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fic recs just click on my tags. (most of them are haechan and nct)
# rosie's pick mostly suggestive or smutty (and fluff)
# rosie likes mostly fluff or it gives tingles (sometimes sugg and smut) (not really a fan of heart wrenching angst but still willing to read one (or more))
# rosie talks is not a fic recs, just when i’m talking shit (rare)
summary: a disastrous recoupling after Casa Amor leaves you and Haechan single and vulnerable. Unbeknownst to the two of you, your moments during Unseen Bits are making the two of you quite popular among the viewers! There's no way the two of you are leaving!
word count: 4.2k
a/n: I think it's too early for me to have favorites... but I find myself obsessed with these two... In case you wonder what villa layout I'm using, I'm going based on the USA villa. Enjoy and if you want to get a read on the rest of 127's time in the villa, check it out here!
dividers from dollywons and robinavitchslut
"Haechan and Dean," Ariana states tensely before stating your name with eerie calmness, "and Vanessa. Since your original partners have chosen to switch and recouple after Casa Amor, you are now left single and vulnerable."
You grip Vanessa's hand tightly, your palms sweaty but you're not particularly dreading going home. You've had a good summer— a great summer even! You haven't found romantic love, but that's fine, you've found friends that you know you'll have for life. That's better than winning you think.
You're mentally preparing your farewell, trying to come up with a speech that will be able to encompass the amazing time you've spent here. You know that when it comes down to a vote, Vanessa will be saved over you. She had a good connection with Jamie before Casa Amor, albeit a bit rocky in the days leading up, but it's more than you can say. You were coupled up with Gabriel in a friendship couple. Before that you were with Jaden, and before him Jamie. Nothing was clicking and you weren't sure anything would. Rather than forcing a connection to stay, you'd prefer to leave on a high note while single if it came down to it.
"But your journeys might not be over yet," Ariana continues after a tense minute of charged silence. "Your future in the villa will be in the hands of the viewers."
You gasp, eyes alight with shock as the fire pit in front of you bursts into whispers and murmurs of surprise.
Ariana smiles knowingly, "I'll be back at the end of the week. Bye, islanders."
"I can't believe this," Vanessa exhales as she pulls you into a tight embrace.
You hug her tightly, laughing in relief of your situation, "safe for a little while at least. You'll be saved, I know it."
"I don't know," she whispers sadly, eyes darting over to her former partner Jamie. Jamie who stands beside his new partner Claire.
The girls surge toward the two of you, hugging you both tightly in a huge group hug. You laugh brightly, wiping away happy tears as you lean into your best friend, Samira.
"If you leave," she whispers passionately, "I'll go with you."
"That makes three of us," you hear a male voice whisper loudly, making you jump in Samira's arms.
There, at eye level, you're met with the face of your most unexpected friend this summer, Haechan. There's a smile on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes as he extends his hand to you. You take it and let yourself melt into his chest, sniffling softly. He rubs your back comfortingly, "I have a plan for us."
A watery laugh is pulled out of your chest as you pull away from the hug and use your hands to wipe away your tears, "do I even want to know?"
"I'll propose to you. There's no way the viewers will vote out an engaged couple. Think of all the drama we'd bring! And if we say we'll get married at the finale, we have a secure spot. What do you think?"
"I think you're an idiot," you roll your eyes playfully, walking away from the crowded deck around the fire pit in favor of the empty beauty room. The rest of the girls slowly join you, introductions and small talk is made with the new Casa Amor girls.
You take your time, allowing the stress from the night's recoupling to melt from your muscles with every swipe of your makeup wipe against your face and every drag of your comb through your hair.
You're completely wiped out by the end of the night, uncharacteristically quiet as you slip into your bed. Your new bed is comfortable, but not nearly as comfortable as the actual bed you once claimed as your own. That bed is now labeled with Gabriel and Sabrina's name, the couple cuddling beneath the covers.
Dean has already disappeared to his makeshift bed in the Speakeasy, leaving behind his noisy roommate for the night. Haechan is still busy making his rounds to each of the guys for an obnoxious cuddle or an annoying kiss upon their cheeks to get a reaction. He stands in the doorway, looks at you and bids you goodnight with a playful wink and a whispered, "good night, missus."
Unseen Bits Week 1
You breathe out a nervous breath as you sink down from the open sun roof of the Jeep. In the sports car parked beside your own, the guy jumps out and pulls open your door with an excited grin, "hi there."
You take a second to stare at him first, feeling your heart skip a beat at the sight of the man. His skin is sun kissed with his dark hair styled off his forehead to reveal more of his pretty face. Blinking harshly, you take his outstretched hand and step out of the Jeep with a smile. Surely, you could blame it on your nerves, but realistically you know it's because the heels you're wearing are thinner than you're comfortable with. You go down after a single step, falling to your hands and knees with a shout,"Oh, motherfucker!"
Your male companion is laughing gleefully beside you, earning a glare from over your shoulder. He's clutching his sides, tears glistening in his eyes before he finally reaches a hand out to help you up, "actually, I prefer to be called Haechan."
"I stand by my previous title," you bite, tugging your hand out of his own once you're steady on your feet, "you didn't even try to hide your laughter, you menace."
"It was objectively funny, lovely. I would hardly be considered a human if I didn't laugh," Haechan explains as he rushes to catch up to you.
"You know the eggs are less likely to burn if you don't cook them on high," you state from your spot behind the counter, popping a blueberry into your mouth.
"Oh, really?!" Haechan asks sarcastically, "I didn't realize I was in the presence of a professional chef!"
"It doesn't take a professional chef to see that the pan is too hot! No wonder Vanessa never eats the eggs or pancakes you bring her! They're always fucking burnt to a crisp!"
He gasps, pointing the spatula at you, "they're not burnt. I just give them a little color. Brown is beautiful."
You smack the spatula away from your face, "is that your excuse for leaving eggshells in her breakfast as well?"
"Protein!" He screeches defensively as he rounds the corner to get in your face.
You place your hands on his shoulders and shove him away with a laugh, "Get away from me! Focus on the food!"
You groan softly as you lower yourself into a beanbag with the rest of the girls. You kick your sandals away and lower your sunglasses for some subtlety. Though, with the way you and the girls have arranged yourselves for your daily "gossip session," it's quite obvious what you're all really doing. How sneaky do you all really think you are when you're all barely ten feet away from the gym and all facing in said direction?
"Good morning, ladies," Rosie mumbles as she plops into a vibrant pink and orange bean bag.
"A very good morning indeed," Lola drawls lowly before biting her bottom lip.
Vanessa plops onto the grass as Samira snags the last beanbag. "So, any updates for you girls?" Vanessa asks, "sparks? Kisses? Wandering hands?"
"Shh!" Samira is quick to chide, her jaw dropping in shock as she watches her partner, Jaden, do pull ups on the bar. His muscular back on full display, shiny with sweat and sunscreen.
"Oh my goodness," Rosie hums appreciatively while hooking a finger onto a leg of her sunglasses to slide them down the bridge of her nose.
Vanessa whines, a pout on her face as she kicks Rosie's beanbag, "it's not fair! We call this gossip time and we don't even gossip. My partner isn't even over there and it doesn't feel right to ogle your men."
"Please! I insist!" You exclaim as you reach forward to shake her arm, "look at my partner Jamie all you want. It would be a crime to let such a fine specimen go unadmired. Look at his arms!"
The girls all murmur appreciatively, all gazes now fixed on your muscled partner as his biceps bulge with each curl of the weight. You let your eyes drag over each chiseled line of Jamie's body before our eyes naturally trail over to he next guy who is doing curl ups on the bench.
"You know," a grating voice starts to your left, "you guys could not be more obvious about your ogling."
You roll your eyes, pulling you gaze away from the gym to look at the owner of said annoying voice, "you could be nice and join them, give us more to look at. That would be so kind of you, Haechan."
"God, no. Could you imagine how sore I'd be after?" He scoffs, "plus, this is the only time I get to flirt with all their partners without having to worry about them beating me up."
Samira's jaw drops as a shocked laugh escapes her, "you don't flirt with anyone! You stand in the kitchen and drink a full blender's worth of your smoothies until they're done."
"And here I was about to compliment your gorgeous bikinis. Don't get too ahead of yourself, Sami," Haechan chides with a patronizing smirk and a wink.
Week 2
"Do you guys miss Christmas time?" You ask, the straw of your water bottle wedged at the corner of your mouth.
Samira snorts out a laugh, "Christmas is the furthest thing from my mind when I'm on vacation in Fiji surrounded by hot men."
"I miss scrolling on my for you page and watching people bake Christmas desserts in June," you whine dramatically, throwing your legs over Samira's lap.
Haechan, who was napping on the bench on the opposite side of the gazebo jumps up with unexpected energy, "I really can't stay…"
Samira groans, "don't start."
You smile mischievously, setting your water bottle beside you before you jump to your feet, "but, baby, it's cold outside."
"I've got to go away," Haechan continues to sing, tugging you toward him to sway beside him.
"But, baby, it's cold outside," you carry on, taking the water bottle from his hand to use it as a microphone.
The two of you continue through the song with unplanned but somehow very coordinated choreography. You both do a horrible rendition of tap dancing, which becomes ballet, and then crumping that heavily contradict the spirit of the song you're both singing, sending everyone under the gazebo into bouts of hearty laughter. Still, you and Haechan persist, singing in dramatic low tones and shaky falsettos.
"Baby, it's cold outside!" You and Haechan end in unison, though not in harmony as you both catch your breath. Hand in hand, you both bend into deep, twin bows.
With a long pull from the water bottle in your hand you pant tiredly, "I don't think they'll be able to use our performance— royalties."
Samira cackles loudly, kicking her legs out, "please, you two sounded like two choking geese! There's no way it even gets close to copyright!"
"That's rude," Haechan snaps, taking his water bottle from your hand.
It's quiet for a few moments before you hear him ask, "hey, if we both just drank from the same water bottle, we basically kissed, right?"
"In your perverted, wet dreams, Haechan," you scoff as you slide your feet into your sandals.
You make it half way to the stairs before you turn around to glare at Haechan, "I can literally feel you staring at my ass!"
"You have a wedgie!" He counters, before muttering so lowly his microphone is the only thing that hears him, "and a very nice ass."
"I have a question for you," you start, laying on your side to face Haechan in the bed adjacent to yours, your hands fluffing the pillow beneath your head.
Your partner Jaden is still in the bathroom getting ready for bed and the bedroom has only half of its inhabitants. Everyone is the room is milling around, making light conversation, or in Vanessa and Jamie's case, arguing in heated whispers.
"Women and their questions," Haechan sighs exasperatedly, "no, I won't father your children. Though, they would be gorgeous."
"It's much more serious than that," you reply, your face set with a look of worry. You fiddle with your nails, "I was just wondering… if me and Dean were both dangling off a cliff, who would you save?"
"Dean's my best friend," Haechan replies, playing along with your serious act, his brows pinched with faux concern, "but so are you…"
You nod in understanding while Haechan rubs his chin in thought, "but Dean doesn't subject me to random, exaggerated retellings of his favorite chick flicks, so I choose Dean."
"You motherfucker," you growl as you leap from your bed and jump onto his own. Your hands are quick to pull the pillow out from behind his back and hit him over the head with it.
"Please! Someone! Help!" Haechan cries out, his hands coming up to protect himself, "she's killing me!"
"Geez, it's hotter in here than usual, isn't it?" Vanessa asks as she sweets a fluffy eyeshadow brush over your eye.
Rosie takes another chunk of your hair, "I think it's because we're used to being here in the cooler parts of the day, not the middle of the afternoon."
"Yet we all insisted on giving each other makeovers for fun," Vanessa sighs, fanning her neck with her hand.
"Does anyone have their water?" You ask, hissing softly as Rosie accidentally pulls too hard on the curler with your hair wrapped around it.
It turns out that no one does and it's even more obvious that none of the girls are wanting to go downstairs. You sigh and stand as soon as Rosie has clipped a curl at the back of your head, "I got this."
"Don't go downstairs, it's not that bad," Samira calls after you.
But you have no plans of going downstairs, no way. Not when half your head has curls setting for a banging blow out for later tonight. Beauty must come first!
"Haechan!" You yell, waving your hands from the ledge that over looks the pool from the second floor.
Haechan's head pops out of the water, looking every which way until he finally looks up at you. He cups a hand over his eyes to protect them from the sun, "what do you want?!"
"Bring us our waters, please!"
"I am literally in the pool!" He argues, his hands splashing water around him to further prove his point.
"Pookie, please!" You whine, clasping your hands together with a dramatic pout you doubt he can even see.
"Get them yourselves!"
"I'm in the middle of getting my hair blown out!"
He says nothing else, at least not that you can hear, but the water splashes around him with every paddle and step he takes to get out of the pool.
You skip back to the beauty room with a smile, "Haechan is bringing our waters."
"So you just hold the camera here at this angle and just keep taking pictures through every move, got it?" You confirm as you gently guide Haechan's hands to the perfect angle.
"Why do I have to do this again?"
"Because with the way it's looking for me, I might leave before I find love. The very least I can leave with are sexy pics to post so I can pull, duh," you explain as you situate yourself into the first pose, "ok, start taking pictures now."
You move fluidly from pose to pose. First, arching your back on all fours with your hair mussed. Then, you move onto your knees, you back to Haechan as you look at him from over your shoulder, your fingers hooked into the thin straps of your bikini bottoms to tug the skimp scrap up even further up your curves.
"How are they looking?" You ask as you maneuver into a seated position with your knees bent and back curved up to push your chest out.
"Bitch, you look hot as fuck. Are you sure you don't want to couple up with me? I'll sneak us into the hideaway," Haechan breathes out, his eyes locked on the screen of your phone as he swipes through the pictures.
"Hyuck!" You whine petulantly, pushing his shoulder lightly, "be serious!"
"I am being serious! Look at this one," he passes your phone back to you, showing you a picture, "your boobs look amazing! I would swipe right. Hey girl, are you dtf? That would be my pick up line."
Week 3- casa week- casa starts day 16
You sigh with frustration as you stand under the hot stream of water, your fingers scrubbing pink slime from your hair for the nth minute. You hate challenge days. They're always something over the top and never before imagined by the average person. Who in their right and healthy mind would ever have people dive into a pool full of slime to dig for a key to get their partner free from a fake lock? And why did you have to be the one to dig through the slime?
If you'd won the countless rounds of rock, paper, scissors among the girls, then the slime would have been much easier to wash out. It was dried and crusted in all our nooks and crannies, the water running pink at your feet even after five minutes beneath the shower head.
You reach for your shampoo, squeezing a hefty amount into your palm before lathering it into your hair. You massage and rub the soap through every strand, rubbing it until suds.
You exhale in relief, your eyes shut as you tilt your head back to begin to wash out your first round of shampoo. You don't hear the door open over the sound of the water, the uncharacteristic quiet of the villa brings you peace.
That is of course until you hear a surprising, "hey."
Your eyes snap open in shock, just in time to see the glass door of your shower opening to reveal Haechan, "your shampoo smells really good."
You screech at the top of your lungs, using both your hands to preserve your modesty as you back yourself into the corner of the shower. "Get out! Get out! Get out!" You scream shrilly.
Haechan slams the door shut, cheeks bright red with embarrassment, apologies tumbling past his lips as you breathe heavily, trying to catch your breath and slow your heartbeat. But of course, the villa has a way of providing more drama than anyone could ever need.
Everyone comes racing into the bathroom, no care for how small or cramped the space becomes with 10 bodies.
"What?! What's happening?" Jamie asks breathlessly, his buttoned up shirt open and hanging off one shoulder.
You point a finger at Haechan with anger, thankful that the frosted glass shows nothing to your housemates, "why the fuck would you open my shower?!"
"You didn't hear me when I complimented your shampoo the first time!" He defends.
Samira's jaw drops, "you couldn't tell her when she wasn't naked and showering?"
"I don't think sometimes! We all know that!"
Still pressed into the corner of the shower you scoff, "none of you do!" Everyone's gaze turns to you with offense written clear on their features, "I am still naked and showering and you're all standing in the bathroom just hanging out now!"
Murmurs of agreement break out, everyone quickly filing out of the bathroom to leave you to finish your shower. All except Haechan, who presses his face to the glass with a pitiful frown, "Pookie, forgive me."
"Donghyuck, you're an idiot," you roll your eyes, waving him away.
Haechan waves at you sadly, a pout on his face as he shuffles toward the door, "your idiot?"
"Yes, yes," you sigh, returning to the stream of water, "the other half of my brain cell. Now, go!"
"What's up YouTube!" Dean shouts at his phone with a peace sign thrown up, "We're here after a recoupling and unfortunately our boy Eli was sent packing. Samira, how do you feel being the girl to send him to his fate?"
The camera is turned onto Samira who rolls her eyes as she takes another bite of her ice cream cone, "Eli was very sweet and he'll be missed in the villa. It was very tough decision but everyone knows that Haechan's crying would have kept everyone awake for days if his beloved Dean left. Everyone should be thanking me."
Dean laughs, focusing the camera back on himself for just a second, "speaking of my best friend." The camera turns to focus on Haechan, who is to no one's surprise, with you, "there he is."
You and Haechan are dancing, your backside pressed to his front as you rock and sway side to side with an ice cream bar between your lips. Behind you, Haechan holds your waist with one hand, the other holding an ice cream cone, bare of any ice cream as his voice rings out, "Daddy's home! Home for me! And I know you've been waiting for this lovin' all day!"
The phone shakes as Dean laughs loudly, overpowering the sound of Haechan's singing. Dean zooms in on Rosie across the kitchen who watches on with an amused smile, "Rose! Get your boy!"
"They tire each other out! They need their play time," Rosie replies, ending her statement with her tongue stuck out at the camera.
The camera focuses back on you and Haechan who are now doing the snake in opposite directions. Haechan takes a large bite out of his cone before singing with his mouth full, "So all my ladies say!"
"Hey, hey, hey, daddy!" You reply, turning on your heel to clap your hands as if you were hyping up a crowd.
Vanessa joins you and Haechan, the three of you singing in unison, "hey, hey, hey, daddy!"
The atmosphere feels light and happy, no one has the choice but to join in to keep the spirits high. The camera pans around the kitchen, catching everyone clapping, dancing along, and chanting, "Hey, hey, hey, daddy!
Two days later, you find yourself standing in the open kitchen. The day has proved to be gloomy and rainy, weirdly, reflecting the bleak mood of you all for the last two days. You've all grown so close, a tight knit family so emotionally dependent on each other that one of you leaving would leave the villa in a fit of depression for a few days, especially losing one of you original Islanders.
In front of you, the rest of your fellow islanders watch on as Ariana struts toward you all, looking gorgeous as always. "Hello, islanders," she greets with a calm smile, much the opposite of everyone's grim mood.
"Well, the public have been voting," she explains, "the viewers were given the option of sending one boy and one girl on dates with two brand new bombshells."
Gasps sound out, eyes wide, and others shushing loudly to discover the fate of those not chosen for dates. Ariana keeps her poise, "Vanessa, the public have voted for you to go on a date with new bombshell Luke. Dean, you were voted to go on a date with new bombshell Ana."
Your heart drops to your stomach as Samira sobs loudly, the sound barely muffled by her hand. You gulp, your hand helplessly squeezing Vanessa's as you await your fate, anticipating the dreaded words: "you've been dumped from the villa."
You keep your eyes locked on Samira's, her eyes brimming with tears as she leans into her partner, Eren's, shoulder. It's easy enough to keep yourself from bursting into tears when you know you'll have to comfort her right after the news is dropped and convince her to stay.
It comes as a shock when you hear your name stated, drawing your attention back to Ariana, "the public also had the opportunity to vote for two single islanders they wanted to be in a couple." Her lips quirk into a knowing smile, "as a result, the two of you are officially coupled up and therefore safe from any dumpings this week. You will also be joining Vanessa and Dean on a date this afternoon."
"I'll see you all very soon," she concludes, walking away from you all just as both Vanessa and Dean's phones ding loudly with texts.
Everything around you is muffled chaos. Everyone leaps up from their seats on the couch rushing you all relieved embraces and delighted exclamations. Samira squeezes you in her arms tightly, repeating her words of elation right in your ear.
Your gaze is torn from the floor, your gaze guided toward familiar pools of amber and oak with warm and gentle hands on your cheeks. Haechan's lips are moving, but you can't for the life of you hear what he's saying over the pounding of your heart and rush of blood in your ears. "What the hell just happened?" You breathe out.
a/n: this is just the beginning of their madness woohoo! Still to come: their date, a kiss, some sparks, and ~love~!!!! feedback is encouraged and appreciated <3
taglist (comment or ask to be added!) @prettypeachyplease @neo-moa @banbao @lovesuhng @do0iee @bluedbliss
you love iced americano and he just wants attention : lee haechan
nct dream mlst
pairing — lee haechan x f!reader
genre — fluff, college au, making out
donghyuck can be fun to hang out with. no doubt. you love spending time with him. he’s funny and very entertaining at any time of day. but, sometimes, you need your silence and peace to do other stuff. such as… studying. something donghyuck doesn’t really do and makes it impossible for you to do.
you’ve tried studying in the same room with him. those times were days whether you two studied together or you studied on your own while he played video games. or at least, you were supposed to do so. because he cannot, in any way, sit still for more than twenty minutes straight, which means that you have to suffer with his hyperactive self.
that’s why you started studying in the campus’ library. that gave you a space where it would be silent and donghyuck would be forced to focus, so he can’t exactly make noise without having a book almost thrown at his head by the librarian.
you write down in your notebook the important topics discussed in today’s lecture and as you’re about to highlight it, the lingering eyes burning into the side of your face made you snap awake from your concentrated state.
today in particular, it was extremely hard for donghyuck to focus on what you were saying. he just focused on distracting himself with you, his cheek rested on his hand as he studied every little detail of your face.
he’s quiet at least, but his staring is still able to snap you away from your studying mindset.
“you look cute, today.” he says, barely above a whisper.
“thank you.” you replied quickly and quieter.
the sudden compliment warms your body and you, a little caught off guard, stare back at your book as your way to fight your emotions.
a small smile appears on his face as he notices how hard you’re trying to avoid looking his way.
he wondered for a moment if you got all dolled up today for him. he swallowed thickly, the sweet fragrance you wore furthering his distraction as he bites back a feeble moan. he can’t stop himself from specific fantasies. fantasies of what you taste like.
donghyuck started to realize a couple weeks ago that whenever he spotted you, you had your iced americano right at your side and the way your pretty lips wrapped around the straw every few minutes just made him want to bite on them. wanted to taste the sweetness of your drink from your mouth and get lost into you. he thinks you’ll taste as addicting as anyone ever could, simply because it’s you, and you’ve never been one to disappoint in the slightest.
“hyuck.” you whisper in a scolding tone.
“hm?”
“stop that.”
your eyes go over to him as he leaned back in his chair and he has a smile on his face.
“stop what?”
“stop staring at me. it's distracting.” you tell him, “if you’re not going to study with me then at least read a book or something.”
his smile falls ever so slightly and he gives you a strong nod, almost as if telling you an ‘okay’ and a ‘sorry’ at the same time.
there’s a moment of silence between you two. you let your eyes go back to your notes and in the corner of your eye, you see him scoot backwards in his chair and stand up. you don’t look up or even care enough to think much of it since you assumed he was going to do what you told him to.
“help me find a book?” donghyuck asks in, what he calls, a whisper.
donghyuck does not know how to whisper. that is a true fact. you don’t even know how you haven’t been kicked out of the library just by him talking.
“if i do, you’re going to let me study, right?” you ask him, eyebrows lifted.
“of course, babe. don’t i always?”
he knows he’s annoying you, yet he also knows that you love him too much to ever tell him to back off or to go away.
you sigh, taking his hand when he reached out for yours, and pulled him through the isles.
while you’re genuinely searching for books that you thought he’d might actually be interested in, donghyuck can’t fight back the sneaky smile on his face. you were thinking about what would keep him busy for the next hour or so, and he was thinking about your espresso.
he blinks himself back into reality, rips his hungry gaze from your lips, plastering it onto the bookshelf behind you instead, his eyes landing on the spine of random novel shoved haphazardly between the others. atomic habits. a book about perseverance and self-control. how ironic.
“…so what do you think?” you were holding a poetry book in your hands. a star beyond the starlight.
he opens his mouth, ready to accept the book and just finally give you a break to study like you wanted. but then he closes it. he closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.
even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. as he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs. trapped between him and the bookshelf.
but you don’t fight him right away. you know you should. you know you should push him off and berate him. yet you let him kiss you. and you kiss him back as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way. the only sound being heard in the library is your heavy breathing, the smacking of your lips, and an awkward cough from someone on the other side of shelves.
donghyuck is literally devouring your mouth, tongue licking every corner and teeth tugging relentlessly at both of your lips. and it’s when you finally realize that he is on a mission to completely maul your mouth because every time you try to talk or simply catch your breath for a few seconds, he keeps nipping and licking around your mouth, jaw, even your goddamn neck!! he refuses to let you formulate a single word, making sure to interrupt any attempt and reduce you to a whiny, whimpering mess..
you try to break the kiss again, feeling like your lungs will explode if you don't take a moment to breathe properly. you manage to peel yourself off hyuck’s mouth and you deeply inhale while looking up, pressing your almost numb lips together. you hear hyuck grunting and feel one of his hands making its way up, grabbing the back of your head and forcing your head down.
he pushes his tongue along with yours, releasing your nape only to wrap his arms around your waist and hug you closer— tighter against his body as humanly possible. your hands are holding donghyuck’s shoulders in a vice grip, feet rising off of the ground to the tip of your toes.
he was showing no signs of ending this session anytime soon and you are getting frustrated with every passing second, needing a moment to completely catch your breath. you’ve tried tapping out with your fists against his chest, he doesn’t even flinch when you bite down on his bottom lip. you can feel hyuck smiling while doing that damn grunting sound only he can make from the back of his throat and feeling the vibrations right into your mouth is enough to make you spiral even more.
“just a little longer,” donghyuck speaks, mouth still clasped over yours. but you’re spent. and in a final attempt to end this, you bring your hand up and pull at his hair hard enough to tilt his head back, making him wince, “ow- ow- ow!”
you just look at each other, taking your disheveled appearances in. your eyes have cleared up, no longer out of focus and your mouth is slowly pulling into a pout.
"what?" he asks while laughing. your eyebrows furrow then and you lightly slap his chest before bringing your hand and running the tips of your finger along your now swollen lips.
“don’t what me. just what do you think you’re doing, hyuck?” he holds back the laughter bubbling in his chest, knowing that if he laughs in your face right now he'll probably never get another chance like this again.
“i’m sorry. i couldn’t help myself.” you scoff incredulously. “but…” he looks around, a teasing smirk is creeping up on his equally swollen lips, “there’s no one back here. we can just do this.”
"you've abused my mouth enough.” you smack his hands away as he steps closer to you. “look, study with me or don’t. i don’t care anymore.” you shove the poetry book against his chest and leave him standing alone in the isle.
you get back to your table and it doesn’t take long before he returns to you as well. you glare at him as soon as he’s reaching his seat empty handed. there’s a small smile on his face that he’s trying to pass off as innocent but you refuse to fall for it, deciding to ignore him and find where you’ve left off in your books.
“y/nnn…” donghyuck whines out your name loud enough to make you flinch and other students shushing him scatter through the air. “i don't like when you’re angry at me.”
“not angry. just annoyed.” you mumbled.
“come on, you need breaks throughout your studying and i need attention. it’s a win-win situation.” he explains and you take a deep breath. but you knew you had to come to some sort of agreement.
“sure.” you gave in.
“then i will finally study.” he gives you a sudden peck on the lips almost as his way to finalize his sentence and pulls your chair closer to his own.
both of donghyuck’s arms wrap around your torso, his chin is resting on your shoulder and he’s looking down at your study book. you give him a glare, making him smile, surely entertained.
he was right. you do taste addicting. and if it were up to him, if you’d just let him have his way, he’d drag you to the back of the library, hidden behind the farthest shelves, and study your lips some more instead.
you and haechan were polar opposites. he was sociable, outgoing, popular, and charmed every person he crosses paths with. he was very ambitious and hardworking and was probably voted most likely to succeed in high school. you, on the other hand, preferred to keep to yourself most of the time, essentially satisfied with mediocrity, and an overall one’s usual plain jane.
you never understood why he liked you in the first place.
the insecurities in your relationship with haechan rarely clog your mind, but when they do, they hit you like a truck. you tended to distance yourself from your boyfriend, wallowing in your own self-pity until he maybe notices and coaxes you out of it.
you wonder how long until his patience with your negativity runs out and leaves you for someone else. someone better.
“you ok?” haechan’s voice snaps you out of your downward spiral. you blinked a few times out of shock, then responded curtly. “yeah, i’m alright.”
haechan narrowed his eyes at you, obviously not believing a word you’re saying. “penny for your thoughts?”
“it’s nothing, hyuck. go back to playing.”
you used his real name. haechan let out a quiet sigh, took off his headphones and squeezed himself next to you on the bed. you swore you could hear jaemin and jeno yelling at him through his headphones for being afk, but before you could point it out, haechan already has you locked in, his arms snaking around your waist and his legs tangled above yours.
“have i ever told you that you’re pretty?” he whispered.
“sometimes.” you hummed.
“maybe i should be saying it more.” he quietly chuckled.
“you don’t have to.”
haechan scooted almost impossibly closer to you, his breath fanning your neck, the distance between your bodies disappearing.
“have i ever told you that i love you?”
you pause for a moment, guilt creeping into your system. “always.” your boyfriend was one who never shyed away from expressing his feelings. he made sure you felt loved, you hear that you’re loved. his one question was a message to you – ‘i love you, yet why do you feel that way?’ why do you feel so insecure in your relationship when he has never failed to appreciate you? to love you?
“i love the way your forehead scrunches up when you focus.” he started, his fingers softly touching and gliding over your bare arms.
“i love the way you get excited when i come home with cheesecake.” he lightly laughed at the thought as his hands travelled up to your face, cupping your cheeks and making you face him. “i love the way you’re so goddamn bad at valorant, yet you play with me when i ask you to.”
“i think about you all the time. your smile, your hands, your face, your laugh. i think about you before i sleep, the moment i wake up, everytime i eat. it’s you that i see. you’re running through my mind all day it’s . . “ he let out a somewhat exasperated sigh. “you’re the only person who makes me this insane, y/n. really.”
“i love you, y/n. you and only you, just the way you are. forever and always.” his voice was much quieter now and his grip around your waist tightened.
“i’m sorry.” was all you could croak out
“it’s okay. i love you. remember that.”
the two of you were silent for a moment. the guilt in your system slowly subsided into feelings of gratefulness – you were thankful he noticed something’s wrong with you quickly, and you were also thankful he knew how to snap yourself out of it.
“wanna watch a movie?” you suggested.
“i’d like that.” he giggled. he slowly snaked himself away from you to get the tv remote, but his movement halted when you called out his name.
“donghyuck?”
his real name. again. he turned back to face you once more.
“i love you, too. forever and always.”
he grinned, moved closer to you and gave you a light peck on the lips.
“i know.”
a/n: i have returned. haechan making me feel things lately god im so in love w him it’s insanejfksmd.
love, to lee donghyuck, is not limited to only three words.
it is love when he traces your spine at midnight, drawing invincible circles on your back, etching his affection onto your skin. you've had a hard time falling asleep lately, he knows — he could tell from the toss and turn of your body and the soft sounds of tiktok late at night. so he makes you chamomile tea and rubs your back — the room smells like eucalyptus oil and him. he presses kisses on your shoulder so tender, as though you were porcelain. he rubs your back until you fall asleep, and the first thing he asks in the morning is "did you sleep well?"
love, to lee donghyuck, is his habit of kissing you every morning. hyuck carresses your cheeks with his palms, snickering at the way you blink your eyes to adjust to the sunlight. "baby... missed you while we were asleep..." he kisses you on the forehead, your cheeks, your nose, then your lips. he doesn't miss a single step, maybe adds a few extra kisses on your lips — as though a superstitious routine. he has to do it or else his day will feel terrible. and in a slight chance that he forgot... well, expect multiple messages of apologies and sobbing emojis.
donghyuck tells you he loves you by physically latching onto you every chance he gets. he always says he hates the clingy type — when in truth, he's often the clingy one. you're watching tv? he's hugging your arm, legs rested on your lap, chin buried into your neck. you could feel his breath against your skin every time he makes a commentary, like "that's literally us," and "you think i'm more handsome than him, right?" you're making coffee? he's hugging your back, littering kisses across your collarbone. you're taking a walk? well... the two of you are! he'll go on that walk with you, lacing your fingers together and swaying your arms.
you never listen, and hyuck's aware. he tells you to bring a jacket and you never do. when you start shivering, rocking your legs under the table, hyuck glances at you and sighs. "i told you it'll be cold, didn't i?" he babbles, "you never listen!" nevertheless, he's quick to take his jacket off and lay it on you. "bring an umbrella, it'll rain!" but of course, you don't. still, he'll rush out of practice and pick you up with his car, sighing to see you drenched. "thank god i have your location, i told you it'll rain, baby. i don't want you getting sick." you never listen, he knows. to be loved is to be known, isn't it?
it is also love when hyuck tells you his secrets. he's always been the oldest in the family, rarely ever shows that he's struggling. but sometimes, behind closed doors, when it's just the two of you, he crawls into your embrace, tucks his head into your neck and cries. "i'm tired," he whispers. his voice is barely there, like it's a sin confession and you're the priest. hyuck lets you comb your fingers through his hair and kiss away his tears. to some, it may be a small thing, but to hyuck, it means everything. after all, a secret's an intimate thing.
love, to lee donghyuck, isn’t the three words whispered to you — but every little action he does with you in mind.
twenty-six kisses, one for good luck : lee haechan
nct dream mlst
pairing — lee haechan x f!reader
genre — fluff, b-day fic, established relationship
warnings — suggestive, mentions sex but there’s no smut
syn — in which you forgot haechan’s birthday and he demands 26 kisses in return.
hyuck was sulking. well, not sulking, but he was angry. well, no, not angry, exactly, either. hyuck was something, though, and you couldn’t quite figure out what. distant. withdrawn. quiet. yes. he was definitely quiet. that was never a good sign and you’re watching and waiting, waiting for donghyuck to do…something. stop being quiet, mostly. and not quiet in a pensive, thoughtful way, but in a i-have-things-i-could-say-right-now-but-i-won’t-because-bad-things-will-happen-if-i-do way.
it was becoming a bit unsettling as the day went on and your yapper of a boyfriend kept being quiet. it was unsettling and worrying. normally he’d pout and whine around you if he were upset. but he didn’t do any of those things. you had even tried bribing him. he loved bribes: cuddles, food, sex.
still, nothing.
apparently, extreme measures were needed. you decided to try again the next day, when donghyuck would hopefully be more amendable.
“hyuck,” you said, squaring your shoulders and padding close to the table. donghyuck looked up from his breakfast food and looked up at you. good. that was good. “i’m…sorry.”
you tried very hard to not end that sentence with a question mark.
donghyuck tilted his head. his fingers were curled around his coffee mug. “all right.” he waited. you waited for him to stop waiting. “for what, exactly?”
you huffed out a breath. “well. you know.”
donghyuck waited some more. “well, yes, i do. but, i want to hear you say it, just so i know we’re both on the same page.”
you huffed louder. “i’m…sorry i’ve hurt you.”
donghyuck nodded. he chewed. he swallowed. he waited. “and?”
you gripped the chair back. “i’m sorry i’ve been a neglectful girlfriend.”
donghyuck chewed some more. he was a very thorough chewer. his digestive system would thank him for that. finally, he swallowed. “you’re getting closer.”
“i’m…very sorry that i’ve been getting in late.”
donghyuck waited. his gaze was very steady but not cold. however, the annoyance was evident on his face as the quietness spun out. you felt sweat starting to bead on your forehead. “and?”
you panicked. and what? what else could there be? you licked dry lips.
“i’m sorry i…bought the wrong milk? didn’t clean up after myself? didn’t do that one thing you wanted me to do in the bedroom last week?”
he finally decided to give you a break.
“you forgot my birthday, y/n.” he said casually, but donghyuck’s hands were trembling slightly. it must be taking everything in him to not start an argument.
you felt your heart sink to your stomach. how could you forget? how forgiving will he be? unfortunately, these things can happen with even the closest people in your life.
“hyuckie,” you sighed as you sat next to him, “i am so unbelievably sorry that i forgot your birthday, yesterday. can you please forgive me?”
“do i have a choice? you’re my girlfriend.” he rolled his eyes but ultimately smiled.
“then, happy belated birthday!”
“thank you.”
you nodded, honestly surprised at how he was handling this calmly and maturely. you waited a full minute. “right. well. we’re good then?”
donghyuck shook his head. “no. not yet. you still owe me.”
“owe you?” you processed.
“yes.” donghyuck sipped his cup, then made a face like it was too hot, but it couldn’t have been, so he was making a face about something else, maybe about what he was going to say next. you waited. you felt unaccountably nervous. “you need to make it up to me. for all the pain and suffering you caused.”
“a little dramatic but whatever,” you pulled out your phone and opened your calendar, “so what are you thinking? party? gifts? a weekend getaway?”
“no, no.” donghyuck shook his head. “nothing like that.”
“no?”
“no.”
you swallowed. what? laundry for a month? three months? grocery shopping? cooking?
“how…then?”
hyuck took another bite of his breakfast. “twenty-six kisses. one kiss. every day.”
you smirked and crossed your arms. “okay. you’re on.”
“and if you miss any days for any reason, even if you’re not here, you have to make it up with a full minute make out session.”
“let’s make it an hour. put those lungs of yours to good use.” you added with a cheeky smile.
“fine. then, we’ll begin?”
you nodded. “sure. whenever you’re ready.”
“i’m ready now.” hyuck closed his eyes and puckered his lips.
you giggled, staring at his face for a moment. you brushed his hair from his forehead and scanned his features. you could stare at him forever. but when donghyuck realized how long you were taking, beginning to make smooching noises with his lips, you finally leaned over and pressed your lips to the top of donghyuck warm, soft head instead.
one.
“wha- aegiya!” he whined, offended.
and, so it began.
day two: you kissed his forehead.
day three: a feathery kiss on his cheek.
day four: you kiss the icing off his chin from the cake you made him.
day five: a quick peck when you’re almost late for work, like an unfinished goodbye.
day six: on his temple when you came home late and found him sleeping.
day seven: you playfully kiss his nose after he complained about how the one before shouldn’t count because he was not awake.
day eight: leaving a princely kiss on the back of his hand.
day nine: the left side of his ear, followed by a nibble.
day ten: his shoulder when giving him a back hug.
day eleven: the corner of his mouth after he complained about you not kissing his lips yet.
day twelve: his lips finally, to shut him up as he began to argue with you for taking forever to kiss him there.
day thirteen and fourteen: making out with him, as promised, for missing a day, with you on top, making him feel soft. you’re pinning his wrists down on either side of his head to keep his hands from wandering, but his hips are unable to stop moving.
day fifteen: you choose his neck - it feels so delicate when he grips your waist when you linger a little longer than you should have been.
day sixteen: on his collarbone, biting and leaving a mark before soothing his skin with a tender kiss.
day seventeen: when you are playing video games so you press a kiss anywhere available; just anywhere to distract him.
day eighteen: out in public you subtly kissed the inside of his wrist.
day nineteen: an early morning kiss, its barely even lips touching, more like you’re kissing his chin because you’re both so tired in the early morning haze.
day twenty: the moles on his cheek.
day twenty-one: the moles on his neck.
day twenty-two: teasing his cupid’s bow.
day twenty-three: his index finger, sucking obscenely on it just to annoy him.
day twenty-four: he decided to kiss you first, hot and breathless, all lips and sighs and the soft drag of his mouth against yours like he missed you, like he couldn’t wait a second longer.
day twenty-five: a lazy smooch where you’re both under the blankets, comfy and warm against one another and you’re both just so relaxed and trading kisses back and forth.
on day twenty-six, donghyuck waited. his breath caught, his heart pounding in his ears, and you still hadn’t kissed him yet. he had been watching you almost the entire time since you came home from work, unable to fight back the pout on his face. his impatient side demanded he simply lean in and kiss you, but he couldn't let that happen.
it was beginning to get annoying, really. you were doing everything but kissing him. plating dinner, doing laundry, scrolling on your phone. his side-eye could quite literally burn holes into your face.
this was the reason he started this. because you forgot.
“are you forgetting something?” hyuck asked through gritting teeth. “again,” he added.
you looked up, brows drawing together as you stared at him. you cooked, you cleaned, you took care of all the little tasks around the apartment.
donghyuck leaned forward, tapping his finger against his puckered lips.
“mmm…nope. i don’t think i’m forgetting anything.”
he rolled his eyes, puckered lips tightening with a whimper.
you laughed, reaching to cup his face. “i forgot,” you admittedly said. “it’s cute that you can’t live without my kisses.”
“no. you just need to learn that it’s the bare minimum to remember an important day and forgetting has its—”
you rolled your eyes this time and shut him up with a final kiss. your lips brushed against his in the softest chaste caress.
donghyuck’s resolve broke as your lips parted, his own opening enough for him to taste you. a shameless moan escapes his throat as you brought your fingers up to his hair, and he couldn’t open his eyes. if he did, it would be the end.
but you had ended it. when you pulled away you were already breathing heavily. truthfully, donghyuck still felt a little disappointed. you could have asked him to keep going and he wouldn't even be able to think of saying no.
that wasn’t what this was, though. just a punctuation to mark the twenty-sixth kiss.
“and one for good luck,” you pressed one more gentle peck against his lips.
donghyuck licked his bottom lip to savor the taste and slowly releasing it with his teeth. “imagine if i had asked for sex for twenty-six days.” he chuckled but you could see the moment he began to regret it as soon as he thought of it.
“hmm, i’m imagining it…” you hummed, pretending to create a picture in your head, “but i can’t really see it.” you shrug with a teasing smirk.
“you should forget my twenty-seventh birthday.” he suggested, making you roll your eyes and walk away from him. but he followed, unwavering. “seriously, y/n. that’s twenty-seven different positions every day…”
synopsis: Haechan would much rather spend his birthday at home, gaming with his friends. A simple night to celebrate. However, fate and Na Jaemin have other plans. He’s dragged out to a bar against his will. But, when he meets you, Haechan decides this is his favorite birthday yet.
fluff & smut, 5.7k wc
warnings: non-idol!au, fluff.reader uses she/her pronouns, haechan is referred to as donghyuck, Dreamies are annoying LMAO, smut, terrible writing, technically unprotected sex (no mention of condom or birth control), alcohol, getting drunk, bar scene, swearing. i think that’s all? Please let me know if I missed anything
a/n: Happy birthday to my favorite boy ever. Happy Hae Day!!!!!!! This is based on the lyrics of drop dead by Olivia Rodrigo. I’ve been loving this song so much and with Haechan’s birthday coming up, I wanted to combine the two. This is very rushed (life’s always busy) but I tried my best!! If you see any mistakes, I’m sorry in advance. This is also my first time posting smut SO PLEASE BE NICE THANK YOUUUUU that’s all. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. Hope you enjoy 🤍
Donghyuck had a plan. On June 6th, he would sleep in, lounge around all day, have his brothers over, order delivery, and then game the whole night. Cake too, if he remembers.
Na Jaemin has a different plan.
A plan that Donghyuck is unaware of until now.
The birthday boy’s original plans had gone accordingly throughout the day. He woke up at a time far past morning and continued to stay in bed even later. Any other weekend, he’d have plans, appointments, places to be, but today is his day. No one and nothing to answer to unless he wills it.
Donghyuck smiles when he hears the doorbell ring- those would be his brothers, friends he’d known for the better part of a decade, the only people he wants to spend his birthday with.
He strolls up lazily to his front door, phone already open to a food delivery app.
However. When Donghyuck opens the door and sees Na Jaemin’s big smile, he feels his heart drop, dread washing over him.
He knows something is wrong when he steps back and really observes his friends.
Why is Renjun wearing his clubbing boots? Why are Jisung and Chenle holding two six packs of beer? Why is Jeno avoiding his gaze? Why is Mark wearing his good leather jacket? And, why is Jaemin looking at him with the most shit-eating grin he’s ever seen?
“What are you wearing?” Donghyuck starts, eyebrows raised so far you might think they’ll float off his face.
Jaemin claps back immediately, “What are you wearing?”
Donghyuck looks down at the sweatpants and old t-shirt he’s currently adorned in.
“I’m wearing clothes appropriate for a nice night in of pizza and gaming. Why the hell are you all dressed like that?”
Jaemin hums and they all push past the birthday boy, stepping into the apartment like they own it.
(With how much they stay over, they basically do at this point.)
The sound of the front door closing shocks Donghyuck out of his astonishment and he follows his friends into the kitchen.
“We’re going out. Tonight.” Jaemin says like it’s obvious. The friends work quickly around the space, pulling out glasses and bottle openers.
“No we’re not.” Donghyuck says sternly.
“I assure you, we are.” Jeno speaks up with a sigh, against the idea of going out in the first place but what Jaemin, Renjun, and Chenle want- they get.
“I’m sorry?” Donghyuck says, growing more frustrated by the minute. “Did you forget whose birthday it is today? I don’t want to go out.”
Jaemin walks over to face him directly.
“Baby,” he starts, to which Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “You only turn 26 once! You are a young, handsome bachelor. Why are you wasting your 26th birthday inside?”
Donghyuck steps back and rebuts- “It’s not a waste if it’s what I want to do.” Jaemin hums, point taken. But, he won’t give up. He refuses to let his friend stay home on his birthday.
“He’s not gonna take no for an answer, Hyuck. Let’s just go out tonight and we won’t bother you tomorrow.” Mark speaks up, snacking on some chips he found in his pantry.
The birthday boy scoffs. Closing his eyes as he weighs his options.
He wanted to celebrate with his friends. If his friends want to spend tonight at a bar, he guesses that’s okay.
Just as he’s about to surrender, Jaemin speaks up again.
“Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a pretty lady and she can make the whole night for you,” eyes wiggling suggestively in his Jaemin manner.
Donghyuck groans and turns to walk out of the room. “Fine. I’ll go get ready.”
He only hears the echoes of cheers as a response.
-
An hour later, Donghyuck emerges back into the kitchen. Hair slightly damp from his shower but still swept back with a light gel. A nice t-shirt compliments his frame and the leather jacket he wears on top accentuates his shoulders. Bootcut dark-wash jeans elongate his legs. Tying it all together is a pair of black boots. He looks good , even if he doesn’t feel like it.
Chenle whistles and Jaemin ‘woo-hoos’ when they see the man of the evening has returned in appropriate bar attire. Donghyuck shakes his head and reaches for a beer. God, he needs a drink.
Thankfully, they ordered pizza while he was getting ready. Eating and drinking commence while camaraderie takes place around him. He listens to Mark and Renjun have a debate about the best hotpot ingredients; he watches Jisung lose drinking games again and again to Chenle while Jeno and Jaemin (and himself) watch fondly.
The beer and pizza loosen him up a little bit and he feels better about the prospective of going out tonight. It could be fun, he supposes.
7:30 p.m. comes and the group starts getting ready to go- Chenle mentioning something about Jaehyun saving them a table.
Everyone is a little tipsy and in good spirits, even the birthday boy.
-
Soon enough, their taxi pulls up to a lively bar. Donghyuck had never been here before.
“Is this place new?” He wonders out loud.
“No,” Chenle answers for him, “But, Jaehyun recently took over the management and he really revived the place.”
Donghyuck could do nothing but agree. Groups gather at every table outside the bar, drinks on tables and in hands, cigarette smoke wafting through the warm summer air, but not enough to overwhelm you. The chatter is joyful and lively- you could tell good stories are being shared all around. Lamps extending from the brick exterior of the building give enough light to see in front of you but leave enough darkness to hide an intimate moment if you wanted to.
That thought give Donghyuck chills.
He follows his friends inside the bar, feeling relief that the good energy follows as well. The inside matches the outside, except a little louder as the chatter was now contained within four walls. Stone floors, wood paneling, tables, and chairs, warm lighting, small paintings decorating the walls- it reminds him of an English pub he visited during a boy’s trip to London a few years ago. The memory warms him inside.
Chenle finds Jaehyun soon enough. The older man’s face lights up when he sees the group has arrived. He moves from behind the bar to greet them properly.
“Donghyuck!” He shakes his hand.
“Been a while.” He replies with a smile. It has been a while since he saw his friend. Jaehyun graduated a few years before him, and post-grad life kept them busier than they anticipated.
“Happy birthday man!” Jaehyun claps him on the back affectionately. “I saved a booth for you guys.”
He leads the way and the younger men follow him like ducklings. Their table is a little tucked away from the main scene, to which Donghyuck feels a little relief- it’s just a bit quieter and it gives the group a chance to be with themselves. There’s only one other table- a high-top table where three young women sit, seemingly wrapped up in their own friendship too.
Once they get settled and order their first round of drinks, Donghyuck feels more at ease. Him and his friends carry on their own lively conversation. Sharing memories, inside jokes, teasing each other- the friendship flowed effortlessly between them. Donghyuck realizes that this is all he wanted- whether it was in his own home or in the bar, the company with him is all that matters.
He stands up to help Renjun with the next round of beers- he’s strictly prohibited from paying for any round tonight- but he’ll help carry the drinks as a thank you.
Falling into conversation with Jaehyun, Donghyuck didn’t even notice another figure appear next to him. Didn’t notice until-
“Can I get three pints of Kloud please?” A sweet voice interrupts.
Nothing could prepare Donghyuck for the vision he sets his eyes on.
Is he so far gone that he’s seeing angels now?
You lean forward on the bar with a smile that matches your sweet voice. Somehow there are stars in your eyes that compliment the flush in your cheeks.
Donghyuck can’t breathe for a second- mind and body too busy taking you in- the way you look just like heaven. The conversation with Jaehyun and the beers in front of him long forgotten.
“Are you ever gonna try anything else?” Jaehyun teases you with a playful grin, preparing your pints nevertheless.
“We know what we like, nothing wrong with that.” You play back. Your smile grows and it makes Donghyuck very nervous.
Thankfully, you hadn’t noticed the silent stranger whose eyes were glued to you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he looked away for a moment. Unfortunately, the stranger’s friend behind the bar did notice Donghyuck’s sudden quietness.
When he takes your card from you, he nods his head toward the man next to you.
“It’s my good friend’s birthday tonight.”
Donghyuck looks away quickly to not be caught staring at you. He stares down an old water stain on the bar top while his cheeks fail to hide his blush.
When your eyes do land on the dark-haired boy, warmth rushes over you. In the moment, you’re keen to blame it on the alcohol.
It’s amazing how someone who looks so cool can simultaneously be so shy.
You feel endeared toward him and you’ve not yet spoken a word.
“Happy birthday.”
Your honey voice sounds like music to his ears and when he looks up to meet your gaze, an entire symphony erupts.
Are everyone’s eyes so pretty? How are you so pretty?
“Thank you.” He hopes you can feel his genuineness and when your smile grows just a bit more, he has a feeling you do.
Your eyes break away from his and move to the drinks sitting in front of him, “Surely you’re not paying for your own drinks tonight.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, no. My friend would never let me pay tonight- they’d hide my wallet if they could.”
You giggle in response and he feels his confidence returning. Thank god. He’d never forgive himself if he fumbled that bad in front of you.
“You have good friends.”
“Yes, I do.” He agrees. You two then fall into easy conversation, how you each know Jaehyun, your jobs, where you’re from, your current neighborhood- not the most exciting conversations but Donghyuck makes it fun anyway.
Pints and beers long forgotten in front of you, swept up in the company beside you.
“I just moved a few months-“
“Donghyuck-ah!” comes the booming voice of Zhong Chenle. The man in question flinches, praying to any god listening that this younger brother won’t embarrass him.
