudder.
You slumped back, breathing fast. Haechan rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
You reached for him without thinking, pulling him into a kiss. You tasted yourself on his lips, but you didn’t care. You just needed to feel him.
“Less tense now?” he murmured, his smirk returning, but softer this time.
You exhaled, dazed. “Yeah. But—”
“I know,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes slipped closed. “This doesn’t leave the room.”
You nodded, even though everything in you hated the idea. He pulled back just a little, smoothing your robes down, then reached for his fallen notes without meeting your eyes. You fixed your hair with trembling hands, still trying to get your breathing and your thoughts under control.
But you knew the truth, even if you weren’t ready to admit it. This wasn’t just something that happened and pretending otherwise wasn’t going to make it go away.
genre: johnny suh x reader, college au, teacher's assistant! johnny, friends to lovers
warnings: none!
summary: johnny is your campus crush. he also happens to be the teaching assistant in your music history class. when you (innocently) ask for help on a project, you end up learning about more than just music.
You’re a bit obsessed with this guy who skates around campus- or the concept of him, more accurately. You don’t even know his name. All you know is that last semester, you (accidentally) memorized his schedule, resulting in you walking to certain classes a few minutes earlier than necessary to catch a glimpse of him. These glimpses were merely a blur, whipping past you like an apparition. He was a ghost to you, and you enjoyed being haunted by him.
Your friends made fun of you for having a campus crush, arguing that it’s not real since you don’t actually know him. However, you honestly preferred the distance. Then, you could fill in the gaps in your knowledge with your own imagination. Admiring him from afar worked for a while- that is, until the start of Spring semester.
When you saunter into your music history class, a random elective you took for fun, you’re met with the elusive Skater Boy. You knew he was tall, but he’s even taller than you’d imagined in your daydreams. You glance at him briefly, before going to take a seat at a desk near the back.
Skater Boy chats with a few of his friends at the front of the classroom, then sits next to the teacher’s desk when the professor enters. You infer that he must be the teacher’s assistant.
This was a big problem. Surely, you’ll fail this class now. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to focus. The breathy laughs that escape him are already distracting you to the point of being almost unbearable. His smile is so breezy, like a wave catching the wind. He looks just as cool here in the classroom as he does on his skateboard.
The underlying crush that lay dormant in you begins to boil, and you know it will soon bubble over, scalding everything in its wake. You couldn’t wait for the burn. In fact, you aimed to spur it on sooner.
You make a concerted effort to pay attention to the professor’s spiel, pulling out your notebook to take notes. It's syllabus day, sure, but you want to look studious. The first assignment of the semester is to research the history of your favorite music genre.
Despite your efforts to focus, your eyes drift to the stickers that adorn Skater Boy’s laptop: Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, an Arctic Monkeys logo and a cartoon surfboard. You want to know everything he likes and commit the list to memory. You want to sew his idiosyncrasies into a quilt and blanket him with your loving knowledge of them.
The professor introduces him as Johnny Suh- a third year music composition major. Now the ghost has a name.
—
You look at the office hours on the bottom of your syllabus. Johnny would be in office in lieu of your professor for the majority of the semester. Would it be so bad to pop in and ask him for help on the first assignment?
While you admittedly feel silly, walking to the Arts and Humanities building looking a bit too gussied up, you swallow the nervousness. You stand in front of the room, reading the placard:
Professor: Dr. Moon
TA: Johnny Suh
You knock on the office door. On the third knock Johnny says, “Come on in!”
Meekly, you enter. He’s too real, too tangible, in this small space. You’ve never been within touching distance of him. The prospect makes your fingers tingle. Professor Moon has an insane book collection, two bookcases spanning the walls opposite one another. The rest of the office is cluttered with a slew of instruments.
Johnny is wearing a backwards hat and quarter sleeve sweater. Your eyes graze the expanse of his forearms, then drift upwards. There’s a pen clipped to his collar and another in between his lips. It’s the most tantalizing pen you’ve ever seen. Finally, you make eye contact.
Introducing yourself, you say, “Hi, my name is _____. I’m in the music history course.”
“Nice to meet you.!” He takes the pen out of his mouth, and your eyes follow it forlornly. That could’ve stayed. “How can I help?”
Johnny gathers some papers, places them in a neat stack at the center of the desk, then sits on the edge of it.
“Um, I’m a non-major. So, I’m struggling a bit with the first assignment.”
Johnny nods understandingly. “Ah, the dreaded favorite genre assignment. What’d you pick?”
“Pop punk,” you say.
“Fascinating. You don’t strike me as a punk person.”
You shrug. “Grew up on it.”
“Have you been to the record store near campus?”
You shake your head.
“It’s called Stereo 127. I think it would be cool to listen to some records and base your research on specific albums. Then you’ll have a clearer framework for when it’s time to write the paper.”
“Thanks. Um,” you clear your throat, “Would you mind… showing me?”
“The record store? Yeah, sure. No problem. Does this weekend work for you?” Johnny asks.
“Sounds good!”
—
Stereo 127 is densely packed with all sorts of records, mimicking the state of Dr. Moon’s office. There’s a classmate of yours named Jaehyun who’s keeping watch of the store. He walks around the shop, reorganizing things as he sees fit. As you peruse the albums, you’re peeking at Johnny over the records, trying to catch his eye. Unlike you, Johnny is actually scanning the selection, genuinely trying to help you.
“Let’s get the obvious ones out the way,” he says, holding a Blink-182 record. He’s somehow managed to track down a copy of their debut album, Cheshire Cat.
“If Cheshire Cat is an ‘obvious’ pick to you, then I’m way out of my depth,” you confess.
“A little pretentiousness never hurt anyone,” Johnny replies.
So far, you have a copy of Green Day’s Nimrod (which you’re quite excited about) and Paramore’s newest album. As the minutes pass, you get gradually more enraptured by the thicket of albums. Before you know it, you’ve accumulated quite a few records. After a bit, you sidle up to Johnny, peering over his shoulder to check out his picks. You spot a Yellowcard compilation record.
“This is more fun than I thought it’d be,” you pipe, turning to face Johnny. His face floods with fondness when he sees the stack of albums in your arms, caramel eyes warming you from the inside out.
“Yeah, you have a good eye,” he retorts. “I’ve been meaning to check out a few other shops around town. Y’know. To compare selections.” He’s sputtering now, having fallen into a cough fit.
“You okay buddy?” you say, chuckling. You gingerly pat his back, holding back a full blown laugh as Johnny continues to cough.
He waves you off, but you pat his back once more for good measure.
“I’m good, I’m good,” Johnny says. When he regains his composure, he continues. “I was just wondering… Are you busy on the 27th?”
—
You’re sprinting across campus, eager to meet Johnny outside of the boys’ dorm. It’s been two weeks since you’ve last seen him. He’s leaning against the building as he waits for you, clad in a page boy cap (which he’s wearing backwards again) and tank top. You allow yourself a quick glance at his arms, immediately regretting it as your face heats up. When he spots you, Johnny waves excitedly, the width of his smile making your own double in size.
After your first excursion, Johnny had asked for your number (“in case you have questions on the assignment!” he had said). Since then, the two of you have texted occasionally, mostly about school.
The record store he takes you to this time is called The Boot. It’s less trendy than Stereo 127 and less organized as well. Most of the vinyls are in bins, withering at the edges and clearly sundamaged. Johnny says he comes here to find obscure records to spin during his DJ sets, not to necessarily hunt for additions to his collection.
“So, you’re a music composition major?” you ask as you crouch down to sift through a box.
Johnny nods. “With a minor in photography.”
“Favorite camera brand?”
“Nikon for sure, but I mostly shoot 33mm film.”
“How pretentious,” you say.
“Oh, you love it.” This is true, you do love it.
Johnny continues. “I found another record store for us to try out after this one.”
“Yeah, just text me whenever.”
—
You had finished your paper days ago, so the subsequent record store outing was completely unnecessary to a certain extent. Johnny had no choice but to admit that he simply wanted to hang out with you- though, he’s not complaining.
The final record store you visit with Johnny is called WAYVE. This time, he picks you up in his car to take you there- a dinky pick up truck with a shitty paint job.
“Before we head out- “ Johnny reaches over, opening the glove department in front of you. His hand brushes your leg briefly.. He pulls out a CD case and places it in your lap.
“I made a playlist for you.” He can’t look you in the eyes properly. You’ve never seen him look this sheepish.
Johnny continues. “Not vinyl, I know, but I wanted to decorate the cover.” Taped to the front of the jewel case is a polaroid of you perusing records. In the photo, your brows are furrowed in concentration.
“When did you even take this, you weirdo?”
“A few weeks ago at The Boot. The lighting was nice.”
You’re practically buzzing with excitement when you get home, racing to put the CD in your busted boombox. The first song on the playlist is Going Away to College by Blink-182.
“I haven't been this scared in a long time
And I'm so unprepared, so here's your valentine
Bouquet of clumsy words, a simple melody
This world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful to me.”
—
You got a B minus on the paper, which is better than you would've done without Johnny’s help. However, the project is the furthest thing from your mind.
All you can think about is the lyrics of Going Away to College. You’re trying not to read into things, but Johnny wasn’t the most subtle.
Maybe you should make a playlist for him. Or buy him a record. According to him, Johnny’s not a true collector- that was reserved for cameras. Maybe he’d appreciate it.
Johnny spots you walking to class (though he’s sure your next one isn’t for another half hour). He skates over to you, stopping right at your feet. You shriek, almost stumbling backwards.
“What the hell, Johnny?”
He dismounts his skateboard, holding it under his arm nonchalantly. “Do you wanna hang out somewhere other than a record store?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
—
The skatepark is overstimulating in the best way. After trying (and failing) to teach you how to do an ollie for an hour, the two of you set up a picnic off to the side of the halfpipe. You eat kimbap off Johnny’s skateboard, using it as a little table.
“Sorry you got a B on your paper, by the way. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t grade it.”
“It’s okay. I’d rather earn a B from Professor Moon than have your biased ass give me a higher grade than I deserve.”
Johnny places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically.
“Um, what about academic integrity? I would do nothing of the sort!” he insists.
“Oh come on, you’re obsessed with me,” you say, half-joking. To your surprise, Johnny nods to himself, agreeing with you.
“Only a healthy amount though.”
When you and Johnny finish the kimbap, he scooches next to you. The sun is setting, oranges slowly darkening into a wash of deep indigo. You shiver as the sun dips beneath the horizon. Johnny places his jacket across your shoulders.
“Thanks,” you say.
“No problem.”
You place your head on Johnny’s shoulder.
“Um, and thanks for the playlist too. It’s really good.”
“Yeah?”
“It sorta had… a theme to it.”
Johnny suddenly pulls out from under you, leaving you to stumble around for a bit as you catch yourself. When he turns to you, he stares, caramel eyes pouring into your own. You feel warm in spite of the chilly breeze.
“I’ve never really been good with words,” Johnny confesses. “I figured I’d let the music do the talking.”
With that, he takes your face into his hands. He traces your features with the pads of his fingers- running them over your eyebrows, the lids of your closed eyes, your nose and, finally, your mouth. When he’s satisfied, he places a faint kiss upon your lips.
He pulls back, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m so glad my pretentious bullshit doesn’t give you the ick,” Johnny says.
“Only a healthy amount,” you say through a smile.
Suddenly, you initiate another kiss, your lips crashing into his fervently. When Johnny recovers from the initial shock, you deepen the kiss further. He’s a patient kisser, never demanding too much or taking more than he’s given. This only heightens your hunger for him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. When the two of you come up for air, you linger with Johnny still in your embrace, his eyes crinkling at the edges with pure joy.
a/n: currently unedited + feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!
summary: you don’t necessarily mind admiring lee haechan from afar, but when the opportunity for you to get closer presents itself, you grasp it, and eventually you come to the realisation that whilst you’ve been too busy admiring, you’ve failed to notice that he’s been doing exactly the same.
pairing: student!haechan x f!reader. mdni! adults only.
genre: university!au, fluff, strangers to acquaintances to lovers, smut!
word count: 32k (i am sorry)
tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, smoking/vaping, swearing, talks of fetishes, explicit sexual content, kissing (a lot), making out, semi-public shenanigans(not sex), spitting (yum), fingering, dry humping, oral (both receiving), multiple orgasms, multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, praise, light chocking, lots of teasing, protected sex, overstimulation, haechan is cocky but also pathetic, haechan being bf material without even being her bf, he calls her a brat like once, petnames (baby, pretty, baby girl, good girl), she calls him “hae”, they’re both down bad, soft dom!haechan, sub!reader, switch!haechan, cumshot oops, aftercare, he’s just a good guy, both are mature but can be too in their head at times, there’s no toxicity or angst in this fic, ✨communication✨, pls let me know if i missed anything!
other characters: the whole dream gang, chenle & ningning as oc’s besties
a/n: hi all! this is my first ever fic (that I'm posting lol) and I've poured my heart and soul into it so i hope you show some love. it's definitely not perfect and i could keep rereading and finding things that I'd change but I've kept my writing in the dark for long enough and if i don’t post this now i know i never will, so please take it! I do have a part 2 in the works, which will be diving into their feelings and more angsty themes, but for now I hope you lovely people enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it xoxo
ps. the idea for this fic blossomed while i was listening to eye candy by justin bieber, so might be worth giving it a listen whilst reading
It's not like you’re obsessed with Lee Haechan. You just enjoy looking at him. You barely even know the guy, but, annoyingly, he's difficult to ignore. Difficult not to notice. And it’s not like you’ve spoken much to each other either, apart from the rare exchange of a few words here and there or the odd nod of acknowledgement in corridors.
There was this one time where he sat next to you in class, but that was only because he was late and the seat next to yours was the only empty one that was close to the entrance of the classroom. That was the first time he smiled at you. Nothing more than casual and polite but it still made your heart race.
Then, of course, there was the time where you bumped into him on the street, while you were on your way to a date, which ended up being disastrous, but that didn’t really bother you. What bothered you was the fact that he was also on his way to a date. With a girl. A girl he chose to go on a date with. A girl that he probably found pretty. A girl that wasn't you. Regardless, that didn’t negate the fact that, that night you had your first ever conversation with him. It was brief, but it happened, and it certainly left you with a bittersweet taste in your mouth, which was probably why you later couldn’t focus on the boy you matched with on that godforsaken dating app. And as mean as it sounded in your head, you hoped Haechan’s date went as badly as yours.
Next time you saw him, was at a campus party you got dragged to by Chenle and Ningning. Mark convinced Chenle, who convinced Ningning, who forced you and it’s not like you don’t enjoy a fun night out with friends and alcohol, you just weren’t in the right mood that night and you were convinced that being in your luteal phase had definitely something to do with it.
You remember instantly spotting him in the kitchen, leaning lazily against the counter as he was speaking to a girl you didn’t recognise and you could tell just from her side profile that she was nothing but attractive. You watched as she reached and took the drink he was holding, bringing it up to her lips, tasting the contents of the cup but also him, and you decided to look elsewhere before. witnessing anything that would (but definitely shouldn’t) ruin your night.
You were determined to spend the rest of the party as far away from him as possible, forcing poor Chenle to go and refill your drink in the kitchen every time you ran out. You were more than aware it might have sounded silly to anyone else, but you didn’t want to go down the rabbit hole of trying to get someone’s attention, when they were clearly not interested. You’d been that person in the past, and you refused to make the same mistakes again. At the end of the day, it was just a crush. It would go away eventually. Right?
When the party started to die down, you found yourself in the back garden with no one else other than the lovely Na Jaemin, after you stumbled upon him being sick in a fake plant pot. You could have left him in his own fate, but knowing yourself, you would definitely feel guilty for the rest of the night, if you didn’t make sure he was safe. You started to regret your decision about 10 minutes later, when he had already fallen asleep with his head in your lap and you were sure he was drooling on you, but that was the least of your concerns in that moment. Thankfully, Chenle picked up on the first ring and when you asked him to come outside with reinforcements, he immediately said, “I’ll be there in a sec.”
The reinforcements, of course, being Jeno and Haechan, wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, but you weren’t in a position to be picky. You found out shortly after that Haechan had only stepped outside for a smoke and got dragged into ‘helping’, which he refused to do since, according to him, Jaemin had put him in that position countless of times and he’s sick of looking after a grown ass man who’s got the alcohol tolerance of a twelve year-old. You found his point more than valid, but you didn’t say anything.
When Chenle and Jeno disappeared back inside, carrying a whiny and barely coherent Jaemin, you found yourself alone with the boy you had initially tried to steer clear of at all costs. Your mission miserably failed that night and at the end of it all you realised one thing; whatever it was that you felt for Lee Haechan, wasn’t just a harmless crush.
“I gotta admit, that was slightly entertaining.” He said as he took the seat that Jaemin had previously been occupying next to you on the wooden bench.
You must have sat there with him for about an hour, talking about everything and nothing, while enjoying the early summer breeze and the freedom that came with the end of finals. He insisted on getting you an uber home when you announced that you were going to walk because your phone had died and when you asked if you could pay him back somehow, he said, “Just don't be a stranger next year.”
Autumn
You were aware Zhong Chenle was an evil little thing, but you hadn’t pegged him for a traitor. And betrayed is what you felt as you read the message on your screen over and over again.
@kh1000le: greetings folks, party at my new place this saturday @8 – I'll add the deets later but feel free to invite more people. ps. don’t forget to bring extra booze.
You look up from your phone, remembering you're still in class and the professor is still talking stats. Your eyes instantly land on Haechan, still sitting two rows ahead of you, between Jeno and Jaemin and you can tell he’s looking down, probably reading the message you were reading just seconds ago. Jaemin shifts closer to whisper something in his ear and Haechan leans in to hear better. He quickly nods his head agreeing to whatever Jaemin says.
You turn your attention back to your phone again as more notifications flood your screen. Other people in the group chat responding and reacting to messages. Haechan is still silent. No reactions or responses. You wonder what he's thinking. But most of all, you wonder if he's noticed you're also in that group chat. Would he recognise your username? You only started following each other the day after that party before summer, but it’s been almost four months now and there has certainly been no exchange of messages.
Suddenly, you notice people have started packing up their belongings and you quickly start doing the same, hoping you can flee the scene as fast as possible, before Jaemin comes up to you with questions about the party.
The second you step outside the doors and into the corridor, you exhale, relieved to have succeeded and as you start walking towards the main building exit you realise you spoke too soon.
"Y/n, wait up!"
You close your eyes muttering a quiet “shit” to yourself. You put on a smile and turn around, Jaemin quickly approaching you. Haechan, who's trailing a few steps behind him, isn’t really paying attention, already in a conversation with Jeno.
“Jeez woman, you sure walk fast. You got somewhere to be?” He speaks fast as he tries to catch his breath.
“Hey Jaemin, yeah, sorry, I'm in a rush, how can I help?" You try and respond as nonchalantly as possible.
"I just saw you're in that group chat and I'm assuming you'll be there on Saturday?" He asks with eyes full of hope.
"Yes sir. I'm actually meeting up with Chenle now to talk logistics." You explain quickly, seeing Haechan getting closer from your peripheral.
"Ahhh that makes sense, I just wanted to ask if we should bring anything else other than alcohol?"
"Just your drink of choice will be enough for you I reckon, don't want you ruining any of his new plants." You say with a teasing tone.
"Yah!" He complains with a pout that is nothing but laughable.
"Hey Y/N." Jeno approaches with a smile and joins your conversation. “Is this man bothering you?”
“Not really, just making sure he doesn't die of alcohol poisoning on Saturday.” You try to keep your eyes on Jeno, avoiding the handsome boy who's also joined your little group.
”I thought you were a nice one.” Jaemin whines like a little child while a frown adorns his face.
“You’ve been fooled my friend,” Jeno comes to stand next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders, shaking you playfully. “She’s evil.”
You're mid eye roll when Haechan’s voice cuts through. “Seems pretty harmless to me.” He’s standing next to Jaemin now. One hand in his pocket, the other holding the strap of his bag. You notice the two rings adorning his middle fingers. Such a pretty hand, you think, the veins prominent, running down his smooth arm, disappearing underneath an oversized check shirt he's wearing over a white t-shirt. You then notice he's got a pair of jorts on and you can't help but wonder who can even pull off jorts that effortlessly nowadays.
Your attention drifts back up to his face, the most adorable boba eyes are twinkling as he looks at you and his captivating mouth offers you a cheeky smile. A small dimple appears, barely there for you to see and you think you're on the verge of throwing up. His lips move again and you watch him carefully like he’s moving in slow motion. "Hi." His hand leaving his pocket and raising in the air to offer you a quick wave. It's annoying how such a small and casual gesture makes your heartbeat faster and your cheeks feel warmer. You're pretty sure your eyes are giving you away, showing how affected you are behind the stoic expression you’re struggling to maintain. You never thought you'd be here, but you have Chenle to thank. Or maybe strangle. You haven't decided yet.
"Hi." You return the smile as calmly as you can, foregoing the wave. You don't think your limbs are working properly right now and you're pretty sure your fingers are slightly shaking by your sides. And you’re now thankful for Jeno’s arm still draped around you, the weight grounding and necessary. You feel your phone vibrate a few times in your back pocket, assuming it's either Chenle or Ning checking if you're alive and that pulls you out of your trance. “Evil is a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
”That’s funny, remember when you told me to go fuck myself and read a book whilst I’m at it?"
“Oh, I’m sorry,” You shove his arm off you in fake annoyance. “Did I offend you?” You feign concern dramatically. “Remember when you asked me if I’ve got any friends who need, and I quote, an unforgettable dicking down session and then proceeded to say, and I quote again, ‘is Murakami the fella who wrote that book about some Norwegian guy’s dick?’” You get slightly irritated just at the memory.
"Ahhh that explains it! This guy came back home a few months ago asking if anyone’s got a copy of Norwegian Wood." Jaemin looks at you as he explains, whilst pointing a mocking finger at Jeno.
"Oh? You actually read it then?" You ask with a hopeful smile and Jeno offers you a shy nod. Maybe there's hope for him after all.
“Read it? He actually cried when he got to the part where Naoko kills herself.” Haechan snorts at Jeno’s sour expression and reaches out to lightly pinch his cheek. He instantly gets shoved away. “Aw come on, I thought it was endearing.” Haechan turns to look at you now. “I was wondering who made him read that.” He holds your gaze while you hold your breath, and you wish someone could hold your heart as it’s about to beat out of your chest. “I love that book.” He admits with a smile, and you celebrate internally, because you knew he wasn’t just a pretty face, and you feel giddy knowing that you’ve both loved the same thing, even if it’s just a book.
You picture him sitting in a pink cafe, wearing a cozy sweater, looking all warm and comfy while turning page after page. You find yourself wanting to ask if he’s read it more than once, like you have and what his thoughts are on the ending. But you don’t. Not yet.
“Well maybe you two nerds should join a book club.” Jeno bitterly says.
“I mean, I’d be down?” Haechan raises his eyebrows suggestively at you. Mothefucker.
“I would, but unfortunately I have somewhere to be right now.” Your response causing his tongue to poke in his cheek, trying to fight off a smile. The gesture making him look incredibly handsome and boyish at the same time and if you were a cartoon character, pink heart eyes would be bulging out of your eye sockets. You force yourself to look away from Haechan's face, opting to divert your gaze between the other two boys instead. They're both carrying amused expressions, looking between you and Haechan and you feel like you’re missing something.
“Ouch.” Jaemin says with a laugh, now mocking Haechan.
“See?” Jeno looks at both of his friends, crossing his arms over his chest as if proving a point. “Told you she’s evil.” He smiles like he’s proud of you.
And that’s your queue to escape. ”Right, well, as lovely as this has been, I actually have to go.”
“Okay, busy queen.” Jaemin snaps his fingers and you can instantly picture him getting along with Chenle. “We’ll see you Saturday then.” He smiles sweetly.
