Red

Everything will soon become familiar, so don’t be afraid of new things.

[smileysuh]

rockstar rivalry

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. “I think he’s a whiny little boy half the time, and he’s obsessed with himself, which, sure, it’s a nod to the old rockstars, the sex, drugs, rock and roll, the alcohol and smoking, but if we’re being honest, don’t we know better by now? Don’t we, as a collective, as a culture, know that the type of shit that was happening in the seventies, eighties, and nineties was not conducive to actual health? Sure, some of the best songs ever written were written under the influence of cocaine, ecstasy, alcohol, etcetera, but are any of Hyuck’s songs instant classics? I, personally, don’t think so. So it feels like a waste of drugs, and a risk to himself, to be doing all of that to emulate the rockstars of old, while being nowhere near their level of talent.”

tw/cw. Mentions of drugs/alcohol, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral (m/f receiving), sixty-nine, deep throating, multiple reader orgasms, power dynamics, slightly switchy dom leading Hyuck, man handling, bickering, praise, dirty talk, finger sucking, slight overstimulation, multiple sex positions, hair pulling, slight pain kink, tattooed hyuck, big/thick dick Hyuck, etc…  I pet names: (hers) wolfie.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5.6k 

🍭 aus. Rockstar!au, enemies to lovers, tension, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I love doing fics that rely on small sections of interview or article renditions describing the relationship between the mc’s, so this one was super fun to write :)

Prologue:

In an era of PR teams and training, this new generation of singers is beginning to go back to the roots of rock and roll. Yes, they have the live bands, the big hair, the facepaint, glitter and leather, but they’re also starting to bring back something a little more controversial: the art of shit-talking. 

Lee Donghyuck has become widely known for his ‘Devil May Care’ antics, for his now infamous Rolling Stones interview, and for a slew of high-profile women who have attempted - and failed, may I add - to tie this seemingly reincarnated 80’s rockstar down. But if there’s one thing almost as famous as the young singer himself, it’s the rivalry he has with fellow up-and-comer, y/n y/l/n, who goes by the stage name Wolfie Muse. 

Like ‘The Hyuckster,’ Wolfie has made a reputation for herself in recent years, channeling vibes and aesthetics that are reminiscent of artists like Freddie Mercury in her orchestral power house songs, and the fashion style of David Bowie. She’s not as in-your-face as her male counterpart, but that classic ‘sex, drugs, and rock and roll’ attitude is unmistakable in every interview she takes.

Blind Items have been talking about these two rockstars in indirect musings for some time, with uncorroborated sources claiming they’re ‘exes’ out for vengeance’, while others note that they ‘got into a fight at a throwback-themed party thrown by renowned DJ pair Mark Lee and Johnny Suh last Spring.’ 

Regardless of history, one thing is certain: these two have sparks that just can’t be contained, and with them both headlining this year's Music Awards, it’s sure to be a spectacle.  

One:

With the Music Awards quickly approaching and a tour on the horizon, your life has become a series of press conferences and interviews. 

Being an artist has never been about saying the right thing to news anchors and TMZ representatives; no, to you, being an artist is about two things: the music and the fans. You’re aware that PR is part of your job, but you refuse to be anything other than authentic, and - to even your label’s surprise - the ‘genuine approach’ has actually bolstered your success. 

You’re at the Vice headquarters today, answering questions for a piece that a new writer is drafting for next month's edition, and you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t beginning to feel monotonous. 

Two Starbucks drinks in, and you’re getting restless, your knee is bobbing as you do your best to go through every question with the right level of genuine thought. 

You’re asked about how you and your team choose which cities for your tour, and that’s when you notice someone out of the corner of your eye.

Your skin tingles with even more annoyance, heat flushing through your body, and as you take a second to look like you're considering your answer, your gaze shifts to Lee Donghyuck, who’s standing by the refreshment table off camera. 

His eyes lock with yours, and he smirks over the rim of his cup.

Taking a breath, you try to focus on the interview, but it’s nearly impossible to be professional with Hyuck in the same room.

He’s the most judgmental little shit of a human that you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, and the last time he released an album, you and a few of your friends had conducted an ‘anti-success’ tarot reading in the hopes that he would crash and burn.

It’s hard to be in the same industry and circles as a person you’ve come to hate, and even more difficult to finish the interview, but as the questions come to an end, you’re more than happy to jump up and try to escape.

“Hiya, Wolfie,” he calls, making you groan with annoyance immediately.

“What do you want?” you snap.

“Noticed you were struggling a bit near the end there,” Hyuck grins.

“Yeah, well…” you scour your mind for a comeback, but you’re just too exhausted, “fuck you.”

The rockstar lets out a laugh. “Fuck you? Is that the best you could come up with?”

“I don’t have time for losers today,” you brush it off.

“Well, we’re both headliners at the Music Awards, so if I’m a loser, what are you?” 

“Just the best female rock artist,” you retort.

“Nominee,” Hyuck corrects. “The best female rock artist nominee. And again, I’m the best male rock artist nominee, so… seems we’re equals, Wolfie.”

“Why are you even here?” you scowl.

“Hmm, why would I be at Vice right now?” Hyuck pretends to think on it, raising one black chipped fingernail to his chin. “Oh, right, maybe because I also have an interview? It’s not rocket science, you know.”

“No, I mean, why are you here watching me like some creep?”

Hyuck shrugs. “I like to see you squirm.”

You scoff. “I was not squirming.”

“Okay, little miss, ‘can’t stop shaking my knee.’” 

“At least I’m not little mister, ‘clearly hungover on a work day.’”

“Sex, drugs, rock and roll… alcohol, more sex, more drugs,” Hyuck’s grin widens. “I thought we were both on the same wavelength with that, but I guess one of us is a pretender.”

“Fuck you.”

He lifts his cup mockingly. “Fuck you, too, Wolfie.”

Two:

In an exclusive video acquired by TMZ, we can see the tension between rockstars Lee Donghyuck and Wolfie Muse heating up already. While at a Vice interview, the pair were caught exchanging heated words behind the scenes.

This altercation raises questions that have been on the minds of fans, haters, and journalists since the meteoric rise to fame both rock stars enjoyed earlier this year. Like a WWE feud crafted by a creative team, this fiery duo is sure to bring even more eyes to the Music Awards happening this month. Now the question is: is the animosity between these two real, or is it all a PR setup known only to a select few, in hopes of spurring more fans, more media coverage, and more attention? 

Three:

Rehearsals for something like the Music Awards are never fun, especially as a performer and an MC. You have dual duties, and what feels like ten times the stress, which isn’t made any easier by the fact that Hyuck is taking longer than his slotted time during prep.

He’ll be announcing Best Female Rock Artist, and he’s been paired up with Johnny Suh, a famous DJ. Suh is perhaps the only person in the world that Hyuck looks up to, and as you wait in the wings for the two of them to finish up their practice, you can see the joy radiating off the rockstar.

For a man who has a resting bitch face and an unparalleled mischievous streak, Hyuck turns quite boyish when he smiles and looks up at Suh. 

The sight of him simping over his Hyung is enough to make you laugh, hiding your mouth with a hand, but the amusement is quickly overshadowed by annoyance. Not only is Hyuck overdue on his time, but he’s also extremely cute when he smiles, and the realization makes your blood boil.  

Finally, a stage hand announces that the two of them really have to wrap things up, and a minute later, Hyuck is walking toward you in the wings of the stage.

“Took you long enough to read a cue card,” you say under your breath.

“Took you long enough to end up nominated for awards,” he retorts.

“Says you, we have the same career trajectory,” you snap back.

“Well,” Hyuck struggles for a response. “I’m the announcer for Best Female Rock Artist, and if your name comes up on the fucking card…”

“What? Finish your threat.” You grin. “Are you going to read the wrong name and be corrected like that time at the Oscars? I would actually love to see that.” 

“I guess it won’t matter, because you won’t win anyway,” Hyuck scoffs.

“Really? Who else would win?” You laugh, knowing he’s grasping at straws now. 

“Literally anyone else,” he spits back.

“Wow, so a drunk and delusional.” You shake your head at him. “I really don’t understand what anyone sees in you.”

Hyuck takes a step forward, and your heart leaps to your throat. “They see my handsome good looks, my sexy hair, my attractive smile-”

“Okay, Narcissus,” you blurt out, trying to put some distance between you and Hyuck by taking a step back, but the rockstar only follows you.

“Come on, Wolfie, you might hate me, but you’re not blind.” The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk that makes your skin heat up.

You hate that he is good-looking, and you hate the fact that your body reacts to it, even though your mind is screaming at you to hate this man and everything he stands for. 

“You think I’m sexy, just admit it,” Hyuck says, his voice lowering.

“And you know I’m going to win that award,” you fire back once you can find your words.

Hyuck releases a sigh, stepping back. “Keep dreaming.”

Four:

Red carpets are a different monster.

You feel the weight of your makeup on your skin, and the heaviness of the ‘designer dress’ adorning your body. It’s tight in all the right places according to your stylist, but as it hugs your stomach and your ribs, cutting off some of your breathing, you think maybe it’s tight in all the wrong places. 

To make matters worse, red carpets are a shit show of yelling, flashing, demands, and the extreme pressure to act graceful and poised through all of the noise. 

You do your best to focus on each interview, each small touch and go, most of which are about your outfit, your performance tonight, or your tour.

Somehow, in the circus that is the Music Awards red carpet, you end up next to Hyuck as you both take short interviews, and your skin tingles at the proximity.

“So, I want to address the elephant in the room,” the interviewer grins, and you match the smile, listening hard for the question that is soon to follow. “This rakishly handsome man to your left, Lee Donghyuck, The Huckster. Everyone is dying to know the root of your rivalry.”

“Oh, uh,” you falter, swallowing back the words that are dying to come out of you.

You fight with yourself, wanting to be candid, but remembering your PR training. However… your manager had mentioned that no press is bad press, and a rivalry with Hyuck is something that’s been putting you in the headlines recently…

“Do you want my honest opinion?” you sigh.

“Yes, please,” the interviewer grins, smiling like a vulture.

“I think he’s a whiny little boy half the time, and he’s obsessed with himself, which, sure, it’s a nod to the old rockstars, the sex, drugs, rock and roll, the alcohol and smoking, but if we’re being honest, don’t we know better by now? Don’t we, as a collective, as a culture, know that the type of shit that was happening in the seventies, eighties, and nineties was not conducive to actual health? Sure, some of the best songs ever written were written under the influence of cocaine, ecstasy, alcohol, etcetera, but are any of Hyuck’s songs instant classics? I, personally, don’t think so. So it feels like a waste of drugs, and a risk to himself, to be doing all of that to emulate the rockstars of old, while being nowhere near their level of talent.”

The interviewer stares at you in shock, and you can see her processing your words.

You can’t believe all of that just came out of you.

“Tell us how you really feel,” the interviewer laughs, finally. “So it’s safe to say you’re not exes like the blind items claim.”

“Honestly,” you scoff, “some days, I think he wishes.”

Five:

“And the award for Best Female Rock Singer goes to…” Johnny and Hyuck open the folded envelope. 

“No fucking way,” Hyuck laughs under his breath, but the mic still picks it up.

“Wolfie Muse,” Hyuck and Johnny say together, and the entire arena roars with the reveal.

You feel numb even as your team stands to congratulate you. Part of you had known you’d win, but it still feels surreal, and everything is a blur as you make your way to the stage. You’re in such shock that you even accept a hug from both Johnny and Hyuck, although one feels more performative than the other. 

Both men stand respectfully behind you as you give your speech, and you’re overwhelmed with emotion as you bare your heart out for everyone. You’re practically shaking as Johnny and Hyuck walk you off the stage after your acceptance, and it’s not until you’re in the wings that the reality and ecstasy truly hit you.

“Congratulations,” Hyuck says, hanging back with you as Johnny scurries off to prepare for his set, which is happening during the middle of the show intermission.

“I-” You’re tongue-tied, staring down at your award. 

“You’re part of the closing event, which means you have time to go celebrate, if you want,” Hyuck muses, awkwardly patting you on the shoulder.

“Hyuck…” You swallow the lump in your throat, all your animosity toward him disappearing as it hits you that you’ve won your first major music award.

“Yeah, yeah, you deserved it,” he sighs, his own issues with you clearly evaporating into thin air.

Right now, you’re not Wolfie and Hyuck, the rockstar rivals; you’re just two people, one who won an award, and the other who is genuinely congratulating them for the achievement.

“I can’t even think,” you admit, running a hand through your hair. “Do you want to come have a drink with me in my trailer before I have to do prep for my show?” 

“I guess all the awards I was up for already went through, so I have the time, and I make it a rule to never turn down alcohol,” Hyuck smirks.

“Oh, right, congratulations on your Best Male Rock Singer award, too,” you blurt out. 

He shrugs. “I guess we both knew we’d be winners tonight.”

He’s so nonchalant, and it’s annoyingly sexy how full of himself he can be.

“Come have a drink before I change my mind,” you laugh, finally feeling grounded as your usual irritation for the man starts to slowly return.

Hyuck only chuckles, following you as you head through the backstage area to the VIP lot outside, where your trailer is.

“So… I got a bottle of Champagne in case I won this,” you explain as you enter the space that contains your hair and makeup station, a closet, and a bed in the back to nap on in case you get tired from working. 

“No vodka or whiskey?” Hyuck jokes, taking a seat on the couch area while you grab the bottle from the minifridge. 

“This is a champagne occasion,” you insist.

“But you do have vodka or whiskey?” he asks.

With a sigh, you point to a cupboard where you keep your liquid courage, and Hyuck grins as he stands up to saunter over to it.

“You’re going to make me drink my champagne alone?” you question, pouring yourself a glass.

“It’s your win, Wolfie,” Hyuck winks, flicking the cap off the bottle of vodka before lifting it to his lips. “Sex, drugs, rock and roll.”

You groan at his words, in disbelief that you actually invited this man into your trailer.

Hyuck takes a seat, and your eyes are drawn to the way his thighs look in his pinstripe pants. He’d gone for a more refined look this evening, but there are still touches of rockstar. You’re pretty sure someone dusted his face with a bit of glitter, and the chunky rings match the chipped nail polish that he always sports. 

A bit of his chest is showing with his unbuttoned white shirt, and you swallow a lump in your throat before downing your glass of champagne.

“Oh, so it’s that kind of party,” Hyuck grins, taking a large swig of the vodka. “And you were on my ass about being drunk while working.” 

“I’m not getting drunk,” you insist.

“So what’s made you so thirsty?”

You look over at him again, and you can see the mischief in Hyuck’s smile. He spreads his legs a little, and you have to fight the urge to gaze down at his thighs again.

“Fine, don’t answer, I know you’ve been high-strung today,” Hyuck sighs, turning away and nursing the bottle of vodka.

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“That interview you gave earlier, you know, the one where you said I do a bunch of drugs and act like an idiot, but I don’t actually make any good music.”

Your heart lurches to your throat. “I didn’t know you heard all of that.”

“I was standing three feet away,” he scoffs. “It’s fine, I don’t think that highly of you either.”

“Oh?” You quirk a brow. “And tell me, what have I done to you?” 

“You’re a faker. You make money trying to be this sexy rock and roll goddess, but it’s a costume you put on for show, and then take off. I bet you go to sleep early, have a cup of tea, hang out with your cat, that type of bullshit. You are monopolizing on a lifestyle and aesthetic that you don’t actually embody.” 

Your words catch in your throat.

“Oh, and I bet you’re celibate,” Hyuck throws in for good measure, flashing you a grin before taking another sip of vodka.

“I am not celibate!” you insist.

“Yeah? Prove it.” Hyuck licks his lips, sitting up on the couch to stare at you.

You scoff loudly, rolling your eyes, but when your gaze returns to your rockstar rival, you realize he’s dead serious.

“Wait, you’re propositioning me?” you ask in shock.

“Kind of been wanting to fuck some sense into you for a while.”

“Fuck some sense into me?” You can’t contain yourself anymore. “I’d like to see you fucking try!” 

“Fucking finally,” Hyuck groans. He sets the bottle of vodka on the floor and stands up abruptly, grabbing you by the hips and tugging you to his chest. You let out a squeak in shock, having not expected him to actually do this, but when his lips smash against your own, your mind goes blank.

The glass you’d been holding in your hand slips from your fingers, and you hear it shatter against the floor, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, kissing him passionately, fighting with his tongue for dominance.

Hyuck groans, one of his own hands slipping down to your ass, where he gropes you through your dress. A moan escapes you, and the rockstar grins slightly, leaning down to get a grip on you so he can lift you up.

Your legs wrap around his hips, and he carries you toward the small hallway that leads to the back bedroom. He pushes you against a wall there, and you bite on his lower lip as a warning, but he only grins into the kiss, the roughness continuing.

You hate that you enjoy the manhandling, the way he’s dominating you, but you won’t take it lying down, and you thread your fingers in his hair, tugging roughly to earn yourself a deep moan that goes straight to your core.

Hyuck moves his mouth down to your throat, and he licks your sweet spot. You release your own moan of pleasure, panting in his ear as he begins to suck on your skin.

“You better not mark me,” you gasp when you feel his teeth drag against your neck.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he snaps back.

You tug on his hair, forcing his mouth away from your throat, and you begin to attack his own neck, licking and sucking, earning all sorts of sinful sounds from the man who has you pressed against the wall.

“Fuck,” Hyuck says, his voice shaky, his fingers digging into your skin where he’s holding you up.

He tightens his grip on you, then walks you toward the room at the end of your trailer. The blinds are all closed, but there’s a red light on the wall, and it creates a sinful ambiance as he tosses you onto the bed.

“So how hard is it going to be to get you out of that dress?” he asks as he begins to remove his clothes.

“Depends, are you man enough for a challenge?” you retort.

Hyuck scoffs, shaking his head at you. “I swear to god, I will tear that dress off of your fucking body.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’ve gotta stop challenging me,” Hyuck sighs, ripping off his shirt to expose a thin but built form that’s covered in tattoos. “Don’t you know? I hate to lose.”

He’s on top of you in an instant, lips hot against yours as his hands grab the front of your dress. It’s only when he begins to rip it apart that you realize he wasn't playing around. Hyuck truly doesn’t care that this is a designer garment, he doesn’t care about anything other than getting you naked, and it makes your core pulse with desire.

“You’ll have to pay for this dress,” you tell him between kisses.

Hyuck chuckles. “A rockstar wouldn’t care about ripped clothes.”

“A man would just say yes and be done with it,” you snap back.

He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you back roughly so you have to stare up at him. His voice is low when he says, “I like you best when you don’t talk.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you,” you grin.

Hyuck shakes his head, letting out a sigh of annoyance, and then he slams his lips to yours again, pushing your ripped up dress off your body so one of his hands can grasp your now exposed breast.

You groan desperately, loving the way he’s immediately rough with you, pinching the sensitive bud between two fingers.

“I always knew you’d like to be dominated,” he says smugly, his lips moving to your throat where his teeth graze your skin again.

“Fuck off,” you snap, but another whimper escapes you when he twists your nipple.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

A powerful surge of adrenaline runs through you, and you push him off of you, leaving the rockstar blinking in confusion.

You tear off what’s left of your outfit, leaving only your high heels, and then, you grab his pants, tugging them down with rough hands. 

“Oh, shit,” Hyuck laughs. “Didn’t realize you wanted to suck me off so bad.”

You roll your eyes at him, of course Hyuck thinks you want to give him head, but this isn’t about to be a one way street.

“I make it a habit to never eat alone,” you tell him, standing up straight and looking down at his naked body.

His cock is thick, it’s not the longest you’ve ever seen, but you begin to salivate as you think of the stretch the girth will give you.

“So… we sixty-nineing or what?” Hyuck grins, laying back against the pillow like the cat who ate the canary.

You roll your eyes at how much tact he lacks, but you climb onto the bed anyways, core practically dripping with anticipation.

He helps you adjust over him, and you stare down at his cock, feeling his breath on your wet pussy.

You can’t believe you’re about to do this, but you don’t take the time to think about it, because Hyuck’s hands pull you down to his mouth.

He clearly doesn’t have a care in the world that you’re ‘rivals,’ and as he fully dives into eating your pussy, you throw all inhibitions away as well.

Grabbing the base of his cock, you sink your mouth down on him, not caring to tease. If he’s not going to beat around the bush, neither will you, and from the way he’s sucking on your clit, you think he’s trying to see which one of you can make the other cum first.

It’s a wordless challenge, and it drives you to take as much of him into your mouth as you can. The tip of his girthy cock hits the back of your throat, and your gag reflex kicks in, but you clench your eyes shut and will it away.

Hyuck groans desperately, slurping and sucking your pussy while the vibrations run through you. You can feel your thighs shaking slightly, and Hyuck adjusts his grip on them, warm palms massaging your muscles.

For a moment, you can forget that this is Hyuck, and you can just focus on the fact that he’s eating you out better than anyone else ever has.

You grind down against his mouth, and Hyuck flattens his tongue to allow you to ride his face. 

He’s being shockingly good for you… and this is a man who - by all accounts - has made it seem like he’s more dominant. However, you get the sense maybe he’s more versatile than he lets on, and the thought excites you. 

You repeatedly push your mouth down on his cock, your eyes watering as you fight your gag reflex, and Hyuck moans wildly, his hips buckling slightly. 

You can feel your orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and it spurs you on as you suck Hyuck stupid, wanting him to be the one who breaks first. 

His lips wrap around your clit, and he holds you still, forcing you to take everything he’s giving you.

You can no longer hold in your moans, and you pull off of his cock, wrapping your fist around it so you can stroke him off while you press your face to his thigh, whimpering like a whore.

Hyuck grins a little, but he doesn’t stop his motions, and soon, your entire body is teetering on the edge. 

You try to hold it off, but you can’t help the orgasm that washes over you, enveloping your form with pleasurable shivers.

The high is overwhelming, and you’ve never felt more alive as Hyuck eats you through your orgasm, his mouth still moving like a man who is ravaged by hunger.

But soon, it becomes too much, and you lift off of his face, whimpering and shaking.

Hyuck pushes you off of him, and you land on the bed as he sits up. “I could eat that pretty pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner, Wolfie,” he muses. “Now are you ready to take my cock, or what?”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I thought we agreed to keep the talking to a minimum.”

“No, I said I like it better when you don’t talk, we never agreed I would shut up,” he laughs, adjusting you on the bed before getting on top of you.

Your legs wrap around his hips, and you stare up at the beautifully infuriating man. “Don’t be two pump chump.”

Hyuck laughs even harder, then he leans over you, his lips ghosting your ear, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Two of his fingers slide into your mouth rather suddenly, and his other hand guides the head of his cock toward your core. 

You’re so soaked that it’s easy for him to push into you, and you groan at the stretch, sucking his fingers diligently.

“So this is the way I can shut you up, huh?” Hyuck groans when he’s fully inside of you. “Give you something to suck on and you turn into a complete sub.” 

You open your eyes and glare at him, teasing your teeth against his knuckles.

“I know you liked sucking my cock,” Hyuck continues. “Don’t try to deny it. And I also know that you’re about to love this.” 

With one slight adjustment to anchor himself, Hyuck begins to rut into you, and your eyes roll back into your head from the sensation.

He’s just so thick, and you can feel him stretching you out with every motion. Your core is still sensitive from your orgasm, and it makes your toes curl as he fucks into you, finding a pace that works for you both.

You moan around his fingers, fully immersed once again. 

His sounds aren’t something you’re averse to either, and there’s something sexy about the slight whining tone he makes between gasps and grunts.

Hyuck pulls his fingers out of your mouth to smash his lips against yours, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, moaning desperately as he fucks you stupid.

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, and you kind of love the wet sounds coming from between your legs, the skin on skin, the heat and sweat. 

His teeth tease your lower lip and you groan, tugging on his hair.

It seems you both have a thing for pain, and Hyuck’s pace quickens, the head of his cock hitting a deep spot inside of you that has your toes curling.

“Fuck,” Hyuck groans, pulling out of you abruptly. He flips you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips and lifting you into doggy style before slamming into you again.

You mewl against the sheets, pressing your cheek firmly to the mattress as you grab for something to steady yourself. His hands are on your hips, tugging you back toward him to meet every thrust as he ravishes you in the best possible way.

“Fuck, pussy tastes amazing, but it feels like fucking magic,” he groans. 

Your core flutters around him, and you love the dirty praise, which is something he clearly knows, because his thrusts falter slightly.

“I knew you liked dirty talk like this shit,” Hyuck laughs. “Knew you’d like listening to your rival come undone as he fucks you stupid.”

For once, you have no response, and you can only moan, pushing your hips back toward him, desperate for more. 

“Fuck, keep doing that, keep fucking twerking on my fucking cock,” Hyuck grunts, his fingers digging into your hips. “And rub your clit too, I wanna feel you cum this time.”

You shove your hand under your body, two fingers finding the sensitive bud. Your core tightens around him again, and you both moan from the sensation.

“Just like that, fuck,” Hyuck groans, and his words make your entire body tingle.

You let your sounds escape you uncensored as he fucks you toward another high, and the rubbing of your clit has all of your muscles tensing in anticipation.

Then, he grabs your hair, tugging your head back so your body is arched in an odd shape. “Don’t hold back,” Hyuck warns, and from the angle of your throat, your sounds are much more guttural now, but there’s something so sexy about the animalistic way in which he’s fucking you.

“Keep going, keep rubbing that pretty pussy,” he instructs, and you give in to him being the dominant now.

You give in to Hyuck, and it actually feels amazing.

Each rough thrust has you closer and closer to the edge, and soon, your entire body is tensed with anticipation.

“That’s it, cum for me, cum on my fucking cock,” Hyuck groans, and without any more prompting needed, you let go.

Your orgasm slams through you, your pussy clamping down hard on Hyuck, who lets out a desperate moan.

Then he’s pushing you down flat, his body collapsing on your back as he shallowly fucks you, his cock throbbing in your own pulsating hole.

The warmth of his cum fills you, and the way he’s panting against your shoulders has your body tingling with sensitivity. 

The two of you are gasping, and you can feel his heart racing against your back as you both try to steady yourselves.

A few minutes pass, and then Hyuck groans. “I probably should have asked you about birth control and STD’s and shit.”

Your heart lurches into your throat. “Did you just give me something?!”

“No, I’m clean, are you?”

“Fuck off,” you groan, pushing yourself up so he has to roll off of your back while you grab some tissues to deal with the cum that’s starting to drip off of you.

“So we’re both clean, good,” Hyuck laughs, but then his demeanor gets more serious. “This doesn’t change anything, by the way.” 

“Yeah, in your dreams this changes anything,” you snap back. 

“In your dreams!” 

And the irritation is back.

You shake your head, going to the small bathroom to clean yourself up. You grab some clothes, checking your phone for the time. “Fuck, my team will be here soon to prep me for my show.”

“Wouldn’t want to hold little miss Best Female Rock Artist back,” Hyuck chuckles, pulling on his jeans.

“Yeah, get the fuck out of my trailer.”

“You’d have to beg me on your knees if you wanted me to stay.”

You roll your eyes. “Again, I don’t want you here.”

“Sure you don’t.” Hyuck grabs you by your hips, pulling you in for one last heated kiss, and when he pulls away, he’s grinning. “All bark and no bite.”

You can’t with him, and you let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’ll be seeing you,” Hyuck winks as he heads toward the exit door of your trailer. “And again, this doesn’t change anything.”

You wonder if he’s trying to convince you or himself, but you don’t dwell on it. You have a job to do, and you’d never let a man - let alone a man like Hyuck - get in the way of your work. 

This is something to deal with another time, and you’ll cross that bridge then. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! love some rockstar au!

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🔮 preview.  Hyuck always seemed like a wild card to you, so it’s a shock that he actually has a calming effect when you’re around him, and you melt into the feeling of relaxation, the feeling that everything will be okay.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, mentions of roleplay, alcohol, grinding, groping, foreplay, oral (f/m receiving), dick sucking, deep throating, pussy eating, overstimulation, multiple reader orgasms, mutual orgasms, dirty talk, praise, thick cock Hyuck, etc…   I petnames. (hers) Wolfie.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.5k I teaser wc. 115

🌙 starring. Haechan x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s been over a year since the now infamous onstage moment at the Music Awards, wherein ‘The Hyuckster’ had to present his rival, Wolfie Muse, with the distinction of Best Female Rock Artist. And what a year it has been.

Blind items about this pair of rock stars have been popping up left, right, and center. But blind items are just gossip, and as a journalist who did attend university for a degree on the subject, I don’t deal in word of mouth. The picture below depicts one Mister Lee Donghyuck, leaving a hotel in Madrid, and whose hotel you may ask? Well, Wolfie Muse’s hotel, where she stayed after doing a concert two days ago.

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[space1kitty]

lover of mine

Lee Donghyuck has everything. The perfect career, perfect reputation and perfect fiancée. You have nothing except a dead-end job at his law firm and a hopeless crush that borders on obsession. When Donghyuck starts paying attention to you, it feels like a miracle. Like being chosen. Like finally becoming someone worth looking at. The problem is that everyone knows what happens to the girls he notices: they cry, they quit, they disappear. But you're different. At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

haechan (donghyuck) x reader, smut + angst!!!, office affair

words-> 10.6k words (what the helly, my longest fic so far!!)

content-> lots of smut!!!, dry humping, oral (m.receiving), vaginal penetration, breeding, choking, spit + cum eating, slapping, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, cheating, degradation (if u squint), power imbalance, obsession, hyuck is an asshole , unreliable narrator!!!

cami's notes at the end :3

The first time you see him, you’re holding a stack of files so high it obscures your vision, and you nearly walk into the glass door of the conference room. A hand shoots out, stopping the door before it hits your face. You peer around the teetering tower of paper.

“New girl,” a voice says, smooth and laced with amusement. Not a question.

You lower the files, and there he is. 

Lee Donghyuck. With a familiarity that borders on reverence, he imposes respect with his very eyes.

You’d heard the name whispered in the breakroom, seen his photo on the firm’s “Notable Cases” wall. He’s the golden boy, the prodigy, the son who could do no wrong. 

In person, he is more. The sharp, elegant cut of his suit, the dark, knowing eyes that sweep over you in a single, assessing glance, the slight but perpetual curl at the corner of his mouth that suggests he’s privy to a joke you don’t understand. 

He is beautiful in a way that feels unfair.

“Thank you,” you manage, your voice barely a squeak.

He doesn’t move his hand, holding the door open, forcing you to pass under his arm. You feel the heat of him, catch the faint, expensive scent of his cologne: sandalwood and something citrus, sharp and clean. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “The old geezers in there prefer their coffee scalding and their copies without smudges. You wouldn’t want to fail on your first month here, right pretty girl?”

Taken aback by the sudden nickname, the copies go back and forth on your hands as your eyes look for him, but he’s gone, striding down the hallway as if he owns the very air, leaving you standing there, your face burning. 

You don’t know if you’ve been helped or warned. You feel, intensely, the truth of his words. 

You are the newest, lowest employee at Jung & Lee, a firm so prestigious its name alone opens doors. 

Your job is a symphony of mundane tasks: making copies and fetching lattes with precise sugar levels, and, as Mr. Jung had bluntly put it in your interview, “providing a pleasant atmosphere.” 

You are meant to be a visual relief to the silver-haired partners, a pretty, quiet fixture. 

But you are clumsy. 

You spilled coffee on a contract the first week. You misfiled a crucial deposition just yesterday. 

The partners’ eyes slide over you with vague disappointment. You are supposed to be pretty and enjoyable to look at, even if you are a little inept, but you are failing at even this.

Haechan, however, does not fail. He is a force of nature. At twenty-six, he has been at the firm since he was nineteen, his path greased by the legacy of his parents, both titans in the legal world. He wins cases with a dazzling, ruthless charm. He is the favorite, the heir apparent. 

Therefore, the office rules are clear: Haechan wants, Haechan gets. 

No one ever says no to him. 

The engagement to Kim Jiwon, daughter of a rival firm’s senior partner, has been the talk of the industry for a while now: a merger more than a marriage, set for a lavish winter January wedding. Everyone knows. 

Everyone also knows about the other, quieter stories. 

The whispers about interns who cried in the bathroom, about girls who begged the HR staff to fire them, about assistants who transferred departments abruptly. 

It’s an open secret, discussed in hushed, almost admiring tones. 

He gets bored, they say. He likes the chase. Who can blame him? The power he holds is absolute, a silent currency everyone accepts. Everything is too easy not to try it. 

And you, you like him. 

It’s a pathetic, immediate thing, blooming in the pit of your stomach that first day you saw him, watered by every subsequent glance. 

Convincing yourself that he decided to look at you, to help you, to call you a name. That must mean something. 

It gets easily to your head because you’ve never been approached by men, not really. 

Your relationships are a short, sad list of hesitant texts that faded into silence. Like the Wonbin boy you met at college, who ghosted you after hooking up at a party. Or that tinder date who left the restaurant after meeting you.

You’ve come to believe there is something inherently unlovable about you, something missing or broken that needs to be fixed, to be seen by someone, to be validated into existence. 

Haechan sees you, and now you´re afraid no one else would look at you as him, ever. 

He sees you, not in the way you crave, but he does see you. 

His eyes linger on your figure in the communal kitchen as you fumble with the espresso machine. He watches you from behind the crystal door of his office as you rush past with paper cups filled with watered down black coffee. 

They are not warm glances; they are cold, analytical, like a collector examining a potential acquisition. Debating himself if you are worth his time. 

They make your skin prickle and your heart pound a frantic, hopeful rhythm against your ribs. Your face flushed every time you pass next to his office.

The gossip intimidates you, non stop stories of his cruelty wrapped in the velvet of his charm. But a desperate, hungry and pathetic part of you reasons that all those other girls simply weren’t enough. 

Probably they deserved being treated like that, probably they didn’t realize how lucky they were that a man like Donghyuck was sticking around with them. But you…you are sure, you must be enough for him.

Maybe you could be. 

Maybe your pleasantness, your submission, your sheer willingness to please could be what he needs. Someone who never says no, who never makes him angry, who is what he wants her to be. 

So you decide to begin your own, pitiful campaign. 

You wake up earlier to iron your tube skirt with special care, do your makeup like Minjeong’s, the receptionist who Donghyuck always smiles at.

You smile at him in the hallway, a little too brightly, batting your lashes and scrunching your nose a little. 

You volunteer to bring files to his office, lingering to ask a pointless question about the case numbering system. 

You go back and forth from his office to your pathetic cubicle to ask him if he needs a coffee refill.

You laugh a little too loudly at a joke he makes in the breakroom. 

You are throwing yourself at him, a silent, obvious offering. A cheap doormat inviting him to step in.

After weeks of insufferable uncertainty, he accepts the invitation, but on his own terms.

There is no romantic confession, no real declaration. 

It starts in the stark, concrete silence of the gray underground parking lot, weeks before Christmas. 

Your car wouldn't start. The cold air from December gets to your bones and you’re near tears, fumbling with your keys on your trembling hands, when his sleek black sedan glides to a stop beside you. The window rolls down.

“Need a ride?” he asks. Not a greeting, not an acknowledgement of who you are.

Anyway, you nod, wordless.

He doesn't get out of his car, doesn’t open the door for you, neither helps you with your bag, but waits, watching you as you hurry around to the passenger side and slide in, still trembling. 

The interior of the car smells like him: expensive leather and his clean, cologne.

He never asks you where you live, doesn’t give a damn about where were you going to.

The ride is silent. He drives with a lazy, confident grace, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from it. 

You take a good look at him, not trying to be discreet; you’d never realize the small scattered moles on his cheeks, nor the prominent veins on his hands, rings wrapped in most of his fingers except the ring one, jet black hair framing his face beautifully.

You sit rigidly, hands clasped in your lap, now hyper-aware of the hem of your skirt, the way your blouse stretches across your chest, worried of how chapped your lips must be due to the freezing cold night. Mortified that he can look at you so up close.

He doesn’t drive you home. He drives to a part of the city you don’t know, to a bar with a flickering neon sign that looks like it’d have sticky floors and disgusting restrooms. It’s ugly and old, a place where no one from the firm would ever go. 

“D-Donghyuck?” you ask, your voice small.

“I need a drink,” he says, not looking at you. “And I don't want to drink alone.” It’s not a request, not even an invitation. He’s carelessly informing you what is going to happen.

He walks into the run-down place as if he owned it with you behind him. Not giving you a glare. 

He sits in a booth, far away from the other. He buys you a drink you don’t want. In the dim, smoky light, he tells you he’s tired. Tired of his fiancé, tired of the expectations.

“She’s so demanding…a spoiled rotten child who can never shut her damn mouth. Always talking back to me, always complaining. ” he sighs, swirling his whiskey on his ringed fingers and you may want to laugh at the description, because by what you’d heard, he’s not any better. 

“So goddam empty. She doesn’t care about me. We don’t love each other. Not anymore, if we ever did. I’m so tired of giving my life to the firm and my parents' wishes…” His voice is a low, intimate hum that vibrates in your bones. Sadness comes innate from every complaint he lets out.

In any other context you would think it’s idiotic to feel sympathy for a rich kid having an episode of chronic affluenza. But not now.

He chose to give you a ride, doesn’t matter if he’s making you drink with him. He chose to open his heart with you from all people. It must mean something. 

Your eyes linger nervously from your watered down drink on the table to him, on the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, on the hair falling and framing his face beautifully, on his moles. Allowing yourself to memorize every detail because you never know if this fallen-from-heaven opportunity will ever happen again.

He looks at you then, and his gaze is different: softer, focused and intense. It feels like being chosen.

“I’m sorry about that…sounds so, so sad…but then why…?” you dare to whisper.

He reaches across the table, his fingers tracing the back of your hand. A shiver runs through you. And you wonder if he feels the same tingles as you, that same electricity that makes you feel like you’re in love. 

“It’s complicated, she is. But you are real…you’re not judging me, or saying that my problems are rich kid bullshit. What a nice, comprehensive girl you are…such a good listener…”

You flush at the compliment, the pathetic, desperate hope inside you swelling to painful proportions. He called you nice! And you feel like that’s all you’ve ever wanted to hear. 

He drops a few bills on the table and stands, offering you a hand. You take it, your small, cold hand disappearing into his large, warm one.

Back in the car, the silence is different. It’s charged with a new, heavy intimacy.

This time, he opened the door for you, he waited until you were inside to follow you into the backseat of his luxurious car. Face to face, your bare knees touching his and you still can feel the electricity running through your body. Could he feel it too?

You don't get to ask him, his warm hand coming to caress your cheek, fingers toying with the fat there. The way you lean into his touch like a stray cat begging to be adopted tells him everything he needs to know.

He doesn’t kiss you right away.

His hand is already there: warm, steady against your cheek, his thumb dragging slowly across your lower lip like he’s testing something. Waiting. Watching.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, controlled.

But you don’t even know what he wants you to say. And maybe that’s the point.

His fingers tighten just slightly as he tilts your chin up, just enough to take the decision out of your hands.

The kiss hits hard.

Not soft, not hesitant, rather decisive.

His mouth presses into yours like he’s already made up his mind for both of you, like this was always going to happen. Your breath catches instantly, your hands hovering for half a second before they settle against him, unsure but unwilling to pull away.

He doesn’t rush. That’s what makes it worse.

Everything about it is slow and deliberate, like he knows you’re not going anywhere. Like he’s certain you’ll let him do whatever he wants.

His grip shifts, at your jaw, then firmly at your neck, keeping you exactly where he wants you as the kiss deepens.

And you let him.

Even when your head starts to spin, even when something quiet and distant in you whispers that you shouldn’t, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be this close, you lean in instead.

Because he kisses like you mean something. And you don’t stop him.

When he pulls away, it’s barely an inch. Close enough that your lips still brush when you breathe.

He’s watching you. Really watching you. That same assessing look from the hallway, but now it’s hotter and way heavier. It’s not looking at your outfit or your posture anymore, it’s looking right through you, like he’s peeled you open and found the one part of you that was hoping for this all along.

