summary: chwe hansol discovers a new method to fluster you--hide easter eggs of your relationship in the production of his songs. you consequently match his freak.
cw/tags: idol!reader, gn pronouns used but made with fem!reader in mind/fem photo used, fluff and crack, established relationship, third wheeling enabler woozi
note: if you're wondering what scene they're talking about in the sound of music it's the one where they sing the song about 'somewhere in my youth or childhood, i must've done something good' because i love that scene <3 also i'm filipino LOL so that's why reader sneaks in 'mahal kita' in the rap hehehehe hope you like this !!
likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated :D
in case you didn't know: reblogging is the best way to support your favorite authors! if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi!
genre: fake text, smau, non!idols, family au, fluff, oneshot!au
warnings: fem pronouns, mentions of being pregnant, cursing, jealously (?), mentions of food, dilf talk *wink wink*, lmk if i missed anything else!
a/n: comeback eraaaa!!! starting the year strong with spreading my agenda of dad!svt hehehe…. making this a small series so pls wait patiently for the rest of the members<333
How does it feel to live MY dream and touch Ash ARMS. I've been dreaming about touching themmmmmm
I'll be sulking from here 🥲
But how was it??? Was the concert good??
BROOO IM ACTUALLY SICK I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED 😭😭 IT WAS ALL SWEATY TOO AND I SWEAR IM NEVER WASHING MY HAND AGAIN
i found a tiktok of a girl behind us and you can literally see my cousin and i in it and YOU CAN SEE HER TOUCH HIS BICEP BUT THERES A GIRLS HEAD COVERING WHEN MY HAND DOES 😭😭 i’m still on the hunt for different povs that show it
my cousin is the one with the sun glasses in her hair and i’m the one to her right with the curled hair!! i actually blacked out so hard oh my fucking god
idk why it won’t let me post the video with this ask but i’ll post it separately!! in the meantime, here’s a screenshot from it where i am GRIPPING calum’s bicep like my life depended on it
the one in which Jeonghan stays over and you want him forever and ever
(wc 1k+, no warnings, est. relationship, gn!reader, uni students au)
The sky is rumbling with streaks of thunder by the time both of you reach your house. It had started unassumingly, one drop, another, and then before you knew it, the both of you were drenched head to toe. Only Jeonghan and you were working on campus still, and by the time he'd been walking you back home, it was already late in the evening.
Turning your key in your lock, you push open the door as Jeonghan shivers, body trembling with the cold. You immediately dump your bags onto the carpet, and motion to him with a 'Wait here' gesture as you go in to turn on the heater as you pick up a few towels. When you return, you find that he's still at your doorstep, so you give him a weak glare and drag him in.
"Angel, If you want to hold my hand, just say so. Don't be violent" he says, hand brushing back his wet hair when both of you are safe under a roof, and you have the urge to smack him. Deciding to play nice, since you were the host, you shove him into the bathroom with a "I'll get you some clothes you can fit in" and shut the door. As you pick up your stuff and begin wringing the water out at the sink, you hear his muffled complaints. Smiling, you take out all your stuff and go to get changed.
Half an hour and one warm shower later, both of you sit down on the floor, slurping down hot ramen. There are no words exchanged, only the sounds of chopsticks clinking and occasional "Oww" as one of you burns your mouth with the steaming noodles, and the other resorts with a mumbled "Careful".
Satisfied, you take your bowls and dump them into the sink for later, when Jeonghan rolls up his sleeves and begins washing.
"Oh come on, I'll do it later" you try to dissuade him, but he's stubborn as ever, and only steers you to the kitchen stool and plops you down. You give up, and assign yourself the task of admiring him, against the backdrop of your black cabinets and red pans hung up, like a star in the galaxy of your tiny kitchen, a metaphor you come up with so quickly, you would've second-guessed your affection for him if you weren't already together.
When he realizes you're staring, he sends you a cheeky smile and a horrible attempt at a sleazy wink and you burst out laughing.
"Just finish the dishes you dork" you quip, squeezing his shoulder and moving past him to take out a plate.
"Hey, no more plates. I forbid you from taking any more" he says, and you hit back with a "No one asked you to do all the dishes mister" but he stops you by physically standing in front of those cabinets.
Dammit, he was tall. Damn him and his height. What did he have to be so tall along with being so handsome? To ruin your life?
You resort to tickling him, but he starts tickling you back with his wet hands and it has somehow developed into him chasing you across the apartment. You're pretty sure the neighbours might complain with how loud you're screaming, but you don't care.
When both of you (Jeonghan) finally finish doing the dishes and stop being gremlins, you race to the couch and land on it heavily, letting out an "Oof".
Jeonghan, the menace that he is, lifts a leg and drapes it on you. You push it down without even opening your eyes. He puts it up again, undeterred. You push it down again. When he puts it up for the third time, you push his down with far more force than necessary when dealing with him and drape your legs on him instead. He hums content, doesn't even protest. Of course, he probably got you exactly where we wanted you. You huff. Little devil.
Still you can't help but soften when he begins rubbing your legs, the movement comforting. You follow his hands through lidded eyes, already feeling sleepy. His hands, go up and down, and before you know it, you're dozing off. You shift and place your head on his shoulder and he chuckles, breaking the silence in the apartment.
Around you, the city has gone quiet after the rain stopped. Only the kitchen light stays, warm lights spilling over your bone-tired souls, held up only by each other.
"Bed?" he asks, and you hum. He understands, like he always does, and gently gets your legs off his lap to stand up. When he finishes stretching, he pulls you up and you land on his shoulder again.
"Won't carry me?" you ask, voice warbled from sleep, and Jeonghan can't help but find you adorable, half-lidded gaze and all.
"Of course" he claims, and goes to lift you up when you back away laughing. You would've loved for him to carry you to the bedroom if not for the fact you knew if he did, both of you would just come tumbling down on the floor. He now uses that tactic whenever he wants to scare you, or snap you out of your disoriented haze whenever you're zoning out.
Dully glowing neon stars greet you on the side of your wall as you enter the bedroom. When he asked you why once, you'd said "I can touch the stars this way." He'd mumbled a joke after, but sometimes that's what he pencils in his diary when he asks himself why he wants to be near you all the time.
Your desk, cluttered as always, is piled with notebooks and papers. He just looks at it and you defend it with "I know, I know. I keep meaning to clean it, but I'm so tired."
He just brushes strands away from your face, "Let's do it together tomorrow, hmm?" you nod, and plop down on the bed. As he brings out the covers and fluffs them so they're warm and toasty, you keep peering at him in the yellow light.
For a faint moment, you think about all the people who could've witnessed the Jeonghan in front of you, about the many who could've written about him better, painted him and immortalized him for centuries to come with their brilliance, but they couldn't. He chose you, and that feels like a quiet victory you didn't know you wanted. You have him now, for everything it's worth.
"Hannie"
"Yes, angel?"
"Stay with me, 'kay?"
He smiles, a wry smile different from all the smiles he's given you this evening. "Just this night or is there a number?" he jokes, as he pulls himself up to slide under the covers with you.
You turn to him, gaze serious, "Every night. As long as there are nights in the world and there's a morning after."
He turns to you now, pulling you into his chest as he leaves a gentle kiss against your forehead.
A/N: If you made it this far, please leave a comment or a reblog. Feedback is much appreciated :D (please be nice to me, this is my first time writing)
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: baseball player!choi seungcheol x f.reader
From the outside looking in Seungcheol has the perfect life. He’s the star player for a major league baseball team. The only thing missing in his life is girl to share his life with. He pretty sure he’s found the perfect girl. The only issue is, she’s his best friend’s ex. Turns out things might not be as perfect as people think they are.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): friends to lovers, friends with benefits, smut, romance, angst, best friend’s ex to lovers
𝐚𝐮(𝐬): baseball, nonidol au
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.4k
𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: jeonghan is the mc ex, Seungcheol is pretty dumb sometimes, and Jeonghan is a menace, general adult content, smut.
𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: soft dom choel, sub/bratty reader, unprotected sex, sex in the bath, breast/nipple play, fingering, spanking, passionate rough sex, multiple positions, creampie, crying during sex, cum eating, big dick seungcheol, dirty talk, nicknames: bambi, bams, baby, sweetheart (hers) cheol (his)
𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+
𝐚𝐧: for the Aju League collab hosted by the lovely @100vern & @sailorsoons. Thank you @sailorsoons for beta reading and helping me figure out this story. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.