”You will indeed. Don’t be too late.” You say with a warning, pointing a finger between all three of them.
”Yes, mam.” Jeno nods in agreement.
You look at Haechan one last time. His expression contemplative, almost like he's torn between saying something else and keeping quiet. The way he's observing you makes you feel like he's already got you all figured out. Like there's no way he doesn't know you’re having trouble breathing, all because of him.
“See you Saturday.” He says in the sweetest tone, smiling at you like he's done it a million times before.
You give him a small nod goodbye and when you start to walk away you try your best to do so at a normal speed, not wanting to give away the fact that you're practically running away.
You hear Jaemin's loud voice again. “Bye Y/N!”
”Bye Jaemin!” You respond, mimicking his cheerful tone without looking back.
As you head towards the exit, you've already decided you're going to go with the option of strangling Chenle. Because there’s no way you’re surviving Saturday night without going clinically insane. Not if Haechan holds your gaze the way he did just a few moments ago. Not if he talks the way he talks and certainly not if he looks as good as he always does.
You’re done for.
_
You’re baffled as to how and why Chenle knows this many people. You assume majority are friend of friends and acquaintances, because you’ve known the boy for three years now and never has he mentioned more than five names. You’re also starting to get worried he might get a noise complaint from the people occupying the flat downstairs, but you assume he has already warned them about tonight.
Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud exclaim and you feel like laughing when you hear Chenle’s screechy voice shouting Mark’s name excitedly, announcing his drunkenness along with the older boy’s arrival.
"Lover boy still not here?" Ningning teases you as you check the time on your phone for the umpteenth time that night. She takes a sip from her drink and looks over your shoulder. "Relax, it only 9pm."
"I'm relaxed." You defend quickly. She takes in your stressed expression and pauses to think for a second. "What?"
"Nothing, I just realised I haven't seen you so excited about a boy before. It's refreshing." She smiles while trapping the straw between her pearly whites. "Speak of the devil." She jerks her chin towards the direction of the door and you instantly know who she’s referring to, but you don't dare to turn around and look yet. You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest and Ningning sets her drink down on the kitchen counter before taking hold of both your shoulders. "Y/N, we talked about this. There's literally no reason to freak out. If he flirts, flirt back. Let it happen naturally yeah?" Her tone serious, as if you're both on a mission.
You widen your eyes comically to match hers, nodding your head quickly while trying not to laugh at her expression. It’s almost as though she’s more anxious than you are. "Ning, I'm good. I got it."
"Just saying, he'd be a dimwit not to like you." One of her hands pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and the comforting act gives you the reassurance you didn’t know you needed. "Plus, this dress makes your tiddies look yummy." She smirks and you wack her hand away with a laugh when she reaches out to poke into the bit of cleavage that spills from the top of your dress. You can tell she's entered the realms of tipsiness, and you wish you were there with her too, but the tequila shot from earlier definitely didn't do its job.
"Fuck me, didn’t think this many people would turn up." Jaemin's loud voice startles both of you, making you turn around and you're met with the three boys from your stats class. "Good thing we brought reinforcements, huh?" He says excitedly, shaking a Jack Daniels bottle.
"Are you a middle aged man by any chance?" Ningning's face scrunched up in disgust as she inspects the whiskey bottle in Jaemin's hands. "What happened to just drinking plain old vodka at parties?"
"Ah, Jeno is your guy." Jaemin points his thumb behind him and Jeno raises the hand holding a vodka bottle.
Jeno's face lights up when he spots the unused cups and heads over to start making drinks for him and Ningning. "Lemonade?" He asks, looking at her and she nods excitedly. "Same for you Y/N?" His eyes on you now.
"Nah, I'm on gin tonight, thanks though." You smile appreciatively at him.
"Guess I'm your guy then."
Fuck.
Your eyes instantly meet. He's already smiling down at you, and he looks so good. Too good for your respiratory system to function properly. His dark hair is messily styled, fringe almost covering his eyes. He's got a black button-down shirt on, top three buttons undone, collarbones on display and sleeves rolled up revealing his veiny forearms, all effortlessly combined with dark blue jeans and black converse. Pretty. Perfect.
Without permission, his hand engulfs yours, wrapping around your drink, bringing the cup to his lips, your own hand slipping down as he downs the liquid in one big gulp. The cooling feeling of his rings lingers, and you can’t help but stare at his neck as he swallows and then his eyes are on you again, his tongue slightly darting out to lick his bottom lip where there's a drop of liquid. His eyebrows furrow and he nods in approval.
"Lemonade it is." He casually says, like he didn’t almost just cause your heart to fail. He takes your now empty cup with him, joining Jeno at the counter.
"Well then," Jaemin feigns disappointment, eyebrows furrowing dramatically. "I guess I'm having this whole whiskey bottle to myself."
"I'm sure Chenle would help you out." Ningning half jokes. "Good luck finding him though."
"Yeah, what the hell, this place is so crowded." Jeno returns with two drinks and hands one of them to Ningning. "It might be a bit strong, sorry." He warns her.
Her face grimaces slightly when she takes a reluctant sip, proving Jeno right, making you both laugh. "Eh, it'll do." She says carelessly, "I've had a stressful week."
"Here to help." Jeno raises his cup, and they do a quick cheers. They start conversing comfortably about why her week was stressful and you're pretty sure they've never met before but that's Ningning. Top yapper, never awkward.
"Yours might be a bit on the strong side too." Haechan says apologetically as he stands in front of you, handing you back your now full cup. You smile at the sparkly straw he's added. Cute. "Try it."
And you do. It feels too intense, almost intimate, drinking while holding eye contact with someone, let alone this fine man, so you don't. But you feel his eyes on you as you take a sip. And you really do hope the drink is strong, because if you're going to survive tonight, alcohol will be your savior. He's looking at you, carefully taking in your expression as you taste the drink, almost as if he's sat on the edge of his seat waiting for your reaction.
"It's good. Thank you." You smile appreciatively as you welcome the slight burn in the back of your throat and he mirrors you excitedly.
"Good." He nods with a satisfied expression. Then he lets his eyes wander downwards. He takes in your dress in a not-so-subtle way, and you could swear he’s checking you out. You watch his eyes move on you and you love how he's still holding his cup close to his lips, touching the bottom one. You fight against the urge to reach out and drag it down with your thumb. Would he mind if you did that? You reach behind you instead, resting one hand against the counter to somewhat ground yourself, and the action seems to bring him back to reality. Is he always this obvious?
"Did you also have a stressful week?" He asks casually, like he wasn't just staring at your boobs a second ago. His eyes on yours now.
"Huh?"
"Your friend said she's had a stressful week," He explains, chuckling at your confusion. "Was just asking if it was the same for you."
"Oh right. Umm, I dunno." You shrug. "A little, I guess."
"How come?" His head tilts to the side slightly.
"It's always fine until Thursday to be honest." Your admission holds a double meaning and he seems to catch on as the sides of his lips slightly lift amusedly.
"Really? I thought Thursday was our day, no?" He playfully pouts and you’re trying your best not to let his smooth words affect you. Our day? What a little shit. You notice the silver chain around his neck and you can't help but feel a tinge of shame at the inappropriate thoughts that flood your mind.
"Just not a big fan of stats." You make up an excuse with a slight delay, hoping that he can't tell you're practically ogling him.
He nods understandingly. "You and me both. I've been seriously thinking about dropping it next semester."
"What would you choose instead?" You ask curiously, trying to cover the frown that takes over your face at the thought of not sharing any classes with him.
"Why, you interested in joining me?" Is he flirting or have you already gone insane?
"Depends." You shrug, twirling the sparkly straw, eyes not leaving his.
"I think I'd go for creative writing." He studies your face for a reaction.
“Oh?” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “So you really did mean it when you said you wanted to join a book club.” You tease with newfound confidence and he lets out an airy chuckle.
“That offer's gone now, you turned me down.” He says with a smirk.
"I'm sure I could convince you to reconsider." You say with a suggestive tone, catching him off guard and before he can retort with a witty response, you return to your initial subject. “So, you wanna be a be a writer or...?”
"Well, no, not exactly.” His voice is hesitant, eyes lowering to look at his drink, almost as if he’s embarrassed. Does he think you’ll judge him? You suddenly get the feeling that you might have overstepped.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to-”
“No, no, you’re good.” His words are rushed, his head shaking quickly, hand reaching to touch your arm reassuringly. It’s light, quick, barely there but his fingers feel hot against your skin. Before you have time to react, he continues. “I just- I don’t really go around talking about personal goals and what not, don’t want you to think I’m flaunting.”
“Why would I think you’re flaunting?” Your perplexed tone causing him to smile.
“I wanna make music.” Eyes carefully watch you as he waits for a reaction. When you just nod for him to continue, he almost looks surprised but quickly recovers, clearing his throat. ”So, I thought creative writing would help.”
"So, you wanna write songs." You state as if to make sure that you heard him correctly and he nods, still watching your face. "Or have you already?" You ask carefully and he chuckles at your attempt to keep your nosiness to a minimum but failing.
He moves to stand next to you, leaning against the counter. You feel like you can breathe again, now that his eyes aren't on you, but his arm brushes against your shoulder and you almost shiver when you feel the warmth radiating off him. You get a whiff of his scent, subtly inhaling, cologne and detergent mixing into an intoxicating potion that clouds your senses. He's too close but you somehow want him closer. You suddenly wonder where Chenle is and instantly feel bad for threatening to cut his air circulation. This is good. This feels good.
He looks down at his drink, in thought. "I play the piano, so creating a melody is relatively simple if I really put my mind to it." Oh? He looks at you again and you feel scrutinised under his gaze. Suddenly, your shoes are very interesting to look at. "It's just the words I struggle with." He admits.
"Maybe you need to find some sort of inspiration?" You suggest.
"Maybe." He puts his drink down and leans against the counter, crossing his hands on his chest. "Got anything in mind?
"I mean, it could be a person." You say nonchalantly, without really thinking. "Unless you’ve already got that covered?" The bold question comes out before your brain can process the thought and you internally scream.
He smiles wide now. Pearly whites on display. His eyes back on yours. "I thought you didn’t mean to pry." He teases and laughs when your eyes widen. “I’m joking.” He elbows your side softly and you almost gasp as the touch. Why does he keep touching you?
“I tend to get nosy after a couple of drinks, sorry.” You huff a quick laugh before taking another sip of your drink, trying to distract yourself.
“You can be nosy, I don’t mind.” He says in a more serious tone now and you feel his gaze on you. Choosing to keep your eyes on your drink seems like wise choice, watching as you swirl the liquid in your cup. "To answer your question though, I currently have no clue what or who I'd write about." He responds indirectly, but the implication is clear. He reaches for his drink again in thought. "Maybe ask me in a year's time? Hopefully I’ve found a source of inspiration by then."
“That’s fair.” You pick up your phone from the counter and after unlocking it you click on your calendar app. You scroll until you find next year’s October and select today's date. He looks over your shoulder and laughs when he reads 'Ask Haechan about his songwriting' as the reminder's title. You show him your screen and smile when you see the approval on his face.
"Yeah, that works." He nods.
You look around and notice that all your friends are now gone. "We should probably mingle." You suggest.
"Right, yeah." He agrees with a nod, looking around just like you did a second ago.
When you spot Ningning in the crowd, she's laughing with Jeno and Jaemin. Their attention on Chenle and the girl who's got her tongue down his throat. You and Haechan find the situation just as comical.
The rest of the night flows smoothly. You get to meet a few more people as well as the other two boys Haechan, Jeno and Jaemin live with and you wonder how all these insanely attractive came to be friends. Renjun and Jisung are both equally as lovely. You find Renjun’s mother figure hilarious and Jisung’s shyness endearing. You don't fail to notice that Haechan always hovers close. Not necessarily standing or sitting next to you, but always close enough that you can see him from your peripheral and you can't help but wonder if it's intentional or just a coincidence.
You’re mid conversation with Mark when you feel a hand on your lower back. You easily recognise the now familiar scent of his cologne, and you instantly turn your head and look at him. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol deceiving you, but he looks even more irresistible than he did before. His hair slightly stuck to his forehead from the heat surrounding the crowded living room, cheeks and lips a deeper shade of pink now that he’s had his fair share of alcohol. You wonder if his lips taste the same as yours since you’ve been having the same drink all night.
“Shots?” Haechan shouts over the music and you and Mark follow him into the kitchen, where Jaemin and Jeno are preparing tequila shots and you wonder who assigned these two clowns with bartender duties. Chenle is now gulping down a glass of water and you’re thankful to whoever made that decision for him.
As soon as you’ve downed your shot, you take a sip of your drink as a chaser to minimise the burning sensation in your esophagus. “Wanna go get some air?” Haechan leans in and you almost shiver as his warm breath fans against your naked shoulder and you internally thank Ningning for prompting you to wear a strapless dress.
You respond with a quick nod and he smiles. “I got you.” He mumbles as he takes hold of your hand and leads you to the big balcony doors. On the way, he grabs a hoodie you assume he dumped earlier on the couch and the second you’re outside and he shuts the door, you feel the ringing in your ears. You’re thankful for the fresh air infiltrating your lungs and brain, feeling a little less intoxicated now. “Maybe that shot was a bad call,” Haechan laughs quietly at your dazed expression. “Didn’t take you for a lightweight.” He teases.
“Yah!” You elbow him, your voice louder than you intended it to be and he giggles softly, clearly also affected by the drinks he’s had all night. “I’ve had the same amount as you.” You pout drunkenly.
“I’m just teasing.” His smile soft now.
“Yeah, you seem to keep doing that.” You say with a complaint in your tone, eyes narrowing.
“Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t keep getting all flustered every single time.” His words take you aback; a surprised laugh escaping your throat at his boldness.
Before you have time to speak, he notices your arms coming up to conceal a shiver and without a word, he’s closer than he’s ever been before. His arms circle around you, hands hovering just above your shoulders as he holds up the hoodie, waiting for you to slot your arms through the sleeves. You look up at him before you obey, his intense stare not giving much room for any objection.
Once it’s on you, his hands come to your front to fix the neckline that connects to the hood and when you think he’s about to zip you up, he reaches behind you again, playfully dragging the hood up, over your head, covering most of your face with the thick fabric and you whine loudly, causing him to laugh. You push the hood back down, with a frown.
“Aww, cute.” He coos as he gently tames the mess he created on your head, fingers untangling and smoothing down the strands and he smiles endearingly when he’s happy with his work. "There you go, all done."
“Thanks.” You say in a bashful tone.
“For keeping you warm or calling you cute?” He asks with a smirk and you can’t help but scoff, feigning annoyance as you swat away the hand still playing with a strand of your hair.
Desperately needing to escape his daring eyes, you walk past him and towards the railing as you take in the view of the twinkling city lights and you withhold a smile when you feel him follow after you.
You feel his stare on you as he leans against the railing, taking a vape out of his pocket. He takes a puff and exhales the smoke through his nose, as he takes in the view himself, before turning to meet your eyes again. The action shouldn’t feel this intimate and it definitely shouldn’t make him look even more attractive than he already is.
You instinctively reach out and fix the chain that’s somewhat tangled around his neck. He doesn’t flinch, just moves his head to the side to make room for your hand and the sides of his lips twitch, fighting a grin. “What flavour is it?” You drop your hand from his collar and step a little closer to take a look at the fruit-flavoured stick in his hand.
“Cherry ice.” He holds it out for you. “Wanna try it?”
When you do, you can't help but scrunch your nose at the sugary taste. “Hmm.” Your uncertainty obvious as you exhale the smoke. “It’s too sweet.” You cringe at the aftertaste, your funny expression making him laugh. And you feel your heartbeat fastening at the sound. Because you're right. It's too sweet.
“I like sweet things.” He says in a hushed voice, as if he's letting you in on a secret. The dual meaning of his words causes a blush to creep up from your neck to your cheeks. You can tell he notices, but this time he holds back on teasing you and turns to look at the view again, taking another puff.
You gawk at how handsome he looks from this angle. His long lashes, the slope of his perfect nose, his incredibly kissable heart-shaped lips, his sharp jawline, his neck. Pretty. Everything about him.
“Yeah, I bet you do.” You mutter in a daze. He looks at you again and you don’t look away this time. His brown eyes sparkle, reflecting the city lights below. You realise that you’ve never actually been around him in a setting like this. It’s always been daytime with him. Always crowded. Always surrounded by noise that you had to block out. But now it’s all new.
Nighttime. Just you two. Quiet.
“That dress looks good on you, I like it.” His eyes trail down your form again, a lot quicker this time, but still noticeable and at this point you're convinced he's not even trying to hide it.
Your face feels warmer than before as you look down at your dress, your hand instinctively smoothing down the material. You can see the smoke he exhales from your peripheral and then you choose your words boldly again. “I know you do.”
“Really?” He steps closer and his hand comes up, thumb delicately tracing the tiny bow at the centre of your cleavage. “What gave me away?” Your heartbeat increases when his fingers trail upwards, pushing your hair behind your shoulder and settling on the base of your neck, his thumb on your jaw, giving you no option but to look up at him.
“You’re just-” You pause to inhale sharply when you realise how close he is. Your noses almost bumping into each other. You tip your head back slightly, to look at him properly.
“I’m what?” He urges you to go on.
“Not very subtle.” You finally finish your sentence.
“Y/N-” He says with a breathy laugh and you don’t think you’ve ever liked the sound of your name so much before. The tip of his nose rubs against your own just once and the sweetest smile takes over his features. You feel yourself leaning into him even more. His thumb still caressing your jaw and you know he wants to kiss you, but you wait. You let him take the lead. Because you need him to. “I don’t think I ever intended to be subtle with you.”
Your gaze drifts down to his lips and you so desperately want them on yours now, you think you might cave and close the gap yourself. One of your hands travels up and your pointer finger curls around his chain, pulling just a tiny bit. And the second he closes the gap you think you’re going through an out-of-body experience. His lips feel soft, and you can instantly tell he’s a good kisser.
His mouth slots perfectly against yours, slow at first. But he doesn’t waste time when your lips eagerly part against his. He licks at your bottom lip teasingly before briefly sucking, tongue easily finding its way in and the second it glides against your own, hot and wet, you moan. Both your hands find their way in his hair, slightly pulling, and you feel him sigh against your mouth. The hand on your jaw drags slowly to the back of your neck and into your hair, tilting your head to get the angle he wants. It's filthy, the perfect amount of sloppy and careful. A thousand times better than what you’ve imagined. He sucks on your tongue, forcing another moan out of you.
You try to pull away for a second to catch your breath but the hand in your hair silently instructs you to stay put. “Mmh-mm.” He protests with a whine and the vibration against your mouth feels delicious. Arousing. And you feel pathetic at how wet you already are just from kissing him. He licks into your mouth one more time before pulling back, allowing you to catch your breath, a string of saliva still connecting your lips as you both breathe heavily and your fingers tighten around the collar of his shirt in desperation.
“Fuck.” He exhales against your lips, sounding beautifully wrecked, chest moving up and down rapidly against your own and your erect nipples feel so sensitive rubbing on his shirt. Even with your eyes still closed, you can sense him looking at you, making you feel exposed and incredibly turned on at the same time.
You fully come back to your senses when he starts walking you backwards until you’re eventually backed up against the wall next to the balcony door, suddenly reminding you of your surroundings. You don’t have much time to think before his lips are on yours again and you immediately turn into mush in his arms, mouth pliantly giving him access. The only things audible are your heavy breathing and the wet sounds of your lips smacking. The faint music coming from inside, barely noticeable now.
Haechan wraps a hand around your throat, gentle but possessive and you love the weight of it on your sweaty skin, just resting there with intend. His other hand grabs the side of your thigh, raising your leg to rest on his hip. And that’s when you feel the hardness, grinding slowly against your tummy, testing the waters, and you can’t help but gasp in response.
His mouth leaves yours, trailing gentle kisses down your jaw and the side of your neck, leaving wet patches of your combined spit on your skin, and when he reaches the dip of your collarbone, he bites gently, soothing the skin with his tongue afterwards. You can’t help but clench around nothing.
He angles your head to the side, giving himself more space to suck and lick where he pleases as his other hand trails from your thigh to the curve of your ass, squeezing the flesh and bunching up your dress in the process. You whimper at the feeling of his rough hand, your eyes rolling back when he grinds into your front again, with more urgency this time.
"Fuck." You whisper breathlessly, feeling lightheaded.
“Yeah?” He mumbles against your sensitive skin, and you cup his face in your hands, guiding him to look at you again. “What do you want?” He gives you a sweet peck and you instantly melt, your insides turning into mush as you hold him there, kissing him deeply again, squishing his cheeks between your hands and he smiles into the kiss, biting your bottom lip playfully, letting lets it snap back into place, making you whine softly. “Talk to me baby.” It’s barely audible, and he says it with ease, like he’s been calling you that for a long time and your eyes almost roll back at the pet name. A few hours ago, you were high on nerves because of him and now you’re just high on him, touching you and kissing you and calling you ‘baby’, like he owns you.
Your thumbs caress his cheekbones before you trail your hands back up into his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp and he closes his eyes, humming in satisfaction. “Want you,” You murmur and kiss the side of his mouth as you drag a hand down his arm, giving his bicep a squeeze, before sneaking down to his hand that’s casually resting on your ass like it belongs there. You interlock your fingers with his, bringing both your hands between your bodies, guiding him under the front of your short dress, pressing his fingers against the seat of your lacy underwear. “Here.” You whisper against his lips and he inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring and you almost laugh at his reaction. Your leg wraps securely around him urging him closer by pushing the calf into his ass.
“Jesus Christ.” He whispers and his eyes are on his hand as his fingers now start rubbing slowly against your sensitive clit, the delicate lace somewhat helping with the much-needed friction, but you desperately want to feel his skin on yours with no barrier.
You kiss him again and he pliantly parts his lips for your tongue to invade, allowing you to taste the remnants of cherry ice. Your wet muscle glides against his slowly, and you moan when he pushes the flimsy material of your panties aside, like he’s read your mind. The moan turns into a whine when his middle and ring fingers make direct contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles around the nub with precision, like he knows exactly what you like and you kiss him harder trying to distract yourself from the sensitivity, because there’s no way you’re cumming just from a few touches like a horny teenager.
You both moan in the kiss the moment his fingers dip lower and drag through your wet slit and he doesn’t waste a second, rubbing up and down slowly, spreading the wetness messily.
“You're soaked, fuck.” he mumbles in awe and you bask in the feeling of him finally knowing how much you want him; how much you need him to do something about it. “Messy baby.” His filthy words cloud your brain as your head lulls back against the wall to watch his face. He looks so pretty, his bottom lip trapped in his mouth, his glazed eyes focused on his hand still working between your legs.
He must feel your eyes on him because he looks up at you and watches your reaction with a satisfied expression as the tip of his middle finger catches at your entrance before coming back up to your clit, spreading more of your wetness. He smirks when your jaw drops and your eyes roll back as he starts rubbing the bundle of nerves in firm and quick side-to-side motions with three of his fingers.
"You're so pretty." He mutters against your lips and your stomach flutters at the words, along with your pussy.
“Fuck.” You whine when you feel him delicately suckle on your bottom lip, his tongue playfully dipping out to lick before he starts kissing down to your neck again and your arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him close, tugging at the fabric of his shirt in desperation. “So good.” You breathe into the night air, relishing in the intense pleasure the pads of his digits are giving you, flicking with just the right amount of pressure, exactly how yours would.
“Wanna make you cum.” He breathes heavily into your neck, dragging his lips up until he gently bites your earlobe. His fingers move faster now, abusing your poor clit, circling and massaging harder, and you feel a bead of sweat rolling down the back of your bent knee.
“Yeah, want it.” You nod eagerly, your hips jolting forward and he inhales sharply.