“Why are you taking so long? The beer must be- oh.” Chenle stops his complaint as soon as he sees what- rather who- has kept Donghyuck from returning to their table. A teasing smile immediately appears on his face as he glances between you two. Donghyuck adorns a tight lipped smile while you smile as if you’re not bothered at all. Matter of fact, you’re curious about Donghyuck’s friend.
“I see.” Chenle says, mostly to himself. It’s taking every thing in him not burst into giggles.
“I’m sorry I kept your friend and your beers.” You shoot Chenle a smile, but the playful glint in your eyes tells everyone that you’re not really sorry.
“No, no. Not a problem at all.” He says, big goofy grin on his face. “I’m Chenle.” He holds his hand out, which you shake. Irritation grows in Donghyuck’s chest. He was perfectly content getting to know you within your own bubble.
“I’ve heard.” You grin, turning back to the handsome boy whose cheeks are flushed once again.
“You know he didn’t even want to come out tonight.” Chenle starts; he can’t help but being a shit-stirrer, even on his friend’s birthday.
You feign shock before sending Donghyuck a sweet smile. “Well, I’m very happy you did.”
“Me too.” He admits. Chenle grabs the beers and leaves the two of you, alone once again.
Just as you’re about to continue your conversation, a familiar melody starts playing through the bar. Donghyuck wishes he could capture the way your face lights up and frame it forever.
“Just Like Heaven” by The Cure- one of his favorite songs.
“I love this song!” You exclaims.
One of yours too it seems.
You start singing the lyrics, and Donghyuck joins in, unable to resist.
You wish you had a tape recorder so you could capture his sweet voice and listen to it on repeat forever.
No one pays attention to you both- well except for the two tables of friends who are already planning all the jokes they’ll make about the two of you. But, you pay no mind to them. You’re lost in your own world.
“You
Soft and lonely
You
Lost and lonely
You
Just like heaven”
When the song finishes, your eyes meet Donghyuck’s; and though out of breath, you both burst into a fit of giggles.
“I think we’ll deserve a drink after that.” He declares, already pulling out his wallet.
“Oh no.” You place a hand on his arm, making Donghyuck freeze. “I can’t let the man of the hour pay for a drink on his birthday.”
He shakes his head and takes out his card anyway. “Since it’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want. And, what I want is to pay for a pretty girl’s drink. What would you like? A pint of Kloud?”
You’re grateful he’s turned his head away from you so he can’t see the blush that graces your cheeks.
He’s thinks I’m pretty.
“Yes, please.”
With drinks in hand, Donghyuck offers to walk you back to your table. Initial disappointment weighs on your chest. Is this where it ends? A handsome stranger charms you to a blushing mess, buys you a drink, and now he’ll walk you back to your table and….leave you alone for the rest of the night?
No. Something inside tells you that it’s not over yet. A gut feeling. An intuition.
“Where’s your table?” Donghyuck puts his hand lightly on your lower back to help guide you through the still-crowded bar. He hopes you don’t feel the way it shakes.
“It’s in that corner back there.” You point. When Donghyuck follows your gesture, he realizes it’s the high top right next to his booth.
“Oh you’re right next to mine!”
When you get closer, you realize that you do recognize Chenle at Donghyuck’s table.
You pause in front of the tables, looking at him, hopeful that this won’t be where you part for the night.
“So, we’re here.” You prod. He can practically see the hope shining in your eyes.
“Thanks for talking with me tonight. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening with your friends.”
Donghyuck winces at this own response. He can’t believe he just said that. He’s too out of practice, too sober, to think of a flirty, clever way to talk to you more. He shifts his gaze to avoid seeing your disappointment, but is unfortunately met with the disapproval of his friends. Renjun sighs and Jisung shakes his head.
“I hope you have a good birthday.” You say softly before walking back to your table.
As soon as Donghyuck returns to his seat, the scolding begins- though at low whispers as to not be heard by the neighboring group.
“Are you stupid?” Jaemin scolds him in a whisper-shout.
“Oh my…” Mark mutters to himself.
“Even, Jisungie is better at flirting than that.” Renjun sighs out again.
“What do you guys suggest I do? Hm?” He exhales, looking at his friends expectedly. If they were going to nag him, the least they could do is offer him some solid advice.
However, as he suspected, the table grows quiet. “Exactly. Let’s keep our comments to ourselves.” Then, he takes a long sip of his beer.
Camaraderie ensues again, but Donghyuck can’t stay focused. His eyes keep moving back to you. The way you’re leaned on the hightop table, fully focused on the story your friend is telling, and how your eyes somehow sparkle in the low bar lighting- he thinks you’re so pretty.
You catch him staring at you a few times, but before you can hold the eye contact, he looks away, as if embarrassed.
“This is your chance.” Jaemin mutters to Donghyuck, snapping him out of his daydream.
“Hm?”
“Her drink. It’s empty. Offer to buy her a new one and then ask you if can talk more privately.”
Donghyuck thought for a moment. It’s actually a good idea. What’s the worst that could happen? You could laugh in his face and tell him he missed his chance.
But you wouldn’t do that.
He stands up, his own empty beer glass in his hand, and walks around to your table. He feels even more pleased with his decision when your face lights up seeing him in front of you.
“I see you’ve got an empty glass. Care for a refill?”
“Who’s paying?” You prod with a teasing grin.
“It’s on me if that’s okay with you.”
“More than okay.”
Donghyuck is sporting a full toothed grin now. Feeling brave, he holds his hand out. When you take it, he feels on top of the world. A simple gesture has him flying.
He leads you back to the bar, pays for your drink as promised. Comfortable silence comes over you while you watch Jaehyun pour your beers.
“I’m not sure how much longer you’ll be staying but I wanna talk with you more, away from my nosy friends.” He says as confidently as he can.
You blush- you were right to listen to your heart. This is not over. “I’d like that a lot actually. You know I was a little disappointed when you went back to your table.”
Donghyuck throws his head back and groans, “I know, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” The dramatics make you giggle.
“It’s okay. I’ll just go let my friends know.” Donghyuck watches you walk back to your tables. He’s entranced by you, completely. Taking a deep breath, he prays that tonight goes in his favor.
It’s his birthday after all.
Not even minutes later, you return.
“Let’s go to that table over there.” As he follows you, he finally notices that the bar has considerably cleared out. Soft jazz music now plays through the speakers. A mellowed out vibe compared to an hour earlier. This puts him more at ease.
You both slide into the booth, only centimeters separate you. You’re practically sitting shoulder to shoulder, feeling the heat radiate off him.
Conversation between you both begins again, flowing like it never stopped. You talk about the friends here with you tonight, your go-to coffee orders, your travels- if he’s ever been to Japan or France. Everything and anything in between.
Somehow you’ve both drifted closer to each other, shoulders now touching. You’re leaning into him as he is into you. Beer glasses still half-full- too caught up in the company next to you to care.
You can hardly focus on anything at this point. His proximity makes your head spin- or maybe that’s the alcohol still in your system you’re not sure. All you know is you can hardly focus on anything but the way his lips move as he talks. They look so soft. How would they feel moving against yours?
“….That’s when I told Jeno he was absolutely crazy. Are you even listening to me right now?” He teases.
You can only hum and nod as your reply, too dazed and entranced by him to properly say yes. Even so, it’d be a lie. You were not listening; you were just staring at his lips and begging any higher power listening that they would whisper to Donghyuck that-
“Y/n….can I kiss you right now?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper as if he’s afraid he’ll pop the perfect bubble you’re in right now.
Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes
You nod and before you know it, he’s leaning in.
You expected fire- hot and heavy that makes you flinch if it burns too long. But, the moment your lips meet Donghyuck’s, it’s warm. Not sparks, a steady flow of electricity that makes you feel alive. His lips are as soft as they look. He applies the perfect amount of pressure that doesn’t push you away but still leaves you wanting more. His hand comes up to cup your jaw and bring you closer together. Your mouths move more fervently and one hand comes up to rest on his chest to keep you steady. You’re starting to squirm, that electric flow awakening other parts within you. If he stops now, you might drop dead.
To your dismay, he pulls away, leaving you both breathing heavy. He smiles, a mix between embarrassment and satisfaction.
“You know the bar closes at 11.” He mutters. You turn to check the wall clock.
10:45
“Maybe, if you never finish your beer. We’ll never have to go.” You joke, but there’s a hint of sadness in your voice. You’re worried once you exit the walls of this bar, you’ll go back to being strangers. Then, you’ll spend the rest of your life missing that one handsome man you met at a random bar in your twenties.
“I don’t think Jaehyun would like that.” He says while patting your head affectionately as you pout in response.
“It’s getting late. Let me take you home.”
Such a simple statement stirs butterflies in your chest. You’re still feeling buzzed from the kiss you just shared.
“My apartment’s only a few blocks from here.”
“Lead the way pretty girl.”
You both bid goodbye to Jaehyun who is already starting to clean up. If you two weren’t so caught up in yourselves, you would’ve read the phone messages your friends sent you that they’ve gone home.
You don’t know when your hands connected after leaving the bar but you’re more than happy they did. The action warms your heart more than the alcohol tonight ever did.
You swing your hands together almost childlike as he walks you home. The light to guide the way are the street lamps. But, you’re not scared. Not with Donghyuck by your side.
“What did you do for your birthday today? Before the bar?”
“Hmm,” He thinks for a minute, “I slept in really late and stayed in my pajamas most of the day until my friends took me to the bar.”
“You didn’t do a lot..” You murmur.
“It’s exactly how I wanted it to go.” He raises your intertwined hands and kisses the back of yours. Donghyuck of course leaves out the part that his friends had to practically drag him out of his apartment to this bar. He figures you don’t need to know that.
“Did you have any cake at least?”
“Hmm. Nope. No cake.”
You completely stop in your tracks. He walks a few steps before feeling a tug on his hand.
“You didn’t have any cake?” You ask incredulously, eyes practically bugging out of your skull. Donghyuck chuckles to himself at the sight. You’re so damn cute, and dramatic.
“I guess we just kind of forgot.” He shrugs.
“We have to fix this.” You shake your head. “There’s a convenience store the block before my apartment. Let’s see if we can find something in there.”
He doesn’t argue with you, letting you pull him forward. Donghyuck doesn’t know you well but he has a feeling once you set your mind to something, there’s no convincing you otherwise.
Sure enough, after walking a ten more minutes, you’re stood in front of a 24 hour conveniences store. The bright light glowing from the sign almost makes Donghyuck squint.
The bell rings as you push yourself inside, dragging the birthday boy behind with your intertwined hands.
The clock reads 11:07. Plenty of time.
You scan the aisles diligently; Donghyuck follows like a lost puppy (he practically is one in this moment). Finding a pack of two basic candles, all that’s left is a cake, or something close to.
“All they have is a big chocolate cookie or a cup of strawberry ice cream.” You frown. Donghyuck feels the temptation to kiss it right off you. He refrains for now- you’re on a serious mission after all.
“Whatever you want pretty.” He says, moving his thumb across your hand absentmindedly. Donghyuck truly doesn’t mind- he’s not even sure he wants a sweet treat. But, you’re so determined, he can’t say no to you.
“But it’s your birthday. I want you to choose.” You whine.
“Ok. Let’s do strawberry ice cream and we can share it.” You smile in satisfaction before taking the both of you to the register.
“Oh! Do you have a lighter?”
After he shakes his head, you take one off the shelf and start to pay. Best believe, Donghyuck insisted he pay but, you argued back that he payed for your two drinks and it’s a gift for his birthday. He conceded in the end.
Next thing you know- you’re sat on the curb outside of the store. You prepare the impromptu birthday cake, carefully placing the two candles in the very small cup of ice cream.
“Ready?”
He nods, giving you the okay to light the candles.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..”
Your voice is so sweet. He wants to drown in the honey. He wants to freeze this moment. Just between you and him, and the bright convenience store lights.
“Make a wish!” You whisper.
He closes his eyes and really wishes.
He wishes for more moments like this with you. He wishes that this isn’t the end of your journey together. He wishes that by the end of the night he’ll be brave enough to get your number. He wishes this, whatever this is, will blossom into so much more.
Donghyuck will never say any of this out loud though. He won’t risk anything for his wish to not come true.
He opens his eyes and blows out the candles. You cheer and watch the smoke dissolves into the summer night.
11:35 perfect timing.
“Happy birthday, Donghyuck.” You smile at him shyly. He wants to eat you alive. How can you have such a hold on him? Not even four hours ago, he hadn’t even known you. He never wants to go back there again.
You both dig into the ice cream. Granted, you each only get about four full bites in before the cup is finished.
“Best birthday cake ever.” He says, and you giggle in reply. He hopes you know that he means it though. Silence settles over you. It’s disgusting- the hearts that are coming out of both your eyes. Anyone would become sick looking at the two of you.
Donghyuck brings a hand up to your cheek. “You have a little something here….” And, he’s kissing you again. It’s sweeter this time- the lingering taste of strawberry on both your lips. In sheer desperation, you grab his shirt to pull him closer. He opens his mouth in response to you, his body telling you that he wants you as much as you want him. Your tongues dance together, in perfect sync. Breathing in each other’s air, you’re bordering on exhibitionism.
Maybe, not that far.
But, if he keeps this up, you might ask him to take you right here on the curb.
“Please take me home.” You whine, breaking away, an unfortunate but necessary communication.
“Okay, yes, okay.” He stands up, helping you in the process. You’re a giggling fluttering mess, practicing skipping the rest of the block to your apartment. Donghyuck follows close behind, extremely amused and equally as happy.
His hands are on your waist as you come to your front door. You fumble with the keys, from both nerves and giddiness
As soon as the door opens and closes, he’s on you again. Arms wraps around your waist to pull you close and your lips connect again, moving with more passion than before. It’s quite a haphazard scene- the two of you walking backward in the dark completely unaware and uncaring about your surroundings.
Eventually, Donghyuck taps your thigh. You hop up and wrap your legs around his waist, fully supported by him now.
“Where’s your bedroom sweet girl?” He detaches for a moment and then continues kissing down your neck, waiting for your reply.
“To the left, down the hall.”
He walks with haste; you appreciate it. Pushing open your bedroom door, he sets you down, now hovering over you.
“I should prep you baby. What do you want?” He says, searching your eyes. You look like a dream- face flushed, hair laid out around you like a halo. The moonlight that shines through your window seems to make you sparkle.
You blush at the question. What do you want? Your mind is too clouded by him . That’s the only answer you have.
“Just want you.” You murmur. He hums and thinks.
“Really want to be inside you. How about my fingers? I’ll eat you out another time- I’ll do it slow and properly next time. Is that okay?”
You nod frantically. You’d have him in anyway; it didn’t matter to you.
“Need words.” He whispers, hardly a centimeter from your face.
“Please fuck me, Donghyuck.” You practically whine out, growing patient. If you weren’t such a horny mess, you’d be more appreciative at his thoughtfulness.
With the green light, he helps to strip you, throwing the clothing across your room.
God, you’re a sight. He could come just looking at you.
He full crawls on top of you, connecting you lips once again. One arm braces himself over you while the other one snakes down your torso. You whine into his mouth when his hand stops at your hip. Your body tries to take initiative when your hips buck into him. He chuckles into your mouth.
“Okay, okay.” He relents. Donghyuck didn’t mean to tease you- he was trying to savor the moment.
Once his fingers prod your entrance, all is forgiven. It’s overwhelming- how he stimulates your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm. He curls his fingers in just the right way. Your body reacts to him so well- like you’ve known each other for years.
That familiar coil starts to wind in your stomach. You’re close. He knows it, you feel it.
“Want you inside me.” You whimper. He happily obliges to your request. Taking his fingers away from your core- you whine at the loss of contact, even though that’s what you just asked for. Donghyuck takes his fingers up to his mouth and you watch, with lust-filled eyes, him put his fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean from your slick.
He moans at the taste. “You taste so sweet, baby. I promise I’ll fuck you with my tongue next time.”
After completing stripping himself, he lifts your leg and bends it, exposing your core. Donghyuck starts to nudge himself inside- the feeling making both of you close your eyes in pleasure.
You could feel him pulsing inside your walls; he no better, barely holding his sanity together.
“You’re so tight babygirl. Fuck.” He grunts.
“Move please, Hyuck.” You whimper. When he does start rocking his hips against yours, you feel euphoric all over again. The rhythm, the angle- he’s hitting all the right spots. His head is buried in your shoulder, willing himself to not come just yet.
But, something about you makes it hard for him to control himself. His movements turn frantic, chasing that high for both of you.
“I’m close.” Your grip on his arm tightens as you’re about to come undone.
“Yeah? Come for me baby.”
He leans down to connect your lips again. It’s with such passion, adding to the stimulation. Overwhelming but welcome nevertheless.
You unravel under him. Donghyuck winces when he feels you come around his cock. He rocks inside you a little more, helping you ride out your high before pulling out and finishing on your stomach. Collapsing next to you, he’s silent for a minute, catching his breath and recollecting himself. You’re doing the same. The perspiration on your skins makes you look like you’re glowing. Some could argue it’s a post-sex glow; Donghyuck argues it’s also from pure happiness.
Not long after you’ve both finished, he starts to get up- the urge to take care of you ever present. You murmur sleepily where your washcloths and pajamas are. Donghyuck is now on a mission.
First, he sneaks into your kitchen for some glasses of water. Then, he stops in your bathroom to prepare a washcloth to clean you up. His final destination is your closet where he finds a soft old t-shirt and new underwear for you to sleep in.
Once he cleans you up, he lays down next to you, pulling you into his chest. You’re so sleepy and far gone, you could think this is a dream. The last thing you feel is Donghyuck’s steady heartbeat before you’re pulled into a deep sleep.
-
It’s sunlight that pulls Donghyuck into consciousness. The light shining through your windows prods his eyes open. Then, he registers a weight on him. You’re sprawled out across him, left leg draped across his body and arm curled on his chest. He relishes in the feeling.
Donghyuck doesn’t know what time it is, if you have plans today, or how you’ll feel when you wake up. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to leave your warmth.
He doesn’t have to wonder long as he feels you start to stir as well. The way you nuzzle into his shoulder makes him melt.
“Morning.” You murmur, still refusing to open your eyes to the sunlight.
“Hi pretty girl.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Better than ever.” He grins.
“Good.” It’s quiet for a moment. Maybe, you’re feeling brave, or maybe it’s the sleep clouding your brain, you dare to ask, “How long can you stay?”
Forever, Donghyuck thinks.
But, he squeezes your waist instead and offers an answer much less overwhelming, “I have no plans other than you, baby.”
Let’s go steady.
Let's go out
And tell the whole damn world how….
disclaimer: I do not claim anything in this fic happened in reality. This is all fiction and for fun.
warnings & tags: unprotected sex, breeding, rough sex (? slightly idk), haechan slightly loses control, birthday sex, mentions of a condom, spanking briefly, slight degradation, fingering
the silk of the babydoll lingerie felt cool upon your skin, the pale pink fabric was trimmed with white lace, barely covering the curve of your breast while the skirt ended below at your hips, leaving your ass completely exposed. you spent what felt like weeks searching for the perfect set, the matching thong was already soaked with anticipation, the thin fabric hardly containing your slick folds.
“haechan?”, you called out, your voice trembling slightly. “can you come here for a minute.” foot steps approached the bathroom. “yeah? everything okay?”
you took a deep breath, your heart pounding against your chest. “i just need your opinion on something.”, the door creaked opened, his gaze always made your stomach flip. his gaze swept you over once, then again, fully taking in your appearance, his mouth falling slightly open. the air thickened as his eyes traced every inch of your skin, from the swell of your breast down to the bare curve of your ass.
“fuck”, he breathed, stepping closer towards you. the scent of his cologne filled the small space. “happy birthday to me, huh?”
his hands found your waist immediately, fingers digging in the soft flesh. you could feel his erection pressing against your stomach through his jeans. his thumbs circled your hipbones as his eyes devoured you. “you look..”, he shook his head, leaning in to press a kiss against your neck. “absolutely perfect.”
the first kiss was gentle, then something shifted. his grip tightened, pulling you flushed against his body. the silk of your lingerie bunched between your bodies as his hands roamed down to the curve of your ass, squeezing just enough to cause you to gasp. “haechan..”, you started, his lips crashed into yours, swallowing your words. his tongue forced it’s way in your mouth, one hand tangling in your hair, yanking your head back, giving him better access while one slid between your legs, tearing at the flimsy thong.
“been thinking about this all day”, he growled against your mouth. “walking around in that little skirt, teasing me.”, his fingers found your clit, rubbing rough circles through your folds. you were already dripping, coating his fingers with your slick. “such a fucking tease.”
your back hit the wall with a soft thud as he pressed you against it. the title was cold against your bare skin, in contrast to the heat building between your legs. his kisses grew messier, more desperate, his teeth scraping at your bottom lip, tongue fucking your mouth like he couldn’t get enough of you in that moment. then came the sound of ripping fabric. the lace give away as his fingers hooked into the neckline of your lingerie. your nipples pebbled in the cool air, hardening under his gaze.
“much better.”, he murmured, his mouth closing around one breast. his teeth scrapped at your sensitive nipple, making you cry out in pleasure. he sucked hard, leaving marks that would show up tomorrow. his other hand continued the assault between your legs, two fingers plunging into your tight hole while his thumb worked at your clit. “please.”, you whimpered, hips bucking against his hand. “please haechan.”
he lifted you suddenly, his strength surprising you. your legs wrapped around his waist, your back scraped against the wall as he positioned himself, the rough denim rubbing against your inner thighs. you could feel his cock throbbing through the fabric. “gonna fuck you so hard.”, he promised, his voice rough with need.
he carried you to the bedroom, dropping you onto the mattress. the soft sheets in contrast to the rough way he handled you. his hands spread your ass cheeks, exposing your dripping cunt to his hungry eyes. “look at this pretty little hole.”, he growled, spanking your ass causing you to let out a broken moan. the sting quickly melted into pleasure as he rubbed the reddening skin. “all ready for me.”
the mattress dipped as he climbed behind you, his knees nudging your legs further apart. his cock slipped between your folds, coating himself in your wetness before pressing at your entrance. “wait.”, you gasped, turning to look at him over your shoulder. his eyes were dark with lust, his hair falling into his face. “condom..”
“but it’s my birthday.”, he interrupted, slamming into you with one brutal thrust. the sudden fullness made you scream, your hands clutching at the sheets. “birthday boy gets what he wants.”
he set a punishing pace from the start, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, his balls slapping against your clit with each thrust. the bed frame creaked, the headboard banging against the wall. your moans filled the room. “such a tight little pussy.”, he grunted, his fingers digging into your hips, just enough to leave a bruise. “made for my cock aren’t you?”
you could only whimper in response, your body rocking with force of his thrust. his hand came down to your ass again, the sharp slap making your pussy clench around him. he groaned, his movements becoming more erratic.
“fuck, yes.”, he growled. “squeeze my cock just like that.”,
his other hand slid down to rub your clit, rough circles matching his thrust. the dual simulation was overwhelming, his thick cock pounding into you, while his fingers worked at your sensitive nub. you could feel your orgasm building, a tight coil threatening to snap at any moment.
“come for me.”, he demanded. “come all over my cock like the dirty girl you are.”
his words pushed you over the edge, your orgasm washed over you, the pleasure was so intense it made your vision blur. your pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him as he continued chasing his own high. “fuck.”, he groaned, his thrust becoming sloppy.
his cum flooded your pussy, thick ropes painting your walls. he collapsed on top of you, the weight pressing you into the mattress. the room was silent expect for your uneven breathing. after a moment he rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. his fingers fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin.
“best birthday present.”, he murmured against your hair. you smiled snuggling closer as his arms tightened around you. the torn lingerie lay forgotten on the floor.
🔮 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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it’s been a long time since we’ve seen rockstar!haechan, not a lot of the writers have write this anymore, thank you nova for giving rockstar!haechan and keeping the nctblr community alive🥹❤️ loved this so much<3
pairing: slytherin! na jaemin x gryffindor! fem. reader
genre: hogwarts au, fake dating, fluff, smut, angst
wc: 17k
summary: A Gryffindor prefect and a Slytherin golden boy fake a relationship to avoid an unwanted marriage pact, but as staged kisses turn real and secrets unravel, their hearts end up tangled in ways neither expected. Now, with love and pride on the line, they must decide if risking everything is worth the truth.
content warnings: explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, protected sex (contraceptive charms), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, cursing, alcohol consumption, miscommunication, emotional hurt/comfort, anxiety, self-consciousness, emotional manipulation (though not malicious) lots of harry potter references (obvs), hogwarts setting, slytherin/gryffindor stereotypes and prejudice, pureblood politics, brief mention of emotionally distant/cold parents.
a/n: finally!! i’m so sorry this took forever, i really meant to post it the same day as part one, but i kept adding more (like… a lot more), so i really hope it was worth the wait. i had so much fun writing it though and i’m actually really proud of how it turned out. this fic fully consumed me for months lol😭 i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. please feel free to scream in the comments/inbox, i wanna hear all your thoughts <3
ps: if anyone cares for a bit of music while reading i made this playlist for the fic.
Read part 1 here
In the wake of that catastrophic lapse in judgment at the Three Broomsticks, you had spent the remainder of the weekend engaged in a heroic attempt at total social erasure. Under the flimsy pretext of Prefect patrols, you’d spent twenty four hours haunting the castle’s most desolate corners and developing an encyclopedic, almost intimate knowledge of the drafty corridors behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and the specific, rhythmic drip of the second-floor lavatory.
You lived in mortal fear of a confrontation, your brain a frantic pinball machine of panicked justifications. How does one even begin to explain away the fact that you’d essentially tackled Jaemin with your mouth in front of half the student body? You couldn't even blame the butterbeer; no one was that much of a lightweight.
All that strategic hiding, however, proved to be a spectacular waste of time.
Because Monday morning arrived and with it, the unavoidable horror of Double Potions. Jaemin, of course, decided to plop down next to you, looking both freshly pressed and utterly unbothered by recent events. All the while had to physically force yourself not to bolt in the opposite direction.
“Morning, Y/N,” he said pleasantly. “Fancy another go?”
You nearly slid off the stool. “I—beg your pardon?”
His mouth quirked as he leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was a secret shared only between your skin and his lips.
“Just a thought,” he drawled, “since the entire school has already watched us snog, we might as well get our money’s worth, don’t you think?”
You gaped at him, your indignation warring with a sudden spike of heat. Jaemin just watched you, a picture of insouciant grace, clearly having decided that his new favorite hobby was seeing exactly how many shades of scarlet he could make you turn before Slughorn even called the roll.
“I—well—” You faltered, the sentence dying pathetically in your throat. There was no good exit strategy here, no witty retort that could dismantle the sheer smugness radiating off him. “Wasn’t that a bit… much? In the Three Broomsticks?”
His gaze turned positively feral with glee. “I believe the many witnesses there that night will say that you started it. I was merely an innocent bystander, swept along by the current of your passionate improvisation.”
You pressed your lips together, an exercise in sheer willpower to deny him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Swept along, my arse. You’re the one who—” You clamped down on the thought before it could manifest, but the phantom sensation of his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck flashed through your mind.
Jaemin tilted his head, a lock of blonde hair falling over his brow, as if to punctuate how useless your walls were against him now.
“Look, if we’re going to commit to this performance, we might as well aim for the stalls,” he said. “The school already has us pencilled in as the frontrunners for ‘Best Couple’. It would be a tragedy to disappoint the fans now, wouldn't it?”
He slipped his hand into yours, as if nothing at all had changed. But now you were horribly aware how your skin prickled with nerves and the pulse in your wrist kept skipping whenever he brushed his thumb along the side of your hand.
Slughorn, bless his velvet-clad heart, seemed absolutely determined to overwhelm the gloom of the dungeons with his boisterous goodwill. He was in rare form today, circling the room like a parade master, “Today, my dears, we will be brewing Amortentia! The mother of all love potions! Now, who can tell me its greatest danger?”
You raised your hand with perhaps more enthusiasm than Slughorn's question warranted, if only to reclaim it from Jaemin's grip.
“It can’t create real love, sir” you said, voice admirably steady. “Only a very strong infatuation. A kind of obsession, really. And it’s different for everyone who smells it, the scent changes to reflect whatever attracts you most.”
“Excellent! Excellent!” Slughorn beamed. “Ten points to Gryffindor! Now then, pair up, everyone, pair up! Today we brew!”
Naturally, this was when things went from bad to infinitely worse.
Brewing Amortentia while in the throes of whatever this mortifying situation with Jaemin was? Spectacularly poor timing. Working close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, to have his fingers brush yours with every ingredient passed between you? Absolute torture of the most exquisite variety.
“Pass me the pearl dust, would you, love?” Jaemin murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the scant space between you.
You passed it quickly and focused back on the cauldron, determined to at least finish before him. You added the frozen ashwinder eggs, stirring counter-clockwise until the liquid began to shimmer.
“You’re quite good at this,” Jaemin noted. “Almost as good as you are at improvisation”.
“Focus on the potion, Jaemin,” you bit out, though you could feel your face go scarlet.
After almost two hours of gruelling labor, the potion was perfect. The steam rose in characteristic spirals, and the surface gleamed with a lustrous, opalescent sheen. You smiled at your technical triumph.
But the smile died on your lips the moment the scent hit your nose.
You'd hoped—prayed, really—for something ordinary. Like the comforting smell of old books, perhaps. Or the woody scent from the fire in the Gryffindor common room. But what you got instead was far more specific, and infinitely more damning.
Expensive cologne that smelled of bergamot and beneath that was the distinct, slightly oily musk of broomstick polish. The exact olfactory combination that seemed to have permanently infused itself into the fibers of Jaemin’s robes, the scent that enveloped you whenever he pulled you close in the corridors.
Godric save me, you thought, your stomach performing a sort of sickening swoop.
Your mind scrambled for a rational explanation. It’s just a common scent, it argued desperately. Half the Quidditch players use that polish. And any posh tosser could wear that cologne.
But the Amortentia didn’t lie. Your Herculean attempt at self-delusion was failing utterly in the face of the irrefutable truth spiralling out of your cauldron.
Fear metastasized across your body, becoming a cold weight anchored in the hollow of your sternum, pulsing in time with the frantic thrum of your heart. If you acknowledged the bergamot and the broomstick polish, you were surrendering the only fortress you had left. To speak it would be to dismantle the safety of the 'fake' and leave you standing raw and defenseless in the debris of your own design.
You were terrified that the moment the truth escaped your lips, the delicate, agonizing balance of your world would tilt, sliding you both into a reality from which there was no clever improvisation to save you.
“So?” Jaemin’s voice was suddenly right at your ear, making you flinch. “What are you getting, Y/N? Freshly bound books and new parchment, I’d wager.”
The proximity forced your lungs to pull in the real version of the bergamot you had just been mourning.
“Yeah, uhm…I smell old books,” you said, the lie ashen on your tongue.
Jaemin turned to look at you, and it was as though he were reading the very thoughts you were trying to bury. Beneath the table, out of sight of the professor and the prowling eyes of the room, his hand found yours again
“Is that so?” he murmured, his eyes visibly darkening as they swept over your face. “Well. I’m getting a very distinctive note of vanilla. And that floral soap you use in the Prefects’ bathroom.”
His words were so utterly devoid of the frantic panic currently hijacking your nervous system, that for a moment, you simply stared. Your brain suddenly tripped over his transparency. He’s joking, you realized, a hysterical sort of relief blooming in the wake of the shock. Of course he is. If he actually smelled that from the potion, he would be guarding that secret with his life, burying it under ten layers of Slytherin steel.
“Aha!” Slughorn crowed, making you both start. He peered into your cauldron, his face shining with delight. “A perfect brew! The spirals are unmistakable. Tell me, Mr. Na, is the aroma potent?”
Jaemin didn’t take his eyes off you. “Distractingly so, Professor,” he said, his lips curving into a smile that made your entire body go on high alert. “It’s enough to drive a man to madness.”
Slughorn clapped his hands together, mercifully oblivious to the silent conversation happening right under his nose. “Splendid! Simply splendid. Ten points to Slytherin and Gryffindor. Now, for your homework, I want a foot of parchment on the dangers of Amortentia and why its use is so strictly regulated. To be handed in next lesson!”
As the class descended into the frantic clatter of copper stirring rods and the rhythmic scrubbing of stone, you moved through the motions in a total sensory daze. What were you supposed to do with this knowledge? How were you meant to deal with the fact that the scent of your Amortentia, the very distillation of your most primal desires, was inextricably tied to Jaemin?
Right before you exited the room Jaemin’s fingers brushed against your own so briefly it should have been negligible, yet it sent a jolt of fire anchoring itself in the marrow of your bones. He leaned in, his shadow eclipsing you for a fleeting second.
“Think about what I said earlier, yeah?” He murmured, the words ghosting against your skin before he deposited a soft kiss on your temple.
You stood frozen as he merged into the tide of students. A sinking, leaden certainty settled in the pit of your stomach, making your breath hitch in your throat. You were well and truly doomed, there was no more room for clever denials. The Amortentia had stripped away the artifice, laying the raw, pulsing truth bare against the cold dungeon floor.
You liked Na Jaemin, and Merlin help you, there wasn't a potion in the world that could fix it.
Part of you was almost giddy about the novelty of actually fancying someone, of feeling your stomach swoop when they walked into a room. But mostly you were terrified. When had Jaemin stopped being an inconvenience and started being this?
Maybe, you reasoned, you could indulge it. Just a little. Lean into the dating act a bit more and let yourself feel it without examining it too closely.
That’s how the boundaries started dissolving.
Slowly at first, then all at once, every rule you’d established became negotiable. Jaemin would pull you into empty alcoves where no one could possibly see you, press you against cold stone and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. “We’re not in public,” you’d manage between kisses. He’d just smirk against your mouth. “Practice makes perfect.”
No one batted an eyelid at the sight of him pulling you into empty rooms. Even Giselle had stopped questioning you, and became rather repulsed by your sudden displays of affection.
Meanwhile, you walked around feeling as if you’d lost the original plot of this whole thing. Your brain became a pinball machine: every glance from Jaemin sent the ball ricocheting wildly, every brush of his fingers over your knuckles set your whole body on high alert. He, on the other hand, seemed to delight in turning up at the least convenient moments—snagging you between classes, kissing you in the shadow of the greenhouses, catching your hand when you tried to slip past him on your way out of the library and kissing you against the stacks.
You coped by remembering it was all for show, the same way you might recite lines in a play. Only actors didn’t typically wake up thinking about the curve of their co-star’s mouth or lie awake at night replaying every touch of their calloused fingers.
You ran into him outside your common room one evening, just as curfew loomed. Jaemin looked up from a parchment he was pretending to read, tucking it away as you approached.
His eyes seemed to visibly darken at the sight of you. It would have been easy to walk past, make some excuse about homework or an early morning. Instead, you hovered, dithering between the impulse to run and the urge to close the gap.
Jaemin broke the stalemate, stepping forward and catching your wrist. “I was hoping I’d see you,” he said and then pointed at the portraits on the walls that watched you silently. “Thought we might keep the neighbors entertained.”
He didn't wait for an answer. He tugged on your wrist to guide you forward, and then his hand was sliding upward, fingers tangling deep into the hair at the base of your neck. He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before he leaned down to claim them.
His lips moved against yours with devastating confidence. As the kiss deepened, his other hand found the small of your back, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between you. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, a private noise of satisfaction that seemed to echo against your own heartbeat.
High above, the painted figures in the frames whispered and tittered. The Fat Lady let out a bright, trilling giggle that rang through the hallway, but Jaemin didn't stop. He only pressed closer, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he turned the kiss slower, more rhythmic, and infinitely more distracting than any textbook could ever be.
When he finally broke away, he didn't pull back more than an inch. His breath hitched against your lips, and the dark intensity in his eyes seemed to catch fire.
He had just begun to trail his lips from your mouth to the sensitive line of your jaw when a shrill, cackling whistle echoed off the stone walls.
"Ooh, lookie here! Little lions in a knot! Or is it a tangle? A right royal muddle!"
Peeves the Poltergeist swooped down, hovering upside down just inches from your faces. His wide, malicious eyes darted between you and Jaemin, his tongue poking out through a jagged grin.
Jaemin didn't let go of you, but he let out a long, frustrated exhale against your skin. He slowly turned his head to glare at the spirit. "Not now, Peeves. Go find a first-year to pelt with ink pellets."
"Ink pellets? Boring! Stale!" Peeves blew a loud raspberry and started spinning in a dizzying circle. He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of stale, rock-hard Cauldron Cakes. "I’d much rather watch the lovebirds try to coo while I practice my aim!"
With a wicked flick of his wrist, he tossed a cake. It whistled past Jaemin’s ear, narrowly missing him and thudding loudly against the frame of a disgruntled landscape painting.
"Jammy and the Pouter, sitting in a hall! Kissing 'til the portraits scream and the ceiling falls!" Peeves sang at the top of his lungs, his voice shrill enough to wake every sleeping student in the nearby tower.
Jaemin finally pulled back fully, though he kept a protective arm slung low around your waist. He looked up at the cackling poltergeist, a dangerous, tired sort of smirk playing on his lips. "You’re going to get Filch up here, you menace."
"Filchy-poo? Even better!" Peeves shrieked, preparing another handful of projectiles. "Double the trouble, double the fun! Run, little students, run-run-run!"
Jaemin’s jaw tightened, and the last traces of the kiss's softness vanished into a look of sharp irritation. He reached into his robes and flicked his wand upward with a lethal grace.
"I warned you," Jaemin muttered dangerously. “Waddiwasi!"
The Cauldron Cake Peeves had been preparing to throw suddenly zoomed upward, propelled by an invisible force. It jammed itself straight into the poltergeist’s left nostril.
The poltergeist let out a high-pitched scream of outrage, spinning wildly in the air as he tried to claw the stale pastry out. Realizing he had lost this round, he zoomed through the nearest wall, leaving nothing behind but the faint sound of his frantic thumping as he retreated toward the floor below.
Jaemin let out a huff of a laugh, finally tucking his wand back into his sleeve. The intense look returned to his eyes as he turned his full attention back to you, his hands sliding back to their previous spots on your waist.
"Now," he whispered, pulling you back against the wall. "Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"
You pressed a hand to his chest before he could close the distance. “Wait—did you hear that?”
“No.” The word was muffled against your neck, which he’d apparently decided required immediate attention.
“Jaemin, I’m serious. I think that’s Filch—”
He went still, listening. Sure enough, the shuffle of uneven footsteps echoed down the corridor.
“Your common room,” Jaemin said immediately, tugging you toward the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Come on—”
“Wait! She won’t let you in!”
He stopped short. “What? Why not?”
“Because you’re a Slytherin? We’ve been over this.”
“I thought you were drunk when you said that.” Jaemin stared at you incredulously. “So you’re telling me she won’t let any Slytherins in? And we’re the prejudiced house?”
“I mean she could, technically. But then she’d absolutely tell Filch about it.”
Jaemin made a sound of disbelief as Filch’s footsteps grew louder.
“Fine. Come on.” He grabbed your hand, pulling you in the opposite direction.
“Where are we going?” you hissed, jogging to keep up as he led you through several corridors and down the stairs.
“The dungeons.”
“What?! I am not going to your common room—”
“Oh, come on.” He threw you an exasperated look over his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Slytherins actually mind their business when it comes to sneaking people in. Unlike you lions, apparently.”
The further you descended, the more aware you became of where this was heading. You’d never set foot in the Slytherin common room, and now you were sneaking in at night to… Well. The thought alone was enough to make your heart ricochet against your chest.
“Right, here we are.” Jaemin stopped before a blank wall.
“That’s it?” You stared at it with a raised brow. “Kind of underwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Sorry, did you expect a giant fanged mouth?”
“Alright, ease up on the attitude.” You glared at him.
He smiled, and spoke to the wall: “Serpensortem.” Then, catching your eye: “Feel free to use that. You know, if you ever need to find me.”
The hidden door (which did, in fact, have serpents carved into it) swung open to reveal a narrow corridor of stairs descending even deeper. How Slytherins didn’t lose their minds being this far underground, you had no idea.
Inside, the common room was both exactly what you’d pictured and nothing like it. Dark stone, high ceilings, and a green-filtered light casting everything in a sort of underwater glow. Because…Oh. The ceiling was glass. There were actual panels looking straight up into the Black Lake’s murky water and the shadows of the occasional creatures drifting by.
Stunning. Also deeply unsettling if you thought too hard about it.
“Nice view of the Giant Squid you’ve got.”
Jaemin was right, his housemates truly didn’t care. The handful of students still up barely registered your presence, offering cursory glances before returning to whatever they were working on. Apparently a Gryffindor in the Slytherin common room wasn’t that much of a strange sight.
“Want to go up to my dorm?”
You gave him a look. “Where all your dormmates are?”
“They’re at the Three Broomsticks getting properly pissed.” He shrugged. “We’ve got the place to ourselves.”
“It’s way past curfew. How’d they even get out?”
“There are secret passages that lead straight to the village. They’re all over the castle.”
“How am I only just learning this?”
His smile turned wicked. “Well, you’re such a good girl.” He pulled you closer by the waist. “A very good girl who owes me a kiss.”
You were completely out of your depth. Although the flirting had become familiar, the fact that Jaemin seemed to want you with the same desperate intensity you felt for him was uncharted territory that left you dizzy and unmoored.
So you didn’t fight when he led you upstairs. You let him pull you into a kiss on the steps, let yourself kiss him back with abandon until you stumbled into the warm sanctuary of his dorm. Only then did you surface long enough to catch your breath and actually take stock of your surroundings.
There were four four-poster beds with dark emerald hangings, the standard Hogwarts setup, but each corner had been claimed and personalized by its occupant.
You recognized Jaemin’s immediately. The one nearest the window, if you could call the glass panel looking into the lake a window. His Quidditch gear was piled carelessly beside his trunk: broom propped against the bedpost, leather gloves draped over the footboard, a jersey with “NA” embroidered on the back slung over his desk chair. The nightstand held an impressive collection of cologne bottles and a few books stacked messily beneath them.
But it was the wall above his bed that caught your attention. Photographs pinned in no particular order of what looked like his family, him and his Quidditch team, a few older shots of him with other friends you didn’t recognize.
“Snooping already?” Jaemin’s voice came from behind you.
You turned to find him leaning against the wall, watching you with a raised brow.
“Just… observing.”
“Mhm.” He pushed off the post and crossed to you in two strides. “And what have your observations concluded?”
“That you’re messier than I expected.” You gestured to the Quidditch gear. “But also weirdly sentimental.” You nodded toward the photographs.
You turned to the other sections of the room and caught on a collection of what appeared to be hand-drawn comics pinned above one bed, surprisingly good actually, depicting what looked like Quidditch matches gone horribly wrong.
“Are those—did someone draw these?”
“Renjun.” Jaemin followed your gaze. “He’s got a thing for documenting Donghyuck’s Quidditch failures. It's quite therapeutic for him, apparently.”
“Donghyuck and Renjun—wait, I thought you roomed with Changmin and Sungchan?”
“I used to. Merlin, don’t remind me.” Jaemin collapsed onto what was clearly his bed—the one nearest the lake-view panel.
“That bad?
“They both snore like bloody dragons. Together it was—” He shook his head. “I got about three hours of sleep a night for two years. Finally cracked in third year and begged the head boy to switch me.”
You laughed. “So who’d you end up with?”
“Jeno, Donghyuck, and Renjun.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “They’re a nightmare in different ways, but at least they sleep quietly.”
“Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”
He got up and started slowly towards you. “I didn’t bring you up here to psychoanalyze our dorm though.”
“No?” Your hands settled against his chest when he pulled you to him. “What am I up here for, then?”
His smile turned wicked. “I believe we established you owe me a kiss. Several, actually, if we’re keeping count.”
“Are we keeping count now?”
“I am.” He leaned in, mouth barely brushing yours. “And you’re severely in debt.”
You could’ve pointed out the flawed logic, could’ve reminded him that you’d just spent the last several minutes kissing him senseless on the stairs. Instead, you closed the distance between you, letting him walk you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed.
“This okay?” he murmured against your lips, even as his hands slid up your sides.
Your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. This was different from the corridors, from the alcoves and the performances. Just you and him and the choice to cross whatever line you’d been toeing for weeks.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “This is okay.”
His smile was soft before he kissed you again. You reciprocated with much enthusiasm making him sigh against your lips. His hands slid into your hair as the kiss deepened, and you let yourself get lost in it .
Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly, and he made a sound low in his throat that sent heat racing through you. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, palm warm against your ribs, and—
Suddenly you heard voices. Loud and slurred, echoing up from the common room.
“—telling you, Hyuck, you can’t just Accio the entire bottle—”
“It almost worked though… I’m just— hngh— a bit wet”
“What—…” You scrambled into a sitting position, trying to finger-comb your hair into something less incriminating. “How do I look?”
He looked at you and tried to hide a grin behind his hand. “Like I’ve been kissing you for the past ten minutes.”
“Jaemin!”
“Right, sorry—” He reached out, gently attempting to smooth down your hair. It was possibly the sweetest thing he’d ever done and absolutely not helping your emotional state. “Okay, just act natural?”
The door banged open and three boys tumbled through in various states of inebriation— a muscular lad with short black hair barely keeping another upright, while a third brought up the rear looking significantly more sober than his friends.
The first one stopped short when he spotted you. “Oh, shit.”
“Jeno, move, you’re blocking the—” The one being held up peered around his friend and broke into a massive grin. “Na Jaemin, you absolute legend.”
“Shut up, Donghyuck.” Jaemin stood, positioning himself slightly in front of you.
The sober one closed the door with considerably more care than it had been opened with. “We can go back down if—”
“No, it’s fine.” You stood as well, acutely aware of how warm your face felt. “I should probably get back to Gryffindor tower anyway.”
“Gryffindor!” Hyuck crowed, stumbling further into the room. “So you’re the Gryffindor. Jaemin’s been—ow! What the fuck, Jeno—”
Jeno had elbowed him, hard. “Subtle as a brick, mate.”
“I’m just saying, he’s been in a better mood lately and now I know why—”
“Hyuck, I will literally hex your bollocks off.” Jaemin’s tone was pleasant. His expression was not.
The sober one gave you an apologetic look. “Ignore them. They had approximately five Firewhiskeys each at the Three Broomsticks.”
“Five and a half,” Hyuck corrected proudly.
“Right. Well.” You smoothed down your skirt. “I should go.”
Jaemin caught your wrist. “I’ll walk you out.”
“I think your friends need more help than I do .”
“They’ll live.” His jaw was set and you could tell he was still annoyed about the interruption.
“Awww, he’s being chivalrous,” Hyuck stage-whispered to Jeno. “That’s so—ow, fuck, Renjun—”
Renjun had slapped the back of his head. “Please excuse Donghyuck. He becomes aggressively annoying when drunk.”
“Just when drunk?” Jeno muttered.
You bit back a smile despite yourself. “It’s fine. I can find my way out.”
“You sure?” Jaemin was still holding your wrist.
“I’m sure.” You gently extracted your hand, very aware of three pairs of eyes tracking the movement. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
You made it approximately two steps toward the door before Hyuck piped up again. “Hey, Gryffindor girl?”
You turned. “It’s—”
“Oh, we know who you are,” Jeno said, grinning.
“He’s absolutely miserable when you’re not around, you know,” Hyuck announced cheerfully, ignoring Jaemin’s death glare. “Like, genuinely unbearable. So thanks for that. You’re doing Merlin’s work, truly—”
“HYUCK—”
You escaped into the corridor before you could hear the rest, but their laughter—and Jaemin’s protests—followed you all the way down the stairs.
By the time you reached the common room, your face was burning and your heart was still racing and you had absolutely no idea how you were going to look at Jaemin tomorrow without remembering the weight of him above you, the heat of his hands, the way he’d looked at you like—
No. Not thinking about it.
Except you absolutely were going to spend the entire night thinking about it. You shook your head sharply as you climbed back through the castle, taking a different route to avoid Filch.
The interruption was probably for the best. It had stopped you from doing something you couldn’t take back, from crossing a line that would make the whole “fake dating” excuse completely untenable.
“Wow, he’s even convinced you to go to a Quidditch game?” Jo said as she observed you putting on the green scarf you’d borrowed from Jaemin. “And wearing his colors? Okay, who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s just one game. Plus, he’s been asking me to go for the past few weeks and I’ve already rejected him too many times. What kind of girlfriend doesn’t go support her boyfriend at a game?”
“A fake one?” She offered with a knowing look.
“I’m already committed to the bit, Jo. Cant back out now.”
“I just want to remind you that there are only 2 more weeks of this arrangement. Personally, I haven't even seen Yuna bother Jaemin in a good while, so there’s really no need to keep extending this thing.”
She was right. Yuna had been conspicuously absent lately. No more pointed stares across the Great Hall, no more appearances in places you and Jaemin frequented, no more saccharine interruptions during your library study sessions. You’d been so caught up in the elaborate fiction of your relationship that you’d stopped monitoring the very threat it was meant to neutralize.
Had she given up? Moved on to easier prey, perhaps? Or had the performance been so convincing that she’d accepted defeat?
And if the threat had dissolved, what justified the charade’s continuation?
More pressingly: did you want it to end?
The thought arrived unbidden, unwelcome, and stubbornly refused to leave. Two weeks. Fourteen days until you’d presumably sit down with Jaemin and declare mission accomplished, shake hands like business partners concluding a transaction, and return to being polite strangers who’d once played at intimacy for an audience.
“I’ll leave it to Jaemin to decide,” you said finally, the words emerging more brittle than intended. You avoided Jo’s reflection in the mirror, suddenly fascinated by the intricacies of your braid. “It’s his arrangement, technically. His problem we were solving.”
Liar, your reflection seemed to whisper. Coward.
Because the uncomfortable truth you’d been studiously ignoring was that you had no idea what Jaemin wanted anymore.
When he kissed you in empty corridors with no witnesses, was that practice? When his thumb traced absent patterns on your hip during meals, was he performing for distant onlookers or had it simply become habit? When he looked at you like that, was he acting or had the fiction begun consuming the actor?
You didn’t know. And you were terrified to ask.
Jo made a small noise of sympathy. “Just… be careful, alright? I know you think you’ve got this handled, but—”
“I’m fine,” you interrupted, perhaps too sharply. “Everything’s completely under control.”
The lie hung between you, obvious and ignored.
At the Quidditch pitch you headed to the Slytherin side of the stands. Thankfully, the finale was against Ravenclaw and not Gryffindor, otherwise you would feel like a horrible disloyal witch by not supporting your own house.
The place was already packed by the time you arrived. You’d expected to sit with the general crowd, but before you could even start climbing the stairs, you felt a hand on your arm.
“You’re with us,” Giselle said, appearing out of nowhere. She was dressed head to toe in green and silver, her house pride on full display. “Come on. We’ve saved you seats.”
“Saved me—what?”
Giselle led you to a prime spot right at the front of the Slytherin stands, where Changmin and Sungchan were already waiting.
“There she is!” Changmin grinned, as if this had all been planned.
“Jaemin’s good luck charm,” Sungchan added with a wink.
You blinked at them, too stunned to speak. These were the same boys who had barely tolerated your presence a month ago. Now they were scooting over, offering you the best view on the pitch, as if you belonged there.
“Jaemin said if we didn’t make sure you had the best seat, he’d hex us into next week,” Sungchan continued breezily. “And I quite like having my kneecaps intact, so.”
You sat down, feeling extremely self-conscious about being front and center in the Slytherin section wearing Slytherin colors. People were definitely staring. You could feel their eyes on you, could hear the whispers starting up.
"Wait," you started, your voice slightly breathless as you looked between their relaxed postures and the players currently mounting their brooms on the pitch. "Why aren't you two down there? Don't you both play?"
Changmin let out a dry snort, adjusting his sleeves. "Suspended," he said, "the Ravenclaw Beaters didn't appreciate my 'aggressive' tactical maneuvers during last week's scrimmage."