🎧: hush hush - the band camino | wantchu - keshi | party4u - charli xcx
Seungcheol is pretty sure his entire life has revolved around baseball. He grew up playing the sport and spent many summer nights at the games under the bright lights. When college came aroundit was inevitable that he would be on the team. College was when he really made a name for himself. He was the star player and had scouts at every game watching him.
Seungcheol was signed to a major league team immediately after graduation. His life from the outside appears to be perfect. He has more money than he could ever want. He’s the star shortstop for a major league team. He’s practically the face of the entire league, but that doesn’t help with the longing he has for a romantic relationship.
Dating as a pro athlete hasn’t been easy. The few girls he’s dated or started seeing seem more interested in his money and social climbing. He’s at the point where he might cave and ask one of his teammates' wives for help. It probably doesn’t help that he’s definitely made his life more complicated with you being his secret fuck buddy.
He never intended on hooking up with you. You have always been off limits. Ever since he met you in college, he knew you were Jeonghan’s girl. He met you in your freshman year of college when Jeonghan started seeing you. You instantly became best friends with Seungcheol. You even moved to the city Seungcheol was signed to with Jeonghan. Jeonghan works as Seungcheol’s manager. You work as an editor for a fashion magazine.
Three years ago when you and Jeonghan broke up, you managed to remain best friends with both boys.
You and Seungcheol accidentally crossed the line after a drunken night out. Jeonghan was out of town, and you and a handful of the boys you were friends with went out drinking. You and Seungcheol had always flirted in some way or another. With alcohol in the mix you were both more touchy then normal. The next thing you knew, you were naked rolling around in Seungcheol’s way too high thread count cotton sheets.
It’s been two months since your first hook up and how much you both wish you could say it was a one time mistake, it’s been quite the opposite. You two have hooked up pretty often since that night.
HIS FAVORITE EX TURNED BEST FRIEND
Baseball season is always extra stressful. Seungcheol is having a great season. He's the best shortstop in the league, and has been hitting more home runs than ninety-nine percent of the league. Tonight’s game against the White Sox isn't going the best. He’s struck out twice, and his team is down two in the bottom of the seventh. He’s up to bat next and he’s hoping to knock two runs in. Soonyoung is on first and he’s fast as hell, and Chan is on third.
The pitcher throws the first pitch outside. Seungcheol almost swings at it. He decides against it, noticing it’s just a little too outside. His eyes lock on the short stop, he knows he can throw a killer curve ball. The next pitch leaves his hands and Seungcheol locks in on it. He swings the bat and cracks the ball. It goes flying high. It flies over the left field fence, there is no chance for anyone to grab it. The crowd erupts as Seungcheol manages to score three runs for the team.
That home run turns everything around. The team's momentum picks up.
The game ends with his team up by three. Seungcheol leaves the clubhouse filled with adrenaline and high from winning.
Exiting the clubhouse, he finds Jeonghan waiting for him. Jeonghan’s role as his manager means he’s never missed one of Seungcheol's games. Moments later you walk over sporting a smile. Your eyes lock with Seungcheol’s and he tries his hardest not to smile at the sight of you.
“There’s our superstar,” Jeonghan cheers, sliding his phone into his pants pocket.
“Nice home run Cheol.” You walk over and give him a hug. He wraps his arms around you holding you tight.
“I didn’t know you were coming today.” He kisses the top of your head before releasing you.
“Jeonghan bribed me.” You step closer to your ex. Jeonghan slings his arm over your shoulder holding you close.
“Bribed you?”
“I offered her free beer and food.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes.
“You came for free beer and not to see me?”
“I’m an easy girl, free stuff always gets me to show up.” You smile.
“I’m well aware you’re an easy girl.” Jeonghan says, letting out a laugh.
Seungcheol can’t help but roll his eyes. If only Jeonghan knew what was going on.
“Fuck you, Jeonghan.” You pull away from him.
“But baby, I already have.”
“I regret being here. I’m leaving.” You start to walk away.
“Wait.” Seungcheol grabs your hand before you can even get two steps away from Jeonghan. “Don’t leave. I’m glad you came.”
“Seems like only one of you are,” You sigh.
Jeonghan leans against the wall. “I clearly want you here. I just love teasing my favorite ex turned best friend.”
Your relationship with Jeonghan is strange to say the least. You dated the entirety of college and broke up three years ago. The only reason you broke up was because you both felt as if you were drifting apart and would be better friends.
“You two make up, and we can go out to dinner,” Seungcheol says.
Nights out with Seungcheol and Jeonghan are always interesting to say the least. It’s rare Seungcheol can go anywhere without being stopped at least a few times. Tonight is no exception. The moment you entered the bar he had two guys rush over to say something to him. You left the boys alone and went off to find a table. You aren’t a fan of awkwardly standing there while people freak out over seeing Seungcheol. You’re aware he's practically the face of baseball right now, but to you he’s just Cheol.
Jeonghan comes over holding two glasses of beer. He slides into the U-shaped booth next to you, and hands you a beer. Seungcheol follows him sitting on your other side. He sticks a number on the edge of the table.
“I’m hungry. I ordered food for the table.”
“You’re always hungry after a game,” Jeonghan teases.
“You try playing nine innings of baseball and tell me how you feel.”
“You couldn’t pay me to do that.” Jeonghan barks out a laugh.
“Instead he just pays you to do what exactly?”
“I get paid to babysit him, and make him money.” He raises his eyes before taking another drink of his beer. Seungcheol isn’t gonna argue with him. Sometimes it does feel like Jeonghan is just his glorified babysitter.
The food gets delivered to the table and you listen to the boys banter back and forth. By the time Jeonghan gets up to get another beer he’s found a pretty girl that piques his interest. This isn’t an unusual occurrence during an outing with Jeonghan.
Sitting at the table you watch as Jeonghan is flirting with a red head. This girl is absolutely beautiful. You aren’t shocked Jeonghan is chasing after her. Earlier, you were watching her make eyes at Jeonghan and Seungcheol. The only difference is, Seungcheol doesn’t give random women the time of day.
Leaning back next Seungcheol you let out a sigh.
“Does it upset you watching him chase other girls?”
Your fingers run up and down the side of your glass of beer, playing with the condensation. It’s been so long since you and Jeonghan broke up. It doesn’t take away the fact that your break up still stings a little. After being together for six years, you both felt as if you drifted apart. One day being friends sounded like a better idea than being a couple.
“It used to, but not now. I kind of accepted he’s a lover boy, and women eat that shit up. Hell I ate it up. It doesn’t hurt that I have a hot new bed buddy.”
Seungcheol bites back a smile. “Oh really who?”
“Oh just this hot superstar shortstop.”
Seungcheol gives you a half smile before chugging some of his beer. “Is your superstar shortstop taking you home tonight?”
You love playing this game of cat and mouse with him. “I sure hope so. I had a long day at work and I want to fuck away my stress.”
“I’ll tell Jeonghan I’ll drop you off tonight.”
“Something tells me, I’m the last thing on my ex’s mind right now.” You watch as Jeonghan is kissing a girl against the wall by the hallway.
“I don’t know why he does that when you're around.” Seungcheol reaches under the table and squeezes your thigh.
“Because I’ve never told him it makes me uncomfortable.” You look away from your ex’s heated makeout session against the wall. “I can’t blame that girl. I fell for Jeonghan charm even after we broke up.”
Seungcheol knits his brows together, process your words. “Not recently, right?”
“No, it was the first year we broke up. There were a couple times I fell back into his bed. We both agreed that if we want to stay friends we can’t do that.” You had tried so hard to make your break up with Jeonghan as mature as possible, and each time you fell into bed with him you knew it would end poorly.
“Jeonghan never told me that.” From the beginning Seungcheol always seemed to know everything about your relationship. You always guessed it came with the territory of the two of them being best friends. Unintentionally, Seungcheol became a part of your relationship in one way or another.
“I don’t think either of us were very proud that we were doing it. We prided ourselves so much on claiming that we were mature about our break up, and still best friends.”
Seungcheol can’t help but feel strange knowing that after breaking up, you and Jeonghan were involved again one way or another. He knows it’s not recently, but maybe he feels weird about it because neither of you ever told him.
“You wouldn’t go back to him, would you?” He needs to know this for his own sanity.
You glance over at him, with your brows knit. You aren’t surprised he’s asking you this. Especially after what you just told him. “I would have never crossed that line with you, if I ever had a desire to get back together with him.”
“Bams, you know you can always tell me anything right? I’m never going to judge you for anything.” He wants you to know that even though things are complicated, he’ll always be there no matter what.
“I know. I think that whole situation with Hannie was strange. I think we both hoped back then, that maybe we could fix things. That maybe we could magically save our relationship. I don’t want that now, though. I like what I have with him.”
