june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be
synopsis: you’ve known zhong chenle since you were five years old. once inseparable childhood best friends, everything between you shattered at eighteen — the moment your arranged marriage became real. to him, you became a symbol of everything he lost: freedom, choice, and a future that no longer belonged to him. by twenty-four, you finally marry as the country’s beloved golden couple. the heirs of zhong cosmetics and yü skincare, bound together by legacy, business, and expectations.
warnings: some scenes are very angsty! chenle is mean! cheating! a near death experience! pregnancy! +18 reader is a virgin and very inexperienced, not your ideal first time, sex is treated as a duty once, chenle is a pussy eaterrr, he cums inside every time, not super detailed but a sex montage featuring the following: slight exhibitionism, rough sex, dirty talk, fingering, he bends you over a billiards table, blowjob, riding him in the hot tub, doggy-style, squirting, i hope i didn’t miss any. mentions of: blood
an: i am in my chenle feels! and i’m also procrastinating writing for the donors, the loverboys and ruin the friendship jeno ver right now, so you’re all getting this instead! and liking it! (i hope) please let me know what you think of this one! - with love, c.
⚜️ THE GOLDEN COUPLE ⚜️
“i would like to thank everyone for coming today,” lili zhong, aka chenle’s mother and legally your mother-in-law as of five hours ago, says into the microphone. her voice carries effortlessly across the grand ballroom, smooth and commanding without needing to be loud. the entire venue stills for her, conversations fade, forks lower onto porcelain plates.
there were exactly a thousand guests in attendance tonight. family, friends, business partners, celebrities, investors, socialites, industry executives from every corner of asia, people whose names appear in magazines and headlines and billion-dollar reports. the ballroom itself looked almost unreal – dripping crystals suspended from the ceiling, white roses woven into towering arrangements, soft gold lighting reflecting against polished marble floors. every detail had been curated to perfection. fitting for the wedding of the heirs to two of the most influential beauty empires in the country.
“we have been waiting for this union for years now,” mrs. zhong continues, and somehow every person in the room hangs onto each word she says. she has always had that effect on people.
“my one and only son, chenle…i am very happy and excited as you take on this next chapter,” her eyes land on him briefly, full of pride, “i know you will be extraordinary, as you are in everything you do.”
a wave of soft applause spreads through the room. chenle beside you gives a polite nod, composed as ever.
then her attention shifts entirely to you.
“and of course, my beautiful daughter in law, y/n zhong…,” the warmth in her voice softens you completely. the last name making your heart flutter. you don't know if you'll ever get used to hearing it.
“i’ve always wanted you as my real daughter,” she says with a small smile painted in her signature crimson lipstick, “and now i can finally say you are.”
your chest tightens in the best way possible. you smile back before you can even think about it, eyes sparkling beneath the lights as emotion swells quietly inside you. because unlike the cameras and contracts and business articles surrounding this marriage…this part felt real.
lili zhong was someone you had admired long before you ever understood what admiration truly was.
you can remember it as if it was yesterday – being seven years old inside the towering headquarters of zhong cosmetics, your tiny dress shoes squeaking against the floors as you and chenle ran through the halls without a care in the world. the building had felt gigantic back then, less like a corporate empire and more like your personal playground. you remembered hiding beneath reception desks with chenle while assistants searched for the two of you in panic. remembered spinning around in leather office chairs worth more than most people’s rent. remembered sneaking into empty conference rooms just to press random buttons on expensive remotes.
and then lili zhong walked out.
and the entire atmosphere shifted the moment she appeared. not much different from how it is now. employees straightened immediately. conversations stopped mid-sentence. people moved aside for her without being told to. she carried herself with grace and effortless authority, shoulders back, chin lifted slightly, heels clicking sharply against the floor like a metronome everyone unconsciously followed. but what fascinated you most wasn’t the fear or respect she commanded. it was how composed she looked doing it.
you remembered watching from next to chenle as she reapplied her lipstick using the reflection of a glass wall, precise and graceful like second nature. one smooth swipe of red. cap clicked shut. then immediately back to discussing quarterly projections as if perfection came as easily as breathing. prim. proper. poised. she was untouchable. and you had been completely mesmerized.
from that moment on, you’d wanted to become the kind of woman lili zhong was – respected, strong, confident – the type of woman who could walk into a room and have the world rearrange itself around her. and now, standing beneath thousands of glittering lights with the zhong diamond resting heavily on your left ring finger and her son beside you, you suddenly wondered if this was the closest you had ever come to becoming her.
“i wish you both a fruitful marriage,” she says with a subtle wink in your direction, a wave of laughter spreading softly through the ballroom. your face warms instantly because everyone here understands exactly what she means. not just the merger between zhong cosmetics and yü skincare. not just the billions this marriage would bring. not just the headlines already flooding social media tonight.
but heirs too. children with the zhong name. future successors beautiful enough to belong on campaign billboards before they could even walk.
“may it always be filled with prosperity and success,” mrs. zhong continues, lifting her glass slightly, “and may the two of you continue bringing honor to our families and our companies.”
camera flashes explode around the room like lightning. you can already imagine tomorrow’s articles.
THE GOLDEN COUPLE OF BEAUTY
CHINA’S MOST POWERFUL MARRIAGE!
LOVE, LUXURY, AND LEGACY.
“this country has not seen such a beautiful couple before.”
the applause is immediate. a thousand guests rise to the toast without hesitation, crystal glasses lifting beneath the chandelier light. from the stage, the entire ballroom looked dipped in gold.
“to mr. and mrs. zhong.”
“to mr. and mrs. zhong!,” the crowd echos.
you lift your champagne glass with a smile so genuine it almost hurts. because despite everything, despite the pressure and expectations and business contracts hidden beneath layers of silk and diamonds – you were happy. maybe pathetically so.
you have loved zhong chenle for most of your life.
before the magazines started calling him the future of luxury cosmetics. before investors nicknamed the two of you the golden couple. before marriage turned into obligation instead of possibility.
and there was a time, too. a time when chenle used to reach for your hand first. a time where the two of you spent entire afternoons running through corporate buildings while your parents attended meetings. a time where he’d steal your desserts at dinners and complain when other boys talked to you at events. a time where marriage jokes from your families made both of you groan dramatically before dissolving into laughter.
back then, it had felt harmless. like something far away. until you both turned eighteen. when meetings became serious. when contracts replaced teasing. when your families stopped asking and started deciding.
that was when everything changed.
because every time chenle looked at you after that, it was no longer with warmth – it was resentment.
you became the physical reminder of every choice he would never get to make for himself. the life he would never get to live. the love he would never get to experience freely.
somehow, the public never noticed. that was the worst part – chenle was terrifyingly good at pretending. like right now, with one hand resting against the small of your back, he looked every bit like the devoted husband he wanted the media to believe him to be. calm smile. soft gaze. protective touch.
the perfect heir beside his perfect wife.
and the cameras adored him for it – “mr. zhong, look here!” “mr. zhong, one more picture with your wife!” “you two are stunning together!”
his fingers flex lightly against your waist as another round of flashes goes off, and anyone watching would think the gesture is affectionate. loving, even. but you know chenle well enough to recognize performance from sincerity. his hand only ever lingers when people are watching. once they turn away, he lets go like touching you burns.
still, your heart betrays you. every. single. time. because some part of you still remembers the boy before all of this. the boy who used to grin at you with missing front teeth and tell everyone you were his favorite person in the world.
the boy you always pictured on this day.
“i can’t wait for this to be over,” chenle murmurs beside you, barely moving his lips. to everyone else, it probably looked like he was whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
“perfect!,” someone gushes behind a camera, “they look crazy in love.”
the irony nearly makes you laugh.
chenle turns toward you then, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with such practiced tenderness that several people nearby audibly swoon. you hate how your stomach flips.
he’s beautiful at pretending to love you.
sometimes beautiful enough that you can almost pretend with him.
the reception continues in a blur of diamonds, champagne and endless congratulations. one by one, some of the most influential people in the country approach your table to greet the two of you personally, every gift placed before you looking absurdly expensive.
chenle smiles effortlessly but if someone looked closely enough, they would notice you speaking far more than he was, carrying conversations, thanking guests, asking about their families and businesses with perfectly timed warmth. prim. proper. poised. you had learned from the best. every time chenle’s expression dulled slightly, you stepped in before anyone could question it. when his attention drifted you redirected conversations smoothly. when his smiles became visibly strained, you compensated with your own brightness. and you’re convinced no one notices his lack of sincerity. or maybe they do and simply choose not to acknowledge it. because appearances mattered more than truth in a room like this.
“you two truly are perfect together,” an older woman sighs while admiring the two of you, “just look at how attentive your husband is.”
“he always takes good care of me,” you reply quickly, smile never faltering, the lie sliding off your tongue so naturally it almost scares you. chenle glances at you briefly after that comment. you can’t tell if he’s irritated or grateful. perhaps both.
minutes pass like that. more smiles. more photos. more toasts. more champagne. your cheeks begin aching from smiling so much but you endure it anyway. this was your wedding day. everything is supposed to be perfect. until–
“excuse me,” chenle suddenly says beside you after another round of greetings, “i need to use the restroom.”
you immediately nod before anyone else can react, “of course.”
one of the investors chuckles knowingly, “already escaping from married life, mr. zhong?”
a ripple of laughter follows. chenle gives them a charming grin that doesn’t reach his eyes, “just five minutes. i'll be right back.” he leaves with calm steps, posture still immaculate beneath his suit. you continue smiling after he disappears into the crowd.
five minutes pass. then ten. then twenty. people begin noticing.
“where’s your husband?” someone asks casually.
you let out a soft laugh, “probably being dragged into another business deal somewhere.” they laugh with you easily. and you cover for him again. and again. and again.
by the thirty-minute mark, you can practically feel whispers beginning to bloom around the ballroom like perfume in the air. so you straighten your spine further, lift your chin slightly, and you smile brighter. if chenle was going to disappear from his own wedding reception, then you would make sure no one noticed the crack forming underneath the surface. you continue greeting guests alone, accepting congratulations with elegance polished into your bones.
mrs. zhong watches you from across the ballroom, sharp eyes lingering knowingly on your solitary figure. she says nothing. because she knows her son. how loud his resentment has been years, months, weeks building into this. but she also knows you. and she trusts you’ll be perfectly fine. that’s why she chose you for her son anyway.
chenle finally returns before he hit the forty-minute mark. your eyes find him immediately across the ballroom. his tie is slightly loosened now, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to catch instantly. his expression remains composed. but the second he reaches your side – you smell it. whiskey. strong enough to linger beneath his cologne.
and truthfully? you don’t really mind. chenle was always easier when he drank. looser around the edges. less cold. less careful about keeping distance between the two of you. sometimes…he even looked at you like he used to.
and after disappearing for almost forty minutes, he was going to have to sell this act twice as hard.
“there you are,” you say smoothly as another cluster of guests approaches the two of you. before you can even fully turn toward them, chenle’s hand settles against your waist. firm. far more natural than earlier.
“sorry,” he says quietly near your ear, voice lower now, slightly roughened by alcohol, “got cornered.”
you hum in acknowledgement, not bothering to call him out. he was lying, obviously. but this version of chenle was infinitely more tolerable than the sober one who treated your marriage like a prison sentence.
“mr. and mrs. zhong!” another investor greets excitedly, approaching with his wife beside him, “we were just saying you two look unbelievable together tonight.”
normally, chenle would give a polite smile, a practiced nod, maybe rest his hand on your back for exactly five seconds before pulling away. instead, he pulls you closer.
“thank you,” he says easily, “my wife makes it difficult not to stare.”
your breath nearly catches. it was the first time he’d call you that. his wife. and you hate how much you loved hearing it.
the investor’s wife practically melts on the spot, “oh, he adores you.”
you knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. chenle’s just performing harder now. making up for lost time. and annoyingly enough, he’s very good at it. throughout the next hour, he barely left your side. and you’d be lying if you said it didn't affect you. drunk chenle was dangerously convincing. this version of him looked softer around the edges, dark eyes warmer beneath the ballroom lights. he smiled more. touched you more. occasionally leaned close enough that his shoulder brushed yours naturally instead of mechanically. like right now-
“you’re doing that thing again,” he murmurs quietly, only for you to hear.
“what thing?”
“over-smiling,” his lips twitch faintly, “your cheeks are probably hurting.”
the fact he noticed at all sends something uncomfortable fluttering through your chest.
“i’m fine.”
“mhm,” his pointer finger lightly grazes your cheekbone, soft and careful, “liar.”
your heart stumbles embarrassingly fast. you hate that alcohol makes him kinder. or maybe not kinder. just more honest with his attention.
another camera flash bursts in front of you both. another perfect photo for the headlines tomorrow. you wonder if anyone would still call the two of you the golden couple if they knew chenle only touched you this much after drinking enough whiskey to blur the resentment out of him.
you enjoyed the rest of the wedding reception. or maybe endured was the more accurate word. either way, you played the role of the perfect wife flawlessly. enough to fool an entire ballroom full of billionaires. by the time the reception finally ended, your cheeks ached from smiling and your feet hurt from hours in heels.
still, there was a strange warmth sitting inside your chest because despite everything – you had married the boy you love. even if he no longer loved you back.
⚜️ THE MARRIED LIFE ⚜️
the drive home is quiet. chenle sits beside you, his gaze lost outside the window. he doesn’t look at you once. the alcohol from earlier seems to have worn off already. funny how quickly the warmth disappeared from him too.
eventually, the gates to the mansion slid open. your mansion now. your home for the rest of your life. the estate stood enormous against the night sky, lights glowing warmly throughout the property. it was less of a house and more of a private villa, complete with a fountain in the middle, sprawling gardens, balconies overlooking the endless green landscape, rooms neither of you would probably ever step foot in. beautiful but cold.
the car comes to a stop and before the driver can even fully open the door, chenle steps out first. you follow shortly after, one of the maids helping you with your dress as you stepped inside the mansion. the grand foyer stretches high above both of you, chandelier light reflecting against polished floors.
chenle was already halfway up the left staircase. “night,” he finally says. flat. automatic. not even turning around. like the two of you didn’t just celebrate a once in a lifetime event people dream of.
he disappears down the left wing leading to his bedroom without another word. you stare after him for a moment before quietly turning toward the opposite staircase. right side. your side. your room.
lili zhong had arranged this mansion for the two of you a month before the wedding, insisting that it would help ease the transition. she genuinely believed that if the two of you lived together beforehand, chenle would eventually come around, that proximity would soften him, that he’d remembered the closeness you once had. you remembered how hopeful she sounded while showing you around the estate.
“give him time,” she had told you gently, “chenle’s stubborn, but he’s a good boy.”
you wanted to believe her. you really did. so for a month before the wedding - you tried. you asked him about work. about basketball games you knew he loved. about the restaurants you knew he liked. you sat beside him even when he barely acknowledged you were there. you tried being patient. understanding. gentle. it didn’t work. and in the end, your efforts never mattered anyway. because whether chenle liked it or not, the wedding was always going to happen.
now that it had, the distance between you felt even larger. married yet sleeping in separate bedrooms like strangers forced under the same roof. it’s whatever, really. the mansion had far too many empty rooms anyway.
three months pass like that.
the routine becomes almost mechanical. you wake up separately. leave for work separately. return home separately.
real conversations only happen at the office. meetings. sale projections. marketing campaigns. brand collaborations. like business partners instead of husband and wife. which, you probably should have expected.
at home, chenle barely spares you a glance. he doesn’t sit beside you on the sofa. doesn’t ask about your day. doesn’t linger in rooms you enter. dinners are eaten across opposite ends of a table long enough to seat twenty people comfortably, silence filling the space where conversations should’ve been. sometimes the only sounds are the clink of silverware against plates and the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
and at night, the lights still glow beneath two different bedrooms. you’ve never stepped into his this entire time. and he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what the colors of your walls were. sometimes you wonder if he stays awake as long as you do.
one night, you walked into the living room to find him watching basketball. for the first time in weeks, he actually looked alive. completely relaxed against the couch, eyes fixed on the television while quietly reacting under his breath. stephen curry had just made an impossible three-point shot and chenle actually laughed softly, shaking his head with genuine enjoyment lighting his face. you had almost smiled seeing it. because it reminded you of the boy he used to be. then he noticed you standing there and immediately, everything disappeared. his posture straightened. his expression flattened. he watched the rest of the game in complete silence, pretending not to care when curry hit the game winning shot minutes later. pretending he hadn’t been enjoying himself at all before you arrived – that one hurt more than you expected. you realized then that your presence drained the life out of him. he physically could not relax around you anymore.
so eventually – you stopped trying to fill the silence. stopped asking if he wanted dinner together. stopped lingering in shared spaces hoping he might speak first.
if chenle wanted distance that badly, then fine. you would give it to him. even if the loneliness of this massive mansion swallowed you whole because of it.
⚜️ THE OTHER WOMAN ⚜️
you couldn’t help it though. every night, no matter how much you told yourself to stop caring, you still waited for the sound of chenle’s bedroom door shutting. just to make sure he came home.
some nights he came home early, footsteps echoing through the quiet mansion before midnight. other nights, he returned a little later, long after you were supposed to be asleep, the distant sound of his shoes against the floor enough to finally let the tightness in your chest loosen.
he never knew you waited. or maybe he did. either way, neither of you acknowledged it.
but tonight was different.
the grandfather clock in the foyer had already struck two a.m. nearly fifteen minutes ago, the sound heavy and hollow throughout the massive estate.
chenle has never been out this late.
you glance toward the entrance again before lowering your gaze to the untouched cup of chamomile tea in your hands. it had gone cold almost an hour ago, when you first realize how late it was and your husband was nowhere to be heard.
“did chenle say where he was going tonight?” you ask the maid standing nearby.
“no, mrs. zhong,” she answers carefully, “but he did call for the driver around twenty minutes ago, he should be making his way back.”
and it’s ridiculous, really, how your maid knows more about your husband's whereabouts than you do.
“okay,” you nod gently, setting the untouched tea aside, “go ahead and get some rest,” you offer her a smile despite the exhaustion sitting heavily behind your eyes, “i’ll wait up for him.”
“are you sure, mrs. zhong? i could wait instead.”
you wave her off, “it’s a wife’s duty to take care of her husband.”
she smiles politely at your response, “okay mrs. zhong, i’ll be here when you need me.”
“thank you,” you say genuinely.
she bows her head slightly before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with the silence again. the moment she’s gone, your smile fades. slowly, you rise from the sofa and make your way toward the grand staircase. more specifically – the left staircase. chenle’s staircase. the one you never use.
the mansion had been designed almost absurdly symmetrical, splitting the house in two. like the house itself understood the distance between you.
you settle onto the second step quietly, smoothing the fabric of your silk pajama dress beneath you, waiting for him to come home. your eyes drift across the foyer absentmindedly – the massive chandelier overhead, the single round table with the antique vase filled of flowers you didn’t even like, and the wedding portrait hanging near the entrance your mother-in-law gifted. it always made your chest ache a little. you looked so happy in it. chenle looked convincing.
you wonder if this is what arranged marriages are supposed to feel like. waiting around in silence for someone who never notices you waited at all. you lean your head lightly against the staircase railing. maybe he was working late. maybe he was drinking. maybe he didn’t want to come home anymore. the last possibility settles the heaviest.
your mind drifts despite yourself, back toward the beginning. a time when chenle used to text you constantly whenever he went anywhere. texts that were as silly as:
look at this ugly dog i found
watch basketball with me, i have popcorn
and others, that always made you smile and your heart race:
just tried the new restaurant down the street from our favorite tea place. i have to bring you there..it will make you cry tears of joy.
i saw this dumpling plushie and it reminded me of you, so guess who has a new dumpling plushie
let’s go on trip this weekend, just me and you…already got the flight tickets
my mom’s annoying me. come save me. please.
where are you? i’m picking you up
you used to be the first person he looked for in every room. now you barely knew what was going on in that mind of his. a soft laugh escapes you suddenly, quiet and humorless. if the tabloids could see you now, they’ll realize just how easy it is to create fake gold.
another thirty minutes pass when headlights appear through the front windows. your body straightens instantly before you can stop yourself, heartbeat quickening embarrassingly fast.
the front doors open moments later, chenle walking in. his tie hangs loose around his neck, dark hair slightly messy like someone has been running their fingers through it repeatedly. he smells faintly of alcohol, expensive cologne and perfume that definitely wasn’t yours. your stomach drops before you can even process it fully. it’s sweet, floral, feminine – not familiar.
chenle freezes the second he notices you sitting on the staircase. for a brief moment, genuine surprise flashes across his face.
“what are you doing up?” he asks, voice rough and tired.
you force your expression to remain soft, normal, “waiting for you.”
something unreadable flickers in his eyes. guilt. maybe. or irritation. you can never tell with him anymore. whatever it is, it disappears almost instantly.
“go to bed, y/n,” he says with a sigh, already sounding exhausted by the conversation before it even begins. then he walks past you. just like that. and something inside you finally snaps.
there were many things that you could let slide. chenle ignoring you. chenle barely speaking to you unless necessary. chenle looking at you with those cold eyes sharp enough to cut skin open. chenle hating you for a life neither of you truly chose.
but this? coming home way past midnight smelling of alcohol and another woman’s perfume while wearing lipstick marks on his neck like he didn’t even care enough for you to hide them???
a wife could only take so much.
you could only take so much.
before you know it, you’re standing abruptly and following him up the staircase. his staircase. your slippers hit the marble harder with every step as anger burns hotter beneath your skin. he pushes open his bedroom door and you follow him inside immediately, shutting it sharply behind you, the sound echoing through the room.
it’s your first time entering his bedroom in the four months you’ve been married. that realization alone feels pathetic. it’s cleaner than you expected. dark walls. dark sheets. expensive furniture. floor to ceiling windows overlooking the green landscape, similar to yours. it looked less like the room of a married man and more like a luxury bachelor suite. nothing about it felt like there was space for you.
“are you fucking cheating on me?!” you demand, voice coming out harsher than intended, anger cracking through the polished composure you spent years perfecting.
chenle groans immediately, dragging a hand through his hair before kicking his shoes off carelessly, “i don’t want to fucking talk about this right now.”
you ignore him completely, hurt and fury already boiling too violently inside your chest.
“is this why you hate me so much?,” you ask, voice rising, “because you’re already in love with someone else?!”
that catches his attention instantly. his head snaps toward you so fast it almost startles you.
“what?”
you let out a bitter scoff, “oh my god, chenle!,” you gesture toward him angrily, “you have her scent all over you, there’s lipstick all over your neck–i’m not fucking stupid.”
your voice gets louder with every word. so much for grace. so much for being poised. right now you’re just angry. hurt. humiliated.
chenle stares at you for a second before rubbing both hands down his face tiredly, “i’m not fucking in love with someone else,” he mutters.
“then what the fuck is this?!”
silence stretches for half a second.
“i needed to get laid.”
chenle laughs once humorlessly, “if you haven’t noticed,” he says coldly, “i’ve basically been fucking abstinent for four months and i just…needed a release.”
it’s almost sickening how that makes you feel better. your anger doesn’t disappear but the crushing feeling in your chest eases slightly knowing there wasn’t some other woman holding his heart while you sat here playing the perfect wife. it was just sex. not love.
you step closer before you can think better of it. chenle’s brows furrow slightly at the sudden closeness.
“if you need to get your dick wet, you come to my room.”
his expression changes instantly, genuine shock flashing across his face. you continue before he can interrupt.
“no one else’s.”
your chest rises sharply with each breath.
“i’m your wife now, for fuck’s sake.”
chenle just stares at you like he genuinely doesn’t know what to say.
“i don’t care if this marriage was arranged for business,” you snap, “you do not get to cheat on me…again.”
that room falls silent after that. you can practically see the conflict moving behind chenle’s eyes now. because he hates this. all of it. the marriage. the expectations. the loss of freedom. but you can also tell he didn’t expect this reaction from you. didn’t expect you to claim your place beside him so bluntly.
“besides,” you add bitterly, “we need to have a child eventually, as our parents love to remind me,” your laugh comes out hollow, “you’d be doing me a fucking service.”
irritation flickers in chenle’s face immediately. but you don’t stay long enough to examine it. you turn sharply and walk out before he can say anything else, your heartbeat pounding violently in your ears as you cross to your side of the mansion.
⚜️ THE BEST FRIENDS ⚜️
the two of you never talk about that night again. it got buried beneath the same routine. work meetings. silent dinners. passing each other in hallways without speaking. but something had changed after that. because you opened a door that night. and whether or not chenle chose to knock was entirely up to him.
it takes another month before he finally does.
chenle can’t believe he’s actually considering this. he stands in his bedroom, staring at the half empty whiskey glass in his hand. this was insane. he was about to walk into your room and what? sleep with his wife? his best friend? except he’s not even sure that title still belongs to the two of you anymore.
best friends didn’t look at each other the way he looks at you now – like you were both the wound and the knife that caused it. best friends didn’t spend five months barely speaking despite living under the same roof. best friends definitely didn’t resent each other enough to split a mansion into separate lives.
chenle exhales sharply before taking another shot. not enough to get drunk, just enough for that liquid courage to settle into his bones, silencing the voice in his head that told him this was wrong and allowing himself to knock on your door.
he knows this is so hard to do because of him. he knows he’s been irrational. resenting you for decisions neither of you truly got to make. taking every ounce of frustration and grief and anger about his life and placing it onto your shoulders because it was easier to have someone to blame than to accept that this is his reality.
and yet despite all of that – the only thing you had ever truly asked of him during this marriage was to not cheat on you…again. you could’ve demanded affection. attention. a real marriage. instead, you simply looked him in the eye and told him to come to you first. that memory hasn’t left his head since.
another sigh escapes him before he sets the empty glass down and finally walks out of his room. the hallway separating your bedroom feels strangely longer tonight. every step making him question himself again. this was a terrible idea. he should turn around. go back to his room. pretend this impulse never happened. but fuck, he needs to get laid…right now.
the knock startles you instantly. you glance up from your bed in confusion. it’s almost midnight. no one ever knocks this late and the maids only enter when called. for a second, you wonder if something’s wrong.
slowly, you slip off the bed and walk toward the door, your silk, short pajama dress flowing around you. and there he is – standing in the hallway looking strangely tense beneath the dim lights.
for a moment, neither of you speaks. then chenle says flatly–
“i want to have sex.”
simple. direct. like he’s discussing a business proposal instead of standing outside his wife’s bedroom at midnight. your chest tightens painfully because somehow, even after everything, a part of you still hoped he’d come here for another reason. that maybe he missed you. maybe he couldn’t sleep either. maybe tonight, after months of silence, he finally wanted to talk to you like he used to.
but of course not. he wasn’t your chenle anymore. and this was your marriage - transactional. carefully detached. emotionally hollow.
“okay,” you answer softly after a second, stepping aside to let him in.
chenle walks past you quietly, eyes scanning your room almost curiously. unlike his bedroom, yours actually looked live in. warmer lighting. books scattered across tables. skincare and makeup products lining the vanity. blankets thrown carelessly across the couch near the windows – and trinkets, gifts, specifically from him – scattered around different parts of the room.
the dumpling plushie he got you when you were fifteen all because it reminded him of you.
the vintage camera on your shelf he bought behind your back when you were sixteen because you had mentioned once, only once, that you loved taking pictures because it made moments feel permanent. he remembers showing up the next day with your dream camera like it was nothing. “don’t say i never support your hobbies,” he teased.
even those damn crybaby figurines he bought you when you were seventeen were lined carefully beside your bookshelf. every single one from the collection you obsessed over years ago. you had a frown on your face over not getting the rare one from a blind box once and chenle spent nearly two weeks secretly hunting every figurine down until your collection was complete. you used to tell him he was insane for it. he used to think seeing you happy made the effort worth it.
suddenly the room feels suffocating. because there are pieces of him everywhere in here. small reminders scattered throughout your life of proof that before everything fell apart – chenle used to love you loudly. maybe not romantically. maybe not in the way you wanted. but enough to memorize the smallest things about you. enough to notice every passing comment and quietly turn it into something real.
chenle rubs the back of his neck awkwardly before finally looking at you fully and for the first time in months – he doesn’t look angry when he does. if anything, he looks shaken. then he clears his throat.
“we don’t have to make this…” he pauses, brows furrowing slightly, “more than what it is.”
“okay,” the answer leaves your mouth too quickly. too easily. like you’ve already accepted that this was how it was always going to be.
he nods, leading the way as he reaches for the buttons of his pajama shirt. you look away the second the fabric slips from his shoulder, the room suddenly feeling warmer. chenle drops his shirt onto the chair near your vanity while you remain frozen beside the bed, fingers nervously toying the hem of your pajama dress.
neither of you knows how to start this. that becomes painfully obvious almost immediately. there’s no romance here to guide the moment. no affection softening the edges. just tension and awkwardness.
finally, because if you stand there any longer, you think your heart might actually burst through your ribs, you reach beneath the fabric of your dress. with shaky fingers, you hook the elastic of your underwear and slide them down your legs, stepping out of them and leaving it on the floor. you keep the pajama dress on through, the thin material clinging to your curves.
the room goes still. chenle's eyes lift instinctively toward you, tracing the silhouette of your body before darting away almost immediately. and somehow that reaction hurts more than if he’d stared openly. because this feels like restraint. like guilt. like he is forcing himself not to want you.
you climb onto the bed quietly, trying desperately to appear calmer than you feel.
“you can turn the lights off if you want,” you murmur softly.
and maybe that was better. maybe if he couldn’t see you, he could pretend you were just another one of his one night stands. maybe the darkness would erase the history between you, leaving only the physical need. darkness settles over the room instantly, softened only by the lights outside filtering through the windows.
chenle approaches the bed slowly afterward, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he climbs in beside you, leaving enough distance between your bodies. neither of you speaks. there’s nothing comforting to say. just the sound of breathing filling the dark room.
then, he finally reaches for you. his hand settling against your waist, his palm warm against the thin fabric of your dress. he pulls you toward him and your breath catches immediately. and it’s sad, really, that despite the coldness, despite the hate, you’ve wanted this for years. you want him so badly it feels like a physical ache in your chest.
you close your eyes as he shifts closer, the last fragile layer of distance between you finally disappearing. he doesn’t lift the dress, simply just bunching the fabric up around your waist, exposing your hips and thighs to the cool air. he doesn’t kiss you. he doesn’t whisper your name. he simply positions himself, his cock hard and pressing against your entrance…and he thrusts in.
“fuck,” chenle groans under his breath, his hand gripping your waist harder instinctively, digging his fingers into your skin, “you’re so fucking tight.”
your breath catches painfully at the stretch, a sharp, searing pressure tearing through your center as your body struggles to accommodate the sudden intrusion. your fingers unconsciously claw into his biceps, gripping the hard muscle as a gasp of genuine pain escapes your lips. it hurts – more than you expected it to. there was no slow build up to soften any of this. no tender words whispered against your skin to ease the transition. this wasn’t lovemaking.
for chenle, this is only a physical release, a way to drown out the noise of his own sadness and the crushing weight of his expectations. for you, it was simply duty. the possibility of giving both families the heir everyone expected from the moment your engagement was announced. just two emotionally exhausted people trying to fulfill a role they’d been pushed into years ago.
chenle notices your pain immediately. you know he does because his movements stall, his body freezing inside you for a beat. in the dim light, you see his brows furrow, a flicker of something – hesitation, perhaps, or a ghost of the boy he used to be – crossing his features. he gives you a moment to adjust, his chest heaving against yours, but. neither of you say anything.
what would even be the point? there are no sweet words to be exchanged here. no declarations of love. only uneven breathing filling the dark room and the occasional strained sound slipping from both of you despite yourselves.
chenle keeps his eyes fixed downward, jaw tense like he’s trying not to think too hard about any of this. about you. about the way you feel wrapped around him. about what this act actually means for the two of you.
your fingers loosen from his arm eventually, your grip shifting to the silk sheets beneath you, bunching the fabric in your fists as the initial, blinding ache slowly dulls into a manageable throb. but as the physical pain recedes, a different kind of agony takes its place – one that is far more suffocating, your mind cruelly reminding you that this is the boy who used to hold your hand while crossing the street to make sure you were safe. the boy who bought you random gifts because they reminded him of you. the boy you had loved with a purity that now felt like a joke. and now, here you are, beneath him in a silence so heavy it felt suffocating.
he doesn’t try to make it last. he doesn’t try to find your pleasure or bridge the emotional divide between you. he simply drives into you with a mechanical, rhythmic intensity, his movements devoid of affection.
he lasted six minutes before it was finally over.
chenle curses softly under his breath as he paints your walls white. his forehead drops briefly near your shoulder, breathing unevenly before finally stilling completely. the room falls quiet almost immediately afterward except for both of your breathing.
then, chenle carefully pulls away. he begins to shift back but freezes mid-motion, his eyes dropping toward the sheets beneath you, the air in the room vanishing – small, vivid spots of red stain the white sheets.
“shit,” he breathes, his entire expression changing instantly. the detachment he had maintained through the act vanishes, replaced by a sharp, jagged edge of alarm, “are you okay?”
the concern in his voice catches you off guard more than anything else. real, genuine concern that you haven’t heard from him in years. the same boy who used to worry if you’d scraped your knee.
still trying to steady your breathing, you blink at him tiredly, “what?”
“you bled,” he says immediately, eyes darting back toward the sheets before the realization visibly crashes into him. his face tightens, jaw locking as the implication sinks in.
“fuck, y/n…,” he exhales sharply, “are you a virgin?”
you stare at him for a long second, the silence stretching between you. you feel empty, raw and utterly exhausted. you shrug lightly, “well,” you mutter dryly, “as of a couple minutes ago, i no longer am.”
chenle looks at you like you’ve just punched him in the chest. there’s disbelief there. guilt. and worst of all – pity. you hate it instantly. you aren’t a porcelain doll. you are the owner of an empire and you had walked into this encounter with your eyes wide open.
“don’t look at me like that,” you scoff, reaching for your blanket and pulling it over you, “it’s not a big deal, chenle. it was gonna happen one way or another.”
he lets out a frustrated sound immediately, dragging both hands through his hair, “why do you keep saying that?!,” he snaps suddenly.
you blink, startled at the sharpness in his tone, the sudden eruption of emotion, “because it’s true.”
“no, it’s not,” his brows pull together harder, frustration and disbelief bleeding into his voice, “and this is a big deal. i just took your virginity.”
“and?!” you shoot back instantly, emotions finally cracking open.
“it was always yours to take!”
silence. thick. heavy enough to suffocate the entire room. chenle stills completely. the lights spilling through the windows cast shadows across his face, but you can still see the shock there clearly. he looks haunted, as if you’ve just revealed a truth he wasn’t prepared to handle.
“what?” he asks quietly.
“unlike you,” you say bitterly, your chest rising sharply, “i never thought marrying my best friend was something so repulsive.”
the words hit hard enough that chenle just stares at you. stunned. because he genuinely cannot understand it.
when he found out about the arrangement years ago, it felt like his entire life stopped belonging to him. suddenly every conversation had contracts hidden beneath it, every family dinner felt staged, every interaction between the two of you became another reminder that his future had already been decided before he even got a say. he panicked. rebelled. slept with girl after girl trying to desperately prove to himself he still had freedom. he still belonged to himself. still had choices before marriage locked him into a life he never asked for.
but you – you just accepted it.
you didn’t run. you didn’t scream. you didn’t burn the world down to get away.
he remembers sitting in those meetings, hating every single second of it and every single time he looked at you – you were just sitting quietly beside him. calm. composed. nodding along politely whenever someone addressed you. you never argued. never pushed back. never looked angry enough.
and chenle convinced himself that meant you didn’t care. that maybe this really was just business to you, too. he resented you for it. resented the way you accepted everything so easily while he felt like he was suffocating. resented the way you let your parents decide both of your lives without fighting harder beside him. resented how fake everything started feeling after that. like your friendship had never really belonged to the two of you. like it had been another transaction always meant to happen.
just like tonight.
just like this bed. this room. your first time.
the reality settles sickeningly into his chest. because despite all his anger, despite all the resentment he carried for years – this should have been special. not because virginity itself mattered to him. but because you did. somewhere beneath the layers of bitterness, the boy who loved you was still there, and he realizes with a jolt of horror that he is the one to turn this moment into something cold. another deal to complete. another box to check.
for the first time in months, chenle genuinely feels ashamed standing in front of you.
you slide beneath the blankets completely, turning away from him. your voice goes cold again. controlled. composed. your expression slowly shutting down. piece by piece. the same way it always does whenever he hurts you. it’s a practiced defense, a wall built from years of his indifference.
“i’ll have the maid clean the sheets tomorrow.”
chenle opens his mouth slightly. then closes it again. because there’s nothing he can say that fixes this. nothing that gives you back the moment he just ruined. he cannot un-take your innocence.
“if you’re done here,” you murmur quietly, “you should just go.”
the guilt eats him alive, gnawing at his insides as he stares at your curled-up form. yet, chenle walks out anyway.
⚜️ THE MOTHER IN LAW ⚜️
you get your period two weeks later and it annoys you far more than it should. the second you see the faint streak of red, disappointment settles heavily into your chest before you can stop it. pathetic. you actually let yourself hope that one night would be enough. that somehow, despite how cold and emotionally disastrous it had been, it might’ve at least resulted in something tangible. something that would finally make this marriage feel like it’s moving forward instead of rotting quietly in place. something that would finally make this mansion feel like a house.
you’re afraid of the possibility it won’t happen again. not after the way things have been recently.
it’s gotten worse between you and chenle. at least before, when he looked at you, there was fire there. albeit, not the good kind…but fire, nonetheless.
now, it was just stone cold. and every now and then – guilt. it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself around you anymore. and every single time you notice it, sorrow settles deeper inside your chest. guilt isn’t love. you don’t want him feeling sorry for you. you want – no. you force yourself to stop that thought before it finishes.
wanting things from chenle only ever leads to disappointment.
“y/n, dear, how are you and chenle?” mama li’s voice breaks through your thoughts. she’s sitting elegantly across from you in the living room, posture perfect even in something as simple as afternoon tea. sunlight pours through the massive windows behind her, catching the gold resting against her fingers as she lifts her teacup gracefully.
she’s beautiful in the same terrifying way chenle is. composed. sharp. impossible to fully read. sometimes looking at her hurts because all you can see is him.
she asked the question gently. but there’s always command hidden beneath her voice, years of power woven naturally into every word she speaks.
“uhm,” you hesitate, “i don’t know, mama li,” the nickname leaves your lips naturally. it always has, “i don’t think we’ll ever go back to the way we used to.”
for a moment, genuine sadness flickers across her face. she exhales softly before offering you a small smile, “just give it time,” she says gently, “you know he’s always loved you.”
your chest tightens painfully. it’s what everyone says. your parents. his parents. family friends. employees who watched the two of you grow up together. everyone insists chenle loved you once. maybe still does. but lately, you’re not so sure anymore. maybe everyone simply misunderstood him all these years. maybe being comfortable around someone your entire childhood wasn’t the same thing as loving them.
after all – chenle himself has never actually said it. not once.
mama li studies your expression carefully before continuing, “chenle has always been difficult with his emotions,” she says with a quiet sigh, “but that boy would follow you around everywhere when you were younger. you were the only person who could calm him down whenever he got upset.”
you force out a faint smile, “that was a long time ago.”
“feelings don’t disappear that easily,” she replies smoothly.
you wish you believed that. instead, you take another sip of tea to avoid answering.
“even so, my dear,” her eyes linger meaningfully on you, “i hope you’re not forgetting your duties.”
there it is. the real reason behind this conversation. behind her visit.
children. heirs. you suddenly feel exhausted. you don’t know what to say. you’ve only slept with chenle once. and considering the fact you got your period this morning, you’re very aware you are not pregnant. still, you can’t exactly tell his mother that her son barely touches you. so instead, you straighten your posture slightly and force your voice to remain calm.
“we’re trying.”
mama li’s expression brightens immediately, genuine excitement sparkles in her eyes, “well, that’s wonderful news,” she says warmly, “we have to continue our legacies after all,” she adds with a soft smile, lifting her teacup once more.
legacy. sometimes you wonder if anyone in this family actually understands how lonely that word feels.
⚜️ THE DRUNK WIFE’S PINKY PROMISE ⚜️
it’s been a month since mama li’s visit. and half a year since you and chenle got married. he hasn’t touched you once since that night. not even accidentally. no lingering touches while passing each other in hallways. no brushing shoulders. no quiet midnight knocks at your bedroom door. absolutely…nothing.
and lately, the restlessness sitting inside you has started turning into panic. because six months into marriage and you still weren’t even close to being pregnant. your parents ask constantly. mama li asks so often that your stomach knots every single time. even the public has started wondering. the media hasn’t said anything outright yet, but you’ve seen the headlines.
WHEN WILL THE GOLDEN COUPLE ANNOUNCE THEIR FIRST HEIR?
A BOY OR A GIRL? IT SHOULD BE ANY DAY NOW.
and worst of all — people at work were starting to notice things too. the whispers had gotten louder these past few weeks:
why do you never arrive together? why do you leave separately? why do the two of you never eat lunch together despite literally being married? were you both simply that professional??? or did you secretly hate each other???
the stress had been eating at you slowly. you feel like you’re being watched even more so than usual.
so tonight, for the first time in months, you finally leave the mansion for something other than work. with your best friend - yizhou ning-qian. if anyone understood arranged marriages, it was her. except for the obvious difference that her husband, kun qian, absolutely adored her. even with their seven year age gap, they worked. somehow effortlessly. which honestly made your own marriage feel even sadder by comparison.
“have you tried initiating it?,” yizhou asks casually, sipping her tequila.
the two of you were tucked away inside one of the private rooms at a high-end bar where membership alone cost more than most people’s yearly salaries. dim lights glowed against velvet seating while soft jazz echoed faintly beyond the closed doors.
you stare at her, “yizhou,” you say flatly, “i can’t even get close enough to try.”
she snorts immediately, the sound sharp and mocking of the situation.
“every time i walk into a room,” you continue, “he leaves. immediately.”
"man,” she sighs, shaking her head, “chenle seriously needs to grow the fuck up.” you can’t even disagree. “this was always going to be our lives,” she continues, taking a quick sip of her drink, “and honestly? it’s not even that bad.”
another tequila shot arrives at the table. she pushes it toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye.
”i mean,” she giggles, “we’re literally billionaires! it can’t get better than this.”
you burst into laughter with her despite yourself, the alcohol finally beginning to warm your chest pleasantly.
“exactly!,” you groan dramatically after downing the shot in one go, “all we have to do is marry someone else rich and pretty yet chenle thinks the world has ended.”
yizhou nearly chokes, laughing, “god, he’s just been too spoiled.”
the two of you dissolve into another fit of giggles. and if it was any other person, you’d feel awful for trash talking your husband. but she was your best friend, one of your safe spaces. and it feels good to laugh. you haven’t done that in a while.
yizhou wipes beneath her eyes dramatically before leaning back against the couch, “if anything,” she says, still grinning, “you guys are the luckiest out of all of us.”
your smile falters, “and why’s that?”
”you married someone you already know…someone you already love.”
the words silence the laughter instantly. the love you carry for chenle is a heavy, aching thing – a devotion that has survived his coldness and his resentment. but love is a two-way street. and chenle has shown it loud and clear that he didn’t share those same feelings for you.
“he doesn’t love me, yizhou,” you say quietly.
for a second, she just stares at you. then suddenly, she bursts into even louder laughter. ”yeah,” she says sarcastically between giggles, “and my husband is fucking poor!”
you shove her shoulder weakly while laughing. considering kun was literally one of the ten wealthiest men in the country, the statement sounds ridiculous.
her expression softens after laughing, “y/n,” she says more seriously now, “that boy has loved you since before we even knew what love was.”
“you don’t know that,” you whisper, chest tightening painfully as you shake your head immediately.
“oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “everyone knows that.”
you sigh into your drink. you wish people would stop saying that. it just lets the hope linger longer. just reminds you of the boy he used to be. just makes the man he has become feel more like a tragedy.
”seriously,” she continues, leaning forward now, “he just needs to wake up from whatever self-pity hole he dug for himself.”
you stare down at the amber liquid in your glass quietly.
“i mean, come on, he has to know that it could be worse,” she adds.
“how could it be worse than this?”
”jaemin’s literally arranged to marry someone he actually hates,” she points out, “and even he isn’t acting as childish as chenle,” she reaches for your hand then, intertwining her fingers through yours.
“it’s not your fault, y/n.”
your throat tightens at her comfort, the alcohol heightening the vulnerability of your emotions.
