updated: as i reblog fics. pls check the individual masterlists for specific dates.
MDNI!!!!! bc most of these have smut in them. thank you to these lovely authors for being creative and awesome and sharing their creativity and awesomeness with us 🫶
new recommendations are added at the bottom of whichever list they go in, except for fics written by the same author; those are added underneath the previous rec written by the same author.
summary: courting gifts can be anything. a pretty necklace. a bracelet. maybe even a ring, if you’re bold. but vernon gives you socks, and you don’t know what to make of them.
pairing: alpha!vernon x omega!reader
word count: 7.2k
warnings: omegaverse au, abo dynamics, fluff, some humor, best friend!omega!seungkwan, misunderstandings but not angsty, mentions of heat and pre heat, smut, nsfw, fingering, thigh riding, multiple orgasms, knotting.
Hansol Vernon Chwe takes being an alpha very seriously. But not in the way conventional alphas would.
For example, when someone asks Vernon what he thinks an ideal alpha should be, he has some points that he will count off, a checklist of sorts in his head, requirements of being a good alpha, in his opinion. An alpha has to be strong, not physically, but mentally. He needs to be reliable, stable, someone the people around him can lean on. An alpha has to be intelligent and aware. He has to anticipate his omega’s needs and provide accordingly. Not just financially, but with thoughtful actions. An alpha must be nurturing, and he knows this is the point everyone around him gets hung up on. ‘Nurturing’? That’s typically a term associated with omegas. But Vernon stands by it. Alphas have to care, to be there emotionally, to make sure their omegas have them not just physically, but to love them for their emotions as well, to shift and release pheromones that will calm their omegas. Alphas have to be providers past the actual, financial implications of the word.
So Vernon vows to himself that if he ever gets the opportunity to be an alpha for someone, he would be the one that fits his exacting, rigid standards. That opportunity comes when he meets you.
You’re Seungkwan’s friend, which isn’t surprising. Pretty much anyone Vernon knows, he knows because they are Seungkwan’s friend. Vernon can’t understand how in hell Seungkwan can keep up with such a large friend circle. He knows everybody. But it helps indirectly because Vernon doesn’t go out of his way to meet people, so Seungkwan almost acts like the proxy for his social life.
That’s exactly how he met you.
Vernon almost didn’t go, since it was just supposed to be some kind of game night for Seungkwan’s study group. But Seungkwan insisted, really insisted, and Vernon had bailed on the last two social events Seungkwan asked him to come with, so he had to give in. He’s so glad that he did.
Just the scent of you makes him stiffen, which is very unlike him. Vernon isn’t usually much affected by omegas, hell, his best friend is an omega. But you smell so sweet, in this light and fresh way that almost energises him. Your smile is so bright as you introduce yourself, hair swaying when your head moves, and Vernon’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch. He has to visibly shake his head and blink, quickly introducing himself and shutting up so that he doesn’t act like a fool. You’re so pretty, and your voice is so calming and friendly. Vernon has this deep feeling in his chest that he wants to stay around you. Right by your side.
He hangs out with you twice more after that, all in big groups, but he manages to get near you anyhow. You’re so interesting to him. You talk about your major with a passion he can never muster, a fire in your eyes, your long term plans laid out already. You’re energetic, not as much as Seungkwan, but you know how to match the omega’s energy. And you’re also quieter with Vernon, like you understand that he’s laid back and deals with things differently. Only someone truly empathetic and kind can be like that, and Vernon’s heart soars. You’re so perfect, you’re perfect, and he will be damned if he won’t be the perfect alpha for you.
And so Vernon makes a resolve. He will prove himself. He will be the one for you, to take care of you the way someone with your spirit deserves. And he is absolutely not the kind to just pussyfoot around. So Vernon watches. Vernon observes.
When fall starts bleeding into winter, he notices how you love to be bundled up. The biggest coats and jackets, the most layers of anyone else in the group.
“Cold?” He asks when you show up at the campus gates where everyone agreed to meet so you can go to dinner together. You give him a sheepish smile and nod under your heavy hoodie.
“I get cold very easily.” You admit. “My hands and feet specifically.”
Vernon knows exactly how to fix it.
That night, he rummages through his closet and finds three sets of wool socks. His grandmother knits so many for him and his sister, and keeps sending them. Vernon wears one pair and keeps the rest for later use when his first ones are worn out. He swears by them, because she uses the finest wool for knitting. He contemplates between a navy blue pair and a grey one, ultimately going for the blue. He hopes you will like them.
When he finds you in the hallways the next morning, just before classes, he feels like his heart will beat out of his chest. He’s so nervous, and he worried himself sick last night about whether or not you would accept his gift. He wants to be there for you, to provide for you and understand your needs and take care of you. To be your alpha. This is it, the big moment.
He pulls you aside and away from the prying eyes of other students before slowly pulling out the small bag he put the socks in. You take it curiously, peering inside.
“You said your feet get really cold.” He quickly explains. “These are merino wool. My grandma makes them. They’re very warm, I promise.”
You look so surprised, blinking at the item in your hand. He watches your thumb run over them, feeling how soft they are.
“A-are you sure, Vernon?” You ask. “I was just complaining about the weather, I didn’t really think….”
Vernon immediately nods. He’s so sure. There’s no one else for him except you. You look a little hesitant, Vernon holds his breath, and then finally, you nod.
The air escapes his chest with a loud whoosh, and joy takes his place. He nods, more jerky this time, trying to tamp down his giddy smile.
“Thank you so much.” You look truly touched at the gesture, and that satisfies the alpha inside him. He took care of you, and you accepted his courting gift. You want to give him a chance. And as Vernon looks into your bright, warm eyes, he’s determined to never, ever let you down.
Vernon feels like he’s on cloud nine for the rest of the day, and when he lays in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, he’s already planning other ways to convince you that he is the perfect alpha for you. He has watched you intensely (in a non-creepy way), and he knows what habits you have, and how he can enrich your life with his own presence. His top priority is giving you as much love and care as he possibly can. His phone buzzes beside his pillow, breaking him from his thoughts. His heart kicks hard when he realises who the message is from.
[you]: i love the socks vernon thank you so much!
He grins so wide he feels like his cheeks might split. Your response encourages him so much. His alpha hums, settling like a warm weight in his chest. He goes to sleep with that same, stupid grin on his face.
Vernon did believe he was good friends with you, but you warm up to him even more after that. You love to talk and catch up whenever you meet him. You love the cat videos he sends you, and when you realise he likes them, you send them to him as well. He feels particularly giddy when you caption them with something like ‘reminded me of you’. You’re so wonderful, and Vernon can’t help that deep seated catch in his stomach that tells him he is falling in love.
He doesn’t mind.
But Vernon is still courting you, and he takes being an alpha to you very seriously. He goes shopping with his sister for the weekend and picks out one of those thermoses that keep liquids warm for hours, and not the dysfunctional, knock off kind that just look pretty. Sophia thinks it’s too plain, so Vernon frets over that, but he wants this to be practical, something you really need. This is about your comfort, and he won’t compromise on that. It makes Sophia snort.
“I’m surprised you managed to court her. With socks of all things.”
That makes him blink. “She loved them. She uses them all the time.”
Sophia only laughs.
Vernon fills the thermos with your preferred preparation of coffee on Monday and gives it to you when he finds you on a picnic table on campus grounds before your first class.
“It keeps liquid warm for at least 10 hours.” He explains himself. “It’s got thicker insulation, see? I looked it up before I bought it.”
You stare at it. “Vernon, this must have cost a lot-”
He immediately cuts you off. “Don’t worry about the price. I just hope it’s good and you use it.”
You give him a wide smile, biting your bottom lip and avoiding his eyes. Are you feeling shy? Vernon’s alpha soars.
“Thank you.” You mumble. Vernon shakes his head.
“Stop saying thank you.” It’s my job. I want to take care of you.
You only let out a little laugh and nod. Vernon feels the urge to lean over the table and kiss you. It takes everything in him to not do exactly that.
The holidays come and go. Vernon talks to you often, even when you leave the city to spend the days off with your family. You wish him a happy new year, asking him about his resolutions. Vernon’s wants to say ‘to make you my omega’ but he holds back. He doesn’t want to come off too strong and push you away. So he keeps it silently in his chest, and instead asks for yours.
[you]: definitely to hit the gym. i need to get better about being healthy :(
Vernon is already planning.
When he sees you next time, it’s because you come to the dorm room to see Seungkwan. He isn’t there, but Vernon is, so you offer to wait for your friend. Vernon is eager to let you in, patting his bed down and quickly tidying up a bit. He doesn’t want you to think he’s a slob.
(He isn’t. But he also doesn’t want you to think he is.)
“I got you something.” He starts, rummaging through the bag he put your stuff in. You raise an amused eyebrow.
“Again? You really shouldn’t have…”
Vernon shakes it off. “It’s nothing much, I promise.” He walks to you with what he got.
“It’s an athletic band, for when you go to the gym.” He explains. “I wanted you to have your own. And here,” He puts everything in your lap, “electrolyte pouches. This is the good stuff that athletes use. Mingyu told me about them. The convenience store stuff isn’t very healthy.”
Your mouth is agape, and you let out an incredulous laugh. “You really go out of your way, don’t you?”
I do. Vernon wants to say. Because it’s true. He won’t spare any expense, any effort, when it comes to you. He hopes that these attempts show them to you. This is what the courting period is all about. He wants to give you proof that he is well capable of being everything you will ever want and need.
“Thank you.” You whisper. It’s so soft, so laced with warmth, and Vernon’s alpha almost preens. Almost. It’s rare for alphas to react like that, but for Vernon, this is acceptance on another level. He vowed to himself that he would be your biggest support, your only one. And he’s succeeding. He’s well on his way to being your everything, just like how you’re his everything already. He gives himself maybe a couple of more months, then he will officially ask you to be his.
He’s generally a patient guy, but he really can’t wait.
…………………………………
You have a dilemma, and you really don’t know anyone who you can talk to about it except Boo Seungkwan.
Initially, you wanted to hold off on it. You’ve known Vernon for a while now, and you know how genuine he is as a person. He is truly one of the people you trust the most, because he’s so attentive and kind. Your omega likes him too, maybe a little too much, and you always have to remind yourself that he’s just a friend, nothing more. But you can’t help being enamoured by him. He’s so different from how you are, but you gel with him so well. There’s something so charming about him, you can’t help but be sucked in.
But Vernon’s brand of weird might be getting a little…. too weird.
When he first gave you socks that his grandmother knitted, you were shocked, pleasantly so. You were half inclined to refuse, but they were genuinely so soft and Vernon looked like he really wanted you to have them, so you accepted. You did have a cold feet problem, and you complained to him about it. He happened to have a solution in his home, so he got it for you. It was very nice of him.
But then he got you that really expensive thermos. You know it was expensive because you looked it up afterwards, cursing under your breath. You love your friends and would help them any way you can, but this felt like too much. Vernon didn’t care though, adamant on you having it. And you didn’t have the heart to refuse when he kept insisting. And goddamn, it did keep your coffee warm and cozy for hours, so you could happily sip on it for a long time. You still use that thing every day.
Then there was the little stuff, like electrolyte packets and a gym headband, or the muscle patches he got you when you complained about being sore (it wasn’t even that bad, you just like to complain). It seems that no matter what you say, Vernon is always listening, like he wants any opportunity to make your life better. It warms your heart, it makes your omega keen, but Vernon is swimming very close to dangerous waters. All this is doing is making you more and more inclined to him, his thoughtfulness and care makes you want to melt right into him. Because at the end of the day, he’s an alpha, and you want him more and more with every passing day.
As you said, dangerous waters.
Things really take a turn when he shows up at your dorm with toothpaste, the same brand you use on a daily basis. You stare at it.
“Yours was running out last time I was here.” He says, and he’s so nonchalant about it, like friends just notice something like dwindling toothpaste and buy it for you. You’re so flabbergasted that you don’t even think of rejecting it, just thanking him quietly instead. He nods, smiling.
Okay, you need to talk to Seungkwan.
You text Seungkwan about meeting you for lunch at a café outside campus. It’s not too far, but enough that you know you won’t run into any of your mutual friends there. You really don’t want to talk to anyone who won’t help you, and while you’re very social on most days, you’re in no mood to deal with people right now. You ignore the urge to stay home in bed, because you really need to do something about this Vernon situation, so you push yourself to go, despite the resistance in your body.
Seungkwan just thinks it’s a normal catchup meal when he greets you, but when you start to slowly tell him about what Vernon has been doing for the last few months, his jaw just drops more and more, his plate completely forgotten.
“You’re not serious.” He mutters when you finish.
“I am.” You sigh. “And I love it, you know? I do. It makes me feel….. some type of way. But that’s why you have to tell him to stop. I can’t keep assuming that he’s doing it for some other reason. My heart can’t take it.”
You feel intense emotions rise up in you, and you have to swallow them down. It surprises you a little, how heated and charged you feel, but you push the thought out of your mind, trying to focus. Seungkwan’s face is pinched in thought, but you can see in real time as it smooths in realisation.
“Oh my god, wait.”
You watch him curiously. “What?”
But Seungkwan doesn’t say, shaking his head. Then, he goes back to his food.
“I’ll talk to him, okay?”
You’re a little confused at the weird reaction, but you nod. You’re already feeling a little tired, even though you haven’t even been out of the house that long. You wish you had just stayed in and put this off for another day.
“Just be nice about it. I don’t want him to feel bad. He’s been doing such kind things for me, I don’t want to come off as ungrateful.”
But Boo Seungkwan has a whole other storm brewing in his head as he waves goodbye to you and heads to his dorm. He thinks he has a pretty good idea about what the hell Vernon has been doing, but he needs to be one hundred percent sure about it first.
Vernon is sitting at his desk, headphones on, when Seungkwan taps him on the shoulder. The alpha turns around. Seungkwan decides not to beat around the bush.
“So I was on a lunch date with Y/N.”
Seungkwan can see the exact moment Vernon’s face lights up. He sighs internally. His suspicions are true.
“How is she?” Vernon asks.
Seungkwan plops himself down on the edge of the bed. “Wouldn’t you know that? Since she’s your omega?”
Vernon huffs out a laugh. “She’s not my omega yet.”
Yet. “But you are courting her.” He doesn’t frame it as a question.
Vernon nods. Seungkwan wants to groan.