“I always thought you made a great couple, but you guys work really well as best friends.” He looks over at Jeonghan watching him pull his latest fling away from the wall.
Before long Jeonghan walks over to the table holding his latest fling’s hand. “Cheol, can you possibly take Bams home?”
“Bams?” The red head asks.
“Short for Bambi. In college she got drunk and kept rolling her ankle at a party.”
“She’s adorable like a deer and clumsy like one.” Seungcheol lets out a little laugh.
“Okay that’s enough. Have fun Hannie. Cheol let’s head out I’m tired.” You try your best to change the subject.
Jeonghan heads off with his soon to be one night stand in tow. You follow Seungcheol out, walking next to him. A few people give him a high five or fist bump as you walk through the bar. Hopping into his expensive blacked out jeep, you buckle your seat belt. He looks over at you and gives you a knowing smile.
“Your place or mine?”
“Yours, you have that huge ass bath tub and want to take a bubble bath.”
-
Sitting in Seungcheol's huge bath tub, you’re settled between his legs cuddling him. Your head is resting on his shoulder as he plays with your breast. He’s taking his time kneading the flesh. He pinches your pert nipple, earning a moan. Realistically friends with benefits shouldn’t be doing something as domestic as this. Even though you both have said over and over again things between you is just sex, it’s hard to keep your emotions out of it.
His other hand slides down your stomach. His fingers glide through your wet folds.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.”
“Uh huh.”
“Bet I can make you come in here before I even take you to bed.”
“Please,” you gasp. You spread your legs as much as you can. “Cheol.”
“You sound so pretty moaning my name.” He places wet open mouth kisses across the top of your shoulder, up the side of your neck.
His fingers slide down into your entrance. He takes his time sliding his middle finger in and out of you before adding a second finger. Your eyes close as your body feels as if it’s falling apart.
Pushing your hips towards his hand you’re desperate for a release.
“Cheol—“ you whine as your orgasm hits. Your walls flutter as his fingers continue to pump in and out of you. He loves to overstimulate you, he’ll keep playing with you, until you beg him to either stop or fuck you. “Seungcheol please—"
“Please what? Bambi, I need you to use your words.”
“Please just fuck me,” you plead.
He pulls his hand away from your sensitive core. “Let’s get out of the tub, and I’ll fuck you.”
You practically scramble out of the tub. Seungcheol has to try and not laugh as he watches you quickly dry off. He follows you into your bedroom.
Looking over your shoulder you give him a smile. “How do you want me?”
He steps forward and smacks your ass. “Hands and knees Bams.”
Crawling onto the bed you stay on your hands and knees. You shake your ass at him, as you present yourself to him.
He takes his large length in his hand and pumps it a few times, smearing some of his precum. You look over your shoulder and give him a smile.
“God, you’re so hot.” He crawls onto the bed. His large hand grips the flesh of your butt cheek, groaning at the sight of your wet core. “Are you wet just for me?”
“Cheol, don’t tease me.” You push your hips back towards him.
He grinds his length against your ass. “Are you going to be good for me?”
“Fuck, yes,” you moan in anticipation.
Pulling back he takes his length in his hand, running the mushroom tip through your folds. A whiny gasp passes your lips as he nudges your clit.
“How do you want it?”
Since you’ve started having sex, you’ve done it in all sorts of ways. He can be rough, and hard or he can treat you like you’re made of glass. Right now, you want it fast and hard.
“Fuck me hard.”
That’s all he needs to hear.
Pushing into you quickly, he stretches you out like no other man has. Things with Jeonghan in bed were amazing, this is just different. Jeonghan is quite well endowed, but Seungcheol has the biggest cock you have ever seen.
He doesn’t give you time to adjust, he starts slamming his hips into yours at a brutal pace. One of his hands grips your hip. “Give me your arm.”
Without saying anything you lift your arm. He holds your arm behind your back, using it for leverage. His hips continue to slam into yours over and over again.
“Ugh— you’re so big.” you moan, completely cock drunk.
“Do you like my big cock?” He groans. He’s never been one for dirty talk, but he can’t help it when you’re a moaning mess in his bed.
“Yes—“ you cry, laying your head against the cotton sheets below.
His pace stays brutal, his grip on your arm never wavering. Your mouth hangs open, he’s practically fucking you stupid. The only thing you can even possibly think about is how good he's making you feel.
“You’re so tight.”
“Huh—“ Squeezing your eyes closed, you whimper.
He drops your arm. “Lay on your side, and lift your leg.” He pulls out of you, not giving you a chance to respond.
Rolling on to your side, you raise your leg. He takes his place, straddling your leg, and holding your other leg up. Pushing his cock into you again, you gasp. Your fingers grip the sheets below you.
“Is this my reward for winning today?” He teases, thrusting deep inside you.
“Cheol, I can’t think of anything other than your huge cock right now. Please shut the fuck up, and fuck me.”
He barks out a laugh. “God, you’re a brat.” He picks up his pace. His hips are practically slapping into yours. “But I can’t get enough of you.”
“Fuck.” You whine, dipping your fingers between your legs. Your fingers rub quick circles on your clit. “I’m close.”
“Do you want to come?” His grip tightens on your thigh.
“Please.”
“Keep playing with your clit, and come for me,” he growls.
He picks up his pace, thrusting into you quicker and quicker. His stomach muscles tighten. His own release is getting closer and closer.
“Cheol—” A spark flows through you. Every muscle in your body tenses up. A broken moan passes your lips. Your walls flutter around his length. Your body suddenly feels lighter.
“Fuck—” He moans, his stomach contracting. His hips keep pushing into your, as he fills your gummy walls white.
In all his years he’s had a lot of good sex, but nothing has been nearly as intense as things are with you.
THINKING WITH YOUR SECOND HEAD
The sight of you laying in bed with him will never get old. He leans in brushing your hair off your face. You give him a dazed smile.
“You’re so pretty.” He shouldn’t be saying things like this to you, but he can’t help it.
“Cheol what happens if Hannie finds out?” You ask with your voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m not sure.”
In all honesty the idea of Jeonghan discovering what is happening between the two of you is terrifying. He knows he's a shitty friend, and that you technically are off limits. The problem is Seungcheol has liked you since college. He had a crush on you from the moment he met you. Back when you and Jeonghan were just friends.
“Roll over, I want to hold you.”
He holds you close to him. He loves the feeling of your body fully pressed against his. Leaning down he presses his lips to your shoulder.
“Do you still love him?” He’s been wanting to ask you this since your first night together, but he’s been too scared.
“I love him differently now. I’m not in love with him.” He rests his hand on your soft stomach. “I haven’t been in love with him for a while now.”
“Let’s get some sleep,” He says softly. He can’t bring himself to say anything more, workout crossing a line he shouldn’t cross.
-
Seungcheol’s game days are always a mixture of nerves and excitement. Today he's playing his team's biggest rival. You go to about eighty percent of his home games.
You’re listed as one of his family and friend members so you always have tickets and a pass waiting for you at the box office.
Walking through the stadium, you’ve shown up a little late, coming straight from work. You find Jeonghan and he takes you off to the boxes with some other players' wives, girlfriends and managers.
“What did I miss?”
“Cheol is up next. We’re down two at the moment.” Jeonghan walks over to the counter where there is a spread of different foods and drinks. He reaches into the fridge and pulls you out a beer. Cracking the can open, he hands it to you. “Soonyoung hit a ground ball double. Cheol can either bat in Soonyoung or bat them both in.”
Standing behind the three rows of seats in the suite, you watch Seungcheol walk up to the batters box. Your stomach twists a little. No matter how many games he plays, you always feel nervous watching him. The first pitch is slightly outside. The second pitch is thrown fast, and right down the middle.
Jeonghan chuckles watching you. “You’re more nervous than he is.”
“Shut up.”
The next one flies down the middle. Seungcheol cracks the ball hard. He drops the bat, and takes off running. The ball flies high, over left field. The crowd erupts as it flies over the fence. Seungcheol manages to even out the score with that home run.
Right then, the game turns around after Seungcheol’s home run. The whole stadium is lively as his team scores another four runs securing the win. The game comes to a close, and it’s time to meet Seungcheol at the clubhouse downstairs.
Jeonghan leads you down to the area for players, and their friends and family. When it comes to games, you and Jeonghan are the only ones who show up all the time for Seungcheol. Since college these two boys have become your own little family. Moving to a big city, where the only two people you know are Jeonghan and Seungcheol, they’ve become more important to you than anyone. Even after you and Jeonghan broke up, he’s still incredibly important to you.