“Yeah, baby?” His eyes on you now. “Think you can take it?” His fingers now slowing down, teasing.
“Uh-huh.” You manage to get out in urgency as his fingers dip down again. “Please.” You stare into his eyes, and you feel yours starting to water when his middle and ring fingers slowly slide into you with ease. Your jaw drops, the stretch delicious and so needed, so welcome. Your vision blurs when he slowly starts pumping them in and out, testing the waters first and your eyes roll back in relief. A squeal escapes you when he curls his fingers just the right amount and starts fucking in and out of your pussy at a rapid pace, like he’s on a mission.
“Oh fuck!” You exclaim in shock, your hand flying to his bicep as you look down at his hand, the veins protruding on his tan arm, the sight so sinful you have to close your eyes again. The heel of his palm rubbing against your clit each time he fucks into you, creates a deliciously warm vibration. The sounds are obscene, your wetness making every thrust loud.
Another pornographic moan breaks out of you when his pace gets a little rougher and Haechan has to shut you up with a hand on your mouth. Your shaky fingers are clawing at his chest, over his shirt, and he lets out a low grunt against the hand he’s got pressed on your mouth, his forehead resting on yours and his eyes closing when you clench around his fingers. Your legs start shaking from the intense pleasure and he opts to wrapping his arm securely around your waist in order to help you maintain your compromised balance. He doesn’t hesitate to replace his hand with his lips, silencing you with a wet, tongue-filled kiss, swallowing all your noises. You’re not really kissing him back, your lips parted against his at a pathetic attempt of reciprocating, just panting and whining, completely lost in pleasure.
“I’m so close.” You whisper and you feel like you’re on the verge of crying.
“I’ve got you, baby, c'mon.” He murmurs into the messy kiss breathlessly, saliva coating both your chins and you love every second of it. The pads of his fingers now abusing the spongy spot at the front of your walls at an intense speed, hitting it just perfectly and you think you might pass out. Your walls flutter around his fingers, sucking him in and you're sure he can tell you're right there. Slick is dripping down his wrist, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. “Fuck yeah, there it is.”
“Haechan, I'm-“ Your eyes slightly widen, and you can’t even finish your sentence as you stumble over the edge. “Oh my god.” Your voice strained, your lungs struggling to keep up. The heat from where his fingers are burying repeatedly, starts spreading and your stomach clenches. Your walls clamp down on his hand, kneading his fingers and for a second, his eyes close, seeming to enjoy the constricting feeling. Your own eyes roll back at the pleasure, eyebrows creased, jaw dropping in a silent moan, breaths coming out quick and you're sure he can feel your leg shaking uncontrollably against his hip.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” His words make you smile in your daze, and you bite on your bottom lip knowing he finds pleasure in your own. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, letting you ride out your high for as long as possible and when your eyes open, you see him watching your face in awe, and ironically, you feel shy.
His fingers slow down when you whine from overstimulation, until he completely halts and buries them inside to enjoy the feeling of your sensitive walls for a little longer. He kisses your cheek sweetly as he carefully pulls out of you, his fingers bumping lightly against your clit, causing you to flinch. He buries his face in your neck to conceal his laugh, hot breath fanning against your damp skin as he scatters little kisses.
You sigh and relax contently when his warm hand cups your soaked centre and he keeps it there in a comforting manner.
"Good?” He whispers, nose delicately rubbing against your flushed skin and you almost don’t hear him due to the ringing in your ears still lingering after the intense high.
"Yeah." Your forehead is sweaty; you feel baby hairs sticking to the damp skin and you lazily smile at how fast his heart is beating against your palm. Your eyes are staring dreamily at his face and you rub your nose against his, your hand coming up to stroke his cheek affectionately. Your thumb drags across his bottom lip and he bites on it playfully, his nose scrunching cutely, making you swoon. It scares you how comfortable you already feel around him.
Your leg drops from his hip, and you wince at the soreness. His hand now trapped between your legs, still cupping your heat. An idea pops into your head, making you smirk and he watches your expression with an inquisitive look, eyebrows raising slightly in question.
"What?" He asks, eyes innocent, seemingly lost.
You firmly wrap a hand around his wrist, trying not to whimper when you feel his fingers drag against your sensitive clit and your hold tightens. He lets you lift his hand between both your faces, his eyes inspecting the strings of wetness stretching between his long digits. Without warning you lean forward, wrapping your swollen lips around the two fingers that were inside you just a few minutes ago and Haechan whimpers at the sinful gesture. It’s erotic, filthy and you don’t even know what took over you but you certainly relish in his reaction. Your eyes watching him carefully, his pupils dilated as he watches you hungrily, cheeks flushed, swollen lips parted prettily.
“Shit, baby.” His voice on the whiny side now, and you feel his other hand tightening on your hip. He’s very clearly turned on and you almost feel bad for torturing him, considering he’s done nothing but please you. He pushes his fingers deeper inside your mouth wanting you to taste yourself and you swirl your tongue around them, harshly sucking, making a mess on purpose. You let a satisfied hum around his digits, closing your eyes as you pull them out with a wet pop.
“You’re being unfair now.” He grunts and grabs the back of your neck, crashing his lips against yours in an open-mouthed kiss. Teeth clashing and tongues tangling messily as he licks into your mouth obscenely, moaning at the taste of you. You let out a surprised yelp when his fingers find your oversensitive cunt again and he dips them between your puffy lips, rubbing them up and down, like he did before, unforgivingly ignoring your protesting sounds. “Still so wet.” He mutters into the kiss and you whine pathetically.
“Mmf-, too much.” You force the words out against his mouth and grab his wrist in urgency this time. He laughs meanly but obliges anyway. He brings his soaked fingers up to his own lips this time and you can’t seem to be able to break eye contact as he slowly sucks on them, making a spectacle, the act much more intimate when he’s the one doing it.
Once he’s done, he drops his hand on your waist, wiping the wetness on the material of his hoodie and kisses you again, this time slow, languidly, wanting to savour your taste and he moans when your hands start unbuckling his belt. “Can I make you cum?” You murmur into the kiss and he’s contemplating but just as he's about to kiss you again, the moment is ruined by a wandering Jaemin, who rolls the doors open and lets out a shocked sound when he steps out.
“Oh shit, sorry.” His eyes widen when he realises it’s you and Haechan he’s walked in on and not a couple of strangers. “Oh shit.” He says again, with more emphasis this time and you bury your face in Haechan’s shoulder to hide your embarrassment. His arm around your waist tightens in reassurance, sensing your unease and you smile against his neck in silent gratitude. “Yo!” Jaemin says loudly and points an accusatory finger at both of you. "What the fuck? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Jaem, read the fucking room.” Haechan’s tone is slightly harsh but his touch feels delicate where his hand strokes gently on your waist. “Go back inside, we’ll join you in a bit.”
Jaemin grins mischievously. “Well, most people have gone home now, I just came out to have a smoke, but I’ll leave you to it.” He moves to head back inside but before shutting the big glass door he pokes his head out again. “Oh, just fyi, Chenle is passed out on the sofa and Mark is still in there somewhere, just in case you’re planning on fucking out here.” His expression then changes, eyes narrowing as he inspects both of you from head to toe, a look of realisation taking over his face.
“Unless you already have?” He poses quizzically.
“You’ll go back inside now, unless you want Jeno finding out about last-“
”Kay bye!” Jaemin quickly shuts the door, fleeing the scene before Haechan can finish his sentence.
“Sorry about him.” Haechan mutters, burying his face into your shoulder and lets out a sigh. “Half his brain cells appear to be dead.” You snort at his jokey comment but you can sense the irritation in his voice. You run your fingers through his hair, scratching on the back of his neck and smile to yourself when you feel him shiver against you, his cheek resting on your shoulder.
He lifts his head, looking down your figure as his hands slide down your hips and onto the tops of your thighs, dipping under the hem of your dress and before you can protest, he slips your underwear back into place. His knuckles drag against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and your breath hitches when you feel him tap his fingers against your core lightly. He laughs when you slap his hand away and you narrow your eyes at him scoldingly. You relax when he smooths over the fabric of your dress to make it look less wrinkled and you find yourself fighting a smile at the sweet gesture. It feels domestic almost.
“Thanks.” You say softly, eyes locking with his. He smiles and leans down to quickly peck you on the lips. His hands caress your sides one last time and then they slide up, squeezing your tits softly in the process, the pads of his fingers lightly dipping into the flesh that spills over the top of your tight dress.
”Pretty.” He mumbles almost to himself and if you were under the impression he was an ass man, now you're thinking you might have been wrong. He continues his journey upwards, taming your messy hair, gently combing stray strands behind your ears. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
When you step back inside, you both quietly laugh at the sight of poor Chenle sprawled face first on his new sofa and you’re pretty sure he’s drooling on it. Haechan heads into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water, which he places on the coffee table next to Chenle’s unmoving body. He then maneuvers him carefully, turning him on his side so he doesn’t choke to death in his sleep with his face buried in the cushions. You smile at the thoughtful gesture, and you move to grab your bag from the coffee table to distract yourself from the fluttering in your stomach.
“’Will he be okay on his own?” A tinge of concern in his eyes.
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. He always passes out like this when he gets too drunk.” You lean down and leave a small kiss on Chenle’s temple, brushing the hair away from his forehead. “I’d say he looks angelic but he’s actually the devil incarnate.” You whisper, observing Chenle’s cute face, and you can confirm he’s actually drooling on his sofa.
_
The walk back to your place is mostly quiet but comfortable. Haechan swings your interlocked hands distractedly as you’re both walking at a slow pace, trying to prolong the night for as long as possible.
“What’s Jaemin’s dirty laundry then? You threatened him you’d tell Jeno earlier.” You break the silence and he chuckles at your question.
“He had sex in Jeno’s bed last year.” He chuckles as he spills the secret and looks at you, gauging your reaction.
“Sounds like someone needs to teach that boy a lesson.” You say, and before you can stop the words tumbling out of your mouth, “Maybe we should fuck in his bed.” Your eyes widen at your own words and Haechan’s head snaps up to look you, mirroring your shocked expression. And then he laughs loudly. A kind of laugh you’ve never heard from him. His hand rests on his abdomen as if his stomach is in pain.
“Alright it’s not that funny.” You pout in embarrassment. “In my head it sounded kind of sexy.”
His laugh gradually dies down until there’s just amusement written on his face. “I mean, we can do that if you actually want to, but I have other priorities.”
“Meaning?”
“Well..” He trails in thought. “Ideally, I'd like to take you out first,” You feel like exploding but you maintain a stoic expression, gesturing him to continue. “And I'd rather fuck you in my own bed before moving on to Jaemin’s or anyone else’s.”
Your breath catches at his forwardness and you’re suddenly struggling to find the right words. “Umm,” you think carefully. “What about my bed?” You ask innocently.
"Don't worry, it's up there." His smirk makes you feel weak and you feel him squeeze your hand in his, running his thumb over the back of it.
“You sound awfully confident.” You say calmly, fighting a smile.
He pulls you closer by your hand. “What, you think I’m playing?” He almost sounds offended.
“I dunno, don’t really know much about you.” You shrug.
“Do you want to?” He asks and for the first time he sounds nervous.
You squeeze his hand the same way he did with yours, hoping to reassure him. “I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I do.” You halt your movements when you reach your building and look up into his eyes. “A lot.” His fingers stay intertwined with yours lazily. A relieved smile takes over his expression, and you really feel like kissing him again. He looks shy all of a sudden and a giggle escapes your throat. “Cute.”
He clicks his tongue to show annoyance, and you can see him poking the muscle against the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back a smile when he looks away for a second. Then he steps closer, invading your space again. “You wanna give me your number? I don’t really use instagram.”
“Okay, green flag.” You say playfully and he snorts. You hold your hand out for him to pass you his phone and when you’ve saved your contact, you text yourself a “hi” so you can save his number too.
“Cool.” He says casually as he shoves his phone in his back pocket.
“Cool.” You say back and step closer to him, wanting to feel his warmth one more time before parting ways. He smiles in understanding and pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around your waist to hold your body flush against his. You wrap your arms around his middle and rest your head on his chest. “I had fun tonight.” You murmur.
He rests his chin at the top of your head. One of his hands sneaks up and holds the back of your neck gently while the other strokes the small of your back. “I did too.” His fingers bury in your hair, gently pulling to make you look at him but you don’t get the chance, because his lips are on yours instantly, dragging slowly, carefully. Both his hands cup your face as he licks your bottom lip for access, which you give without a second thought and his tongue sneaks in to play with yours, letting you taste him. Your body completely relaxes against his, enjoying the warm feeling of his chest against yours.
You whine when he pulls back to look at you and he smiles when your lips trail after his. He gives in with a smile, chastely kissing you again. No tongue this time, but he playfully sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, and you love how safe you feel in his arms. He trails up, kissing the tip of your nose and back down again as he gives you another wet smooch before creating a tiny bit of distance between your lips while still maintaining the closeness between your bodies.
You smile against his jaw as you slip your hand into his empty back pocket, lightly squeezing his ass cheek and he laughs at your playfulness.
“Okay, you better go now before I drag you upstairs with me.” You give him a little kiss on the cheek before slipping away from his warmth. You take off his hoodie and hand it back to him.
"Mmm okay." He moves away reluctantly. “I’ll text you yeah?” He says with a cute smile.
“I’ll try and text you back.” You tease and he rolls his eyes, his smile not faltering.
“Night, Y/N.” He quietly says in the night air and you melt at the way your name rolls off his tongue.
“Night, Haechan.” You give him a small wave goodbye and watch him walk away.
_
The next morning, you're quietly munching on your cereal, lost in thought, reminiscing last night like it’s a distant memory, when you see a hungover Jeno messily stumbling out of Ningning's room, carrying his shoes in one hand and his jacket in the other. "Didn't care to take off your shoes at the door?" Your voice seems to startle him in the quiet of the morning.
"Shit!" His reaction making you laugh. "Fuck, Y/N, you scared me."
"Sorry." You're really not. "Are you pulling a French exit on my friend?" Your serious tone seems to intimidate him.
"No, she's awake, just snoozing." He says quickly. "I swear." You try not to laugh at the nervousness written all over his face. "Nothing happened, we just cuddled."
"Relax, I'm just fucking with you." You chuckle at his disheveled state. "Want some breakfast? I can offer three kinds of cereal." You point at your selection of boxes.
His eyes widen eagerly at that. "Sure, thanks." He walks towards where you're sitting at the kitchen table, dropping his shoes on the floor and his jacket on the back of his chair, before taking a seat across from you. "I'll just have what you're having." He says with a sweet smile, eyes almost disappearing and you realise he sort of looks like a Samoyed puppy but refrain from making a comment. You’re not that close after all.
You nod and get up to grab him a bowl. He's looking at his phone when he speaks up again. "So, you and Haechan?" You hold back a smile as you pass him a bowl with a spoon and the milk. He looks at you again and he explains when he sees your questioning stare. "Jaemin messaged the group chat."
"Ah," You nod in understanding. "Of course."
"So?" He asks expectantly, chewing loudly after he's poured the milk in his cheerios.
"What, you can't wait until he tells you himself?" You ask sarcastically.
"Girls' perspectives are always better." He pauses mid munch. "Plus, Haechan is the most private dude when it comes to stuff like that." For some reason that doesn't surprise you.
"Good for him." You get up to wash your bowl after finishing. "Maybe you're just too nosy."
"Oh c'mon, it's not that big of a deal, is it?" Your silence seems to intrigue him. "Or maybe it is?"
You turn to look at him when you're done washing up, leaning next to the sink and you see he's already devoured the contents of his bowl. "Feel free to go for seconds." You say pointing at the box in front of him and his face lights up before he starts pouring more cereal.
"Do you like him then?" He asks casually as he starts munching again and the question makes you falter. "Because, if you do," He swallows. "I can confirm it's reciprocated." Your eyebrows lift at his confession and Jeno smirks at your shocked expression. "Just spill, I won't tell him." And you trust his words, but you suddenly feel shy, thinking about your intimate moments with Haechan.
"I'll tell you if you tell me about you and Ning." You like knowing boys' perspectives too.
"Sounds fair." He nods with his mouth full.
"You want the TMI or PG-13 version?" You appreciate he's still eating so you don't want to ruin his breakfast.
"TMI, always." He says casually.
"He fingered me on Chenle's balcony and then said he wants to take me out." Jeno chokes at your confession.
"Jesus woman!" He coughs lightly and clears his throat before continuing. "No tact whatsoever."
You snort at his reaction. "You said 'TMI always' no?"
"Was it good?" He asks in a quieter and more serious tone now. Like he's asking you to share one of your deepest secrets. And here you were thinking you weren’t that close. You can’t help but laugh because that sounds like what Ningning would have asked in a situation like this. Maybe they are a good match after all.
"The fingering?" He nods at your question, eyes not leaving yours, having paused his eating, spoon still in hand hovering over his bowl. "I mean, I thought I was gonna pass out at some point so, yeah, pretty good."
An eyebrow raised in fascination. "Damn, go Haechan." Then he asks carefully. "So, I take it you'd go out with him?"
You shrug. "Maybe, but I don’t think I want a situationship or anything like that."
"You're in luck, he's not into that shit either."
"We'll see, he hasn't texted yet." You try to sound casual but you know Jeno can see right through you.
"Don't worry, he will."
"Who says I'm worried?" You huff a humorless laugh.
He rolls his eyes and gets up to walk over to the sink, taking his bowl with him. "If he said he wants to take you out, he meant it. And trust me when I say, that boy has had enough of casual flings. He might be going about it a bit backwards, but he’s definitely interested." He states like it's a fact and you're thankful he's trying to reassure you even though he doesn't owe you anything.
"How do you know it's reciprocated?" You ask carefully, referring to what Jeno said earlier and he smiles cheekily.
"I thought you weren't worried." He teases, moving his eyebrows up and down and you flick the back of his head. "Ow! Okay okay, jeez." He rubs the sore spot with the inside of his wrist to prevent his soapy fingers from touching his hair. He then proceeds to dry the clean bowl with the kitchen towel he spots on the counter and hands it to you with a sweet smile on his face.
"Thanks, you didn't have to wash up." You say, putting the bowl back on its shelf. He waves his hand, gesturing that there's no need to thank him for something so small.
"He said he thought you were ‘pretty cool’ after we hounded you on Thursday and for the first time in, like, forever, he was stressing about his outfit before a party."
You give him a pointed look. "How’s that an indication of anything?"
"Trust me, that's enough indication for Haechan. He's probably already planning your wedding as we speak." You roll your eyes at his exaggeration. "Y/N, he likes you. It was so obvious that both me and Jaem knew he was gonna make a move last night." He sits down again and starts putting his shoes on. "Obviously, I didn't think he was gonna finger you in a public space and what not but-"
"To be fair, I initiated that." You interrupt him and he snorts.
"I'm sure he didn't mind." Jeno jokes with a smirk, and you cover your face in embarrassment, earning a chuckle from him. He must be enjoying this because he proceeds to tease even more. "If anything, he probably found that incredibly hot." You groan at his words. "Seriously, there's nothing hotter than a woman who knows what she wants."
You look at him through your fingers still covering your face, a teasing comment pops in your head. Two can certainly play this game.
"That explains why you didn't sleep in your own bed last night." You notice the blush that creeps up on his cheeks and you can help but cross your arms over your chest proudly.
"Yeah, something like that." He says sheepishly, his hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck and you suddenly can't wait for your debrief with Ningning later. "Anyway, my point is, I think you should give him a chance." He finishes putting his shoes on, both feet on the floor now and he looks at you, his back leaning against the chair and his arms crossing over his chest. "He's a great guy."
"Alright, enough about me, your turn now."
_
Haechan likes to think he's a decent guy. He's got his life together; he's on top of his coursework, he gets decent grades, he's got good friends and he's got a part-time job at a record store that pays relatively well. At least well enough to cover his own personal expenses. His parents help him out with rent, but they do appreciate his efforts and he does his best to not feel like a burden. He's a good son and a good big brother to all three of his siblings.
He's polite to old people and even helps them cross the street when he needs to, he loves his friends and always looks out for them, even if he gets grumpy sometimes, he never holds grudges and is upfront about things that bother him. He likes buying his loved ones presents and not just for special occasions. Not because he's a people pleaser, but because he just likes making them happy whenever he can. He tries not to lie except for the odd white lie here and there.
He doesn't fuck around or date aimlessly. At least not anymore. He went through a phase during his first year of uni but it's been two years since then and he's currently embracing single life. Yes, he sometimes does cave into the temptation of bringing a girl back after a party, but it's a rare occurrence and he's always honest about what he wants. He hates leading people on. It's not that he's afraid of commitment, he often finds himself wanting a girlfriend but he's not actively searching for one either.
He knows he doesn't lack in the looks department, or in any other department really. Yeah, he's got his silly insecurities like everyone else but he's a confident guy overall. Although, he does admit that he can sometimes be cocky, that's because he knows he's the most mature out of his friends. Yes, Renjun mostly looks after everyone and has a motherly figure, but Haechan gives the best advice when it comes to most serious life dilemmas, and he's aware of that. He might not be the brightest when it comes to academics but he's confident when it comes to navigating life sensibly and responsibly. That's why he was completely and utterly flabbergasted when you came into the picture. His picture.
He's always noticed you before, yes, and he's always thought you were good looking, but that's about it. He doesn't just go around hitting on every girl he finds attractive. He's more of a 'personality above all else' type of man, so when he first saw you, even though he thought to himself 'wow, pretty', he didn't think it would be appropriate to just come up to you and ask for your number. Plus, you seemed somewhat reserved from the few times you had exchanged words. Not that he didn't like that, because he did, he did find you intriguing, he would get to know you if the opportunity posed itself to him, but he also didn't feel like chasing after you would be something you'd like or even welcome. You didn't seem cold, just indifferent. And so, he kind of just opted to observing you from afar.
Sometimes you were alone, other times you were with a girl whose name he didn't know, others with a boy whose name he couldn't remember. He was sure they'd met before though, maybe at a party around campus or maybe through a friend? He couldn't quite place him. Other times you were with them both, laughing your heart out at whatever you three were talking about and he found himself wondering what makes you laugh that hard.
He knew you always sat two rows behind him in his stats class every Thursday afternoon, his last class of that day. However, he rarely got to see you on Thursdays, even though you were both in the same room for an hour and a half. You always arrived after him and left before him, so, whenever he turned his head at the end of the lecture to look for you, you were already gone. The times he did get to see you, were the times he would turn up a little later than normal, which was exactly one minute before the professor started speaking. Even then, he wasn't really able to observe you for as long as he'd ideally like. He would just get to see the back of your head for a few seconds before reaching his usual seat. He sometimes would pretend to crack his back, just to turn around twice and look at your pretty face for a few seconds. Your attention was always on the notes in front of you though. One time he did catch you already staring at him. You looked away the second his eyes met yours, almost shy. He found it cute and thought to himself; 'maybe she's not that indifferent after all'.
He knew you and Jeno were somewhat friendly because you shared a few classes and he was sure he'd caught you speaking with Jaemin a couple times in corridors. He wasn't jealous or anything, but he definitely wouldn't mind being on first name basis with you too. And it's not like he was obsessed with you. He didn't really think about you that much, but his intrigue definitely intensified when he got to speak to you properly for the first time at that party just before summer. He can’t clearly remember what you two exactly talked about, but he does remember not wanting to leave, he remembers thinking you looked unreal and he certainly remembers wishing he could relive that moment sober so he could memorise every word that came out of your mouth.
Things have changed now though. Drastically and unexpectedly. Because just two days ago he got to speak to you again and his curiosity morphed into excitement.
You pleasantly surprised him. From the way you handled yourself around Jaemin's obnoxiously loud personality to the way you put Jeno in his place like no girl ever has before. You were witty and smart and sweet. Too sweet. And he knows that, because he's quite literally tasted you now. Just a few hours ago he had you pinned against the wall of your friend's new apartment. Just a few hours ago he had you gasping and writhing and pathetically whining his name, simply because his fingers were too much for you. And he loved every second of it.