"And I'm on the bench today with a 'mysterious' wrist cramp," Sungchan added, though he looked entirely too healthy for an injury. He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. "Truthfully? Jaemin didn't want us on the pitch. He wanted us here. Guarding you."
What?
"He’s a bit possessive over you," Giselle noted, settling in on your other side and smoothing her skirt. "He didn't trust the general Slytherin population to behave themselves while his head was in the clouds. Consider them your personal gargoyles for the afternoon."
Before you could process the idea of Jaemin hand-picking his friends to act as your shield, the teams flew onto the pitch, and the crowd erupted in cheers. You spotted him immediately. He was easy to pick out, even among the other players in their green and silver robes. He was a Chaser, and even from a distance, you could see the easy confidence in the way he handled his broom.
He did a lap of the pitch, clearly scanning the stands, and when he saw you sitting front and center in the Slytherin section wearing green his entire face lit up. He changed direction, flying closer to where you were sitting, and the crowd around you started screaming louder.
Jaemin pulled up right in front of the Slytherin section, hovering there on his broom, and blew you a kiss. An unsubtle, utterly ridiculous kiss blown in your direction in front of the entire school.
You felt your face go absolutely scarlet, but you couldn’t help smiling. He looked so happy. So genuinely, completely happy, and it was directed at you.
"Salazar's ghost," Giselle groaned, pointedly looking toward the sky. "The two of you are going to make me sick."
The whistle shrieked, a sharp, piercing herald that set the game in motion. You quickly discovered that Quidditch was an entirely different ordeal when your attention was tethered to a Chaser. It was no longer a sport but a grueling exercise in cardiovascular distress. Every time Jaemin’s fingers curled around the Quaffle, your breath hitched, trapped in the tight column of your throat. Every time a Ravenclaw Beater sent a Bludger whistling toward his skull, your stomach performed a sickening, leaden drop into your heels.
You were on your feet more often than not, screaming yourself hoarse, your dignity dissolving with every reckless maneuver he pulled. Your knuckles were white, clutching the edge of the railing as if you were the one hanging onto a broomstick three hundred feet in the air.
“Look at you,” Giselle observed during a brief lull in the carnage. “You truly have it bad, don’t you? You’re vibrating.”
“I’m simply—invested in the match,” you ground out, refusing to look away from the green-and-silver blur circling the hoops.
“You’re invested in him,” she corrected, a smirk playing on her lips that was equal parts amused and knowing. “It’s a bit pathetic, really. But I suppose he deserves someone who watches him with that level of frantic devotion.”
Whatever biting retort you were preparing to mount was violently incinerated by the roar of the crowd. A deafening, earth-shaking thunder erupted from the Slytherin stands as Jaemin executed a barrel roll that seemed aerodynamically impossible, slamming the Quaffle through the center hoop.
Slytherin dominated the match with embarrassing efficiency, their Chasers running rings around Ravenclaw’s defense, and Jaemin in particular seemed determined to make a personal statement. Then their Seeker caught the Snitch about an hour into the match, ending things decisively. The moment it was over, the Slytherin section erupted in celebration, and before you quite knew what was happening, people were pouring onto the pitch.
“Come on!” Giselle grabbed your hand, pulling you along with the crowd. “We’re going down!”
You let yourself be dragged down to the pitch, caught up in the excitement. The Slytherin team had barely landed when they were being mobbed by supporters, everyone screaming and hugging and celebrating.
You were just trying to stay upright and not get trampled, when suddenly hands grabbed your waist and you were being lifted, spun around, and then you were looking directly into Jaemin’s face.
He was sweaty, and disheveled, and grinning so wide it looked like it might hurt his cheeks.
“We won,” he said, as if you might not have noticed.
“I saw,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “You were brilliant.”
“You wore green,” he said breathlessly. “You actually wore green for me.”
“Of course I did. I’m your—”
You didn’t get to finish the sentence, because he kissed you.
He kissed you like you were the only two people there, like he’d been waiting all day to do this, like winning the match was secondary to getting to kiss you. His hands cupped your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss, and you forgot about everything except the feeling of his mouth on yours.
People were cheering. You could hear them, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You just kissed him back, your hands fisting in his Quidditch robes to pull him impossibly closer.
When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. “That—” Jaemin said, thumbing sweat and hair from your cheek, “was the best part of the whole day. Actually, my entire bloody year.”
He kissed you again, quick and fierce, before setting you down.
The chaos of the pitch threatened to sweep you up—Haechan was flying mockingly around the dazed Ravenclaw Keeper, who looked two seconds away from swearing off Quidditch forever. Jeno was being hoisted onto someone’s shoulders while holding the Cup, still in his gear, a lopsided grin plastered across his face as a small army of younger Slytherins began a chant.
You barely had time to process anything before a dozen Slytherin hands were clapping you on the back, dragging you into the noisy throng. Jeno slung an arm around your shoulder, while Haechan bowed with the sort of exaggerated flourish only he could get away with.
“Oi, Y/N! You’re practically the Slytherin mascot at this point,” Haechan crowed, earning a fresh round of chanting. Jeno nodded and said, “We’ll need you at every match. Jaemin plays like he’s got something to prove when you’re here.”
Jaemin slipped an arm over your shoulders, fitting himself between you and Jeno. It wasn’t the casual sort of touch affectionate boyfriend would do but rather the kind of grip that signaled territorial intent, both “look at me” and “hands off, Lee Jeno.” Jeno raised his brows, smirked, and stepped back with a dramatic sigh as if to say, “I know when I’ve been outmaneuvered.”
Jaemin lead you out of the crush, across the pitch, past the green-robed ruck of his teammates still shrieking and high-fiving each other senseless.
You found yourselves in the lee of the stands, momentarily invisible to the hooting masses. Jaemin bent over, hands braced on his knees, still catching his breath. The flushed tips of his ears glowed through sweated hair, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were shining, open, utterly unguarded.
“I’m sorry if that was too much,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “We agreed—no more public spectacles.” He grinned, sheepish and shameless at once.
You laughed. “That was entirely your fault. You were the one who just put on a whole air show out there.”
“Had to impress you,” he said, then he straightened, hands on your hips. “Did it work?”
The question was clearly rhetorical, but Jaemin’s voice always lilted up at the end, as if the answer mattered even if he already knew it. Your heart did the embarrassing somersault you’d tried to train it out of, and you could only nod, which made him gloat without mercy.
“Good,” he said, and tugged you in for another kiss, backgrounded by the muffled roar of the stadium and the granular crunch of pebbles underfoot.
Suddenly a broomstick whirred to a stop nearby and Jaemin loosened his grip on you, letting you sway back ever so slightly. You barely had time to school your features before Madam Hooch’s voice rang out.
“Na, what in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing back here?” She hovered just above, her yellow hawk’s eyes narrowing as she took in the flush on your cheeks and the state of your hair. “This isn’t the broom shed, though you two seem determined to treat it as one. Save the snogging for after hours—if you must.”
A mortifying heat swept up your neck. Jaemin simply grinned at her. “Just appreciating my good luck charm, Professor.”
Madam Hooch sniffed, unimpressed. “If you’re quite finished, the rest of the team would like their Chaser back for the cup photo.”
She fixed you both with one last look that could have stripped paint from the stadium, then gestured briskly for Jaemin to join the others.
He shot you a look over his shoulder, and winked “I’ll meet you in a bit for the celebration”
As the door to the Slytherin common room opened, you were met with an emerald-hued wonderland teeming with giddy, flushed-faced revelers. It was like being inside a shaken bottle of champagne, the air practically fizzing with elation and an infectious sort of glee.
Despite wearing green, you felt distinctly out of place. Like a single rose petal that had somehow fluttered its way into a bouquet of silver-tipped ferns. But Jaemin’s hand was warm and sure in yours.
“Stick close,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost in this snake pit.”
“And here I thought you’d be eager to feed me to your housemates. Y’know, as a victory sacrifice.”
Jaemin’s laugh was a rich, dark thing, like molten chocolate. “Tempting. But I think I’ll keep you to myself a bit longer.”
The wicked glint of his gaze as he said those words made heat rush to your cheeks. But before you could think much of it, you were swept up in a whirlwind of backslaps and high fives, the team descending upon their star Chaser in a giddy mass of sweat-damp robes and Firewhisky-fueled cheer.
You found yourself passed from embrace to embrace, your hair mussed and your face peppered with exuberant kisses. It was overwhelming, dizzying, this sudden immersion into the tight-knit camaraderie of Jaemin’s world.
But through it all, his gaze never left you. Even as he was jostled and jolted by his teammates, his eyes remained locked on yours, a searing, steady connection that made your pulse stutter and your knees go curiously weak.
As the night wore on and the festivities showed no sign of waning, you found yourself gravitating closer and closer to Jaemin, drawn by some irresistible magnetism. The heat of so many bodies packed into the subterranean space, the buzz of one too many Butterbeers, the maddening drag of his fingers along the small of your back as he steered you through the crowd…it was all blurring together into a delicious haze.
And then you looked up at him in a sudden moment of perfect clarity amidst the chaos, and everything else simply…fell away. The noise, the crush of bodies, the very air seemed to shimmer and warp, narrowing down to the electric pulse of connection stretching taut between you.
In that suspended sliver of time, you knew with bone-deep certainty that there was no going back. No more pretending, no more lines in the sand. There was only this, only him, only the truth of what had been building between you from the moment this mad charade began.
You crashed together like colliding stars, mouths and hands and hearts falling into desperate alignment. Jaemin kissed like a man possessed, like he wanted to crawl inside your skin and make a home there, and you matched him beat for beat, pouring months of pent-up longing and frustration and fierce, helpless wanting into the slant of your lips against his.
When you finally surfaced, gasping and glassy-eyed, Jaemin’s face swam into focus, his usually sharp features softened by a look of tenderness.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice a rasping, wrecked thing.
You could only nod, mute and dizzy with want, and let him lead you out of the common room and into the labyrinthine tangle of the dungeon corridors. You walked in silence, the only sound the ragged counterpoint of your breathing and the distant, muffled thump of music.
When he stopped at a stretch of unremarkable wall and began to pace, you knew with a jolt where he was taking you to The Room of Requirement.
Where else would one go to tumble headlong into inadvisable, paradigm-shifting passion?
Jaemin reached for the handle, but then he turned to you with a question in his eyes and an uncharacteristic hesitance in the set of his shoulders…you knew that stepping over this threshold would change everything.
“Y/N,” he said, and there was a whole universe of unspoken things layered into the shape of your name. “Are you sure…?”
“Jaemin,” you said. “Kiss me.”
In the next instant, his lips were on yours again, and you stumbled backward as the hidden door swung open. You didn’t spare a glance for the room that bloomed before you. Couldn’t focus on anything beyond the heat of Jaemin’s body against yours, the desperate, reverent drag of his hands over your curves. The room could’ve been an empty Quidditch pitch, for all you cared.
Every romance you’d ever read and even scoffed at came to life in that moment—the world receding, time slowing to a molasses crawl. There was only sensation, only feeling, only the drugging slide of his lips along your jaw, your throat, the dip of your collarbone.
Your pulse was fucking riotous. You’d talked yourself into this, hadn’t you? Marched up here on legs so wobbly you could’ve blamed the many stairs, convinced yourself you could handle it because it was Jaemin.
His calloused hands roamed with urgent purpose, fingers digging into your hips as he backed you against the nearest wall. He broke the kiss only to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought. You immediately turned to flame when his gaze tracked all over you. From your swollen lips, to your flushed cheeks, down to the way your chest stuttered with every shaky breath. His hands found your jaw. Steady, so steady.
“We can stop whenever you want to.” he murmured against your ear.
You managed a nod because your speech simply wasn’t coming. Every nerve was pulled taut with both anticipation and terror at the realization of what you were about to do for the first time in your life.
His fingers unclasped your bra carefully, and when the straps slid down your arms, you tried to fold into yourself, awkward and too aware of skin and imperfections. Jaemin’s eyes caught yours; they were dark but promising patience even as he bent to take your nipple in his mouth.
You arched into him, a gasp escaping as his teeth grazed your nipple. “Jaemin,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair to hold him there.
He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. His hand cupped your other breast, thumb rolling the nipple between his fingers, pinching just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core. You’d never been touched like this before. There’d been secret snogs, awkward fumbles in broom closets that had never gone further than shirt buttons, never left you feeling more than flustered and underwhelmed. This was different.
Your body reacted in ways you hadn’t expected, hips twitching, thighs pressing together, the ache between your legs suddenly urgent and embarrassingly obvious. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing desperately. The sensation was almost alien, and you had to fight the impulse to cover yourself, to pull his hand away and to say wait, let me catch up.
Thoughts scattered in all directions. Was it supposed to feel this good? Did he know how much you were trembling? Could he tell this was your first time? Did he care? Did it matter? You worried you might be doing it wrong by making too much noise, arching too eagerly into his hands, looking foolish and overeager. But his gaze fixed on you, pupils blown, jaw tight with want.
He suddenly straightened, fingers smoothing back the hair from your face. “Hey,” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Still with me?”
You nodded, a little wild-eyed. “I—yeah. Sorry. I just—” You swallowed, eyes locking on the bland pattern of the carpet. “I haven’t…”
When you looked back up, his eyes flashed with a kind of darker satisfaction. “I know,” he murmured. “I thought so.” His hands slid down your waist. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”
You responded by tugging at his shirt, nails scraping against the hem until he chuckled low in his throat and let you have your way. He pulled back just long enough to strip it off, revealing the lean, muscled planes of his chest and abs. His sun-tanned skin bore the faint ghosts of bruises from Quidditch, a testament to the fact that he played rough today.
You stared shamelessly, hands twitching at your sides, before you finally gave in and mapped every line with your fingertips. The kiss that came next was messier, his tongue thrusting into your mouth in a rhythm that promised what was to come.
Jaemin's fingers worked at the button of your trousers, and you remembered with mortification that your knickers did not match your bra. Cool air hit your bare skin, but his body heat chased it away as he pressed closer, his clothed erection grinding against your thigh. You could feel how hard he was, the thick length straining against his trousers.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with desire. “I've wanted this for so long.” His hand slid between your legs, fingers parting your folds to find you already slick. He groaned at the discovery, circling your clit with his thumb while a finger pushed inside you, drawing out tiny sparks of pleasure. Hehen he slipped two fingers inside, your hips jerked in startled delight. He moved slow at first, letting you get used to the stretch, his other hand splayed over your hip, grounding you, steadying you.
You moaned, hips bucking into his hand as he pumped his fingers in and out, stretching you, preparing you. The wet sounds of your arousal filled the room, mingling with your ragged breaths. He added a third finger, scissoring them to open you wider, his thumb pressing firmer on your clit until you were trembling, on the edge.
“Merlin, remind me to–… to read a book on this before next time,” you blurted breathlessly.
Jaemin stilled, and for a second, you wondered if you’d killed the mood entirely. But then his mouth curved into a wolfish grin, and he pressed a slow kiss to your cheek, trailing down the line of your jaw.
“Oh, I think you’re doing just fine,” he murmured, voice gone gravelly. “But if you want me to demonstrate…”
He kissed a path down your throat, across your collarbones, pausing to worship each new inch of skin revealed. It seemed like there was no part of you he didn’t want to learn. When his lips brushed the top of your breast, you gasped, the joke you’d been about to make dying on your tongue.
“Jaemin—what are you—?”
“Trust me,”
You whimpered in protest, but he silenced you with a kiss, guiding you toward the bed. He stripped off his own pants and boxers, his cock springing free, long and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Your eyes locked on it, pulse racing at the sight.
He pushed you down onto the soft sheets, following you immediately until his body was covering yours. His mouth trailed lower, kissing a path down your stomach to the apex of your thighs. He spread your legs wide, settling between them, and looked up at you with eyes dark with hunger. “I need to taste you.”
“Wait—” you started, nerves rearing again.
He glanced up. “I promise you’ll like this.”
Then his tongue flicked out, lapping at your core in one long stroke, and the sound you made barely qualified as human. He sucked your clit into his mouth, alternating with broad licks along your slit, his fingers returning to thrust inside you. The combination of his relentless tongue and his fingers fucking you deep and steady was overwhelming.
“Okay, wow, that’s—oh—bloody hell—”
Right. So. That was new.
In fairness, you thought you were reasonably experienced. You had been alone with yourself often enough. You knew what you liked, had your own routines abd methods. A careful system involving muffled pillows, and a great deal of optimistic trial and error.
This was definitely not that.
This was like discovering you’d been trying to play a symphony on a recorder and Jaemin had just sat down at a grand piano and casually dismantled your entire understanding of music.
Your hips rolled against his face instinctively, chasing the building pleasure. He held you down with one arm across your waist, not letting you escape the onslaught. You gasped, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably.
“Jaemin,” you gasped. “Please—”
You weren’t entirely sure what you were asking for.
For him to stop. For him to continue. For him to explain how this was happening. For him to never leave this exact position.
Suddenly he added another finger, and wow…. that was certainly not how it felt when you did it. It probably had to do with the fact that his fingers were way longer and he seemed to know what to do with them.
He hummed against you, the vibration along with his tongue and fingers enough to push you over. Your orgasm crashed through you and you clenched around his fingers as waves of pleasure ripped you apart. He didn't stop, licking you through it until you were shaking.
Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and a dumb smirk on his lips. “How was that?”
He looked far too smug for your liking, and you—who had spent years pretending to be unflappable—actually giggled. Like a third year after her first Butterbeer.
“It was—” Your cheeks burned. “Brilliant.”
His smile widened. “Alright. Just one more thing before we…” He trailed his wand through a complicated motion. The tip shimmered blue, a faint ring of light settling across your pelvis.
He caught your eye. “Contraceptive charm. Unless you’d rather I hexed my own bollocks off instead, but I hear Madam Pomfrey’s got enough on her hands.”
Another nervous laugh broke from your lips, but Jaemin just pressed a reassuring hand to your thigh and leaned in.
“Tell me to stop if you want to. I mean it.”
You shook your head, want eclipsing every doubt you had. “I want to,” you said, the words tumbling out so fast they nearly tripped over themselves. “I want you.”
Jaemin lined himself up and watched your face as he eased forward slowly. The stretch stung at first—your body fighting to accommodate the unfamiliar width. It hurt more than you’d expected.
Your walls stretched, burning, fluttering around him, the ache gradually giving way to a dizzying pressure as he bottomed out. He stayed perfectly still, forehead resting against yours, both of you shuddering through the intensity of it.
“Alright?” Jaemin asked thickly, as if it cost him everything not to move. A low groan escaped him as your inner muscles clenched involuntarily around his cock, the sensation clearly testing his control.
“Yeah, it’s just… a lot,” you admitted, your breath hitching.
He let out a soft, breathy laugh, his hips twitching slightly despite his efforts to stay still. “Yeah, I know. I’m quite big.” The joke pulled a surprised giggle from you, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. His eyes crinkled with warmth at the sight.
“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, a whimper threading through his words, his fingers digging into the sheets beside your head. “It—it’s taking everything not to just pound into you right now.”
He was flushed, hair damp with sweat, the strands sticking adorably to his brow and temples. His cheeks were tinged rose-pink, his jaw clenched tight as if the effort of holding himself back was an actual battle. His lips, swollen from kissing you, parted as he panted, every exhale ghosting warm across your face. A single bead of sweat trickled from his hairline, skimming down to the curve of his cheekbone. You couldn’t help but reach up, tracing it with a shaky finger. He caught your hand, pressing his lips to your palm, and the gentleness of it nearly undid you.
You’d never seen him look more beautiful. All that cockiness and swagger stripped away. This was just Jaemin, undone, desperate, trying to be gentle for your sake and barely managing.
A sudden warmth loosened in your chest, chasing away the last of your tension. You wanted this. The pain ebbed slowly, replaced by a deeper need. You shifted beneath him, hips rolling tentatively, and found the sting softened, yielding to a heady pleasure that made your toes curl.
“Merlin,” Jaemin groaned in response.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, focusing on the sensations: the fullness, the way your inner muscles clenched involuntarily around him, sending little sparks across your body. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the tense muscles under your fingertips, and you whispered, “Please Jaem, move.”
Jaemin pulled back slightly, just an inch or two, and pushed in again slowly. A deep groan rumbled from his chest at the drag, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Shit… so good,” he panted.
The motion made you gasp, the initial burn fading into a deliciously pleasant heat. He repeated it, shallow at first, giving your body time to adapt. Each gentle thrust coaxed a soft whimper from your throat, your nerves firing in ways you’d never even imagined. It wasn’t seamless or effortless like in the stories you’d read; there were awkward pauses, a slight shift when he slipped a bit, both of you chuckling breathlessly to ease the tension.
Then he started moving faster, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in. Each stroke hit a perfect angle, his hips grinding against your clit with every push. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked you harder.
The bed creaked under the force of his thrusts, skin slapping against skin. Jaemin's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together as he drove into you, his eyes never leaving yours. There was tenderness in the way he held you, even as his pace turned brutal, chasing release.
“You’re doing so well, princess,” he murmured, brushing your temple.
A jolt of pleasure shot through you as the head of his cock nudged a deeper spot. “There… right there,” you breathed, your voice shaky but sure.
Jaemin pinned your hand above your head gently. His eyes bored into yours. “I’ve dreamed about this so many times,” he confessed between thrusts, voice punctuated by a whimper as your walls gripped him.
“Me too,” you breathed.
He released your hand to slip between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He circled it slowly at first, matching the tempo of his hips, then faster as your moans grew louder. “Come on, let go for me… you’re so close, I can feel it,” he urged, his own groans growing more frequent.
The added friction served its intended purpose. Your orgasm built fast, coiling tight before exploding, your walls fluttering around his cock, milking him.
He followed you over the edge with a broken cry muffled against your neck, burying himself deep as he came. He collapsed onto you afterward, both of you panting, hearts pounding in that particular post-coital unison that poets find romantic and medical professionals find concerning. He stayed inside you as he softened, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
You lay tangled in Jaemin's arms, limbs pleasantly loose from exertion and spine somewhat less pleasantly compressed by the world's most questionable mattress.
The Room of Requirement, in its infinite wisdom, had conjured a heap of velvet blankets to cover yourself with. You suspected Hogwarts's taste in romantic furnishings had been shaped by decades of adolescent fantasy and the castle's own flair for the dramatic. Regardless, your back ached, your hair was a catastrophe, and you found that you didn't mind at all.
Jaemin, for his part, seemed content to lounge beside you like a Renaissance painting of decadent youth, one hand idly tracing the curve of your hip beneath the sheet. It was all terribly calm—if you ignored the thunderous panic building in your own chest.
You propped yourself up on one elbow and regarded him in the low light. In repose, the sharp edges of him softened into the boy you now knew existed underneath all those sneers. You'd always been rather undone by his eyes, if you were being honest, but now, seeing them half-lidded and so unguarded, the usual sardonic glitter banked to embers, you felt something dangerous clawing its way up your throat.
Don't, warned the sensible part of your brain. Don't you dare.
"I love you," you said.
The words escaped before you had a chance to wrap them in plausible deniability or cushion them with caveats.
Jaemin went very still.
For one absurd, hopeful moment, you thought perhaps he simply needed a second to process. That was reasonable, wasn't it? People usually needed time to absorb emotional declarations. Any moment now, he'd turn to you with that devastating smile and say—
He rolled away. Sat up. And began an unhurried search for his shirt, which had vanished somewhere beneath the bed during earlier, more optimistic proceedings.
Ah.
Ah.
"Jaemin?" you ventured. Your voice sounded strange to your own ears.
He didn't turn around. His shoulders, you noticed, had gone rather tense. "It's getting late. We should probably head back to our dormitories."
Your heart, so stupidly full just moments ago, plummeted somewhere in the vicinity of your stomach. "What?"
"It's late," he repeated, to the floor, or perhaps to the shirt he'd finally located. "We have classes tomorrow. We should get some sleep."
You felt as though someone had upended a bucket of ice water directly over your head. You sat up, pulling the sheet around yourself with hands that had begun, rather inconveniently, to tremble. You'd been pleasantly naked in front of him not five minutes ago, and now you couldn't bear the exposure.
"Jaemin." You hated how small your voice had become. "Did you hear what I said?"
He finally looked at you. His expression had shuttered completely, all the warmth and softness of moments ago locked away behind those dark eyes.
"I heard you."
"And?"
He exhaled. "This... what we just did... it doesn't change anything." A pause. "We had an arrangement. A deal. It was never supposed to be more than that."
The silence that followed was the loudest thing you'd ever heard.
You stared at him, vision blurring treacherously, and thought: of course. Of course he didn't love you back. How could he? You were merely a solution to a problem. The fact that you'd been foolish enough to fall for your own charade—well. That was your fault entirely, wasn't it? No one to blame but yourself and your own ridiculous heart.
"Right," you heard yourself say. "Of course. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—that was too—I'm sorry."
"Y/N..." He reached for you, and you flinched away so sharply you nearly toppled off the bed.
"No, it's fine." Your voice had gone brittle, the way it did when you were trying very hard not to cry. "You're absolutely right. We should go."
You stood on shaky legs and began gathering your scattered clothes with trembling hands. Your jumper had ended up draped over a candelabra, and you couldn't find your left sock, but you decided that you didn't care. You needed to leave. You needed to be anywhere but this room that had witnessed your greatest vulnerability and your most thorough humiliation.
Jaemin dressed in silence. His movements were impersonal, as if the tender lover of minutes ago was replaced entirely by a distant stranger pulling on his trousers like this was simply another Sunday. Perhaps, for him, it was.
When you were both clothed, he cleared his throat.
"I'll walk you back to—"
"I know the way," you interrupted, shoving your single sock gracelessly into your back pocket.
His jaw worked, as though he were chewing over some final, unsatisfying thought. You found you didn't want to hear it.
"Goodnight," you said finally.
You turned on your heel, crossed to the door, and walked out of the Room of Requirement with your chin held high and your heart in approximately seventeen thousand pieces, wishing desperately for a Time-Turner and the sense to use it.
You walked back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze, barely registering your surroundings. Your mind was reeling, trying to process the abrupt shift from blissful intimacy to cold rejection. You stumbled through the portrait hole, ignoring the Fat Lady's concerned look. Thankfully, the common room was empty at this hour. You stood there for a long moment, staring into the dying flames, feeling the weight of your own foolishness pressing down on you.
You'd let yourself imagine it, hadn't you? A future where this thing between you and Jaemin was something real. Something that would survive the end of your little arrangement, that would unfold into late-night conversations and stolen kisses in corridors and his hand finding yours under the table at breakfast. You'd let yourself believe it so thoroughly that you'd forgotten it was never real to begin with.
A beautiful lie. A fairy tale you'd spun for yourself, heedless of the inevitable unhappy ending that had been written into the story from the very first page.
And now you were alone in an empty common room at half past midnight, with nothing but the cold truth and the aching, echoing space in your chest where your heart used to be.
"Y/N? Is that you?"
You turned to see Jo descending from the dormitories. She was in her pajamas, hair piled in a messy bun, face still creased with sleep. But the moment she saw you properly, whatever drowsy inquiry she'd been planning died on her lips.
Her eyes went wide. Understanding flooded her features, followed swiftly by something fierce and protective.
"Oh, love," she breathed, and crossed the room in three quick strides to pull you into her arms. "Oh, no. What happened? What did he do?"
And that was all it took. The dam broke, and suddenly you were sobbing into her shoulder, great heaving gasps that shook your whole body. She held you tightly, stroking your hair, murmuring soothing nonsense as you cried.
"I t-told him I l-loved him," you managed between sobs. "And he... he just..."
"Shh, I've got you. Breathe."
"He said it didn’t change anything." You choked on the words. "That it was never supposed to be more than that. And I just—I stood there like an idiot—"
"You're not an idiot." Her arms tightened around you. "You're not. He's the idiot. He's a complete and utter prat, and I'm going to hex his bollocks off, see if I don't—"
A small, inquisitive mrrp interrupted the proceedings.
You both looked down. Whiskers had appeared from somewhere behind the sofa. He blinked up at you with large, knowing eyes, then began weaving between your ankles with pointed determination.
"Oh, Whiskers," Jo murmured. "Good boy. You tell her."
The cat, apparently agreeing that emotional support was required, rose up on his hind legs to bump his head against your knee. When that failed to produce adequate acknowledgment, he meowed again and began climbing your leg in pursuit of a better vantage point.
You laughed, it came out watery and hiccupping and rather awful, but it was a laugh nonetheless.
"See? He thinks Jaemin's a prat, too." Jo said solemnly, scooping Whiskers up and depositing him into the narrow space between you both. The cat immediately began purring and butted his head against your chin.
You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, still trembling. "I feel so stupid, Jo. I knew this was how it would end. I knew from the beginning it wasn't real, and I just—I let myself—"
"Hey." Jo pulled back to look at you properly. "Falling in love isn't stupid. It's brave. Even when it's messy and terrifying and the other person is a monumental coward who doesn't deserve you."
"He's not…"
"He is." Her voice brooked no argument. "Anyone who looks at you the way he does and then pretends it's nothing? That's cowardice. That's someone too scared to admit what they feel, so they make you feel like you’re imagining it instead."
You opened your mouth to protest, because surely it wasn't like that, surely you'd simply misread everything, surely the fault was yours for wanting too much, but Jo cut you off.
"No. Don't do that. Don't even try to make excuses for him." She softened, just slightly. "I know you love him. And I know that doesn't just... switch off. But you deserve someone brave enough to love you back out loud, yeah?"
A fresh wave of tears came, because she was right. You did deserve that. And you’d thought, for a few perfect hours, that maybe you’d had it.
“I really thought he—” You couldn’t finish.
“I know.” Her voice was gentle. “I know you did. And maybe he does, somewhere under all that stupid hair. But maybe isn’t good enough.”
You pressed your face into Whiskers’s fur, trying to breathe through the ache in your chest.
"Right," she continued. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to sit here, and you're going to let Whiskers work his magic, and you're going to cry as much as you need to. And tomorrow, we're going to eat an absolutely obscene amount of chocolate at breakfast, and you're going to ignore Na Jaemin so thoroughly he'll wonder if he's gone invisible. And if he tries to talk to you, I'll hex him. I’ve gotten really good at Bat-Bogeys."
"Jo, you will get detention."
"I don't care," she wasn't smiling anymore. "No one gets to make you feel like this and walk away unscathed. Not while I'm around."
You leaned into her, letting your head drop against her shoulder. Whiskers purred on.
"I really love him," you whispered. "Even after tonight. How pathetic is that?"
"It's not pathetic at all." Jo's voice caressed your heard, all the protective fury banked into comfort. "Love just doesn't care about timing, or logic, or whether the other person deserves it. It just is." A pause. "And for what it's worth? I don't think he's as unaffected as he's pretending to be. I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching."
You didn't answer. You weren't sure you believed her at all, to be honest. But you let her hold you, let Whiskers purr and let the fire burn down to ash while the ache in your chest slowly, slowly dulled to something almost bearable.
Jaemin had never felt more like a prat in his entire life.
No—that wasn't quite accurate. Prat implied mild social incompetence. A tendency to say the wrong thing at dinner parties, forgetting birthdays, laughing at funerals. The sort of harmless foolishness that people forgave with a fond eye-roll and a muttered oh, that's just Jaemin.
What he had done went rather spectacularly beyond that.
He had taken something fragile and rare, something most people spent their entire lives hoping to stumble across, and placed it directly under his own boot. Deliberately. With malice aforethought, or at least malice afore-panic, which hardly seemed better.
He had watched you gather every ounce of courage you possessed. Had felt you trembling against him, breath shallow, voice catching on the edges of words you clearly hadn't planned to say. You had offered him something honest and unguarded and terrifying in its vulnerability, and he had responded by retreating behind technicalities and arrangements like a child hiding behind a curtain and insisting, with full conviction, that he was invisible.
We had a deal.
Merlin. He wanted to reach back in time and throttle himself.
It was never supposed to be more than that.
What a thing to say. What an absolute masterwork of emotional cowardice, delivered with the sort of cool detachment that would've made his father proud. He could practically hear the old man now: Well done, son. Keep them at arm's length. Never let them see you bleed.
Coward.
That was the word. The only word that fit.
A coward with decent grades and a Quidditch record impressive enough to distract people from the fact that, emotionally, he possessed all the sophistication of a flobberworm. Less, actually. Flobberworms at least had the excuse of being invertebrates.
He replayed it in his head for the forty-seventh time that hour, the way your voice had softened when you said it. I love you. Three words, plain and graceles, tumbling out like they'd escaped against your will. Your fingers curling against the sheets and the tiny pause afterward—that breath of suspended time where you had waited for him to meet you there.
And he hadn't.
He had stood on the very edge of everything he'd wanted for six years—six years, which was roughly forty percent of his entire existence and one hundred percent of his adolescence—and he had convinced himself that stepping forward was more dangerous than falling back.
He had finally kissed the girl who'd haunted his thoughts since he was eleven years old and too stupid to understand why her insults made his chest feel strange. He had finally heard you say you loved him to his face, with your whole heart in your voice.
And instead of recognizing it for the bloody miracle it was, he had panicked.
As though being loved were a trap. As though affection were some elaborate con, and you were merely waiting for the right moment to spring it.
As though you, of all people—brilliant, stubborn, infuriatingly principled you—were something he needed protecting from rather than running toward.
He laughed under his breath. The sound came out thin and joyless, startling in the empty corridor.
Afraid of being loved.
Such a stupid thing to be afraid of. It ranked right up there with afraid of winning the Quidditch Cup or afraid of someone handing you precisely what you've desperately wanted and asking nothing in return.
He had spent years wanting your attention.
Years engineering excuses to speak to you, picking fights in the corridors because negative attention was still attention, stealing your quills, hexing your textbooks, memorizing your class schedule so he could accidentally-on-purpose cross your path between classes.
He had told himself this behavior came from an innocent rivalry or perhaps even house pride, just the natural antagonism between Slytherin ambition and Gryffindor recklessness.
He had watched you from across the Great Hall, the way you laughed with Jo, the way you chewed your quill when you were thinking, the way the light caught your hair in the morning, and convinced himself it was harmless curiosity. Academic interest. The detached observation of a worthy opponent.
What a spectacular amount of bollocks he had fed himself.
He had wanted you persistently. Recklessly, in a way that would've horrified his younger self, who had been very committed to the aesthetic of cool indifference.
And when he finally had you, when you were warm and real and trusting in his arms, when you'd given yourself to him completely and then offered your heart on top of it like some undeserved gift—
He had recoiled.
Because being loved meant being seen.
It meant showing up. Being present. Letting someone witness all the parts of himself he usually kept buried under six layers of charm and sarcasm and ambition. It meant responsibility. Knowing that someone else's happiness was now tangled up in his own choices, his own failures, his own capacity to be something more than the sum of his defense mechanisms.
He had spent years telling himself he was being sensible.
Protecting people, he'd called it. Keeping them safe. As though his emotional unavailability were some sort of public service, a kindness he performed by keeping parts of himself locked away where they couldn't do damage.
He lived by three rules: feelings were liabilities, distance was safety, and caring too much was the fastest way to hand someone a weapon and hope they didn't use it.
It had been easy to believe that, growing up in a house where affection came with conditions and approval came with expectations. Where love had always been something that could be revoked at any moment—a privilege, not a given. A reward for good behavior, withdrawn the instant you failed to meet the mark.
So he'd learned early how to ration himself. How to care quietly, in ways that couldn't be measured or weaponised. How to want without asking. How to feel without admitting it, even to himself.
And it had worked. For years, it had worked.
He had been fine. Perfectly content in his carefully constructed fortress of emotional self-sufficiency.
Until you.
You, who had looked at his defenses not as walls to be respected but to be climbed. Who had called him out on his nonsense and refused to be impressed by his posturing and seen through him with a clarity that terrified him.
You had dismantled his entire system without even trying.
And now you were crying in the Gryffindor common room, probably being comforted by Jo who rightfully thought he was the worst sort of person, while he stood alone in a dark corridor with nothing but the wreckage of his own making for company.
He pressed his palm flat to his chest, as if he might physically restrain the ache there.
It didn't work. The ache remained, steady and insistent, a bruise that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. He had been given exactly what he wanted and he had thrown it away because he didn't believe he was allowed to keep it.
Because somewhere deep in the foundations of himself, in all the places his parents' voices still echoed, he had decided that love was not something people like him got to have. Not permanently. That wanting something too much was the surest way to lose it, and the safest course was to let go before it could be taken.
He had pre-empted his own heartbreak.
And in doing so, he had guaranteed it.
The realization settled over him slowly, and Na Jaemin—Slytherin Prefect, Quidditch star, heir to a name that opened doors across the wizarding world—had never felt more utterly, unforgivably small.
He thought of you, somewhere in Gryffindor Tower, believing you had been foolish to love him.
And he thought: No.
The only fool here is me.
Jaemin spent the next few days turning it over. You saying those three words and him saying it didn’t change anything. What a lie. It changed everything and he could feel every new fault line spider out beneath his feet, threatening to split him open.
At first, he tried to convince himself he needed this: to have the edge. He thought of the next two weeks as a sprint, a countdown to the end of the deal, a chance to reset before anyone saw how scrambled he’d become. But the more he tried to hold that line, the more he found himself drifting. A wordless longing in his veins, a kind of hunger not easily starved out.
He looked like hell at breakfast. Sungchan greeted him with a commence-the-mocking whistle and immediately began recounting every detail of the party—especially the part where Jaemin had “dragged his girlfriend off like the end of a Victorian bodice-ripper and nobody saw either of them again until morning.”
Jaemin grunted in response. He’d hoped that the Slytherin table’s perpetual ruckus would drown out his mood, but word had apparently traveled at broomstick speed that he and his Gryffindor paramour had disappeared into the night and returned separately.
“Did you see Y/N?” Giselle asked, low-voiced as she slid onto the bench next to him. “She didn’t come down yet. Jo said something about a headache, but you know what that usually means.”
Jaemin played dumb. It was one of his most reliable talents. “Hangover?”
Giselle’s lips thinned into an unimpressed line. “Try again.”
He almost managed a laugh. “What, mid-semester flu, then?”
Changmin leaned across the table to whack him on the forearm. “Knock it off. You know what she means.”
For a second, Jaemin's lip curled with the beginning of a sneer. Then he caught the genuine concern in Changmin's eyes, and something in his chest constricted painfully. He knew he was being intolerable, but couldn't seem to stop himself. Besides, when had his friends developed this sudden interest in your wellbeing? Just weeks ago, they'd barely concealed their disdain whenever your name came up.
He shrugged. “Didn’t realize you lot were so invested in her.”
Sungchan, mouth full of toast, said, “Are you thick? She’s basically our in-law now.”
Giselle, who had never in her life let a moment of vulnerability pass unremarked, pinned him with a look sharp enough to cut. “Stop pretending you don’t care,” she said quietly. “It’s pathetic.”
Jaemin tried to brush it off, but her words dug in. The table fell into a brief, uncharacteristic silence, broken only by the scrape of utensils and the dull roar of the rest of the Hall. His eyes betrayed him, sweeping across the Great Hall in search of your face. It was four minutes to the start of first period when you appeared, rumpled as a stray leaflet, hair yanked into a bun with a quill, the red in your eyes unsoftened by any attempt to conceal it. You didn’t look in his direction. Not even once.
Jo steered you to a seat as far from the Slytherin table as possible, and for the first time in living memory, you didn’t have a book open with breakfast. You just sat there, picking at a single triangle of toast, the very opposite of the person he’d chased across the halls for half a decade.
He watched you, hating himself for it but unable to stop. Any moment now, you’d look up with a tiny smile and mouth, “What are you looking at?” and the axis of his world would correct itself by one degree. Instead, you slipped out before the first bell.
At least he was reliably consistent. Second period hadn't even started and Jaemin had orchestrated a trinity of fleeting, meticulously planned collisions. He'd spent the first break loitering by the Charms corridor, just to see your profile as you debated something with Jo. You never saw him. Or if you did, you made a point of acting as if he were invisible—a feat that, for someone as volatile as you, must have taken immense restraint. Still, his pulse hammered at the mere proximity, the knowledge that you occupied the same ten-meter radius.
Then, after Defense, he'd shadowed your route to the library, walking the long way around just so he could pass you by the statue of Dymphna the Dazed. He’d spent so many hours studying your gait, the bounce in your step, the way you always fiddled with your wand as you walked that he could predict, to the second, when you'd arrive at the oak doors. The actual moment was almost an anticlimax, though: You breezed right past, not even a flicker of recognition in your gaze.
By the time he wandered into the stacks, he’d convinced himself that running into you was serendipity and not the carefully plotted vector of a moth to its own funeral pyre. He saw you perched at the edge of a reading table, surrounded by towers of books and an aura of such prickly concentration that even Madam Pince hovered before daring to approach. He pretended like he needed something from the Potions section, just adjacent to your fortress of solitude, but when you looked up and caught him standing there, he nearly dropped his armful of textbooks.
But you simply returned to your reading, jaw tight, quill moving in furious dashes. The rejection was as comprehensive as any hex, and it landed him two rows over, staring blankly at a shelf of moldy periodicals and trying to pretend his hands weren't shaking.
This was how the day went: Jaemin planning collisions, you dodging each one with exactness. He wondered if you knew you could destroy him just by looking his way.
You didn’t bite either way. You only spoke once to him, and it was to offer one brittle “Excuse me” as you slid past. He caught a whiff of your hair then and realized he’d missed that scent. It filled his head, left him dizzy. He didn’t turn around as you disappeared down the aisle. He only stood there, polysyllabic apologies crowding the back of his tongue—and not a single one fit to say aloud.
You knew the aftermath would be the hardest part, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the days that followed. They stretched out, elastic and punitive, filled with silences so loud you imagined they could split the castle at its seams.
In a fit of what you would later call “productive despair,” you doubled down on your schoolwork. Every study hour became a refuge, your textbooks a bulwark against thinking. Whiskers responded to your newly-acquired hermitage by laying siege to your lap at all hours, claws lightly sheathed, tail flicking in his sleep like he was chasing the very feelings you’d tried to outrun.
You became an expert at avoiding Jaemin. You timed your arrivals to classes, hung back until the corridors thinned, and made peace with the fact that every now and then, you’d have to let a Slytherin Prefect dock you house points for lateness. Sometimes it was even Jaemin himself; he’d hand you the slip with his eyes fixed somewhere behind your left ear.
Even the Slytherin first years who’d once delighted in blocking your path seemed to shrink away from the tableau, as if the story of your heartbreak had filtered down through the stone like cold water, softening even the nastiest traditions.
Jo, goddess among friends, never pressed. She introduced you to a new array of comfort snacks and developed a proprietary cocoa recipe that she claimed could “reanimate a troll.” She helped you with Charms and let you rant about nothing in particular. When you occasionally faltered—when your hand shook during practicals or you lost your place reading out loud in History of Magic—she’d bump your knee under the desk and say, “We’re almost there, kitten. Keep your chin up.”
You kept your chin up. It hurt but you did it, because Jo was watching, and because Whiskers was watching, and because you refused to let him have any more of your dignity than you’d already handed over.
Four days before the end of the arrangement, your N.E.W.Ts loomed like a darkening storm. You’d just finished revising for Arithmancy when Jo spoke, “We’re doing a girls’ night tonight. No arguments.” She produced two vials of Smuggler’s Pumpkin Spice Spirit (questionable provenance) and a deck of Exploding Snap. “And we’re inviting Yuna.”
You nearly choked. “Yuna?”
Jo nodded seriously. “I saw her crying in the North Tower last Tuesday. She needs it. We need it. Besides, she’s been relentlessly normal lately.”
The idea felt so surreal that you couldn’t bring yourself to object. At exactly ten, Yuna appeared outside your dormitory, balancing a tray of suspiciously glittery shot glasses. She wore pajamas patterned with tiny cats and a hesitant smile, both of which seemed calculated to defuse ancient hostilities.
The three of you sprawled on the floor of the dormitory. You, cross-legged and trying not to look like your entire emotional landscape was scorched earth; Jo, already red-cheeked and deploying her patented “I’m-not-drunk-you’re-drunk” strategy; and Yuna, who poured drinks for everyone.
The first round was vile. The second was marginally less vile, or perhaps your tongue had simply given up. After a few more, your nerves had been numbed enough that you no longer cared if anyone brought up the name “Jaemin”. Or maybe you wanted them to.
Eventually, Jo passed out. She did so with Whiskers pillowed on her belly and her arms flung overhead.Yuna watched her for a long, pensive moment. Then she poured each of you one last shot and raised hers in a slightly wobbly toast. “To stupid boys,” she said. “And to the girls surviving them.”
You clinked glasses. The spirit went down like molten pudding and settled somewhere near your spleen.
A companionable silence fell, the pleasant, boozy sort that felt safe enough to say things you would otherwise never let see daylight.
Yuna was the first to break it.
“He’s terrible at hiding it, you know,” she said. “Jaemin.”
You blinked. “What?”
“What he wants,” Yuna clarified. “It’s…not subtle.” She swirled her shot glass, watching the dregs coat the glassy bottom. “I think he makes things hard for himself, but harder for the people he cares about.” She flicked her gaze up. “And you must know. You’re the only one he’s ever actually cared about.”
You tried to laugh, but it came out flat. “I think you’re mixing up ‘care’ with ‘use as a convenient shield for his own problems.’”
Yuna’s expression shifted to puzzled. “Convenient shield?”
You blinked at her, a little dizzy, a little stunned that Yuna, one of Slytherin’s most preternaturally well-informed gossip, didn’t already know every miserable detail. “You—oh, come on. The arrangement.” You mimed air quotes with your fingers, nearly upending your glass in the process. “We only did this to get you off his bloody back.”
Yuna opened her mouth to say something,but then just burst out laughing. Not even a sly titter but a full-throated snort that startled Whiskers off Jo’s belly and into an escape beneath the bed.
“Oh—oh, Merlin’s balls—” Yuna gasped, clutching her ribs. “You—wait, you actually believed—oh, this is precious.”
You felt yourself flush with irritation. “What’s so funny? That you lost your shot at Jaemin?”
“No, you adorable idiot, not that.” Yuna shook her head, wiping away a tear of mirth. “Are you serious? I’ve only ever talked to Jaemin because he’s Changmin’s best friend, and Changmin—well…”
She trailed off, her cheeks going very pink, then, as if you weren’t present at all, she laid her head back against the bottom bunk and stared at the ceiling, a contented smile on her lips.
You waited for more context, a swirl of confusion tangling up your tongue. There was a thud as Whiskers landed on the foot of the bed, followed by the faintest prickle of claws as he padded up beside you.
Finally, the implication of her words hit your tipsy brain. “Wait. You’re not—I mean. You weren’t even—?”
“Into Jaemin?” Yuna finished for you. “Merlin, no. Not since third year at least—and even then, only in the way you want a new pair of boots.” She shrugged, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. “He’s nice to look at, but a nightmare to date. Total self-saboteur.” She glanced at you, curious. “You really thought I was after him?”
You felt lightheaded. “I mean you were everywhere—”
“I was following Changmin, you dolt.” Yuna’s face went even pinker if possible. “I set this whole thing up to make him jealous. I mean, it worked, he finally asked me to Hogsmeade, but—” she broke off, suddenly shy. “Sorry for the collateral damage. Truly.”
You stared at her, the pieces of the last months threatening to explode through the air. All that plotting, the drama, every humiliating emotional contortion you’d endured, and all this time…
Jaemin hadn’t been fighting off Yuna. He’d just, what?
Did he just want an excuse to be near you, because he was pathologically incapable of admitting how much he needed it, even to himself? Every ounce of dignity you'd sacrificed, every moment of your life spent embroiled in this nonsense, and the object of his supposed self-sacrifice had been pining for Changmin the entire time.
You took a long, bracing inhale, thumping your head once hard against the edge of the bed frame.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered.
Yuna, to her credit, had the decency not to gloat. She nudged Whiskers toward you. “He’s always liked you, you know,” she said. “Even before. He used to ask me how to get you to stop hating him, like I had some kind of… girl code manual.”
You eyed her. “Did you?”
Yuna nodded, propping her chin on her knees. “I told him to try being honest for once. Clearly, he didn’t listen.”
You rolled your eyes. “That’s the understatement of the century.”
“You know, out of everyone, I think you’re the only person who makes him utterly lose his composure. He’s usually… impossible to fluster. Kind of his thing. But around you it’s like—you light a match and throw it into his brain.”
“Well, I certainly managed to set something on fire,” you said, and surprised yourself with a half-laugh. “Just not in any useful way.”
Yuna scooted a little closer, lowering her voice. “I know you probably don’t want my advice, but… maybe give him a chance to fix it. He’s genuinely bad at this stuff.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to forgive him, but if you’re waiting for him to say the right thing, you might be waiting forever.”
Her words slotted into place in your exhausted brain, like the last piece of a hopelessly complicated puzzle. Horrible, giddy amusement bubbled up your chest: all this time, you’d been fighting the wrong war, arming yourself against an enemy who’d never even taken the field.
You left Jo and Yuna asleep in each other's arms, Whiskers curled into a protective gray-striped crescent at the foot of the bed. Every portrait squinted with suspicious half-lidded eyes, and every suit of armor clattered medieval disapproval as you ran past them.
You didn't think much about where you were going, but the probability was as precise as Divination could ever muster: the Slytherin common room. Because if there was a single neuron left swimming in your firewhisky-addled brain, it was firing like a desperate flare directly toward Na Jaemin.
You padded soundlessly through the dungeons, fingertips trailing along the cool stone walls for balance, only to round a corner and nearly collide with a tall silhouette legging it up from the other direction. Jaemin, hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it for hours, shirt untucked with three buttons misaligned, and eyes wild as a cornered hippogriff, skidded to a halt so abrupt you both nearly toppled over.
You just stood there, staring, every cell in your body screaming and also quite possibly vibrating. Through the haze of fatigue and shame and liquor, you registered every heartbreakingly specific detail of him: the spike in his breathing, the way he braced one hand against the wall as if he needed it to hold up the rest of him, the deep crease between his eyebrows that only appeared when he was actively terrified.
The words queued up, fighting to be first out. “I—” “Listen—” “Can we—” “Please—”
A jumble, then an accidental harmony: “I need to talk to you.”
For one second, you considered turning around and running. But the way Jaemin looked at you pinned you to the spot.
He spoke first. “Come to the broom closet? I think I saw Mrs Norris nearby, which means… ”
“Filch,” you finished for him. “Okay, let’s go.”
You followed him in silence, down the corridor to the oversized closet that Slytherins had used for centuries to hide everything from illicit liquor to first-year snoggers. He held the door open, then closed it behind you, which left you not even three feet apart.
Jaemin propped his back against the door and exhaled so slowly it sounded like the last breath of a dying man. You tried not to notice that his hands were shaking. Or that he looked, for all his composure, completely lost. “I, um.” He looked down at his own shoes. “Y/N, I fucked up.”
You blinked. You’d come here to yell, maybe. Or at least to interrogate some truths out of him, like why he had so thoroughly detonated your entire sense of self. But he’d opened with the guilt and you weren’t ready for it. Unpracticed, unbuffered by the ice of pride or wit. It landed inside you with an unexpected warmth that left you unable to launch the first missile of your prepared invective.
He tried again. “I said things I didn’t mean. Or… didn’t say things I was supposed to.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, and for the first time in your long and bitter acquaintance, he looked his age. Not the chiseled, archvillain Slytherin but a seventeen-year-old boy who’d just spent the last week eating his own heart.
You pressed your back to the shelving, feeling a bristle of ancient brooms poking into your shoulder. It was easier to focus on the physical discomfort than the absolute riot of feelings inside you. “Why did you do it, then?” you asked, voice trembling but louder than you felt. “Why pretend? Why go through all of it if you didn’t—”
He looked up then, and the world stopped. You'd always known Jaemin had pretty eyes, almost stupidly so, but you'd never seen them this stripped of showmanship. There was nothing left in them but the need to be understood.