Standing outside the locker room, Jeonghan is reading through emails about Seungcheol’s schedule.
After games, Seungcheol always feels an adrenaline rush, but after winning he feels as if he’s almost high sometimes. He can’t put into words how great he feels.
He’s in the middle of quickly getting changed so he can meet up with you and Jeonghan. He loves hanging out with both of you after games.
The sound of someone sitting down next to him catches his attention. Soonyoung has a seat next to him, and he's often a loud neighbor.
“Cheol I have a girl I think would be a good match for you,” Soonyoung says.
If Soonyoung mentioned this seven months ago Seungcheol might be interested, but since starting things with you, he can’t imagine seeing anyone else. “She’s a sweetheart. She’s never had a boyfriend, I grew up with her.” The way Soonyoung is lighting up talking about this girl, it sounds like he might be interested in her.
“Things are complicated for me right now,” Seungcheol responds. He starts unbuttoning his jersey.
“What do you mean?” Soonyoung isn’t someone who will let this go easily.
“I’m hooking up with a girl.”
“So?”
“Its not just a fling. I like her and we can’t be together.”
Soonyoung knits his brows together. “Why?”
“Soonyoung it doesn’t matter.”
Soonyoung lets out a laugh. “Okay you’re being weird.” Seungcheol just sighs. He reaches into his locker, pulling out his jacket. “Why do I think I know who the girl is?” Seungcheol stops dead in his tracks.
“You don’t know her,” he lies.
“Based on how weird you’re being. I bet it’s Bambi, and the whole situation with her and Jeonghan.”
Seungcheol’s stomach drops. An ice cold bucket of water has been dumped on him. “Shut up, and keep your voice down.”
“Oh fuck I’m right.” Soonyoung’s eyes are wide.
“Stop it.”
“Damn Cheol, you’re out here thinking with your second head. That’s so messy.”
“Shut up, you don’t think I don’t know that?”
He grabs his bag from his stall. He storms off, not wanting to talk about this anymore. Walking out of the clubhouse, he finds you leaning against the wall, and Jeonghan standing next to you.
You look absolutely beautiful, you always do. You’re in jeans that make your ass look incredible, and a tight shirt. He’s hoping and praying he gets to take you home tonight.
“There is our superstar,” Jeonghan says, shoving his phone in his pocket.
“And there are my best friends.”
You give him a smile. He instantly notices you’re wearing that cherry lip oil he loves the taste of. “Hi, Cheol.”
“What’s the plan tonight?” Jeonghan asks.
“How about we go to my place, and we order pizza.”
“Pizza and beer?” You chime in.
“Of course.” Jeonghan reaches down grabbing your hand. “Off to Cheol’s boujee penthouse.”
Seungcheol walks behind you and Jeonghan. There is a little feeling of jealousy eating away at him. He hates that Jeonghan is able to hold your hand whenever he wants. He shakes his head, desperately wanting this feeling to go away.
Jeonghan leads you to Seungcheol’s black jeep. Before Jeonghan can even attempt to get the front seat, you push him away, crawling into the front seat.
“What the fuck, Bambi?”
“I’m Seungcheol's passenger princess, not yours.” You buckle your seat belt. Seungcheol attempts to not act fazed by the argument unfolding between you too.
“You used to be my passenger princess.” Jeonghan says dramatically.
“Key word being used to.”
Seungcheol bites his bottom lip trying not to smile.
The car ride from the stadium to his place takes about thirty minutes. On the way there Jeonghan orders pizza.
Heading into the apartment, Seungcheol drops his bag off. Jeonghan heads off to the kitchen to grab a couple bottles of beer. Sitting at the kitchen island you scroll through your phone. Jeonghan sits the bottle down in front of you.
Seungcheol walks into the kitchen, he leans against the island across from you. Jeonghan hands him a bottle of beer.
“Tomorrow you’re free, but the next day we have a meeting with the team at noon.” Jeonghan says in manager mode.
“Oh I didn’t know you’re still on the clock,” you tease Jeonghan.
“Bams, I’m always on the clock, darling.”
How much Seungcheol wishes he could say he’s lying, but knows it’s true. Jeonghan might be a menace, but he’s actually an incredible manager. Seungcheol couldn’t ask for anyone better.
The door bell rings, Seungcheol pushes himself off the counter. He walks over and opens the door, retrieving the pizza.
He slides it onto the island. You waste no time opening the box. Jeonghan ordered your favorite, veggie and pepperoni pizza. Your mouth is practically watering at the sight of it.
Jeonghan grabs plates and napkins. You all dig in enjoying the delicious pizza.
After eating, you all find yourself handing out on the balcony staring at the bright city below. You’re on your second bottle of beer.
“You know, back in college I would have never predicted we would be here,” Jeonghan says before taking a sip of beer.
“Who knew your business major would actually come in handy?” Seungcheol laughs.
“Turns out Seungcheol becoming a pro baseball player would all lead us to this city,” You say.
You say the best decision you ever made in life was moving with Jeonghan all those years ago. Your career was just beginning and you found a job offer in the city. You started working at a tech company, and since moving you’ve been promoted multiple times. You love your job, and the life it’s helped give you.
Jeonghan’s phone dings. He picks up, a smile tugs at his lips. Seungcheol looks up at you, and gives you a knowing look.
Jeonghan puts his phone down on the table. “Alright you two, I have a special friend who asked me to come over.” Jeonghan stands up. “Cheol, can you get Bams home?”
“Of course.”
“Special friend?” You know what he means, but you want him to say it.
“I’m trying to be polite. It’s a pretty girl, who is down to fuck.”
Seungcheol rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. You let out a groan. He knows you don’t like hearing about Jeonghan and all his new conquests.
“Hannie.”
“I’m sorry, she asked.” Jeonghan leans over to kiss the top of your head.
“Goodbye Hannie.”
Jeonghan heads inside, leaving you sitting alone outside. Looking inside, making sure Jeonghan is gone. Seungcheol reaches over and grabs your hand. He silently brings your hand to his lips. He places three gentle kisses across your knuckles.
“Sorry he’s so crude.”
“It’s fine, we’ve been broken up for so long now. I should get used to it.” You aren’t in love with him, but unfortunately that doesn’t spare your feelings that have lingered a little. Knowing about his new conquests still sting.
“Did you want me to take you home tonight?” He says before pressing another kiss to the top of your hand.
“Do you not want me to stay?”
“I want you to stay, but I’m giving you the option to go home if you would like.”
“If I was smart I would leave pajamas here.”
He lets out a laugh. “You’re funny if you think we’re wearing clothes in my bed.”
ITS ALWAYS BEEN ALL ABOUT YOU
Laying on his bed, sprawled out on his expensive cotton sheets, you watch as he strips away his clothes. This isn’t like many other nights you had spent together.
Sex between you is normally intense, sometimes rough, but this feels more intimate.
He sits on his knees between your spread thighs. He’s looking down at you, with a different look in his eyes. He’s staring at you like you’re the one who hung the moon, and all the stars that fill the sky. A warmth spreads across your chest. Hopefully he always looks at you like this.
He’s hovering you, practically plastered against you. Your hands claw at his back, desperately wanting to hold on to him. Your legs are wrapped around his waist. His face is buried in your neck.
Reaching for his hand, you just want him to touch you in any way possible. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands to the sheets next to your head. The pace he rolls his hips into yours is slow and oh so deep. Little gasps keep leaving your lips with each brush of that sensitive little spot inside you.
"You feel so good." He moans with his lips against your jaw. Closing your eyes you let the feeling of every muscle in your body take over. "You're close aren't you?"
Breathlessly you nod. He thrust a little harder, knowing exactly what he needs to do.
"Cheol—" his name is nothing more than a broken plea.
"That's it baby." Your eyes snap open at the mention of that new nickname.
"Cheol—"
"Can you come for me?" He pulls back slightly to look down at you.
"Yes!"
His thrusts are so deep he's practically kissing your cervix. Your brain is nothing more than a pile of lust filled mush. The only thing you can think about is coming, and his name.
Everything feels warm, your muscles tense for what feels like an eternity. The release feels euphoric. Tears slide down your cheek, and his name passes your lips like a sinful prayer.
Your walls flutter like a heartbeat. Your body sinks intothe bed relaxing like you never have before. Looking up you see him watching you with lust blown eyes.
His lips part as if he wants to say something to you, but nothing comes out.
He moans your name, as he fills you to the brim with his milky release. Reaching up you brush away his matted hair. Your fingers delicately brush across his glistening skin. God he's absolutely beautiful.