Haechan didn't really go to Chenle's party thinking he'd get some. He was just excited to get to know you and speak to you one on one. He went into the situation hoping he could maybe flirt with you and end up with your number in his contact list at the end of the night, which he did. And maybe he was hoping he could get to walk you home and get a kiss from you, which again, he did. But he didn't expect you'd reciprocate his flirting like you were prepared for it. He definitely didn't expect you'd ask him who and what he wants to write songs about and he definitely didn't expect you to kiss him back the way you did.
He's kissed many people before. He's had good kisses, bad ones, a few memorable ones and certainly a lot of forgettable ones. He's never kissed anyone the way he kissed you, though. And he's equally never had anyone kiss him the way you kissed him. Not even ex-girlfriends. Not that he's had many, but the two he's had don't even come close. And that scares him. Because if Haechan thought he wasn't obsessed with you before, he really doesn't know what to think now. But what he does know is that it’s incredibly unfair of you to make him feel and think this much, this soon.
It's still early, the sun barely out. He's maybe managed to get four hours of sleep before getting woken up by the sound of someone retching in the bathroom down the hall. Most likely Jaemin. He almost fell asleep again after that but the sound of a door slamming, completely ruined his slumber. So, now he's just staring at his ceiling, one arm supporting his head on the pillow and the other resting lazily on his naked stomach. He feels tired but he knows he won't be able to go back to sleep now. And that's fine, because he can at least think about you. He can think about your voice and your scent and he can think about how you touched him and how you let him touch you. He can think about how you tried to keep quiet in the midst of pleasure but miserably failed repeatedly. And he's definitely going to think about how good you felt around his fingers. Perfect. There are so many things he can think about when it comes to you and there's not a single bad one. Everything related to you is good.
You said you wanted to get to know him 'a lot', and that was exactly what he wanted to hear, but he can't help but wonder when you started to feel this way. Not that it matters that much, because, regardless of the timeline, he's going to make it happen. He's going to take you out and he's going to get to know you. He's almost worried that he's going about this in the wrong order, because, ideally, he would have wanted to take you out before any kissing and sexual activities took place. Not because he's old fashioned or some kind of prude, but because he doesn't want you getting the wrong impression. He doesn't want you thinking he's only into you because of the sexual chemistry you share. Of course, he thinks physical intimacy is important, but he's always found that emotional intimacy beats all. And he wants to see if he can get to that level with you. He knows you're compatible sexually, he could tell last night you were on the same wavelength. There was no awkwardness, no uncertainty.
He could tell you knew your body well, that you knew what you wanted and he liked that you weren't shy about it. And he'd be lying if he said that wasn't one of his favourite parts of the night; the moment you guided his hand where you wanted it. He found that so attractive that he actually thought about it when he got in his bed last night and finally managed to relieve the hardness in his boxers. He loved that you weren't shy about how much you wanted him to touch you. You were the perfect amount of vocal, and your body reacted to his words the way he hoped it would. So, yes, he is positive sexual chemistry isn’t something you two would struggle with, but he also doesn't want it to be the main thing that you connect on. He wants a lot more than that.
Haechan is self-aware. He's a horny guy and he's not shy about it. He likes what he likes and there's not much he doesn't like when it comes to sex. He's very much open to exploring and what not, but he knows that he's always struggled connecting with people on an emotional level before. Especially people he's dated. He's had flings and he's had casual sexual partners. He's been in a couple of serious relationships, and he's been infatuated with his ex-girlfriends or ex flings, but he knows he’s never been in love with any of them. He remembers thinking he loved his first girlfriend, but he was only 16 back then and when he thinks back to that relationship, he barely sees it as a relationship. All they ever did was go on walks, watch movies, cuddle and make out. Eventually it just fizzled out.
His second relationship was serious, but toxic. He remembers enjoying the push-and-pull situation initially but when it all became so unbearably exhausting, it put him off relationships for a long time. Now that he's had time to be alone and process his own feelings, he knows he's capable of commitment, but he wants it to be with the right person, and he wants it to be with someone who will accept him for who he is. Haechan knows that if he found the one now, he would commit. And he doesn't know if you're the one, but he wouldn't mind exploring if you would stick around for the long run.
And so, later in the day, when he's lazily sprawled on the sofa, next to a hungover Jeno, who apparently saw you this morning and reassured him that you're definitely interested, Haechan decides to finally text you like he promised. When he opens your chat, he sees you've already texted yourself to save his number and added a little sunflower emoji next to your name and he smiles to himself. He wonders if you've added an emoji next to his name too and if so, which one?
20:03 Hae☀️: hey pretty
20:03 Hae☀️: have any free periods tomorrow?
20:09 y/n🌻: hii :)
20:09 y/n🌻: i do
20:10 y/n🌻: I am free between 1pm-3pm
20:11 Hae☀️: wanna grab a coffee with me?
20:12 y/n🌻: i'd love to
20:13 Hae☀️: woop!
20:13 Hae☀️: where shall I meet you?
20:18 y/n🌻: how about the café by the architecture building?
20:21 Hae☀️: i know the one
20:21 Hae☀️: i'll be there there at 1pm sharp
20:22 Hae☀️: don't stand me up 👉🏻👈🏻
20:24 y/n🌻: i would never 🥺
20:25 Hae☀️: thought about you a lot today
20:26 y/n🌻: really?
20:26 y/n🌻: what did you think about?
20:28 Hae☀️: yes really
20:28 Hae☀️: just...things
20:29 Hae☀️: can't say much more than that
20:29 Hae☀️: did you not think about me? :(
20:31 y/n🌻: nah
20:31 y/n🌻: not really :(
20:32 Hae☀️: 🙄
20:32 Hae☀️: ur rude
20:32 Hae☀️: and a liar
20:34 y/n🌻: oops
20:34 y/n🌻: why ask a question you already know the answer to?
20:35 Hae☀️: smooth
20:35 Hae☀️: i guess i needed some reassurance
20:36 y/n🌻: Hae?
20:36 Hae☀️: yea?
20:37 y/n🌻: I thought about you
20:37 y/n🌻: a lot
20:37 y/n🌻: like and unhealthy amount
20:38 Hae☀️: fuck
20:38 Hae☀️: didn't think you'd actually say it
20:40 y/n🌻: happy?
20:40 y/n🌻: it appears I can't say no to you
20:41 Hae☀️: very :)
20:41 Hae☀️: it appears the feeling is mutual
The rest of Haechan's evening consists of him pretending he's paying attention to the Netflix show Jeno picked out for them to watch after dinner, when the only thing he's actually interested in are the messages he's exchanging with you. You told him you're also chilling on your couch with Ningning, watching a crime documentary with a bowl of instant ramen.
"Bruh, you're astronomically whipped." Jeno laughs to himself, the constant buzzing coming from Haechan's phone making it obvious that he's been messaging you.
"Yeah, so? Deal with it." Haechan doesn't even lift his head to look at Jeno, just keeps smiling distractedly at his screen.
Jeno snorts. "At least you're not denying it." He turns his attention back to the show he's practically been watching on his own for the past hour. "I respect that."
Haechan looks up at Jeno and shrugs. "I'm no fraud, Lee Jeno. You, of all people, should know that." And that earns him laugh with a nod of approval.
“You asked her out yet?” The question casual. No teasing tone detected, just curiosity.
"I'm seeing her tomorrow between classes." Haechan's attention back on your chat.
“Like a coffee date?” Jeno asks cutely and Haechan just responds with a nod, his thumbs hovering over his keyboard as he looks up at Jeno, waiting for some sort of comment.
“That's a good first date.” Jeno's words of approval offer Haechan a sense of relief he didn't know he needed. "Just good quality time, no pressure."
“Yeah, that's what I was thinking.” Haechan's eyes are on the tv now, but he isn't really paying attention to the programme.
Jeno sees right through him. "You nervous?"
Haechan thinks about his response. Is he nervous “More excited than nervous, I'd say.” Haechan looks up at him when he's met with silence. "What?" He asks confused when he notices his friend's amused expression.
“Nothing, just trying to think when you turned into an absolute sap.” And he laughs loudly when Haechan hits him in the face with one of the cushions scattered on the sofa. “Relaaaaax you big baby, I'm just messing with you.” Jeno throws the cushion back at Haechan and he catches is with a grunt. “I actually think this is good. You haven't dated anyone half decent in a long time.”
Haechan snorts, because Jeno's words hold nothing but the truth. “True.” He states with a purse of his lips.
“If your first date is casual vibes, you should do something fancy for the second one.” Jeno says in a skeptical tone.
“Since when are you a dating expert?”
“Shut up, you've been dying to ask for advice and you know it.” He's right, but Haechan would never admit that. “It should also be on a Friday or Saturday so you don't have to worry about being hungover in class.” Jeno points a finger at Haechan. “Karaoke could be fun!”
“Where are you taking Ningning?” Jeno's eyes widen at the question and Haechan chuckles triumphantly. "You ever gonna tell me about that or nah?"
“Your new girlfriend can tell you all about it tomorrow.” Jeno crosses his arms over his chest after pulling the hood of his jumper over his head.
“Yeah, we're gonna spend the entirety of our first date talking about your sexcapades.” Haechan responds sarcastically.
“No sexcapades, she said she's not currently dating.” Jeno says quickly with a frown.
“And that's a problem for you, because..?” Haechan gestures with his hand for Jeno to explain. “Is your ego hurt or something?”
Jeno shrugs his shoulders like a toddler. “Just a bit disappointing, you know?”
“Shit.” Haechan says with a tone of fascination. “So, you're into her then.”
Jeno shrugs with a huff and Haechan almost feels bad.
“Did you sleep with her or nah?”
“Nah, just cuddled.” Jeno admits, voice laced with disappointment.
“Jeno,” Haechan pinches the bridge of his nose to show exasperation. “You're an idiot.”
“Wha- why?” Jeno's eyes widen at his friend's insult.
“Are you being daft on purpose? She would've fucked you and chucked you out if she wasn't interested.” Haechan is putting the facts out on the table as if it's going to help Jeno realise what is happening, but to no avail. “She's clearly aware of your reputation.”
Jeno perks up at that. "What about my reputation?" His eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.
Haechan kisses his teeth. "You're a certified slut."
“Yeah and? What am I meant to do?”
Well, if you want her, you're gonna have to work for it.” Haechan says like it's self-explanatory.
"I don't chase." Jeno mumbles stubbornly.
"No Ningning then." And Jeno scoffs at Haechan's patronising tone. "Sounds like you're in need of advice more than I am."
_
You can't really wrap your head around the fact that you're currently walking to your favourite café in campus, only this time you're not meeting up with your two best friends, you’re meeting with Haechan instead. Fuck. You're meeting up with Haechan.
You don't even know if you're supposed to call this a date. He said he wanted to hang out with you and that he can't wait to see you, but people say all sorts of things, and you don't want to get ahead of yourself. You wonder if he's nervous like you are, or if he sees this as a casual coffee break in between his routine. But then again, if it's just that, why ask you and not one of his friends? You told yourself this morning that you wouldn't overthink, but you're now realising that you're miserably failing. Ningning would not be proud.
You check the time on your phone and that instant it buzzes in your hand. Your heart beats a little quicker.
12:55 Hae☀️: what do you want?
12:55 y/n🌻: in life or..?
12:56 Hae☀️: lmao
12:56 Hae☀️: to drink silly
12:56 Hae☀️: we can talk about what you want in life when you get here
12:57 y/n🌻: caramel iced latte pls and thank you :)
12:57 y/n🌻: im 2 mins away btw
12:57 Hae☀️: thought you didn't like sweet things
12:58 Hae☀️: no rush, just ordering now
12:58 y/n🌻: i like my coffee sweet
12:58 y/n🌻: among other things
12:59 Hae☀️: cheeky
12:59 y/n🌻: im here
13:00 y/n🌻: where you at?
13:00 Hae☀️: you look cute
13:00 Hae☀️: to your left
And there he is, sitting at a table by the window, already looking at you, head tilted, eyes pretty, smile saccharine sweet. His phone is still in his hand, thumb hovering over the screen and you notice there's a new ring adorning the digit. His other hand raises and his fingers wiggle, playfully waving at you. You already feel flustered and you think that it should be illegal for a man to be this handsome.
When you walk over, he stands up and casually lifts an arm for you to slot under. "Hey you." He says quietly and you smile. Your arms instinctively wrap around his middle, and your face buries in his shoulder, taking in his familiar scent. It immediately brings you comfort, your overthinking long forgotten. You feel his arms squeezing around your figure and he playfully rocks you from side to side. You giggle and pull back slightly to look at him.
“Hey you.” You repeat his words back at him and his smile is nothing short of mesmerising. His lovely doe eyes hold warmth and tiny stars that you feel could burn you if you stare into them for too long, so you decide to look at the table instead. You spot your iced latte, placed opposite what you assume is an iced americano. “Thanks for getting my coffee, you didn't have to.”
“I wanted to.” He states plainly and unwraps his arms from you, allowing you to sit down before taking his own seat opposite you. It almost feels strange sitting with him like this, seeing him in this light. Not in a lecture hall and not at a party surrounded by your friends. Just the two of you, on a Monday, sitting at your favourite café, in the middle of the day. It’s real. It’s mundane. “Are you hungry? We can get something to eat if you want.” He speaks so fast, one would think he’s trying to cover up nerves.
You smile at his attentiveness and shake your head. “I’m good for now, thanks.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t press and you can’t help but think he looks so boyfriend coded. His big forest green jumper makes him look extra cuddly and you want to bury your face in his neck again. “Heard you bumped into Jeno yesterday.” He says, filling the silence before taking a sip of his coffee.
“Yeah, I interrupted his walk of shame.” You chuckle at the memory. “He looked quite embarrassed, bless him.” You twirl your straw, staring at the condensation dripping down your cup. “Didn’t realise he was that nosy though.” You say with a grin and your eyes move to look at Haechan who’s mirroring you.
His lips curl into a smirk. “Why, did he ask about-” He pauses for a moment, trying to find the right words. “About Saturday night.” His eyebrow raises inquisitively.
Your chin rests on your hand. “Mm-hm, apparently Jaemin messaged your group chat.”
Haechan snorts and you assume he knows which message you’re referring to. “Yeah, if you found Jeno nosy, good luck tolerating Jaemin.”
“I’m just hoping we didn’t scar him for life.”
“I mean,” he shrugs, gently tapping his fingers on the table surface. “He didn’t actually see anything.” His tone suggestive, he’s eyes watching you, trying to gauge a reaction. “Had he walked out a few minutes earlier-”
“Shut up.” You warn and cover your eyes with both hands in embarrassment, smiling against your palms at the sound of his pretty laugh.
“C’monnnn,” he reaches across the table and takes hold of your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face so he’s able to look at you properly, while holding your hands in his, in the most delicate way. You stubbornly look away, trying to hide the blush that has taken over your face. “Aww don't be embarrassed.” He coos and squeezes your wrists in his hands, his thumbs sneaking under your sweater paws, rubbing gently against your pulse points, causing goosebumps to raise on your arms. “Okay, I’m sorry, I won’t tease anymore today, I promise.” He says in a playful tone but you still don’t look at him and maintain the pout on your face. A quick kiss on the inside of your wrist earns him your attention and then another on the opposite one makes you break your resolve completely, your eyes now on his. “Yay, there she is.”
“You’re annoying.” You huff and he chuckles again.
“And you’re still blushing.”
You retract your hand from his hold and attempt to flick at his forehead, but he grasps it again before you’re able to. He interlocks his fingers with yours and gives you a toothy grin. His perfect teeth showing and his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “How do you expect me to not feel embarrassed when you act like-” You stop yourself from saying what's on your mind and he perks up at your hesitation, eyebrows raised.
“Like what?” He asks, his voice laced with intrigue.
“The way you do.” Your gaze moves to your connected hands, taking in the way his fingers look slotted between yours. Perfect. Like they belong there.
“You don’t like the way I act?” His bottom lip jutting out in a fake pout, gently stroking the back of your thumb with his own.
“No, I do but-” You observe how his palm opens against your own, fingers extending and yours instinctively mirror the action, elbows pressed on the table and your heart flutters at how big his hand looks compared to yours.
“But?” He’s also looking at your hands now and slots his fingers between yours again, his grip tight, his palm warm and you worry he can feel how clammy yours is.
“You’re just too forward.”
“Is that a bad thing?” His tone more serious now, his eyes observing you. “I told you; I never intended to be subtle with you.” His hold on your hand loosening. “But I can stop if you’re uncomfortable.”
“No.” Your hand tightening its hold, quietly indicating you don’t want him to let go and he sports a cheeky smile, like he expected you to react that way. “I’m just not used to this.”
His eyes are curious now. “Used to people being forward?” You nod at his question. He thinks about it for a moment. “You were pretty forward yourself the other night.”
“That’s different.” You say calmly.
“How come?”
“Nights like that don’t happen all the time.” You explain with a shrug, without giving away too much.
His expression softens, and his nods in understanding. “So, you knew you wanted me before the party then.” He says it like a statement but you know he’s asking as he watches you with expectant eyes. His hand leaves yours momentarily, dropping on the table, palm facing up, waiting for your own hand to drop back into his. And it does. You trace your fingertips from his wrist to the middle of his palm, drawing along the lines there. His own fingers raising slightly to tickle against your palm, tracing patterns and you feel giddy. He’s emitting this softness you’ve never encountered in a romantic partner before and you’re not sure if you can handle it. But you want to be able to.
“I did, yeah.” You admit with a smile, eyes finding his wide ones. “Why are you so surprised?”
“I just- I did too.” He bites the inside of his bottom lip in thought. “Just wasn’t sure how to approach you before.” Your own surprise evident. “Why are you so surprised?” He mimics your question with a playful tone.
“Since when?” You ask, wanting to know more.
He hums skeptically, and you feel his knee bumping into yours under the small table, “I mean, I’ve always been intrigued.” He moves again and you feel both his knees rubbing against yours now. “But I knew I was into you after we spoke at that party in June.” Both your knees are trapped between his now and you can’t help but feel flustered, your fingers limp in his palm while his index is still tracing the inside of your wrist. It slightly tickles but it’s welcome. “You?”
You could lie and say it was the same for you. That you realised you were interested when you finally spoke for the first time. But you don’t really want to, and you don’t see the point. “I think- I can’t really place it, but I was definitely interested before June.” You expect him to tease, but he just nods in understanding, gesturing you to continue. “And I could tell you were kind of flirting, when we briefly spoke last week, so, I thought Chenle's party was the perfect time to act on it.”
“So, you’ve had a crush on me?” He smirks and his knees squeeze yours between them, finally teasing you. "Cute.” He says under his breath, eyes move to your lips for a second and then up to your eyes again. “You should’ve said something sooner.” He raises his drink and his lips wrap around the straw and you can’t help but look, remembering what they felt like on yours, on your skin, what they looked like wrapped around his fingers when he wanted a taste of you.
“I didn’t think you would’ve reciprocated.” You say bashfully and he looks at you, like he finds your words absurd.
He puts his drink down again. “I'd be clinically insane.”
His words emit a small laugh from you. "Well, I'm glad you're somewhat sane."
"Do you wanna go for a walk?" The question unexpected and your eyebrows raise in surprise. "Sun's out again." He points his chin towards the window and you turn your head to look outside. The autumn leaves are still falling but he's right. The sun is out for the first time in a few days. "Promise I'll have you back by three." He says in a playful tone and you look back at him, pretending to consider his suggestion, even though, you know you won’t decline.
_
Haechan isn't really a big fan of autumn. He doesn't hate it, but he certainly likes summertime the most. He likes being able to walk down the beach with no layers on and no worry that it'll get cold late at night. He likes the way the sun feels on his skin and he definitely prefers the way he looks when he's sun kissed. He finds that everyone looks good in the sun.
He's always associated the idea of falling in love with a nice refreshing summer breeze; not necessary, because he's content in the heat, but definitely not unwanted.
The thought of summer always makes him miss home and look forward to the next time he's able to visit. If he's completely honest, Haechan always misses home a little bit, it's always occupying the back of his mind. The city; as fun as it is living here, has always felt too different. Too chaotic. Now that you're walking next to him though, he's not missing anything and he thinks it's the first time since he moved here, that he feels absolutely and utterly content. At peace even. Even in the chilly autumn air as you two walk through the park near your campus, surrounded by brown leaf covered trees.
"What's your favourite time of the year?" He can't help but ask the question when it pops into his head.
"Hmm I think this one." You lift a finger, gesturing to your surroundings and you pause for a moment skeptically. "I think it’s mostly because I prefer autumn fashion." He chuckles at your reasoning. "Hey, don't laugh," You protest. "I'd like summer more if I could lounge by a pool in a bikini whenever I wanted." You inhale deeply, your eyes briefly closing and he can tell you're enjoying the autumn air. "Autumn is just easier, plus, I love the smell of rain." You turn to look at him before looking ahead of you again. "What's yours? You give off major summer vibes."
He exhales a laugh through his nose. "Really? What gave it away?" He looks at your side profile as he waits for a response. He thinks you look so pretty in this gloomy setting and wonders if you’d look even prettier during his favourite season.
"Dunno." You seem to be in deep thought, your lips pursing and your eyes narrowing as you inspect his face carefully. "Maybe your tan?" And he mimics your expression, scrunching his nose too and you gently elbow him. "Did I get it right?" You ask hopefully.
"You sure did." He confirms, nodding proudly and a cheeky smile makes its way to your lips.
"Why summer then?" You ask with a curious lilt in your tone.
"I guess I associate summer with my childhood." He explains with a fond smile. "It reminds me of being-"
"Carefree?" You finish his sentence and he smiles, nodding slowly in agreement. "That makes sense." You validate his thought process in the sweetest voice and he can't help but feel a certain way that leads him to slip his hand into yours. He senses your hesitation and worries he's overstepped a boundary but instantly relaxes when he feels your fingers take their place between his. You're not looking at him, but he can sense you trying to conceal your flustered state by nonchalantly keeping your eyes on the pavement.
He suddenly remembers you've got a class to attend at 3pm and slips his phone out of his back pocket to check the time. "It's half two, we should probably start heading back." He reminds you, not wanting to be the reason you mess up your schedule for the day.
"Oh shit." Your eyes slightly widen at the realisation. "That was quick." You admit absentmindedly and he laughs softly.
"Hmmmm what can I say, time flies when you're with me." He says with a suggestive pointed grin.
"Didn't realise you were this deluded." You scoff, eyes rolling playfully.
"Hey now." He warns with a nudge against your shoulder and can't hide the amused grin on his face when you giggle. "You had fun, admit it."
"Mmmmaybe." You say with a cheeky smile, and he feels his pulse increasing. His chest constricts inevitably at how cute and soft you look. Your chin brushing your shoulder as you turn your head to look at him, batting your lashes seductively. He wonders if you know the effect you have on him.
“You act all brave now, but -” He stops walking, making you halt, and you turn to look at him. “I bet I could easily make you skip class, if I really wanted to.” He says suggestively, a cocky eyebrow raising when he takes in your surprised expression. He pulls you closer, pulling lightly at your hand that's still in his and you stumble, putting a hand on his chest to regain your balance. You look up at him, and he thinks 'there it is', there's that not-so-innocent look from Saturday night. You don't shy away or get flustered this time, you stand your ground, and he suddenly wants to ruin you. But he knows this is not the time and place and he curses internally for choosing to go on a stupid coffee date. He's definitely taking you out somewhere more intimate and romantic next time, like Jeno suggested.
"And how exactly would you do that?" You ask, testing his resolve, which, apparently, runs very thin when it comes to you.