“and sooner or later,” she says softly, "chene's going to realize that too. he’s going to realize that while he was busy hating the arrangement, he was losing the only person who actually gives a damn about him.”
you drank a lot more than you should’ve. at first, it was just to loosen up. but somewhere between the expensive tequila, the soft jazz playing in the private room and yizhou’s ridiculous stories, the warmth spreading through your body started feeling addictive. every shot made things quieter. lighter. your thoughts blurred around the edges. your chest stopped hurting so much whenever chenle crossed your mind. for the first time in months, you weren’t thinking about the empty side of your dinner table or the way your husband avoided looking at you like eye contact physically pained him.
you were just laughing. drinking. existing. and maybe that’s why you didn’t realize how much time had passed until yizhou was shoving your purse into your hands while laughing at your completely incoherent attempt to put your heels back on.
by the time your driver finally pulls into the mansion’s driveway, it’s nearly three in the morning. the second the car door opens, cold air hits your face and you instantly regret every decision you made tonight.
“mmm,” you groan softly while stepping out drunkily, “why is the ground moving?” you complain.
“the ground is not moving, mrs. zhong,” your maid says gently while helping steady you. you squint suspiciously at the marble steps leading toward the front door. you manage to stumble inside the mansion without face-planting into the floor. barely. if it wasn’t for your maid’s help, you’d be on the ground.
“its uh–kay,” you mumble as your maid carefully tries helping you remove your coat, “mmm okay, i can take care of myself. i’m a professional. i’m a…ceo of being okay!”
you absolutely are not. your words are slurring into a thick, honey-like mess and you nearly take out a priceless vase with your shoulder before you finally collapse onto the bottom step of the right staircase.
upstairs, chenle hears your voice immediately. he had been awake. waiting. though he’d never admit that out loud. usually, when he came home from work, your bedroom light would still be visible through the tiny crack beneath your door.
tonight, it had been dark.
and when he checked downstairs earlier under the excuse of getting water, you hadn’t been in the living room either. and for reasons he doesn’t want to examine too closely, it unsettled him. so tonight, he intentionally left his bedroom door slightly cracked open. just enough to hear when you returned home.
and now here you were. sounding very, very drunk.
chenle exhales sharply before stepping out into the hallway. he makes his way downstairs quietly only to stop midway down the staircase at the sight in front of him. you’re sitting on the bottom step of your staircase now with your head slumped against the railing while your maid looks one second away from panicking.
“i said i’m okayyyy,” you groan.
“sir zhong,” the maid says immediately in relief the second she notices him.
your head snaps upward clumsily at her voice, eyes unfocused as you follow her gaze. chenle stands halfway down the staircase dressed in dark sweatpants and a loose shirt, his hair looking unbelievably soft. he looks unfairly handsome for three in the morning – a devastatingly beautiful statue carved from ice and moonlight.
“mrs. zhong is drunk,” the maid explains carefully.
“i’m not drunk,” you counter immediately. then your body sways sideways slightly and she catches your shoulder before you topple over completely.
she turns back toward chenle helplessly, “i’m trying to help her up the stairs, sir. she might hurt herself without guidance.”
chenle’s jaw tightens slightly. then he nods once. “i’ll take care of it, you may go.”
she bows politely before quickly disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone. silence settles briefly. chenle walks down the remaining stairs slowly before stopping in front of you.
“you drink now?” he asks flatly, clearly not amused.
you squint up at him from the floor, “wow,” you mumble, a small, crooked smile playing on your lips, “judgmental much? mr. perfect.”
stubbornly, you attempt standing on your own. terrible decision. the second you rise, the world spins 360 degrees. chenle reacts immediately, one arm hooking firmly around your waist and hauling you flush against his chest. the contact is electric. it’s the first time in months he's touched you with any kind of intent, and the sudden heat of his body against yours makes your breath hitch. he is solid, warm, smelling of expensive soap and something uniquely him.
you blink up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach out, poking his chest weakly with a finger, “you’re not the only one,” you whisper, your voice losing its playful edge and becoming raw, “who wants to forget.”
the words come out quieter than intended. more honest too. you’re too drunk to notice the way his face softens for half a second. deep down, he’s always known it. he just never wanted to acknowledge it – the fact that you were hurting, too.
he reaches forward, his hand cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together, forcing your lips into a pout. his brows furrow, gaze scanning your flushed face, “you know you’re not good with alcohol.”
you sway weakly at his wrist with a dramatic scoff, “psh, whatever.”
then you wriggle yourself fee from his hold before turning toward the staircase again, “i’m a big girl now,” you mumble stubbornly as you begin walking upwards, “i can do it.”
chenle hums behind you, not convinced in the slightest. you make it about five steps before the world starts tilting unpleasantly again. he was right. you were never good with alcohol. your head feels heavy. your feet hurt from the heels you still haven’t taken off and suddenly the stairs look impossibly long and all you want to do is fall asleep right here.
with a defeated sigh, you finally turn around. and only then do you realize how close chenle actually is. he’s standing just two steps below you. close enough that if you slipped backward even slightly, he’d catch you instantly. it softens you immediately. the way he still followed you. your expression crumbles into something smaller, softer.
“lele,” you mumble quietly, the nickname naturally slipping from your lips. you haven’t called him that in years. not since everything between you became sharp and complicated.
chenle visibly freezes. the air in the stairway seems to solidify, trapping him in the space between who he is now and who he used to be.
your lower lip juts out slightly as you blink at him tiredly, “i need help,” you admit finally, your voice small and stripped of all its corporate armor.
his heart stops. he swears the world stops moving. because you sound exactly like her. not the polished corporate heiress version of you who sits through board meetings with perfect posture and calculated smiles. not the wife who carefully measures every word around him now.
you sound like the girl he used to know. the one who used to cling onto his arm after getting tired at amusement parks. the one who cried dramatically over a barely scraped knee and demanded he carry her because “best friends are supposed to help each other.” the one who looked at him as if he were the only source of light in a dark world.
you sounded like the girl he loves.
before business meetings hollowed everything out between you. before his own resentment poisoned every room you shared.
chenle exhales slowly through his nose, a shaky breath that rattles in his chest. he sighs, and for the first time in years, the sound isn't one of annoyance, but of defeat.
“come on, you big baby,” he mutters.
the tease slips out so effortlessly it surprises both of you, a sudden echo of a decade ago. your eyes widen slightly, he hasn’t sounded like that with you in a very long time. before you can even respond, chenle bends slightly and hooks an arm beneath your knees. you let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, bridal style. instinctively, your hands grab onto his shoulder, settling against his chest automatically as he starts carrying you up the stairs properly this time. his warmth surrounds you immediately, steady and safe, your alcohol fogged brain melting into it without resistance.
chenle tries very hard not to think about how natural this still feels. how your body still fits against his as if they were two pieces of a puzzle designed by a higher power. he feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, a subconscious grip that mirrors the way you used to hold onto him when you were children. years ago, this would’ve been normal. he used to carry you all the time. after you fall asleep in the car rides home. after twisting your ankle once trying to impress him at basketball. after you threw a dramatic tantrum at sixteen because your heels hurt during some charity gala. back then, touching you was easy. now it feels dangerous.
he pushes your bedroom door open with his shoulders before walking inside. carefully, he lowers you onto the mattress. but the second he starts pulling away, your hands grab onto him tighter.
“not yet,” you mumble immediately, tugging him downward with surprising strength until he half falls onto the bed beside you. your arms wrap around him instinctively, face burying against his chest, holding him close.
chenle freezes for half a second. then exhales slowly. because fuck. he missed this. he missed you. not the tense silence between board meetings. not the careful distance. not the version of you that flinches emotionally every time he looks at you now. but this – warm and soft and clinging onto him like he was still your safest place in the world.
your hugs always used to calm him down faster than anything else. even now, after everything, his body relaxes embarrassingly quick the moment your arms tighten around him. he lets himself stay there for a little while. just a little. his hand settles carefully against your back as your breathing slowly evens out.
eventually, he pulls back enough to look at you properly, brushing your hair away from your face gently, his fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary.
“why’d you drink so much anyway?” he asks softly.
and maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it’s the exhaustion. or maybe you simply miss your best friend too much to keep pretending you don’t. because suddenly, you start talking to him like he’s still that person.
“my husband won’t touch me,” you mumble sadly.
the words hit him directly in the chest. especially because you say it like your husband and the man currently holding you are two entirely different people. his eyes widen slightly, heat creeping into his face almost instantly and he’s almost grateful you’re drunk enough not to notice.
“and everyone keeps asking me about children, lele…” your voice grows smaller, “it’s just–it’s too much,” you pout slightly afterward, eyes glossy and tired.
chenle’s guilt continues to grow. he knows all of the pressure has been landing on you. his mother stopped bringing children up around him months ago. your parents tread carefully too. everyone gives him space, shows him more grace. he think’s it’s because everyone is afraid that if they push him too hard, it will make him snap completely. make him finally leave. no one realizes he never actually could. not when the thought of a world where he wasn’t with you, even in this broken, tragic way, felt more impossible than the marriage itself.
“do you even want a child?” he ask quietly, not sure why he keeps this conversation going. maybe because this is the most honest the two of you have been with each other in years.
you shift, turning on your side to find a more comfortable position, and in the process, you instinctively seize his hand again. without a second thought, you tug his arm around your waist, pulling him flush against you until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. the position nearly wrecks him. because this used to be normal too. movie nights. sleepovers. lazy afternoons tangled together on couches while studying. you always used to curl into him naturally like he was home. and he used to hate having to leave, always wanting more time with you.
“it wouldn’t be that bad to have one,” you admit softly, your fingers playing absentmindedly with his, tracing the lines of his palm, “i mean…we have all the money in the world.”
chenle huffs quietly through his nose, a small, dry sound. it always comes back to that, doesn't it? the money. the wealth. the legacy. the gold-plated chains that bind you together.
“we could have twenty and still have plenty left over,” you add with a sleepy, whimsical giggle.
that actually almost makes him laugh. the image of the two of you with twenty children running around this mansion sounds absolutely insane. he can barely handle one drunk wife right now. still, his chest feels strangely warm hearing you talk like this – domestic, hopeful, almost dreaming. it stirs something in him that he thought he had buried under layers of corporate coldness.
chenle doesn’t even know if he wants children. at least, not like this. not because families and investors expect it. not because it’s another duty to fill.
suddenly, you shift again, turning in his arms to face him fully. your movements are slow, languid, you lift your hand, fingers grazing his jawline with a touch so light it’s almost a hallucination. you caress him carefully, your eyes searching his with a heartbreaking intensity.
“give me a baby, lele,” you whisper.
his entire body stills. every muscle locks. he knows its the alcohol talking.
but, fuck.
the way you’re looking at him right now could ruin him. chenle would give you anything. money. houses. companies. his entire fucking life if you asked for it. just – not like this. not when it would feel like another transaction instead of something real.
his hand slides carefully into your hair instead, “why do you want a baby so badly?” he asks quietly, voice strained.
you shrug faintly. then your expression softens into something heartbreakingly vulnerable.
“i just don’t want to be so lonely anymore.”
his heart breaks instantly. completely. it’s his fault. he is the one who built the walls. he is the one who turned this house into a gilded cage.
“so…” you mumble sleepily, eyes barely open now, “will you give me one?”
hope flickers across your pretty face so softly it nearly kills him.
he swallows hard, “not right now, y/n,” he says gently. your expression falls immediately and the guilt twists violently inside him again. so he adds.. quietly…“maybe someday.”
your eyes lift toward him again slowly. then, you raise your pinky between the two of you.
“you promise?”
chenle stares at it and suddenly he’s thirteen again. you don’t link pinkies the way others do. you once declared that it “felt fake” and that crossing fingers didn’t feel lucky enough for important things. so, the two of you had invented your own ritual. your own secret language of loyalty.
carefully, with a tenderness that makes his chest ache, chenle takes your hand and he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the very tip of your pinky finger.
“i promise.”
your sleepy face brightens instantly. you grab his hand and softly kiss the tip of his pinky too.
a promise sealed. except this promise wasn’t as simple as the ones before.
eventually, your body relaxes fully against his chest while his fingers continue stroking slowly through your hair until you fall asleep in his arms. chenle stays there longer than he should, watching you sleep peacefully against him, finally not hurting for a little while. once he’s sure you’re completely asleep, he carefully slips out of bed. but before leaving, he gently pulls your heels from your feet one by one. then he places a glass of water and two pieces of tylenol on your nightstand. the same way he used to after parties years ago. for a while, chenle just stands there staring at you. then quietly, he turns the lights off and finally lets the night end.
⚜️ THE DEATH GUMMY ⚜️
another month passes. and things were starting to shift subtly. you’re not entirely sure what happened that night you got drunk. honestly, most of it is blurry fragments in your memory – warm arms, soft whispers, the feeling of safety you hadn’t felt around chenle in years.
whatever happened though, it softened chenle a little. just a tiny bit.
he still doesn’t initiate a conversation unless absolutely necessary. still keeps most of his thoughts locked tightly behind careful expression. still retreats into himself more often that not. but he doesn’t leave rooms as soon as you enter anymore. and slowly, he starts joining you for dinner again. you ate silently, still on opposite ends of the table but at least he was there now.
then, one night, you found him in the living room watching an episode of f.r.i.e.n.d.s. normally, you would’ve turned around to avoid making him uncomfortable. instead, chenle glanced at you briefly, eyes soft, not leaving, not telling you to go away either. so, cautiously, you sat on the opposite end. the two of you watched an entire episode, occasionally laughing at the same jokes. at one point your laughter overlapped and both of you went awkwardly still afterward. but even that tiny moment felt precious. more than you could ask for.
maybe everyone was right. maybe chenle simply needed time.
today, the two of you are at yü skincare headquarters. a product development meeting. one of the company’s biggest launches planned for next year. your team had spent nearly eleven months developing a new type of vitamin e supplement. and because you took your work seriously, you always insisted on testing products yourself. if consumers were putting your products into their bodies, then so would you.
the testing room buzzes quietly with concentration. there are only five people here today – you, chenle, your assistant, mark lee – head of the vitamin research development team, and another researcher seated nearby typing notes rapidly into a laptop.
mark steps forward excitedly, holding the newest batch carefully, “today is mainly flavor testing,” he explains, “we finally stabilized the texture, so now we just need to ensure the taste is actually enjoyable for the mass market.” he places one small green chewable into your palm. then another into chenle’s, “we infused it with natural fruit extracts to eliminate the vitamin aftertaste.”
you nodded absentmindedly, your mind already drifting toward the logistics of the rollout. you trusted mark implicitly – he was one of the best in the industry.
without a second thought, you and chenle both placed the gummies into your mouths.
and that’s when everything goes wrong.
your throat locks almost instantly. your eyes widen violently. for half a second, you think you might have swallowed wrong. but then your airway starts closing. fast.
you can’t breathe.
in a blind surge of terror, you slapped your hand hard against chenle’s arm, the sound sharp in the quiet room. his head snapped toward you, and every ounce of color drained from his face. he watched, in horror, as you began to turn a terrifying shade of red, your mouth opening desperately, gasping for air that wouldn't come. your eyes were wide, filled with a raw, primal terror.
chenle reacted before anyone else could even process what was happening. he lunged forward, gripping your shoulders with a strength that nearly knocked you back, facing you fully.
“Y/N?!” his voice was tight, laced with immediate alarm.
your lips parted, but no sound emerged – only a wet, wheezing struggle. you clawed at your own throat, your nails digging into your skin in a desperate attempt to open the airway.
a wave of pure, unadulterated terror hits chenle, his eyes darting around the room frantically, searching for the cause, mind racing through every possibility.
“what the fuck happened?!," he roared, voice echoing off the sterile walls.
the room froze. everyone stood paralyzed, their faces masks of confusion and sudden fear. no one answered. no one has answers. the silence was suffocating, broken only by the horrific, whistling sound of your struggle to breathe. chenle’s gaze snapped to the tray of green gummies. he pieced it together then.
“we’re there kiwis in these?!” chenle demands sharply.
mark blinked, nodding quickly, his voice trembling, “uh–yes, sir. we infused it with concentrated kiwi juice because it–”
“SHE’S ALLERGIC!,” chenle’s voice cracks through the room so loudly everyone jumps.
you were deathly allergic to kiwi. not mildly allergic. not uncomfortable. deathly. a single slice of the fruit in a room could make your throat itch, a concentrated extract delivered directly into your system was a death sentence.
his breathing turns uneven instantly as fear floods his system. you’re not coughing anymore. you’re struggling. really struggling. your body starts slumping sideways in your chair and chenle catches you immediately before you hit the floor.
“hey–hey, stay with me!” his voice shakes.
for the first time in years, he completely loses his composure in front of other people. he was no longer the cold heir, he was a terrified boy watching the only person he truly loved slip away.
“her bag,” he barked, the command slashing through the chaos, “someone get me her fucking bag now.”
your assistant rushes forward immediately, handing your bag over. another employee is already yelling for medics outside the room. everything becomes chaotic around him. but chenle barely hears any of it. all he can focus on is you. the violent red of the reaction was fading into a ghostly, terrifying pallor. your lips were tinged with a bruised blue, and your head kept dipping weakly, your consciousness flickering like a dying candle. your hand, resting against his suit jacket, felt colder with every passing second. for one horrifying, timeless moment, he genuinely believed you were dying.
“look at me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent and wrecked. he gripped your face, his fingers trembling against your cheeks, trying to force your unfocused eyes to lock onto his. “y/n, look at me! stay with me!”
your eyelids fluttered, your pupils blown and hazy. you could see him – the panic in his eyes, the sheer, unadulterated terror – but you couldn't reach him. you were drowning on dry land.
“fuck—!” he let out a choked sound, his hands shaking violently as he dove into your bag. he tossed aside your wallet, your phone, a lipstick, his movements frantic and clumsy, “where is it–where the fuck is it–”
then finally – the epipen. you always carried it for emergencies.
relief crashed through him so hard it was almost physical, a wave of adrenaline that surged through his veins. he didn't hesitate. he didn't even remove your clothing, he slammed the injector hard against your outer thigh, the needle piercing through the fabric of your trousers with a sharp, clinical click.
“stay with me,” he whispered, his voice rough and broken, “please, please stay with me.”
the seconds that followed were an eternity of agonizing silence. chenle held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs, watching your face for any sign of life. then it happened – you let out a sudden, violent gasp, a broken, desperate inhale that sounded like a sob. it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. oxygen flooded back into your lungs, and the sudden rush of air brought a torrent of tears that spilled from your eyes, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.
chenle exhales shakily like he forgot how to breathe too, his forehead nearly dropping against yours from relief, his eyes closing tight.
“that’s it,” he whispers frantically, his voice a breathless wreck, “that’s it, baby, breathe.”
he doesn’t even realize what he called you. he only cared that your hand, though weak and trembling, was curling around his fingers, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you anchored to the earth. chenle grips tighter immediately, as if letting go would allow the death that had just brushed past you to return and take you away.
his breathing is uneven. his eyes are glossy. everyone in the room is staring now because they’ve never seen zhong chenle like this before.
but chenle doesn’t care about appearances anymore. not when he thought he was about to lose you forever.
⚜️ THE ONLY CHOICE HE’S EVER MADE ⚜️
chenle never visits you in the hospital.
the first day, mama li told you he was busy dealing with the fallout at work, there were investigations happening now, meetings with legal teams and a very furious chenle. the second day, you waited. by the third day, you stopped expecting him entirely.
your private hospital suite overlooks the city skyline, expensive and pristine in the way only billionaires could experience. fresh flowers arrive every morning from companies and family friends. assistants rotate in shifts outside your door. nurses practically hover around you like you’re made of glass. everyone treats you like you almost died. which, to be fair, you technically almost did. still, you feel fine now. a little tired maybe. but alive.
your father is currently standing near the windows watering the ridiculous amount of plants someone sent earlier when the question finally slips out of you quietly.
“has chenle come by?”
he pauses mid-motion before looking over his shoulder at you. then slowly, he shakes his head, “sorry, sweetheart.”
you look down at the blanket pooled over your lap, “you were right, dad,” you admit softly, your voice sounding hollow in the vast room.
his brows furrow, “i’m right about a lot of things…but what is this one about?”
you force out a weak laugh, “maybe it would’ve been easier to marry someone i didn’t love.”
that makes him stop completely. he places the watering can onto the nearby table before he walks toward your bed. your father has never been particularly good with emotions. he showed love through stability, protection and business lessons disguised as life advice. still, he takes the seat beside your bed quietly.
“sweetheart,” he says carefully, “there are positives and negatives in every situation. and sometimes…the choices we make can hurt more than we expected them to—but you already made your decision,” he sighs softly, “and just like every good business deal, you have to commit to it fully.”
you almost smile. trust your father to turn emotional comfort into a corporate lesson.
“trust your instincts,” he adds quieter this time, his hand patting yours awkwardly. it’s probably the closest thing to emotional reassurance he knows how to give. it helps a little.
“thanks, dad,” you murmur.
he nods once before leaning down to kiss the top of your head gently, “get some rest.”
then he leaves you alone again. the second the door shuts, the loneliness creeps back in. because despite his words – the only person you actually wanted to see was chenle.
unbeknownst to you, chenle visits every single night.
always after midnight. always once he’s certain you’re asleep. he slips into your hospital room quietly, dressed in dark clothes and exhaustion. the first night, he genuinely thought you looked dead. too still. too pale. fear hit him so hard he crossed the room immediately just to place a trembling hand near your face and make sure you were still breathing. only after feeling your warm breath against his skin did he finally relax. after that, it became routine. every night he checks your breathing first. sometimes, he sits beside your bed for hours in complete silence, staring at you while guilt slowly eats him alive from the inside out.
because you could’ve died.
and worse–
you could’ve died believing he hates you.
chenle doesn’t think he would’ve survived losing you. that realization was a cold, jagged blade, cutting through the carefully constructed armor he had worn for years. it terrified him more than anything else. for years, he convinced himself the opposite, that you were the reason he felt trapped, the reason his life no longer belonged entirely to him. the reason everything started feeling planned and suffocating. but the second your breathing stopped sounding normal – none of that mattered anymore. all he remembered feeling was pure, violent fear.
the memory keeps replaying in his head every night no matter how hard he tries to shut it out. your hand grabbing his arm desperately, your face turning red, the sound of you struggling for air, the way your fingers slowly weakened in his grasp, the horrifying weight of your body slumping against him and worst of all – how cold he felt. like someone had dumped ice water directly into his chest.
he hates that it took a near-death experience to shatter his delusions. he hates that he had been so blind. fear like that doesn't stem from obligation. you don’t unravel, you don’t scream into the void, and you don’t beg a person to breathe if all they ever were to you was a responsibility — he hates how almost losing you made him realize that everything he felt for you had always been real. not planned. not arranged. not a script written by two powerful families to ensure a monopoly on the cosmetic industry.
because long before contracts existed. before business meetings and inheritance talks and engagement announcements – chenle loved you.
he loved you when you were thirteen, sealing promises with kissed pinkies. he still remembers the first time you came up with it. the two of you had been sitting on the rooftop terrace of your parent’s vacation house, legs dangling over the edge while sharing melted popsicles in the middle of summer. “crossing fingers feels fake,” you complained dramatically after he broke a promise to watch a movie with you the week before, “people break pinky promises all the time.” he laughed, “so what? we sign contracts now?” you rolled your eyes before grabbing his hand. then, with complete seriousness, you pressed a tiny kiss against the tip of his pinky finger. “there,” you said proudly, “now it’s permanent.” after that, every important promise between the two of you was sealed that way. he never broke a single one.
he loved you at fifteen when you attended every single one of his basketball games with his number painted proudly across your cheeks in bright blue despite both your parents immediately scolding you for putting “cheap toxic paint” on your skin. you didn’t care though, you sat front row, screaming, “that’s my lele!,” every time he scored. he used to pretend to act embarrassed in front of his teammates while secretly searching for you in the crowd every few minutes just to make sure you were still there. you always were. and after the games, you’d rush toward him, still wearing his jersey, eyes sparkling. no victory ever felt as good as seeing you proud of him.
he loved you at sixteen when your vintage camera became permanently filled with blurry pictures of him. half the photos were terrible – his face cut off, him mid-yawn, him glaring because you kept shoving the camera into his face while he was trying to eat. but mixed between those were softer ones too like him asleep in the car with his head tilted towards you, him laughing with his head thrown back, pictures of the two of you together. he once asked why you took so many pictures of him and you shrugged like it was obvious, “because you’re my favorite person.” he thinks maybe that was the first time his heart ever genuinely stuttered inside his chest.
he loved you when you were seventeen, in a moment so sudden it had nearly knocked the wind out of him. he remembered the weight of the shopping bags in his hands, the handles digging into his palms, and the sheer, unfiltered joy radiating from you. you had spent weeks in a state of mourning over your crybaby figurine collection, devastated after failing to pull the secret rares. you hadn’t asked him for help – you never did – but chenle had watched your disappointment from the sidelines, and it had felt like a physical weight in his own chest. he spent nights contacting resellers behind your back until he found every missing figurine himself. when he finally handed you the completed set, the expression on your face had been blinding. you had looked at him as if he were the center of the universe. without a second thought, you reached up, grabbed his face in your small hands, and pressed a fervent, lingering kiss to his cheek. “i love you the most!” you squealed, your voice high and breathless with excitement. chenle remembered the way the blood had rushed to his face, a heat so intense it felt like a fever, while you remained blissfully oblivious, already turning back to admire your figurines. in that moment, he had realized that your affection was a drug, and he was already hopelessly addicted.
and deep, deep down, he knows he loved you at twenty-four. especially on the day you became his wife. the moment those heavy doors opened and you stepped inside wearing that white dress you spent months carefully choosing – he forgot how to breathe. everything around him blurred instantly. time slowed to a crawl, yet he felt his entire future rushing toward him at the same time. all he could see was you. the slight tremble in your hands, the way your eyes shimmered with a mixture of hope and fear, and the way you looked at him as if he were still your favorite person in the world, despite everything. you looked beautiful. not in the polished, public way magazines later described. not like “the perfect heiress.” you looked devastatingly you. and chenle wanted so badly to reach for you, pull you close, wanted this marriage to be real in every way that actually mattered. when the officiant gave the command to kiss the bride, his chest ached with a sudden, sharp grief. it felt cruel that this – a choreographed moment in front of a thousand witnesses – was your first kiss together. he remembers leaning down slowly, your lashes fluttering, lips soft and warm and gentle against his. and for a second, chenle forgot there were a thousand people surrounding you both. forgot cameras existed. forgot he was angry. kissing you felt terrifyingly natural, like a missing piece of his soul finally clicking into place, a homecoming he should have claimed years ago.
but the truth was, he had loved you long before he even had a word for it. back when the two of you were six years old and accidentally broke expensive glass tubes inside one of the zhong cosmetics labs while playing tag in the rooms. assistants had panicked instantly, someone yelled, another employee nearly cried seeing the shattered equipment all over the floor. you got scared immediately, eyes filling with tears as adults crowded around the two of you. and without even thinking, chenle stepped in front of you protectively, “it was my fault,” he lied. he remembered the feeling of your watery gaze on the back of his head while he stood there, taking the brunt of the scolding from every adult on the floor. he hadn't cared. the only thing that mattered was that you weren't crying anymore. later that evening, you had secretly slipped half of your dessert onto his plate, whispering that “heroes deserve rewards.”
everything else in his life had been a predetermined path. the schools, the internships, the board meetings, the carefully curated image of a successor. his life had been a series of checkboxes marked by people who didn't care about his heart.
but all those moments – the pinky swears, the blue paint on your cheeks, the secret figurines, the shared dessert – those belonged entirely to him. entirely to the two of you.
loving you was the only choice he ever truly made on his own.
it had happened naturally, quietly, and without permission. he had built this love in the secret spaces of his heart, and in his desperate, panicked attempt to protect his freedom, he had almost destroyed the only thing that had ever actually set him free.
he hasn’t forgiven himself for any of it yet. not for avoiding you all these years. not for making you lonely inside your own marriage. not for turning your first time into something cold and painful. not for the way your face looked when you admitted you just didn’t want to be lonely anymore. and definitely not for freezing in that meeting for even half a second before realizing what was happening.
which is exactly why he can’t face you while you were awake right now. he physically can’t. because the second you look him with those eyes of yours, he’s terrified he’ll completely break apart in front of you. he imagined himself sobbing at your bedside, begging for a forgiveness he didn't believe he deserved.
and everyone keeps reminding him stress is bad for your recovery. the irony was a bitter pill to swallow. chenle knew he was the primary source of stress in your life. so, he remained a shadow, visiting only in the dead of night, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. it was pathetic. it was cowardly. but it was the only way he knew how to love you without hurting you further.
by the third day, your regular hospital meals suddenly disappear. instead, trays arrive with your favorite comfort foods – steaming siomai, all types of dumplings, wonton noodles – all warm and prepared exactly the way you like them. you can’t hide your smile when you see them because there is only one person in the world who knows your comfort order by memory, a relic of a childhood where he used to sneak you treats when you were sad. you stared at the tray fondly. chenle might not have visited you, but this feels like proof he still cares anyway.
and by the fifth day, you’re completely over it. everyone is being ridiculously dramatic. you feel so energized already. bored out of your mind. still, every doctor insists your body needs more recovery time after the severity of the reaction. your parents refuse to let you leave early and the only person who actually has the authority to pull you out, your husband, isn’t taking that risk either.
you end up staying in the hospital for two more days before finally coming home.
⚜️ THE AIR ⚜️
when chenle got home that afternoon, he’s exhausted. the past week had destroyed him more than he let anyone sees. he barely slept. barely ate. and every single time his phone rang unexpectedly, panic seized his chest before he could stop it.
he loosens his tie tiredly as he walks through the mansion doors, mentally preparing himself to go to the hospital to pick you up. but as he walks into the kitchen — he freezes.
you’re standing there, alive and healthy, wearing one of your silk pajama sets while leaning casually against the island, sipping water and scrolling through your phone like nothing happened.
for a second, he thinks he’s imagining you. you weren’t supposed to be released for another three hours. then again, you were stubborn enough to convince almost anyone to do what you wanted eventually. no one ever really knew how to tell you no when you looked at them with that specific, determined glint in your eyes.
“you’re home.”
the sound of his voice quickly diverts your attention from all the emails you were catching up on to him. you glance up and in his eyes – you see the difference. the armor he usually wore wasn't just cracked – it was gone. his eyes were wide, vulnerable, and shimmering with a relief so profound it looked like pain. slowly, you place your phone down on the counter, smiling at him gently.
“i’m home.”
for the first time all week, he remembered how to breathe again. like he had given you all of his air and it’s now finally being returned to his own lungs.
the briefcase he was carrying hit one of the glass tables with a loud, jarring crash. he didn't care. he didn't even look at it. he crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between you and collided with you, pulling you into his arms so suddenly and with such force that the air left your lungs in a small gasp.
chenle hugs you tightly. desperately. like he needs physical proof you’re still here. still warm. still breathing.
your eyes widen in shock, breath hitching against his shoulder. then, slowly, you let your guard down and wrap your arms around him, feeling the frantic, erratic thumping of his heart against your ear.
“i thought i was gonna lose you.”
his voice cracked, the sound raw and jagged against your hair. the confession was stripped of all pride, all resentment, and all the distance he had spent years cultivating. the fear was completely exposed, leaving him naked before you.
you pulled back just enough to look at him, though you stayed in his arms. the sight of him broke your heart. there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin looked sallow from lack of sleep. and then, a single tear escaped, tracing a slow path down his cheek.
you froze. in all the years you had known him – from the boy who chased you through the labs to the man who ignored you across the dinner table – you had never seen chenle cry. not once.
with tenderness, you lifted your hand and brushed the tear away, your fingertips lingering on his skin, impossibly soft.
“zhong chenle,” you murmur softly, voice trembling with a mixture of ache and affection, “you really think you can get rid of me that easily?”
his eyes close briefly at your touch like your fingers can undo the pain inside him. he doesn’t answer, doesn’t joke, doesn’t hide behind sarcasm or distance or that cold indifference he perfected over the years. instead, chenle just pulls you back into his arms again, holding you tighter this time. and for the first time in years, you let yourself lean into him fully.
eventually though, reality settles back between the two of you. chenle slowly loosens his hold first. the second he realizes how tightly he’s been clinging to you, his expression shifts immediately. he clears his throat quickly and takes a half step back like distance might help him regain control again.
“i’m glad you’re okay,” he says quietly, guarded again.
before you can even process the moment properly — he leaves. just walks out of the kitchen entirely, leaving you standing there alone trying to understand what the hell just happened.
none of that made sense.
chenle has spent the last six years hating you. yet, for a few minutes, he had held you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. you stare at the doorway long after he disappeared through it. confused. hopeful. terrified. you didn't want to read too much into a moment of panic-induced weakness, but the ghost of his heartbeat was still echoing in your ears.
until your phone buzzes nonstop, dragging you back to reality, life continuing on like your world hadn’t just tilted.
⚜️ THE MISTAKE THAT ALMOST TOOK YOU FROM ME ⚜️
the next day you’re back at the office like nothing happened. your heels click softly against the marble flooring of yü skincare as staff members greet you nervously on your way toward your office.
you settle into your executive chair with a quiet sigh, immediately scanning through the pile of reports waiting for you. the vitamin incident had already become a nightmare with legal teams involved, quality control investigations and public relations teams working overtime to keep information contained.
you press the intercom button lightly, “send mark lee in.”
less than a minute later, the heavy door to your office swung open to huang renjun, human resource manager. his posture was stiff, his expression carefully neutral, yet there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes that immediately set off alarm bells.
your brows furrowed as you continued flipping through a document, “where’s mark?” you asked, your voice cool and professional, “i need the updated reports on the supplement.”
renjun coughs awkwardly, the sound immediately making you look up, something about his expression feeling off, “ma’am…” he hesitates, “he’s no longer with the company.”
your hand stills completely against the papers, “…what?”
“he’s been terminated.”
“i didn’t receive a resignation letter, nor did i authorize a termination,” you pointed out calmly, though your eyes narrowed, “explain.”
renjun uncomfortably shifts beneath your gaze, “sir chenle fired him.” you stare at him for a moment, trying very hard to not let your surprise show too obviously. renjun clears his throat again, “he actually fired everyone involved in the vitamin project.”
your mind raced. chenle was many things – arrogant, distant, and emotionally stunted. but he was never impulsive when it comes to business. he was a strategist who weighed every risk. for him to wipe out an entire department without a single consultation, without even a courtesy to call you, meant he had completely lost his composure.
you force your expression neutral anyway, “i see. you may go, renjun.”
renjun bows quickly before practically escaping your office. the second the door shuts, you lean back into your chair slowly. you should be angry. technically, you are. chenle had overstepped every professional boundary, sabotaging your chain of command and stripping you of your most experienced researchers. but beneath the irritation, a treacherous warmth bloomed in your chest. for the first time in six years, chenle had been emotional. he had been protective. he had burned down a project just because it had dared to hurt you. it was a violent, impulsive gesture of care, wrapped in the guise of corporate cruelty.
that night, you leave your office long after most employees have already gone home. the building is quieter now. the endless clicking of keyboards and ringing phones reduced to distant murmur somewhere far below. through the massive windows lining your floor, the city glows beneath the dark sky, millions of lights flickering like stars against the glass.
you wrap your blazer tighter around yourself before stepping out into the hallway. your heels echo sharply against the tiles as you make your way toward the glass bridge connecting yü skincare headquarters to zhong cosmetics tower beside it.
the bridge had always fascinated everyone. two billion dollar companies physically connected in the middle of the skyline. a symbol of merger. of power. of the marriage between you and chenle. you used to love walking through it. now it just feels symbolic in the cruelest way possible — close enough to see each other yet still separated by glass.
you knew these buildings like the back of your hand. every hallway. every hidden office. ever late-night corner where you and chenle used to sit as teenagers avoiding meetings your parents forced you into. the memories follow you all the way across the bridge tonight.
by the time you reach the executive floor of zhong cosmetics, the receptionist has already gone home. only chenle’s personal assistant remains seated outside his office. the man immediately stands and bows politely the second he sees you.
“mrs. zhong.”
you nodded once, your gaze fixed on the closed doors. “is he busy?”
his assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at the clock. “yes, ma’am, but… you may go in.”
you don’t bother knocking, simply pushing the doors open and walking inside. his office is dim except for the warm lighting near his desk and the city lights pouring through the windows behind him. chenle sits in his massive leather chair, sleeves rolled up slightly while scanning through documents with quiet concentration. he doesn’t look up immediately, probably assuming it’s just his assistant.
“you fired mark lee?” your voice cuts cleanly through the room, chenle’s attention snapping upward instantly. for a fleeting second, relief flickers across his face, like part of him still instinctively checks whether you’re okay every time he sees you now. then the expression disappears again, turning into something neutral.
“who’s that?”
you exhale slowly through your nose, already irritated, “chenle,” you say flatly, “mark lee. head of the vitamin research team.”
understanding clicks across his face immediately, but it isn’t accompanied by apology.
“ahh,” he leans back slightly in his chair, “yes. that guy. how could i forget.”
the dismissiveness in his voice immediately annoys you further as you walk deeper into his office, “you cannot fire my people without consulting me first.”
chenle finally sets the file in his hands down, “your people are my people,” he says coolly, “that’s the whole point of this marriage.”
you ignore the sting in that statement – the reminder that in his eyes, you are just another asset to be merged.
“i want him back on the team.”
his jaw tightens almost instantly, “no. y/n.”
the answer comes too quickly. too firmly.
you stop dead in front of his desk now, arms crossing, refusing to back down, “chenle,” you say, your voice carefully modulated, fighting to keep the anger out, “mark lee has been employee of the month for seven consecutive years. he’s one of the best researchers in the industry. he’s valuable to this company and firing him is a strategic mistake.”
"valuable people don’t almost kill my wife."
the room goes still. your heartbeat stumbles slightly at the sharpness in his voice, at the way he says my wife. the possessiveness of it nearly undoes you, but your frustration and stubbornness is stronger.
“for fuck’s sake, chenle,” you snap, the poise you’ve spent years perfecting finally cracking, ”it was an accident!”
his expression hardens immediately, “an accident?”
"yes, an accident!," you throw your hands up, “he didn’t even know i was allergic to kiwis!”
which was true. almost nobody did. allergies were weaknesses and weaknesses were dangerous in industries like yours. information could be weaponized to easily. chenle knew that better than anyone.
suddenly, he stands, furious enough that his chair rolls backward sharply against the floor. his palms slam loudly on his desk, a sound that cracks through the office.
“an accident that almost took you from me!”
his voice hits the room heavily — raw, furious, terrified — completely unraveled in a way you’ve never heard before. you stare at him across the desk, chest tightening painfully before anger rushes back to protect you from the hope that can completely blind you.
“oh please,” you scoff bitterly, rolling your eyes, “i bet you’d be jumping up and down if i actually died. it would have been the perfect exit strategy for you wouldn’t it? no more obligations, no more arranged marriage.”
the second the words leave your mouth, the atmosphere changes completely. the heat of his anger vanishes, replaced by a cold, suffocating stillness. chenle freezes, his eyes locking onto yours, hurt plastered all over his face.
“what?” he whispers.
your own emotions spill over immediately afterward. because you’re angry too. and hurt. and most of all, confused. you don’t know what he wants anymore. he needed space, you gave him space. you offer him a physical relationship that benefits him, he barely even touched you. and now – now he’s acting like he cares.
“you’ve spent the last six years making it very clear that you hate me,” you say, refusing to let your voice shake, “you’ve avoided me, ignored me and treated me like a burden. so don’t suddenly start playing the caring husband because i almost died. don’t pretend you have a heart now just because you’re scared of the paperwork a death certificate would cause.”
his expression breaks even more. the anger is gone, replaced by a look of such profound devastation that it almost feels like a crime to feel the way you do.
“i don’t hate you.”
and he sounds painfully, devastatingly honest.
you stare at him from across the desk, your heart beating so loudly it almost drowns out the silence filling the office. chenle doesn’t look away from you. the room feels too small now. too full of things neither of you know how to say.
“you don’t get to say that now,” you whisper finally, your voice cracking, “not after all these years.”
he looks down sharply, jaw tightening hard enough for you to see the muscle twitch. then he laughs once, a miserable, dry laugh.
“i know.” the words come out rough. he drags a hand over his face like he’s trying to pull himself back together. it doesn’t work. “i know,” he repeats weaker this time, sounding small and hollow.
you watch him carefully now, even more confused. zhong chenle never falls apart. not publicly. not privately. not ever. he is the gold standard of control – composed, untouchable, a man carved from ice and expectation. yet, standing before you, he looks like he’s seconds away from total collapse.
your anger starts cracking around the edges as you look at the boy in front of you. you were always weak when it came to him. if there were a list of your weaknesses, he’d be right there, on top of that damned fruit.
“chenle…”
he suddenly shakes his head. he physically can’t let you comfort him right now.
“do you know what i thought when you stopped breathing?”
the question hangs in tha air as you hold your breath.
“i thought,” he exhales shakily, “i thought the last thing you were ever going to believe…was that i hated you.”
he finally looks at you again then, completely wrecked, his eyes bloodshot and swimming with a grief that has been simmering for years.
“and i couldn’t fucking breathe,” he admits quietly, his voice trembling, “because all i could think was that you were going to leave me believing i didn’t love you.”
the world feels like it stops spinning. love. he said love. not care. not obligation. love. your lips part slightly but no sound comes out. chenle laughs bitterly again before shaking his head.
“you’re right. i spent years blaming you for everything because it was easier than admitting i was scared,” he confesses, his gaze searching yours, “scared that none of my choices were mine anymore. that my entire life was a script written by our parents,” he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, “but loving you…that was the only choice that was actually mine.”
that brings tears to your eyes instantly. chenle looks at you helplessly now. he doesn’t know what to do with all the emotions spilling out of him anymore.
“and i ruined us anyway.”
he moves then, walking around the desk quickly, finally removing the barrier that always sat between the two of you. you think he’s going to stop in front of you.
instead – he drops to his knees.
“what are you–”
before you can even process the gesture, his arms wrap tightly around your waist, forehead pressing against your stomach and finally — he breaks completely. you feel the shuddering breath leave him in a great, racking sob, his grip tightening almost painfully around you, tears slipping down his cheeks.
“i’m sorry.”
the words come out cracked. wrecked. nothing like the polished man the world knows.
“i’m so fucking sorry.”
you cover your mouth with your hand, stifling a sob of your own, even though you could already taste the salt from your own tears. this is the same boy who never apologizes unless forced to. the man who would rather bleed out than let people see weakness. and here he is, kneeling at your feet, clinging onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him together.
“i’m sorry for all of it,” he gasps, his voice breaking, “for hurting you, for making you feel lonely, for making you believe i hated you when i—,” his voice breaks completely.
slowly, tentatively, you thread your fingers through his hair. the moment your touch meets him, chenle exhales a shaky, broken sound against your stomach, his entire body shuddering. even a small gesture of comfort from you is enough to undo him.
“stop that,” you whisper, voice trembling.
your heart is breaking for him, for the boy who spent years pretending to be a monster so he wouldn't have to admit he was a prisoner. you can't stand to see him like this – on his knees, apologizing as if he is something broken and discarded at your feet, rather than the person you’ve loved for all of your life.
you gently tug at his hair, coaxing him to look up. when he finally does, his eyes are swimming with tears, his expression completely defenseless. in this moment, everything else feels distant and irrelevant. there is only one overwhelming realization pouring through your chest:
chenle loves you.
the boy you spent years mourning while standing right beside him this entire time still loves you. your heart feels too full for your body. before you can overthink it, before the fear and doubts can return, you slide your hands down to his face, pulling him upward carefully.
“get up,” you murmur through your own shaky tears. chenle obeys immediately, still staring at you like he’s afraid this moment isn’t real. your hand slides slowly against his cheeks, wiping his tears away before settling on his jaw.
“you really love me?”
the question is a fragile thing, barely a whisper, floating between you like glass that could shatter at the slightest breeze. you sound disbelieving, your voice trembling with the weight of six years of silence and cold shoulders.
chenle’s expression dissolves. the hardness in his eyes, the armor he’s worn since he was eighteen, it all melts into something so painfully tender it nearly wrecks you.
“i always have,” he confesses.
that’s the final blow. the last shred of distance, the last wall of resentment.
you kiss him first.
but chenle returns it immediately, kissing you back like he’s been starving for it, years of tension snapping instantly. his hands come up to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, enough to pull a gasp from you while your fingers tangle tightly into his hair.
this kiss feels nothing like your wedding day. it’s not polite. not careful.
it’s desperate. it’s the sound of two people drowning and finally finding air. all the years you spent silently loving each other crashing together at once. he kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every moment he wasted. every cold shoulder. every lonely dinner. every time he walked away instead of reaching for you.
your back bumps lightly against the edge of his desk. he breaks the kiss for a fraction of a second, his forehead pressing against yours, both of you panting, breaths mingling in the charged air.
“fuck,” he whispers against your lips, his voice a wrecked, needy rasp, “i missed you so fucking much.”
the words makes your head spin. you don't let him breathe, pulling him back down, your mouth seeking his with a hunger that matches his own. his grip on your waist tightens, and in one fluid, powerful motion, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you onto the desk. papers scatter, sliding across the desk and fluttering to the floor. he doesn't give a damn about the reports. the only thing that matters is the heat of you.
you wrap your legs around his waist automatically, pulling him into you as he steps between your knees. he crashes his lips back onto yours, his tongue sweeping through your mouth with a possessive urgency. this isn't just lust, it’s an exorcism. he is purging years of loneliness, and you are drinking him in, fingers clutching his hair, pulling him closer as if you could merge your very souls.