He ran both hands through his hair, almost laughing at himself. “Growing up, love was like a… currency. My parents, they’d dole it out in rations, make you earn it, then yank it away when you needed it most. Every hug, every ‘I’m proud of you’—it was an investment, and nothing was free. I don’t want to do that.”
He broke off, looking at you as if every word took a year off his life. “But then you—fuck, Y/N, you just loved me. Out loud. Not because you had to, or because I earned it, but because you wanted to. And I didn’t know what to do with that, so I panicked and did what I always do, which is ruin things before they can ruin me.”
You might have laughed, if it hadn’t stung so much. “You could’ve just said it back, you know. Or at least not torched me on the way out.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I wanted to. I do. I just—” He exhaled again and met your gaze. “I actually love you so much, and it scares me so bad I’d rather light the whole thing on fire than tell you to your face.I thought if you ever knew, if you ever saw how fucking much it was, you’d run for the hills. I was scared.” He huffed a laugh. “I’m still scared.”
You stared at him, the old defenses rising out of habit—sarcasm, skepticism, the impulse to twist anything freely given—but something in his voice made them shrivel away. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t even posturing. He was sweating through his shirt in a freezing stone corridor, admitting in the most un-Slytherin way possible that he wanted something enough to break himself for it.
He took a faltering step toward you. “I love you. I love you so much it makes my head hurt, and every time you look at me, I feel like I’m being given something I’m not allowed to keep. You’re so smart, brilliant really, you make everything feel less small and stupid, and I like how you argue even when you know you’re wrong, and sometimes I go out of my way just to hear you laugh at me, because when you do it I feel like maybe I’m not a total waste of oxygen—”
He broke off, eyes wild and shining. “You make me better, from the inside out. And I was so terrified that if you ever saw the real me—if I let you in even a little—I’d ruin it. Or you’d hate me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “But I ruined it anyway,didn’t I?”
You listened in shock, because this was the Jaemin you’d believed existed only at the very edges of his brittle, cocky mask. The one who’d made a study of you, who’d learned all your favorite spells and matched your every move. You weren’t sure you knew how to reply. The gravity of his confession pressed you to the wall.
"I'm not going to say it was fine," you whispered, voice cracking. "It felt like you'd reached inside my chest and—" You pressed a trembling hand to your sternum. "God, Jaemin. I couldn't breathe for days. But even then, I never—" Your voice broke completely. "I never really hated you. Not even when I probably should've."
He breathed out. “You’ve no idea how much I wanted you to hate me properly. Would’ve made everything simpler.”
“Why spend all that time and effort in this charade? You could've just been honest... You had no idea how I would take it.”
He squeezed the bridge of his nose as if the pain of the question might physically rupture his skull. “Because I didn’t know how else to have you, and I thought the only way you’d let me close was if it was an act.”
You wanted to spit something cruel, but it collapsed against the lump in your throat. “You incredible, galloping idiot,” you said instead, mostly to yourself.
You were about to speak again when he slipped a hand inside the folds of his robes. A familiar spine emerged, its dark leather cover worn soft across the creased corners, the gold lettering faintly dulled by time.
Wuthering Heights.
It was the very copy you’d pressed into his hand weeks ago, at Tomes and Scrolls, half in jest. You’d expected him to snort and set it aside unread, or skim a few florid passages, shrug, and call it melodramatic nonsense. But now its pages were dog-eared, edges curling; a thin gold ribbon marked a specific chapter. The paper around it was so softened that you could almost see the imprint of fingertips pressed into the margins—tiny scrawled notes in cramped handwriting, evidence of long, late-night wrestling matches with Emily Brontë’s tempestuous souls.
Jaemin’s fingers trembled as he thumbed to the ribboned page. He cleared his throat, that quiet catch sounding louder in the hush around you, and lifted his gaze. The brown of his eyes locked onto yours so fiercely your ribs felt oddly vulnerable, as if he were staring right through your chest. Then, he began:
“Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you.”
Your pulse thundered in your ears. You stared at the book, at the margin notes, at the little crease in the paper where he’d returned again and again.
“You read it,” you whispered shakily. “You actually read it.”
He tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear and offered you a shy, sheepish smile. “I got about three pages in and thought, ‘This is the most overwrought melodramatic nonsense I have ever encountered and she’ll never let me live it down if I admit I liked it.’”
Your breath caught, and you laughed softly. “So the Slytherin prince secretly studies Muggle love tragedies for—what? Sport?”
“For you.” His words fell simple and straight, but you saw in the tense set of his shoulders how much it cost him. “I remembered what you once said. That words could be more powerful than any spell. That some stories could make you feel things magic never touches.” He swallowed, eyes flicking away for only an instant. “I wanted to understand. I wanted to see the world the way you do. Even if… even if you never spoke to me again, I needed something of how you think.”
Your throat tightened around all the things you wanted to say.
“I love you,” he said suddenly. “I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been. If you want me to leave you alone, I will. I’ll resign as a Prefect, stop dining in the Great Hall… never speak to you again, if that’s how it has to be—”
“Jaemin—”
“And if you think I’m not worth the effort, if you find some sensible bloke that's smarter and more emotional available instead of—” He gestured at himself “—a stupid prick with a habitual avoidance of feelings, that’s fine too, I unders—”
“Jaemin.”
He stumbled to silence, eyes wide, braced for your anger or dismissal. Instead, you stepped forward. “I think,” you said softly, “I’d rather take my chances with a Slytherin who panics at his own heart.”
His whole face broke into a tentative, trembling smile that brightened by the second, like dawn’s first light spilling over the lake.
“You don’t hate me, then?”
“Oh, I do,” you teased, closing the distance between you. “Just not enough to stop wanting to kiss you.”
He laughed a breathless, disbelieving sound that left him momentarily speechless. “That’s… a very low bar.”
“It’s the bar you set,” you said, reaching up to smooth the crease by his temple. “I’m just acknowledging it.”
He was so close now you could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the restless hours he’d spent reading. His breath hitched, and his fingers, still warm around your forearm, shook.
“One condition.”
“Anything.”
“No more schemes. No more elaborate lies to keep me close. If you want something from me, you ask. And if you ever feel like sabotaging yourself again, you write it in a journal like every other teenager, and you keep me out of it.”
His eyes shone with relief and determination. “Deal. I swear it. Honest to Merlin, I’ll be so transparent you’ll beg me to tell a little white lie.”
“Unlikely.” You tousled his hair affectionately.
“I’ll be boring and straightforward and—”
“Now you’re just making things up.”
“—and I’ll read every book you recommend, even the ones you hate, so at least we can hate them together. I’ll tell you if I’m scared instead of running away, and I’ll—”
“Jaemin.”
He stopped and blinked up at you, a hopeful question in his gaze.
“Shut up and come here.”
He closed the last few inches between you, cupping your face as if it were made of spun glass. His thumbs traced the damp paths of your tears, his eyes pleading.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the soft curve of your lips. “For all of it—for the lies, the running, the… spectacular emotional incompetence. I’m so sorry.”
You rested your hands against his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart. “I know.”
He drew a shaky breath. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”
You pressed your forehead to his “I will.”
"Yeah?"
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Already there."
And then, finally, his mouth found yours.
The kiss was unhurried. A little clumsy. Both of you slightly out of practice with each other, slightly hesitant, slightly afraid this might still evaporate if you moved too fast.
But it was real.
You could taste the years of wanting and the weeks of pretending and the days of heartbreak. The sharp edge of pain, slowly dulling. The first green shoots of something that might, given enough time and care, grow into something lasting.
You smiled against his lips. Let your fingers curl into the collar of his robes. Kissed him back with every ounce of mortifying hope you'd sworn you'd bury.
There was nothing staged here. Only the press of his mouth saying yes and sorry and I love you and please, over and over, until the words became simpler.
Stay, his kiss said. Stay, and I'll spend the rest of my life proving I deserve it.
When you eventually separated, both breathing heavily, your foreheads touched.
"Let's see how long it takes you to mess this up," you murmured.
He laughed, eyes bright with joy. "Reckon I've got until dinner at best."
"Don't push your luck."
You kissed him once more, simply because it was possible. Because you wanted to. Because for five endless days you'd believed this door closed forever, and now finding it open seemed too precious to ignore.
Gossip would explode anew, inevitably. By evening meal, whispers would spread about you two emerging from an empty classroom, looking thoroughly kissed. By morning, a dozen conflicting stories would circulate. Within a week, the castle's most creative rumormongers would have you practically married.
But in this moment—his hand entwined with yours, his smile against your temple, your future sketched in pencil rather than vanishing ink—the entire castle seemed beautifully uncomplicated.
For a pair of hopeless liars, it made for a surprisingly honest beginning.
SUMMARY -> it’s just a scene. just a role. just acting... right? or alternatively, you have to film a bed scene with jeong jaehyun—the guy you can’t stand
WORDS -> approx. 6k
WARNINGS -> female reader x jaehyun, alternate universe - actors, making out, grinding, hand job, kissing, thigh fucking, you are bad at feelings jaehyun is a tease, jaehyun is whipped
- requested [no]
“do i really have to do this?” you whine as you stare at your manager like she’s just committed the ultimate betrayal. your manager doesn’t even bother to look guilty, she just scrolls through her phone, she clearly doesn’t care, then glances up with a shrug. “we can’t do anything about it, y/n. i mean… you literally signed the contract.”
you let out a dramatic groan and drop your head against the back of the makeup chair. “this is insane. actually insane…”
a bed scene. of all things, a bed scene! you can’t wrap your head around it. you're not even the lead, just some side character with a complicated emotional arc and now, apparently, a full-on makeout session that goes straight into tangled sheets. like, how is that even fair?
okay, fine, maybe it’s a little bit your fault. you might have skimmed over some pages of the contract. you might have been a little too excited to sign on because you liked the character so much. you told yourself it was about challenging yourself or testing your range and doing something new. and yeah, that was all true. you just didn’t expect the challenge to mean faking sex in front of cameras and at least thirty crew members.
your manager finally looks up long enough to raise an eyebrow. “don’t act like you didn’t know. i warned you. you chose to ignore me.”
“i thought the most intimate thing i’d have to do was kiss someone!” you protest, flailing your arms like that somehow proves your point. “nobody said anything about bed scenes!”
your manager doesn’t even blink. “well, surprise.”
you groan again and slump further down with arms crossed, full sulk mode unlocked. the irony of it all is killing you. you took this role because it wasn’t the lead, because you wanted to shine without carrying the whole show. you've done horror, comedy, and melodrama. you've been possessed, dumped, chased by ghosts, stabbed, drowned, and cried under rain machines more times than you can count. romance? easy. kissing? whatever. you've swapped fake spit on set before. it’s work. you're a pro.
the real issue is not the scene.
it’s who you have to do it with.
jeong. freaking. jaehyun.
if there’s one name that makes you want to throw something, it’s that one.
everyone in the industry has rivals, it’s practically a rite of passage. but your particular brand of rivalry comes with a name, a face, and the most annoyingly perfect jawline known to man. jeong jaehyun. the golden boy. all sharp lines, cold stares, and a fanbase that loses their minds over every half-smirk like he’s serving them a five-course meal. he’s a former child actor turned leading man and somehow, every project you even think about auditioning for, jaehyun either already rejected or is currently being offered on a silver platter.
and okay, fine, you can admit it, but only silently to yourself, and only when nobody’s around to hear it, you might be just a tiny bit jealous. just a pinch. a sprinkle. barely even counts.
still, none of that changes the fact that now, thanks to one stupid contract oversight, you have to fake fuck with the one person you can barely breathe the same air as.
you don’t get it. you don’t understand the hype about jeong jaehyun. people act like the guy is some acting prodigy, like he invented the art of crying on screen or brooding in slow motion. sure, he has that dark, mysterious, leading-man vibe that casting directors foam at the mouth for. but you? you're not impressed.
not that you've watched any of jaehyun's projects, obviously. why would you waste time doing that?
still, you are pretty convinced all those offers didn’t come from raw talent. they came from connections. nepo baby privilege, plain and simple. his family basically owns the industry and yet the public eats it up like it’s inspiring or whatever.
you know you're not any less talented. honestly, if you're being real with yourself (and you always are in your own head), you're probably better. you just… haven’t had the chance to see jaehyun act up close.
ironically, the very first time you do? you're paired together. of course. because the universe loves messing with you.
your characters barely interact in the beginning, just a few shared scenes here and there, nothing major. but now? now there’s a bed scene. a full-on sex scene with your rival. what kind of bizarre plot twist is that?
you're pretty sure this is some genius move from management, an attempt to boost engagement and stir up fan interest. and honestly, it’s probably working. your characters have been picking up traction online and becoming these unexpected fan favorites. and in the entertainment industry, nothing screams “good press” like smashing two popular faces together in a sudden hookup arc that no one asked for but everyone seems to want.
which explains why your twitter feed is now officially cursed.
@//kitarakitz: OMG???? the sexual tension between y/n and jaehyun's character is insane🔥🔥🔥
@//sandieee: make out atp😭
@//oyspart: the way y/n carries her character is everything😩
@//rytt: jaehyun marry me
@//aaruesnsn: these two have insane chemistry tho👀
@//barsibalth: AHHHH I WANT MORE MOVIES/SERIES WITH THEM TOGETHER. BUT AS LOVERS PLS PLS PLS
@//yunarku: i can feel that they would fuck next episode🙏
@//tfwtate: love how everyone is finally recognizing the chemistry between y/n and jaehyun. I WAS THERE FROM THE START
@//singcoo: even as rivals they have the tension🤕
@//quenie: talented actors!!
you scroll. cringe. scroll again. slam your phone down. scroll again anyway, because apparently you hate yourself.
you don’t want this. you don’t want the shipping, the fan edits, the speculative threads titled “the jaehyun x y/n agenda.” but people will think whatever they want. the only thing you can control is how well you act out the damn scene.
unfortunately, that means three excruciating minutes of fake lovemaking with the man you'd honestly rather push into a ditch.
you sigh dramatically. you just hope you can survive it without actually punching jeong jaehyun in the face.
you just stare at the floor, maybe if you look hard enough it’ll open up and swallow you whole. honestly, that sounds way better than what you just heard. “you’ve got to be kidding me,” you say in disbelief. “why does it have to be me on the bottom?!”
your manager lets out the loudest sigh known to mankind. “y/n…”
“no, seriously, i want answers!” you throw your arms up. “i already reluctantly agreed to this whole fake sex scene. reluctantly. but now i’m the submissive one?! what kind of joke is this? who decided this?”
your manager pinches the bridge of her nose, visibly counting how many years this job has shaved off her life. “y/n, it’s literally just three minutes. that’s it. after that, you’re done. no more bed scenes. no more fake moaning. over.”
“three minutes is a long time when you’re pretending to get railed by someone you hate.”
your manager gives you a look. “you took this role, remember? you were the one who insisted. ‘i love the character! i want a challenge!’ well, congrats. you got your challenge. now be a professional.”
you collapse onto the couch with your arms crossed tight. “why couldn’t he be the one on the bottom? my character’s not even that type…” you mutter.
your manager ignores you. “you could always ask jaehyun to rehearse the scene in advance.”
you sit up. “absolutely not. i’d rather throw myself off a building.”
“god, you’re dramatic,” your manager groans as she grabs her bag. “it’s not like you’re actually doing it with him. just get over whatever weird hatred you have and act.”
you scoff, looking away. “it’s not weird. it’s… complicated. and you wouldn’t get it.”
your manager rolls her eyes on her way out. “fine. but work it out, y/n. we’re not stalling production just because you’ve got beef with your scene partner.”
as soon as the door shuts behind your manager, you sink deeper into the couch. you don’t even fully get why you hate jeong jaehyun so much. maybe it’s the way every single movie project you wanted to be in somehow ended up falling right into jaehyun's lap. maybe it’s that stupid smug little smirk jaehyun always gives you whenever it happens, like he knows exactly how much it pisses you off. or maybe it’s just plain jealousy.
whatever it is, jaehyun gets under your skin in a way no one else does.
eith a dramatic sigh, you grab your phone and open your chat together. your thumbs hover for a second, then you type...
you: hey asshole
asshole: yes baby?
you: fUCK U stop saying that
asshole: hmm don’t worry we’re about to do that next scene :)
you: ???? weirdo
asshole: what do u want?
you: let’s practice that nightmare scene
asshole: wdym nightmare babe? hahaha that’s like one of the best scenes in the series
you: no??? delusional asshole. being in the same scene with u is far from best
asshole: hmm right
you: u wanna practice or not? as much as i hate this with all my being, i don’t really like disappointing my fans. even if i have to be all lovey-dovey with u
asshole: hahaha alright. let’s practice at my place?
you: ew no. why would i go to ur place? we can just practice here on set
asshole: hmm okay, you really want everyone to see how i fake thrust in you? :)
you: SHUT THE FUCK UP OMG. fine! at ur place! tomorrow. at 10
asshole: moan properly for me okay baby? ;)
you: kys🖕
you stare at the screen, wondering for the hundredth time why you're even entertaining this man, let alone texting him like this. the irony isn’t lost on you: sworn enemies in public, chatmates in private.
you groan, tossing your phone onto your chest and covering your face with your hands. this is going to be the worst three minutes of your life.
…maybe.
…probably.
…hopefully.
“okay, so… how do we do this?”
you say way too casual for someone about to rehearse a sex scene at almost midnight. you're standing in the middle of jaehyun's living room, barefoot, script in hand, and dressed in what is either sleepwear or something worse. an oversized shirt hangs off one shoulder, exposing your skin and the curve of your collarbone while your shorts cling to your thighs, leaving way too little to the imagination.
jaehyun blinks at you from the couch, coffee cup forgotten in his hand.
“i thought you meant ten in the morning,” he says slowly.
“i said ten. you didn’t ask AM or PM,” you shoot back instantly.
jaehyun frowns. “how the hell did you even get here? you don’t have my address.”
“i do now.” you shrug, already plopping down on the couch next to him. “i asked your manager. don’t act so shocked.”
“you’re insane.”
“and you’re wasting time,” you retort as you flip open the script on your lap. you cross your legs as you fully settle in. “we’re going through the scene line by line. no skipping straight to the bed part. that’s not how tension works. obviously.”
jaehyun doesn’t answer. he can’t. his brain is still processing at the sight of you who is half-dressed and sitting on the couch with your legs on display that should be illegal.
he honestly doesn’t know why you hate him so much. maybe it’s the roles, maybe it’s the fan attention, or maybe it’s just that smug smile he always wears. jaehyun has his theories. but truthfully? he never saw you as competition. not once. if anything, he likes poking at you because it’s too much fun. because when you are angry, you are addictive like fire.
and right now, that fire is burning on his couch wearing tight shorts while casually reading sex scene cues like they’re weather reports.
jaehyun takes a slow sip of coffee and tries to calm himself.
because the thing is, you are pretty. like, really pretty. not just attractive in a regular way, not just pretty that looks good under studio lights. no. you're the kind of pretty that gets stuck in your throat if you stare too long. the kind that makes people lose sleep or scream into their pillow or even punch a wall just to deal with the frustration. and jaehyun? he pretends he’s immune, but he knows he’s lying to himself.
and right now? with you casually flipping through a script that literally has fake sex between you both written in as a plot point? yeah, jaehyun is hanging on by the thinnest thread possible.
you, completely oblivious, tap a line and start explaining blocking. “we start here,” you say. “then the fight. then the confrontation blah blah blah and then the stupid sex scene. so we need to nail the tone.”
jaehyun doesn’t even hear half of it. he just stares at you. at the bare legs stretched out on his couch. at the messy hair and annoyed little pout.
you have no idea what kind of danger you're in.
because if this were real... if you asked even once... jaehyun would have you on that couch in seconds, rivalry and professionalism forgotten. the only “hatred” you would be feeling is from not being fucked nearly hard enough.
for now, though? jaehyun just leans back and smiles, pretending to listen.
“hey! are you even listening?”
your voice cuts through jaehyun's little daydream, yanking him back to reality. he blinks, caught red-handed, and looks at you with a grin. he leans back and draped his arm casually over the couch behind your shoulders.
“of course.”
you roll your eyes. you probably do that at least five times a day because of him, honestly. “let’s start now,” you mutter as you flip through the crumpled script. “do we do it in your room or just here?”
jaehyun tilts his head and hums. “scene’s in a living room, so… here works.”
“okay,” you nod, not even looking at him, still buried in the script. “let’s start then.”
silence...
awkward, suffocating silence...
you just stare at each other like two people who completely forgot they’re actors. you swear you can hear the drip from jaehyun's kitchen sink. it’s driving you insane.
finally, you sigh dramatically.
“what?” jaehyun asks.
“i told you to start, asshole. why are you just sitting there?” you snap and narrow your eyes.
jaehyun stares at you for a beat like he’s debating something in his head. then, out of nowhere, he asks, “you sure you’re okay with me actually acting out what’s on the script? i mean, i need your consent for this, y/n.”
you let out another eye roll. “well, duh. that’s literally the point, genius. this is an intimate scene. nothing’s gonna happen if you just sit there looking like some mannequin pretending to be alive.”
one of jaehyun's brows shoots up at the attitude but he doesn’t argue back. instead, a slow smirk creeps onto his lips. “alright then,” he says.
before you can even brace yourself, jaehyun reaches down and plants both hands on the inside of your thighs. you gasp, completely caught off guard, as jaehyun effortlessly spreads your legs and slides in between them. the couch creaks under your weight together and you swear your pulse skips several beats.
“relax,” jaehyun says with this low chuckle. “it’s part of the scene, remember?”
“fuck you! do it properly, then!” you snap back, cheeks heating way faster than you can stop them.
jaehyun only hums, hands steady as he shifts you into position. now you're flat against the couch cushions, legs spread open with jaehyun caging you in. your bodies press close and yeah... jaehyun's bulge is right there against your ass. probably not intentional but definitely not ignored.
you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. is this really just practice? because if this is how jaehyun “practices”... then suddenly, you kind of understand all the hype around him. unfortunately...
jaehyun leans in, your faces barely separated by a breath and your eyes go wide.
“you ready?” jaehyun murmurs. “our characters were making out in this part. you wouldn’t mind, right?”
you clench your jaw and force your body to cooperate, to stay still. you suck in a sharp breath through your nose and try to steady yourself enough to sound calm. “do whatever you want,” you finally mutter. “let’s just… be professional about this, okay?”
jaehyun doesn’t wait.
he leans down and kisses you.
it’s messy and passionate, exactly how the script says it should be. and god, jaehyun doesn’t hold back. he kisses like he’s starving, like he’ll actually die if he doesn’t get a taste, and you… yeah, you feel like you're drowning in it. your lips tremble against the pressure and then... shit... an involuntary soft whine slips out of you. mortifying! except, technically, it’s in the script. so you're still being professional... totally professional... jaehyun better not get smug about it, though.
still, your palms push weakly against jaehyun's chest. but jaehyun just takes it further, grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head in one smooth motion. you barely have time to process before those annoying lips leave your mouth and began leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.
“w-wait, jaehyun—i forgot the line in this part—” you stammer but jaehyun doesn’t stop for even a second. his mouth finds that sensitive spot on your neck and nibbles while at the same time he grinds down against your cunt.
you moan. loud.
okay, sure, the script said intimacy and noises but holy shit, was it supposed to feel this real?
“you're supposed to say my name at this part, y/n. don’t mess up your lines,” jaehyun murmurs against your skin teasingly. you swear your soul straight-up leaves your body. one of jaehyun's hands keeps you pinned tight while the other slips under your shirt and palms your stomach up to your chest.
and suddenly, every single line you memorized? completely gone. just wiped clean.
what the hell is even happening right now? why is jaehyun this good?
he’s acting, you tell yourself. this is acting. just acting. but it doesn’t feel like it at all. it feels like jaehyun has been secretly waiting his whole damn life for this exact scene.
and then, as if things aren’t already bad enough, jaehyun tugs your shirt up and exposes your chest before immediately leaning down to suck on your nipples. the sudden act makes you arch your back off the couch without even thinking. your breath stutters and a choked noise escapes your throat before you can stop it.
wait.
you're supposed to act this out in front of cameras? with an actual crew watching every second?
you've done intimate scenes before. this is not new to you. but you've never been on the receiving end like this... not like this. definitely not with someone who has you shaking by the second kiss and making you forget what the hell professionalism even means.
“ah—ah… nghhh…” you moan louder than you realize. your face burns but you can’t even hide it because jaehyun still has your wrists pinned tight above your head. and the grinding... god, jaehyun is still grinding against you while your body just reacts on its own. your legs wrap around jaehyun's waist without permission, like your body is begging for more and trying to anchor itself... or maybe just drag him closer.
you have no clue how long you stay like that. everything is too much.
then suddenly... jaehyun stops.
he pulls back and smiles.
“i think i forgot the next part,” he says casually like he hasn’t just ruined your entire life. he sits up, grabs the script you tossed aside earlier, and flips through the pages. “ah, here. i start lifting you while kissing you, then carry you to the bedroom…”
you just stare at the ceiling, chest heaving, brain completely fried.
what the actual fuck?
you're panting, probably looking half-ruined, and jaehyun is just… reading?
like he didn’t just blow your entire brain out of your body with nothing but his hands and mouth?
is this guy actually insane? jaehyun just left you lying there twitching and needy on the couch like you're not supposed to be rehearsing.
“fuck,” you whisper, breath still shaky. this is not the time to be horny... definitely not for jeong jaehyun. especially not for someone you supposedly can’t stand.
but then jaehyun has the nerve, the actual audacity, to smirk as he glances at you sprawled out like a kicked puppy. “hey, you good?” he asks, smug as hell.
your face burns and before you can even think it through, your fist connects with jaehyun's arm. not enough to actually hurt him but enough to make a point.
“ow—what the hell was that for?” jaehyun yelps, rubbing the spot dramatically.
you don’t answer. you just shoot him a glare, get up, mutter curses under your breath, and head for the door, clearly ready to storm out.
jaehyun was caught off guard then scrambles to follow you and grabs your wrist with a laugh. “hey, y/n, where you going?” he says teasingly until he sees your face.
the amusement drops instantly.
your brows are drawn tight, lips trembling, and just barely there... a tear clings stubbornly to your lashes.
jaehyun freezes while still holding your wrist, but softer now, he’s not sure if he should let go or pull you closer.
the thing about you is… you're very sensitive. emotionally, at least. always have been. you cried when you got your first lead role, the one you chased for years. your manager swears you bawled for three hours straight, hiccupping like a kid while still clutching the acceptance email like it was a golden ticket.
point is, you cry when you're overwhelmed, whether it’s good or bad.
so really, it shouldn’t even be surprising that you're crying now when your body feels like it’s been set on fire and then left in the cold. of course you have a tear threatening to fall. of course you're pissed off!
“let me go, asshole!” you snap, voice cracking as you try yanking his wrist away.
jaehyun panics a little and immediately switch tactics, grabbing your shoulders instead and holding you steady. his face shifts into something serious. “hey… hey, y/n, are you okay? did i do something wrong? was that too much? did i make you uncomfortable? i’m sorry... i swear i didn’t mean—”
“let go of me! you’re such a jerk!” you practically shout and then... yeah. the dam breaks.
the tears spill for real this time.
mortifying. absolutely mortifying.
you try turning your head away but it’s useless. the heat in your cheeks, the lump in your throat, the complete embarrassment filling your chest. it all just explodes out of you.
because why the hell are you even crying right now?
this is not a sad drama. this is not some tragic rejection scene.
no. it’s worse.
you're crying because jeong fucking jaehyun had you flushed and breathless just minutes ago with his cock grinding against you so good that you forgot every single line you practiced and then jaehyun just stopped. calmly picked up the script and started reading like nothing happened.
like he didn’t just scramble your entire existence and then deny you the release you were this close to getting.
ain’t no way you're crying because you're horny and left hanging.
but the tears are there. and jaehyun sees all of them.
for a second, jaehyun just… stares. something flickers in his eyes like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle only he can see. then suddenly, without any warning, he lets out a quiet laugh. not mocking, just warm and soft laugh.
“what the fuck are you laughing at?!” you snap, clearly frustrated. your cheeks are wet, your chest still tight, and now this idiot is laughing? seriously?
but jaehyun doesn’t stop. he keeps chuckling under his breath while his eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks down at you. his hands are still planted firmly on your shoulders steadily and keeping you close enough for jaehyun to feel how tense you are, how hot your skin runs and how every breath you take feels a little uneven.
then jaehyun leans in, closing the space between you until your faces are barely inches apart.
you flinch, but you don’t move. you can’t. your fists are clenched and your head is screaming at you to push jaehyun away but your body refuses.
and then jaehyun says, “y/n…”
a pause.
“...do you wanna do it for real this time?”
your entire brain short-circuits. you stare at him wide-eyed and completely unprepared. “are you insane?!” you burst out, voice pitching higher than intended. your palm smacks against jaehyun's chest and shoving with all the strength you can muster. except jaehyun doesn’t move an inch. he just stands there while wearing that stupid smug face that makes you want to scream.
“ehy would you even suggest that?!” you stutter as you refuse to meet his eyes.
jaehyun just laughs again. “what? from where i’m standing, you’re pissed because i stopped midway.”
your jaw literally drops. oh, you're going to strangle him. or maybe strangle yourself. “of course i’m mad! no... frustrated!” you blurt out as words tumbles faster than your brain. “why would you stop? that’s not… that’s not even professional!”
the second it leaves your mouth, you know it’s the worst excuse ever. absolute garbage. and of course, jaehyun knows it too because that smug shit-eating grin only spreads wider.
“really?” jaehyun tilts his head. “it got you so mad you actually cried?”
kill me now, you think. please. someone just take you out at this point. the fact that you can’t even defend yourself properly is already humiliating. your face is burning and your brain is a mess. desperate to save whatever is left of your dignity, you turn on your heel and mutter, “i’m going home,” as you try to yank yourself free.
but jaehyun doesn’t let go. his grip stays firm and refuses to budge. “i’m giving you the option, y/n,” he says seriously. “do you wanna do it? or are you just gonna keep pretending this is practice when we both know how much we liked it?”
that makes you freeze on the spot.
your heart is pounding so loud it feels like the whole world can hear it. slowly, you look up at jaehyun and for once, there’s no cocky smirk waiting for you. jaehyun is not laughing and he is certainly not teasing. this is not acting anymore. this is real.
“i meant what i said,” jaehyun continues. “all that touching earlier? that wasn’t practice.”
your breath hitches.
what. the. fuck.
what the actual fuck.
you stare at jaehyun like you're seeing him for the first time, trying to make sense of it and trying to wake yourself up from whatever insane dream this is. are you really considering it? giving in to the same guy you've been “hating” for years? all the bickering and the petty fights... was all of that just leading here?
to him. wanting jaehyun. not as a partner. not as a character.
but as himself.
you want him.
god help you, you actually fucking want jeong jaehyun.
you inhale shakily, your face caught somewhere between a scowl and a blush but the way you lean in gives you away completely. your faces hover just inches apart now and you mutter through your clenched teeth, “i still hate you,” even as your hand slides up and curl tight around the back of jaehyun's neck.
and then you yank him down and crash your mouths together.
jaehyun doesn’t even hesitate. he kisses back like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. one arm snakes around your waist and pulling you close while the other steadies you both. and the kiss... it's not your characters. it’s your real selves. just yourselves.
screw the script.
it turns rough fast. jaehyun groans low when you press your palm against the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, the sound guttural and making his grip on your waist tighten hard enough to leave a mark. he nips at your bottom lip, sharp enough to make you gasp and immediately deepens the kiss to slide his tongue past as he swallow the broken moan that slips out.
your brain is basically fried. you can’t think straight.
jaehyun doesn’t even let you breathe. his hands drop lower and cup your ass as he urges you backward toward the couch. you stumble into it and you collapse onto the cushions with jaehyun hovering above you in seconds. instinct takes over and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.
the kisses don’t stop, they just trail lower along your jaw, down your neck, and you moan louder especially when jaehyun grinds his hips down.
he's hard and you're wet. no use pretending otherwise.
“fuck…” jaehyun hisses and then your shirt is gone, yanked over your head and tossed across the room like it means nothing. the sudden chill makes you shudder and instinct has you trying to cover yourself but jaehyun doesn’t let you. he grabs both wrists and pins them down against the couch cushion. before you can even curse at him, warm lips close around your nipple and your breath stutters out in a gasp.
“ahh—mhh…” the sounds tumble out uncontrollably before you can stop them. you arch up as your body chases more contact. you want to so badly grab onto jaehyun's hair but with your hands trapped, you're left helpless and reduced to a trembling, whining mess. jaehyun switches between your nipples, sucking and licking until your whole body feels like it’s shaking. all the while his hips grind down and his cock rubbing through your thin layer of shorts, just enough to torment but nowhere near enough to satisfy.
when jaehyun tugs at your nipple with his teeth, you let out a whine as your hips jerks up on instinct.
“fuck… baby…” jaehyun groans against your skin as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. his hands wander restlessly, one sliding down over every inch of skin he can touch, the other tugging at the waistband of your shorts. “i don’t have a condom…”
you whimper, frustration spilling over your body. your brain barely works but your mouth blurts shamelessly anyway.
“j-just… just fuck my thighs.”
jaehyun freezes. his brain short-circuits, and whatever self-control he thought he had? gone.
you have no idea what kind of chaos you just invited in.
jaehyun wastes zero time, he yanks your shorts down without warning and ears a yelp as you instinctively close your thighs together at the sudden rush of cold air. it doesn’t last long though because jaehyun is already shoving down his own sweats and boxers in one motion. your eyes drop and your jaw just… goes slack.
and then you stare.
holy shit.
jaehyun's cock is huge. not just big... massive. thick, girthy, and veiny. there is no way that thing could ever fit inside you if it came down to it. just the thought of the stretch makes your whole body tense. you would split in half.
your breath stutters when you watch jaehyun casually spit into his palm, long fingers wrapping around himself as he starts stroking himself slowly. fuck. that’s so hot. it’s unfair how hot that is.
for a second, you almost forget you're supposed to hate this guy.
then jaehyun settles between your thighs again and forces them apart without resistance. “damn,” he mutters as he stares at you. you can’t even think about covering up. your body’s already covered in hickeys and bite marks, cunt soaking and aching, hole exposed and twitching.
jaehyun spits into his palm again, this time rubbing his fingers around your cunt and stroking them slowly. you moan immediately. when jaehyun presses his cock at your hole and grinds, the friction makes you whine, head tipping back against the couch as you writhe beneath him and pant helplessly.
then jaehyun grabs your thighs and squeezes them tight together, slotting his cock right between the soft press of them before thrusting forward without warning.
“ah—ahh, jaehyun—wait—” you gasp, your voice cracking apart into moans that spill out of you helplessly. you don’t know where to hold or what to grab onto. everything is too overwhelming and jaehyun's relentless pace is making it worse. jaehyun fucks into the tight space between your thighs, his cock grinding hard against your cunt and the messy slide of skin-on-skin makes you tremble all over.
“keep your thighs close, y/n,” jaehyun growls. his hands clamp down on your legs and holding you exactly where he wants you, then his hips slam forward over and over.
and you?
you've never felt anything like this before. never felt this much pleasure in your life.
you've also never felt so fucking vulnerable.
jaehyun's still mostly dressed, only his cock out, while you are bare, completely stripped down and exposed to every greedy touch and hungry stare. it feels humiliating but god... it feels so fucking good. especially with jaehyun's mouth latched on you and sucking at your nipples.
you arch up, moaning louder as your thoughts blur. and then a dangerous thought slips in... what if you actually got properly fucked?
you'd probably cry.
“jaehyun… i’m close—” you gasp, voice shaking as your stomach twists tight. but jaehyun doesn’t slow down, not even a little. if anything, he fucks harder and his thrusts are turning desperate like he’s fully set on wrecking you.
“i’m close too…” jaehyun groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck. moments later, with one last deep thrust that makes your eyes roll back, you both come together.
you let out a broken moan, body trembling helplessly. jaehyun grunts against your skin, holding you tight and grinding slowly as he rides out every aftershock before finally stilling.
for a while, the only sound is your panting and hearts racing like crazy.
eventually, jaehyun pulls back just enough to look at you as he takes in your fucked-out state. then he leans down and kisses you slow. when he finally pulls away, for the first time all night, you don’t even have one sarcastic thing to say.
“and cut! wow, that was amazing, you two. as expected.” director beams from behind the monitor, clapping his hands like he just watched art come to life. around the set, crew members finally start moving again... some looking quietly impressed, others looking way too flustered to even make eye contact.
it’s the big day, scene 28, and somehow, you nail it in one go.
honestly, if you didn’t know better, you’d probably think you both were actually doing it. that’s how good it looked.
you slip on your robe, trying to act unbothered as you head over to your manager. your manager is waiting with the proudest grin. “wow, y/n. the practice really paid off, huh?”
your cheeks heat up instantly and you scoff. “yeah. it was hard at first… but we got through it.”
your manager hums. “well, at least scene 28 is done, right? nothing left to stress about.”
“yeah…” you nod, maybe a little too quick.
but then your eyes drift across the room and there he is.
jeong jaehyun. smirking like the smug bastard he always is, eyes locked right on you like he hadn’t just fake-fucked you into the mattress. worse, he’s still in costume... hair messy and shirt unbuttoned just enough. he knows exactly what he’s doing.
then your phone buzzes.
asshole: hey pretty:) wanna grab some coffee?
you: no
asshole: aww :((( we did so well today, don’t you think it deserves a little celebration?
you: why the hell would u even need a celebration for a sex scene?
asshole: hahaha nothing, you just did so great
you: lol thanks
asshole: so… you want to or not?
you: fine, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends
asshole: of course y/n hahaha. friends don’t usually rub their genitals together
you: SHUT UP
the scene might’ve wrapped but whatever this thing between you is… yeah, it’s just getting started.
pairing: porn director!haechan x newbie porn star!fem reader
genre: smut (pwp) 18+ mdni!
warnings / tags: explicit sexual content, workplace power dynamics, horny pining, eye contact kink / eye fucking, voyeurism-ish, soft dom haechan, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (whoops), overstimulation, squirting
wc: ~7.5k of pure filth
a/n: i am so so so sorry for keeping you guys waiting 🥲 sorry in advance if it's shitty af so please lower your expectations 😭 but still! please please please let me know what you think 🙏
Part 1
The next morning hits like a hangover he didn’t earn.
Haechan shows up twenty minutes early — unheard of — coffee in one hand, cap pulled low, hoodie zipped to the chin. He's already snapping at the lighting guy before the man even opens his mouth.
“Move the key light three inches left. It’s going to wash her out. Again.”
The crew exchanges glances. He’s always been sharp, but today he’s mean.
Snapping at the sound guy for a mic that’s “too hot,” telling makeup to “Don’t overdo her lips today. I don’t want them looking bitten on camera” when they’re literally just glossed.
Everyone chalks it up to a bad night.
Only Haechan knows the truth: he spent the entire night replaying your orgasm on loop, coming twice more in the shower just trying to get you out of his system.
It didn’t work.
He’s halfway through giving notes to a PA when—
You laugh.
Soft. Bright. Somewhere behind him.
He goes still.
His eyes snap to you before he can stop them.
You’re standing near the monitors, robe loose, hair still a little messy from sleep with that same soft, nervous-excited smile you had yesterday. You wave at the crew, thank them again for the compliments.
For a second, he just watches.
Then your eyes flick up.
You catch him staring.
You hold it—just long enough to feel intentional.
His grip tightens around the coffee cup.
He looks away first. Too fast. Clears his throat. “Places in ten.”
–
The scene today is POV. Simple setup: male talent (thank fuck it’s not Chad this time) on his back, you riding him, camera mounted to mimic his view. Intimate. Close. Lots of eye contact, body rolls, hands on hips/thighs/waist for leverage. The kind of shot that sells “connection”.
Haechan hates it already.
He calls action. You climb onto the bed, robe slipping off your shoulders, skin glowing under the soft ring lights. The actor’s hands find your waist immediately—professional, practiced.
You sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch until you’re fully seated on his cock, a soft, involuntary moan slipping out as the stretch hits just right.
You start slow, grinding down in lazy circles, head tipping back on a breathy moan that’s half-scripted, half-real.
Haechan’s staring at the monitor like it personally offended him.
Except he doesn’t look away.
His jaw tightens as the feed fills with you—every shift of your hips, every soft expression.
It’s wrong. It’s his job to watch, to adjust, to make it look good.
But there’s a split second, buried under all of that, where it hits him differently—heat curling low in his stomach, sharp and unwanted.
It should be him.
The thought arrives before he can stop it.
Followed immediately by something uglier—the actor's hands on your waist, thumbs pressing into skin that Haechan can almost feel in his own palms.
He doesn't say anything. Obviously. He just grips his coffee harder than it needs to and watches you move, hating every second of how much he can’t look away.
“Camera’s too high,” he mutters. Then louder: “Cut. Reset.”
The crew groans internally. Second take, not even thirty seconds in.
You sit back on your heels, confused but obedient. Your co-actor slides out carefully.
Haechan stands and walks over. The set goes quiet.
“I need to adjust you,” he says, voice coming out rough. “The angle’s off. You’re blocking the shot.”
He’s lying.
The angle’s fine.
He just… needs to touch you. Once. Just once. To see if it’s as bad as he remembers from yesterday’s guiding scene.
You nod. “Okay.”
He steps between your parted thighs—still kneeling on the bed, robe open just enough that he can see the curve of your stomach, the dip of your waist. He doesn’t look down. Not yet.
His hands hover for half a second, then settle.
Left palm on your hip bone. Right on the soft dip above your waist.
The second his fingertips meet your skin, something in his brain short-circuits.
Soft.
Warm.
Giving under his grip like you were made to be held. Your skin is velvet-smooth, still carrying that faint post-shower heat, and when you shift slightly to give him better access, the flesh yields just enough to make his thumbs dig in involuntarily.
Fuck, she feels like this?
He’s touched hundreds of bodies on set. Guided hands, adjusted poses, repositioned limbs like they were props. Never once did it feel like this—like electricity arcing straight to his cock. Never once did his pulse hammer in his ears just from palms on hips.
He slides his hands lower—slow, “professional”—fingers splaying over the tops of your thighs. soft, thick, trembling just a little under his touch. He presses gently, spreading them wider for the camera (bullshit excuse), and your breath hitches. Tiny. Barely audible.
But he hears it.
His thumbs stroke once—once—along the inner curve of your thigh. Not high enough to be inappropriate. Just enough to feel the heat radiating from your core, close enough that he can smell your skin, your faint vanilla lotion, the ghost of arousal that’s already there.
You’re looking up at him. Eyes wide, lips parted. Not acting.
He’s losing it.
Mentally he’s already flipped you onto your back, spread you wide, buried his face between those thighs until you’re crying his name.
Physically, he’s still just…
Adjusting.
Hands shaking now. He can feel the tremor in his own fingers and prays you don’t notice.
“Like this,” he rasps, voice so low it’s almost a growl. He rolls your hips forward a fraction—guiding the motion you’ll use later—making your body arch just so. The movement drags your skin against his palms again, plush and perfect, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning.
Your thighs flex under his grip. A soft exhale escapes you.
He freezes.
For one heartbeat, neither of you moves.
Then he forces his hands away. Steps back like he’s been burned.
“Better,” he mutters. “That’s… better.”
He turns to the crew before anyone can see how blown his pupils are. “Roll it again.”
He drops back into his chair, legs crossed to hide the obvious bulge straining against his jeans. One hand scrubs over his face. The other fists on his thigh so hard it’ll bruise.
On the monitor, you start moving again—hips rolling exactly the way he just positioned you. Slow. Sensual. Eyes flicking to him every few seconds like you’re checking if he approves.
He approves.
He approves so much he might come in his pants if you keep looking at him like that.
And the shoot’s only just started.
The cameras are rolling again. Reset complete. The POV rig is mounted—sleek, invasive, positioned right where your co-actor’s eyes would be if this were real. It captures everything from below: the slow roll of your hips, the bounce of your breasts, the way your thighs flex around his waist as you sink down inch by inch.
Haechan is back in his chair but his posture is rigid now, his fingers digging into the armrests. He’s trying—God, he’s trying—to be the detached professional. Voice steady. Directions clipped. But every word comes out rougher than the last.
“Action.”
You start moving. Slow grinds at first, building rhythm. Your co-actor’s hands rest on your hips—light, guiding. You lean back just enough for the camera to catch the arch of your back, the sway of your body.
Haechan’s eyes are glued to the monitor feed. The POV angle fills the screen: your face hovering close, lips parted, eyes locked straight down the lens. Straight at him.
He swallows hard.
“Eyes on the camera,” he directs, voice low but carrying. “Hold it. Make it feel like you’re looking right at them. Right at me—at the viewer.”
He means the viewer. He swears he means the viewer.
But the way you obey—immediately, intensely—your gaze piercing the lens like it’s his face instead. The way your lashes flutter when you sink down — just once, involuntary, like even you can't help it.
It wrecks him. Through the screen. Through every layer of professionalism he's clinging to.
You ride harder now. Hips circling, rolling, taking your co-actor deeper. Soft moans spill out, breathier than yesterday, less controlled. Your hands brace against his chest for leverage as your back arches, head tipping just enough for your hair to fall over one shoulder.
Haechan shifts in his seat, but the friction against his aching cock makes his vision blur at the edges.
“Hands up,” he says, sharper than he means to. “Grip her—firm. Support her rhythm. Make it look possessive—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “Just keep her steady.”
Your co-actor obeys instantly. His palms slide up your sides, cupping your breasts—thumbs brushing the undersides before he squeezes gently, holding you steady as you bounce.
The monitor shows it all in perfect, filthy detail: the way your tits fill his hands, the subtle give of soft flesh under his fingers, the way your nipples visibly tighten at the contact.
Your mouth falls open on a gasp—real and unscripted, your eyes locked on the camera.
Never leaving him.
Haechan’s breath stutters. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring so hard the rest of the room fades out. Onscreen, you move like you’re chasing something just out of reach—hips rolling, body tightening, every motion sharper than the last.
And those eyes.
Fixed. Wanting. Burning straight through the lens.
A groan almost slips out. He catches it at the last second—turns it into a cough, hand flying to his mouth. The crew doesn’t notice. Or if they do, they don’t say shit.
Inside, though—
He’s coming apart.
Fuck.
Look at her.
Taking it so well. Moving like that…
For the camera.
For me.
He can’t stop the thoughts.
They come fast and hot, one bleeding into the next— imagining those are his hands instead—kneading, pinching, rolling your nipples until you’re whining his name. Imagining it’s his cock you’re riding, your walls tightening around him, your eyes locked on his like it’s always been him.
“Keep the pace,” he rasps, voice catching on the last word. “Don’t speed up yet. Build it. Let her feel every inch.”
You listen.
Slow, deliberate rolls that make your thighs tremble. The actor's grip tightens, thumbs circling your nipples, and you arch into it with a soft, helpless whine that hits Haechan straight square in the chest.
His free hand drops to his thigh. Fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
He's rock hard. Has been for the last ten minutes. The denim isn't hiding anything anymore and he knows it and he can't bring himself to care because every roll of your hips on that monitor feels like it's happening to him. Every moan sounds like it's for him.
Then your eyes flick — subtle, barely a second — right to where he's sitting behind the monitor.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough.
He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.
“Perfect,” he mutters, barely audible. “Just… fucking perfect.”
The take keeps going.
You keep looking at the camera like it’s him. He keeps watching like he’s the one buried inside you.
And he knows—deep in his aching, throbbing core—that he’s not making it through this shoot without losing it.
Not when you’re like this.
Not when it feels like you’re fucking him through the lens.
And then—
“I’m gonna cum.”
Soft. Broken. Barely above a whisper but the mics catch every syllable.
Cameras still rolling. Your hips still grinding down slow and filthy. Eyes still locked on the lens.
On him.
Wait—
Was that line in the script?
He can't remember. The script is a blur he barely glanced at because all he could think about was you — your skin under his palms earlier, your thighs trembling when he spread them, the way your breath hitched when his thumbs drifted just a little too close to where he really wanted to touch.
He doesn’t know if you’re acting.
He doesn’t know if you’re telling the crew.
He only knows you're looking straight through the camera — straight through the POV rig — straight into his eyes like the lens doesn't exist. Like there’s no crew, no fucking monitors. Just the two of you in this dimly-lit room.
Just him buried inside you.
Just him feeling every clench as you chase that edge.
“Keep going.”
His voice comes out wrecked—rougher than he’s ever let it sound on set.
It’s supposed to be a direction.
It doesn’t sound like it.
“Keep going,” he repeats, quieter this time, leaning so far forward the chair creaks. “Don’t stop. Ride it out. Let it build… let it happen.”
The crew thinks he’s talking to both of you.
He’s not.
He’s talking to you.
Telling you to keep moving like this—slow, deep, greedy—until you break.
On the monitor, the POV feed is unforgiving.
Your face fills half the frame— eyes glassy and pleading, lips parted. Your thighs shaking harder now, rhythm faltering as you get close.
You whimper — higher, needier.
“Haechan—”
His name.
Not scripted. Not “director.”
Just him.
Gasped out like a secret. Like a prayer.
His grip white-knuckles the armrest.
On screen you arch back, spine pulling into that perfect, filthy curve. Your hips stutter, grind down once—twice—and then—
You come.
For real.
Again.
Your body locks up, walls clenching tight, thighs snapping shut around your co-actor’s waist as a broken sound tears out of you. Your whole body trembles through it, shaking and helpless.
And still—
You don’t look away.
Your eyes stay locked on the lens. On him.
Tears gather at the corners, your expression wrecked from how intense it is, but you don’t blink. Don’t break.
Like you’re coming for him.
In his head, it’s his cock.
Has been since the second you said his name.
He can almost feel it — the way you'd flutter around him, chasing every last pulse while he holds your hips down and makes you take it. His mouth against your ear, voice barely above a whisper: "There you go. Just like that." — while your nails rake down his back and your mouth falls open on his name again and again.
On the monitor, you’re still riding it out—small, helpless rolls of your hips, soft whimpers fading into shaky breaths. The actor's still moving, chasing his scripted finish, but Haechan stopped seeing him a long time ago.
Only you.
The way your lips tremble like you want to say something else. Something that isn't in the script.
He's shaking.
Actually shaking in his chair.
"Cut," he rasps.
The set comes back to life. Crew members move in, lights shifting, someone calling out for water.
Haechan doesn’t move.
He stares at the frozen frame on the monitor — your face, blissed out, eyes still half-lidded and aimed exactly where he's sitting. Like even after the word "cut" you're still looking at him.
Still waiting.
He drags a hand down his face.
He has never come this close to breaking on set. Never once.
Never been this close to saying fuck the cameras, fuck the crew, fuck the rules—and just taking what’s felt like his since the moment you walked onto his set.
But he stays seated.
For now.
Because if he stands up right now everyone in this room will know exactly what you did to him.
And because he knows—deep in that aching, throbbing part of him—that the second this shoot wraps…
He’s not making it through another conversation with you without snapping.
—
The crew wraps fast—lights clicking off one by one, someone shouting about the boom mic, laughter echoing down the hall as people start heading out. You linger near the set, robe tied tight, skin still flushed and buzzing from the last take. Your thighs ache in the best-worst way.
But all you can think about is Haechan.
He's already moving — hoodie up, head down, fast and purposeful like he's trying to disappear. No goodbye. No "great work." Just gone, same as yesterday.
Something twists in your chest.
You follow before you can talk yourself out of it. Bare feet quiet against the cold floor, heart pounding so loud you’re sure he’ll hear it before you even reach him.
He slips into one of the side rooms—the green room no one uses because the AC’s broken and it always smells faintly like old coffee. Door half-open. You hesitate, then knock softly.
“Come in,” he mutters, voice tight. Distracted.
You push the door open.
He’s pacing. Three steps forward, three back. Hand dragging over his face, hoodie shoved low, hair a mess underneath. His breathing’s uneven, his shoulders are rigid, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump. Like he's one wrong word away from snapping.
You swallow. “Um… Haechan?”