He leans down so his lips are by your ear, the hand that's not holding yours, taking purchase on your waist. "I'd show you but you'd probably get all shy on me." He murmurs and relishes in the way your hand tightens its hold on the fabric of his jumper. He feels your breathing quicken and can't help but laugh at your reaction.
He moves to pull away and the second his eyes land on yours, your hand grabs the back of his neck and your lips crash on his. His breath hitches and his eyes widen at the impact, before he relaxes against you and kisses you back. He relishes in the feel of your soft lips sliding against his, and the warmth your body radiates when he pulls you closer with his arm around your waist and when he feels you sigh, body pliantly slotting into his, he wonders if someone if playing a prank on him, because there’s no way you’re this perfect for him. You wrap both your arms around his neck securely and he moves a hand to your hip, gently squeezing, his fingers dangerously close to your ass. You whimper when his tongue makes contact with your bottom lip and he feels you tilt your head to the side silently asking him to deepen the kiss, but he decides that the next time he has a full on make out session with you is going to be somewhere private. He bites your bottom lip lightly and gives you a quick peck before breaking the kiss completely and you whine at the sudden loss of contact, making him laugh. The hand on your hip sneakily slides itself into your back pocket, giving your bum a playful squeeze, before letting it rest there lazily, simply because he can't help himself. "You're trouble, Y/N." He mumbles against your lips.
Your eyes open at that, finding his and your hand caresses the back of his neck while you suck your bottom lip into your mouth and his jeans start to feel constricting at the thought of you doing that so you can taste him again, now that he's no longer kissing you. "I'm trouble?" You ask in disbelief.
"You kissed me." He states in an accusatory tone as if he wouldn't have done it himself anyway.
"I know." You whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips again. "I wanted to." You mumble and your tone makes his brain overflow with thoughts that revolve around you and his bed, because it doesn't matter that it's Monday afternoon and you're walking around the park. In Haechan’s head, nothing matters in this moment other than the fact that he desperately wants you in ways he hasn’t wanted anyone before and that scares him. Not because he doesn’t want to. But simply because he does. Haechan wants to want you.
_
"And with five minutes to spare." Haechan says with a proud smile when you reach the entrance of the building your class, still hand in hand and you can't help but smile back.
“You know you're definitely gonna be late, right?” You say in a scolding tone and he scoffs rolling his eyes.
“And whose fault is that?” He says playfully, pulling you closer.
“You should've said you were meeting Jaemin at three, how am I supposed to- mmmf.” He interrupts you with a kiss against your lips, cupping your face in his hands. He pulls away quicker than you'd prefer but you still can't help the surprised laugh that escapes you.
"I know I’ll see you on Thursday, but can I take you out Friday night?" He asks, eyes wide and hopeful and you smile.
"You can." You say with a dreamy tone, taking in his pretty brown eyes and the way his smile widens when you accept to go on a second date with him.
"Good." He kisses you chastely again and rubs his nose against yours before dropping a wet smooch on your cheek, laughing at your reaction.
"Yah!" You complain cringing at the wet sensation against your skin. "Ewww, you slobbered on meeee." You whine, wiping the wetness off your face with the back of your hand, your nose scrunching in fake disgust but your heart flutters at the sound of his laugh. "Fucking weirdo." You huff, torn between laughter and exasperation.
"Be a good girl and get to class." He turns you around, putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you towards the entrance of the building, arms hugging you from behind and the butterflies in your stomach go ballistic. "Also, sit with me on Thursday." He whispers in your ear and you shiver at the feeling of his warm breath on your neck. You turn your head sideways to look at his face and you can't stop your lips from curling into a grin.
"Be a good boy and don't tell me what to do." You whisper against his jaw, where you press a quick kiss that surprises him, his arms loosening around your shoulders in shock and you take the opportunity to turn around and loosely wrap your arms around his waist. You raise on your tippy toes so you can bring your lips to his ear. “I’ll see you soon, Lee Haechan.” You say with a low tone and to anyone else it might seem like you're just hugging, but you can feel his chest moving shallowly against your own when you give him another gentle kiss, on the cheek this time.
"What the f-" You walk away with a sweet smile, before he can react or finish his sentence and you couldn't be more satisfied with yourself. You know he's still standing there, looking at you while you walk away from him and you smile to yourself.
When you take your usual seat next to Chenle, in the back of the big lecture hall, he looks at you with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest. "So? How was it?" He asks and a giggle escapes him when you sigh with a dreamy smile on your face. "That good?"
“You have no idea.” You feel you phone buzz in your pocket and you already have an idea what to expect.
15:01 Hae☀️: that was fucked up...
15:01 Hae☀️️: you're in for a treat next time i see you
_
Thursday rolls around slower than normal this week and you know why it feels that way. You can’t wait to see him.
It’s the first time you’re running late to class though, and you’re cursing yourself for deciding to take a nap earlier. The bus that would have gotten you there on time is long gone, so your only option was to walk and be ten minutes late. You know it’s not the end of the world, students run late all the time, and it’s not like you’re anal about punctuality. It’s just that you hate being the centre of attention.
And when you walk in the lecture hall, everything pans out exactly how you had predicted; some people turn their heads to look when you enter the hall as quietly as possible and some couldn’t care less. When you skip past your usual row of seats though, taking a seat two rows ahead instead, next to the handsome boy who’s been lately occupying your thoughts nonstop, more people’s eyes drift to your direction and you’re thankful to your professor, who continues speaking, without batting an eyelid at your tardiness.
“You okay? I texted you.” Haechan leans into whisper in your ear, voice as quiet as possible. An arm extends behind you, resting on the back of your seat casually and you feel the warmth radiating on your shoulder blades, through the material of your top.
You look at him for a moment before starting to take out your notes and iPad. “I know, I took a nap and overslept.” You whisper back maintaining the decibels of your voice as low as possible and you can tell he’s holding back a laugh.
You look past him and you see Jaemin and Jeno both looking at you and waving. You mouth ‘hi’ to both of them offering a smile and your eyes land on Haechan again who’s smiling at you like he’s up to something. He relaxes in his seat, comfortably sinking into it while spreading his legs, his knee now touching yours and you know what he’s trying to do.
You also lean back and relax in your seat, pretending to finally pay attention to whatever example is being demonstrated on the board. Your knee playfully nudges his.
“Stop manspreading.” Your eyes still on the board but your attention on him.
“I’d say sorry, but it was intentional.” He states and you hold in your exasperation as well as your laugh. Your amused expression falters when he reaches to take your hand in his and rests them on his thigh. He’s too casual for your liking and too soft for your poor heart.
When he said that you’re in for a treat he really did mean it.
He walks you home that day.
-
“What the actual fuck?” Your voice is high-pitched; eyes so wide, they resemble a cartoon’s.
“What?” He laughs at your comical expression and places the mic down on the table in the centre of the noraebang room.
“You made me go first so you could embarrass me!” You loudly accuse with your finger pointing at him.
“You weren’t bad!” He can’t help the laughter that won’t stop. You’re frowning still and you look so adorable and believably annoyed. He knows it’s all pretend though.
“You were so good though.” Your frown slowly turns into a pout. “And it was all in Japanese.” Your wide eyes looking up at him from when you’re still sat cross legged on the leather sofa seat. He feels weak. You make him feel weak.
“I took singing lessons when I was younger.” He explains with a smile. “And that’s my favourite song so I’ve had practice.” He approaches slowly and takes a seat next to you, huffing and spreading his legs slightly to get comfortable while his head rests on the back of the sofa. He’s the one looking up at you now. You look so pretty in the purple and blue hues that light up the room. He definitely made the right choice bringing you here after dinner. He wanted to keep your second date PG but the way you’re looking at him right now makes him contemplate.
“Ah right. He’s an artist.” A teasing smile takes over your face as you hold his gaze. He groans and you giggle when his hands come up to cover his face in embarrassment. He feels you shift next to him and when he looks at you through the gaps of his fingers you’ve turned your body towards him, still crossing your legs. “You have a pretty voice, Lee Haechan.”
He knows he’s blushing, but he snorts, trying to feign nonchalance. “Thanks.” his hands drop and rest on his thighs.
“Did you bring me here to show off then?” Your tone still ever so teasing.
“No, but I was hoping to impress you maybe.” He admits without realising. Your effect on him frustrates him.
“By serenading me in a language I can’t understand?” Your smile is so sweet, tooth ache inducing. So sweet it’s contagious. You move a little closer and he can smell your sweet perfume. His eyes drop to your exposed neck and then to the collarbones he’s dying to press soft kisses on. “Consider me impressed.” You say and his eyes come back up to your face. You seem to be fighting your smile now and he’s obsessed with the fact that you don’t want to give away how affected you also are by him.
“What’s your favourite song?” He asks in a low voice, sitting up a bit and extending an arm along the back of the sofa. Your eyes instantly drop there, and your hand comes up to trace a vein absentmindedly. He manages to contain the shiver that creeps up on him, but he can’t control the goosebumps raising on his skin.
“Japanese Denim by Daniel Caesar.” You respond, copying his low tone. Your eyes not leaving your fingers gingerly trailing up and down his skin. “You know it?” you look at him in question.
Haechan is thankful he does. “Myyy blueee jeaaansss.” He sings the start of the chorus playfully and you giggle, pushing his shoulder lightly.
“Okay r&b king.” You joke with a laugh. He pokes your side and you flinch with a half whine half giggle. He can’t help but smile at the sound.
“I just think his lyrics are like poetry, you know?” You shrug, explaining why you see the appeal. Your hand is now resting in his arm, no longer tracing and he enjoys the weight of it. The warmth. He wants to reach out and touch you too, but he doesn’t move. The moment feels too precious to ruin.
“They really are.” He agrees with a small nod. He likes to think that maybe he’ll be able to write lyrics like those one day, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want to talk about himself now. He’s too busy admiring you. “You’re so pretty.” He says softly and he doesn’t even register the words leaving his mouth until he gets the cutest reaction from you. You look away, smiling big and your hands come up to press against your cheeks, attempting to cover what he assumes is a blush. A soft chuckle escapes him and he reaches up with both hands to remove yours from your face. “Blush away, no need to hide.” He teases you. He finds that he’s good at it. He wonders if it’s because you generally get flustered so easily or if it’s just the effect he has on you. He hopes it’s the latter.
When your hands aren’t in the way, he taps a finger under your chin gently encouraging you to turn your head so he can look at you again. He then instinctively moves closer, craving to feel your warmth better and when your eyes find his again, his chest constricts. He sometimes doesn’t understand how it’s possible that he’s come to feel so attached to you in such a short amount of time, how he so easily gravitates towards you. But then you look at him and he understands. You speak and he understands. You laugh and he understands. You touch him and he understands. It almost feels foreign but never unwelcome. Never forced. And that scares him.
Haechan trails his fingers from your chin down to your collarbone, tracing softly and he slowly moves the fallen strands of hair behind your shoulder. He feels your gasp when he leans forward to leave a kiss on the curve of it. Then a little lower. And a little lower until his nose nuzzles against the dip of your collarbone. Another kiss. And another. This time his tongue makes contact first, tasting the skin, before his lips pucker on the sensitive surface again. Your breathing has turned shallow and he smiles at the sight of your chest moving up and down. Your fingers thread into his hair, slightly pulling and he sighs against your wet skin. You catch him off guard when your other hand pushes him by the shoulder and he’s about to apologise for crossing a line but then you quickly straddle him and his mind goes blank. This is definitely not PG.
“Someone could see us, you know.” You whisper against his lips and he almost moans. The hand in his hair pulls again and his head drops against the back of the seat pliantly, eyes closing at the feeling of your lips on his jawline. You scatter small kisses until you reach his ear and lightly bite on his lobe, his breathing quickens and the moan he’s been holding in eventually escapes at your next words. “Bet that turns you on though.” His hands instantly come up to hold onto something, anything. One grabs onto your waist, the other lands on your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt. “Talk to me.” You whisper sweetly in his ear before starting to trail kisses down the column of neck. The further down you travel, the wetter they get and he feels himself getting hard, his hips slightly raising to get some friction, but you don’t budge. “Behave.” You laugh against his neck in a hot puff of air and his voice comes out in a soft whine.
“Baby,” he breathes out weakly and you coo softly against his neck while gingerly sucking on the delicate flesh. He feels you place a hand on his chest, above where his heart is beating uncontrollably and he knows you can feel it too, your thumb stroking soothingly to comfort him. “Wanna kiss you.” He pleads pathetically and he feels like he might come in his pants when you suddenly grind your hips down. His breath catches in his throat and he trails a hand up your back, between your shoulder blades, to wrap around the base of your neck, pressing you down as he thrusts up into you. He smiles stupidly when you bring up your face, unburying from his neck, to look at him with wide eyes. He thinks you might scold him but instead you just wrap a hand around his neck, pressing your fingers against his pulse points in a possessive manner and he groans. His eyes shut at the dizzying sensation and when he feels your lips press on his, he relishes. His head tilts automatically to deepen the kiss and he sighs into your mouth when your tongue finds its way in. It’s intoxicating and he swears he feels high. Your hand around his neck definitely playing a part but it’s mostly your taste and the way you kiss him exactly how he likes to be kissed. Wet and filthy but still slow, sucking on his tongue to tease him. He feels his heartbeat going wild without permission when you grind down again, just the right way, the perfect amount of pressure to drive him insane.
His hands trail down to messily bunch up the fabric of your corduroy skirt so he can squeeze the flesh of your ass in his palms, fingers digging into the skin. He’s not gentle with you this time but your moans against his lips encourage him not to hold back.
You’re now grinding down with determined force and he moans into your mouth when his fully hard dick slots between your pussy lips, the only thing separating you, his layers and your underwear. He matches your pace, hips coming up when yours drop down and he realises that you’re no longer teasing him. “Think you can cum like this?” You ask against his lips, the scratch in your voice driving him insane, breathing ragged, hips quickening their eager ministrations. He nods, staring into your eyes. “You want to?” You ask again, keeping your eyes on his as your arms wrap around his shoulders to gain more support and he responds with another nod and a shaky breath. His head dips forward, eyes dropping down to where you’re connected and his hand pushes your skirt up even further, to get a better look. He groans at the sight. Your panties almost trapped between your folds, your pussy leaving a trail of wetness on the front of his jeans whenever you drag your body back and he feels himself twitch in his pants. It’s sinful. It’s perfect. You're perfect.
“Fuck, hang on.” He whispers suddenly, arm wrapping around your middle to halt your movements and he quickly unbuttons his jeans with one hand. His hips raise a little bit as he clumsily pushes the fabric down, leaving his boxers still on. “Okay.” He exhales and his hands find your hips again, guiding you to resume your work. The friction so much better now that he can properly feel your wetness seeping through the cotton and he loves that he can see the way his fat cock drags between your lace clad pussy lips.
Your whining doesn’t go unnoticed, and he looks up at your face only to find you also looking down dazedly. He relishes in the idea that you can get as dirty as he can and he takes in the sight of you now; lips parted, gasping audibly, your nipples hard and visible through your thin blouse and he’s suspecting that you’ve foregone wearing a bra.
His hands drag upwards, leaving your hips, trusting you to keep grinding down with no guidance and when he squeezes the flesh of your breasts through the fabric, his suspicions are confirmed. You moan when his thumbs rub on your already sensitive nipples, leaning into his touch and he repeats the action, enjoying the desperate little sounds you let out.
“I’m close.” He announces in a gasp, his balls feel heavy and he knows he’s leaking precum, adding to the wet patch you’ve created on the front of his boxers.
“Yeah?” Your eyes search his, hands cupping his face and kissing him again, soft this time. “You gonna cum for me, pretty boy?” He feels his eyes roll back at your words and all he can do is nod again. He anchors himself by squeezing your ass in his hands again and he loves the whimpers you let out when his hands get a little rougher, making the flesh ripple. He decides to take matters into his own hands when he feels your thighs shaking around his hips, suspecting the soreness in your muscles and his hold on you gives you no option but to quicken the pace
“Fuck, you feel so fuckin good, baby, please don’t stop.” He exasperatedly begs, his breath shaky and he feels like he’s losing it. Pathetic.
“Yes, god, m’cumming.” His voice comes out ruined, words muffled against your lips, vision blurring and his jaw drops when he reaches his peak, soaking his boxers like a teenage boy. Your hands slide into his hair when he starts shaking and he basks in the comforting touch. His head drops back on the seat again and he feels dizzy, your hips are still moving, dragging out his high and when it gets too much, he gently taps his fingers on your ass cheek, smiling dumbly. “Mmh, just give me a second.” He sighs as you take a seat, directly on his cock, softly cooing at him and kissing his cheek as you push his fringe back, revealing his damp forehead and he purrs at the gentleness.
“Good?” You ask sweetly and he almost scoffs, because there’s no way you don’t know you’ve just ruined him when he’s pathetically drenched his underwear like a horny teenage boy.
“Intense.” He hums and he feels himself shiver when you let out a breathy laugh against his skin, nuzzling into his temple. He slowly turns his head and catches your lips in a slow kiss. “Wanna make you feel good too.” He murmurs against in the kiss and when he notices the conflicted expression on your face, he doubles down. “I’ll be quick.”
“Confident?” You tease with a smile that he can’t help but return. Your teeth sink on your bottom lip when he cups your pussy and he moans at the feeling of soaked lace.
“Not like I haven’t done it before.” He teases back and he laughs when you swat at his chest. “Please?” He tries again, tone needy this time and he uses his puppy eyes, smiling when he breaks through your resolve. The second you nod, he wraps an arm around you securely and his other hand grabs at the fleshy bit where your ass meets your thigh. “Lie down for me.” He whispers and helps maneuver you onto your back swiftly.
He can’t help but smirk when your legs instinctively part for him to slot in between, and he does exactly that, coming to position himself above you, supporting his weight on one arm by the side of your head. His lips find yours again, in a hungry kiss and this time it’s his tongue that dominates yours, sliding into your mouth, tasting you just like you did to him earlier. He loves the sigh you let out through your nose when his hand slips into your underwear slowly, sliding his middle finger between your folds but what he loves the most is how wet you are.
“Can I use my mouth?” He questions mid kiss and you must like the sound of that, because he feels you grind against his palm.
“You can do anything you want, just no sex.” You say shyly. “Not here.”
“Told you, baby,” He gives your lips another peck before kissing down your neck, giving your tit a tentative squeeze as he moves downwards. “Wanna do that in my bed first.” Your moan at the promise brings a smile to his face as his hands slip into the top of your panties and drag them down your legs hastily, feeling the goosebumps on your skin. He stuffs the flimsy material into his back pocket, earning a questioning look from you and he grins. “Don’t worry, you’ll get them back.” He starts kissing from the inside of your knee to your inner thigh, wet and full of tongue.
“Stop teasing.” You whine, raising your hips impatiently when he reaches closer to where you want him. And he chuckles against your folds, watching as your legs spread even more for him.
His head rests on your inner thigh, comfortably and he looks up at your face, gauging your reaction. “What do you say?”
“Please.” You whisper and he feels his dick harden again at your submissive tone.
“Good girl.” He mutters and his hands slide up your inner thighs, thumbs pulling your pussy lips apart, revealing your cute swollen nub, all pretty and pink and he can see you’re clenching around nothing. Clear pearls of slick drip from the tiny hole that he can’t wait to lap up.
You’re more than wet enough but Haechan doesn’t think twice before letting a fat glob of spit slowly drip from his mouth and he feels his dick twitch at the sight. You moan when you feel the extra wetness land on your cunt and he does it again, watching his spit drip down to your asshole, making a mess of you. Nothing but sensual. “Yeah? You like it messy?” He breathes out in admiration and he doesn’t even need an answer, he knows you do.
His hand comes up again, fingers spreading the mixed wetness through your folds. His middle and ring fingers create a v shape around your clit, isolating the nub between them and the tip of his tongue comes out to make contact, flicking gently up and down. You both moan in unison, your hands burying in his hair to keep him where you need him and he loves how ruined you already sound, how your legs part completely, how addictive you taste on his tongue. And he loves that he can’t get enough of you.
“Mmh, fuck.” You moan when his arm wraps around your thigh, bringing his hand to separate your folds from the top, palm pressing against your pubic bone, fingers delicately pulling the hood of your clit up, revealing more of the little nub. His flat tongue licks from your hole to your clit and he repeats the action when he feels your fingers pull at his hair harder. The pink muscle then settles back to delivering quick flicks on your nub, the direct contact making you squeal and he smiles at the adorable sound. “Yes, like that.” You encourage him, the praise making his chest swell with pride. His other hand joins and his middle finger teases your leaking entrance, circling before slowly sliding in until it’s fully buried inside, your soaked walls making the glide so easy, that he’s certain one digit won’t be enough.
When his jaw gets tired, he switches to sucking harshly on your clit, making you groan and he slowly starts to move his finger in and out, curling up slightly, following the curve of your pussy. He knows you want more, your hole dripping even more slick around his finger, so he slows down as he adds a second one. You sigh when you feel the extra stretch and he knows he’s got you where he wants you when you start clenching.
“Fuck, baby, you’re creaming.” He points out in disbelief when he sees the white substance coating his digits every time they pull out of you and you whine in embarrassment. “I swear to god, I’m gonna fuck you stupid one day.” He promises against your cunt and goes back to sucking, more determined this time. His fingers start pumping quicker into you, the squelching sounds nothing but melodic in his ears and your tight walls nothing but heaven around his fingers. Your whines get louder when his speed increases and he knows he’s hitting your sweet spot every time he thrusts in, the pads of his fingers dragging against your walls. “Right there, hm?” His pace quickens even more and he looks up when he feels your eyes on him. You’re on your elbows now, jaw agape, eyes on his lips, watching him ruin you and his tongue comes out to flick quickly from side to side, his head moving with it, making a spectacle without breaking eye contact.
“I’m gonna cum.” You warn in a whisper, burying a hand in his hair again and your elbows give out, allowing your body to drop back down. He hums against your cunt, letting you know he’s got you and he feels your legs trembling around his head. “Fuck, yes yes yes.” Your voice sounds broken, your walls are kneading his fingers and he has to put extra effort into sliding in and out due to the restricting tightness.
He doesn’t stop though, even when he knows you’re coming down from your high, he keeps pushing your boundaries. He wants more. “Haechan!” You squeal when he suckles on your clit again and he laughs darkly at the cute sound. Your hand tries to push him away, legs attempting to close around his head but he’s not quite done yet, his hold around your thigh tight enough to keep you open for him.
He pulls his fingers out slowly and you whine. “Sorry, pretty.” He whispers mockingly against your clit before dipping down to lick at your pulsing entrance, smiling at the mewl you let out. He licks from bottom to top again, gently flicking at your clit when he comes up and he knows it’s too much when your body convulses and you sound like you’re crying. You’re not pushing him away though, which gives him hope. He opts to circling instead of flicking, tongue relaxed now; languid and he feels your legs spread again. “Yeah? Want more gentle?” He coos as his eyes look up and he can see your perky tits moving up and down with your breathing. He trails a hand up your body, squeezing greedily around the flesh and he moans at the feeling of your stiff nipple against his palm.
“I’m too sensitive.” You sigh and bring a hand above his, squeezing around your own tit with him as you raise on your elbows again.
“You can give me one more, though, right?” His eyes staring into yours, hopeful.
“I think so.” You nod tiredly, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the overstimulation, breathing coming out harsh. “I’m still turned on.” You admit shyly, biting down on your bottom lip as you push his fringe away from his damp forehead.
“Such a good girl.” He says dreamily and his tongue gently circles your clit again, wet hand pressing against the back of your thigh to keep you spread out for him.