“do you know-,” he groans, his voice sounding almost angry at himself, his mouth moving to the sensitive skin of your jaw, “-how long i've wanted to do this properly?”
“stop talking then,” you tease, your voice breathy and laced with desire. you reach down, hooking your fingers into his belt loop, tugging hard, dragging his hips flush against your center.
chenle lets out a grunt as he grinds his cock firmly into your clothed core, the friction sending a jolt of pure electricity through both of you. he freezes, a shudder racking his entire frame, his breath coming in jagged hitches.
“wait... wait, baby,” he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he forces himself to pull back just an inch.
“what’s wrong?”
“i really, really want to do this,” he rasps, “but...not here.”
you laugh softly and it almost undoes him. almost makes him take back what he just said. with a tiny smile on your lips, you nod, “okay.”
then you glance around the wreckage of his desk, your smile turning into something playful, “do you need help finishing up those reports first, then?”
“are you crazy?” he asks, though his tone is fond. he doesn't let go of you, his hands sliding down to squeeze your hips one last time before he helps you down.
“we’re going home...right now.”
the ride home is a blur of friction and heat. for the first time in your marriage, you don't sit in separate cars. you spend the entire journey tangled together in the backseat, the partition slid up to shield you from the driver’s view. you can’t stop kissing him. you can’t stop laughing into him, feeling the giddy, overwhelming rush of being loved back.
chenle is just as relentless, his mouth roaming all over your exposed skin, leaving a trail of dark, possessive marks that claim you as his. every time you try to catch your breath, he finds a new spot to kiss, his hands roaming your curves.
the air in the car is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and arousal, the silence of the ride punctuated only by the sound of wet kisses and the shaky, happy sighs of two people who have finally come home.
⚜️ THE MASTER BEDROOM ⚜️
as you step through the front door, chenle is practically jumping beside you, a boyish grin plastered on his face. he looks at you with a hunger that is now subdued by an overwhelming sweetness.
“race you to the top!,” he shouts.
before you can even process the challenge, he’s already bolting up the left staircase, his laughter echoing through the foyer.
“lele! this isn’t fair! i’m in heels!” you squeal, your voice sounding lighter than it has in years. you run up the right staircase anyway, feeling like a kid again – the version of you that loved him without fear, and the version of him that followed you everywhere.
by the time you reach the top, breathless and flushed, he’s already there, leaning against the railing with a smug, sparkling expression.
“that was not nice, you should’ve given me a head start!,” you complain, crossing your arms and pouting, a childish expression you haven’t dared to show him in a lifetime. he chuckles then, stepping forward, his presence enveloping you as he pulls you back into his arms.
his finger lifts your chin to tilt you face up to his, “and what does the winner get?,” he asks, eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and adoration.
you lean back slightly, a playful, daring glint in your eyes, “hmm…you get to choose.”
he quirks a brow, gaze dropping to your lips, “choose what?”
“my room or yours?” you say with a smile that looks innocent but tastes like a provocation.
a slow grin spreads across his face, “how about ours?”
“ours?” confusion flickers across your features.
without a word, he takes your hand and begins leading you. he doesn't turn toward the left wing or the right…instead, he guides you toward the central hallway – the one you’ve spent months ignoring. it was the dead zone of the house, a place too painful to acknowledge because it represented the void in your marriage. the hallway that leads straight to the master bedroom.
as you walk, he slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight back hug, pulling your back flush against his chest. he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his breath hot and steady as he pushes open the two grand double doors.
you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. the room is breathtaking. grand and dipped in gold.
“wow,” you whisper, stepping inside, “i haven’t been in here since your mom gave me the tour…i thought it would’ve collected cobwebs by now.”
“it did,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with a sudden, piercing apology, “i had the maids clean while you were in the hospital. i wanted it to be perfect for when we finally came home together.”
you turn in his arms, looking up at him. a small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips., “maybe i should’ve eaten that kiwi a lot earlier.”
chenle’s grip on your sides tightens, his expression shifting into one of genuine panic, “don’t joke about that, baby. please.”
you giggle, the sound soft and melodic. he scolds you, though his eyes are softening, “it’s not funny, y/n.”
“i’m not smiling because of the kiwi,” you reply softly, your voice barely a breath.
“then why are you smiling?” he asks, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.
you look away for a second, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “i just…i really like it when you call me baby.”
chenle’s heart is practically audible in his chest, his gaze intensifying as he tips your chin up gently, making you look into the depths of his devotion.
“i love you,” he declares, the words sounding like a vow.
“i love you, too,” you whisper back.
he kisses you then – not the desperate, starving kiss from the office, but something slow, sweet, and profoundly tender. it’s a promise of a future. a seal on the new life you’re starting.
then, without warning, he breaks the kiss and sweeps you off your feet. you let out a startled gasp, clutching his shoulders as he lifts you bridal style. he carries you across the room with effortless strength, eyes locked on yours, matching smiles on your faces before placing you carefully in the center of the massive king-sized bed.
as chenle looms over you, the playful energy morphs into something more deeper. he moves with deliberate, agonizing slowness, as if he wants to memorize every single inch of you, making up for every second of the years he spent pretending he didn’t want you.
he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that starts as a whisper and grows into a demand. his tongue swirls against yours as you moan into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
“you have no idea,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, gravelly vibration, “how long i’ve dreamed of kissing you.”
his hands move to the hem of your blouse, fingers grazing your skin and sending jolts of electricity through your nerves. he undresses you with a reverence that borders on worship, peeling away the fabrics slowly, pausing to kiss the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder, and the middle of your breast. when you’re finally bare beneath him, he pulls back for a moment, his eyes darkening as he drinks in the sight of you.
“you're so beautiful,” he whispers, his gaze heavy with adoration.
he descends slowly, lips finding your breast as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly, you let out a sharp gasp, your back arching off the mattress. the sensation is new – a focused, searing heat that radiates from your chest down to your core. he alternates between soft licks and deep, demanding suctions, moving from one breast to the other, leaving a trail of wet, burning kisses across your ribs.
“lele…oh, god,” you whimper as he continues trailing lower, his tongue tasting the skin of your stomach, circling your navel and teasing the very edge of your underwear. you can feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of his skin mixing with the luxury of the room, your breath coming in short, jagged hitches.
you’ve only known one kind of intimacy ever – that cold, transactional night with him that left you feeling empty. this is different. this is a slow burn, a deliberate awakening.
as he slides your underwear down your legs, he settles between your thighs, pushing them wide. you feel a surge of vulnerability, a sudden flash of inexperience that makes you shy away slightly.
“wait, chenle…i've... i've never…” you start, your voice trembling.
chenle looks up at you, a tender, knowing smile on his face, “i know, baby. just relax. let me take care of you.”
the first contact of his tongue against your clit pulls a soft moan out of you, a sensation you weren’t prepared for. the feeling of pleasure, making your hips instinctively jerk upward, arching off that mattress in a desperate search for more. he presses deeper, his tongue swirling in a slow, rhythmic motion that targets the most sensitive part of you.
“do you like that?” he mumbles, his voice a low, vibrating growl against your wetness, the heat of his breath sending fresh shivers racing down your spine.
“yes…” you whisper shyly, voice trembling. you try to keep your eyes open, wanting to witness the sight of him. but you don’t get to watch for long before your eyes begin to roll back, lids fluttering as he begins to feast on you with a sudden, hungry intensity. he’s no longer just tasting you – he’s consuming you. his tongue flickering rapidly, alternating between broad strokes and sharp, pointed pressure that makes your toes curl. when he suddenly sucks your clit into his mouth, creating a powerful vacuum of pleasure, your vision blurs into a haze of white and gold. you are completely undone. the tension in your lower belly coils tighter and tighter, building into a frantic crescendo that makes you feel like you're vibrating.
“chenle, i’m… i think i’m…” you gasp, your fingers clutching the silk sheets until they bunch up in your fists.
“go on, baby. give it all to me,” he encourages, his voice thick with desire. he works his tongue faster and harder, driving you relentlessly toward the edge.
as he does, he glances up, his dark eyes focusing on the sight of you – your head rolled back, your mouth parted in a silent, desperate gasp, your body arched, your nipples peaked.
he reaches up, grabbing your hand and locking his fingers with yours, anchoring you to the bed. you squeeze his hand with everything you have, clinging to him as the world finally shatters. you cum hard, your clit pulsing against his tongue in a series of intense spasms that leave you sobbing for air. the release is so overwhelming that it feels as though you're floating in a void of pure euphoria, a level of pleasure you never knew existed. you collapse back into the pillows, panting heavily, chest heaving as the aftershocks continue to ripple through you.
chenle slowly lifts his head, your pleasure glistening on his lips. he looks at you with a mixture of triumph and pure, unadulterated love. he crawls back up your body, kissing your forehead, your nose, and finally your lips, making you taste yourself on his tongue.
you reach up then, your fingers hooking on his tie. it’s already loosened from your earlier desperation. you tug on it firmly, finally removing it.
with a low, needy sound against his lips, you sit up, beginning to undress him, your movements hurried and clumsy with eagerness. buttons pop and fabric slides until he’s completely naked, his skin warm against yours.
your breath hitches in your throat. you hadn’t seem him fully the first time – but now, in the soft glow of the bedroom, you can’t seem to look away. your gaze drops to his cock.
driven by a sudden, bold curiosity, you reach out, your fingers wrapping around the warm skin of his shaft.
chenle lets out a sharp, strangled whine, his hips jerking towards your touch instinctively. the sound is so visceral, so unlike the composed man the world knows, that you freeze, your eyes widening.
“did that hurt?” you whisper, looking up at him with genuine concern, as if you've just discovered a secret vulnerability.
a small, breathless smile tugs at his lips, though his eyes are clouded with lust. he shakes his head slowly, his voice a strained rasp, "no, baby... fuck, it feels so good. you drive me insane–,” he kisses you again, pulling back just an inch, forehead resting against yours, breath hot on your skin, “-but you need to stop,” he groans, the sound vibrating in his chest, “i need to be inside you.”
he carefully guides you back to lay on the bed, hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer to him. he spends a long moment just looking at you, his gaze roaming over your flushed skin and swollen lips.
“i’m sorry about before," he whispers, “i promise i’m going to make up for every single second of it,” he says, voice thick with emotion before grabbing your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your pinky. and before he can let go, you pull his hand towards you, returning the kiss to his pinky too – not the innocent promise of children, but a mature, desperate vow of devotion. chenle’s breath hitches, the small gesture acting like a catalyst, snapping the last thread of his restraint.
he doesn't rush though. he moves with a slow, reverent precision, parting your legs with a gentle nudge of his knee, his eyes never leaving yours. as he positions himself, the head of his cock brushes against your entrance, slick and searing hot. you gasp, your hips instinctively arching upward, seeking the friction. chenle lets out a shaky exhale, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back. he enters you in one slow, agonizingly steady glide.
“oh...chenle,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. you’ve never felt so full.
he freezes for a moment, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, a low groan escaping his throat, “you're so tight... so warm. i can't believe you're actually mine.”
then he begins to move, and it is nothing like the clinical urgency of the first time. this is a dance. he pulls back until he is almost out, only to plunge back in with a slow, heavy thud that makes you cry out. every thrust is deliberate, designed to make you feel the weight of him, the heat of him, and the sheer intensity of his love.
“chenle... please,” you whimper, your fingers clawing into his shoulders, “right there... don't stop.”
“i've got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips leaving searing trails of heat.
he picks up the pace slightly, the wet, slapping sound of skin on skin filling the quiet room. then he reaches down, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, thumb circling your swollen nub, perfectly timed with the deep, rhythmic thrusts of his hips. the combination is electric. you feel that same tension building again, faster this time, a coil of pleasure tightening with every stroke. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to erase any remaining space between you.
“look at me,” he commands softly. you open your eyes to find him watching you with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship, “tell me you feel it. tell me you know how much i love you.”
“i feel it,” you sob, your voice breaking, “i love you...i love you so much, chenle."
the words breaks something inside him. his movements become more urgent, more passionate, though he never loses that sweetness. he begins to whisper things against your skin – promises of a future, apologies for the past, and raw admissions of how much he craved this specific moment.
as the climax begins to crest, you feel your walls clamp down on him in tight, rhythmic waves. you gasp his name, body shuddering under the force of a release that feels like a spiritual cleansing. chenle lets out a guttural, strangled cry, his body stiffening as he delivers a few final, powerful thrusts. he pours himself into you, his own release consuming, his head falling at the crook of your neck as he gives in to the euphoria, collapsing onto you, his chest heaving against yours, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, crushing embrace. for a long time, the only sound in the room is the synchronized thumping of two hearts finally beating in the same rhythm.
“i love you,” he whispers into your hair, his voice exhausted but certain.
⚜️ THE REST OF YOUR LIFE ⚜️
you wake up to the sound of light snoring from your husband, his arms locked firmly around your naked waist, your back flushed against his bare chest. the warmth of skin on skin is electric, but it’s the prominent, hard bulge of his cock pressing firmly into the small of your back that makes your breath hitch.
you pinch your arm, a sharp sting that confirms this isn't a fever dream.
then you shift gently in his embrace, turning in the circle of his arms to face him. as you move, his cock slides against the curve of your hip, dangerously close to your core. the proximity makes your pussy clench instinctively. you’ve always loved chenle but this kind of hunger was new - a desperate need to be consumed by him.
“stop staring at me, you creep,” he teases, his voice thick with sleep.
you let out a breathless laugh, swatting his shoulder. the sound of your own laughter feels foreign yet right.
it hits you then – the terrifying, beautiful ease of it all. like the past six years of coldness, the resentment, and the silence were just a bad dream, easily erased by the heat of his body.
sensing your sudden silence, chenle opens his eyes. the gaze he meets you with is soft, searching, and filled with an intensity that makes your heart race.
“what are you thinking about?” he asks softly, his hand drifting up to thread his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp.
“just… thinking about how nice this is,” you whisper, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips.
“yeah?” he lets out a playful hum, his eyes shimmering with complete adoration, “think you could do this with me for the rest of our lives?”
you lean in then, kissing him softly, “yes,” you murmur against his lips with absolutely no doubt, “you’ve always been the only person i could ever do this with.”
chenle’s heart stutters. he had thought his love for you had reached its peak, but every time you surprise him with your tenderness, the feeling grows, expanding until it feels like he might burst.
“do you think this would still be nice with twenty kids?” he teases, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes.
you recoil slightly, a look of genuine horror flashing across your face. “what?! i’m not giving you twenty kids, chenle! are you insane?!”
he bursts into a loud, genuine laugh, his eyes disappearing into crescents, his kitten-like smile whiskers prominent. as he calms down, he smirks, leaning closer, “i’m not the one who wants twenty kids. i’m pretty sure it was my beautiful wife, coming home drunk a month ago and begging me for a baby.”
you groan, your face flushing a deep crimson as you try to rack your brain for any memory of such a confession. but you don’t remember anything.
“i was drunk! i wasn’t in my right mind!”
“hmm,” he draws the word out fondly, his hand sliding down from your hair to trace the curve of your hip, “how many kids do you actually want then?”
“two,” you admit shyly, looking away.
“only two? baby, this mansion would go to waste,” he teases, a playful smirk on his face.
“okay… three then,” you say, trying to hide the smile growing on your face.
“what if one of them feels left out?”
“four. and that’s it!” you exclaim.
in one fluid motion, chenle rolls you onto your back, pinning you beneath his weight, his eyes dark with lust, his hard cock hitting your thigh with a heavy thud.
“guess we should start getting to work then,” he smirks.
you giggle underneath him, pulling him in for a quick kiss before murmuring against his lips, “can you do that thing you did last night first, though?” you ask, cheeks burning.
“what thing, baby? i did a couple of things.”
the embarrassment is overwhelming, but the craving is stronger. you bite your lip, unable to say it aloud.
“c’mon, mrs. zhong, owner of two beauty empires,” he teases, his voice a low, sultry drawl, “you can tell your husband exactly what you want.”
“go down on me again, chenle,” you whisper.
he grins, a predatory yet loving expression, “of course, baby… but you do know that’s not how babies are made, right?”
you groan, shoving at his chest, “i really don't care.”
he chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest before he slides down your body. he doesn't stop until his face is buried between your thighs, letting out a low moan at the scent of your arousal, his hot breath ghosting over your clit before his tongue makes a slow, wet sweep from your bottom to the top, tasting every drop of your longing.
⚜️ THE OFFICE ⚜️
when you get to the office later that day, arriving in the same car, and walking through the lobby of yü skincare together – the atmosphere shifts. you can feel the collective intake of breath from the staff, the employees practically vibrating with curiosity, eyes darting between you and chenle, trying and failing to hide their sheer shock. you don't blame them. for seven months, your marriage had been spent apart. to see him not only accompanying you to your door but looking at you with an expression of raw, unfiltered adoration is enough to send the office gossip into overdrive.
your eyes scan the room, landing on a familiar figure – mark lee is back at his desk, focused and working. a surge of triumph rushes through you. you’ve won.
the moment the heavy door to your private office clicks shut, the professional facade vanishes. chenle doesn't waste a second. his hands are instantly back on you, grip firm and possessive as he spins you around to face him, pinning you lightly against the edge of your desk.
you grin, your eyes dancing with mischief, “i see mark lee is back,” you say teasingly.
chenle huffs a small, amused breath, his forehead resting against yours, “yeah, he’s back. but tell him he’s walking on a very thin line,” he murmurs, though there’s no real heat in the threat. you laugh, a genuine, light sound, and shove his shoulder playfully.
his expression shifts, the playfulness melting into something achingly sincere as he cups your face in his hands, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with a reverence that makes your heart stutter.
“you know i’d give you everything you want, right? just say the word and it’s all yours.”
it’s not just a statement – it’s another confession, a continuation of the vow he’s been making since you woke up.
“i told you,” he whispers, his gaze searching yours, “i’ll spend the rest of this life, and every single one after that, making it up to you.”
you let out a soft, breathless laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, “when did you become such a sap?” you tease, reaching up and winding your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him down.
the kiss is slow, languid, and deep – a sweet contrast to the hunger of the morning, but filled with the same desperate need to be close. as your tongues slide together, the corporate world outside the door ceases to exist, there is only the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the overwhelming realization that you are finally, truly, loved.
⚜️ THE FULFILLED PROMISE ⚜️
it didn’t take long after that before you finally got pregnant.
you and chenle fucked all the time. and it wasn’t even to conceive – the two you just physically could not get enough of each other. the mansion became your personal playground. you were pretty sure there wasn’t a single square inch of the estate that hadn’t felt the heat of your bodies.
like that one time when you both got home after a charity gala. you had worn a red dress that hugged every curve, the slit climbing dangerously high up your thigh. all night, chenle had been a predator in a tuxedo, his gaze burning into you, hand possessively gripping the small of your back, whispering filth into your ear while you smiled for the cameras. he didn't want to network, he wanted to rip the dress off your body. the moment the heavy doors of the mansion clicked shut behind you, the facade crumbled. he didn't even let you take off your heels. chenle grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up with a grunt of effort and placing you down onto the large, circular marble table that sat centrally between the grand staircases, not even caring about the priceless antique vase sitting on top of it. he didn't waste time with foreplay – he reached down, bunching the red silk upward, exposing your lace panties and with one violent tug, he ripped the lace aside, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the vast foyer. “i’ve been thinking about this since the moment you put this dress on,” he growled, voice raw. he freed his pulsing cock, already leaking pre-cum, and shoved it into you in one deep, punishing thrust. you moaned his name so loud, back arching off the marble, legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper. the sound of your shared moans bounced off the high ceilings, filling the foyer with the raw noises of pleasure. he fucked you desperately, hips slamming against yours with a wet, slapping sound that could be heard all around the mansion. you knew the maids were nearby, you could almost feel their shocked eyes on you, but the thought only made you wetter. you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his tuxedo jacket, sobbing his name as he hammered into you, driving you toward a shattering climax that left you shaking and drenched.
then there was the discovery of the billiards room. it had been a forgotten wing of the house, dusty and silent until you both stumbled upon it during a lazy afternoon. the moment the door closed, the atmosphere shifted. the green felt of the billiard table looked like an invitation. chenle didn't even let you stand still. he lifted you up the billiard table, hiking your dress up and spreading your legs wide. “you smell so sweet,” he murmured, breath hot against your inner thigh. he didn't hesitate, burying his face in your pussy. his tongue was your favorite weapon – broad, wet, and relentless. he licked your folds, swirling around your clit, making your toes curl. he fingered you with his other hand, two fingers sliding deep inside your soaking walls, stretching you while his tongue continued to drive you insane. it was an intense combination. you were sobbing, fingers clutching his hair. just as you reached the peak, he pulled away, leaving you gasping and dripping. he didn't give you a second to whine about it, grabbing your hips to help you down then bending you forward until your chest was pressed against the green felt. “look at you,” he whispered, his voice a dark caress, “always so ready for me.” he entered you from behind, his cock filling you completely over and over again. the friction of the billiard table against your skin and the relentless pace of his thrusts sent you over the edge. he fucked you ruthlessly, his hand reaching around to pinch your nipples over your pajama dress, his chest heaving against your back. every thrust was a claim, a promise that you belonged to him, until he finally groaned, filling you with a hot, thick surge of cum that left you both breathless and spent.
and also that one time in the hot tub, it wasn’t even night time…it was pure daylight, the sun was out, illuminating every inch of the outdoor sanctuary. the risk of being seen by the gardeners or the staff was immense, but the adrenaline only fueled the fire. you were draped across him, your legs wrapped around his waist as you rode him. the warm, bubbling water splashed around you, clinging to your skin. chenle’s hands were everywhere – one gripping your ass to keep you steady, the other reaching up to grab your breast. he leaned in, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking it hard, his tongue swirling around the peak. you threw your head back, your moans echoing across the open terrace, completely uninhibited. you could feel the vibration of the water and the rhythmic slide of his cock deep inside you. every time you sank down, you felt him hit your cervix, a sensation that made you whimper and cling to his shoulders. “who cares if they see?” he gasped, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a mixture of lust and adoration, “let them see who you belong to.” he gripped your waist tighter, lifting you slightly before slamming you back down onto him. the splashing grew more violent, the water churning as the pace increased. you rode him with a frantic energy, your clit rubbing against his pelvic bone with every downward stroke. when the climax hit, it was explosive. you screamed his name into the open air, your walls clamping down on him in tight, rhythmic waves, while he groaned, thrusting one last time and flooding you with his cum under the bright, midday sun.
and then there was that one week honeymoon that chenle insisted on, saying that he never got to give you a proper one. you two spent a week in the most luxurious private resort in hawaii. the resort is beautiful, open to the tropical air and the rhythmic crash of the ocean, but you barely saw the view. you were too occupied by your husband. for seven days, the world ceased to exist. there were no board meetings, no family expectations, and no corporate rules – only the sound of wet, slapping skin and the desperate gasps of two people becoming one. he fucked you in the private pool, the warm water swirling around your hips as he held you against the edge, his cock sliding in and out of you with a frictionless ease that made you scream into the salty air. he fucked you on the outdoor daybed, under the moon, the linen sheets soaking through with your combined juices. he would spend hours worshipping your body, his tongue tracing every curve, every fold, before driving himself into you with a force that left you shaking and sobbing his name.
and of course, eventually, you fucked in both of your offices. the two of you tried to keep it professional at first but at one point, you just couldn’t stop yourselves. i mean, no one can fire you anyway. and the two of you spend so much time at work it just makes sense. your favorite routine involved the desk — when you were the one who gets to play, disappearing from view while chenle continued a conference call. the contrast was intoxicating, his voice, cool and commanding, discussing quarterly projections, while your mouth was wrapped tightly around his cock. you would suck him with a focused intensity, swirling your tongue around the head and taking him as deep as your throat would allow, listening to the slight hitch in his breath and the way his hand gripped the edge of the desk to keep from groaning. when he finally hangs up, he would haul you out from under the desk by your waist and slam you down onto the edge of it, “my little slut wants to play, huh?” he’d growl against your lips as you cling to the desk for dear life, heels digging into the carpet. he took you right there in the center of his power, filling you to the brim.
but still...nothing beats fucking in your shared bedroom, this was where the real intensity lived, especially on the nights when chenle’s gaze turned dark and determined. on those nights, he didn't just want to fuck you – he wanted to possess you completely. he would start by flipping you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees in doggy style. he loved the view of your arched back and the way your ass looked spread wide for him. he would grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, and thrust into you from behind. the sound of his balls slapping against your cheeks echoed through the room, a raw, primal beat that drove you insane. he would reach forward to pull your hair back, whispering filth into your ear about how much he loved the way you took him. then, he would flip you onto your back, hoisting your legs up high, sometimes draping them over his shoulders, so that he could penetrate you at the deepest possible angle. in this position, there was no escape. he drove himself in until he hit your cervix, each thrust a heavy, thumping blow that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. “look at me,” he would command, his eyes burning with an obsessive kind of love, “tell me you're mine.” the friction and the intensity pushed you toward a peak you had never experienced before. in the heat of those nights, you discovered the sensation of squirting – your pussy drenching the sheets and leaving you gasping for air. the feeling of losing control, of your body literally overflowing with pleasure, sends chenle into a frenzy. he would fuck you even harder, driving you through multiple, shattering orgasms, his own release coming in a hot, thick flood that filled you completely, leaving you both tangled in the damp sheets, hearts racing in a synchronized rhythm of absolute devotion.
now, a year into marriage and you were two months pregnant with your first child.
it hasn’t been easy, your baby was stubborn – which you honestly should’ve seen coming knowing how stubborn its father is (and you, too).
the pregnancy had stripped away your usual composure. for a woman who navigated the cutthroat world of billionaire cosmetics with a steady hand, the loss of control was infuriating.
your morning sickness wasn't just “morning”sickness – it was a rolling tide of nausea that lasted the whole day. you had spent the last few weeks throwing up everything from expensive lobster to plain crackers. to add to the misery, your breasts had swollen, becoming agonizingly sore to the touch.
you were, in a word – grumpy. a whirlwind of mood swings, snapping at assistants and sobbing over the smallest of things, existing in a state of perpetual irritation. which was especially unfortunate considering you had never been particularly good at dealing with discomfort. you are a billionaire. struggle is not your forte.
still, chenle had been unbelievably sweet and understanding through all of it. he spent his days balancing both companies and his nights massaging your back or holding your hair back while you retched into the toilet, kissing your forehead with a tenderness that still made your heart ache.
today, you were plagued by a craving so specific, so visceral, that it felt like a physical hunger. you wanted a tomato-egg dish. but not just any version. it had to be right.
chef sung ahn, a culinary genius, was currently in the midst of a crisis — seven bowls of the dish sat on the marble island, each one a slightly different variation of seasoning and texture. and yet, none of them were right.
you pushed the seventh bowl away with a pout, your lower lip trembling. you knew you were acting like a spoiled child, but as you rested a hand over your still-flat stomach, you reasoned that you were carrying what is about to be the most spoiled heir in the country. it only made sense.
the heavy thud of the front door announced chenle’s return. he stepped into the kitchen, shedding his blazer and loosening his tie, his eyes immediately landing on the scene.
“baby,” he murmured, stepping behind you and pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to the crown of your head.
his scent, expensive cologne and the lingering musk of a long day at the office, usually calmed you, but today you were too frustrated to be fully appeased, “what’s going on in here?”
you let out a dramatic groan, leaning back into his chest, “your stupid baby wants a certain taste, and the chef can’t do it!" you complained, pouting up at him, “nothing tastes right, chenle! everything is wrong!”
chenle looked from your frustrated expression to the exhausted but patient chef sung ahn, a small, apologetic smile playing on his lips as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders.
“i’m so sorry, chef. she’s been incredibly sensitive since the pregnancy started. i think we're dealing with a very demanding little one.”
chef sung ahn smiled knowingly, unfazed by the seven wasted bowls. he was paid far too much to be offended by the complaints of a pregnant billionaire.
“that’s perfectly alright, mr. zhong. my wife was exactly the same way. i remember a week where she nearly kicked me out of the house because the toast was too loud.”
the two men share a low chuckle while you try not to roll your eyes. his wife was valid and you know it.
“i think i know exactly what she wants, though,” chenle said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming soft and confident.
"i’ll take care of it. thank you, chef. you can head out for the day."
as the chef departed, chenle took his place, rolling up his sleeves and exposing his forearms. you remained seated on the bar stool, watching him. there was something hypnotic about the way he moved – the precision of his knife, the way he cracked the eggs with one hand, the sizzle of the tomatoes hitting the pan.
as the aroma began to waft through the air, something happened — for the first time in hours, the nausea in your stomach vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense surge of appetite.
your mouth watered. the scent was an exact match – not to a michelin-star recipe, but to a memory. a flash of nostalgia hitting you. you were seventeen again, shivering under a duvet in your room, delirious with a fever. chenle visited you with a simple, home-cooked tomato-egg dish. it hadn't been fancy, but it had been made with a quiet kind of care that had spoken louder than any words.
you looked at your husband – the man who had once been your best friend, then your cold stranger, and now the love of your life. a small, amused smile tugged at your lips. your baby, barely the size of a fruit, was already exerting its will, bypassing the expertise of a world-class chef to demand the specific, nostalgic touch of its father.
god, you thought, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips as you watched him plate the food. the baby already has a favorite. what a traitor.
chenle finished the dish quickly, the steam curling upward, carrying that precise, comforting scent that had finally silenced the storm in your stomach.
he slid the bowl in front of you, the colors vibrant and the aroma intoxicating. as you picked up the spoon to take a bite, he stepped towards you.
“how is it?” he smirks teasingly. because he knows you. and he knows it’s exactly what you needed.
you let out a soft, involuntary sigh of contentment, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a verbal compliment just yet. instead, you pouted, looking up at him through your lashes. without warning, you reached out and gripped the fabric of his shirt, bunching the material in your fist and tugging him towards you as you burrowed your face into chest.
“you’re not allowed to go to work anymore,” you mumbled against his shirt, “you’re staying with me. every second of every day.”
a low, vibrating chuckle erupted from his chest, the sound echoing against your cheek. he wrapped his arms around you, hands splaying across your back.
he adored this version of you – the spoiled, demanding, vulnerable woman who only wanted him.
“i’m perfectly okay with that,” he whispered, his voice dripping with fond adoration.
you pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes shimmering. the stubbornness was still there, but it was softened by a deep, aching affection.
you reached up then, hooking your arms around his neck to pull him down toward you for a soft, lingering kiss filled with tenderness and love.
⚜️ THE END ⚜️
an: weeee!!!! did i spend my entire weekend glued to my computer writing this like a loser? yeah…i did. but i had to ride on the high of inspiration and delusions before i lose it or else this would take me months to finish lmao. anyways, i loved writing this! and i’m also realizing it’s very easy for me to write for chenle idk it’s always so fun for me!!! fun game: can you guess what kind of dad chenle is!! aka can you guess the gender of the baby??? put in the comments what you think! 😉 (i do have the answer). and please let me know your thoughts! thank ü for reading, much love to ü 💛
EXTRA: GENDER REVEAL PARTY
🏆 likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated
💳 if you enjoyed this story and would like to show extra support, my kofi is open! (i’m so broke rn guys pls spare some change 😔🚬)
𝒯HIRD WHEEL ℘ L.HEESEUNG's! ─── ( a spider-man au. )
( 애인 ) 𝒾n which ︵ heeseung’s a quiet engineering student by day and the city’s favorite hero by night, but he's somehow losing a romantic rivalry with his own alter-ego. you’ve fallen for the witty, masked boy who swings by your window, never realizing he’s the same nervous friend who can’t look you in the eye at the library. it turns out the hardest part of being spider-man isn't saving the city—it’s playing the third wheel to your own mask.
mdni smau parts fluff angst hurt/comfort eventual smut friends to lovers megan (katseye) yunjin (le sserafim) soobin (tomorrow x together) yunjin & soobin are dating 15k words 16ss
i think this will be my magnum opus & as always, enhypen is seven! i hope this fic can provide anyone, even if it's just a little, comfort during these times ♡
there will be another part! i just got nerfed by tumblr's image limit
⌨️ like&&reblog for a kiss. ── #click4masterlist to see more.
THE SMELL OF THE ENGINEERING LAB AT 3:00 AM WAS A SPECIFIC KIND OF DEPRESSING. It was a mix of burnt solder, stale energy drinks, and the metallic tang of copper wiring. Heeseung leaned over a glass beaker, his eyes burning from staring at the same translucent blue liquid for the last three hours.
It was supposed to be his newest batch of web-fluid—higher tensile strength, faster drying time, and hopefully, less prone to jamming the shooters. But instead of hardening into a fiber, it was just sitting there, looking like a sad, lukewarm puddle of expired Elmer's Glue.
"It’s not polymerizing, Jake," Heeseung muttered, his voice raspy from lack of sleep. "I’ve adjusted the catalyst three times. It’s still just… soup."
A few feet away, Sim Jaeyun—better known to Heeseung as the only person keeping him sane—was buried under a mountain of physics textbooks and a laptop that was whirring so loudly it sounded like it might achieve liftoff. Jake didn't look up, his fingers flying across the keys as he ran another simulation.
"Give it a second, Hee. You’re being impatient," Jake said, his tone remarkably calm for a guy dealing with someone as sleep-deprived as his best friend. "I just recalculated the shear stress. If we want it to hold a literal city bus, the viscosity needs to be higher at the point of exit. Check the temperature again."
Heeseung sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted. Not the kind of exhausted you get from staying up late to cram for an exam, but the kind that settled into your bones and stayed there. The kind that came from spending six hours in back-to-back engineering lectures, three hours at the campus library, and then four hours swinging through the soot-stained alleys of the city trying to make sure nobody got mugged on their way home from work.
Being Spider-Man was a full-time job that paid zero dollars and offered zero sleep.
"If I check the temperature one more time, I'm going to throw this beaker at the wall," Heeseung whispered.
"Don't do that. Glass is expensive and I'm not cleaning it up," Jake replied, finally looking up. He leaned back in his swivel chair, his hair a messy nest of brown curls. He looked at Heeseung—really looked at him—and frowned. "You look like a zombie, man. When was the last time you actually closed your eyes for more than twenty minutes?"
"Yesterday? Maybe?" Heeseung leaned back, his spine popping in three different places. "I tried to nap during Fluid Mechanics, but the professor has a voice like a foghorn. It’s impossible."
"You’re going to crash," Jake warned, pointing a pen at him. "And when you crash, you’re going to miss a ledge, and then I’m going to have to explain to your mom why you’re in a full-body cast. I’m not doing that. She scares me."
Heeseung opened his mouth to argue, but his phone buzzed on the metal table. The vibration was loud in the quiet lab, a sharp zzzt-zzzt that made him jump. His reflexes were so keyed up that his hand shot out and grabbed the device before the screen even fully lit up.
It was a notification from the group chat, named something completely ridiculous, because Sunoo was the one who insisted on naming it.
Heeseung’s heart did a weird, fluttering skip when he saw your name. He swiped the screen open, the brightness of the display making him wince.
It was a photo. A grainy, flash-brightened picture of a massive, glistening plate of chili cheese fries. In the background, he could see the tacky neon signs of the 24-hour diner near the edge of campus.
Your face was partially in the frame, tucked next to Sunoo’s, both of you grinning like idiots. He thought he saw Yunjin somewhere in the back, too, but his eyes were fixed on you.
You looked vibrant—your hair a little messy, your cheeks flushed from the cold night air, and your eyes sparkling with that bright shine that always seemed to draw people toward you.
Heeseung stared at the photo. He stared at the way you were laughing, the way your hand was reaching for a fry, and he felt a sharp, familiar ache in his chest. It wasn't his Spider-sense warning; it was just plain, old-fashioned pining.
He wanted to be there. He wanted to be sitting in that cramped booth, arguing with Sunoo about music or listening to Ni-ki complain about basketball practice. Most of all, he wanted to be near you. He wanted to hear your voice without a police scanner crackling in the background.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He started to type: Save some for me?
Then he paused. He looked down at his hands—his knuckles were bruised from a fight with a car thief two nights ago, and his fingernails had traces of black grease under them. He looked at the red and blue suit stuffed into the bottom of his backpack, hidden under a pile of dirty laundry and a copy of Thermodynamics for Dummies.
He couldn't go. He was a junior engineering student with a secret identity and a lab report due. He was the guy who was always too busy, too tired, or just plain gone.
"She looks cute in that photo, doesn't she?"
Heeseung flinched, nearly dropping his phone. Jake was leaning over his shoulder, a knowing grin on his face.
"Shut up," Heeseung muttered, quickly locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket.
"I didn't say who 'she' was, but you clearly knew," Jake teased, sliding back into his seat. "Just text her, Hee. Tell her you’re coming. Take a thirty-minute break. The web-fluid isn't going anywhere."
"I can't," Heeseung said, his voice flat. "I have too much to do. And besides… she's… she's her. Look at that photo. She’s friends with everyone. She’s pretty, she’s nice, she’s literally the campus sweetheart. And I’m just the guy who falls asleep in the back of the room and smells like chemicals."
"You smell like nice laundry detergent and existential dread, actually," Jake corrected. "And she likes you, man. She always asks where you are when you don't show up to the hangouts. Sunoo says she mentioned you three times yesterday."
Heeseung’s heart gave another annoying thud. "She was probably just wondering if I died. It’s a valid concern."
"She thinks you’re mysterious. Use it to your advantage."
"I'm not mysterious, Jake. I'm a mess." Heeseung looked back at the beaker of soup. "I’m a guy who spends his nights hanging off the side of a skyscraper because I have an overactive sense of responsibility. I can't take her to a diner. It took me three weeks to tell her my last name because I was so worried that some guy in a mask was going to follow her home."
Jake’s expression softened. He reached over and clapped Heeseung on the shoulder. "You’re doing a good thing, Hee. But you’re allowed to be a person, too. You’re allowed to want the fries."
Heeseung looked at his phone again. He imagined walking into the diner. He imagined the way you’d look up, your face lighting up when you saw him. You’d probably slide over to make room for him in the booth, your shoulder brushing against his, smelling like that sweet, flowery perfume you always wore.
He was just about to reach for his phone again when the silence of the lab was shattered.
A small, black box on the workbench—the police scanner Heeseung had modified to pick up local precinct frequencies—erupted into a burst of static.
"All units, we have a code 3. High-speed pursuit in progress. Suspects in a black SUV heading north on Mapo Bridge. Shots fired. Repeat, shots fired."
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The warmth of the diner photo, the longing, the simple desire for a plate of fries—it all vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. Heeseung’s posture straightened. His eyes went from tired to laser-focused in a matter of seconds.
Jake cursed under his breath, turning back to his laptop to pull up the city’s traffic cam feed. "That’s heading right toward the residential district. If they don't stop them at the bridge, things are going to get messy."
Heeseung didn't say a word. He stood up, grabbing his backpack from the floor. He didn't look like a shy engineering student anymore. He looked like someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn't have time to complain about it.
"Viscosity is still low," Heeseung said, his voice tight. "But it’ll have to do." He reached into his bag and pulled out the mask. The fabric was soft, but it felt heavy in his hands—a reminder of everything he had to give up every time he put it on.
He moved to the shadows at the back of the lab, where the security cameras had a blind spot he’d mapped out months ago. He stripped off his oversized hoodie and jeans, the cool air hitting his skin. He pulled on the suit, the tight fabric clinging to his frame like a second skin. It was damp in a few spots from his earlier patrol—he really needed to wash it—but he didn't have time to care.
He thought about you. He thought about the diner. He thought about the fries.
Then he pulled the mask over his head.
The world turned red and digital. The heads-up display flickered to life, highlighting the fastest route to Mapo Bridge. The HUD also showed a lingering notification in the corner of his vision—a small icon representing the group chat message he hadn't replied to.
Heeseung swiped the notification away with a flick of his wrist.
"Save me some caffeine for when I get back," Heeseung said, his voice now filtered through the suit’s vocoder, sounding deeper and more confident than he felt.
"I’ll have the lab results ready by the time you're done," Jake replied, already typing again. "Try not to get shot. It’s bad for the suit’s aesthetic. Also, blood is really fucking hard to get out of spandex."
Heeseung didn't respond. He moved to the window at the back of the lab—the one he’d loosened the latch on weeks ago. He slid it open, the cold Seoul air rushing in, whipping against his masked face. He climbed onto the ledge, looking out over the city.
The lights of the skyline stretched out before him, a sea of neon and glass. Somewhere out there, you were laughing in a diner. Somewhere else, people were in danger.
Heeseung took a breath, checked his web-shooters, and dived into the night.
The fries would have to wait. The city wouldn't.
The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall felt like they were vibrating. It was 9:00 AM on a Friday, and Heeseung was pretty sure he was vibrating, too—partly from the four shots of espresso Jake had practically force-fed him ten minutes ago, and partly from the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of having spent the last five hours chasing a stolen SUV through the narrow backstreets of Mapo.
He sat in the very last row, slumped so low in his seat that his chin was almost touching the scarred wood of the desk. He had his hoodie pulled up, the fabric shielding his face from the harsh glare of the overhead lights.
His eyes were bloodshot, the whites of them crisscrossed with tiny red veins that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Every time he blinked, it felt like someone was dragging sandpaper across his corneas. Not pleasant.
He didn't look like a hero. He looked like a guy who had spent the night fighting a losing battle with his bedsheets.
His knuckles were still stinging, tucked safely into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He’d taken a nasty hit to the ribs during the chase—one of the suspects had a literal crowbar—and every breath he took felt like a dull knife scraping against his lungs.
Sure, he healed faster than most, but there was only so much that he could do. But the SUV was in a ditch, the suspects were in zip-ties, and the police had recovered three crates of stolen tech.
A win. Theoretically.
But as Heeseung stared down at the blank pages of his notebook, his brain felt like it was made of wet cotton. The professor, a man who seemed to take personal offense at the concept of joy, was droning on about structural integrity and load-bearing beams.
It was ironic, really. Heeseung spent a lot of his life now thinking about structural integrity—mostly while swinging off of it—but right now, he couldn't even remember how to spell the word 'load.'
He shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn't make his side ache, and his gaze drifted downward, scanning the sea of heads in the lecture hall.
The room was packed. It was one of those massive, stadium-style halls where everyone looked like a tiny speck from the back. But Heeseung’s eyes found you instantly.
It was like his brain had a specialized tracking system just for you. No matter how many people were in a room, no matter how loud the noise or how dim the light, his focus always snapped to you. You were sitting three rows down, tucked into the middle of a row next to Sunoo.
Even from this distance, you looked like you belonged in a different world than him. You were leaning forward, your chin resting in the palm of your hand, looking perfectly awake and attentive. And pretty. So pretty. You wore a soft, cream-colored sweater that made you look warm and approachable, the kind of person people instinctively wanted to stand near.
Next to you, Sunoo was busy doodling in the margins of his notebook, his soft hair catching the light. He looked bored out of his mind, but every few seconds, he’d lean over and whisper something in your ear, making you let out a small, silent laugh that made Heeseung’s chest tighten.
Heeseung watched the way your shoulders shook slightly when you laughed. He watched the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He felt a familiar, dull ache in his throat. This was his routine. He watched from the shadows, a silent observer in a life he wasn't quite sure he was allowed to join.
He was so busy staring—so busy memorizing the curve of your neck and the way you tilted your head—that he didn't realize Sunoo had looked up.
Sunoo’s eyes scanned the back of the room, squinting against the light, until they landed on Heeseung. A huge, mischievous grin broke across his face. He didn't care about the professor’s lecture on tension or the fifty other students between them. He raised a hand high in the air, waving enthusiastically at Heeseung.
Heeseung froze. He wanted to melt into the floor. He wanted to vanish into the vents and crawl back to the lab. He didn't want to be perceived—not like this, not when he looked like he’d been dragged behind a bus.
Sunoo nudged you, pointing toward the back row.
You turned around.
The air seemed to leave the room. Heeseung stopped breathing entirely. For a second, he forgot about his bruised ribs, his ruined sleep schedule, and the lingering smell of exhaust on his hoodie. He just saw you.
Your eyes locked onto his, and for a heartbeat, your expression was one of pure surprise. Then, your gaze softened. You took in the dark circles under his eyes, the messy state of his hair, and the way he was practically hiding in his oversized clothes.
Instead of turning back around, you gave him a small, sympathetic smile. It wasn't the courteous smile he saw you give everyone else. It was softer. Kinder. It was the kind of look that said, I see you, and you look like you're having a really hard time.
Heeseung felt a jolt go through his body. It was his Spider-sense this time, but it was wrong. It was malfunctioning. There was no danger in the room, no ceiling about to collapse, no hidden villain in the front row. But his skin was prickling, his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, and his stomach felt like it had dropped into his shoes.