“And it’s going well?”
“It is.”
“Right. Sure. It’s going so well that the omega you are courting doesn’t even know she’s being courted.”
Vernon pauses, blinking at Seungkwan owlishly. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Vernon’s mouth opens and closes a few times, not unlike a fish. “I don’t understand.”
Seungkwan feels a horrific laugh bubble up in his chest, but he doesn’t say anything. He watches Vernon’s face go through a million emotions, confusion being the predominant one.
“I gave her a courting gift. She accepted.”
“You gave her socks.” Seungkwan deadpans.
Vernon frowns. “She needed them. She told me herself, her feet are always cold.”
Seungkwan groans at that, putting his head in his hands. “Hansol….”
Seungkwan laughs then, but Vernon doesn’t find the situation funny at all. A mild panic is curling in his chest, his mind racing. Did you really not know? Were you really clueless? He hadn’t said it explicitly, sure, but he was certain you got his meaning. He was taking care of you, showing you he could be a good alpha. Was he not clear enough?
Seungkwan’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “A courting gift, especially the first one, has to be something romantic. Like a bracelet or a necklace. Jewellery.”
Vernon puts his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. “I- I just thought it would be better if I gave practical gifts….”
Seungkwan huffs out a laugh. “Practical gifts are great, but fucking toothpaste, man?”
Vernon wants to bash his head into a wall. He looks at Seungkwan with pleading eyes.
“What did she say? Does she not like me?”
Seungkwan shakes his head immediately. “The opposite actually. She thinks you only see her as a friend, and she feels bad about liking you more than that because of how considerate you are.”
Vernon can’t believe his ears. He can’t. You think he’s not interested? He couldn’t have made his interest any clearer. But obviously, he went about it the wrong way, and now you feel shitty because of him. Vernon’s alpha growls, disapproving. He doesn’t like this feeling, knowing that he is responsible for any negative emotion you experience.
He needs to fix this.
Seungkwan doesn’t stop him as he tugs his shoes on, grabbing his phone before he leaves. He’s contemplating on sending you a text that he’s on his way to you, but he remembers the exchange you had with Seungkwan, and he fears that his text might make you spiral. So he just sets off, hoping he can catch you when you’re not too busy so you can talk it out. He always believed he didn’t want to rush you, but if it’s causing miscommunication, then he needs to make his intentions crystal clear.
He reaches your door in record time. You don’t have a dorm mate thankfully, since your last one dropped out and a new one wasn’t appointed to you. This is good, because it means you two can talk openly. He knocks and waits, shifting on his feet. He feels anxious and uncertain, and he prays he hasn’t ruined anything between you two, especially after he tried so hard to make everything go right.
You’re not answering. Vernon tries again, wondering if maybe you have headphones on and can’t hear him. Maybe he should text you that he’s right outside. He’s just contemplating on it when the door swings open.
You have a scowl on your face, lips pulled into a pout as you stick your head out. Cute. Vernon gives you a sheepish smile when recognition dawns on your features.
“Vernon.” Your voice is raspy. He shuffles.
“Sorry. Were you sleeping?”
You blink a few times, rapid movements as if trying to clear your vision. Vernon shifts again, feeling restless. He’s been feeling restless ever since he first knocked on your door. He scents the air instinctively. You smell…. just as you always do. Maybe sweeter? He can’t place it. Something is off, not in a bad way. But he can’t put his finger on it.
“This isn’t a good time.” You say, and your voice is still strained and tired. Vernon’s early anxiety is gone. He feels concern sting at his chest.
“Are you okay?” He has to ask, because a voice inside him is telling him that you’re not. You pause before answering, and it’s a little too long for his taste.
“I’m fine. Just tired. Can we talk in a few days?”
A few days? Vernon’s eyebrows furrow. His nose won’t stop twitching because of the alteration in your scent. He watches you, really watches you, the barely noticeable line of sweat on your hairline, your breathing just slightly more rapid than usual, how you’re gripping the doorframe like it’s holding half your weight. Vernon’s alpha bristles.
“Pre-heat?” He croaks.
You swallow tightly, he can see it with the way your throat bobs. When you don’t deny it, his alpha howls. His fingers twitch. It takes everything in him to not reach for you.
“So, later?” You ask again. He blinks.
“I was courting you.” He blurts. “The gifts. I- I thought I was being clear about it. But I wasn’t. That’s my fault, not yours. I should’ve said it, I should’ve gotten you something prettier or nicer. But I didn’t.”
Your jaw drops at his words. Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds.
“You like me?” Your voice is so tiny, so unsure. Vernon wishes he could rip the heart out of his chest and give it to you to prove that he doesn’t just like you, but that he’s in love with you. But he settles for better words.
“I wanted to show that I could take care of you. That I could be a good alpha and love you the way you deserve.”
Your eyes are bright. Your mouth is slightly open in an ‘O’ shape. You don’t say anything for a long while. Vernon feels despair sink in his head.
“I’m sorry.”
You seem to break from your trance. Your eyebrows draw together. “What are you sorry for?”
Before he can reply, your voice dies and you wince. Vernon feels his chest squeeze, hands reaching out before he can stop himself when he sees your poster hunch forward a little. He hovers uncertainly over you. Being in your space makes your scent get denser, heavier. Vernon grits his teeth hard. His brain feels like it’s short circuiting.
“You should get back inside.” He chokes out. “You shouldn’t be standing up right now. Your cramps will get worse.”
You don’t reply, almost like your mind is fogged. Vernon makes up his mind, very carefully placing his hands on your elbows so he can shuffle both of you backwards into the room.
It smells even more intensely like you inside. Vernon’s eyelids flutter, and he has to stop himself from breathing in deep. He gently guides you to the bed and you follow without much hesitation. You sigh into the pillows once your body relaxes, and Vernon pulls the blanket over you. He notices just then that you’re wearing the navy blue socks he gave you. His heart skips a beat as he leans beside the edge of the bed.
“Do you need anything?” He tries to make a mental list. He’s never really helped an omega with their heat before. When Seungkwan goes into heat, university policy is to leave the dorm and room with someone else for the duration, so he just stays with another friend. But Vernon isn’t a complete idiot, so he thinks. Painkillers, a warm water bottle, sustenance of some kind, something high calorie-
“Just stay here with me.” You pipe up. He freezes.
“I can’t.” He tries to say as placatingly as possible. “Your heat will hit soon.”
You blink up at him, and he notes the thin, shiny layer covering your eyes. “So?”
He stares. “So….. I can’t stay.” Or I will lose my mind.
“Yes, you can. You said you wanted to show me you can take care of me, right?” Your eyelids hang low, eyes only half open as you peer up at him. “So take care of me, alpha.”
Vernon thinks his head is spinning. No, it’s the room. The room is spinning. He is completely still in place, like a statue, because he feels that if he moves, he will sway and topple over. His alpha is howling, a chorus of ‘yes, yes, yes’ that chokes any other thought in his brain. Instead, he clenches his jaw hard and reaches his hand up to rest it carefully on your head. He brushes your hair back slowly. You sigh at his mere touch. You’re heated, already almost burning up.
“Are you sure?” He whispers. “You’re close to heat. You can’t be saying this just because your omega wants an alpha here with you.”
You let out a small laugh. “I’m in pre-heat only. I know what I’m doing. I’ve….. liked you for a while now.”
Vernon can feel how hot the back of his neck is. “Really?”
You nod. He lets out a shaky breath. He can’t believe his ears, almost like someone went in there and scraped all his brains out, leaving his head hollow and light. But his chest is so full that he feels like it will explode.
“Okay.” He says with an air of finality. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. You won’t want for anything. I’m here.”
…………………………….
You don’t really remember much of your pre-heats, generally. Most of the time, you spend it dozing in and out of sleep, eating whatever you’ve stashed in your room beforehand. This one is the same. You’re very sleepy, so you hunker down on your bed and nap as much as you can. The difference this time is that you’re coaxed awake every few hours by an alpha hanging over your bed, helping you sit up and feeding you small bites of warm food instead of your usual packaged stuff.
Vernon leaves whenever you fall asleep, coming back with stuff he picks up from restaurants, all rich and dense food that puts you in a good mood and makes you sleep longer. Two nights after he first showed up, you feel uncomfortable again, so you ask for his hoodie. He doesn’t hesitate for two seconds before he pulls it off and tugs it onto you.
“Better?” He asks as you sink into bed again. You hum in relief. It feels amazing to be surrounded by his scent like this. Your omega settles and your discomfort wanes.
“Much.” You reply. He nods. You watch him putter around, cleaning up plates and looking at how much water you still have. You know that you’re only settling with his hoodie temporarily. As your heat hits, his clothes won’t be enough. You will want him. All of him.
Your face flames at the thought. You really never could’ve imagined that Vernon would want to help you like this. You always assumed he was being a good friend, hence why you wanted Seungkwan to stop him. Because you were getting too attached to him, and you didn’t want to set yourself up for future hurt. Turns out, he was courting you, in some characteristically Vernon way of his. And in a way….. it worked. It made you love him more.
Days pass in your pre-heat haze. When you wake up one day, your back drenched in sweat and your heart racing so fast it makes you pant heavily, you realise you’ve hit your heat. You sit up slowly, struggling to unfold your tense body. Vernon isn’t here, probably out to get more supplies or a change of clothes for himself. Your omega whines. You’re wet between the thighs already. You rub them desperately together. Why is your alpha not back yet?
You’re just psyching yourself up to leave the bed when the door to your dorm swings open and Vernon steps inside, arms weighed by bags. He blinks, surprised to see you awake.
“Hey. How are you feeling?” He asks, pushing the door shut with his heel and placing the bags on your study table. You let out a shaky breath.
“Alpha.”
Something in your voice seemingly registers, because his head jerks up. You can feel his nose twitch when you shift, throwing the blanket off your sweaty body. Your scent hits him. You try to shuffle closer to him.
“Need you, please.”
Vernon wastes no time in toeing off his shoes and walking closer to the bed, settling on it and letting you come to him. You crawl into his lap, sighing in relief when your skin meets his. He still hasn’t taken his jacket off, so you tug impatiently at it. He obliges by discarding it, leaving him in a simple shirt and jeans.
You tuck your head against his neck like it’s second nature, like you’ve done it a million times before. You nose at his scent glands, eager to have it invade your senses straight from the source. You feel his hand run comforting circles over your sweaty back.
“You’re drenched.” He murmurs, tugging at your shirt a little where it’s sticking to your skin. You huff.
“‘M hot.”
“Do you want a change of clothes?”
No. I want you to take them off entirely.
You don’t say it, just biting your lip and nosing at his neck more. You know Vernon is here to help with your heat, but you suddenly feel so shy asking him to. God, this was your idea, and you can’t even bring yourself to verbalise it.
When your silence stretches too long, you feel a soft hand on your jaw, nudging your head up. Your eyes meet wide, brown ones.
“I’m here for whatever you need. Just ask, okay? I can’t know unless you tell me.”
He’s right. He’s being so logical and so sweet about it while you’re wallowing. So you nod, mustering up the confidence to peer up at him and say, “I want you.”
Vernon nods. “Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”
When he leans down to softly brush his lips to yours, your omega whines. You inhale shakily and press closer, kissing him properly. He takes it so slow, like he’s savoring every second of it, running his hands carefully, reverently, down your sides before sliding under the hem of your shirt. His skin is so cool against your heated body, and it’s a welcome relief. You sigh into his mouth.
Vernon grips just a little tighter, your flesh dimpling under his touch. It makes your body shift forward, your core grazing over his jean-clad thigh. Your breath hitches as pleasure zips up from your core.
That sets a charged, lazy rhythm. Vernon guides the movement of your body with a firm grip on your hips, back and forth, back and forth, your cunt sliding over his thigh. The rough material of his jeans provides delicious friction, while your flimsy shorts might as well not be there. You’re soaked through, and if you looked down, you’re sure you would see a dark patch on his jeans. He seems to not care about the fact that you’re ruining his clothes. He moans into your mouth, tenses his thigh periodically in a way that sends a pleasurable jolt up your spine. Your legs are spread wide apart, your slit open, pressing your most sensitive parts to him. He kisses you senseless as the pressure in your core gets tighter and tighter, your movements more rushed, more sloppy. He bites your bottom lip the exact moment your orgasm hits, washing over your body like a tidal wave, leaving you moaning and shaking, Vernon’s sure grip the only thing holding you steady.
“Good. Good girl.” He whispers into your raw, bitten lips. “Perfect. There you go.”
Your trembling body goes limp against his figure. He holds you there for a bit, letting you come down. You process what just happened. This was not what you expected, though you’re not complaining at all. It was so hot.
You’re shifted backwards slowly. Vernon lays you on the bed and presses a sweet kiss on your cheek, pulling back.
“You really should change clothes now, sweetheart.” He says. You giggle breathlessly and nod.
Vernon finds a fresh pair of shorts and a loose shirt. He helps you change. You really don’t feel hesitant about being naked in front of him. Hell, you just rode his thigh and came all over him. Speaking of, his jeans are ruined, you can see it a mile off. Vernon excuses himself to the bathroom once you’re settled, and when he emerges later, he’s dressed in sweats.
You eat the food he brought, more like he feeds you and you let him. It feels nice, being pampered and taken care of like this. You say as much to him. He lets out an airy laugh and shakes his head.
“That’s what my intention was the entire time.” He confesses. “I wanted to be a good alpha to you. And in my opinion, a good alpha is someone who knows how to take care of his omega. I was trying to prove that.”
You smile, watching him set the empty plate aside and pour you a glass of water.
“I already know you’re a good person, Vernon. You didn’t have to do all that.”
He shakes his head. “There’s a difference between being a good person and a good alpha. You needed to know I would be there through thick and thin, and I could anticipate your needs and make your life easier. To be loved is to be known, isn’t that what they say?”
You stare at him, speechless. Your heart squeezes in your chest, and you try to look for words, anything you can say to tell him how much this means to you, how much he means to you. But you’re tired, and your heat is messing with your head, and you can’t think of anything that will properly get your meaning across. So you put down the glass in your hand and lean forward, laying a kiss on his lips.
You feel him stiffen only briefly, kissing you back when he realises what is happening. You feel his hand cup your cheek tenderly, slotting his lips deeper into yours. You sigh into this kiss, kicking forward to once again settle in his lap like you did previously. It’s almost like instinct. It’s comforting for you, and with the way his free arm curls around you, you know he likes it too.