Your chest squeezes suddenly. Seungcheol means so incredibly much to you, and the connection you share is so confusing. You aren't alone, he feels things for you- things he shouldn't feel.
He releases your hands, and moves so he's sitting on his knees between your spread legs. He hasn't pulled out yet, he's still snug inside you.
"Did you cry?" He looks at you noticing your tear stained cheeks.
"Yeah, that's never happened before."
Jeonghan was the person you lost your virginity to, back in college and you've only slept with two other men before Seungcheol. Sex with Jeonghan was incredible over the years, but what you experience with Seungcheol is like something you can't quite explain.
"I need to clean you up before we go to bed."
He wastes no time pulling you out of bed. He takes you into the huge en-suite bathroom. You share a warm shower where he takes his time cleaning you up.
Laying in bed completely naked, you're laying on your side with him plastered up behind you. He whispers something you can't make out before pressing his lips to your bare shoulder for a handful of kisses. It doesn't take long before you're both sound asleep curled up together.
Waking up with you in his arms is possibly the best way Seungcheol could ever wake up. The sight of you comfortably sound asleep next to him makes him smile. He slowly pulls away from you, knowing that you'll want coffee as soon as you wake up.
He grabs a fresh pair of boxers and stretches a little. His bare feet pad across the hardwood floor as he silently tries to head off to the kitchen without waking you.
You're both free today, so he's hoping he can spend the day with you. Maybe he can't convince you to get dinner with him. Or maybe he can keep you locked in his house all day. He just wants to spend as much time with you as possible.
He's in the middle of making your cup of coffee when he hears you walking into the kitchen.
He smiles at the sight of you. You're dressed in a tiny top with no bra and your cheeky panties that barely cover your butt.
"Morning." You let out a yawn walking closer to him.
"Morning beautiful." You smile at another new nickname. He's doing his damndest to make you melt these last twenty-four hours.
"I see you're making coffee." He holds out the cup he just finished making for you. "You know all the ways to make me happy."
Back in college Seungcheol used to go with Jeonghan all the time to bring you coffee while you were studying. He knows your coffee order without even having to think about it.
"I try." That's an understatement, Seungcheol will literally do anything to make you happy.
You head off to the dining room. Seungcheol follows you. He takes a seat next to you. He just sips his coffee listening to you ramble on about random things.
"How about we spend the day together?" He finally asks.
"That would be nice."
After finishing your coffee, you head to the living room. You mention wanting to change into one of Seungcheol's shirts.
The door opens and immediately Seungcheol knows only one person can be entering his penthouse. Glancing over at your outfit that does barely anything to cover you. He knows there is no way either of you can talk your way out of this one. It's very clear what had unfolded between you.
“Fuck,” Seungcheol says under his breath.
Jeonghan walks in and immediately stops in his tracks at the sight of Seungcheol wearing nothing but his underwear and you practically naked with him.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Hannie,” you speak up.
“You know, neither of you were answering your phones. I came by to ask if you had heard from Bams.” Seungcheol's stomach is twisting in knots. “It looks like I found her,” he says sarcastically.
“Jeonghan.” Seungcheol doesn’t even know what he should say.
His face is morphing into a look of anger. Neither of you ever wanted Jeonghan to find out this way.
“Are you fucking Bambi?” Jeonghan has never looked this mad before.
You’re standing by the couch looking startled. Seungcheol glances over at you and can immediately tell you’re upset. “Jeonghan—“
“What the fuck Cheol?”
You’re standing there frozen in place. Jeonghan looks at you and his anger melts away and now he’s left looking hurt. “Do I not mean anything to you anymore?”
“Hannie, that’s not fair.”
“Fair? You’re fucking my best friend behind my back.”
“Jeonghan, it was an accident,” Seungcheol says.
“Don’t lie to me and say this was a one time thing. You didn’t fall into her fucking naked.”
“We didn’t mean for it to happen.” Seungcheol is trying to defend both of you.
“We got drunk once and we both barely remember it,” you say softly.
“Have you just been fucking all this time to remember the first time?” He barks out a laugh. “Cheol, I still fucking love her. Why would you sleep with her?” Jeonghan steps closer to him.
“Jeonghan, you're not still in love with me,” you speak up. Seungcheol feels at a loss of what he should even say.
“Bambi, I still love you.”
“Jeonghan you might love me, but you’re not in love with me. Hell I still love you too, but it’s not the same. If you were still in love with me you wouldn’t be chasing and sleeping with other women.”
Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, he just stands there looking broken-hearted. The screaming silence is too much for Seungcheol. How did things get this fucked up?
“Hannie.” You take a step towards Jeonghan.
“God, you both fucking suck.” Jeonghan storms out of the apartment, slamming the door on the way out.
“Cheol, you can go chase after him. I think it’s clear we should end this now.” Tears are sliding on your cheeks.
“Is that what you want?” It’s sure as hell isn’t what he wants.
“I don’t want to be the reason your friendship ends.”
Seungcheol steps closer to you. “Bambi.” You step back shaking your head.
“I think I should leave.” You rush off towards his bedroom to change.
He can’t bring himself to move. He’s plastered in place, his chest aching knowing he can’t chase after you right now. Hell he should chase after Jeonghan, but he can't. No matter what he does, he's lost everything.
Walking back into the living room you look over at him, tears streaming down your face. “Goodbye Cheol.”
“That’s it?” He’s on the verge of crying. He loves you and he can’t let you walk away. He wishes he could tell you he loves you.
“Yeah it is. We were selfish and hurt Jeonghan.”
He lets out a sigh, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I don’t regret anything that has happened between us.”
Reaching up you push away your tears, “I don’t regret us either. I just can’t be the reason you and Jeonghan aren’t friends.”
“Bambi, I don’t want to say goodbye.” He takes a big step towards you.
“I need to go.” You walk towards the door before he can stop you.
One of the most painful things he has ever done was letting you walk out his door.
-
This has been the longest two weeks of Seungcheol’s life. He's miserable, everything he cares about has slipped through his fingers.
Everything has gone to hell. Jeonghan won’t speak to either of you, he’s only talked to Seungcheol through email about work related things. Seungcheol desperately wants to talk to you, but you’ve been locked away in your apartment. You’re barely responding to his texts.
He knows fucked up in every way possible, but he’s not sure how he can fix this. He’s gone for four days for a game. Jeonghan emailed him saying he’ll be at the game, but Seungcheol hasn’t seen him.
Laying in a hotel in a different city, he feels lost. Staring at your contact, info it’s taking everything in him not to call you.
This is the longest he’s gone without talking to you. He wants nothing more than to hear your voice again.
Another two weeks pass and he's absolutely miserable. He doesn't remember the last time he felt this lonely. His texts this week checking in on you have gone unanswered. Jeonghan won't respond to his messages either. He's at least hoping and praying that maybe you and Jeonghan have at least spoken.
Sitting alone in his penthouse the loneliness feels crushing. He's reached his breaking point. Seungcheol can't deal with the awkwardness with Jeonghan anymore. He can't handle that he feels like he's going insane, and has lost his two best friends. He can't handle that he's lost the one girl he's truly ever loved.
It's seven at night and he's finally snapped, he needs to talk to Jeonghan. They need to figure things out. Because if he's lost you, he can't handle losing Jeonghan as well.
Knocking on his best friend's door, he's hoping and praying Jeonghan is home.
The door swing opens and there stands Jeonghan looking irritated.
"Why are you here?" Jeonghan raises his brow, tilting his head.
"We need to talk."
Jeonghan steps aside, signaling for Seungcheol to come in.
Jeonghan silently walks off towards the kitchen area. Without even thinking Seungcheol follows him. The tension in the room is thick. Jeonghan leans against the marble island.
"Why are you here? Honestly there is nothing to talk about?" Jeonghan doesn't bother sugar coating anything. His tone is bitter as he speaks.
“Jeonghan just fucking yell at me already.” Seungcheol’s voice is firm.
“Fuck you,” Jeonghan seethes. "You don't get to come here and tell me what to do. So fuck off Seungcheol."
“I’m sorry, okay.” Seungcheol walks closer to him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It would have been a one time thing, but I couldn’t walk away.” He wishes he could have stopped that night from happening, but he can’t.
Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Did my feelings not matter?”
“Believe me, they did and they still do. I just couldn’t turn off my feelings for her.”
Jeonghan swallows, staring at him. “What do you mean your feelings?”
“I wish I didn’t love her, Hannie.”
“Of course you love her, she’s your best friend, just like I'm your best friend. It’s always been the three of us. Even when I was with her, we’ve always been best friends, the three of us.”
Seungcheol lets out a shaky breath, “It’s different.”