He couldn't look away. He felt like he was caught in a spotlight. You crinkled your nose at him—a tiny, playful gesture—before turning back to the front of the room, leaving him breathless and reeling.
He was so dazed that when his phone started vibrating against his thigh, he almost jumped out of his skin. He fumbled for it, his hands clumsy and trembling, nearly knocking his notebook off the desk. He caught the phone just before it hit the floor, his heart racing.
He ducked his head, hiding behind the person in front of him, and checked the screen.
It was a text from Jake.
Heeseung blinked, his face flushing a deep, hot red. He risked a glance to his left. Jake was sitting five seats away, pretending to take notes, but he had a tiny, smug smirk on his face. He didn't even look up, just tapped his pen against his desk in a rhythmic, mocking beat.
Heeseung looked back at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the screen.
Heeseung’s hand flew to his forehead, rubbing frantically at his skin. He felt like a total idiot. He was a superhero. He fought criminals. He saved lives. And here he was, getting bullied by his best friend over a girl who had done nothing but smile at him.
He looked down at you again. You were back to taking notes, your head bowed. Sunoo was back to doodling.
Heeseung let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his head back against the wall. The exhaustion was starting to win again. The adrenaline of the smile was fading, leaving him feeling heavy and hollow.
He closed his eyes for just a second. Just one second.
The professor’s voice became a distant hum. The scratching of pens on paper sounded like rain. Heeseung drifted, his mind floating somewhere between the Mapo Bridge and the diner from the night before. He imagined you sitting next to him, handing him a fry, telling him it was okay to be tired.
Zzzt-zzzt.
He snapped awake, his head jerking forward. He had no idea how much time had passed—five minutes? Ten? The lecture was still going. The room hadn't changed.
He checked his phone again.
Heeseung stared at the message. You haven't seen him in forever. You wanted him there. You were asking for him.
He felt the familiar tug-of-war in his chest. One side of him—the tired, lonely side—wanted to say yes immediately. He wanted to sit on a floor in a crowded dorm room, surrounded by his friends, and just exist. He wanted to be near you without a mask on.
But the other side—the side that currently had a bruised rib and a police scanner in his bag—was already calculating the risks. Tonight was Friday. Friday nights were busy. Crime didn't take a night off just because some college juniors wanted to have a mixer. If he went, he’d be distracted. He’d be checking the time every five minutes.
He’d be a ghost at the party, just like he was a ghost on campus.
He looked at your message again. He could almost hear your voice saying it—that bubbly, sweet tone that made even a text message feel like a hug.
He started to type. I’ll try to be there.
Then he deleted it.
I have a lot of work to do. Maybe next time.
He deleted that, too.
It was a non-committal, cowardly answer. It was the best he could do.
He put the phone away and tried to focus on the lecture. Something about trusses. Something about equilibrium. He looked at the back of your head, the way your hair bounced slightly as you wrote.
He felt like he was walking a tightrope. On one side was the life he wanted—the life where he was just Heeseung, the guy who liked you. On the other side was the life he had—the life where he was a secret, a symbol, a protector.
He didn't know how much longer he could stay in the middle.
The lecture finally ended with a sharp, dismissive comment from the professor. The room erupted into the chaotic sound of zipper-closings and chair-shuffling. Heeseung stayed put, waiting for the crowd to thin out. He didn't want to get caught in the rush. He didn't want to have to talk to anyone.
But Sunoo had other plans.
From three rows down, Sunoo stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and started climbing over seats toward the back. You were right behind him, moving a bit more gracefully, navigating the narrow aisles with ease.
Heeseung’s heart started that annoying hammering again. He scrambled to pack his things, stuffing his notebook into his bag with trembling hands. He accidentally knocked his pen onto the floor and had to dive under the desk to retrieve it.
When he sat back up, Sunoo was standing right in front of him, leaning against the desk with a grin that was far too bright for this early in the morning.
"Heeseungie! You survived!" Sunoo chirped, poking Heeseung’s shoulder. "You look terrible. Like, really, truly awful. Did you get hit by a truck?"
"Rough night," Heeseung muttered, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. He kept his head down, focusing on the zipper of his bag. "Just a lot of studying."
"Studying? You're always studying," Sunoo scoffed. "You’re an engineer, not a monk. You need to live a little."
"I live plenty," Heeseung said, finally looking up—and immediately regretting it.
You were standing right behind Sunoo. Up close, the kindness in your eyes was even more overwhelming. You were looking at him with genuine concern, your head tilted slightly to the side.
"Are you okay, Heeseung?" you asked, your voice soft and steady. "Sunoo’s right, you look exhausted. You’re not getting sick, are you?"
"No," Heeseung said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying to sound like a normal human being. "No, I'm fine. Just... didn't sleep much. Projects and stuff."
"Well, you should come tonight," you said, stepping a little closer. Heeseung could smell your perfume now—something light and sweet, like cherries. It was a dizzying contrast to the smell of burnt rubber that was still clinging to his skin. "Yunjin and Megan missed you at the diner last night. We all did."
We all did. Heeseung felt like he was melting. "I... I'll try. I have a lab report due, but maybe I can finish it early."
"Don't let Jake help you," Sunoo joked, glancing over at Jake, who was finally standing up from his seat. "He’ll just talk about physics until your ears bleed."
"Hey, I heard that!" Jake called out, walking over to join the group. He looked perfectly fine, of course. He hadn't been the one chasing SUVs. He’d just been the guy in the chair. "And for the record, physics is fascinating."
"It's nerd talk," Sunoo countered.
While they were bickering, you stayed focused on Heeseung. You reached out, your fingers lightly touching his forearm for just a second. The contact felt like a lightning strike. Heeseung almost flinched, his muscles tensing under your touch.
"Seriously, Heeseung," you whispered, so the others wouldn't hear. "Take some rest. You look like you're carrying the whole world on your shoulders."
Well, you hadn't been too far off.
Heeseung looked into your eyes, and for a terrifying moment, he thought you knew. He thought you could see right through the hoodie, right through the lie, and see the red and blue suit hidden in his bag.
But you just smiled—that sweet, soft smile that made everyone love you—and gave his arm a tiny squeeze before letting go.
"See you tonight?" you asked.
"Yeah," Heeseung said, the word leaving his lips before he could stop it. "Yeah. See you tonight."
You beamed at him, then turned to Sunoo. "Come on, Sunoo, we’re going to be late for our elective."
"Damn, already? Bye, Heeseung! Bye, Jake the Nerd!" Sunoo waved over his shoulder as the two of you headed toward the exit.
Heeseung stood there, frozen, watching you walk away. He watched the way you navigated the crowded hall, waving to a few other people, clearly the person everyone wanted to talk to.
"You're so whipped," Jake said, leaning against the desk next to him.
"I'm not whipped," Heeseung muttered, though his face was still burning.
"You literally just promised to go to a party after spending all night getting beaten up by car thieves. You can barely stand, Hee. How are you going to survive a party?"
Heeseung slung his bag over his shoulder, the weight of the suit shifting against his back. He felt the ache in his ribs, the sting in his knuckles, and the fog in his brain.
"I'm... not," he said.
"What do you mean?" Jake asked him, tilting his head.
Heeseung looked toward the door where you had disappeared.
"I panicked," he admitted. "I can't go. I have patrol. Plus, I think I'm falling behind in some of my classes."
He walked out of the hall, his heart still doing that strange, fluttering dance. He was exhausted, he was hurting, and he was a mess. He hated that he lied to you, that he got your hopes up. If he could even call it that. Heeseung wasn't sure you actually cared about him. You were polite like that... it didn't mean anything.
He just hoped the city would stay quiet for one night. He just wanted that for a few hours, where he could be Heeseung, and not the guy in the mask.
But as he walked down the stairs, he felt a familiar prickle at the base of his neck. It was faint—barely there—but it was a reminder.
The city never stayed quiet for long. And he was the only one who could hear the noise.
The night air was sharp, biting through the thin spandex of the suit as Heeseung perched on the cold steel of a suspension cable. Below him, the Han River looked like a sheet of black glass, reflecting the neon hum of the city. Usually, the height was where he felt most at home—away from the crowded hallways and the crushing weight of his engineering textbooks—but tonight, his mind was miles away.
Specifically, it was stuck in a dorm room on the other side of campus.
He checked his suit’s internal clock. 11:45 PM. By now, Soobin’s mixer was in full swing. He could almost hear the muffled bass of the music through the walls, smell the cheap snacks, and see you laughing in the middle of a circle of people.
He imagined you looking at the door every time it opened, wondering if he was finally going to show up. Or maybe you weren't. Maybe you had already forgotten the stuttered "yeah" he’d given you in the lecture hall.
He let out a long, foggy breath that clouded his eye lenses for a second.
"You’re brooding again, Hee. I can hear the dramatic pouting through the comms."
Jake’s voice crackled in his ear, sounding far too crisp and awake. Heeseung could hear the faint click-clack of a keyboard in the background. Jake was likely sitting in their shared dorm, surrounded by three different monitors and at least two empty ramen cups.
"I’m not brooding. I’m patrolling," Heeseung muttered, shifting his weight. His ribs still throbbed—a dull, rhythmic reminder of the crowbar from the night before—but the adrenaline of being in the suit usually acted as a decent enough numbing agent.
"Patrolling is just brooding with more gymnastics," Jake countered. "Why are you even out there? I told you the police scanners have been dead for an hour. Go to the party. Go see the girl. Live a little before you turn into a literal gargoyle."
"I told her I had a lab report," Heeseung lied, even though Jake knew better.
"No, you told me you had a lab report. You told her you’d see. Which, in girl-code, means you’re coming. If you don't show up, you’re just the guy who flaked."
Heeseung winced. "I can't just... walk in there, Jake. Look at me. I’m exhausted. I’ve got a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my side. I wouldn't even know what to say to her. Spider-Man can talk to anyone, but Heeseung? Heeseung can barely order a coffee without tripping over his own feet."
"That’s the secret, man. You’re the same guy. The mask just gives you an excuse to stop overthinking. Just pretend you’re wearing the suit under your clothes. Big, hero energy. You got this."
"You were invited, too. Why don't you go? You don't have to be here, y'know. Go live your life."
Jake paused for a moment before responding, "Solidarity, dude." Heeseung cracked a smile at that. There were times he felt that his best friend was too kind to him, and this was one of them.
"I'm hanging up now," Heeseung said.
"Fine. But don't come crying to me when Sunoo texts me saying you missed the best party of the semester. Be safe, Spidey."
The comms went dead with a soft beep. Heeseung sighed, standing up on the cable. He looked toward the campus buildings in the distance. He really should just go home. He should sleep. He should be the responsible student his parents thought he was.
But his feet didn't move toward the dorms. He shot a line of webbing toward the underside of the campus bridge, swinging out into the open air. The wind rushed past him, tugging at the suit, and for a few seconds, the heavy thoughts in his head felt a little lighter.
He was just finishing a sweep of the perimeter near the south entrance when his Spider-sense gave a tiny, almost imperceptible prickle. It wasn't the "get out of the way of a speeding bullet" kind of warning. It was more of a "pay attention" nudge.
He stuck to the side of a brick pillar under the bridge, his gloved fingers clinging to the rough surface. He looked down.
There was someone walking on the pedestrian path above.
Even from the shadows, he knew it was you. You were walking alone, your dress a bright spot against the dark pavement. You looked a little tired, your shoulders slumped, but you were still smiling as you looked down at your phone. You were probably texting the group chat, telling them you’d made it out of the party and were headed back to your dorm.
Heeseung felt that familiar, painful tug in his chest. You were so close. If he just climbed up, if he just took off the mask...
But he stayed still, hidden in the dark. He watched you walk, a silent guardian who couldn't even say hello.
You were halfway across the bridge when you stumbled. It was a small thing—your foot caught on an uneven piece of concrete—but it was enough to make you lurch forward. Your phone, which you’d been holding loosely in your hand, slipped from your fingers.
He watched it happen in slow motion. The phone hit the ground, bounced once, and started sliding toward the gap between the bridge floor and the railing.
"Well, fuck," Heeseung murmured.
You gasped, lunging for it, but your fingers missed the glass by an inch. The phone slid through the gap, vanishing over the edge.
Heeseung didn't even think. He didn't have time to.
He let go of the pillar, dropping into a freefall. He shot a web at the underside of the bridge to swing himself upward, his body arching through the air. He saw the phone—a small, silver rectangle tumbling through the darkness toward the rocky bank of the river.
He tucked his knees to his chest, spinning once to gain momentum, and reached out. His fingers closed around the cool metal of the phone just a few feet above the ground.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he shot another web toward the bridge’s support beam, using the tension to slow his descent. He landed silently on the pavement directly in front of you, his boots hitting the concrete with a soft thud.
He stood up slowly, the phone held safely in his hand.
You were frozen, your eyes wide, your hands still hovering in the air where you’d tried to catch the device. You looked like a deer caught in headlights—breathless, shocked, and incredibly pretty. The moonlight hit your face just right, and for a second, Heeseung forgot he was supposed to be a mysterious hero. He just wanted to stare at you.
But then he remembered. He was wearing the mask. He wasn't the guy who stuttered in the back of the lecture hall. He was Spider-Man.
He stepped forward, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked at you. He felt a strange, intoxicating rush of confidence. It was like Jake said—the mask was an excuse.
"Looking for this?" he asked.
His voice was different when he was in the suit. It was steady, tilted with a bit of a playful edge that he could never manage as Heeseung. He held the phone out to you, the screen still glowing with a half-finished text message to Sunoo.
You blinked, finally coming back to your senses. Your face went from pale shock to a deep burning within seconds.
"Oh my god," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "You... you caught it. How did you... I didn't even see you."
"I have a habit of being in the right place at the right time," he said, stepping even closer. He was well within your personal space now, close enough to smell the faint scent of cherries on your skin. It made his head spin. "You should be more careful, sweetheart. Gravity is a clingy boyfriend. It’ll take everything you give it."
You let out a small, breathless laugh, reaching out to take the phone. Your fingers brushed against his gloved hand—a tiny, electric spark that made Heeseung want to jump out of his skin. But he didn't move. He held his ground, watching you tuck the phone into your pocket.
"Thank you," you said, looking up at him. You were still blushing, your eyes searching the blank white lenses of his mask. "I would have been so dead. All my photos, my notes... everything was on there."
"Can't have that," Heeseung said. He leaned one hand against the railing of the bridge, posing slightly. It was a total Spider-Man move—arrogant, smooth, and completely unlike him. "A girl like you shouldn't be walking home alone this late anyway. It’s dangerous."
"A girl like me?" you teased, finding your voice again. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture he’d seen you do a thousand times in class. "And what kind of girl is that?"
The kind I’ve been staring at for six months, he thought. The kind who smells like cherries and makes me forget my own name.
"The kind who’s too distracted by her phone to see a superhero swinging by," he said instead. "The kind who probably had a long night at a party she didn't want to leave."
You looked surprised. "How did you know I was at a party?"
"Lucky guess. You look like you’ve been dancing. Or at least trying to avoid being danced on."
You laughed again, a bright, genuine sound that filled the quiet night. "You're not wrong. It was a bit much. My friend Soobin throws loud mixers."
Heeseung felt a pang of jealousy. He was talking to you. He was actually having a conversation with you, and he wasn't fumbling his words. You were looking at him with admiration, with interest. You liked this version of him.
"Well," he said, pushing off the railing. He knew he couldn't stay too long. The more he talked, the more likely he was to slip up. "Since I’m already here, I might as well make sure you get to your door in one piece. Wouldn't want gravity to try anything else tonight."
"Are you offering to walk me home?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and something else in your eyes. "Is that part of the superhero service?"
"Special occasion," he said.
He didn't walk with you, exactly. He hopped up onto the railing, crouching there like a bird, moving along the edge as you walked on the pavement. It was a show-off move, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted you to keep looking at him.
"So," you said, looking up at him as you walked. "Do you do this often? Save phones from certain death?"
"Only for pretty girls," he said. The words came out so easily it almost scared him. "The guys usually have to buy their own replacements."
You flushed again, ducking your head. "You're a flirt, Mr. Spider-Man. I didn't expect that."
"I've been told I have a certain charm," he said. "Though usually, I’m just told to be quiet and stop webbing up the police cars."
The walk to your dorm felt far too short. Usually, the trek across campus felt like a marathon when Heeseung was carrying his heavy engineering bag, but tonight, he wanted the bridge to stretch on forever. He listened to you talk—really talk. You told him about how you were tired of school, how you missed your family, and how you had this one friend who was always disappearing.
"Heeseung," you said, the name hitting him like a physical blow. "He’s an engineering major. Super smart, but he’s like a ghost. He said he’d come tonight, but he flaked. Again."
Heeseung felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He looked away, staring out at the dark trees lining the path. "Maybe he’s just busy. Engineering is hard."
"I know it is," you said softly. "I just... I worry about him. He looks so tired all the time. Like he’s carrying a lot of weight."
Heeseung turned back to you. You were looking at him, but he knew you were thinking about him—the other him. The messy, tired version.
"He’s lucky to have someone like you worrying about him," he said, his voice dropping a bit.
You smiled, a sad, sweet little thing. "I hope so. Anyway, this is me."
You stopped in front of your dorm building. The lobby lights were bright, casting a long shadow behind you. You turned to face him, your hands tucked into your sweater sleeves.
"Thank you again. For the phone. And the walk."
"Anytime," Heeseung said. He stayed on the railing, looking down at you. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to tell you that he was right there. He wanted to tell you he was sorry for flaking.
But he just gave you a two-finger salute. "Sleep well, sweetheart. And stay away from the edges."
He shot a web at the top of the building and swung away before you could say anything else. He didn't look back until he was three roofs away.
He landed on a ledge, ripping the mask off his face. His skin was cold, but his cheeks were burning. He leaned his head against the brick wall, his heart racing.
He loved it. He loved the way you looked at him. He loved the way you laughed at his jokes. He loved being the guy who could make you blush.
And he hated it.
He hated that he had to hide behind a mask to get you to notice him. He hated that he was jealous of his own shadow. He hated that the version of him you liked wasn't the version that had to sit next to you in class and pretend he didn't care.
"How was the walk?" Jake’s voice came through the comms. He’d clearly been listening.
"Shut up," Heeseung said, his voice cracking.
"You called her sweetheart, Hee. That was bold. A little cheesy, but bold."
"I'm going home, Jake."
"Yeah, yeah. See you at the dorm, lover boy."
Heeseung stuffed the mask into his bag and started the long walk back. He felt like a fraud. He felt like a hero. But mostly, he just felt like a guy who was falling deeper and deeper into a hole he didn't know how to climb out of.
He looked up at your window as he passed your building. The light was on.
He wondered if you were thinking about the hero. He wondered if you were still mad at the guy.
He didn't have the answer. He just had a bruised rib and a secret that was getting heavier with every swing. He walked into the shadows of his own dorm, the ghost returning to his grave, while the hero stayed tucked away in a backpack, waiting for the next time gravity tried to take something precious away.
The gym was a cavern of echoes, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a basketball competing with the squeak of sneakers against the polished wood. Heeseung sat on the bleachers, shoulders hunched, feeling like he was vibrating out of his skin. He was only here because Jake had insisted he needed "human interaction" that didn't involve soldering irons or police scanners, but as usual, Heeseung felt more like a ghost than a person.
"You look like you’re waiting for a root canal," Yunjin said, nudging his shoulder.
Heeseung blinked, shaking himself out of his trance. Yunjin was sitting next to him, her eyes glued to the court where Soobin, her boyfriend, was currently setting up a three-pointer. She looked perfectly comfortable, her legs crossed, a relaxed smile on her face.
"I’m just tired," Heeseung muttered, pulling the strings of his hoodie until the fabric partially obscured his face. It was his default defense mechanism.
"You’re always tired, Hee. It’s your brand," she teased, but her attention quickly snapped back to the game as Soobin made the shot. She let out a loud whistle that echoed through the high-ceilinged room. "Nice one, babe!"
Heeseung looked down at the court. It was a heated game of pickup. Soobin was holding his own, and Jay—always the most charismatic and driven of the bunch—was leading the flow with a bold, effortless energy that Heeseung secretly envied. Then there was Riki.
Riki was a sophomore, like you. Even though he was a year younger than the rest of the group, he moved like a blur of sheer, terrifying talent. He played with a professional level of focus, his eyes sharp as he navigated the court.
Heeseung watched them move, his brain unconsciously tracking their trajectories, calculating the force needed for a jump. It was an engineering habit, but also a survival one. He knew exactly how fast Jay was going to pivot before he even did it.
"Nice hustle, Riki!" Jay called out, clapping his hands together. He wiped sweat from his forehead, looking like he could go for another three hours. Jay didn't do anything halfway; if he was playing a casual game, he was playing it like it was the finals. "Riki, you’re dropping your shoulder on the drive. Keep it square!"
Riki rolled his eyes, leaning over with his hands on his knees. "I'm not dropping my shoulder, Jay. I'm just dying of thirst. I forgot my water bottle in the dorm and my throat feels like a desert."
"Determination, Riki! Push through it!" Jay joked, though he was grinning.
Riki checked his phone, which was sitting on the sidelines. A small, knowing grin touched his face. "It's fine. I texted for reinforcements."
Heeseung didn't think much of it until the heavy double doors of the gym groaned open. The sound of the basketballs hitting the floor seemed to sync up with the thumping of Heeseung’s heart the moment you walked in.
You weren't dressed up like you were for the mixer. You were wearing jeans and a hoodie, your hair pulled back in a half-up, half-down. You looked casual, comfortable, and devastatingly pretty in the harsh, yellow gym lights. In your hand, you held a large, bright red bottle of Gatorade.
"Reinforcements are here!" you called out, your voice carrying across the court.
Riki’s face lit up. He jogged over to the sideline as you approached. To anyone else, it might have looked like a romantic gesture, but everyone knew the truth. You and Riki had been friends since you were toddlers. Your parents were practically family, and the two of you had grown up like siblings—or even twins, given you were the two sophomores in a group of juniors.
You were each other's safe haven. He was the one person who could text you at 9:00 PM to complain about a water bottle and actually get a response.
"You're a lifesaver," Riki said, snatching the bottle and taking a massive gulp.
"You're a dork," you replied, reaching out to ruffle his sweaty hair, which he dodged with a laugh. "I was right in the middle of a movie, you know. I expect interest on this delivery."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll pay you back in snacks later," he said, already turning back to the guys.
The game didn't start back up immediately. The guys drifted over to the sideline to grab their own drinks, congregating near where you stood. Heeseung stayed on the bleachers, feeling his skin start to prickle. He wanted to say something, to wave, to let you know he was there—but he also felt that familiar, heavy shyness pinning him to the metal bench.
"Hey, look who showed up," Sunoo said, appearing from the other side of the gym where he’d been chatting with some other students. "The hero of the hour."
You laughed, leaning against the padded wall near the court. "I'm just the delivery girl. How's the game going? Is Jay winning by sheer force of personality yet?"
"Always," Soobin said, walking over to press a quick kiss to Yunjin’s cheek as she hopped down from the bleachers to join the group.
Heeseung felt like he was watching a movie he wasn't cast in. He stayed seated, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He watched you interact with them—the way you joked with Soobin, the way you easily matched Jay’s boldness. You were the glue. You always were.
"So," you said, your eyes shining with a sudden, excited energy. "Speaking of heroes, I have to tell you guys something crazy. You’re not going to believe what happened last night after I left Soobin’s."
Heeseung, who had been trying to look at his shoes, felt his entire body go rigid. He knew exactly what you were about to say. He reached for his own water bottle, which was sitting next to him on the aluminum seat, and took a long, desperate swig to keep his mouth from going dry.
"What happened? Did you run into a cat again?" Riki teased, leaning on his knees.
"No!" you said, swatting at his arm. "I dropped my phone. Like, right off the side of the bridge near the dorms. I thought it was gone. I was ready to cry."
"And?" Jay asked, crossing his arms, looking genuinely curious.
"And Spider-Man caught it," you said, your voice going a little higher in pitch. "I’m serious! He literally dropped out of the sky, caught it mid-air, and landed right in front of me."
Heeseung’s throat suddenly decided to stop functioning. He tried to swallow the water he’d just taken in, but it went down the wrong pipe. He erupted into a violent, hacking cough, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled the Gatorade you’d brought.
"Whoa, Hee, you okay?" Jake asked, looking up at him with a suspicious, knowing glint in his eyes.
Heeseung wanted to sock him in the jaw, but he couldn't answer. He just kept coughing, clutching his chest, while Yunjin patted his back with a little too much force. "Geez, breathe, Heeseung. The water isn't going anywhere."
Once the coughing fit subsided into a pathetic wheeze, Heeseung wiped his eyes and tried to look normal. It was impossible.
"You were saying?" Jay prompted you, completely ignoring Heeseung’s near-death experience. (Heeseung was grateful for this.)
"He was so... I don't know, charming?" you continued, your cheeks flushing. "He didn't just give it back and leave. He actually talked to me. He was so witty and cool. He even walked me to my dorm building. Well, he swung along the railings while I walked, but still. He was so smooth."
Heeseung felt a strange, conflicting surge of emotions. Half of him—the Spider-Man half—was incredibly proud. He’d done that. He was the charming guy you were gushing about. The other half—the Heeseung half—felt like he was being stabbed in the heart with a dull pencil. You were blushing over a version of him that didn't even have a face.
"Smooth, huh?" Jay said with a chuckle, bouncing the basketball once. He wasn't being mean, just his usual audacious, skeptical self. "The guy wears spandex and crawls on walls. He’s probably some theater major in a unitard who likes the attention. It's a bit theatrical, don't you think? The whole 'mysterious hero' act?"
Heeseung’s eye twitched. A theater major? He spent ten hours a week doing differential equations and another twenty recalibrating web-fluid viscosity in a basement that smelled like ozone.
"It's not an act, Jay," you defended, your voice firm. "He saved my phone. He didn't have to do that. And he was really nice. It felt... I don't know, real."
"It's a mask," Riki added, taking another sip of Gatorade. "Anyone can be 'smooth' when nobody knows what they actually look like. He's probably a forty-year-old dude with a receding hairline."
"He is not!" you exclaimed, laughing. "He sounded young. And he was... I don't know, athletic? Obviously."
Heeseung wanted to scream. He wanted to stand up, rip off his hoodie, and show them the bruise on his ribs. He wanted to tell Jay that a "unitard" didn't have reinforced carbon-fiber padding. But he just sat there, looking every bit as depressed as he felt. As one would feel after hacking their lungs out in front of their long-time crush.
"I think he's cool," Sunoo chimed in, always the one to support a good story. "He makes the city feel more like a movie. I’d love to meet him."
"You just want a selfie for your Instagram, Sunoo," Soobin pointed out.
"And? It would get, like, a million likes."
You turned away from the guys then, your gaze drifting up toward the bleachers. You saw Heeseung sitting there, looking small and rumpled. Your expression softened, and you walked over to the base of the bleachers.
"Heeseung," you said, your voice much gentler than it had been when you were arguing with Jay. "You’ve lived here longer than some of us. Have you ever seen him up close? Spider-Man, I mean?"
The group fell quiet, all eyes turning toward Heeseung. Jake had his arms crossed, watching Heeseung with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement. He was enjoying this way too much.
Heeseung felt the weight of everyone’s gaze. He felt your eyes—so bright and curious—waiting for his answer. He felt like he was suffocating.
"I... uh," he started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No. Not really. I mean, I've seen him on the news. In the distance, maybe."
"You don't think he's cool?" you asked, noticing his lack of enthusiasm. The disappointment in your voice makes him want to throw himself off the Lotte World Tower. Without his web-shooters.
Heeseung felt a petty, irrational urge to defend his civilian self. If you liked the hero so much, maybe you should know that the hero wasn't all that special.
"I don't know," Heeseung said, shrugging with a forced nonchalance. "I think he's probably... mid. Like, he’s just a guy doing his job, right? It’s kind of a lot of work for not much reward. And the suit is probably really itchy."
The silence that followed was heavy.
You looked at Heeseung like he’d just grown a second head. Your eyebrows shot up, and your mouth hung open just a tiny bit. "Mid? Heeseung, he saves people! He caught my phone from like a fifty-foot drop!"
"Yeah, but... he could’ve just used a net or something," Heeseung said, digging his own grave. "The swinging looks dangerous. It’s statistically inefficient."
Oh, God. A net? Really?
"Statistically inefficient?" you repeated, shaking your head. "You are such an engineer, Heeseung. Honestly, sometimes I think you don't have a romantic bone in your body."
You turned back to the guys, clearly done with Heeseung’s "mid" take. "Ignore him. He’s just being a hater because he’d rather be looking at a blueprint than a hero."
"Hey, I'm not a hater," Heeseung protested, but it was too late. The guys were already moving back toward the court.
"Back to the game!" Soobin yelled.
You stayed on the sideline for a few more minutes, chatting with Yunjin. Heeseung watched you from the bleachers, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed by a giant, invisible hand. He’d done it. He’d successfully annoyed you. You were currently thinking he was a boring, uninspired buzzkill, all while you were harboring a crush on his alter-ego.
Jake caught his eye from across the court and mouthed the word: Mid?
Heeseung flipped him off under the cover of his hoodie.
As the game resumed, the gym filled with the sounds of squeaking sneakers and the heavy thud-thud-thud of the ball. Heeseung tried to focus on the game, but his mind was spinning.
He was his own worst enemy. He was competing with a version of himself that didn't exist in the daylight. He was jealous of a piece of fabric and a pair of white lenses.
When the game finally ended an hour later, the guys were exhausted. They collapsed on the sidelines, panting. You were still there, helping Riki pack up his bag, still talking about the bridge incident to anyone who would listen.
"I'm telling you, his voice was so familiar," you said to Yunjin as you both walked toward the exit. "But I can't place it. It was like... I've heard it a million times but in a different context."
Heeseung, who was walking a few paces behind you with Jake, felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
"Maybe you should ask him for his number next time," Yunjin joked.
"I should," you laughed. "I wonder if he has a phone. Or does he just use a tin can and a web?"
The two of you disappeared out the doors, your laughter fading into the night air.
Heeseung stopped in the middle of the parking lot, staring at his shoes. The cool night air felt good against his skin, but it didn't help the knot in his stomach.
"You really leaned into that hater angle, didn't you?" Jake said, bumping his shoulder.
"I didn't know what else to say," Heeseung admitted, his voice quiet. "I can't exactly agree with her, can I? 'Yeah, I'm super charming and my voice is amazing.' That would be even weirder."
"You could’ve just said he was okay. You didn't have to call yourself 'mid'. That's a blow to the ego, man."
"It's the truth," Heeseung sighed. "Heeseung is mid. Spider-Man is the one she wants."
"She’s talking to you in class, Hee. She’s bringing Gatorade to your friends. She’s worried about your sleep schedule. She doesn't even know Spider-Man’s real name."
"Exactly," Heeseung said. "She likes the mystery. If she knew it was just me... the guy who chokes on water and talks about statistics... she’d be disappointed."
Jake looked at him for a long moment, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I think you're wrong. I think she'd be relieved. But you're too stubborn to see it."
"Whatever. I'm going to the lab," Heeseung said, turning away.
"It's 11:00 PM!"
"The web-fluid won't recalibrate itself, Jake."
Heeseung walked away, his shadow stretching long and dark behind him. He looked at the silhouette on the pavement—the tall, lean shape of a boy in a hoodie. It looked nothing like the hero on the news. It looked like a ghost.
As he reached the lab, he didn't turn on the lights. He sat in the dark, surrounded by the smell of acetone and chemicals. He pulled the mask out of his bag, the white lenses staring back at him in the moonlight.
"Charming," he whispered to the empty room. "Smooth."
He threw the mask onto the workbench and put his head in his hands. He was winning the war against crime, but he was losing the war for your heart—and the worst part was, he was losing it to himself.
He stayed there for hours, the only sound the distant hum of the city he was sworn to protect. He thought about your smile, the way you’d defended him against Jay, and the way you’d looked at him on the bleachers.
He wanted to be the hero. But more than that, he just wanted to be the guy you didn't think was mid.
And right now, that felt like the hardest mission he’d ever faced.
The university basketball arena was a different beast than the quiet, echoey gym where the guys played pickup games. Tonight was a legitimate campus event, and the energy was electric. The air was thick with the smell of overpriced popcorn, floor wax, and the collective roar of a thousand students who had nothing better to do on a Tuesday night than scream themselves hoarse.
Heeseung sat in the middle of a packed row of bleachers, and he was currently losing a very difficult battle with his own eyelids.
He had been out until 4:00 AM. A group of specialized thieves had tried to break into a high-end tech warehouse near the docks, and Heeseung had spent most of the night playing a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek among shipping containers. By the time he’d webbed the last guy to a crane and made it back to his dorm, the sun was already threatening to peek over the horizon.
He’d had exactly two hours of sleep before his first lecture, and the three cups of coffee he’d downed since then were currently doing absolutely nothing.
On his left sat you. You were wearing a university hoodie that looked slightly too big for you, and you were cheering with an intensity that made Heeseung’s head throb in a rhythmic, dull way. On his right were Yunjin and Megan, who were currently busy taking selfies and trying to spot Soobin and Jay on the court.
"Look at them! Jay is actually terrifying when he’s in the zone," Megan shouted over the noise, pointing toward the court.
Jay was indeed in the zone. He was moving with that signature bold, charismatic style, barking plays at the rest of the team. Riki, the star sophomore, was weaving through defenders like they were standing still, and Soobin was a literal wall under the basket. Jake was darting around the perimeter, his eyes sharp, looking for an opening.
It was a great game. A thrilling game.
And Heeseung was about five seconds away from passing out.
The roar of the crowd started to sound like a distant ocean. The bright, flickering lights of the scoreboard blurred into a singular, warm glow. Heeseung felt his chin drop toward his chest. He snapped his head back up, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the orange blur of the basketball.
Stay awake. Stay awake. You’re in public. You’re with her. Don’t be weird, he told himself.
But his body was done. Every muscle ached from the dockyard fight, and the warmth of the crowded arena was like a heavy blanket. His head started to nod again. It was a slow, rhythmic movement. Down... up. Down... further down...
He didn't mean for it to happen. He didn't even realize it was happening. But as his consciousness finally slipped away, his head tipped to the left. It drifted through the air until it found a soft, steady place to land.
Your shoulder.
You froze. You had been in the middle of shouting something to Yunjin, but the words died in your throat the moment you felt the weight of Heeseung’s head press against you. You looked down, your eyes wide. You sat perfectly still, your back as straight as a board. Your face was very warm.
You didn't move an inch, terrified that any slight shift would wake him up. You could feel the weight of his head, the softness of his hair against your skin, and the warmth of his breath through your shirt. It was the most domestic, heart-stopping moment of your life, and you were currently being broadcasted to the entire friend group.
Heeseung was out cold. His breathing was deep and even, his face finally relaxed and free of the stressed engineer expression he usually wore. Without the glasses and the constant look of worry, he looked... peaceful. Vulnerable.
Yunjin noticed almost immediately. She nudged Megan, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.
"Oh my god," Megan whispered, fumbling for her phone. "Look at the sleepy little guy. He finally crashed."
"Don't," you hissed, though you didn't move an inch. You were terrified that if you even breathed too deeply, he’d wake up and realize what he was doing, and the resulting awkwardness would probably cause him to flee the state.
"I have to," Megan said, her thumbs flying across her screen as she opened the group chat. "The guys need to see this. Heeseung actually chose a person over a nap in the library. This is historic."
Sunoo, who was sitting in the row directly in front of you, turned around with a devious glint in his eyes. He saw Heeseung slumped against you and let out a tiny, delighted giggle.
"Is he dead?" Sunoo asked, reaching out a finger.
"Sunoo, stop it," you whispered, trying to sound stern.
But Sunoo was Sunoo. He leaned over and very gently poked Heeseung’s cheek. Heeseung didn't even flinch. He just let out a tiny, soft sigh and tucked his face a little closer into the crook of your neck, seeking the warmth.
"He's definitely dead," Sunoo concluded. "Or he’s just really, really comfortable. Look at his face. He looks like a kitten."
Megan snapped a picture—the flash was off, thank goodness—and sent it to the group chat with the caption: rip heeseung. he’s never living this shit down!
You felt your face heating up. You could feel the warmth of his skin through your hoodie. It was a strange sensation—having him so close. Usually, there was a visible three-foot radius of complete secrecy around Heeseung, but right now, that wall was completely gone.
You felt a sudden, sharp surge of protectiveness. You knew how hard he worked. You saw the dark circles under his eyes in class, the way he was always the last one to leave the lab, and the way he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his back. You didn't know why he was so tired—you just knew that he deserved this rest.
"Leave him alone," you said to Sunoo, who was reaching out for a second poke. "If any of you wake him up, I will personally make sure you don't get any of the snacks I brought."
Sunoo pouted but retracted his hand. "Fine. But if he drools on you, don't say I didn't warn you."
You looked down at him again. His eyelashes were long and dark against his skin. You noticed a small, faint scratch on his jawline that you hadn't seen before. You wondered how he got it. He was always getting these random little nicks and bruises—clumsiness, he called it.
You leaned your head back against the bleacher, trying to stay as still as possible. The game continued below you. Riki made a spectacular dunk that sent the crowd into a frenzy, but you didn't jump. You didn't even cheer. You just sat there, smiling like an idiot, leaning into his touch.
It was a strange feeling. You were still thinking about the bridge—about the hero who had saved your phone and walked you home. He had been so smooth, so confident. And yet, here was Heeseung, who was the complete opposite. Heeseung was quiet, awkward, and currently using you as a warm pillow.
And yet, you found yourself wanting to tell the whole world to be quiet. You wanted the announcers to stop talking, the cheerleaders to stop dancing, and the crowd to stop roaring, just so he could get another twenty minutes of rest.
You found yourself shifting just a tiny bit, making sure he was as comfortable as he could be. You didn't care about the game anymore. You didn't care about the group chat or the fact that Megan was probably recording a video of the two of you right now.
You just cared about the way his breathing hitched for a second before smoothing out again.
Then, the buzzer for halftime went off.
It wasn't just a buzzer. It was a sharp, loud, electronic blare that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of your bones. It was designed to be heard over ten thousand screaming fans, and in the relatively enclosed space of the arena, it sounded like a bomb going off.
Heeseung didn't just wake up. He launched into consciousness.
His Spider-sense, which had been blissfully dormant while his brain tried to recover, suddenly screamed DANGER at the sudden, violent noise. To his sleeping brain, the buzzer sounded like a building collapsing or an explosion in the dockyards.
His body reacted before his conscious mind even realized where he was.
He jerked upright with such force that he nearly knocked you over. His eyes snapped open, wide and bloodshot, and his hands instinctively flew to his wrists, his fingers twitching in the specific motion used to fire a web-string.
"Who? What? Where?" he barked, his voice loud, jagged, and full of a combat-ready adrenaline that absolutely did not belong in a college basketball arena.
He scrambled backward, his sneakers squeaking against the metal bleachers as he tried to create distance from the "threat." He nearly tumbled over the row behind him, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard he was sure everyone could see his hoodie vibrating.
He looked around wildly. He didn't see a villain. He didn't see a falling crane.
He saw the court. He saw the cheerleaders starting their halftime routine. He saw a thousand students looking confused.
And he saw Sunoo, who was currently doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed so hard no sound was coming out.
"Oh my god," Megan wheezed, holding her phone up. "I got the whole thing. I got the jump-scare of the century."
Heeseung’s brain finally started to catch up with his body. The red mist of adrenaline began to clear, replaced by a cold, crushing wave of realization. He felt the phantom weight of your shoulder where his head had been just seconds ago.
He turned his head slowly, his neck feeling stiff and heavy.
There you were.
You were looking at him with a mix of genuine concern and a tiny, suppressed smile. Your shoulder felt suddenly very cold and empty, and you were still slightly tilted from the force of his sudden departure.
"Good morning, Sunshine," you said softly, your voice a calm anchor in the sea of his panic.
Heeseung stared at you. He felt like he was hovering about three inches off the ground. He looked down at his shirt, his hands trembling as he smoothed out the fabric.
"I... did I..." he stammered, his face rapidly turning a shade of red that was probably visible from the moon. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—was I leaning on you?"
"For about twenty minutes," you said, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. "You looked like you needed it. You were out like a light."
"Twenty minutes?" Heeseung whispered, horrified. He checked his chin, his hand frantically searching for any sign of drool. He had visions of a giant, embarrassing wet spot on your hoodie. He imagined the group chat. He imagined moving to a different country and changing his name to something like 'Evan'.
"You didn't drool, Heeseung. Relax," you said, noticing his panic.
"I... I'm so sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible over the music playing on the loudspeakers. "I didn't sleep much. I was... studying. Late."
"Must have been some intense studying," you said. "You jumped like someone had just pulled a fire alarm."
"I have a startle response," he lied, his heart finally starting to slow down. "Engineering stress. It’s a real thing."
"Sure it is," Sunoo chimed in, finally catching his breath. "Riki is going to lose his mind. He didn't think you were capable of physical contact with anyone other than a calculator."
"Sunoo, don't you dare," Heeseung groaned, burying his face in his hands.
But it was too late. On the court below, the halftime break had started, and the guys were heading toward the bench. He saw Riki grab his phone from his bag, look at it, and then immediately whip his head around to stare up at the bleachers.
Riki caught Heeseung’s eye and gave him a massive, theatrical thumbs-up, grinning like a maniac. Jay, standing next to him, looked at the screen, looked up at Heeseung, and just shook his head with a smile. And then there was Jake, with his eyes wide, like he was doing a double take. Right before launching into a fit of laughter, grabbing Soobin’s shoulder as to not topple over.
Heeseung wanted to vanish. He wanted to turn into dust and be swept up by the janitorial staff.
"They're never going to let me live this down," he muttered into his palms.
"It's just a nap, Heeseung," you said, reaching out and gently patting his arm. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him that was stronger than any buzzer. "It's not a big deal. Honestly, it was kind of nice to see you actually relax for once."
Heeseung looked at you through the gaps in his fingers. You didn't look annoyed. You didn't look creeped out. You looked... happy?
"You're not mad?" he asked.
"Why would I be mad? You're a good pillow," you joked.
Heeseung let his hands fall, his face still glowing pink. He looked down at the court, where Jake was now waving at him mockingly.
"I'm still going to kill Megan for taking that video," he said, though there was no heat in it.
"Good luck! I’ve already uploaded it to the cloud," Megan said, not looking up from her phone. "You’re a viral sensation in our circle now, Hee. Embrace it."
The rest of the game was a blur for Heeseung, but for a completely different reason. He wasn't sleepy anymore. He was hyper-aware of everything. He was aware of the inch of space between his arm and yours. He was aware of the way you smelled like cherries and laundry detergent. He was aware of the fact that for twenty minutes, he had been closer to you than he had ever been to anyone in his life—without a mask on.
As the final buzzer sounded—which Heeseung handled much better this time, only flinching slightly—the crowd began to pour out of the stands.
"We're going to meet the guys at the diner," Yunjin said, standing up. "You guys coming?"
"I think I should go back and actually sleep in a bed," Heeseung said, his voice a bit more stable now. "I don't think my heart can take another halftime buzzer."
"I'll walk with you," you said, surprising him. "I'm a bit tired too. All that cheering is exhausting."
Heeseung’s heart did a little flip. "You don't have to. You should go eat with the others."
"I want to," you said, and there was a finality in your tone that he didn't dare argue with.
The walk back to the dorms was quiet. The campus was cool, the air smelling of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke. For the first time, Heeseung didn't feel the need to fill the silence with technical facts or stammered apologies.
"Seriously though," you said as you reached the fork in the path where you had to head toward your building. "Get some sleep, Heeseung. You're working too hard."
"I'll try," he said. "Thanks for... you know. The shoulder."
"Anytime," you said, giving him a small wave. "See you in the lecture hall tomorrow? Try not to fall asleep on the professor’s shoulder."
"I'll do my best," he promised, face heating up.
He watched you walk away, the same way he had on the bridge. But this time, he wasn't crouching on a railing. He was standing on his own two feet.
He felt a strange sense of victory. Spider-Man had saved your phone, sure. Spider-Man had been charming. But Spider-Man had never felt the warmth of your shoulder or the way you had protected his sleep.
Maybe being Heeseung wasn't so "mid" after all.
He walked back to his dorm with a slight spring in his step, oblivious to the fact that his phone was currently vibrating in his pocket with a relentless stream of messages from the group chat.
He didn't care about the photos. He didn't care about the jokes.
He just cared about the fact that for twenty minutes, he didn't have to be a hero. He just had to be a guy who was tired, and you had been there to catch him.
He reached his door, unlocked it, and collapsed onto his bed without even taking off his shoes. As he drifted back off to sleep—this time a real, deep sleep—his last thought wasn't about web-fluid or crime rates.
It was about the way you had called him 'Sunshine'.
The night was quiet, but the air against Heeseung’s face was anything but calm. He was currently crouched on the side of a brick chimney three stories up, his gloved fingers finding purchase in the mortar. Below him, the university campus was a map of orange streetlights and long, dark shadows.