“I knew it,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking slowly over your pulse point, wanting to squeeze. “I knew you’d be like this.”

Your stomach flips. “L-like… what?” you breathe. 

Is he going to say pretty? cute? nice?

He leans in, lips brushing your ear this time, warm and teasing and possessive. “So easy.”

You don't get to feel sad when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, hungrier, one of his hands sliding down your back to press you flush against him. He can feel your breasts pushing into his chest as well as the way your thighs are rubbing together.

Your fingers twist into the fabric of his coat, trying to anchor yourself as he takes and takes and takes, and you give in.

And it feels like a victory. It feels like finally being seen.

When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your chest heaving. His hands roam all over your clothed body until they reach your hips, bringing you to his lap with ease.

Crotch pressed right against your center, skirt bunched up all the way to your hipbone. He hisses at the contact, aroused by how easily you gave up your morals just to please him. A smirk on his face that says you were made for him.

Thrusts to your covered pussy invite you to move, your hips grind on his back and forth and you can feel yourself growing wetter against his expensive formal pants. The friction of his size against your flushed parts combined to the accumulated heat on his car make your face go red and Hyuck's nose slowly gets covered in sweat that you wish you could lick off him.

“Fucking hell…” he says, low and breathless against your neck as he sucks the skin there, marking with a mix of purple and red, making you moan. “You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”

Your mind feels like static, but you manage a weak nod. “Y-yes…”

He chuckles, a dark, delicious sound that makes your toes curl. “Good girl.” His hands slide under your blouse lifting it lazily, just enough to have a nice view. He is warm against the skin of your back. “You’re not going to make this difficult, are you? Not like her.”

You shake your head, because no, you would never be difficult. You would never say no.

His fingers find your bra, and it’s like your whole life has been leading up to this moment. To be in the backseat of a car, letting a man who’s barely spoken to you undress you in a dark, empty parking lot.

He lowers the cups until your breasts are peaking out, palms slide around to cup them, and you gasp, arching into him. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching your face, gauging your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his eyes.

“You like that, huh?”

"Yes! Yes, please!" Your movements intensify and the friction combined to the tortuous touch on your hard nipples becomes almost too much.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking responsive. You were just waiting for someone to touch you, weren’t you?”

You were.

The shame should be overwhelming, but it’s drowned out by the roaring in your ears, the frantic beat of your own heart. 

He’s touching you. Hyuck's touching you. It doesn’t matter that it’s in the back of a car, that he’s engaged, that you’re nothing more than a convenient distraction. All that matters is that he chose you out of all people.

His hands are everywhere now, sliding your skirt up higher, tracing the line of your panties, the damp fabric clinging to you. “Soaked,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “All this for me?”

You just nod, unable to form words, lost in a haze of sensation. His fingers press against your clit through the thin cotton, and you cry out, a sharp, desperate sound that seems to spur him on.

His hands land on your hips one last time for the night, guiding your movements to accommodate his own pleasure. Faster, harder, even making you bounce on him as if you were riding him. Mesmerized by the way your tits follow the movement.

Your eyes fill up with tears, out of shame, stress or simply pleasure that has become too much. He feels it too, you know it by the way his nose scrunches and lets out a few gasps that sound like a dream you could only pray to have. Your panties are soaking wet, high pitched cries come out of your mouth...you feel like you are about to explode until...

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit! Move!"

You are pushed away, back hitting the drivers seat as he undones his belt and hurries to free his length out of his black Calvin Klein briefs. Cock wet with precum that glistens against the dim light that leaks through the windows, is pumped by his fist one, two and three times until he is cumming on your wet panties. Rope after rope of his warm thick load lands on your covered pussy, pulsating around nothing. 

The sight is obscene, so much you might as well have come from just watching. Your mind is racing with thoughts, he is so big, so pretty, you wonder how he would have tasted inside your mouth, or how much it would hurt being filled up by him.

"Pathetic," he says once he's done, panting and watching the mess he made on you. Fingers clean up his cum from your panties, only to smear it against your tits and clean the remnants on your blouse. "So fucking pathetic. Look at you."

He’s looking at you like you’re something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

You don't say anything as he pushes you to the side, fixing himself up, hand brushing his black hair back. He still looks like the most handsome man in the world.

He laughs, a harsh, ugly sound that has nothing to do with the warm chuckles from earlier. He zips himself up with a sharp, decisive movement, the metallic click echoing in the sudden, cold silence of the car.

Doesn't ask you where you live, he just lets you type your address into the gps app. Takes you home in silence, his eyes darting to you across the rear-view mirror from time to time.

He won't admit it, but the sadness painted on your face...that is going to be his favorite sight for a long time.

❤︎₊ ⊹

It becomes a pattern. Ugly bars, his car, once a cheap hourly motel that smells of bleach and despair. Every time, he goes about the same narrative of his misery with Jiwon. 

“She’s mean,” he’ll mutter against your neck. “She doesn’t understand me like you do.” 

He paints her as a gilded cage, and you, you are the wild, sweet, secret freedom. 

But when you tentatively ask, “Will you tell her? Will it ever end?” he doesn’t answer with action. He answers with his mouth on yours, his teeth on your shoulder, his promises breathed into your skin.

“Soon,” he whispers, his hand fisted in your hair. “It’s not easy, you know? How could you know, though? No one’s ever taken you seriously.”

The words sting, but they are wrapped in the heat of his touch, and you accept them. 

You accept everything. 

He is mean from the beginning, in ways that feel like truths. In the motel room, watching you dress, he’d say, “You know you’re nothing at the firm, right? If you quit tomorrow, no one would notice. Or maybe…” He’ll chuckle and point at you just like a highschooler would do when bullying the slowest person in the class. “Maybe they’d be relieved that no one’s gonna burn their fucking coffee” He says it casually, as if commenting on the weather. 

And you nod, because it feels true. Your existence is irrelevant. 

But in his arms, under his weight, you are something. 

You are his secret. 

That has to mean more than being nothing.

❤︎₊ ⊹

And that’s how you find yourself here: New Year’s Eve.

The office party is on the top floor of a sleek skyscraper, a panoramic view of the city glittering like spilled jewels. You’re wearing a simple, dark red dress you bought on sale, spent half of your savings of the month to go get your makeup and hair done. That makes you feel almost, but not quite, like you belong.

He’s here, of course.

He’s the star, a handsome prince in an immaculate suit. Clear glasses and perfectly combed black hair framed his handsome face and she was with him. Kim Jiwon.

She is as beautiful as the rumors promised: all sharp angles just like him, icy elegance backed up by her white-ish blonde hair, body perfectly suited by a couture that you are sure was way more expensive than yours, followed by a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

She hangs on his arm, a glittering amethyst on her ring finger that could probably pay your rent for a decade.

She’s perfect, and you hate her for that. You hate that every glance you give at her reminds you of everything that you are not. Especially Hyuck's.

You hate that his arm envelops her and she looks untroubled. That she looks like she doesn't even want to be there, spending time with the man you would give anything to have by your side.

You mingle around the noisy room, filled with laughter and hypocrisy, all by yourself, choosing to stand by the window, nursing a glass of cheap champagne, watching them.

He leans down and whispers something in her ear. She laughs, a brittle, lovely sound. She looks so complete, so sure of her place beside him. The sight is a physical pain that sickens you.

For the first time, a sick, ugly thought slithers into your mind: maybe he wasn’t lying about her being demanding. 

Maybe you truly are the one who understands him.

Eyes going back to the window as the sight of his precious hand keeps lowering on her back until he reaches the curve of her ass and you feel like you want to die.

The night becomes even worse with every second that passes through, champagne combined with wine making you feel like you are just a little freer, braver...

"Miss y/n?" A guy dressed in black and white, just another peasant serving for the night, touching your shoulder and leaning in to whisper something. "Mr. Lee asked me to inform you that he'd be waiting for you at the men's bathroom. A confidential matter." He bows, before walking away, your whole world shaking at the realization that he is thinking about you even when he is right next to her.

That has to mean something.

You wait a couple of minutes to make it not so suspicious, trying so hard not to laugh at the self-proclaimed win. The cheap alcohol stills running through your veins making you feel like you might want to tell everyone that Lee Donghyuck is waiting for you, and only you in the bathroom.

But you don’t. You can’t.

You walk away trying so hard not to look suspicious, a smirk on your face to hold the excitement, isolating yourself to the very back of the floor. Music blends far away, your heartbeat can be listened to in your ears as you push the heavy door open.

You find him alone, leaning against the marble counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn't look at you when you enter, locking the door behind you.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice flat, bored. “Thought you could dress up all nice and pretend you’re one of them.”

Your confidence shatters. “I just… I wanted to look nice.”

“Trying to compete with her? Comparing yourself to a respectable woman?” He finally turns, and his eyes are colder than you’ve ever seen them. “Don’t. You’ll embarrass yourself.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the distance between you in three long strides. He backs you against the heavy door, the wood hard and unforgiving against your spine. “Did you have fun watching us? Is that what gets you off? Being a little voyeur, watching me with my fiancée?”

"I-I'm sorry...it's not that way, I—"

He scoffs, an ugly sound filled with mockery. "Then what way is it? Are you fucking stupid? Staring like you hate her...I just started with you and you're already getting on my nerves." His hand, engagement ring and all, on your cheeks, squeezing so hard until you pout for him.

"I'm really sorry, Donghyuck..." Words stuck between his index and thumb, not like he really wants to listen to anything you have to say. Your eyes are now shiny and glazed under the soft yellow light.

"You know what you need? To learn your damn place." He says, his anger turning into a dark amusement that thrills you more than it should. His fingers dig into your jaw, forcing your head back. "So pathetic, you're about to cry, aren't you? I like that about you. That you're fucking pathetic. I could tell you to kill yourself and you'd do it. Wouldn't you?"

You nod repeatedly, head knocking on the door as he has you by the jaw still. Any ounce of self respect is thrown out the window the moment he puts his hands on you.

His knee presses between your legs, a hard, undeniable pressure against your core. You can’t help but grind against it, a desperate, shameless movement. He laughs, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your entire body, staying at your core.

“See? Desperate little thing. All dressed up with nowhere to go, but right here. On your knees for me.” His words are venom, but you lap them up like honey.

He yanks down the top of your dress, exposing the flimsy black lace bra you wore just for him. The one you bought thinking maybe he would take you to a nice dinner, maybe he would take you to a hotel for the night, where you would have a bed for two and maybe even breakfast the morning after.

His thumb hooks into the cup and pulls it down, the cold air hitting you, making you shiver instantly. However, this time is different, he lowers, under you so as to have a good taste of your sensible buds. Tongue lapping the nipple while staring at your face. Toying with the other between his fingers.

Still too embarrassed about your simple existence, eyes shut close as you moan relentlessly. Not giving a shit about who may hear you.

"Getting hard? Look at you...what a fucking slut." He whispers against your tit, making sure to be heard.

He bites down, not gently. A sharp, stinging pain makes you cry out, but he doesn't let go, sucking hard, leaving a dark, possessive mark.

A brand. Proof. He moves to the other breast, to your chest, your collarbones. Giving it the same treatment, until your upper body is a constellation of purple and red blotches. Hurting, saliva drying on your skin and making you tremble due to the cold or because you just want him so much.

He pulls back, admiring his work. “There,” he says, a dark satisfaction in his voice. “Now everyone will know you’re used goods. That you belong to someone.”

Your heart soars. 

Belong.

He spins you around, your hands flattening against the cold marble of the counter. You see yourself in the mirror: the hairstyle you paid for now all messy, lipstick smudged, breasts exposed and bruised.

You look wrecked. You look wanted.

And you think you feel better than ever.

His eyes find yours for a moment and the only thing you come across is hunger. Desire, desperation, all of it in a single glance.

He hikes your long dress up over your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist. “Look at you,” he says, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection. “Look at how much you want this.” His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down to your knees. The cool air brushes against your dripping heat. "You want this, don't you?" He smirks as his hands undo his expensive belt with a clink that makes your hair stand on end.

Hard length on his fist, pumping a few times, smearing the precum all over. He doesn't even bother to pretend to find a condom.

You try to have a look at him, pulsating just at the thought of him raw inside you, neck turning to try to have a peek of him, only to be taken by the hair and forced to look front. He aligned himself, wet and flushed head against your dripping folds, not pushing, just letting you feel him there.

His hand grips harder on your hair, hissing at the feeling of your warm pussy lips kissing his cock as he slowly pushes himself in.

You cry out as if being hurt. The primal feeling of being filled without any barrier between the two along with the way his cock throbs inside you once he's settled to the hilt is too overwhelming.

"You take it so well, pretty girl. Like you were made for this...for me."

Your heart throbs on your bruised chest. 

Made for him!!

It needs to be true.

Hot breath against your cheek, his lips on the side of your face. Panting, licking and biting on the side of your cheek as his thrust starts slow and calculated. Perfectly angulated, up and down in a way that you feel so full and wanting to pee. He's hitting your sweet spot with no effort. Making your legs shake and your mind blank as your eyes go from the white ceiling, to his frame on the mirror, to yourself, not able to keep yourself in orbit.

His other hand goes from your hair to your neck, griping just enough to keep your head up. "Eyes on yourself, don't you dare look away. I want you to see what you are." His pace picks up, the slap of skin against skin and the obscene squelch of your wetness wrapping his throbbing cock the only sounds aside from your whimpers and his pretty moans, sometimes grunts.

"Is this how you wanted it? Getting fucked in the bathroom during the stupid company dinner?" He mocks, thrusts becoming sloppier and faster each second. "She's probably looking for me right now...wondering where I am. She doesn't have a fucking clue that I'm stuffing this tight pussy."

His words are poison, but they go straight to your core, making you clench even more around him. He groans in response, the grip on your neck tightening. "You like that, huh? Being my little secret. My dirty little whore."

He lets go of your neck, only to grab both of your arms and pin them behind your back, using them as leverage to thrust deeper. The angle shifts, and you see stars. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, and you love it. Moans become cries of help, telling him to please stop, that it's too much and he doesn't care, of course.

He stares at the printed reflection on the mirror, bruised tits bouncing deliciously with every thrust, and your pathetic face that's barely holding the tears...he loves every part of it. Loves that he can take whatever he wants and that you won't complain.

Not letting go of your arms, he fucks into you, hard, fast, making you scream out until you cum all over him, legs trembling as you fight to stay upright. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around his cock as your slick drips down your thighs, you see him squeezing his eyes shut and cursing under his breath as he buries himself deep inside you with one last thrust. His desperate gasps fill the empty room and you feel the warmth of him coating your inner walls, thick ropes of cum marking you from the inside out, makes you feel complete.

He collapses onto your back, his weight pressing you into the counter, both of you panting heavily. For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled mess of limbs and spent passion. You can feel his heart beating against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm that makes you feel safe.

But the feeling doesn't last.

He pulls out, and you feel empty, both physically and emotionally. The sudden loss of him is a cold, sharp ache.

He's already fixing himself up, tucking his shirt back into his pants, adjusting the knot on his tie, washing his hands like nothing happened.

He catches your eye in the mirror, and for a second, you see something other than coldness in them. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar, detached amusement.

He turns to you, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips. He gestures towards the small bin on the corner, the one used to throw paper towels.

"Clean yourself up," he says, his tone dismissive. " I don't want you dripping my cum all over the floor like a bitch in heat." A disgusted look on his face.

You hurry to comply, your hands shaking as you pull the strips of your dress and bra over your shoulders again and you clean yourself up with the rough paper towels. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, a warm, sticky reminder of what just happened. You ball up the soiled paper towels and your panties, and throw them into the bin as instructed.

He watches you, his arms crossed over his chest. When you're done, he walks over to you, his eyes raking over your disheveled form.

"You look a mess," he says, his voice flat.

He reaches out and smooths down your dress, his fingers lingering for a second on your hip. Then he turns you around, his hands gently adjusting the top of your dress, it doesn't hide the bruises he just made at all. And he doesn't care.

"There," he says, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you look like you've been properly fucked." He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes.

"Go back to the party," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Act like nothing happened. And don't you dare to look at me."

He unlocks the door and opens it, gesturing for you to leave. At least he's still a gentleman, you think.

You hesitate for a second, your heart aching with a desperate need for something more. A kiss, a kind word, a gentle touch, anything to hold on to.

But you get nothing.

You walk out of the bathroom, your head held high, your heart a shattered mess in your chest. Your body's still warm and your pussy drying along with the ambient.

The party is in full swing, the music louder, the laughter more forced. You grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a long sip, the bubbles doing little to soothe the raw ache in your throat. Trying so hard not to notice the way in which he stares at your bruised chest.

You stay in a faraway corner just to scan the room, and your eyes immediately land on him.

He's back with her, his arm around her waist, a charming smile on his face as he laughs at something she says. He looks perfect, like he hasn't just been fucking a nobody in the bathroom.

And you, you're just a nobody.

You watch them for a while, a silent, invisible and full of resentment observer.

❤︎₊ ⊹

The following Monday morning at the office, the gossip, once a distant hum, becomes a sharp, clear voice. All directed to you. Partners, waiters, staff, everyone saw the state in which you came back from an unknown place. And everyone could easily assume who did that to you.

Just when you were up to take Hyuck’s coffee to his office, two of the junior associates, Minju and Yunah, corner you by the printer.

“Hiii! Y/n, right? Sorry to bother you sweetheart, we can see that you’re on the run…it’s just that…” You nod, willing to do anything they’d asked you to do.

Go buy snacks, bring them lunch tomorrow, anything, you’d do it, but the pity on the tallest made your mouth go dry.

“You know he’s engaged, right?” Minju says, straight to the point abruptly but not unkindly. “To Kim Jiwon. The wedding’s set for this January and you know…they’ve been together for years. She even was at the Christmas dinner…"

As if you didn't fucking knew, or saw her at the dinner. You’re sick because your blood ran hot on your body, wanting to curse at both of them for being so nosy. As if you weren’t going to change that for good.

Nonetheless, the unspoken part hangs in the air: He’s using you.

“I know,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s…complicated.”

Yunah scoffs, a bitter, knowing sound. “No, it’s not. It’s the oldest story in this building. He gets bored, he finds a distraction. He breaks them. Then he goes back to her. You are not the first, and you won't be the last.”

"You should stop this, for your own good..." Minju says, as her perfectly manicured hands placed a streak of hair behind your ear with softness in her eyes.

Both girls leave you there, the printer whirring softly, a hollow ache in your chest. You knew they were right. Every word was a shard of glass lodging itself in your heart.

But the desperate, pathetic part of you clings to the memory of his hands on your skin, his whispered words. “You were made for me” “You belong to someone”

You want it to be true more than you want to breathe.

But the truth is undeniable. Everyone can see it, that you were a momentary diversion, a snack to tide him over. 

For a moment, in the darkness with him, you had believed it was only him and you. 

The fact that he had chosen you, all the "beautiful" moments spent with him…now you see the vast, crowded reality: him, Jiwon, their families, the firm, the entire world. And you...you mean nothing. 

❤︎₊ ⊹

The realization comes after not being called by him all day.

After some weeks, you left work at five, you went to the market to buy groceries and once at home you took a shower.

He hasn't called you yet and you start to think that you'd done something wrong.

No hookups in his car, no groping in his office, not even a glance when you entered his office.

Anguish filling your chest with every passing minute, eyes holding tears because nothing had happened yet and it'd be pathetic to cry over nothing.

What if Yunah and Minju said something to him? Had the rumours reached his office?

Every imaginable thought coming to your head, emptied by three dry knocks on the door.

His text.

Open the door. Now.

You almost trip on your own feet as you rush, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Opening the door you find him, disheveled, angry, and more handsome than ever in his simple white t-shirt and black jeans. Hyuck doesn’t even look at you, he just pushes past you and walks inside, leaving the door ajar as he sits on your tiny couch.

He looks so out of place there, the small, worn couch swallowing him up, the cheap lamp casting a sickly yellow glow on his face.

“Donghyuck… what… what’s wrong?” you stammer, your hands trembling. Getting closer, you sit next to him, only to be pushed out of your own couch, to sit on your knees. His ringed fingers tangled across your neck, harder with every word he spat.

"Everyone is fucking bothering me with questions about you. It's driving me insane. What the fuck did you do, huh? Do you know what can happen if this goes further? Can your stupid brain understand that you're fucking with my future?"

"B-but you lied to me! You are going to marry her! Everyone knows, as they know you fucked me at the party, because you wanted!" The boldness of your words is new. Maybe the weeks of being close to him gave you some kind of confidence.

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. It's a cold, sharp sound that makes you flinch.

"What did I lie about? Did I ever say I loved you? Did I ever promise you anything?" He leans forward, his face close to yours, his breath hot and angry. “I said I was tired of her and believe me, I am. I never said I was leaving her. You heard what you wanted to hear.” His grip on your neck thightens, your mouth open gasping for air, eyes itching with hot tears threatening to fall violently. “Did you really think,” he continues, his voice a soft, venomous caress, “that I would cancel a wedding, a merger that’s been planned for years, for a desperate, easy girl like you?

His words are like physical blows, each one knocking the air out of your lungs. You want to argue, to scream at him, but you can't.

Because deep down, you know he's right.

You were convenient. Easy.

He stands up, pacing the small space of your living room like a caged animal, your eyes following every movement of his.

"You think you're special? You think you're different? You're not. You're just the latest in a long line of girls who were stupid enough to fall for my bullshit."

He stops in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of disgust and pity. "You're pathetic. You know that? You're a pathetic little girl who's so desperate for a little bit of attention that you'll let anyone treat you like dirt."

He's right. You know it by the way you can feel yourself getting wet just by the way he's looking at you from above. As he always had.

You look up at him, your vision blurred by tears, and for the first time, you see not a lover, not a savior, but a predator.

Take off your clothes," he says, his voice devoid of any emotion. "All of them."

Your hands are shaking so badly that you can barely manage the buttons on your shirt. He watches, sitting on the couch, tighs spread and a cruel smirk playing on his lips, as you strip for him, your clothes falling into a heap on the floor.

When you're completely naked, shivering from a combination of cold and fear, he finally moves.

He leans to you, elbows to his knees, eying your figure, your head that rests low avoiding the wicked way his eyes devour you. Irises going from your hardening nipples to your clenching tights.

He doesn't kiss you, doesn't say a word. He just looks at you, at the glistening wetness between your legs, the way your body twitches with anticipation that betrays your fear with a sickening arousal.

He lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that makes you want to curl up and disappear. "Look at you," he says, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy, toying with the results of your arousal, smearing it everywhere. "You're so fucking wet... You love this, don't you? You love it when I remind you that you're nothing."

You can only moan in response, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand, left hand traveling to your neck, squeezing just enough.

He's right. You do love it. You hate yourself for it, but you do.

"You're a sick little slut, aren't you?" he says, a low growl rumbling in your ears. "Getting off on being treated like trash."

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, pretty. I'll give you what you need."

And with that, the hand that kept cupping your heat snapped shut against your plump cheek.

Neck incorporating again as he held your head and fixed your hair, wiping your hot tears away. Getting you prepared for another one. Again and again and again.

He loved the way you wouldn't even scream, willing to take anything he gave you. The grip on around your air flow getting stronger with each slap and the delicious sting on your cheek had your blood sizzling; thighs clenching together giving away how much you needed him. "What are you? Answer me." He's slapping your face again. "You're a fucking bitch, right?"

"I'm a- I'm a fucking bitch! Please, Hyuck..." you beg, your mind clouded with need and your body aching for more of him. He could ask you to bark and you would do it if that meant he'll finally fuck you.

The need to be filled, to be used, to be needed.

You'd let him do anything.

He laughs, a cruel, mocking sound that sends a fresh wave of shame coursing through you. But it's a shame that feels like pleasure, a twisted delight in your own degradation.

"Please, what?" he coos, his voice laced with false sweetness. "Please hit you again? Please call you a whore? Please remind you that you're nothing but a hole for me to fuck?" His thumb brushes against your already puffy cheek, a gesture that would almost be tender if it wasn't for the mocking look in his eyes.

His gaze is heavy, weighing you down, pinning you to the spot. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the shame burning in your gut, but you can't look away.

His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that's both terrifying and intoxicating. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat, a thing to be consumed, and a part of you, a sick, twisted part of you, revels in it.

Both hands gripping strands of your hair, forcing you to look up at him with watery eyes and flushed red cheeks. "Answer me," he demands, his tone sharp, impatient.

"Please..." you beg, your voice a pathetic whimper. "Please fuck me, please Hyuck.."

A slow, cruel smile spreads across his face. "That's what I thought. Get this shit off," The grip on your hair pushing your face to his clothed crotch. You can feel the heat of him, the hard line of his erection through the rough denim, and a desperate moan escapes your lips, not fighting the urge to lick a wet strand across the material, earning a soft moan that you'll keep on your mind forever.

Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, your fingers clumsy and trembling. He watches you, a dark amusement in his eyes, as you struggle to free him. When you finally manage to pull down the zipper and push his black briefs down, his cock springs free, hard and flushed and angry-looking.

The sight of him makes your mouth water. He's so big, so perfect, and you want him so badly it hurts.

You lean forward, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tastes salty, a little bit bitter, and it's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted.

You wrap your lips around him, taking him as deep as you can until your nose tickles with the grown hair of his pelvis, tongue swirling around the sensitive head. He groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, a low, guttural sound of pleasure that makes your pussy clench.

You start to move, your head bobbing up and down, your lips stretched tight around him. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat, the slight gag reflex a dull ache that only adds to the pleasure.

"Shit... look at you," he breathes, his voice a low, husky whisper, locking your hair against his pelvis, the way your throat grips him makes him hiss. The small build-up confidence that you're making him feel good is enough to look him in the eye, spit and precum spilling from the corner of your mouth warning because of how full is your mouth as he thrusts up, shamelessly using your mouth.

Right before your gag reflex betrays you, he pulls back, a thick strand of saliva connecting both. The urge of satisfying him urges you to lick at his balls, full of cum that you wished was just for you. His bony fingers grip along his wet shaft, up and down, enjoying a little too much the squelch of it all.

"You're such a dirty slut aren't you? You were crying just now, where did that shit go, uh?" A smirk playing on his lips as he continues to pump himself. "Now you're acting like you want to be treated like a dog."

You nod, your eyes glazed with lust and tears, too ashamed to speak.

"Open wide," he commands, and you obey, your mouth falling open as he guides himself back to your lips. He doesn't enter you, though, instead, he strokes himself, his movements fast and furious, until with a harsh groan, he cums, thick, white ropes of his release painting your face, your lips, your tongue. Right before you could swallow, he keeps your mouth open and kneels down, letting out a globe of spit to rest on your tongue along with his cum. Admiring his piece of art.

You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of him marking you, claiming you. It’s degrading, humiliating, and you love it.

Once his fingers leave your mouth, you willingly swallow and finally feel complete. He's in you, he has possessed your mind and your body.

You don't get time to say anything stupid before he's lifting you by the neck, sitting on the couch with you on top of him. The head of his cock's sinfully pinching you above your pelvis. Still half hard, he slides you back and forth, your wet folds coating his cock, your slickness making the friction delicious, a promise of what's to come.

"You're so fucking wet," he growls, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. "Is this what you wanted? To be used like a cheap whore?"

You can only moan in response, your head thrown back, your hands braced on his shoulders as you grind against him. Your clit is throbbing, a desperate, aching need for more, for him to be inside you, to fill you up and claim you completely.

"Please," you beg, your voice a broken, breathless whimper. "Please, Hyuck...please, need you...please"

He smirks, a dark satisfaction in his eyes. Doesn't even try to ask what you want, he knows it for sure.

He finally pushes inside you, a slow, deliberate stretch that steals your breath. He fills you completely, the feeling of him so intense it borders on pain. But it's a pain you crave, a pain that feels like pleasure.

He lets you adjust for a moment, his hands holding you still, his eyes locked on yours. Filled to the brim, your lungs run out of air because of the way you feel him twitching raw inside you. Desperate, primal.

Then he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. Your bodies move together, a perfect, messy harmony of flesh and sweat and desperate need. You lean down, your lips finding his, a hungry, desperate kiss that's all teeth and tongue, and the best of it all is that he doesn't deny it to you. He can taste himself on you, the faint, lingering taste of his cum, and it's the most intoxicating thing you've ever experienced.

His hands are everywhere, roaming your body, mapping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.

Left hand finding your hair, gripping so hard that your head is pulled back by force, his right hand groping your ass before meanly spanking you a few times that go straight to your core, tightening and clenching against him.

"Shitt, fuck!" He merely screams, thrusts fastening, your clit being tickled by his pubic hair with each movement. "You're milking the fuck out of me, huh? You want me to fill your cheap hole?"

You babble nonsense, something that sounds like a desperate plea, not like he would expect something different from you.

Your mind lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, your body writhing against him, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust. He doesn't care, he's not seeking for your orgasm but for his. This is about him and you know it, and you still don't care.

"Such a pathetic, disgusting piece of shit," he whispers against your skin, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

Hands aggressively spreading your ass to find the hole he hasn't touched ever since he met you.

Index slightly massaging around the rim of your tight hole. The unexpected sensation makes you shudder, a loud, guttural moan escaping your lips.

"W-what...?" you manage to gasp, your body tensing at the new intrusion. No one has ever touched you there. The thought is both terrifying, but mostly electrifying.

He chuckles, a dark, wicked sound that vibrates through you. "Don't act so surprised, pretty. You'll take whatever I give you, won't you? This hole is fucking mine too, isn't it?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, just pushes harder, the tip of his index breaching the tight ring of muscle. The burn is sharp, intense, a shocking counterpoint to the pleasure building in your core. You cry out, your hands digging into his shoulders, your body torn between pulling away and pushing for more.

"Look at you, taking it so well," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive purr. "You're so full of surprises."

Index is fully inside you now, moving in tandem with his cock, a dual invasion that has your head spinning and babbling things between yesses and pleads to stop. The pleasure is almost too much, a white-hot inferno that threatens to consume you whole. Your moans are constant now, a string of desperate, incoherent pleas for more.

"Yes, that's it..." You can tell he's getting close to the edge by the way he hisses, eyes lost on the way your tits bounce and your body convulses, loving the way you're on top of him and you're still defenseless. All consumed on his clenching teeth and the aired moans he lets slip of his pretty lips. "Milk this cock, milk my finger, take everything I'm giving you, be a good girl...come over my cock, dirty slut—"

The final command sends you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave, a violent, shuddering release that leaves you boneless and breathless. Your vision whites out, your body arching against him, a scream that hurts tearing from your throat and warm tears that make your eyes burn spill down your flushed face. You cry out, your body convulsing, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you shaking and breathless. Your walls clenching and contracting violently around him and your warm slick dripping down both of you, all the way to your old furniture.

He follows you moments later, with a harsh, guttural groan tearing from his lips as he spills inside, burying himself deep inside you, your warm walls milking him as he spills his hot, thick release inside you, coating your inner walls, a warm, sticky flood that makes you feel complete. His hips jerk erratically, his body shuddering against yours as he rides out the waves of his pleasure.

For a moment, you stay like that, a tangled, panting mess of sweat and satisfaction and limbs that shudder with the overstimulation, his cock twitching inside you as your pussy convulses around him.

He's still inside you, a comforting, possessive weight that makes you feel safe, cherished. Loved...

But the feeling is fleeting, a fragile bubble that bursts with the sudden coldness in his eyes.

He pulls out of you, the loss of him a sudden, sharp ache. He pushes you off him, not gently, but with a rough, impatient shove that sends you sprawling onto the floor.

You land in a heap, your legs on one side, your body aching in a dozen different places.

Afterward, as he pulls his briefs and jeans up, finding his belt with detached efficiency, you find yourself on your knees. Literally on your knees, clutching the fabric of his pants.

“Please,” you beg, the word a raw scrape in your throat. “Please, don’t go. Please...please don’t leave me.”

He looks down at you, still bare, on your knees, with tears from the fear that he might abandon you mixed with the tears from pleasure; his expression is one of faint disgust, as if looking at a persistent stain.

He pries your fingers loose, one by one. “Grow up.”

He stands over you, a magnificent, cruel god, and you are nothing but a discarded offering.

“Don’t call me,” he says, the words a final, deathly blow as he grips your cheeks with extra strength, forcing a pout that he'd never admit to love. “Don’t text me. Don’t even fucking look at me when we pass in the hallway. I'll call you when I want to, and you'll be there, every-fucking-time. You got it?” He says, pointing a threatening finger at you. “We’re done. For now.”

And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you in the suffocating silence of your apartment.

The silence is a living thing, heavy and suffocating. It presses in on you, amplifying the frantic, panicked beating of your own heart. You’re alone.

Utterly, completely alone.

You lie there for a long time, a tangled, weeping mess on the floor, the slickness of him drying on your thighs, the phantom sting of his slaps still on your cheeks. The apartment feels cold, empty, haunted by the echo of his cruel words.

You try to piece together the shattered fragments of your dignity, but there’s nothing left to hold on to. Just the burning shame and the aching, desperate need for a man who sees you as less than nothing.

You drag yourself to the bathroom, your body aching with every movement. The tap of the water being open, on a desperate try to get his scent, his touches that still tingle off your body. The water in the shower is scalding, but you barely feel it.

You scrub your skin raw, trying to wash away the memory of his hands, the taste of him in your mouth, the feeling of him inside you. But it’s no use.

He’s etched into you, a permanent, indelible stain on your soul.

You look at your reflection in the mirror, and you barely recognize the person staring back at you. A stranger with puffy red cheeks. A broken, pathetic girl with a haunted look in her eyes.

You hate her. You hate her more than you’ve ever hated anyone.

You sink to the floor, the water still streaming down around you, and you finally let go. You scream, a raw, gut-wrenching sound of pure, unadulterated agony, until your throat is raw and your body is wracked with sobs.

This is your rock bottom. A cheap, lonely apartment, the ghost of a man who despises you, and the crushing weight of your own pathetic desperation.

❤︎₊ ⊹

He gets married the following week. The office's chat room is abuzz with pictures: Jiwon in a stunning custom gown, Haechan handsome and smiling in his tuxedo, a picture-perfect union of power and prestige.

And then, life returns to a terrible, hollow normal. You see him at the office. He doesn’t glance at you. Not in meetings, not in the hallways. You are air again. The ghost he said you were.

But the texts still come. Late at night.

The usual bar. 11 PM.

Or, more brazenly,

Parking level B2. Now.

You go. Every single time. Because when he summons you, the world narrows to a single, blinding point of possibility: this time, maybe, he will see you. This time, he will stay.

The encounters become rougher, more impersonal. He’s often angry, taking out frustrations about a case, about Jiwon, about his life on your body. He calls you the most degrading names, pushes you to your knees in dirty alleyways behind bars, fucks you in the back of his car without a kiss, a touch or word of affection afterwards.

And you let him. You welcome it. The pain is a perverse form of attention. The bruises he leaves on your skin are proof that you existed to him, if only for a few minutes.

You become an expert at hiding the marks. Makeup on your neck, long sleeves in the summer, a carefully practiced smile to mask the hollowness in your eyes that no one believes, but they don't care enough to ask for.

In the end, the reflection doesn’t come in a dramatic moment. It comes on a Tuesday evening, as you’re waiting for the kettle to boil in your silent apartment. You are waiting for a text that hasn’t come, and you realize with a dull thud of finality that you are hoping for it. You are hoping to be used.

And somewhere deep down, beneath the humiliation, beneath the loneliness, beneath everything he has taken from you, there is still that same pathetic hope.

Maybe tonight... Maybe this time...

Maybe he will finally love you.

The screen lights up.

And before you've even read the message, you're already reaching for your keys.

❤︎₊ ⊹

haaaaiiii, i finally finished thisss, i've been writing it for like 3 months and i just couldn't finish it because of uni and bc i was so blocked tfff :,c but i made it!!1 just in time for my pookie's bday!! i luv u haechi dongyuki, kisses from mx to wherever u are (as if he was reading this plek)

ANYWAYS, i really want to highlight that i do NAWT condone any of these actions (from cheating to disrespect ourselves like this) but!!! i'm so sick on my head that i find soooo hot this type of attitude specially on haechan idk why he's so mhmgmmgpdmhg. anyways, i wanted to write some naaasty smut with lots of angst, everytime i write sth i'm like "hell yea, i outdid myself" but this time i think i actually did, hopefully heheh

hope you enjoyed it!! let me know if you did!! thxs for readiiiing :3

available on ao3 as well!!! :3

-> https://archiveofourown.org/works/86217026

[rnhyck666]

<3

[mixxiew]

under the eclipse | 7dream

𖦹°‧ pairing: read and find out! (or read the tags but it will spoil everything lol!)

𖦹°‧ genre: angst! angst! did i say angst? yeah basically lots of drama

𖦹°‧ word count: 15k 🙂‍↕️

𖦹°‧ cw: infedelity!!, internalized homophobia, swearing, they will fight! a lot! so just know that, haechan really suck :(, jeno is not so kind :( yeah

- the story is clearly referring to the film “Perfect Strangers” directed by Paolo Genovese. i watched some nights ago and thought i couldn’t not write it with dreamies :) i just love drama. hope you enjoy it!

summary: a group of old friends gets together for dinner. one of them proposes a game, where everyone shares every text and call they receive during the day with each other, causing secrets to surface under the eclipse.

author’s note! this work is purely fiction and it isn’t meant to romanticize any of the thing it portrays. also I am not implying any likeness between the characterization here of the characters to their real life counterparts. all the rights goes to the author of the “perfect strangers” story, i just added my personal taste to it.

Mark adjusted the heat under the saucepan, stirring the sauce with slow, methodical movements. Across the kitchen island, Yunhee was slicing tomatoes with quiet focus, pausing now and then to glance up at him.

“Long day?” she asked, brushing the diced tomatoes into a bowl.

Mark gave a short, dry laugh. “Long doesn’t begin to cover it. Three consultations back-to-back. Everyone seems to be preparing for the new year with a new face.” He smirked, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the idea of people investing so much in a jawline.”

Yunhee smiled, her gaze soft. “Maybe they’re hoping a fresh face will mean a fresh start. There’s a reason people obsess over appearances, you know.” She leaned closer, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “They believe it’s a fix for something deeper.”

He set down the wooden spoon, his expression thoughtful. “Do you really think that’s what it is?”

She nodded, her voice low, like she was sharing a secret. “I see it every day. People come to me believing there’s a magic answer to their unhappiness, and sometimes they think it’s found in something—or someone—outside themselves. In a new face, or a new job, or a new relationship.”

Mark watched her, feeling a familiar, quiet admiration. He stepped around the island and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, savoring the touch, then looked up at him, and their eyes met.

“You ever wonder if we’re just… treating symptoms?” he asked softly. “That we’re both just polishing the surface?”

Yunhee smiled, reaching up to brush her thumb along his cheek. “Sometimes, yes. But sometimes, even the smallest shift can mean a lot to someone. We help them see themselves differently, in whatever way we can.”

He pulled her in, their lips meeting in a slow, familiar kiss, the world outside the kitchen momentarily forgotten. When they finally pulled back, they lingered close, eyes locked.

They shared a warm smile, the familiarity of their daily banter wrapping around them. Yunhee took a sip of wine, leaning in a little closer as she asked, “Are you looking forward to tonight?”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Sure. Just hope everyone’s up for a good time. Chenle is also bringing is new girlfriend right? That’s awesome. Hope we stay out of drama today, we need to make a good impression or she’ll ran away like the others.”

She chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. “Since when have our friends ever managed a night without drama?”

Mark laughed, opening his mouth to respond.

“I’m afraid you’re right…as always.”

Chinsun balanced her phone between her shoulder and ear, rummaging through her purse with one hand while listening intently. “Yes, Mrs. Kim, I understand. Keep Pepper calm, and try the ointment I recommended. If he’s still limping tomorrow, call me first thing, okay?”