Jeonghan closes his eyes, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose. “When did you fall in love with her?”
He’s not sure how Jeonghan is going to react to what he says. “Since that first week you brought her around back in college.” If he closes his eyes he can still picture you the first time he saw you. It was back when you used to wear those big wire frame glasses.
“The whole god damn time she was my girlfriend, you were in love with her?” Jeonghan is trying his hardest to stay calm.
“It wasn’t like I love her now. What I feel for her now is so much stronger.”
“I can’t believe you!” Jeonghan finally yells. “Were you just always hoping and praying we would break up?”
“What the fuck? No!”
“Were you just waiting for your chance with her?”
“Hannie, it wasn’t like that. I never planned on making a move on her. I never planned on acting on my feelings.”
“Does she love you too?” Jeonghan needs to know.
“I don’t know. She’s never said anything about it. She ended things with me that day you found out.”
“Have you spoken to her?” Jeonghan is now worried about you.
“No. She won’t answer my calls or texts. She’s worried she ruined our friendship.”
Jeonghan lets out a groan, rolling his eyes. “You better hope she’s in love with you too.”
“What?” That definitely wasn’t what he expected Jeonghan to say.
“If I’m going to give you my so called blessing to go back to fucking my beloved ex, you both better be in love.” Jeonghan reminds Seungcheol how crazy he can be.
“Your blessing?”
“You only did it because you love her right? You wouldn’t have just had meaningless sex with her right?”
“I obviously love her.”
Jeonghan starts walking towards the door. “Come on Cheol. She’s not gonna answer you if you call. So we’re going to Bam’s place.”
“For what?”
“To get her to admit she’s in love with you, so I can forgive you both.” Jeonghan opens the front door. “Come on dumbass.”
The ride to your place leaves Seungcheol feeling nauseous. What if he goes there and you don't love him? Seungcheol tries to focus on driving instead of the negative thoughts eating away at him.
Jeonghan can tell what's going on in Seungcheol's head. He's been watching his best friend carefully since they left his house. "Cheol?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't think she'll reject you."
Seungcheol grips the steering wheel a little tighter. "God I hope she doesn't."
Pulling up to your place, he parks in your second parking spot. He unbuckles his seat belt and glances over at Jeonghan.
"I can't believe I’m taking you to literally confess your love to a girl I still love." Jeonghan can't believe he's okay with this. Hell, Seungcheol can't believe Jeonghan is okay with this.
"Are you still in love with her?"
Jeonghan doesn't say anything, he opens the car door. He hops out of the car and waits for Seungcheol. Seungcheol jumps out. "Hannie, are you still in love with her?"
"Cheol, it doesn't matter. She doesn't feel the same way. Maybe she's right, we aren't in love but we still love each other."
Jeonghan walks over and grabs Seungcheol’s wrist. "Stop asking questions. I gave you my blessing, so for the love of god go get our girl."
The ride up to your floor feels excruciatingly slow. Jeonghan leans against the wall messing with the sleeve of his sweater, while Seungcheol tries to focus on what he wants to say to you.
Arriving at your door Seungcheol silently stands there for a moment. He's knocked on your door many times, he even has the passcode to get in. This time is just incredibly different.
Jeonghan lets out a heavy sigh, before pushing his way past his best friend. He knocks on the door knowing that if he doesn't knock, nothing is going to happen.
It takes about a minute before the door slowly opens. There you are standing on the other side dressed in a pair of sweats and a baggy shirt that definitely belongs to Jeonghan.
"What are you guys doing here?" You step aside, signaling for them to come inside.
"We all need to have a conversation," Jeonghan says.
Both the boys head inside. You all make your way to the couch that's in front of the tv. You sit in the chair off to the side. Seungcheol immediately notices how sad you look.
"Alright, we need to figure things out," Jeonghan says.
"What do we need to figure out?" You glance between the two boys.
"Well I need to know if this truly meant something between the two of you. I want to know if it was just sex."
Seungcheol knits his brows together. "Hannie, I told you it was so much more."
"Have you told Bambi that?"
You stare at both of them confused. "What do you mean?"
Seungcheol is at a loss for words. He wants to tell you he loves you, but he's so scared. "Bambi—"
"Cheol, what's going on?"
Jeonghan lets out a dramatic sigh. "God, you two are annoying. Bambi he's in love with you, and I really hope you're in love with him. Or this is gonna get really weird between the three of us."
"What?" You ask.
"I love you, and just not like a friend. I've been in love with you, long before we started this. And being able to be with you made me realize I have never loved anyone like I love you."
Your eyes are wide. You stare at both the boys dumbfounded. This isn't what you thought he was going to say.
"Please tell me you love him, because this is gonna be weird if you don't," Jeonghan responds.
"I love you too." You stand up. Seungcheol stands up quickly. He walks over toward you. His hand rests gently on your cheek. "Hannie, I'm sorry." You glance over at your ex who is watching both of you.
"Yeah, yeah I know. You both have my blessing." He rolls his eyes leaning back on the couch.
Seungcheol gives you the biggest smile. You grip his shirt and lean in close to him. "So you love me?"
"So god damn much." He leans in the rest of the way. His lips crash into yours like a tidal wave. He kisses you like you're the air in his oxygen deprived lungs.
"This is gonna be weird watching you kiss and stuff." Jeonghan says dramatically.
You pull away from Seungcheol and can't help but laugh. Seungcheol tries his hardest to hold back smiling.
He sits down onto the couch, and pulls you onto his lap. His arms are wrapped around your stomach holding you close.
“I have some ground rules since you’re going to be a couple now.” Jeonghan lets out a dramatic groan. “Rule one, just like when we dated, we’re still a trio. We didn’t make Cheol feel like the third wheel, you better not make me feel like it. Rule two, don’t make out in front of me, that was weird to watch. Rule three, don’t tell me about your sex life unless I’m being invited.” He lets out a laugh. You think he’s joking but based on the look Seungcheol is giving him, you know he’s not.
“Alright, fair.” You say.
“Well this is fun, we’ve all practically kissed now.” Jeonghan laughs.
“What?” You ask.
“I’ve made out with not just your pretty mouth, but also your pussy, and I’ll bet money Cheol has kissed both those places.” Seungcheol rubs his temples. You both are well aware Jeonghan is going to love harassing you all the time now.
"Hannie." You scold him.
"So you're in love with me?" Seungcheol tries his hardest to hold back a smile.
"Head over heels."
Jeonghan rolls his eyes. "God you two are going to be way more annoying than we ever were, when we were together."
Who would have thought breaking up with Jeonghan would lead you to falling in love with his best friend?
———————————————
𝐚𝐧: I’m very tempted to make connecting stories for both Jeonghan and Soonyoung to this if anything is interested.
his voice is shy but steady. “i miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.” ⸻ the lost in translation couple.
📖 pairing. xu minghao x interpreter/translator!reader.
📖 word count. 4k.
📖 genres/includes. romance. established & secret relationship, quotes & excerpts from letters to milena, hints of long distance, google translated mandarin & japanese. this is an offshoot from my longer fic, lost in translation, but it is not necessary to read that before this. title from the song umuwi (eng tr: 'to go home') by never the strangers.
📖 footnotes. turned twenty-something today and figured the best way to celebrate it with a soft hao fic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ shoutout to viv for planting this idea in my head!!!
Dear Milena, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.”
One night, you slipped a book into Minghao’s bag before he left for tour—a tender gesture that said more than any text could. When he returned it weeks later, you found the pages marked, underlined, little notes scrawled in the margins in his tight handwriting.
Since then, it’s become your ritual: a different book every month, passed back and forth between hotel rooms and airport lounges, sentences stitched with the weight of two voices instead of one.
This month, it’s Kafka’s Letters to Milena. The spine already softened by your hands, now passing through his. Minghao’s highlighter bleeds faint yellow across the thin pages, his neat characters slanting in Mandarin, sometimes Korean, sometimes both. He doesn’t always translate for you. You think he likes watching you puzzle it out.
Tonight, you’re curled against the window of the hotel room, the hum of traffic muffled by glass. Minghao’s in the shower, and you’re leafing through the book when a highlighted line catches your eye:
Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don’t have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.
You press your thumb against the words, rereading them until they blur. He had drawn a small star beside the passage, his unspoken way of saying look closer. It isn’t lost on you that he chose this line—this question about time, about endings.
When Minghao emerges, hair damp and curling at the ends, he finds you still staring at the page. He tilts his head, towel slung around his shoulders. “Found something?”
You nod, tapping the margin. “This one.”
He sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours. The warmth of him seeps through the fabric of your pants, steady and grounding. His eyes flick down to the passage, then back up to yours, searching. “Too dramatic?”