You don’t know if it’s your heat, or just the fact that it’s Vernon, but the air charges quickly, and the kiss deepens. Your bodies undulate together, small moans and sighs until you can feel a familiar ache in your loins, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“Alpha.” You whine into him.
“I’ve got you.” He reassures you, like he always has. The world tilts, and you’re laid back on the mattress, his torso pressing you down deliciously. His mouth doesn’t leave you for a second, nipping and kissing, before his tongue licks into your mouth. Your pussy clenches around nothing.
Fingers dip into the waistband of your pajamas, tugging them off in one smooth motion. Fingers prod at your entrance, and you pull your knees up and apart. You’re already so wet, so ready, that he slides two fingers in immediately with next to no resistance.
“Fuck.” Vernon groans at the exact time you gasp. His fingers curl, pressing and rubbing, looking for that one spot. You moan and jerk.
“You’re so wet. You’re gonna ruin the sheets.”
He pulls back enough to look down at you. You watch in awe as the corner of his lip quirks up with a smirk you have never seen before. He looks so sexy like this, it makes your head spin.
“Soak my hand. Wanna feel it.”
You shriek when he presses into your soft spot, back arching off the bed. He coos, watching you with half lidded eyes, biting his bottom lip. You burn under his gaze, but it feels so good. Your orgasm is building up frighteningly quick, and before you know it, your legs are seizing.
You babble incoherently, trying to warn him, one hand fisting his shirt while the other tugs at the sheets. The knot in your core is so tight, ready to burst any moment, and he says the final words to get you there.
“Go ahead, baby. Be a good girl. Do what I said. Soak my hand.”
And you do, stars bursting in your vision at the same time that the knot implodes. You can hear how wet the sounds get, sloppy and filthy enough to make you flush. But you’re too preoccupied by how good it feels, washing over your entire body in waves. You know, even before you are fully down, that you are now addicted to this feeling, to him. His scent, heavy and reassuring and endlessly horny, you can tell. And his presence, sure and all encompassing. Your hands, still trembling, reach down, pawing and scratching at his pants.
“Alpha.” You’re surprised you can speak. “Off. Need- need you. Your knot. Please.”
Vernon doesn’t hesitate. With a few precise motions, his pants are pulled off and his shirt follows. You run your hands hungrily over his lean figure. He’s cut. You can trace the muscles, and it makes your mouth water. He’s so hard already, long and veiny and throbbing, and your pussy clenches pathetically. Your hips jerk.
Vernon wraps a hand around his shaft, pumping a few times. You see the precum leak from his tip and dribble down. Your legs twitch when he rubs his mushroom head up and down over your slit, gathering your slick. He groans.
“Look at that. You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” You watch him bite his lip. You buck up again. Finally, he guides the head down, teasing your rim for a few seconds before sliding the head inside.
Your jaw goes slack as he slides in, inch by glorious inch, until you feel the base of his pelvis meet your skin. You can feel him throb even inside you, your walls squeezing and releasing over and over to try and get used to the massive intrusion. Above you, Vernon’s face is pinched, and he curses loudly.
“Don’t- please don’t do that.” His voice is strained. “I’m gonna cum too soon.”
You can’t help your breathless giggle, but you try to relax a little around him. You both breathe deeply, and finally, you feel the alpha move.
The pace is stable and reverent from the beginning, like he wants to feel every nook and cranny of your cunt around him. He fucks you like he’s making up for lost time, speeding up and then slowing down, watching his cock disappear inside your needy, sopping pussy and pulling out, the shaft shiny with your juices. Your eyes roll up at the feeling, how he carves through your opening, in and out, brushing over all the good spots as he moves. He changes the angle every couple of minutes, and you gasp loudly when he hits you just right.
He reads your body like an open book, immediately honing in on the spot and picking up speed. Skin slaps against skin, a plopping sound that fills the room and only turns you on even more, if that’s even possible. Vernon’s eyes run over every part of you hungrily, like he wants to commit all of it to memory, and you feel like you’re on fire under the heat in his gaze.
“I’m gonna cum again.” You whimper, feeling tears sting at your eyes as your pleasure crests to heights you have never felt before. Your whole body feels like it’s molten lava, bubbling up inside you until it overtakes your every nerve. Your hands scramble for purchase, and Vernon sees. He winds his fingers through yours and pushes up, pressing your intertwined hands above your head. Your back arches, body laid open for his eyes only. And under his watchful gaze, his soft words, you cum hard, wailing as you drench his cock with your juices, squeezing around him so hard that you almost black out. Something swollen catches on your opening. He thrusts rough a few more times before he surges forward, bullying his knot deep inside you. Your eyes roll. Your omega keens.
Vernon releases your hands, running his own carefully down your body, like he wants to milk the rigidity from your limbs. You breathe heavily, trying to blink the tears away. He nuzzles into your neck, nosing at it and inhaling deep. When you feel his tongue lick over your scent glands, you shiver.
“Sorry.” He whispers when feels it. “Too much?”
You shake your head and turn it the other way, baring your neck to him. You feel his shaky exhale. He runs his tongue over your neck again, scenting you properly. You bask in the feeling.
You’re so completely at peace here, with his knot inside you and his tongue on your skin. This is exactly what you needed. And it’s clear to you now that Vernon knows actually what you need, always.
summary: you think you’re good at keeping your crush on your roommate hidden. you can handle it. but then you wake up to him in bed next to you, arms wrapped around you, and you have no idea how to deal with your suppressed feelings anymore.
word count: 10.8k
warnings: college au, seungcheol is a playboy and the frat kind, reader is a nerd and an introvert, roommate!seungcheol, roommate!jeonghan, angst, fluff, doremiz as bffs, smut, nsfw, oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, possessive tendencies and jealousy.
Early mornings in your apartment are quaint.
You weren’t a morning person for most of your life, but college hath changed you, or whatever. Now you are up in the morning like clockwork, even without an alarm, and even on weekends. It’s a little annoying, especially when you plan to have a lazy Saturday, so you would rather wake up much later. But there’s nothing you can do to fight the biological clock inside you. It is what it is.
Everything is dead silent as you open your door and putter into the kitchen. You’re sure both your roommates are neck deep in slumber, since it was Friday night last night. That always means a party on campus, so the next morning usually entails not waking up until well into the day and with a terrible hangover. It’s only 9am right now. You’re sure they won’t be up until at least noon.
You don’t make a lot of noise as you get the machine ready for a nice cup of coffee. All three of you had gone in on it so you could get the expensive, fancy kind. Jeonghan had called it an investment, and you had wholeheartedly agreed. Seungcheol grumbled about it a little but gave his part of the money anyway. He kept claiming he wasn’t that big on coffee, but ever since you bought it, he has had a cup every morning without fail, something Jeonghan will never stop teasing him on.
The aroma is warm and rich in your nose as it slowly infiltrates the kitchen. You contemplate if you want breakfast now with your coffee or later, and decide to grab an apple. You’re just staring at it, wondering if the brown spot on it is something you can ignore or if you should discard the whole thing, when you hear light pattering on the floors outside.
You expect Jeonghan’s slumped, languid figure to slink into the kitchen, groaning about how tired he is, or maybe Seungcheol with his head of short, spiked hair all over the place and that perpetual pout that undercuts his years of effort building impressive muscle. But it’s neither of them. It’s someone you don’t know.
She blinks owlishly at you, hair tangled on her head and wearing a bright bodycon dress, holding a pair of heels in her hand. Her mascara is smudged, but under the distressed look, you can tell that she is amazingly pretty.
“Hi.” She chirps. It’s soft and almost melodic. You manage to smile back. The air is painfully awkward, so she shifts and takes a hesitant step back.
“I should just go.” She says sheepishly, and before you can say anything (not that you were planning to), she disappears from the doorway of the kitchen. After a few seconds, you hear the front door click shut. You swallow hard, but the knot formed in your throat doesn’t go away.
Friday nights don’t just mean waking up at noon with terrible hangovers. They also mean a girl trying to tiptoe out of Seungcheol’s room. And always a stranger. Never the same one twice.
You sigh and turn back to the coffee machine, which lets out a beep. You quickly take the pot to fill your cup, deciding against adding milk and just taking a sip of the dark mixture. You wince when it slides down your throat, but it’s hot enough and bitter enough that the knot in your throat loosens. You stare at your cup, the swirling liquid, and try your best to not think about your recent interaction.
There’s no point in it. Seungcheol is just….. like that. Someone so unbelievably different that you can’t fathom how you even ended up in the same orbit.
Well, you know exactly how. Yoon Jeonghan.
Jeonghan was in your first ever introductory class in college. He was seated right next to you, and after knowing you for the duration of just one lecture, he asked if you were looking for a place off campus, and then offered you his in the same breath. Apparently he and his roommate were desperate, and they really needed a third cohabitant in order to make rent. You just turned out to be the one who was looking for a place to stay, so you ended up saying yes, because Jeonghan gave you great vibes.
Seungcheol did too, when you met him.
You were immediately taken by him. He was loud and a little rough around the edges, but so endlessly kind. Seungcheol doesn’t look it, but he’s very in-tune with people’s emotions as well as his own. He knows what he wants out of life, he has endless confidence in himself. He’s charismatic, magnetic, and it only helps that he is beyond attractive. Tall, built like a brick house (something he is very proud of), soft dark hair and that charming smile accentuated by a dimple on his right cheek.
That fuckass dimple.
You knew you liked him. It was immediate. You were excited just at the thought of sharing space with him. And so you moved in, giddy at the thought of having your own place for the first time in your life, and sharing it with two guys who looked like seemingly amazing people.
And they truly are. It’s just that you were naïve to think Seungcheol’s appeal didn’t extend to everyone else like it did to you.
He’s like a lighthouse, attracting everyone to him like lost travelers. His friend circle is huge, from the gym dudes like Mingyu and Jihoon he works out with, to the party freaks like Soonyoung and Joshua he spends weekends with. He’s not in a frat, but he moves among a lot of similar people. Then there’s their friends, just an endless network that won’t stop expanding. This means meet-ups and parties every weekend, and that means there’s a girl in his room every two or three weekends.
You can’t even fault him. If someone looks like that, it would be criminal if they didn’t get regular action.
You and Seungcheol are fundamentally different people. You have friends too, but fewer, and more tight-knit. You are a homebody above anything else, and if it wasn’t for your friend Seungkwan, who is the most extroverted person you know outside of Seungcheol, you would never even leave your house. But Seungkwan’s definition of going out is much different to Seungcheol’s. So while Seungcheol likes the gym, pregaming, bowling and frat parties, you have scheduled cooking classes, basket weaving workshops, and arcade tournaments that Hansol drags you to once every month.
You’re poles apart. And you’re content with that. You can float in his periphery, and that’s enough for you. He’s miles out of your league anyway. So you’re happy just being an admirer.
“It’s pathetic.” Hansol often mumbles, voice devoid of any real venom. He sounds disinterested if anything.
“Thanks.” You shoot back. Seungkwan looks at Hansol, offended on your behalf.
“I think it’s cute.” He defends you. You grin at him and pinch his cheek. He swats your hand away, making you laugh.
“How bad can it really be if you just tell him?” Chan pipes up, his head down as he concentrates on pouring his wax into the mold slowly, trying not to spill it. You genuinely think his candle will smell the best out of your group, since he’s the only one truly concentrating. You’re too focused on telling them about the girl in your kitchen this morning.
Hansol snorts, tapping his mold on the table like your instructor told you to. His is a strange, muddy brown color. It smells like shit, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. You and Seungkwan did drag him to this candle making class on a weekend when he could just be sleeping all day, so he could make the worst candle known to man and you will still hype him up.
“She doesn’t have the balls.” He mumbles. You look at him with a gaping mouth.
“Hey!”
Hansol raises a challenging eyebrow. “Do you? You won’t tell him you like him. Ever. I’m not wrong.”
You scowl, feeling deeply offended. He isn’t wrong, and you all know it, because Seungkwan isn’t defending you this time. He just gives you a wince, indicating he agrees with Hansol. Dammit, you’re cornered.
“Your candle smells like shit.” You shoot back.
That distracts him, and he starts doubting and fretting over his candle, leaning down to sniff it over and over. The rest of the workshop is spent trying to salvage Hansol’s attempt, so you don’t get back to the topic you were previously discussing.
Good.
Jeonghan and Seungcheol are both on the couch by the time you come back in the late afternoon. They both look bleary-eyed and half dead, hair still damp on their heads from showering, eating takeout and watching TV. They greet you brightly when you come in, and you slump onto the couch next to them.
“What did you bring us?” Jeonghan asks. You always bring your crafts home, including today. You made three candles, one for each of you, and you’re excited as you take them out of your tote, hand them over, describing the scents you used.
“I made lavender and vanilla for you.” You hand Jeonghan his. He hums and nods in satisfaction as he sniffs, smiling big.
“Oh I need to light this immediately.” He pipes up, quickly standing to trudge into the kitchen. You grin.
“And me?” Seungcheol smiles at you, still leaned back on the couch so he can rest his head on the cushion. You can tell his head is still hurting a little.
“Your favorite.” You smile. “Cherry.”
Seungcheol looks excited as you hand it over. He eyes the dark color for a little bit before bringing it to his nose, sniffing. You watch his eyelashes flutter.
“Oh.” You see his lips tug up in realisation. “It smells like my cologne.”
“Yeah. The other note is sandalwood.” You feel the sides of your face heat up. “You…. you like those scents a lot.”
You immediately feel like you’ve revealed too much when Seungcheol’s eyes soften. He watches you for a few seconds, sniffing again.
“I love it.” He says, turning it over in his hand. It looks comically small in his hold. “It’s perfect.”
You nod jerkily and fidget a little, trying not to think about how fast your heart is racing, or how gentle this moment feels. Intimate, almost, sitting so close to him that your knee almost touches his thigh, his hair half falling into his eyes, the eyes he still has trained on you, the candle you put care into held delicately in his hand.
Jeonghan walks back into the living room with his lit candle, talking about how much trouble he had finding a lighter. The air around you breaks, and you stand up, mumbling something about how you’re tired already, so you’re going to head to bed. It’s only afternoon, and the excuse is bullshit, but you know you can’t be close to Seungcheol much longer without your heart hurting. You don’t feel Seungcheol’s eyes on your back as you leave, and you have no clue about the knowing way Jeonghan looks at his friend.