Haechan watched her from across the room, a mischievous grin spreading over his face. He tiptoed over and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pressing his lips to her neck. She stifled a laugh, glancing back at him with a playful scowl.

“Yes, I promise, it’s perfectly safe for him. Just—oh!” She clamped her mouth shut as Haechan’s hands roamed up her waist, pulling her closer. “Uh-huh… yes, exactly… oh, stop!” she whispered urgently, trying to wave him off, but she was already laughing.

Haechan’s grin only widened as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a swift, playful kiss. With a sigh, Chinsun quickly wrapped up the call. “No no,I wasn’t talking to you Mrs. Kim…call me tomorrow if anything changes, okay? Great. Bye!” She hung up, spinning around to face him with an amused smile.

“Couldn’t resist me, huh?” Haechan teased, raising an eyebrow.

Chinsun rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Maybe, but you’re too hot, I couldn’t stop myself” he replied with a smirk, and before she could say anything more, he kissed her again, slow and lingering this time, the kind of kiss that blurred time and erased any thoughts of being anywhere else.

Moments later, Chinsun’s laugh echoed through the room as he swept her into his arms, and their dinner were momentarily forgotten.

Some time passed before they were finally ready, a little flushed and breathless. She smoothed her dress, fixing her hair with a small, secret smile as they grabbed their things and headed for the door.

“We’re definitely going to be late” she murmured, glancing at him as they stepped outside.

Haechan just grinned, reaching for her hand. “I’m so ready for the second course tho.”

He said, earning a little smack on his shoulder.

“Jaemin!” Soyul’s voice rang out from the bedroom as she hurriedly tossed through her jewelry box, searching for the bracelet she swore she’d set aside earlier. “Did you feed the cats yet?”

Jaemin sighed, stifling a smile as he finished scooping cat food into two separate bowls. “Already on it!” he called back. “And don’t worry—Minho’s food is in his ‘exclusive dining area,’ just like you asked.” He chuckled, glancing down as Minho, their older tabby, pawed at his bowl impatiently, while Luna, their younger, more mischievous cat, watched him with a sly look, clearly eyeing Minho’s food.

“Thank you!” she replied, sounding both grateful and a bit distracted as she continued the whirlwind search for her missing bracelet. A few seconds later, she darted out of the bedroom, one heel on, the other in her hand, a brush tangled in her hair, and a tube of mascara balanced between her lips.

Jaemin couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “You’re a one-woman hurricane tonight,” he said, stepping over to her. Before she could protest, he gently took the brush from her hand and began working it through her hair, smoothing out the tangles with easy, familiar strokes. She gave a small sigh, visibly relaxing as she focused on finishing her mascara.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she murmured, finally setting her makeup down. “How do you stay so calm all the time?”

Jaemin smirked, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “I have to be calm. Someone has to keep track of everything you lose” he teased. “Besides, I like seeing you a little flustered—keeps things interesting.”

Soyul shot him a playful look, nudging his shoulder. “Well, if you’re so organized, where’s my bracelet?”

With a smirk, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver bracelet, holding it up with a satisfied grin. “Right where I found it—by the coffee machine.”

She laughed, slipping the bracelet onto her wrist and giving him a grateful kiss on the cheek. “What would I do without you?”

He pulled her close, his hand lingering at her waist while he started to leave soft kisses on his revealed shoulder.

Just as she leaned in for a kiss, a loud knock sounded at the door. They exchanged a quick, amused look before Jaemin pulled away to answer it.

At the door stood Jeno and Daeun, bundled in coats, with Jeno holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a casual grin on his face. “Finally! You two are slowpokes tonight” he teased, stepping in.

Daeun rolled her eyes, giving Jeno a playful nudge. “Says the guy who took twenty minutes deciding which wine to bring. You’re the reason we almost missed them!”

Jeno held up the bottle defensively. “Hey, this isn’t just any wine. This is a classic—goes perfectly with any dinner party. Mark and Yunhee are going to be impressed.”

Daeun scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Classic? You mean it was on sale, don’t you?”

Soyul laughed, tugging on her second heel as she stepped over to them. “You two really sound like an old married couple,” she teased, exchanging a smile with Jaemin.

Jeno shot her a look. “Better that than making everyone late because someone couldn’t find her bracelet” he retorted, grinning as Soyul playfully slapped his arm.

“Alright, alright” Daeun said with a laugh, hooking her arm through Jeno’s. “Let’s not turn this into a roast. We all know we can’t keep Mark and Yeeri waiting too long anyway—they’ve probably already started judging our punctuality.”

With a shared laugh, the four of them gathered their coats, scarves, and the wine bottle before stepping outside into the cool evening air. They walked together, arms linked or hands clasped, a relaxed rhythm to their steps as they strolled toward Mark and Yeeri’s place just a few blocks away.

As they walked, Daeun nudged Jeno’s shoulder, a mischievous smile on her face. “So, what other fancy items did you look at before you settled on that bottle?”

Jeno rolled his eyes, pretending to think. “Well, I did consider that other ‘vintage’ blend—super exclusive, and only double the price.”

The group laughed, Jaemin shaking his head. “Guess we should be grateful we got a sale-priced classic instead. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll actually taste good.”

“Hey!” Jeno protested, putting on a wounded expression as they turned onto Mark and Yeeri’s street. “One day you’ll all appreciate my refined taste.”

With another round of laughter, the group finally arrived at the doorstep, feeling light and happy as they prepared for the night ahead.

Mark stirred the sauce simmering on the stove, adding a pinch more basil as Yunhee sliced fresh herbs beside him. The kitchen was filled with the rich aromas of their cooking, and they exchanged small smiles as they worked in comfortable rhythm.

The doorbell rang, and Yunhee glanced at the clock. “Someone’s early” she murmured, wiping her hands on a towel as she walked to the door.

She opened it to find Renjun standing there, a small box of pastries balanced in his hands and an easy smile on his face. “Brought dessert” he announced, stepping inside as she welcomed him with a warm hug.

“You’re a lifesaver” she said, guiding him into the kitchen. “Mark was worried I might have to make my own pastries, and we all know how that would’ve turned out.”

Mark raised his hands in mock defense. “Hey, I was all for a backup plan. Just didn’t want the dessert to be… a learning experience.”

Renjun laughed, setting the pastries on the counter. “Well, I’m here to save the day.“

Yunhee smirked, giving a glass of wine to the boy, catching Mark’s amused glance. “So…Junnie, let’s talk about you little love life mh? I’ve been trying to introduce you to my friend Hana, and you bailed out the last time I invited you two to coffee. You’ve got to give her a chance—she’s perfect for you!”

Renjun shook his head, chuckling. “Perfect, huh? Yunhee, i know she’s probably nice, but it just… didn’t feel right. Plus, you know I’m terrible with setups. I’d rather meet someone by chance, not like it’s an appointment.”

Mark chuckled, nodding in agreement. “C’mon baby he’s right, quit playing cupid and let him enjoy his freedom while he still can”

Yunhee raised her eyebrows looking at her fiancé. “Markie what do you mean by that mh?”

The latter was quick to shake his head. “Nothing, my love, of course.”

The three of them started to laugh before Yunhee leaned back against the counter, smirking. “Alright, enough about Renjun’s future. What do we think about Chenle’s mystery date tonight? He’s been so secretive.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “I’m betting she’s someone new around here. He wouldn’t give up any details, and it’s strange, you know how he is- always yapping about everything”

Renjun leaned against the counter too, thinking. “Well, if he’s bringing her to meet everyone, she’s got to be someone special. Or at least, someone he thinks can handle this bunch.”

Yunhee grinned. “Well, let’s hope she knows what she’s getting into. I feel like if she’s too shy, she might just make a run for it.”

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Jaemin’s voice called from the other side. “Hellooo, are we still welcome?”

Yunhee grinned, dashing over to let them in. Jaemin and Soyul, along with Jeno and Daeun, stood at the entrance, bundled in scarves and coats, with Jeno proudly holding the bottle of wine. They each gave hugs all around before peeling off layers, handing their coats to Yun.

“We brought wine!” Jeno announced, holding up the bottle like a prize.

“And he spent way too long picking it out” Daeun teased, giving him a playful nudge.

Jaemin smirked. “Should be glad it’s not a box of cheap beer.”

As they joined everyone in the kitchen, Soyul shot a curious look at the group. “So, we were trying to guess, what kind of girl do you think Chenle’s bringing?”

Mark crossed his arms, sighing. “Renjun thinks she’s got to be special to handle us. Otherwise, Chenle wouldn’t bother even dare to introduce her.”

Jeno shook his head, amused. “Maybe she’s just a decoy—he’s bringing her in so we don’t bother him about settling down. You know how he likes to mess with us.”

The room filled with laughter, just as another knock echoed from the door. Before Yunhee could answer, it swung open, and Haechan and Chinsun entered, both looking slightly flushed and disheveled. Haechan was grinning wide, while Chinsun scanned the room a bit embarassed before her gaze started lighting up the moment it fell on Renjun.

“Renjun!” Chinsun exclaimed, her face brightening as she hurried over to him. She wrapped him in an warm hug, her laugh light as she pulled back. “I didn’t think you’d get here before us! This is a rare sight.”

Renjun returned her smile. “Well, I had to beat you to the food somehow” he teased, feeling the slight blush creeping into his cheeks.

“Oh please” she replied with a laugh, her hand lingering on his arm for just a moment longer than necessary.

Mark and Jaemin exchanged a quick, knowing glance, amused at Chinsun’s enthusiasm. Haechan, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow at her, his usual playful smirk returning as he slipped an arm around her waist. “Careful, baby—you’re making it sound like Renjun’s your date.”

Chinsun rolled her eyes. “Oh, hush. I’m just happy to see everyone. Now, what were y’all were gossiping about?”

Jaemin chuckled, nudging Haechan’s shoulder. “We were actually placing bets on whether you’d show up at all. Or if you’d just call it a night in the car.”

Haechan feigned offense, crossing his arms. “Excuse me, we’re responsible adults. We’d never show up late… without a good reason.”

Yunhee shot him a playful glare, giving him a light slap on the arm. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

Haechan grinned at her. “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t love me any other way.”

The group laughed, and as everyone settled into the cozy kitchen, the talk naturally returned to Chenle’s mystery date.

“Knowing Chenle, he’s probably picked someone who can throw some shade right back at him,” Jaemin said thoughtfully. “He’d get bored with anyone who can’t keep up with his jokes.”

Daeun raised her glass. “That’s why I’m hoping she’s someone who’ll make Chenle nervous for a change.”

“Or someone who’ll give us a good story,” Haechan added with a smirk. “I don’t know, I’m expecting something outrageous.”

Yunhee raised an eyebrow at him. “Be nice. Don’t make her feel like she’s on trial.”

Haechan grinned, unfazed. “Come on, Yunhee, we’re all curious. Besides, isn’t it what else are friends for?”

With laughter and glasses raised, the group settled into the easy flow of conversation, waiting to see just what surprises the night would bring.

The kitchen buzzed with chatter as Mark, Yunhee and their friends huddled around, everyone passing theories back and forth about Chenle’s mystery date. Glasses clinked as Haechan cracked one last joke.

Just then the doorbell rang, and in an instant, the group went quiet, eyes widening. Soyul clutched Jaemin’s arm, and Daeun leaned forward, excitement lighting up her face.

“Alright, moment of truth!” Jeno whispered.

Yunhee looked Mark. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go answer it!”

With an amused grin, the said boy made his way to the door, the rest of the group following closely behind him, crowding together as if each wanted to be the first to lay eyes on Chenle’s mystery girl. Mark took a deep breath, adding to the suspense, before pulling open the door with a dramatic flourish.

But standing on the doorstep, looking slightly taken aback by the crowd gathered in the doorway, there was Chenle—completely and utterly alone, with only a bottle of whiskey in hand.

“Hey, everyone!” he said, smiling and giving a small wave.

An exaggerated groan came from Haechan as he dramatically slapped his forehead. “Chenle, are you serious? I’ve been holding my breath here!”

Daeun put her hands on her hips, her expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Just you?”

Chenle looked around, his gaze moving from one disappointed face to another. “Whoa, did I walk into some kind of intervention? What’s with the whole welcoming committee?”

Yunhee stepped forward, unable to hold back a chuckle. She gave him a warm hug, patting his back with a sigh. “We thought you’d be bringing someone special! Don’t tell me you left us hanging on purpose?”

Chenle chuckled, hugging her back. “Hey, it’s not like I planned this just to mess with you all!”

“Could’ve fooled us” Jaemin teased, crossing his arms. “With all that build-up, we thought you were finally bringing your big mystery girl.”

Chenle sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright—let me explain. I was supposed to bring someone. Her name’s Jiul, but she came down with a fever this afternoon. She really wanted to come, but she could barely get out of bed.”

“Right…” Haechan raised an eyebrow, shooting him a skeptical look. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re not just making up some imaginary girlfriend because you love a good mystery?”

Chenle snorted, rolling his eyes. “I swear, Haechan, she’s not imaginary. I might be dramatic, but even I wouldn’t go that far!”

Daeun let out a soft laugh and stepped forward, giving him a playful punch on the arm. “We were all looking forward to meeting her, you know. Poor girl—she doesn’t know what she’s in for if she’s dating you.”

Chenle shrugged, giving her a grin. “Well, you’ll meet her soon enough. Trust me, if she’d known you were all waiting at the door like this, she might’ve dragged herself over just to avoid becoming a ghost story.”

“Next time, Chenle,” Soyul added, giving him a quick, warm hug. “You’re bringing her, no excuses.”

Chenle raised his hands in surrender. “Deal, deal! I’ll bring her next time. Just don’t scare her off before I get the chance to introduce her, okay?”

Finally stepping aside from the crowd Mark took the bottle of whiskey, reading the label with an approving nod. “This, at least, is impressive. It’s like you read my mind.”

“Well, figured I’d make up for the lack of a plus-one,” Chenle said with a shrug, grinning as he accepted a glass from Yunhee. “Besides, you all don’t need my dating life as your only form of entertainment. I’m sure Haechan’s got plenty of wild stories to share tonight.”

The group laughed, and Haechan flashed a cocky grin. “I always bring the entertainment, Chenle. But I’ll give you a break—this time.”

Once the group had gathered back in the kitchen, Haechan leaning comfortably against the counter, Jaemin shot Chenle a curious look. “Alright, now that you’re here and Jiul’s off the hook for tonight, you’ve got to tell us a bit more about her.”

“Yeah,” Mark chimed in, raising an eyebrow with a half-smile. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet about this girl.”

Chenle leaned against the counter, a smirk playing on his lips as he took a sip of his drink. “Well, you all know how I like to keep things interesting. But let’s just say Jiul’s… different. She’s got this thing where she somehow manages to keep up with my jokes, even throw them back at me. That’s rare.”

Jaemin raised his glass, nodding. “Sounds like she’s got your number already.”

“Oh, trust me,” Chenle said with a chuckle. “She’s more than capable of keeping me on my toes. She’s a bit quiet at first, but once she opens up…” He paused, shaking his head with a smile. “Yeah, she’s something else.”

Mark leaned back, folding his arms. “Quiet, huh? Think she’ll be able to handle this crew?”

Chenle shrugged, his grin widening. “Guess we’ll have to find out. But if she can survive meeting all of you, I’ll take it as a good sign.”

Haechan snorted, looking amused. “Well, as long as she knows she’s dating the most mysterious guy in town.”

Chenle chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright—keep the mystery jokes coming. But I’m serious, you’ll all meet her soon enough.”

Just then, Yunhee lifted her glass. “To Jiul’s speedy recovery. And to finally meeting the mystery woman next time!”

The group slowly moved toward the dining table, carrying their drinks and chatting animatedly. Haechan, true to form, was already throwing out playful remarks as he trailed behind Chinsun, who was straightening her hair after the rush to get there.

“Alright, everyone, let’s get this dinner started before Soyul’s cats call animal services on Jaemin for neglect” he teased, earning a laugh from Soyul and a glare from Jaemin.

Jaemin waved him off, grumbling under his breath. “They’re perfectly fine. And unlike you, Haechan, they actually like me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Haechan fired back with a smirk as he pulled out a chair for Chinsun, who patted his cheek as if rewarding a child for good behavior.

“Sit down and behave,” she said lightly, though her grin gave away her amusement.

Once everyone was seated, the conversation shifted to updates on their lives.

“How’s the clinic been, Chinsun?” Yunhee asked, passing the bread basket.

“Busy but good” Chinsun replied. “We’ve had a lot of emergency cases this week—mostly dogs who think eating socks is a fun challenge.”

“That’s because it is” Haechan quipped. “If I were a dog, I’d totally try it.”

Renjun shook his head with a laugh. “You’ve got the mindset for it, I’ll give you that.”

“What about you, Mark?” Jeno asked. “Still reshaping faces for a living?”

Mark chuckled. “Yeah, the clinic’s been crazy. But you’d be surprised how many people don’t realize they can’t heal overnight. I had a patient last week who wanted to run a marathon a day after rhinoplasty.”

“She didn’t!” Soyul gasped.

“Oh, she did” Mark said, nodding solemnly. “We had to convince her that, no, her nose would not stay on her face if she ran 42 kilometers.”

The group burst into laughter, and Daeun added, “I feel like your job is part surgery, part babysitting.”

Yunhee smiled knowingly. “It’s pretty similar to therapy sometimes, too. People want a quick fix without doing the real work.”

As the laughter ebbed, Renjun glanced at the clock on the wall. “By the way, is anyone planning to watch the eclipse tonight? It’s supposed to peak in an hour or so.”

Yunhee’s face lit up. “That’s the whole point of tonight’s dinner! Mark and I thought it’d be nice to make an event of it. Food, drinks, and a cosmic show.”

Jaemin raised a hand as if in mock protest. “Wait, I thought Chenle’s mystery girlfriend was the real purpose of tonight.”

The table broke into another round of laughter as Chenle groaned, sinking dramatically in his chair. “I’ll never live this down, will I?”

“Not a chance” Daeun replied with a grin.

Chinsun leaned forward, seizing the moment to ask “ So, Soyul, how are the cats doing? I saw your latest post, and they looked so adorable!” Chinsun asked with genuine excitement, clasping her hands together.

Soyul’s face lit up. “Oh, they’re doing amazing! Luna just learned how to open the treat drawer, so I’ve basically lost control of my kitchen. And Minho—well, he’s still his lazy self, lounging around like he’s royalty.”

Jaemin groaned, leaning back in his chair. “I swear, those two get more attention than I do.”

“You’re not wrong” Soyul teased, her grin widening. “But can you blame me? They’re perfect.”

“Perfectly spoiled” Jaemin muttered, though his soft smile betrayed his playful jealousy.

“They’re basically your children” Chinsun said, leaning forward eagerly. “It’s like having babies, isn’t it? You feed them, you worry about them, and they even wake you up in the middle of the night!”

Soyul nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! They’re like little furry toddlers.”

Yunhee chimed in, her tone reflective. “Animals really are like kids. They depend on you completely, and you get so attached. Sometimes I think having a pet is good practice for when you’re ready for the real thing.”

This comment shifted the energy at the table. A pause hung in the air before Haechan, never one to let things get too serious, leaned forward with a smirk. “Speaking of kids—how many of you are planning on having them?”

Jaemin and Jeno exchanged a quick, almost imperceptible glance before Jaemin replied, “Not us. At least, not anytime soon.”

Jeno nodded in agreement. “Yeah, same here. We’re just… not really into the idea right now.”

Daeun looked at Jeno, her brows furrowing slightly. “I didn’t know you felt that way. We’ve never really talked about it.”

Soyul glanced at Jaemin, her lips pressing into a line. “Yeah… same here.”

Sensing the tension creeping in, Mark cleared his throat. “I’ve always wanted kids. It’s just a matter of timing, I guess.”

“Same” Haechan said with a grin, reaching over to take Chinsun’s hand. “And, for the record, I think Chinsun would look absolutely stunning with a little baby bump. I mean, imagine—she’d be the cutest mom ever.”

Chinsun’s cheeks flushed as she swatted him lightly. “Haechan! Don’t start embarrassing me.”

“I’m just speaking the truth” Haechan said, leaning back smugly. “You’d glow, babe. Like, literally.”

The group laughed, the tension easing as the conversation drifted back into lighter territory.

“You’d glow because you’d be sweating from how much work it is,” Chenle quipped, leaning back with a smug grin. “Honestly, I don’t get the whole ‘having kids’ thing. Everyone acts like it’s the ultimate goal, but let’s be real—it’s not like having a child completes your life or anything.”

His comment drew a mix of reactions. Haechan raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, while Yunhee’s eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. Soyul and Daeun exchanged surprised glances, and Mark simply sipped his wine, waiting to see where the conversation would go.

It was Renjun who spoke first, his voice calm but firm. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? Just because it’s not something you want doesn’t mean it’s not meaningful for other people.”

Chenle shrugged. “I’m not saying people shouldn’t have kids. I’m just saying the idea that you need them to live a fulfilling life is outdated. Look at me—I’m perfectly happy without any of that responsibility weighing me down.”

Renjun leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “But don’t you think there’s value in building something that lasts? Kids aren’t just about fulfilling some societal expectation—they’re about connection, legacy, and love.”

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “Legacy? Love? I don’t need a tiny version of me running around to prove I can leave a mark on the world.”

“Maybe,” Renjun countered, his tone softening slightly, “but having a child isn’t just about leaving a mark. It’s about giving a piece of yourself to someone else and watching them grow into their own person. It’s about creating a bond that’s unlike anything else.”

Chinsun nodded in agreement, her expression warm as she looked at Renjun. “That’s a beautiful way to put it. I’ve always thought that raising a child could be one of the most rewarding things you can do.”

“Exactly,” Renjun said, his gaze still on Chenle. “It’s not for everyone, sure. But it’s not just about completing your life—it’s about enriching theirs, too.”

Chenle rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. “Alright, alright, Mr. Philosopher. You’ve made your point. But I’m sticking to my no-kid policy, thanks.”

“Wow” Yunhee said, glancing at Chenle with mock disapproval. “Remind me not to leave you alone with my hypothetical children.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to” Chenle said with a grin.

The laughter around the table eventually simmered as the conversation drifted into quieter territory. It was Renjun who broke the lull with a sigh. “Did anyone hear about Jaehyun? Poor guy’s been through it lately.”

Mark glanced up from his drink, frowning. “Yeah, I did. He found out his girlfriend was cheating, right?”

“Found out by accident, too” Renjun added. “Apparently, he glanced at her phone while she was showing him something, and bam—texts from another guy. Can you imagine?”

“Honestly, that’s the worst,” Daeun said, shaking her head. “Not just the cheating but finding out like that. It must’ve been a punch to the gut.”

Chenle leaned back with a sympathetic smirk. “It’s like phones have become the black box of our lives. They hold all the secrets, good and bad.”

Mark nodded thoughtfully, swirling his wine glass. “It’s true, though. Our phones probably know more about us than the people closest to us. Messages, emails, photos, bank details… even things we don’t consciously remember. It’s like a digital diary we forget to lock.”

“Or a digital Pandora’s box” Jaemin said, earning murmurs of agreement around the table.

Yunhee, who had been listening intently, suddenly leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You know… this reminds me of something I saw in a movie recently. What if we played a game?”

The table perked up at the word game.

“What kind of game?” Haechan asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Yunhee grinned. “Everyone puts their phones on the table for the entire night. Any texts, calls, or notifications that come in—we share them with the group. We read the messages aloud, listen to the calls on speaker, everything. Total transparency.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the idea hanging in the air like an unspoken dare.

“That sounds…” Jeno began, his brow furrowing. “… invasive.”

“And unnecessary” Mark added quickly, his discomfort evident.

Haechan laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh, I’m not sure I’m on board with that. It’s not that I have anything to hide, but…”

“But what?” Chinsun cut in, her tone teasing as she raised an eyebrow. “Afraid we’ll find out about your secret second family or something?”

Haechan pointed a finger at her, feigning offense. “Don’t start, babe. My life’s an open book. It’s just—do we really need to dig into each other’s phones to have a good time?”

“I agree” Jeno said, leaning back in his chair. “Privacy is important. It’s not about having secrets—it’s about boundaries.”

Jaemin, however, couldn’t resist poking fun at his friend. “Sounds like you’ve got something to hide, Jeno. What’s in there? A secret Candy Crush addiction?”

Jeno shot him a look, his jaw tightening. “Don’t start, Jaemin. Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to broadcast my entire life to everyone.”

The tension between them sparked briefly before Renjun jumped in with a soothing tone. “Come on, it’s just a game. It doesn’t have to mean anything. If we’re all good friends, what’s there to worry about? It’s not like anyone here is hiding anything serious… right?”

Renjun’s words hung in the air, and one by one, the group exchanged hesitant glances.

“Fine” Mark sighed, clearly resigned. “If everyone’s doing it, I’ll do it too.”

Haechan groaned dramatically. “This is peer pressure. I hope you all know that.”

“I’ll take that as a yes” Chinsun said with a grin, sliding her phone onto the table.

Jeno hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line, but Daeun nudged him playfully. “Come on, Jeno. Live a little.”

With a resigned huff, Jeno placed his phone down next to Chinsun’s, muttering something under his breath about regretting this later.

Finally, one by one, everyone added their phones to the pile in the center of the table.

“There” Yunhee said with a satisfied smile. “Now we’re all on equal footing. Let’s see who’s brave enough to go first when something comes in.”

Before anyone could respond, Soyul glanced toward the window, her eyes widening. “Hey! The eclipse is starting!”

The group immediately stood, wine glasses in hand, and moved to the balcony to watch the celestial event unfold.

The moon hung low in the sky, its bright silver glow slowly dimming as the Earth’s shadow crept across its surface. The conversation quieted as they all gazed upward, the air filled with a rare sense of awe and tranquility.

“Is it just me, or does everything feel… surreal right now?” Daeun murmured, leaning against Jeno.

“It’s not just you,” Jaemin replied, his voice softer than usual.

As the shadow consumed more of the moon, Haechan broke the silence with a playful nudge at Chenle. “So, Chenle, is this where your mystery girlfriend was supposed to make a grand entrance? Under the moonlight?”

Chenle rolled his eyes, but his smirk betrayed his amusement. “Very funny. I think I’ll enjoy the moon more without any distractions, thanks.”

Mark chuckled. “Let’s just hope this night doesn’t turn into an eclipse of our friendships once the phones start buzzing.”

The group laughed lightly, the tension from earlier melting into the cool night air.

The group slowly made their way back to the dining room, the warm light inside contrasting with the cool, dark night outside. They settled into their seats once again, still buzzing from the beauty of the eclipse. Glasses were refilled, and the conversation naturally shifted to lighter, nostalgic topics as they relaxed into the evening.

“You know,” Haechan began, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin, “we’ve all grown up so much, but let’s not forget—I used to be the king of our little circle back in the day.”

“Oh, here we go” Mark muttered, rolling his eyes with a smile.

“No, no, let him cook.” Jaemin said, laughing as he folded his arms. “I wanna hear this version of history.”

“I was the guy” Haechan continued dramatically, ignoring the interruptions. “The life of every party. The charmer. The—”

“The biggest headache” Mark interjected with a snort.

“That, too.” Renjun chimed in, grinning. “Remember how many times we had to cover for you when you’d ghost some poor girl at a party?”

Haechan feigned offense, placing a hand on his chest. “Excuse me, ghosting is such a strong word. I simply… diversified my options.”

“Diversified?” Chinsun repeated with a raised eyebrow. “And yet, here you are, stuck with me.”

“‘Stuck’ is the wrong word” Haechan said smoothly, slipping his arm around her. “I’d say I retired from the game because I found my MVP.”

The table groaned collectively at his cheesy line, but Chinsun blushed nonetheless.

“You weren’t the only one with ‘game,’ though” Renjun said, turning to Jaemin. “Mr. Cool over here wasn’t too bad himself.”

Jaemin smirked, shrugging casually. “What can I say? Some of us don’t need to try too hard.”

“Please” Jeno scoffed, shaking his head. “The only reason you didn’t need to try too hard was because I was always stuck as your wingman. And let me tell you, your success came at my expense more times than I can count.”

Jaemin laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, that’s fair. But hey, it all worked out, right? We ended up with the two best friends. Perfect symmetry.”

Soyul and Daeun exchanged a knowing glance, their eyebrows raised. “And you two don’t find that a little suspicious?” Soyul teased.

“Not at all” Jaemin said confidently, draping an arm around Soyul’s chair. “It’s destiny. A natural alignment of the stars.”

“You mean of the drinks” Daeun joked, nudging Jeno playfully. “I’m pretty sure destiny was just a lot of late-night outings and bad pick-up lines.”

“You wound me” Jeno said, placing a hand over his heart in mock pain.

“And then there’s Mark and Renjun” Haechan said, pointing his fork at them with a mischievous grin. “Our very own nerd squad.”

“Hey!” Mark and Renjun protested in unison, drawing laughter from everyone else.

“It’s true” Haechan insisted, leaning forward. “These two were impossible to drag out. Mark was always studying or working on some project, and Renjun was, what, painting or reading about obscure history?”

“Excuse me” Renjun said with mock indignation, “I had a social life.”

“Sure” Haechan teased, “as long as it involved trivia nights or art galleries.”

Mark laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, fine, we weren’t exactly the party animals of the group. But we had our moments.”

“‘Moments,’” Haechan echoed, grinning. “Like when I had to physically drag you to that one party because you refused to leave your textbook?”

“That wasn’t my fault!” Mark protested. “It was finals week, and you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“That’s because Yunhee begged me to bring you out” Haechan said, smirking. “She had the biggest crush on you.”

Yunhee blushed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Did you have to tell everyone that?”

“Come on, it’s cute!” Haechan said, laughing.

“It was also embarrassing,” Yunhee admitted, shaking her head. “I was into this guy who barely noticed me unless we were talking about something academic. And when he did come to parties, he just stood in the corner with a drink, looking like he wanted to go home.”

Mark chuckled sheepishly. “I wasn’t exactly the most social person back then.”

“You weren’t social at all,” Yunhee teased. “But I guess it worked out in the end.”

“Meanwhile,” Chenle cut in, grinning, “I was the reason we even had parties to talk about. Admit it—my house was the spot.”

“Oh, absolutely” Jaemin said. “Your parties were legendary.”

“Legendary is putting it lightly” Renjun added. “Remember that Halloween party where someone brought a fog machine and accidentally set off the fire alarm?”

Chenle laughed, his eyes lighting up at the memory. “Yeah, and we all had to evacuate in full costumes. I’ll never forget Haechan running outside in his inflatable dinosaur suit.”

“It was the look of the night.” Haechan said proudly.

The girls listened intently as the guys reminisced, chiming in occasionally with laughter or disbelief.

“And the Christmas party where Mark fell asleep on the couch because he had too much of Chenle’s grandpa gin?” Jaemin added.

“Classic” Haechan said, shaking his head.

“I was tired” Mark defended, though his grin gave him away.

The stories flowed easily, filling the room with warmth and nostalgia as they recounted their wild, carefree days. Each memory was met with laughter, teasing, and the occasional exaggerated retelling, the bonds between them growing all the more evident with every shared anecdote.

As the laughter from their previous conversation subsided, a distinct ping rang out in the room, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Who’s the lucky first?” Haechan asked, grinning mischievously as he leaned forward.

Renjun, sitting at the far end of the table, pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. His expression didn’t change much, but the way he hesitated to speak piqued everyone’s curiosity.

“Well?” Yunhee prompted, her eyes narrowing playfully. “What is it? Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“It’s nothing” Renjun said, placing his phone face down on the table.

“Oh no, you don’t get to say ‘nothing,’” Haechan teased, reaching across the table as though to snatch the phone. Renjun was faster, pulling it away with a smirk.

“It’s not even interesting” Renjun assured them. “Just some random promotion for the bar under my apartment.”

The table erupted into groans and laughter, with Haechan being the loudest. “A bar promotion? That’s the first notification of the night? Renjun, man, you’re supposed to give us something juicy!”

“What do you want me to do?!” Renjun said, feigning indignation. “It’s not like I control who texts me. And besides, maybe this is a sign I need to go out more.”

“Or,” Haechan said, leaning back with a grin, “it’s a sign that the highlight of your social life is your landlord’s weekly happy hour.”

Renjun threw a balled-up napkin at him, which Haechan caught midair. “Better a bar promotion than whatever spam texts you’re probably getting” Renjun retorted.

“Touché” Haechan admitted, laughing.

The conversation resumed, glasses were raised, and a few jokes flew across the table. Just as things began to settle, though, a chorus of pings echoed through the room, drawing everyone’s attention again.

This time, it wasn’t just one phone.

Mark, Jeno, Chenle, Renjun and Haechan all glanced down at their screens at the same time.

“Okay, what the hell?” Jaemin asked, his tone half-joking but tinged with genuine confusion. “Is there some group chat I’m not part of?”

“No” Mark said quickly, his brow furrowing as he read his message. “It’s just a basketball thing.”

“Yeah” Jeno added, glancing at Jaemin with a sheepish smile. “Johnny’s organizing a game next weekend.”

“Basketball?” Jaemin repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Why didn’t I get this message?”

The other guys exchanged quick, awkward looks. “It’s not a big deal” Chenle said, shrugging. “Maybe Johnny forgot to add you?”

“Forgot?” Jaemin said, his eyebrows shooting up. “I mean, I get it—I’m not the greatest player. But even Renjun was invited! And he doesn’t even play!”

Renjun, who had been quietly sipping his drink, nearly choked. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like” Jaemin shot back, his arms crossed. “You’ve never even held a basketball, and somehow, you get an invite over me?”

“Okay, first of all” Renjun said, setting his glass down, “you don’t have to attack me just because Johnny doesn’t think you can dunk.”

The table broke into laughter, though Jaemin didn’t look entirely amused.

“Come on, Jaem” Haechan said, clapping his hands. “It’s not personal. Maybe Johnny just assumed you’d be busy or something.”

“Yeah” Mark added, though his voice lacked conviction. “It’s probably just an oversight.”

“An oversight” Jaemin repeated flatly, leaning back in his chair. “Right.”

Sensing the tension, Soyul reached over and placed a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Jaemin. You don’t even like playing basketball that much.”

“That’s not the point” Jaemin muttered, moving away from her touch.

Daeun nodded in agreement, her voice soothing. “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. Why don’t you talk to Johnny about it? I’m sure he didn’t mean to exclude you.”

Jaemin exhaled sharply but nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

Jeno, who had been unusually quiet, cleared his throat. “Hey, Jaem. Shall we go get that my bottle of wine?”

Jaemin glanced at him, confused about the timing, then shrugged. “Sure.”

The two of them got up and moved to the kitchen, leaving the others to continue chatting.

Jeno hesitated before speaking, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, about the basketball thing… it wasn’t really my call. Johnny’s the one who made the list.”

“Johnny,” Jaemin repeated, his tone skeptical.

“Yeah” Jeno said quickly. “I swear, I didn’t even know he was putting it together until I got the text. If I’d known, I would’ve made sure you were invited.”

Jaemin stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “It’s not that big of a deal, I guess. It’s just—”

“You feel left out” Jeno finished for him, his voice soft.

Jaemin nodded, his posture relaxing slightly. “Yeah. I mean, we’re supposed to be friends, right?”

“Of course we are.” Jeno said firmly. “And I’ll talk to Johnny about it, okay? You should’ve been on that list, no question.”

Jaemin looked at him for a moment longer, then smiled. “Thanks, man, you know me better than anyone.”

“Of course.” Jeno said, clapping him on the shoulder.

The two of them returned to the table, the tension already resolved. As they sat down, Chenle was in the middle of recounting one of his party stories, the laughter and energy of the group pulling them back into the warmth of the evening.

The conversation inside the house had mellowed into a cozy rhythm, everyone sharing their thoughts on recent movies and books.

“Did anyone see that new space thriller? The one with the impossible black hole scene?” Renjun asked, setting his glass down.

“Yeah, and it was painfully unrealistic,” Jeno said, shaking his head. “They really expect us to believe the ship survived that?”

“It’s science fiction” Soyul chimed in. “You’re supposed to suspend disbelief. Besides, the emotional storyline carried it.”

“Emotional?” Haechan leaned back in his chair. “You’re telling me crying in zero gravity makes up for ignoring basic physics?”

“Only you would care about physics in a movie” Daeun teased.

“Fine, maybe it’s not for me” Haechan replied with mock offense. He finished his drink and stood up with a stretch. “On that note, I’m calling a cigarette break. Chenle?”

“Yeah, why not” Chenle said, getting up as well.

The two exited to the balcony, Haechan sliding the glass door shut behind them. The cold air hit them immediately, but Haechan seemed unbothered as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. After taking a long drag, he passed the lighter to Chenle, who mirrored his actions.

For a moment, they stood in silence, looking out at the city lights.

Chenle broke the quiet. “Alright, you’re acting weird. What’s up?”

Haechan hesitated, flicking ash off the edge of the balcony. “I need a favor” he finally said.

Chenle turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “From me? That’s rare. What kind of favor?”

Haechan glanced at the door to ensure no one was listening. “I need to switch phones with you. Just for a little while.”

Chenle blinked, taken aback. “What? Why?”

“Because” Haechan said, lowering his voice further, “someone’s going to send me a picture in about half an hour, and… let’s just say it’s better if Chinsun doesn’t see it.”

Chenle stared at him, cigarette paused mid-air. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Haechan replied, taking another drag.

Chenle leaned against the railing, his expression growing more incredulous by the second. “What kind of picture are we talking about here?”

“You know.” Haechan said, his tone evasive.

Chenle gave him a flat look. “Haechan. What kind of picture?”

“A… personal one,” Haechan muttered, his gaze fixed on the glowing tip of his cigarette.

Chenle groaned, rubbing his temple. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re risking everything with that girl over nudes?”

“Shhh!” Haechan hissed, waving his hands in panic. “Keep your voice down!”

Chenle sighed, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Unbelievable. Who is she?”

Haechan hesitated again, shifting uncomfortably.

“Don’t tell me…” Chenle said, his tone sharpening as realization dawned. “It’s Mark’s sister, isn’t it?”

Haechan didn’t respond immediately, but the small, mischievous grin that crept onto his face was answer enough.

Chenle groaned louder this time, throwing his hands up. “You’re out of your mind! If Mark finds out, you’re dead.”

“He’s not going to find out” Haechan said confidently. “We’re discreet. Besides, she’s the one sending the picture, not me.”

“Wow, what a great excuse,” Chenle said sarcastically. “Do you even hear yourself? This is a terrible idea.”

“Look” Haechan said, leaning closer, “She’s always had a little thing for me, you know that.”

“That doesn’t mean you should encourage it!” Chenle scolded. “Mark is one of your best friends. How do you think he’d feel about you messing with his sister?”

“I’m not messing with her” Haechan argued.

Chenle stared at him, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Please, Chenle.” Haechan said, his tone shifting to one of genuine desperation. “I’m begging you. Just this once. It’s harmless, I swear.”

Chenle hesitated, clearly torn. He took one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it into the ashtray. “This is such a bad idea, I’m telling you” he said finally. “But fine. I’ll help you. Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t” Haechan said, relief washing over him. “Thank you, man. I owe you.”

Chenle rolled his eyes as he turned to slide the door open. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember, when this blows up in your face, I told you so.”

As Chenle stepped back inside, leaving the door ajar, Haechan stayed behind, staring out at the city with a mix of relief and unease. He took one last puff of his cigarette before letting it die, his thoughts racing as he trued to convince himself that everything would work out.

The air inside had warmed considerably, filled with the clinking of glasses, faint laughter, and the soft hum of conversation. Most of the group had gravitated toward the kitchen, where Mark and Yunhee busily orchestrated the next course. Renjun and Chinsun, however, remained in the living room, seated comfortably on their seats, engaged in a quiet conversation.

“You’ve always been good with people,” Chinsun said with a warm smile, her gaze steady on Renjun. “It’s no wonder the kids in your music workshops like you so much.”