“Too honest,” you answer softly.
For a moment, neither of you speak. The air is filled only with the distant city and the faint drip of water from his hair onto his collarbone. You wonder if he feels the weight of secrecy more than he lets on—every smile measured, every glance rehearsed. You’ve hidden this part of your life from his group, from the company, from everyone who might turn your closeness into a problem.
Sometimes, you think it’s easier for you. You’re used to working behind the curtain, unseen. But Minghao lives on stage, in cameras and spotlights. You wonder if keeping you a secret leaves him restless at night, if he ever regrets it in the stretches of travel.
He nudges your shoulder gently, pulling you back from thought. “Why that look?” he prompts.
You shake your head, but your voice betrays you. “Do you think it’s taking something from you? Hiding us like this.”
Minghao doesn’t answer immediately. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers brushing yours where the book rests. His silence is not avoidance; it’s the pause he always takes, the one that makes you feel like his words are chosen as carefully as his brushstrokes.
Finally, he says, “I think it gives me something, too. These little spaces no one else sees. Our own book. Our own pages.”
You swallow, the line in Kafka’s letter echoing in your chest. If only the world were ending tomorrow.
Minghao closes the book, but keeps your hand under his. “Time is strange,” he muses. “Sometimes it feels like too much. Sometimes like none at all. But when I’m with you…” He trails off, then smiles faintly. “I don’t want to reckon with it. I just want it.”
The hotel room feels smaller for it, but safer too. You don’t say what’s knotted in your throat—that secrecy may be its own kind of ending. Instead, you tilt your head onto his shoulder, letting silence stand in for the answer you don’t know how to give.
Minghao’s arm comes around you. His hair still smells faintly of shampoo, his skin warm against your temple. In that heartbeat, time doesn’t matter. Not the flights, not the rehearsals, not the lies by omission. There is only the margin notes between you; the book closed but still breathing with your words.
I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.
You aren’t there for every stop. It depends on who the company sends, who’s available, who draws the short straw. Sometimes, weeks pass without your name appearing on the list, and you make do with texts and late-night calls, with his annotations waiting like crumbs across pages.
But you’re lucky tonight. Lucky that it’s you, loitering backstage with your headset dangling around your neck, your job for the first half of the concert already done. Safety reminders doled out. Ments transposed to the best of your ability.
The stage lights are a dull roar from where you stand, muffled by the walls, the crowd’s energy bleeding through like static. Technicians pass by in a flurry of headsets and clipboards, and you tuck yourself into a corner with the monitor, half-watching Minghao move like smoke, sharp lines dissolving into fluidity. He is all precision on stage, but you know how easily that polish dissolves once the curtains close.
You’ve opened the book again. Kafka feels almost inappropriate here, his letters trembling in your hands while bass shakes the floor and cheers rise like waves. You trace his words with the tip of your pen, underlining slowly as if you could anchor them: I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you. The words thrum in your chest, oddly in sync with the rhythm leaking through the walls.
“Working hard?” His voice startles you before his presence does.
Minghao slips in through the curtain, already halfway out of his jacket, a stagehand trailing with another in hand. He smells a bit of sweat and cologne, and there’s a streak of glitter caught on his jawline, catching the dim backstage light.
You snap the book closed too fast, clutching it to your chest. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your quick change?”
“Multitasking,” he says lightly, eyes flicking to the book still in your grip. His smile is a little breathless, but it’s warm around the edges. “Did you underline me?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Kafka. Not you.”
“Same thing.” He takes the fresh jacket, shrugs it on with practiced efficiency, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. The corners of his mouth tug upward, like he’s savoring the private joke no one else will ever catch. You can feel the tether of it pulling tight between you, even as people dart around, too busy to notice.
You roll your pen between your fingers, willing your pulse to even out. “He says he longs without longing,” you say, reaching for a joke. “Don’t think that’s you.”
Minghao pauses, hands busy with fastening buttons. “No?”
“No. You’re terrible at pretending you don’t care.”
That earns you a quiet laugh, breathy and quick, the kind he only ever gives when he’s off stage. He steps closer, just enough that the book is trapped between you and him. His fingers brush yours as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, careful, fleeting. The gesture is nothing to anyone else, but to you it feels like a line drawn across the page. Another annotation only you will understand.
“Then maybe I’ll underline it too,” he murmurs, his tone more intimate than the rush of seconds should allow. “So you don’t forget.”
You’re caught between answering and not, torn by the proximity of his voice and the sound of the crowd screaming his name. A heartbeat later, the stage manager calls it too, sharp and urgent, breaking the spell.
He pulls back, already turning, the mask of performer sliding neatly back into place. The jacket straightens on his shoulders, his posture resetting into something larger than life. But before he slips away, his hand lingers for a second on the back of yours, grounding and gone all at once, like he’s leaving you with the same highlighted star he leaves in the margins.
You look down at the underlined words again, the pen still resting where his fingers brushed yours. On the monitor, Minghao bursts back onto the stage in his new costume, a perfect illusion of poise and sharp edges. You’re still holding onto the warmth of him, tucked between paper margins and fleeting touches, the memory of his voice humming beneath Kafka’s lines. Even with the crowd’s roar vibrating through the walls, the longing has a certain gravity on its own; something deliberate, something you carry alone in the wings.
I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones.
The book arrives by post in a padded envelope, its corners softened by travel, the adhesive tape dulled with fingerprints. His handwriting is scrawled across the return label, small and neat, the way he always writes when he wants to leave no trace.
You sit at your desk with a pair of scissors, cutting carefully along the edge so as not to harm what’s inside. When Letters to Milena slides into your hands, it feels heavier than when you last held it, as if the distance between you has seeped into the paper.
You leaf through the pages with anticipation that edges toward unease. The ink of your own notes greets you first, familiar in your hand. But then you see the fresh streaks of highlighter that aren’t yours, the color bright against the fragile page. Your stomach churns when your eyes catch on the newest passage:
Basically it is nothing other than this fear we have so often talked about, but fear spread to everything, fear of the greatest as of the smallest, fear, paralyzing fear of pronouncing a word, although this fear may not only be fear but also a longing for something greater than all that is fearful.
You press the book shut too quickly, the words still rattling in your head. Fear. The word echoes again and again until it almost loses shape.
Fear of everything, even of speaking. Kafka turns it into poetry, but still it unsettles you. You stare at the closed book for a long while as if its cover might offer clarity. Instead it lingers, a weight at the edge of your desk and your thoughts. You find yourself drifting through the day with half your attention pulled elsewhere, glancing at your phone as if the device could bridge time zones faster than they allow.
By evening, your patience has worn thin. You keep checking the clock, waiting for that overlap when it’s late enough in Europe, early enough in Korea. When the screen finally brightens with his name, you answer too quickly, the book already lying open beside you.
Minghao’s image flickers into view: hotel lamplight soft behind him, his hair pulled back loosely, his face carrying the faint exhaustion of travel. Still, his eyes brighten the moment they meet yours. “You got it?”
“I got it,” you say, lifting the book to the camera. “But I also got this.” You tap the margin of the highlighted section, unable to hide the note of worry in your voice. “You’ve been marking fear. Over and over. What are you trying to tell me, Hao?”
His brows lift, a small crease forming as he leans back in the stiff hotel chair. The wallpaper behind him looks muted and impersonal, a space not meant to hold anyone’s secrets. He runs his hand slowly through his hair, a gesture you recognize as stalling. “You always read too closely.”
“That was the agreement,” you remind him gently. “We promised to read closely. To listen, even in the margins.”
A silence follows, long enough that you think the connection might have faltered. Then he exhales, and his words come thoughtful, unhurried. “I do feel fear. More often than I say. Before I step on stage. After. In the quiet moments when I wonder if we’ll be found out, or if I’ll slip during an interview. Sometimes I fear I’m losing time, or wasting it. Sometimes I wonder if I’m… enough for you.” The last line is hushed, fragile, nearly consumed by static.
Your protest is immediate. “Xīngān, don’t—”
He interrupts, his mouth curving into the faintest smile, one that doesn’t erase his seriousness. “It isn’t only fear. Kafka had it right. Fear and longing are woven together. Fear is what happens when you want something so badly you can’t bear to lose it.” His eyes drop for a moment, then rise again, slower, braver. His voice is shy but steady. “I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.”
The words stop you. Not because they belong to Kafka, but because they come from him, spoken into the distance that separates you. They rest in your chest heavier than any annotation.
You bring the phone closer to your face instinctively, as though narrowing the frame might collapse the distance. “Say it again.”