It had been nearly two weeks since the basketball game—two weeks since he had practically catapulted off your shoulder in a state of sheer panic—and the memory still made his stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip every time he saw you in the lecture hall.
He hadn't been sleeping much (which wasn't new). Between the mountain of engineering projects and the fact that a group of carjackers had decided to make the north side of the city their personal playground, Heeseung was running on fumes and caffeine. But tonight, his... patrol had taken a very specific, very intentional detour.
He shot a line of webbing toward the roof of your dorm building, swinging through the crisp night air with a practiced ease. He landed silently on a ledge just above the fourth floor. He knew which window was yours. He’d "accidentally" seen it from the ground enough times to memorize the position.
He crawled down the brickwork, moving like a shadow, until he was perched just to the side of the glass. He stayed in the darkness, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked inside.
This was not creepy, by the way. He was not being creepy. He was just a guy checking on his... friend. Or something like that.
The room was bright and warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold of the rooftop. You were sitting at your desk, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and highlighters. Your hair was up in a messy bun that looked like it was held together by sheer willpower and a single pencil. You were wearing fuzzy, light blue pajamas—the kind with little clouds on them—and thick wool socks.
Heeseung felt that familiar tug in his chest. You looked so normal. So safe.
But you weren't alone.
The door to your room was open, and he could see Yunjin and Megan in the common area, their shadows dancing against the wall. Suddenly, the two of them burst into your room, music blaring from a phone. They were laughing, doing some synchronized TikTok dance that involved a lot of arm-waving and rhythmic jumping.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands as they circled your desk, trying to get you to join in. Even from behind the glass, Heeseung could tell you were fighting a smile. You swatted at them with a highlighter, pointing toward your open textbook, but they just laughed harder.
Heeseung watched for a long time. He felt like a voyeur, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. This was the part of your life he never got to see—the messy, loud, roommate-filled reality of being a student. In the lecture hall, everything was academic and structured. At the mixers, it was crowded and overwhelming.
But here, in the glow of your desk lamp, you were just... you.
Finally, after one last dramatic pose that nearly knocked over your lamp, Yunjin and Megan retreated. He heard the muffled sound of your door closing as they headed out to the kitchen or down the hall.
The room went quiet. You let out a long sigh, rubbing your eyes before leaning back into your chair.
Heeseung waited a beat. Then, he reached out and gave the glass three soft, rhythmic taps.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
You jumped, nearly falling out of your swivel chair. You spun around, eyes wide, staring at the dark window. For a second, you looked terrified, but then you saw the faint outline of the mask and the flash of red and blue.
Your face transformed instantly. The exhaustion seemed to vanish, replaced by a bright, genuine light that Heeseung could feel even through the glass. You scrambled toward the window, fumbling with the latch before sliding the frame up.
"You!" you breathed, the cool night air rushing into the room. "What on earth are you doing here? I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
"And leave my favorite phone-dropper behind?" Heeseung asked, his voice tilting into that smooth, playful edge he only had when the mask was on. "Not a chance."
He hopped onto the windowsill, crouching there with his knees tucked to his chest. He looked around the room, making sure the coast was clear. "Are your roommates gone? They seemed pretty busy with... whatever that was."
You flushed, leaning against the window frame. "You saw that? God, they’re obsessed with that dance. I’m trying to pass my classes, and they’re trying to go viral."
"It wasn't bad," he teased, his head tilting to the side. "Though I think you could’ve handled the footwork better."
"I wasn't even doing it!" you laughed, throwing a stray eraser at him. He caught it out of the air without even looking, tossing it back onto your desk. "What are you doing here anyway? Isn't there, like, a bank being robbed somewhere?"
"It’s a slow day," he shrugged. It wasn't every day that the city was this quiet, and maybe he should've been at home, using this time to rest up—but it seemed like he could never say no to the idea of you. "Besides, I figured I’d check in. See if you’ve managed to keep your phone in your pocket for more than forty-eight hours."
"I have, thank you very much," you said, crossing your arms.
His lenses scanned you up and down, settling on the fluffy blue fabric of your outfit. "Nice pajamas, by the way. Are those... clouds? Is there a matching hat, or is that reserved for special occasions?"
You looked down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and smoothed out the fuzzy fabric. "They're comfortable! It’s cold in this building, and I have a lot of studying to do. Don't judge my fashion choices, Mr. Spandex."
"Hey, this isn't spandex," he countered, leaning closer into the room. "It's a highly sophisticated tri-weave polymer. Very high-tech. Very serious. Not at all like fuzzy clouds."
"It looks like you're wearing a unitard," you teased, echoing Jay's words from two weeks ago.
Heeseung flinched internally. "A unitard? Ouch. That’s a low blow. I’ll have you know this suit is aerodynamic. It helps with the swinging. Fuzzy clouds, on the other hand, probably create a lot of drag."
"Well, I'm not planning on swinging anywhere tonight, so I think I'm safe," you said. You looked at him, your expression softening. You reached out, your hand hovering near the edge of the windowsill. "You look tired. I mean, I can't see your eyes, but your shoulders... you look like you haven't slept in a week."
Heeseung felt a jolt of panic. Was it that obvious? Was his Heeseung side leaking through the mask?
"Occupational hazard," he said, trying to regain his footing. "The city doesn't sleep, so I don't really get to either. It’s fine. I’ve had plenty of... uh, coffee."
"You sound like a friend of mine," you said, a small, sad smile touching your lips. "He’s an engineer. He works himself to the bone. He actually fell asleep on me during a basketball game last week. I think I've mentioned him before," you hummed.
Heeseung felt the air leave his lungs. He stayed perfectly still, his heart thumping against his ribs. "Uh, yeah. I think you have. Sounds like a real thrill-seeker, this friend of yours."
"He's not," you said softly. "He’s quiet. A bit awkward. He called you 'mid,' actually."
Heeseung let out a dry, forced laugh. "Mid? Wow. Remind me to web his locker shut tomorrow."
"Don't you dare," you said, but you were smiling. "He’s actually really sweet. I think he’s just... lonely. Or maybe he’s just carrying something he won't tell anyone about. I felt really bad for him. He woke up so panicked, like he was expecting a fight."
"Maybe he was just embarrassed," Heeseung suggested, his voice dropping an octave. "Maybe he didn't want the girl he likes to see him at his weakest."
You paused, your eyes searching the white lenses of his mask. "The girl he likes?"
Heeseung realized he’d said too much. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight on the ledge. "I mean... lucky guess. A guy doesn't just fall asleep on someone unless he’s comfortable with them, right?"
"I guess so," you said, though you sounded a bit distracted. You looked back at your desk. "Anyway, I should probably get back to these equations. If I fail this midterm, my parents are going to kill me, and not even a superhero can save me from that."
"Right. Uni work. Nasty stuff," he said. He stayed for a few more minutes, teasing you about the way you chewed on your pencil when you were thinking, and listening to you complain about your professor. It was the easiest conversation he’d had all week. There was no stuttering, no tripping over his feet, no embarrassing himself.
He was smooth. He was the hero. He was the guy you were leaning toward with interest in your eyes.
"I should go," he said finally, standing up on the ledge. "The clouds are calling you, and I have a city to... not rob."
"Wait," you said, reaching out and catching the fabric of his sleeve.
He froze.
"Will you come back?" you asked. "I mean... I know you’re busy. But it’s nice having someone to talk to who doesn't try to make me do TikTok dances."
Heeseung looked down at your hand on his arm. He felt a wave of affection so strong it made his head dizzy. "Yeah. I'll be around. Just keep your window unlocked."
"It's a deal," you said.
He shot a web at the building across the street and leaped into the night. He did a celebratory flip in mid-air, the adrenaline of the conversation buzzing through his veins. He felt invincible. He felt like he was on top of the world.
But as he landed on a nearby rooftop and looked back at your glowing window, the feeling started to change.
He pulled the mask off, the cold wind hitting his sweaty forehead. He leaned against a cooling vent, his chest heaving.
The high was fading, and in its place was a sharp, bitter sting.
He thought about the way your eyes lit up when you saw the mask. He thought about the way you laughed at his jokes and the way you flirted back with Spider-Man.
And then he thought about Heeseung.
Heeseung, the guy who had sat next to you for months and barely managed a "hello." Heeseung, the guy who had finally, by some miracle, ended up with his head on your shoulder—only to ruin the moment by launching himself into the air like a startled cat.
You liked the guy in the mask. You liked the confidence, the wit, and the mystery. You liked the version of him that was a lie.
The version of him that was real—the tired, awkward engineer with the scratched jaw and the inability to talk to his crush like a normal person—was just a boring friend. You felt bad for Heeseung. You felt protective of him. But you looked at Spider-Man like he was something special.
Heeseung looked at the mask in his hand. It was just a piece of fabric, but it was a wall he had built himself. A wall that kept him safe, but also kept him out.
He imagined telling you the truth. He imagined landing on your windowsill and pulling the mask off. He saw the look of shock on your face—and then, he imagined the disappointment. The realization that the charming hero was just the guy who drooled in his sleep.
"She doesn't like you, Heeseung," he whispered to the night air. "She likes the suit."
He felt a sudden, irrational flash of jealousy toward his own alter-ego. He wanted to rip the suit to shreds. He wanted to be the guy who made you laugh without needing a voice changer or a hidden identity.
But he wasn't that guy. He was just a boy who was too afraid to be himself, competing with a shadow that he could never beat.
He put the mask back on, but the magic was gone. The suit felt heavy. That stupid fucking polymer weave felt like lead.
He turned away from your window and started the swing back to his dorm. He would see you tomorrow in class. He might sit next to you, and if he did, he would probably stutter when you asked him for a pen. You would look at him with that kind, pitying smile, and then you would probably go back to thinking about the hero who had visited your window.
It was a cycle he didn't know how to break.
As he reached his own room and crawled through the tiny gap in the window, he didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a fraud.
He changed into his own pajamas—plain gray ones, nothing as cute as fuzzy clouds—and climbed into bed. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from the group chat.
Heeseung turned the phone off and stared at the ceiling.
You had called him 'Sunshine.' Well, you called Heeseung that. But that one word wasn't the same as anything else you'd said to Spider-Man. He was the guy who had your heart, but he was also the guy who could never have it.
He closed his eyes, hoping for a dream where the mask didn't exist. But even in his sleep, he could hear the sound of his own heart beating for a girl who would never see him the way he saw her.
🏷️ ( third wheel ) : @imsleepingwhataboutu @rianzysworld
Drunk!Reader with Heeseung please please please I'm begging on my knees please please please please the jay and sunghoon ver were soooooo good I need a heeseung ver please I'm begging pleaseeeeeee
oh to come home drunk to hee </3
warnings: mentions of alcohol, established relationship, use of petnames, kissing, reader tries to escalate but— keyword: tries
heeseung hears the soft click of the door and immediately sits up on the couch, phone abandoned on the coffee table. it’s a little past 2 a.m. and he’s been waiting, half-worried, half-amused because he knew tonight was going to end exactly like this.
you stumble in, cheeks flushed pink, eyes glassy and sparkling under the hallway light. your heels are dangling from one hand, hair a cute mess, and the moment you spot him your whole face lights up like he hung the moon.
“hee!!” you squeal, voice too loud for the quiet dorm. you drop your shoes with a clatter and make a beeline for him, swaying adorably. “missed you so so much, baby.”
he stands up just in time to catch you as you crash into his chest. his arms wrap around you instantly, steady and warm, one hand rubbing your back while the other cradles the back of your head.
“hi, princess,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “having fun without me?”
you nod against his shirt, giggling into the fabric. “so much fun… but it’s better with you. everything’s better with you.” you tilt your head up, eyes wide and hazy, lips puckered. “kiss?”
heeseung smiles, soft and fond, and gives you a gentle peck. you chase his mouth for more, but he pulls back just enough, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“let’s get you some water first, yeah? come on, sweetheart.”
you whine dramatically but let him guide you to the kitchen, arms wrapped around his waist like a koala. every few steps you nuzzle into his side and mumble how warm he is, how nice he smells, how you love his shoulders.
heeseung keeps one arm securely around you while he fills a glass with cold water. he makes you drink it slowly, holding the glass to your lips, the other hand stroking your hair.
“good girl,” he praises softly when you finish half of it. you beam at the words, cheeks flushing darker.
“your good girl?” you ask, voice syrupy and sweet.
“always mine,” he answers without hesitation, kissing your forehead. “even when you’re drunk and wobbly.”
you giggle again, the sound bright and bubbly. suddenly your hands are roaming — sliding under his shirt, tracing his stomach, then up to his chest. “you’re so pretty, heeseung. like… unfairly pretty. it’s rude.”
he catches your wandering hands gently, bringing them to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “and you’re very drunk, baby. let’s get you changed and into bed.”
you pout but don’t fight him as he walks you to the bedroom. he helps you out of your tight dress, replacing it with one of his big soft t-shirts. his hands are careful the whole time — respectful, loving, only touching to take care of you. when you sway again he steadies you by the waist, murmuring, “easy, princess. i’ve got you.”
once you’re in his shirt you feel bold. you push him lightly until the back of his knees hit the bed and he sits down. then you climb straight into his lap, straddling him, arms looped around his neck.
“i want kisses,” you demand, but it comes out more like a needy mumble. “real ones. the spinning-head kind.”
heeseung laughs under his breath, the sound low and warm. his hands settle on your thighs, thumbs stroking gentle circles.
“if your head spins more you’re going to regret this tomorrow when you’re hungover and embarrassed.”
“won’t,” you insist, leaning in until your noses touch. “love you too much to be embarrassed.”
his eyes soften impossibly. he cups your face with both hands and finally gives you what you want — slow, deep kisses that taste like the strawberry soju still on your tongue. you sigh happily into his mouth, melting against him, fingers playing with the hair at his nape.
every time you pull back to breathe you giggle, forehead resting against his. heeseung keeps kissing you anyway — little pecks on your lips, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your chin. loud kisses that make you laugh even harder.
“my silly drunk girl,” he whispers between kisses, smiling so wide his eyes crinkle. “so cute when you’re like this.”
you bury your face in his neck, pressing lazy open-mouthed kisses there. “love you, hee. like… a lot. more than the stars. more than my favorite snacks.”
“i love you more,” he answers easily, rubbing your back in slow soothing strokes. “even when you wake up tomorrow and complain that the room is spinning and your head hurts. i’ll still love you when i bring you soup and painkillers and cuddle you all day.”
you hum happily, nuzzling closer. the neediness is slowly fading into sleepy affection. your hips shift in his lap once, more out of restlessness than anything, but heeseung just holds you tighter, grounding you.
“no more moving, baby. time to sleep.”
“but i like sitting here,” you mumble, already half gone, voice muffled against his skin. “you’re warm… and safe… and mine.”
heeseung’s heart does something stupid in his chest. he lies back slowly, keeping you on top of him, one hand cradling your head against his shoulder while the other continues rubbing your back.
“yeah, baby. i’m yours.” he presses one last kiss to your temple. “always.”
you fall asleep like that — sprawled on his chest, breathing soft and even, his t-shirt riding up your thighs. heeseung stays awake a little longer, just watching you, fingers tracing lazy hearts on your back.
“sleep well, my love,” he whispers into the dark. “i’ll be right here when you wake up.”
warnings. MDNI (there'll be a warning cut), heavy angst, alpha!jay being our target again i'm so sorry this is the last time i promise!, tw: nosebleed, softdom!heeseung because i love soft doms, p in v, fingering, missionary AND doggy because why not, unprotected sex (haih pls just don't), loss of virginity, nipple sucking, body worshipping, BITING, MARKING, BITE-MARK, heeseung cries a lot good lord but he deserves it lowkey, LIKE BONNIE AND CLYDE MAKIN' LOVEEE (insert hoonwon's voice), yes they make love your honour, and yes it's a happy ending your honour, not beta read we die like injang, tumblr pls stop with your 1000 blocks limit im gna come at you!!! lmk if i missed anything :>
word count. 15,175 words
note. i'm sorryyyyyyy for the delay sjshidshk here's the last part!!! thank you for showing this series your love and support <3
It’s finally the day of the competition.
Yet you haven’t heard from Heeseung for days.
You try not to make it obvious, nor to show how much you care. Not when Jungwon wouldn’t say anything either.
The younger alpha has been replacing Heeseung instead, walking you home while chatting about anything but the elephant in the room.
Or, in your case, the wolf in your universe.
There’s a lump of disappointment lodging in your chest whenever you think about it. You think that Heeseung has finally given up on trying to make up. You think that you’ve been too indifferent and unintentionally have pushed him away further than the two of you have ever been.
You don’t know why the thought makes you feel bitter.
“Our pitching is next,” Jungwon whispers next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You watch the group before you begin their pitching presentation.
In the first stage, the pitching was done in separate rooms to make it less time-consuming. But your group has advanced to the final stage, and now you have to convince five professionals from the business industry why your business idea is better than three other groups in front of hundreds of audience.
The image makes your blazer suddenly feel too tight around your ribs. You shift, trying not to think about the eyes watching every movement of the participants sitting on the far end of the stage.
Where the hell did this many people come from, anyway? You never see this crowd in lecture halls!
“Y/N. You’re nervous.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“Well, you don’t really smell like you’re relaxed right now.”
You purse your lips. Jungwon is right, of course, except you actually feel like your nerves are on the edge of bursting.
You’re not exactly good with stage fright. Especially in front of all these people whose names sound way too dramatic, like they don’t belong to the normal citizens like you. Their eyes are too penetrative, like they’re already figuring out every single doubt and nerves in your body, ready to tackle with impossible-to-answer questions.
You move in your seat again, trying to find comfort. But the seat is too hard for your tailbone. Beside you, Jungwon leans closer, speaking over the speaker blasting by your ears.
“Are you going to Jake hyung’s after party tonight?”
“His after party?” your eyebrows shoot up. Then you remember the invitation and something inside you sinks.
“Oh. Right. It’s his birthday today, right?”
And Heeseung must be there, you think bitterly, unaware of the withering daisies now wafting from your neck. They’re close friends, after all.
You don’t understand why, or you maybe actually do, but the lump in your chest only gets bigger. Really, you shouldn’t expect much by a man. They’ll always prioritise their homeboys over you in every way, your brain adds to the fuel.
Jungwon chuckles when he sees your frown, showing off his perfect dimples that could disarm any opponent.
Something clicks in your mind. Yeap. That’s right. You just need to force Jungwon to smile in front of the judges and surely—
“Relax, Heeseung hyung’s daisy. Look to your right.”
You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of his name finally being mentioned by the younger alpha, or the flutter in your chest at being called his daisy—but your head whips so fast in that direction, heart ramming behind your ribs.
Seated at the front row, standing out too much due to his handsome features and not-so-subtle hair colour, is Lee Heeseung. From where you sit, you can’t really make out his expression.
But the alpha is already staring at you, burgundy hair swept back neatly to expose his forehead. A small curve of his lips quirks up like he’s been expecting you to notice him.
You sit dumbly as he gives you a tiny wave, not sure what to do now that the alpha is actually here.
Here. To watch your group presentation and not there: To celebrate Jake’s birthday at his party.
For the first time in weeks, you feel your omega stirs and you almost choke.
“It’s our turn!”
You inhale sharply, snapping your eyes back to the centre of the stage. The previous group is already receiving applause and walking towards the other end of the stage to join the audience.
Okay. It’s actually your turn.
You feel sick to your stomach. You almost miss it when Jungwon nudges at you to stand, smoothing down his own blazer as he shoots you a dimpled smile. On the way to the centre of the stage, your mind is nothing more than a whirlwind of overthinking.
Trailing after Jungwon in your heels is nerve-wracking because what if you trip?
Bowing down to greet the judges and audience is scary because what if you lose your balance?
Staring back at the audience is distressing because what if they silently judge your makeup?
But all thoughts fly out the window when you meet eyes with Heeseung again.
As if the noise in your head suddenly vanishes, you can feel your frantic mind quieting down and your breathing, previously quite erratic, steadies without so much effort.
And it only happens when Heeseung holds your gaze, trusting and comforting all at the same time.
It’s like the stage was a tidal wave and Heeseung was the shore that keeps you safe.
Your omega stirs again.
Before you know it, Jungwon is already passing the mic to you. You take in a shaky breath, sweaty palms almost slippery, and imagine that every cell in your brain is filing up your speech in a neat line.
Despite your worries, everything goes well.
Your presentation goes on without a hitch and it ends exactly the way your best-scenario imagination does. You even manage to answer one out of five questions from the panel, and you can’t help the pride swelling in your chest when your group is announced as the first runner-up of the competition.
It’s a national-level competition, so being in the top three is already satisfactory for you and your group members, who were lowballing to only bring home participation certificates.
“First runner up is good enough! Congrats!” you squeal, almost hugging Jungwon in your excitement. The alpha dodges you as if you were a bullet, eyes darting to somewhere behind your head.
“Hey. You dodged my hug,” you huff.
“I have no intention to challenge a dominant alpha,” Jungwon gives you a teasing smile and wiggles his eyebrows. You raise yours, and before you can ask what he means by that, Jungwon is already raising his hand and waving at someone.
“Heeseung hyung! Your daisy is here!”
Your daisy. Heeseung hyung’s daisy.
His daisy.
Crimson red blooms across your cheeks, and your heart decides to skip a few beats you think it’s going to fall to the floor from how fast it's pounding.
Jungwon is fast to grab your shoulders and turn you around, like a proud parent introducing their child to their conglomerate friends. Your protest dies in your throat once your eyes settle on Heeseung’s approaching figure.
He’s donning a white dress shirt with slightly rolled-up sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms and athin silver bracelet. A dark gray vest, tailored and buttoned neatly hugs his frame snugly, showing off his narrow waist. There’s a big bouquet of pink roses held close to his chest, handled delicately like it’s something sacred.
His eyes, round and soft around the edges, are already trained on you. A wide smile curves up his lips, charming and disarming you’re sure the omegas around you are stealing glances.
Inside, your omega stirs again.
“Hi, Y/N.” He holds out the bouquet to you, his smiling turning shy. “For you.”
You take it slowly, admiring the beautiful petals. There are tiny daisies filling up the spaces between the roses and you feel something tug at your heartstring.
“Thank you, Heeseung. How’ve you been?”
Closer, only now do you notice the lack of colour in his face. His cheeks are losing its radiant flush, and his lips are void of its usual pinkish hue. There’s a slight delay before he responds and his smile comes slower than usual.
Something feels off. Not obvious enough to name, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.
As if noticing your stare, Heeseung tries to cover his face. He raises his hand and pretends to cough.
“I was quite sick,” he says after a moment, trying to sound casual. He gives you a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry that I didn’t show up without any updates.”
“It’s okay,” you softly say. You don’t know if it’s truly okay, though, because now your heart thinks that there’s something wrong.
Is he hiding something from you?
“I came to see you,” he says, like it’s the only place he’s ever meant to be. “I didn’t want to miss it. Congratulations, Y/N.”
He really came for you. Not for Jungwon or anyone. Not to Jake or anyone. But for you.
You can faintly hear your omega murmuring something, but your racing heart is louder than any noise in your head.
You’re about to reply when Jungwon inserts himself into the conversation, announcing his presence like a royal entering a ball.
“Thank you, hyung! I know we were great.” Jungwon says way too loudly, forcing Heeseung to shake hands with him. You let out a laugh while Heeseung only rolls his eyes.
“You too, Jungwon.”
“Anyway, why don’t we take a picture?” Jungwon, ever the trusted wingman, wiggles an eyebrow at Heeseung, hoping that you won’t notice. You actually do, but for some reason, you don’t say anything against it.
Heeseung studies your face. “Can I take a picture with you, Y/N?”
You hesitate for a second, heat sweeping across your cheeks before you nod. “Sure.”
Jungwon instantly pushes you in Heeseung’s direction. The dominant alpha, not expecting his accomplice to take such a bold move, catches you by the elbows instinctively. His fast reflexes are proving to be useful in the situation.
“Okay, look at the camera. Y/N, don’t be so stiff!”
Jungwon, that menace. One of these days you’re gonna beat his ass for sure.
“Heeseung hyung, is that a GDP gap? Get closer!”
“I’m sorry about him,” Heeseung whispers into your ears and chuckles breathily. Something kicks in your heart. “He’s a bit annoying, right?”
You just cannot hold your tongue. “He is, and I had to stick around with him when you weren’t around,” you catch yourself saying and silently curse yourself. Beside you, Heeseung stills for a second.
Why are you already whining to him? Fuck these stupid feelings, man. You’re still mad at him!
But Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grin only gets wider. He leans down further, hot breath brushing against the shell of your ears.
“I’ll keep trying,” he murmurs, edged with his usual determination. “Even if you don’t let me.”
You try not to notice that Jungwon has been silently snapping the candid moments. You also try to ignore the way your heart beats like a war drum. You try not to think too much about the manly pheromones coming from Heeseung—the cinnamon and sea salt that are awakening old memories, and the way his taller shoulder brushes yours.
“On three!” Jungwon interrupts, a boyish smirk on his face. You quickly clear your throat and smile at the camera.
“Two!”
Heeseung’s left shoulder bumps into you softly from behind, angling his body to face you. His hand hovers a safe distance from the back of your waist, not touching you even by accident like he’s afraid even that would be too much.
“One!”
As the flash goes off and you hold the bouquet dearly to your chest, you quietly wonder when it stopped hurting so much.
The next morning, you’re awakened by the sound of Yujin squealing and thumping on your door.
“Y/N! Get your fucking ass out now!”
The urgency in her voice makes you jolt awake and scramble to your feet. With sleepiness still clinging to your lashes, you stumble to the door, mentally preparing yourself to punch a robber.
“Yujin! What is it?!” you ask, voice hoarse but still laced with panic.
“Did you already make up with Heeseung?!”
You pause and stand there dumbly, hazy mind slowly clearing up at her sudden interrogation. With the biggest question mark on your face, you blurt out, “Huh?”
“Heeseung posted you on his Instagram!”
“Huh?”
“Y/N! He never posted girls on his account!” Yujin screams in your face, looking more excited than ever. “Fucking hell, open your damn phone!”
Yujin rushes into your room, flipping your pillows where she knows you always keep your phone despite the electromagnet radiation that she warns you about. She unlocks the screen by shoving it into your bleary face and hits the pink-purple-orange gradient icon quickly.
“There!”
You blink the blurriness away from your eyes, adjusting to the bright screen in your face. Yujin waits impatiently, gauging your reaction with wide eyes.
On the screen is the picture you took last night. You haven’t checked the result yet because you were quickly ushered away to take group pictures with other participants after and by the time you reached home, you were out the moment your head hit the pillow.
But now, you realise, the picture turns out really well.
Heeseung stands taller than you, a close-lipped smile spreading wide across his face as he stood proud and protective beside you. You have a similar smile mirroring his, leaned into him in a way that hinted at familiarity and domesticity. The pop of colour from the roses makes the picture look more alive, and the colour filter he used makes it look almost nostalgic.
An ancient feeling, like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, blooms in your chest. You stare at the picture longer than intended, then read the caption he typed in cursive.
‘smarty daisy did it again.’
You re-read it once. Then twice. The soft declaration, the hints on intimacy makes your omega purr in delight. Nobody has ever called you daisy, especially their daisy, but here Heeseung is: calling you his daisy like he’s just found a new favourite flower.
“Yujin…”
To your surprise, Yujin replies with a sniffle. When you look up, her eyes are already glossed over.
“Yujin? Why are you…”
“I’m sorry I got emotional,” Yujin cuts in, laughing it off like a funny joke with a shaky voice.
“It’s just—I never met true mates. And while the circumstances between you two weren’t great, I’m just so glad that you have an alpha willing to amend his mistakes.”
You can already feel your eyes watering.
“Yujin…”
Yujin takes your hands in her hold and urges you to sit on the mattress with her. It’s silent for a moment, and you take the chance to stare at the picture again.
It’s an Instagram story, but there is already a long line of comments. You read through each one of them, curiosity getting the best of you.
narin.kim no fucking way
jakesimisimiya hey so u ditched me ON MY BDAY
jeyipark @jakesimisimiya talk to me i am his lawyer
just.jungwon cute cute cuteeeee wonder who took the pic tho
evanlee @just.jungwon she is cute
nishimurariki welcome to the simp club
sunooyaa it’s time to ask me if my back hurts from carrying this ship
Every comment makes your breath feel shorter. You try hard to bite back a smile and ignore the small flutter in your chest, not noticing the way Yujin observes everything. When she eventually speaks, her voice has dropped to a serious tone.
“Have you forgiven him?”
You tear your eyes away from your phone, taking a moment to reply. Then, with a shake of your head, you reply, “No. Not yet, I think.”
It’s not a whole lie. While the human part of you has already forgiven him, your omega is still giving you radio silence. But for now, you decide to keep it to yourself first—the way your omega has been more responsive these days, albeit slowly and slightly.
“That’s good,” Yujin nods. “Forgiveness should come from your heart. You shouldn’t force it just because you feel bad for him.”
The words land like a gentle reminder tucking you in a warm blanket. You don’t say anything and look back at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply box. The gears of your mind start turning, looking for a polite way to thank the alpha.
Then, softly, Yujin continues, making your head spin with the weight of her words for the rest of the day.
“But when it’s really time to forgive him, I hope you don’t run away from it too.”
You end up reposting Heeseung’s story and hide.
The attention is quite heavy for you, to be honest. You’ve never been the centre of that many eyes, not since in the backyard of Jake’s frat house.
You never dare ask Heeseung as well. A reply of, ‘Thank you Heeseung’ is all you can manage, keeping the rest of the sentence to yourself.
‘Why did you post only me?’
You’re not blind. You see the chaos he created from that single post. The notorious alpha who doesn’t do relationships, who always prioritises his friends over girls is suddenly skipping Jake’s birthday to see a boring competition and posting a picture with the omega he came for. You become a hot sensation overnight—people just can’t stop talking about it.
Because of that, thoughts about him become even more frequent and inevitably, your heart starts to melt at how persistent he is.
It’s been more than a month yet Heeseung doesn’t falter. He keeps choosing you in routine. He keeps choosing you in public.
And, apparently, he chooses you in private, too.
You don’t mean to overhear the conversation, really. You’re just leaving the restroom during practice break, about to have lunch with Rei when you see two shadows disappearing around the corner. Your heart almost stops.
Seeing Heeseung and Narin together brings back old wounds that almost makes you lose your mind. Your quiet omega has been tugging you to follow, to see what the alpha is doing with the omega that your wolf has marked with a red ink on her forehead.
So you follow them quietly, covering your scent gland with a hand in hope to hide your presence. With your back to the wall, you hold your breath as you hear the conversation between the two of them.
“—on, Heeseung. You left things unfinished that night.” Narin’s voice is the one you hear first, frustration spilling into her tone.
“I don’t intend to finish it,” Heeseung replies, always sounding calm and composed. It painfully reminds you of the talk you had with him after the tournament.
“Why? You always sleep with different people. Why did I never get a chance?” Narin scoffs, disbelieving. “And they've been saying that you’ve stopped!”
“I have. I don’t do that anymore.”
“Is it because of Y/N?”
Your ear perks up. Damn bro, they’re now talking about you. It slips from your mind sometimes, about how childish Narin can be. Something akin to anticipation builds up in your chest, waiting for Heeseung’s reply.
“Yes,” he answers, firm and fast. “I’m pursuing her right now. I hope that’s clear.”
There is silence from Narin, but the spike in her scent sours the atmosphere almost instantly. While you, well, you try not to feel so giddy about it.
“Are you stupid? Her? Didn’t she cut the—”
“What happened between Y/N and I is a private matter of our hearts. It’s not your business,” Heeseung cuts in sharply with a bite to his voice. Your omega shifts inside you. “Are you done? Because I’m leaving.”
Panic ensues in your system at the thought of being caught eavesdropping. Your mind scrambles for escape, so without thinking you almost sprint to the vending machine at the end of the hallway and pretend to buy a drink.
Acting like you don’t notice them while catching your breath proves to be the hardest sport for you yet. You stare blankly at the vending machine, unaware of the grape juice sitting right under your nose and fully aware of the manly pheromones approaching you.
Thank Goddess that he smells like himself only. You think you’re going to break down if Narin’s scent clings onto him.
“Are you thinking of a different drink?” Heeseung murmurs softly, standing beside you and mimicking you staring at the machine.
You steal a glance at him, feeling the movement of your wolf becoming more responsive and bold. Behind your ribs, your heart is galloping like a horse.
“No. I still like grape juice.”
“Mhm, okay,” Heeseung fishes out his wallet and makes the purchase like it’s routine. The impact of the can dropping can’t even beat the loud pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung opens the can with one hand.
“For you.”
“Thank you.”
You take it, fingers brushing his. You try not to overthink the sparks the touch sends to your system and quietly drink, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your face.
“Y/N, I have something to tell you,” he begins, this time sounding slightly nervous. “Narin and I talked just now.”
Oh. Okay. He’s actually coming clean about it.
You didn’t expect that at all.
You nod, still not looking at him. Heeseung takes a second to himself, like he’s plotting something, then before you know it, he’s already moving to stand in front of you, bending his body to be on your eye-level.
You almost choke and take a step back.
“Heeseung?”
“I need you to look into my eyes,” he licks his lips, holding your eyes with his intense gaze. “Because I need you to know that you’re the only omega I like and I’m pursuing.”
The sincerity in his voice is almost too much, but you find savouring it instead.
“And I made that clear to her just now.”
Is he trying to reassure you?
You search his face, and all you can see in those dark eyes is utter devotion and determination.
It makes your chest tighten.
“I’m serious, Y/N. I will keep trying no matter what.”
You can only hum and nod, failing to find your voice.
“Okay.”
Heeseung shoots you with a small grin and straightens up. He glances at his smartwatch and frowns.
“I have to skip tonight’s practice. There’s a meeting about the upcoming music festival,” he says, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. “I’ll find someone to walk you home.”
“It’s okay. I’ll use the Safe Night Walk service,” you politely decline, already sick of hearing Jungwon talking about his lifelong crush on some noona that won’t see him as a man every time he walks you home.
Seriously, you don’t blame that omega. Jungwon is really cute, it’s hard to see him more than a kitty cat.
Heeseung’s face, on the other hand, twists into confusion before a look of understanding crosses his face.
Safe Night Walk is a service provided by the omega activist club of your university. The purpose is pretty self-explanatory, where any omega who’d like to go home at night can request an alpha to keep them safe. It’s pretty well-known for how rigid the alpha selection process is, seeing as the new president of the club is the fiercest to hold the title yet, making the service the most credible it has ever been.
Which is probably why Heeseung agrees to it too easily.
“Oh, right. Jay also tried for the selection, but he never told me if he passed or not,” Heeseung pauses, pondering about something.
“Sunghoon also signed up for it and we know each other. Do you want me to contact him?”
You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get someone when it’s time to go home.”
It’s quite hard to convince the alpha that you don’t need his friend’s service, but Heeseung eventually relents. He gives you a fond smile, walking backwards and not breaking eye contact.
“Call me if no alpha is available.”
“Okay.”
“I will run to you in ten minutes. No—five minutes.”
Your heart stutters, but your face remains neutral. “As if you can do that.”
Heeseung grins. The easy affection etched in his features is almost too scary for you to bear.
“For you, I will.”
The shared apartment is quiet save for the track playing from his producer room. Heeseung lies down on his couch, staring at the ceiling in silence. His lyrics notebook sits idly on the coffee table, open and now forgotten. Outside, the rain pouring down does nothing to wash down his guilt.
He had lied to you.
He just came back from a doctor appointment, not a meeting about any festival. A checkup meant to follow up with his condition after the night he collapsed in Jay’s arms.
‘You only have two weeks to win the omega back. If nothing succeeds, you must cut the one-sided bond, Heeseung-ssi.”
Heeseung only wants to do one thing and cutting the bond is not an option.
It’s better for him to die being yours than to live being nothing to you.
“I’m sorry,” he quietly mutters to the empty space.
“I ran away again,” he swallows thickly. “I’m still the old Heeseung in some ways. I’m sorry, Y/N.”
The pitter-patter of the rain is the only sound he receives back, thickening the guilt spilling over his chest.
He grazes the scent gland with the tip of his finger. It pulses slowly, faintly, like a calm before a storm. A storm that is just turning the key and entering the door.
“I’m home,” Jay announces, toeing off his shoes. There are tiny droplets of rain in his hoodie, but that’s not what catches Heeseung’s attention.
It’s the scent that lingers in his citrusy pheromones.
Soft daisies and sweet honey—unmistakingly you.
Jay smells like you.
Something churns violently in his stomach.
Every silent breakdown, every secret insecurity of his best friend comes crashing down on him. His blood roars in his ears that Heeseung believes he’s seeing red.
In that one single sniff that he picks up with his sensitive nose, Heeseung almost thinks that the floor holding his weight is crumbling down.
He springs up to sit, eyes narrowing down in his friend’s direction. His alpha is already growling, ready to take the other alpha down in a fight.
Jay, still oblivious to the storm building inside the house, throws Heeseung a smile.
“Hee, just now—”
“Park Jongseong,” Heeseung starts slowly, trying to hide the hurt in his voice as he stands and approaches him slowly. “Why the fuck do you smell like her?”
Jay’s expression turns into confusion. He sniffs at the collar of his hoodie and—oh.
Oh.
Heeseung can’t stand the look of realisation on his face. It’s like being left out of something that should be his, something that only he should know and have. His chest twists sharply and before he can stop himself, he’s already shoving Jay into the wall, fists trembling with restraint.
“Jay,” he breathes out, his voice treading the edges of fear and heartbreak. “Please tell me why the fuck am I smelling Y/N on your right now.”
Despite his anger, Heeseung’s voice sounds way too broken. Anxiety cracks through his demeanour, and for a moment, Heeseung’s not sure if he wants to hear Jay’s answer. There is a thin veil of tears glossing over his eyes and his scent gland is throbbing violently, shooting pain all over his body.
It’s almost like he was back in the backyard, watching you scream in pain as you smelled another woman on him. Heeseung sobs, hating himself even more than he ever did.
Was this how you felt that night?
Jay claws at the hands around his collar, almost gasping for air.
“Heeseung—it’s not what you think—”
“Then tell me! Fuck!” he shouts, eyes pleading Jay desperately to prove him wrong.
The longer he smells the blend of your scent with Jay’s pheromones, the dizzier his head gets. His frantic heart is buzzing with the thoughts of being replaced, of losing yet another chance to make things right, of losing you.
His self-esteem, already in pieces since that tragic night, is filled with doubt and uncertainty to the brim.
Not you, please. Heeseung quietly prays. Please not you, Jay.
“I walked her home!” Jay yells, face red from how tight Heeseung’s gripping his collar. His wolf whines at the unexpected aggression from his closest alpha, confused and wounded from being treated like an enemy. “She used the Safe Night Walk service and I was one of the alphas on duty.”
Hearing that, Heeseung’s grip loosens a fraction, trying desperately to believe his friend.
“It’s raining so I lent her my hoodie.” Jay quietly mutters, losing the previous edge. There’s a look of hurt on his face now that he fails to mask. He searches Heeseung’s tearful face, dread growing in his chest.
Despite the aggression, Jay cannot find it in him to be upset when all he can see in his friend is fear and hurt.
“Please, Heeseung. I will never betray you like that.”
Heeseung bites his lips until it bleeds and finally lets go. Jay almost drops down to the floor, clawing at his throat for relief. His neck has turned deep red, bruised from Heeseung’s grip.
Heeseung is strong even when he never admits it, the dominant traits in him giving him the advantage when his wolf is riled up. Jay is lucky that Heeseung didn’t use his commanding voice—he would’ve been helpless if it happened.
But deep down, Jay knows that Heeseung would never do that to him. They’re best friends, after all.
The air is thick and heavy with a dominant alpha’s wrath. Heeseung doesn’t even realise how sharp his scent has turned until he finds himself struggling to breathe.
There’s a ringing silence between the two alphas. Jay is still on the floor, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to process. Heeseung, on the other hand, is on the verge of breaking apart.
Quietly, the alpha mutters an apology.
“I’m sorry.”
Heeseung leaves the house in a storm of cinnamon and tearful bergamot, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles.
He’s never felt closer to death than tonight.
You take your time with your skincare. Or rather, you’re actually zoning out while tapping toner into your skin.
Your conversation with Jay still lingers in the back of your mind.
“Thank you for giving him a chance, Y/N. I was scared that you wouldn’t.”
What would happen if you didn’t?
You sigh and stare into the mirror. You’re freshly out of the shower and in your comfiest pajamas, yet a hint of Jay’s pheromones is still there. It seems that the rain doesn’t wash it away; it only makes it stick longer.
Inside, your omega shifts uncomfortably, unsettled by the scent of the foreign alpha. You roll your eyes.
“I know you hate it, but it can’t be helped when we haven’t forgiven him yet.” You grunt, capping your bottled product. “I mean, I already did, but since you’re like, my other half, I can’t just—”
Forgiven.
The toner slips from your hand and clatters on the floor.
Your lungs freeze.
“...What?”
I want to forgive him.
Slowly, a habit that you’re already accustomed to since that night, you place a hand on your chest. Your omega’s presence is more tangible now, like she’s finally arose from her deep slumber.
And she’s finally talking to you.
“Are you sure?” you start slowly, not wanting to offend the fragile soul. “We can take more time, you don’t have to feel rushed—”
I want my alpha, Y/N. I forgive him and I hope you do, too.
Every word fails you in that moment. You stand alone in your room, with only your wolf as your lifelong companion. There’s a strange feeling in your heart.
“Idiot. I told you, didn’t I? The stubborn one out of the two of us is you.”
He hurt us badly, Y/N. Of course I had to stand on business.
“It’s better that you did,” you hum, finally feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. “Or else I probably won’t see this side of him and will only remember him as a bad alpha.”
Your omega doesn’t reply. In return, there’s a soft pulsing in your scent gland; something that hasn’t occurred in so long. You gasp.
But before you can process it, your phone rings, the noise slicing through the atmosphere sharply. You frown when you see that it’s your next-door neighbour, a fellow floormate that likes to borrow your detergent.
“Hello?”
“Y/N, oh my Goddess. Don’t come out!” she whisper-shouts, panic evident in her voice. “There’s an alpha outside of your door right now and he smells so bad. I think he’s dangerous. We’re about to call the security.”
Your heart drops. “What? Who?”
There’s a sound of movement and whispering before you hear a gasp.
“Okay, what the hell. It’s actually Heeseung and he’s crying,” your floormate says in disbelief. You, on the other hand, are in bigger disbelief.
Heeseung? Didn’t Yujin already let him know that you’re home?
Your feet are already padding across the tiles of your apartment, heart beating in your lungs.
“Y/N…I think you need to come out. He’s not moving at all.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
Your sweaty palm trembles at the doorknob. Heeseung’s pheromones, thick and definitely smells distressed—which explains why your neighbour said that he smells bad—seeps through the gap between the door and the floor. But he doesn’t knock, like he’s here only to feel your presence.
Your omega whines, restless from the distressed pheromones, eager to comfort. You take a deep breath before you yank the door open.
The scene that greets you almost makes you speechless.
Heeseung stands in front of you, head hanging low like he’s trying to make himself smaller. The hallways are filled with slightly open doors and heads peeking out; all the omegas and betas living on this floor are definitely curious about the distress-smelling alpha and his omega.
“Heeseung?”
He doesn’t respond at first. His breaths come out uneven—too sharp, too shallow—like his lungs have forgotten to work properly. For a second, you think he doesn’t hear you.
But then, he lifts his gaze slightly, holding back a storm behind his eyes as he looks into yours. His nose flares, and then his scent turns more sour.
“Heeseung?”
There, lingering too faintly under your body wash, your lotion, and your own scent like it’s already fading out slowly—is Jay’s pheromones.
Something finally shatters in his chest.
“You smell like him.”
His voice is grim and shaky, tugging at your heartstrings. You immediately know what he’s referring to and for some reason, an ugly feeling twists in yiur gut.
But before you can respond, Heeseung already drops to his knees.
A chorus of gasps is heard across the hallways. The bystanders are no longer caring about being seen eavesdropping. You think you even see a phone directed your way, but it’s the least of your concern now.
“Heeseung—”
“I can take anything you do to me,” Heeseung’s voice cracks, barely holding it together. “I can take any punishment you want to give me but not this.”
Heeseung cranes his neck. Trails of tears clinging to his lashes are falling his nose, his cheeks, the side of his face, down to the floor.
“Please, not him. Please—I beg you.”
His face crumples, like he’s imagining the sight of you and Jay together in his mind.
“I can’t—” his breath stutters, chest heaving like it’s caving in on itself. “I can’t do it, Y/N. I thought I could take it. I thought I deserved it, but—”
His fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, knuckles turning white.
“It hurts,” he chokes out, voice breaking into something almost unrecognisable. “It hurts so fucking bad.”
Your heart lurches.
Because you know.
You know exactly what he’s feeling.