Only after you come again on his tongue, does he stop, moving to kiss on your inner thigh, sucking on the supple skin there, leaving a wet patch behind along with a subtle mark. He leans over you again, taking in the sight under him. Your breathing slowing down as you look up at him, your hair fanned around you and your eyes blinking slowly. You look beautifully and utterly fucked out and so angelic. His heart swells when you reach up, pulling him close to you and he gives in right away, dropping down, resting his weight on you carefully He kisses you slowly, pushing his tongue past your parted lips, moaning with you, knowing you can taste yourself.
“You’re hard again.” You whisper against his lips and he laughs, because of course he is.
“You are not making me cum in my pants again.” He scolds and kisses softly on your cheek as you snort a laugh, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him close.
“Okay, I won’t.” You say with a smile, leaning in to kiss him again. He lets you.
—
“Do you guys have any, like, weird fetishes?” Jaemin asks randomly, interrupting your conversation with Ningning and almost causing you to choke on a fry.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” Haechan pipes up next to you, genuine concern laced in his tone, his hand stroking your back whilst you cough.
“Yeah, changing the subject from ‘I’m broke’, to that, is slightly worrying to say the least.” Ningning agrees but that doesn’t stop her from laughing. “Look, even Jeno is speechless.” She points at Jeno’s shocked expression and he snaps out of it, taking a sip from his coffee.
“I was just curious.” Jaemin shrugs as he explains. “I’ve been texting this girl and the other night it turned into sexting and she asked me if I’d be down to piss on her?”
“Oh wow,” Ningning is suddenly interested. “What did you say?” She asks and he eyes widen as she awaits his response. All eyes around the table are on Jaemin now and he’s clearly thrown off, struggling to find the right words.
“Wellllll-“
“Oh my god!” Renjun exclaims and covers his mouth with both hands. “Please tell me you didn’t actually do it.”
“No, of course not.” Jaemin defends himself quickly. “I haven’t even slept with her.” He steals a fry from your plate. “Yet.” He concludes with a smug smile.
“Okay, but, let’s say you do sleep with her and she asks you to piss on her.” Haechan interferes. “Would you?” He asks with an amused expression and Jaemin seems to be in deep thought.
“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to it but I’m pretty sure I’d get stage fright.” Says casually and stuffs a few more fries in his mouth. “Also, I don’t think I can pee when I’m hard.”
”Yeah, I was thinking that.” Jeno says with narrowed eyes. “It’s also a bit weird if you don’t know them that well or if it’s just a one-time thing, no?” He looks around, asking everyone.
“Yeah, true.” Renjun agrees. “Not that I’ve done it before, but, surely you do those kinds of things with someone you’re in a relationship with or at least someone you’ve been seeing and agreed to experiment with.” He looks at Jaemin. “But then again, you’re a different kind of breed.” Everyone laughs at that.
“That I am my friend.” Jaemin laughs darkly and leans over to kiss Renjun on the cheek. The latter pushes him away by shoving a hand against his face with a disgusted expression and you snort at the scene.
“The question is, where did you even meet this girl?” You ask with a wiggle of your eyebrows, not because you care, but because you find it amusing when Jaemin gets flustered.
His eyes meet yours now and he seems taken aback before he puts on his cheeky grin again. “Oh, I have a better question, miss thing.” His voice laced with nothing but mischief and you’re now scared. “Would you let Haechan piss on you if he asked?” There it is.
“And I ask again.” Haechan saves you momentarily. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice is calm but there’s definitely an edge to it, a warning even. He doesn’t move from his position next to you. An arm lazily resting on the back of your chair, the warmth certainly comforting on your shoulders. You instinctively lean into him, resting a hand on his thigh and his knuckles rub against your arm soothingly. Your eyes meet Ningning’s who’s watching the whole interaction smiling and you try to contain your own smile.
“What? It’s a good question, no?” Jaemin says with a shrug and you roll your eyes.
“Jaemin, I don’t know about you, but I don’t really talk about golden showers at least until after the fifth date.” You say sarcastically and Jeno snorts trying to hold in a laugh. “And that’s besides the point. You asked if we have any fetishes so I think we should all share one.”
Jaemin smirks and points a finger at you playfully. “I knew you could match my freak.” He says, giggling like a schoolgirl and Haechan’s arm around your shoulders tightens, the act unnoticeable to everyone else but not to you. Your fingers resting on his thigh, tense slightly trying to get his attention as you turn to look at his face and you can’t help but notice the frown on his face while he’s looking at Jaemin. He’s jealous and it’s obvious and you can’t help the warm fuzzy feeling spreading in your belly. When he looks down at you, his expression softens and you feel his arm relax around you. You give him a smile, which he instantly returns. You’re definitely bringing this up later.
“Take your freak elsewhere please.” Renjun says with sass, earning a few laughs around the table.
“Ugh fine, I’ll start.” Ningning says and all eyes snap towards her. “I’m not opposed to some toe sucking. There you go. Thank you. Let’s move on.” Your laugh is loud and you wish Chenle didn’t have basketball training so he could witness this shit show.
”Alright, I like sucking on toes.” Jeno confesses and you bury your face in your hand leaning into Haechan’s shoulder to conceal your laugh. You feel him chuckle in your hair as he wraps his arm around you properly and you love the heat radiating off him so much that you wish you could stay there for the rest of the day.
“Next!” Ningning says exasperatedly, sending Jeno daggers across the table. It wasn’t even his turn but you respect his efforts. Not a lot of men have managed to get Ningning this flustered before and it actually makes you wonder if any toe sucking took place that night they supposedly only cuddled. You make a mental note that this might also be worth bringing up earlier.
It’s Renjun’s turn and he seems to be in deep thought. “I honestly can’t think of anything, I think I’m pretty vanilla.”
“Surely there’s something, it doesn’t have to be hardcore.” Haechan butts in.
“I guess choking?” Renjun’s ears have turned red now and you almost feel bad, because out of everyone around this table, he’s the one that deserves to be embarrassed the least.
“Ooooh erotic asphyxiation!” Jaemin says feigning a seductive tone. “Okay, so, I may or may not like butt stuff.”
Everyone’s eyes widen at the confession.
“As in your butt or the other person’s?” Jeno asks curiously. Jaemin only responds by wiggling his eyebrows and Jeno gasps dramatically.
“As in you’ve had a finger up y-“
“Moving on!” Jaemin exclaims loudly, interruptinh Ningning. "Your turn, lover boy." He gestures at Haechan to continue as Jeno’s mouth is still open in shock.
“Hmm.’ Haechan ponders, his fingers tapping on your shoulder absentmindedly as he thinks. For some reason, even though it’s not your turn to answer, you feel exposed, as though all your friends are watching you both, trying to gauge your reaction at his response. You try to maintain as neutral an expression as possible and you hope he says something you might have already guessed by the times you’ve been intimidate with him. “Maybe the risk of getting caught.” He finally admits and you’re definitely not shocked.
“Speak for yourself, sicko.” Renjun defends. “Some of us like total privacy.”
“Aww you really are vanilla.” Ningning pouts cutely and Renjun scoffs.
“Y/N?” Renjun says to divert the attention from him and you fear your ears might be as red as his now. Everyone is watching you, including Haechan and you’re starting to regret suggesting this in the first place.
“Just say it, no one is going to judge.” Jeno encourages and you want to bury your face in Haechan’s shoulder again.
“Maybe Haechan should try and guess.” Renjun suggests and now you feel like you've underestimated him.
“Oh yes!” Jaemin quickly agrees excitedly, clapping his hands. “Okay, how about he whispers it to you and if he gets it right, he then has to say it out loud.”
“What if he gets it wrong?” You ask and Haechan scoffs next to you.
“He seems pretty confident.” Ningning says, pointing at Haechan’s face and when you look up at him, he’s got a cocky smile plastered on his stupidly pretty face.
“Alright, Haechanie, make us proud.” Jaemin says while holding a hand to his chest and Haechan rolls his eyes at his friend.
“Okay,” He leans closer, cupping his hand around your ear to conceal his mouth from the group. “Spitting.” He whispers so that only you can hear and you feel lightheaded for a moment. When he retracts, he gently moves your hair behind your ear and when your eyes find his, he smirks. He’s got you all figured out and he knows it. Bastard. “So?” He asks patiently.
“Correct.” You say in defeat and everyone cheers a little too loudly around the table.
“So, what is it?” Jaemin asks excitedly.
“Can I?” Haechan asks, eyes still on you, ignoring his friend and you appreciate that he prioritises your comfort. You nod with a smile, giving him permission to say it out loud.
“Spitting.” He says again, out loud this time for all your friends to hear.
“That’s quite vague, no?” Jeno says. “Who’s spitting and where?”
You turn in his direction, throwing daggers at him, because there’s no way he’s trying to be a brat. “Oh, would you perhaps like a demonstration? I’ll happily spit in your cute little boba tea right now.” Your sweet tone, insincere and Haechan bursts out laughing, head thrown back, pretty neck on display but you push that thought to the back of your mind.
“Relax woman!” Jeno says with his hands raised in surrender. “No saliva in my drink please.” He takes his drink from the table and covers the top with a hand protectively.
“You can spit in mine.” Jaemin offers with hopeful eyes, holding up his drink in your direction and you groan at his crassness.
“Dude, you’re sick.” Renjun says with a shake of his head, judging his friend.
“No, I’m just versatile.” Jaemin defends with a pout. “No one’s spat in my drink before.”
“That you know of.” Haechan says with a feigned smile, voice laced with mild irritation.
“Right, well, I hate to ruin the fun, but I have class in fifteen minutes.” Ningning gets up, grabbing her bag and drink. “Bye losers.” She says with a sweet smile and starts walking towards the exit of the cafeteria.
“Wait!” Jeno’s voice is loud. “I’ll walk with you.” He gets up quickly, clumsily gathering his stuff before following after her like a puppy following his owner, without even looking back at the rest of you. You look at them walk away, already discussing something. You think they look cute together and you wonder what you and Haechan look like to other people.
“Someone’s toes are definitely getting sucked later.” Jaemin says and you can’t help but laugh at his silly joke.
Haechan turns to you with a sweet smile. “Are you done with classes for the day?” He asks quietly, leaning his body closer to you and you smile at how comfortable he already acts around you, not caring that his friends are still there.
“Mm-hmm.” You confirm with a nod, sitting up to stretch your limbs and once the stiffness is somewhat relieved, you sink back into your chair, leaning into his warmth as he wraps his arm around your shoulders again, like it belongs there. “You working this evening?”
“Nah, I only need to go in on Sunday this weekend.” He says happily as his other hand takes hold of yours, resting limply on his lap. “Wanna come over for dinner?” He asks carefully and your eyes fall on Jaemin and Renjun who are deep in conversation about what jobs Jaemin could look for to earn some extra cash. They’re paying no attention to you and Haechan.
“Dinner?” You ask with a hopeful smile and turn your head to look up at him, his pretty boba eyes already on you and he nods.
“Yeah, I could make us something, or we could get takeout.” His cheeks are now pink and you feel giddy at his flustered look. He looks so unbelievably cute and you get the urge to give him kiss, but you don’t. Not here.
“Sure, I’d like that, but-” Then you look at the two boys sat across the table again, posing a silent question.
“They’re all out tonight, don’t worry.” He reassures you quietly, reading your mind.
It’s not that you don’t like being around Haechan’s friends, they’re all lovely and have been nothing but nice to you, but you would appreciate some one-on-one time with him. It’s been exactly a week since your second date and even though you’ve seen him around campus since then, it’s always been with his or your friends around. On the other hand, you’re now realising that neither of you have been over at each other’s places and you feel the nerves as well as the excitement brewing in your stomach.
You’re aware that both you and Haechan are still navigating the nature of your relationship and even though you know that it’s too soon to tell where it’s going, you’re more than happy to see it through with him.
You’re also aware that so far, you’ve both made very clear that when you’re left alone, it’s almost impossible to keep your hands off each other. And although, the last thing you want is to keep things between you at a superficial level, you can’t help but wonder what sex with him would feel like. And although, you want things to progress naturally, you have a feeling that if you go over for dinner, you might find out.
“You sure you don’t wanna go out with them?” You ask, checking that he’s not cancelling any important plans for you.
“I can’t think of anything worse than going to a frat house filled with a bunch of people I barely know, trust me.” He says with a laugh, his thumb stroking the back of your hand gently. “Plus, I feel like I haven’t properly seen you this week.”
“Missed me?” You tease him, laughing at his reaction. His eyes roll and he tongues his cheek, trying to conceal his smile.
“Yeah, and what if I did?” He challenges, his eyes widening, his lips forming a cute pout.
“If you did,” You trail, leaning closer as you lower your voice, squeezing his hand in yours. “Then that’s great. Because the feeling might be mutual.” You reach up with your free hand to pinch one round cheek and before he has time to react, you lean in, dropping a quick kiss on the other one. “I’d love to come over.” You say with a smile and poke the tiny dimple that’s appeared where you’ve just kissed him.
“Oh great, so you guys are fucking on our couch.” Jaemin ruins yet another moment and Haechan closes his eyes trying to compose himself. A thought pops into your head and you’re already internally laughing at your own joke.
”Now, why would we do that, when your bed is available tonight?” You say with a toothy grin and you’re sure Renjun’s loud laugh makes some heads turn, Haechan mimics his reaction, head thrown, hands clapping. “Do not test me Na Jaemin, I will break you.” You point a finger at him with a serious look.
“You two make a great match, it’s actually scary.” He says in what could be described as amazement or fear, gesturing between you and Haechan.
_
You wake up confused, looking around and seeing you’re not in the familiar space of your apartment and when you inhale deeply you realise you’re safe. Haechan’s familiar scent helps you relax again and when you move to stretch your legs, you feel a comforting weight on your back, stroking slowly. You nuzzle your face into Haechan’s neck, humming in delight as he pulls the fluffy blanket, which you assume he threw over your figures whilst you were asleep, up to your chin.
“Hey, pretty.” He whispers in your ear, not wanting to startle you, his hand now in your hair, gently scratching your scalp and you purr in delight. “We fell asleep.” His tone still low, voice a little groggy, laced with sleep still.
”Mmm, what time is it?” You mumble sleepily in his neck and he shuffles around, careful not to move you from where you’re lying comfortably on him, grabbing his phone from the coffee table near the couch you’re both currently cocooned in. Your blink your eyes slowly, thankful that the only thing producing light in the living room area, is the tv screen. Shin-chan still playing on the screen from earlier but the volume is lowered. You assume you must’ve fallen asleep mid cuddling, after dinner. You remember telling him about this crime documentary you watched with Ningning a few nights ago and how you couldn’t sleep after. You also remember him saying that you should’ve called him so he could take your mind off it, and you remember wondering if he really meant that or if he was just being nice.
“It’s almost nine.” He says quietly after unlocking his phone. “We slept for like two hours.” He yawns cutely while checking any missed notifications and you can see from the corner of your eye, he quickly replies to a message from Jeno. “Seems like Jen convinced Ningning to come out.” He announces with a snort and your ears perk at that, your head slightly raising to look at him in question and he shows you the selfie he’s received from a visibly drunk Jeno, who’s got an arm wrapped around your friend’s shoulders, who’s sticking her tongue out, also visibly drunk.
“Fuck's sake.” Your head drops on his shoulder again, groaning. “She’s gonna be hungover tomorrow.” You whine and Haechan lets out a laugh, holding you tightly against him, his arm wrapping around your middle. Your hand rests on his chest and you close your eyes, allowing the cosiness to engulf you.
“It’s fine, I’m sure he’ll look after her.” He places his phone back on the coffee table and wraps his other arm around you, squeezing you like a teddy bear, with a sigh. “Bet my left nut, he’s staying at yours again tonight.” He jokes and you snort at his choice of words.
“Why the left one specifically?”
“I’m right-handed so I thought I’d keep the right one.”
“I’m sure you’ll get to keep both anyway; he’s definitely going home with her.” You agree with his point and tap your hand lightly on his chest, while resting your chin on it to look up at his pretty face. His eyes are closed now and he looks so relaxed, you can’t help but wonder if he’s enjoying the cuddling session as much as you are, but you also don’t want to assume he wants you to stay over. “I can go home, if you wanna go to bed. It’s getting late.”
His eyes open the moment he seems to have registered your words and he looks down at you. “Or you could stay?” He suggests with hopeful eyes, gauging your reaction. “I have a spare toothbrush, and you can wear something of mine.” He can definitely tell you’re contemplating. “No pressure of course, I get if you wanna be in your own bed.” His fingers comb through your hair soothingly and you close your eyes momentarily.
"Hmm." You ponder with a smile, letting your hand trail up his chest, fingers absentmindedly stroking along his jaw, feeling the scratch of the light stubble adorning his chin and he tilts his head, leaning into the touch. “I'm sure I won't miss my bed that much.”
_
After you’ve both brushed your teeth and he’s given you a comfortable big t-shirt of his to change into, you’re ready for bed and when you walk into his room, he’s already turned the main light off and left the bedside lamp on.
He’s lying comfortably under the white covers, back against the headboard while he’s lazily scrolling through his phone. You feel giddy at how soft and warm he looks. Just like a teddy bear you wouldn’t be able to sleep without.
You place your clothes on his desk chair and walk over to the side he’s not occupying, noticing your own phone is placed on the bedside table next to him, plugged in and screen down. You smile at the thoughtful gesture and slowly lift the duvet to get under, instinctively shuffling closer to his side of the bed when he stretches his arm out for you and you place your head on his chest, resembling the position you were in earlier on the couch. His bedsheets are cold and you tangle a leg with his, wiggling your toes against his skin to warm them up, making him flinch and you giggle quietly. “Sorry.”
He places his phone down, next to yours and moves to get comfortable against the pillows while holding onto your shoulders, bringing you down with him. He maneuvers you so you’re both on your sides facing each other and his arm is still slotted under you, between your head and your shoulder, while yours lazily drapes over his waist. He cups your jaw, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin and when he kisses your forehead gingerly, your eyes close momentarily while your arm tightens around his middle, pulling yourself closer so your chest is touching his. It feels domestic and so comfortable, like you’ve shared a bed with him a million times before.
“You comfy?” He whispers and you nod, the tip of your nose rubbing against his in the process. You see the corners of his lips lifting into a smile that probably mirrors yours. “Are you sleepy?” He murmurs against your lips and you smirk, knowing he’s testing the waters now. His fingers are in your hair and his thigh is resting between your legs, so close to your aching centre that you’re worried he can feel you throbbing through your underwear.
“Not really.” You breathe against his lips, your hand on his back slipping under the hem of his t-shirt and you feel him shiver when you trail your fingers up, your nails lightly scratching, feeling the goosebumps on his warm skin. “You?” Your breath hitches when his thumb traces your bottom lip, dragging it down and your eyes travel to his heart shaped lips. You instantly wish they were on yours, but you want to let him go at his own pace.
“What do you think?” He asks rhetorically and you breathe out a laugh, biting down on your bottom lip when his thumb moves to stroke the apple of your cheek.
“I think,” you pause, lightly dragging your nails down his back, earning a whimper from him. “I’m not really thinking actually.” You confess as your hand travels to his front, fiddling with the strings of his shorts, your fingers catching the elastic band of his shorts and letting it snap against his lower abdomen, earning a gasp from him, which hits your eager lips.
“Dumb already?” He attempts to tease and the smile dies on his lips, jaw dropping when your hand dips into his slacks and past his underwear, to wrap firmly around him. His eyes close when your thumb rubs under the head and you relish in the fact that he’s almost fully hard. He feels velvet smooth against your palm, thick enough to make you think it will probably sting when he enters you for the first time, slightly curved upwards, length perfect for hitting that sweet spot in your walls. You feel yourself getting wet at the thought and your breathing stutters when his thigh makes contact with your pussy, your hips instantly pushing forward, chasing the stimulating feeling. “Mm fu-“
His lips are finally yours, interrupting you and you moan against his mouth in relief, kissing him back like you were made for it. You can’t help but think of that night in the noraebang room; how these very lips completely and utterly ruined you for anyone else. How they devoured you like no one else has before and probably like no one ever will.
Without breaking the kiss, you push him gently and he rolls onto his back dragging you with him so you can straddle him. He buries his fingers into your hair, deepening the kiss, his tongue gliding against yours and you moan at the taste of him; toothpaste and something uniquely him. Your hands take hold of his, dragging them down your figure and you stop to rest them on your ass, smiling in the kiss when he instantly kneads and pulls at the plush skin. You allow him to lick into your mouth one more time, before breaking the kiss to sit up and take in his dazed expression. Eyes hooded, lips wet and swollen and so irresistible, you feel helpless. Before he can complain, you drop your hands to the hem of the shirt that he let you borrow and slowly start dragging it up your skin, until it’s off you and on the floor.
“Fuck.” He exhales heavily, the second your tits are free and his hand comes up caressing from your hip up to your ribs until he reaches the underside of your boob and he gently cups, feeling the weight of it in his hand. “You’re fucking unreal.” He whispers and licks his lips before sitting up and wrapping his other arm securely around your waist.
His forehead rests against your chest for a moment, inhaling deeply, almost as if he needs a minute to compose himself while still squeezing your boob in his hand and you let him, threading your fingers through his hair to offer some comfort. His warm breath caresses your nipple and your shiver, the skin around the nub pebbling against his palm and you whine at the sensitivity, pulling at his hair to guide him closer to where you want him.
He gets the message and he kisses across your sternum, his tongue coming out to make contact with your skin before it circles around your areola slowly, teasing you. The pads of his fingers digging into the skin of your boob, squeezing as he sucks the nipple into his mouth and he moans when you whine. He starts flicking his tongue, driving you close to insanity and the wetness in your underwear feels almost unbearable now, but you have other priorities.
“Hae?” You call out into his hair as he’s still sucking and licking and he hums, indicating that he’s listening, as he scatters more kisses across your chest, moving to wrap his lips around your other nipple. “I wanna suck you off.” You say quickly, before allowing the shyness to infiltrate your brain and he instantly releases the nub, with a wet pop, so he can look up at your face with wide eyes. His mouth is ajar and his lips swollen and wet with his spit. He looks fucked out like this, hair messy and you love it, because you’re the sole reason. You cup his face and he absentmindedly squeezes both your tits in his hands, pushing them together, his eyes not leaving yours.
“Yeah, baby?” He leans up and kisses you softly. “Wanna make me feel good?” He mumbles seductively against your mouth, and you don’t even think before quickly nodding.
“Mm please.” You say in a whiny voice, playing along with him, as you pull at the fabric of his top and his hands move to pull at the collar, swiftly removing it. Your hands drag down his naked chest, pushing him to lie against the headboard, continuing their journey down his body, until they reach his shorts. You don’t waste any time, pulling his boxers along with them and he spreads his legs when he’s completely naked, for you to kneel in between them. His hand wraps around his hard cock, resting on his tummy and he whimpers at the needed friction while his eyes are on yours.
“Tongue out, keep your eyes on me.” He says softly and you clench around nothing, your panties a mess by now, you have to refrain from cringing at the feeling. You instantly obey, leaning closer and sticking your tongue out, millimetres away from where he wants it. He gently taps the head against the centre of your awaiting wet muscle and you moan, fighting to keep your eyes on his, the act feeling intensely intimate. “Suck, baby.” He says, his voice still gentle but more authoritative than before. You wrap your lips around the head and suck softly, tasting his precum and you can’t help when your eyes close at the taste and weight of him in your mouth. You pull back slightly, swirling your tongue around him and flicking at the underside, causing him to grunt. “Fuck, pretty girl, you’re so good to me, aren’t you.” He says, with a shaky voice in his state of vulnerability, and you moan at the praise as you slap his hand away, replacing it with your own, wrapping your smaller fingers around his thick length and he lets you. You start to move your hand up and down, pumping him at a quick pace while sucking around the tip again, tongue dipping gently in his slit and when his hips buck up, wanting you to take him deeper, you place a hand on his hip as a warning and he grunts. "Fuck baby, please."