…………………………
Weekdays are filled with classes. So you have no time to relax.
You think it’s a fundamental flaw in you that you are taking so many classes, but your overachieving tendencies won’t let you back down from even one of them. Some days, it leaves you annoyed and frustrated, but often, those same classes serve as a blessing in disguise, because they preoccupy you so much that you don’t have to worry about any other problem in your life.
By the end of the week, you’re so exhausted that you just want to glue yourself to your bed, vowing not to move for the entire weekend. Of course, Seungkwan always plans something and inevitably drags you out of your humble abode, but you will take what time you have, unwinding and letting your brain shut down after a long and tiring five days. You fall asleep in the middle of your Modern Family marathon, managing to get only halfway through the season before you’re shutting your laptop, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, you’re knocked out, and you don’t move until well into the next morning.
You wake up because you’re burning hot. Sweat makes your shirt cling to your back. In fact, your back is so warm that it’s uncomfortable. Your face pinches in annoyance, and you shift a little. At your movement, something tightens around your waist.
Your eyes pop open.
Morning light filters in through the curtains on your windows, setting the room up in a soft glow. You’re on your side, staring at the far off wall of your bedroom. There is weight draped over your waist, a warm touch splayed over your stomach. When you shift again, just slightly, the touch twitches and moves.
A hand.
You almost scream, but then you feel the soft hit of air on the back of your neck, periodic and deep. Like someone exhaling. You breathe in, the smell of cherry and sandalwood in your nose. You would recognise that anywhere. Even barely half conscious, you know who that scent belongs to.
Your entire backside, your torso, your ass, the back of your thighs, are pressed tightly to Seungcheol’s front, his arm a heavy weight draped around you so that he hand grips your stomach gently. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his exhales on your skin. You’ve gone so stiff you can barely feel your body, but you’re hyperaware of every part of you that touches him. You lay there in shock, contemplating.
What the hell is he doing? How did he end up in your room? How did he end up spooning you?
You have no answers, but you do know you need to get out of here. You brace yourself, using your leg in contact with the mattress to push until your body disconnects with Seungcheol’s a little. You freeze when he groans, a low sound that cracks under the weight of sleep, and you barely hold in a gasp when he tugs harshly with the arm around you, making you lurch back so he is once again pressed into you. He curls tighter around you, like his body is melting into yours, and your heart kicks painfully at your ribs. That’s when you feel it, hard and insistent, just nestled between your ass cheeks, his erection straining against the jeans he probably wore to whatever party he attended last night.
Mortification hits your veins like ice. You’re rock still in his arms, not even able to process what the fuck is happening to you. You feel his hand move a little, squeezing subconsciously, his fingers sinking into the plush of your stomach. Your face flames, and you can’t take it anymore. You grip his wrist tight and tug hard, loosening his grip, and immediately lunging out of bed. Your feet barely hit the floor before you’re already making a beeline out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom. You don’t look back once. You definitely used enough force to wake him, but maybe he was so drunk before he passed out that he didn’t get roused by your movements.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, the horrified look on your face, your wide eyes, and the fact that your heart is beating so fast that it’s making you breath heavily. You lean against the sink, your legs shifting, and you realise you’re wet, nearly soaking through your shorts.
Your hands tremble as you wash them, staring at nothing. You remember how warm Seungcheol was, almost unbearably so, how good it was to feel him against you, the solid frame of him, caging you in like you were meant to be in his arms. His hand, digging into your flesh like it was his, and his bulge, so prominent and urgent, pressing into your ass, inches away from where you need him the most.
You’re so fucked.
You don’t think twice before jumping into the shower, letting the water pour over your head even though it’s not hair wash day. You don’t even wait for the hot water to come in, just standing beneath the stream as it slowly warms up. The initial shock of cold does wonders, calms your racing heart and smothers the heat in the bottom of your stomach. You let out a shaky breath.
It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. He was probably so drunk he didn’t even realise where he ended up crashing. Your room is the first one on the left, his is the first one on the right. It’s an easy mistake, especially if someone is wasted. It seems like the best explanation, way more plausible than him actually sliding into your bed intentionally, a notion that just sounds absurd in your head.
You don’t know what to do.
You stay in the shower for so long that the pads of your fingers prune and the water turns cold again. You slip your pajamas back onto your wet body, because you didn’t bring a change of clothes with you, and finally, you brace yourself and return to your room, taking a deep inhale before opening the door. The bed is empty. He’s gone.
It’s relieving, because you were in no way prepared to see him. When you look at the clock, you realise it’s almost midday. So you pick up your phone and text Seungkwan, asking what his plans for the day are.
Seungkwan is honestly confused, because you almost never initiate meet-ups yourself, but he doesn’t turn you down. Him and Chan are both free, so you decide to meet up for a simple lunch. Hansol opts out, since his sister is in the city for the weekend. You’re grateful you have someone, because keeping this inside is feeling more and more impossible. As soon as you sit down, you blurt out everything that happened in the morning.
Seungkwan is beside himself, mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish, horror struck. He gasps at every detail, but groans disapprovingly when you talk about Seungcheol’s hard-on against your ass.
“You could’ve left that detail out.” He mutters.
“But it’s important!” You insist. “Kwannie, I’m a mess. What do I do? How can I even look him in the eye after this?”
Chan huffs, looking a lot calmer than Seungkwan. “Don’t do anything. Look, you’re right. It was probably a mistake. And if he remembers it at all, he will be pretty embarrassed. So just don’t talk about it at all. Don’t bring it up. Be normal.”
Right. That’s solid advice. Be normal.
But it’s hard to do that, not when you can’t stop thinking about it. The sizzle of his touch is something you’re reminded of when you lay in your bed that night, staring up at your ceiling and remembering how it felt to have his breath hit your skin, so close that you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. And when the heat becomes too much, when your mind goes awry and shuts down, your hand slides into your shorts.
It’s too much. You can’t face him when your brain and your actions are so depraved.
When Hansol finds out what happened, he says what he always does, that this is a problem of your own making.
“You chose this.” He says on Monday, when you finally meet him and tell him everything. “You live with him. It’s unavoidable that something weirdly uncomfortable would happen when you’re in close quarters with someone. And you can’t avoid him. You will see him every day.”
To you, it was always a net positive that you got to see Seungcheol every day, any unrequited feelings aside. Your hidden crush on him was trumped by the fact that he was so endlessly charming to you, your little puppy crush urged on by seeing him, being around him, basking in his presence. But now, that very thing is coming back to bite you in the ass.
You go a whopping three days without coming face to face with him. But then, your sneaking finally fails you. He catches you before classes on Wednesday, cornering you in the kitchen when you’re there to fill up your water bottle.
“I’m really sorry about that night.” He sounds sheepish, embarrassed. You remember Chan’s words, shaking your head in the best way you can think of to placate him.
“It’s fine! You were drunk, you probably don’t even remember that you did it. Honest mistake, right?”
Seungcheol smiles a little, his eyes trained carefully on you.
“Right.” He mutters.
He’s uncharacteristically quiet, and you want to blame it on his embarrassment. You feel uncomfortable, and you wonder if it has to do with what happened between you, or if he’s just being a little weird today.
“I should go.” You mumble. “Just had to fill this up.”
You hold up your water bottle for him to see. His eyes finally leave you to focus on it, and he raises a thick eyebrow.
“That’s new.” He points to the handle. You have a small Sanrio keychain hanging from it. You’re surprised he noticed, but you nod excitedly.
“Hansol’s sister came to see him for the weekend. She got all of us little trinkets.”
Seungcheol hums. “She knows your favorite Sanrio character? That’s cute.”
You smile and nod again, more enthusiastically. “I’m sure Hansol told her….”
A thought enters your head. You tilt your head to the side in thought. “How did you know?”
Seungcheol blinks, then lets out a small laugh. “You’re not exactly subtle about it, sweetheart. It’s plastered all over your room.
Right. Your room. The room he was in because he slept with you in your bed. Your stomach twists and you swallow hard. He looked around your room? When? After waking up? While you were showering? The thought of Seungcheol being in your private space, saying all your little interests laid out everywhere makes your heart flutter. You’re very private about your space, both him and Jeonghan know this. You don’t think either of them have been in your room since they first helped you move in.
You watch Seungcheol from where your back is against the counter. He watches you. You remember that night as the air around you two holds its breath. He was so close, closer than anyone had been in a long, long time. But you bet it was normal for him, this physical intimacy. After all, he’s had a steady rotation of girls in his room for as long as you’ve known him.
Right. This is Choi Seungcheol. Popular, attractive Choi Seungcheol. Wildly out of your league Choi Seungcheol.
“I’m gonna….” You gesture to the door. There’s a knot in your throat, and you don’t think you can speak. Seungcheol blinks and nods, steps away so you can walk past him. Your fingers shake as you tug your shoes on and escape quickly through the front door.
You walk to campus alone, already in agreement with Seungkwan that you will meet him there. You’re grateful for it, because you can go through your jumble of thoughts silently, so you can try to address this deep, uneasy feeling right in the center of your chest. It’s a strange mix of dread and longing that leaves you with a strange emptiness inside, like a sinking hollow. You think, for the first time since you moved in, that maybe being around Choi Seungcheol wasn’t the best idea. Maybe this will ultimately be your unraveling.
The hollow feeling settles like a weight. You walk to class slowly.
You still arrive ten minutes early, but you don’t have to worry about distracting yourself, because Seungkwan is practically buzzing in his seat. You raise a curious eyebrow as you sit next to him, and he immediately turns to you, like he was waiting for you to show up.
“There’s a party.” He says. “In the frat Seokmin is a part of.”
You blink. “Your biology lab partner Seokmin?”
Seungkwan nods. His grin is so wide you’re surprised his face hasn’t split.
“I didn’t know he was in a frat.” You mumble, pulling your laptop out and setting it on your desk.
“Well, he is.” Seungkwan answers impatiently. “Anyway, he and I just finished wrapping up the end of semester project. And I guess he’s super happy about it, because he said we should stop by the frat this Friday night for some party they’re having.”
You eye Seungkwan, giving him an incredulous look.
“You? At a frat party?” Seungkwan really isn’t the type. But then you pause. “Wait, what do you mean ‘we’?”
Now Seungkwan has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I was hoping you would go with me.”
“No.”
Seungkwan immediately starts pleading, like he was expecting exactly this. Which wouldn’t be surprising. You despise parties. You had gone to a few at the very beginning of freshman year since you were so curious about college parties, and every single one of them without fail were horrific experiences. This was before you met Seungkwan and the guys. The people you were friends with at the time always got shitfaced, leaving you to pick up after them and get them home at the end of the night. The drinks there were usually awful unless you were bringing your own. And everyone was horny out of their minds, just chatting so they could hook up. All of this is turned up to a hundred when the party is at a frat, which this particular one will be.
“Ask Hansol.”
“He already said no.”
“Chan, then.”
“You know he’s not good with crowds. Listen,” he looks at you so earnestly it makes your heart squeeze, “I know you don’t like parties. But please, we have to do this. I’ve never been to one ever. First and last time, I promise. I’m just so curious.”
You hesitate. You understand where Seungkwan is coming from. You had the same curiosity as him way back then, and no matter how much you tell him that you already know it won’t be his cup of tea, he really needs to see it himself to swear off them like you. So you sigh painfully and nod, slightly placated by the fact that it makes Seungkwan cheer so loudly and hug you until you can’t breathe, promising he will treat you to lunch for the next two weeks.
Sounds like a good deal.
When you get back home that evening, Jeonghan is frying something on the stove. You seat yourself on the kitchen island, telling him about your day, because he’s always kind enough to ask.
“Oh, by the way.” You tack on. “I’m going to a party this Friday.”
That makes Jeonghan pause, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “A party? You?”
You sigh. “I know. Seungkwan was invited and he’s never been to one before so he kinda talked me into it. It’s at Sigma Tau Nu.”
Jeonghan looks even more shocked. He lets out a laugh. “A frat party.”
You nod.
He whistles low, turning back to his sizzling pan. “Seungcheol’s not gonna be happy.”
That makes you pause. You scowl at Jeonghan’s back. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, not bothering to turn around again. “Nothing.”
“No, tell me. Why won’t Seungcheol be happy?”
Before Jeonghan can answer, another voice speaks up.
“I won’t be happy about what?”
You stiffen, turning to the kitchen doorway. You didn’t hear the front door at all. Seungcheol is covered in sweat, still in his gym clothes, face a little flushed. His gym bag hangs over his shoulder. You swallow tightly, looking away so you won’t stare. Jeonghan, however, has no qualms about speaking.
“She’s going to Sigma Tau Nu on Friday.”
Seungcheol’s head snaps to you, eyes wide. “What?”
You fidget. “Seungkwan was invited.”
“So?”
You can’t help but frown. “So, he’s my friend. I’m going with him.”
“Like hell you are.”
Your jaw drops. Jeonghan barks out a laugh. You want to strangle him, but you’re too shocked at how Seungcheol’s voice has hardened. In fact, his blatant and sharp refusal has only managed to irritate you.
“Why not?” You sound petulant.
Seungcheol is walking to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle. “Because that place is a cesspool.”
“You go there every weekend.” Your voice is accusatory. Something in Seungcheol’s face flickers.
“That’s different.”
The irritation in you is swelling now into more of an anger. You don’t appreciate his tone, or whatever superiority complex he has that makes him think it’s okay for him to go but not you.
“So you can go but I can’t?” Your voice is louder than before. Even Jeonghan pauses, turning to look at you both cautiously. “Why? I’m not good enough for your parties?”
Seungcheol’s face hardens, and you almost back down. He has never, ever, looked at you like that before. “You think that’s what this is about?”
“Looks like it.”
“It’s not.”
“Then what is it about?”
He huffs, annoyed. “I’m just saying. Sigma Tau Nu…. the guys there…. they aren’t good.”
“You’re a guy there.”
His face drops. It’s such a slight shift, but immediate, and his expression turns a muted and stoney smooth. His grip on his bottle tightens until the plastic crinkles a little, but his face is almost forlorn.
“I know.”
You don’t know what to say.
Seungcheol sighs, as if to break the heavy silence, hiking the bag he has on his shoulder a bit further up before walking past you to leave.