He freezes mid-step. Doesn't turn around.
You take a small step inside. "I just wanted to ask about my performance. Was it… okay? The last take — I know I went off-script a little. The moaning and… saying your name. I thought it worked for the scene but if it was bad I can—"
“Stop.”
Sharp.
Too sharp.
You flinch.
He exhales hard through his nose, hand dragging through his hair. "I need to be alone right now. Just… go."
The words hit cold.
Your throat tightens. You nod, quick and small. "Oh. Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
You turn to leave, shoulders curling in, feeling suddenly small and stupid. Of course he didn’t want to talk. Of course—
Behind you, he makes a strangled sound—half groan, half curse.
“Wait.”
You freeze. Hand still on the door.
He’s right behind you now.
You didn’t even hear him move.
He's just — there, close enough that you can smell sweat and cologne and something underneath both that makes your brain go quiet.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, quieter now. Rough. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
You don’t turn right away. Can’t.
Your voice comes out small. “You sounded like you hate me.”
A beat of silence so thick it hurts.
“I don’t hate you,” he says, voice low, strained. “Not even a little.”
You finally look at him.
His jaw is tight, eyes cutting away then back, like he keeps making a decision and unmaking it. Like whatever's happening behind his face is costing him something.
"Then why…?"
He lets out a short, humorless laugh, dragging both hands down his face again.
“Because I’m trying not to lose my fucking mind right now. And every time you’re in the same room as me, I—” He cuts himself off, jaw ticking. “You did good. You did too good. That’s the problem.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. “Too good?”
He steps closer.
Not touching. Never touching.
But close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that you can see the tension in his arms, fists clenched at his sides.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Too good. Too real. Too fucking perfect. You came on camera—twice now—like that, looking right at me, saying my name like it’s the only word you know, and I’m supposed to just… direct?” He exhales sharply. “Pretend it doesn't affect me? Pretend I'm not sitting there so hard it hurts, trying not to come in my jeans while the whole crew thinks it's just another day?"
Your breath catches.
He keeps going, voice dropping. "You have no idea what you do to me. How many times I've had to walk away so I don't drag you off that set and finish what you started. And then you come in here asking if you did a bad job?"
He exhales, sharp. "Fuck, baby. You almost killed me out there."
The pet name slips out before he can stop it.
His eyes widen a fraction — like he heard it too — but he doesn't take it back.
You’re shaking now. Not from the cold.
“I thought…” Your voice wavers. “I thought I ruined it. Or that you were mad.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. For wanting this. For wanting you.”
His throat bobs once.
“For not being able to look away when you fall apart like that.”
Silence stretches between you.
He's so close now his hoodie brushes your robe. You can feel the heat of him everywhere — chest, thighs, everywhere.
"I should go," you whisper, even though your feet won't move.
"You should," he agrees, voice rough. But he doesn't step back. Doesn't open the door wider.
Instead, his hand lifts—slow, hesitant—and hovers near your cheek. Not touching. Just… there. Fingers trembling like he’s holding himself back by a thread.
“But I don’t want you to.”
Your eyes close for a second.
When you open them, he’s still there. Still looking at you like that.
"Tell me to stop," he says quietly. "Tell me to fuck off, and I will. If you don't want this I'll back off. I swear I will." His voice dips. "But if you don't…"
He lets it trail off.
Let it sit there between you—promise and warning all at once.
The air feels too thick to breathe.
You don’t tell him to leave.
You don't move at all.
And that's all the answer he needs.
The room feels smaller now. Air thick with everything unsaid.
Haechan's still standing too close, hoodie brushing your robe, hand hovering near your cheek like he's afraid one wrong move will break whatever this is.
Your eyes drop.
Land on the small damp spot already darkening the denim.
Your breath catches audibly.
He follows your line of sight—and freezes.
Color rushes up his neck, his ears, his cheeks — he looks caught, exposed, like you just found something he's been hiding for hours.
Which you have.
You swallow. Your voice comes out small, shy, almost disbelieving.
"Is that… because of me?"
A small pause. Eyes flicking back up to his.
"I did that?"
Haechan exhales sharply. His Adam's apple bobs. He doesn't look away — can't — and his voice cracks when he answers.
"Yeah."
Just that.
No excuses. No deflection.
“Yeah, baby. You did that.”
The pet name slips again, softer this time. Careful. Like he’s testing it. His eyes search yours like he's waiting for you to bolt.
You don’t.
Instead your knees hit the floor.
A soft thud against the carpet.
You're eye level with his hips now, close enough to see the way his thighs flex when he shifts slightly. Hands hovering uncertainly just above his thighs. Not quite touching.
Haechan jolts. Hands fly up like he’s going to stop you—then stall midair.
“What—what are you doing?” His voice is strangled, panicked. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. His legs stay planted, breath coming faster, cock twitching visibly under the fabric like it’s begging for attention.
You look up at him.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, and it almost sounds real. "I didn't mean to make you this hard. It must've been so difficult. Trying to direct like that. All day."
A strangled sound leaves him—half laugh, half something rougher.
"Difficult doesn't even—" He cuts himself off the second your fingers brush the button of his jeans.
You don't ask permission. You just do it.
Button pops. Zipper rasps down slow, loud in the quiet room. You tug the waistband down with it.
He sucks in a sharp breath.
You don’t look away.
You gasp—quiet, involuntary. Eyes widening, lips parting.
He’s… bigger than you expected. Thick, flushed, the curve of him making your stomach drop as you take it in.
Haechan makes a broken noise in the back of his throat. One hand shoots to the doorframe, knuckles going white. The other hovers near your head—like he wants to thread his fingers through your hair but doesn’t trust himself not to pull.
“Fuck—wait—”
Too late.
You lean forward and take him into your mouth.
No teasing. Just warm, wet heat enveloping the head, tongue flat against the underside as you sink down on the first go.
Haechan actually stumbles a little at the feeling of it.
"Shit — oh my god —" His voice cracks, hips jerking forward before he catches himself. Hand finally lands in your hair — not pulling, just holding, trembling. "Baby — fuck — you don't have to —"
But you do.
You hum around him — and the vibration makes his whole body shudder. You pull back slow, lips dragging, tongue swirling around the head before sinking down again. Deeper this time. Cheeks hollowing. Hand wrapping around what your mouth can't reach, stroking in time.
He’s already losing it. Head tipped back against the door, eyes squeezed shut like the sight of you on your knees might actually kill him.
"You — fuck — You’re gonna fucking ruin me," he rasps. "Been hard for you since yesterday… and now this—fuck—”"
You pull off just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip.
"I'm sorry it was hard for you." A soft kiss. "Let me make it better."
Then you take him again — deeper, faster, throat relaxing as you work him with everything you've got.
“Fuck—good girl—such a good girl—”
His grip tightens. Hips start to rock — shallow, helpless thrusts he can't stop. Low, broken moans spill out of him.
He’s close. You can feel it in the way his body tenses, the way his thighs shake, the way his breath stutters like he’s trying to warn you and can’t get it out in time.
“Baby—I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”
You don't pull off.
You take him deeper.
Suck harder.
Look up at him with those same wide eyes you gave the camera all day.
And that's what breaks him.
Haechan comes with a strangled groan—hips snapping forward, cock pulsing hot and thick down your throat as he spills. You swallow around him, throat working, not spilling a drop.
He's trembling when it's over. Hand still fisted gently in your hair, thumb stroking your cheek like he’s trying to calm himself down.
You pull off slowly. Lips swollen and eyes glassy.
And he just… stares.
Like he doesn’t know what to do with what just happened.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're unreal."
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly shy again. "Did that… help?"
He lets out a weak, disbelieving laugh and drops to his knees so you're face to face. Cups your jaw in both hands, thumbs brushing your swollen lips.
Then he kisses you — hard, desperate, tasting himself on your tongue like he's claiming every second of what just happened.
The door's still unlocked.
The crew's still somewhere in the building.
But right now?
None of that exists.
Only this.
The kiss starts desperate — hands cupping your face like you're something about to vanish if he lets go.
He pulls you up from your knees in one smooth motion, body flush against his, and walks you backward until the small table catches the backs of your thighs. Lifts you onto it without breaking the kiss.
Your legs part around him instinctively. Robe falling completely open, skin cold against the surface while he presses in close.
He groans into your mouth the second he feels how wet you are — how slick your thighs still are from earlier.
“Fuck.”
The sound gets swallowed by your mouth as he kisses you harder, tongue against yours, messy and desperate. One hand tangles in your hair while the other slides down your side—finally, finally touching without cameras, without excuses, without pretending any of this is professional anymore.
"Been wanting this since the second you walked on set. Wanted to touch you. Taste you. Make you come for me instead." A pause, voice dropping to almost nothing. "Not some lens. Not some script. Me."
He drops to his knees so fast it almost hurts — kneecaps hitting the floor, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider.
He goes still for a second.
Just — looks.
Like he's been starving for this exact view and now that he has it, he doesn't know where to start.
Then he dives in.
No buildup. No teasing.
Just his mouth on you like he's been thinking about nothing else all day.
The first drag of his tongue against your clit makes your whole body jolt, your hips jerk off the table before you can stop them.
You gasp sharply, fingers flying into his hair. He moans into you. Loud. Unashamed. Like he's the one being taken apart, the vibration making your thighs shake harder around his head.
His tongue flicked against your clit relentlessly while his nose stayed pressed against your mound, buried so deep between your thighs it was like he never wanted to come up for air.
"Fuck." He groans, hot and muffled against your folds. "You taste so good."
He pulls back just enough to bite down on the inside of your thigh — not hard, just enough to feel it. Just to hear the sound you make. Then licks over the sting before burying himself back in.
His hands slide under your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the table, lifting, tilting your hips so he can get deeper — and then his tongue is inside you, curling, and you cry out sharp enough that you slap a hand over your own mouth.
His nose nudges against your clit while his tongue pushes deeper, dragging another broken sound from your throat before he comes back up to suck your clit between his lips slow enough to make your whole body shake.
And every time you react—every twitch of your hips, every pull at his hair, every helpless little sound—he moans against you again, hands tightening on your thighs like it’s getting him off too.
“Look at you,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to speak. His lips are wet, chin shining under the light, eyes completely blown. “Moaning like that for me. Fuck, baby—come on my tongue. Let me feel it.”
He dives back in.
Two fingers slide inside you, curling deep enough to make your back arch off the table while his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking in a messy rhythm with every thrust of his hand.
You stop trying to stay quiet. You’re loud now—completely unable to stop it. Gasps turning into broken cries of his name.
“Haechan—oh god—”
He whines against you. Actually whines.
His hips jerk uselessly against nothing, cock hard again already, but he doesn’t touch himself once. Doesn’t seem to care. All he cares about is the way your thighs lock around his head like you never want him to stop.
Every reaction you give him only makes him groan louder against your skin, hands tightening around your thighs like he’s getting drunk off this.
"That's it," he growls, voice vibrating against your clit. "Come for me. Come on my face."
And you do.
Harder than on set. Harder than anything.
Your whole body locks up with it, thighs tightening around his head as a sob rips out of your throat, back arching while you pulse around his fingers.
He doesn’t stop—keeps going, moaning against you like he’s the one coming, still licking through every aftershock like he can't make himself stop.
When you finally slump back, trembling, chest heaving, he pulls away slow.
Lips swollen. Face a mess. Eyes glassy and dark and so blissed out it almost hurts to look at.
He rests his forehead against your inner thigh.
Breathing hard. Pressing soft, reverent kisses to your skin like he's grateful.
"Jesus," he whispers, voice hoarse. "I could do this forever."
He looks up at you with this dazed little smile that somehow feels filthier than anything he’s said so far.
"But we're not done."
His hands slide up your sides.
"Not even close."
He rises slowly from his knees, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, lifting you just enough to keep your legs around his waist.
Then he’s kissing you again.
Harder this time. Messier. Tongue pushing into your mouth so you can taste yourself on him, and the second you do, your stomach twists. You make this pathetic little sound into the kiss, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he groans back like the sound alone could finish him off.
“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, voice rough. “You taste so good.”
You can barely think straight after that.
One hand braces against the table beside you while the other reaches down between your bodies, guiding himself against you. He’s still hard—still twitching from your mouth earlier, from watching you come apart on his tongue.
He wraps a hand around himself and slowly drags the tip between your folds, collecting the slick already dripping out of you. The accidental brush against your clit made you whimper.
The head of his cock catches at your entrance.
He presses forward just enough to part your folds, the blunt head stretching your entrance slightly before he stops.
You look at him and his eyes are already on yours, dark and intense enough to make heat crawl up your neck all over again.
No words. Just that heavy, burning stare — like he's memorizing you. Every flicker across your face. Every breath.
Then he pushes in.
Slow.
So fucking slow.
Inch by thick inch, stretching you open, filling you until your breath hitches and your nails bite into his hoodie.
And he keeps looking at you.
Doesn’t look away once.
He watches the way your brows pinch when he bottoms out — the way your mouth falls open, the soft sound you make when he settles deep inside you.
One hand pinning your thigh wider, exposing you fully as he watches his cock disappear into your dripping cunt. The sight alone — his cock splitting your swollen lips, veins dragging against your inner walls — makes his grip tighten against your skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
His voice actually shakes a little.
“Look at you.”
Heat floods straight to your face.
“Taking me so well.”
He stays buried inside you for a long moment, like he’s letting himself feel it. Letting you feel it too.
Then he starts to move.
Slow at first. Pulling back just enough before thrusting deep again, hips rolling instead of snapping, grinding against every sensitive spot until your legs start trembling around him.
His forehead presses against yours, breaths mixing together, and when you look up at him, he’s already staring.
“You feel that?” he whispers.
Another slow thrust.
“That’s me.”
Your stomach twists hard.
“Inside you. Finally.”
You can’t even answer properly. Just nod helplessly and cling to him while your hips keep chasing him without meaning to.
He kisses you again, messy and deep, before pulling back just enough to look at you.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs.
The same words he gave you on set. But this time there's no camera. No crew. No pretending.
“Don’t look away. I want to see every second of you cumming on my cock.”
He pulls back an inch, the drag of his cock along your walls making your breath catch, before pushing deeper again. The stretch hits harder this time, enough to make your legs tense around him, your pussy fluttering helplessly as he sinks halfway back in.
Every thrust knocks another broken sound out of you. The wet squelch of your soaked folds taking him echoes through the room while his hips keep rocking into yours, deep enough to leave you trembling around his waist.
And every time he bottoms out, the grind against your clit pulls another helpless sound from your throat.
Sweat slips down his skin, warm against your chest, and you lock your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him even closer.
One of his hands slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit in slow, firm circles, pleasure cutting through the fullness hard enough to make your whole body jerk. The other stays at the back of your neck, keeping you close.
Your body responds instantly, hips lifting to meet every thrust as the rhythm builds into something hotter, steadier. The fullness turns almost dizzying, every slow plunge hitting that sweet spot and making your walls flutter around him.
You’re already shaking.
Still sensitive from his mouth. Still completely full of him.
“Haechan—”
His name comes out embarrassingly wrecked.
“Yeah?” he groans immediately, hips stuttering for the first time. “Say it again.”
Your whole world narrows to the sounds between you — the sharp smack of skin, the wet slide every time he thrusts back into you, your broken moans mixing with his rough breathing.
The pressure inside you snaps so suddenly it almost scares you.
Your whole body tightens around him as you come with his name on your lips, vision blurring at the edges from how intense it is. Your thighs lock around his waist, and he lets out this wrecked sound like he can feel every pulse of you.
And he watches every second.
Like he can’t look away even if he wants to.
The way your body arches toward him like he’s gravity itself.
That’s what pushes him over.
He buries himself deep one last time and comes with a low, broken moan, hips twitching against yours while he rides through it. Even after, he stays close, staring at you like he’s still trying to process what just happened.
He doesn’t pull out.
The small room still smells faintly of coffee and sex, the air thick and warm from everything you’ve already done.
Haechan catches his breath against your neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses along your collarbone like he’s still savoring the taste of your skin. Then he pulls back just enough to look at you.
His eyes are dark. Still hungry.
One hand slides under your thigh while the other braces at your waist before he lifts you off the table in one smooth motion. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, ankles locking behind his back as he carries you across the room.
The movement makes you feel every inch of him still buried inside you, deep enough to pull a shaky breath from your lungs, and Haechan groans quietly at the way you tighten around him.
He steps out of his jeans halfway across the room, kicking them aside without a second thought before dropping onto the old leather couch against the wall.
The couch leather is cool and slightly sticky against Haechan’s bare back, creaking softly beneath him as he sinks deeper into it, thighs spread wide, eyes fixed on you the entire time.
Your robe is long gone now, discarded somewhere on the floor with his hoodie. Nothing between you but skin, heat, and the lingering throb of wanting more.
His hands are already on you.
Warm palms slide up the backs of your thighs, fingers spreading possessively over your skin as he guides you into his lap. Your knees sink into the worn cushions on either side of his hips, chest pressed flush against his.
Every tiny movement drags your nipples against his, sends another pulse of heat straight through you. You can feel his heartbeat hammering beneath your hands — fast, uneven, matching the ache building low in your stomach.
And the way he looks up at you —
Like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to touch.
His hands slide to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to guide, not force. He doesn’t rush. Just keeps you there for a second, letting you feel the slow pulse of him still inside you.
“Ride me,” he says, voice low and rough, eyes never leaving yours.
“Slow,” he murmurs. “Like you did on set… but this time it’s just for me.”
You lift yourself slightly, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other guides him back inside you. He feels hot and heavy against your slick folds, the head of him catching at your entrance before slowly sliding deeper.
The stretch hits harder like this — facing him, every inch sliding in with a slow, burning glide that makes your breath hitch audibly. You sink down inch by inch, feeling the way he throbs inside you like a second heartbeat while his eyes stay locked on your face the entire time.
When your ass finally meets his thighs—fully seated, stuffed full— Haechan’s head falls back against the couch with a low groan. His hands flex hard against your hips like he’s trying to hold himself together, eyes squeezing shut for half a second before snapping open again.
And then he’s looking at you.
Like he can’t stand missing a single second of this.
“Fuck—baby,” he breathes.
His hands wander up your back before settling on your hips, helping guide you into the same slow roll that already has both of you breathing harder.
“You feel so good,” he groans softly. “Still so fucking tight…”
You start moving properly then — slow lifts until only the head remains inside followed by deep, dragging drops, grinding down every time your hips meet his.
The angle is perfect. Every roll presses against that spot inside you while the friction between your bodies sends heat shooting straight up your spine.
Wet sounds fill the quiet room — slick, rhythmic, embarrassingly loud — mixing with your uneven breathing and the occasional creak of the old couch beneath you.
Haechan’s hands roam everywhere.
Thighs. Waist. Up your sides.
Thumbs brushing beneath your breasts before he cups them fully, palms hot against your skin as his fingers toy with your nipples until they ache. Then he leans in and takes one into his mouth with a groan, sucking hard before switching to the other while you whimper and grind down harder against him.
But somehow he always comes back to your face.
A hand cups your jaw, thumb dragging lightly across your bottom lip as he keeps your gaze fixed on him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep looking at me.”
The words sound dangerously close to his on-set directions, except softer now. Rougher around the edges. Possessive in a way that makes your stomach twist.
Every time you sink back down, your clit catches against the coarse hair at the base of him, sending a sharp pulse through you. The pressure building inside you feels different this time — deeper, heavier, like something tightening low in your stomach every time he thrusts up into you.
“I wanna see every time you feel good,” he says quietly. “Every time I make you feel good.”
His mouth finds your neck, sucking lightly while his teeth graze your pulse.
His hips start rolling up to meet you now, deep controlled thrusts that make you gasp every time he bottoms out.
You whimper softly, hips faltering for a second when he thrusts into you again.
“That’s it,” he groans, voice cracking this time. “Just like that—fuck.”
His grip tightens at your hips.
“Your face when you take me…” He breaks off with another breathless sound, eyes dragging over your expression. “God.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling slow and firm in time with your hips. The pressure builds so intensely your thighs start shaking around him, pleasure twisting almost painfully low in your stomach—too much fullness, too much heat, too much him.
He angles his hips just slightly on the next thrust, hitting that spot perfectly while his thumb presses harder against your clit.
“Haechan—”
His name comes out broken and pleading. Your thighs are trembling, burning, but you can’t stop.
The release crashes over you so suddenly it steals the breath from your lungs.
Something inside you snaps.
You cry out, back arching hard your breasts press into his face as your walls tighten around him in sharp pulsing waves. Wet heat floods between your thighs, soaking him, the couch, both of you, and the sound of it makes Haechan groan low in his throat like he can’t believe what he’s feeling.
“Fuck—yeah, that’s it—”
He’s moaning with you now, hips stuttering while he watches your face like he’s completely gone from it.
“So pretty,” he breathes brokenly. “Fuck… you’re so pretty when you come.”
He doesn’t stop moving. Keeps thrusting through it slowly, dragging out every tremor until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation, thighs shaking so badly you can barely stay upright.
Only then does he finally let himself go.
One last deep thrust, burying himself inside you as he comes with a wrecked groan of your name, arms tightening around you while both of you shake through it.
You collapse against his chest afterward, breathing hard, skin damp with sweat and everything else. His arms wrap around you immediately, holding you close like he doesn’t want an inch of space between you.
Open-mouthed kisses press against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“Jesus,” he whispers, voice completely ruined. “You just… fuck.”
You hide your face in his neck, suddenly too embarrassed to look at him.
He laughs softly under his breath, still sounding wrecked, fingers sliding gently through your hair.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Another kiss presses against your hairline before he shifts you carefully in his lap, still inside you and softening slowly, until you’re curled against his chest.
For a long moment afterward, neither of you moves.
Just breathing.
Skin sticking together.
The faint drip of your combined release somewhere beneath you.
His heartbeat slowing beneath your cheek.
His lips brush your ear, smile warm against your skin.
“…I genuinely don’t know how I’m supposed to direct tomorrow without losing my mind.”
OKAY OKAY THIS IS SO HOT!!! definitely worth the wait. Now now, i’m curious what their relationship would be like???? Will they date? ORRRRRRRR keeping it like this??? Idk either way, loved it so much
pairing: brother’s friend! haechan x friend’s sister! reader
word count: 12k+
warnings: nothing really, just making out. lots of kisses. an are you gay? joke. some curse words. alcohol. clubbing.
an: i haven’t stopped listening to drop dead since it came out and i fr just had to lock in and write something about it. this may or may not be based on real life events, real conversations, real crushes, real hotel rooms. who knows? (i know)
🏹
a brother’s friend is off limits. a friend’s sister? definitely off limits. it’s one of those unspoken rules everyone just knows.
and your younger brother — sweet, oblivious, far too trusting with the men around him — made the wrong move.
it’s not his fault.
the two of you were only three years apart and life’s circumstances forced you to become best friends. and as the best of friends, you ended up here — in a fully paid hotel room his rich friend invited him to. all expenses covered.
a little suspicious? maybe.
but you’re not one to pass up on free things. especially a free night stay at a four star hotel.
and, really — you’re practically just one of the guys.
…except for the tiny, inconvenient detail that you might have a tiny crush on his so-called rich friend — lee haechan.
“so,” giselle’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, “that haechan guy is kinda cute. definitely your type.”
you already know that.
“hm…he’s alright,” you shrug, forcing a careless tone as you drag your eyeliner across your lid. too long. you wipe it with concealer. too short. you redraw it. a repetitive cycle until you finally accept that your eyeliner are sisters, not twins.
“ugh!” she flops dramatically onto her bed — the room comes with two double beds, courtesy of haechan, which she refuses to stop bringing up. “you always say that. when are you finally getting a boyfriend?”
you laugh. because she’s not the only one in your friend group waiting for that miracle to happen.
“please, i’m so tired of boys,” you say, lining your lips now, “i swear — there’s no real men nowadays. they all act like princesses.”
“girl, he might be different!” she insists, sitting up now, eyes wide. “just make the first move. i swear, with how pretty you are? he’ll be wrapped around your finger in seconds,” she continues, adorably pouting up at you.
you don’t know why your friends are so obsessed with your nonexistent love life. you barely think about it at all. at least, not as much as they seem to.
“no fucking way,” you reply, smacking your lips together as you finish with your gloss, “you know i’m old fashioned.”
“fine! whatever,” she groans.
her phone rings on the nightstand she’s occupied, finally taking her attention off of you.
instantly, her entire demeanor softens.
“hi my love,” she coos at her phone and you almost snort.
you can’t even imagine yourself talking like that. to a boy. ever.
“yeah, baby, i’m just gonna go to the club for a bit with y/n and her brother and a couple of their friends, i promise i’ll be back at the hotel before 2 a.m.”
ew. updates like that? like she’s reporting to a parent? the thought makes you scrunch your nose. could never be you.
“oki, yes, i’ll call you later taro, i love you.”
she hangs up, all dreamy-eyed and glowing, catching your gaze in the mirror. you gag dramatically, sticking your tongue out, and she laughs, throwing a pillow straight at your head.
“but seriously,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows.
“seriously what?”
“why are we even invited to this?” she gestures around the room, “we’re the only two girls here. and i’m only here because of you — he has to be at least a little interested in you to book us a room.”
you shrug, refusing to agree, even though a small part of you knows that lee haechan may also have a tiny crush on you, too.
because there was that moment.
that stupid, lingering four seconds when your eyes met for the first time. you didn’t even say hi then. there were no introductions. no words. but you felt it. crazy, as that sounds.
even crazier when you take in the fact that you only really formally met him earlier today — at the hotel lobby. when he waved at you, awkwardly, passed you your hotel room card and personally walked you and giselle up your room, which was, coincidentally, right next to his.
“jisung probably just forced him to include us,” you say, still pretending the boy had no effect on you, “and everyone knows no one can say no to my brother.”
giselle laughs, “yeah i guess…your brother is just too adorable to say no too.”
you scrunch your nose up again…because…ew. if only they knew how annoying that little shit actually is.
“we still have three hours until we need to get to the club,” you say, glancing at your watch, “wanna check out the hotel?”
giselle nods immediately, already halfway off the bed before you even finish your sentence.
the two of you wander through the hotel. pool first, then the gym, then the café where you linger a little too long pretending to consider overpriced pastries you both know you’re not buying. eventually, you make your way up to the rooftop, the view stretching out in gold and glass and city noise.
it would’ve been perfect. if it wasn’t so hot. like, offensively hot. the kind that clings to your skin and melts your makeup no matter how hard you try to salvage it.
“okay, no,” giselle groans, fanning herself with her hand. “i’m gonna pass out.”
“same,” you laugh, already turning back toward the elevator, “let’s go back.”
by the time you reach your floor, you’re both a little flushed, a little sticky, and very ready for air conditioning.
but as you walk down the hallway, something catches your attention — the door to haechan’s room is wide open.
and before you can even pretend not to notice — chenle, your personal favorite friend of your brothers’, pops out.
“hey! come in—we’re just pregaming,” he says, his kitty-like smile beaming at you, whiskers and everything. and how could you say no to that actual cutie?
the room smells faintly of alcohol and cologne, the table cluttered with half-empty bottles of vodka and mixers, some sadboi/fuckboi playlist humming through the speakers. and the boys are all sprawled out in different parts of the room.
your brother was by the window, one hand in his pocket while jaemin angles a camera at him like he’s shooting a magazine spread. jeno’s on the bed, head down, thumbs moving across his phone — probably texting that situationship jisung told you all about. renjun’s seated neatly in the corner chair, sipping from his bottle like he doesn’t belong in the chaos at all. then there’s someone new, someone you didn’t meet in the hotel lobby earlier.
and of course, lee haechan — with his back against the wall, a bottle in hand, standing coolly, chatting softly with renjun.
you’re not sure if that’s his natural habitat or if he’s putting up a front for you but you come to a conclusion quickly — you don’t really like it. he seems different from the first time you ever saw him. like he’s trying to be someone he’s not. but then again, you don’t even know who he is.
“hey, i’m mark,” the new guy says, bringing your attention back to him.
mark’s cute. his leather jacket fits him perfectly and he seems like the friendly/outgoing type which are the type of people you enjoy the most since you’re not too friendly yourself.
“i’m y/n,” you say, returning his smile, “this is my friend, giselle.”
she waves at everyone before sitting at the unoccupied bed and starting a conversation with mark. she asks her what his major is. he asks her about her job. leaving you standing there.
your brother, who has now finally realized you were in the room turns towards your voice, and you look at him.
“i can’t believe you guys started pregaming without us.”
“oops,” he shrugs, giving you a gummy smile. you notice jaemin’s camera is pointed at you now. you throw it a small peace sign with the signature duck lips — something you’ve embarrassingly conditioned yourself to do every time a camera is on you.
“here,” a voice captures your attention and your eyes are on the bottle haechan is handing you.
to be fair — he is the closest one to you, geographically speaking, so it’s only right he was handing you a bottle.
you inspect it. it’s quite literally — green.
“uhm…that look’s disgusting,” you say, a playful, totally not flirtatious, lilt in your voice.
he chuckles softly, holding the bottle out closer, “just try it, it’s not that bad.”
“how do i know if i can trust you?” you continue the playful nature, an eyebrow going up, the tiny smile on your face purposefully evident so he knows you’re kidding.
and he plays along with you. his mouth curving slowly, amused.
“guess you’ll just have to take that risk,” he smirks, still holding the bottle out to you.
you huff out a quiet laugh, finally taking the bottle from his hand and bringing it up to your lips, ignoring the fact that this was, technically — an indirect kiss.
but whatever.
you’re too old to be giggling about indirect kisses.
you’re delightfully surprised when the alcohol hits your tongue, eyes flicking back up to him immediately, and he’s already watching you. like he never looked away in the first place. waiting.
“what did you put in this?” you ask, narrowing your eyes slightly.
“can’t tell you, it’s a secret ingredient,” he teases.
“okay, mr. krabs,” you scoff, taking another sip, trying to decipher what the flavor is…until it finally clicks, “it’s lime tang, isn’t?”
he gives you a small chuckle. it’s cute.
“ahh,” he hums, clicking his tongue, “and here i thought you’d spend your whole life trying to pry the secret from me.”
you roll your eyes, and you hate the way you can feel your smile getting wider.
over a boy.
yuck.
“someone’s a little too obsessed with spongebob,” you mutter, “but i do have to give it to you haechan, this is pretty good.”
you hand the bottle back to him. but he doesn’t take it.
“keep it,” he says, gently pushing it back towards you, his hands soft, “it’s yours now.”
you hesitate for half a second, “…thanks.”
your fingers tighten around the bottle and for a moment, the two of you just — look at each other. and there it is again. that same pull from the four second eye contact when you first saw him at your brother’s university.
eventually, you have to force yourself to look away because his gaze is too much. and you don’t like it. too aware of all the people around you. too aware of the fact that your brother was just right there.
so you turn, slipping away before it lingers enough for the others to notice, dropping down beside giselle on the bed. she’s mid conversation with mark, chenle and renjun who joined at some point, you didn’t even notice.
and you fall into it easily. laughing. talking. blending in like you always do.
🏹
when everyone was dressed up and ready, you all met at the lobby once again. you kept it simple, not wanting to make it look like you were trying to impress someone — just a black fitted mid top with low rise jeans, black kitten heels and your cherry red mini handbag.
“who’s riding with who?” you ask, already pulling your phone out, thumb hovering over the grab app.
you glance around casually. but not really. because a small, traitorous part of you is waiting. for him. just one sentence. one “i’ll go with you.” that’s all it would take.
but the moment stretches…then passes.
most of them still feel like strangers. after all, besides chenle, you met the rest of them today. and there’s still that awkward hesitation in the air, like no one wants to assume, no one wants to overstep.
renjun just nods, quiet but certain, like it was never even a question. and just like that, it’s decided.
you, giselle, mark, chenle, and renjun pile into one car.
jisung, jeno, jaemin, and haechan in another.
the ride is loud, easy, comfortable in a way that surprises you. mark keeps the conversation going effortlessly, chenle’s half-laughing at everything, and renjun, quiet at first, eventually warms up, adding little comments that make you laugh more than you expect.
it’s nice. more than nice. and for a moment, you forget about the other car entirely.
🏹
the club is already alive when you get there. lights flashing, bass heavy enough to feel in your chest, the air thick with heat and perfume and something electric that makes your pulse pick up.
you spot your friends almost immediately — karina waving you over, ningning already mid-story about something ridiculous, jungwoo grinning as he pulls you into a quick side hug.
introductions blur into laughter, and somehow, seamlessly, everyone just…fits.
the music is good. really good. the kind that makes it impossible to stand still. one song bleeds into the next, and before you know it, you’re dancing, singing, losing yourself in the rhythm as drinks keep appearing in your hand like magic. shot after shot. picture after picture. arms slung over shoulders, phones flashing, memories being made faster than you can process them.
at some point, you notice the boys drifting. one by one, here and there — disappearing into the crowd, probably pulled away by girls who couldn’t help but notice them. you don’t blame them. your group easily has the most attractive men in the entire place tonight. it would be weirder if they weren’t getting attention.
mark and renjun chooses to stay though. and somewhere between your fourth — or fifth? —shot, you realize they’ve quietly become your favorites.
especially when you belong with me starts playing.
“oh my god,” you gasp, grabbing renjun’s arm. his eyes light up instantly. and then the two of you are screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs, perfectly on-key, you think?, completely unbothered, jumping in place like it’s a private concert instead of a packed club.
mark’s laughing beside you, shaking his head but joining in anyway, and it’s just — fun. pure, uncomplicated fun.
but just as promised, giselle left the bar around 1:40am, whispering in your ear, “i’m gonna go…have fun babe,” she says, kissing your cheek.
you hold her hand, not letting her get away so easily.
“i’ll go with you,” you say immediately, steady, no hesitation, “i’m not letting you go alone.”
she pauses, then turns back to you with that same bright, tipsy grin, eyes soft, a little glassy.
“y/n,” she laughs quietly, “you’re having so much fun.”
you don’t loosen your grip, “giselle—”
“stay,” she insists gently, squeezing your hand now instead. “see what the night holds.”
you narrow your eyes at her, “i’m not letting you commute by yourself,” you say, firmer this time, “especially like this.”
“i’m fineeee,” she drags out, giggling under her breath. then she leans in again, dropping her voice like she’s about to share a secret, “taro’s already outside…he brought his motorcycle.”
she wiggles her eyebrows, “we’re gonna put that hotel bed to use.”
you snort, the concern breaking just enough for amusement to slip through, “oh my god.”
“what?” she beams, completely unashamed.
you shake your head, still smiling despite yourself, “fine,” you sigh, tightening your hold on her hand as you start guiding her toward the exit anyway, “i’m at least walking you out.”
“god,” she mutters, leaning her head briefly against your shoulder as you both weave through the crowd, “you’d be such a good girlfriend…”
you side eye her.
“…so caring,” she adds softly.
you can’t help but laugh as the two of you make your way down the stairs, out of the heavy bass and flashing lights, and into the thick, warm night air. it hits you immediately — humid, a little quieter, the distant echo of music still thumping behind you.
shotaro’s already there, waiting by his bike, helmet in hand, posture relaxed but eyes instantly lighting up the moment he sees her.
you feel giselle’s grip tighten just slightly in yours before she lets go, drifting toward him like it’s second nature.
“be careful, shotaro,” you say, passing her over with a pointed look.
“of course,” he nods easily, smiling as he gently steadies her, carefully putting on her customized helmet. he is really good to her. and you can’t be happier for your friend.
she watches him the whole time — soft, fond, completely gone. and you notice. of course you do. you’re the one who always notices.
and yeah, maybe, sometimes, very, very rarely, usually only when the clock hits 2am — you wonder what that would feel like. to let someone look at you like that. take care of you like that. instead of always being the one who does it for everyone else.
“and please,” you smile teasingly, “don’t do it on the left bed, that one’s mine.”
giselle bursts into laughter, “no promises,” and then they were riding off, her arms wrapped tightly around his middle, their laughter’s ringing in the air.
gross.
but there’s no real bite to it. just a small smile lingering as you turn back toward the club.
it’s past 2:00am now, which only means — the party’s just getting started.
you thank the heavens that karina, ningning and jungwoo showed up tonight. because without them? you’d probably be standing awkwardly in a corner somewhere, pretending to enjoy your drink while wondering how the hell you ended up in a club full of your brother’s friends.
instead, you’re grounded. comfortable. exactly where you’re supposed to be.
renjun’s basically been absorbed into your circle somewhere between screaming song lyrics with you and laughing at absolutely nothing. mark stuck around too, easygoing as ever, but you can tell that he had developed a tiny crush on ningning.
the party continues, more shots, more laughter more of everything. you catch glimpses of your brother once and immediately wish you hadn’t. because he’s very clearly lip-locked with some random girl in the middle of a chanting crowd.
“oh my god,” you mutter, turning away instantly, “i don’t have a brother.”
karina cackles beside you, “too late for that.”
“no, i’m disowning him,” you insist, already grabbing another shot to erase the image from your brain.
the music keeps going — song after song, each one louder than the last, lights flashing in colors that start to blur together the longer you stay. time slips. fast.
and then suddenly — it’s 3:00am.
“fuck,” renjun groans, checking his phone, his whole expression dropping. “i need to go. i’m way past my curfew.”
you blink at him, the words taking a second to fully land. right. they’re still in university. some of them still live at home.
“can you get home okay?” you ask, leaning a little closer so he can hear you over the music.
“i’ll get him a grab,” mark cuts in easily, already pulling out his phone. you nod, trusting him without a second thought. maybe you’d be more concerned if you were sober.
but right now? your head is light, your body warm, the world just a little softer around the edges.
they disappear into the crowd and you don’t even try to keep track of how long mark’s gone for. because the second baby by justin bieber comes on, everything else fades.
“OH MY GOD—” ningning screams.
you don’t even think, already grabbing karina and jungwoo, the four of you forming a mini circle as you all shout the lyrics at the top of your lungs like it’s 2010 and this is the only song that exists. jumping. laughing. completely losing it.
by the time the clock hits 4:00am, the energy shifts.
it’s still loud, still bright, but softer now. heavier. like the night is finally starting to catch up with everyone. most of the boys have made their way back, sitting on the couch like gravity is pulling them in.
jeno’s the first one you noticed. he’s hunched forward, looking like he’s in distress, thumbs rapidly pressing buttons on his phone. you make eye contact with him, flashing him a thumbs up, a small way of asking if he was okay. he just nods solemnly. definitely not okay.
jaemin, slouched beside him, catches the exchange and grins lazily, mouthing, “girl problems.”
you let out a quiet “ahh,” nodding like that explains everything. good enough for you.
and right next to him — lee haechan. with his flushed cheeks and lightly damp hair. he looks like sin. pulling you in without trying.
so pretty. so tempting. everything your brother’s friend shouldn’t be.
and like he can feel you looking, his eyes meet yours. a slow smile tugs at his lips. it’s soft. but it does something to your chest that you don’t like. you’re about to return it when—
“y/n, we’re leavinggg,” ningning’s voice cuts in, hands already on your shoulders as she turns you towards her, “we’ve still got work in a couple of hours,” she groans.
“thank’s for coming,” you laugh softly, pulling her into a hug, “and not letting me dance alone,” you murmur in her ear. she hugs you just as tightly.
“message us when you’re back at the hotel, okay?”
you nod, already moving on to karina and pulling her in a hug as well.
then jungwoo, “you gonna be okay? you’re the only girl left,” he says with concerned eyes.
“i’ll be okay,” you assure him, “jisung’s around here somewhere.”
“please,” he scoffs immediately, “that big baby can barely protect you.”
you laugh, softly hitting him on the chest in a small act of protecting your brother. even though jungwoo was absolutely correct.
“she’ll be okay,” a voice behind you says. low. easy. and your heart speeds up without your permission, “we’ll take care of her.”
you turn, already knowing who it is.
“yup, look — four strong men all right here to protect me,” you say gesturing toward the four men not equipped at all to protect a woman at the moment.
jeno is still too busy typing on his phone, sighing every two seconds. jaemin is fully slumped now, head tipped back, mouth half open, completely passed out. haechan just looks like pure trouble. and mark was sitting at the end of the couch, rubbing his temples.
you take note of the open space right between mark and haechan. like it was reserved with your name on it. like he wanted you to sit there.
jungwoo sighs in disappointment as you laugh, turning to face him again, “i’ll be okay. you know me.”
he nods because he does know you. knows the fact that you never get drunk enough to lose your sophistication. and with that, they leave you to it. alone. with that empty space on the couch. you finally give in. settling right between the two boys.
mark’s shoulder brushes yours immediately, his head lolling lazily from one side to the other, eyes half-lidded, clearly losing his battle with alcohol. every few seconds he lets out a quiet sigh, like he’s drifting in and out of consciousness.
you glance at him first, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“you still doing okay?” haechan’s voice is low.
you turn and your breath catches for half a second. he’s right there. closer than you expect. closer than he has any reason to be. close enough that when you turn, your nose brushes lightly against his cheek. it’s quick. barely there. but it’s enough.
you pull back just as fast, leaning into the couch like it didn’t happen, like you didn’t feel that tiny spark shoot straight down your spine.
“yeah,” you say, clearing your throat just slightly. “this is nothing. we barely drank.”
he lifts an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, “okay…miss party girl.”
you laugh, nudging his knee with yours, “i don’t party that much.”
he huffs out a quiet chuckle, leaning back into the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest behind you — not touching, but close enough that you’re aware of it.
“where’s your brother?” he asks.
you tilt your head, giving him a look, “you’re asking me? you were the one with him the whole night.”
“fair,” he admits, smiling a little.
you shrug, glancing out at the crowd, “last time i saw him, he was making out with someone.”
his brows lift, “and you didn’t step in?”
you let out a soft snort, “why would i step in?”
“you’re his older sister,” he says, like it should mean something.
and for a second — you can’t tell if he’s reminding you…or himself.
you roll your eyes, a small laugh slipping out, “please. he’s twenty-two,” you say, shaking your head, “he doesn’t need me stepping in.”
you glance back at him, a teasing smile pulling at your lips, “what about you?” you ask. “you disappeared a lot tonight…busy?”
he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, like he already knows where you’re going with this.
“busy playing your brother’s matchmaker,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “that’s for sure.”
you hum, unconvinced, “i’m sure it was very mutual,” you tease.
“nah,” he shrugs, almost too casually. “didn’t really see anyone i liked.”
you blink at him, then laugh lightly, nudging his knee again, “really? a whole club full of hot women and not a single one caught your attention?”
“guess not.”
there’s something off about how easily he says it. you tilt your head, studying him a little closer now.
“your standards that high?”
he doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you. steady. unrushed. like he’s not even trying to hide it.
“we can’t always have what we want,” he says quietly but you’re so focused on him, you hear it loud and clear, even when the first beat of just like heaven fills up the room.
you feel it again. that pull. that quiet, dangerous tension that keeps threading itself between every interaction you have with him, tightening each time like it’s building toward something you’re not ready to name.
and for a second, you don’t know what to say. don’t know if you should say anything.
but before the moment can stretch any further, a sudden weight drops against your shoulder. you jolt, blinking as you look down.
mark.
completely out. head resting heavily against you, breathing slow and even like he passed out mid-thought. you let out a small laugh, glancing back at haechan.
“your friend fell asleep on my shoulder,” you point out, amused.
haechan leans forward slightly, looking past you at mark, then huffs out a quiet laugh, “yeah…he’s gone.”
you shift a little, adjusting so mark doesn’t slide off, instinctively steadying him even as you try not to laugh too loud.
“great,” you mumble. “now i’m stuck.”
“mhm,” haechan hums, leaning back again, eyes still on you, “looks like it.”
and somehow, even with mark half-asleep on you, it still feels like you’re the only two people on that couch.
🏹
you try to stay upright. you really do. but your body’s slowly giving up on you, shoulders heavy, head dipping every few seconds no matter how many times you blink or straighten yourself out.
your head tilts forward slightly. you catch it. straighten. then it happens again, slower this time, your balance slipping just enough that it’s obvious you’re losing the fight.
haechan notices. of course he does. he’s been watching you longer than he should admit. the way your movements get softer, slower. the way your eyes take a second longer to focus. the way your head keeps dipping like you’re trying to convince your body to stay awake when it’s already decided otherwise.
so when it happens again, when your head tips just a little too far to the side — he moves. one hand comes up, gentle but sure, stopping you before you can awkwardly jolt yourself back upright. his fingers brush lightly against your temple as he guides you, not forcing, not rushing, just enough. until your head comes to rest against his shoulder. steady. comfortable. like it was meant to be there. he adjusts slightly after, shifting his posture so you don’t have to hold yourself up anymore, his shoulder dipping just enough to support you properly. and you’re too tired to protest.
from an outside perspective you can almost imagine how ridiculous this group looks. a full row of half-dead bodies on a couch. mark passed out on one side, jaemin completely knocked out on the other, jeno still stress-texting like his life depends on it, and you — resting on haechan like the final piece of a sleeping train.
“tired?” he murmurs softly.
“no,” you whisper. it such an obvious lie, it almost makes you smile.
he chuckles under his breath, “wanna go back to the hotel?”
you nod your head no against his shoulder, the movement slow and lazy, “don’t wanna ruin jisung’s fun.”
honestly, you have no idea where your brother even is anymore. somewhere out there. still partying like the night isn’t already over.
“okay,” haechan says.
just like that. no pushing. no teasing. just…okay. his voice is quieter now, like he’s matching your pace without making a big deal out of it.
a few seconds pass. then, “you’re gonna fall asleep on me,” he adds, softer this time, almost amused.
you hum faintly, eyes slipping open for a second, “i’m not asleep,” you mumble.
he lets out another quiet laugh, “sure.”
after a while, he was getting pretty over it too. it was nearing 5:00am and jisung and chenle were still nowhere to be found.
haechan takes one last glance at you, your breathing has evened out now and he’s pretty sure you’ve fallen into a light slumber. he moves carefully, afraid to wake you.
“jeno,” he calls out to his friend, whispering, which is pretty ironic since the rest of the club is still loud.
your ears pick up on it immediately even if your eyes refuses to open.
“can you find jisung and chenle?” haechan says, softer than you’ve ever heard him all night, “we should head back soon.”
“yeah,” jeno mutters, pushing himself up from the couch, still sounding half-annoyed, half-exhausted. “i’ll look for them.”
you feel the couch move under his weight. and for a second — it’s just the two of you again. you’re still resting against him, eyes slightly open now, too tired to pretend you’re not listening anymore. too tired to move away.
“go back to sleep,” haechan murmurs, quieter this time, “i’ll wake you up when they’re here.”
you let out a small breath, barely audible, “mmm.”
his hand shifts again, briefly brushing against your arm like he’s checking if you’re okay. if you’re comfortable. and you are. too comfortable. dangerously so.
a few minutes pass before you hear familiar voices again — jisung’s loud, unmistakable laugh cutting through everything as he stumbles back over with chenle not far behind.
“yo…why do you all look dead?” jisung says, breathless, still riding whatever high he’s on.
the sound of your brother’s voice finally snaps you back to reality and you slowly remove yourself from haechan’s shoulder.
“we’re heading back,” haechan tells them simply. no explanation. no teasing. and for some reason, they listen.
you reach for your bag and pause. it’s not there. your eyes shift to the side. haechan already has it slung over his shoulder like it’s been there all night. you don’t say anything. you just…notice.
🏹
by the time you step out of the club, it’s exactly 5:15am the sky is pale blue now, the sun slowly rising like it’s stretching awake with the rest of you.
the air feels different. cooler. cleaner. quieter in a way the city never really is.
and somehow, that short slumber on the couch did wonders. your head’s clearer now, your steps steadier, your body no longer fighting to stay upright.
you’re already pulling your phone out, opening grab, thumb hovering over the screen when—
“i’m hungry,” your brother says, of course.
you look up at him, unimpressed, “you’re always hungry.”
“there’s a burger place like seven minutes away,” chenle adds, walking backward with way too much energy for someone who’s been up all night. “we can just walk.”
you hesitate. just for a second. you were about to book a ride. go back. end the night.
but then — you feel it. that look.
you turn slightly. haechan’s already looking at you. quiet. waiting. like the answer somehow sits with you.
you exhale softly, shoulders lifting in a casual shrug, “i could eat.”
and just like that — plans change.
the walk is slow, the streets are calmer than usual, nearly empty, filled with other late party-goers looking for food or getting ready to go home.
you end up beside haechan without thinking. step for step. you don’t mention the bag still hanging off his shoulder. don’t mention the way he subtly switches sides so you’re on the inner part of the sidewalk, closer to the buildings, away from the road. like it’s instinct.
jaemin and mark are a few steps ahead, quiet for once, walking a little too straight, a little too focused. like if they concentrate hard enough, no one will notice how drunk they still are.
far ahead, jisung, jeno, and chenle are louder. their voices echoing through the quiet street as they argue like it’s broad daylight.
“i’m telling you…just block her,” chenle says.
“i can’t just block her,” jeno groans.
“why not? peace of mind,” jisung adds like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“because i like her,” jeno shoots back, frustration clear even from a distance.
“i don’t know man—you can like someone that doesn’t make you feel like shit,” jisung says, way too confidently you almost roll your eyes.
for someone who’s never been in a serious relationship he sure does speak like he knows it all.
“yeah, exactly!,” chenle adds. those two always hyping each other up.
you laugh softly under your breath, shaking your head.
“they’re giving terrible advice,” you mumble.
“yeah,” haechan hums beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, “but it’s fine — jeno’s not gonna listen anyway.”
you glance at him “you think so?”
he nods once, eyes forward, voice calm in a way that feels a little too certain.
“people forget all logic when love comes to play.”
you let out a small laugh, nudging his arm lightly, “okay, shakespeare found in a ditch.”
his lips twitch, shaking his head a little like he’s trying to hide how easy it is for you to make him smile.
🏹
by the time you reach the burger joint — your brother is already seated. burger halfway unwrapped, bite already taken, like it never even crossed his mind to wait for you. you don’t comment on it.
you just shake your head lightly, stepping inside and glancing around and realize it’s just you, mark, and haechan left standing.
mark stretches beside you, running a hand through his hair like he’s still trying to wake himself up, eyes scanning the menu lazily.
and haechan — he’s still next to you. close. like he’s been the entire walk. and maybe he notices the way your shoulders drop just slightly, the quiet acceptance of your brother being…well, your brother. because when you look at him, he’s already smiling at you.
“what do you want?” he asks, glancing down at you.
you blink, a little caught off guard, “uh — no, it’s okay,” you say quickly, shaking your head, offering him a small smile, “i’ll just order after you.”
something about it — the idea of someone just casually buying you something — makes you feel a little…awkward. flustered.
he notices that too. of course he does. and it makes his smile widen just a little.
“c’mon,” he nudges your arm lightly with his elbow, “my treat.”
you narrow your eyes at him, half amused.
“how rich are you?”
he scoffs, a brow lifting, “it’s a burger.”
you huff out a small laugh, crossing your arms loosely.
“you already paid for the hotel rooms,” you remind him, like he might’ve conveniently forgotten, “if anything, i should be treating you.”
he laughs at that, easy and unbothered.
“those were from my parents’ saved-up credit card points,” he says casually, “don’t worry about it.”
then he tilts his head slightly, looking at you again.
“so you either tell me what you want,” he adds, voice light but firm, “or i’m ordering the entire menu.”
you blink. once. twice…you’re not entirely sure he’s joking. and honestly? you don’t feel like finding out.
you sigh, giving in just a little, “…just fries,” you mumble.
his grin widens instantly, “just fries?”
you hesitate for half a second, “…and maybe a sundae,” you add, a little quieter this time.
there’s something about the way he looks at you then — like he’s enjoying this way too much.
“with chocolate syrup?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.
you glance up at him, lips pressing together to hide your smile.
“…with chocolate syrup.”