Renjun rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “I think it’s less about me and more about music. Kids just need a way to express themselves, you know?”

Chinsun leaned forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest. “It’s still a talent, though. Not everyone has that ability to connect.”

Just then, the balcony door slid open, and Haechan stepped back inside, brushing the cold air off his sleeves. He immediately caught sight of the scene and quirked an eyebrow.

“Wow, you two look cozy” Haechan said, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. He crossed his arms and leaned casually against the doorway. “Should I be worried?”

Chinsun didn’t even flinch, rolling her eyes as she turned toward him. “Shut up, Haechan” she said, a hint of exasperation in her tone.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he replied with an exaggerated shrug, though his eyes lingered a little longer on Renjun before he finally walked past them into the kitchen.

And before this, without being noticed (or so he thought) he successfully switched phones with Chenle.

Daeun and Soyul stood near the counter, half-hidden behind a column, their glasses in hand. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of Haechan’s expression as he glanced over at Chinsun and Renjun.

“Did you see that?” Daeun whispered, tilting her head toward the living room.

Soyul smirked, her lips barely moving. “He’s so jealous, it’s almost funny.”

Daeun narrowed her eyes slightly. “Do you think Chinsun has a thing for Renjun?”

Soyul shook her head after a moment’s thought. “No way. She’s just naturally warm with everyone. And let’s be honest—Renjun is so clueless about stuff like that.”

Daeun chuckled. “True. And Haechan’s possessiveness is basically part of his personality. Still, it’s kind of cute, jealousy looks good on him”

Their quiet observations were interrupted as the others began filtering back into the kitchen. Plates and trays were passed around, Mark working diligently to ensure everything was perfect for the meal. The room buzzed with chatter about favorite dishes, the best way to cook steak, and Mark’s secret marinade recipe.

Once everyone returned to the dining table, the conversation shifted to lighter topics.

Mark, ever the gracious host, served up plates of food while Yunhee teased him about his near-obsessive attention to detail.

“So, Mark,” Jaemin said, leaning back in his chair. “You really could’ve been a chef. Why didn’t you go for it?”

Mark shrugged modestly. “Cooking’s a hobby. Turning it into a career might’ve taken the fun out of it.”

Yunhee rolled her eyes playfully. “Please, he says that, but he’d probably be a world-famous chef by now if he tried.”

Renjun chimed in, “Honestly, Mark, you should start a cooking blog or something. Share your recipes with the world.”

“Then we’d lose the exclusivity,” Soyul interjected with a grin. “I don’t want everyone knowing Mark’s secrets.”

The group laughed, the energy light and playful—until a phone buzzed loudly on the table, drawing everyone’s attention.

The phone’s screen lit up, displaying the name Monique.

All eyes turned to Chenle, whose “phone” sat innocently on the table.

Chenle stiffened immediately, his hand darting out to grab the phone. “Nothing to see here” he said quickly, trying to play it off.

But Yunhee was faster. “Wait a second” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Monique? Isn’t that Mark’s sister?”

A collective gasp rippled through the table. Haechan froze, his face carefully blank as he avoided looking directly at anyone.

Chenle glanced briefly at Haechan, his expression screaming help me, but Haechan offered no assistance. With a deep breath, Chenle forced a sheepish grin. “Yeah, um… we’ve been reconnecting lately.”

“Reconnecting?” Mark repeated, his voice low and skeptical. His fork paused mid-air, his knuckles tightening slightly.

Jaemin leaned forward, grinning like a kid about to witness chaos. “Open the message, Chenle. Let’s see what she sent.”

“Jaemin!” Daeun scolded, though her curiosity was just as evident in her eyes.

Chenle hesitated, clearly torn. But under the weight of everyone’s stares, he reluctantly unlocked the phone and opened the message. His face went beet red as he saw the photo: a sultry, carefully posed picture of Mark’s sister.

“Whoa” he breathed, his eyes wide with shock.

Immediately, Jaemin and Renjun crowded around to see, while Soyul and Daeun leaned over curiously. Yunhee covered her mouth, stifling a gasp.

“Chenle.” Mark snapped, his tone sharp. “How long has this been going on?”

“Just… a few months” Chenle said weakly, shrinking under Mark’s glare.

“And how long were you planning on keeping this from me?” Mark demanded, his voice rising.

Before Chenle could answer, Daeun interjected, “What about Jiul? Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

Chenle opened his mouth, floundering for an answer, when Haechan finally spoke up.

“Look, the guy finally has some game” Haechan said, his tone breezy as he leaned back in his chair. “Can we give him a little credit?”

The comment earned a mixture of gasps and laughter, though Mark’s expression remained stormy. Yunhee, however, was quick to step in.

“Mark, relax” she said firmly. “Your sister’s an adult. Let her live her life.”

Mark muttered something under his breath, but he reluctantly leaned back in his chair, though his jaw remained tight.

Chenle, meanwhile, shot a glare at Haechan, who merely smirked back at him, clearly unbothered by the chaos he’d created.

Moments later Chinsun glanced at his watch, his expression shifting to one of excitement. “Hey, it’s time! The full eclipse should be happening right now.”

Everyone murmured in agreement, standing up from their chairs and moving toward the balcony once more. The cool night air greeted them as they stepped outside, the moon now completely cloaked in shadow, casting an eerie, beautiful darkness across the sky.

Mark leaned against the railing, gazing up at the celestial phenomenon. “It’s incredible,” he said, his voice quiet but reflective. “The moon’s always there, but we only ever see one side of it. This is one of those rare times the shadow makes it feel… complete.”

Renjun nodded, equally captivated by the view. “It’s like the earth is revealing its own truth. The light we always chase is just an illusion. It’s the shadows that really show us who we are.”

“Leave it to you two philosophers to turn a pretty moon into an existential crisis” Jaemin joked, breaking the momentary silence.

The group chuckled, and Chinsun, inspired by the occasion, clapped her hands together. “This is too good to miss! Let’s take a photo.”

Everyone gathered around her, smiling and adjusting their positions. “Chenle, here” she said, handing him her phone. “You’ve got long arms—take the picture.”

Chenle took the phone with a grin. “Alright, everyone squeeze in. Ready? One, two—”

A sudden notification interrupted him, a message popping up at the top of the screen:

Sunghoon: Hi.

The screen glowed with the name, drawing a moment of awkward silence as everyone caught sight of it.

“Who’s Sunghoon?” Chenle asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, who’s that?” Daeun chimed in, her curiosity piqued.

Haechan, standing just behind Chinsun, stiffened immediately. His voice turned sharp as he asked“What the fuck does he want now?”

Chinsun waved it off, her tone casual but her expression betraying her discomfort. “No one important. Let’s just take the picture.”

Chenle glanced at her skeptically but lifted the phone again. “Alright, where were we? One, two—”

Another message popped up.

Sunghoon: I need you.

The group fell silent again, the tension palpable. Haechan didn’t hesitate this time. He stepped forward, snatching the phone from Chenle’s hand.

“Why the fuck is he texting you this shit?” Haechan’s voice was low but seething, his jaw tight as he looked directly at Chinsun.

Chinsun took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice calm. “He’s been texting me for two weeks now, but I haven’t responded to him at all. You know how much my last relationship broke me. How could you even think I’d entertain this?”

Haechan’s glare didn’t waver. “Oh, please. We all know Sunghoon thinks he’s some kind of hotshot. Does he still have that stupid haircut that you liked so much?”

“Haechan” she snapped, her patience wearing thin. “That’s not the point.”

The group began to shuffle uncomfortably as the argument escalated.

“If you don’t believe me” Chinsun said, her voice firm now, “then call him. Ask him yourself.”

“I don’t need to hear you two flirting” Haechan spat, his tone laced with venom. “Thank you very much.”

The insult stung, and Chinsun’s expression hardened as she yanked her phone back from his grip. Haechan turned away abruptly, grabbing another glass of wine from the table and downing half of it in one go.

Chenle, hesitant but concerned, stepped in. “Maybe you should hear her out first, man—”

“Shut up, Chenle.” Haechan snapped, his words cutting.

Mark, now visibly annoyed, intervened. He reached over and took the wine glass from Haechan’s hand. “That’s enough” he said firmly.

The girls, gathering around Chinsun, encouraged her. “Just call him” Yunhee said softly. “Set things straight. It’ll help.”

Chinsun hesitated but eventually nodded. She dialed the number, her fingers trembling slightly. The phone rang a few times before the call connected.

“Finally, Sunny” Sunghoon’s voice, smooth but laced with smugness. “You decided to call me back. What’s the matter? Does your boyfriend not satisfy you anymore?”

Haechan’s grip on the edge of the table tightened, his knuckles white as he held himself back from exploding.

Chinsun, kept her voice steady. “I don’t want anything to do with you, Sunghoon. Stop contacting me. I’m happy with Haechan.”

A low chuckle echoed through the phone. “He’ll never be me” Sunghoon said arrogantly.

That was the breaking point.

Haechan took the phone from Chinsun’s hand and brought it to his ear. “Thank God” he said coldly, his voice dripping with disdain. “Because I’m so much better, you pathetic fuckass.”

Without waiting for a reply, he hung up and tossed the phone onto the table, the conversation firmly ended.

He didn’t say another word, instead walking back to his seat at the dining table and sinking into his chair. The others exchanged uneasy glances before slowly following him back inside, one by one.

The air in the room was thick with tension after the heated exchange between Haechan and Chinsun. Everyone tried to move on, lightening the atmosphere by reminiscing about past vacations.

“Summer vacations are the best” Jaemin said, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Nothing beats long days at the beach and bonfire nights.”

“Sure, if you like sand everywhere” Yunhee teased. “Winter vacations have charm. Cozy cabins, hot chocolate, and snow-covered landscapes—it’s magical.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes playfully. “Yeah, until you’re stuck shoveling snow off the driveway.”

Renjun chuckled. “Both have their perks. I think it depends on where you go. Remember that summer trip we took to Jeju? The hikes, the ocean view—it was perfect.”

“Except for the sunburns” Daeun added with a laugh. “I was peeling for weeks!”

Soyul chimed in “Winter vacations are underrated, though. Remember that ski trip last year? The slopes were amazing, and the hot springs afterward—unforgettable.”

Haechan, still visibly tense, tried to force a laugh. “I’d take summer any day. Winter’s just… depressing. Too much darkness, not enough fun.”

The conversation was beginning to lift the group’s spirits when an unfamiliar chime interrupted them. A strange notification sound echoed through the room, causing everyone to pause.

“Whose phone is that?” Haechan asked, glancing around.

Chenle, sighed trying to stay composed “It’s yours.”

Haechan frowned but nodded slowly. “Right. So… what’s the message?”

As he read the message he looked confused.

Chinsun peaked behind him “Who’s Jisung? And why’s he asking you how are you feeling?”

The table fell silent.

“What the hell?” Jaemin blurted out, leaning forward. “Who’s Jisung?”

Haechan looked at them, trying to think at some excuses. “He’s a new guys who works with me..you know he got a little crush on me and won’t leave me alone” he said, laughing a little.

“Well then” Chenle starts “why don’t you give him an answer?”

Haechan looked back at his friend, gulping. “Right…” He said as he started typing

“I said ‘I’m okay, I’m at a friend house.” Haechan said, nervously putting the phone down.

Another message light up the screen.

Jisung: What? You said you had fever! That’s the whole reason why we didn’t meet tonight. You promised me…

As everyone listen to the message, their faces light up with confusion, looking at the boy.

“What’s going on?” Daeun asked, her voice filled with confusion.

Chinsun’s face was frozen in shock as she whispered, “Haechan…? What did you have to do with this Jisung?”

Haechan let out a strained laugh, trying to diffuse the situation. “Are you guys seriously thinking—what? That I’d be into… guys? Baby, come on” he said, looking directly at Chinsun. “Look at me. How could I ever like boys?”

Renjun, sitting across the table, folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. His voice was calm but pointed. “What’s wrong with liking boys, Haechan?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded weapon.

Haechan’s eyes flicked to Renjun, then back to Chinsun. “Nothing, obviously! But it’s just… not me.”

Renjun’s gaze sharpened, the calm in his tone replaced by something more cutting. “Oh, really?”

Haechan’s voice dropped, pleading. “Renjun, please—”

Renjun leaned forward, cutting him off. “No, please. Go on. This is hilarious, hearing you talk all this shit.”

The rest of the group looked on in confusion, their gazes darting between the two.

“What are you saying, Jun?” Daeun asked hesitantly, her tone laced with concern.

Renjun ignored her, keeping his focus on Haechan. “What? Did you forget about that summer? Oh, wait, maybe you forgot about the whole year too. Yeah, that happens as you get older, doesn’t it?”

The weight of Renjun’s words hit the table like a bomb.

Chinsun’s eyes welled up, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “Is this true?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Haechan’s face was pale, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if to steady himself. “It’s not what you think” he started, his voice cracking.

“Then what is it?” Jaemin pressed, his tone confused but firm.

Soyul glanced between Haechan and Renjun. “Wait… are you saying you two…?”

“No!” Haechan exclaimed, his voice too loud, too defensive. “It wasn’t like that! It was just—”

“Just what?” Renjun interrupted coldly. “A phase? A mistake? Poor this Jisung guy, he doesn’t know what he got himself up to”

Chenle shifted uncomfortably. “Guys, maybe this isn’t the time—”

“Shut up, Chenle!” Haechan snapped, then immediately winced, realizing how out of control he sounded.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife when the phone rang, breaking the moment.

Chenle’s phone -now Haechan’s- lights up again for an incoming call.

The name “Jisung” flashed across the screen.

Chenle’s breath hitched. “Don’t answer that” he said quickly, his voice strained.

But it was too late. Renjun, stealing the phone, had already pressed the green button.

Jisung’s voice came through the speaker, sharp and accusatory. “Why did you lie about being sick? We were supposed to meet tonight, and now I find out you’re out with your friends?”

The room went silent.

Haechan, panic flashing across his face, stammered. “I… I don’t even know what you’re talking about… Jisung?”

Jisung scoffed, his tone cutting. “Really? Because I’ve got your location on 360. It’s over, you asshole.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving everyone stunned.

Chinsun’s tears flowed freely now, her hands trembling as she covered her face. The silence was deafening until Haechan finally spoke.

“Guys c’mon..You all know me…I would never do this. I’m not into… boys. It’s not true. None of it is true!”

Renjun let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, really?”

Haechan looked at him, pleading. “Renjun, please—”

“No” Renjun said, standing up, his voice steady but full of disappointment. “I’m done listening to this. It’s so funny hearing you deny everything, though. Keep going—it’s entertaining.”

“Renjun, stop” Soyul whispered, her voice soft but firm.

“What am I stopping?” Renjun snapped, glaring at Haechan. “Reminding him of the truth? Maybe he needs it. Or maybe he’s too scared to admit it.”

Haechan sank back into his chair, his face pale and his shoulders slumped. Chinsun stared at him, her tear-filled eyes full of betrayal and heartbreak.

No one spoke.

The room was silent, thick with tension, after Renjun’s cutting remarks. Haechan was frozen, struggling to form a coherent response, his hands gripping the edge of the table like a lifeline. Yunhee, however, decided it was time to step in.

“Okay, enough” she said, her voice sharp, rising over the tension. “Renjun, you don’t have to do this. He’s already overwhelmed, and you’re just—”

Renjun cut her off with a cold laugh, looking her straight in the eye. “Oh, don’t even start, Yunhee. You want to defend him now? I have every right to get angry since how he left me for you?”

The room collectively sucked in a breath.

“What?” Jeno blurted out, his voice laced with disbelief. “Oh god, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mark turned slowly to Yunhee, his face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “What is he saying?”

Yunhee looked as though she had been caught in headlights. Her mouth opened, then closed, as her hands fidgeted nervously on her lap.

Haechan sighed deeply, throwing his head back as if resigning himself.

“Yeah, Mark” Renjun said, his voice heavy. “Where do you think she got those new earrings?”

His voice was dripping with venom as he gestured toward Yunhee. “They were mine, by the way. Before Haechan decided he was fully straight overnight and that fucking his best friend’s girlfriend was better.”

All eyes turned to Yunhee, who instinctively touched her earrings, her face pale.

Soyul, her voice trembling with shock, muttered, “Oh my god, are you serious? This is insane.”

Mark stared at Yunhee, then at Haechan, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to process the betrayal. “Yunhee…” he began, his voice quiet but full of hurt.

Yunhee’s voice cracked as she tried to explain. “Mark, I—It’s not what you think—”

Chinsun, who had been silently crying, let out a bitter laugh. She stood up abruptly, wiping her tears with shaky hands. “You’ve got to be kidding me” she said, her voice breaking but laced with nervous laughter. “This is crazy. And you—” she pointed at Haechan, her laugh turning into a scoff. “You even had the boldness to accuse me of cheating? While you’re sitting here with a whole whore army?”

Yunhee bristled, standing up to face her. “I’m sorry, who are you calling a whore?”

“Oh, you heard me” Chinsun snapped, her hands on her hips.

“Excuse me, I was here first.” Yunhee shot back, her voice dripping with venom.

Renjun leaned back in his chair, watching the chaos unfold with a sardonic grin. “If we’re playing that game, technically, I was first in line.”

Both women froze, turning their angry glares on him.

Mark, meanwhile, hadn’t moved, his gaze fixed on Haechan, his face a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “You were my best friend,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “How could you do this?”

Haechan opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, looking utterly defeated. “Mark, I—”

“Don’t” Mark interrupted, shaking his head. “Just don’t.”

The room fell silent again, but it didn’t last long.

Jeno broke it with a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands in the air. “God, Haechan, you couldn’t have just told us? About all of this? Especially about… you know.”

Haechan frowned, his exhaustion giving way to irritation. “Why the hell would I have to tell you?”

Jeno leaned forward, incredulous. “Uh, maybe because we all used to sleep and shower together back in the day? I want to know if the guy I sleep next to is a homosexual.”

Haechan tilted his head, genuinely confused. “And why would that concern you Jeno?”

“Of course it concerns me Haechan I-“ Jeno started before being interrupted.

Jaemin, who had been quietly sipping his drink, suddenly smirked, half-laughing. “Oh, you shouldn’t be the one pointing fingers, Jeno.”

All eyes turned to Jaemin now, confusion written across everyone’s faces.

Daeun blinked, looking at him. “What are you talking about?”

Jaemin looked at Jeno, then back at the group, his expression unreadable. “Really? None of you ever noticed anything? You thought I had fewer girls than Haechan just because I wasn’t trying hard enough? There was a reason I was always with Jeno.”

The table erupted in shock, voices overlapping in disbelief.

“W-what..?” Jaemin’s revelation sent Soyul into full-blown tears.

Renjun, however, seemed unfazed. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Yeah, I already knew. Heard them in the changing rooms back in high school.”

Soyul stood abruptly, her sobs echoing in the room. “Jaemin,” she cried, her voice breaking. “This isn’t still going on, right? It’s just old stuff, it isn’t happening anymore right? Right Jaemin? Tell me I’m right.”

Daeun immediately went to comfort her, wrapping her arms around Soyul’s shaking shoulders.

Jaemin’s smirk disappeared, replaced by guilt as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Soyul, I—”

“Is it still happening?” Soyul partially screamed, her voice filled with desperation.

Jaemin lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes.

Soyul’s tears intensified, and she choked out “Jaemin I-m..”

The boy tried to look at her.

“I’m pregnant Jaemin.”

Jaemin’s eyes widened in shock, and he stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

“What?..”

But Soyul didn’t let him approach her. She backed away, shaking her head as she sobbed uncontrollably. Then, turning on her heel, she bolted toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Renjun, looking exasperated but concerned, stood up and followed her, muttering “Great. Just great.”

The room was left in stunned silence, everyone staring at Jaemin, who stood frozen, his face pale.

Haechan, still seated, let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Well, this just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

No one responded. The only sound was Soyul’s muffled sobs from behind the bathroom door.

The tension in the room hung heavy like a storm cloud, and it wasn’t long before Jeno erupted. He slammed his hands on the table, standing up abruptly and glaring at Jaemin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he barked, his voice shaking with anger. “Why would you say that? To everyone? Here? Now?”

Jaemin, still standing, looked at him, his expression unreadable. He met Jeno’s furious gaze with a steady one of his own. “What did you expect, Jeno? That we’d just keep pretending forever? Sooner or later, it was bound to come out. Better now than years down the line.”

Jeno scoffed, his tone bitter. “You think this is better? You think this was the right time? I would’ve taken this secret to my grave if I could. That’s what I wanted.”

Jaemin smirked slightly, but there was no humor in it. “Of course you would, Jeno. You’ve always been good at hiding, haven’t you?”

Jeno’s fists clenched, his jaw tightening as he took a threatening step toward Jaemin. “You have no idea what you’ve just done” he hissed.

At that moment, Haechan pushed his chair back and stood, his eyes flicking between the two men. His voice was sharp as he interjected, “Okay, hold up. Where’s all this oppressed homophobia coming from, Jeno?”

Jeno whipped his head toward Haechan, his face flushed with frustration. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Haechan crossed his arms and tilted his head, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. “Oh, come on. You’re out here acting like Jaemin just destroyed your life or something. Let’s not forget, it was you in his bed, not someone else. Repeatedly. No matter how much you want to deny it now.”

Jeno’s face turned red, and his breathing quickened. “Shut up, Haechan. You don’t know anything about it.”

“I don’t?” Haechan shot back, taking a step forward. His voice grew louder, his tone dripping with mockery. “Because it sounds to me like you’re just mad that you liked it. That you liked him. And now you’re pissed because everyone knows.”

At this point he clearly knows what he’s talking about.

Like he’s talking to his younger self.

“Don’t,” Jeno growled, pointing a finger at Haechan, his voice trembling with rage. “Don’t twist this into something it’s not.”

“Oh, but it is,” Jaemin interjected, his voice cold. He stepped closer to Jeno, his eyes narrowing. “You can try to rewrite history all you want, but you know damn well that none of this was one-sided. You were just as much a part of it as I was.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of Jaemin’s words hanging in the air like a guillotine. Jeno turned away, running a hand through his hair as he paced in frustration. His breathing was labored, his mind clearly racing as he tried to process everything.

The tension in the room hadn’t yet dissipated when Daeun, standing near the edge of the table, looked visibly shaken. Her normally composed demeanor was gone, replaced by wide eyes and a trembling hand that hovered near her lips. She had been silent through most of the arguments, absorbing the chaos, but now it seemed something had shaken her even more.

And, unexpectedly, it was her phone that buzzed sharply on the table, piercing through the uneasy quiet. The sound was different—a personal ringtone—and it made her freeze. Slowly, everyone’s attention shifted to her.

She stared at the phone like it was a live grenade, her breath catching. She gulped audibly, her hands fidgeting by her sides.

From across the table, Mark raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with suspicion. “Well? Are you going to get that?”

Daeun’s gaze flicked to him, then to the phone. Her voice cracked slightly as she forced herself to speak. “Are we really… still doing this?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with resignation.

Chenle, who had been unusually quiet during the earlier confrontations, suddenly stood and reached for her phone. “Answer the damn phone, Daeun.” he said firmly, his tone sharper than usual. His eyes met hers with a mix of concern and frustration.

Her hand hesitated over the screen before tremblingly hitting the green button.

“Hello?” she said softly, her voice so low it was almost a whisper.

A man’s voice came through the speaker, loud enough to be heard by the others.

“Daeun?” the male voice called, familiar and almost gentle.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “Yes,” she replied in a small voice. “I’m listening.”

Jeno, who had been quietly stewing after his earlier clash with Jaemin, suddenly sat down beside her. His gaze bore into her, searching, confused, concerned. The intensity of their eye contact was palpable, like an entire conversation was being held without words.

The man’s voice on the other end of the phone continued, oblivious to the growing tension in the room. “I’ve been thinking about you. About… us and everything.” His tone dropped slightly, more hesitant. “How have you been feeling? Since, you know… the thing?”

The weight of his words dropped like a bomb in the room.

Jeno’s eyes narrowed slightly, confusion etching his features. He leaned forward slightly, his focus entirely on Daeun. She didn’t look away, her gaze locked with his even as the voice on the phone kept talking.

The man sighed. “I feel like I should’ve reached out sooner. I just… I’m sorry about how everything happened. We should’ve been more careful.” Then, after a pause, the voice added tentatively, “Does he know?”

Daeun stiffened, her lips parting but no words coming out. She and Jeno stayed locked in their silent standoff until finally, with her voice barely audible, she said, “No. He doesn’t know.”

With that, she ended the call abruptly, her hand shaking as she placed the phone back on the table.

The silence that followed was deafening. No one dared to speak. All eyes were on her and Jeno.

Finally, Jeno broke the silence, his voice low and harsh. “So? What was he talking about?”

Daeun’s hands curled into fists at her sides, but she refused to answer him.

“Daeun” Jeno pressed, his tone rising with frustration. “What the fuck was he talking about?”

She finally spoke, her jaw tight. “You don’t have the right to make that tone with me.” she snapped.

“The hell I don’t!” Jeno’s voice boomed as he stood again, abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Tell me what the fuck he meant!”

Her control broke. “I was pregnant!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the room. She stood as well, facing him with fire in her eyes.

The words hit like a physical blow, and Jeno froze, his face paling.

The room fell silent again, everyone too stunned to even breathe. Daeun and Jeno stared at each other, their gazes unrelenting and raw.

Jeno’s lips moved, but no sound came out at first. Finally, he whispered, his voice broken and tentative, “It wasn’t mine, was it?”

Daeun let out a bitter laugh, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “How could it have been yours, Jeno? It’s been months since the last time you touched me.”

Her words cut deep and Jeno flinched.

Then, with a deliberate pause, she glanced at Jaemin—just briefly, but enough for everyone to catch it—before turning her gaze back to Jeno. Her voice dropped to a deadly calm. “…And now I understand why.”

The implication of her words rippled through the room like an electric shock.

Daeun’s gaze lingered on Jeno for a moment longer before she let out a shaky breath and stormed away, walking past the table. She headed toward the bathroom, where Soyul was still crying, cuddled with Renjun.

Jeno stood rooted to the spot, his fists clenched tightly by his sides. His face was a mixture of shock, anger, and something deeper—regret, maybe, or guilt.

No one said a word. The weight of the revelation was too much to process.

Jeno finally let out a shaky breath and sat back down, his head in his hands. “What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath, though no one could tell if he was talking to himself or everyone else.

The heavy silence in the living room seemed impenetrable, each person trapped in their own thoughts after the night’s shocking revelations. Even the usual sounds of the house—Mark’s fridge humming, the faint ticking of a wall clock—felt muted under the suffocating weight of everything left unsaid.

Then, suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Everyone jolted, startled by the noise, and looked around the room in confusion.

“Who the hell is that?” Jaemin muttered under his breath, still nursing the glass of wine he hadn’t taken a sip from.

Chinsun, still perched on the edge of the sofa where she’d been sitting with Chenle, let out a dry laugh. “I guess another one of Lee Donghyuck’s boyfriends has arrived!” she said, her tone cutting.

Haechan glared at her from his corner of the room, but before he could retort, Chinsun stood, brushing imaginary dust off her pants, and motioned toward the door. Chenle hesitated but eventually stood alongside her.

The rest of the group, including Renjun, Daeun, and Soyul, who had just returned from the bathroom, slowly began to gather near the door. The tension among them was palpable as they waited for Chinsun to open it.

When she finally did, the tall, broad figure of a strikingly handsome young man was revealed. His tailored coat and polished shoes screamed wealth, and his air of confidence seemed out of place in the disheveled chaos of Mark’s house.

The man smiled hesitantly, trying to break the ice. “Hi, I’m—”

But Chinsun interrupted him before he could finish. “You can come in and get Haechan,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “And then the both of you can get the fuck out of this house.”

The young man blinked, clearly caught off guard, his confused gaze shifting from Chinsun to the rest of the group. His eyes scanned the crowd, passing over each face until they landed on one that finally seemed to click.

“…Uh, I don’t even know who Haechan is” he said, his voice unsure but firm. His eyes locked onto his loved one, and his expression softened. “I’m here for Chenle.”

The room fell into a stunned silence.

The air, already heavy, seemed to grow impossibly thicker.

Chenle let out a long, weary sigh, stepping forward past his frozen friends to stand beside the man. He reached out and took his hand, intertwining their fingers, and turned to face the group. His gaze swept over their stunned expressions—some confused, some shocked.

“Yes” Chenle began calmly, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “This is my boyfriend, Jisung. Or as some of you may know him… Jiul.”

The collective gasp that followed was almost theatrical in its intensity.

“Jiul?” Jeno blurted out, his tone somewhere between disbelief and accusation. “Why the hell did you tell us it was a girl?”

“And why didn’t you bring him to dinner?” Yunhee added, her voice tinged with genuine confusion.

Chenle huffed out a dry laugh, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jisung, who looked equally baffled by the situation.

“You want to know why?” Chenle began, his voice sharper now as his frustration bubbled to the surface. He gestured around the room with his free hand, his gaze unwavering. “Look at everything that’s happened tonight. Look at how all of you reacted to Haechan’s situation, to Renjun’s story. The petty fights, the accusations, the thinly veiled homophobia that’s been lurking under the surface all night. And you wonder why I didn’t bring Jisung here?”

No one spoke, though a few of them visibly shifted, uncomfortable under his words.

Chenle shook his head and let out a bitter laugh. “I told you Jisung was a girl because I knew—I knew—that if I told the truth, you’d judge me. You’d judge him. You’d find some way to make this about your own insecurities instead of just letting us be happy.”

Jisung squeezed the boy’s hand gently, his expression softening, but Chenle wasn’t done.

“I didn’t want him to come tonight, and now I’m glad I didn’t bring him to dinner,” Chenle continued. “Because this,” he gestured at the group again, “this mess? It would’ve ruined him. He’s too pure for this—too pure for all of you.”

He turned his gaze pointedly to Jeno and then to Jaemin. “You two can’t even have a functional friendship without dragging your relationship baggage into it.”

Then he turned to Haechan. “You spend so much time lying to yourself and everyone else that you’ve started destroying the people who care about you most. You have no right to judge anyone else when you’ve been tearing your own life apart from the inside.”

Finally, his gaze landed on the entire group, sweeping across them like a storm. “And the rest of you? You sit here and watch, like you’re better than everyone else, when the truth is you’re just as broken and hypocritical. You still have all this deep-seated homophobia inside of you—whether you realize it or not. You can’t even handle a little honesty without blowing up. And that’s on you. That’s something you all need to fix in yourselves instead of pointing fingers at everyone else.”

The room fell silent again, Chenle’s words hanging heavy in the air.

Jisung finally spoke up, his voice hesitant but kind. “Uh… Should we go? I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

Chenle glanced at him, his expression softening for the first time since he started talking. “Yes” he said quietly. “I think it’s time to go home”

Chenle gave one last glance at the group, his eyes hard but filled with disappointment. “Good night, everyone,” he said flatly, his hand still clasped firmly in Jisung’s. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the others staring at the space they had occupied moments before.

Renjun was the first to move. His gaze flickered to the others—no goodbye, no explanation—just a glance that spoke of finality. Without a word, he walked over to Daeun, who had been standing near the kitchen island, her expression unreadable. “Come on,” he said softly, and she nodded, letting him guide her out of the house.

Soyul followed soon after, her tear-streaked face pale and exhausted. Chinsun, who had been silently leaning against the wall, pushed herself off with a small sigh. She grabbed her coat and bag and walked toward the door without sparing anyone a second glance.

They didn’t say goodbye. The door opened, and they left.

Jaemin and Jeno stood awkwardly near the door, their expressions as cold as the night air that began to seep through the cracks. Jeno looked at Jaemin, his eyes conflicted, before sighing heavily and grabbing his coat from the back of a chair. Jaemin followed suit, his movements slower, as if weighed down by unspoken words.

As they reached the door, Jaemin hesitated, looking back at Yunhee. His lips twitched into a faint smile—one of acknowledgment, regret, and resignation all rolled into one. He nodded at her slightly before stepping out after Jeno, letting the door fall shut behind them.

Now, only Mark, Yunhee, and Haechan remained.

The living room felt cavernous, like a hollow shell of the home it had been only hours earlier. The three of them stood frozen, avoiding each other’s gazes.

Haechan sighed deeply and moved toward the coat rack. He pulled on his jacket, his movements uncharacteristically slow. He lingered for a moment, standing by the door, his hand resting on the handle.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mark and Yunhee exchanged a glance, but neither of them responded. There were no words left, nothing that could smooth over the damage that had been done tonight.

Haechan didn’t wait for a reply. He opened the door and stepped out into the cold, letting the door close behind him with a soft click.

One by one, as they exited the house, the lunar eclipse began to fade. The moon, which had been cloaked in shadow, slowly emerged into the light once more. Its silver glow illuminated the quiet streets outside, casting long shadows as if trying to cleanse the darkness that had enveloped the night.

Mark stood by the window, watching as the obscurity faded and the world outside returned to normal. The celestial phenomenon, which had felt so significant just hours earlier, now seemed like nothing more than a fleeting event—a brief moment of darkness before the light inevitably returned.

Underneath the glow of the moonlight, Chenle and Jisung waited near their car. They lingered by the curb, their faces relaxed, but their conversation was light and casual.

Daeun and Soyul exited the house shortly after, joined by Renjun and Chinsun. They strolled down the steps, their chatter warm and friendly. Daeun raised an eyebrow at Jisung, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “So, who’s this handsome guy, huh?” he asked.

Chinsun followed up, her curiosity piqued. “Where have you been hiding him, Chenle?”

Chenle stole a quick glance at Jisung before responding smoothly “Oh, we’re just really close friends. Same department and all that. You know how it is.”

The others nodded, the explanation seemingly enough, and the group shifted into easy conversation. Laughter bubbled up as Jaemin and Jeno joined them, their arms casually draped over their girlfriends. Jeno playfully nudged Chenle with a grin. “Something’s fishy. Is there something going on between you two? Chenle, are you hiding something?”

“Me?” Chenle asked, feigning mock indignation as he stole another glance at Jisung. “Never.”

Everyone laughed, the tension of the evening evaporating into the cool night air. When Haechan finally emerged from the house, Chinsun turned to him with a radiant smile, her hand waving him over. “Come on, baby! We’re all waiting for you!”

Haechan jogged down the steps, his face lighting up as he reached her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “What’d I miss?” he asked, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Nothing important” she replied with a grin.

Chenle jingled his car keys. “Alright, I guess this is where we part ways. See you all next time?”

A chorus of agreements followed, and the group exchanged playful goodbyes.

Haechan stopped in his tracks, turning to call out, “Jaemin! Don’t forget about the basketball game next weekend. We’ve got space if you can keep up.”

Jaemin smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Keep up? I’m ready to destroy you.”

“I’d like to see you try” Haechan shot back with a grin, before returning to Chinsun’s side.

The group dispersed, heading to their cars or walking down the street under the soft glow of the moonlight, as though nothing had shifted in the delicate balance of their friendships.

Back at the house, Mark and Yunhee were finishing up. The table was cleared, the wine glasses washed and left to dry. Mark wiped his hands on a towel as Yunhee sat on the edge of the bed, taking off her jewels.

“Long night” she said, her voice light.

Mark nodded, leaning against the doorway of their bedroom. “Yeah. You know, I’m glad we didn’t play that game tonight” he said, his tone measured.

Yunhee glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Why? What’s so bad about a silly game?”

Mark sighed, crossing his arms. “Sometimes it’s better not to know everything. People have their secrets, and maybe they need to stay secrets. Not because they’re trying to hurt anyone, but because knowing them wouldn’t help anything. It would just… ruin things.”

Yunhee considered this for a moment, nodding slowly. “I guess you’re right. But honestly, I don’t even have anything to hide” she said with a small smile as she placed her earrings on the nightstand, right next to her phone.

Mark’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Those earrings are beautiful, by the way” he said softly.

Yunhee chuckled, sliding under the covers. “Thanks, they’re my favorite.”

Mark reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. “Goodnight,” he murmured as the room plunged into darkness.

Outside, the moon shone brightly, its light spilling into the quiet streets below. The obscurity had passed, but its lingering shadows remained, woven subtly into the hearts of those who had gathered that night. Though the light had returned, it seemed that not everything could go back to normal. And yet, life went on, as it always does, under the moon’s watchful gaze.

[nctlegacy]

240531 RENJUN IG Story

[ncteez]

M.I.L.F. (Make It Last Forever) ― L.DH

Haechan, a favorite among classy wives to hire during the hot summer season for a nice, thorough pool cleaning, seems to have a favorite wife of his own.  You.  Or the one where Haechan was the pain-in-your-ass son of the family you used to babysit for, but now he’s making it his mission to be the pain-in-your-ass pretend husband that you never asked for, but very clearly need. 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― lee haechan  x afab milf!reader  

WORDCOUNT― 18.9k

CONTENT―  age gap: reader is 31  and haechan is 24, milf trope/single mother reader, college pool boy haechan (turned part time babysitter), reader has 1 kid and haechan really wants to give her another, reader has morals!! haechan just doesn’t see it as a moral issue, he is actually very sweet 

!WARNINGS! ―  age gap, haechan is somewhat of a manipulator, he’s gentle but won’t take no for an answer. dub-con in one instance. major breeding kink and kind of a mommy and daddy kink (domesticity), angst regarding reader and her ex husband, reader has huge tits 

NOTE ― this was written for jay from enhypen over on my other blog, but i am gifting it to you guys here as well! I WROTE THEM BOTH!!!! NOT PROOF READ.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― thick big dick haechan, small instant dubious consent, tit obsessed haechan, groping and grinding, mommy/daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, cum stuffing-ish,pussy eating, fingering, basically it’s haechan doing stuff to you,  this ain’t smut this is making love, also reader doesn’t shave her coochie and haechan fucking loves it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having a stray eye isn’t typically something you afford yourself when it comes to men. Things tend to change with time though, that much you know is true. 

It was proven to you for the first time when your ex husband decided to up and leave you three weeks before your due date for a woman–well, girl, fresh out of highschool. Years of trust and promises crushed with just a single sentence and a slam of the door. Time must’ve changed you for him to leave so heartlessly. Time must’ve changed him to become so cold. 

 It was proven again when you were able to heal despite never believing you could. Seconds of pain turned to minutes, to hours. Days. weeks. Months. Years of pain before being able to wake up and feel somewhat numb to it all. Like a flip switch in your head that told you that you can be happy now even if as a single mother. After all, the hard part was over. 

It took some four to five years, but it did happen. Time did change you, it healed you, it matured you. As your child grew, so did you. And for the better, you think. You count your blessings of living a life far more lavish than you ever could have anticipated given the circumstances that had been thrown at you. Even to the point of nesting, wanting another child, wanting a big and happy family. But alas, your ex husband had better things to do. 

At the end of the day, you’d never be able to call this home yours if you had stayed with your ex husband. He didn’t like this kind of “flashy” lifestyle, and to him, everything you wanted seemed too flashy for him. Perhaps he was right to some extent, as you recognize the brand name goods you now own, solely because you had promised yourself in the depths of your despair that you’ll get to a point in life where you can buy yourself everything you not only need, but want. So, here you are, owning an expensive home, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice car and a nice pool. 

Your daughter has everything she could want and need too, aside from a sibling, it’s certainly still more than what you had growing up and it’s all because of you. A fully decorated bedroom drenched in glitter, purples, creams, yellows, and pink, her favorite color. All sorts of play houses, costumes, dolls, a few lego sets, and even some plastic swords and knives for the days she wants to pretend to be her favorite movie characters. Clothes she can grow into, and a nice little fund building up for her as she grows up. Her first car, college, help for a downpayment on her own first house. 

Both of you have everything you could ever want or need and for that, you’re so proud. Especially knowing your husband would have never believed you could make it this far without him. Still, despite having everything you could ever ask for, there’s something in you that feels empty.

Time changes things. 