Minghao laughs, embarrassed, but the sound is warm. He dips his head, and when he speaks, the words come softer, like a secret. “I miss you.”
He says it in all the languages he knows. I miss you. Wǒ xiǎng nǐ. Aitai. Na—(he stutters, laughs again)—namimiss kita.
The litany of fear feels smaller now, shadowed by the longing that fills its place.
Written kisses don't reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts.
You admit, in quieter hours, that you miss him more often than you say. It’s a dull ache threaded into your days, but you don’t want to press it into him when you know how thinly he’s stretched. His work comes first, and you remind yourself of that each time you hesitate before typing something too heavy into your phone. Instead, you cling to the subtler things: the covert book exchanges, the hidden messages between Kafka’s lines, the way a highlighted phrase becomes its own kind of confession.
Tonight, you’re curled on the couch with Letters to Milena open across your knees. The apartment is still, only the trill of the refrigerator in the background. Your highlighter pauses over a line that is simple, almost plain, but it lodges itself in your chest:
I’m tired, can’t think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity.
You underline it slowly, the neon ink bleeding slightly into the page, as if to make sure the words will not vanish. Then, you angle the book beneath the lamp and take a photo. Your thumb hovers for a moment, but you send it anyway. A small risk. A small ache disguised as literature.
The reply comes quicker than you expect, your screen lighting up in your hand. His text is short, the sort of promise that steals your breath: I can make that possible.
You frown in confusion, already typing back a question, when the sound of your doorbell cuts through the apartment. The sharp chime echoes once, twice. Your heart stutters. For a split second, you think it’s impossible. You’re still holding your phone when you cross the room.
When you open the door, he’s standing there.
Minghao, hair tucked under a cap, mask pulled down around his chin, suitcase at his side. His eyes crease at the corners when he smiles, soft and sure, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have. Home from their tour two days earlier than expected.
You don’t speak at first. You only reach, pulling him into the doorway, into the apartment, into you. His laugh is muffled against your shoulder as the door clicks shut behind him, and you feel the words you’d just underlined still pressed into your chest—him, his weight, his nearness—an answer in real time.
The door is barely shut before you’re kissing him. It’s clumsy at first, teeth knocking, your breath catching from how quickly you’ve pulled him in. The suitcase tips over in the entryway, forgotten, and all you know is the press of his mouth against yours, warm and insistent. You taste the faint trace of mint on his lips, the kind he always chews when he’s nervous.
Your fingers twist into the fabric of his jacket, tugging him closer, and suddenly you’re aware of how frantic you must seem. The realization makes heat rush up your neck. You break away, just barely, whispering against his mouth, “Sorry, I’m—I’m acting too much like I missed you.”
Minghao’s laugh is low, and he leans in again before you can step back. “Good,” he says simply, the word brushing your lips. His hand comes up to the side of your face, thumb tracing along your cheekbone. “Because I missed you more.”
Your protest dies as he kisses you again, slower now but deeper, his body angled into yours until your back finds the wall. You shiver at the press of his weight, the steadiness of his touch. He murmurs between kisses, “Do you know how many times I thought about this? About you opening the door like that?”
You shake your head, eyes closing as his lips graze your jaw. “Tell me.”
“Every night on tour,” he admits, his voice hushed but steady. “Every city, every hotel, I wanted this more than sleep. More than anything.”
His hands slip beneath your sweater, fingertips brushing your waist. The touch makes you gasp, your own hands curling at his shoulders. You try again to apologize, to laugh it off, but he silences you with another kiss, gentler this time, lingering.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “Don’t hide how much you want me,” he whispers. “It only makes me want you more.”
The apartment feels smaller now, warmer, as if the book you left open on the couch has come alive in the room. The highlighted words are no longer an ache on paper, but a promise made real in his arms.
Yours, (now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: Yours)
Your bedroom is quiet except for the slow rhythm of your breathing, bodies still pressed close in the warmth you’ve built together. Minghao’s fingertips trace idle patterns across your arm, absentminded yet full of intent. You’re tucked into him, half-drifting, when his voice breaks the silence.
“I have something for you.”
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing with a sleepy smile. “We had a rule. No gifts.”
His lips twitch, not quite a grin but close. “You’ll like this one,” he insists.
“Minghao,” you warn softly, already knowing you’ll lose. “Rules exist for a reason.”
He pouts, exaggerating it just enough to make you laugh, the sound catching in your throat. “So you’ll break one for me?”
You groan, burying your face against his shoulder before sighing. “Fine. But only because you look ridiculous right now.”
Satisfied, he slips out of the sheets and crouches by his bag. You sit up slowly, pulling the covers around you, still wrapped in the languid ease of afterglow. From where you’re perched, you watch him rummage through his things until he returns with what looks like a mess clutched in his hands.
You raise a brow. “This is your big surprise? Trash?”
He climbs back onto the bed, depositing the stack into your lap. “Look closer.”
The pile is uneven, papers of every kind: receipts with ink smudged from being folded too long, hotel stationery with tidy lines of Mandarin, napkins with hurried scribbles, boarding passes with notes scrawled between the numbers. Each slip carries his handwriting, sometimes neat, sometimes rushed, but always undeniably him.
Your chest tightens as you pick one up, smoothing the creases. The words are simple: a thought he had in between shows, a memory of you sparked by something small, an I miss you crammed into the corner of a page.
“Minghao…” Your voice is brittle now, ringing with disbelief. “You wrote all of these?”
He leans back against the headboard, watching you carefully. “Everywhere I went,” he says slowly. “Whenever I thought of you. I didn’t always have time for long messages, so I wrote them here. Figured they’d get to you eventually.”
You flip through the stack again, the weight of them heavier than any gift he could have bought. Your throat feels tight, but your smile is soft. “You know this breaks the rule worse than anything,” you tease.
He shrugs, a small, boyish smile finally breaking through. “Then I’ll break it again if it means giving you this.”
Minghao falls asleep quickly, his head sinking into the pillow the moment his breathing evens out.
You linger in the dark, sheets tangled around your legs. The small stack of papers rests in your lap, flimsy and uneven, but heavy with meaning. His letters, if you can call them that. It feels like a trail of breadcrumbs, a secret map charting every place he has carried you with him.
Some lines are simple, almost offhand, written in hurried Korean as though he was afraid the thought would slip away before it reached the page: 오늘도 네 생각만 했어.
(Today, I thought of nothing but you.)
Another, scratched on the back of a café receipt, reads: 너 없이 공연 끝나도 완벽하지 않아.
(Without you, even after the performance, it doesn’t feel complete.)
Others are playful, designed to make you roll your eyes and laugh, written in Mandarin with crooked smiley faces or little hearts: 你是我见过最美的麻烦。
(You are the most beautiful trouble I’ve ever met.)
On hotel stationery, his handwriting drifts, tired but warm: 我希望你在这里, 我想靠着你睡觉。
(I wish you were here. I want to fall asleep leaning against you.)
There are the English ones, blunt and almost childlike in their candor. “If you were here I wouldn’t even care about the jetlag.” Or, “Do you know you’re the only reason hotels feel lonely?” Another one trails off into half a sentence, as if he was interrupted: “Sometimes I think I’ll run out of ways to say I miss you, but then—” and it ends abruptly, just ink pressed too hard into the paper.
You turn page after page, each one a different version of him. Restless, playful, poetic, exhausted, ridiculous. There are lines that read like journal entries, lines that sound like prayers. The kind of words that aren’t rehearsed for interviews, aren’t polished for public view. They’re raw, unguarded, as if he trusted the page with the versions of himself he can’t show anyone else.
By the time you reach the end of the pile, your throat feels tight, and your eyes blur with tears you blink away too late. These aren’t Kafka’s words, or Milena’s, or any poet you’ve ever underlined together. They’re his. And somehow, impossibly, they’re yours too.
Behind you, Minghao snores softly, the sound uneven but gentle, already claimed by sleep. You glance back at him, hair falling across his cheek, lips parted in exhaustion, his whole body surrendered to rest. The sight makes you ache with something that feels too big for a single word. You slip out carefully, trying not to disturb him, and settle at your desk. The lamp casts a muted golden glow over the scattered letters, the inked fragments of him spread wide before you like constellations waiting to be named. The pen feels heavy in your hand, the highlighter uncapped and poised beside it.
You take a deep breath, the quiet of the apartment pressing close around you. Then you lean forward, ready to begin, ready to answer him.
To underline what matters most, to annotate where his words meet your heart, to write into the margins everything you couldn’t say over the phone. To respond in full, piece by piece, to the love he has laid out for you.
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