“Just don’t go, okay?”
You and Jeonghan are left standing in the kitchen after he’s gone, just staring at each other in the silence.
………………………………
“Seungcheol can fuck off.”
You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face as you apply finishing touches to yourself. But Seungkwan is not discouraged by your silence, continuing to rant on from where he’s sitting on your bed.
“No, seriously. Where does he get off telling you what to do?”
You sigh and shake your hair out, staring at yourself in the mirror. “He’s just looking out for me.”
That earns a scoff from your friend. “As if. More like he’s looking out for himself. He doesn’t want you to see what a sleazy, pervy bastard he is and how many girls he indulges when he goes out. Wants you to think he’s a good person.”
“He is a good person.” You turn to scowl at him. “He’s been nothing but kind to me.”
Seungkwan rolls his eyes. You keep going.
“Let it go, Kwannie. We’re going anyway. So it doesn’t matter.”
It really doesn’t, because you’re all dolled up already and ready to go. You’re in a plain black dress, nothing too fancy, thin straps and a flared out skirt. It’s from your freshman year, and to your dismay, it’s a little tighter on you at the bodice, but nothing that doesn’t fit, so you’re rolling with it. Seungkwan also made it a point to tell you twice that you look hot, so you’re taking that as a good indication.
“Ready?” He prompts, you nod.
“Remember our agreement. One hour. You get a feel of the place. Then we leave.”
He nods enthusiastically. You can’t help but smile.
The place is packed. You feel dread already when you and Seungkwan climb out of your cab, but your friend looks alarmingly apprehensive, enough for you to suck up your own negative feelings. You’re already here, might as well try and make this as enjoyable for Seungkwan as possible.
“Come on.” You take his arm, walking up the front steps and in through the open door. The music is so loud, the lights are dim enough that you’re worried about something spilling on your dress accidentally. Seungkwan has a death grip on your hand, and you try to navigate to the kitchen.
“Boo Seungkwan!” The voice is booming, so loud and bright, and it immediately catches both your and Seungkwan’s attention. From the relief on his face, you know instantly that this is Seokmin. He’s grinning wide, and draping an arm around his shoulder is another man with spiky blond hair and sharp eyes. They introduce themselves, Seokmin and his frat brother Soonyoung, and you do the same. Soonyoung watches you closely.
“I’ve never seen you here before.” He shouts over the music, leaning closer to you to speak. You think you would have heard him just fine even without it, but you suspect he is doing it on purpose to get close to you. This may not be your thing, but you’re not an idiot.
“I don't usually come to parties.” You reply, trying to be polite. Somewhere behind your back, Seokmin is putting drinks into plastic cups. You can see the exact path Soonyoung’s eyes take as they drag down your body, lingering on your chest. You almost want to sigh.
“Want a tour?” He offers. “I’ll show you around.”
You want to say no, but a tour would mean you and Seungkwan can see everything quickly and leave. So you nod and turn around, linking an arm with Seungkwan to pull him along. He’s got a cup in his hand, already half empty, and you want to groan. Drunk Seungkwan is almost impossible to deal with.
Soonyoung doesn’t seem perturbed. He just nods and gestures for you two to follow along. You make it through the seas of people in the huge house as he points and shouts names. You don’t even understand half of them, but you’re not particularly interested. Seokmin is trailing behind all of you, and when Seungkwan’s cup empties, he exchanges it for a new one. You wince. Seungkwan is a notorious lightweight. You play drinking games all the time, and he’s always the first one to tap out, leaning heavily on Hansol as he gets dragged out of your apartment. With the way his cheeks are flushing at a concerning rate, you know he’s getting to that point already.
Soonyoung occasionally grips your arm to steer you in the right direction. Seungkwan’s hold on you keeps increasing as you navigate through the house. Then, you’re in the living room, and your eyes find the large, sprawling couch pushing against the far wall, particularly, the man lounging on the corner of it.
He has a cup in his hand, arm thrown around a girl pressed to his side. On the arm of the couch next to him is a guy you vaguely recognise as his gym buddy. You watch him bring the cup to his lips and throw it back in one big gulp, shaking it at his friend when it’s empty, who just snorts and pours more in it from the bottle of clear liquid he’s holding.
His head turns to look at his glass, but his eyes meet yours instead. You see the exact moment he recognises you.
You feel it again, that hollow feeling in your chest, mixed with something else this time. You almost don’t recognise him. His hair is tousled, carelessly swept, his top is sleeveless and tight, silver chain hanging from his neck, pants baggy, legs sprawled without a care in the world. Your eyes are still on each other when the girl on his side leans in and whispers something in his ear, following it up with running her tongue up the side of his neck.
Bile rises in your throat. You look away.
Seungkwan has downed his glass, again, and Soonyoung is gesturing for you to follow him to some other part of the house. But the music is changing into something faster, and Seungkwan’s eyes widen with a gasp as he recognises it.
“This is the first song I know!” He exclaims. You want to snort at how excited he is. “Can we dance?”
Oh no. You open your mouth to protest, but Soonyoung nods enthusiastically and points to the dance floor not far off from where you are. You can feel Seungcheol’s eyes burning holes in the back of your head as Seungkwan tugs you along with him. Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow, because at that moment, he’s bombarded by another group of people. You’re left with Seungkwan only, which you prefer.
Except, Seungkwan is drunk, and pulling you close so you can sway together. You snort and indulge him, fully aware of how touchy he gets with alcohol in his system. He’s singing along to the song, hands on your waist, bobbing back and forth, side to side. You grin, laughing. You genuinely didn’t imagine yourself having a good time at this place, but being here with your friend is a little fun, though you would only begrudgingly admit that.
The song picks up, getting wilder, and you let yourself go to the music with Seungkwan. He’s laughing and grinning, turning you around so his back is against you. Bad idea, because as soon as you open your eyes, they meet heated, dark ones from across the room.
Seungcheol is watching, and he doesn’t look happy.
The girl by his side is now on her phone, tapping away. He’s not interested, raising his cup to his mouth and taking a long gulp while his stare is trained on you. Your heart pounds. You feel Seungkwan’s hands on your hips, your waist. There’s a voice in your head, and you listen to it, eyes fully on Seungcheol as you reach an arm up and behind you, running it through your friend’s hair.
Seungcheol’s face pinches. His lip curls in an ugly snarl. It catches you so off guard that you immediately turn back to Seungkwan, your heart pounding.
“I need air.” You shout over the music. “It’s too hot here.”
Seungkwan nods and points to the back of the house, past the staircase. You contemplate leaving your friend there. He’s having a good time, and you can let him dance a little before you start insisting that you should leave. Sliding glass doors take you into the patio overlooking the backyard. You take a deep breath.
The patio is less crowded, though there’s still people milling around. There’s a couple a few feet to your right, making out against the wall. You make a face and walk away from them. The cool air is working, clearing your head just a little. You wonder if there’s something in the hot, humid air inside that clouded your judgement, that made you look Seungcheol straight in the eye as you let your drunk friend sway you side to side. What did you want to achieve? Did you want to get a reaction out of him? Why? He doesn’t care about you that way, so what was the point?
Part of you is still annoyed at him because of the semi-argument in the kitchen. The other part is just…. sad.
“You came.”
You close your eyes. You were hoping he would leave you alone for the night.
“I did.” You reply.
Seungcheol stops right next to you, a little closer than you would like. You can feel the heat of his body. He doesn’t say anything, but he stays.
“Don’t worry, Seungkwan and I are just going to have one more drink and leave. I won’t….. disturb you much longer.”
He says your name, a tone of defeat in his voice. Your stomach twists. You turn to him, and for a brief second, your eyes meet his. He has that same look in them, that quiet desolation he had when he was with you in the kitchen. The heat from before, the simmering annoyance, has gone.
“Seungcheol.” Your throat tightens. Your chest is so hollow. “Just make sure to crash in your own bed this time. Okay?”
You turn and walk back into the house.
……………………………………
You don’t know the longest time you’ve gone without speaking to Seungcheol. You’ve never had any reason to count. You do now, and it has been seven days.
Seungkwan thanked you profusely for going with him to the party, vowed never to go again (that made you laugh), then bought you lunch for four days straight before you felt bad and just started paying for your own. You don’t think his experience was worth two weeks of comped meals, but you have a feeling he knows you’re bummed about something, so he keeps offering to pay.
You don’t even know why you’re bummed. You just are. And Seungkwan isn’t the only one who has noticed.
Jeonghan has been walking on eggshells with you too, watching you intently when you’re having a meal together, taking note of the fact that you leave to lock yourself in your room as soon as it becomes close to the time Seungcheol is due back home. It’s easy to avoid him because he himself makes no effort to talk to you either. It should make you glad, since it means you can dance around whatever this suffocating feeling between you two is. But it doesn’t. All you feel is more hollow, more crushed.
Something has changed between you, definitely for the worse. You regret going to that party every single day.
To Jeonghan’s credit, he never asks. You wonder if Seungcheol told him, but then you ask yourself what exactly there is to tell. Literally nothing happened. You don’t even know what to call that little stint on the dance floor, or the heavy way his eyes traveled over you. As for the girl he was with, you’re just upset because the man you have been pining for your whole life has a roster of romantic prospects outside of you. For so long, you had only known about it, like it was some far away entity, but seeing it with your own eyes, some unknown girl sprawled half on top of him, it broke something in you that you don’t know how to move on from. So while you grapple with your own mess of feelings, you just know you need to stay far, far away from him.
But seven days after your self-imposed Seungcheol ban, your roommate has apparently had enough, and he decides to break it. You hear a knock on your door and hum, expecting it to be Jeonghan asking about dinner or something. But instead, a head of thick brown hair pops in through your door.
“Can I come in?”
You're shocked for a good few seconds, before nodding and gesturing to him to do so. Seungcheol lumbers in, hesitating for a second before opting to sit on the chair in front of your desk, turning it around to face you. You’re still frozen in place, crosslegged on your bed, waiting for him to say something.
“I’m sorry.” He says.
You blink. “You didn’t do anything. What are you sorry for?”
He lets out a laugh, but it’s bitter and mirthless. “For everything. For all of it. For telling you not to go to that party. For going there myself and letting you see me like that. For even being like that….”
“Seungcheol.” You protest. “You didn’t do anything-”
“I did.” He cuts you off. “You don’t know it, but I did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my drunk, stupid mind thought it was a good idea to end up in your room that night. That I somehow genuinely believed that I could wake up next to you and you would be mine.”
Your heart pounds. Blood roars in your ears.
“I remember all of it.” He whispers, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. “How I felt that night. How badly I just wanted to be with you. No drink was helping, no one…..” He laughs again, shakes his head as if admonishing himself.
“You know what my drunken plan originally was? I wanted to wake you up and finally just tell you how much I love you. But I was so drunk and exhausted that by the time I got to you I just ended up passing out on your bed.”
“And then the next morning. I was awake the second you first moved. And I didn’t want to let go. Call it brain fog, I don’t know. I hoped I could lie there forever and just…… hold you.”
You only break your eye contact from Seungcheol when your vision swims, getting wetter and more blurred.
“This isn’t funny.” Your voice shakes.
“I’m not joking.”
You take a deep breath, trying to gather your frantic thoughts. Never, never in your life did you expect this. You remember that morning again, how Seungcheol’s hand tightened on you, how your ass pressed hard against his-
“You were awake.” It isn’t really a question.
“I was.”
When your eyes meet his again, it’s different. Something sizzles, sharp and anticipatory, like the air around you is afraid to move. But Seungcheol isn’t. He stands up and walks closer to where you are sitting, one knee planting on the mattress, until he’s right in front of you. His eyes are like melting pots of brown, and the intensity in them takes your breath away.
“You felt it, right?” He whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. You turn me on so much.”
You can’t move even if you try. It feels like something has severed the connection between your brain and body. When Seungcheol leans in, you don’t resist. Your eyelids flutter when you feel his breath on the side of your neck, just like that morning. His lips brush just so over your skin.
“Cheol….”
He hums, shifts just a smidge, and his lips plant a chaste kiss under your ear. But you don’t say anything more. You don’t know if you can. You’re overwhelmed, both physically and mentally, and the smell of the cherry and sandalwood in his cologne is making your mind foggy.
“Let me show you.” He whispers. “Let me show you how much I love you, just like I wanted to that night, just like I dreamed of for so long.”
You’re human, after all. And you’re weak for him. You’ve always been weak for him, and that’s why you’ve let all of it happen. Him in your bed, you at his party. So you turn your head and let your lips brush over his. You can almost feel his shaky sigh just before he closes the distance between you.
It’s rushed from the start, like he’s desperate. You feel the same, hands reaching up to cup his face, your heart squeezing when you realise that this is finally happening. You’re kissing Seungcheol, the guy you’ve been deeply enamoured with for as long as you’ve known him. The guy you never, ever thought you would have in this way, but still imagined it in the depths of the night when there was no one but you and your fingers. He was here now, on the same bed that you thought filthy things about him in, kissing you like he needs to steal the air from your lungs. He tilts his head, lips sliding over yours, capturing your bottom lip between his. He nibbles softly and it makes you moan.
The sound does something to him, because he curses brokenly and reaches for you. Strong hands grip your waist and tug, pulling you closer. Your legs scramble to find purchase, settling on either side of his as he pulls you into his lap. His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and wet, and you can feel something flutter right in the base of your stomach. Your panties are already damp, but from what you can feel, he’s straining through his sweatpants too. You whine into him.
“Cheol…”
He groans, hands digging into your flesh. They slide under your shirt to run over your bare skin. You instinctively arch into him.
“Love it when you call me that.” He rasps. “Only you do. Only you.”
So you say it again, whisper it into his mouth while his tongue is in yours, and you can feel how his force increases, how he unravels just a little bit more. His hands under your shirt get more frantic, and finally he pushes up, peeling it off your body. You let him, but when the cold air hits your skin, you realise you weren’t wearing a bra.
“Fuck.” He curses softly, eyeing your half naked body. You feel your skin heat under his gaze, squirming a little.
“Beautiful. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”
No, I’m not. Your mind immediately supplies. Because it’s true. You can’t help but think of all the girls he’s had like this, in his lap while he runs his tongue down the column of their throats, nipping here and there. He probably feels you stiffen, because he pulls away and looks you in the eyes, his expression cautious.
“What’s wrong?”