🏹
you find a table for the three of you after that, sliding into your seat with a quiet exhale, finally giving your legs a break.
jisung’s already on his second burger. of course he is. you don’t even bother commenting anymore, just shake your head faintly as you settle in.
a few minutes later, haechan comes back with the tray.
he sets everything down in front of you first — fries, sundae, and a bottle of water you didn’t ask for. but immediately appreciate. you glance up at him, just for a second.
“…thanks,” you murmur.
he just hums, like it’s nothing. like it didn’t matter. like he didn’t think twice about it.
he drops into the seat right in front of you. and you’re glad. because it gives you a perfect view of him.
his hair a little messy from the night, curling at the edge, cheeks slightly flushed, lips a little swollen from too many drinks and he’s so just so — pretty. annoyingly pretty.
and suddenly you’re aware of yourself. of how you probably look right now after hours of dancing, sweating, laughing, barely fixing your makeup. not…put together. not the version of you you’re used to presenting. you resist the urge to check your reflection on your phone. force yourself not to care.
instead, you just reach for your fries, acting like nothing’s changed. like you didn’t just become hyperaware of everything.
you grabbed the ketchup packet, biting the corner off and out of pure habit — you drag a perfect line of red across a single fry. precise. neat.
haechan watches you do it. and then he looks at you like you’ve just disobeyed all the laws of the universe.
“who the fuck eats their fries like that?”
“hey!,” you say defensively, “don’t knock it before you try it.”
he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head.
“you psycho,” he says, leaning back slightly, “it’s literally easier to just put the ketchup on the napkin and dip your fry like a normal person.”
“it doesn’t taste as good!” you argue, already preparing another one.
he raises a brow, unconvinced.
“i swear,” you insist, glancing up at him. “it doesn’t.”
and before you even realize what you’re doing — you’re holding it out to him. right in front of his lips. a perfectly ketchup-lined fry.
there’s a split second where you register it. where you could pull back. laugh it off. but you don’t.
and he doesn’t hesitate. he leans in just enough, his pretty lips wrapping around the fry as he takes it from your fingers — eyes still on you the entire time.
it’s not as innocent as it should be. your breath catches, just slightly.
and then mark drops into the seat beside him.
you retract your hand immediately, reminded of company.
“see?” you say quickly, grabbing another fry to distract yourself. “tastes better, doesn’t it?”
“it tastes like a fry,” he says, completely unimpressed, but his eyes are sparkling with mischief. like he’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on.
you can’t help the grin that slips through.
“whatever.”
🏹
it’s calm now. quiet. no pounding bass. no flashing lights. just early morning chatter, wrappers crinkling, the soft hum of the city waking up. conversation comes easy. you laugh over small moments, replaying bits of the night like it didn’t just happen. and then, you look at mark. tilting your head slightly, a knowing smile creeping in.
“so, mark…” you start casually, grabbing a fry, “you and ningning were dancing all night.”
you let it sit there for a second. just enough for him to realize you noticed.
“oh…yeah,” mark shrugs, like it’s nothing, unwrapping his burger. “she’s cool.”
you narrow your eyes at him slightly. she’s cool? that’s it? you glance at haechan for half a second, like you need a witness to how underwhelming that response was, before looking back at mark.
“just cool?” you press, a teasing edge in your voice, “you were glued to her the whole night.”
mark huffs out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “okay, okay…she’s more than cool,” he admits, a little sheepish now, “she’s…fun. it’d be nice to see her again.”
you hum, satisfied. and if you’re being honest? you’re pretty sure ningning liked him too. and that doesn’t happen easily. it’s hard for any man to keep her attention.
you lean forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand, “are you single, mark?”
it comes out casual. but not really. mark blinks at you mid-bite, clearly caught off guard.
“uh, yeah,” he nods. “yeah, i am.”
you nod slowly, like you’re filing that information away, “good to know.”
he squints at you, “…why?”
“nothinggg,” you say simply, popping a fry into your mouth.
haechan lets out a quiet laugh across from you, watching the whole thing unfold and you can’t help but match his smile.
“what’s your type?” you ask, shifting gears smoothly.
mark thinks for a second, chewing slowly, “i don’t know…someone easy to talk to,” he says. “not…too complicated.”
you nod, accepting it, for now. then your eyes flick to haechan.
“…what about you?”
it’s casual. too casual. like you didn’t just ask that on purpose. he pauses for half a second. then he leans in slightly, one arm resting on the table, gaze steady at you.
“someone who can be my best friend,” he says. simple. but it hits harder than it should. you don’t know why. so you look away first, reaching for your sundae like it suddenly needs your full attention.
“and you?” mark asks, turning it back on you.
you pause mid-scoop, spoon hovering for a second before you shrug lightly.
“i don’t know…someone who actually knows how to act like a man,” you say, half joking, “not someone i have to babysit.”
“easy enough,” haechan murmurs.
you glance up at him, one brow lifting, a quiet challenge in your eyes.
“yet impossible to find,” you add.
mark laughs at that. and then — there’s a brief moment. a quiet look shared between the two of them. quick. subtle. but you catch it. and immediately pretend you didn’t.
suddenly, you’re regretting bringing this topic up.
“what about your type…physically?” mark asks, amused now.
you hum, thinking about it for a second.
“don’t have one.”
“oh well now that’s just bullshit,” haechan says, not missing a beat.
you kick his foot lightly under the table, a laugh spilling out from your lips before you can stop it.
“swear,” you insist, shaking your head, “none of my exes even look alike.”
“there has to be something,” mark presses.
“well…” you trail off, tapping your spoon against the cup, “i guess they’re all conventionally attractive,” you shrug.
“how about you guys?” you ask, wanting to rid the attention off you.
mark opens his mouth but haechan beats him to it. you glance at him and immediately catching the smirk sitting on his lips. yeah. he’s about to be annoying.
“someone conventionally attractive,” he says, taking a slow sip of his cola like he didn’t just throw your cop out answer right back at you.
you roll your eyes instantly but before you could reply, your brother’s voice interrupts. you look over, and sure enough — him, chenle, jeno, and jaemin are already standing, throwing their trash away like they didn’t just eat half the menu.
“we’ll see you guys back at the hotel,” he adds casually.
that’s it. no are you coming? no you good? no second thought about leaving you behind with two men you’ve technically only known for a day. you’re over it at this point. waving him off without a word.
🏹
you reach for your bag and pull out your compact mirror, flipping it open with a small click. you had a feeling the three of you would be leaving soon anyway. might as well check. you glance at your reflection — and freeze.
“…oh my god,” your head snaps up.
haechan’s already looking at you, amused.
“what?”
you turn the mirror toward him like evidence.
“i have no more lipstick,” you say, scandalized. “and none of you told me?” you look between him and mark like they’ve committed a serious offense.
mark lets out a tired laugh.
haechan just smirks, “we’re supposed to tell you that?” he asks.
“yes. that’s what friends do,” you reply instantly, no hesitation.
you’re already digging through your bag, pulling out your lip liner and lipstick like it’s muscle memory. you lean slightly toward the mirror, fixing it. precise. practiced.
you notice the way he’s watching you. the way his gaze drops — lingers. follows the movement of your hand as the liner traces your lips, steady and smooth. but you don’t comment on it.
and haechan — he can’t help but stare at the way your lips part just slightly as you fill them in. careful. focused. it’s such a small thing. mundane. but for some reason, he’s captivated.
he shifts slightly in his seat, glancing at mark for a second like he’s checking if he’s the only one noticing this. mark doesn’t look nearly as entertained, just tired, almost bored, half-focused on his food, completely unbothered. not like him who’s eyes are now drifting back to your lips. his thoughts drifting somewhere he probably shouldn’t let them go. like how your lips probably taste as sweet as the vanilla sundae with a hint of salt from the fries. a combo he doesn’t mind trying.
you snap your compact shut with a soft click. and he’s reminded of who you are.
“there,” you say, tucking everything back into your bag, “much better.”
haechan leans back slightly, dragging his eyes away like it didn’t just take effort.
🏹
it doesn’t take long before the three of you are up too. you pull your phone out, opening the grab app.
“i’ll book it,” you say.
“okay,” mark nods sleepily while haechan just hums beside you.
the car pulls up not long after. you slide in first, then haechan in the middle then mark. his thigh brushes yours immediately. and it stays there.
there’s enough space to move away but neither of you does. instead, you stare out the window, pretending not to notice.
the ride feels longer than it should.
you don’t know if the driver took a wrong turn, or if it’s the traffic slowly building. but you don’t mind. not really. the city outside is alive now, soft light spilling over buildings.
and inside the car — it’s quiet. almost too comfortable. so you enjoy it. letting the ride take just a little longer.
but the longer actually gets ridiculous. almost concerning.
haechan leans over to whisper in your ear, “you’re not kidnapping us are you?” his breath causing goosebumps to rise on your neck.
“little ol’ me?” you say in mock offense.
he hums, glancing between you and the driver like he’s genuinely weighing his options, “i don’t know,” he says, lips twitching. “you did book the ride.”
you scoff softly, crossing your arms.
“i’m the one stuck in a car with three men i barely know,” you point out, tilting your head at him. “i think if anyone should be scared, it’s me.”
he lets out a quiet laugh. but it fades quicker than expected. because he’s been aware of it the whole night and for a second, something shifts in his expression, subtle, but there.
truth is, he doesn’t get it. doesn’t get how jisung could just leave you like that, not even thinking twice. he can’t even imagine doing that to his own sister. his jaw tightens just slightly before he looks back at you.
“are you scared?” he asks softly. no teasing. no smirk. just…genuine. his eyes search yours like he actually wants to know.
you meet his gaze, surprised by the change in tone but you don’t hesitate — you smile. small. real.
“no,” you say honestly. and maybe it sounds a little crazy. but you mean it. you feel safe around him.
he holds your gaze for a second longer, like he’s searching for the truth in your eyes.
“good,” he says, a faint smile returning.
🏹
a few minutes later, the car finally slows, pulling up to the hotel entrance just as the morning light fully settles over the city.
it’s close to 7:00am now. the sky’s no longer soft and dim. it’s bright enough to feel real, like the night has officially ended whether you’re ready for it or not.
you sit up properly, blinking once as you glance over. mark’s still out cold. completely gone.
“bro,” haechan nudges him lightly, then a little harder. “we’re here.”
nothing. not even a twitch. you sigh, already pushing your door open and stepping out, even though the entrance is technically on mark’s side.
haechan follows after you, a sheepish smile on his face like he already knows what’s coming. you both circle around the car.
and yeah — this is gonna be a problem.
“fuck,” you groan immediately when mark’s arm lands around your shoulder, your heels digging into the pavement as his full weight leans into you. “your friend is heavy.”
haechan lets out a breath on the other side, adjusting his grip.
“why’d you let him drink this much?” he shoots back.
you snap your head toward him, “me?” you groan. “you’re the one who left him with us.”
“yeah, well,” he huffs, trying to hoist mark up properly, “i didn’t expect you guys to be alcohol immune.”
you let out a laugh despite yourself, “don’t make me laugh,” you warn, struggling to keep mark upright. “or your friend is going down.”
haechan laughs too — quiet at first, then slipping out a little more.
“i’m serious—” you choke out between laughs, tightening your grip.
“okay, okay—sorry,” he says, still smiling, though he’s barely helping by laughing himself.
the two of you wobble forward, barely coordinated, mark completely dead weight between you.
it’s ridiculous. but fun.
finally, the hotel’s doorman sees your struggle. thank god. and immediately got a wheelchair ready.
“here ma’am, sir, let me assist—”
“please,” you breathe out, immediately letting some of mark’s weight shift off you as he’s carefully guided into the chair.
you straighten up instantly, flexing your hands, rolling your shoulders, “took him long enough,” you mumble under your breath.
haechan lets out a quiet laugh beside you.
“you good?” he asks, glancing at you.
“i think that’s the most workout i’ve done this year,” you mutter. he snorts softly.
🏹
the elevator hums softly as it starts to rise. haechan’s behind the wheelchair, one hand resting on the handle, the other loosely by his side. you’re standing next to mark, who is still completely out, head tilted to the side like he’s given up on consciousness altogether.
you glance at him. then at haechan. then back at mark. and you can’t help it — a laugh slips out.
“this is so embarrassing,” you mumble, already reaching into your back pocket.
“what are you doing?” haechan asks, though there’s already a hint of amusement in his voice.
you pull your phone out, turning the camera on.
“this is too good not to remember,” you say, stepping in slightly.
you angle the phone just right with mark slumped in the middle, you leaning in beside him, barely holding in your laughter.
and haechan doesn’t hesitate. he leans in too. closer than necessary. just enough that his shoulder brushes yours.
the picture snaps. you glance at it and immediately grin.
“send that to me,” he says, looking down at your screen.
you glance up at him, trying to act nonchalant, “sure.”
but internally — you hate it. because now you’re the one who has to follow first.
you unlock your phone anyway, opening instagram like you don’t already know exactly what you’re about to search.
“what’s your instagram?” you ask casually.
like you’ve never stalked him on the internet before.
he tells you. you type it in. and yeah— it’s exactly how it looks the last time you were on his profile.
you send the picture quickly then hit follow before you can overthink it.
he’s already pulling his phone out, thumbs moving fast.
“followed back,” he says a second later.
your lips press together, trying to hide the small smile threatening to show.
“good.”
🏹
the elevator dings. doors sliding open. you step aside, letting him go first, one hand holding the door as he carefully wheels your shared patient of the night out.
you follow them down the hall, quieter now, the hotel almost completely still.
and you step into their room with him, not even thinking twice about it — just making sure everything’s okay.
“okay…one more time,” haechan mutters, already moving to lift his friend. you step in without being asked, slipping under mark’s arm again.
“god, how did he get even heavier,” you mumble.
you both manage to get mark onto the bed with a soft thud, his body sinking into the mattress like he belongs there.
you straighten up, brushing your hands off, exhaling.
“there,” you say, “mission accomplished.”
“thanks partner,” haechan teases, a small smile on his face.
you shrug it off like it’s nothing, “yeah, no problem.”
then you turn slightly, already about to head for the door—
“hey.”
you look back. he’s still standing there, watching you.
“you still tired?”
you pause. pretend to think about it for a second even though you already know your answer as soon as he asked. then shake your head lightly.
“not really.”
his lips curve, “wanna have a beer?”
“…where exactly are you planning on getting a beer at 7 am?”
he doesn’t answer. just walks past you and straight to the mini fridge. you watch as he crouches down, opens it, and pulls out two bottles, opening them and holding one out to you.
you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. but you take it from his hand anyway, fingers brushing his briefly.
then, instead of taking the obvious seat — you walk over to his side of the room. slipping down to the floor, back resting lightly against the side of his bed, right in front of the window.
it’s partially hidden, tucked behind the frame of the bed. private. quiet.
in truth — you hate the taste of beer. you just didn’t want the night to end.
he watches you for a second — then lets out a soft laugh.
“you know you can sit on my bed, right?”
you glance up at him, immediately scrunching your nose, “ew. what do you think i am? a monster?”
he pauses, “…huh?”
“i’m not sitting on your bed with these dirty clothes on,” you say, gesturing to yourself. “that’s disgusting.”
he laughs, shaking his head as he walks over, lowering himself down beside you anyway, back against the bed, shoulder just barely brushing yours.
“you’re weird,” he mutters.
“and yet you’re sitting next to me.”
“unfortunately.”
you grin into the rim of your drink.
and for a while — it’s quiet. no music. no chaos. just the two of you, side by side on the floor, bottles in hand. watching the city wake up through the window. cars moving. people beginning their day. the sky fully bright now. and neither of you rushes to say anything.
you just…sit there. together.
🏹
“so,” he finally breaks it, voice low, easy, “your brother…”
“hm?” you hum, not looking at him, eyes still on the window.
“you two close?”
you turn your head slightly, brow lifting.
“why?” you ask, a hint of amusement already creeping in. “you got a crush on him or what?”
he chokes. actually chokes.
“wh—what??”
you turn fully now, fighting your smile.
“do you have a crush on my brother?”
“n-no,” he stumbles, suddenly very awake. “are you asking me if i’m gay??”
you shrug, taking another sip just to hide how entertained you are.
“hey, nothing wrong with it, i’ll even support you.”
“why would you even—”
you cut him off with a small tilt of your head.
“maybe because we can’t get through a conversation without you bringing him up.”
he opens his mouth. closes it. pauses.
“…that’s not—”
you just stare at him. waiting.
he exhales, running a hand through his hair, clearly flustered now.
“that’s not why,” he mutters.
“then why?” you press lightly.
and this time, he doesn’t answer right away. the teasing fades. his gaze shifts back to you — and lingers. longer than it has all night. and you feel it again. that pull that’s been there all night, in every look, every joke, every quiet moment.
but this one feels different. heavier. closer.
“because,” he starts, voice quieter now, like the words aren’t meant for anyone else but you, “you’re his sister.”
you exhale softly through your nose, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.
“yes,” you say, dry. “we’ve established that plenty of times tonight.”
he doesn’t take the bait. doesn’t laugh. just huffs out a breath, gaze dropping for a second before coming back up to you. like he’s thinking. weighing it. like there’s a line he knows he shouldn’t cross. and he’s standing right at the edge of it.
but then he looks at you again. really looks. and whatever restraint he had — it slips. just enough.
“and i’ve been trying really hard not to do something stupid.”
your fingers tighten slightly around your bottle. your heartbeat picks up before you can stop it.
“…like what?” you ask, softer now. not teasing anymore. not really.
there’s a pause. a small one. but it stretches. his eyes flick briefly to your lips. back to your eyes. like he’s already imagining it.
and then he says it.
“like kiss you.”
it lands between you. heavy. quiet. real. no joke to soften it. no smirk to take it back. just the truth — sitting right there, in the space between your shoulders, your knees almost touching, your breaths just slightly out of sync.
you don’t move. you don’t even think you breathe. because suddenly — everything feels louder. your heartbeat. the silence. the way he’s still looking at you like he hasn’t decided if he’s done holding himself back yet.
“how long have you and my brother been friends again?” you ask.
he blinks at you, thrown off, confused. like that’s the last thing he expected right now.
“…like a year?” he finally says.
you nod slowly. like you’re actually thinking about it. weighing it. but you weren’t. not really.
your fingers loosen around your bottle, setting it down gently on the floor. then you turn toward him slowly, deliberately, letting the moment stretch.
he watches you intently, his gaze darting from your eyes to your lips and back again. he's trying to read you, to predict your next move, but the air between you thickens, heavy with unspoken want.
you tilt your head just a fraction, holding his stare without flinching. the words slip out soft but pointed—
“so you’re not gonna kiss me over a year long friendship?”
it’s quiet. but it hits. hard. his breath catches. for a second, just one, he looks like he’s still holding on to that last thread of restraint.
you lean in closer, inch by torturous inch, until the heat radiating from his body seeps into yours. the world narrows to the space between you, the faint hitch in his breathing, the way his scent settles into your lungs, steady and consuming, until it’s the only thing you can focus on.
and fuck. you’re so close he can’t even hear himself think anymore. everything else fades. logic. rules. bro-code. mark’s snores in the background. all gone.
all that’s left is this pull— magnetic, inevitable — like you’ve both been circling this moment all night and finally stopped pretending otherwise.
and when your noses brush, you whisper, softly—
“or will you risk it and kiss me?”
and he feels like he might drop dead.
your question hang in the air between you, soft and sure, unraveling the last thread of his restraint.
haechan's eyes lock onto yours, dark and stormy. he doesn't hesitate anymore. can't. his fingers thread gently into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he tilts your face toward his — and then his lips crash into yours in a soft, slow kiss. enough to steal your breath.
you pull apart for a second, breathless, and you can’t help but bite your lip.
“jisung’s just gonna have to deal with it,” he mutters.
you raise a brow, “yeah, bringing up my brother right after kissing me is—”
you don’t get to finish your sentence because his lips are on yours again. soft, but urgent, like he's been starving for this taste. and you don’t even remember what you were going to say. your mouth responds to him immediately.
his lips part just enough to let his tongue trace the seam of your mouth, seeking entry. you open to him — and god, you taste even sweeter than he imagined, now with the hint of his favorite beer.
it turns hungrier, tongues sliding together in a slick, intimate dance that sends sparks racing down your spine. haechan groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips, raw and unguarded.
his hand travels down, fingers settling on your belt loops, thumb tracing circles on your slightly exposed skin. your hands come up, tangling in his hair, eliciting a whine from him.
that whine ignites something fierce in you, a bold urge that overrides the caution flickering at the edges of your mind. you tug harder on his hair, guiding him with you as you lean back until your back meets the soft carpet floor, the bottle of beers completely forgotten.
your legs part instinctively, making room for him to settle between them, his body pressing down with a weight that's both grounding and electric.
the kiss is hotter now, lips and tongues clashing with desperate need.
the carpet scratches lightly at your back, but you barely notice — everything is him, the heat of his body pinning you, the way his breath comes in hot pants against your mouth, his hand roaming down your side.
his lips break from yours, trailing a wet path down your jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there just enough to make you arch into him. he moves lower, mouth finding the curve of your neck, his hand comes up to move your hair out of the way and his touch is enough to make you feel dizzy. then he sucks hard, tongue flicking over the sensitive spot before his teeth sink in lightly, marking you with a blooming bruise. the sensation earns him a sweet moan, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room, reaching his ear like music.
haechan lifts his head just enough to murmur against your skin, his voice a low, teasing rumble.
“shhh, pretty girl, you don’t wanna wake mark up now, do you?” he smiles into your neck, lips brushing the fresh mark as his hand squeezes your hip.
“please,” you say breathlessly, “he wouldn’t even know if the world ended right now,” you joke, mark’s soft snores from across the room confirming your statement.
haechan chuckles softly, the vibration humming against your skin as he nips at your earlobe.
“good point,” he whispers, voice thick with desire, his mouth returning to your neck to soothe the mark with a slow lick while his free hand wanders up to squeeze your tit.
you bite your lip, stifling your moan as you slide your hand down his back, fingers dipping into his back pocket to squeeze his ass. the muscle tenses under your grip, and haechan looks up at you, eyes wide with a little shock, his lips parting in surprise.
“what? two can play that game,” you tease, your voice light but laced with mischief, holding his gaze as you give another squeeze.
he smirks, recovering quickly, his hand still cupping your breast as he leans in closer, “didn’t know you were an ass man,” he says, his tone playful, eyes darkening with amusement and hunger.
“oh yeah,” you reply, teasing, squeezing harder, feeling the firm curve fill your palm, “i just love cute little butts so much,” your tone laced with sarcasm.
haechan laughs at that, the sound warm and genuine, breaking the intensity for a split second and god, he’s just so, so pretty — you’re almost paranoid that you made him up. that this was all just a figment of your imagination. and you’d wake up with your phone in your hand opened to his instagram profile.
before you could completely spiral, you crane your neck up to kiss him again, almost begging. it’s kinda pathetic and so not who you are. but you can’t help it, you’re a sucker for pretty boys.
“hmm,” he hums, the hand on your tit wandering up to brush your bottom lip. you place a soft kiss on the tip of this thumb, “so pretty,” he murmurs.
and lucky for you — he’s a sucker for you.
his lips crash on yours again, “never wanna stop kissing you,” he sighs in between breaths, the moment heating up once more as he melts into you, tongues tangling urgently.
your finger pulls at his belt loop and he understands your signal, grinding on your clothed core once, hips rolling forward with deliberate pressure, and even through the layers of both of your jeans, it’s enough to make you shiver, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight to your clit. you’re so wet, so fucking wet, your panties soaked and sticking to your folds, aching for more friction, more of him.
but before you can ask him to do something about it — before you can beg him to unzip your jeans and slide his fingers inside — your phone buzzes in the back of your pocket.
you try to ignore it, focusing on him, but then it buzzes again. and again. and again. insistent and relentless.
finally, you break the kiss, turning your head to the side. haechan’s mouth trails after you, lips brushing your cheek in a reluctant chase, both of you out of breath and flustered, chests heaving in the dim hotel light.
“one moment,” you say, smiling sheepishly, as you reach back to pull out your phone from your back pocket.
haechan groans softly in protest, but he hovers above you anyway, propped on his elbows, his dark hair tousled from your earlier fingers raking through it, strands falling messily over his forehead. his lips are swollen and glistening from your kisses, parted slightly as he breathes heavily, eyes locked on yours with that hungry, lingering heat. pretty. so fucking distracting. you have to force yourself to look away, tearing your gaze away from the way his chest rises and falls, the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone.
your screen lights up with a string of texts:
giselle 🖤: where r u????
giselle 🖤: it’s almost 9
giselle 🖤: i heard the boys come in earlier
giselle 🖤: if you’re not here cause of taro, he already left for work
giselle 🖤: i’m getting really worried please
giselle 🖤: if you don’t answer right now, im calling the police
you almost feel bad, a twinge of guilt twisting in your gut. but hey, she was the one telling you to “see what the night holds.” and if she knew you were under lee haechan right now — she’d be proud.
“shit,” you mutter under your breath, thumb scrolling through the messages.
haechan's expression shifts instantly, worry creasing his brow as he pushes up slightly, his warm hand sliding to your waist.
“everything okay?” he asks, voice low and concerned, laced with that protective edge that makes your heart skip a tiny beat.
he helps you sit up with gentle pressure, the two of you shifting to sit side by side on the carpet again, his thigh pressing firmly against yours. the heat from his body radiates through your clothes, a reminder of how close you were to stripping them off.
“it’s giselle — she’s looking for me,” you explain, tilting the phone so he can see the frantic string of texts.
he leans in close, his shoulder bumping yours, breath warm against your ear as he reads over your shoulder, his scent filling your senses. and you’re not too sure how you’re going to walk out of this room.
his free hand rests on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles that send sparks up your leg, even now.
your phone buzzes again.
giselle 🖤: 3 seconds and i’m waking everyone in this damn hotel
your eyes widen as you type quickly, thumbs flying:
y/n: i’m here!
y/n: sorry!
y/n: im okay!
y/n: omw back
you don’t wait for her response, shutting off the screen and placing your phone to the side.
turning towards haechan, you send him an apologetic smile before cupping his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss — this one soft, innocent, almost sweet, a gentle press of lips that contrasts the raw urgency from before. his mouth yields to yours, warm, tongue flicking out just once to taste you before you pull back.
“i should probably go,” you say sheepishly, your voice hushed, fingers lingering on his cheek as reluctance tugs at you.
before you can fully pull away, haechan’s hand cups the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair with a gentle but insistent tug. he draws you back in, capturing your lips in another soft press.
“i’ll walk you back,” he mutters against your lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you, as he nips at your bottom lip.
you smirk, the playful curve of your mouth brushing his as you lean in again, stealing another kiss — quick but firm, “i’m literally right next door,” you murmur.
the two of you just can’t seem to stop. every separation lasting only seconds before one of you closes the gap. his lips find yours again, softer this time.
he pulls back just enough to flash you a mischievous smile, his eyes sparkling with that devilish glint, dark lashes framing the heat in his gaze.
“i know you are,” he says, punctuating the words with another kiss, deeper now, “i put you there.”
you pretend to be shocked, pulling back with wide eyes and a dramatic gasp, though your fingers curl into his shirt, holding him close.
“ahhh, i knew it wasn’t a coincidence,” you say, your voice laced with feigned accusation, even though his confession makes your head spin.
“did you?” he counters, his grin widening as he chases your lips for another kiss, this one playful and light.
“mhm,” you hum affirmatively, your response muffled as you kiss him back.
he chuckles, the sound low and vibrating against your lips, warm air fanning your face as he hovers close.
“what can i say? i always had a vision of you begging for my kiss,” he teases, his free hand drifting to your hip, thumb circling the strip of exposed skin above your waistband, dipping just under the edge of your jeans to trace the curve of your bone.
you pull back immediately in mock offense, swatting his chest lightly while trying to suppress your laugh.
“begging? me?? you’re crazy,” you retort even though you did just that. the memory of how desperately you'd wanted him earlier flashing in your mind.
“okay, fine,” he laughs, the sound rich and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he concedes, pulling you flush against him, “it was me begging.”
“that’s much better,” you smile, your thumb brushing his jawline, feeling the slight stubble rasp against your skin.
he matches your smile, slow and seductive, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up, dark and intent.
“give me another kiss, baby, please,” he says, the endearment rolling off his tongue like velvet, husky and intimate, making your pulse stutter.
and you do. because he called you baby. because he said please. because he’s just oh, oh, so pretty.
the kiss lingers, sweet and unhurried, his free arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, bodies aligning in a perfect, warm fit against the carpet.
when he pulls away for the umpteenth time, he stares at your lips a little too long and you think he might lean in again, but all he does is say something that pulls a soft laugh out of you—
“your lipstick is gone,” he says, a playful smirk on his face.
🏹
haechan stands first, offering his hand to help you up, his fingers lacing with yours as you rise, the simple touch sending sparks up your arm.
“come on,” he murmurs softly, “before your friend gets all of us kicked out of this hotel.”
you giggle, squeezing his hand, letting him lead you toward the door, the cool air of the hallway a stark contrast to the warmth you left behind in the room.
the walk is short — literally just five steps down the dimly lit corridor, the carpet muffling your footsteps, the faint hum of the hotel’s ac the only sound breaking the charged silence.
his thumb strokes the back of your hand, a subtle reassurance, his presence solid and comforting beside you.
at your door, you fish the key card from your bag, holding it out, but before you can swipe it, he takes it from your fingers, his touch lingering on your skin.
he pulls you in for one last kiss, slow and deep, lips molding to yours with a final, aching sweetness. his free hand cups the back of your neck, holding you there as his tongue teases yours one more time, a soft suck on your bottom lip that draws a quiet moan from you.
then, with a reluctant exhale, he breaks away, swiping the card through the reader. the lock beeps green, the door unlocking with a click. he hands the card back but doesn’t step away, leaning in close, his lips brushing your ear.
“good night,” he whispers, the words silent and intimate, meant only for you.
“good night,” you whisper back, your voice barely audible, slipping through the door as it swings open.
your fingers stay tangled with his until the distance forces them apart, a final brush of skin that leaves you both reaching for a second longer.
the last thing he hears before the door shuts is your friend’s voice, sharp and exasperated from inside the room.
“oh my god, you better have a good reason why you’re back so late.”
the door clicks closed, muffling your response, and haechan stands there in the empty hotel hallway, a slow, unstoppable smile spreading across his face.
he looks like a lovesick fool, heart pounding and he thinks you two might go really nice together.
🏹
an: i locked the fuck in for this one. and it was so easy because i’m lowkey just spilling some of my own tea in extreme detail. what do yall know about ✨limerence✨ ?????…..anyways, i can’t stop listening to drop dead so i had to get this out of my system or it’ll keep bothering me…hope u like :3
WARNINGS : MDNI, smut, unprotected sex (please be responsible), use of petname : baby, babe, angel.
INSPIRED BY : that video of haechan holding a plushie
"Quit teasing me! It was muscle memory alright?" Haechan is so done with your antics. This was supposed to be a comfy cuddle time for him after the fan meeting (which you didn't attend despite his pestering). But now you've taken up the task of teasing him while he's in healing mode. You had been gushing about his fluffy brown hair all evening when you stumbled upon that video of him with the teddy bear, with his fingers in a familiar position or rather a move. It's not like it's his fault that everything reminds him of you and that he's too used to fingering you pretty pussy every other day.
His head is on your chest, then he snuggles close like a kitten, "Babe, you did that to a plushie! I'm sure the teddy bear felt very violated." His stubble grazes against your neck. You let out a soft hum in response, pulling his hand over your chest and putting yourself in a very comfortable position for the cuddle session.
"Oh come on, it was soft and my fingers just slid in. Just like your cunt. What am I supposed to do?" His fingers explore your body, casual touches feather light on your skin. You let out gasps, trying to focus on the conversation because it's not everyday that you get to tease him, "I don't know, baby. Exercise self-control?"
His smug "Oh yeah" pisses you off every time. He's so hot when he says it. Your breath hitches for a short second. Two lithe fingers push the lace aside and your pussy starts to throb right away in anticipation.
It's muscle memory. The gentle caress of the tip of his fingers. The press of his middle finger with intention. The smooth slide. Your adorable gasp. Everything is practised precision. He hums this time, "You exercise self-control first. Then I'll think about it." These intentional movements drive you crazy. You want to curse at him when he steals your climax.
His soft words against your skin, make the heat pool in your lower stomach. "See, she just lets me in, just like that" He presses deeper, a second passes before the next finger slides in just as smoothly. "Your pussy is perfect for me— can't wait to just thrust in and sleep."
God his words are filthy, "Won't you keep me warm my angel? I didn't train your pretty little cunt for nothing, did I?" The feeling of his dick against your thigh sets off all scenes that had happened. The heat radiating from him does nothing to help, "Ah— fuck please oh my—" He doesn't let you up. Removing his shorts, he strokes his cock. It's thick, God, it's so thick and a little brown just like the rest of him—it's honey dipped— that's what you'll call it.
The stretch is too much. You've taken it before, but that doesn't mean you are used to it. He bottoms up with a groan of your name. "Fuck—baby, so tight" The raspy hum against your ear, flusters you even more, "Now let me rest like that," He sleepily kisses your neck, wrapping his arms around you to stop you from moving too much, "keep me warm, yeah?"
Skin flushed and sleep gone out of the window, you could only hum in response.
sypnosis: the one where your bestie proves you wrong.
pairing: haechan x fem!reader
genre: smut. fluff. crack. slice of life. besties to lovers? haechan's profession not specified. you can picture him as an idol or not. up to you :)
word count: 8.2k+
warnings: both horny af. haechan is my dream man in this im sorry. he's tryna stay cool but fails miserably. oc wants him but doesn't know it. they're both acting nonchalant but couldn't be more CHALANT. oral (fem!receiving). big phat dick!hae (what's new). smooching. pnv. they fuck on his sofa. unprotected sex (pooja what is this behaviour!). spit. light choking. creampie. cum eating. he literally feeds her his cum hahah im ok. dirty talk. slight degradation. use of the word 'slut' (i love him). oc smokes a cig bc she's had a rough night. mentions of fake orgasms. confusion. this is mostly FILTH.
cookie's note: hi there. not entirely sure what this is, but it's been sitting in my drafts since last year, so here you go! maybe i'll write for these two again in the future, i haven't decided yet. in the meantime, i do hope that this soothes even just a tiny bit of the sadness that's been flowing around ncity the past few days. for all my sad but always horny neo queens!
alabyuuu,
cookie ♡
masterlist | ko-fi
People say ‘don’t shit where you eat' for a reason.
You knew going to a work do where free alcohol was served with your ex-situationship lurking was not a smart idea. You knew it. But you also refused to back down and disrupt your plans because of a narcissist who is known for not being able to handle his alcohol.
It was all fun and games at the start of the night, but the more drinks he kept having, the more his petty comments kept coming your way.
“Remember when you used to be fun?”
“Why so uptight? Did someone hurt you?”
And so, you caved. You called the only person you knew could save you no matter what.
“Hey, what you up to?” You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear while rummaging through your bag for a lighter. The situation definitely demands a smoke. If you could find the stupid pink lighter you once stole off Haechan.
The cars are loud on the main road outside the venue your company had booked for the evening, but you can still hear the faint clicking of his keyboard through the speaker. He is definitely in the middle of a gaming session.
“Already gave up?” He says with a little amused laugh. You can almost picture the smug smirk on your friend’s face.
“It's either that or I get violent.” You snarl in the cold of the night, the lighter still nowhere to be found. "It's been what, an hour? And the man's already five drinks in."
“Yikes. You made him turn to alcohol. Poor fella.” He pretends pity, but you know he’s always hated the guy.
“Not my fault he can’t take the truth.”
“Eh, yeah, he’s a dick, but you also did tell him you faked all your orgasms.” He snorts. “Surprised he hasn't already killed himself.”
“Aha!” You shout a little too excitedly for having just found a lighter.
“You good?” He asks curiously, keyboard clicking coming to a halt.
“Yeah, sorry, just found my lighter.”
“You mean my lighter.” He deadpans. “I knew it was you.”
You stifle a giggle at his whining. “Who else could it have been?”
He scoffs. “I have other friends.”
“Mm,” You hum as you light the cigarette and take the first nerve-calming drag. You exhale in relief before continuing, “You only chat to them on Overwatch nowadays.”
“Be thankful I'm actually spending time with you on my days off,” He grumbles.
“You're so right. I am an ungrateful piece of shit. Will you ever forgive me.” You respond in the most indifferent tone you can muster.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever - when’s your bus?” He asks, totally unfazed by your sassy comeback.
“Like five minutes?” You glance at the schedule board. The bus to Haechan’s place shows 5’, while the one that takes you home shows 7’. “I could always go home. Don’t wanna keep you up.”
“It’s 8 p.m. on a Friday night.” He brushes off your hesitation, clearly having already decided for you. “I’ve got food covered, just bring some soju.”
You're glad he can't see the satisfied grin that takes over your face.
He somehow always manages to say endearing things with a tone that could make him come across as cold to someone who isn't familiar with his mannerisms. It's easy for you to notice the always present but underlying softness, though.
You absentmindedly keep flicking the cigarette even though there's no ash left at the tip. “Alright, say less.”
“And none of that peach-flavoured shit you like,” He adds. “It's too sweet.”
“You'll drink what I pay for.”
You end up getting two peach and two original-flavoured bottles anyway.
⟡
“The fuck is he so bitter for?” Haechan slumps down next to you on his spacious sofa after getting rid of the empty take out boxes, making you bounce a little. “I swear it wasn’t that serious?”
“It wasn’t!” You exclaim in annoyance, kicking your feet from where you’re lying across the sofa, head heavy against the armrest. Your eyes feel a little droopy from the lovely meal you've just had and the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed tonight — not enough to get you drunk, just enough to give your body a pleasant buzz.
“Maybe he really liked you.” Haechan points out and you can’t help but raise your head a little to throw him a ‘be serious’ look. He snorts. “What?”
The cotton of his sweatpants feels soft against your toes, and you subconsciously wiggle them between his thigh and the sofa as you relax against the soft cushions. “That man hated me. He just liked my pu—“
“Yah,” He cuts you off, still chuckling in disbelief at your non-existent filter. “How can you be so unhinged when you drink?”
Your eyes are shut but you giggle along, always enjoying making him a little uncomfortable. It’s a rare occurrence.
“Speaking of…” He trails, clearly in thought about something.
“Of what? My genitals?” Your attempt to mock him earns you a sharp pinch on the fleshy bit of your calf. "Ah! Okay okay okay, I'm sorry." You squeal in pain until he retrieves his fingers.
“Weirdo.” He mumbles disapprovingly, making you let out a not-so-charming snort that may or may not resemble a laugh. You can picture the offended expression on his face. The pout his heart-shaped lips always form when he's annoyed is too adorable to forget.
“You were saying...?” You prod with a gentle voice this time, wiggling your toes again, your hands folded on your tummy as you keep your eyes closed.
“Did you actually fake it every single time?” He shuffles a little further down the sofa, his sweats dragging against your toes as he gets more comfy and now you’re pretty sure your right foot is now stuck under his ass.
“Every. Single. Timeeeee.” You drag the word with a dramatic groan.
“Jeez. Poor guy.” Haechan exhales in wonderment. “Was his peepee like, really small or...?”
“Pfff.” You blow out a snicker. “It wasn’t that much of a size issue. It was more…I dunno, just lack of technique, I guess?”
“Hm.” Haechan hums in thought. “What about when he’d go down on you?”
You’re no stranger to having these types of conversations with Haechan. You’ve been friends long enough to feel comfortable discussing your sex lives to an extent. You’re both sexually active adults, it's no secret, but for some reason, in this specific moment, it feels a little too intimate. Maybe it’s the quiet of his apartment, with the tv being muted and all. Or maybe it’s the alcohol in your system.
“That’s never really worked for me, you know.” You admit quickly, without really elaborating.
There’s a small pause from his side, which makes you move your bent knees to the side a little so you can check your friend’s expression. He seems confused.
“Like ever?” His eyebrows furrow a little before smoothing down again. “With anyone?”
You shake your head with a little pout, containing your laugh. It’s kind of funny how concerned he looks, even though it has nothing to do with him.
“Well, if it means anything, on behalf of the entire male population, I do apologise.” He puts his hands together and closes his eyes, as though begging for your forgiveness.
You stifle a laugh and lightly kick his thigh. “Pretty sure there’s much more pressing matters the male population should feel sorry for.”
“Touché.” He smiles awkwardly at your observation.
“Also, I hate to break it to you, but…” You move your feet from underneath his leg and place them on his lap. His hand casually squeezes one ankle, the touch comforting over your trousers. “Surely, you know most of your partners have faked it at least once.”
He scoffs playfully. “Yeah, probably in uni, when I was constantly fucking around, but definitely not in the last couple years.”
“Delusion at its finest.”
His eyes roll sarcastically. “I’m very aware of my oral skills, don’t you worry about me.”
You breathe out an amused laugh at his frown. “Right right right, my bad.”
“I could always prove it.”
Your laughter is louder this time. “What? You gonna invite a girl over and make me watch?”
“I mean…sure, if you’re into that,” He smirks, hand around your ankle tightening slightly. “Not really what I meant though.”
Now, that sparks some interest in you.
“You offering me head or something?” You maintain the playfulness in your tone, but you’re very aware of the heat creeping up on your face at what he's insinuating.
He just shrugs, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “You get an orgasm; I get to prove you wrong.”
“You must really love proving me wrong.” You’re positive of your blush showing now, his amused grin enough proof as he inspects your face.
He shrugs again. He’s too calm for this situation. “Won’t be a chore, I’m sure.”
“Ey, quit pulling my leg.” You warn in disbelief. There's no way this isn't one of his tricks.
He scoffs with a lopsided grin, tongue poking against his cheek. “I'm not pulling anything.”
“You'd seriously go down on me just to prove a point?” Your eyeballs feel like they're about to pop out of your head.
“Last chance. Take it or leave it.” He says monotonously, like it's some kind of auction.
This whole situation is absurd. But what's even more absurd is that you panic at the thought of missing the chance of your friend eating you out. You must be experiencing a simulation. That's the only credible explanation.
You purse your lips in thought. Why can't you bring yourself to say no? “What if you actually fail?”
“I won’t.”
“You might.” You press again.
He exhales an exasperated laugh. “Then, I dunno. You get something to use against me.”
You certainly like the sound of that. “I could always fake it. I’m good at that.”
“I’ll know if you do.” He raises an eyebrow in warning, expression more serious than you’re used to. “So, best not.”
You swallow a little too audibly, too aware of his touch on your leg now. It’s when your gaze drops to his lips that you really do come to a decision.
“Alright.” You agree, as nonchalantly as possible. “No weird shit, though.”
He snorts a laugh as he sits up a little and you scoot back to rest on your elbows. “What exactly classifies as weird shit?”
“I don’t know...” You look around as though you’ll find an answer in his living room. You know it's just a way to avoid his eyes. “Just don’t make it weird.”
“I won’t.” He raises his hands in defence.
“Good.”
He stares at you for a few moments, and it’s already fucking weird. “Wanna stay here or go to the bedroom?”
Oh god. This is actually happening.
“Here.” You decide quickly. “Bedroom’s a bit too serious.”
He nods in approval. “Fair.”
You nod back, but really knowing what else to do.
“Alright, let’s see your granny panties then.”
“See, that’s fucking weird! I knew you'd—“
“Okay okay,” He cackles loudly at your expense, catching the cushion you attempt to smack into his face. “I’m sorry, I’ll behave.”
You glare at him, not really believing a word that comes out of his stupidly pretty mouth. You know him too well.
“Would you kindly take your trousers off or shall I do it?” He asks carefully this time, sounding too genuine, eyelashes batting dramatically. You know it's all an act.
You don’t choose words this time. Instead, you lie back down and unbutton your trousers, but before you can start removing them, Haechan stops you with his hands on yours.
“Wait.” His slightly worried expression makes your heart drop. Did he just trick you into agreeing so he could take it back? What sick, twisted motherf— “You actually wanna do this, right?”
You barely register your smile. Him making sure to get your repeated consent shouldn’t feel so endearing. “I’ve already said yes, Hyuck.”
“No, you said ‘alright’.” He mimics your voice playfully, making your smile widen. “Not the same.”
“My bad.” You get comfortable again, your hands resuming their actions as you start pushing your pants down, hips raising a little, and when the piece of clothing hits the floor, you speak again, smile still intact. “Yes, I want to.”
His eyes don’t even flicker down to your bottom half. They stay on your face. Even when your legs spread to accommodate him as he shuffles closer, he doesn’t allow himself to look below your waist.
He doesn’t come across as embarrassed, or awkward. He’s just… calm. His breathing stable compared to yours, his hands steady on your knees, no tremble detected, his blinking slow, eyes moving unhurriedly over your squirming body. He’s too fucking normal about this.
And you’re already turned on. And embarrassed. And so not calm.
“Cute.” His endearing remark breaks the silence when he finally eyes your underwear, his thumb delicately tracing the baby blue bow in the centre of the waistline. You’re glad you chose black lace instead of anything else that could betray your wetness.
You can feel it leaking. It’s uncomfortable and very unsettling. A reminder of the absurdity you've found yourself in on this random Friday evening.
He's one of your favourite people. Your best guy friend. And he’s got your pussy dripping and your heart skipping more beats than it should.
And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.
His hands settle on your inner thighs, spreading your legs as far as they’ll go, and when he brings his face closer to where you need him, you have to close your eyes for a few moments. Just to anchor yourself a little.
“Are you uncomfortable?” He asks softly, his warm breath hitting your tummy.
You look down to find that his concerned eyes are already inspecting your face. “No. It’s just weird. It’s you.”
“Exactly.” He reaffirms with a cheeky grin. “It's just me.”
You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “I’m good. I promise.”
“Good.” He presses a tiny peck just above the bow of your panties, where your blouse has ridden up and left the skin uncovered. His nose tickles you slightly. “Just sit there and look pretty.”
You accidentally let out a giggle at his dentle demeanour, not really familiar with this side of him. He’s always playful with you, sure, just not this soft. As touchy as Haechan can be, it’s always clumsy and chaotic. He’ll hug you here and there or put an arm around your shoulders to offer needed comfort, he'll pat you on the back, ruffle your hair just to annoy you, but he's never lingered. Never crossed any lines. Never done or said anything to make you question your friendship.
Until now.
He rearranges his position a little, until he’s leaning comfortably on his elbows, face directly above your heat, arms loosely wrapped around your thighs, hands stroking up and down the skin. He's being gentle. Attentive.
It's annoying how you can't look away. How could you? When he looks so good between your legs. So, you just watch.
He starts with a kiss on your left inner thigh, then another one on your right one, where he keeps descending, each smooch wetter than the previous one until he’s reached the edge of your soaked underwear.
He makes brief eye contact when his tongue dips out to lick the crease that connects your thigh and mound, making your breath hitch. He does the same on the other side, and then resumes the kisses, covering your skin in dewy patches.
It’s his heavy breaths that affect you the most. Simply because they betray that he's not as unaffected as he seems.
You don’t rush him. Don’t beg him. Don’t let yourself make too many sounds other than some shaky breaths here and there when his teeth nip at your skin. You hold back as best as you can. Even when the pulse of your clit becomes almost unbearable. Even when the slick that drips out of you is too difficult to ignore. Even when you’re dying to grab onto his hair and shove his face into your pussy. You just force your hands to grab onto the cushions that support your head.
Your composure eventually breaks when he lands a lingering kiss just above your covered clit. A barely audible whimper fills the quiet of his apartment. You know he’s heard it when his hold on your thighs tightens, pretty hands flexing, fingers digging in the flesh, the cool sensation of his rings soothing you. You can’t help but smile to yourself at the acknowledging gesture. At the way he tries to ground you.
His lips part wider this time, tongue poking out, gently massaging your clit over the ruined lace, the moist warmth seeping through the fabric, teasing you like you’ve never been teased before.
“Hyuck.” The nickname comes out whiny, almost broken.
He hums in response, the vibration going straight through your sensitive bud, pulling an accidental moan out of you. His tongue slips down to your entrance and that’s when he makes a sound for the first time tonight. It’s very obvious he’s felt the arousal that’s probably spilling from the sides of your sticky panties.
“You taste good.” He whispers, more to himself it seems, his eyes glued to the mess between your legs as he bites down on his lower lip. “Can I take these off?”
You blink down at him, his pleading tone causing your pussy to flutter around nothing, and his wide, boba eyes - full of hope - cause your stomach to do a flip. You can’t do anything other than nod dumbly.
He moves swiftly; his fingers already slipping into the sides of your panties as he sits up to make more room, your hips lift in response and in no time the garment is somewhere on his floor. Haechan doesn’t give you much time to feel exposed. He gets to work quickly. Eager hands grab onto your hips and effortlessly drag you closer to his face, prying your legs wide open, nails digging into the backs of your thighs as his eyes drink in the filthy sight of your slicked up centre.
Your brain malfunctions when you hear a not-so-subtle inhale.
Did he just...smell you?
You hands move on their own, clinging onto his hair, pushing him down, while your hips lift just a tiny bit, and before he can protest, his nose bumps into your swollen bud.
He doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve practically shoved his face into your folds. His tongue makes contact immediately, licking from your entrance to your clit, lightly at first, the tip of it barely making contact, almost tickling you. Then he repeats the action, a little bolder each time, edging you.
A wide swipe of the pink muscle against the whole expanse of your throbbing pussy sends a shock through your system. And when his tongue swirls around your swollen bud, you let your head fall back and your eyes close in bliss. “Holy shit, you are good at this.”
You’re awfully aware of the sigh that slips out of you, but at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Decorum is the least of your worries when your best friend of three years has his face buried in your most private parts.
Awareness flies out of the window too when Haechan’s full lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently before his tongue joins with languid strokes. You can’t tell how loud you’re being, all you can focus on is the pleasure and the wet slurping sounds he’s making.
“Told you.” He mumbles mid lap and before you can think of a smart comeback, his tongue briefly sneaks down to your entrance, collecting more of your arousal before travelling back up to flick gently. Your hips unintentionally buck into his face, searching for more friction.
He’s clearly teasing you. Toying with you. Trying to make a point. Greedy asshole.
“Fuck!” You exclaim in surprise when his thumbs spread your pussy lips, isolating your clit and lifting the hood so that his mouth can suck harder than before. Your back arches, the direct contact with the nerve endings making your legs shake involuntarily. Your fingers curl in his strands in despair and your eyes roll back when he doesn’t let up. His harsh flicks come in up and down motions, before turning into long, persistent swirls and then repeat. “Hah—wait—fuck, I’m—”
“Shut up and cum.” He rasps harshly, his voice alone making you clench around emptiness.
You feel his spit combined with your juices trickling down to your ass, possibly staining his sofa too. You’re so close you can taste it. Your pussy throbs from the sensitivity, thighs shake uncontrollably, the backs of your knees where your legs are bent drip in sweat, your lungs are struggling to keep up, the coil in your tummy so close to bursting.
It's nothing close to what you had in mind. He's making you look like a fool for ever doubting his skills. You find yourself feeling irrationally jealous of all the women that have experienced this when you'd been having to act and scream out fake moans.
He suddenly pulls back a little, and your head instantly shoots up at the loss. Your eyes meet his hooded ones, the lower half of his face covered in you, and as if the sight wasn’t already scandalous, the thick string of saliva that dribbles out of his mouth and directly onto your clit, completes the piece of art of whatever the fuck this is.
“Jesus.” You huff when you let your head loll back down, and then his tongue is on you again, flicking faster and harsher than before, hitting a spot on one side of your clit that makes stars appear behind your eyelids. “Fuck, right there.”
You hold his head exactly where you need him, and he obliges without a word. The assault of his mouth combined with his hand blindly reaching up to give your boob a light squeeze, make your whole body lock up for a moment before shakes of intense pleasure take over you. The broken whine that escapes your throat, barely registers as you cum hard on his tongue. You don’t even realise that your trembling hand engulfs the one he's got on your breast, interlocking your fingers with his while trying not to drown in the abyss of the high.