The suffocating ache. The betrayal that sits in your lungs and refuses to let you breathe. The way your mind spirals, painting images you don’t want to see but can’t stop imagining.
It’s the same pain.
The same one he put you through.
Heeseung lets out a broken sound, shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of it.
“I get it now,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I get why you looked at me like that. I get why you—”
Heeseung cuts himself off. This time, a more pained, more broken noise slips past his lips.
“I get why you ended it.”
Everything hurts. His scent gland is angry red, throbbing endlessly like a sign of the real ending. His head pounds sharply and his lungs—oh Goddess, Heeseung can’t breathe.
His body sways. Instinctively, you crouch down to his level and catch him before he can fall. Panic fills up your system when a trickle of crimson blood starts peeking out of his nose.
No. No, please no. Not this again.
You cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks shakily. You turn your face and shout at your neighbour to call the ambulance or anyone—you just can’t let this happen.
You can’t let Heeseung go through the same pain you did.
“Heeseung, please don’t close your eyes.”
His head weighs heavier as he lolls forward, eyes almost snapping shut. You let his head rest on your shoulder, not caring about the blood now staining your shirt. Hot tears brim along your lashline.
“Heeseung, please—”
“Please forgive me,” Heeseung whispers weakly into your ears. The pain is unbearable, crushing his bones and penetrating his system like a sharp-end disease—an inevitable reaction from smelling another alpha on you.
So this is what you went through, he thinks wistfully. You must be in so much pain.
“Please forgive me, Y/N.”
“Where’s the ambulance?!” You finally break, cheeks wet with tears. Heeseung has completely gone still in your embrace, adding panic to your system. You reach out to hold his face.
“No, no, please.”
The lower part of his face is smudged red. His eyes close shut, still leaking out his tears even in his unconsciousness.
You let out an ugly sob, feeling utterly broken and scared.
“I forgive you, Heeseung. Please.”
You’re so fucking scared. Scared of losing yet another life you could’ve had when you were so close to having it.
Scared of not having the chance to love and to be loved again, this time with the person your soul chooses and not because fate says so.
“Please don’t leave me again.”
When Heeseung comes to, you’re holding his hands, zoning out.
There’s a distant look in your expression. A thin air of sad, wilted daisies lingers, no doubt wafting from you. His wolf, having just woken up like him, immediately shifts restlessly in his chest at the scent.
Your thumb brushes over his knuckles absentmindedly, tracing the veins like you’re memorising something before it disappears again.
He stays quiet, letting his eyes trace every curve of your features. The pretty slope of your nose, the soft swell of your cheeks, the petals of your lips. Then they stop at your puffy eyes.
Something inside him twists uncomfortably.
Why does he always make you cry?
You don’t even notice that he’s awake yet, too lost in your head as you stare at the beige wall of the ward. Not until he squeezes your hand back, eager and nervous to see if you’ll return it back or let go.
When you feel the grip tighten, your eyes snap back to him. And then, like a small win that heals something in his heart, you squeeze his hand back.
Heeseung almost breaks down.
“You’re awake,” you say in relief and move to stand. “I’ll get the doctor.”
Heeseung obeys, never finding it in him to go against your words anymore. But his hand never lets go. He savours every second that you let him hold you—the closest he’s ever touched you since the night he saved you.
He doesn’t let go even as the doctor does a checkup on him. The doctor comes in with Jay, who looks as disheveled as he is. There’s an awkward atmosphere between the two alphas, but neither dares to say anything and lets the doctor do his job.
He was unconscious for twelve hours, apparently.
“The scenting from your omega helped speed up the recovery process,” the doctor elaborates. Heeseung steals a glance at you, gauging your reaction, but your face remains neutral.
It’s no wonder that he’s been feeling at peace since waking up—you had been scenting him when he was out.
“You just need to stay for a blood test and then you’re good to go,” the doctor continues, flashing him with a reassuring smile.
Murmurs of thank-yous ripple in the room as the three of you watch the doctor take his leave. Shortly after, the tension returns, and it’s almost obvious to you that the suffocating air comes from the two best friends.
Jay shifts on his feet awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “I’m gonna grab us lunch.”
Which leaves him alone with you in the room.
Heeseung braves himself and takes a look at you, but you’re already staring at him. Your stare unsettles him, like you’re waiting for him to confess for a crime he didn’t know yet he committed.
“How are you feeling?” you ask instead.
“I—I think I’m good. Yeah,” Heeseung says quickly, a bit taken aback. He watches as you nod, then inspect his face by blinking closer, oblivious to the way he almost explodes from the proximity.
When satisfied, you lean back slightly, but still keep a close distance with him.
“Heeseung.”
The temperature suddenly drops, and the serious look on your face damn near makes him cry. Heeseung tries to mask his panic.
Did he do something wrong again? Fuck. He messed up, didn’t he?
“Hm?”
You take a shaky breath. “Jay told me about everything.”
Heeseung freezes. Everything?
Everything as in the fight that almost broke out last night? Everything as in how pathetic he is for you, which shouldn’t be so shocking or earth-shattering because he is pathetic and a loser for you?
Or everything as in his worsening health condition?
For a moment, you just stare at him. But the more seconds pass, the more obvious it is that you’re holding back tears.
“About the two options you had.”
Heeseung stops breathing. True to his speculation, it is about his health condition. About the fate that he has to choose, about the options that stand between mercy and cruelty.
“Why didn't you tell me? No—” you shake your head, your grip on his hand trembling greatly. His lips remain shut.
“Why didn’t you just cut the bond?”
The sadness dripping in your scent feels almost physical. You hang your head low, enveloping the two of you with the distressed scent of your pheromones. A low whine echoes in your chest, not heard but felt. Your omega is just as destroyed as you are, utterly horrified from the choice he made.
What if you never forgive him? What would become of him?
Heeseung brushes his thumb over your hand consciously, trying to seep his own calming pheromones into your troubled scent. It helps, he notices, as the tremble in your hands subsides, breath evening out.
Then, with a raw honesty, he answers.
“Because I didn’t want a life where you don’t exist in it.”
There’s a lump in your throat but you swallow it down, refusing to break now that you have the chance to understand. To understand the equally wounded alpha in front of you, flawed yet still trying.
“I know that sounds selfish,” he adds quickly. “It is. I was choosing myself when I said that.”
You shake your head, tears threatening to escape. “You could’ve died, no—you almost died, Heeseung.”
“I know.”
Heeseung doesn’t argue. He looks down to your joined hands, branding his brain with the image. A soft smile appears on his lips. He wishes he could hold your hands more often.
“I just…” he exhales shakily. “I thought if I let go of the bond, it would be like I never got the chance to love you at all.”
You squeeze his hand. Your alpha, you realise, is just as soft as you are. He’s always been. It was just misunderstood and misdirected—his flaws that almost cost you your life. You resented him for it, ran from him to avoid it, made it hard for him to save yourself.
But in the end, quietly, tenderly—you find yourself forgiving him.
You understand now; what he was afraid of.
For Heeseung who used to live in short-lived attachments and practiced detachment, loving someone would sound like a too-big responsibility for him. Too lost in his own fear—fear of loving someone so much they could have power over you—he made choices that hurt you.
It doesn’t justify his actions, nor did it undo everything. But understanding him softens the pain.
“You’re so stupid,” you finally whisper, but it breaks halfway through. Heeseung looks almost hurt from your comment.
“I already forgave you.”
His head snaps up but you don’t look at him.
You take your time to speak. “I already did for a while. I was just waiting for my omega to open up her heart,” you chance him a glance and smile wistfully.
“And she did just before you came to my door last night.”
A beat of silence passes by. Heeseung can’t seem to find his voice, too stunned with the sudden grace being granted upon him.
He searches your face. For any lies, for any possible fabrication. He’s desperate to know if this was all just fragments of his dream, if you were just a manifestation of his desperation to be forgiven.
But you’re real. You’re breathing, and you’re telling him that you’ve forgiven him.
“Is this…true?” he asks, voice sounding breathy. “Don’t forgive me just because you feel bad, Y/N. I can’t live with that.”
“No, you didn’t force me,” you shake your head, returning his gaze with built-up courage.
“You earned it.”
Your scent softens, sweeter now that you finally let it out. Like the anger finally loosens its grip on your chest, you can feel your omega melts, her walls crumbling piece by piece.
Heeseung stares at you, mouth slightly agape. The weight he’s been carrying finally cracks and finally, finally—breathing finally comes easy for him now that his chest loosens.
His alpha paws at him in joy.
“Thank you, Y/N. I—” his voice cracks, and so do the tears he’s been holding back. “Oh my Goddess—thank you for forgiving me.”
Heeseung hesitates before he slowly wraps an arm around your shoulder, gauging your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he pulls you closer and you let yourself fall into his embrace.
Heeseung buries his nose in your hair, and the familiar scent of daisies and honey and your hair wash only makes him sob harder.
“Can we try again? Please?”
You nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, smiling into the hug.
“Mhm. Let’s try again.”
Trying again with Heeseung is soft and gentle.
Heeseung doesn’t change. If anything, he becomes more present than ever. If there was hesitation in his action before, he seems more confident to initiate things now.
Holding hands when you’re together. Tucking your hair behind your ears because ‘it hides your beautiful face’. Carrying your bag before you can even greet him properly. Bringing you food and trying to bake, even when you receive complaints from Jay about his oven almost catching on fire. But honestly, out of every failed experiments he did in the kitchen, it’s his ramyeon that you love the most.
And you always get it for free, presented like a five-star Michelin with radish and perfectly-made half-boiled egg. ‘Girlfriend privileges’ is what Sunoo called it, as he and the other alphas eat from their cup noodles.
With forgiveness, conversations come easy. Talking about everything and nothing with Heeseung is like trying to map a land. You finally get to know the story behind his jersey number.
‘My mom always tells me that I’m her number one,’ he told you when you asked, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. ‘It sticks until now, but I know that he said that only because I was sulking about being the second son—they love my brother more, to be fair!’
You never thought that Heeseung could be cute and adorable. But the two now fit his description perfectly.
Sometimes, his old habits crawl back. Heeseung still finds it hard to tell you about things that bother him, still trying to run away from ugly emotions that make him feel vulnerable.
Just like right now, Heeseung is trying so hard not to pout as he watches his teammates grab a cookie from the Tupperware you bring.
When Riki reaches for a third, his resolve finally cracks and he slaps the alpha’s hand away.
“That’s enough, you greedy alpha. Shoo!”
You stifle a laugh, basking in the rare occasion where Heeseung shows his emotion almost openly like this. He doesn’t like sharing, of course, but he says nothing—which unsettles you a bit.
“Are you mad?” You finally ask after pulling him out for some privacy.
He doesn’t reply. Heeseung takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then shakes his head.
“I’m not mad.”
“Please tell me what’s wrong,” you coax him again, reminding yourself that Heeseung is still trying to unlearn some of his bad habits. “I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me.”
Heeseung gnaws at his lips and avoids your eyes. He knows, with a devastating resignation, that he could never refuse if he looks. So he doesn’t look.
But your scent does the same damage anyway. It’s sweet, it’s too intoxicating and Heeseung can feel himself melt even before he can protest.
He finally relents. “Okay,” he sighs.
Heeseung reaches out and takes your fingers in his, clutching at your smaller ones like a lifeline.
“Y/N…” he starts, contemplating his words, unconsciously pouting. “Can’t you bake only for me and not…share?”
You bite back a grin.
“See? It isn’t hard to tell me,” you squeeze his hand. “You can tell me anything, Heeseung. I will always listen.”
Heeseung gives you a pouty nod.
As for him, Heeseung thinks he was never happier than he is right now.
There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest every time he does something for you.
Be it walking you home, or waiting at the lobby of your apartment to walk to the campus together. Or feeding you food and having a can of grape juice always ready for you.
All the things he used to avoid—doing domestic things, having one person to devote all his attention and affection to—they become things that bring his heart at ease now.
And Heeseung loves being taller than you. He loves when you have to look up to talk to him, or the way you can easily hide your face in his chest when he says something corny. The way he can reach the higher shelf for you and become useful to you. He loves towering over you because every time he does it, he can’t help but notice the sweet spike in your scent.
You love it too.
Over time, the two of you get closer than ever. Every brush of hands, every bump of shoulders, every laughter shared—they only bring you back to him, and him to you. And slowly, like a prophecy finally meeting its destiny, the red thread finds its way back to you.
“Are you sure about this?”
You’re now standing in between his legs while Heeseung sits on the mattress of his bed, craning his neck to search your face.
Your fingers pause in his hair when you feel a faint pulse beneath his skin.
A reminder that he’s still hurting from the one-sided bond. A reminder of the weight of fate tying the two of you.
Heeseung could’ve walked away like you did. He could’ve defied his wolf and cut the bond. But he did nothing of those.
He’s still here, still choosing you in every way you keep choosing him.
“I want this, Heeseung,” you whisper back, carding your fingers through his burgundy hair. “I’ve never been so sure.”
One of the things that the both of you learn more about the relationship is the importance of the sacred bond. This time, you’re no longer running away or denying it—you and Heeseung take time to learn about its history, about the nature of the bond—and in your case, about how to fix the broken bond.
“It must come from your wolves,” you remember Jay’s mom saying. “And only then can you commemorate the bond and heal it for good.”
Commemorating, in this context, is to finally mate with your alpha.
It’s a big leap in the relationship, especially since you’re every way inexperienced. Heeseung knows this; which is why he never rushed you and let himself take the hit of the broken bond.
To the Goddess, without the commemoration, the bond is still considered one-sided. It results in Heeseung still experiencing pain from time to time and, after another nosebleed pre-game and out of care for your alpha, you decide you’re done taking your own time.
Your omega holds the sentiment as you, not having the heart to let the alpha suffer for your own sake.
Noticing your silence, Heeseung grabs your wrist gently and brings it to his nose. He starts nosing at the tender skin, pumping out his calm pheromones as he bathes you in his scent.
“Have you been with anyone else before?”
You hesitate. Then, with a shy smile, you shake your head.
“No.”
Contrary to your expectation, Heeseung stills immediately. His face crumples slightly and his phereomones—previously calming and comforting—suddenly takes a sour turn.
You frown. “Heeseung?” You hold his face, heart clenching at his trembling lips. “What’s wrong?”
When he looks up to you, there are silent tears spilling down his cheeks. It alerts you almost immediately.
“Hee?”
“I—” Heeseung takes a deep breath, but his lips wobble, betraying his effort to remain calm.
“I touched people like it didn’t mean anything,” his voice breaks. Heeseung closes his eyes, like the mere looking into your eyes was too much for him to bear. “And now you’re standing here like this is something sacred and I—”
When you understand what he means, you can feel your own heart breaking.
“Heeseung…”
“Why are you letting me handle something this—precious? I—I don’t deserve you, Y/N. I never did.”
“Please don’t say that,” you coo at him, wiping his tears with the pad of your thumb.
“I chose you knowing everything you’ve done,” you whisper. “Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re trying.”
Heeseung leans into your touch, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Like the warmth of your touch is the only thing that keeps him grounded. A comfortable silence falls upon you two, full of warm understanding and acceptance.
“Thank you,” Heeseung kisses your palm, long and gentle. “Thank you, Y/N. I mean it.”
A smile creeps up your face. You lean down to kiss his forehead.
“Come and sit here,” Heeseung pats his thighs. You pause for a moment, already getting shy from the proximity. But deep down, you can’t deny that you want this.
Slowly, you descend onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Heeseung pulls you closer by your hips, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle.
“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” then you pause. “I’m not heavy, am I? Are you comfortable?”
Heeseung hums. “Your weight is perfect for me, baby.”
The term of endearment makes warmth bloom across your cheeks. Heeseung gazes at you fondly, his nose already inching closer to where your scent smells the strongest.
He takes a lungful of your sweet scent—daisies and honey—and almost groans from the feeling of it. His favourite scent in the world. It’s been so long since he got to have you like this, so he keeps scenting you like he’s taking his fill.
“Your scent—you smell so good, Y/N.”
He lets his nose graze your scent gland. Once, twice, before brushing it with small, slow licks. You clutch at his shoulders, sparks bursting from the touch.
“Mhh!”
Heeseung trails up wet kisses up the column of your neck, dragging his tongue along your skin, savouring the soft gasps leaving your parted lips. His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging into your camisole while you try not to lose your mind over the foreign sensation.
Everywhere Heeseung touches with his lips is hot, sending strange, tingly feelings up your spine. It’s wet and it should make you recoil, but you find yourself loving it, already wanting more.
Heeseung stops when he reaches your lips, hot breath brushing against the soft pair. His eyes, now hooded and dark, are losing their round shape, like he, too, is already unraveling from just this.
“I’m gonna kiss you now, my daisy,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your parted lips, open and so inviting. Something churns inside your stomach, always keening when being called his daisy.
Then you nod, granting him permission.
“Please kiss me, Heeseung.”
There’s a tiny quirk of a smile, before he finally closes the gap between your mouths. He’s careful, caressing the plump of your lips with his own, tentatively and slowly at first, before he captures your mouth in his. You close your eyes.
Heeseung kisses you like it’s sacred. He moves slowly, allowing you to follow his pace and getting used to the feeling of his mouth on yours. It’s gentle and sweet. It’s everything you have imagined sharing a kiss with a lover.
His lips, soft and wider than yours, easily dominate the kiss with a flick of his tongue.
Your lips part in a gasp and Heeseung takes the chance to prod his tongue in, licking into every corner of your mouth like he’s been starved for you. You clasp a hand in his hair, losing your pace as Heeseung takes over.
With each passing second, the kiss turns into a needier one and you grow hotter. It’s messy now, with drool leaking down your chin and the noises you make getting louder. When you start to feel lightheaded, you tap his shoulders, lungs burning from the lack of breath.
Heeseung lingers for a second, as if he never wants to let go, before detaching from your lips.
He looks absolutely wrecked. His lips are shiny with spit, panting into your mouth like he needs more.
“Need some air?” he whispers, voice hoarse, caressing your waist tenderly. You nod, catching your breath before you lean in and try to kiss him again.
This time, Heeseung lets you take the lead, grabbing your hips tight enough to ground himself. You mouth at the corner of his lips, peppering kisses across the pinkish skin before he loses his patience and starts kissing back, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.
Pulling you flush against his own hips, Heeseung is desperate to feel you closer. The scent of his pheromones is taking a richer, darker tone, dripping with building arousal. He wants to stay like this forever—wants to memorise every taste, every curve of your lips, and carve it into his memory.
You’re unraveling just as fast. Driven by a deeper need to feel each other and more, you pool your arms around his neck and pull him closer, instinctively bucking your hips to soothe the ache between your legs.
Beneath you, Heeseung freezes. A strangled groan catches at the back of his throat, his fingers digging into your hips. His head is on cloud nine; he can’t believe you just did what you did, feeling his own lust slowly getting thicker.
Then, as if testing, you roll your hips again.
This time, the sound that leaves his throat is deep and ragged. Heeseung bites his lips, brows pinched together, his restraint visible through the veins popping in his neck.
“Y/N,” he rasps, voice strained. “Good? Comfortable?"
Your eyes, dazed and glossed over, look into his eyes and you nod. You move your hips again, chasing the delicious friction like a lifeline. “More.”
“Fuck,” Heeseung curses under his breath.
Wordlessly, he snakes an arm around your waist and flips your position. Your back meets the mattress before you can process it, the impact punching a breath out of your lungs. Heeseung hovers over you, chest heaving rapidly, heated gaze raking over your body like he’s already dreamed of this many times.
“Heeseung,” you sigh, lifting your arms to his nape, already hating the distance. “Want you closer.”
Heeseung thinks he’s still in a dreamland, because there’s no way you’re lying down under him, hair splayed like a halo, asking him for more. Your lips, kiss-bruised and bitten-raw from the previous makeout session, are parted in a soft gasp, looking every bit like his wet dream.
No. This is better than any of his dreams.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out as if he’s in a daze, a willing hostage to your magical spell. “Fuck, I just—I just love you so much.”
The confession lands like a feather drifting through the air. Your breath catches in your throat, searching for Heeseung’s eyes and almost tearing up when you see only devotion and sincerity in his gaze.
“Heeseung…”
“My precious daisy,” Heeseung lowers down and gives a smooch to the back of your ear. Your breath hitches. “My sweet, sweet honey.”
Another wave of heat pools between your legs. His voice—oh Goddess, his sweet and sultry voice in your ears, accompanied by such adoration is almost too much. You whine, clutching his shirt in a desperate grip.
“What do you need, baby?” Heeseung breathes hard into your ears, his own voice almost cracking from restraint. “Tell me, hm?”
“Need you to touch me.”
He barely stops nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. “Where do you need me?”
You grab one of his wrists and bring it to where you need him most. The moment his fingers touch your soaked sweatpants, Heeseung lets out a deep, throaty groan. He pulls away slightly just to catch the expression you make—mouth agape, eyes closing shut—as he presses a finger on your cunt.
“Here? You like it here?”
“Y-Yes—” You purse your lips, pleading eyes peering into his dark gaze. “Please—More, please.”
Heeseung holds back a smirk. “You’re so good to me,” he purrs, his alpha swelling with pride and arousal. “I’m gonna give you everything you ask for, hm?”
Heeseung slips his hand into your panties and curses out loud at the wet sensation on his fingers.
“Fuck, Y/N—you’re leaking.”
He props himself on one arm. His long, slender fingers stroke your folds, the wet sound of your arousal filling the room. You claw at his upper arms and arch your hips, letting out a broken breath.
“H-Heeseung!”
A deep growl rumbles in his chest. Heeseung leans down and peppers kisses all over your cheeks as he flicks his thumb over your clit. The high-pitched, whiny moan that you let out makes his twitching cock kick and drool, already begging to be freed.
“Does that feel good?” he rasps, nudging at your hole with the tip of finger. The tight hole is almost sucking his finger in, eliciting a breathless moan out of your lungs.
You nod frantically, desperate to feel anything inside.
“‘Feels so good, alpha.”
“Mhm,” he purrs, circling your gaping hole lightly, teasingly. “I’m gonna put it in slow and nice for you and you’re gonna take it, ‘kay?”
You suck in your bottom lips, heat pooling low in your stomach at the deep timbre of his voice.
“Yes. Please give it to me.”
Heeseung almost melts at the big eyes you’re giving him. He gives you a soft peck and speaks against your mouth, “Tell me if it hurts, Y/N. I will stop immediately.”
When you give him the green light to go, Heeseung slowly pushes his middle finger in, fighting back a loud moan at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He pauses for a moment, gauging for any discomfort in your face, and then starts pumping in and out gently when he sees only pleasure.
It feels strange and uncomfortable at first; having something inside you. But the subtle feeling of pain is slowly disappearing the longer he shoves his finger in. His thumb, eager to please you, keeps circling your swollen nub, adding to the building sensation in your stomach.
Before you know it, you’re already leaking out more slick. Your head thrashes to your left and right, breathy moans spilling out of your lips.
“Ngh—fuck—Hee—“
Heeseung forces himself to stay still; forces himself to breathe at the sight of you unraveling and so, so pliant under his touch, even when all he wants to do is ruin you. He inserts another finger, the additional stretch burns so good that you almost cry.
“Heeseung!”
The alpha lets out a heavy, ragged breath as his fingers skillfully scissor you open, willing your walls to loosen for him. His lips fall open as he watches you fist the mattress with a tight grip, eyes fluttering shut from pleasure.
Heeseung thinks he’s about to come just from watching your erotic expressions alone.
“Ah—ah—ngh!” You squirm and whine and writhe, throat scratchy from how long you’ve been keeping your mouth open.
Heeseung’s eyes darken as he takes in the way the straps of your camisole fall down your shoulders. The soft swell of your chest moves up and down in a rapid breathing, nipples peeking out just enough to tease.
Fuck—you’re a sight to behold.
He can’t think straight, not when every sense is filled up with your thick, heady scent. Your slick, where it smells the strongest, is now pouring out of your gaping hole in waves and drenching his fingers down to his wrist, making the tent in his pants tighten painfully.
“I’m gonna add one more—fuck,” Heeseung almost chuckles in disbelief at the way your body sucks him in. “Your cunt is a little greedy, baby. Might just take all my fingers in.”
You’re already a mess of broken moans and high-pitched, ‘ah—ah—fuck’. The sensation is becoming too much. You have fingered yourself before, but they don’t have the girth of Heeseung’s long and slender ones; reaching deep inside where you can’t get before, or the roughness of the pad of his thumb circling on your clit relentlessly—bringing you closer to the edge faster than you can think.
Heeseung can already feel it. Your greedy little hole is catching at his fingers even tighter, signalling how close you are to cumming. He leans down, latching his mouth on your neck and littering it with bruising kisses that are going to leave marks, increasing the speed of his wrist until your hips lift off the mattress.
“H-Hee—! I’m—God, fuck—“
“Give it to me, my daisy,” he whispers, voice hoarse and rough from arousal, thumb flicking faster. “That’s it. Give everything to me.”
Heeseung watches closely as you close your eyes and mouth falls open as you come, the erotica of everything almost makes his neglected cock bust out. A feeling of intense ecstasy floods your system, crashing through your body, slick gushing out in waves upon delicious waves.
The alpha slows down the movements of his wrist, thumb circling lazily as he lets you ride out the high. He’s already dizzy from your pheromones, so sweet and inviting, that he almost pushes you into oversensitivity.
He plops out his fingers and puts it into his mouth, tongue lapping at the nectarine of your slick like a thirsty dog. His alpha hums in satisfaction at the sweet taste of his omega’s come, all drenched and warm just for him.
“Fuck, Y/N,” Heeseung hovers over your body again, now kissing you hard in pent-up hunger. “I wanna eat you out so badly but I just can’t wait anymore.”
You hum into the kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. Heeseung parts for a moment, jagged breathing hitting your lips warm as he stares into your eyes. His gaze softens.
“Are you okay?”
You nod. “‘M’kay.”
Heeseung nuzzles his cheek against yours, hands sliding up and down your waist before slipping under your camisole and cups your breasts. You let out a half-shocked gasp.
“Can you take more, baby?” He murmurs against your ears, teetering on the edge of sanity as he listens to the sinful sounds leaving your mouth. “Can you take my big, fat knot this time?”
You can’t find your voice, too lost in pleasure as Heeseung kneads your breasts and plays with your nipples. Heeseung drags his tongue along your earlobe, desperate to hear you more.
“Look at these perky tits,” he says as he drags down your camisole, letting it bunch around your waist. His mouth gapes at the way the plump flesh spilling over his fingers, so soft and yielding. “Fuck—you’re so beautiful, Y/N, I will fucking cry.”
“Nnggh!” You cry out when he latches his mouth on your left nub. He sucks and grazes his teeth on your hardened nipple, never breaking eye contact, the wet sensation sending heat straight to your core.
“Hee!” Your hand flies into his hair when he sucks particularly hard at the bottom swell of your breast, marking his territory. His rough fingers fondle your right tit, rolling the perky nub with reverent attention that makes you clamp your thighs shut.
You squirm, feeling another pool of slick gathering. “H-Heeseung—!”
“Oh, fuck, baby,” he lets go with a pop, lips shiny and slick with his own spit. “Please say my name like that again,” he requests, simultaneously rolling his hips to gauge your reaction.
As he expected—your body, so sensitive and pliant in his hold—immediately writhes from the friction. Heeseung watches with awe, nose twitching as another wave of your scent floods the room, mixing with the sultry accent of his cinnamon and seasalt almost too perfectly.
“Heeseung!”
Heeseung feels so dizzy. His thoughts are only filled with your name, your voice, and your pretty, pretty face that contorts in pleasure when he grinds more. His crotch area is already so fucking wet from pre-cum and your arousal that he thinks he’s losing a chance at any decent and coherent thoughts.
He gives you another roll, and when the name that leaves your swollen lips comes out broken and high-pitched, Heeseung decides that he can’t take it anymore.
“I’m gonna fuck you now, my daisy,” he rasps, leaving one last mark on your cleavage before sitting up. He helps you out of your clothes, marvelling in the way your body trusts him completely.
You’re all soft lines and gentle curves. Heeseung loses his breath as he traces his eyes from the soft mounds of your chest—littered red from his markings, to the narrow pinch of your waist, and the flare of your hips. He caresses the flesh with his hands, gripping it like a love handle as he revels in the contrast of his tanned, big hands on your soft, unblemished skin.
And your pussy—fuck, it’s still glistening from your previous climax and his ministrations, and is now getting wetter under his heated gaze alone.
But it’s the look in your eyes that completely undoes him—pure trust and devotion only for him that he so damn near cries.
“So beautiful,” he praises again, unable to stop the word from flowing out of his mouth. He slides down his hands down your thighs, groping the supple flesh, almost moaning from the sheer softness of it.
“Every inch of you is perfect, baby,” he husks, intoxicated by your pheromones invading his senses.
You hold your breath, peering up at the dominant alpha through your lashes. In a moment of such vulnerability, your chest is filled with affection and trust only for the man now handling your body with care, as if your body was made of porcelain.
My alpha, your wolf purrs inside, heart pounding into your chest.
You spread your thighs wider, so inviting and pliant.
“Alpha,” you mewl, nervously looking up at him. “Please.”
Heeseung can feel his dick twitching from the sight alone. With a swift movement, his shirt is already discarded, thrown somewhere on the floor.
“Say it clearly, baby. Tell me what you need.”
Heeseung fumbles with the strings of his sweatpants as his hooded gaze bores into your hazy one, hissing when his aching cock is finally springing free from the confines of his pants.
You almost drool at the sight of his weeping cock, standing tall and proud against his abdomen. Its tip is angry red, leaking precum down the length of prominent, bulging veins. Your hole flutters with dripping need.
The words come out so easily now that your pussy is pulsing with an aching need to be filled.
“Please fuck me, Heeseung.”
Heeseung’s lips are bitten raw from restraint, his jaw tight as he forces himself not to move—not to give in to the urge to push forward and lose himself inside you. But before he can move to get a condom from the drawer, your hand snaps to his wrist, shaking your head no.
“Just—just do it,” you bite your lips trying not to squirm under his darkening gaze. “I want to feel you.”
It takes everything in him to stay still—to not reach for you, not pull you back, not ruin this by losing control. Heeseung looks for any doubt in your face.
“Are you sure, baby?”
“Mhm,” you tug at his wrist, guiding his hand to cup your pussy. Heeseung almost combusts right then and there.
“Quick, Heeseung. Need you here.”
“Oh my fucking God—” Heeseung curses under his breath, trying to remain calm. But his body betrays him, his muscles tensing, breath unsteady, as he forces himself to stay where he is.
He sits taller, his thumb rubbing your clit teasingly. His other hand strokes his cock lazily, flicking his wrist around the erection and hisses when more precum drools out.
The whole time, he doesn’t let go of your eyes, taking in every micro-expressions you make like a greedy man. You’re so sensitive, so expressive, and so, so wet—always so eager to shower him with more slick and more of your sultry moaning.
He aligns his cock in between your folds, grinding the bulbous head against your swollen clit. A choked moan escapes both of you, too fucked over the pleasure. Another gush of slick trickles down your hole, intensifying your scent.
“Heeseung—”
“Shh, baby, I know,” Heeseung coos at the tears pooling along your lashline. He reaches out to wipe it, torn between guilt and absolutely fucking pleasure that he feels from seeing you break apart at his hand like this.
“I’m gonna be gentle, yeah?” He rasps, still rolling his hips, gathering your slick around the tip of his cock.
He trails his fingers down your wrists before pinning them over your head, hovering over you completely like an eclipse. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, Heeseung finally pushes in.
He doesn’t move after that.
A broken breath leaves him, forehead dropping to your shoulder as if the effort of holding himself back is physically weighing on him. His grip on your wrists tightens just slightly, seeking something to ground him to the moment. Beneath him, you’re trembling from the mix of pain and pleasure, the latter outweighing the former.
“Y/N…” he exhales, voice rough, almost unsteady. “Look at me.”
There’s something in the way he says it. It’s not commanding or urgent, like he really needs to see you or he’ll fall apart.
You turn your head, meeting his gaze, your expression soft but overwhelmed, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing. It stings, but not enough for you to pull away. Heeseung did a good job at preparing you.
He searches your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him.
“Am I—” he swallows, jaw tightening. “Am I hurting you?”
You shake your head, even though the feeling is new, intense, more than you expected. But the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s watching you like this could fall apart at any second—it steadies you. Heeseung is so careful, so scared of hurting you that it almost makes you cry.
“It’s… okay,” you whisper, fingers twitching under his hold. “Don’t stop.”
His eyes squeeze shut for a second, like he’s bracing himself, like your trust is something he has to deserve in real time.
“Slow,” he mutters to himself more than to you. “Gotta go slow…”
He barely shifts, testing, careful, measured. Like every movement is something he has to think through instead of give in to. He sinks in another inch, mind floating from the tight sensation of your hole. A strained sound slips past his lips, low and wrecked, his control slipping just enough to show.
“God…” he breathes, almost shaking. “You feel—”
He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard, like even finishing that sentence would push him too far.
Instead, his hand comes down to your waist, grounding himself there, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin like he needs something soft to hold onto.
You can feel it—how much he’s holding back. Not just physically, but everything. The way his body tenses with every tiny movement, the way his breathing keeps stuttering like he’s constantly pulling himself back from the edge as he pushes inside, inch by inch.
And something in your chest tightens.
“You can move,” you murmur softly, a little unsure, but still wanting. Wanting him, wanting every side of him and not just this careful version of him.
His head lifts immediately.
“No,” he says, almost too quickly. Then his voice grows softer. “Not if you’re not ready.”
Your brows knit slightly, a small shake of your head.
“I am,” you insist, voice quiet but certain. “I trust you.”
Your declaration hits deeper than anything else.
For a moment, he just looks at you—really looks—like he’s trying to understand how you can still say that to him. Then his grip tightens again; a firm grip that anchors you to the moment.
“Okay,” he breathes.
And this time, when he moves, it’s still slow—but there’s something underneath it now. Not just restraint, but a crack in it. A quiet, dangerous edge that slips through no matter how hard he tries to hold it back.
His forehead presses to yours, breaths tangling, uneven.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, softer now. “Anything—you tell me, yeah?”
You nod, already clutching onto him, already feeling yourself giving in to the rhythm he’s so carefully trying to control.
God, Heeseung tries not to lose himself completely. Chanting ‘Go slow, go fucking slow,’ like a mantra in his head is proving to be the hardest test he’s ever been through.
But he still tries—even when it starts slipping crack by crack.
You can feel it in the way his pace stays measured, like every pound into your walls is a calculated move. It makes your heart flutter, really, but you want more.
You don’t know how to say it without sounding desperate, but your body knows you better. Instinctively, you clench around his cock. The action is not fully registered in your head until Heeseung’s rhythm falters.
“Y/N…” he exhales, your name catching in his throat like it’s too much for him to hold.
“More,” your fingers tighten around his arms, pulling him impossibly closer. “More, please.”
You tighten your walls again, drawing a shuddering gasp from him. His head drops forward as his control stutters, cock twitching inside you.
“Don’t,” he starts, half-warning and half-whining, “Don’t do that or I’m—”
You can’t stand it anymore. You meet his thrust, hitting his navel with yours, gasping because the sensation feels too good. A broken groan leaves him, deep and absolutely fucking wrecked.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, gripping your hips tighter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Heeseung kisses up the length of your neck, leaving more marks before he props his arms. When you catch his eyes, something flickers in that heated gaze, like his control is finally slipping away, snapping with the way he pistons his cock into you. You choke out a breath.
“Okay?” he asks, still worrying. You nod frantically, desperately.
“Yes—please—more—”
Heeseung does it again. Again and again and again until all there’s left is the sound of your broken gasps and the wet, filthy noise of his balls hitting your hole.
“Still—fuck—still okay?” he asks, voice rough, barely held together.
You can’t form any coherent thoughts, so you nod again, breathless and more certain this time. “Please…don’t stop.”
Heeseung lets out a curse, lifting your hips slightly before continuing pounding into you, faster and harder. A high-pitched moan rips from your throat, the new angle hitting the spot that has you seeing stars.
He watches your face, his own contorting in pleasure, setting a pace that has you blabbering out broken words and more drool.
You feel so full. His cock is so deep inside you, filling you up to the hilt. It’s a strange feeling, but it’s also so, so addictive that you just want more, more, and more. It’s the only thing you can ask for: “More, more—Heeseung—ah—please.”
Heeseung leans down, taking your earlobe into his mouth, alternating his pace between achingly slow rolls of his hips and harsh, sharp thrusts, whispering hotly into your ears.
“You’re taking me so well.”
“So fucking tight, baby, fuck.”
“My daisy. My honey. My everything.”
The heat in your stomach intensifies, building up like a tidal wave waiting to crash. Your nails dig into his biceps, meeting his heated gaze with your glassy one.
“Mate with me, Heeseung. Please.”
Heeseung almost stops, but you’re fast to hook your legs around his waist, urging him to continue. He continues with slower grinding, locking eyes with you.
It’s finally time to seal the bond for good. But even in the haze of pleasure and nirvana, all Heeseung cares about is your well-being.
“Now, baby?” he whispers in between thrusts. He catches your jaw in his hand, thumb brushing your cheeks softly. He knows it’s bound to happen tonight anyway, but if he can save you from the pain longer, he will. “It will sting, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”
You nod, never felt more sure than now. You lean up to kiss him, breath mingling hotly before you look into his eyes.
“I trust you, Heeseung,” you whisper back. You grind back into him, hips stuttering when his cock thrusts almost sharply into your cunt.
With broken gasps, you finally say it. “Please mark me yours.”
Heeseung almost tears up from the sheer weight of your words.
Trust. Yours. Mine.
Something that the old him would’ve never imagined wanting and needing.
But here, as your starry eyes gazing into his teary gaze, Heeseung’s never felt so full and complete. He doesn’t even know that he was capable of loving someone this much; of this overwhelming affection that he has only for you.
A single drop of tears slides down his cheek as he kisses you again, trying to convey his emotions into the sweet touch. You respond just as reverent, understanding him without words being spoken.
“Do you trust me?” he murmurs against your mouth. His hips are slowing down, getting lost in the warm sensation of your breath and your sweetening scent.
You give him a peck. “I do.”
Heeseung smiles fondly. He leaves one last kiss on your forehead before he sits up, pulling out of you at the same time. You almost whine at the loss of touch, but he’s quick to reassure you.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”
Then, with a dominating strength that makes your stomach flutter, he grabs your waist and flips you over. You arch your back almost instinctively, shoving your ass in the air. Heeseung groans, his alpha howling in pride at seeing his omega presenting like this. His jaw clenches from restraint, absolutely close to losing his mind over this sight of you.
His cock slips back in easily. Heeseung splays a hand over the skin between your shoulders, pushing you gently into the mattress.
You glance over your shoulders, wiggling your ass and pushing it further into his face. “Like this, Heeseungie?”
Heeseung bites his lips, mouth salivating from the sight. “Yeah, baby.” He is so fucking turned on. “I’m gonna move now, yeah?”
At the single movement of your head, Heeseung is already thrusting inside, barely holding himself back. The new angle gives more access to his cock to hit places you didn’t know exist in your walls, sending sparks of electricity to your nerves.
“Ah, ah—nnghh!! Heeseungie!”
“Keep saying my name like that, baby,” Heeseung drools over the jiggles of your round ass. He kneads the flesh with his thick fingers, moaning at the dimples his nails make by digging into it.
“So soft. So beautiful,” he grinds and rolls his hips, leaning down to bite down on your buttcheeks. You clench around him. “So responsive for me. God—you’re perfect, Y/N.”
“I’m—I’m close—”
“Oh, I can feel it, baby,” Heeseung grunts through his teeth. Your walls keep sucking him back in, as if refusing to let go. “I’m close too—fuck.”
Heeseung picks up his pace, his muscles flexing as he, too, almost reaches his high. He leans down, broad chest meeting your back and noses at your pulsing scent gland, sweat dripping down his chin.
It’s intoxicating, the way your scent blends in with his pheromones, like a perfect match made in heaven—which might not be so far from the truth. He is your true mate, after all, written in the prophecy for God knows how long.
He can feel how close you’re getting, your whining turning needier and messier. His canines sharpen slowly, readying himself to mark you.
You drool into the mattress, incoherent words leaving your mouth. The coil in your stomach tightens, so close to snapping, so close to bringing you over the edge.
And it’s with a flick of his thumb over your clit that you finally give. You go still, shockwaves of your release rippling through your body, pulling Heeseung with you as he cums, spraying your insides white.
Following his promise, Heeseung chooses that exact moment to sink his teeth in your nape, right over where your scent gland is. You yelp, body trembling from the intense feeling of pain and pleasure.
The feeling is otherworldly—like something inside you finally clicks into place.
A warmth blooms from where he’s marked you, spreading through your body in slow, overwhelming waves. It’s not just the sensation—it’s him. You can feel him in a way you’ve never felt before, like his presence has settled beneath your skin, threading into every part of you.
Your fingers clutch at the sheets, breath stuttering as something inside you tightens and softens. You feel complete, like the quiet ache you never noticed has finally disappeared.
Heeseung groans softly against your skin, almost like he feels it too—like the bond snaps into place just as strongly on his end. His hold on you tightens, not possessive, but grounding, as if he needs to make sure you’re real, that this is real.
He quickly laps at the blood and the wound, tongue gentle now, almost reverent as he soothes the mark he’s just made. His hips slow down, now grinding into you lazily to ride out the wave before you mewl from oversensitivity.
He pulls out after a while and gently turns you back to face him. As soon as he locks eyes with you, Heeseung’s composure breaks instantly, tears spilling down his cheeks. He catches your lips in a wet kiss.
“My daisy,” he cries, cradling your jaw and never intending to let go. “Oh Goddess—I love you so much.”
His voice, broken and gasping with gratitude and relief, moves your heart in ways that unravel you just the same. You kiss back just as hard, heart finally full and complete.
Your omega purrs in satisfaction, and to your surprise, you can almost hear another wolf echoing back to yours.
It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s Heeseung’s wolf—your alpha, finally and wholly yours.
Heeseung breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against yours. Your scent gland pulses, but this time, it’s gentle and grounding, like a mark of a new beginning; a bond now finally healed and sealed.
“Y/N,” he breathes out against your mouth. “Don’t get tired of me yet, okay? I… I cherish you so much. ‘I love you’ doesn’t feel like enough.”
You let out a soft giggle and pull him closer, sealing your lips with his again.
“Then don’t say anything. Show me, my alpha…show me that we belong to each other.”
As moonlight spills into the bedroom, a blessing from the Goddess for the mated pair, the sheets bear witness to the moment two fractured souls finally become one.
You wake up before Heeseung.
Trying to remove his arms from your waist proves to be a real challenge; the alpha refuses to let you go even in his sleep. You chuckle softly and plant a kiss on his forehead before slipping out of the blanket.
Standing on slightly wobbly legs, you drift into the kitchen, your throat screaming for water. You let the sunshine hit your skin, highlighting your afterglow, as you down a whole glass of water.
The house is quiet. Jay, with the intention to give the two of you privacy, has gone to visit his parents for the weekend. You silently thank him for it. You don’t want to know how awkward it’d be if he has to hear all the noises you made last night.
Just as you’re about to return to Heeseung’s warm embrace, your eyes catch a sign on another door. It’s located at the end of the hallway, a few paces away from Heeseung’s and Jay’s bedrooms. It’s almost unnoticeable, but the name on the sign is what intrigues you to go closer.
EVAN LEE
Evan? That’s Heeseung’s English name.
You know it’s an invasion of privacy, but your wolf is nagging at you to go. So, with almost zero reluctancy, you let yourself inside.
It’s his producer room, you guess, judging from the equipment filling up the space. You let your eyes roam, smiling to yourself when you catch random things that just scream Heeseung.
There are two frames of pictures hanging on the wall, one of his family and another one of him and Jay. The two looked younger, more reckless, a given when you notice the uniform they were wearing. High-school Jay with a neat shirt, tucked in and collar buttoned up while high-school Heeseung was missing his tie. They were smiling bright, already so handsome from such a young age.
You look at the random stickers on his PC—basketball, white cats, and alphabet stickers that are arranged into ‘NI-KI’.
A pair of headphones sit on the table, each ear decorated with different aesthetics. The left one is full of flowers, tiny stickers of ‘ddeonu’ are left as watermark, while the other is just one big orange cat sticker, and instead of leaving his name in a way that doesn’t stain, Jungwon actually signed with a marker pen.
You laugh, wondering what might be Heeseung’s reaction when that menace did that. It’s Sony, after all, and judging from the sleek design—it’s definitely pricey. But knowing how soft Heeseung is for Jungwon, he probably just let it slide because ‘Jungwonnie is cute’.
This room is so full of everything Heeseung loves. His passion for music and basketball, his affection for his close friends. A thought, not unkindly or bitter, crosses your mind: you cannot wait to leave traces of you here, too—something of yours, beside everything he already loves.
Just as you’re about to leave, something in the corner stops you in your tracks. It’s a notebook, hidden under a keyboard, like it’s never meant to be found.