Time changes a lot of things, you note more than usual, as the man you’ve been ogling for the past three weeks makes himself far more known to you than you ever wished he would.

The interaction with him was always so quick before today and given the fact that he was a complete stranger, you never quite invited him into your home considering–you know, small child and all. You had hired him over text. Haechan, your neighbor said his name was. His handsome features didn’t offer you anything more than a clean pool and a wandering eye. 

Your neighbor apparently has a friend who has a cousin that has an even nicer pool than you do. Given, it’s only a nicer pool due to the fact that this young man, Haechan, tended to it weekly and made damn sure it could be drunk out of if a person had a craving for chlorine. 

You feel like an idiot now that it didn’t dawn on you quick enough. Sure, he looked a bit familiar to you but who doesn’t when you’re always out and about seeing so many different faces on a daily basis? His name, Haechan, didn’t ring any bells. Now though, the shame of staring at his sweaty pecs and biceps came crashing down the moment you realized who Haechan actually is. 

He didn’t do a damn thing to remind you either, if anything, all he did was walk around all sweaty in the afternoon heat with his tank top either sticking to him, or off entirely. It appears that you had just been too busy running errands with your child, considering his shifts were always when you were home. Too busy cooking, cleaning, reading, lounging. Too busy looking at…well, not his face. 

Too busy to give the man a glance more than that of a slice of pie behind a bakery window. 

Haechan. 

Since fucking when was that his name?

“Lee Donghyuck.” You whimper near mortified, three weeks too late as you hand him his pay with nervous hands. “Spray-cheese in my hair Donghyuck?” 

“Ah, was wondering when you’d pick up on that.” He smiles at you with that crooked grin, a knowing look that any man at a bar would give you if he had caught you checking him out. Then, he pockets the hefty amount of cash that you hand to him. “I go by Haechan more often these days.” He trails off, an amused smirk half-falling as he looks at your expression of realization. “You can call me whatever you want though.”

He’s well aware of how often you’ve checked him out since he started intentionally taking his clothes off. After all, it’s mid-july by this point and the sun baring down on him doesn’t quite call for a fucking turtle neck sweater. Or a T-shirt, or a tank top, for that matter. It calls for all skin baby, beautifully tanned and toned for you and any of your neighbors to look at if they so wanted to. 

Haechan doesn’t work out for nothing, after all. Summer after summer, he’s found himself to be quite fond of the rich women that hire him for their pool services. Always wanting an attractive young man to wander around half naked and satiate their lack of sex life with their husbands, or boytoys, or what have you. He knows all that extra pay isn’t because he does a good job either. He’s gotten winks, small comments, even a few offers of his body for more pay.

He’s turned them all down, of course. For a full-on affair, anyway. Haechan has gotten a few blow jobs and quickies as a tip before though, and a lot of that is why he keeps getting referred to more women. Richer women. Never single women. 

Until you. 

He quite enjoyed catching you looking at him. Especially given the fact that he knew exactly who you were when you introduced yourself to him via text. That little childhood crush on you came back within an instant upon actually seeing you again. Truly, he had forgotten all about you up until that fateful day three weeks ago. 

If he’s being honest, he’s been pining something fierce since he first stepped foot on your property. Excitement swelled inside of him just to see you again. To see if you’re still hot, to see how you’re doing, what you’re doing. How your life is going.

 He knew you didn’t recognize his nickname through text, and he definitely knew you didn’t recognize him to be eating him up with those eyes of yours either. So, he played along, enjoying it while he could before it would inevitably dawn on you. Still, he remembers you so well from back then. Crazy to know that he rarely thought of you for the past twelve years or so, and how all those little butterflies of his came back in a far more mature way. He was only twelve back then, but he’s a man now. 

Twenty four and perfectly sound as a man who knows what he likes. The fact that you happen to fall into that category is no fault of his own, honestly. It’s your fault if anyone’s at all. Haechan is a man that likes a specific type of woman too. Woman. Not a girl, not a young lady, not a free spirit, nor a prude. He is drawn to the idea of experience, to the idea of settling down. It’s not easy to find that at his age, in college, surrounded by party girls and casual drug use. 

And, well, imagine his smile upon seeing your lovely, lavish home with the large pool, no ring on your finger, a whole fucking child, and your motherly instincts when you buckle her into the car for an errand. Oh and the broken fence in the far back of your yard.

You’re a single mom. 

A hot single mom who lives lavishly. One who could probably use a man’s help around your house.

He half expected you to be able to recognize him when he appeared for work the first time. He even had a monologue in his head on what to say to you, and how to present himself. You didn’t seem to take notice though, introducing yourself to him as if you hadn’t spent all that time in his childhood home when you were a teenager. Like you never mothered him, or put him to sleep with the soft stories when you let him watch all those scary movies before bed. Even at twelve, he was a scaredy cat.

 Clearly you’re too busy experiencing life to notice the way he fawns over you too. Hating how you’re more reserved than the other lavish, fixed-up women. You seem to have standards, or maybe it’s just priorities ... that's so hot. Truly, it only makes him want you more because by now, the other women would already be rubbing all over him. The ones who shouldn’t be wanting him the way they do. So, yes, he’s always stealing glances at you with sparkling dark eyes, fantasizing in his head that this pool is his to clean now, because that’s what a good man would do for you, right? With him around servicing your pool and lawn, you’d never need to hire or spend money on another broke ass college student again.

Yes. That’s how quickly he fell into this infatuation solely because you looked at him like you want it without realizing who he was. Hell, without realizing how perfect you are in terms of what he wants.

God, how are you still single? 

Like, why do you have a child and a house so beautiful without a man wandering around doing all of this work for you? Not that you couldn’t do it on your own, it’s just, you clearly have the means to make a man do as you please. Why haven’t you?

You happen to fall almost perfectly into the categories of what he’s looking for. Save for the fact that now you recognize him as that kid you used to babysit rather than the man who tries to be sexy while cleaning your pool. Which is a fucking shame, if he’s being honest, to be written off as that same ten year old child rather than a fucking man who very clearly has needs and desires. 

The point is– Haechan wants you and he parades around your pool for you to look at him. So what if you used to babysit him? It’s not like you’re an old swamp-hag trying to lure him with candy. You’re just…a woman. And he’s just a man. 

“Well, thank you for cleaning again,” You trail off in an awkward tone, shifting your eyes to anywhere but him. He watches you though, smiling a smile you know all too well from his childhood antics. It must mean something different now, or maybe not. “I guess I’ll see you next week?” 

“Well, actually,” Haechan offers, “Would you be opposed to–” You cut him off instantly with an awkward wave of your hand.

You don’t know why you make assumptions, maybe from that damned smile on his face, but you do recall your ex husband reminding you time and time again that it’s one of the things he hated about you. 

Assumptions. Always thinking the worst, or perhaps the most filthy of situations and expressions. To be fair, you feel guilty about how you’ve been looking at him, you can’t help but panic trying to pretend like it never happened, and that he never saw it happen.

“I’m not interested, Donghyuck.” You respond hastily, pressing your thumb to your bottom lip to bite the skin on it, keeping your eyes away from him with the awkward words. After all, he knew who you were this whole time and paraded around like that? 

Even before recognizing him yourself, you know men well enough to know when they’re trying to flaunt. Is it so wrong to assume?

“Interested in what?” Haechan tilts his head knowingly, seeing the way you buckle under the guilt of staring at the very man you used to tuck into bed every night. He can see the way you try to push those sexual thoughts you had away in the quick rejection to a simple assumption. 

 “I was just going to ask if you want me to fix your fence.” 

Ah, you did get ahead of yourself through the guilt, and you’re far too aware of it as you draw your eyes back to him and note the expression on his face. Amused, maybe a bit of concern in his eyes, even? 

“Ah, um–” You start, trailing your eyes down your fence line never once noticing a break in it. Haechan is quick to point though, leaning to you with a whisper of “right there.” And well, you did not need to hear that tone in his voice the way you just did.

God, it’s so awkward.

“Well, how much would that cost me?” You question with an empty voice, staring at the broken fence. 

“Free.” He uses the same tone, leaning away from you now and smiling wide. “That is, if you provide lunch.” 

Well, despite the awkwardness, that break over there would cost you a pretty penny to fix, and your daughter needs the safety of playing in her own yard without random animals or worse, people, making their way in. Plus, you’re quite fond of saving money. How else would you be here if you weren’t good at it? And now, given that you’re most definitely not interested in Haechan, what's the harm in making a few sandwiches for someone you already know well enough? It’s not like you’ve never made him lunch before.

The awkwardness will pass and your guilt will subside. You both will laugh at it over a cold glass of iced lemonade, surely. It’s not like you realized who he was anyway, it’s not like you’re just gonna keep looking at him like that. You should just push forward and it’ll all be fine. 

“Hell, I’d even watch the kiddo so you can have a break every now and then.” He watches your reaction, wanting to ask so many questions about why you’re single, who the father is, where he is, why he isn’t here. “After all, I learned quite a bit from you.” 

For a second you consider that too.

And there’s three reasons as to why you should. The first being that you were literally just looking for a new child care facility due to learning of the staff coming to work while sick. Your poor daughter came home with a fever just last week, and you’ve had little luck in finding a place with the same educational benefits for her. 

The second being that, well, while you’re not hurting for cash or anything, it wouldn’t hurt to be able to put a little more back for her college fund. Or for fun little vacations. 

And lastly, despite your guilt of lusting over someone you shouldn’t have, you know Donghyuck and you know his family even better. No background check would be needed, your daughter could be in the comfort of her own home rather than a classroom setting that she’s sure to see for at least twenty years of her life in the future. 

So, yes. You consider it instantly, and Haechan sees it. 

You only know of the childhood version of him and, well, the slutty pool-side version of him apparently. If only you knew of that other side of him and how fond he is of watching his own younger cousins. How good he is with children, and how much he clings to the idea of being a father one day.

Haechan is great with kids, with or without them having a hot mom.

And well, he knows that he’s fond of looking at you at least. Besides, as long as you can work with his class schedules, he’d be willing to do just about anything to play pretend-husband, even if you’re unaware of it. 

“Is that so?” You finally ask, curious eyes looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Shouldn’t you be out living the life? College parties and such?” You add, wondering why such a great deal has managed to flop down on your lap. The idea of even cheaper childcare without the risk of unvaccinated children, and sick caretakers being far too good of a deal to pass up. 

“Well, yeah I guess.” He shrugs, leaning backwards to stretch and roll his shoulders. “Not really my scene though. I have classes Monday and Wednesday all day, Tuesday and Thursdays my classes are online. If you can work around that, I’d rather just be making money and chilling.” 

You think about it just for a second more when he continues. 

“I can be here on weekends too. Maybe you should be the one out relaxing and having some drinks.” 

“Well, I don’t quite need that, or for you to be here on weekends.” You think as you say it, knowing you have given up on going out to try and meet men two years ago. “I could pay you though, let’s say, thirty an hour?” 

Well, shit, that’s not too bad at all, especially considering he’s about to give up on cleaning the pools of a few women in his contacts for this. It’s a major pay cut, but still enough to get by comfortably if you’ll have him multiple times a week. That plus the pool cleaning money? And free lunch? 

“Oh, you don’t go out at all? I don’t see why not, could probably get a man in no time–” Haechan ignores the wage offer and pushes to note the singlehood he had been noticing for the past three weeks. “and the pay is fine.” 

“Ah, well, the dating pool isn’t so great in this neck of the woods.” You scratch the back of your neck when you say it. “That aside, I'll have her in day care on the days you can’t be here, but it really would be a big help. Thank you for the offer, Donghyuck. And for the fence too.” 

He watches you with a firm nod, shoving his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts, still entirely shirtless in front of you. 

“And the pool.” You add quietly after a moment. 

“I think you’d be surprised about the dating pool.” He smiles as he pushes the subject back to what you had previously said, hoping you believe those words before continuing. “So, when do you want me to start?” 

“Is tomorrow too soon? You’re okay to set up here with your online classes?”

“Tomorrow is perfect.” He smiles.

“I’m sure she would be so happy knowing she won’t be going to daycare–” You clap, feeling a bit less awkward despite the boldness of the man in front of you. You’re sure he’s just teasing you for knowing you checked him out. “I know I am.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s a little too perfect, actually.

After that first day of watching your child and making a lazy attempt at “fixing your fence,” he’s settled in like it’s home. He wishes it was, with the lavish lifestyle in a house far too pretty compared to his own living space with piles upon piles of laundry he’s too lazy to pick up for himself. 

It’s different for you though. Different when he’s here.

Truly, he feels like he’s living the life after a couple of weeks with decent pay and a comfy space to do his homework. He watches your child, which is arguably the hardest part of the job but she’s well behaved for him. In fact, she seems to have taken a shine to him.

He’s starting to be very intentional with taking far too long to work on your fence too, and still maintaining your pool. He’s trying to drag this out for as long as he can. Even if just to see if you still look at him when you come home the same way you did before recognizing him. You never do though. When his shirt is off and he’s wiping his forehead in the sun, you don’t look at him anymore.

Hell, he’s even considered breaking things in your home just to give himself more jobs to do. More things that make him feel needed, like a husband. More things that you thank him for fixing, even if it breaks again two days later.

And ah, the food in your fridge is always free reign to him, that large television in the living room too. God, sometimes he dreads going home, and by sometimes, he means all the time. Who in their right mind would ever fucking want to live outside of this lifestyle? He really can’t believe you’re single, nor can he believe that he has the opportunity to be in your home, close to you. It shouldn’t take too long now to convince you, right? That you don’t necessarily have to be single? That you need him around to live even more comfortably?

In short, Haechan is in his head about how he’s practically just roleplaying as your stay-at-home husband before having to go back to his shitty little apartment and remind himself that he’s just a fucking college student with no interest in the people on campus. And like, even with the way you come home from work, all groggy and exhausted on the days he’s there, you always thank him before giving him his pay. What he likes best about those nights is when you’re too exhausted to even pay him and you promise to do it next time.

In his mind, that’s you promising to see him again. 

He could give less of a shit about the pay at this point, as long as he gets to be in this house, smelling your favorite candles and dish detergents, seeing you, being a semi-father to a child who deserves more love than the two of you combined can give…he’ll fucking do anything you want for free. 

It’s difficult sometimes, like he really can’t help it. Some days wandering around this house and imagining how the two of you could have landed on buying it together. How the rooms would be organized if he were here from the start. Claiming his spot on your couch like any dad would. Playing dolls with your daughter, laughing with her, letting her paint his nails and put his hair in little pigtails. He even cleans your pool as if it were his own, meaning, he genuinely cleans it. 

He has taken it upon himself to mow your lawn, confusing the yard workers that you apparently hired years ago. Did he accidentally fire them? Maybe, but any good husband would save you money, right? He checks your mail, waves to your neighbors and lets them make assumptions. 

And every single fucking night it’s harder and harder to go back home.

Especially after a full day of playing dad then seeing you come back so tired. Turning off that switch in his head isn’t easy. He wants to greet you like the husband you don’t have. He wants to ease your hard days in so many ways. Tell you he’s proud of you, that you still look so pretty after an exhausting shift of whatever the fuck you do. He wants to serve you dinner, run you a bath, fix your hair, lay you down– oh, he’s fantasizing again. Unfortunately, he has to settle with seeing the relief on your face when he lets you know in a soft voice that he’s cooked dinner and he will heat it up for you before leaving, kiddo is in her room sleeping, no dishes in the sink, and laundry is folded and put away. 

He loves the appreciation in your eyes, and sometimes even sees a glint of sadness. He can tell you wish you had this from a person who isn’t here for pay. Someone who loves you, and loves your child, and feels joy in making your life easier. 

Fuck, if only you knew. 

And  you’d be lying if you tried to say Haechan isn’t a godsend to you on the days he babysits. Many times you find yourself wishing he’d just move in and do everything that you can’t do. You’d pay him well, give him a guest room, whatever. But it’s just…not viable to support a full time employee like that, nor is it fair to your daughter. 

She needs a parent, not a paid college student who needs some extra cash. You have to be that parent, you have to make time for her and witness all of her joys in life. You have to protect her and never bring in faces of men who claim to want to be a father, only to run and break her heart more than your own. 

For now, you settle with this godsend of a little shit you used to babysit. Still you can barely believe that’s the same person, but again…time changes things. And thankfully, the awkwardness of what you did has died down drastically.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Today, you’re more thankful for Haechan than you have been previously. After a heavy workload has been lifted off your back with the approval of this project, you need a night out. For the first time in years, you’re giving yourself a night out, all because you have someone you can trust to be here for your daughter.

He was so understanding when you called,  happy to come over right then and there to put her to bed and mostly just house-sit for the night. Even without an end time for him, and even without asking for extra pay, he just…accepted with an understanding tone and that stupid breathy chuckle he gives to you when you ask for favors. “What? You need me there right now? I’m putting on my shoes.” He had said.

It’s the fact that now, as he sits on your couch looking at you in your chosen outfit– he seems a little off. Maybe it’s because you asked him where the best spots in town are because it’s been so long since you’ve gone out, or maybe he just feels awkward seeing so much skin on your body. 

To be fair, he didn’t realize you were going out out. He thought that maybe you were gonna go stay with a friend to celebrate and have a drink or two. 

In reality though, he’s just awestruck. Already you look great even after your busy days at work but…this is a different level. The way your tits look in that push-up bra and tiny ass top, when he’s used to seeing you head out in some sort of business casual outfit without an ounce of skin showing save for your ankles or wrists…jesus. He’s struggling more than usual to keep himself calm around you, hopping up on one leg when you walk away to try and adjust the chub in his pants, and releasing a small sigh before you’re looking at him again.

His skin feels like it’s on fire knowing you’re going out looking like that.

“You sure you're okay to sleep over? I figure it’ll be easier since I’m not sure when I’ll come home, or if I come home.” You smile with a wink, your stomach in knots over the two shots you’ve taken for the first time in years. “I can call my friends and tell them not to come if you’d rather focus on your studies.” 

Haechan shakes his head, waving his hands in defense for you as if he didn’t just see the way your tits bounce and squish against your shirt with each move you make. 

“No, no! Go on, have fun.” He says, encouraging you to go out despite hoping you come home with no luck of finding a man out there. 

Just, look at you. Fuck, he’s staring again. He hates knowing that he could be one of the guys at whatever bar or club you’re landing on tonight. He could be the person that makes sure you don’t come home, getting to plant his face right there. He could be whatever you want him to be if you’re looking like that. 

But no, he has to play husband again, which is normally something he’s all too excited to do. Tonight though, he feels like a fucking cuckold. After everything he does for you, after not mentioning how you’ve skipped a few of his payments, after slaving away for hours over your pool, your household chores, fixing and breaking that fucking dishwasher, cooking you dinner every single night he’s here just to make sure you have a meal when you get off of work…you imply you may not come home tonight?

And you’re dressed like that?

And you’re…

God, you just look so good right now. It pains him to know you didn’t dress like this for him, the only man who cares enough to make your life easy. He’s not mad at you, per se, but he’s pissed that you don’t see him as an option despite showing you time and time again that not only is he an option, but the right choice. 

This is what you look like when you want to impress a man? This is how you act? How you talk? Fuck, god, fuck– maybe he’s just too deep in his one-sided roleplay but it really, really fucking feels like he’s watching his woman go off and look for someone else to fuck.

“Thank you, Donghyuck,” You smile, walking over to him with a saunter in your step and a gentle smile across your lips. 

He’s never heard you speak his name so sensually, the way his cock twitches forces him to wince away from you. He’s never even seen you saunter before. Fucking hell, somehow it feels worse seeing you act like this after how many times he’s imagined it, all alone in his room. 

A slow walk from you, with the strap of your shirt slipping off your shoulder, fat tits threatening to spill out, lifting the hem of your skirt, or dress, or whatever you’re wearing in his fantasy at that point. Your voice, so soft, so sexy. And you’re practically bringing his fantasy to life right now, except he knows you’re going to fucking walk away from him like this. Into the fucking arms of some random dude at a club. 

Probably some loser he’s seen on campus too.

“It means a lot.” You add, popping a quick, platonic kiss to the top of his forehead. 

Ah, lip gloss. That little kiss on him is enough to ignite him to the point of no return. He almost wants to skip the part of asking you not to go and straight up just beg that you pick him, that you choose him. It’s not just your home, or the luxuries that come with it. It’s you that he wants. You’re the fucking luxury and you’re just gonna go to some sticky-floored club and pretend he’s not clearly checking you the fuck out right now? Like he’s not about three seconds from dropping to his knees just to see you from the angle you deserve?! 

“It’s no problem.” Haechan relents, dropping himself onto your couch instead and adjusting his body to sink deep into the cushions just to keep himself from arguing against everything he’s giving you permission to do right now. 

Hah. Permission.

“Be safe.” He adds in an even more monotone voice. “I’ll be here when you get back.” 

And god, he seethes in his thoughts after you close that door and hop into the car with your friends. You don’t look like a mother tonight, and he wonders if you’ll be upfront and forward with anyone you intend to hit on too. Probably not. He’s well aware of the men in this city, after all, he’s one of them.

It’s really not something he can control after seeing you like that either. Your child is already in bed and he’s just sitting here on your couch with a throbbing, fucking weeping cock thinking about you. What’s stopping him from taking care of it? You’re not here, after all. 

You’re not fucking here. But everything about you is. 

And that’s how he finds himself in your bedroom for the first time, barely making it a foot into the room before closing the door and dropping to the floor. The scent in your room is different. It’s feminine, gentle, like the energy is kissing him all over and sending goosebumps straight to the head of his cock. He couldn’t even pull it out, already holding his breath with his hand down his pants, vigorously trying to get what he wants so badly yet knowing that his hand will never compare to you. 

And it’s here where he feels like a husband. Spilling against his pants with a silent, choked back sob as he stares forward at your bed, and the way you didn’t make it this morning. It’s messy, and he wants to be in that mess of sheets with you more than anything. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Haechan hates that he’s now forced to get used to your late night ventures. Every weekend now. Every. Fucking. Weekend.  You ask if he’s willing to stay over so you can go unwind, and despite his better (or worse) judgment, he accepts. The only solace he finds in these ventures is knowing you consistently come back home right after usual closing times, and you’re mostly sober. Sometimes a bit whiny that you’re not lucking out, worrying that maybe you’re too old now, or maybe you’re just not as desirable. There have even been a few times where you’ve exposed your ex husband during your rants, giving Haechan little hints to follow as to why you’re single, and how he left you. 

Still, he knows in your tipsy state that you usually wouldn’t talk about these things with him, but he’s all too happy to get the details once you come home. Mostly because it calms his rising rage at how you’re doing this to not only him, but yourself. It’s mostly because you’re technically coming home to him though. 

And every single time, you go back to your bedroom to grab his payment even though it could wait until morning, considering he’s been sleeping in the guest room– all he can think about is how he’s been in your room. He’s gotten off countless times by now by the smell of your room alone, still barely able to even reach your bed to lay in it himself for a better experience. God, he’s probably memorized each little fray in your carpeted bedroom floor by now with how much he’s zoned out on it mid-jerk off session right there on his knees at your door. 

He’s truly pathetic for you. 

This time though…three in the morning has passed and normally you’d have been stumbling through the door an hour ago. Normally, he’d be fighting back the need to tell you that you’re beautiful, not too old, and entirely desirable. Normally, he would be fisting his cock again in your guest room before sleep, getting off on the idea that he can cum in a house that you live in, smothered by the sheets you meticulously picked out to match the walls of the room. Moaning for you, practically crying for you to let him do it all. 

Have you really done it this time? Gone off with some man? Are you getting railed right now in some hotel, or car, or someone’s shitty man-cave? God, his mind is racing, both aroused at the fact that you must be horny to be constantly wanting to go out like this, but equally as devastated because like…he’s right here.

Who the fuck cares if you babysat him? He’s a man. No longer that child who sprayed cheese in your hair or dumped salt into the bag of sugar. He’s a fucking man, cooking you dinner when you work, parenting your child, cleaning your house, maintaining your pool and fence….He does everything for you, why the fuck don’t you see it?!

Click.

Haechan’s ears perk up instantly at the sound. He sits up on the couch from his depressed slump of scrolling through his phone, quickly fixing his hair and clearing his throat. 

In you stumble, right into the little entryway table with a whisper-scream of “Shit, fuck–”

Haechan looks at your state before standing to his feet and rushing to you, helping you balance on your feet despite your footing not quite being grounded even with his help. You lean on him closely, letting out an alcohol scented sigh. 

His nostrils flare as he holds his breath, feeling your tit press against his arm, smelling the drinks, the sweat, and the dulled perfume on you. Then, a hint of something else. Musk. 

You’ve been with a man. 

He holds back a gesture at the way you lean on him. Nothing more he could want at this moment but to hold you tightly and tell you that he’s got you, despite the panic in his stomach at the way he sniffs out another man. Out of lust, love, desperation, frustration. This is the closest you’ve been to him for this long. You feel clammy and cold, a clear indication that you drank far, far too much. Your tank top is sticking to you, your eyes are a bit glassy–

“You’re late.” He says shortly.

“Late?!” You raise your voice before looking at him with drowsy eyes, furrowing your brow. “I don’t have a curfe-”

“Shh–” He shushes you, helping you get to the living room. “She’s sleeping and you’re going to have her make a fuss about waking up.”

You giggle to yourself as he drops you onto the couch, now aware that yes, you are not a single college student anymore. You’re a single woman. A fucking mother. 

You should’ve just gotten a hotel for the night and slept there to dream a little longer. 

“Right.” You laugh, slouching, spreading out wide against the couch and trying to fix your gaze on him. “Why’re you still awake?” 

Haechan fixes his eyes on you, swallowing around a lump in his throat. The way you’re slouching…seemingly forgetting that you’re wearing a skirt and basically flashing your panties at him. God, the things could do to you right now. The things he could get away with if he wanted to. He tries to shake those thoughts for now, and instead, inspects you from head to toe.

He’s never seen you look so relaxed. Chest raising and falling with each breath, hair a little messy, lipstick stains smeared on the outsides of your lip line. He chooses to ignore the faint swell against your neck indicating someone has been sucking on you. But, well, he can’t ignore it. Both his cock and heart aches at the very thought.

“You’ve been kissing?” Haechan tries to ask nonchalantly. 

“A lot more than that–” You smile, feeling a flush cross your cheeks before the disappointment hits you square in the gut. 

Haechan watches your face fall, and he mimics it by falling onto the couch and sitting by your head…you know, allowing you to lay your head on him if you want to. You’d probably not notice his arousal anyway, given your state. 

“Oh?” He asks gently, the disappointment now showing plainly on not just your face, but his own.

“Thought I was gonna go home with him, turns out he decided to be done after a blowjob in the parking lot.”

Oh, the way his blood boils. Not for the fact that you were used or rejected, but for the fact that you found someone that you were interested in and genuinely intended to leave your home life in his hands for however fucking long. Really? Just gonna leave him here all alone? Like he couldn’t do better for you?

“It’s for the better–” Haechan says as he shivers with irritation, struggling to keep his facade up. It’s definitely not what you wanted to hear, and definitely not what you’d have expected to hear from a college guy at all either.

“This happened last time too, except he didn’t even get me to the parking lot.” You huff, unaware of how much you’re sharing right now. 

He bites back the anger yet again, inhaling deeply before releasing a calming breath through his nose just to contain it. So…it has happened more than once? 

“Why don’t you let me take you out someday?” He says suddenly, well aware that you’ll probably never remember he said it in the first place. 

If anything, he’s testing the waters for his own sake. He’d hate himself forever if he didn’t at least take advantage of this moment a little bit. 

“Then who will watch my daughter?” You respond in slurred speech, not even comprehending who it is that’s asking you this question right now. Not even thinking about your history with him, or the family ties. 

He, on the other hand, is quite entertained by the way you don’t bring the history up like he expected. His cock twitches at it, bumping your head just a bit, not enough for you to notice apparently. Fuck, it would be so easy for him to pull it out right now, and just…tap your lips with it. 

Maybe you’d even open your mouth for him. 

“I’ll skip class on a Wednesday, we can go while she’s still in daycare.” He continues through an almost-moan, encouraging the conversation to stay positive.

“Donghyuck–” You slur before clearing your throat and sitting back up in a dizzy show of how drunk you are. “You know I can’t do that. It’s too weird.” 

In all fairness, you know he has like…a thing for you. After all, why else would a college dude be spending his weekends here babysitting your kid? It’s not like you haven’t noticed the way he checks you out before you go out for the night. Why would he do all of this if he didn’t have some sort of attraction to you? Sure, you’re taking advantage of it as best as you can despite how you didn’t recognize him at first. 

Despite how deep down, you very well know how attracted to him you are too. 

“Only because you make it weird.” Haechan rolls his eyes as he looks at you, spreading his legs out to adjust his comfort, noting the way you glance down to his lap and see it. “I’m a grown man–” He starts, spreading his legs wider, pressing his cock against his pants to the point you can practically see the outline.”you know this.” He continues, trying to be bold now by reaching forward and moving a strand of your hair from your cheek. 

“You’ve seen it.”

You freeze, suddenly feeling entirely too sober to be talking about this kind of thing with him. With Donghyuck. God, his mother would fucking kill you if she found out he’s in your house while you’re out trying to get fucked by whoever is willing to love you temporarily. 

Haechan sees you thinking though, and continues to take the advantage now that he’s feeling brave. Now that you’ve seen the twitch in his pants and haven’t moved off the couch, or told him to go home. 

“I saw you watching me when I was cleaning your pool, multiple times.” He whispers snidely. “You stopped when you realized who I am. Why?”

“Donghyu–…” You trail off. “You know this isn’t okay. What would people think of me? There are rules, and I will not go down this route with you.”

A rush of air hits your face and suddenly, warmth hits your cheek. You feel him so close, closer than ever before. It’s dizzying. Haechan is over you, hovering with one hand ghosting over your hip. 

“You want to though, don’t you?” He gets even closer now, darting his eyes down at your chest and unable to pull them away. “Knowing how good I am with your daughter? How well I clean up? How strong I can be–”

You swallow hard. For a moment, you almost lean into him. You almost melt right then and there, the need for intimacy so heavy inside of you after being left high and dry, knowing that you’d accept it from just about anyone at this point. But– this is Donghyuck. You can’t. 

You really, really, can’t. 

The look of disappointment in his eyes kind of hurts when you’re pushing him away. That playful smirk falling faster than you think your sanity did the day your ex husband left you. 

“This–” You pause, realizing all too well how he’s used your drunken state against you for this conversation. “This is your last paycheck.”

“I don’t think so.” The smirk is back now, except…it’s different. “You know I promised her a Barbie dream house next weekend.” He smiles fully now. “She’s a bit attached, you know, even called me dad by accident the other day.” 

You’re shocked. 

“She…what?”

“You know she’s attached to me already, don’t be selfish.” Haechan shrugs at you while rolling his eyes, leaning against the couch again and turning his head to look at you. You try to pretend that you don’t see his hand slightly groping himself. “Guess she misses having a father around. Can’t be too easy for her, especially with her mom going out every weekend trying to fuck guys who would run the second they learn about her.” He ticks his tongue now, as if he’s pitying you more than your daughter. 

“Donghyuck, that’s not–”

“That’s not, what?”

“That’s not what I’m doing…” You lower your voice to a near whisper, upset that you couldn’t even enjoy the drunken state you came home in, now feeling entirely too sober, and a little sick in the stomach. 

“Oh, so you haven’t gotten laid since I’ve been here–” He leans closer again now, trying to resume what he was going to do just moments ago. “They haven’t even touched you, have they?” His hands move to your thigh and presses down as if to hold you in place. “Why?”

“I try not to just sleep with anyone.” You lie, knowing you’d sleep with anyone just to feel wanted for once. And you’re trying to ignore his hands on you right now, trying desperately not to like it. It’s the first time a man has touched you in this house since your husband left you. As expected, you almost feel your knees buckle despite sitting comfortably. “I have to be careful, you know?”

“Mm, I know more than you think.” He leans into you, hovering yet again with his upper half over you as he whispers it. “Don’t need to be careful around me though.” He adds, this time trailing his voice right against your jaw, up to your ear. “You must be so frustrated.” He ghosts his lips there for a moment, waiting for you to push him away, or say something, anything, really. 

“Why would I be frustrated?” You lend the smallest of whispers, feeling the goosebumps against your skin rising at the mere thought of giving in just this once.

“Not having anyone to please you.” He adds now, landing a very slight kiss right under your lobe. “Always being used for someone else’s pleasure, maybe?”

You almost nod, feeling weak in your state and thoughts swimming with what if’s, morals, and anxieties. You’re frozen in place despite knowing a simple push would create the distance you need to breathe. 

“Your fingers will never be enough, will they?” He continues, essentially chaining you to this couch with his words alone. You can’t help the fight in your head, you need to feel wanted, and you want so badly to feel needed. “I bet you wish someone would love you for all that you are, not all that you have.” 

It’s silent as you feel his lips press down again, this time moving his body over you almost entirely. You can feel the couch dip a bit as he places all of his weight on a knee, moving his other leg to stand between yours.

“You must need someone to fill that hole in you by now, right? That pussy of yours?” He continues, his tone a bit more snide now as you give in to his hold with shaky breaths. 

And truthfully, Haechan has never let himself come on this strong towards someone before. Usually the wives are doing this to him. They’re trying to convince him, encourage him. He’s so fucking horny right now though, with that daze in your eye, your legs spread around his knee, blinking up at him like a cheating wife. As if you want to apologize, as if you need him to forgive you. Need him to make everything better.

“I heard you the other day, you know, talking to your mom–” He smiles, tilting his head to look into your eyes, seeing a small shine in them. “You want another, don’t you?” He continues, moving his lips now just over yours as he, now, presses you firmly against the couch. “You must hate knowing that I’m the only person who can do that for you.” 

“God, Haechan.” You immediately buckle, not realizing how suddenly he’s not Donghyuck at this moment. He’s someone else. He’s Haechan.

“Why don’t you go for girls on campus?! Don’t you have parties to be attending on the weekends instead of being here, trying to parent my chil–”

“Lower that voice of yours,” He whispers, eyes now hooded as he looks at you. “You know she’s asleep.”

God, he’s right. 

“Besides, why would I want them when I have you right here under me–” He tilts his head. “Looking so disappointed that you like it, too.” 

Right then, your moral code shines into the front of your mind at the consideration of giving in.

A weight on one shoulder chanting, “No! What would people say?! What would people think?!”, and then little to no weight on the other shoulder, echoing in a sweet song of “Finally! Someone who will love you! Finally! Someone! Finally!!! Finally!” 

You pause, not knowing at all what to do. Your body wants to push him away, even your mind and soul wants you to push him away. But you know deep down, you’d only push him away to see if he will try again. No man has ever tried for you like this, and you need more of it. 

To feel desired after so long of neglecting this side of yourself, it’s enough to make a person lose their footing in reality. To give in to just about anyone willing to look at you the way he is right now. It’s the fact that you go out to try and find it, and even with this alone, Haechan has satisfied you more than any stranger promising to make you cum.

“I…don’t know what to say–” You stutter. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do.” Haechan smiles, glancing at your lips before meeting your eye again. “Why not hand over the reins and relax for a–” His hand dips under your skirt, cupping your sensitive cunt in one hand alone. “Ah, I knew it.” Then, his other hand finds purchase on your chest, lifting your heavy breast in his hand with a blatant, hard squeeze.

After a sharp inhale you look away from him in shame, afraid to admit it despite the truth of it leaking through your panties and onto his palm.

“Wet.” He smiles, no longer looking at you but flicking his eyes back and forth from between your legs, and to your chest. Still, he fumbles around the wet spot, wanting so badly to lift these fingers to his mouth and taste. He’s fantasized about it, about how you’d taste, how warm it would be, what your pussy would feel like against his fingers–

And just as he’s pushing your panties to the side, pads of his fingers touching right where you need them with his eyes hooded and watching you closely, something snaps.

You push his hand away, only to feel him push back, holding you down with more force, gripping your tit tighter, sliding his fingers in before massaging the slit with a blatant moan on his lips. Then, you try again, shoving him back only to hear him chuckle and continue his antics until– you jump to your feet. It felt too good, too grounding to have him touching you like this. You nearly stumble back over the coffee table, but you manage to stand tall and firm despite the fact that even though your mind feels sober, your body is fucking wasted.

“Donghyuck.” You argue immediately, using his name the same way you did when he was a child. “Stop.” 

He throws his hands up in defense, raising his brows in surprise. 

“I–” He pauses, staring at you. “I thought you were enjoying it, my mistake.” 

It’s the fact that you were. You were enjoying it too much, and there would have been no defending your actions if you had given in to the feeling. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid. That’s what you are. 

Your ex husband was right all along. Out of everything you’ve accomplished since your heart was shattered, ripped to shreds, stomped on, you’d think it would take a lot more to break you. 

“You ask for too much.” Your ex husband had said once. “You can’t even stand to be alone for one day.” He had said a year or so later. Small digs on who you are and what you need sprinkled into small arguments, only to come more and more from the lips that you kissed and promised to kiss until you die. Until all of his words were to make you feel inadequate. Until everything he said to you stuck with you, forcing your confidence to bury itself six feet under. 

Are you to blame? As it stands, maybe. Why else would you be allowing yourself to consider it? Consider Donghyuck, you mean. Never in your life would you have considered him of all people to be the one that you need. 

Never in your life would you have thought he’d be interested in a woman like you, in a situation like yours, with a child. Why did that night with him stick in your head more than every single mean thing your ex husband said to you? Why did his words seem more believable? 

Because you were drunk at the time? Wet, neglected, and drunk? 

Then why is it that you’re sitting here on your day off with your beautiful, bright-eyed daughter rummaging through your purse for whatever catches her eye….and you’re thinking about him? About what he's doing right now, how he’s feeling, if he’s eaten. 

Why is it that you’ve gone the entire week ignoring his texts, asking if you need him to come resume his job as babysitter? Why the fuck do you want to accept after how he took advantage of your state of mind? After he came onto you and tried to manipulate you? 

Despite all of his words ringing true in the back of your head. That was a dirty tactic he pulled on you. Yet, still…you want him back, and god fucking dammit you could cry knowing your daughter called him “dad.” You hadn’t believed him at first, but after this week alone it slipped from her mouth several times. 

“He’s not your dad, baby, that’s just Donghyuck.” You remember correcting her more than once, and all she responded to you with was a confused expression. 

“Why not?” Is what her little voice gave back to you after her child-like brain decided it was fed up with you correcting her very right assumption of the guy who promised her the Barbie Dream House. 

Why not?

Why not?

Well, if you could have an adult conversation with a five year old it would be much easier to answer that. Because he sprayed cheese in your hair. Because you were seventeen and his babysitter when he was twelve years old. Because you ogled him without recognizing him as your pool boy. Because of a lot of things.

“Uncle Donghyuck.” You finally corrected her again. 

She shook her head, and continued doing and saying as her little mind pleased. It made you miss having a father around for her though. You think she needs it more than you do. 

And that fucking Barbie Dream house is what brings Haechan back. 

Right at your doorstep today, with a gentle knock to the door and a timid smile on his face. He doesn’t even look at you when you open the door, instead he crouches down in front of you with the big, flashy box. He ignores you, tilting himself to look past you and straight at your daughter. 

You hold your breath when she runs to Haechan, arms spread open and laughter shrieking in your ears. Your heart aches so much at this moment. 

Given your work schedule, you’d never gotten to see them interact much. He always came over as she was eating her breakfast, and you always came home after she was put to bed. You guess it’s fair that they have a bond now. She doesn’t even run at you like she does for Haechan. In fact, the only time she ever does is when she had a bad day at daycare or had a tummy ache. 

She runs to you when she needs you, but she runs to Haechan like she wants to. Like she genuinely is attached to him, and his kind smile, and his eyes, and probably that warm embrace that you’ve never let yourself experience.