You gather a good amount of saliva in your mouth and when you look up to make sure he's watching you, you let it drip down slowly, watching as it coats his cock and travels down to his balls. You smile when his eyes roll back and you lick from base to top teasingly, surprising him when you take him as deep as you can, with your hand wrapped tightly around the base.
You moan when he reaches the back of your throat, swallowing around him with purpose and you pull back up when you start to gag. Your hand follows your mouth as you slowly start to move your head up and down, trying to give him as much pleasure as you can and you know you're doing a good job when his hands curl in your hair, gathering the strands into a messy ponytail and his moans turn into whines. This time, when his hips start moving, you allow him to fuck up into you, having gotten used to the feeling of him in your throat.
You slacken your jaw, moving your hand from the base to his thigh, and he moans louder when you allow him to go deeper than before. You feel your eyes water and you know you're slobbering around him, making a complete mess as saliva drips from the corners of your mouth, gathering at the base of his cock and balls. Your hand comes up to cup them, rolling gently and he abruptly pulls your mouth off him with a loud groan.
You look at the thick string of spit mixed with precum that’s connecting your lips to his tip, as you gasp for air and then your teary eyes travel up to meet his wild ones. He looks conflicted and his grip on your hair feels tight. "What's wrong?" You ask, your voice comes out hoarse and you feel like coughing to clear your throat, but you just swallow carefully.
He manages to laugh breathlessly at your confused expression, his breathing shallow and his lips bright pink from all the biting. "I was about to cum." He explains and grabs you by the arms to pull you up.
"Ain't that the point?" You say as you straddle him again and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, some of the drool smearing on your chin and you internally cringe at the wetness, but his eyes on your mouth tell you he thinks otherwise.
"Not if you want me to fuck you, no." Your heart jumps at his words and the look on your face must betray you, because he’s smirking. "Unless you don't." He teases, caressing your thighs as you place both hands on his naked chest, your pinky rubbing against his nipple and you giggle when his shudders.
"No, I do." You confess as you lean down to kiss him but he quickly sits up, meeting you halfway as he wraps his arms around you, maneuvering you onto your back swiftly and you feel yourself bounce on the mattress when he plops you down. He kneels between your legs and without warning, he starts pulling your panties off you. You eagerly raise your hips to help him, bringing your bent legs together, so the fabric doesn't stretch.
Once the lace is somewhere on the floor, you see his lips curling into a smile as he bites on the bottom one when you mindlessly spread your legs for him again, inviting him to settle between them. He moves closer, dragging his knees on the mattress as his hands take purchase on your hips.
"Scoot up a bit for me?" He asks sweetly and he helps you move up the bed, so your head rests comfortably on the fluffy pillows, and you feel the butterflies in your stomach causing havoc with no permission, your heart thudding like crazy as your eyes find his and fuck holding back now. You just want him to ruin you.
You pull at his silver chain, your other hand grabbing the back of his neck and he grunts the second your lips crash, all tongue and teeth with no coordination. You tilt your head to the side to get better access and the wet sound kissing fills the room. Your clit is throbbing and you desperately need him to do something. Anything. "Please, I'm so wet." You whine against his lips and he moans at your neediness, grinding into your centre. His cock sliding between your folds, the head bumping into your neglected clit and your hips raise searching for more friction.
He leans back on his heels and hunches over you, one hand splayed on your tummy, the other wrapping around his dick as he taps the head against your clit and your legs spread completely, giving him full access as you squeeze around your own tits, needing to hold onto something. Your eyes roll back when he starts firmly rubbing the swollen nub, flicking from side to side and you feel like you're about to combust, your back arching off the bed as you moan loudly.
You open your eyes the second the friction comes to a halt, and the complaint dies in your mouth when you're met with the sinful sight of him coating two of his fingers in spit before they disappear between your legs and into your needy hole. "Shit, baby." He says in awe when they easily slide into you and your jaw drops at the fullness, your eyes threatening to shut from the pleasure, but you refuse to stop looking at him. His arm muscles are flexing when he starts fucking you open, instantly finding that sensitive spot that drives you insane, his other hand still, possessively pressing down on your lower abdomen to hold you in place, his hair matted on his damp forehead, his eyes focused on your dripping centre, bottom lip trapped between his teeth in concentration. He looks so hot, you could come just from looking at him and when his thumb comes into the equation, rubbing merciless circles around your clit, you feel yourself getting tighter.
“You gonna cum?” He asks in a whisper, his eyes meeting yours momentarily and you nod quickly, eyebrows creasing at the intense pressure in your belly.
"Uh-huh, don’t stop." You respond in a high pitched plea and his pace quickens, creating the filthiest squelching noises around his hand and your eyes close, half in ecstasy half in embarrassment. "Oh my god." Your fingers knead your tits harder when you're on the edge and a moan from him is what topples you over. "Fuck, I'm cumming." Your pussy feels like it's on fire as your walls spasm, your clit throbs like it's about to fall off and your legs can't stop shaking. His fingers are pistoning into you so hard and fast, that it feels like it slightly hurts but it feels so good at the same time. Too good. You sense that you're on the verge of peeing and your voice comes out in a broken squeal. "Shit, ah, stop stop stop!" Your hand grabs his wrist in a desperate state and he looks up at your face with widened eyes, like he's come out of a trance. He stops his ministrations but keeps his fingers buried inside you.
"Fuck, baby, I'm sorry." The hand on your stomach, moving to your ribs, caressing gently. "Did I hurt you? You- shit, I thought you were gonna squirt for a second so I kept going, I'm really sorry." His pupils are shaking as he explains quickly, taking in your sweaty, disheveled form and you feel so exposed that you make grabby hands at him, wanting him close. He instantly moves, supporting his weight on one arm, careful not to crash you and you sigh when you feel his chest flush against yours, warm and damp.
"It didn't hurt." You assure him, cupping his cheeks in your hands and he closes his eyes, sighing in relief. "I just felt like I was gonna pee." You confess bashfully and he chuckles, burying his face in your neck, inhaling deeply as you run your fingers through his hair. "I've never squirted before, so I freaked out a bit." You explain quietly. "Plus, I don't wanna ruin your bed sheets before we even get to the sex part."
He snorts and raises his head to look at you again. "Pretty sure they're already ruined." He says giving you a kiss on the cheek and you move to playfully push him off you, but a gasp escapes you when you feel his fingers slightly move, reminding you they're still buried inside your sensitive walls. "Unclench a little, you're squeezing." He whispers and when he kisses you, you slowly relax your walls around his digits, allowing him to carefully pull out and you whine at the loss, making him smile in the kiss. His hand cups your sensitive core, making you mewl at the comforting warmth. "You sure you still wanna keep going? We don't have to if you're feeling sore."
"I'm fine." You wrap your legs around his waist, holding him close. “Want you.” You whisper, hands sliding up his chest, coming up to bury in his hair again, as you bring his lips down to yours, urging him to kiss you stupid. And he does.
It’s slow, steady, passionate and you feel like mush in his arms, numb to the core, your lips moving in sync with his, taking what he’s giving you. You inhale and exhale heavily through your nose, refusing to break the kiss and you moan when he obscenely shoves his tongue into your mouth, licking messily and the conversation from earlier enters your mind suddenly. “Mm- I want mmf-” He interrupts you with another messy kiss before pulling away, allowing you to speak.
“You want what?” He asks quietly, lips still grazing yours as he catches his breath. Your eyes are on his glistening mouth, and he must sense your hesitation, because he presses again, hand caressing up and down your thigh in encouragement. “Tell me, baby, I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Remember what we talked about earlier?” You try, too embarrassed to actually say the words.
“Earlier?” His eyebrows furrow in thought, not catching on straight away.
“At the café.” You whisper, your eyes drop to his mouth again, slightly hinting and when they find his again, you know he’s caught on.
“You- fuck.” He falters when your hips raise, the tip of his cock catching at your entrance momentarily before sliding between your folds. “You want me to spit in your mouth?” He asks carefully, after having somewhat collected himself, both arms coming up, trapping your head between them as he rests his weight on them. You nod, holding eye contact, hands traveling down his abdomen, fingers tracing his sides before trailing up his spine, bracing once having reached his shoulders, palms resting on the blades. “You fucking minx.” His hand cups your chin, fingers lightly squishing your cheeks, forcing your lips to pucker as he leans in to press a chaste kiss on them.
His index taps against your cheek gently, as his hold on your face loosens. “Open up.” He instructs, his voice low, eyes darkening and you feel your cunt fluttering around nothing. “Tongue out.” His fingers lightly shake your face from side to side possessively and your brain stops functioning, tongue sticking out as if on demand and you whine when you watch him gather saliva in his mouth, cheeks hollowing a little, before slowly letting it dribble down your awaiting muscle. Your eyes rolls back when you feel it and your fingernails instinctively dig into his shoulders. “Swallow.” He instructs again, and you obey with a desperate moan, revelling in his dominant demeanour. His hand wraps around your throat, feeling the movement and he kisses you again, grunting against your lips, as you struggle to keep up with him, mouth widening to take his tongue in and you feel the wetness smearing on your chin messily.
You realise no one has ever kissed you like Haechan, and you wonder if he’s always kissing his sexual partners like this. Has anyone else experienced this level of intimacy with him before? You instantly feel the jealousy brewing at the thought of someone receiving this kind of affection; this kind of pleasure from him and you surprise yourself, never having felt this possessive over someone before. Something switches in you.
“Fuck me.” You breathlessly mumble, not recognising your own voice and he moans in your mouth as your hand reaches down, wrapping around his cock, smearing the shiny drops of precum adorning his tip. His hips thrust forward into your touch and you pump him steadily a couple more times, offering some sort of relief.
He pulls away slightly, to look at you. “Let me grab a condom.” He says quickly before grabbing your ankles, unwrapping them from his waist.
“Right, yes.” You nod dumbly, feeling a little silly for having lost all sensibility because of him.
You watch him as reaches blindly in the bedside table drawer; his eyebrows furrowing in concentration and his face lights up the second he finds one. You watch him as he sits back on his heels, ripping the foil with his teeth. You watch him as he rolls the latex carefully onto his hard cock, teeth sinking in his bottom lip as he pumps himself a few times, ensuring the condom is on properly, chest moving as he breathes heavily. You watch him as he moves closer, coating two fingers in saliva and bringing them down to your slit again, rubbing up and down slowly before dipping them in and quickly pumping them to prep you, even if you really don’t need it. You let him though, because you want to keep watching him for a little longer.
He looks ethereal with his messy fringe stuck to his sweaty forehead, his shoulders wide, his chest and arm muscles lean, bicep flexing subtly as he expertly slides his fingers in and out, scissoring them to stretch you for him. He looks like the epitome of sex and you can’t even bring yourself to moan as his palm rubs against your sensitive clit, your jaw dropping with a quiet, trembling breath when he starts jabbing at your already abused g-spot and your hands release the sheets in favour of holding your legs open, when they threaten to close.
“Think I’m gonna cum again.” You mumble in awe, eyes staying on him still.
“You think?” He asks, voice laced with sarcasm, pace quickening, urging you to unravel around his fingers for the second time tonight. “Go on, baby.” His free hand, presses against the back of your thigh, pushing your leg close to your chest, testing your flexibility and the second his eyes meet yours, you cum. Hard. “Yeah, good girl.” He praises softly and you let out a whine, allowing your eyes to finally shut, not being able to handle his intense stare, your back arching as your fingers dig into the backs of your thighs, legs uncontrollably shaking, walls clenching repeatedly around his hand, clit pulsing against the heel of his palm as he helps you ride out your orgasm.
He starts kissing up your trembling body, lips wet, tongue lapping up your sweaty skin and he doesn’t even give you the chance to catch your breath when he harshly sucks your nipple in his warm mouth as his fingers leave your heat to wrap around his hard cock, rubbing the head up and down your soaked cunt. Your hands come up to grab onto his hair, as you attempt to anchor yourself and you can’t help but moan loudly when he pushes in. And even though it’s only the tip, it’s enough to drive you close to insanity.
“Fuck!” You exclaim, forcing his head up so you can kiss him as he slowly bottoms out, distracting yourself from the stinging sensation.
You both moan when his pelvis meets yours, his pubic bone flush against your hypersensitive clit as he gives you a second to adjust. He slowly pulls out to the tip and thrusts back in, maintaining the slow, careful pace to make sure you’re feeling comfortable.
“Relax for me.” He exhales a shaky laugh against your lips and you squeeze even harder to tease him. “Fuck! Baby, what the f- don’t.” He warns with a grunt as he wraps an authoritative hand around your neck and draws his hips back a little, before slamming in with force, not a second later.
The loud noise that escapes your throat resembles a scream and your eyes roll back when he starts fucking into you hard and fast, wet slapping sounds echoing and you almost feel embarrassed at hearing how wet you are, but the intense pleasure takes over your senses, completely clouding any coherent thought.
“Not so bratty now, are we?” He grunts against your jaw as the hand around your neck tightens slightly, causing your ears to start ringing and your eyes to water. He releases you just when you start feeling dizzy, allowing you to catch your breath. He lets out a dark laugh at your loud gasps and buries his hand in your hair instead, pulling at the roots, so your head lolls back on the pillows, giving him access to your neck.
“So fucking wet, fffuck, so good.” He slurs between sloppy kisses against your sensitive skin as his hips slow down, fucking you nice and deep at a lazy pace, torturing you. “You take me so well, baby.” His crude words causing you to clench around him as his tongue laps from the base of your neck, up to your ear, flicking the lobe playfully.
“Look.” He whispers, moist breath tickling your ear as the hand fisting you hair, forces your head forward and off the pillow, making you look down between your bodies and you obediently open you eyes. You take in the unholy visual of his cock slowly dragging out to the tip, coated in your shiny slick essence, a white ring forming at the base and your eyes threaten to roll back when he so easily slides back in, at the same torturous pace. “See how perfect you are?”
Your nails drag down his back, leaving scratch marks behind and he hums against your neck when they dig into the flesh of his ass. “Faster, please.” You breathe out and he loosens his hold, allowing your head to tip back down, his eyes finding yours as he maintains the slow pace.
"You sure, baby?" His tone mocking as he sits back up on his knees, looking down at your messy cunt practically sucking him back in every time he slowly pulls out. You reel at the sight of his feral expression, his eyes unfocused as they trail up and down your naked body, like he can’t decide what to focus on. You feel exposed to the core but your arousal wins and you moan loudly, back arching when his thumb slowly circles around your clit twice, stimulating the stiff nub.
"Hae, please." You're on the verge of tears and he must like the sound of your begging, because he doesn’t hesitate this time. He leans down again, bringing his lips to yours, thrusts increasing in pace and force significantly but never losing preciseness, giving you exactly what you want. “Yes, oh my god.” You exhale against his mouth, as he changes the angle slightly and starts fucking directly into your g-spot, barely pulling out before thrusting back in, his balls slapping against your ass and you’re pretty sure you’ve never been fucked this good before. “Fuck, Haechan, please please please, don’t stop.” You blabber, completely lost in mind-numbing bliss, your legs spreading as far as they can go, allowing him to thrust as deep as he pleases. He groans, kisses turning sloppy, all tongue and teeth and you can’t stop moaning, mouth hanging open against his.
“Fuck, baby, I need you to cum.” He whispers, tone laced with urgency, almost sounding like he’s in pain and he wastes no time; a hand slotting between your bodies, resuming the stimulation on your clit, as he supports his weight on one arm, thrusts unfaltering, unforgiving and just perfect. His fingers start rubbing rough, tight circles around the nub and your toes curl against his sides, arms securely wrapping around his shoulders, as your walls squeeze around him, indicating another orgasm, and when his fingers along with the head of his cock rub against the right spot, you’re gone. Your moan comes out broken, walls clamping down on him, legs pathetically attempting to close around him but failing as your thighs shake violently and you feel dizzy, a tear rolling down your temple from the intensity of your high.
He keeps fucking you into the mattress, thrusts turning a little sloppy now that you're squeezing around him, hips losing their steady rhythm and when the pleasure borders overstimulation, causing you to mewl, he abruptly pulls out, kneeling between your legs and over your spent body. He pulls the condom off quickly with trembling fingers and he moans as he starts jerking himself off, aiming for your abdomen as his free hand curls around your ribs, holding you exactly where he wants you.
“You look so good.” You exhale in awe as you observe him in the midst of his pleasure, his eyes shut, head thrown back, his pretty neck on display as he moans loudly and his hooded eyes find yours again for a second before they roll back into his head.
“Shit, gonna cum.” He shakily announces, your praise seeming to have worked wonders, as you feel the first spurts of hot liquid landing on your skin. You take in the beautiful sight of his shaking form, chest and neck flushed, drenched in sweat, eyebrows creasing in between, eyes still shut, jaw slack as he releases short breaths.
He’s milking himself when you look down and you can’t help but ogle at the sight of your skin covered in the sticky white mess he’s created, illuminated by the bedside lamp. You notice some of it has landed on your tits, some on your tummy and you’re pretty sure some of it is pooling in the dip of your belly button, causing you to bite back a smile.
“Fuck.” He breathes in relief as his eyes slowly open to look at you and he looks dazed, fucked out. His tan skin flushed, making him look delicious. Sweat drips down his temple, hands shaking as they rest on your thighs limply. “I think I blacked out for a second there.” He mutters in awe and you giggle at his crazy eyes, while he tries to regulate his breathing.
His cheeky smile has returned, and he leans in, taking a closer look at his work. “Damn, I did a number on you.” He teases, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sinful sight. “Pretty.” He whispers and takes your limp hand in his, lips kissing gently on the back of it, eyes looking up at you innocently, like he didn’t just fuck you stupid.
When he drops your hand, he leans down with no warning and you panic at his mischievous expression, as his head disappears between your legs.
“What are you doing?” You ask in confusion and he chuckles softly.
“Shhh.” He breathes against your folds as his hands hold your legs open and the second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you squirm, trying to move further up the bed, but he tightens his arms around your thighs, holding you still. “Relax, just take it.” He whispers calmly before gently sucking on your clit. His tongue slides down to lap at your entrance, slightly dipping in, tasting you directly, before flattening and licking up to the bundle of nerves, making you mewl when he circles around it languidly. He keeps going, alternating between sucking, licking and gently circling until your legs are shaking again. Your hands release the sheets, moving to desperately hold onto his hair, fingers pulling, not knowing whether to push him away or pull him closer and his moan vibrates against your clit, pushing you over the edge once more. You cry out pathetically, not able to form any words, cumming hard against his tongue as he refuses to let up until your whole body shakes from overstimulation.
“Please, I- I can’t- can't cum again.” You stumble over your words, as he licks against your entrance, slurping up your juices, the sounds incriminating and you don’t even have the energy to push him away anymore. You just accept that if he tries to make you come again, you’ll probably pass out, but to your relief, he thankfully stops once he’s cleaned you up with his tongue.
You blink up at him when you feel his weight on you, his skin feels hot on yours, his cum smearing between you, and he doesn’t seem have a care in the world. The only thing he does seem to care about is shoving his tongue in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself, kissing you like he owns you and at this point, he might as well spell out his name on your body with his cum, because he has completely and utterly destroyed you and you know you’re irrevocably ruined for anyone else.
“So good for me, baby girl.” He mutters wetly, mouth open against yours, breathing heavy. “So fucking sweet.” He whispers almost inaudibly and you cup his chin in your hand, squishing his cheeks between your fingers, pecking him on his puckered lips.
“You’re fucking insane, Lee Haechan.” You weakly chuckle as he tries to kiss you again, his whine childish as your firm hold on his face prevents him from doing so. “Get off me, before I piss myself in your bed, you freak. You’re pressing on my bladder.”
_
After having gently cleaned you up with a warm hand towel and carried you to the bathroom so you can sort yourself out, he’s got you back in his bed, safely cocooned in his arms and under the covers. His front is comfortably pressed against your back and you’re basking in the warmth and the nakedness.
“Now I’m definitely sleepy.” You mumble with a content smile and he quietly chuckles in your hair, tightening his arms around you, holding you as close as possible, sighing in delight.
“Mm same.” He mumbles sleepily against your neck. “You comfortable like this?” He checks, and you feel giddy at his attentiveness.
“Mm-hmm, more than.” You nuzzle back into him, lazily stroking your fingers up and down the arm that’s wrapped around your middle, his palm casually cupping your boob; not squeezing, just gently holding. You feel him smile as he presses a sweet kiss on your shoulder.
A few moments of comfortable silence pass, and just when you think his breathing has started to slow down, he quietly speaks again.
“Y/N?” He asks tentatively and his serious tone worries you.
“Yeah?” You attempt to turn your head to look at him, but his tight embrace holds you in place and you presume he needs to not be looking at you when he says his next words.
“I think-” He pauses, collecting his thoughts and you have a feeling you know what he’s trying to get at, so you give him time, hand still gently stroking his arm. “Are we on the same page here?”
“Well,” You sigh, feigning uncertainty and the tensing in his arm almost makes you regret dragging this. “That depends Lee Haechan.” The teasing smile evident in your voice. “What page are you on?”
love, laundry, and lunches synopsis: while you're stuck at the office fulfilling your duties as a social media manager from 7 AM to 9 PM, your beloved husband, donghyuck, often finds himself torn between hiding from your three kids to make a surprise visit to see you or ensuring they are sleeping safe and sound and the house isn't caught on fire by the time you come home.
it should be pretty simple and straightforward. and it is. but for your family? it's anything but.
contents: househusband!haechan, coporate worker!reader, marriedlife!au, parents!au, fluff, suggestive, petnames for reader & their kids, established relationship, hyuck being a stressed girl and boys dad 😭😭😭😭, 7dream + 127 mentioned as uncles!
a/n: i've always wanted to do a drabble/mini series like this soooo... i started it 😅 this'll come in handy every time i lose brain power for school work and would rather write fluffy cute stories on a google doc.
comment if you wish to tag along on the cute adventures of these parents as they navigate their personal dreams and strive to be the best parents they can be!
taglist is open and all chapters are in no order and can be read as standalones. happy reading <3
episode one: laundry loony
with you still at work, donghyuck brings his kids along to the laundromat after not being able to find a sitter and discovers that it would've been a lot easier if he left them at home.
episode two: "love, dada <3" notes on lunches
donghyuck may not be an early bird or the most passionate cook in the world, but the daily notes he writes on his kids' lunches make it all worth it.
episode three: "love, your amazing awesome hilarious husband who can't wait till you come home <3" notes on lunches
donghyuck's still not an early bird or passionate about cooking, but his little morning moments consisting of you, warm coffee, waking up the kids, and a kiss on his lips before you walk out the door make it all worth it.
episode four: date night gone... right?
with the majority of the (trustworthy) bros being booked and busy on date night, you and donghyuck are left with one last option, which you both may or may not regret. leave chenle and jisung alone to babysit your three kids.
episode five: like father, like son
after getting a surprise call from your oldest son's school, donghyuck realizes one thing: like father, like son.
episode six: mr. & mrs. lee
donghyuck adores you, and he never shys away from doing so, which explains why you happen to forget that there are many women who adore him, specifically at an office party for your job.
episode seven: third time's a charm!
after planning so many birthday parties, you'd assume you and donghyuck to be experts at acknowledging that your kids are growing up. wrong. because what do you mean your daughter's already one year old and tears are pouring before the cake is even sliced?
Summary - While on vacation with Johnny in a secluded villa by the sea, your memories rise and recede like the tide. Your thoughts drift between the sun-warmed present and golden flashbacks with him, feeling as if you are visiting islands in your mind.
Word Count - 5.2k
Author’s Note - My school just had its graduation ceremony, so I guess it is officially time for summer! Here’s some Johnny smut to kick off this season haha
Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films (join my taglist!)
Written for the This Is Now Playing Collab originally hosted by @sichengtual.