You walk over and look at the notebook, breath catching in your throat when you read the cover.
For my daisy.
Is this for you?
With trembling fingers—a result from your pounding heart—you flip the cover. There’s handwriting, unmistakably Heeseung’s, filling up the first page.
These are my silent apologies to the girl I lost. I was too late to love you when you still loved me, but I promise myself that I will start and continue loving you, even when I can no longer hear your echo until the very end.
P.s. park jongseong stop making fun of me this will become a hit album TRUST!
Just like what the note has said, the notebook is full of song lyrics. Each line, each intended melody, each scribble left in the margin—every one of them is meant for you, intended for you, and just for you.
Your vision blurs, heart tightening so painfully it almost aches—because this wasn’t just regret. It was love. Quiet, enduring, and yours all along.
Heeseung didn’t know how to stay or to cherish—but he’s been unlearning every single bad habit for you. Through your resentment, through your tears, through your silences, until finally, your omega was willing to open up and give him another chance at love.
Your chest swells with affection and pride, echoing with only the name of the alpha.
You reach for a pen and flip back to the first page, leaving your first ever trace in his producer room.
p.s. i love you more, my cinnamon alpha.
andddd that's the end of it!!1 thank you once again and until next time <3
synopsis : living next door to lee heeseung has always been a nightmare loud, cocky, and impossible to ignore until one reckless night at a party leaves you waking up in his bed and running before it can mean anything you try to forget it ever happened, until two lines change everything, and suddenly the one person you can’t stand is the one you can’t escape.
pairing : basketball captain heeseung x neighbourf!reader
trope : accidental pregnancy + forced proximity
word count : 19.6k
warnings : heeseung is a an absolute asshole, accidental pregnancy, alot panic and guilt, abortion / termination discussion, fear of the future, alcohol use, one night stand, dirty talking, cursing, foreplay, dry humping, oral, drunk sex ( consent is present ) , unprotected sex, mild degradation, hair pulling, creampie
🗯️ JO’s NOTES < 🐻❄️ 3 ! : omggg finallyy juno part one is out, hope you have an absolute amazing time when reading. navi did the proofreading for me ilysmm <3333
The bass from the apartment next door was so loud it made your pencil roll off the desk for the third time tonight thump thump thump. Each beat vibrated through the thin wall like it was personally trying to ruin your life.
You stared at the half finished notes in front of you, frustration bubbling hot in your chest. Midterms were in two weeks. Two weeks and Lee Heeseung, the campus golden boy, basketball captain, and your personal nightmare of a neighbor was throwing another one of his legendary parties like tomorrow didn’t exist.
This was the nth time. The nth damn time since you’d moved in six months ago. With a sharp exhale, you shoved your chair back and stormed out of your apartment, not even bothering to change out of your oversized hoodie and sweatpants. The hallway reeked of spilled beer and expensive cologne.
You could already hear the chaos before you even reached his door. Laughter, glasses clinking, some girl’s high pitched giggle cutting through the music.
You banged on the door harder than necessary. It took a few seconds before someone inside yelled over the noise, “Yoo Heeseung! Someone’s banging at your front door!”The door finally swung open.
Heeseung stood there in all his infuriating glory tall, broad shouldered, black hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. His button up was half undone, revealing a silver chain that rested on his collarbones and a glimpse of toned chest. Behind him, the party pulsed with red solo cups, dim lights, and at least half the basketball team.
A pretty girl with long hair and a tight dress was pressed close to his side, her hand resting possessively on his arm. He’d clearly been in the middle of charming her into his bed by the end of the night.
The second his dark eyes landed on you, that signature cocky smirk curved his lips.“Hi, miss morals,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, like he’d been waiting for this exact interruption.
You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Can you turn it down? The music is too loud.”
Heeseung didn’t move. Instead, he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. The girl behind him shifted, clearly annoyed at the sudden attention shift, but Heeseung didn’t spare her a glance now.
“Miss morals strikes again,” he laughed, the sound rich and mocking. It sent an unwelcome spark of irritation down your spine. “What’s the problem this time, neighbor? Come to bless us with your righteous presence?”
“I’m serious, Heeseung,” you said, voice sharp as you folded your arms tightly across your chest. “Not everyone has the pleasure of partying all night. Others have to actually study to pass their exams whereas others can just have daddy pay for everything when they fuck up.”The words hung in the air between you.
Heeseung’s smirk faltered instantly. His jaw tightened, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. For a split second, something raw annoyance, maybe even hurt flashed across his face before he quickly shoved it back into that indifferent mask. His eyes darkened, the playful glint gone.
“Whatever,” he muttered, voice suddenly flat and cold. “I’ll lower the volume.”He said, “Thank you,” you replied curtly, refusing to let the small victory show on your face even though your heart was hammering.
Heeseung didn’t say anything else. He simply stepped back and shut the door right in your face with a firm click that echoed down the empty hallway.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the closed wooden door, fists clenched at your sides. The music inside dropped almost immediately, not completely off, but low enough that you could finally breathe. Muffled laughter and voices still filtered through, but at least your walls wouldn’t shake anymore.
“Asshole,” you whispered under your breath, turning on your heel and heading back to your apartment.As you closed your own door behind you, you leaned against it for a second, eyes closed. Why did he always have to make everything so difficult? Why did one look from him always manage to crawl under your skin like this?
You shook your head, forcing the thoughts away. Back to studying. Back to pretending Lee Heeseung didn’t exist. But deep down, you already knew tonight’s silence between you two had just gotten a little louder.
You were halfway through rewriting your notes when your phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with a new message.
yunjin : you know sunghoon righttt? he’s throwing a massive party after midterms and he personally invited me. pleeease come with me?? i don’t wanna go alone 🥺
You stared at the text, already feeling the familiar dread settle in your stomach. Another party of course. You typed back quickly
you : No thanks im good have fun tho
The two dots appeared immediately.
yunjin : babe come onnnn
yunjin : it’s after midterms!! you deserve to relax
yunjin : sunghoon’s parties are actually fun i swear
yunjin : there’ll be good music, free drinks, and i heard the basketball team is coming too 👀
You groaned, rubbing your temples. The last thing you wanted was to be anywhere near the basketball team especially not after tonight’s lovely encounter with their captain.
you : exactly why I’m not going pass
yunjin : please please please i really like sunghoon and this could be my chance
yunjin : i’ll owe you big time i’ll even help you study for the next round of exams i’ll buy you that expensive matcha you like for a month!!
You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip. Yunjin was relentless when she wanted something. And honestly she had been there for you through every late night breakdown this semester. Saying no felt a little cruel the pleading texts kept coming
yunjin : i won’t leave your side the whole night ( she is lying )
yunjin : we can leave early if you hate it , pretty please with cherries on top?? 🥺🍒
You sighed deeply, already knowing you were about to lose this battle.
you : fine, ONE HOUR that’s it if it sucks, we’re out.
yunjin : YESSSSS!!! you’re the best i love you so much
yunjin : we can dress up together at my place okay , see you tomorrow <33
You tossed your phone onto the desk and dropped your head into your hands. Great, just what you needed. Another night surrounded by loud music, drunk athletes, and the very real possibility of running into the Lee Heeseung again.
You glanced at the wall that separated your apartment from his. The music was still playing faintly, but at least it was bearable now. Just one party, you could survive one party right?
The next morning, the art history lecture hall was already filling up with the usual mix of sleepy students and last minute crammers when you slipped into your regular seat in the middle row.
The faint scent of fresh coffee and old books lingered in the air. Yunjin dropped dramatically into the chair on your right, her long hair still slightly damp from her morning shower, eyes bright with far too much excitement for a 9 am class.
On your left, Soobin settled in quietly, tall frame folding gracefully into the seat. He placed his neatly organized notebook on the desk and pulled out a perfectly sharpened pencil, offering you a soft, reassuring smile.
Soobin was always like this calm, steady, the kind of friend who showed up without making a fuss. He was the complete opposite of the loud, chaotic energy that seemed to follow Heeseung everywhere.
Yunjin, however, was already completely distracted. She was leaning forward, chin resting on her hand, openly staring toward the front rows where Sunghoon sat chatting with a couple of friends. Her gaze was soft and dreamy, a tiny smile tugging at her lips every time he laughed at something.
You nudged her arm with your elbow, voice low and teasing. “You’re oogling him again it’s getting embarrassing at this point.”Yunjin didn’t even pretend to deny it. “I’m not oogling, im appreciating art,” she whispered back, still not tearing her eyes away. “Look at him he’s literally perfect.”
Soobin let out a quiet chuckle beside you, shaking his head as he flipped open his notebook. “Sure ‘appreciating’ that’s why half your notes from last week were just little hearts around his name.” He teased her, to which she replied,
“Traitor,” Yunjin hissed playfully, finally glancing at both of you as her cheeks flushed pink. “You two are supposed to be on my side.”The light banter continued until Soobin turned to you, lowering his voice a little. “Hey, I heard there was a party at Heeseung’s last night, did you survive the noise?”
You let out a long, dramatic groan and slumped back in your seat, the memory of last night’s confrontation still fresh and irritating. “Barely. That idiot had the music blasting so loud my textbooks were literally vibrating on the desk. I had to march over there in my hoodie and sweatpants like some angry neighbor from a sitcom again.”
Soobin listened attentively, his expression patient and sympathetic. He never interrupted your rants or told you to just ignore it. He just nodded along, dark eyes focused on you, making you feel genuinely heard.
It was one of the many reasons you treasured his friendship he was thoughtful, kind, and never loud or arrogant for the sake of it. The polar opposite of Heeseung.
“And of course he answered the door half dressed with some girl hanging off his arm like a trophy,” you continued, voice dripping with annoyance. “Called me ‘miss morals’ like it’s the funniest joke in the world.
Then when I pointed out that not everyone has a rich daddy to bail them out when they party instead of studying, he got all pissy, sucked in this dramatic breath, and slammed the door right in my face. He’s such an entitled asshole.”
Soobin hummed softly, a small frown creasing his brow. “That sounds exhausting, you should’ve texted me you know, i could’ve come over with snacks and we could’ve studied together instead of dealing with his nonsense alone.”
You smiled faintly at the offer, warmth cutting through the irritation. “Next time, maybe at least someone in this building has basic human decency.”
Yunjin finally tore her gaze away from Sunghoon long enough to grin at you. “Heeseung’s just bored and likes getting a rise out of you if you stopped reacting, he’d probably get bored and stop.”
“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You don’t have to live next door to the human equivalent of a walking migraine.”The professor walked in moments later, cutting off any further complaints.
The next hour passed in a blur of projected slides on Renaissance techniques, quiet note taking, and the occasional whispered comment from Yunjin whenever Sunghoon shifted in his seat.
When class finally ended, the three of you packed up your things and joined the stream of students flowing out into the crowded hallway. The air was filled with chatter about upcoming midterms, weekend plans, and the usual campus gossip.
As you walked side by side, Yunjin suddenly looped her arm through yours, her excitement bubbling over again. “So, about Sunghoon’s party after midterms you’re definitely coming, right? And Soobin you should come too! It’ll be so much more fun with all three of us there.”
Soobin blinked, surprised, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Wait you’re actually going?” He looked at you, genuinely shocked. “I thought you hated parties, especially ones thrown by the popular crowd.”
You shrugged, already regretting your decision a little. “Yunjin begged a lot and guilt tripped me with matcha promises. One hour max, if it sucks, I’m dragging her out.”
Yunjin squealed happily and squeezed your arm. “See? She’s coming! So you have to come too, Soobinn please?”Before Soobin could respond, a familiar voice cut through the hallway noise from behind you.
“Can’t imagine miss morals at a party but I’m looking forward to seeing you there.” Your stomach dropped, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.
Heeseung was leaning casually against a set of lockers a few feet away, arms crossed over his varsity jacket, that signature cocky smirk playing on his lips. He must have overheard the entire conversation.
His dark eyes locked onto yours with clear amusement, like he lived for these moments of catching you off guard.
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. Heat crept up your neck partly from annoyance, partly from the embarrassment of him hearing your plans.
Yunjin stifled a laugh beside you while Soobin just shook his head quietly, a small, amused smile tugging at his mouth.
Heeseung’s low chuckle followed you as the three of you kept walking, but you kept your gaze fixed straight ahead, jaw tight. God, you really, really hated that guy.Midterms week stretched into a brutal two week marathon, and as an art curator major, you felt every single hour of it in your bones.
Your apartment had become a war zone of curated chaos towering stacks of books on museum exhibition design, printed slides from Art Conservation and Curatorial Practices, mood boards pinned to the wall for your upcoming gallery proposal project, and color coded flashcards scattered across every surface.
Late nights blurred into early mornings as you hunched over your laptop, drafting proposals for hypothetical exhibits while trying to memorize the intricate history of 19th century European collections. Sleep was a distant dream. Caffeine was your only reliable companion.
And then there was Heeseung.
He didn’t blast music or bring girls over every single night that would have been almost predictable. No, he was crueler than that. He chose random days, like he knew exactly how to keep you off balance, turning your already exhausting study schedule into a minefield of unwanted interruptions.
The first time hit on the second night of midterms. You were deep into analyzing a case study on museum ethics when the wall behind your desk started to vibrate faintly. At first it was just low music.
Then came the giggles two distinct female voices, breathy and flirtatious. Heeseung’s deep laugh cut through it all, followed by the unmistakable sound of bodies moving against furniture.
“Fuck, Heeseung you’re so good at this,” one of the girls moaned loudly, the words carrying crystal clear through the thin shared wall. The headboard started thumping a slow, steady rhythm against your wall rhythmic, insistent, growing faster.
You could hear the wet slap of skin, her exaggerated gasps turning into full throated cries every time he thrust.You yanked your noise canceling headphones on so hard the band dug into your temples, cranking the volume until classical music drowned most of it out.
But you could still feel it, the steady bang bang bang vibrating through your desk, through your chair, through your skull. Your cheeks burned with secondhand embarrassment and pure rage.
'Of course he’s fucking some random girl while I’m trying to memorize the difference between Baroque and Rococo curation techniques.' You thought bitterly, stabbing your highlighter across the page. Must be nice to have zero responsibilities except basketball and dick appointments.
It stopped around 2 a.m., but the damage was done. You only managed three hours of sleep before your 8 a.m. lecture.
The next morning, you were running on pure spite and too much coffee when you caught Heeseung in the hallway just as he was stepping out of his apartment. He looked annoyingly fresh — hair still damp from a shower, varsity jacket slung over one shoulder, that perpetual cocky smirk already in place.
You stopped right in front of him, arms crossed tightly. “Keep it down next time,” you said flatly, voice low but sharp. “Some of us are actually trying to pass our midterms instead of auditioning for porn.”
Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Aw, miss morals heard everything? Didn’t know you were such a light sleeper.” You glared at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Just tone it down, the headboard banging is ridiculous.”
He chuckled lowly, the sound sending another spike of irritation through you. “Noted.” Then he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Though from the sounds of it last night, she seemed to enjoy the banging.”
You rolled your eyes and walked away without another word, his soft laugh following you down the hall.The next disruption came four days later. A random Thursday when you had a massive group project due on modern curatorial strategies.
You’d just settled in with your laptop open to a half finished exhibition proposal when his door slammed open down the hall. One girl this time, but she was even louder.
The moment they got inside, the sounds started again her high pitched whimpers, Heeseung’s low, cocky murmurs “Yeah? You like that? Tell me how much you want it” followed by the unmistakable wet sounds of them going at it on what sounded like his couch first, then migrating to the bed.
The headboard slammed against the wall so hard your framed print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night rattled. Her moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure, each one punctuated by Heeseung’s grunts and the filthy slap of bodies. “Harder fuck, right there, Heeseung don’t stop—”
You ended up studying in your bed instead, laptop balanced on your knees, pillows stacked around you like a fortress. Headphones on full blast. Still, every thrust made the wall tremble.
Every moan crawled under your skin and made focusing on your notes feel impossible. By the time they finally finished (or at least quieted down) around midnight, your eyes were burning and your proposal was only half done.
You hated how your body reacted sometimes not with attraction, but with pure, simmering resentment that made your stomach twist.That same night, after the noises finally stopped, you grabbed your phone in a fit of exhausted anger and texted him.
you : keep the noise down, some people are trying to study for actual grades, not coast on basketball talent and daddy’s money
His reply came faster than you expected. A picture popped up first. A close up selfie of Heeseung lying in bed, shirtless, messy hair, lazy smirk on his face, with the caption
heeseung : sorry, miss morals hard to stay quiet when they scream my name like that
heeseung : next time i’ll try to fuck quieter or maybe you can just join and tell me how to do it right?
You stared at the message, face flaming with a mix of rage and disbelief. You immediately blocked the image from your mind ( and definitely did not linger on the way his abs looked in the dim lighting ) before typing back a single furious reply
you : delete my number, asshole
The worst random night came during the final stretch, just three days before your last exams.
You were pulling an all nighter on your capstone project a full digital mock up of a contemporary art exhibit you’d spent weeks perfecting when the noises started again around 11 p.m. This time it was two girls.
Their laughter spilled into the hallway first, then straight through your wall. Heeseung’s voice was low and teasing, the kind of filthy charm that probably worked on every girl on campus.
Soon the bed was creaking loudly, headboard banging in a frantic rhythm while both girls moaned in tandem one breathy and high, the other deeper and more desperate.
“Heeseung oh god, yes fuck me like that—” mixed with wet, obscene sounds that left zero doubt about exactly what was happening next door. The wall vibrated so intensely your coffee mug slid an inch across the desk.
You sat there in your oversized hoodie and sweatpants, staring at your glowing screen, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every moan, every dirty encouragement from Heeseung, every rhythmic thud felt like a personal attack on the one thing you actually cared about your future.
Your grades, your dream of curating real exhibitions someday. While I’m over here trying not to fail out of the only thing I’m good at, you thought, fingers flying angrily across the keyboard, he’s over there living his best life with a rotating cast of girls screaming his name.
You wore the headphones until your ears rang. You even tried white noise apps, earplugs underneath nothing fully blocked it. The sex noises went on for nearly two hours that night, loud and shameless, until they finally quieted around 1:30 a.m.
By the end of the two weeks, you were running on fumes dark circles under your eyes, caffeine shakes in your hands, and a permanent knot of irritation lodged in your chest whenever you passed his door.
The random nights had been spaced out just enough to feel like psychological warfare instead of constant chaos.Heeseung never once toned it down. Never once seemed to care that someone on the other side of the wall was actually trying to build a future that didn’t involve daddy’s money or NBA scouts.
When Friday morning finally arrived and your last exam was over, you dragged yourself back to the apartment building, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. The hallway was quiet for once. Heeseung’s door looked innocently closed.
You unlocked your own door, stepped inside, and immediately collapsed face first onto your bed, still in your clothes midterms were done.But the resentment toward the boy next door had only grown sharper and Sunghoon’s party was tonight. You groaned into your pillow one hour in and out. Just don’t kill Heeseung on sight.
You took the quickest shower of your life, and changed into the first comfortable outfit you could find—a simple black crop top that showed just a sliver of your midriff and your favorite pair of dark jeans—comfortable, practical, safe.
You texted Yunjin that you were ready to head over to her place to “get ready together,” secretly hoping she wouldn’t make a big deal out of your clothes—big mistake. Yunjin’s apartment was only two blocks away, and the second you stepped inside, she took one look at you and gasped like you had personally offended her.
“No no absolutely not,” she declared, hands on her hips, eyes scanning you up and down with pure horror. “You cannot go to Sunghoon’s party looking like that.”
You glanced down at yourself, confused. “What’s wrong with this? It’s cute it’s comfortable.”“Cute? Comfortable?” Yunjin repeated, already dragging you toward her bedroom like a woman on a mission.
“Babe, we’re going to a party, not the library. You just survived two weeks of hell tonight you’re supposed to look hot, not like you’re about to give a museum tour.”
Before you could protest, she flung open her closet and started pulling out clothes with frightening speed. She held up a black mini skirt dangerously short, made of soft leather like material and a sheer black button up shirt that was practically see through.
“Try these,” she ordered, shoving the hanger into your hands. You stared at the outfit like it might bite you. “Yunjin, no way, that skirt is barely legal and the shirt is see through i’m not wearing that.”
“Yes way, you are,” she sang, already pushing you toward the bathroom. “You agreed to come to the party that means you’re under my styling jurisdiction for tonight go change now”
You argued the entire time you were changing. “This is ridiculous! im going to freeze, people are going to stare i look like I’m trying way too hard—”
But Yunjin was relentless. The second you stepped out in the mini skirt and sheer shirt ( with a black bralette underneath so you weren’t completely exposed ), she clapped her hands and squealed.
“Oh my god, yes! Look at you!” She spun you around in front of her full length mirror. The skirt hugged your hips and ended high on your thighs, making your legs look longer.
The sheer shirt draped softly over your shoulders, the black bralette visible underneath in a way that was teasing but not outright scandalous. “You look insane like, dangerously hot.”
You tugged at the hem of the skirt, cheeks burning. “I feel naked. Can't I at least wear the jeans over this or something?”“No,” she said firmly, already sitting you down in front of her vanity. “We’re doing makeup now sit still.”
For the next twenty minutes, Yunjin worked her magic. Winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, soft smoky eyes, a touch of highlighter on your cheekbones, and a bold red lip that made your mouth look fuller. She even styled your hair into loose, effortless waves that framed your face perfectly.
When she finally stepped back, she let out a satisfied sigh.“Anyone would worship the ground you walk on looking like this,” she said, grinning proudly. “Trust me tonight, you’re not the stressed out art curator girl who yells at her neighbor. You’re the girl who turns heads even Heeseung won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you.”
You rolled your eyes, but a small flutter of nerves mixed with reluctant confidence settled in your stomach as you looked at your reflection. The outfit was way bolder than anything you’d normally wear, but you had to admit it looked good.
“Fine,” you muttered, smoothing down the skirt one last time. “But if I hate it, we’re leaving early and if Heeseung says one word about ‘miss morals’ in this outfit, I’m pouring a drink on him.”Yunjin laughed and linked her arm with yours. “Deal now let’s go make Sunghoon’s party unforgettable.”
You and Yunjin barely made it out of her apartment before your phone buzzed with a text from Soobin saying he was already waiting downstairs. The three of you had agreed he would drive so none of you had to worry about getting home later.
The elevator ride down felt too short. Your heart was already beating a little faster than usual partly from the unfamiliar outfit, partly from the knowledge that you were actually going to a party after surviving two brutal weeks of midterms.
The black mini skirt kept riding up slightly with every step, and you kept tugging nervously at the hem while Yunjin wouldn’t stop complimenting how good you looked.
When you stepped out of the building into the cool evening air, Soobin’s car was parked right in front, engine idling. He was leaning casually against the driver’s side, scrolling through his phone, but the moment he looked up and saw the two of you approaching, his eyes widened noticeably.
Especially when they landed on you. Soobin froze for a second, his usual calm expression cracking into pure, genuine shock. His gaze traveled slowly from your loose waves and sharp winged eyeliner, down to the sheer black shirt that subtly revealed the black bralette underneath, then to the dangerously short leather like mini skirt that made your legs look endless.
He blinked once, twice, before quickly clearing his throat and straightening up, ears turning a light shade of pink.“Wow” he said, voice a little higher than his normal soft tone. “You both look really nice like, really nice.”
Yunjin grinned triumphantly, looping her arm through yours and squeezing. “See? Told you! Even Soobin is shook, she looks hot, right?”
You felt heat creep up your neck and quickly crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper aware of how different you looked from your usual oversized hoodie and jeans self.
“It’s all Yunjin’s doing. She basically held me hostage in her room until I changed. I tried to wear my normal clothes and she acted like I committed a crime.”
Soobin gave a small, shy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he opened the back door for both of you like the gentleman he was. “No, it really suits you, you look great tonight.” His compliment was sincere and gentle, making the awkwardness feel a little softer. “Ready to go? Sunghoon’s place isn’t too far from here.”
The car ride was filled with easy, light chatter that helped calm your nerves. Yunjin sat in the front passenger seat, already buzzing with excitement about seeing Sunghoon, while you sat in the back, occasionally tugging at your skirt and staring out the window at the passing streetlights.
Soobin kept the conversation flowing comfortably, light complaints about how brutal midterms had been, predictions about how wild the party might get, and Yunjin’s endless teasing about how
Sunghoon had “personally invited” her. Every now and then Soobin would glance at you through the rearview mirror, still looking a little flustered whenever your eyes met.
Before you knew it, Soobin was pulling up to a large off campus house that was already pulsing with loud music and flashing colored lights. Cars lined both sides of the street, and groups of people were laughing and chatting on the front lawn, red cups in hand.
The three of you climbed out of the car, and the heavy bass from inside immediately hit you like a wave. The night air smelled like a mix of cheap beer, sweet perfume, and fresh cut grass. Yunjin practically bounced on her heels with excitement as the three of you walked up the pathway toward the front door.
Sunghoon was standing right at the entrance, playing the perfect host in a simple black shirt and jeans. His sharp, handsome features broke into a warm, genuine smile the moment he spotted your group approaching.
“Hey! You guys actually made it,” he greeted cheerfully, voice carrying easily over the noise from inside. His eyes lingered on Yunjin for an extra beat, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “Yunjin, glad you came and you brought friends, nice.”
He gave Soobin a friendly nod and then turned his attention to you, eyebrows raising slightly in pleasant surprise as he took in your bold outfit. “Hey! you clean up really well. Welcome to the party, hope you guys have fun tonight.”
You managed a small, polite smile, still feeling slightly out of your element. “Thanks for inviting us.”Sunghoon handed each of you a red solo cup filled with something fruity and strong smelling a sweet cocktail that had a sharp kick of alcohol when you took your first cautious sip.
“Drinks are flowing inside help yourselves to whatever you want. There’s food in the kitchen, beer pong in the living room, and dancing. Pretty much everywhere enjoy!”
Yunjin thanked him brightly, her cheeks already a little flushed with excitement, and steered you and Soobin further into the crowded house. The interior was packed wall to wall with people.
Students were laughing loudly, dancing in the middle of the living room, playing intense games of beer pong, and making out in dimly lit corners. The music was loud but not yet overwhelming, colorful lights flashing across the walls and bodies.
For the first few minutes, the three of you stuck close together, weaving through the crowd while sipping your drinks. Soobin stayed protectively near your side, occasionally leaning down to say something quiet and reassuring whenever he noticed you looking a bit overwhelmed by the chaos.
Then you felt it. That familiar, annoying prickle on the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. You turned your head slightly, and there he was.
Heeseung was leaning casually against the wall near the staircase, a red cup dangling from his fingers. He was surrounded by a small group of his closest friends—Beomgyu laughing at something on his phone, Jake with his usual bright smile, and Jay nursing his own drink while scanning the room.
Heeseung looked effortlessly good tonight in a black button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, and dark jeans that sat low on his hips. His hair was styled in that signature messy but perfect way.
The moment his dark eyes found you across the crowded room, his conversation with the guys stopped mid sentence.
His gaze dragged slowly and shamelessly down your body, taking in the short black mini skirt that hugged your hips and thighs, the sheer shirt that teased the black bralette underneath, the way the outfit accentuated your curves before snapping back up to your face.
For once, his usual cocky smirk didn’t appear instantly. Instead, there was a flash of genuine surprise, followed by something darker, more heated, and appreciative.
He pushed off the wall and started walking straight toward your group, completely ignoring whatever Beomgyu was saying behind him.
“Well, well, well,” Heeseung drawled when he was close enough, his voice cutting smoothly through the music. His eyes were still shamelessly roaming over you. “Look who decided to show up. Miss morals in a mini skirt i almost didn’t recognize you damn.”
You felt your stomach twist with that familiar mix of irritation and unwanted warmth. Before you could even open your mouth to snap back, Yunjin jumped in defensively, stepping slightly in front of you with a bright but sharp smile.
“Excuse me, Heeseung? She looks amazing, and she doesn’t need your backhanded compliments,” Yunjin said, tilting her head with fake sweetness.
“Unlike some people who only know how to throw loud parties and bring random girls over during midterms, maybe focus on your own game instead of commenting on her outfit.”
Heeseung chuckled lowly, clearly amused by Yunjin’s quick defense, but his eyes never left you. Jake, Beomgyu, and Jay were now watching the exchange from a few feet away, Beomgyu smirking like he was enjoying the show and Jake looking mildly entertained.
“Relax, Yunjin,” Heeseung replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup. “I’m just saying that she cleaned up dangerous tonight, didn’t think our neighbor owned anything shorter than ankle length. Beomgyu, Jake, Jay back me up here. She looks good, right?”
Beomgyu grinned and raised his cup in a lazy toast. “Yeah, she do be looking fire tonight.”Jake nodded with a bright laugh. “For real, new look suits you.”Jay just shook his head with a small smile, staying quiet but clearly entertained.
You rolled your eyes, lifting your red solo cup to your lips to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t start with me tonight, Heeseung i’m only here for one hour, and I’d rather not spend it dealing with your nonsense.”
Heeseung tilted his head, that signature cocky smirk fully back in place now as he took another slow step closer. The way he was looking at you made the noisy room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.
“Gonna dance tonight, or are you just here to supervise everyone else’s fun like usual, miss morals?”
You didn’t even give Heeseung the satisfaction of a proper reply. Instead, you flipped him off with a sharp middle finger, turned on your heel, and grabbed Yunjin’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
Yunjin laughed loudly, clearly proud of your reaction, and let you drag her deeper into the crowded house while Heeseung’s low chuckle followed behind you. Beomgyu, Jake, and Jay were already teasing him in the background, but you refused to look back.
For the first half hour, the party actually felt manageable. You stuck close to Yunjin and Soobin, sipping from your red solo cup and people watching from a quieter corner of the living room.
The music was loud, the lights flashed in rhythm with the bass, and the alcohol slowly started to loosen the tight knot of stress that midterms had left in your chest. Then Sunghoon appeared again.
He approached your group with that easy, charming smile, eyes mostly locked on Yunjin. “Hey want to dance?”Yunjin’s face lit up like he’d just offered her the moon. She turned to you quickly, squeezing your hand. “You’ll be okay for a bit, right? I’ll be right back!”
Before you could even answer, she was gone, disappearing into the sea of bodies on the dance floor with Sunghoon’s hand on her waist, now it was just you and Soobin.
You tried to keep the conversation light, but the longer you stood there, the more the party energy started to pull at you. The drink in your cup was strong and sweet, and after two weeks of pure academic hell, the idea of letting loose felt dangerously tempting.
“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath. You downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn sliding warmly down your throat. Then you grabbed another cup from a passing tray and started sipping again. Why not? Midterms were over. You deserved this.
Soobin noticed and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t judge. He stayed beside you, chatting quietly, making sure you weren’t completely alone. But after a while, you started feeling guilty. He was sweet, always listening, always there and here he was babysitting you instead of enjoying the party.
“Go talk to your friends,” you told him, giving him a gentle push toward a group of guys waving at him from across the room. “Seriously, Soobin i’ll be fine, i don’t want you wasting your night stuck with me. Go have fun i’ll text you if I need anything.”
He hesitated, looking concerned, but you begged him with your best pleading eyes until he finally nodded. “Okay but stay safe, text me if anything feels off.”
Once Soobin walked away to join his friends, you let yourself drift toward the dance floor. The alcohol was hitting nicely now a warm, fuzzy buzz that made the music feel better and your body lighter.
You moved to the edge of the crowd first, swaying gently, then slowly worked your way deeper into the pulsing bodies.
You didn’t notice him at first. But Heeseung had been watching you the entire time. From the moment Yunjin disappeared with Sunghoon, his eyes had followed you. He watched you down your drinks. He watched you convince Soobin to leave.
And now he watched as you finally stepped fully onto the dance floor, hips moving to the heavy beat, the short black mini skirt riding up just enough to draw attention, the sheer shirt catching the flashing lights.
Heeseung set his cup down and started moving through the crowd toward you, slow and deliberate. When he was close enough, he didn’t just grab you like most guys would. Instead, he leaned in slightly, voice low and surprisingly respectful against the loud music.
“Hey can I dance with you?”
You turned your head, alcohol making you bold. Your eyes met his, and for once, you didn’t immediately snap at him. The buzz in your veins, the way he was looking at you like he couldn’t look away…it made something reckless spark inside you.
You nodded “Yeah okay.” Only then did Heeseung step closer. The moment he did, the space between you disappeared. His body pressed lightly against yours at first, hands hovering respectfully before you started moving together.
The music was sensual, slow and heavy, and your bodies naturally fell into rhythm. It didn’t stay innocent for long. Heeseung’s hands gradually grew bolder one sliding to your waist, the other brushing up your side, fingers grazing the sheer fabric of your shirt.
You moved closer, hips rolling against his, the short skirt brushing against his thighs. His touch grew hotter, palms sliding down to grip your hips, then slowly roaming over the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him.
The air between you thickened. Your breathing grew heavier. Every brush of his body sent sparks through your skin. Heeseung leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, voice low. “fuck, not being able to kiss you right now is actual torture.”
The words hit you like a shot of pure heat. The alcohol, the weeks of built up tension, the way his hands felt all over your body everything crashed together in one reckless moment.
You didn’t think, you just acted. turning your head as you grabbed the front of his shirt, and crashed your lips against his.
The kiss was messy, desperate, and instantly wild. Heeseung groaned into your mouth the second your lips met, one hand flying up to cup the back of your neck while the other tightened possessively on your waist, pulling you even harder against him.
You kissed like you were angry at each other—teeth clashing, tongues sliding hot and deep, lips moving with raw hunger.
Heeseung kissed like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. His mouth was demanding, devouring, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. You moaned softly against him, fingers threading into his hair and tugging, which only made him kiss you harder.
The dance floor disappeared around you. The music faded into background noise. There was only the heat of his body, the taste of alcohol on his tongue, and the way his hands roamed greedily over your curves sliding up your back under the sheer shirt, gripping your hips, pressing you so close you could feel exactly how much he wanted you.
The makeout was crazy sloppy, passionate, breathless. You bit his lower lip, and he responded with a low growl, sucking on your tongue before kissing you even harder.
Your bodies moved together to the beat, grinding slowly while your mouths stayed locked in a heated battle.
When you finally pulled back for air, both of you were panting, lips swollen and shiny. Heeseung’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he stared down at you like he wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.
“Shit” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to kill me tonight.”The kiss finally broke, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen and glistening under the flashing party lights.
Heeseung’s forehead rested against yours, his hands still gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
His eyes were dark, pupils blown with want, and the way he looked at you sent another rush of heat straight through your body.
You didn’t think. The alcohol, the weeks of hating him, the way his hands had felt all over you everything made you reckless. You leaned in closer, voice low and breathless against his ear. “Wanna go back to your apartment?”
Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, a dangerous smirk tugging at his swollen lips. For a split second, surprise flashed across his face, but it quickly melted into pure hunger.
“Fuck yes”
He didn’t waste another second. His hand slid down to grab yours firmly, fingers lacing tight as he started pulling you through the crowded dance floor. People moved out of the way as Heeseung cut a path toward the front door, his grip on you possessive and urgent.
You barely had time to register anything else Yunjin and Soobin were somewhere in the house, but right now, none of that mattered.The cool night air hit your flushed skin the moment you stepped outside, but it did nothing to calm the fire burning in your veins.
Heeseung’s car was parked a little down the street. He didn’t let go of your hand the entire way, and the second you reached the passenger side, he opened the door for you with surprising speed before rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.
The moment the doors closed, the tension exploded again. Heeseung started the engine, but you were already growing impatient. The short drive back to your apartment building felt too long. Every red light, every stop sign made the ache between your legs worse.
You kept stealing glances at him his jaw tight, hands gripping the steering wheel, the way his shirt was slightly undone from your earlier tugging. At the third red light, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.“Fuck this,” you muttered.
Before Heeseung could react, you unbuckled your seatbelt, climbed over the center console, and straddled his lap in one swift motion. The mini skirt rode up high on your thighs as you settled on top of him, your hands immediately cupping his face as you crashed your lips back onto his.
Heeseung groaned loudly into the kiss, his hands flying to your waist to steady you. The kiss was even wilder than on the dance floor desperate, messy, all tongue and teeth. You rocked your hips against him, grinding down slowly at first, then harder, feeling him harden beneath you through his jeans.
His hands roamed greedily, one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast over the bralette, the other gripping your ass and pulling you tighter against his growing bulge.
“Shit you’re driving me crazy,” he muttered against your mouth between kisses, voice rough and wrecked.
You moaned softly, grinding down harder, the friction sending sparks through your entire body. The car windows started to fog up as you moved together, lips never leaving each other for long.
Heeseung’s tongue slid against yours, deep and filthy, while his hips bucked up to meet your movements, the steering wheel pressing into your back.
You were completely lost in him hands in his hair, tugging, lips sucking on his bottom lip, hips rolling in desperate circles when the sharp sound of honking suddenly pierced through the haze.
Once, twice, then a chorus of angry car horns blaring behind you reality crashed back in.
You pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, lips shiny and swollen, breathing ragged. The light had turned green, and the cars lined up behind you were laying on their horns, some drivers shouting out their windows.
Heeseung let out a breathless laugh, his hands still gripping your thighs tightly. His eyes were dark, hair messy from your fingers, lips red and kiss bitten.“Fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “We’re gonna cause an accident if you keep this up.”
You quickly scrambled back into the passenger seat, heart pounding, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal.
Your skirt was hiked up dangerously high, and you tugged it down with shaky hands while Heeseung adjusted himself in his seat, clearly struggling to focus on the road.
He shot you a heated sideways glance, smirk returning as he pressed the gas pedal.“Almost home,” he said, voice low and promising. “Try not to jump me again until we’re inside or don’t. I'm not complaining.”
The rest of the short drive was torturous. The air in the car was thick with tension, both of you stealing glances, the memory of your grinding still fresh and electric.
When Heeseung finally pulled into the parking spot outside your shared apartment building, he killed the engine and turned to you, eyes blazing.
The second you were both out of the car, he grabbed your hand again and practically dragged you toward the entrance, the promise of what was about to happen hanging heavy between you.
The second the door to Heeseung’s apartment slammed shut behind you, all restraint vanished.He had you pinned against the wood before you could even catch your breath, mouth crashing back onto yours in a filthy, open mouthed kiss.
His hands were everywhere one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast roughly, the other gripping your ass and yanking your hips flush against the hard line of his cock already straining in his jeans.
“Been thinking about this since you walked in wearing that tiny fucking skirt,” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. “Look at you acting like such a good girl all semester and now you’re begging to get fucked in my bed.”
You didn’t deny it you couldn’t. The alcohol and weeks of pent up hatred had turned into pure, desperate need. You tugged at his shirt buttons, popping a few open in your haste, and Heeseung chuckled darkly before ripping the rest off himself.
The shirt hit the floor. Yours followed a second later, then your bralette, leaving your tits exposed to the cool air of his apartment.
Heeseung’s mouth was on your neck instantly, sucking a mark right below your jaw while his hands squeezed your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they were hard and aching. “So fucking pretty when you’re needy like this,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Bet you’re already soaked for me, huh?”
You whimpered when he shoved the mini skirt up around your waist and cupped you over your panties. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, rubbing slow circles over your clit.
“Shit you are dripping already.” He smirked against your throat. “Such a dirty little secret you’ve been hiding, miss morals.”
You didn’t have time to snap back. Heeseung dropped to his knees right there in the entryway, hooked your panties to the side, and buried his face between your thighs without warning. His tongue dragged a long, nasty stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you.
“Oh my god—” Your head thunked back against the door as he licked and sucked like a man starved, two fingers sliding inside you easily because you were so wet.
He curled them perfectly, pumping fast while his tongue flicked mercilessly over your clit. The sounds were obscene wet, sloppy, loud and he didn’t care. He ate you like he wanted to ruin you.
You came hard on his tongue within minutes, thighs shaking, fingers yanking at his hair as you cried out his name. Heeseung didn’t stop until you were trembling and pushing at his head, then he stood up, lips shiny with your arousal, and kissed you deep so you could taste yourself.
“Bedroom now,” he ordered.
He didn’t wait for you to walk. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing, carrying you down the short hallway while your legs wrapped around his waist.
Your skirt was still bunched around your hips, panties shoved to the side. You could feel his cock pressing against your soaked core with every step.
The second he kicked his bedroom door open, he dropped you onto the bed. You barely had time to bounce before he was stripping the rest of his clothes off. His jeans and boxers hit the floor and his cock sprang free—thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.
Your mouth watered at the sight. Heeseung climbed over you, caging you in with his arms. “You want this?” he asked, voice dark, one hand stroking his cock slowly as he looked down at you. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” you breathed, reaching down to wrap your hand around him. “Fuck me, Heeseung.”That was all it took.
He shoved your legs apart wider, lined himself up, and pushed in with one long, brutal thrust. You gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out inside you, so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.
“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “Taking me so well already.”Then he started moving hard fast and filthy.
The headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust, the same wall that separated your apartments. The irony wasn’t lost on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
Heeseung fucked you like he’d been imagining this exact moment for months.Deep, punishing strokes that made your tits bounce and your breath hitch.
He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, folding you in half so he could fuck you even deeper. The new angle made you cry out, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.
“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes locked on where his cock was disappearing inside you. “Taking every inch like a good little slut, who would’ve thought the girl next door gets this fucking nasty?”
The degradation was light, just enough to make your pussy clench harder around him. You moaned louder, hips trying to meet his thrusts.
Heeseung’s hand slid between your bodies, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit while he pounded into you.
“Come on, baby. Come on my cock again, wanna feel you squeezing me.” You shattered for the second time, back arching, walls fluttering around his thick length as your orgasm crashed through you. Heeseung fucked you through it, hips never slowing, chasing his own release.
“Fuck— I’m close,” he growled, voice strained. “Where do you want it?” He asked, “Inside,” you gasped, still riding the high. “Come inside me.”
Heeseung cursed loudly, thrusting a few more brutal times before he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. You felt every pulse, every hot spurt filling you up as he groaned your name against your neck, hips jerking through the aftershocks.
For a moment the only sounds were both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat.
Heeseung stayed inside you for a long minute, forehead pressed to yours, before he finally pulled out slowly. A trickle of his cum leaked out of you onto the sheets, and he watched it with dark, satisfied eyes then collapsed beside you.
Instead of pulling away, Heeseung immediately reached for you. He wrapped one strong arm around your waist and tugged you against his chest, your back flush to his front in a tight, warm hug. His other hand gently pulled the duvet up over both of you, cocooning your naked bodies in soft warmth.
You were still sticky with sweat and cum, thighs trembling, but the way he held you possessive yet surprisingly gentle made something soft flutter in your chest despite everything.
Heeseung pressed a lazy kiss to the back of your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.“Stay,” he murmured, voice already thick with sleep as he tightened his arm around you. “Just stay.”
Exhausted, fucked out, and strangely comforted by his warmth, you let your eyes drift shut. His steady heartbeat against your back and the heavy duvet wrapped around you lulled you quickly into sleep, safe in Heeseung’s arms for the night.
ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. next morning !
The first thing you registered was the pounding in your head. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains making everything feel hazy. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed red 4:28 a.m.
Your mouth was dry, throat scratchy, and a dull throb pulsed behind your temples the unmistakable aftermath of too many drinks and not nearly enough sleep. You shifted slightly under the heavy duvet, and that’s when you felt it.
A warm, solid body pressed against your back. An arm draped heavily over your waist, holding you close skin against skin. The faint scent of cologne, sweat, and something distinctly masculine filled your senses.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Memories from last night crashed over you like ice water.
The party, the red solo cup dancing. Heeseung’s hands all over your body on the dance floor. The reckless invitation. The car ride where you’d climbed into his lap like you had no shame.
The way he’d pinned you against his door, dropped to his knees in the entryway, fucked you hard on his bed until you were crying out his name. The filthy sounds. The way he’d filled you up. The way he’d pulled you against his chest afterward, hugging you tight under the duvet as you both drifted off.
You had fucked Lee Heeseung
You had fucked your loud, cocky, insufferable neighbor the basketball captain you’d spent months complaining about, the one who called you “Miss Morals” like it was the funniest joke in the world.
Mortification burned hot through your entire body. Your stomach twisted violently. What the hell had you been thinking? The alcohol had stripped away every ounce of common sense, and now you were lying naked in his bed, his cum still faintly sticky between your thighs, his arm wrapped around you like you belonged there.
Heeseung was still sound asleep behind you, breathing deep and even, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. His face was relaxed in sleep no smirk, no cocky grin but you knew the second he woke up, everything would change.
He would never let you live this down. The teasing would be relentless. “Miss morals” would turn into something far worse. He’d smirk every time he saw you in the hallway, make dirty little comments about how loud you’d been, how desperate you’d sounded begging for him.
The walls between your apartments were thin he’d probably bring it up every time you complained about his noise again. Your life next door would become a living hell.You couldn’t stay here.
Panic clawed up your throat. You had to leave before he woke up. Before this became real. Before he opened his eyes and looked at you with that knowing, satisfied smirk.