You watch them, not allowing yourself to melt at the moment because you did not invite him over, nor did you give consent to bring that fucking doll house here. But you can’t say no now, as she clings to his leg when he stands up and looks at you with an almost irritated glint in his eye. 

His eyes trail all over you briefly too, as if checking for any new spots or marks that a man could have put on you. You feel seen, dipping your head to not meet his eye and scratching your neck as if to hide a spot there. There isn’t a mark, it’s just…fear? nervousness? anxiety? 

And then he hauls the box in for her without saying a word to you. You watch him hard now that his back is turned. His voice sounds so loving when he speaks to your child as if she’s an equal. Plopping down on your living room floor with her and opening the large box. 

He Ooo’s and Aahhh’s with her as he pulls each piece out, connecting the walls, the doors, handing her little things to help him with. And both of them are so focused on the task at hand to create a safe space for all of her abused barbie dolls that… you feel invisible.

For the first time ever in front of them both, you feel like you are nothing but a ghost. That he is the single parent. As if you’re forgotten, less loved, not wanted, not even needed. 

There’s a bubbling in your gut when you tear up, reminding yourself that what Haechan did that night was probably just, well, he’s a man. Men aim to fuck at all times usually, and you guess you should have expected it at one point from him because, again, you’re aware that he’s attracted to you. Even more aware now. 

But the way you feel right now outshines that. He’s ignoring you to keep your child happy. She is ignoring you because it seems Haechan does a better job at it than you do. 

And, well, he’s not holding you down, whispering things in your ear, letting out frustrated little sighs at your drunken or drowsy words now. So, you say nothing. All you can do is go to the kitchen and prepare a snack, trying to force the tears to stay inside of you with quiet sniffles, hoping you can join their little picture perfect moment so that you can be helpful too. 

Your heart swells when they both look at you as you present a plate of snacks. You have to hold back tears again at the way their eyes shine, thanking you for the snacks. Haechan’s eyes stay on you a bit longer though, as if saying “See? See what you’re making her go without?” 

You do see it. 

But…it can’t be him. As much as you wish it could be, you just can’t. There has to be another man out there just like him, one that doesn’t have a history with you that would cause whispers and questions. There has to be. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

That moment you witnessed seems to have solidified Haechan’s place in your home. Whether it be for babysitting or simply so your child can see him when she’s asking for him (which is often.) It’s kind of an issue, actually, because now the choice isn’t yours anymore and it appears Haechan knows that.

You hate that you’re forced to see him for what he is now. How he proves himself over and over again to be the man you need. The issue is that you still don’t want it to be him. The bigger issue is that he’s breaking down your walls, doing little things for you, looking at you with those dark eyes– your resolve cracks and reminds you every time he’s here that maybe it could work. Maybe you’ll give him a chance. Maybe you won’t have to go out anymore looking to fill a void that no one else fits into. 

It’s the way that now, you can’t help but to compare him to your ex husband. The man who you loved for so long, who you genuinely thought you’d spend your life with happily and safely. Now, compared to Haechan, your ex seems like…nothing. Like a little crack in your resolve. He was older than you by just two years, took care of you for so long, impregnated you, and slowly but surely throughout all that time grew to resent you too.

You still don’t know why, but perhaps it’s just because you were growing into your own. You were becoming more independent, though he never had the capability to realize just how much you depended on him during the very time he left you. 

“I just don’t want to do this anymore.” Your ex had said to you on that fateful morning. 

Your belly was big as you tried to waddle up to him when he said that. You can’t help but think back now and wonder how pathetic you must have seemed when he yanked his arm from your grip, especially due to the difficulty of your pregnancy already. You were sick through most of it, only having a few good days here or there where that pregnancy glow would make your ex husband second-guess himself. 

The slam of the door after that was more exhausting than the months of pregnancy you’d gone through. It felt loud, so loud you could hear it vibrate throughout your whole body. You recall falling to the floor and carefully holding your stomach. It’s like all of the heartbreak pooled there. The loss of your husband three weeks before he got to meet the child he was supposed to love. Her little heart must have been breaking inside of you too. 

Double the pain.

And then you were mending yourself on your own. Going into labor early from stress,  your family helped take care of you more than her. You were needier. You were broken. 

And never, fucking ever, did you think you’d find yourself sitting comfortable in your lavish home realizing that your ex-husband didn’t deserve all of that pain from you. He left you for that girl, and not two months later did she leave him. 

Never did you think you’d find yourself thinking about Haechan as a replacement either. Well, not a replacement, but like, maybe just…he’s the idea of a perfect dad if you pay attention to how your child talks about him. How they act together. How she cries for him before bed when he’s not there, asking you why you don’t read to her the way Haechan does. Why don't you sing to her the way he does? Why don't you use the same voices for her dolls? Why you don’t cut her food like he does, why you don’t do this or that.

That’s what makes it click the most you think. The fact that Haechan has given her something you never can. The love of a father. It doesn’t even feel like he’s babysitting at this point, he’s parenting, teaching her lessons, bandaging small boo-boos, fixing her hair,…cooking dinner, cleaning…existing here like he belongs.

Haechan has done more for your daughter than your ex husband ever could have, more than you could have done for her too, you think. 

Even now, as you come home night after night and see him, you struggle to see him as anyone that isn’t who your daughter needs. Maybe who you need. 

His summer semester is coming to an end too, and it’s hard to see him as a college student now. He really does coursework and everything that needs to be done at your home all within a single work day? With no complaints at all? Lately, you’ve noticed that he’s been more focused on studying when he babysits too, but still your daughter listens to him better than she listens to you. 

Yet, still, it’s like you’re avoiding each other as you go through the motions, but you notice him more. You feel more discomfort because of it, mostly because you know your resolve about this is breaking. There’s a fear inside of you that revolves around him.

What if you missed your chance? 

What if it does end up being a mistake if he still wants you?

You don’t know what to do, but you know you want him. 

Some nights, Haechan does sleep over due to exhaustion and you don’t even ask him to leave because you know he’s not doing it to try anything. The avoidance is loud. Lately, you come home from work and there he is, sitting up with his laptop on his lap but sound asleep, softly snoring. Each time, you remind yourself of how he’s sacrificing his study time to babysit. You know your child can be distracting and needy when she wants something too, but he doesn’t complain even a little bit. The least you could have done was bring him a blanket, which you did. And you woke the next morning to find him curled up on the same couch, laptop toppled over onto the floor.

Small, gentle acts of kindness towards each other but never face to face. You’ve woken to fresh coffee countless times, made exactly the way you like it because you know he’s watched you make it yourself. You’ve come home to re-stocked items, like milk and eggs, laundry detergent, and even toothpaste. It’s nice, and a small indication that he doesn’t resent you. Even through face-to-face avoidance on your part.

Tonight seemed different though, compared to all of the other nights when you can’t go out. You walked through the door to the smell of dinner and your child still awake, sing-songing at you the moment you walked in. 

“Dad said I can stay up late!” 

You quirk a brow, her calling him that now becoming a regular occurrence to the point it goes through one ear and out the other for you. You recall discussing her bed time though, with absolutely no exceptions.

“Did he now?” You hug her before taking off your cardigan, walking with her to the kitchen where you find Haechan, placing down a small plate on the table with cartoon characters on it, right in front of two bigger plates with bigger portions of delicious looking food placed neatly on it.

Your heart swells, but your anxiety grows twice as big alongside it. This. 

This is what you’ve wanted for so long. This is what you never thought you could find. So, why is it that you still have push-back in your mind? Despite knowing that Haechan has proven himself time and time again, you want to argue?! 

Perhaps it’s because you like the way he tries. Maybe you’re not ready to lose that feeling of being chased in some way, of being begged to let him stay. Maybe it’s because you begged your husband, desperate for him to keep you, but he left anyway. It feels like Haechan gives you power over yourself, over your love-life, over everything, really. 

And if you were to actually accept his advances, even just a dinner on your table, what if he stops? What if he gets bored once he gets what he wants? After all, he’s still young, you can’t truly imagine he wants to do this forever. 

Not with you, and not with your daughter either. 

“What’s all this? Isn’t it a bit late for her to have dinner?” You question him instantly, anxiety bubbling up out of assumption alone. 

“We had a small snack a few hours ago.” Haechan reassures you. “I finished my exams and had a burst of energy to celebrate, besides, it’s a Friday–” He goes to pull out a chair for you. “You don’t need to be up early either. A late dinner every now and then never hurt anybody.”

The way this is the first time the two of you have had a face-to-face conversation since…that night. His voice calms you, and that’s scary. 

You huff, happy because you could easily melt into this chair and pretend you’re having a family dinner, like you always wanted, like you never rejected a touch from him that you desperately wanted. You could just play along and pretend Haechan is everything you need. Except, it wouldn’t even be pretending at this point. The whole idea of him has changed. But, again, that anxiety. You still have that little voice holding you back, no matter what you want, or what you need, you fear it’ll be ripped from you again if you were to let yourself be weak for another person.

“I’m really tired, Donghyuck.” You explain, walking past the kitchen and towards your bedroom. “Thanks for dinner but I’m not too hungry and I just want to lay down.”

And with that, he watches you leave. No real appreciation, no congratulations on him finishing his exams, not even a kiss to your child’s forehead. Is he still expected to be the one to put her to sleep? 

Why is he even here? Why did he do all of this? 

His patience is running dry.

So, he eats with your child as your plate goes cold and he leaves it there. If you can’t even handle a dinner at the table with the person who cooked it, you can deal with your own fucking plate. Throw away your own fucking food, wash your own fucking dish. And if you can’t tuck your child into bed, he’ll do it, but you can shove that fake ass exhaustion right up your ass for all he cares. 

He knows you’re not exhausted. He’s seen you when you are. You’re just being an asshole to him at this point, trying to appear like you’re perfectly happy with the life you live when your drunken rants prove otherwise. You treat him like everything he does has an ulterior motive. Which, yeah, maybe it does, but he was genuinely excited to have someone celebrate the end of this semester with him. Maybe assuming you’d indulge him went too far. For the first time, he wasn’t doing it to impress you.

By the time Haechan gets your daughter to bed, all tucked in with a little tune to fall asleep to, he closes her door and just stands there in the silence on the other side of it. 

You must really enjoy being a single mother, huh? This is why too. He always questioned it. You’re so attractive, so well-adjusted. You work hard, your daughter is a sunshine in this world, and you’ve not managed to find anyone to love you yet? He thought he was lucky to be the one getting to spend time with you. 

Turns out, you refuse to let anyone in despite Haechan knowing, fucking seeing straight through you. You want something from someone. You need it, yearn for it, even. But it’s almost laughable at the way you refuse it. 

Excuses, excuses, excuses. 

It’s the fucking audacity you have taking advantage of him. You’ve practically led him on. You lend him everything he wants in life. That’s it. You lend it. From flaunting yourself before you go to bars, to exposing all the marks you allow other men to leave on you. Letting him stay in this house, father your child, cook, clean, mend, fix, heal. 

From being a faux-father to being minimized to a college student that you used to babysit. He’s offered you relief in so many ways including sexual, and all you fucking do is avoid, deny, fucking reject him. You still go out to bars, later and later you’ll come home with new swells against your skin, but always looking so empty and disappointed. Sometimes he thinks you try to make him jealous. Sometimes, he thinks you want him to try again. 

Sometimes, he thinks you get off on the fact that he keeps trying.

And he has tried. Albeit more gently lately, but he has. Small, lingering touches when he hands you your coat to help you get out the door and to work quicker. Starting your car for you before you leave. Fuck, he even opens the goddamn door for you. Anything to make you feel appreciated, respected, and fucking wanted.

The silence is loud in his ears due to the sheer irritation as he drops his head, staring at his feet and knowing it’ll only take a few strides to reach your bedroom. A room he still craves to be in.

He’s raided those drawers by now, because of course he has. Soiling your panties, your sheets, anything that still smells like you when you’re gone for the day, all so he can act normal upon seeing you when you come home. He’s laid in your bed by now too, wondering what it would feel like to have your weight beside him. He fantasized about anything and everything he possibly could in there.

And he’s always warmer. Always cums the hardest with weak, muffled moans as he stuffs your pillows into his mouth to keep quiet. All before cleaning every trace of himself there, closing the door, and wishing he was allowed to exist in there with you. 

Right now will be the first time Haechan enters your room to your knowledge, and it sucks for him because he has essentially trained himself to get hard every time he opens this fucking door. Still, he composes himself, and it’s a bit of a shock if you’re being honest.  You thought he’d go home after this, you were kind of hoping he would after you made it so awkward. 

You felt guilty the second you saw his expression fall to your rejection of eating dinner like a big fucking happy family. You want it so bad, you want him so bad.

When you left the kitchen, you immediately went to your room and hopped in the shower, well aware that he wouldn’t follow you. You thought hard while the hot water made attempts to wash away your feelings. Would it have been so bad to just eat with him? With your daughter? With both of them? The way his eyes fell, it burned your heart a little bit.

Still, no answers came to you because you know part of you just wants to see what else he will do for you. Despite the history with him, and despite knowing his entire family would question and scoff at you for it…Is it really so wrong? To want to give him a chance just to see if he’ll leave you too? 

Just to see if it’ll hurt when he does it too?

Inviting him to your home almost every day of the week isn’t wrong, right? Forgetting to pay him all those times before, hoping to see him again and get that confidence boost, that wasn’t wrong. Letting your daughter attach herself to him when you swore he wasn’t permanent, no longer having the energy to correct her use of “dad” towards him… none of that is wrong.

 It’s all Haechan. He’s the one in the wrong for willingly following along, not you. Right? 

And as you’re sitting on your bed in your towel, zoning out and staring at your floor, Haechan swings your bedroom door open without a single knock, mindfully closes it, and immediately goes off on you.

Somehow, you really expected him to accept your rejection but your heart swells that he didn’t. You don’t think he ever will, and you’re exhausting yourself hoping he’ll prove you wrong.

He’s shown you enough by now. This is what breaks down that wall inside of you, isn’t it?

“What am I doing wrong?” He shoots his first question out in a desperate whisper shout, eyes searing into you before continuing without a single breath. “Because I do everything for her, and i do everything  for you, does that really make you so fucking uncomfortable?”

“D–” You try to respond, feeling your skin prickle at the sheer irritation in his expression.

He’s fighting for you.

“Isn’t that what you want?!”

“After everything I do–” He throws his hands up now, running his fingers through his hair as if you make him feel like he wants to rip it out. “After trying to make your life easy while making mine harder, for what? You to not eat the fucking food I made? For you to go to the bar all the time just to come back disappointed like I’m not right here waiting for you to come back?” 

“What ar-”

“Don’t ask me any stupid fucking questions, Just answer me.” He drops his hands, stepping up to you, placing both hands on either side of your hips, doing his best not to react to your near-naked body. “Why?”

You lean back, trying to create more distance to try and give him an answer that you don’t even know yourself, but he just keeps closing in. Not letting you escape this time. You’ve never seen him so riled up before, it’s…

Well…

“Because I came onto you? Because I tried to do what no one else will do for you?” His voice shakes when he says it, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. Is he…about to cry?

Only now, seeing him so close with an entirely sober brain do you realize an answer. Maybe not to his question of why, but to the same question you’ve been asking yourself. It’s because of that look in his eye. You’ve never been able to put a word to it, but now with him demanding you explain yourself so closely, you see it.

He’s desperate. 

Arguably as desperate as you’ve felt to fill the void. Except, he’s trying to do that for you and you won’t let him out of what? Fucking fear? Hell, at this point the history means close to nothing when it comes to all the new memories he’s made in this home, even without you. The history of babysitting him, the history of your ex husband leaving you. It doesn’t matter.

You think hard, so hard that you feel your eyes burn as you stare up at him. Glancing without intention to his jaw when he clenches it, to his neck when he swallows his words, to his lips, his eyes, the hair falling in his face…and you just–

You reach up, running a soothing hand through his hair to get it out of his face. Then you see those same desperate eyes somehow grow more desperate as he lowers them, leaning into the touch, as if you’ve been starving him the same way you’ve been starved for years. He falls silent too, cutting himself off mid-question just to feel you touch him for the first time.

“I don’t know.” You say, which seems like a better answer than having an excuse. What can you say otherwise? That it’s because it shouldn’t  be him? That you’re afraid he’ll realize he’s not ready to settle? To be a dad? He’ll ask why, and it’ll be the same answer you gave on that drunken night. An answer that you no longer care about. 

You babysat him when he was a child, but you were still a child too. 

You were still a child, and time changes things.

Your ex husband left you, and you’re afraid he will too, especially because he’s so much younger? Who cares?

Your answer seems to fly right past his head though, because he’s still leaning to feel your fingers in his hair, and he’s looking at you as if nothing you say will matter unless you make it hold some weight to him. 

“Donghyuck–” You pause, scratching right at his nape, uncaring of how you can feel your towel loosening on your body. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Somehow, his name on your lips is what he needed to hear. The tone of it, the rasp in your voice, your fingers in his hair. Actions speak louder than anything the two of you could say right now, and he can’t help it. Nothing can stop him, not even you at this point. 

He hasn’t done anything wrong you say? It’s because he fucking knows what you need.

You inhale deeply, holding your breath when you feel your back hit your mattress, his warm hands instantly taking advantage of your freshly-showered state and tugging at the towel just slightly to let it fall open. You hear a slight breath from him at that moment, an inhale. There, he climbs onto the bed, nudging himself between your legs and trapping you there under him, both hands holding your arms down.

Like he’s afraid you’ll reject him again.

“You’re going to let me take care of you now.” He demands, though to him it sounds more like a plea solely due to the fact that he’s so fucking turned on it’s unreal. That feeling of when your fingers were in his hair? Seeing your naked body? Unshaved pussy? Being in this fucking room with you? It throws him into overdrive, especially with the way you just lay there blinking up at him in surprise. The anger melting away only amplifies it more. 

How could you do this to him? Genuinely, how could you have let him fucking suffer for you like this? 

Still, you blink up as if you’re a deer caught in headlights and it makes his heart thump against his ribcage. Your eyes are so bright, that glint of sadness he had seen so many times isn’t there right now. And there’s so much adrenaline inside of him, like he needs to move fast before you change your mind again. You’ve not let him do this for some fucking reason or another and now you’re just laying here for him.

 There, with your entire body on display, and you appear to be docile. Fucking obedient? Like he always knew you would be if you’d just drop the fucking act?! You were meant for him and him alone, and he’s going to show you why.

In all honesty, you’re tired of denying yourself by now. From the moment you saw him that day cleaning your pool for the first time, you’ve wanted him on some level. It wasn’t an emotional attachment, but a hope, a fantasy for you. And when you recognized him, you were more impressed with him than embarrassed. You tried not to let your eyes wander out of guilt, out of feeling like a pervert. 

And then, that day when he came onto you, he was just a man to you. Your faux guilt kept you from letting him, and your hope to be chased kept you from it too. As if you’ve never pleasured yourself to the thought of him, shamefully in this very bed. As if you’ve never called out his name with a silent breath. If you keep going at this point, you’ll lose him before ever knowing what he could really be for you. 

This is his last ditch effort to beat you at your own game, and you’re ready to lose.

  So, now, you let yourself get lost in him. In his eyes and the way he pleads and makes his demands. He probably doesn’t recognize his strength against you right now, or how much it’s turning you on. With the way he has both hands on your wrists, probably bruising them, and there’s nothing you could do even if you wanted to. His weight holding you down feels better than you imagined. 

After so long, with so many failed hookups where you’ve told them of your daughter and all they’ve done in return is get their orgasm then leave…Haechan. He wants to take care of you? 

He wants to…give you what you need?

Fuck, you know he can. That’s the fucked up part. He’s proved it so many times to you in so many ways. You’ve watched him, the way he moves and acts around you. He’s exactly what you need.You pushed him to this point, where his sanity is on the brink of crashing. Taking it away from him again feels wrong, because it’s exactly what you want.

And when he presses his leg between yours, he knows.

“Again?” He comments, now releasing your wrist from one hand and running it down, able to slip his fingers right into the slick of your bare pussy. “You’re wet.” 

You still just blink up at him with an intake of breath at the pleasure, thoughts running left and right on what to do, finally realizing you don’t want to do a damn thing. He’d do it all if you let him. Clean your house, be a father, fix all of the breaks, make you wet.

And you just feel him, the way his fingers play around with what he does to you. You can practically feel his confidence rise at the way you spread your legs a bit more, as if to give him more access. When you look at him, his expression remains harsh, but slowly he moves himself down, lips brushing over one of your nipples while keeping eye contact.

Still that irritated look, like he’s mad you haven’t let him do this before now.

“How many times are you going to pretend like I’m not the one who gets you wet?” He asks before rubbing circles around your clit, tongue flicking in the same way around your nipple. “Like I don’t have a right to take care of you?”

Your breath is still caught in your throat, trying to be careful about what you say right now despite knowing you can’t speak. You focus on what he’s doing instead, losing yourself to something you’ve not felt in far, far too long. 

He’s right. He’s gotten you wet more than once by now. More than he knows. 

And goddamn, he knew your tits could bounce, but the way they move without the support of a bra, the plush, soft feeling of your nipple growing erect in his mouth, all for him to bite and pull at. He does it too, listening to the little seething sound of pain from you when he pulls all the way back with your nipple between his teeth. Only to let it fall from his mouth and break eye contact with you to see the jiggle as it falls.

His cock twitches, at everything that you are right now, feeling more pleasure through seeing you like this alone compared to fucking his own fist on your bedroom floor. He notes how your legs squeeze him more at the nipple stimulation than his fingers too, memorizing the way your labia falls open between them. He smirks, flicking his tongue more, quicker. 

There. There it is.

A low rumble in your chest falls from your lips. Soft, a moan. A very small, delicate sound.

“You like this?” Haechan asks, looking up at you, letting his tongue fall from his mouth again and flicking the erect nub. “When I play with your tits?”

You nod, throwing an arm over your face in embarrassment that this is actually happening. You’re letting him. Already you feel yourself heat up more, even when he takes his fingers away from your clit and instead, uses them to flick your other nipple. 

And he does this for a few minutes. Paying special attention to your tits, going back and forth with his fingers and tongue to each bud, trying so hard to not stop just to shove his cock between them and use them the way he’s always wanted. He focuses on drawing out more and more little sounds from you instead, slurping his own saliva from your painfully erect nipples, pulling back, blowing cold air, then warming it up again with his lips. All while simultaneously groping, flicking, and pinching with his other hand. 

“Jesus, Haechan–” You moan quietly, chest rising and falling as he squeezes and licks against you. 

That’s right, say his name. Let him fucking know he’s doing what you like. Haechan thinks, feeling his cock weep in his pants as he does it. Wondering just how sensitive you are to be reacting like this to simple nipple stimulation. God, he’s wanted to suck on these for so long, and now you’re letting him. They’re so big, so plush. He wants to fucking cover them with his mouth, he wants to bury his face in them, kiss them all over them. 

And if they were to get bigger? He moans at the thought, remembering that conversation you had with your mom. You want another. He bets they’d swell up–Oh, fuck yeah. They’d probably hurt to rub against your shirt. God, fuck, he can’t control his thoughts right now.

 Finally. 

Fucking finally, he has you and he’s not going to let you run away again.

He doesn’t fucking care if it’s forward. He wants what he wants, you want what you want. That want just so happens to line up. Besides, he’s already proved himself to you, he knows it. If you’re letting him do this, maybe you’d let him stay like this. 

“Did they get bigger?” He moans briefly as he swaps to your other nipple again. “So full, so heavy, were they leaking all over you?”

You listen to him, trying not to feel the pit in your stomach bubble with even more arousal at his blatant and dirty words, feeling your clit throb at the stimulation your tits are getting right now. 

“Makes my dick fucking throb just thinking about it. Fuck–” 

“Let me give you another,” He mumbles now, almost mindlessly before looking up at you with an intense gaze as he bites down, indicating that he’s not mindless about it at all. 

“Swell you up, make you glow–”

Oh. 

Why is that– why are you dripping?

He hears that moan you let out. Different from the others, almost desperate.

“Mm, yeah.” He encourages it, now allowing his hand to travel back down to witness how much wetter you’ve gotten at those words. So messy, so perfect. “Knew you’d want it raw.”

You can’t help the nod, as it comes before you even process his words solely because you feel his fingers slip inside of you. You haven’t been this wet in so, so long. You want to feel it. To be full again, of anything. Of him.

“Ye-” You start, interrupting yourself with a bite of your lip and your eyes rolling back. 

“That’s right mama,” He coos, tilting his fingers up and amplifying the pressure inside of you. “Gonna let me take good care of this pussy, yeah?” He adds, lifting from your tits and ghosting his lips over yours. 

He watches you closely, that daze in your eye. God, you look so horny right now. There’s nothing more he wants than to see this time and time again. To let you wake up every morning with his warm cum inside of you, to see your belly swell with his child, to see your tits grow until they hurt. 

He’d take care of you. He’d take good fucking care of you. 

“Say something.” Haechan whispers against your lips, darting his tongue out against your lips, angling his fingers up and making you moan. “Say you want me to give it to you raw.”

You open your mouth, feeling his tongue lick and swallow up that moan you just gave him before you try to compose yourself. You can’t help it, you’re so, so sensitive right now and you can’t help but find it incredibly sexy to be here, laid bare, while he’s still fully clothed.

Like he really is doing this for you. He’s not trying to get his own orgasm and leave. You’re weak and those words of “let me give you another” shines in your head. Weak, you’re weak. You should be thinking about condoms, you should be thinking about the consequences of this. 

But you’re not. 

You do like it raw.

“Haechan–” You stutter as you try to grasp the reality of his words, feeling his fingers repeatedly hit right where you need it. “I’m…not protected.”

He moans. Loudly, before huffing out an irritated groan.

“You must really want it then.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Going out all the time trying to get fucked–” 

He plunges his fingers in again, deep, and holds them there as he pulls back to look at you. To really look at you, then he glares.

“You’d really let just some fucking dude give you a baby?” 

You repeatedly shake your head. 

“No!” You retort, thrusting your hips up. “I just–”

“Mhm,” He pulls his fingers out now, sliding himself down so fast that you can barely comprehend him sucking your clit into his mouth before pulling back in a moan at the taste of you. “If mama wants another, daddy will give her one.” He says now, as if to pacify you.

As if to give you everything. 

And you’d argue, really, you would.  You want another child so bad, but this is– it’s too soon. You haven’t even established a relationship with him yet. Boundaries haven’t been discussed. His college plan– but fuck it’s not entirely your fault that you’re like, super turned on by the idea of it. To the thought of being so filled with cum that there’s no possible way you couldn’t end up pregnant. An indication that, no matter what, no man at a club could fulfill the arousal for you even if they cared to do it. 

You’d never have let them actually fuck you raw. 

Haechan though…how can you keep telling him no?

How could you reject him again when you want it so badly? 

Fuck now, think later.

“Yeah–” You say against your better judgement, hands reaching down to his hair so you can grind up against his mouth, lost to the arousal as you mimic what he referred to himself as. “Daddy?”

You feel his mouth fall slack at that, as if you’re accepting him in full now. You feel your clit hit nothing in his open mouth, but it throbs harder. 

 He knew you were slightly into him for letting him do this at all, but now, you’re truly accepting it. Like you know he’ll fucking do it, like you want him to fucking do it.

“That’s right,” He moans against your clit as he licks at it, barely able to comprehend your voice calling him that but clinging to it all the same.  “Gonna let daddy do it all for you.”  

Yeah. You are. You’re gonna let him do it. All of it. 

And then, the room is enveloped in quiet moans, more from Haechan than from you due to your breath being stuck in your throat. His tongue, licking every part of your sensitive cunt, his hands reaching back up to your tits, fondling, pinching, painfully tugging at them as he moans louder, louder, louder for you to want him.

He presses his hips up and against your mattress as he tastes you, so deeply it hurts his cock to neglect it like this. Each rub feels raw, twitching and pulsing to be let out, to be inside of you, on you, against you. Filling you up with his cum, plugging it in as a promise that you can’t leave him even if you wanted to. 

He’s going to fucking do exactly what he said he would. 

And only when you feel his tongue lap against your hole do you finally release your breath, “Daddy” coming out in a choked back sob. It breaks him, his body going into overdrive as he pulls back and just– stares at you with wild eyes. 

You stare back up at him, knowing that calling him that means something more than a cringe little roleplay kink. It means something deeper to him. He wants to be a dad, a real one.

“Oh yeah?” He finally says, hands going straight to his button and zipper. 

You can’t help it, biting your lower lip as you blink up, watching his shoulders move, the veins on his arms protruding as he rushes to pull it out and– oh. You moan at it, the way his heavy, slicked up, cock falls out, dark, needy. 

“Daddy–” You urge him on, knowing that it’s driving him absolutely insane. 

“Mhm?” He shuffles himself off the bed, letting his pants drop as he lifts his shirt off of him and fucking glares at your tits. “You want daddy’s cock?”  He adds now, shooting his eyes up to you as both of his hands land on your legs.

Your mind goes blank when you feel him slide his hands around to the back of your thighs, pushing your legs forward, curling you in on yourself, forcing your pussy to be out and on display for him. 

And you watch him, the way he stares down at it. It’s embarrassing to be so seen right now, not having expected to get fucked open by anyone tonight, let alone him. You probably should have shaved or something, or like, not gotten out of the habit in the first place. But he moans at it, mouth falling open at the fact that you are entirely a fucking woman. 

A fucking mother.

The prettiest pussy he’s ever fucking seen let alone tasted.

And he moans, breaking the silence, forgetting only for a moment how long he’s been wanting this. It boosts your confidence more than you’ve ever felt. His reaction to this is more than your ex husband’s reaction to you when you were pristine and borderline pornstar quality. 

Haechan doesn’t see you as used and neglected, he just sees you. And this. This is the pussy he wants. This is what he wants to put his baby in. 

When he flicks his eyes back to you, with that same open mouthed expression, it knocks the breath out of you. There’s so much love in his eyes, or maybe lust, you don’t care. You think you’re matching that expression for him too, because it’s like he can’t hold back anymore. He can’t just sit and look at you anymore. 

He just can’t.

And you feel it, his thick head pushing past the tightened, pulsing hole and not stopping. He pushes in slowly, painfully slow, to the point you’re both looking at each other with a slack jaw. Finally. The pain of it, the pleasure, the fucking need you’ve been trying to fulfill. 

That look on your face drives him wild too, he knows he has you by now. You like it, you love the way he slides in and makes damn sure you feel it. Every second of the slide pries you open, and he wants to remember this moment forever. He wants you to fucking remember too. 

Wants you to know that no one will ever fit inside of you so perfectly, so deeply.

When he finally bottoms out, he leans forward to keep himself buried deep as he ghosts his lips over yours. He feels the way you try to kiss him, but he pulls back with a confident smirk. 

“When was the last time you’ve felt a cock so deep in you?” He whispers hotly, knowing you need not answer. Knowing you won’t answer, not with the way you’re instantly lifting your head and kissing him. 

Your pussy pulses around him when you lick into his mouth, the first real kiss sending his heart soaring. He twitches inside of you with each squeeze, and kisses you harder, deeper. And somehow, it brings tears to your eyes. 

The way he kisses, the way he makes you feel him. Fuck, the way he makes you feel whole, so wanted, like you’re amazing to him. In more ways than just a body to fuck, but he’s stuck around despite all of your avoidance and rejections. You hope you’re making it worth it. 

Fuck, you need to feel worth it to him.

“You’d better not fucking pull out.” You groan through a breath, his lips still kissing you through your words as he finally pulls his hips back, fucking in once. 

Hard.

Honestly, could you have said anything else at this moment? He’s trying to make this last, he needs it to last. If you keep fucking talking, saying everything he’s ever wanted to hear– 

“Fuck,”  He moans, his hands moving up to your cheeks as he licks into your mouth. “You can’t–”  He continues, fucking in again, moving your body up with each thrust do to the sheer force of him trying to plunge in as deep as he can. “You can’t fucking say that to me right now.”

You’re seeing stars though, unable to say anything else as your eyes roll back at the way the head of his cock practically kisses your cervix with each push into you. He’s so rough, so desperate for it. 

You don’t think he expected you to respond either, with the way he keeps his lips on yours, his body pressed so closely that having your legs to your chest means nothing to him now. Mating press be damned, he’s lost his mind to the feeling, not the aesthetic of being a fucking dad. 

Your legs wrap around him instead, and he’s all too happy to feel it. Your legs hug him the same way your arms do, the same way your pussy does, and he’s fucking in love with you. 

He braces one hand back against your leg, holding it against his hips as he continues to fuck forward, still at the same pace. Deep and with purpose. Every few seconds the bursts of pleasure run through him, making him shiver and moan into your mouth. Little grunts, near whimpers for you to let him give you the world. 

More than this. More than fucking, more than taking care of you, more than anything he could ever possibly give you. He’ll find a way. 

And then, you’re clenching hard, matching his near-whimpers except moaning in full pants, babbling and drooling cries against his mouth. 

“Mama–” Haechan soothes, continuing his pace as he tilts his head back to get a good look at that lost gaze in your eyes. “You’re crying?”

You nod with a laugh, tears rolling down the same way the wet of your cunt slips down your ass. You’ve never felt so good, so fucking full.  And for some reason, that does him in. Making it last be damned, he genuinely thinks he’s won you over. He can make it last next time, he can do more next time, he can–

He leans back all the way now, onto his knees as your legs try to hug him back to you, and his eyes go straight back to those tits. The way he made a promise. The way they bounce, slick with his sweat from pressing against you. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He grunts in a breath, now quickening his pace and snapping his hips. Pulling out all the way briefly to plunge into your again. “Can’t get any deeper–” He continues, flicking his eyes from your face, to your tits, to that beautiful pussy of yours swallowing him up. 

Now his eyes roll back, hands going back to your thighs to push you back into position. No way in hell can he last, not at a pace like this, inside of a woman like you. 

“Don’t pull out.” You repeat again in a breath, seeing his face and the way he focuses solely on you. You know he’s going to cum, and you want him to. You want to feel it, every single fucking drop of it. 

“Yeah?” He nods his head with laser-focus on your pussy now, staring down as he points tight, short thrusts inside of you. “Momma wants my cum? Hm?”

Oh, he’s fucking gone.

“She likes it?” He continues to talk himself up. “Likes being so fucking full of it? Yeah?” 

Goddamn, fuck, he’s insane. 

“Yes, daddy–” You whisper-shout, fingers shooting to your clit, other hand raising to your mouth to silence the moans as to not be too loud. 

“Fuck, yeah you do.”  He lets out a near growl, his voice low and rumbled as he slaps your hand away, pressing hard on your clit with his thumb as he buries himself in you once more and stiffening his abs. “That’s right.”

And instantly upon feeling him pulse, that first spurt of cum painting your insides, you lose yourself with him. Your fingers drop from your mouth and you release a pornographic moan for him, rutting yourself against him, as if to fuck it deeper into you. 

It only prolongs the orgasm though, for both of you. 

Haechan is silent, trying to keep his eyes open through the pleasure as you pulse and squirt around him, his thumb pressing so hard  into your clit, his cock cumming so deep, filling you up so well– He wants to see it. Wants to watch you fall apart for him. Wants to witness the way you let him do this. 

And he holds himself there, so hard and so full of pleasure for you. Keeping himself practically impaled against your cervix until your body falls slack. Still, he fucks it into you, holding you in place with a softer moan now. No longer guttural or deep from his chest. His breathing is rough, a soft, near feminine moan leaves his lips as he falls forward onto you. 

You wince along with him at the sensitivity, panting, a sweating tangle of a mess the two of you have become. And it’s the fact that it’s the first time you’ve ever gotten off at the same time as someone else. You feel…soft. 

Your hands find their way to his hair as his face squished against your tits while he regains breath, not daring to move his hips because your pussy is too warm to leave right now. You brush the sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes, running your fingers all the way back to his nap, and then slowly down his back to rub and scratch.

He shivers at the feeling, humming the same feminine-tone he had released previously. And all he can do is hear your heart thumping against your chest, even through these soft tits of a pillow he’s lying against.

Haechan never wants to move again, not from this spot, ever. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You know I’m in love with you, right?” Haechan mentions briefly after a long moment of silence, looking up at you with his wet hair. 

Deep in the night, your food still cold and on the table, you’ve found yourself freshly showered and on your living room couch with Haechan’s head on your lap. He made sure to have stayed long enough inside of you to implant…something if it was going to happen. So he didn’t argue a shower, and you didn’t argue letting him join you either. 

He had washed you, gently running his hands between your legs with what you can only describe as the softest, most alluring face a man has ever given you. Like he won the lottery, or found the answer to eternal life or something. You repaid him by letting him admire your tits again while you jerked him off, but that’s besides the point. 

“Like, I’m not going to leave. I hope you know that.” He adds with a soft groan to your hands still in his hair. His new favorite thing. 

You look down at him, hand moving to his cheek as the words hit you in the chest.

There’s anxiety along with happiness, at all of the boundaries and serious conversations that will need to be had now, but still, you feel like you’re glowing when he looks at you.

He didn’t even have to say it, and arguably you probably don’t need to say it back either. You think he sees it in you. Even if he didn’t, you think he’d take anything you give to him and cling to it. After all, it only took one time for you to break entirely for him. 

“Are you now?” You smile with a chuckle, looking back to the tv and pretending to watch it. “Well, that’s good. Otherwise I’d be making you go get a plan B or something.” 

His eyes narrow at you.

“Like hell I’d let you, even if I didn’t love you.” He groans. “But I do, so don’t ever say that shit again.”

You chuckle, feeling the calm in your home that once felt so chaotic. It’s quiet now, both inside and outside of your head. 

“Congratulations, by the way.”

He looks at you with question, quirking a brow.

“For finishing your finals, I mean.” You smile, going back to petting through his hair and feeling like you’re on top of the world, despite what you assume to become half of your world lying his head on top of you. 

“Oh, right.” He smiles, now turning his head to watch the tv. “I probably failed them.”

You don’t believe that, but even if he did, you think you could be what he needs too. He wouldn’t have to work if he didn’t want to.

If he’s really in love with you, all he’d have to do is…not leave. 

“Are you sure you want to be having these conversations with me? You can just call it a hook-up.” You finally say, hoping he means it, knowing it breaks your heart a bit to give him an out. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m going to trap you here just because I’m a little smitten too.” 

Haechan glares, blinking up at you.

“I literally just tried to put a baby in you.” 

That’s fair. 

“And you’re not going to run off? Get cold feet?” 

“Can you stop doubting me and just let me do what I want for once?” He argues playfully. “Do you even know how much that barbie fucking dream house costed me? I couldn’t run even if, for some stupid ass reason, wanted to. I love her too.”

Silence for a moment.

“Maybe even more than I love you.” 

You really, really, want to believe him.

So, you do. 

[fullsunberry]

haechan doppelgänger texts

[WRITTEN PART TWO]

requested?: no

cw: none

authors note: winter break ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

taglist: @haechansbbg @johnnysuhbmarine @lostinneocity @naqkja @haolovre

[doughyk]

ＳＴＥＰ ＯＮ ＭＥ-haechan smau

- haechan the smartest guy in his calculus class,the one who passes all his exams is in desperate need of quick cash. You on the other hand not so good at calculus,after finding yourself in the library trying to study ,you feel an extra pair of eyes on you.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬- nonidol!haechan x y/n

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲- smau, strangers to lovers (kinda)

status: FINISHED

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬- profanity, content of alcohol usage ( characters are legal age 21), some “sexual” jokes, jokes about death, jokingly death threats,vaping.

Profiles- Thot daughters+gay son 7DREAM

1. Party or study?

2. HELP…….

3. distracted (partially written)

4. YES YES NOW KISS! (partially written)

5. why are you lying?

6. Clock is ticking

7. hyuck????

8. piece of lifeless bread

9. we are a family!!!!

10.demure this demure that….