You swallow tightly and shake your head, leaning forward to kiss him again. But he pulls his head back before you can, watching you closely.
“Tell me, sweetheart. What is it?”
Your heart squeezes. You try to arrange your thoughts and look for words. You feel Seungcheol’s hands run up and down your back and sides comfortingly.
“I just don’t want this to be a one time thing.” You finally say, because you don’t want to tell him how much doubt you have. How deeply ingrained it is within you that you can never be with someone like him. You’re almost halfway certain that even this, what is happening right now, is some extreme exhaustion-induced dream and you will wake up to a cold, empty bed, but you don’t want to think about that.
Seungcheol’s eyes dart between your own. His face is soft, open, like he’s coming to the slow realisation of what you mean. When he sighs, you feel his breath on your skin. He leans forward so his forehead is pressed to yours. You don’t dare break your stare, even if it makes you go a little cross-eyed.
“I would never do that to you.” He whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”
Your breath hitches. Your hands on his shoulders tremble.
“I dream about you every night. I lay in my bed and I think of having you next to me. But I never did anything about it. You’ve always felt so far away. Like I can’t dare touch you or you will be tainted.”
Your eyebrows furrow. You watch as Seungcheol’s gaze dims into something like resignation.
“But seeing you at that party with Seungkwan, having you see me like that.” He shakes his head, a miniscule movement. “I knew something had to change. And it had to come from me. Whatever illusion I had in my head about us being just roommates, and me being happy with that, it wasn’t working.”
His hold tightens on you with that last sentence, hands running over your bare back again. His fingertips slide under the waistband of your shorts, just an inch, teasing you. You arch into him.
Seungcheol’s eyes travel to your lips and stay there. The air around you feels like it’s charging up again.
“Saw your little friend draped all over you, and I couldn’t stand it. Why does he get to touch you but I can’t?”
Your lips brush again. Your arms wind around his shoulders. “You can.”
“Hm?”
You can feel your cheeks heat. “You can touch me.”
Something flickers in Seungcheol’s eyes. “Where, baby?”
Baby. A shiver runs down your spine. “Everywhere.”
Your lips meet again. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. You feel his hand cup the back of your head, guide your movements like he wants them to, and it goes straight to your core, tightening it. You know you’re soaking your shorts, and you realise belatedly that you’re not wearing underwear either. Embarrassment hits you fleetingly, but before you can think about it more, Seungcheol is pushing forward to lay you on the bed, your hair sprawling on the pillow. He doesn’t break the kiss even once, fitting his hips between your legs and grinding into your heat. You gasp and cry out.
“You make the prettiest sounds.” He groans. “So responsive. I haven’t even done anything yet. Haven’t even touched you the way I want to.”
But he has. He’s all over you, taking over your every sense, infiltrating you until you can feel him thrumming in the hollows of your bones. You arch into him when he nips at your neck again, teeth digging in teasingly. If he leaves marks, so be it. You will wear them proudly. How long have you spent fantasising about having his lips on you? And here he is now, trailing kisses down until he reaches your chest. His tongue peeks out, smooths over your left nipple so that it is laved in his spit. He blows air on it, making you gasp. You wouldn’t see his smirk if it weren’t for the fact that a dimple cleaves through his right cheek. He pops your nipple in his mouth and sucks.
Seungcheol works you over while you whine and moan. Your hands meet his hair, running through the short ones on the back of his head before burying your fingers into it and tugging. He hums into your skin, and you can feel the vibration. It makes you clench desperately, making your hips buck.
“Cheol, please…”
He pops off your nipple after one last hard suck. You’re already taking in big, heaving breaths, like you’re losing your senses. You feel his tongue run up your sternum.
“What do you want, baby?”
You squirm, buck up again so that it brushes over his crotch. He chuckles.
“Impatient little thing. All you have to do is ask nicely.”
You blink through wet eyes, meeting his half-lidded, heated gaze. “I did. I said please.”
He groans. “Say it again, then.”
You make sure you’re looking him right in the eye as you buck up again. “Please.”
Seungcheol’s fingers hook in your shorts and he tugs them down. His face twists when he realises you’re not wearing underwear. He curses long and low, pushing your legs open to peer down at the mess between them.
“Dirty girl.” He moans. “No panties?”
You shake your head. “I don’t wear them to bed.”
His eyes widen as he thinks back.
“That night….”
You know exactly what he is referring to. The night he spent in your room, spooning you. You shake your head.
“Fucking hell.” His lips crash into yours, near feral as he devours you. You whimper and let him, hooking one leg over his waist.
“Could’ve fucked you back then, right? Just pushed your shorts aside and put my cock in you. Bet you would’ve loved that.”
You would, in your deep, dark fantasies. The thought of just being used by him is so hot that it lights your nerves on fire. You tug his shirt, having had enough, and he immediately obliges, pulling it off. Your mouth waters as you eyes the large expanses of smooth skin stretched over his muscles. You’ve never seen Seungcheol shirtless around the house, he’s very careful about it. The most you have seen is his arms through those tight tanks he loves so much. You run your hands over him as he goes back to licking and nipping at your neck, hooking his thumbs in his sweatpants so he can take them and his boxers off in one go.
His cock springs up and hits his navel. He’s thick, so much that it makes you suck it a long breath. All the blood that has rushed to it has left it aching hard and throbbing, shiny at the head with precum. You’re just wondering how you can even take it all the way in when he slides down your body once again, this time going further than your breasts, until he’s settling between your open legs. Your face flames, fighting the urge to close your thighs when he stares at you like that, licking over his bottom lip.
He runs his fingers down your soft, heated folds, one on each side in a V-shape. He spreads his index and middle fingers, opening you up.
“Such a pretty pussy.” He mumbles, leaning down to barely dance his tongue through your slit. Your legs jerk at the feeling. He’s holding you open, which makes his touch hit deeper, in more sensitive places. You sigh when he flattens his tongue over you finally, licking a thick stripe. His hands position themselves on your inner thighs, keeping you open and his head shifts side to side, running his lips and tongue over every part of you.
He’s amazing at this.
He’s eating you out like he’s starving for it, eyelids fluttering, nearly rolling up, and just the sight of Seungcheol like this, face progressively getting more and more flushed and he leans down and sticks his tongue as far as it can go inside your cunt, has you shaking and crying, your high approaching embarrassingly fast. You want to sob, tell him to stop, that it’s too much all at once, but it feels so unbelievably good that you won’t dare, locking your legs over his broad shoulders, hands fisting the sheets as you wail and cum with no warning. His hold on you is iron strong, holding you in place and not stopping the rapid flicks of his tongue until tears slide down your face and you push his head away. He parts from you with a loud, filthy slurp, licking his lips. He’s breathing hard, but not as hard as you while you’re shaking from your orgasm.
He uses his index and middle finger to wipe the lower half of his face, his chin, the line of his jaw. Then he shifts forward to kneel between your trembling legs again. He taps the two slicked up fingers on your mouth.
“Open up, baby.”
You do, lapping your tongue over the digits as they slide into your mouth, making sure not to break eye contact with him. He watches heatedly as you suck on his fingers.
“Jesus.” He breathes. “Why’d I stay away from you for so long?”
He pulls them out when they’re slick with your spit, reaching down and immediately prodding at your entrance. You sigh and buck up. He smirks, a sexy sight that you barely have time to process before he’s sliding both fingers inside you at once. You gasp and arch, taken aback by the sudden intrusion. He’s already curling his fingers, slowly pumping them in and out.
“God.” You whimper, instinctively reaching down to grab his arm. He doesn’t mind, letting you hold it as he fingers you. You feel his muscles shift with every movement under your palms. As he works you open, he occupies his mouth with your neck and shoulder again, nipping and kissing. You realise Seungcheol is a little bit of a biter, not that you’re complaining.
You’re barely down from your last orgasm, so this one takes an even shorter time to build up. You moan with every ram of his fingers into you, he’s murmuring little encouragements and praises into your skin. His voice is rougher, breathier, and it acts as the catalyst that hurtles you over the edge again. This orgasm is just as intense, if not more, leaving your limbs boneless and your head empty. Your breaths come out chopped and heavy as he slows down, needling out the last remnants of your high.
“Gorgeous.” He hums. “I could do that for hours. Just make you fall apart over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”
Your insides twist. Seungcheol shuffles until he’s seated fully between your legs again. He watches your cunt flutter and twitch, already used and abused. You watch him wrap a large hand around his thick girth, jerking himself harshly a few times. He slaps his shaft over your slit. You gasp and jerk. His eyes shoot up to you and he smirks teasingly.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Too much?”
You vehemently shake your head. “N-no. Want your cock.”
He hums, running the swollen, leaking head through your folds. He rubs it back and forth over your clit. You whimper.
“Sure about that?”
You nod and buck your hips up. It catches against your opening, making you gasp. “Please, Cheol.”
That does it for him, because he’s lining himself up and leaning down over you, pressing his forehead to yours before pushing forward. Your jaw goes slack as he carves his way in through your gummy walls, inch by inch, until you feel his pelvis meet yours.
“God, you’re still tight as hell.” He grits. “After taking my fingers like that too. Why didn’t you loosen up, baby? Wanted to stay nice and snug for me?”
His words are filthy, and never something you ever imagined coming from his mouth, in his delicious, raspy voice. You don’t say anything, brain wiped clean as he chooses that moment to start thrusting. It feels divine, he’s so thick that he stretches and hits all your spots without even angling his hips any which way. His tip nudges your cervix just slightly with every thrust, a fluttering sensation ensuing in your stomach. Everything is so much, so intense, that it’s hard to even breathe. Your eyelids fight to close, but you keep them open, because no way in hell would you miss the sight before you right now.
The muscles in Seungcheol’s arms flex and shift, hands planted on either side of your head to hold himself up. His skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat that shines under the lights of your bedroom. His torso undulates, precise and well aimed thrusts that hit just the right spots. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, face pinched in arousal and focus. His hair sticks to his temples, the rest is messed up because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. The apples of his cheeks are colored a lovely shade of pink that makes him look sensual, his eyelashes curling over his skin when he closes his eyes.
You wish you could burn this image in your mind forever.
He’s watching you just like you’re watching him, and you see the exact moment his face softens.
“Look at you.” He coos. “So pretty. So sexy like this. I imagined this, you know? When you had Seungkwan all over you, I imagined you under me.”
You whimper. The train of thought of last week’s party somehow riles him up again. His thrusts get harder, your skin stinging slightly with every ram of his hips into yours.
“And then there was fucking Soonyoung-” Seungcheol punches out. “Eyeing you like a piece of meat. If he got his hands on you, I would break every bone in his body.”
You mewl and shake your head vigorously. You can barely speak, but you’re desperate for him to know. “There’s no one, Cheolie. Only you. I only want you.”
You claw at his shoulders, tugging him down when you’re unable to resist, planting a searing kiss on his mouth. He groans into you.
“That’s right. Mine. My girl, my body, my cunt. All this is mine.”
You feel his hand sneak between your bodies so he can toy with your clit. It makes you cry out, already so sensitive from being toyed with.
“I’m not cumming until I feel your pussy milk it out of me.” He grunts, thrusts getting sloppier, and you keen. He’s determined to get you there one more time, and with how wound up you are, you know you will give it to him.
He cums at the same time as you, your walls contracting around his sloppy final thrusts. Your sweaty bodies writhe together, pressing into each other and on the bed, his hands digging into your hips and thighs while you rake your nails down his back. Finally, he buries himself deep and stills.
You sigh as tension slowly drains from your body. Seungcheol takes a moment before pulling out, flopping down next to you with a grunt and running a hand through his sweaty hair. You watch him and he eyes you back, a small smile crossing his face. He grips your arm and tugs, maneuvering you so you’re on your side, his front against your back. You giggle. It’s the same position, except this time, you’re both naked.
Silence descends over both of you, your eyelids heavy with slowly encroaching sleep. You’re roused when you hear Seungcheol softly speak.
“I meant it, you know?” He mumbles. “That I’m in love with you. Been in love with you for a while now.”
You can’t help your giddy smile. You rest your hand on the back of his and squeeze. “I have been too, for a while.”
You can feel his smile on the back of your neck. “Good.”
You fall asleep to his lips laying careful kisses on your shoulder.
For decades, the Choi family has dominated the underground trade and criminal enterprise of Korea, and largely, Seoul. But the Choi sons start dying, until all that’s left of the empire falls to Seungcheol, the last Choi son. There is a new competitor rising to take over his territory, and Seungcheol is desperate to do anything to keep his dying empire alive.
Biting and mating with his competitor’s sister, a sheltered, treasured omega, might just be the drastic measure he has to take to keep his hold.
pairing: alpha!choi seungcheol x omega!reader
genre: omegaverse, mafia au
word count: 2.3k
warnings (for this chapter): fluff, domesticity, mentions of pregnancy and symptoms of it, some lying, member x member relationships, smut but nothing too explicit.
series masterlist
The air is different, more cutting, on a beach.
It smells like sea salt, and it invades your lungs in a way that invigorates your body. You breathe it in deep, and hold it in your lungs until they protest, before letting it out in a long whoosh. Your back twinges again and you wince. It’s just as sore as it was yesterday, and a week ago. Not enough to alter your quality of life in any way, but enough for you to notice. The only difference is that you now know the reason it exists.
You just haven’t told Seungcheol yet.
He knows something is up. In fact, he knew before you did. He bent over to where you were curled in your reading chair in the home library, put his nose right to your neck and inhaled deeply, a small furrow between his eyebrows, declaring that something about your scent is different.
“It can’t be my heat.” You had mumbled, too engrossed in your book to really pay attention to what your alpha was saying. “I had one less than three weeks ago.”
You hear him hum. “It’s not your heat. But something is definitely up.”
He never really figured out what exactly the difference was. He liked it though, said it made you smell sweeter, so he didn’t seem too bothered by it. It was only when you were complaining to Chan about the smell of eggs over breakfast that he gave you a weird look and made a quip that froze you where you sat.
“I think you might be pregnant.”
There’s no boundaries between you and Chan at this point. You have known him for over six years after all. And he is the one primarily looking after your health, so nothing is too much information for him. He had bought pregnancy tests that very afternoon, while Seungcheol was still at the office, and confirmed that you were, in fact, carrying his pups.
That was a week ago.