It’s impossible. Not when he keeps licking and sucking, completely unbothered, moaning like he’s experiencing this as intensely as you are, gripping onto your thigh and fingers like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t offer every bit of pleasure he can.
He lets you ride it out quite literally on his face. Doesn’t stop you from grinding on his nose and tongue. He happily stays there as you use him until you’ve had enough. And even when you can't take more, he still doesn’t stop. He slowly drags his tongue between your folds before he lets it dip into your leaking hole. As far as it can go. Tasting your release from the source. And when his arm curls around your thigh, fingers coming to touch you from above, rubbing harsh circles on your clit, you have to get away. Before you lose your fucking mind.
Simply asking him to stop does cross your mind for half a second, but for some reason you go with what should feel forbidden. You grab onto the collar of his top, your other hand already curling around the back of his neck, pulling him up until his face is directly above yours, and before he can question your actions, you’re claiming his mouth with yours.
No testing the waters, no permission asked. Just parted lips against parted lips, your tongue shoving past them, tasting your own arousal. You feel him go rigid for a few seconds, and you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t stutter with worry at the thought of scaring him away. At the thought of crossing a boundary. But then you feel his body melt into yours and his soft lips start responding, matching your eagerness, jaw slackening to let your tongue tangle with his.
It’s kind of gross. Saliva mixed with your essence drips from the corner of your mouth. It’s messy. Lazy. But it feels nice. And oddly sweet. And warm. And you hate that fresh heat blooms in your belly just from a kiss.
His hand coming to cup your chin possessively does something to you. His fingers lightly squish your cheeks before they trail up, palm engulfing your jaw, tilting your head a little so he can deepen the kiss with a satisfied hum. Such a simple gesture, but it sends tingles down your spine, makes your breath hitch and your hips stutter with newfound want. His thumb tracing your cheek reminds you that he’s still in control of the situation.
That he really did prove you wrong.
But you're not annoyed. If anything, it turns you on even more. As twisted as it may sound. The thought of your best friend sticking the very same tongue he made you cum with down your throat, should make your skin crawl. Instead, it makes you want more.
“Fuck.” He exhales in your mouth, pulling back just enough to take a look at you with slightly widened eyes, pupils blown out. A thin string of saliva connects you for a second before you lick your lips, breaking the bond.
All you keep thinking is 'has he always been this pretty?'. Rosy cheeks, swollen pink lips, nose and chin still glistening with your slick, making more of it gush from your sensitive heat.
“I need to cum or I might go fucking nuts.” He complains with a frown, head dropping forward so he can peep between your bodies, and you can’t help but do the same.
You see it. The dark stain at the front of his grey sweats, the very prominent bulge of his erection brushing your stomach, barely touching you.
“Okay.” You mutter weakly, but then panic when he moves to get off you. You instinctively grab onto his t-shirt, pulling him back down, his erection now trapped between your lower halves. “Where are you going?”
His blinks quickly, surprise evident at your resistance. “Bathroom?”
“Why?”
He lets out a confused laugh. “I don’t know. I thought—
You shake your head at him, hips bucking slightly to meet his, a gentle grind, enough to help him get the message. “You don’t have to go.”
His lips part at the friction, eyebrows furrowing adorably, eyes fluttering closed as he allows his weight to sink back on you.
“Fuck.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder when you grind a little harder this time. “You wanna watch me or something?”
“Whatever you want.” You mumble in his ear, hand burying in his hair to comfort him with gentle strokes. You hope he catches on the hidden meaning behind your words.
“That’s a little misleading.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes again. “I could want things you might not.”
“I doubt that.” You say, a restrained smile tugging at your lips. “Unless you wanna put it in my ass.”
His light chuckle evokes relief in your tense muscles. “Ass is where you draw the line?”
“Sorry.” You smirk teasingly, letting your free hand slip under the hem of his top, fingertips caressing along his spine. You bite back a smile at the little shiver that visibly runs through him.
His amused smile and wondering eyes make you feel flustered. Your cheeks burn and you pulse quickens, but you try to remain calm.
“S’okay, not what I want right now anyway.” He lets his hips press flush against yours, completely unashamed of showing off how turned on he is.
“You’re good then.” You sneak a hand around his nape to pull him down for another kiss, but he resists this time.
He giggles at your confused expression. “Cute.”
You pout angrily in response, earning another playful laugh from him.
“So, like, just so we're crystal clear,” He leans closer, nose nuzzling yours as he cages your head with his arms. “What you're implying is that if I said I wanted to have sex with you...you'd want that too.”
You daringly stare into his eyes when you reach between your bodies and give him a teasing squeeze through his layers.
The stuttering gasp he lets out is hard to miss. “That's not an answer.”
“Then learn to take a hint.” You press harder, reveling in the cute whine that slips out of him.
He finally gives up and closes the small gap, kissing you again, with more urgency this time, his tongue sneaking in your mouth while you slowly stroke him through his sweats.
He’s bigger than you expected. Not too long, but thick enough for the stretch to sting at first. You can almost feel it in your walls as they pulse around nothing, desperately needing to be filled.
It feels like torture.
You’re about to complain when you feel him shift his weight a little, your arms quickly coming to wrap around his neck, preventing him from interrupting the kiss.
You realise his bottoms are out of the way when his heavy cock slaps against your stomach. In any other occasion you’d feel embarrassed at the way your hips wiggle, seeking for relief and the whimper your let out against his lips.
He doesn’t try to shame you or tease you, like the Haechan you know would. He simply responds with a shaky exhale and a slow roll of his hips before kissing you harder, deeper, messier. He keeps devouring your lips even when the velvety head of his cock prods at your entrance, separating your folds with a little squelch. His tongue slides against yours smoothly as he breaches past your tight opening, just the tip going in, testing the waters. He moans when you let your legs spread wider for him, silently inviting him in your soaked heat.
Your mouth hangs open, eyes squeezing shut when he’s suddenly pushed halfway in, the burn intense but still somehow laced with pleasure, making your body tremble a little and your fingers curl into his shoulder blades, nails catching onto the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Does it hurt?” He checks in a whisper, hips halting when he meets resistance, your pussy tightening when it all becomes too much. He's too big for you to just take in one go.
“Stings a little.” You nod, eyes still closed even when you feel him staring at you.
“I'll go slow,” He lands a wet smooch on your cheek, earning a giddy smile from you. “Just relax for me.”
“M’trying.” You whine pathetically. “Why’s your dick so fat? What the fuck?”
He breathes out a chuckle into your neck. “Why’s your pussy so tight? You a virgin or something?”
You can’t find it in you to play along anymore, especially when he pulls back out to the tip before sliding back in the same amount as before. He starts building a slow rhythm, thrusts shallow, only going halfway in. Until your walls start to gradually relax around him, allowing him to sink in a little deeper each time.
You both sigh in unison when his hips finally meet yours.
“Shit, that's too deep.” You gasp into his shoulder, arms hugging him closer as your trembling body seeks more of his warmth, trying to somehow subdue the mix of pain and pleasure.
He grinds upwards, rolling his hips in an angle that makes his cock graze a perfect spot along your snug walls. Your muscles still try to adjust to the thickness, but you welcome it nevertheless. He stays there for a little while, not moving while he scatters lazy kisses along your neck, clearly trying to help you loosen up. His fingers hook into the neckline of your blouse, dragging that side down the slope of your shoulder along with your bra strap, revealing more skin to cover in kisses.
“Can we take our clothes off?” He asks while he slowly drags his plush lips and eager tongue along your collarbone.
“Yes, please.” You nod a little too eagerly, jittery hands already sneaking under the sides of his t-shirt, helping him get rid of the annoying layer.
He sits up a little, length still sheathed in your leaking pussy as he quickly removes his top, revealing ravishing golden skin and lean muscle. His chest is a little more buff than you remember from your summer holidays, his biceps a tiny bit more prominent.
You could eat him up.
“Stop staring.” He gives you bashful smile, hands engulfing your hips, lifting your ass off the sofa just a little so he can spread his knees more and rest your thighs over his.
Your lips part in a quiet moan when you feel his cock move inside you, tickling that spot again. “Sorry, it’s all just a little...”
“Strange?” He completes your sentence for you.
You nod with a little airy laugh, earning another grin from him.
“Take this off for me?” He drags the hem of your top just below your ribs, and you quickly take action, fumbling with shaky hands to pull the thin office blouse over your head. “Bra too.”
Again, your hands move of their own accord, just following his instructions. You reach behind you, fingers pinching the clasp of the bra, unhooking it with a snap, allowing the lacy garment to loosen on your skin. You watch his expression as you peel the straps down your arms slowly, before flinging the lace somewhere across the floor.
You’re both completely naked now. The subtle throb of his stiff length inside you is a reminder of the situation you're in.
Your eyes remain on his face, while his drink in your nudity, roaming shamelessly, like you’re an intricate painting that needs studying. From your lips to your collarbones, to your tits - where they linger - over your stomach, then down to where you’re still connected.
“Pretty.” He mutters quietly, and it feels like the word isn’t even aimed at you, but at your pussy.
“Stop staring.” You throw his own words back at him, but his intense gaze sends a fresh flood of arousal out of your clenching heat anyway, drenching his cock in it too. You can't help but secretly love how he's ogling, eyes glazed with what could only be pure lust.
He blatantly ignores you. Just takes hold of your waist with one hand and plants the other one flat by your shoulder to support his weight. And then his hips start moving. Finally.
You grip onto the soft skin of his thighs as he drags his length out to the tip before slowly sinking back in. The wet sounds are humiliating and arousing at the same time, and you can’t help but involuntarily squeeze him in.
It seems that brings him out of the trance he's in, making him lose whatever was left of his patience. Without warning he pushes your legs up, squishing your knees against your tits. Giving you no time to react, he starts ramming into your dripping cunt, no care in the world. Completely opposite to his previously careful actions. No easing you in, no letting you adjust. Just vigorous, hard snaps of his hips, his balls slapping against your ass, creating obscene sounds combined with the slurps of your cunt around him.
You’re still somewhat in shock, trying to comprehend what he’s putting your body through, but when he slightly adjusts his angle and starts jamming directly into your g-spot, you let out a whiny shriek.
“Yeah? You like that?” He rasps, dark eyes finding yours, consuming your pleasure.
“Uhuh,” You moan out, your nails dig into his thigh muscles. “Please, keep going.”
“So needy.” He mocks, leaning over you and folding you in half, testing your flexibility as your legs hook over his shoulders. The penetration is too deep, too intense. Makes your legs shake so much you have to wrap your own arms around the backs of your thighs to minimise the tremble.
“Fuck you.” You scoff, the words laced arousal even though frustration boils in your chest.
He laughs. So mean but so sexy. “Always wondered what you'd sound like.”
“Shut up, you’re so gross.” You whine, your pussy squelching as it tightens again. He’s taunting you and getting a kick out of it. A sick sick man. A sick man who's got you dripping on his sofa. Because he's too fucking hot right now.
“And you’re kind of a slut.” He points out with a hard thrust, bulbous head hitting against your cervix, making your eyes roll back into their sockets,. “Begging me to fuck you like this.”
“Nggh f-fuck, Hyuck, don’t call me that.” You try your best to sound grossed out, but it only comes out as a weak plea.
“Awh, why? Like it a little too much?” More like loved it, but you know better that to ever admit that. “Yeah, you do. Look at you, fucking creaming.” He’s greedily staring between your legs, at how his cock is abusing your needy cunt. “Who knew you’d be so thirsty for dick, baby.” He blabbers aimlessly, sounding a little too far gone to care. “My cute little bestie is such a slut, hm?”
You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from screaming. Your face and neck feel like they’re on fire, but your sensitive walls keep inviting him in regardless.
“Knew you’d be a fucking yapper.” You grit, hoping to piss him off.
“Mm.” He offers you a lazy smile instead. Like a dumb fucking idiot. “You know me so well.”
Your pussy flutters at that, and strangely, so does your heart.
He keeps fucking into you at the same pace. Not too fast, but hard enough for your ass to ache from the slaps of his hips. You want him closer.
“My leg’s cramping.” You lie mindlessly.
You’re not sure if he sees right through you, but he slips your legs off his shoulders anyway, letting them loosely settle around his hips, and you seize the opportunity to pull him closer, a hand grabbing onto the back of his neck.
He groans lowly at the forced proximity. “Shit.”
“Faster.” You demand, hands tugging at his hair as he buries his face in your neck. He doesn’t say a word, just does as told. Fucks you faster and a little harder than before, cock barely pulling out before jamming back in, creating a delicious vibration against your clit and front wall. “Oh, my god, yes.”
“So good, baby.” He whispers raggedly in your ear, the pet name causing goosebumps to raise on your sweaty skin and turbulence in your chest. “So warm and slippery.”
A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out, your legs closing in on his hips, preventing him from moving for a second, before he shoves them open again.
“Just take it.” He grunts, hips resuming their assault as his teeth graze your jaw before trapping your earlobe between them. “You asked for this, didn't you?”
“Fuck, please.” You whimper out pitifully, not entirely sure what you’re begging for at this point. Your focus is interchanging between the way his chest rubs against yours, stimulating your aching nipples, and his fat cock stretching your cunt like it's carving out its shape in you, as though he's trying to ruin you for anyone else.
A hand buries in your hair, pulling hard enough to make you gasp, your head lolling back, giving him enough space to lap the sweat off your neck, lustful, angry kisses littering the sensitive skin.
It's too much. Too dizzying. And so fucking good.
You’re so close. Right on the edge. You just need something to push you over. Something you’re too shy to ask for.
You let your fingers wrap around his wrist instead, guiding his hand to your neck. It lies there limply for a second, just at the base of your throat, and then he lifts his head a little, forehead resting against your temple, nose nuzzling your cheek. Once again, your wish is his command. His palm engulfs your throat, fingers applying the perfect pressure on your pulse points. So perfect that your eyes roll back and your hips stutter, while his don't falter even a little, maintaining their intense rhythm.
“Hyuckie,” You whisper the loving nickname weakly, too lost in the daze, not able to care about how vulnerable you sound. You need him to know how fucked up he's got you. “Can I cum? Please?”
“Fuck, you're so cute.” Haechan whines, the tenderness in his voice contrasting his demanding thrusts. “It’s okay, baby, Huyckie's got you.”
His sweet, reassuring words combined with every single of your nerve endings being stimulated to the max, send you into an all-consuming climax. Just a couple more thrusts and your pussy squeezes him so tight, kneads his shaft in rhythmic pulses, to the point you’re worried you might actually push him out, but you’re so thankful he doesn’t let up.
His hips smack into yours harder, faster, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he can. Your muscles spasm from the aftershocks, hands grabbing onto his back, legs quivering around his waist. And just when you’re floating in bliss - body and mind feeling light and fuzzy - you utter something that would have shocked you, weren't you in this delirious state.
“Hyuck?” Your voice comes out shaky and breathless. “You’re still my best friend, right?”
He stills for a moment, slamming deep inside you, pulling a yelp out of you.
“What the fuck.” He growls out, sounding enraged as well as surprised. His cock kisses your cervix, before it drags against your incredibly sensitive walls, the pleasure bordering pain when he starts fucking you like he wants to punish you, your body torn between needing a way out and begging for everything he’s giving you. Especially when he sounds so wrecked. “You can’t say that unless you want me to nut inside you.”
“Yeah, please.” You put on the whiniest voice you can, hoping he cracks. “Want it.”
You've already lost the battle. You might as well act reckless now.
“Jesus fuck.” He pants in awe. “Are you insane or did I actually fuck you stupid?”
The blissed-out laugh that rolls out of you, makes you sound completely dumb and out of breath. Maybe he did fuck you stupid.
An arm slings around your shoulders securely, holding you close as he grabs onto your thigh with his free hand, hooking your leg higher on his waist. His thrusts are messy now, cock stuffing you in uncoordinated short plunges, slipping out a few times due to the wetness, but quickly finding its way back in your quivering hole.
“I’m such a good bestie, right?” You prod, loving his little whines and how responsive he's suddenly become.
“Yes, baby, you're so so good to me.” His blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, harsh breaths hitting your collarbone in hot puffs. He’s slightly trembling and your heart aches a little at how pliant with need his is, how soft his skin feels on yours, so you thread your fingers through his messy hair, caressing gently to offer some relief as he nears his peak. “Oh fuck... oh god—I’m gonna—”
“That's it.” You praise in a whisper, struggling to keep your legs spread wide open for him, toes curling from the overstimulation, breaths stuttering against his neck. "Please please, cum in me, wanna feel you."
“Shit, ffffuck—I’m cumming... I’m cumming.” He moans, all strained from the building pressure, and then he’s visibly shaking, his whole length burying deep inside, to the hilt, as his hot cum paints your walls in quick spurts, filling up your spent pussy, just like you begged him to. He's so vocal; mewls and broken whines rolling out of him as he delivers a few more messy pumps that turn into languid grinds.
You can’t help but moan with him, clenching on purpose to milk everything out of him, loving the claim he’s laying upon your body. And when he lifts his weight a little, just to look down, you find the most sinful sight. He grinds one last time before pulling out slowly, the head of his softening cock bumping into your clit, making you flinch while smearing both your releases all over your puffy folds.
“Shit.” He exhales in wonderment, damp chest moving up and down, covered in pink blotches, giving his already pretty skin a breathtaking glow.
Your hand moves on its own, in need to feel the mess you've both created. Your let your fingers dip between your wet folds, shamelessly stroking up and down your slit, his intense gaze spurring you on as you gather some of his cum that’s already started to spill out. You revel in the fascination his eyes hold as they follow your every move carefully.
Your lips wrap around your index and middle fingers while holding his gaze. His tongue dips out to lick at his bottom lip as he takes in the sinful act with furrowed brows, like he's angry.
Before you can put on more of a show, his hand is on your jaw, your fingers ripped out of your mouth as his tongue replaces them, shoving into your mouth like he just needs a taste, prying your lips open without hovering for permission.
And then he abruptly breaks the kiss with a wet smack. Wild eyes find yours again when he mutters quietly, “Do you want all of it?”
You know what he's implying. You know you should refuse. You really should.
But you nod instead.
He doesn’t waste time. Just shuffles down, head buried between your thighs in record time, tongue eagerly licking all over your folds. You flinch when his nose nudges against your clit, mouth greedily sucking at your entrance to gather as much of his cum as he can. It feels soothing in a way, as opposed to the tingling sensation his cock left behind after the repeated stretch. You know you’ll feel sore tomorrow, but you focus on his soft lips, sighing out in relief at the lazy laps.
It ends before the pleasure can start building back up, and he’s hovering above you again, shielding your naked body from the cool air of the room. His mouth is just above yours, sealed tight as he awaits.
You cup his face in your hands to pull him closer before parting your lips for him, tongue sticking out flat. You let a moan slip when he lets your combined juices mixed with his spit dribble onto your awaiting mouth. You can only close your eyes when you briefly taste and then swallow the thick and slightly salty substance.
And then he's slotting his lips with yours again, kissing you slowly this time, tongue gliding savouringly against yours until you're out of breath and your lips feel numb.
He hesitantly pulls away with a little nip on your bottom lip, before he licks at the corner of his mouth, where some of his - or your - saliva has smeared.
“Well, that fucking escalated.” He says with a tired, amused sigh.
You don't even try to tone down your staring as you take in his flushed face, slightly baffled expression making you smile.
“In a good way?” You test, letting out an exhale of your own when he drops his weight on you carefully. He rests his head on your chest, cheek squishing just above the swell of your left boob, exactly where your heart threatens to jump out of. The softness in his actions helps your limbs relax a little.
He hums contentedly when you run a hand through his hair, combing through the fluffy strands absentmindedly.
“A little too good, unfortunately.” He teases, tone playful as always.
“Mm, sorry, I guess.” You play along, eyes closing briefly when his warm palm engulfs the breast he’s not using as a headrest. He kneads the supple flesh gently. Then just holds.
“Maybe it’s a sign.” He says quietly, sounding like he’s in deep contemplation.
“That we’re both equally deranged?” You joke with a soft chuckle.
“That too. But also, that you've been fucking the wrong people.” He states, like it’s the only explanation.
“And fucking my best friend is so right.” Your tone is sarcastic, but it holds truth. How is this right?
He chuckles lightly, warm breath hitting your skin. “Didn't feel wrong, I'll tell you that for free.”
“Aren't you sweet.” You tug a little harder on his hair — a silent warning.
“No, seriously, though.” He traces the underside of your breast with his thumb, slightly tickling you. “There's obviously tension.”
You don't confirm or deny. “Okay, and? What's your point?”
“Maybe we should just fuck it all out.” He suggests a little too casually.
“Isn’t that what we just did?” You keep playing with his hair, needing a distraction from the slightly confusing conversation.
He tilts his head up to look at you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, brown eyes glimmering with mischief in the soft lighting of his living room, like he's unlocked something that maybe should've stayed hidden.
“I dunno,” Haechan mutters, voice sounding honey-like. “Do you feel like you’re done with me?”
The quickening of your heartbeat and the strange, tingly feeling that still lingers in your tummy are enough of an answer.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVED THIS SOOOOOOO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!!!! I can’t even tell you how grateful i am to you for posting this amazingly written spectacular fic. I have no words, just to let you know that i’m very much enjoying this and can’t wait to see more of them teehee pls do more of them pls pls pls we’ve been through a lot, cookie. A good smut fic is all we need T T, pls keep the nctblr community alive🥹❤️
an: i’ve had this in my drafts for like a month now and idk how or if i want to continue it so i’ll just leave this here and see if anything comes to me. this is in the same universe as the idol series with “don’t you know jisung?” and “the nonchalant king.”
warnings: angst
🎬
the video reflected back at him, painfully vivid, unforgiving in its detail – front camera. selfie view. his arm extended in front of you, the frame tilted just enough to catch both your faces clearly.
both of you are looking at the screen. the lighting is dark coming only from the television playing in the background. and you’re smiling already, like you know exactly what he’s about to do.
“don’t start,” you warn, eyes flicking up toward him through the reflection, a playful glint in them.
he ignores you. he always ignores you when he’s in this mood.
he leans down and presses a loud, wet kiss to your cheek. your nose scrunches immediately, laughter bubbling out of you.
“hyuck—”
another kiss. opposite cheek this time. you try to twist away but you can’t really go anywhere — trapped snugly in between his legs, his arm secured around your waist as he chuckles warmly against your skin.
he doesn’t stop. continuing to pepper your cheeks with flurry of quick, silly pecks, one after another. it’s playful, stupidly affectionate, annoyingly cute. exaggerated smooches just to make you react.
“you’re so annoying,” you giggle, shielding half your face with your sleeve.
he eases your hand away gently and tries to plant another kiss right where you tried to hide but this time you caught his jaw, tilting your head to return a single, soft kiss – just to shut him up.
the camera catches everything. the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. the way his mischievous grin softens after you kiss him soft and slow. the way his chin rests briefly on your shoulder, both of you just looking at each other. the image of yourselves tangled together like that’s where you’re meant to be stays right there in his phone.
it wasn’t grand or theatrical. no sweeping romance, no polished perfection.
it’s domestic. intimate in the quietest way. the kind of moment you record without thinking because you want to remember it later. the kind of moment that was supposed to be yours.
and now it isn’t.
if it were anyone else, it wouldn’t have mattered. just another happy couple on social media — maybe it’d earn a few eye-rolls, maybe a couple good for them comments.
except you weren’t anyone else. and neither was he.
fans zoomed in within seconds. threads were made. dots were connected. the internet was alive and messy:
“HOLY SHIT”
“i feel like i’m intruding”
“con 😭😭 grat 😭😭😭 ul 😭😭 a 😭😭 tions 😭😭😭”
“let me in”
“THAT’S HIS LIVING ROOM”
“ew he can do so much better”
“omg wait….this couple actually makes sense!!!!”
“i knew it!! i knew it!! they had too many matching things for it to be all a coincidence!!!!!”
“bro, you’re telling me haechan’s NOT gay????”
“mark crying in the corner right now”
“i would’ve written CRZY too if the y/n was my girlfriend, i get you lee haechan”
“lmao, you guys believe anything….that’s clearly not them.”
“ai is crazy these days”
and then, to add to the fire—
[BREAKING NEWS]
A leaked private video reveals Lee Haechan of NCT sharing affectionate moments with soloist Y/N inside his house. The idols are seen holding the camera as he peppers her cheeks with kisses while the two laugh together on his couch.
it would’ve been fine.
ten years into his career. dating wasn’t going to erase that. he wasn’t a rookie whose image balanced on purity marketing. he’d survived scandals before — whispers, blurry photos, the endless gaze of the public eye.
sure, a handful of fans might lash out, others might fade into the background, trucks may be sent in protests, but if seeing him in love was too much for them, then maybe they were never really there for the right reasons.
there was nothing really catastrophic about it. his company could just keep quiet the way they do with other rumors. or release a statement along the lines of “we ask for your understanding regarding the artist’s personal life.”
the world wasn’t ending.
because it already had.
the irony almost makes him laugh. because the video captures something that no longer exists. it was taken last june. and you broke up in august. it’s been six months since then. three if he counts that one impulsive evening where he broke no contact.
this was before the late-night arguments. before the missed calls. before schedules started feeling like excuses instead of responsibilities. before you both realized love didn’t automatically win against exhaustion.
he remembers filming it. you had stolen his phone first, flipping to the front camera to fix your hair. he'd wrapped his arms around you from behind and refused to let go.
“i’m keeping this,” he’d said when you tried to delete it.
“don’t you dare send that to anyone.”
of course he didn’t. he kept it. for nights when the couch felt too empty. for when he missed the weight of you leaning back against him like that. it was his own, personal treasure.
and now the whole world has it. analyzing the softness in his eyes. looping your laughter like it’s public property.
maybe that’s the cruelest part. because the world is just finding out like this was just yesterday. while he’s been desperately trying his hardest to move on.
the video ends. restarts automatically. your laughter fills the room again — bright, careless, a sound that used to light up his entire world. his apartment feels too quiet without it.
then his phone shatters the silence. not with the relentless ping of notifications from his manager or the company’s crisis line, but with a single, insistent ring. the screen lights up, your name glowing like a ghost from the past.
his thumb hover the answer button, heart slamming against his ribs, a mix of dread and something sharper – longing? – twisting in his gut.
it rings again.
he finally answers.
“…what.”
no pretense, no warmth. his voice comes out rough, edged with the fury that's been simmering since he first saw the leak hit the media.
“lee haechan.”
his jaw ticks. his full stage name. not haechan. not hyuck. not the nickname you used when you were teasing him.
lee haechan.
low. controlled. furious. he can almost picture you pacing in your own space, eyes blazing, that fire in you that always drew him like a moth to a flame.
“what the fuck did you do?”
no preamble, no easing into the pain. it's pure accusation, and it ignites something primal in him. a sharp, disbelieving laugh escapes his lips, bitter, his free hand clenching into a fist against his thigh.
“what did i do?” he repeats, the words tasting like ash, “you think i did this?”
“that video was on your phone!” you shoot back instantly, voice crackling through the line like static electricity, “it didn’t just magically leak itself!”
the accusation lands in the worst way. because if there was one thing you both were — it was protective. of each other. of what was yours.
he surges to his feet, knee slamming into his coffee table with a dull thud that sends a jolt up his leg. pain flares, but it's nothing compared to the ache in his chest.
“don’t,” he snaps. “don’t act like i’d ever sell that moment for attention.”
“i’m not saying you sold it—”
“then what are you saying?” his tone escalates, raw and demanding, as he starts pacing the length of the living room, the carpet muffling his steps but not the thunder of his pulse in his ears, “because it sounds like you’re accusing me.”
silence stretches, but it's charged, humming with the unresolved energy that's always defined you two. you’ve always been like this. too passionate. too loud. too unwilling to back down. your friends used to joke that when you two fought, the walls probably shook. you once told him you liked that about him — how he matched your fire, made you feel seen.
right now — it’s annoying.
“i’m saying,” you bite out, each word deliberate, slicing through the tension, “that it was private. it was on your phone. and now it’s everywhere. connect the dots, haechan.”
he drags a hand through his tousled hair, tugging at the roots as if it could ground him.
“you think i don’t know it was private?” he shoots back. “i kept that for myself. i didn’t even send it to you.”
“well, you should’ve deleted it like i told you to,” you retort, sharpness returning like a blade unsheathed.
he doesn’t have a sharp response. because you were right. if he had just deleted it, then you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.
“my team is freaking out,” you continue, voice edged with exhaustion beneath the anger, “they’re asking if we’re still together. if this is a soft launch. if we’re going to confirm.”
that word. confirm. like what you had can be reduced to a headline.
“then tell them the truth,” he says flatly, the words tasting final, even as his heart rebels against them.
another beat of silence, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid — the betrayal of privacy now exposing the lingering pull that the video has dragged back to the surface, raw and aching.
“…and what is that?”
there's a challenge in your voice, daring him to voice the end all over again, to sever the thread that's fraying but not yet broken. he doesn't flinch, even as regret coils in his stomach like smoke.
“that it’s old. that we’re not together.”
the words taste bitter on his tongue. haechan's chest tightens as he hears the faint hitch in your breath through the line, a tiny crack in your armor that you seal over almost instantly. recovery has always been your strength, a quick snap back into place, leaving no room for vulnerability to linger.
“great,” you say, your tone sliding into cool detachment, “so now i’ll get to publicly clarify that my ex leaked a video of us.”
that accusation slices through him, halting his restless pacing mid-stride. his bare feet root to the cool hardwood floor, the apartment's shadows stretching long across the walls, mirroring the sudden stillness in his body.
the accusation isn't just words — it's a weapon forged from the trust you'd both once wielded so carefully, now turned inward.
“don’t twist this,” he warns. his voice drops — dangerous. steady. “i didn’t leak it. and you know me better than that.”
the silence that follows crackles with unspoken history, a live current humming between you. because you do know him — intimately, down to the way his breath would quicken against your neck in the quiet hours to the fierce loyalty that made him yours in every shadowed corner of the world.
and he knows you — not the polished version the public sees, but the raw force, all spark and gasoline.
when it was good, it was explosive. when it was bad, it burned.
“then how did it get out?” you demand, but there’s less venom now. more frustration.
“i don’t know,” he admits, jaw tight.
had it been a hack? was it someone who had access to his phone? someone he trusted? the uncertainty fuels the rage, but it's your doubt that truly wounds.
“but don’t call me like i betrayed you.”
“i didn’t say that.”
“you didn’t have to.”
for a second, neither of you speak. the anger is still there — but underneath it is something heavier. hurt. pride. the fact that even broken up, you still care enough to yell like this.
“this is a mess,” you mutter finally, the fight ebbing into weary resignation.
“yeah,” he echoes, the single syllable rough, stripped bare.
his eyes drift to the paused frame on his screen — you tucked between his legs, both of you smiling like the world was small and safe.
“we were always a mess,” he adds, the words slipping out softer, laced with the honesty.
you almost laugh — he can hear it in the catch of your breath, the ghost of that familiar sound hovering before you rein it in.
“don’t start romanticizing this,” you warn.
he scoffs quietly, the sound low and self-deprecating, echoing in the empty room, “trust me. i’m not.”
another silence settles, less explosive now, more exhausted.
“my team’s going to call yours,” you say, shifting to practicalities, the professional mask slipping back into place, “we need to align statements.”
“fine.”
he pauses, the agreement clipped, then his voice dips lower, quieter, carrying the weight of insistence without the barbs.
“…i didn’t leak it.” this time, it's not defensive.
you don't respond immediately, the delay stretching like a held breath, “…i know you wouldn’t,” you admit, “i just—”
“i know,” he cuts in, still knowing you too well, “you’re pissed.”
“yeah.”
“so am i.”
because whatever you were — you were never careless with each other.
SYNOPSIS: lee haechan ー beloved retired prosecutor ruins his own career with his big mouth. as his lawyer, you have to save his career, or what's left of it, and you rock his world while trying to do so.
PAIRING: tv personality!haechan x female lawyer!reader
GENRE: acquaintances to strangers to lovers, humour, smut.
WORD COUNT: 16.4k
CONTAINS: appearance of other idols. love triangle?? but not really. mentions of sensitive topics but none involve the main characters directly. haechan gets called both haechan and donghyuck. one bad and possibly offensive joke. banter, humour, smut, jealousy, lots of dialogue. sub!haechan, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, praise and degradation kink, nipple play, unprotected penetrative sex, riding, choking. author's note at the end.
inspired by michael jackson's song you rock my world.
“If it’s morning for you, good morning,” Haechan’s ears ring as he watches the flat TV screen in his living room, “If it’s night, then, goodnight! And remember…”
“If you don’t see me again, have a nice life!” Haechan repeats the words of the host. His words. Words that he, himself came up with. His punchline — which was stolen by the crusty rat who took his place, who managed to steal from him even the intonation as he spoke the words.
Haechan scoffs, turning the TV off, and throwing his slippers away, not caring where they land.
He made a colossal mistake, and he’d like to shirk his way out of it easily by saying it wasn’t him. The only problem? He said it on television, everyone has seen his stupid face plastered on their TV’s as he possibly fumbled his career forever.
But how was he supposed to know people don’t have a sense of humour? Right after it slipped past his lips, his bosses warned him about the repercussions of such a joke, and even if they thought the joke was great and howled with laughter while slapping him on his back repeatedly, the audience didn’t appreciate it.
He sits back on his disgustingly big couch, and rewinds what happened that one night.
He told his usual jokes, everyone laughed, the live band used the drums and trumpets for effect. And then, just because he felt very brave and his ego was skyrocketing after looking at the amused faces in the audience, he thought it would be a good idea to add one last joke — instead of his usual concluding line for the end of the night.
“And since this was a topic tonight… before I get to wish you a good night,” He announced, grin stretching from ear to ear, showing his pearly white teeth — a smile everyone loves or, better said, used to love, “I got one last joke about abortion that never gets old… just like the baby…”
Crickets. No one laughed, not even a sound coming from the live band — not even the disappointed sound of the trumpet at his flopping joke.
He cringes remembering how he ended the night, the phone calls from his producers and bosses, and them wishing him the whole thing wouldn’t escalate into something bigger.
Except, it did escalate.
His amazing rating dropped and, to put it simply, he got called in the office and put on unpaid leave until things settled and waters calmed down.
And even after being put on leave, people still came for his head. Women, activists, whole communities fuelled the online debates, criticism, and hate train over his words and actions. He saw his life being desiccated, under a magnifying glass for everyone to judge and study thoroughly, trying to find past mistakes that could be the final nail in his coffin, and which could erase him from being in the public eye.
Lee Donghyuck, who managed to work hard and make a name for himself. Lee Donghyuck, who moved on from his passion and dream job, leaving being a prosecutor for a better and, what he was hoping to be, a calmer future.
Lee Donghyuck, the almighty county prosecutor left his life behind after audiences loved his presence and made him famous, turned into his television persona — Lee Haechan — and the audiences stepped on him like a disgusting cockroach, ready to get discarded of him, who he once was, and what he once represented.
And worst of all, he got a call asking him to come into office tomorrow — and Haechan knows that’s not a good sign for him.
You know who Haechan is. Of course you do, whoever claims not to know who he is is either lying or has been living under a rock for the past couple of years.
He used to be a very diligent prosecutor, who took his job seriously and did his best trying to catch bad guys and getting them convicted for the longest times for their heinous crimes. He used to be one of the best in his field, of the highest competence, so much that lawyers already knew they were on thin ice trying to fight him in court, their clients most likely ending up in jail.
He had an innate talent at what he was doing, and an honest love for his profession — so much that people could just tell he lived and breathed to be a prosecutor. This passion opened a door for him — in television this time.
There used to be this one program, with people dropping by either in person or with a phone call, and they brought up their legal battles asking for advice — all televised. And Haechan was the one expert the producers called most of the times.
Phone calls turned into physical appearances at the studio, where he interacted with the audience. He walked in the studio like he owned the entire planet. Expensive suits, expensive leather shoes, Rolex and jewellery adorned his wrists. He had a glint in his eyes, one that could make anyone fall for his charms.
He was cocky, and for a good reason. He knew just how good he was at his job and, quite frankly, at everything in his life. And although his cockiness might have rubbed some people the wrong way — a handful of people out of an ocean of amazed and satisfied audiences — Haechan was very talented with his charms. He talked to people like he was close to them, like they were long lost friends. He gave them pieces of advice that one would have given to the people you only cared about the most, or to real clients. Not some random person on a TV show.
He connected with the people, and everyone loved him. He became a legend, well known, well liked — and viewer rates skyrocketed.
So much that they gave him his own night show. That’s when he became Lee Haechan — but you’ve known him for far longer than you’d like to admit.
You’ve known him from when he was Lee Donghyuck, a simple student. He studied law and was an insufferable presence in your classes. Your opinions clashed, but then you united against people who had opinions that not only were different than yours, but also wrong. It’s like you were allowed to fight each other, but the moment someone else tried to intervene or take either one of your places, you teamed up to fight back.
You can’t really say you were total strangers to each other. You acknowledged each other, and each other’s talent at what you were doing. Back then, you thought his presence was aggravating, with his usual talent at picking up fights with you and bickering during debates and classes, and you swear he had a sick glint of satisfaction in his eyes every time he saw you getting worked up over him contradicting you.
You got to work on some projects together, and he was close to some people from your small circle of friends. When you’re a law student, there’s not much time you can spend relaxing or going on dates, so the friends you make in your first year are basically the ones you’re stuck with. You heard stories, whispers, but not once did you consider Donghyuck more than what he was — a friend of a friend, who liked driving you insane with every chance he got.
Everyone liked him, got along with him well, yet you kept your distance — mainly because you couldn’t stand his cockiness when he was so satisfied with his driving you up the wall, or when he knew he was right and that he won an argument or debate.
And then your studies ended, and he climbed the success ladder with big and quick steps, while you liked taking your time.
You focused on your career, and you liked gloating that your success rate was almost impeccable. Sure, the amount of work load couldn’t compare to what Donghyuck had to work with as a prosecutor, but you never diminished your efforts and your talent.
For this exact reason, you picked up doing pro bono work every chance you got — being driven by the thought that you could do your part and help people out, with this small aspect at least, and it became an important part of your life, one that helped you stay grounded.
After reminiscing the past, and knowing what’s to come in the next weeks, it boosts your confidence and makes you completely satisfied with yourself, like nothing — and no one — can take you down.
Which is exactly why the drive to the studio feels extremely exciting, like your skin is tingling to get to work — this being the first time you work on this type of case.
Your heels clink on the shiny floors as you make your way towards the conference room, where your bosses and your client are waiting for you to make an appearance.
And with a few minutes left to spare before your meeting starts, you stall on the hallways of the headquarters, because you hate showing up earlier — or later, for that matter — for appointments. You like being very precise, organised in every little aspect of your life because, after all, these are the only moments you try to stay away from unpredictability.
“Oh, hi!” You’re snatched out of your thoughts as you look at your watch. Two more minutes left before going in. “Is there a reason you’re not going in?” Johnny Suh, one of your bosses, smiles while looking at you, all confused.
You shrug, taking a sip from your coffee, “Still two minutes left,”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t take you seriously, and the sly smile on his features makes you understand he really isn’t, “Don’t be silly,” He gestures for you to walk towards the door, huge hand barely touching your tricep respectfully in order to guide you in, “He’s already here,”
He opens the door for you, and you give him a small smile, complying with his request to go in. He’s your boss, after all.
“I told you that’s not it! I didn’t mean it that way, I was jus-” You recognise the voice, high in pitch with frustration, and he stops his rambling when he turns his head to look at who’s walking inside the conference room.
“Y/n?” He’s in disbelief, and a small crease forms in between his eyebrows.
“You two know each other?” Johnny asks, sitting down at the huge table, “Of course you do! I forgot you used to work in the same field,” He looks over a few papers as he takes his blazer off, “Then there’s no need for formal introductions, right?”
You take your seat right across from where Donghyuck is sitting, and you watch as he pouts with confusion while looking at you. You smile, a kind of devious and calm smile he’s never seen on your face before — and it almost creeps him out.
“What are you doin’ here?” He asks you, leaning in over the table as if your answer is meant to be a secret, for his ears only. As if the room isn’t filled with producers and executives.
“Y/n is your lawyer,” Another executive speaks up before Johnny can ease Donghyuck into it.
You’re impressed by the straightforwardness, realising that the sooner the bandaid gets ripped off, the better for everyone.
“My what?!” Donghyuck’s voice is high in pitch, proving to you that his usual exaggerating persona from the past hasn’t changed a bit. “I don’t need a lawyer,”
“Yet,” the CFO intervenes, and Donghyuck’s head snaps to the side to look at her.
His eyebrows furrow while taking his sweet moment trying to understand what is going on.
“I’m sorry but-” He snakes his head incredulously, his gaze moving between your figure and Johnny’s, “Am I being sued for something?”
“Not yet,” The CFO corrects him, and judging by the crease between Donghyuck’s eyebrows, you know he’s getting frustrated.
“But we can’t take chances on this, Haechan,” Johnny speaks up, “We know that your image is being taunted right now, and that people are very much against you,” He explains, like it should be obvious to Donghyuck that things aren’t going to calm down so easily and so soon. “Shall anything happen, Y/n’s here to assist you the best she can while also trying to work on your public image and clear your name,”
“Shall anything happen,” Donghyuck snaps, “I can represent myself very well, you all know this already,”
You look at him, now that you have the proper opportunity to see him in real time, and not on a screen. It’s been so long since you last saw him in person, you’re almost in owe at how his features remained the same, yet they became bolder, stronger, more contoured. He matured, and it brought a glow to him that you never imagined possible — not to his annoying face, anyway.
Eyes have become fiercer, like they’ve seen so many things. His jaw is visibly more defined, stronger, and when it sets with annoyance it shows you just how much he’s changed. You saw this exact jaw so many times in the past, and with every little sign of contradiction coming from someone else against him, he acted the same — jaw setting when upset, tongue in his cheek when he was taking it lightheartedly.
You look at his hands, that have also changed over time. Veins are more prominent under his tanned, honey-like skin, jewellery now adorning his wrist and fingers with beautiful golden rings and bracelets complimenting his skin tone.
It’s like he hasn’t changed when it comes to his behaviour, but physically he’s become something nearly out of this world — as much as you hate to admit it. Never in a thousand years were you thinking you’d ever be admitting to yourself how good-looking he’s gotten, and certainly you don’t plan to share your thought with anyone else. You guess you’ll have to take this secret to your grave, especially because you know that if your thoughts made it to his ears, you’d never know the end of it.
“Haechan,” Another executive calls his name, as a warning. “This is Y/n’s job, not yours. I think you’ve done enough, ”
Donghyuck turns around to look at you, straight in the eye. Everything the execs are telling him, all the instructions and pieces of advice they’re directing his way, you know he’s not listening. He’s looking at you like he’s ready to take a bite out of you, and if you didn’t already know him and his ways you’d be afraid right now.
Instead, you pucker your lips trying to mask your smile, trying to keep a professional façade in front of everyone.
What is he so worked up for, anyway? You ask yourself. No one said he’s not capable of representing himself, but you were literally hired for this kind of matters, and it’s ironic that he’s your very first client since becoming a corporate lawyer.
You’re fairly certain Donghyuck has paid no attention to anything going on during this meeting, so you already know you’ll have to pay extra attention to everything he does until everything calms down.
As the meeting comes to an end, and everyone gets up to leave, Donghyuck doesn’t move — doesn’t even bid anyone goodbye as they exit the conference room.
It’s just the two of you now, and you look at him as he watches every single movement of yours. The way you click on your retractable pen before putting it away in your tiny and fancy pencil case; the way you pile your files before putting them back inside your shoulder bag.
“Why are you here?” He rasps, still not relaxing in his seat. His elbows seem to be glued to the table as he keeps his fingers intertwined, not letting emotions betray him. Or so he hopes, because you know him pretty well to know he’s pissed by your presence.
“Have you not been paying attention?” You mock him, raising your eyebrows at him, “I’m the corporate lawyer,”
He huffs a mocking breath, rolling his eyes at you before clicking his tongue, “I don’t need a lawyer,”
You sigh, suddenly at your limit after hearing him going on like a broken record, “You don’t. Yet.” You snatch your bag away from the table, gracefully placing it on your shoulder — albeit its heaviness, “You’re a fool if you think I’m here for you, though.”
“What?” He barks, not able to refrain anymore. He has so much pent up rage from the past few weeks that he’s been dying to let out, and you’re doing your best to make him snap. Just like the old days. “What does that even mean?”
“I thought you were smarter than this,” You reply, but it comes out more as a question dripping with mockery, and it has him pushing his tongue in the inside of his cheek, “I’m a corporate lawyer, which means that I’m protecting their interests and their image, not yours. I’m sure you already know how that works… When you get in trouble, they also do,” You remind him, and you’re not even sure why you have to go through this with him right now — he’s supposed to know all this stuff already.
“I need to go now,” You announce, finally turning your back to him, “We’ll keep in touch,”
There’s a gram of satisfaction jubilating inside your body, and you can’t help the smirk that takes over your features as you leave him behind, knowing his ego and pride are now sore.
Haechan’s ears pick up a muffled sound, but he’s still too tired to care. He’s been home for a while, still on a leave, and he hasn’t seen you ever since you left the office with that arrogance that makes him want to climb walls.
The muffled sound becomes clearer, like someone properly banging on his door, and he waits a few more moments praying that whoever is at his door will soon go away. He’s not expecting anyone, he’s sure security downstairs didn’t let anyone get to his door, yet the knocking is incessant — and it gets on his nerves.
His barefoot steps thud as he makes his way, dizzy and sleepy, towards the front door. He looks through the peephole before letting out a groan, but unlocks the door nonetheless.
“Why are you here?” He locks the door after you, and you kick your heels off, out of politeness, walking down his entry hallway towards his living room.
He lives in one of those luxurious buildings — and you didn’t expect less coming from a former prosecutor who made a fortune out of his job, and a fortune more from his new job in television. His living room has you fighting the urge to let out a low whistle in appreciation, and you throw a quick glance around trying not to be too obvious with your curiosity. Everything is tidy; the decor is neat, showing his personal taste with every item of eclectic furniture and memorabilia, and the place smells like him.
You turn around on your heels, facing him once again, “You didn’t pick up my calls,” You explain, looking him up and down.
He snickers as he looks for his glasses around the living room. His hair is ruffled, his voice is raspy, and he’s still in his pyjama shorts — you definitely snatched him out of bed.
He sits on the couch, placing his glassed on the bridge of his nose before looking at you, “I don’t pick up calls from unknown callers,” He shrugs, getting more comfortable in his seat, but not offering you to take a sit.
Not that you would need him to offer you anything, not even an invitation. But because you’re in a hurry, you decide to just stand a few feet away from him.
“I told you we’d keep in touch,” You bark, furrowing your eyebrows at him, “So didn’t you think that maybe, just maybe, your lawyer is the one calling?”
He shrugs, muffling a yawn, “You could have sent me an email,”
“I did,” Your reply is dry, and you see him avoiding your gaze. “Go get ready, we’re going out,”
“Oh?” He squeals delighted, “Like a date?” He quips, grinning ear to ear, but stands up nonetheless.
You roll your eyes at him, “Just dress nicely,”
“Where are you taking me? I’m not a brunch person, I prefer candlelit dinners, you kn-” He’s interrupted by your steps, following him to his dressing room. “What are you doing?”
You let out the fakest, most mocking sound of endearment while looking at him and at how he keeps his hands over his clothed chest, as if you could see through his t-shirt.
“I didn’t realise you are a prude,” You mock him, looking at the enormous dressing room. “Go ahead, it’s not like I haven’t seen a man’s bare torso before,” You instruct him, and you can’t help but look at how an entire dresser is full of expensive suits and shirts made of Egyptian cotton. You suppress the need to let out a low whistle for the second time today, “I need you to look impeccable, I know the press is still after you. They can’t catch you lacking,”
He hums, and you’re sure he didn’t pay attention to what you just told him. That, or he just doesn’t care if he’s caught dressing like a homeless person. But it would be disastrous to his image, especially because most of his public appearances have been nothing short of perfect — and dressing badly right now could start discourse around press, and around everyone actively being against him.
You see him pulling his white t-shirt off his back, tossing it on the loveseat in the corner of the room.
Your eyes fall on his V line, out of instinct. It’s defined, it travels down to the waistband of his pyjama shorts, that are hanging dangerously low on his hips, and you feel like you can’t take your eyes off of him. Like there’s a magnetic force that doesn’t allow you to look away from him — and the same force has your eyes travelling across the waistband, gaze shifting to the happy trail on his lower abdomen.
You gulp, finally taking your eyes off his tanned skin, looking for something more appropriate to gawk at — like the vanity behind you. You turn around as if you didn’t just momentarily lose yourself in the sight of Donghyuck’s bare torso.
If he noticed your gawking, he doesn’t say anything — and you go about your inspecting his vanity while he gets dressed, moaning about you invading his privacy.
You look at the many bottles of perfumes scattered on the vanity, realising just how neat he is even with arranging his cologne and perfume bottles. You pick up a few, smelling them, and you’re instantly slapped by his usual scents — the ones he used back when you were students.
“Excuse me, miss… sorry…” He mumbles while sliding up next to you and into your personal space, snatching the bottle of Diptyque from your grasp and spraying it on his bare chest and, surprisingly, all around himself.
You cough, stepping away from him, and you see how his slim fingers button his shirt up with dexterity.
You shake your head, “Did you not apply deodorant?”
A cocky smirk appears in the corner of his mouth, “I don’t need that,” He licks his lips, “You’ll learn that about me,”
You throw him an incredulous look, “And how would I do that?”
That insufferable cocky smirk makes an appearance once again, and he shakes his head while styling his shirt, “There are a few ways. You’ll see… eventually,”
His cockiness irks you. You liked him better when he was sulking over the fact that you are his lawyer.
You managed to book an important interview for him, one that can straighten his career back to the way it used to be.
He’s going to talk about his old cases, he’s going to talk about all the times he helped people struggling with legal matters. He’s going to bring back all the good he’s done to society, and you’re sure that will stop the online hate train he’s still being the victim of.
You explain everything to him, you line the whole plan down for him to understand, to know what he should expect from the interview. Given that today is going to be just about getting a new suit for the interview, you think he needs to have enough time to mull over his thoughts and possible answers involving the topics about his past.
You also made sure they wouldn’t bring up the recent controversy — you made a clear script of topics to be addressed, you’ve made it clear to the producers. And you think this is the perfect opportunity for him to clear his name, save his career, and dodge any more criticism from the public. That, and the fact you know the editor working on said program, so it’s going to be easy to have everything under control.
“As always,” You start, touching the collar of his shirt, styling it on his nape as he looks at himself in the big mirror, and your fingers comb through the strands of hair that are getting longer, “Don’t talk to the press. Ignore them, I know you have a big prosecuting mouth, but try your best not to make this even worse,”
Your words irk Donghyuck, who follows after you as you stand by his door, putting your heels back on before heading outside.
You’re acting like he’s an idiot who runs his mouth. Like he doesn’t know what he has to do now that he’s walking on thin ice, and he wants to remind you that he’s been around the press more than you have.
“Stop bossing me around,” He rasps as he locks his front door, and you can tell that he’s getting worked up, by the way he’s pouting while talking. You walk ahead of him, going towards the lifts, “You show up to my place, dictating orders that I have to follow because you’re… my lawyer,” He barks, and it comes out more as a question, “You think you know best, but I’m not your puppy! I’m not following you around!”
You stop in your tracks, and he nearly slams into your back as he doesn’t catch your pausing. You turn around, pouting at him.
“I’m not asking you to follow me around, Donghyuck,” You mock him, posing and looking up at him, “You’re the one literally choosing to walk behind me, puppy boy,” You point your head at him, and you grab his cheeks with your free hand, squishing them together to make him pout, “You’re my puppy because you genuinely want to,”
You turn around, heels clinking on the marbled floors of the hallways as you make your way towards the lifts once again, “Ya comin’?” You ask him without halting your steps.