11. dove (written)

12. she told me something

13. tell

14. VERSACE💜

15.foreshadowing

16. what I do (end)

ahhhh I am going to try and update this blog 2 days a week, this is my first fic ever!! I’m excited to see where this will go

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

You never paid any attention. Look what you did to him! - jjh (PART 1)

pairing(s): jaehyun x reader, (jeno x jaemin, mark x haechan)

genre/AU: humor, horror, smut, angst-y and kinda sad at the end, friday the 13th!AU, jason voorhees!jaehyun, and therefore virgin!jaehyun, final girl!reader, bad by choice

word count: 5017 (part 1) + 2152 (part 2)

tags/warnings: minor character death (i’m sorry, neos), dead dove do not eat essentially, this is based upon the deadliest slasher of them all so, everyone dies except for jaehyun (?) and the reader, and gruesomely at that, author tried to keep the gory details to a minimum, a beheading, machete death, screwdriver death, death, also it turned a bit heartbreaking my apologies, i’d like to clarify that jaemin, jeno, mark and haechan are not unalived for being gay, but for engaging in premarital coitus and/or doing drugs and stuff (as is on brand for jason), riding, thumb in mouth action, dryhumping and giving a homie a handjob, partying including alcohol, mentions of porn, smoking, weed and hookups, i think that’s it, good god…

a/n: yutasbellybuttonpiercing has gone horror nerd. why did they make jason tall and broad? essentially, i wanted to write a jason fic, but make it nct because what the hell. enjoy… or something… or whatever... i’ve applied stereotypical horror tropes (as seen in Cabin in the Woods), scream if you found it and thought it worked. halfway through i decided to make two parts because the ending of part one was too heartbreaking to continue, so i'm splitting it (part 1 = backstory, part 2 = reapder x jaehyun smut). also, welcome back jaehyun… 🥸

“Fun fact about Crystal Lake, guys,” Mark announces from the backseat of Jeno’s mom’s minivan, putting on an eerie voice as he continues, “in 1957, there was, like, an incident where-“

“Who caaaares,” Donghyuck interrupts from next to him, his arm casually resting over the back of the neighboring seat, his reaction to Mark’s nerdy history lesson earning him a slap to his chest from you.

“Behave,” you scold, looking past Mark and out the window, the foggy view outside not really screaming summer, instead making you shudder at the sight of the dampness of the grounds surrounding the lake.

“Okay, but I’m specifically here to get away from history lessons,” Donghyuck complains.

“Don’t you study music?” Jeno speaks up from the driver’s seat, taking a left turn to stop at a run down gas station, the only one in the area.

“Uh, history of music?” Donghyuck grimaces pettily, undoing his seatbelt, “you guys promised me a fun time.”

“No, dude, I brought, like, a ton of weed, though,” Mark tries to save himself.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Donghyuck nods, appeased, finally getting out of the car. You, too, get out to take a look around as Jaemin and Jeno head inside to grab a few snacks for the night and maybe a frozen pizza.

“Are you excited?” You ask Mark as he hops out the vehicle and adjusts his glasses. You notice the rain drops sitting on the gas pump next to you before gazing into the distance to where Donghyuck’s attempting to tie his shoe.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess,” Mark shrugs, blinking as he looks up toward the cloudy sky.

“Doesn’t feel like a summer trip,” you point out, leaning against the frame of the car.

“Dude, that’s just the area, though,” he retorts with a shrug, apparently very knowledgeable on the subject. You huff, “why would anyone buy a summer house here anyway?”

“It’s cheap. No one wants to come here,” he explains, “because of the massacre.”

“The what now?”

“In 1957, two camp counselors were killed at the Crystal Lake Camp, so it was closed and they never found who did it. Ever since then, every time someone steps foot onto the camp grounds, they, like, vanish.”

“And why the fuck would we come here, then?” You ask, genuinely shocked by the news, hugging your arms around yourself at the sudden shivers you’re experiencing.

“Don’t worry, nothing’s gonna happen. It’s, like, folklore and stuff,” Mark assures you, sensing your sudden nervousness, but it does little to calm you down. When you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder, you jump.

“Alright, chill, it’s just me,” Donghyuck grins, a blunt in his hand.

“Yo, don’t get so close to the gas pump, this structure is old enough as it is,” Mark warns, but Donghyuck just grins, waving the lit blunt around. It’s then when you notice a figure a few meters behind him. “Uh, guys..?”

Mark and Donghyuck’s eyes follow your gaze, turning around to make eye contact with an odd figure dressed in run-down clothes, face hidden by a hood.

“Bro is weirdmaxxing,” Donghyuck comments, but doesn’t get a reaction, much to his dismay. Instead, he attempts to make contact. “Aye, what’re you looking at, bro?”

“Hyuck!” Mark shushes him, alarmed, but it’s too late. The hooded figure’s already stepping towards you. Feeling uneasy, you decide to get behind Donghyuck. If he’s got balls enough to yell at this person, he surely can handle the consequences. The figure’s coming closer, and you can finally make out that it’s an older man, but before any confrontation has even the chance to come up between this dude and a in-over-his-head Donghyuck, Jeno steps in, back from buying snacks as the dusty bag of chips on his hand suggests. It appears not many people stop by this gas station to cure their munchies.

“What’s the problem?” Jeno asks, looking between the figure and Donghyuck, shoulders surely broad enough to block any danger from coming your way.

“Get outta here,” the older man rasps, looking up from under his hood, his eyes dark and hollow. In response, Jeno furrows his brows, pushing out his chest, “I think it’s none of your business what we do.”

The old man narrows his eyes, his lips smacking dryly. “This town… it’s dangerous,” he mumbles, “cursed.” Then, with a sharp look into Jeno’s eyes, he adds, “we like to be left alone… and so does he.”

Before anyone can say anything, Jaemin pops up behind Jeno, either misreading the situation or simply not caring as he sneaks an arm around to briefly grope at Jeno’s chest. The older guy, perhaps unrelated, raises his finger cryptically before turning around and disappearing behind the building of the gas station. “Who is ‘he’?” Donghyuck asks, then retorts to yelling after him, “yo! Who is ‘he’?” But he is ignored.The group is left partly stunned, partly impatient. “Creepy NPC gives cryptic warning,” Donghyuck comments with shake of his head, attempts to take a drag off his blunt that’s since died, then curses. Wordlessly, everyone returns to their respective seats, but not without you sending Mark an uncomfortable glance that he returns.

The sun is already hanging low on the horizon as Jeno finally pulls the car up to the house Jaemin’s father had recently bought, primarily for vacations in the calm (an cheap) area of Crystal Lake, but realistically will mostly be used by Jaemin to throw wild parties during uni breaks. Already in a good mood, tipsy and certainly horny, the group exits the vehicle.

“Yo, this is uh… nice,” Mark says unconvincingly, taking a look around. The house looks okay, relatively large and appearing to be expensive, but the surroundings are everything but inviting. The house is surrounded by woods and the lake, the trees barely allowing the remaining sunlight to come through. The ground is wet, it had rained earlier that day, and the dampness the lake brings had kept the moisture in, eventually creating a foggy, depressing atmosphere.

“You are a bad liar Mark Lee,” you comment, goosebumps forming on your skin as the wind graces your arm while you’re taking your bag out from the trunk. Something doesn’t feel right.

“Then we’ll just stay inside, it’s big enough anyway,” Jaemin says, coming up to hug Jeno from behind, pressing a kiss to the older’s neck, who in return shivers and grins. Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Fine, but keep your sensuality to yourselves, some of us had to leave their girlfriend at home…”

“You mean your fleshlight?” Jeno grins, earning a chuckle from the blonde currently attached to him. Donghyuck, too sober to have this conversation, flips him off before heading toward the door only to find out it’s locked.

“Dude, did you think it was unlocked? You gotta be careful in areas like these. Didn’t you hear the dude from the gas station?” Mark shakes his head disbelievingly.

“I never look my dorm room. Not even now,” Donghyuck shrugs foolishly, “I don’t have anything to my name anyway.”

A rustle in the bushes behind you makes you turn your head, narrowing your eyes as you try to make out the source of that noise in the semi-darkness, but all you see are trees upon trees upon trees. You furrow your brows, the uncomfortable feeling arising with renewed intensity. But, apparently, no one else’s heard anything, you conclude from the way Jaemin unlocks the door with the key hidden in a fake rock behind the empty flower pots by the front door. But behind the bushes, hidden in the darkness, a masked figure watches closely.

Alcohol flows, joints are lit, music blasts through the walls as the party starts, it doesn’t take long until Jaemin, body moving to the music sensually, slides into Jeno’s lap, grinding in ways that make you avert your gaze out the window. It’s fully dark outside now, the words of the old man at the gas station coming back to you as you watch the trees. You could swear one of them moved just now, but it was probably just the wind, or that’s what you tell yourself. Something about this trip feels like a horror movie come to life. Mark, noticing your absent mind, comes to sit next to your on the small couch. “You okay? You’ve barely touched the drink Donghyuck mixed for you.”

Your eyes fall onto the ominously colored liquid in a cup on the couch table, grimacing at the thought of tasting it, “I don’t think I should drink that…”

“Fair enough,” Mark nods, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“But don’t you also feel like… off? Like something bad is about to happen?” You sit up, crossing your legs.

“I’ve had that feeling since we were in the car… mainly about Donghyuck vomiting,” Mark chuckles awkwardly, trying to ease your mind with a joke. You offer a small smile in return.

“I feel like something’s out there,” you continue, looking outside again, but there’s nothing, not even birds, just trees. Mark clears his throat, “would you feel better if we checked it out?”

You pause, contemplating, then nod, “yeah, I think so?”

Twigs crack underneath your feet as you and Mark make your way through the neighboring woods, the air’s turned cool, uncharacteristically so given the season, and crickets chirp in the background. “Are you satisfied yet? I kinda wanted to play cards with Donghyuck because he’ll be so stoned I’ll win for once,” Mark grunts, dodging a low-hangin tree branch.

“Is that a house?” You point forward and, truly, behind the thick trees appears a small building. Mark throws you a glance that displays a mixture of curiosity and concern.

When you approach, the shed appears to be run down, the windows are broken, the wood moldy and cracked, and nature’s taken over the architecture with plants growing wildly outside and inside the small, crooked building.

“Do you think this still belongs to Jaemin’s dad’s property?” You ask, taking careful steps over the thorned branches toward the door that’s merely hanging on by one hinge.

“I dunno, maybe?” Mark states, looking back toward where you came from, spotting the roof behind the trees. “But uh, are you sure we- hey! Yo, where are you going? Wait!” Mark tries to catch up with you as you push yourself through the gap between the frame and the door, successfully slipping inside.

The interior looks equally as neglected as the outside, maybe even worse. The dark, humid room appears to be scattered with various items, trash, and rotten wood from the unstable infrastructure, puddles of rain water and condensed air humidity drench the floor, making you stumble to not get your boots wet. As you look around, you notice the walls are covered in mold and various memorabilia in forms of posters and family photos, but the environment had taken its toll on them, leaving the people in the pictures impossible to recognize as such. Old, rotten toys, dirty clothes and unusable furniture litter the broken floorboards, there are no doors, the windows are broken, and there are no signs of functioning electricity. If you had to guess, the remains of the furniture and design of the inner life of the cabin remind you of the 1950s, but you’re certainly no expert.

Mark had finally managed to squeeze himself into the building as well, curious, in ways, but most importantly in worry over your well-being.

“Yuck!” He exclaims, holding a hand over his nose, “why does it smell like butt in here?”

You throw him a glance, “doesn’t smell much worse than Donghyuck’s sock drawer.”

Mark slowly removes his fingers from his nose, interrupting the pinching, then sniffs carefully. His eyes widen in recognition, “Jesus, you’re right! That is exactly it!” You shrug with a smug smirk.

Despite Mark’s worries, you step deeper into the mess, taking notice of the decaying picture frames on the wall. All but one appear to be entirely unrecognizable, but on that one, you can make out a woman and a small child in black and white. Unlike the other’s, this particular photograph looks almost polished, but due to old age, it’s still hard to make out details. A little inscription reads: “Love you Mom – Jaehyun”. Upon eyeing the note, a weird sense of melancholy overcomes you, perhaps because this photograph seems so important to whoever resides in this broken mess of a home. Shaking your head, you move on, eventually being met with an ancient bathtub that seems to harbor the origin of the stench. You squint your eyes and tilt your head as you investigate the ominous contents of the dirty water of the bathtub.

“Do you think this was the set for a horror movie?” You speak up, grabbing a stick to poke into the water. Is that…? “They even forgot a prop! Looks like a severed head!”

Mark grimaces intensely when he steps up and peers over your shoulder. “That does not smell or look like a prop!”

“Eh?” You jump back, effectively stepping on Mark’s foot, having him howl, then stumble briefly before you grab ahold of his hand and save him from slipping and crashing face first into a pointy, wooden stick.

“Woah.”

“Sorry.” You grin apologetically.

Mark takes a deep breath, then nods. “Maybe there’s a homeless guy who steals from people that lives here? Maybe that’s what the dude at the gas station was talking about?”

You shrug, “maybe.” But you’re not convinced. None of the things here are new, or even clean. Either he steals shit and dunks it into the mud before bringing it home, or you’re calling bullshit on Mark’s theory.

A cracking sound makes you both jump. Mark looks around, the atmosphere immediately feeling more eerie. “Enough exploring, okay?”

“Guess so,” you sigh, and the both of you make your way out of the cabin and back into the dark woods.

“Fuck, Jeno,” Jaemin groans, his hips moving rhythmically on Jeno’s lap, the older’s hands gripping Jaemin’s to support his movements as he grunts deeply. Jaemin always looks so beautiful on top of Jeno, not to mention how tight he is around Jeno’s dick.

“Keep going, baby,” Jeno mumbles lowly, taking in the way Jaemin’s eyes close in pure bliss. They’d been hooking up for a while, nothing too serious, but Jaemin’s definitely Jeno’s favorite, and he knows that sentiment is reciprocated. No one can compare to how freaky Jaemin is in the sheets, unabashedly vocalizing his thoughts and wishes, and, fuck, he’s fit. Jeno’s hands stroke up and down Jaemin’s sides, the younger’s muscles rippling with every movement, Jeno feels like he’s reaching depths within Jaemin no other ever could, and judging by Jaemin’s downright pornographic moans, he feels the same.

“You’re so fucking big,” Jaemin moans, throwing his head back and riding Jeno faster.

Jeno chuckles. “You’re one to talk,” he mumbles, wrapping a hand around Jaemin’s dick and stroking lazily. None of them realize yet that they’re being watched.

You and Mark arrive back at the house, the uncomfortable feeling not leaving your body even when you find yourself back in the security of a lit room. Donghyuck sits on the couch, a hand shamelessly buried in his pants, the other holding a pipe that harbors the stench of weed.

“Where are the others?” Mark asks, plopping down on an armchair across from Donghyuck.

“Fucking,” Donghyuck says, his glazed eyes meeting Mark’s, “leaving me all alone in this shit hole of a living room without any bars.” He sets down the pipe and lifts his phone weakly. “Can’t even watch fucking porn.”

“Poor you,” you say sarcastically, deciding to leave this conversation to get a soda from the kitchen.

Donghyuck mocks you silently as you leave the room, then rolls his eyes before looking at Mark. “The only thing here worth looking at are these knock-off playboy magazines,” he states, nodding his head over to the couch table. Mark leans forward to take a look.

“Dude, that’s a women’s sports magazine, though,” Mark points out, mildly amused.

“Who cares, ’s got tits and all…” Donghyuck shrugs, “even a nipple on page 57.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, but checks nonetheless.

In the meantime, you’ve reached the kitchen at the far end of the house. You retrieve your drink, open it and take a sip, then freeze. What was that? You furrow your brows, stepping closer to the window. You could swear you just saw something move, but really, it’s hard to tell in the darkness.

Flipping through the magazine, Mark and Donghyuck have found that it’s way easier when they sit next to each other. Mark does not appreciate the crude comments Donghyuck makes, but in all honesty? He’s too horny to mind all that much. When he really thinks about it, Donghyuck’s kinda soft, like a girl, and he smells of vanilla, even through the stench of weed. And before he knows it, Mark’s stopped looking at women in spandex and has turned his attention to Donghyuck’s side profile instead. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for Donghyuck to notice.

“… and page 57, the nipple. It’s like, bulging the fabric there, see? … Mark?” Donghyuck looks up. “Dude, the nipple…”

“To be honest, I don’t really care,” Mark explains, swallowing. He doesn’t know why his gaze drops to Donghyuck’s plush lips. Despite being high as a kite, Donghyuck realizes what’s going on. “Got inspired by Jaemin and Jeno or what?” He smirks, ever so slightly turning his head to look back at Mark.

“Shut up, I’m just horny, dude,” Mark says, wetting his lips. Did Donghyuck just come closer?

“Look, me too, man, but I don’t think I’m that gay. And besides, there’s this girl on campus that’s seriously giving me signs, you know,” Donghyuck replies casually.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Mark says too quickly, “let’s just, like, jerk each other off. Nothing else.”

Donghyuck think about it for a long moment. “Okay, fine. But no funny business.”

Intensely, you stare out the window. Outside, it’s mostly dark except for the moonlight and the light that comes from the house and faintly illuminates the nearest section of the forest. It makes you realize how obvious it is that someone’s home.

Donghyuck pulls Mark on top of him. “Can’t do it without a bit of foreplay,” he mumbles before pressing his lips against Mark’s, who is happy to kiss him back. It doesn’t take long for Mark to deliver a cautious hump of his hips against Donghyuck’s, earning a groan from the him. It gets sloppy quickly, Donghyuck moves his hips against Mark’s with a determination that makes Mark’s head spin.

“Jesus,” he groans, his hands going to Donghyuck’s sweatpants.

“Just ‘Hyuck’ is fine,” Donghyuck jokes breathlessly, but is ignored by Mark who really doesn’t have time for Donghyuck’s horribly timed jokes as he pushes his into Donghyuck’s boxers. Donghyuck groans, mirroring the action. “Fuck, forgot you don’t have a pussy,” he jokes as he pulls Mark’s dick from the confines of his boxers.

“Shut up,” Mark groans, thrusting his hips into Donghyuck’s grip.

You gasp when you finally see it. There’s a figure at the edge of the woods, tall, dark and dangerous as it seems to be watching the house. While your first instinct is to run and warn everyone, you feel a certain sensation that makes you stop in your tracks before you can even turn around. It’s an odd mixture of sadness and… attraction? Your lips part ever so slightly as you squint your eyes in hopes of seeing the figure better. From here, you’d assume it’s a man, but that’s really all you can determine from afar, except for… a hockey mask? Leaning further in, you aim to press your nose against the window, but your hand misses the counter and you stumble, barely catching yourself to not fall flat against the see-through surface. You blink in shock, and when you look back at the forest, he’s gone.

“I’m close, are you?” Mark asks, breathing heavily, inhaling the scent Donghyuck’s neck gives off. The younger responds with a needy moan that makes Mark’s hips stutter. Two, three more thrusts and Mark can feel Donghyuck’s dick pump, spilling all over the older’s hand, which then trigger’s Mark own high. Breathing heavily, they ride it out together until the sensations subside and reality slowly comes back to them.

Mark clears his throat, slowly moving away, tugging himself back into his boxers despite the sticky mess, and adjusts his glasses. Donghyuck pulls his sweatpants up as well, briefly grimacing at the feeling of his release seeping into the fabric. He clears his throat awkwardly. In the same moment, you reenter the living room. “Guys, I think I just saw something out there–,” you stop in your tracks, looking upon the scene. Both guys are panting, slightly red in the face, and the stains on their shirts and pants are incredibly obvious. “Did you guys..?”

“You love it when Nana rides you, hm? Fuck, I wish you could suck my fucking cock,” Jaemin grunts, goosebumps forming on his arms. Who’d decided to leave the window open?

“Love it, fuck, I love it,” Jeno nods needily, taking one of Jaemin’s hands in his and guiding his thumb into his mouth. Jaemin grins, “that’s a good boy…” In response, Jeno snaps his hips upwards faster to meet Jaemin’s movement. The younger moans, lost in the feeling, he throws his head back, his hips move faster and faster, Jeno sucks his thumb deeper into his mouth when suddenly a squelching noise interrupts the movements. Jeno’s eyes snap open at the stop of Jaemin’s hips, and he is met with gut-wrenching horror. Through the middle of Jaemin’s chest, almost perfectly center, a blade had been shoved, blood trickling out around the fresh wound. Jeno blinks, his hand coming up to his face splattered with blood. What the fuck is happening? His drug-clouded mind can barely keep up with the horrific view in front of him. Jeno screeches when the blade is suddenly pulled out, causing Jaemin’s body to slump backwards, and Jeno scrambles to get out from under its weight, and in front of him Jeno sees a large, broad figure with a hockey mask.

“What the fuck?!” Jeno yells, barely able to pull his boxers back up as he scoots against the headboard. The figure tilts its head minimally, the eye-holes in the hockey mask displaying nothing but darkness. Jeno’s eyes dart back to Jaemin, his breath speeding up. “He’s dead, he’s fucking dead, you killed him- you-“

The figure turns its head to look at the body as well, then its gaze zeros in on Jeno who thankfully connects the dots and scrambles away at the last possible second before the blood-soaked blade of the machete crashes into the headboard. Jeno almost trips as he rushes out of the room, slamming the door behind him in hopes that that would slow the killer down somehow, and manages to get down the stairs to where Donghyuck, Mark and you are scattered throughout the living room.

You jump at the sudden noise, immediately noticing the blood all over Jeno.

“Ah, sex induced nose bleed?” Donghyuck jokes.

“That shouldn’t be a thing, go see a doctor,” Mark points out.

“You go see a doctor for your know-it-all-itis,” Donghyuck retorts.

“Jeno?” You ask, seeing him paler than usual and unfocused.

“Jaemin’s..,” he pauses to blink, then looks back upstairs to make sure he’s not been followed, “…dead.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?” Mark asks. You look concerned.

“’s this guy and he,” Jeno mimics the movements he’d just witnessed.

You gulp. “Wait, a guy? What’d he look like?”

“Hockey mask.”

“Okay, okay,” Mark paces around the living room, thinking, “you’re telling me Jaemin’s body’s up there? And a like 7 foot guy with a machete and a mask? Okay, okay…”

Jeno sniffles at the mention of Jaemin. You gulp. Could you have prevented this?

Donghyuck, in the meantime, lights another joint, blowing the smoke into the air. “Bullshit,” he simply says, he’s been saying that for the past three minutes, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Tools, we need weapons, we need…” Mark mumbles, then stops, “didn’t we see a shed? Maybe there’s like gardening tools like an axe or something?”

“Bro, don’t go out there, it’s potentially dangerous,” you reason, gazing back down the hallway to the kitchen.

“How about we drive away?” Mark suggests, “get to safety, come back tomorrow and get the police involved.”

“Police? Dude, house’s full of weed,” Donghyuck argues.

“Would you rather die?” Jeno speaks up, getting up from being hunched over on the couch.

“No one’s gonna die,” Donghyuck says calmly, getting up and walking around the room to look up the stairs. “There’s no one here.”

“I’m gonna go get tools from the shed,” Mark announces, “I’m not waiting around like a sheep.”

“I really don’t think that’s– Mark!” You call out, put he’s already marched out the terrace door.

“Tools, tools, shed! I’m calmly walking to the shed. It’s a normal night and the shed is close-by. Nothing is dangerous and I am not brave because this isn’t dangerous,” Mark tells himself out loud as he steps down the small path toward the garden shed on the lawn, hoping that being in denial might calm his heart rate. It doesn’t. Without any harm done to his person, he arrives at the small wooden building. He pushes the door open and searches for the light switch, but is met with a lack thereof. Why would it have a light, normally people don’t go in there at night to retrieve self defense tools for an incident involving a masked murderer. To his surprise, he finds a flashlight on a shelf by the door. He grabs it and turns it on.

The inside of the shed is surprisingly organized and, most importantly, not filled with a murderer, Mark realizes as he takes a look around with the beam of the flashlight illuminating some of the interior. “Okay, okay, what could kill someone?” He mumbles, scanning through the shelves. His eyes drop to a screwdriver sitting on top of a tool box, but he dismisses it. When he makes eye contact with an axe, the light of the flashlight flickers, then goes out. Mark curses, shaking it and even smacking it against the palm of his hand, but all it does is flicker, then nothing. “Long lasting battery life,” Mark mumbles sarcastically, reaching forward to where he can faintly make out the axe. It’s then when he feels a presence. He freezes. “Hello?” The flashlight flickers on again. Immediately, Mark turns to look behind him, but there’s nothing. He exhales shakily and turns back around, noticing the screwdriver is missing. He blinks.

Again, he turns back around and is met with the sight of an enormous chest. Slowly, he looks up, the flashlight flickers, and he looks directly into a pair of empty eyes behind a hockey mask.

“Okay, dude, please, look, I don’t know what you want, my family has money, anything, please, just–“ but the next thing he feels is a sharp pain in his forehead and a gush of warm liquid running down his nose. He barely manages to cross his eyes to be met with the handle of a screwdriver before the lights go out.

In the living room, the mood is generally anxious, except for Donghyuck who casually glances out of the large terrace windows from time to time. Jeno paces up and down the carpet, and you sit anxiously on the couch, biting at your cuticles. Was this all your fault?

“Where the fuck is he?” Jeno speaks up.

“Probably just a lot to carry,” you try to stay optimistic, but the weary tone in your voice is evident.

Donghyuck opens the terrace door. Both you and Jeno jump to stop him, but it’s too late. “MARK?”

“You fool!” Jeno scolds, stepping closer in an attempt to close the door, but Donghyuck stops him,

“Dude, I’m hot, just leave it,” he argues.

“Donghyuck, step away from the door,” Jeno warns. It appears that he’s ready to use force.

“If you hit me, are you any better than the hockey man?” Donghyuck jokes. Jeno closes his eyes to calm himself down before he actually kills Donghyuck.

“Hyuck! Behind you!” You suddenly screech, pointing, but it’s too late. With a swoosh, the machete flies through the air and with a thump mere seconds later, Donghyuck’s head falls to the carpeted floor, closely followed by the rest of his body collapsing. As fast as your legs can carry you, you and Jeno scurry out the house and towards the car.

“Shit, the keys!” Jeno curses, turning around on his heel and rushing back inside. You follow, unwilling to wait by the car alone.

The masked killer is nowhere to be seen as Jeno rifles through the living room in desperate search of the keys. In shock, you look at Donghyuck’s body by the window, recoiling at the sight. By the time you’ve managed to take your eyes off of the horror, Jeno’s turned the living room upside down, unable to find the keys. “Fuck, I don’t know where he put them,” he curses, throwing a couch cushion behind him.

“Jeno…” you says slowly as the floorboards of the second floor creak loudly.

Jeno whips his head around just in time to see the killer effortlessly throw Jaemin’s body over the railing, causing it to crash to the floor in another blood bath.

“Stop! Stop it,” Jeno cries out, and for reasons that are beyond you, rushes toward Jaemin’s lifeless form. You stand in shock, pressed to the wall, as the killer slowly makes his way down the stairs. Jeno drops to his knees. “Stop.. stop hurting him.”

You gulp, unmoving, tears pooling in your eyes. You turn away as the inevitable happens, and you merely here a squelching sound accompanied by a grunt, then a thump.

© 2026 YUTASBELLYBUTTONPIERCING all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works.

[saturnn127]

couldn’t make it any harder | lee jeno smau

pairing: uni student!lee jeno x jaehuyn’s sister!reader synopsis: jeong yn has built herself a reputation as a certified man hater, acting like a bitch to any and every man that comes her way. unfortunately for lee jeno, he gets a hard on for bitchy women. no wait, just yn. however, there's a reason yn has a hatred for men and relationships, so no matter which feelings begin to surface, she's not going to entertain them. at least, that was the plan before the past begins to show up again. warnings: cursing, drug usage, non-active character death, mentions of terminal illness, talks of abusive relationships, (not serious) slut shaming, reader is kind of a bitch, haechan being haechan, haechan slander (he likes it), suggestive comments, questionable behavior, out of pocket statements, might be cringe sometimes soz, random face claims (i'm blurring the faces out dw), maybe some mischaracterization (i'm trying), unrealistic college experiences (i don't talk to ppl on campus), intentional lowercase, probably some typos, some written chapters, jeno is a himbo simp, but he does no wrong we love him, ok i think that's it i'll stop talking now. schedule: the goal is at least once a week, but don't hold me to it. more frequent posts when i’m in a mood to write. status: ongoing (hiatus: busy adulting :/) started: 3.26.2025 ended: ???

index

>profile (yn and jeno) >profile (yn’s friends) >profile (yn’s family) >profile (jeno’s friends)

dolce and gabbana scarf

woo party party

got that apologetic rizz

premarital hand holding

the beach episode

pink rolling papers

a little zaza (iykyk)

stanky legged too hard

i’m here to save you, yn.

manifestation does exist

let me tell you smth

chess club???

homophobe era

ok boomer

bad juju energy

an intervention

bombastic side eye

broke sugar daddy

jaemin’s shayla (alt title: a fart)

murder this puss‼️

boo you whore

the math is mathing

no party like a jackson party

jaemin caught bad case of the stripes

to be added to the taglist, leave a comment under this or any of my other posts. i respond to every comment and i love hearing what you guys think, so please interact! my asks are open for any suggestions, ideas, or feedback. (both pos and neg, just please be respectful!)

taglist: @kukkurookkoo @nosungluv @hoeingthefuckup @dilflover44 @alwayswonbinning @jaellymint @n0hyuck @mwrsi @awktwurtle @haechology @tyongspice1 @t-102 @lvsdoyo @jae-n0 @ne0sgotmyback @neozon3nha @minkyuncutie @httpsxnox @bbykaixx @urlocalbeaner5 @wdwbts101 @heavenjae @markiesfatbooty @xlvyt @purezitas @kswluvrr @

[yutarot]

she’s the man. l.hc smau

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ humour, friends to lovers, college au, gamer!haechan, gamer!yn, everyone’s a gamer actually, loosely based off the movie ‘she’s the man’, fem reader, slowburn, angst, plot heavy

synopsis. after you discover your love for gaming, you soon find out that your college won’t let you in any of their e-sports teams due to your gender. but what happens when your twin brother leaves town just before he’s about to start at a new college, where not even NCU’s e-sports captain, lee haechan knows anything about him? there’s only one problem, your brother’s crazy ex is trying to hunt you down. will they all find out your true identity? and will their views on you change if they discover who you really are?

++ will be using the same taglist as my other works for ease, dm if you would like to be removed.

WARNINGS: language, mention of alcohol/being drunk, jokes about death, the plot will divert from the original movie, themes of sexism (at the start), cliffhangers again sorry guys, typos literally everywhere, a littleee bit of violence, small injury detail, heavy on the miscommunication trope… obviously…, lots of angst, things get MESSY, a small (?) plot twist

STATUS: COMPLETE! 08.06.24 - 09.03.24

DISCLAIMER: all portrayals of people are fake and from my imagination, in no way am i claiming that they act like this irl

MASTERLIST

[profiles one] || [profiles two] || [ig profiles]

[1 - positive affirmations]

[2 - let me cook]

[3 - dream vacation destination]

[4 - why’s he kinda…]

[5 - therapy scheduled]

[6 - winky face and all]

[7 - sorry i can’t read]

[8 - trick or treat]

[9 - “can i get your number?”] written chapter

[10 - bro shes your friends sister]

[11- double date]

[12 - canada?]

[13 - do you do weddings?]

[14 - sick and twisted.]

[15 - all of the above]

[16 - who are you?]

[17 - i don’t wanna see you again]

[18 - it’s all over]

[19 - he doesn’t miss you] written chapter

[20 - the truth]

[21 - we’ve missed you]

[22 - you’re delusional sweetie]

[23 - i guess we both had our secrets] written chapter

[24 - second male lead]

[25 - i had no idea]

[26 - is she okay]

[27 - you know her]

[28 - the nile?]

[FINAL; 29 - you already do] written chapter

END!

replies, likes and reblogs are all appreciated! feel free to send requests in my asks; scenes, chapters, characters etc.

TAGLIST - CLOSED.

[yutarot]

SHES THE MAN [l.hc smau]

FINAL: 29 - you already do. wc: 1.4k

college esports fair — 7:29pm

somehow, ten had convinced you to watch the main stage tournament.

“ten, please, can we just watch 5 minutes and go. i really don’t want to bump into haechan right now, on valorant it was bareable but i wouldn’t even know what to say if i saw him in person…” you rant off to your bestfriend, stood next to you.

infront of you, ten and the crowd, was a stage with empty spaces for 12 contestants lined along the back, tbu’s esports coach, johnny suh, stood at the front with a microphone.

as johnny was beginning to explain the rules of game, ten whispers to you.

“sure. but it’ll be fine! trust me.”

you give him a suspicious glance but decide to go along with it anyways, finally tuning into the coaches speech after he had got the microphone to stop buffering.

“there will be two teams, team 1 and team 2.”

“creative.” you whisper to ten, who laughs.

johnny glances at you, somehow having heard you, before clearing his throat to continue. the people around you laugh.

“each team will be chosen by 2 of the college leagues finest captains. drumroll please?”

you roll your eyes before lazily drumming your palms against tens arm.

“ow!” ten yelps, but you only laugh as he brushes you off.

but your laughter is soon cut short as the two faces you wish would no longer exist, step out onto stage.

from the left, eric sohn.

and from the right,

haechan.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding.” you murmer, but tens smirking. why is he smirking??

“boys, please choose the 5 players you would like to contribute in your team, taking turns. a coin flip will decide first choice.”

your heart is pounding and you have no clue why.

eric yells heads, leaving haechan to be stuck with tails.

“tails, tails, tails, please, tails.” you hear ten chant from beside you, but you dont ask why, you make a mental note to ask him later. not that you’ll have to, of course. little did you know it’d all become evident, very soon.

johnny flips the coin. “and its heads!”

ten swears to himself and you want to question him as to why he cares so much, but there’s a pair of eyes looking right at you that pull you straight out of your thoughts.

or should you say, two pairs of eyes.

“ten, we have to leave. i have a bad feeling about this.”

but ten only laughs in reply.

as either teams first 4 contestants get decided and called onto stage, you’re still begging ten for you to leave but he ignores you.

johnny calls out to eric to decide his final team member. “do you care to choose your last player, eric?”

he’s looking directly at you and you hate it.

you need to get out of there.

“yes i do. i know exactly who i’d like to pick.”

his attention turns to haechan. and for some reason, haechan looks angry. it’s like there’s some secret between eric, haechan and for some reason ten, that you don’t know about.

you find out why, the second the next four words leave eric’s lips.

“i want yn zhong.”

you feel eyes turn to you. ten beside you, clenching his jaw in anger.

“what?” you whisper. you want to say no, you want to call out and disagree. but haechan beats you to it.

“not happening.” haechan says. eric laughs in spite.

johnny picks up his mic. “do we have a disagreement here, haechan lee?”

haechan turns from eric to face johnny before finally letting his eyes fall to yours.

“i want her.”

you know he means he wants you on the team, but you can’t help but wonder if there’s a double meaning in his words.

he’s supposed to hate you, he’s supposed to despise what you did to him, all that you lied about.

but he wants you?

“then i guess that leaves us with only one option. the chosen persons decision. yn? choose. team 1 or team 2?”

your heart is racing. johnny is making you choose between your ex boyfriend and haechan. so as you walk up to the stage, you spent those 6 seconds deciding exactly what team you want to join.

as you walk straight over to him, he smiles. haechan smiles.

— 9:48pm.

you won. you did it. you finally beat eric.

you could nearly drown in the look on his face as he stormed off that stage the moment you had wiped out his entire team.

but finally, after all that had happened. you got your revenge.

not as chenle, not as anyone else. but as you.

and my god did it feel amazing.

to celebrate, you had jumped up, throwing your arms around the nearest person to you.

but it’s only now that you’re realising who that person is.

slowly, he breaks the hug to look at you.

“look…yn…”

“should we take a walk? i don’t really wanna argue in front of all these people.” you interrupt.

“argue…?” haechan asks under his breath. but your already off the stage, waving bye to ten as you walk towards the empty, turned off carousel. leaving haechan no choice but to rush after you.

wow, that game must have lasted alot longer than you thought.

sitting on one of the faux carriage seats, haechan takes a seat next to you.

“you still hate me, don’t you?” haechan starts.

you look up at him. “what?”

“you know, i kicked you off the team. got mad at you for no reason then just refused to hear you out.”

you’re silent. but he continues.

“you know, i didn’t believe it at first. you pretending to be your brother, but it all makes perfect sense to me now.”

“what do you mean?”

“you helping me with somi, finishing my homework for me when i forgot deadlines, logging into my accounts to finish levels. you were just being a good friend, and i blew it off over jealousy.”

you wanted to cry. you never thought you’d feel so much guilt, but now he’s laying it all before you as his fault…you don’t think you can stand lying to him about anything, any longer.

“im not mad at you haechan.”

his attention on you peaks at this. you pause before continuing.

“in all honesty, i thought you hated me for, well, you know, lying to you about who i was.”

your suddenly very aware about how small this bench is, and how dark it is around you. but he’s right next to you. and that’s something you’ve unknowingly been wishing for, for weeks.

“really?” haechan asks, and your surprised at his confusion. “you thought i was mad at that?”

and now it’s your turn to be confused.

if he didn’t hate you, and you didn’t hate him. what was all this for? why had you been avoiding eachother ever since he kicked chenle out? why had you blatantly ignored every chance there was to see him, if neither of you hated eachother?

unless.

you both liked eachother instead.

“yn, im not mad at you for lying to me.”

your breath stops at his words. he carries on.

“im mad at myself for not realising you were here, directly infront of me, this entire. fucking. time.”

it takes a moment for you to register his words, so you stay silent as you let him continue.

“so give me a chance to know you. the person who stayed up with me all night, the person who fixed my busted cheek. i wanna know you.”

you smile.

because there’s something inbetween all this that he’s forgetting. something that makes all of this a whole lot easier.

“you already do.”

his eyes never cease to leave yours as his hand grazes your chin. and slowly, under the light of the stars and the distant rumble of voices and game music behind you, he kisses you.

and it’s perfect.

through all you’ve been through together, finally you don’t have to hide. this moment is everything you’ve ever wanted.

more than beating eric, more than making the team, more than jaemins limited edition pokémon cards.

this.

for, from this moment on, being with haechan means one thing and one thing only.

you’ll never have to pretend again.

[mlist]

NOTES: and that’s it! thank you so much for following along w this story, i really appreciate every single like, reply and reblog you guys leave, it means the world to me that people enjoy what i put out! i really struggled with this ending and i sooo desperately wanted to give it a bad ending but @chenlesfavorite may have made me change my mind so you can thank her for saving that😓😓 again tysm for following along!!! i hope you all enjoyed reading and i look forward to starting my jaehyun smau tonight!! 🫶🫶

TAGLIST - CLOSED - @lostinneocity @aek1ra @haechansleftshoulder @sunghoonsgfreal @cyjzzl @nanaxwi @neocrashed @candied-czennie @alethea-moon @vantxx95 @nerdsungie @morkiee @sthwaaberry @sunnystarred @p-d1ddy @starfilledgaze @markeroolee @polarisjisung @222brainrot @grassbutneo @minsugahh @daegalfangirl @injunnie-lemon @therealbobbyshloby @flwrs4marklee @jirsungs @donghyucksslut @junviadinho @minkyuncutie @multifandomania @n0hyuck @yehet267 @nctrawberries @neogothyuckie @snoopyjimin @yewshi @theyluvfrankocean @nanamyh3art @i03jae @ckline35 @hyuoonp @galacticnct @haechology @lttlekomori @cutiebambi @tynlvr @sunflowerhae @joyzluvr @taeeflwrr

[ilovedinodino]

falling on command l.hc smau

pairing: student!haechan x student!f.reader

synopsis: Haechan absolutely hated you--he couldn't stand you. What made it even worse was that you were part of the same friend group, yet he skillfully ignored you. You, on the other hand, didn't seem to care. Or at least that's what it looked like.