You’re standing on the patio of Seungcheol’s Busan beach house and watching the waves now, breathing in the smell to try and ease the disgusting feeling in your chest a bit. Somehow, knowing you are pregnant made all your symptoms worse. Chan says it has something to do with being conscious about every change in your body now. The bottom line is, you can’t hide it from Seungcheol anymore.
You don’t want to. You know he will be thrilled. You’ve talked about this before. You both want this. But this Busan trip is crucial. If this deal goes through, his business is going to flourish in a way it hadn’t ever since he was a child.
For the last five years, Seungcheol has worked tirelessly to return his empire to its former glory. Too much had been taken from him in a short time by infiltrators that threatened his work. But all that is gone now, done and dusted, and if this deal he has been working on gets signed, it will usher in a new era of prosperity that might push your family to heights they have never achieved before.
For the last few weeks, Seungcheol has been spending more and more time at the office with Seungkwan, trying to smooth everything out the best that they can. Around a year ago, Jeonghan moved permanently to Busan to oversee everything more closely alongside Wonwoo. Having him there meant that things began to run even smoother under his watchful eye, and he was able to expedite their foreign smuggling trade to unprecedented limits. Yesterday, you and your friends came up from Seoul to finalise the last bits of the deal. Seungcheol dropped you and Chan at the house, while he, Mingyu and Seungkwan headed to Gamcheon Port.
You look down at the watch on your wrist. They should be heading back by now. The sun is setting. Inside the house behind you, you can hear Chan putter around, getting things ready for the barbecue Mingyu had planned with everyone for tonight. You wanted to help, but the smell of raw meat immediately sent you hurtling to the sink, where you proceeded to vomit your guts out. After that, Chan had shooed you out, saying he will take care of it.
“Really think you should tell Seungcheol, though.” He pursed his lips. “If you don’t eat the meat tonight he will definitely know you're not okay.”
You had hummed and nodded. “I know. I’m planning on telling him. I just want the deal to be done so he can relax.”
You’re broken from your thoughts when you hear a car pulling up all the way at the back of the house. There’s doors slamming, another car pulling up, more doors, more chatter. You turn and watch through the glass doors as all your friends pour into the kitchen. But your eyes are drawn to your alpha, as they often are in crowded rooms, and it seems his are the same. He scans the kitchen before spotting you through the glass, an immediate smile taking over his face. You can’t help but return it, watching him lumber over to you. He slides the doors open and shut, muffling the excited voices of everyone else, before wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. You relax as his scent washes over you, immediately chasing away the sick feeling you had for the last hour. Somehow, his scent has become the one remedy to all your pregnancy aches and pains.
Cinnamon and oak trumps sea salt, after all.
“How did it go?” You bump your head lightly against the side of his. He hums into your neck, tongue poking out to lick over your mark. You relax more, letting him support your body weight as you lean heavily on him. He doesn’t mind.
“Great. Way better than any of us expected.”
You smile, relieved. “Is that why all the guys are being so obnoxiously loud?”
You can feel his laugh against your back. “They’re celebrating, my love.”
You hum and pout a little. The wind blows through your clothes as you both slightly sway in it, basking in each other’s presence. There couldn’t be a more perfect time, you know this.
“Seungcheol?”
“Hm.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“I know.”
A deep calm washes over you. Not shock, not confusion. Just this feeling of realisation. You have been waiting all week to tell him this. You’ve been hiding your symptoms so well…..
Or have you?
Seungcheol would wake up to the sound of his alarm every day for the last week, shutting it off before turning to you. His hand would find your bare lower back, running over it slowly before digging in a little deeper. You would sigh, relieved, considering yourself lucky that he was massaging the one spot on your body that ached the most.
You never questioned it, because Seungcheol was always touchy in random places like that.
He scented you before every meal. Again, his natural clingy nature led you to believe he was just….. doing that. No reason. But maybe that’s why the meal afterward wouldn’t make you as nauseous as it would otherwise. He spotted you outside just now, found you, and the first thing he did was put his tongue on your scent gland, wiping away the unease in your chest.
Damn.
You let out a breathy laugh. “You knew all along.”
He hums. “Told Chan to get you pregnancy tests. Didn’t expect you to hide it from me, baby.”
You sigh and turn in his arms, which he loosens just enough to let you. His eyes are bright and soft, crinkling just at the corners. There’s a small smile playing on his face, his dimple indenting the otherwise smooth expanse of his cheek. He isn’t mad. He’s never mad, not at you.
“I’m sorry.” You mumble, tracing his jaw with your thumb. “I didn’t want to stress you when you already had so much on your plate.”
He bumps his forehead affectionately to yours. “Why would this stress me? In fact, this was the ray of light that got me through the last couple of weeks.”
You can’t help the smile that stretches across your face, joyous and giddy. His arms wrap reassuredly around you, and finally, he puts his lips on yours in a kiss so sweet but firm that it makes your head spin. You hum into him, pressing your palm flat to his chest so you can feel the steady beat of his heart. He kisses you until you’re breathless, until you taste exactly like him. You wish he would never pull away.
“I love you so much.” He whispers into your lips. You repeat his words back to him.
Dinner is busy and chaotic, as it often is when all your friends get together. The barbecued meat doesn’t make you feel sick, surprisingly. In fact, your stomach growls loudly, so Seungcheol piles more and more of it on your plate every time he finds it even partly empty. You don’t complain, letting him coddle you and feed you to his heart’s content. He’s always had a problem with you not eating enough. Thankfully, pregnancy has increased your appetite tenfold. And he loves that.
Seungkwan is the life of the party, as always, telling you all about the deal and new people they met in amazing detail, which you appreciate as someone who wasn’t there. Mingyu keeps grilling meat as he eats, as well as popping a piece into his omega’s mouth every now and then so he can stop talking for a second and actually eat. Jeonghan decides to make Ramyeon while Wonwoo looks over his shoulder, their backs to you. Your eyes, sharp as ever, watch as Wonwoo places a hand right on the small of Jeonghan’s back before quickly pulling away. Jeonghan nudges Wonwoo’s hips with his own when he thinks no one is looking. But you are. You always are. You developed a habit of keeping an eye on Jeonghan, just like he used to do with you when he was still in Seoul. Turns out, omegas can be just as protective over those they consider their loved ones. And you are fiercely protective over him, considering the hell he has gone through.
You try to stifle your smile as you spot the shift in their body language. Something definitely happened when Jeonghan moved down here. Maybe it’s because Wonwoo was there that night. The night Jeonghan found Jisoo. Maybe Wonwoo understood in a way no one else did. You don’t know the reasons. And you’re really not looking for them anyway.
When you nudge Seungcheol and point your friends out, he only smirks and nods. If Jeonghan and Wonwoo want to keep their relationship a secret, that’s fine. It is a little unconventional, two alphas, but Jeonghan has always been an unconventional guy. You can understand why he is hesitant though. He can come to both of you on his own time. It took many years to get where he is today. As long as he is happy, he can take as much time as he needs.
You find Chan later when he’s doing the dishes, giving him a hard poke on his side that almost makes him drop his plate.
“You’re one hell of an actor.” You quip. “Lying straight to my face about Seungcheol knowing.”
He grins proudly in a way that makes you laugh.
“I’m surprised you thought he wouldn’t know. He’s your alpha. He smelled it immediately. And even if he didn’t know exactly what it was at first, he put it together pretty quickly afterwards.”
You sigh, leaning on the counter and watching the table where everyone is still crowded, sharing drinks and cigarettes. Seungcheol nurses only a glass of whiskey, no light. He hasn’t touched a cigarette since that one evening all those years back when you said you didn’t like it, that it made him smell different.
That was ages ago.
Later that night, you beg him to take you, and he does, despite your friends being in the neighboring rooms. You don’t really care, not when he pumps slowly and deeply into you, his mouth on yours muffling all your whines and inhaling your sighs. He whispers promises to you, never empty, because there is not one promise Seungcheol has made to you that he has broken. He talks of your future children now, how he can’t wait to see you slowly get round with his pups, how he can’t wait to have a family with you that he can love and protect just as much as he loves and protects you. He licks your tears away, but there is no sadness there. Only contentment. Only love.
He goes slow, afraid he will hurt you, and slowly, just like that, your orgasms crest, your nails digging into the wide expanse of his bare back, his weight and warmth over you grounding you sweetly. When he kisses you, it’s soft and intense, and it speaks volumes of your value in your alpha’s life. You feel that same buzz of happiness, of peaceful bliss, that you have felt abundantly for the last half decade. For so long, there was only fear, but now, there’s more, a profound joy that encompasses the fear and extinguishes it.
You are afraid of many things, but not the abyss of his love. That depth feels like home.
For decades, the Choi family has dominated the underground trade and criminal enterprise of Korea, and largely, Seoul. But the Choi sons start dying, until all that’s left of the empire falls to Seungcheol, the last Choi son. There is a new competitor rising to take over his territory, and Seungcheol is desperate to do anything to keep his dying empire alive.
Biting and mating with his competitor’s sister, a sheltered, treasured omega, might just be the drastic measure he has to take to keep his hold.
pairing: alpha!choi seungcheol x omega!reader
genre: omegaverse, mafia au
word count: 7.4k
warnings (for this chapter): angst, mentions of violence, blood, minor physical injury, murder and death, mentions of betrayal, trust issues, loss. smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, dirty talk, slight degradation, heats and ruts, knotting, biting, scenting.
series masterlist
It turns out you’re at the very outskirts of Seoul, in a congested, rundown part of the city that no one can bother traipsing through. It’s clever, keeping you in this shady area, because no one would notice anything amiss in a place like this. The apartment is way on the top floor, and the hallway is dimly lit, with peeling walls and a cracked ceiling. It gives an air of foreboding that makes creepy goosebumps rise on your skin.
Seungcheol carries you out of the shabby apartment building, stepping over many bodies he left along the staircase on his way up. You don’t know if they’re unconscious or dead, and frankly you don’t care. You bury your head in your alpha’s neck, trying to rid your body of the fear and anxiety you had felt for so many days. Your exhaustion feels bone-deep, and you feel no sense of resolution even if you’ve been rescued.
You only let Seungcheol go when he pulls a car door open and places you gently on the passenger seat. He circles around and drops into the driver’s seat with a long sigh, quickly turning the key in the ignition, putting the car into gear and peeling out of the sketchy place. He looks as exhausted as you feel, and on his pale skin, the fatigue leaves deep patches under his eyes. You cannot imagine the hell he has been put through over the last few days. You look away, unable to bear it. Your blank stare focuses out of the windshield instead.
“Where’s Mingyu?”
His voice is muted when he replies.
“Down in Busan. He’s dealing with the fallout of canceling the shipments from last night.”
You feel something in your chest tighten. Does that mean he knows what you did? Feeding Jihoon information? Your hands ball to fists. When you turn your head to look at him, he is focused on the road. But he probably feels your eyes on him, because he huffs softly.
“I know.”
You let out a shaky breath, feeling guilt pierce your chest, sharp and unrelenting. You don’t know what to say, so you just manage to get out the words that have been stuck in your throat for so many months.
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head before you can say anything more, and one of his hands reaches over the gearshift to take yours. As usual, his touch is warm over your frozen fingers. You can feel the scabs over his knuckles, formed because of the blood and cuts solidifying on the skin. You hold his hand tightly, afraid to let go.
“It’s not your fault. It was Jisoo, wasn’t it? He baited you into spying on my computer. I don’t blame you. Hell, even Jeonghan was fooled by him.”
You finally have a name to put to the face. The man with the helix earring. You nod slowly.
“He was Jeonghan’s beta. Well, they weren’t mated yet, but it was pretty damn close. ‘Any day now’, Jeonghan would always say. None of us could’ve imagined….”
His voice dies in his throat, and you see his shoulders rise as he pulls in a deep breath.
“Jeonghan never mentioned him.” You mumble. He only gives a curt nod.
“It’s kind of an unspoken rule that romantic partners aren’t explicitly mentioned until it’s official. Trust me, Jeonghan wanted to tell. He wanted to introduce you two. He thought you would get along really well. He was just waiting to mark Jisoo.”
You don’t reply, bile rising to your throat. You feel hollow, and strangely, in light of everything that’s happened, this information isn’t as much of a shock as it should be.
“Jisoo was to Jeonghan what Jeonghan was to me. A listening ear, a sound mind. He was clever, so he often gave Jeonghan advice on how to handle things. He has been around for a long time, since before my brothers took over from my father. We met him when we were still young. He was family, almost. I guess that’s why it was so easy for him and Jihoon to cause so much destruction without anyone noticing.”
Seungcheol tells you everything he had managed to get out of Jisoo down in Busan. How it was never just Jihoon working undercover, but the two of them together. How Jisoo strategically stayed away from you, how Jihoon purposefully didn’t mention him to you, in case they might need to pull something later on. And they did. Jisoo’s anonymity to you came to their advantage when he was able to smoothly manipulate you, play on your emotions enough to make you spy on Seungcheol’s shipments. Both of them saw how close you were getting, feeling their leverage slip away, so Jisoo played the game to make sure you hated Seungcheol enough to still help them take him down. And you did.
It had been Jisoo who arranged for your kidnapping with Soonyoung, perfectly planned during Seungcheol’s rut, when his best bodyguard, Mingyu, would not be with you, and on the specific day of the month that shipments with Seungcheol’s name arrived on the docks, the ones you had told Jihoon about. If these exact shipments were intercepted, they would have no plausible deniability, and that could land Seungcheol in jail with complete certainty.
There were a lot of moving pieces that came together to make this work. Thankfully, it didn’t, because of the call you made to Jeonghan minutes before Soonyoung got to you.
“You spent your last moments of freedom to warn us.” Seungcheol muses, running his thumb slowly over the back of your hand. “You keep saving my business, sweetheart.”
His voice is light and teasing, but you only shake your head and sniffle. “I was the reason all this happened in the first place.”
“You are not. I told you, even Jeonghan was fooled by that man. Do you really think you stood a chance when Jeonghan didn’t?”
It’s a good point, the fact that Jeonghan of all people was hoodwinked like this. But you still fight the feeling of guilt, and you suspect you will for a long time afterwards. You sigh tiredly. “Where is Jeonghan?”
Seungcheol blinks but keeps his focus forward. “He’s….. dealing with Jisoo.”