Donghyuck stays still for a moment, right as and where you left him. He looks at the way you sway your hips as you walk down the hallway, and he feels like the collar of his shirt is strangling him. He’s very confident about what he said about not needing deodorant, but he didn’t think you’d have him in the palm of your hand, talking down to him and making him sweat.
He clears his throat, choosing to stay silent as he follows you, and the thought that he is your puppy is starting to be very convincing inside his brain.
When interview day arrives, Donghyuck walks inside the studio like he owns the place — his usual confidence overflowing and becoming obvious even to the blind.
You pull him by the sleeve. “Tone your ego down,” You whisper through your teeth, for him to hear, “Be humble,”
“I am humble,” He looks down at you, the proximity of your bodies making his minty breath fan down on your face. “Imagine just how insufferable I am when I don’t have to walk on glass,”
“Oh,” You push at his chest, taking a step back, “I don’t have to imagine,” You turn around, your back now facing him, and you roll your eyes out of frustration.
He snorts, “I know you rolled your eyes at me,” He comments, voice low and raw with amusement. You turn around to look at him, and you see him grinning at you, pearly teeth on display as he tries to control his laughter, “You might not realise this yet, Y/n, but I know you,” He rasps, still amused, yet the glint in his eyes seems serious.
His words dawn on you, and your stomach flutters — but you don’t want to overthink about his words and the implication behind them. There can be endless, and you choose not to think about any right now.
Donghyuck gets dragged towards the changing room, and you follow after him and the stylist. You keep a close eye on him.
He’s leisurely making conversation with the stylist, making her ease into conversation and talk to him like they’re long lost friends. His innate gift of communicating is once again proven to you, and frankly to anyone else too. Even the ones mad at him seem to forget why they’re keeping away, once he opens his mouth.
Such charms are a gift, but also a curse — judging by where it got him these days.
You look at him, all styled, all ready to go in his beautiful navy suit you personally handpicked for him a few days ago. The blue brings out the tan of his skin just perfectly; he smells like Diptyque once again, and his longer strands are styled beautifully in order to frame his face.
You look up at him, while he plays with the buttons of his suit. The slope of his nose is perfect, and he pouts his full lips seemingly without realising, too busy paying attention to his sleeves.
You look at him in all his glory, and you let out a sigh.
You place the palm of your hand right in between his shoulder blades, your other hand grabbing him by the base of his neck. You push on his back and at the base of his neck simultaneously, making him adjust his posture.
“Uh,” He huffs, and his eyes widen as gets startled by your sudden actions. He clears his throat, trying to fight a smile.
“You need to learn to stand up straight,” You judge, still pushing on his spine and throat.
He finally breaks, smirk obvious even to you, and you look up at him just in time to see him licking his bottom lip.
“How’d you know I like this?” He provokes while smirking, looking down at you with the corner of his eye, but doesn’t change posture the moment you take your hands away from his body.
“Pervert,” You mumble, averting your gaze.
He chortles, turning around to look at you, posture still straight. He’s even taller than before, towering over you, and you hate that you have to look up at him.
“Oh c’mon!” He pulls you by the arm to get you to look at him, “You act like you weren't gawking at my naked body the other day,” He rasps lowly, keeping the banter between the two of you as you wait for him to be called for the interview, “I might be a pervert, but you’re not better than me!”
His hands extend towards you, trying to grab you by the arms to get your attention — or any other reaction out of you — but you’re quick with your movements as you slap his hands away. He manages to grab you by the wrist, and you stop squirming as you feel his warm and velvety skin touching yours.
You look up at him, only to notice his eyes trailing across your features, and right after looking you straight in the eye for a few seconds, his gaze falls on your lips. His gaze is sultry as he doesn’t look away, he doesn’t even let go of your wrist, yet you become relaxed to his touch.
You feel your stomach fluttering. It’s the look in his eyes, it’s the tongue still playing on his bottom lip, his cologne flooding your senses thanks to the proximity of your bodies. Your senses are alert, he managed to wake them up with a simple touch, and you suddenly feel like hotness it starting to pool in the pit of your stomach.
Your doe eyes, and the slight blush of your cheeks are enough to rile Donghyuck up, and enough to give him a reason to believe that maybe, just maybe, this doesn’t feel so wrong.
Just as you see him smirking once again, opening his mouth to let out something that you are sure is going to be pushing your buttons, he gets interrupted.
“Y/n?” A man’s voice snatches you out of the childish banter with Donghyuck, and you turn around to look for whoever just called your name.
A big smile stretches on your face, “Sungchan!”
The tall man takes a few steps, draping an arm around you, “You’re here, finally!” He smiles down at you, and then his gaze shifts towards Donghyuck, who's standing like a lost puppy behind you, “Lee Haechan! It’s so nice to finally get to meet you in person!”
Donghyuck nods, seriousness suddenly taking over his features, and he looks at the tall man who’s now on the receiving end of all your attention. He seems like a positive person; a helper, maybe. Someone you can rely on at all times — but he doesn’t want to imagine you, of all people, relying on the man who has you grinning from eat to ear right now. It should be him, the source of your grinning and decompressing, not this person you probably don’t even know as well as you know him.
He feels hotness starting to bother him, creeping up his neck — all the way to his jaw and ears. He feels uncomfortable, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. He starts feeling like a puppy once again, and he has the urge to take his tie off and possibly beat this man with it. Who cares if he adds one more controversy to the whole fiasco? Certainly not him, because he’s ready to do it if it means he has your attention back on himself.
Just as he’s ready to intervene in your conversation — even if he doesn’t know how, but he thinks he can find a way to ruin the shameless batting of eyelashes from your part — a voice calls for his name, announcing that he’s ready to go.
You turn around to look at him one last time, signalling him to be calm and level headed.
“I’ve always wanted to meet him!” Sungchan’s eyes sparkle while looking at the small screen as you follow the interview.
Donghyuck makes pleasant jokes to break the ice, witty sarcasm dripping off the tip of his tongue, enamouring the host, and you know he’s safe. He’s got this — like always.
Your attention shifts to Sungchan. You met him a long time ago, fresh out of university, during language classes you picked up as a hobby. You bonded over common interests and the fact that you attended the same course allowed you to study together from time to time, and spend more time together.
But then you started becoming busier with your career, and attending those classes became close to impossible. You kept in touch with Sungchan, and now he promised he’d help you out with Donghyuck’s interview.
You take your eyes off the small screen yet again, once you hear Sungchan humming.
“Are you busy tomorrow night?” He asks, voice raw, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
You blink at him, and you try to keep your usual seriousness, but it becomes difficult when you notice how much his eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. You move your weight on your other leg, averting your gaze as you try to mask your delight.
The interview will air in a couple of weeks, and by that time everything will calm down with Donghyuck’s issue. Plus, this gives you the perfect opportunity to discuss more about how you’d like the interview to come out.
“Pick me up at eight,” You tell him, smiling softly, right before your gaze returns to the small screen.
Time goes by, Sungchan eventually leaves the studio, and Donghyuck seems to have the host wrapped around his pinky finger.
He waltz towards you, confidence coming out of every single pore on his skin, and he winks your way as he goes back to changing in his casual clothes.
He’s relaxed, he’s his usual self as he bids everyone goodbye, and even stops to shake hands of a few executives, all while carrying his expensive suit over his shoulder. You watch him being in his natural habitat — surrounded by people, being loved and appreciated by them. He smiles, lips curving while his smile reaches his eyes as he tries to dodge certain topics and turn people down in the most polite way. And he has the tact for it, he has diplomacy, yet he has the easygoing humour that knows exactly when to attenuate conflictual topics.
You’re still wondering why he got himself in this position in the first place. Going from being a prosecutor — profession which, by the way, endowed him with all the skills he sports nowadays — to becoming a tv host who has easily fallen in disgrace, victim of sensitive judgement and especially of cancel culture.
“So,” He starts, approaching his Porsche in the parking lot, “Should we have dinner together, tomorrow? You know… to celebrate the fact that tonight was a success,”
You raise your eyebrows, and you see the unfaltering glint in his eyes only getting bigger with excitement. You think it’s because your plan was successful, he enjoyed the interview, and it will be enough to clear up all sorts of confusion when it comes to his controversies.
“I’d love to,” You start, and you think the glint in his eyes became even more sparkly, “But…” You suck air through your teeth, wrinkling your nose.
Donghyuck doesn’t like how you wrinkle your nose — or, to put it better, what it implies.
He nods insistingly, pushing you to continue, “I’m fairly sure you didn’t have anything planned,”
You shrug, “Sungchan kinda beat you to it,”
The sky falls on him. While he was following your orders, another man worked his charms on you?
“You’re ditching me for someone you barely know?” He’s getting worked up, but he’s trying to keep it light by pushing his tongue in the inside on his cheek as he smiles with disbelief.
“Sungchan and I are friends,” You retort, suddenly not liking how you have to explain your life to Donghyuck — who has been a total stranger to you, and with whom you only reconnected a month ago.
“Friends?” He sniggers, disbelief making his voice high in pitch, “If you’re friends with him, then what does that make us?”
“You’re my client, Donghyuck,” You spit out, arrogance matching his during his worst days. This is the first time Donghyuck hates the way you say his name. “I’ll call you soon. You better pick up my calls!” You warn him as your heels clink on the concrete, as you walk towards the exit.
And Donghyuck feels his insides churning as he thinks of what you’ve just told him.
Unbelievable.
It’s unbelievable how he is at home, bored out of his mind, and you’re out on a what? A date?
He likes to think it’s just a simple chit-chat with an old friend, but he’s a man and he knows how the ones of his kind can get when there’s a pretty girl around.
You called him his client, but he remembers how you called him a fool for believing you were his lawyer.
Your usual biting back every time he tries to get closer hasn’t changed. Maybe you misunderstood his intentions, and no, this isn’t about him asking you out — because he totally did that, and was hoping you’d finally warm up to him.
You literally rocked his world when you reappeared in his life, yet you’re now out with that Sung-something, and he feels like he is going to lose all progress made with you up until now. Is it a crime that he wants to crash your supposed date? That he doesn’t care if the press finds him wandering the streets as he looks for the restaurant that man took you out to?
Instead, he picks up his phone. He wants to send a text, just to make sure you’re having fun — but who is he kidding? He wants to send a text to bring your attention on him.
How long have you known this Sung person for, anyway? Donghyuck bets the history between him and you feels heavier, fuller than whatever friendship you have with that guy because, after all, as much as you might not have liked it, you two were always around each other all those years back.
He sighs, taking a sip from his glass of wine, and he lets his intrusive thoughts win. He dials your number, but just as expected, you don’t pick up. So he insists, because that’s what he’s best at — pushing your buttons.
“You better be dying and for some reason I’m the last number in your recents,” You spit through gritted teeth, as you pick up his call.
He smiles like a fool when he finally hears your voice, “I am dying,” He chuckles, playing with the rings on his fingers, “Dying to see you again,”
“Unbelievable,” You let out an outraged mumble. He can’t see you, but he knows you just rolled your eyes at his comeback.
If only you could see him now, you’d see his pupils are the shape of hearts as his eyes glint just imagining you reacting to him.
“Why did you call me? I’m kinda busy,” You burst his bubble, and he’s the one rolling his eyes now. Just the thought of your whereabouts and the company you keep right now is making his throat go dry.
“Oh, really?” He plays dumb, yet he knows he can’t fool you, “Was it tonight? I forgot about that,” He’s shameless, and he hears your scoffing.
“We literally talked about this last night, Hyuck,” His heart skips a bit at the way you call his name, because only people who are close to him can use his government name — and he certainly feels you being close to him, as much as neither of you have ever addressed this before.
“I must have forgotten,” His tone drips with fake innocence, a pout forming on his plump lips.
You hate that you can envision him right now — in his home attire, his fluffy hair unkept, only combed through by his fingers, glasses resting on the bridge of his pretty nose, bare feet taking steps between the living room and kitchen.
“So, what? Are you on a date right now?” He challenges, finally letting you know why he’s calling. You make a sound that he takes as a confirmation of his fears, “With Mr Lanky?”
“Donghyuck!” You warn, outraged and tired. “You’re lucky he’s gone to the restroom and couldn’t hear this useless conversation,”
“Oh, I don’t know, gorgeous,” He smirks to himself, “He’s been gone for a while. What if he’s got the runs after talking to a gorgeous girl like yourself?” His tone is low and, as much as you want to hang up the call, his voice makes your stomach flutter.
That, or the cheese soufflé is the one to blame.
“Come by later,” He rasps, and you almost think you didn’t hear him right, “If things are disastrous and he really shat himself… just come by,”
And he doesn’t wait to hear your reply. He doesn’t want to hear a smart comeback coming from you, but he hopes you’ll come to him.
And while you don’t show up to his place like he asked you, you certainly think about him for the rest of the night. Sungchan, who seemed like a knight in shiny armour when he picked you up, has suddenly shifted in your eyes — especially after the phone call from Donghyuck.
Your energy deflects, you’re sure the man across the table picks up on this as well. The more you look at him, the more you realise he just isn’t what you want and what you need.
His jokes aren’t obtuse, offensive, or genuinely funny either. The sparkle in his eyes is there only when he talks about work, and you hate that you reached a point in which you’re comparing him to the obnoxious person hunting your mind.
Truth be told, no one does it like him. You realise that even your past so-called rivalry between the two of you was something you missed while he was out there trying to conquer the world.
Suddenly, the night seems wasted. The cheese soufflé too insipid, the steak too dry, the company not what you were hoping for. And not because Sungchan is a bad guy with an abysmal personality, but because he’s not Donghyuck.
“Everything okay?” Sungchan asks you at some point, and you realise you haven’t been listening to him, and that he probably noticed.
You nod, giving him a small smile, just hoping that it’s enough to fool you both. Everything seemed to be going well until Donghyuck called you.
“Do you think you can send me a copy of the interview after you’re done with it?” You mumble absentmindedly, playing with the fork in your hand.
Sungchan smiles, teeth on display, “Y/n, I’m not here to talk about Haechan’s interview,” He announces, and a lump sets in your throat, “I wanted to have this opportunity to ask you out,”
Oh, you mouth as you find it difficult to keep your eyes on him.
He lets out a huff of laughter, albeit you know it’s not light and genuine, “But I guess it’s better if we keep our friendship this way, right?” He’s hurt, but he’s faking it not to make you uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, Sungchan, I didn-” You try to explain but he shakes his hand, smile still present on his lips.
“No worries! I dropped it on you out of the blue, I apologise for that!” He doesn’t have to apologise for his feelings, yet he does — literally thinking that he made you uncomfortable with his small and innocent confession.
Your chest suddenly hurts, and your eyes feel like they’re becoming fuller with unspoken feelings and emotions, and he pats your hand from across the table as he senses his mistake.
“I don’t want you to feel bad, ‘kay? We’re just at different places in our lives, even if your and someone else’s are perfectly aligned right now! I just had to shoot my shot, I hope you can understand,” He’s awfully comforting, and somehow if feels even heavier inside your chest.
You try to shake this strange feeling away, but your insides start churning at the unbearable thought that you rejected the man in front of you, and at the thought of your bubbling feelings that need to be addressed soon.
The door swings open, and you already think this is a bad idea. The smirk in the corner of his mouth confirms that maybe you were better off at home, in your pyjamas.
It’s been a few days since you last spoke to Donghyuck, and as much as you hate do admit it, your last interaction with Sungchan planted a thought in your brain. One that you can’t really ignore. Instead, you show up to his doorstep trying to get the answers you need.
“Wowza, gorgeous!” Donghyuck smirks, eyeing you from head to toe. He moves away from the doorway, allowing you to walk in, and you stop by the entrance. “I think you really like my place, that’s why you drop by all the time,” He rasps, eyes glinting, “That, or maybe you just like me,”
You roll your eyes, glance stopping on one picture by the entrance — that you didn’t notice last time you were here. Probably because his sleepy figure was standing in front of it, unknowingly blocking your view. You recognise the picture, it’s one of the last pictures you took with your friends as a whole group, back during your university years — before Jaemin relocated to another big city, before one of your girl friends got herself into rehab; back when everything seemed normal and felt whole. You spot yourself in a corner, hugging Jaemin and Yizhuo — your closest friends during university — and you spot Donghyuck in the other corner, smiling at the camera like he’s the sun itself.
It was one of the last outings you did as a group, right before graduation, and right before life got busy for all of you. Looking at all the faces in the picture, you realise that was one of the best trips you took, and you think of all the times Donghyuck made the outings better and less boring.
He sees how you’re getting lost in the nostalgia of the past, as your gaze travels along the faces in the picture. Truth be told, that picture is there for one reason only, and said reason is now looking at it with eyes full of emotion.
He looks at you once again. You look spectacular — black dress that kisses your curves and shapes the right way, your naked shoulders seem so soft and smooth and he has to fight the thought of what your skin might feel like under the burning skin of his hands.
You’re gorgeous, and a lump forms in his throat as he feels like you’ve never been more unattainable than right now.
Are you… perhaps…
“Going on a date?” He can’t help but ask. He sees as your gaze moves from the picture, to look at him, and you put the frame down, “How’s skid marks?” His tone is bored as he turns around to walk towards his kitchen island.
You take your heels off, and you follow him towards his kitchen with angry patters as your bare feet take steps on the hardwood floor.
“Don’t call him that!” You bark, his nickname for Sungchan suddenly upsetting you, “Be nice, he’s helping us,”
“Is he?” He asks, not interested in the slightest to hear your reply, “Is that why you’re going out on dates with him? Or is it because he’s your friend and I’m your client?” Suddenly he’s attentive like a vulture — he wants to hear your reply to this one question.
“Can you be serious for one moment?” You question, not wanting to bicker with him right now.
His cocky smirk makes an appearance, “I’m a prosecutor, Y/n. I can see you’re stalling,” He retorts, and he takes pleasure in seeing you biting your bottom lip, trying your best not to snap at him. “But alright, gorgeous. To what do I owe the immense pleasure of having you here tonight?”
You shift your weight from one leg to the other, and your hands go to your dress before you can control yourself.
“I was promised a dinner,” You purr, matter-of-factly.
Donghyuck wants to grin, but fights it. How did you manage to stay out of his life for so long? It’s beyond his understanding. You make him want to start howling at the moon like a depraved dog, which reminds him of how you called him a puppy before.
And remembering the way you looked up at him as you did so, touching him, talking down to him — it literally gives Donghyuck goosebumps. But he’s not ready to admit this to anyone other than himself so, instead, he does what he knows best — he acts like he’s unfazed.
He gets ready, as you look around his place. Despite him being home ever since he was put on unpaid leave, the whole place is spotless. You think it’s because he’s been living off take out all this time, and that he’s used one or maybe two cups to drink from, but you’re impressed either way.
He shows up wearing a tux, and he steps out of his dressing room manoeuvring a bow tie.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” You fake a gasp, “I didn’t know we were attending the fucking Oscars!”
He’s in front of the mirror, styling his bow tie while looking at you through the mirror. His eyes are piercing, he doesn’t dare look away — eyes locked onto yours — and he smirks.
“You did it first,” He points at your dress, “You thought we’d be staying in with you looking like that?!” He exaggerates, wrinkling his nose, “No way, baby,”
“Don’t call me that,” You mumble, moving towards the door, but you grab him by the sleeve to get his attention on you, “But do you think this is a good idea? Going out right now… with you and your problems?”
“Y/n,” He sighs, quickly checking his pockets for everything he needs before heading out, “You have to know me better than this by now… to know that it’s been so long that I don’t give a fuck anymore,” He opens the door for you, and this time you wait for him by the door, instead of walking in front of him towards the lifts, “And I can get us a table literally anywhere. Name the nicest place you wanna go to, and we can get in,”
“I think that’d be the case if you weren’t a prosecutor who turned into a disgraced tv personality,” You ridicule him as you walk on the long hallway, but he doesn’t seem too offended by it. You might be right, anyway.
“It’s worth trying, at least,” He shrugs, and then he turns around to look at you with that cocky smirk that’s so typical him.
“What?” You sigh, looking at the led arrows signalling where the lift is coming from.
“So basically you admitted to showing up looking like trouble, thinking we’d be staying home?” He rasps, stupid grin of victory on his face, and then he tsks, “You just wanted to seduce me,”
You punch him in the stomach, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, you step inside the lift before he can register what you’re doing, “Let’s see how seduced you get by me making you take the stairs,” And you press the button, urging the doors to close before he can stop them with his foot or hand.
“That wasn’t very nice,” He retorts when you’re finally out on the street.
You discovered he has four luxury cars parked in the underground parking lot of his building, and given your dress code tonight, he went straight to the Porsche.
“But you did it nonetheless,” You point out, looking at the pedestrians crossing the street, “Just like a puppy,”
He doesn’t even fight it, because he knows you’re right. Instead, he chooses to ignore it for his own good.
He looks at you, as the red lights from the cars ahead contour your pretty features. And to think that out of endless possibilities you got back into his life by being his lawyer makes him feel like becoming a disgraced tv personality really helped him in his destiny. If it weren’t for his big, problematic mouth, he would have been alone and miserable right now — in his luxurious apartment, with his four cars parked underground, with lavish dinners and a reckless dating style. Instead, you showed up.
He can’t and won’t take it for granted.
“Where are you taking me?” Your voice is small, almost as if your mind is somewhere else.
“I have a few options, if they take us in,” He jokes, using your words, “Is there something you’re craving, gorgeous?”
You actually think about it. As you take your sweet time trying to think of something, your glance wanders around his car — and it finally lands on Donghyuck.
He’s relaxed, even as he speeds. His tux brings a certain air to him, like he’s the most expensive and most untouchable man on this entire planet. Confidence oozes from all his pores, even as he does nothing but keep a hand on the steering wheel — and you feel your insides churning, but you desperately hope for it to be because of hunger.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” You speak up before you can control yourself. His curiosity makes him throw you quick glances before his eyes go back to the road, seemingly taken by surprise by your change of tone. This isn’t going to be about food, and he knows it, “You were too good at what you were doing for you to be remembered by the public as nothing but a fragment of a proper scandal. It actually upsets me,”
Donghyuck doesn’t know what to answer, mainly because he doesn’t see it as you. He’s sorry you’re upset about this matter, and he wishes he could take it all away from you. He also wishes he could speak up and have a proper conversation about this topic and why he thinks you’re wrong, but it’s like his lips are sealed when it comes to speaking up about the matter.
He didn’t know you cared about him, or anything involving him — including his career — this much.
His silence feels heavy as your ears start ringing waiting for his answer, and it never comes. You’re left waiting as you listen to the purring of his Porsche’s engine, and at the way he breathes evenly — not rushed, not panicked, not even upset. He just breathes as he refuses to make any kind of comment to what you just told him. Did you really think that opening up about this to the guy with the biggest ego in the world was a good idea?
Too lost into your own worries and overthinking, you fail to notice how the car slows down, and then you finally notice him carefully looking for somewhere to park. You look outside the window, not recognising this side of the city.
“Do you remember the greasy, meat sandwiches we had on our last trip together?” He asks, and he actually sees how your gaze starts sparkling at the memory he just brought up, “It’s one of the things I’ve been craving the most lately, thinking about that day. And luckily for us, this guy right here seems to have the exact recipe,”
Never in a million years did you think you’d be having sandwiches with Donghyuck at the outskirts of the city, bought right from a street food truck, while the grease trailed down your forearms as you tried to keep it away from your outfit. Because obviously, looking straight out of a fashion magazine, like you’re ready to go to a charity gala and eat the most expensive food ever served to you could ever compare to seeing melted cheese and grease smudged on Donghyuck’s cheeks as he chewed his bite.
The first bite taken from your sandwich almost got a moan out of you, while Donghyuck’s got a proper grunt out of him.
It feels almost painful to admit that he’s right thinking this was something you’d end up enjoying. It helps you go back to the past, when his smile was more carefree, when his jokes were even more obtuse than nowadays, when the sparkle brought to his eyes during classes or fights with you was more prominent.
You know he’s hiding something, and you wish he’d open up to you — at least a little bit. But you don’t want him to shelter himself behind a shell you never knew he had. He’s always been loud, proud, morally upright — and something took that away from him.
“Tell me this sandwich isn’t so much better than sex,” He moans, mouth absolutely full to the point it’s difficult for him to chew.
You nearly knock the tall glass of non-alcoholic beer you’ve been sharing with him, and you give him a quizzical look.
“What kind of odd experiences have you been having?” Your tone is high in pitch, full of disbelief.
“Oh, c’mon,” He swallows his bite, “Like you’ve never had a bad experience? With a man? Hard to believe,”
“Were your bad experiences also with men?” You pout at him sympathetically, almost on the verge of pinching his cheek and ridiculing him.
He lets out a howl of laughter, almost choking, “Touché,” He comments, licking his lips, all content with the progression of your conversation.
The interaction quiets down, and you see him eyeing you curiously before going back to his sandwich. But you know him just too well, and as expected, he throws the ball in your court after taking a big sip from your shared beer.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” He smiles softly, setting down his sandwich on the aluminium foil on the high table. When he sees you nodding, he waits a few more seconds, “Why did you not become a prosecutor?” He asks, cleaning his hands with a wet wipe — definitely needed in order to get rid of all the grease.
When he sees your questioning gaze, seemingly not understanding the question — or where it’s coming from, he clears his throat. “I mean, you had the skills. You and I were unbeatable at what we were doing, so when I didn’t see you in the field as one of my colleagues, I got worried. I was thinking you wasted so much potential being God knows where, doing God knows what. I had no idea of your whereabouts because, God is my witness, I really looked for you as a last resort to try and reach out and make you change your mind,” He rasps, but his tone is gentle, and it brings you comfort, “So where the hell have you been?”
You guess this is a good start for the candid conversation you were planning on starting with him, but didn’t know how to approach him first. Almost because you opened a small door earlier, during the car ride, and he seemed like he closed it shut in the blink of an eye.
You set your sandwich down on the foil, right next to his, and you grab one of the wet wipes he extends towards you.
“Becoming a prosecutor was never my goal,” You admit, cleaning the corners of your mouth, “I always wanted to study law to help the underprivileged. Yes, prosecuting bad guys always seems like the best choice when you think of a career in law and the whole concept of justice. But what about the people who can’t afford to be represented in court by someone who’s actually capable and confident with their skills? What about the NPO’s and charities that need someone to represent them? What about the people?”
He looks at you, at the small crease between your brows as you get so passionate about your love for your job, and he has the next question he wants to ask you, on the tip of his tongue. Yet you beat him to it.
“Why did you throw out a successful and rewarding career? Just to become a tv host?” You ask him. This question has been bothering you ever since you stumbled upon his show on television, right after he gave up his career.
“It’s more complicated than that,” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, and you understand that it really doesn’t come easy to him to open up about this change. So it really wasn’t about him loving being in the centre of attention on television, and the shift to a career in this field that could mean fulfilling this crazy need for attention faster. You judged him too harshly, even if it’s just Donghyuck.
“Then open up to me!” You plead, because it’s something you need to understand about him, “I’m the one that can understand you on this, better than anyone else,”
You’re right. Donghyuck knows this, and as much as he would have loved to tease you a bit for your choice of words and wanting to get closer to him, he refrains, understanding this is not the right time for this, for neither one of you.
“Everything was going well, I was on a roll,” He starts, finally giving in. If he wants to get somewhere with you, anywhere near where he wants you two to be, he needs to open up and finally face his past. “My success rate was unbeatable and, as you might have seen, they even talked me into helping people on national television,” He looks straight ahead, thinking of the past few years and what he’s gone through, “They made me their product and I enjoyed the money and the attention, this is one of the truths,” He clears his throat, reaching for the cold beer.
So what? Is that all he has to say about this drastic change in his life? You wonder to yourself. Were you right from the beginning? Did he really do it for the attention?
“But another truth is that… I did something I can never forgive myself for, not even today,” His voice breaks, and he’s still avoiding your gaze, “One of the last cases I worked on was just… atrocious. We’re talking about abuse of the worst kind, and it all ended with murder. This motherfucker murdered his entire family… and he got away with it,”
Realising the gravity of the story he’s telling you, you keep your mouth shut.
He takes a big breath, “Someone tampered with key pieces of evidence in the case, so he walked out of court almost trotting. That piece of shit was beaming with satisfaction, and for the first time ever I could do nothing about it,”
Your weight shifts from one leg, to the other, “Any internal investigation that could find the culprit?”
He nods, finally looking at you, and you get to see just how affected he still is by the whole matter, even if it’s been a while since it happened. Something this big always stays with you.
He licks his lips, “Of course! I started an internal investigation to find answers, but then after a while I got a call from my higher ups telling me to drop it,” He pauses for a few seconds, and then lets out a ridiculing scoff, “Of course I didn’t! What kind of prosecutor with a moral compass does that?!”
You think you have a faint idea of where this story is headed. He’s getting upset, eyebrows furrowed as he recalls his past.
“It took a call from a politician to threaten me, for me to stop the investigation. That’s also when I decided to quit,” His voice is small, yet upset.
He’s playing with a peace of foil on the table, wrinkling and then smoothing it, and your eyes fall on his crooked pinky.
“But!” He snaps, suddenly back to having a good mood, and the enthusiasm takes you by surprise. “My turn!” He picks up your sandwich, taking a bite of it. “Why did you quit your career to become a corporate lawyer?” His mouth is full, but you understand him nonetheless.
He keeps his eyes on you as you pick up his sandwich, and you shrug, “I needed a change,” You avert your gaze, looking at where his teeth sank into the soft bread, “I needed to see if there were more exciting things out there,”
“And how did that work out for you?” He giggles, thinking of the irony of your choice. You wanted to help the underprivileged, yet you ended up working for a corporation straight out of hell.
He looks at you, and he can’t believe just how beautiful you are. You features are so soft in the food truck’s lighting, your skin literally shines in the cold hues.
He sees you taking a bite from the sandwich you’re holding — his sandwich, and a smirk plays in the corner of his mouth.
“You know we’re basically kissing right now, right?” He rasps, squinting his eyes at you while he sports a shit-eating grin.
You roll your eyes at him, “Your kiss is greasy,” You retort almost instantly, dropping the last bits of sandwich back on the foil, and you clean the corners of your mouth.
“Yours is worse,” He mumbles, side eyeing you.
“What are you even talking about?” You’re confused by his nonsense, eyes scanning him from head to toe as he takes another bite from your sandwich.
You find yourself gawking once again. He seems so relaxed, so comfortable around you, so confident even to be in public making a mess on his face when literally anybody can see him — not just you anymore.
And it hits you. Since when did you think you and him were close enough to imagine yourself as the sole person allowed to see him in all sorts of circumstances? Your long history of knowing each other has never properly allowed you to go there with your thoughts, and yet you did — and it makes you feel completely out of place.
Yet for some reason, you’ve always felt comfortable around him. Thinking of it now that he shuts up and lets you be alone with your thoughts for a little bit, you think of the past. Never, not even once — not even when you wanted to kill him for starting a contradicting argument for his sole entertainment — did you feel like he repulsed you.
“See for yourself,” He bursts your bubble, and your eyes get back in focus as you look at his tan forearms, while he extends your sandwich towards you. “I know you didn’t believe me. Take a bite,”
You throw him a skeptical look, and you see his eyes studying your face closely, searching for something. But you give in, nonetheless. And you touch his hand as he directs the sandwich to your lips.
And then, he snatches his hand away, his lips smacking yours instead. It happens in a split second, and you don’t even have the time to register it happening, but it doesn't feel bad, or wrong. He retracts for a bit, the hand holding the greasy piece of bread far away from your figure, and he grabs your chin with his fingers.
His thumb travels, caressing his way up from your chin to your bottom lip, and he keeps studying your face for any sign that this might not be what you want right now. And the moment he feels your eyes on his lips, and sees you kicking your lips out of habit, he bends down once again.
His kiss is fervent, almost desperate, like he feeds off of it. His lips are just as plump and soft as you thought they would be, and you don’t even think twice before parting your lips, granting him access. It feels hot, something you’ve never experienced before — not from a single kiss, anyway.
His free hand travels towards the side of your face, fingers combing through your hair to pull you even closer. His abilities are to be praised right now, as he gets to control you to get you to do anything he puts his mind to with one hand only, the other still kept away from your bodies.
The kiss gets deeper and heated fast, while neither one of you feels like pulling away. This might be a monumental mistake, but it surely doesn’t feel like that right now. Right now, you think you’re exactly where you want to be — while Donghyuck is absolutely certain he is where he’s always wanted to be.
Your hands go up his neck, which has gotten incredibly hot, and you keep him close to yourself as your fingers play with the longer strands of hair from behind his ears. He grunts into the kiss, and you suddenly become breathless.
He retracts slightly, eyes still closed as he keeps giving you small pecks, allowing the both of you to get your breathing back to normal, as gracefully as possible.
“Was my kiss greasy?” He rasps, tone low sending shivers down your spine.
You gulp, keeping your eyes closed, “No,” You shake your head almost imperceptibly, but he feels you moving your face in his grip, “But your greasy hand is in my hair,” You open your eyes just a bit, looking at him through your lashes, and you see him smirking.
“Shhhh, don’t ruin our moment,” He nudges your nose with his, then going back to pecking your lips.
And you give in once again, feeling his fingers pulling you towards him.
Your leg bounces as you sit on one of the leather armchairs in the waiting room, right outside of your boss’s office.
Anxiety is pooling in the pit of your stomach like never before, not even when you had stressful cases on your hands did you ever feel like this. It makes you sweat, it makes you want to throw up, especially because you know you’re in big trouble.
You woke up with a terrible headache, like your body was preparing you for impact first thing in the morning, like it was giving you a sign that a shit storm was coming your way and that the headache was just the tip of the iceberg.
And then you checked your phone. Texts, missed calls from Johnny, articles about you and Donghyuck. Apparently all the times you warned him about the press being on his trails should have been a reminder for you as well, because you appear together in all the pictures published.
Pictures of you and him strolling around the street, pictures of you and him spotted shopping together. Pictures of you two at the studio, when the two of you were bickering, except no one knows that. From the looks of it, it seems like you two are being very close, to the point of Donghyuck grabbing you — which is totally true, but the circumstances were absolutely different than what they’re being made to seem like in these pictures. And then, the worst of all, pictures from two nights ago, when you and Donghyuck made out in the middle of the night right in front of the food truck, and then in his car — and there’s no excuse or any other explanation for these last pictures, there’s no way you can deny it. It’s all out there for everyone to see, like a reminder that lines have been crossed and you acted recklessly.
You didn’t even try to call him, to try and talk to him about this, to try to find a version of a story plausible as to why the two of you — a lawyer and her client — were eating each other’s faces the other night.
Instead, you called Johnny and came to the headquarters as soon as you managed to calm down the erratic beating of your heart.
You’re sure everyone around has heard the news or seen the pictures, and you fear of what they might be thinking of you right now. You’ve never been a fan of judgement, and being in the limelight now makes you incredibly anxious.
Your temples are still throbbing, your throat is dry, and it feels like you’re living a nightmare. And right as you think about this, the lift dings, announcing someone is about to come out, and then you see him — your real nightmare.
The man that turned your world upside down with just a smack of lips and a foul mouth full of smart comebacks and obnoxious jokes. He spots you right as he steps out of the lift.
“Good morning, gorgeous!” He takes a seat right next to you, on the other armchair, “What brings you here so early?”
You look at him, genuinely wondering what is wrong with him. He looks at you like an innocent puppy, eyebrows raised and lips pouting, all while he swings his leg from left to right as he sits leisurely.
“Are you being for real right now? Did you not see the news?” You bark at him, ready to start punching him. You’re at your limit, and he’s on very thin ice right now.
He shakes his head, shrugging with innocence, “Johnny called me in as soon as I woke up, so I didn’t really have the time to be on my phone,” He explains, and you believe him — knowing that he’s not the type to be on his phone, given all the times he hasn’t picked up your calls or replied to your work emails as proof of this. “Why? What happened?”
“You and I happened,” You point your index finger, moving it between you two.
“Right,” He smirks, and you genuinely think he’s doing it to provoke you into hurting him, “It certainly is a good morning!”
“Hyuck!” You slap his leg, turning towards him. The crease on your forehead is terribly cute to him, and he feels an urge to kiss your worries away — even if it might put his life in danger. “This is serious. There are pictures everywhere! We’re in so much trouble, and Johnny has been on the phone all morning,” You explain, and then you sigh, “What do you think they’re gonna do to us?”
He looks at you like he doesn’t understand what it is you want from him, “I don’t know, gorgeous,” He shrugs, feigning innocence, “They might have to hang us right outside this building,”
“See?! This is exactly the kind of shit you end up saying that gets you in trouble!” You cry, getting upset with him not taking anything seriously.
He can see you’re getting worked up over this issue, and even if he feels bad for upsetting you with his jokes, he finds it incredibly endearing for some reason.
“You’re right, but let me ask you a question,” He turns his body to face yours, almost sitting on the edge of the cushion, “Now that we’re addressing this properly,” He moves his hand between your bodies, “My joke from that night wasn’t that bad, right?”
You roll your eyes, looking the other way as you try not to snap at him, “No, it was pretty good actually,” You confess, remembering that after the initial shock of seeing him making such joke on national television subsided, you let out a howl of laughter, “Too bad some people have boundaries they don’t joke about,”
“Thank you!” He lets out a sigh of relief, relaxing into his seat, almost as if your last line didn’t make it to his ears, “I agree that I should have made that joke in a different environment, but the backlash was too strong for just a simple joke,” He concludes, mumbling as if he wants you to know he’s not that bad as a person.
The office door opens, and a very stressed Johnny appears in the doorway, “Y/n, get in,” He calls your name, but his gaze shifts to Donghyuck, “Great, you’re here too,” He doesn’t seem too ecstatic, and Donghyuck certainly does not appreciate the coldness of his boss’s tone, “Get in,”
You enter the office, taking a seat on the velvety couch in the corner of Johnny’s office. He sits across from you, and gives you a smile.
“I’d say we have a problem,” He relaxes into his seat, crossing his legs.
“And I’d agree,” You reply, noticing with the corner of your eye how Donghyuck’s head snaps to the side to look at you.
Johnny nods in understanding, seemingly content that you’re on the same page regarding this issue, “But we’d both be so wrong!”
“What?” You squeak, getting on the edge of your seat. You’re so confused right now, you squirm your eyes while looking at your boss.
“See, dearest… the dating scandal brought you into the limelight, and people seem to be talking about you more than Haechan’s controversial joke,” Johnny explains, and you still don’t understand what the good part is to all this, “People are going to be curious about your life, and truth be told Y/n, your record is impeccable. They’ll talk about you, they’ll say you’re the perfect match for Haechan, and everything will calm down.” He claps his hands, satisfied with his explanation, “See? Everything will work out perfectly! I talked to our PR team and, between us, this is the perfect move! How did you end up thinking of this? This was a genius move!”
You look at him, still confused, and then your gaze shifts to look at Donghyuck, who looks back at you just as confused.
“Erm…” You clear your throat, tilting your head, “We didn’t do it as a PR move,” You explain, still very much confused. So much that your words come out as a question.
Johnny opens his mouth, surprised, and then points at you, “Oh well, in this case… Congrats!” He looks at Donghyuck, “And good luck to you!” He eyes you this time, still smiling.
After being dismissed from Johnny’s office, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The headache is now gone, you feel like you can finally go back to relaxing after an entire morning spent thinking you’re three heartbeats away from having a stroke.
You’re pretty much at peace with the fact that they’re going to focus on desiccating your past for a while, thus giving Donghyuck a bit of space after a long time. You’re not as problematic, you don’t make bad jokes, you’ve always been in your lane — and have always done your best to be respectful and good at doing your job, as best as you could. You’re sure that your life isn’t nearly as fascinating as Donghyuck’s, but you really don’t mind.
Even as you walk inside his luxurious building and towards his apartment, Donghyuck follows your steps. He smiles at the thought that, even after weeks, he’s still following you wherever you’re going — and it doesn’t matter that you don’t have a key to his place. He looks at how determined your strut is, like the place is yours and not the other way around.
“What?” You ask him, not accustomed to having him silenced for so long.
“Nothing,” He opens the door for you to walk in, still in front of him, “I might have to give you a key to my place,” He says nonchalantly, like it’s not a big deal.
You choke on air, and you turn around to give him a horrified look, “A key?! Already?” You’re in disbelief, and quite frankly terrified of this man’s pace, “We haven’t talked about this stuff yet,”
“What is there to talk about?” He asks, and he seems genuinely confused. He seems relaxed, very comfortable with your presence even if you haven’t even been able to define your relationship yet.
“This,” You point your finger at him, and then towards yourself, “We haven’t even defined what we are. We have stuff to talk about, and steps to take,”
He snaps his head to look at you, shaking it all confused and with his eyes squinting, “Again… what is there to talk about? Just move in, gorgeous, we can talk at home,” He’s serious as he approaches you, grabbing you by the chin before he guides your face to get closer to his.
His lips capture yours in a sweet yet passionate kiss. They're soft on top of yours, and for a moment he gets lost in the taste of your lip balm, “Is this enough to label us?” He rasps, letting you go before he starts heading towards his dressing room.
When you fail to answer, he comes back, bare feet loud on the hardwood floor, “You’re stalling. Again,” He warns, getting closer to you once again, “I don’t like that. I want things to be quick, precise, orderly. And I want you, Y/n,”
His confession sets a lump in your throat that’s hard to gulp down, words suddenly too difficult to get out of you.
“Years passed and regrets amassed, and not acting upon my desires at the right time made me miserable. I don’t want that for myself, and I thought my intentions were clear enough for you to understand that I don’t need a label to define us, because I quite literally want to put the world at your feet, Y/n,” He speaks, and you try to fight a smile from creeping up on your features, “You came back into my life and you rocked my world and knocked some sense into me, one that was long forgotten and which I ended up despising. I will not sit back and watch you slip through my fingers again,”
He looks silly, but it makes your chest fill with warmth as you see his pout while he concludes his statement. He’s standing in front of you, wearing his pyjama shorts which he managed to change into right before he felt the need to come back and chew your ears off, and he’s still wearing his light blue shirt, cardigan discarded of as soon as he stepped back inside.
“This reminds me just how good you are with argumentation,” You grin, but he knows you heard him loud and clear, and you’re not out the door — so that must mean you’re not turning him down, “Is this gonna be our thing? We get off complimenting each other on our argumentation skills?” The thought seems horrifying, but it gets a snort of laughter out of Donghyuck, nonetheless.
He shakes his head, unbuttoning his shirt. “I have a few other ways to get us off,”
“Is that so?” You purr, desire suddenly making your insides melt.
Your eyes fall on the tanned skin of his chest, trailing all the way down to your favourite spot — the V line. He gets closer to you with dangerously slow steps, like he has you exactly where he wants, where he’s planned to have you all along.
Just one quick glance up to his face, with your gaze locking into his, and the look he’s giving you makes you suddenly want to avert your gaze. He’s confident, proud, standing upright, walking towards you like he’s literally going to take a bite out of you — not that you would mind, anyway.
He stops in front of you, his breath hitting your face as you suddenly feel small, shy to look up at him. His gaze feels intimidating, and makes your skin burn with desire, your flimsy blouse suddenly too clingy and too uncomfortable on your skin.
“I need to know, gorgeous,” He mumbles, slender fingers playing with a strand of your hair, pushing it back behind your ear, “What about that spare key,”
You hum with delight, stretching your arms around his neck, glueing your clothed chest to his bare one, and his hands travel hungrily behind your back with a tight grip.
“I think I’ll have no choice but to agree. The prosecution side had a very compelling argument,” You sing, finally looking up at him, and he keeps his mouth awfully close to yours, but your lips don’t touch.
He hums, nose nudging yours, and you can feel his fingers traveling under your blouse, fingertips touching your ardent skin and giving you goosebumps.
It makes you literally burn up with desire. His fingers squeeze your sides and the pressure feels almost too good given the force with which he’s doing it, all because of how much he wants you right now. His arms are around you in a split second, and you don’t even realise he’s taken you off the ground, determined steps making their way towards where you suppose his bedroom is.
Normally, you’d look around yourself, but right now your mouth is too busy on his, tongues clashing as he moans into the kiss. Your fingers travel around his nape, up all the way into his hair, pulling gently at his strands — getting a proper grunt out of him.
He puts you down, bare feet planted on what feels like a rug right by the foot of the bed, and he plays with the waistband of your pants, pulling them down but leaving your panties on.
You push him back on the bed, and you get on top of him — you can feel he’s already rock hard, and your mouth is literally watering at the thought of tasting him. His hot mouth is on your neck, tongue playing around and leaving wet trails everywhere it can get, one of his free hands travels to your back to unhook your bra, helping you getting rid of your blouse and bra in a split second.
You feel like you’re on a cloud, high on desire and pleasure — he could literally manoeuvre you around and you wouldn’t realise. His hands keep you steady on his lap, on top of his hard-on, not allowing you to move because he’d quite literally lose his mind if you gave him even the slightest friction.
He keeps his mouth busy, lips kissing the plush of your breasts before his mouth latches onto your nipple, and he grunts with pleasure now that it finally dawns on him that he’s getting all of you to himself.
“So, so gorgeous, my baby,” He breathes on your swollen nip, right before his mouth latches onto the other, and hearing his airy praise from him has you moaning, head tilted to the side as you get lost in the pleasure, and you can’t help but move your hips on top of his lap.
He moans, fingers digging forcefully into your hips to stop you, yet the force with which he’s doing it makes you even more aroused.
His moan vibrates around your nipple, and you push at his shoulders slightly, clearly giving him instructions on what to do. All the bullshit he pulled a while back about being your puppy and not taking orders from you? Totally bluffing. The man would do anything you’d ask of him, no questions asked.
You look at him in all his glory, admiring every single inch of his skin. Your fingers travel to the waistband of his pyjama shorts, and your nails pull at it, trying to move them out of the way. With a tiny bit of help from him, you managed to discard of the clothing item right before your gaze falls back on him, and you nearly let a gasp escape you.
Perfectly girthy, one vein travels from the base of his cock all the way up to his leaking tip. Trimmed at the base, his happy trail travels up his lower stomach, and you can’t resist the urge to graze it with your nail — going from his belly all the way back to the base of his cock, where you gently grab him.
You bend down on top of him, and he doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. But you don’t allow him to enjoy your lips for too long, as they move down to travel on his jaw and across his chest, breath fanning over all the wet spots your lips leave behind. You finally stop your journey on his chest, where you playfully graze his nip with your teeth, while your eager hand gets back on his cock, squeezing his base lightly before travelling further down, making him grunt at the feeling.
“Stop,” He’s out of breath, and the sound of his voice — laced with desperation and lust — makes your walls throb around nothing, “Please,” He pleads, throwing his head back.
The image of him being totally at your mercy makes you feral, almost like you want to continue your ministrations just to get more out of him. But it’s too much even for you, at least for right now, so you take pity on both of you.
You bend down, kissing his tip quickly before you take him inside the warmth of your mouth.
“Fuck!” He bucks his hips up, “I don’t think you should do this,” He’s almost crying, and his hands go up to his head in order to grab strands of hair he can pull at.
But you ignore him. Flattening you tongue as you take all of him, you indulge in the pleasure of finally being able to suck him off. Salty and heavy on your tongue as you move your head up and down slowly, you moan around him, and for a moment you think Donghyuck is going to throw you off and away from himself.
You touch him one last time after you release his cock with a pop!, and he lands forcefully on his back once again.
“I think you’ll be the death of me,” He mumbles, breathlessly as he lays unmoving, waiting to catch his breath a bit. He’s painfully hard, tip still leaking with precum, but he raises his head when he feels you getting on top of him. “No,” He shakes his head, “Wanna taste you first,”
You feel like you could cry. You want to have him in all the ways possible, yet it’s becoming unbearable for you to be deprived of any proper friction.
“Maybe later,” You tell him, already sliding your panties down your legs, “I need to feel you inside of me,” You moan as you sit on him for a bit, and he swears he can feel your clit throbbing on top of his unmoving and hard shaft.
You align him at your entrance, throwing your soaked panties at his head — and he doesn’t even bother to catch them on time. They land on his face, and he only moves one hand to grab them and keep them close for just a tiny bit to be able to smell your scent.
His eyes become glossy the moment you sink down on him, painfully slowly, and he can’t help the moan that rumbles out of his chest.
“Fuck, fuck, baby,” He curses through gritted teeth, sucking his stomach in a few times, “I don’t think I can- I don’t think I’ll last,”
He overestimates your willpower right now, because he’s not aware that your insides are melting with lust and pleasure, feeling the need to feel him all the way deeply inside of you.
The moment you start undulating your hips, walls squeezing him deliciously, he looks down at where your bodies meet, and he can’t help himself from bringing his thumb so you can get off faster. You moan at the friction his thumb provides you every time your clit hits against it as you move your hips, and he swears the sounds you’re making are not helping his cause right now, already feeling like he’s on the verge of spilling inside of you.
Instead, his thumb does the right thing, and you reach your climax fast, surprising him. It comes in powerful, delightful waves that are prodding you to go on and continue your movements, and Donghyuck is too lost in the image of you climaxing on top of him to remember to take his thumb away from your sensitive clit.
Your thighs are burning, everything below the belt feels like it’s about to melt, but you stretch your hands up to his chest as your hips keep rocking on top of his. He’s speechless, he’s feeling too many things, especially because he’s been on the receiving end all the time, and this way he found it easier to get lost in all the pleasure he’s been feeling.
He raises his head a bit, in order to have a better look at you, and he opens his arms before his hands travel to your hips.
You bend down, teeth grazing his jaw before you remember something, and you smirk as you get right up. Your hand travels to his neck, hand wrapping around the sides of his throat and putting the right amount of pressure.
His eyes become the size of saucers as he looks up at you, trying his best not to let out all the moans catching in his throat.
You giggle, and the sound of it has Donghyuck throbbing, “What happened to my talkative puppy boy?” You pout, delighted at seeing him squirming.
The choice of words, your tone, your relentless riding, the pressure around his neck, and the way your walls are squeezing him too tightly, it all becomes too much for Donghyuck to bear, and you see him rolling his eyes back before he lets out the loudest moan from the pit of his ribcage — and that alone is enough to turn you on again.
But you give in, stopping your movements yet still keeping him inside of you, and you collapse on his chest. You’re too spent to keep yourself upright right now, and Donghyuck feels limp as he tries to gather his bearings.
You place your hand on his chest, drawing soothing circles as you wait for him to catch his breath, an you giggle when you hear him cursing. His sweaty skin sticks to yours, and he grabs your hand to bring it to his lips.
He keeps you close, he’s literally where he wants to be — with your weight on top of him, he feels like this is the safest and best place for him.
He raises his head, looking at your intertwined bodies, right before a stupid but spent smirk shows up on his face, “Given our last activity, I think I just proved to you that I don’t need deodorant,”
You smack his chest when you register his words, but giggle nonetheless because only Donghyuck could get to ruin a moment by bringing this nonsense up.
“Pervert,” You move on top of him just slightly, but it’s enough to make him suck air through his teeth.
He smirks, voice already raspy as he mumbles out loud, “Oh, you have no idea!”
AUTHOR'S NOTE: SPEAKING MY TRUTH: we need to see more of obsessed and pervert!hyuck around (◞‸◟,) thank you to everyone who has been patiently waiting for me to drop fics from this series! this series means a lot to me and im not planning to abandon it, in case you were wondering — it's just that i have to be in the right place with my creativity <3 i hope you enjoyed this one, and i'll see you babies for the next one! ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა
oh my oh my, all the waits leading up to this fic to be released? WORTH IT!! you did it again!! it’s soooo fun to read, all the banters, and hyuck’s jokes that are very borderline, AND SUNGCHAN! our favorite “the other boy” but, WHY IS IT SO FAST BABE?!? I WANT TO READ IT FOR A LONG AMOUNT OF TIME😭😭😭 anw loved it thank you for taking the time writing this<3