It went on like this until one day, Jaemin suggested experiment to Haechan-he should try to make himself like you.

genre: comedy, enemies to lovers (one-sided), fluff, angst, suggestive

warnings: swearing, haechan is really mean and stupid sometimes, kms jokes, idk what else lmk!

an: i didn’t do profiles bc i’m so lazy for it😔 any feedback is appreciated! english is not my first language, so forgive my mistakes. also sorry for bad cover i can’t do shit

taglist: open!

status: ongoing

1. biology class

2. jisungie

3. i don’t understand

4. i will make it fun

[luviestarz]

lee haechan library

series/smau

𖤐 haechan is a ho! ho! ho! — a luvpuffcore collab.

drabbles/timestamps

𖤐 [8:46 am] chapstick

𖤐 it feels like sitting on a throne, sitting on donghyuck’s face. (profanity, oral sex)

𖤐 haechan is obsessed with you

𖤐 Inseparable - Slight Yandere!Haechan X Reader (Slight Yandere!AU, Horror, Angst, Mature)

𖤐 the morning after with haechan (content warning - suggestive)

𖤐 sit on haechans face

𖤐 Hyuck eating pussy on his knees in an alley where anyone could see him

𖤐 kiss me quick (enemies to lovers | college roommate!hyuck)

a kiss between you and your awful roommate reveals something neither of you expect.

𖤐 haechan — just for you (boyfriend!haechan x afab reader, smut, minors dni, some fluff)

𖤐 love foolish

“how do you always make me love you even more, how are you real?” and “you’re so fucking cute”

𖤐 haechan's the sweetest boyfriend, but piss him off and he'll fuck you like a whore.

𖤐 meow haechan using a lot of tongue meow meow 

or: you’re thinking of getting a tongue piercing, but you’re not sure how haechan feels

𖤐 gimme gimme! (FLUFF! established relationship)

𖤐 request #1: meandom!haechan who's still weak for his gf (smut, 18+ minors dni, some fluff)

𖤐 moles ♡‧₊˚ lee haechan (established relationship, fluff.)

you read something on the internet that made you feel jealous of a person you didn’t even know but haechan knows just how to reassure you.

𖤐 [22:23] (fluff, slight angst, party!AU, bad boy!AU, established relationship!AU, college!AU)

𖤐 she’s quiet (s,f) (reader is an introvert and haechan is haechan, haechan is also like really down bad)

although you were not looking to make new friends, the ones you had tried their hardest to push you out of your comfort zone to find something abnormal for you. which is why you’re at a frat party on a thursday night, watching as lee donhyuck observes you from afar.

𖤐 eyes tell (fluff, confession)

donghyuck has been trying to confess his feelings to you. third time's the charm, he thinks.

𖤐 i love it, starboy (slight yandere! idol! haechan x fangirl! reader)

𖤐 haechan refuses to accept rejection. (cw: stalking, drugging, h*rassment)

𖤐 request #3: posessive dom!haechan (dom haechan in general, temperature play (ice cubes), filming during sex)

𖤐 haechan x reader (f)

haechan is capturing everything he loves and cherishes on his new camera and it’s mostly you filling up his sd card

𖤐 college boyfriend!haechan

𖤐 perv!haechan

𖤐 Double Take (angst, fluff, suggestive, childhood friends to lovers au, some cursing and mentions of alcohol and sex)

𖤐 My Boy. (the innocent sweet boy)

A series of failed relationships and you were this near of giving up on love. But then here comes little Donghyuck and his persistence. Maybe-- he was the one fated to you, after all.

𖤐 kiss it better

haechan gets hurt but you know that with him it’s not going to be as simple as putting a band-aid on it

𖤐 bus stop

haechan rides the bus. you hop on the same ride. minutes later, you two were a couple. he never questioned why.

𖤐 daze (smut)

𖤐 falling in love with haechan

𖤐 the bet (ice hockey player!hyuck x fem!reader, smut, friends to lovers)

you and lee donghyuck created a bet that stated you two would have sex if he made the winning shot. now, you’re pinned up against the lockers, about to do the one thing best friends don’t do, and you definitely shouldn’t be wanting more.

𖤐 stalker!haechan

𖤐 flustered by you (streamer!haechan x streamer!reader)

your boyfriend surely knows how to make you flustered, even when he’s the one who should be.

𖤐 to have you (streamer!hyuck x streamer!reader)

your sleeping schedules never fail to worsen, but in luck, you have him to ease those troubles — just don’t mind the stream in the background, of course.

𖤐 Just one more. (fluff, established relationship!AU, domestic!AU)

𖤐 ⇢ haechan as your boyfriend

𖤐 the right one. (m) (bestfriend!hyuck x reader, yandere vibes, a little dub con)

donghyuck doesn’t like you going on dates with anyone else, especially lee jeno. you’re supposed to be his. and only his.

𖤐 body language [l.dh] (romance, friends to lovers)

You and Donghyuck have been dance partners for the past 6 years. When he gets into an accident that costs him a competition and substitutes himself with another dancer, he realizes he’s not so open at all to having you dance with someone else, especially having their hands in the places he considered his.

𖤐 ❛NICE GUY❜ ( l. haechan ) (p. stalker!haechan x fem!reader)

in the midst of your stalker running lose you trust haechan , he seems like nice guy

𖤐 rating: 18+. mdni. (noncon)

𖤐 spur of the moment (ldh) (basically just smut, perv!haechan)

𖤐 impulse (smut, hickeys, car s*x, oral s*x (m receiving), swearing, light dirty talk)

saying i love you for the first time during the heat of the moment doesn’t really count... right?

𖤐 awkward. (lee donghyuck. smut)

in which haechan meets you in a gamestop, letting his impatience get the back of him after dropping you off at home. who knew how awkward it would be when you find him?

𖤐 attention (cock sucking, boob job, fingering, finger sucking, pussy slapping (like, once))

gamer boys are the easiest target for you. they barely interact with any other woman so the moment you find out haechan was a gamer boy, you promised to sit on his lap any time he wanted to. 

𖤐 corny stuck under the bed scenario (oral (fem received.), dumbification (both), embarrassing (haechan))

you're running, rushing, looking for your keys.. and ah ha! you found them under your roommate's bed but now you're stuck.. who else could help you? but your loser roommate, haechan?

𖤐 ( 📁 twenty minutes. by lee haechan ＿ ⭐ O1O1 ) (fluff, established relationship and lots of cuddles.)

where haechan finds you in the practice room and can't help but want you all to himself.

𖤐 between the sheets » ldh (smut (mdni!!), haechan x reader)

you find yourself chased out of your apartment in the dead of night, and desperately seeking a place to sleep, you somehow wind up at haechan’s door

𖤐 your boyfriend thought of himself as an extension of you

𖤐 ⎯ sweet nothings… (dom!haechan)

𖤐 strawberries & sunshine (smut, established relationship)

your adorable best friend takes you to a picnic in a secluded spot but his intentions may be far from innocent...

𖤐 where do we go (smoking, readers got some bad friends)

𖤐 teeth | l.hc (college!au, enemies with benefits, smut)

Traditionally the caption of the cheer team and the captain of the soccer team are friends - some even date. But you and Donghyuck definitely aren’t friends - if anything you’re enemies. The two of you can’t go five minutes without an argument. So, why are you letting him fuck you in the locker room?

𖤐 # impatient !! l.dh (nsfw + minors dni)

making a bet with hyuck when he won’t pay attention to you because his league match takes priority.

𖤐 allure. (m)

𖤐 Fun, Fun, Fun | Haechan (swimmer!hyuck, fluff!!!!!!!)

you can come along with me cause we’ve got a lot of things to do now, and we’ll have fun, fun, fun.

𖤐 ( drabble ) vampiro ̨ ! 𓉸ྀི 一 이해찬 ՞ (vampire!haechan x f!reader • NSFW (mdni))

𖤐 jealous!bf!hyuck! x reader. (choking, exhibitionist hyuck, cursing, jealous/angry sex.)

𖤐 good girls (m) | slytherin!hyuck (public sex, overstimulation, creampies, degradation, riding)

donghyuck thinks you’re the most perfect, little goody-two-shoes head girl who’s ever walked the halls of hogwarts. that is, until he finds out you’ve fucked na jaemin in the back of the library.

oneshots

𖤐 i turned my best friend into an e-boy (and kissed him!!!) (fluff / best friend + youtuber au)

𖤐 Love Bites (Vampire AU, Roommates AU | Smut, Fluff, Humor, Romance)

Supernatural creatures don’t scare you, so when the cute neighbor who lives just across the hallway offers you a chance to move in for cheaper rent, you agree in a heartbeat--even when he consumes human blood on a daily basis.

𖤐 Babe Watch [M]

You and Haechan both have big plans this summer. You’re going to earn yourself a spot on the infamous Baywatch team and Haechan’s deadset on getting the girl. It just so happens that both your plans intersect quite nicely.

𖤐 beware the panty perv ♡ ldh x reader (pwp smut, haechan x reader, f x m, college!au, crack)

there’s a mystery at hand! it seems like your panties have been vanishing into thin air whenever you need them most? angry that your favorite pairs of panties are going missing, you decide to put on your detective hat in hopes of finding the mysterious lingerie bandit. but between all of the guys that you sleep with— you can’t seem to pinpoint who the culprit could be. it couldn’t possibly be your absolute geek of a tutor for calculus, right? nah.

𖤐 pussy fiend (l.dh)

𖤐 SURE THING (L.DH) (drug use (weed) mentioned; reader partakes, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, fingering (receiving), mild dacryphilia, hair pulling (giving, receiving))

𖤐 young gods (l.dh) (smut, bonnie & clyde!au, a tinge of enemies to lovers)

in the midst of committing felonies in the dark, lee donghyuck—your literal partner in crime and ride or die for life—manages to snag your heart in the process without you even realizing it. i mean, what the hell did you expect from seoul city’s most notorious robber?

𖤐 I LIKE YOU (I DO) (L.DH) (weed consumption, smut)

stoner!haechan just wants you to know how much he likes you.

𖤐 paperclip (Haechan x afab!Reader I ft. Jaehyun, obsessive yandere type behaviour, vouyer!hyuck)

your gamer neighbour has always been your weak spot, and try as you might to move on with someone new, it’s nearly impossible to avoid the man whose apartment is directly across from yours… or his texts.

𖤐 if I lose my mind (dream sorter haechan x dreamer fem reader)

you’ve never cared much for your dreams. they were always confusing nonsense you forgot in the morning. this until you started to have the same dream again and again and again: a lobby, pleasant elevator music in the background, many golden doors, a handsome young man welcoming you and asking where you wanted to go that night. his name was haechan and apparently you weren’t supposed to know that, let alone fall in love with him. 

𖤐 Started With A Kiss (Actor AU, Smut, Fluff, Humor)

Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?

𖤐 free falling (gamer au, smut, perv!hyuck)

your friend haechan has been acting kinda weird lately.. does it have anything to do with you? maybe it does, considering he keeps looking at you like you're gonna kill him any second. well, that and he randomly liked a three month old picture of you.

𖤐 haechan — gold-skinned, eager baby (basically haechan loves your boobs)

he used to be able to hide it. he used to be fine with glancing at you, habitually flicking his eyes to your chest when you would walk into the room or snuggle up to him. but now he’s totally fucked, because he thinks he’s developed some sort of addiction.

𖤐 cool off; ldh

haechan lets you in on a practice room secret that leads to a new hang out buddy during practice

𖤐 haechan — if i believe you (angst & fluff, fake dating to real)

“what if we catch feelings?” tilting his head to the side in consideration, he leans in close, one arm reaching out to cage you in. the two of you are nose to nose. you can count his every eyelash, see the constellation of moles scattered across his face and neck. his breath so close to your own, that your eyes can’t help but flutter shut.“then that’s the best part.” he whispers.

𖤐 Pearlescent (Fluff, smut, romance, established relationship.)

A shoreline sunset spent cozied up against Hyuck dives deep past surface level. His lips profess his heart’s intent; his eyes reflect waves dancing in iridescent glimmers; his love whispered into your skin evokes heated passion. 

𖤐 request #4 - himbo haechan (fluff, smut (18+ minors dni), angst, himbo to fwb to lovers haechan)

𖤐 sugar, butter, & the royal crown - L.DH (prince!lee donghyuck x baker fem!OC)

prince donghyuck only has one princess on his mind, but she's not actually a princess. she's just the royal baker's granddaughter.

𖤐 strawberries & cigarettes (enemies to lovers, slow burn, college au, boyband, boyband!haechan)

the art school's play is in two days and you're running out of time to put everything together since your known enemy lee donghyuck decided that the rehearsal day was the perfect day to release a launch party for his new album.

𖤐 ice cream thief [ l.dh ] (perv roommate!hyuck x afab!reader)

someone has been eating haechan's favorite ice cream so he decides to put a hidden camera in the kitchen and living room thinking it's a shared space it shouldn't invade anyone's privacy... right?

𖤐 tease | lee haechan (enemies-ish to lovers, college au)

Playing spin the bottle definitely wasn't what you had envisioned for your first college party. And the last person you expected to see was Lee Haechan. But life has a funny way of throwing surprises at you, and this time it came in the form of the bottle landing on some drunk dude who dared you to kiss Haechan.

𖤐 pretty in pink, but my head’s in the dark | L.DH (HYUCK’S A PANTY STEALER)

𖤐 getting even | lee haechan (P1) (university!au, (one-sided) enemies, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, very slice of life, eventual smut (MDNI))

Haechan is notorious for his pranks. Who can forget about the one time the campus fountain was bleeding red? You were weary of never getting on his wrong side, but when you get to know him better, it seems like behind all that front he's a sweet and caring guy. That is until you get a bucket of water dunked on you straight after he promised he wouldn't pull something on you. You're not only pissed that he had fooled you like this, but that he chose such a simple prank.

𖤐 what the puck! (hockey player!donghyuck x reader)

you hit the university’s star hockey player with your car. shenanigans (and maybe even a little romance) ensue.

𖤐 double dog dare (smut)

your best friends renjun and jeno decide that it would be funny to dare you to sit on the lap of your long time crush, lee donghyuck, during a college party.

𖤐 double take | l.dh (friends to lovers, highschool au, slowburn, fluff, angst)

Haechan distinctly remembers the first time he found you beautiful.

𖤐 going below zero | l.dh (coworker au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, fluff, angst)

Considering how much Haechan makes it his personal mission to antagonize you at work, it seems like a rather cruel twist of fate that the both of you have been side by side since middle school, the only consolation being that his office is a different floor from yours. But if there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with him might just be the opposite, and it’ll take a family ski holiday to find out.

𖤐 THE ONLY EXCEPTION (smut, brother’s best friend trope, fluff, slight angst)

mark was an overprotective brother and he didn’t fail to show it, warning all the guys to stay away from you, his best friends were no exception. so, how will you make it work when you return back after graduating school, only to find that your crush is paying more attention to you than ever? it most certainly doesn’t help that it’s lee donghyuck, to whom, you are strictly off limits.

𖤐 death of peace of mind (train conductor haechan x fem reader)

The Train. That's where your parents met a few years before you were born and that's where your grandparents met as well as their parents before that. Oh to be grown and travel on the Train as well, meeting your soulmate and falling so madly in love that you'd become consumed by it. And there you were years later, your only travel case in your hand and your best dress on, standing in the Train Station at exactly 1:05am on the 1st of May. You looked up and let the night sky calm you down and when you looked back in front of you, the train was there. What were you supposed to do now? But then one door opened, engulfing you with the freshest flowery scent. The most gorgeous man you've ever seen in your life descended and tilted his hat lifting one gloved hand to guide you inside. "Welcome aboard, Miss."

𖤐 all is fair in love and war (fluff; college!au; (sort of)  coworkers!)

when you meet a guy once and forget his name, the last thing you expect is meeting him again on your new job.

𖤐 DESIRE (M) — PART ONE (slytherin!haechan x hufflepuff!reader ft. gryffindor!jeno)

he wants you. you want jeno. desire is a jealous little thing, isn't it y/n?

𖤐 indica dreams | ldh (plug!hyuck x fem!reader)

when you finally decide to do something about your sleeping problem, your best friend suggests weed as a solution. he introduces you to donghyuck — a plug who makes it his personal mission to teach you everything there is to know about it. 

𖤐 round & round! ★ [ l.dh ] (smut + fluff | stoner!nct)

{💭} hyuck : i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you, but now everyone’s kissing you except me :/

[j0shuahongs]

Director's Cut

pairing: porn-director!haechan x newbie!fem reader

genre: smut (pwp) 18+ mdni!

warnings / tags: explicit sexual content, eye fucking, horny pining, fantasizing, voyeurism, clit play, penetration (co-actor x reader), masturbation (m), overstimulation

wc: 5k

a/n: please do not read if uncomfy! majority of this has no direct contact between mc and haechan (yet). it does have a part 2 but still a wip hehe.

Part 2

The set is dimly lit, all soft reds and blacks, the kind of lighting that makes skin glow like it’s already slick. Cameras positioned, crew quiet, air thick with the industrial sweetness of lube, latex, and the faint, metallic tang of sweat and adrenaline—though here, it’s not so much anticipation as it is tedium, everyone waiting for the next instruction, the next cut.

Haechan is perched in his director’s chair like always—legs spread, arms crossed, black hoodie up, expression is half-lidded, mouth slack, utterly unruffled. Bored as fuck.

He likes to watch the scene as a whole, not the parts: the shudder of a shoulder, the matched arch of spines, the geometry of bodies weaving a single shape. There’s no eroticism to it anymore, at least not for him. If he feels anything, it’s the dull, satisfying click of a puzzle piece snapping into place.

Hundreds of scenes, maybe a thousand, have blurred together since he started this job. He’s watched every way a person can cum, and half the ways a person can fake it. He has memorized the pitch and cadence of moans, the difference between a real orgasm and a theatrical one, and the precise window—usually less than three minutes—before a boner becomes a liability on camera

His discipline is legendary; he’s never popped wood on set, not even once, not even when he was nineteen and the girls were all older and he had something to prove. He’s immune—a fucking monk

To him, porn stopped being exciting years ago. It’s just product now. Lighting. Framing. Sellable shots.

So today is supposed to be like any other. The schedule says: opening vignette, oral, first position, second position, cumshot, credits. The contract talent are already running lines and limbering up in the green room. There’s nothing on the call sheet that reads as unusual.

But then you walk onto set.

You’re new—he knows this before you even speak.

You’re the new girl, and it’s obvious. Everything about the way you stand—towel wrapped tight enough to choke arterial flow, eyes darting, breath lost somewhere in your chest—screams “first real gig.” No fake lashes, no caked-on foundation, no stage persona yet to hide inside. Just you, raw and exposed, skin already flushing from the robe drop and the sudden attention of three different lenses, each click and whirr doubling your nerves.

The scene’s supposed to be “natural couple, first time,” but the male lead—some generic, muscle-thick dude with a jaw you could sand plywood on—has all the sexual chemistry of a dishrag.

You think his name might be Chad? Whatever. He doesn’t even pretend to care. He’s flipping through his phone right up to the second “places, everyone,” gets called, barely glancing your way except to ask if you’re “tight with overs or can you take a big zoom.” You have no idea what that means, so you just nod, and he laughs without looking up.

When the camera rolls, Chad’s hands come at you—too fast, all palm, no finesse. It’s like he’s using your clit as a joystick: sharp, dry, mechanical. The friction stings. You keep waiting for him to notice you’re not… primed. He doesn’t.

You try to smile, a tiny “I’m good, keep going” nod, but it’s not in your voice yet. You’re trying—God, you’re trying—Your hips roll, hoping to catch a better angle, your own fingers twitching at your side, desperate to take over. Gasps, soft and uncertain, slip from your lips; you keep pitching your lines higher, like maybe you can sell it if you play the wide-eyed ingenue and act surprised by touch itself, but it’s obvious it’s not hitting right.

The crew is silent, but not out of respect. You can feel the collective disappointment in the air, a staleness that grows with each awkward grin. You catch the boom guy’s reflection in the glass; he looks like he’s holding his breath, his mouth twisted in a grimace like he’s physically pained by how forced it all sounds.

The camera operator is already bored, drinking his coffee with one hand while the other steers the gimbal dutifully back and forth. The only person actually watching is the director, Haechan, who hasn’t blinked for what feels like five minutes.

You’ve heard a dozen rumors about him—strict, never smiles, hates ad-libs, will shut down a scene if the lighting is off by half a stop. But he’s never once yelled, never once embarrassed talent in front of the crew. He just sits there, hoodie up, one knee bouncing, hands clenched on his clipboard. Judging by the little twitch in his jaw and the way his pencil is slowly being crushed into splinters, this is not the performance he wanted.

Chad misses his mark again, hand slipping, and you yelp, an ugly real sound through the room like a burst of microphone feedback.

Haechan’s jaw ticks.

“Cut,” he snaps, voice sharper than usual. The crew freezes.

Every head in the room snaps up—boom guy, focus puller, even the veteran makeup artist, who’s been boredly lint-rolling pubes off the sheets for the last twenty minutes. Chad, the male talent, straightens up like a scolded puppy, dick bobbing stupidly.

Haechan rises from his seat slowly. The room suddenly feels smaller. The whole crew tries to look busy, but everyone’s watching him from the corners of their eyes.

He crosses the set in three long strides, he doesn’t bother with the fake set stairs—just swings one leg up onto the platform and steps directly into the “bedroom,” the mock-up of a midcentury hotel suite they’ll probably tear down by tomorrow.

Haechan steps right up to the mattress, looming at the edge, and for a second you think he’s going to just call it—wrap early and go home. But then he looks down at you.

You stayed at your position: sprawled on the sheets, hair a mess already, thighs parted. Your skin is sticky with the glycerin spray they use to make people look “just-fucked.” Your chest rises and falls fast.

“Move,” he tells Chad, low, no room for argument. Chad scrambles off the bed.

Haechan doesn’t sit where Chad was. He remains standing at the edge, close enough that you can smell his cologne—something expensive and dark, undercut with the faint salt of skin.

He doesn’t touch you. Not directly.

Instead he reaches for Chad’s hand. The one that was just pawing, ineptly, at your clit, dry and imprecise and barely tolerable. Haechan’s fingers close around Chad’s wrist. His grip is gentle but absolute. Chad doesn’t even try to resist.

Then, with infinite patience, he starts to move Chad’s fingers over your clit, guiding it in slow, deliberate circles. He moves it exactly the way you like it; not pressing hard, just... teasing. Perfect pressure. Lazy figure-eights that make your hips twitch involuntarily. Just shy of too gentle, slow enough to make you ache.

“Like this,” Haechan says, and his voice is all gravel and velvet, the kind of voice you can feel in your spine. Haechan’s eyes never leave yours.

You bite your lip. Hard. Trying not to whimper.

You try not to react. ‘I am a professional. I am being paid for this.’ you thought. But your body doesn’t get the memo.

Heat lances through your core, pooling there, making your thighs tense and your toes curl against the sheets. You force your breath to stay even, but it helps nothing. Haechan’s gaze is a hand all by itself, pinning you to the bed, and your body starts to betray you: nipples tightening, hips rocking up, a sound leaking out that was never in the script.

He watches all of it. His pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the brown of his irises.

He's still guiding Chad's fingers under his, but it might as well be his hand. The rhythm is his. The control is his. Every tiny hitch in your breath, every flutter of your lashes—he sees it. Drinks it.

Chad’s breathing gets weird and shallow, but Haechan doesn’t even acknowledge him. Chad might as well be a prop now—a toy in the director’s hand, moving exactly the way Haechan wants.

Seconds stretch. Haechan keeps Chad’s rhythm brutally consistent, never speeding up, never varying, until your entire lower body is shaking. You want to close your eyes, to escape the intensity, but you can’t look away from Haechan.

You don’t dare make a sound. You do anyway.

It’s a soft, broken whine. It feels like being split open under stage lights. You can’t remember the camera or the crew. It’s just you and him and the steady, inescapable pressure building inside your skull.

You’re trembling now. Not acting. Not really. The way Haechan’s guiding—precise, patient, almost tender in its cruelty.

Haechan’s throat bobs. Once. Hard.

He leans in just a fraction—enough that his breath ghosts over your knee.

“Better?” he murmurs. It’s quiet, like it’s meant only for you.

You nod. Barely. Eyes glassy.

There’s the tiniest smile at the corner of his mouth before he finally releases Chad’s hand. Chad stumbles a little, like he’s forgotten how to stand on his own, but Haechan has already forgotten him.

“Good girl,” he says, so soft it’s almost sweet. Then louder, to the crew: “Reset. We’re going again. And Chad—” He finally looks at the guy. “Watch. Learn.”

Haechan steps back to his chair. Sits. Crosses one leg over the other.

But under the table, out of frame, he has to adjust himself. Discreet. Jaw clenched.

He’s trying for nonchalance, but his face—so carefully neutral a minute ago—is barely holding together.

Because fuck.  

He’s so hard it hurts.

And he knows—deep in his gut—that this scene isn’t going to end with just one take.

Not with you looking at him like that.

The cameras roll again. Reset. Lights adjusted just so—soft, warm, flattering. The room hums with low chatter from the crew, but Haechan’s world has narrowed to one thing: you.

He’s back in his chair, legs spread wide like always, one elbow on the armrest, chin in his hand. To anyone watching, he looks the same—cool, detached, the veteran who’s seen every angle, every fake orgasm, every scripted moan.

Except right now, his pulse is hammering in his throat.

Chad’s back between your legs, trying again. Better this time—sort of. He’s following the rhythm Haechan drilled into him earlier, but it’s still mechanical. Predictable. Your body responds anyway because you’re a professional (or trying to be), arching just enough, lips parting on soft, breathy sounds that hit Haechan like a punch.

He watches your face—the way your brows knit when the pressure builds, the flutter of your lashes when it almost tips over, the way your mouth falls open on a silent gasp before the sound actually escapes. Those little, real reactions. The ones no one else notices because they’re too busy staring at tits or ass or whatever the money shot demands.

But Haechan notices.

He notices everything.

“Camera two, tight on her face,” he calls out, voice steady even though his grip on the armrest is white-knuckled. “Capture the eyes. The lips. Make it intimate. She’s the star—sell that.”

The operator nods, zooms in. Haechan’s gaze flicks to the monitor feed beside him—your expression filling the screen in high def. Cheeks flushed, pupils dark, lips swollen from biting them. Every tiny hitch, every shiver.

Your eyes flicker to him.

Just once at first. Quick. Like you’re checking if he’s still watching.

He is.

Always.

You hold it this time. Longer. Your gaze locks with his across the dimly lit set—through the haze of lights and lenses and bodies moving around. It’s not acting. Not really. There’s heat in it. Question. Challenge. Need.

Haechan doesn’t blink.

His jaw flexes. He shifts in the chair—subtle, but fuck, the friction against his straining cock makes his vision white out for a second. He forces himself still. Professional. In control.

“Slow it down,” he directs, quieter now, almost to himself. “Chad—tease. Don’t rush. Let her build.”

Chad obeys. Your hips roll up instinctively, chasing the touch. A soft whimper slips out—real, broken—and Haechan’s breath catches audibly. He covers it with a cough, but his free hand drops to his thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Anything to stop himself from palming over his jeans right here, right now, in front of the whole crew.

Your eyes find him again. This time they stay. Glassy. Pleading. Like you’re performing for him. Not the camera. Not the future viewers. Him.

He swallows thickly. Leans forward just a fraction.

“Camera one—lower angle on her thighs,” he says, voice rougher. “Show the tremble. The way she’s shaking for it.”

The shot changes. Your legs part a little more, muscles quivering under soft skin. Another sound escapes you—higher, needier—and Haechan’s control frays another inch.

He’s never been this hard on set. Never this invested. Never this fucking gone.

You arch again, head tipping back, but your eyes snap right back to his like a magnet. Your lips part around a silent word that hits him like a physical blow—his name, unmistakable even from here, the shape of those syllables burning into his retinas.

He exhales through his nose. Slow. Controlled.

“Good,” he murmurs, low enough that only he himself can hear it. “Just like that. Keep looking at me.”

He draws in a slow breath, like he’s trying to breathe around something lodged in his ribs.

And he knows—deep in his gut, where logic has already left the building—that this isn’t just a scene anymore.

This isn’t normal.

He’s directed hundreds of girls. Thousands of takes.

But this is different.

You’re not performing at the camera.

You’re looking at him.

And the worst part—the part that makes something tighten low in his stomach—is that he doesn’t want you to stop.

That’s the problem.

---

The break is short—five minutes, tops. Just enough time for the crew to stretch, grab water, reset lights that don’t actually need resetting. Haechan uses it to pull you aside, away from the main set, into the little curtained-off “green room” corner that’s really just a folding chair and a folding table with bottled water and a half-eaten box of donuts.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, hoodie a bit low over his eyes like he’s trying to hide how intently he’s looking at you. Professional. Always professional.

“Hey,” he starts, voice low so no one else hears. “You’re doing good out there. Really good. But listen—I know this industry chews people up if they push too hard. Especially the first few shoots.”

You nod, heart already doing that stupid flutter thing because he’s actually talking to you like a person, not just talent.

He drags one hand across his jaw, the shadow of stubble catching on his palm. “Look—I know it’s your first real set. This place, the lights, being so exposed. It’s a lot. The crew’s always more intense than you expect. They can be…” He shrugs, searching for the word, “overstimulating. Even when they don’t mean to.” He looks up, and for a split second, you could swear you see his mouth tighten, like he’s angry on your behalf.

You nod, because he’s right—it is a lot. Your body is still humming, not from what Chad did, but from the before and the after, from the fact that you can still feel Haechan’s eyes on you from across the room, even now.

He licks his lips, eyes flicking to your face, then quickly away. “I know the expectation is—” He gestures, vague, like he can’t be bothered to say the words ‘orgasm’  or ‘squirting’ out loud.

“You don’t have to cum for real every take,” he continues, eyes flicking over your face like he’s reading a script he’s memorized. “Fake it. Sell the build-up, the tremble, the little gasps—most viewers can’t tell the difference anyway. And honestly? Forcing it every time strains your pelvis like hell. I’ve seen girls limping off set after a long day. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Your breath catches. He’s… thoughtful? Actually concerned? You’ve heard horror stories about directors who don’t give a fuck, who just yell “harder” until someone cries. But here he is, warning you about your own body like he cares if you walk out of here okay.

He must say this to every new actress, right? Standard protocol. Still, the way he’s looking at you—soft around the edges, almost gentle—makes your stomach flip.

“And if anything hurts,” he adds, quieter now, “even a little. You tell me. We stop. No questions. Got it?”

You swallow. Nod again. “Got it.”

He gives you the tiniest smile—just a twitch at the corner of his mouth—then pushes off the wall. “Good. Take two in a bit. Drink some water.”

He walks away first, leaving you standing there with your pulse in your throat and a sudden, embarrassing rush of warmth between your legs.

Because fuck.  

He noticed. He cared. And now all you can think about is his voice saying “tell me” and “stop” like he’d actually listen, like he’d protect you mid-scene if you needed it.

By the time they call action again, you’re already slick. Not from Chad’s earlier fumbling. Nope. It was from Haechan’s five-minute pep talk. From the way his eyes lingered when he said “good.” From imagining what it would feel like if those careful, controlled hands were the ones touching you instead.

Chad slides back between your thighs, condom on, positioning himself. You spread a little wider, trying to look natural for the three cameras positioned around the bed.

He pushes in slow—standard porn entry shot, nothing special.

But your brain short-circuits.

You picture Haechan instead.

The way he’d hold your hips steady. The way he’d watch your face the whole time, cataloging every twitch like he did earlier. The low, wrecked murmur of “just like that” right against your ear. The way he’d probably tease you first—slow rolls, shallow thrusts—until you were begging without words.

Chad moves. Steady. Mechanical. Like a metronome with abs.

You close your eyes for a second. Imagine it’s Haechan’s weight pressing you down. Haechan’s breath on your neck. Haechan’s cock stretching you, filling you, owning every gasp.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up.

The coil tightens fast—too fast. Heat rushes low, thighs trembling for real this time. Your nails dig into the sheets. A broken whimper slips out, unscripted. Your thighs lock around Chad's waist so hard he grunts in surprise.

Chad keeps going, oblivious.

But across the set, Haechan freezes.

He’s watching the monitor, jaw slack for half a second before he recovers. Your eyes find his through the haze—glassy, desperate—and you don’t look away.

You come.

Hard.

For real.

Waves crashing through you, back arching off the bed, a choked sob of his name almost escaping before you bite it back.

Your walls flutter and clench around Chad (poor Chad), but behind your eyelids it's Haechan you’re seeing. It's Haechan destroying you, it’s Haechan you’re coming for.

The cameras keep rolling.

Haechan’s hand shoots up—silent signal to keep shooting—but his other fist is clenched so tight on the armrest the knuckles are bone-white. His breathing is shallow. Visible. He’s staring like he’s forgotten how to blink.

“Cut,” he finally rasps, voice wrecked. Too late. The take’s already gold.

The crew starts clapping—thinking it’s great acting.

You’re still trembling, aftershocks rolling through you, thighs slick, heart hammering.

Haechan doesn’t clap.

He just watches you.

And when your eyes meet again—post-orgasm haze and all—there’s no pretending anymore.

He knows.

You know he knows.

And the look on his face says this shoot just changed everything.

---

The set lights dim one by one, the crew packing up with the usual post-shoot chatter—someone laughing about how the take was “money,” another clapping you on the shoulder with a genuine “First gig and you killed it, girl. Natural. We’re booking you again for sure.” Chad gives you a fist bump and a wink that feels oddly hollow now. You smile, thank them, heart still racing from the aftershocks, thighs sticky under the robe you’ve hastily tied.

You glance toward Haechan’s chair.

It’s empty.

He’s already gone.

No goodbye, no “good work,” no lingering look like before. Just… vanished. The director who’d been staring holes through you for hours suddenly can’t even meet your eyes on the way out.

The disappointment hits sharper than it should. You tell yourself it’s nothing—he’s busy, he’s a pro, he probably does this every shoot. But the ache between your legs pulses in protest, like your body knows better.

Meanwhile, across the city, Haechan barely makes it through his apartment door.

Keys clatter on the floor. He doesn’t bother with lights. The hallway is dark, just the faint blue glow from the streetlamp outside bleeding through the blinds. He kicks the door shut behind him, back slamming against it for a second as he drags in a ragged breath.

His cock is still painfully hard—has been since that last take, since your real, broken orgasm rolled through you while staring straight at him. The memory is burned behind his eyelids: your lashes fluttering, lips parted on that choked little sound, the way your hips jerked like you couldn’t help it, like it was *him* making you come apart.

“Fuck,” he hisses, already fumbling with his belt.

He doesn’t even get the jeans all the way down.

They catch at mid-thigh, boxers shoved just low enough to free himself. His hand wraps around his length—hot, leaking, so sensitive the first stroke makes his knees buckle. He slides down the door until he’s sitting on the cold floor, legs splayed, head tipped back against the wood.

He doesn’t tease himself. No slow buildup. He’s too far gone for that.

He starts fast. Rough. Fist tight, twisting at the head on every upstroke, thumb smearing the pre-cum that’s been leaking since the second you locked eyes during that final thrust.

His mind replays it in filthy, high-definition detail.

Your face on the monitor—close-up, just like he’d ordered. Brows pinched, mouth slack, eyes glassy and fixed on him like the cameras didn’t exist. The way your tits rose and fell with every shallow pant. The tremble in your thighs when Chad pushed in deeper. The exact second your walls must have clenched—because your whole body arched, spine bowing off the sheets, a soft, wrecked whimper spilling out that wasn’t scripted, wasn’t fake.

He groans low in his throat, hips jerking up into his hand.

“Fuck—look at you,” he mutters to the empty hallway, voice hoarse. “Coming so pretty for me… weren’t you?”

He imagines it’s him between your legs instead.

Not Chad’s clumsy rhythm. His.

He pictures pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. Slow at first—teasing, shallow rolls just to watch your frustration build, to hear you whine his name. Then deeper. Harder. Bottoming out every time until your nails dig into his back, until you’re shaking, begging, “Haechan—please—don’t stop—”

His strokes speed up. Sloppy now. The wet sound of his fist echoing in the quiet apartment.

He replays your eyes—those little glances you kept throwing him between takes, like you were performing just for him. The way they went wide and hazy right before you tipped over the edge. The way your lips formed that silent, desperate shape—his name? A plea? He doesn’t know, but he pretends it was both.

“Wanted it to be me, didn’t you?” he growls, hips snapping up harder. “Wanted my cock stretching you open… fucking you until you couldn’t breathe… until you came all over me like that again—”

His free hand fists in his hoodie, yanking it up so he can see himself—thick, flushed, veins standing out, slick shining on every downstroke. He imagines it’s your wetness instead. Your heat. Your tight, fluttering walls gripping him so good he can barely think.

He pictures flipping you over, face down, ass up—grabbing your hips and slamming back in while you muffle your cries into the sheets. Or maybe on your back, legs over his shoulders so he can watch every inch disappear inside you, watch your face crumple every time he hits that spot that makes you sob his name.

His balls draw up tight. Heat coils low and vicious.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up,” he pants, voice cracking. “Gonna come so deep you’ll feel me for days… gonna make you come again just watching me lose it inside you—”

The first pulse hits like a shockwave.

He chokes on a moan, head slamming back against the door as he spills over his fist—hot, thick ropes streaking across his stomach, dripping down his knuckles. His hips jerk through it, riding the waves, imagining it’s your cunt milking him dry instead.

He keeps stroking through the oversensitivity until it hurts, until every last drop is wrung out, until he’s trembling and gasping against the wood.

When it’s over, he slumps there on the floor—jeans still tangled around his thighs, hoodie rucked up, cum cooling on his skin—and lets out a long, wrecked laugh.

Because he’s fucked.

Completely, irreversibly fucked.

He just came harder than he had in years… to the memory of a girl he’s directed for one single day.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow there’s another shoot.

With you.

He drags a hand down his face, still breathing hard.

“Shit,” he mutters.

He’s already half-hard again just thinking about it.

---

Part 2

[gooner127]

hai guys… gooner 127 here… pls forgive and excuse how i’ve been missing for almost two months😫 I AM BACK TRUST!!! i almost forgot how much fun these were to make😭

ANYWAYS NO MORE BLABBERINGGG HAECHAN BF TEXTSSSS!!!!! back to my text roots😛

tw: a little suggestive on some slides, kys jokes

[jaecvpt]

😭😭🙏

[hyuckysunflower]

Game Over; 10 Doxxed

Synopsis; When members of NCU's ESport's team start dropping out of this years tournament due to schedule conflictions, Haechan is put in a tough situation. Does he bite back the hostility of letting a girl that he doesn't even know join the team so they have a fighting chance at this years championship, or does he let the frustration and stress of being Captain weight him down and hurt the team in the long run.

Y/N, NCU's own dedicated journalist has been tasked with covering this semester's ESport's Tournament. What happens when members of the team are unable to play and ESportsCaptain!Haechan has to recruit a certain journalist to compete. What better way to write a ground breaking column about ESports than to experience it first hand? Luckily for her, Haechan is desperate enough to teach her the ends and outs of competitive gaming.

Genre; Gamer!Hc, Journalist!Y/N, Strangers to Lovers, Some Rivlary, A little angst here and there, some fluff, a little bit of everything :)

Triggers! cyberbullying

previous, masterlist, next

notes; omggg the plot thickens, i totally see jisung as this air head cutie 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ you cant stay mad at him. If you're enjoying the story and want to be on the taglist just lmk!!! i'm going to try and wrap up this series in the next 5 chapters!

tags; @kooookie, @multifandomania, @worldwidecutiemaya, @httpsxnox

[jaecvpt]

Best shit ever omg