Carefully, so carefully, you lifted his arm from your waist. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, murmuring something incoherent under his breath. Your heart hammered as you slowly slid out from under the duvet, the cool air hitting your naked skin and raising goosebumps.
You moved like a ghost around his room, gathering your scattered clothes as quietly as possible. Your sheer black shirt, the black bralette, the dangerously short mini skirt, your panties all crumpled on the floor where they’d been tossed in the heat of the moment.
You dressed as fast as you could, fingers trembling as you buttoned the sheer shirt and tugged the mini skirt down your thighs. Your hair was a mess, makeup probably smudged, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get out.
Barefoot, shoes in hand, you tiptoed toward the bedroom door. Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening. You glanced back once at Heeseung still asleep, one arm now stretched across the empty space where you’d been, dark hair messy against the pillow.
A strange, unwelcome pang twisted in your chest, but you shoved it down hard. This never happened.
You slipped out of his bedroom, quietly closing the door behind you. The living room was dark and silent. You navigated through the unfamiliar space, heart racing, until you reached the front door. The lock clicked softly as you turned it.
The hallway was empty and dimly lit when you stepped outside. The cool air felt like freedom. You didn’t even bother putting your shoes on yet you just hurried the few steps to your own apartment door next door, fumbling with your keys until they finally slid into the lock.
The moment you were inside, you locked the door behind you, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor, breathing hard.
Your body still ached in the best and worst ways. Thighs sore, a faint bruise forming on your hip from his grip, the ghost of his touch lingering everywhere. You could still feel him inside you, still taste the heat of his mouth.
You buried your face in your hands, mortified beyond words. What had you done?You had slept with the one person you couldn’t stand and now you had to live right next door to him, pretending it never happened.
Because if Heeseung ever found out you’d run away like this, the teasing would only get worse much, much worse. You spent the rest of that early morning in a haze of denial.
Your phone vibrated then again. You reached for it with a heavy sigh, squinting at the bright screen.
yunjin ( 3 new messages )
yunjin : babe where did u go?? one second u were dancing and then u disappeared 😭
yunjin : sunghoon said he saw u leave with someone?? pls tell me ur okay
yunjin : im worried call me when u wake up!!
soobin ( 4 new messages )
soobin : hey, you okay? you left pretty suddenly last night without telling both of us yunjin’s freaking out a bit
soobin : let me know if you got home safe
soobin : if you need anything or want to talk, i’m here no pressure
soobin : hope you’re resting well ❤️
You stared at the messages, throat tightening. The kindness in Soobin’s texts and Yunjin’s worried energy made fresh tears prick at your eyes. They had no idea what you had done. No idea you had spent the night in Heeseung’s bed, letting him touch you, kiss you, fuck you like you’d lost all common sense.
You typed back with trembling fingers, keeping it short and vague
you : got home safe, just drank too much and needed to leave early sorry for worrying you guys i’m okay, just tired talk later ❤️
You sent it and immediately turned your phone on silent, burying your face in your hands the memories wouldn’t stop replaying. Heeseung’s hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck. The way he had groaned your name when he came inside you.
How safe and warm his arms had felt when he pulled you under the duvet afterward. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push it all away this never happened.
After sliding down your front door and sitting on the cold floor for what felt like hours, you finally dragged yourself to the shower.
You scrubbed your skin until it was raw, trying to wash away every trace of Heeseung his scent, his touch, the sticky evidence of what you’d done between your thighs. The hot water did nothing to erase the soreness or the vivid flashbacks that kept playing on loop in your head.
By the time the sun came up, you had made a decision this never happened. You would bury it so deep that even you would start to believe it. No one needed to know. Not Yunjin, not Soobin, not even yourself on most days.
You would go back to normal go to classes, focus on your art curator projects, complain about the noise next door like always. And most importantly, you would avoid Lee Heeseung at all costs.
ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. flashback !
Heeseung stepped out of his apartment with a half empty water bottle in hand, planning to grab the last box from his car before the evening practice. The hallway was quiet until it wasn’t.
A girl came rushing around the corner, arms overloaded with a massive cardboard box that completely blocked her line of sight. She collided straight into his chest with a startled gasp.
The box flew out of her hands and crashed to the floor, spilling books, notebooks, and what looked like art supplies everywhere across the hallway carpet. Heeseung instinctively reached out and grabbed her arms to keep her from stumbling backward.
She looked up at him, flushed and clearly annoyed, strands of hair falling across her face from the chaotic move. She was pretty, sharp eyes, determined expression the kind of girl who didn’t seem impressed by campus status.
A smirk tugged at his lips before he could stop it.“Easy there, neighbor,” he drawled, voice laced with amusement. “You always run into people like you’re trying to tackle them, or am I just lucky?”
She blinked, then quickly crouched down to gather her scattered belongings, avoiding his gaze.“Sorry,” she muttered, tone tight and clipped. “Didn’t see you.”
Heeseung crouched down as well, picking up a thick book on museum curation that had slid toward his foot. He turned it over in his hands, raising an eyebrow.“Art stuff, huh?” he asked casually. “You moving in next door?”
“Yeah just today,” she replied shortly, snatching the book back from him with a little more force than necessary.
He stood up first and leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his chest as he watched her struggle to reorganize everything into the box. Most girls would have smiled, maybe even recognized him as the basketball captain.
This one? She looked like she already wanted nothing to do with him.“I’m Heeseung,” he said, flashing his most charming grin. “Lee Heeseung, your new neighbor. Need help carrying that? Looks heavy.” He offered,
“I’m good thanks,” she answered without even looking up, standing quickly and slinging the tote over her shoulder.
Heeseung didn’t move out of the way. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her with open curiosity. There was something refreshing about her indifference that it made him want to push a little harder.
“Just so you know,” he added, voice dropping into a teasing tone, “The walls here are pretty thin, try not to be too loud when you’re studying or doing whatever it is, serious art curator girls do at night.”Her eyes finally snapped up to his, narrowing with clear irritation.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said flatly. “And maybe you can try keeping your parties down some people actually have to study to pass their classes.”
Heeseung let out a low, genuine laugh that echoed down the empty hallway. She had bite and he liked that.
“Welcome to the building, miss morals,” he called after her as she turned toward her door, the nickname slipping out naturally. She didn’t respond. She fumbled with her keys, unlocked her apartment, and slipped inside without another word, the door shutting with a firm click.
Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, still grinning to himself. The girl next door already hated him, and he hadn’t even thrown his first party yet. This was going to be interesting.
The gym echoed with the sharp squeak of sneakers and the rhythmic bounce of basketballs. Afternoon practice was in full swing, but during a water break, Heeseung leaned against the bleachers, towel draped over his shoulders, a cocky grin already plastered on his face.
Jay tossed him a bottle of water. “You look way too happy for someone who just ran suicides.”Heeseung laughed, taking a long sip before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can’t help it ran into the new neighbor again this morning.”
Beomgyu perked up immediately, spinning the ball on his finger. “The girl next door? The one who already hates your guts?”
“miss morals herself,” Heeseung confirmed, his smirk widening. “I was just leaving for practice when she came out, i told her the walls are thin and she should try not to be too loud at night. You should’ve seen her face, she looked like she wanted to throw her coffee at me.”
Jake, who was stretching nearby, let out a loud laugh. “Dude, you’re obsessed! that’s like the third time this week you’ve mentioned her.”
“I’m not obsessed,” Heeseung shot back, but his grin betrayed him. “It’s just too easy. She gets so worked up over the smallest things. Last week I had a couple of people over, nothing crazy and she banged on my door at midnight like the apartment was on fire, called me an entitled asshole who only passes because ‘daddy pays for everything.’”
The group burst into laughter. Sunghoon shook his head, amused. “She’s got balls, most girls on campus would be throwing themselves at you the second they find out you’re the captain.”
“Exactly,” Heeseung said, tossing the towel aside. “That’s what makes it fun, she doesn’t give a single fuck who I am. No flirty smiles, no asking for tickets to games, nothing. She just glares at me like I personally ruined her life by existing next door it’s hilarious.”
Beomgyu grinned mischievously. “So what’s your plan? Keep annoying her until she moves out?”
“Nah,” Heeseung replied, bouncing the ball once. “I’m just getting started, next time the music’s on, I might turn it up a little louder to see how long it takes before she comes marching over again. Bet she’ll have that cute little angry face on.”
Jake, who had been quietly listening while stretching his hamstrings, suddenly straightened up with a knowing look.“Don’t you think you’re in love with her or something?” he asked casually, but loud enough for the whole group to hear.
The gym went quiet for half a second before the guys exploded with laughter and teasing whistles. Heeseung nearly choked on his water. “What the fuck, Jake?”
Jake shrugged, completely unfazed. “Think about it, she’s literally the only girl who doesn’t give a shit about you no ego stroking, no chasing after the basketball star. She treats you like any other annoying neighbor and instead of leaving her alone, you keep poking at her like a kid with a new toy. That sounds like a crush to me.”
“Bullshit,” Heeseung scoffed, but his ears turned slightly red. He dribbled the ball harder than necessary, trying to play it cool. “I’m not in love with her, she’s just entertaining. It's fun watching her get all riled up, that’s it.”
Jay raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Sure ‘Entertaining.’ that’s why you bring her up every single practice.”
“Exactly,” Jake added with a grin. “If she suddenly started being nice to you, you’d probably be bored in a week but because she ignores you and calls you out, you can’t stop thinking about her.”
Heeseung pointed the ball at Jake threateningly, though his smirk was fighting to stay hidden. “Keep talking and I’ll make you run extra laps, Sim.”
The team laughed again, but Jake just held up his hands in surrender, still smiling. “I’m just saying, man. One day you’re gonna realize you’re not annoying her because it’s funny, you’re doing it because you like the way she fights back.”
Heeseung rolled his eyes and turned away, dribbling the ball toward the court to end the conversation. But as practice resumed and he sank a clean three pointer, Jake’s words lingered in the back of his mind longer than he wanted to admit.
Maybe there was a tiny bit of truth to it. Or maybe he just really, really enjoyed getting on your nerves.
The laughter from the team slowly died down as practice resumed. Heeseung shook off Jake’s teasing comment, channeling the slight irritation into sharper shots. He sank another clean three pointer, the ball swishing through the net with satisfying precision.
For a few minutes, the court felt like the only place where everything made sense no annoying neighbors, no complicated feelings, just the game. Then the gym doors swung open with a loud bang.
Everyone turned as a tall, sharply dressed man in a tailored coat strode in, his presence immediately sucking the casual energy out of the room. Coach paused mid instruction, nodding respectfully.
Heeseung’s stomach dropped the moment he recognized the figure his father. Mr. Lee didn’t smile. He never did when he showed up unannounced like this. His eyes scanned the court with cold calculation, lingering on Heeseung with clear disapproval.
“Take five, boys,” Coach called out, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Heeseung wiped the sweat from his brow and walked over, jaw already tight. “Dad what are you doing here?”Mr. Lee stopped a few feet away, arms folded behind his back. His voice was low but carried easily across the quiet gym.
“I came to see if my son is actually putting in the work that’s supposed to get him into the NBA,” he said flatly. “From what I’ve been hearing, it doesn’t look like it.”Heeseung’s friends lingered nearby, pretending to drink water but clearly listening.
“I’ve been at every practice,” Heeseung replied, keeping his tone even. “Coach said my shooting percentage is up this week—”
“Don’t make excuses,” his father cut him off sharply. “Your brother Heedo was never this distracted at your age, he was laser focused top scorer captainfull ride to the best program in the country. And you? You’re out here laughing with your little friends during water breaks, probably thinking about parties and girls instead of the game.”
Heeseung’s grip tightened on the basketball until his knuckles turned white.“I’m not distracted,” he said through gritted teeth. Mr.Lee stepped closer, voice dropping into that familiar, cutting tone that always found its mark.
“You’re good for nothing if you can’t even focus on what matters. All that talent wasted because you’d rather play around and act like some campus king. You think the scouts care about your popularity? they don’t, you will never be enough if you keep this up and you will certainly never be better than your brother.”
The words landed like punches. Heedo — the golden child. The one who had already made it pro overseas. The one their father never stopped comparing him to.Heeseung’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. He wanted to snap back, to defend himself, but years of this had taught him it was useless. His father never listened.
Mr. Lee straightened his coat, expression unchanging. “Fix it or don’t bother coming home for the holidays, i didn’t raise a failure.”Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the gym, the heavy doors swinging shut behind him with a final, echoing thud. The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
Heeseung stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, chest tight with anger and something heavier he refused to name. The team slowly went back to practice, but the energy had shifted. Jake shot him a concerned look, but Heeseung ignored it, dribbling the ball harder than necessary as he moved back onto the court.
Inside, the familiar bitterness churned.His father’s words echoed louder than any cheering crowd ever could. You will never be enough. You will never be better than your brother. Heeseung sank another shot, but this time it didn’t feel satisfying.
All he could think about was how easy it was to annoy the girl next door because at least when she glared at him and called him an entitled asshole, he felt something other than this hollow, crushing weight.
The heavy gym doors swung shut behind Mr. Lee, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. The team tried to resume practice, but the atmosphere had soured.
Heeseung stood frozen for a few seconds, staring at the spot where his father had been. The familiar sting of those words good for nothing, never enough, never better than your brother settled heavy in his chest like lead.
Jake jogged over, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man don’t let him get to you, your dad’s always been like that you’re killing it out here.”
“Yeah,” Beomgyu added, spinning the ball on his finger. “Ignore him, you’re the one who’s gonna make it to the NBA, not Heedo.” Jay nodded. “Come on, let’s run some more plays we’ll crush the next game.”Heeseung forced a half smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah sure.”
He went through the motions for the rest of practice dribbling, shooting, defending but he was quiet. No cocky jokes no teasing his teammates no loud laughter. Every time someone tried to pull him into conversation or hype him up after a good play, he gave short, one word replies and kept his head down. The usual spark was gone.
Even Coach noticed, shooting him concerned glances but saying nothing.The moment practice officially ended, Heeseung grabbed his bag and left first, ignoring the calls from his friends asking if he wanted to grab food. He needed air. He needed to get away from the echoes of his father’s voice.
He walked aimlessly for a while, the cool evening air doing little to clear his head. Eventually, his feet carried him toward the small café just off campus the one with decent coffee and quiet corners where he sometimes went to think.He pushed open the door, the bell jingling softly, and scanned the room out of habit and then he saw you.
You were sitting alone at a corner table near the window, surrounded by textbooks, notes, and your laptop. Your hair was tied up messily, a pen between your teeth as you frowned at something on the screen. You looked focused serious and annoyingly cute in that concentrated way of yours.
A small, familiar spark ignited in his chest the one that always appeared whenever he spotted you. Before he could think better of it, Heeseung walked straight over and slid into the seat across from you without asking.You looked up, startled at first, then your expression quickly shifted into pure annoyance.
“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, voice sharp but low enough not to disturb the other customers. You closed your laptop slightly, glaring at him. “This is my table, go sit somewhere else.”
Heeseung leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms, that signature smirk slowly returning despite the heavy weight still sitting in his stomach. Seeing your irritated face felt lighter somehow. Easier than dealing with everything else.
“Relax, miss morals,” he said, voice teasing. “I’m not here to ruin your precious study time. Just saw you and thought I’d say hi to my favorite neighbor.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “Favorite? We barely tolerate each other and I’m trying to work unlike some people who can afford to slack off because ‘daddy can pay for everything.’”
The jab should’ve stung more, especially after his father’s visit, but instead it made Heeseung’s smirk widen. There, it was that fire. That complete lack of care for who he was or what people usually said to him. You didn’t tiptoe around him. You didn’t try to impress him. You just called him out.
It felt strangely nice. Not in a romantic way, just refreshing ( liar liar liar he is totally in love with her ) He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Ouch straight for the throat today. What are you working on that’s got you so grumpy? Another museum thing? Planning to curate an exhibit called ‘Why Heeseung Should Shut Up’?”
You gave him a flat look, clearly not amused. “It’s for my capstone project and yes, if it helps keep loud neighbors quiet, I might include a whole section on it.”
Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound genuine even if it was quiet. For the first time since his dad had shown up, the tight knot in his chest loosened just a fraction. He realized something in that moment. Your company wasn’t bad.
In fact, sitting here watching you get all annoyed and snappy at him felt better than sitting alone with his father’s words ringing in his head. It was simple predictable in the best way. You gave him a reaction real, unfiltered and for a few minutes, it made everything else fade into the background.
He loved annoying you. Not because he wanted to hurt you but because when you pushed back, it reminded him he was still here. Still capable of feeling something other than pressure and disappointment.
“Fine,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though he made no move to leave. “I’ll behave for now but only if you tell me what that exhibit is actually about.” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, clearly debating whether to kick him out or just ignore him. Heeseung waited, smirk still in place, secretly hoping you’d keep arguing with him a little longer.
ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. heeseung’s pov !
Heeseung woke up to a heavy, unfamiliar silence.
His eyes opened slowly, the soft gray morning light filtering through the curtains. His body felt sore in places that reminded him immediately of last night a dull ache in his shoulders, the faint stickiness between the sheets, the faint scent of sex still hanging in the air.
He turned his head to the side the bed was empty. The spot where you had been lying was cold, the pillow slightly dented but untouched now. No clothes scattered on the floor no shoes by the door nothing.
Heeseung sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. The memories came back in quiet, unflinching flashes the party you in that short black skirt.The heated dancing that turned into something reckless.The desperate makeout in his car while horns blared behind you.
How he’d carried you inside, how urgently you both had moved against each other against the door, then on this bed.The way you had moaned his name.The way he had finished inside you.
And how, afterward, he had pulled you close under the duvet, your back against his chest, both of you falling asleep in silence.
Now you were gone. He glanced at the clock. 7:23 a.m. You must have woken up in a panic sometime in the early hours and slipped out while he was still asleep. The realization settled in his stomach like a stone heavy, uncomfortable, and strangely final.
Heeseung let out a long, tired breath and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. This was a mistake, a stupid, drunken mistake.
You had always made it clear how much you couldn’t stand him. The constant complaints about his noise, the glares in the hallway, the way you called him entitled behind his back.
Last night had been nothing more than too much alcohol and bad judgment on both sides. You waking up and running away only confirmed it.He didn’t blame you. If anything, he felt a quiet wave of regret wash over him. He should have known better.
He should have stopped things before they went that far. Now things between you two were already tense, this was going to be even more awkward.
Heeseung stood up and walked to the bathroom. While the shower heated up, he looked at himself in the mirror. There were faint scratch marks on his shoulders and a small bruise near his collarbone. Physical proof that last night had really happened.
He stepped under the hot water, letting it run over his face and shoulders. It never happened, he told himself. That was the only way forward.He would forget about it. Pretend the entire night was a blur he couldn’t quite remember.
No teasing no comments in the hallway no bringing it up ever again. You clearly wanted to erase it, and honestly so did he. The last thing he needed right now was more complications in his life especially with someone who lived right next door.
After the shower, he got dressed in a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants. He made coffee in the kitchen, moving on autopilot. The apartment felt too quiet now.
Heeseung leaned against the counter, sipping the bitter drink, and stared at the wall that separated his place from yours.From now on, things would go back to normal. You would keep avoiding him like you always did.
He would keep his music at a reasonable volume when he remembered. And neither of you would ever speak about what happened last night. It was better this way, cleaner and simpler.
He finished his coffee, rinsed the mug, and set it in the sink. Last night was a mistake and as far as Heeseung was concerned, it was already forgotten.
For the next two weeks, you turned your life into a carefully orchestrated mission of avoidance while your body slowly started betraying you in ways you couldn’t ignore. The mantra remained the same this never happened.
Every morning began the same way. Your alarm went off at 6:15 a.m., pulling you from restless sleep. The moment you sat up, a familiar wave of nausea rolled through your stomach, not violent, but persistent and queasy, making the room feel slightly off balance.
You’d sit on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, breathing slowly through your nose, waiting for it to pass. Some mornings it did. Others, you’d rush to the bathroom and dry heave over the sink, nothing coming up except bitter bile and a metallic taste that lingered on your tongue.
Once the worst of it subsided, you’d quickly get ready, choosing simple, comfortable clothes that wouldn’t draw attention. Then came the listening part. You’d press your ear to the front door, heart beating a little too fast, straining to hear any sound from Heeseung’s apartment next door.
If you caught even the faintest click of his lock or the low murmur of his voice on a phone call, you’d wait sometimes ten minutes, sometimes twenty pretending to reorganize your bag or check your notes until the hallway was silent again.
Leaving became a tactical exercise. You slipped out as quietly as possible, taking the side staircase instead of the main hallway whenever you spotted his car in the parking lot. The fatigue hit hardest during these moments.
Your legs felt heavier than usual, and by the time you reached campus, you were already drained, needing to sit down in the library for a few minutes just to catch your breath. Coming home was even more stressful.
You started timing your returns obsessively. If practice usually ended around 6 p.m., you’d stay late at the library or in an empty classroom, working on your capstone exhibition proposal until you were sure Heeseung was either out with friends or already inside. One evening, the dizziness caught you off guard.
You had just turned the corner into your hallway when the world tilted slightly. You had to lean against the wall, breathing shallowly, while a strong wave of nausea made your stomach churn.
The faint scent of someone’s dinner cooking nearby sent you rushing the last few steps to your door. The moment you got inside, you barely made it to the toilet before vomiting actual, forceful vomiting that left you trembling on the cold tile floor.
You told yourself it was stress. The constant hyper vigilance. The lack of proper sleep. The emotional weight of pretending that night had never occurred. But the symptoms kept creeping in, growing harder to dismiss.
Smells became your enemy. The aroma of coffee from the café near campus, which you used to love, now made your stomach revolt. You switched to plain crackers and ginger tea, keeping a secret stash in your bag.
Even the scent of your own shampoo sometimes triggered a gag reflex. Food tasted strange too salty, too sweet, or completely off. You lost interest in meals altogether, surviving on small portions that you could keep down.
The fatigue settled deep in your bones. You’d come home from classes, collapse on the couch, and wake up hours later feeling like you hadn’t rested at all.
Your breasts felt tender and slightly swollen, brushing against your shirt making you wince. Mood swings hit at random. One minute you were focused on your work, the next you felt inexplicably teary or irritable. All of this made the avoidance even more draining.
One Thursday night, your timing failed you had stayed late at the library, hoping Heeseung would already be inside. When you finally dragged your tired body back to the building, the hallway lights felt blindingly bright.
Just as you reached your door, fumbling with your keys, you heard the unmistakable click of his lock opening.Panic surged through you. Your hands shook so badly that the keys nearly dropped. You managed to slip inside just as his door opened, pressing your back against the wood, heart hammering wildly.
You held your breath, listening to his footsteps pass by. The moment they faded, the nausea hit like a wave. You barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up again, knees weak, tears stinging your eyes from the force of it.
Afterward, you sat on the bathroom floor with your forehead resting on your knees, breathing shakily. This was getting worse.You were exhausted from the constant calculation when to leave, when to return, which route to take, how long to wait in the stairwell. The thin wall between your apartments felt like a constant threat.
You’d hear him moving around sometimes. The low sound of his music ( mercifully quieter these days ), the murmur of his voice when he was on the phone, the occasional laugh. Every sound made your stomach twist with anxiety and unwelcome memories.
You became hyper aware of everything. You avoided cooking anything with strong smells. You did laundry at 2 a.m. when you were sure he was asleep. You even changed the time you took showers, worried the sound of running water might coincide with him coming home.
Yunjin and Soobin noticed the changes. “You’ve been canceling plans a lot,” Yunjin said during one quick lunch. “And you look really tired, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a weak smile while fighting the nausea brought on by the smell of her food. “Just stressed about the capstone deadline it’s taking everything out of me.”
Soobin watched you quietly, concern clear in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Inside your apartment, the symptoms continued to build.
Mornings were brutal. You’d wake up with tender breasts and that persistent queasy feeling. Some days the vomiting was so bad you had to keep a small bucket discreetly by your bed.
The fatigue made it hard to focus during lectures. You'd find yourself zoning out, head heavy, fighting the urge to lay your head on the desk. Yet you refused to connect the dots .It’s just stress, you told yourself repeatedly. The avoidance the guilt the lack of sleep.
You pushed through, continuing your careful dance of avoidance. You timed every exit and entry with military precision. You became an expert at predicting Heeseung’s schedule ( she should become a dispatch employee )
You kept your headphones on to drown out any sound from next door. You buried yourself in your art curator work, sketching exhibition layouts late into the night until your eyes burned.Two full weeks passed in this strange limbo.
You were pale, exhausted, and constantly on edge. The nausea came in unpredictable waves. The fatigue made simple tasks feel monumental. And the fear of accidentally seeing Heeseung in the hallway kept you trapped in this self imposed isolation.
Deep down, a small, terrified voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was very wrong. But you silenced it the same way you silenced every memory of that night this never happened.
You would keep avoiding him. You would keep pretending everything was normal.Even as your body screamed louder and louder that nothing was normal anymore.
One ordinary afternoon, everything shifted. You were sitting in the small campus café with Yunjin and Soobin, the three of you squeezed around a corner table. Yunjin was dramatically slumped in her chair, one hand pressed to her lower stomach, complaining loudly.
“Ugh, my period is literally killing me today,” she groaned, stirring her iced latte with a pout. “Cramps are so bad, I can barely sit straight why does it always hit the worst during the worst season? I swear my uterus hates me.”
Soobin chuckled softly, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Do you want me to grab you some painkillers from the convenience store?” You tried to smile and nod along, but the words barely registered.
Her period is killing her…..
The sentence echoed in your head like a siren your own period. You mentally counted the days. It should have come a full week ago. Seven days late. Maybe more.
You had been so caught up in avoiding Heeseung, dealing with the constant nausea, fatigue, and vomiting that you hadn’t even noticed the date slipping by. Your heart started beating faster.
You pulled out your phone under the table and quietly opened your cycle tracking app. The screen glowed with the familiar calendar. A bright red notification stared back at you
period : 7 days late
You stared at the words until they blurred. No no, no, no. You tried to push the thought away immediately. It had to be stress. The irregular sleep, the constant anxiety of avoiding Heeseung, the vomiting all of it could easily throw your cycle off. That was normal right?
But then the symptoms started flashing through your mind like warning lights. The persistent nausea every morning. The vomiting that left you weak on the bathroom floor. The crushing fatigue that made it hard to stay awake in lectures.
The dizziness, sensitivity to smells, tender, swollen breasts. Your stomach dropped, could you be pregnant?
The word felt foreign and terrifying in your head. No. Absolutely not. You wouldn’t get pregnant from one night. One reckless, stupid night. People had unprotected sex all the time and nothing happened.
You were on the pill…wait, were you? You had been so stressed with midterms that you couldn’t even remember if you had taken it properly that week. The thought made bile rise in your throat again.
Across the table, Yunjin and Soobin were still talking something about upcoming assignments and a group project. Their voices sounded far away, like you were underwater.You couldn’t focus on a single word they were saying. Your mind was spinning, heart pounding so hard you were sure they could hear it.
Yunjin waved a hand in front of your face. “Hello? Earth to you! you’ve been spacing out the entire time are you okay?”You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. Your mouth felt dry.
“I—yeah, sorry just tired,” you mumbled. “Guys, I think I’m gonna head home early today my head’s killing me.”Soobin frowned, concern clear in his eyes. “Do you want me to walk you back?”“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly, already standing up and grabbing your bag. “I’ll text you later promise.”
You left the café before they could protest, walking fast, then almost jogging once you were out of sight. The nausea was back, stronger now, mixing with pure terror. Your hands were shaking as you headed straight for the small convenience store two blocks away.
Inside the store, you felt like every camera was watching you. You moved quickly through the aisles, heart hammering, until you found the family planning section. There were several pregnancy test kits.
You grabbed the most reliable looking one with trembling fingers, not even reading the brand properly. The cashier gave you a neutral look as you paid, but you couldn’t meet her eyes.
Bag clutched tightly to your chest, you practically ran the entire way back to your apartment building. You took the side stairs again, praying Heeseung wasn’t around. The moment you were inside your own apartment, you locked the door twice and leaned against it, breathing hard.
You pulled the kit out of the bag with shaking hands. The box felt heavy dangerous. You read the instructions carefully, twice. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line = not pregnant. Two lines = pregnant simple but terrifying.
You went to the bathroom, heart pounding so loudly it echoed in your ears. You followed every step exactly, hands trembling so badly you almost dropped the test. When you were done, you placed the stick on the counter and set a timer on your phone three minutes.
You paced the small bathroom, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Every second felt like an hour. The nausea was back, but this time it had nothing to do with morning sickness. It was pure fear.
What if it was positive?
What if you were actually pregnant with Heeseung’s baby?
The thought made your knees weak. You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the cold tile floor, staring at the test on the counter like it was a bomb about to go off.The timer was still counting down.
Two minutes left. You hugged your knees to your chest, eyes fixed on the small plastic stick that now, held your entire future in two little lines. You were so scared.
The timer on your phone hit zero with a soft chime that felt deafening in the small bathroom. You stayed frozen on the cold tile floor for several long seconds, knees drawn to your chest, staring at the pregnancy test lying face up on the counter like it was a live grenade.
Slowly, you pushed yourself up on shaky legs and stepped closer. One line was already dark and clear the control line. The second line was faint at first, but unmistakable. A pale pink line slowly darkening right beside the first one.
two lines = positive
You blinked hard, once, twice, as if the result would magically change if you stared long enough.“No…” you whispered, voice cracking. “No, that can’t be right.”Denial crashed over you like a wave. You snatched the test off the counter and held it closer to the light, turning it at different angles. Maybe it was a faulty test.
Maybe the line was an evaporation line. Maybe you had read the instructions wrong. You grabbed the box again and reread the instructions three more times, your hands trembling so badly the paper shook.
But no matter how many times you checked, the two lines stared back at you, clear and undeniable. It was positive. You were pregnant. The reality slammed into you all at once.
Your knees buckled. You sank back down to the bathroom floor, the test still clutched tightly in your hand. A sob tore out of your throat before you could stop it. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks as the full weight of what this meant crashed over you.
You were pregnant with Heeseung’s baby. The boy you couldn’t stand. The neighbor you had spent months avoiding. The one person you had sworn to pretend never touched you.
A broken sound escaped you half sob, half laugh of pure disbelief. Your free hand moved instinctively to your stomach, pressing lightly against the still flat surface. There was a life growing inside you right now. A tiny, real consequence of one reckless, drunken night.
The crying came harder. You curled in on yourself, forehead resting on your knees as sobs wracked your body. All the symptoms you had tried to blame on stress the nausea, the vomiting, the fatigue, the dizziness suddenly made perfect, terrifying sense.
You were going to have a baby. And the father was the last person on earth you wanted to be tied to. After several long minutes, the tears slowed, leaving you drained and hollow. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, staring blankly at the two pink lines.
You made a decision right there on the bathroom floor. You were not telling Heeseung anything, not a single word.He didn’t need to know. He would never know. Telling him would only make everything worse the teasing, the drama, the forced proximity, the endless complications with someone you already couldn’t stand.
You could barely handle living next door to him as it was. Bringing a child into that mess was unthinkable. This was your problem. Your body, your choice. You would handle it quietly. You would get rid of it.The thought made fresh tears sting your eyes, but you forced them back. There was no other option.
You were still in school, chasing your dream of becoming an art curator. Your life was barely stable right now. A baby, especially one with Heeseung as the father would ruin everything.
You stayed on the floor for a long time, clutching the test, letting the weight of the decision settle over you.
Eventually, you stood up on unsteady legs. You wrapped the test in toilet paper and hid it deep in the trash can under some tissues. You washed your face with cold water until the redness in your eyes faded a little.
You looked at your reflection pale, exhausted, terrified and whispered to yourself “This never happened.” You would schedule an. appointment. You would end this quietly.You would move on with your life and never speak of that night again.
But as you turned off the bathroom light and stepped into your silent apartment, the weight in your chest felt heavier than ever. You were pregnant. And for the first time since that night, the wall between you and Heeseung felt like it was closing in.
The decision sat heavy in your chest like a stone. You weren’t going to tell Heeseung. You were going to end this quietly and move on with your life. The very next morning, you tried to make the appointment.
You sat on your bed with your laptop open, hands shaking as you searched for clinics near campus that offered termination services. Your stomach was already churning with nausea again, but you forced yourself to focus.
You found a few options a women’s health clinic downtown and a Planned Parenthood branch about twenty minutes away. You clicked on the booking page for the first one. The form asked for your name, date of birth, contact number, and reason for visit.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. You couldn’t do it. Every time you tried to type your real information, panic surged through you. What if someone recognized your name? What if the clinic called or sent confirmation texts while you were near Heeseung?
What if the appointment somehow got back to campus gossip? The thought of walking into a clinic alone, explaining your situation to a stranger, and going through with it made your throat close up.
You closed the laptop without saving anything. You told yourself you’d try again tomorrow when you felt calmer. But tomorrow came and went. Then the next day. And the next. Meanwhile, the symptoms grew worse.
The nausea was no longer just morning sickness it hit you at random times throughout the day. The smell of food in the cafeteria made you gag. Even walking past the coffee shop near campus triggered violent waves that left you rushing to the nearest bathroom.
You started carrying saltine crackers and a small bottle of ginger ale everywhere, but they barely helped anymore.
Vomiting became more frequent. One afternoon during a lecture, you had to excuse yourself midway through and barely made it to the restroom before throwing up.
You returned to class pale and sweaty, mumbling something about food poisoning when Yunjin looked at you worriedly.
Fatigue wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. You fell asleep in the library twice that week, waking up with your cheek stuck to your notebook. Simple tasks like climbing the stairs to your apartment left you breathless and dizzy.
Your breasts were constantly tender, and your mood swung wildly one moment you were numb, the next you felt like crying over nothing. Yunjin and Soobin started noticing. During lunch on Thursday, Yunjin set her chopsticks down and stared at you.
“Okay, something is seriously wrong,” she said, voice firm but concerned. “You’ve been looking like a ghost for days, you barely eat anything, you keep disappearing to the bathroom, and you look exhausted even when you say you slept are you sick? Is it stress? Talk to us.”
Soobin nodded, his gentle eyes filled with worry. “You’ve been canceling plans and spacing out a lot. If something’s going on, you don’t have to deal with it alone. We’re here.”You forced a weak smile, pushing your untouched food around your plate. The smell of it was making you nauseous again.
“I’m okay, really,” you lied, voice quieter than usual. “Just… really behind on my capstone. The deadline is stressing me out more than I thought. I’ll be fine once I catch up.”
They didn’t look convinced, but they let it drop for the moment. Still, you could feel their eyes on you for the rest of the meal. Even Heeseung started noticing something was off.
You had managed to avoid direct contact with him for weeks, but it was impossible to hide everything when you lived next door.
One evening, you were coming home later than usual after another failed attempt to book the appointment online. You felt dizzy and nauseous, moving slowly up the hallway with your keys already in hand. As you reached your door, Heeseung’s door opened.
He stepped out, wearing a simple black hoodie, hair slightly messy like he’d just come back from practice. His eyes landed on you immediately.
You froze for half a second, then quickly turned your face away and fumbled with your lock, trying to get inside before he could say anything. But Heeseung didn’t tease you this time.
Instead, he paused in his doorway, brow slightly furrowed as he watched you. You looked pale. Thinner. There were dark circles under your eyes, and the way you moved seemed off fragile.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For once, the usual cocky remark didn’t come.“You good?” he asked quietly, voice lacking its normal edge.
You didn’t answer. You finally got the door open and slipped inside without looking at him, shutting it quickly behind you
Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, staring at your closed door with a strange, unsettled feeling in his chest. Something wasn’t right with you. He could see it.But after everything after that night you both had silently agreed to forget he didn’t know if he had the right to ask.
Inside your apartment, you leaned against the door, breathing hard. Fresh tears stung your eyes as another wave of nausea hit you. You slid down to the floor, hugging your knees. You still hadn’t been able to book the appointment.
The symptoms were getting worse every day, your friends were worried and now even Heeseung had noticed something was wrong. You pressed your forehead to your knees, whispering to yourself again and again
“This never happened… this never happened…” But the lie was starting to feel impossible to keep. Heeseung had noticed. For the past two weeks, it had become painfully obvious that you were avoiding him like the plague.
At first, he thought it was the usual the cold shoulder after that night you both had silently agreed to forget. But it quickly went beyond that. You timed your movements with military precision.
He would hear your door open and close at odd hours, always when he was either inside or already gone. You took the side stairs. You left earlier than usual in the mornings and came back much later at night.
Even at university, catching a glimpse of you had become nearly impossible. You seemed to disappear into the library or empty classrooms the moment practice ended.It was clear you were doing everything in your power to never cross paths with him.
Heeseung told himself it didn’t bother him. He had decided to forget that night too. No teasing. No bringing it up. Just normal or as normal as things could be when you lived right next door
But something was wrong. You looked terrible lately. He first noticed it in passing the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders seemed to slump with exhaustion. Then it got worse you moved slower.
Your face was paler than usual. You barely left your apartment except for classes, and even then you looked like you were running on empty.
One evening, after a long basketball practice, Heeseung was walking back to the apartment building, gym bag slung over his shoulder. The sun had already set, and the streetlights cast long shadows on the path. That’s when he saw you.
You were a few meters ahead, heading toward the entrance. Your steps were unsteady, one hand pressed lightly against the wall for support.
Even from behind, he could tell something was very wrong. Your posture was slumped, your breathing looked shallow, and you looked like you were barely holding yourself upright.
Heeseung’s stomach tightened. He quickened his pace without thinking and caught up to you just as you reached the building door.“Hey,” he said, voice low and serious, no trace of his usual teasing tone. “Are you alright?”
You turned your head slightly, eyes glassy and tired. The moment you recognized him, your expression hardened.“I don’t have time for your teasing right now, Heeseung,” you muttered weakly, trying to push past him toward the elevator.
Heeseung felt a flash of annoyance, not because you were dismissing him, but because he was genuinely worried and you clearly didn’t believe it.“I’m not teasing,” he said, more sharply than he intended. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
You didn’t respond, just kept walking toward the elevator. Heeseung followed, stepping in right after you. The doors closed, trapping the two of you in the small space. The silence was thick and uncomfortable. He could hear your breathing too fast, too shallow.
When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out first. But the moment your feet hit the hallway, your legs buckled. You swayed dangerously, one hand reaching out blindly for the wall as the world spun around you. Heeseung moved fast.
He dropped his gym bag and caught you before you could hit the floor, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other supporting your back. Your body went limp against him for a few terrifying seconds.
“Shit—” he muttered, heart pounding. “Hey, stay with me.” You were half conscious, mumbling something incoherent about being fine. Heeseung didn’t waste time arguing. He adjusted his grip and lifted you carefully into his arms in bridal style, your head lolling against his shoulder.
Your apartment was right next to his. He fumbled for a moment with your keys ( which had fallen from your hand ) until he managed to unlock the door. He carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and headed straight for your bedroom.
The room was neat but clearly lived in textbooks stacked on the desk, a half finished sketch on the table, a small trash can near the bed. Heeseung gently laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over you. Your face was pale, forehead slightly damp with sweat.
He stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. You looked so small and fragile like this. Nothing like the fiery girl who used to bang on his door and call him an entitled asshole.
Heeseung grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and placed it on your nightstand. Then he pulled up the chair from your desk and sat down beside the bed, watching you carefully.
Your breathing slowly evened out. The tension in your face relaxed as you slipped into a deeper sleep. Heeseung stayed there, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what was going on with you.
He didn’t know why you looked so sick. He didn’t even know if you’d want him here when you woke up. But right now, leaving you alone didn’t feel like an option. So he stayed quietly waiting.
Until your breathing became steady and deep, and he was sure you were fully asleep. Heeseung stayed. He told himself he’d only wait until you fell into a proper sleep, but the longer he sat there watching your pale face and shallow breathing, the harder it became to leave.
You looked exhausted, truly exhausted in a way that went beyond simple tiredness. Dark circles under your eyes, lips slightly chapped, skin lacking its usual color. Something was clearly wrong, and the protective instinct he didn’t know he had kept him rooted to the chair.
After almost an hour, when your breathing had deepened into steady, even inhales, Heeseung stood up quietly. He couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. He moved silently through your apartment, careful not to make noise.
Your kitchen was small and neat, but the fridge was nearly empty a few bottles of water, some crackers, and not much else. Heeseung frowned. No wonder you looked so drained. He opened the cupboards and found rice, a couple of eggs, and some ginger.
Simple gentle on the stomach. He decided to make congee something light that his mom used to make for him when he was sick.
He worked quietly, chopping what little he could find, boiling water, and stirring the pot on low heat. The smell of ginger and warm rice slowly filled the small apartment. He hoped it would help when you woke up. Maybe it would make you feel a little better.
He kept glancing toward the bedroom every few minutes, making sure you were still resting. Almost two hours later, you started stirring.
Heeseung was just turning off the stove when he heard movement from the bedroom. He poured some congee into a bowl, added a bit of water to make it lighter, and was about to bring it to you when
You bolted upright in bed, eyes wide with sudden panic. The smell of the food hit you like a wave. Your face went even paler, hand flying to your mouth as nausea surged violently. Heeseung’s eyes widened. “Hey—”
You didn’t wait. You scrambled off the bed on shaky legs and ran straight to the bathroom, barely making it in time.
Heeseung followed right behind you, worry spiking through his chest. He reached the bathroom door just as you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet and started throwing up violently.
“Shit—” He moved quickly, kneeling beside you without hesitation. One hand gently gathered your hair, holding it back from your face. His other hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back. “It’s okay I’ve got you, just breathe.”
You retched again, body trembling with the force of it. Heeseung stayed right there, murmuring quiet reassurances, his hand never stopping its gentle motion on your back.
When the worst of it seemed to pass, he reached over and flushed the toilet, then grabbed a clean towel from the rack and dampened it with cool water.“Here,” he said softly, handing you the towel. “Wipe your face.”
You took it with trembling hands, still breathing hard. Heeseung stood up briefly to get a glass of water from the sink and brought it back to you.“Small sips,” he instructed, crouching down again. “Don’t drink too fast.”
While you rinsed your mouth and took careful sips, Heeseung’s eyes wandered around the small bathroom, looking for anything that might help. His gaze landed on the trash can beside the sink. Something white and plastic was poking out from under some tissues.
Curious, he reached down and pulled it out, it was a pregnancy test. Two distinct red lines stared back at him clear, unmistakable, and positive. Heeseung froze.
His brain short circuited for a second. The test felt heavy in his hand as the reality sank in. Positive you were pregnant. He slowly turned his head toward you. You were already looking at him.
Your eyes were wide with pure terror, face drained of all color, lips parted in shock. You looked caught completely and utterly caught like the worst secret in the world had just been ripped open. The glass of water trembled in your hand.
Heeseung’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. His gaze flicked between the test in his hand and your terrified expression.
The pieces clicked together horribly fast the avoidance, the exhaustion, the vomiting, the way you looked like you were barely holding yourself together for the past two weeks.
This wasn’t just stress this was because of that night because of him. Heeseung swallowed hard, his voice coming out quieter than he expected.
“…Is this yours?” The bathroom fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. You were still staring at him, tears already gathering in your eyes again, looking like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.
Heeseung didn’t know what to say. He only knew that everything had just changed. Heeseung stared at the two red lines on the pregnancy test for what felt like an eternity.
The bathroom was deathly quiet except for your shaky breathing. When he finally looked up at you, your face was pale, eyes wide with pure terror, tears already spilling down your cheeks. He swallowed hard, his throat tight.
“…Are you pregnant?” he asked, voice low and rough. You didn’t speak at first. Your lips trembled as fresh tears rolled down your face. Then you gave a small, barely noticeable nod.
Heeseung felt something twist sharply in his chest. He looked back down at the test, then at you again. His next question came out quieter, almost hesitant.
“Is the baby mine?” The moment the words left his mouth, your face crumpled completely. You broke into heavy, broken sobs, shoulders shaking as you tried to cover your mouth with one hand.
“I’m sorry…” you choked out between cries. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t want this to happen, i never meant for any of this, it was just one stupid night and I— I’m planning on getting rid of it. I won’t bother you with any of this, i won’t get in your way. You don’t have to worry about anything, i’ll handle it quietly.”
Heeseung’s expression shifted the instant you said those words. Hurt flashed across his face raw, unguarded hurt. His brows drew together, jaw tightening as he processed what you were saying.
The idea that you were planning to terminate the pregnancy without even telling him felt like a punch to the gut. His hand holding the test lowered slowly to his side. You kept crying, words tumbling out faster now, desperate and apologetic.
“I’m really sorry. I know you didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for this either, i’ll take care of everything. You can just forget about it…i promise I won’t drag you into anything.”
Heeseung stayed silent for a long moment, staring at you as you sat on the bathroom floor, looking small and devastated.
The hurt in his chest mixed with something heavier confusion, disbelief, and a strange ache he couldn’t quite name. Finally, his voice came out low and strained.
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