Now playing: Islands - The xx, Don’t Let Me Down - Surfaces feat. JVKE, Mexico - Goth Babe and Surfaces
You were sprawled out on a sun-warmed couch in a breezy, sunlit villa with faded wood floors and linen curtains billowing at the windows. The cotton cushions were slightly wrinkled beneath you with Johnny’s head resting on your stomach, cheek pressed to the softness of your skin. One of your hands finds its way to his hair, idly combing through the strands. The room smells like sea salt, sunscreen, and something faintly citrus. The ceiling fan hums above, rhythmic and hypnotic.
Your mind drifts in and out of a daydream, watching dust mites fly in the slant of golden rays of the sun. The silence between you feels sacred and heavy, not with tension, but with how you both have chosen each other over and over again. This stillness and intimacy are the kind that you don’t have to fill with words. It’s not passion burning wild, it’s love as a low, glowing ember.
As you blink slowly, you’re lured into your memories with the soft weight of Johnny’s head on your leg and the sound of distant laughter from the beach and the gentle hush of waves. You think of the first time you met Johnny. It was a mistake, truthfully. He had wandered into your dorm room by accident when you were both first years in university. The image plays like an old home movie. His sheepish grin, the way he scratched the back of his neck, and mumbled an apology. You remember the way his presence felt familiar before you even knew his name.
You smile faintly, thumb brushing his temple, and wonder how a mistake became this. The two of you, years later, the comfort of his breath on your skin and his body curled into yours like it was always meant to be there.
Revisiting that memory, you know it was move-in day of freshman year. The hallways of the dorm were buzzing, each room halfway unpacked and cluttered with plastic bins, posters, the smell of new beginnings, and cheap pizza. Music spilled from open doors, and laughter echoed down the halls.
Your name tag was barely taped to the door when he walked in, no knock, just a push and a clumsy, “hey–wait, this isn’t–oh.” He blinked, his eyes scanning the room across your boxes, the stack of books already on your desk, the band poster taped above your bed. You paused mid-fold with a shirt in your hands, eyebrows raised, more curious than alarmed.
“Sorry,” he said shyly, running a hand through his hair that looked like it had lost a fight with the wind. “I thought this was room 209.”
“This is 212,” you replied, unimpressed.
“Right.” He looked again, just to confirm, seeing your name in marker on the door, not the one he was looking for. “That explains the lack of skateboards,” he mumbled, grinning sheepishly.
You should’ve asked him to leave, but instead, you leaned against your bed frame and tilted your head, nodding towards the deck tucked into his arm. “You skate?”
“A little,” he replied. He took another glance around, eyes lingering on the poster behind you, its corners already starting to peel. “Good taste,” he added.
You rolled your eyes, but your mouth twitched. “You’re stalling.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged, gaze flickering back to you. “Or maybe I just got really lucky walking into the right wrong room.” That’s what he’d always claim later, that it wasn’t an accident at all. That he saw you in the hallway earlier and decided to make an entrance. That he knew, somehow, it would be you. You never quite believed him, but you liked the idea.
Looking back now, the memory has a nostalgic blur to it, like light through a bottle of honey. He looked so young then. Boyish, with long limbs he hadn’t fully grown into, a grin too big for his face, and that unbrushed hair that never quite obeyed gravity. But there was something else, too. A steadiness, even in his awkwardness. The way he stood, like he wasn’t in a rush to leave. The way he looked at you like he’d found something he wasn’t expecting and suddenly didn’t want to lose.
It’s funny how some things haven’t changed. He still runs his hand through his hair the same way when he’s nervous or flustered. Still gives that tilted grin when he knows he’s pushing his luck. Still looks at you like that, like he’s quietly stunned by the fact that you’re real and his.
You smile faintly to yourself, the weight of his head still warm on your leg in the present. That first day, you couldn’t have known how he’d carve out space in your life, how his voice would become home, how his absence would soon feel unthinkable. But part of you must’ve sensed it even then, even before you knew his name.
The memory fades as a breeze drifts through the villa window, brushing across your bare arms like a ghost of that old August day. You look down at Johnny, still asleep on your lap, and realize that whether it was a mistake or fate, you’re glad he never knocked.
The fan clicks lazily above, its rhythm syncing with the breath beneath your palm, Johnny’s chest rising and falling like a quiet tide. Outside, you can hear the faint sound of waves, children laughing, and someone playing a song too far away to catch the words. You let your head fall back against the couch.
The present is gentle and steady, but your mind drifts again, tugged not by logic but by the pulse of memory. Not to your first kiss with Johnny, nor your first fight, but to a certain summer, the one that felt like it might never end.
Time pulls you further back like a wave, and you don’t resist. It was a year after your first run-in with Johnny, the summer before your second year of university, just a few months into dating for real. You had stayed on campus for longer than planned, going between summer jobs and the muted stretch of half-abandoned dorms, rotating through sunlit libraries and caffeine-laced cafes. But on weekends, Johnny would take you out to his parents’ place in the outskirts of the city. It was suburban and sleepy, the kind of neighborhood that smelled like freshly cut grass and always seemed to echo with cicadas.
Somewhere in that year, he had started to grow into himself. The lanky, sharp-angled boy you’d met at the start of the year began to soften in all the right places. He was still tall, all limbs and careless grins, but the edges of him had shifted and filled out. His voice had settled lower, his hands had grown more certain, and the way he looked at you had changed, too. Less like he was surprised to be near you, and more like he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.
You were in the passenger seat of his hand-me-down car, legs curled up with the windows down. There was a bottle of lemonade sweating between your knees, the stereo humming some lazy summer tune.
Outside, Johnny was spraying down the car in the thick, golden heat. His shirt clung to him, soaked and translucent, the fabric sticking to the muscles of his back as he moved. Water glinted on his skin like shattered glass, catching the sun at every angle. He hummed along with the music, off-key and content, the hose in one hand, flicking arcs of water toward you now and then with a mischievous grin. You roll your eyes and pretend to ignore him, but the soft curl of your mouth gives you away.
He was beautiful, even then. Not just the way he looked, though you remember the absurd fairness of it, but the way he existed. Like the world didn’t press on him the way it did everyone else. He moved through heat and time like he owned both, as if summer bent around him.
You didn’t know yet how rare and special that kind of ease was. How precious it would feel later, when life got messier, heavier, more complicated than lemonade and low-stakes kisses in parked cars.
That afternoon felt suspended, as if time itself had slowed down just to watch. Everything smelled like soap and distant barbecue smoke, and for a while, that was all you needed.
You remember watching Johnny through half-lidded eyes, the heat lulling you into something like a daze. And then, without warning, he dropped the hose. He sprinted around the car, shirt clinging to his chest, sneakers squeaking on the hot pavement. You barely had time to sit up before the passenger door flung open and Johnny launched himself inside, dripping wet and beaming.
“Johnny!” You shrieked, half-laughing, half-scolding as you tried to shove him away, but it was useless. He straddled you in your seat, cool water seeping into your shorts and dripping onto your thighs as he caged you in with soaked arms on either side of your head.
“You look too dry,” he said with mock seriousness, the corner of his lips twitching before crashing his mouth into yours.
The kiss was soaked and silly, all teeth and laughter and slippery hands. But it was also urgent and open and full of heart, like the two of you were trying to drink each other in before the moment could slip away.
You don’t remember how long you stayed tangled in that front seat, wet and breathless while dusk crept in through the windows. But you remember the way he looked at you like you were the best idea he ever had. And somehow, years later, he still does.
Even now, as a man who is taller, steadier, and less wild around the edges, he still leans into you with that same boyish awe. Still kisses you like every summer is the first one. Like time hasn’t changed the taste of that hometown lemonade, or the shape of the grin he only ever gives to you.
You were still warm with memory, thinking of damp car seats, lemon-sweet kisses, and the boy who made you laugh until your chest ached. You blink, pulled gently from the memory as the breeze shifts through the villa again, threading through linen curtains and ruffling Johnny’s hair beneath your hand. The moment holds steady, warm, and still, but your thoughts drift back to just an hour ago, when the present hadn’t yet settled into this soft, golden haze.
You and Johnny had landed at the airport not long before, bags under your eyes but something electric in your chest. Now, Johnny was driving the two of you along the winding coastal road with the windows down, sunroof open, the car breathing in the ocean like it needed it. The air was thick with sea salt and heat, the kind that clung to your skin and made everything feel slightly slower.
Johnny’s hand rested loose on the wheel, the other on your thigh as if it had always belonged there. He tapped his thumb against your skin in rhythm with the playlist you’d put on, something dreamy and familiar, all the gentle harmonies and echoey instrumental breaks. The sky above you melted from honeyed gold to lavender, the sea sparkling beside the road like glass catching fire.
He hummed to the music, you hummed back. There was no urgency here, no emails to answer, no roommates to tiptoe around, no cheap beer in dorm fridges or half-slept nights on twin mattresses. Just the road, the breeze, and the way he glanced at you like nothing else mattered.
At a red light, he turned to you, his profile soft and golden, his hair curling in the humid air. “You excited?” He asked, voice calm and soothing.
You tilt your head toward him, catching the slope of his nose in the light, the faint curve of a smile as he hums under his breath. “For the vacation? Or the five days we’re going to spend alone in a room?”
His laugh burst out, easy and familiar, and he squeezed your thigh, affection anchoring his touch. “Can’t it be both?”
The villa Johnny had reserved for the two of you appeared like something from a dream. It was tucked behind trees, quiet and covered with climbing vines. Check-in was fast, with Johnny quickly grabbing your bags in one hand, your waist in the other, tugging you against him like he’s already forgotten the rest of the world exists.
As soon as the door shuts behind you, the hush inside wraps around you like a blanket thick with the scent of soft linens, citrus air, and waves crashing in the distance. He tosses the keys onto the table without looking.
“You know,” he begins, backing you up against the nearest wall, “we’re not leaving this place until you forget how to spell your name.”
You smile, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt. “Make me.”
That first night melted into kisses against cool sheets and the hiss of the shower running over hushed laughter. You remember the way you sighed his name, his hands pressing promises into your skin, the moonlight pouring over twisted limbs and tangled sheets.
Your memory shifts to a warmer and brighter setting. The sun had just begun to climb when you stepped out onto the terrace. Golden light stretched across the private pool, shimmering against pale blue tiles. A soft breeze lifted the hem of your linen cover-up as you sank onto a lounger, sunglasses slipping into place and a sweating glass of something citrusy held in one hand.
The sliding door clicks open behind you, causing you to turn around. Johnny steps out wearing the tiniest pair of swim shorts you have ever seen. They were bright and snug, practically a second skin. He pauses just long enough for you to take in the view. His broad chest, tapered waist, sculpted abs, and impossibly long legs. He had a brow cocked like he’s waiting for applause.
You shift slightly, letting your gaze travel down the length of him, not bothering to hide the slow appraisal before lowering your shades just a fraction. “Those shorts should be illegal. I can see the outline of your entire cock and balls.”
He flashes a grin, all dimples and sin. “Just trying to make sure the sun gets everywhere.”
You raise a brow. “Everywhere?”
He strides over to the deep end of the pool, stretches his arms up for effect, then cannonballs. Water erupted in a glittering arc, drenching the lounger and your bare calves.
“Johnny!” You yelp, lifting your drink just in time.
He surfaces, slick hair plastered to his forehead. “Oops.”
“Yeah, oops,” you mimic, deadpan.
“Come on in,” he calls, pushing his wet hair back. “The water’s perfect.”
“Not a chance.” You set your glass aside, settling deeply into the lounger. “Someone needs to supervise. Never know when you’ll need a lifeguard.”
“Oh, a supervisor?” He swam over to the edge nearest you, leaning against the overhang, fully submerged from his chest down. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I…test the splash radius again?” Before his warning sinks in, he launches his arms upward, sending a second wave that soaks your thighs and cover-up. You screech, half-laughing and half-furious.
“That’s it!” You stand, dripping, your cover-up clinging to your skin. He only smirks at you.
“Need help cooling off?” He teases.
You step to the pool’s edge, shrugging off your cover-up. “Don’t you dare–”
He dares. In one swift motion, he surges up, grabbing you by the hips, your shriek echoing off stone walls while you both tumble into the water with a splash. The cool water steals your breath. When you surface, he’s already in front of you, palms sliding to your waist beneath the water. You splash him square in the face. He laughs, nose scrunching as he backs you into the tiled wall of the pool.
“Truce?” he proposes, a playful smile painting his face.
You’re about to answer when he kisses you, wet and insistent. His hands travel along your waist, venturing further down until his thumbs are grazing the back of your thighs, guiding your legs to wrap around him. Underwater, his hips rock forward, slow and deliberate, grinding you against the wall’s smooth tile. The friction is muted by water, but the heat is unmistakable. Every roll of his body teases through the tiny, scandalous stretch of fabric clinging to him.
You gasp his name, fingers threading into his hair. He hums, nosing along your jaw, nipping just below your ear while his hips keep an unhurried rhythm. “Still supervising?”
You tighten your legs, leaving no distance between you. His breath stutters, and you feel his length swell against you, the damp fabric doing nothing to hide just how ready he is. One hand slips beneath your bikini top, thumb brushing a nipple already peaking from the cool water, dragging a moan from your lips.
Desperation blooms. Your body, soaked but burning, moves on instinct. Your hand glides between your bodies, sliding easily into the waistband of those criminally tight shorts. He jolts, hips twitching forward as your fingers wrap around him, slow and teasing.
Johnny’s head fell forward, resting against your shoulder, and his breath caught against your neck. Underwater, everything is softened, blurred, but not this. Not the way his cock pulses in your hand, hot and heavy, twitching as you stroke him with precision. Your thumb grazes the head, slick with precome, and his entire body tenses. You smile against his temple, innocent in contrast to the way your palm glides down his shaft, squeezing just enough to make his eyes flutter shut.
“You were saying something about supervising?” You murmur, voice dripping with amusement.
He groans, low and guttural, head falling back as you pump him in slow, languid strokes, letting the water help you glide. His hands grip your hips, knuckles whitening beneath the surface as he rolls against your hand in tiny, helpless thrusts.
“If you keep doing that,” he pants, “I’m gonna embarrass myself in the damn pool.”
You giggle, breathless and wicked. “Maybe I want to see that.” You twist your wrist, feeling him jerk, his pulse jumping against your palm. He buries his face into your neck, his moan muffled against your skin, and you know he’s close, right on the edge, trembling under your touch.
Just as he grinds into your fist one more time, chasing that final push, you pull your hand away. Johnny whines, eyes blown wide, lips parted, body shaking with restraint. “Baby,” he breathes, absolutely wrecked. “You didn’t.”
You press a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I did.” With that, you push off his chest and glide toward the steps, leaving him stunned, panting, and rock-hard, ruined in the shallows.
“Unreal,” he mutters to himself.
You don’t make it even halfway across the terrace before he catches up to you, grabbing your wrist, spinning you into him, water still clinging to both of you. He crashes his mouth to yours with the desperation of a man driven mad. You gasp, and he swallows the sound eagerly, hands roaming, gripping, grounding.
He lifts you effortlessly, arms locking around your thighs as your legs wind around his waist. The lounger cushions your fall as he lays you back, climbing over you with soaked skin and molten eyes.
“You’re evil,” he breathes, voice hoarse.
“Just for you,” you whisper back, nails raking across his back.
The heat between you reignites instantly. He kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s been holding back too long. Your swimsuit is gone, discarded somewhere on the terrace. His shorts follow, tugged down with shaking hands and frantic moans. His cock spring free, flushed and slick from your earlier teasing, and when he presses it against your entrance, both of you groan in unison.
He slides in with one long, slow thrust, forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping the sides of the lounger like he might lose control completely. You arch beneath him, thighs falling open, fingers curling around the back of his neck.
“You feel–fuck–so good,” he groans.
It’s fast and messy, all heat and water and frantic friction. Your chest pushes into his while his hips snap forward, each thrust more desperate than the last. You claw at his shoulder, his name spilling from your lips as he fucks you through the tension you both build and broke again and again.
When you find your release, it hits like lightning, sharp, electric, full-body. He follows seconds later with a strangled moan, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, every muscle in his body going taught and trembling.
The only sound for a long moment is your shared breathing, your limbs tangled, sweat and water mixing where your bodies meet. He nuzzles into your neck, kissing lazily against your jaw. Eventually, he lifts his head, still catching his breath. “We made a mess.”
You look down to where you’re both connected, seeing the way your juices mix with his milky white cum spilling out of you and leaving a white ring around his cock. It only seems more erotic when he pulls out, allowing even more fluid to flow from your weeping folds. “A fucking hot mess.”
He laughs giddily then scoops you into his arms, then scoops you into his arms, bridal-style. You squeal, half-protesting as he carries you inside, but you don’t fight it.
He sets you down gently on the couch, grabs a towel, and disappears into the bathroom. You sprawl across the cushions, boneless and flushed, watching sunlight stripe the floor. When he returns, towel damp in his hand, he pauses in the doorway.
You’re still completely naked, one leg draped over the armrest, skin flushed and shimmering, your chest rising and falling in slow, satisfied rhythms. His eyes darken in real time, the towel slipping slightly from his hand.
You look at him, slightly amused, but he’s already clambering onto you again, crawling over your body with a look that says he’s nowhere near finished. He kisses you with the same edge of desperation, sharpened now by the way your skin still glows, flushed and marked from where he had you last.
“I’m not letting you go easy this time,” he threatens.
“You’re insatiable,” you respond, letting your hand drift up his chest, nails lightly grazing the dip between his pecs.
He dips his head, kissing the corner of your mouth, then lower. “Can you blame me?” he mumbles, voice thick with want. “Look at you.”
His hips press down against yours, and you feel him twitching back to life between your thighs. He’s half-hard, slick, and rubbing between your folds with each slow rut. His cock slides easily, gliding through the mess of you both. Your breath hitches as the head catches on your clit, and he does it again, just to feel you gasp.
Johnny kisses your throat, your collarbone, down your chest, mouthing at one nipple, then the other. You arch up into him, fingers combing through his damp hair. His needy little groans muffled against your skin and the slick slide of his cock teasing your entrance again and again makes your core throb with fresh need.
He keeps kissing lower and lower, down your belly, your hips. He pauses to kiss the inside of your thigh, nose brushing your skin, before he settles between your legs. “Let me taste it,” he breathes, voice gone ragged.
He licks a long, deliberate stripe through your folds, groaning at the taste of your release and his cum mixing on his tongue. “Fuck,” he mutters, lips slick. “You’re filthy.”
You don’t get a chance to fire back, his mouth is already on you again, tongue circling your clit with slow, devastating precision. His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you spread, and when you buck your hips, he lets you grind against his mouth, tongue flattening as you ride it.
He moans into you, thrusting lazily against the couch. His cock drags against the fabric, half-hard and leaking, but all his focus stays on devouring you. He drags his tongue down to your entrance, licking up the mess he left inside you. When he groans at the pure eroticism of it all, it vibrates through you, and your back arches involuntarily.
You gasp and clutch at his hair. He sucks your clit again and again until your thighs start to tremble. You feel the orgasm building, hot and dizzying, your breath coming faster. You’re right there, right on the edge, teetering, and then he stops. Your hips jerk forward on instinct, chasing his mouth, but it’s already gone. You stare at him in disbelief, still gasping. “Johnny–”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, licking the remnants from his lips. “Don’t like it so much when it’s done to you, huh?”
You groan, dragging your hands over your face. He leans up slowly, sliding his body against yours again, his cock pulsing as it presses back into your thigh.
“You want it?” He asks, kissing along your jaw. You nod, staring up at him. “Then ask me. Nicely.”
You try to kiss him, but he pulls back, grinning. You whine, hips shifting against him. “Johnny, please.”
“Please what?” he teases, trailing a hand down your side, not touching where you need him.
You’re panting now, still soaked and throbbing. “Please fuck me.”
He hums in approval, lining himself up and dragging the head of his cock through your folds with maddening slowness.
“See?” he coos against your lips. “That wasn’t so hard.”
With a slow exhale, he pushes in, inch by aching inch. This time, there’s no rush, no frantic need. Just the drag of his cock inside you, thick and steady, stretching you open until your bodies are flush. You gasp, legs circling his waist, and he stills for a moment, forehead pressed to yours as he breathes through the feel of it.
“You feel…” he begins, lost in thought. “God, baby, you feel so good.”
Your arms wrap around his shoulder, holding him close as he starts to move, deep and slow, hips rolling in long strokes that make your toes curl. Every thrust feels deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you from the inside out. Your breath catches each time he brushes that spot, again and again, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every pass.
The sound of your bodies meeting is quiet and slick, all the more intimate against the background of soft breathing, low sighs, and the occasional creak of the couch beneath you. Johnny buries his face into your neck, mouthing at your skin between kisses and praises. “So good…You take me so well.” His voice is just barely audible. “Could stay like this forever.”
Your hands drift down his back, scratching lightly against his skin. He moans at your touch, pace stuttering, and you feel him start to tremble. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy, lips parted.
“I’m close,” he tells you, voice shaking.
You nod, tugging him down to kiss you, hips rolling up to meet him at every thrust. “Me too,” you whimper against his lips. You feel it deep within you, your release hovering just out of reach, the pressure building in waves that crest higher every time he thrusts deep and grinds into that perfect spot.
Johnny groans as you tighten around him, your walls fluttering with every glide of his cock. “Come for me,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours again. “Wanna feel you.” His thumb finds your clit between your bodies, circling gently, adding just enough pressure to send you topping over the edge.
Your breath catches in your throat as you break with a cry, pleasure rippling through you, hot and pulsing. You clutch at him, nails digging into his back, and Johnny moans when you clamp around him, the squeeze of your orgasm milking every inch of him. His rhythm falters, just once, before he slams in deep and stays there, eyes screwing shut as he spills inside you with a low trembling groan.
You ride out the aftershocks together, breath mingling, bodies pressed close, sweat and come sticky between your thighs. Johnny’s chest rises and falls heavily against yours, his cock still buried inside, twitching as you both catch your breath.
Neither of you spoke for a long moment. You just hold him, hands smoothing along his back, while his arms wrap tighter around you like he never wants to let go. Eventually, he pulls out slowly, hissing at the sensitivity, and you both grimace again when the shift makes a mess between your legs.
“Sorry,” he breathes, brushing a kiss against your cheek. “I’ll clean you up.”
He moves to get up, but you tug him down again, and he goes easily, chuckling softly. He shifts to lie beside you, then lets his head fall gently against your stomach, one arm curling over your hip, the other lazily draped across your thigh. One of your hands draws lazy patterns across his spine while the other carded through his slightly damp hair. His body was warm and heavy, his breath finally evening out until you feel him ease into sleep.
The sunlight changes, softening into late afternoon, bringing you back to the present, sprawled on the couch in the villa, your fingers in Johnny’s hair. This memory folds itself gently back into your chest, stitched into place like every other one you’ve made with him.
Johnny sighs in his sleep, cheek pressed to the softness of your belly, arms tucked around your waist. The cushions wrinkle beneath him as he lies curled into you. He fits there perfectly, like he always has.
You let your eyes drift closed again, letting the silence stretch. Your body is heavy with sun and salt, and your mind floats just above the surface of thought, not quite awake yet not quite asleep. Each memory you visited felt like dipping into the sea. Warm, slow-moving, suspended in gold. Lately, you’ve found yourself wading through them more often. Not because you’re afraid of losing them, but because each one feels like its own little island. A place you can return to, a tether, a truth.
Johnny shifts slightly, mumbling something against your skin that you can’t quite catch, but it makes you smile anyway. Your hand drifts from his hair to the curve of his shoulder, holding him closer. Outside, the sky ripens into the color of tangerines, the light melting through the billowing curtains like a kiss.
There will be other memories, more islands to find, to live in, to sail back to when the world gets too loud. But for now, for this moment, you have this one. It’s quiet, sun-kissed, and perfectly still. You’ll return to this island again someday.
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