You know what that’s code for. Your heart hurts for your friend. You can’t imagine how much pain he must feel, loving someone whose only motive was to destroy everything he worked so hard for. For you, the beta with the helix earring was a stranger who played with your anger. But for Jeonghan, that’s someone he loved for many years, and planned to love for a lifetime.
“He’ll be fine.” Seungcheol squeezes your hand, like he senses your worry. “Jeonghan is stronger than any of us give him credit for.”
You nod slowly, but you don’t know if you believe him.
………………………………………
Seungkwan is a mess by the time you finally get back home. His face is covered with tears and snot, flushed red by the pressure of his own emotions. He hugs you so tight that you’re afraid he might crack a few ribs, but you let him hold you for as long as he wants. You pat his back and he cries in loud, heaving breaths. He keeps blabbering about how worried he was, and you try to console him the best that you can until Seungcheol huffs and finally tears him off you, saying something about how you need to rest.
You sit in the living room for a while, Seungcheol standing in the doorway as Chan looks you over. He puts some ointment on the gash on your leg and says you don’t need bandages, since it’s well on its way to healing already. In the distance, you can hear Seungkwan on the phone with someone, you suspect Mingyu, telling him that you’re back home and that you’re okay. Afterwards, Seungcheol finally leads you upstairs to your room.
You sit on the edge of the mattress, feeling it sink under your weight. It feels like it has been ages since you were last here, even if it has only been a few days. Seungcheol sighs and drops down beside you, running a hand through his hair. You are hit with his scent again, and you remember that he is still, technically, in rut. Even though it’s waning and almost gone.
“This might have been your worst rut ever.” You quip, and he laughs a little before looking at you. His eyes are soft, but tired. It looks like every muscle in his body is pulled taut. You push up towards the headboard, gesturing for him to do the same.
“Lie down with me.”
He should have protested, like he did that day when you came to see him in his room. But too much has happened, and you know Seungcheol’s mind weighs heavy with it. You know he has missed you, just as you have missed him. So he just nods.
He drapes himself carefully over you, your legs framing his torso, his face burying into your neck. His hands gently enclose your sides and hips. His weight feels grounding and sure on you, and it quietens the buzzing under your skin. You feel his breath hit the mark on your neck, and you shiver at the feeling. The mark he put on you. You remember how close you were to losing it, how close Seokmin came to erasing Seungcheol’s ownership of you. Your chest twists at the thought.
“What is it?” Seungcheol mumbles, feeling you tense up under him. You bite the inside of your cheek, hesitating. If you tell him, he will lose his shit.
Seungcheol pulls his head up enough to look at you, his nose nudging your cheek. You sigh, still hesitant.
“Soonyoung took me because he figured out a way to break our bond.”
Seungcheol blinks a few times, processing the words, before he pushes himself up on his elbows to hover over you and look at you properly, his thick brows furrowed. “What?”
“The man in the room,” you avoid looking into his eyes, “was Seokmin. The….. the alpha I told you about.”
You had mentioned Seokmin very briefly to Seungcheol a few weeks ago. It was casual and offhanded, and Seungcheol had only snorted and waved it away, saying you were his, so it didn’t matter.
Now, you see his eyes darken. You wonder again if you should just stop here, but you know Seungcheol won’t let this go. You swallow and stare up at the ceiling.
“The idea was to have Seokmin bite over your mark, and that it would break our bond and form one with him instead.”
That makes Seungcheol scoff. “It doesn’t work that way.”
You feel heat creep up on your cheeks. You still don’t look at him. “It does if our bond isn’t…… consummated.”
You can feel him stiffen over you, but he doesn’t reply. You lay in silence for a bit. His eyes are still on you, but you pointedly avoid meeting his gaze. You get more and more unnerved the longer he stays silent, until finally, Seungcheol sighs deeply and lowers himself again, his face pressing into your neck once more. Finally, he speaks.
“I should’ve killed him.”
You relax a smidge and shake your head, even if it’s stiff and choppy. You run your hand through the hair on the back of his head, trying to placate him. Seungcheol’s hands are still on your hips, and you can feel his hold tighten.
“Did he touch you?”
You shake your head immediately. His hands are traveling up your sides now, stopping just below your breasts, large hands enveloping either side of your ribcage. Your lips part and you breathe deep.
“But he wanted to,” Seungcheol continues, his voice breathy, deep, barely above a whisper. “He wanted to touch what’s mine.”
Your legs, draped on either side of your alpha’s hips, tighten a little, knees digging slightly into his waist. With every word, Seungcheol’s breath hits the mark on your neck, the mark that’s now tingling. You tilt your head up when his lips make contact with the skin, your eyelids fluttering. Something electric and tight is coiling in the base of your stomach. You feel like your breaths are getting heavier.
“Maybe it’s my fault.” His voice reverberates through your skull, raspy, almost like a growl. “Maybe I should’ve taken you long ago, so he wouldn’t even dream of doing this. Should’ve fucked my knot into you ages ago so you were wholly, truly mine.”
You mewl at his words, caught off guard by how dirty it sounds. But your opening is clenching, you can tell, arousal building in your core as Seungcheol’s touch grows heavy and imposing. It feels like the temperature in the room is rising, aided by your and his heaving breaths. Seungcheol’s tongue runs insistently over your mark and your scent glands, bathing you in his pheromones. His waning rut looks like it’s intensifying, dense and charged in the air. Ever so lightly, his hips cant into yours, and you feel it, hard and insistent, on the apex of your hips. You whine again.
“Such pretty noises, baby.” He whispers. “Always wondered what you would sound like under me. So sweet, my love.” He grinds again, just shy of your core, pressing a little but not nearly enough. “You want it?”
You nod furiously, feeling like your voice has failed you. You don’t know if you can even think of words right now, so you dig your nails into his clothed shoulders, and you let out a long, pathetic whine. Seungcheol groans into your neck.
“You smell so good when you’re turned on, omega.” His hips have found a slow, lazy rhythm, dragging over your outer lips, a teasing sensation that has your own pelvis jerking, trying to get him where you need him the most. You don’t even know why you want him there, you’ve never felt anything like this before. All you know is that your whole body is buzzing, and if you don’t feel him against you properly, and soon, you will lose your mind.
“Seungcheol…..” You whimper, and your alpha hums, his lips traveling up, teeth nipping softly over the angle of your jaw. His hands, large and warm, slide under your shirt, and they feel like fire on your bare skin. He grinds again, and you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. You wiggle, try to shift. You want more so badly, but you don’t know how to get it.
“Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”
Then he shifts just slightly to the right, and he pushes his throbbing erection against you again, sliding right between your clothed slit. You gasp and arch when he rubs and presses over your tiny little nub, your arms wrapping tightly around his broad shoulders as you shake at the new sensation. Seungcheol chuckles, and you can feel his smile against your cheek.
“Feel good?” He whispers. You sigh when he does it again, and you clench so tightly that it constricts your hips and legs around him. Something is running down between your legs, and you flush at the feeling. Seungcheol groans again.
“I can smell you, omega. Fuck, you’re wet for me?”
You nod shakily, blinking to try and wave away the thin film of tears coating your eyes. It just feels so good, like your head has been emptied and all you want is to feel him hump you like this for hours and hours. But your omega whines, scratches at your chest. It wants more, it wants-
“Alpha, your knot.” Your voice is high and shaky. You almost don’t recognise it. “Please, alpha. Give it to me.”
Seungcheol groans and pushes his hips into you again. It still feels good, but it’s covered in a thin layer of frustration now. You want more, and you think he wants more too, because his hands slide down over your bare sides to hook into your leggings. He peels them and your panties off in one go. You feel your skin rise with goosebumps as cold air hits your legs, but the sensation is muted when large, warm hands run over your calves, then your thighs.
Seungcheol bucks his hips into you again, and you gasp at how much more pronounced the sensation is now that two layers of cloth are gone. His hands run from your knees, up your inner thighs, squeezing at the flesh a little as he spreads them. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath right over your lips as he watches you. His eyes are warm, swirling pools of brown, careful as they look at you.
“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”
You nod eagerly, and Seungcheol’s lips twist up a little in an amused chuckle. You feel fingers, warm and sure, rub over your outer lips, testing, before slowly running through your wet, messy slit. Your lips part, breathing in deeply. Seungcheol’s thumb slides up to bump gently over your sensitive clit. You gasp.
His touch doesn’t leave you wanting at all. The pad of his thumb presses insistently into your nub, rubbing tiny circles over it as your face crumples and you arch into his chest. His forehead doesn’t leave yours, he watches you intently as he works you over.
“Good?” He rasps. He knows the answer, if your writhing, undulating body under him is any indication, but he still wants you to say it. You can’t though, you feel like your tongue is made of lead. You only nod wordlessly, fisting the sheets under you as he presses over your clit again and again. You feel something prod your entrance, before one thick finger breaches your opening and slowly slides in, down to the last knuckle.
You cry out at the intrusion, Seungcheol’s thumb still rubbing tight circles into your clit as he coos at you, lips brushing right over yours. Before you can really process it, another finger joins the first, and this time, you really feel a stretch. Your eyes widen, jaw going slack as he rubs over your walls. He keeps prodding through you, opening you up, and you don’t know what he’s doing, don’t know that he’s looking for something until his fingers curl up and the pads press right over that something.
You scream, feeling your legs lock as pleasure washes over your whole body in waves. You shake and cry through it, distantly hearing Seungcheol groan with approval as his fingers press harder and firmer over the little spot, thumb still sliding wetly over your clit. You feel like you’ve blacked out for a second, your whole body trembling as whatever this feeling is finally ebbs down, leaving you light and twitchy. Seungcheol is watching you closely, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. His cheeks are flushed.
“That was beautiful. You look so pretty when you cum, baby.”
You’re still gasping for breath, feeling how hot your entire body is. Your left leg kicks with the aftershocks. Seungcheol chuckles. You feel him shift, realising his fingers are still inside you. He pulls them apart just a bit, scissoring them, and your walls stretch. Your eyelids flutter and you sigh.
“You want more?”
You nod, biting your lip shyly. He laughs a little again, laying a tender kiss on your cheek.
He fingers you faster this time, pulling them in and out, adding a third one until you feel like you’re full with him, gasping and crying under his hold. You’re writhing so much that he has to wrap his free arm around your waist, holding your body tight against him. He whispers absolutely filthy things into your ear, telling you how long he has wanted to feel your insides like this, how dirty you sound drenching his whole hand and making a mess on the bed. The thrusting of his fingers gets wetter, squelching noises that have you whining and burying your face in his neck. He lets you, coos at you, keeps fucking his fingers into you until your weeping and crying, another orgasm barreling through your body, leaving you dizzy, shaky, breathless.
His tongue runs over your cheek, licking up the salt that leaks from your eyes. He pulls his fingers out and runs his wet, messy hand all over your sopping pussy. You twitch when he brushes over your abused clit, whimpering, digging your fingers into his biceps. Then he pulls his hand up and buries all three of his fingers into his mouth, closing his lips around them. He groans as his eyelids flutter.
You watch him with fascination, feeling your cheeks heat at his actions. He pulls them out with a pop, licking over them a few more times, like he doesn’t want to miss a single taste. You feel your now empty cunt clench as you watch your alpha taste you like this. You wonder what it would feel like to have his face buried between your legs. You feel dirty just thinking about it. You can't stop your hands from reaching up and weaving through his thick hair, pulling him down so his lips crash into yours.
Seungcheol moans into your mouth, his tongue parting your lips to slide against yours. You taste yourself and it makes you whine into him.
“Nasty slut.” His voice is harder, sharper. Your stomach jolts. “You like tasting yourself like this?”
You whimper and nod, still sucking on his tongue. Seungcheol lets you, using this moment to strip his pants, pulling back when he tugs his shirt over his head. He discards your remaining clothes next, undoing your bra with one flick and ripping it away. He runs his eyes all over your naked, sweaty body, and you watch him lave his tongue over his bottom lip. He looks like he wants to devour you, and you quiver at the feeling.
“Beautiful.” He whispers, his hands running over your skin. He reaches your breasts, pinching your nipples enough to make you gasp. “And all mine.”
You gaze hungrily at the naked expanse of his chest, stretched and smooth, a hard set of abs, the little happy trail that leads to his cock. He’s huge, throbbing and flushed deep pink, glistening at the tip where he leaks. A vein is pulsing along the shaft, angry and insistent, but no part of you is worried. Your lust-addled mind is convinced you can take him. You want him to stuff you full so badly, stretch you out around him until you can’t think straight. Unconsciously, you buck up again. He notices, smirks.
When he kisses you again, it’s more urgent, desperate. His hands are rougher as he tugs you down a little, hooking them under your knees and spreading you more for him. You let him manhandle you however he wants, body slowly going pliant as your omega whines. You are his to take, you trust him completely.
He prods at your entrance, head thicker than anything you’ve taken so far. When he breaches you, you draw in a sharp breath. His thumb finds your clit again.
“Relax.”
He works himself into you slowly but surely, pulling out and thrusting in little by little, kissing you and touching you all over, until he has sunk in all the way to the base. Your toes are curling, breaths coming hard and fast, tears in your eyes. You feel impossibly full, like he has reached all the way through you to your head, emptied your insides until all you feel is him, him, him. He licks over your open mouth, drowning you in himself, groaning into you so wantonly. You’re glad to know you’re not the only one so affected.
“God.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel. “You’re squeezing me so good, baby. Haven’t even fucked you yet and I’m already so close.”
You whine and buck into him, making him spit out a curse. He grinds into you and you whimper, digging your nails into his shoulder blades. Seungcheol finally pulls out almost all the way before sinking in again, still slow, the glorious drag of his cock over your walls making you arch high into him. He slides an arm under you, using his other elbow to prop himself up. He widens his knees a bit, and you almost clamp up in anticipation.
He doesn’t disappoint.
He fucks you hard and fast, the wet plopping sound of skin on skin getting more pronounced as he chooses a frantic, delicious rhythm. You cry with every thrust, punctuated moans ripping from your chest as he hits deep. He’s panting with the effort of holding your jostling body in place to take exactly what he is giving you, and you can see the sweat build up on his temples, one drop rolling slowly down the side of his face. You tilt your head up and run your tongue over it, tasting the salt as it invades your mouth. He lets you do whatever you want, moaning in encouragement, focused on ramming his cock into you again and again, your cunt already molded to his shape, squeezing deliciously over his shaft.
The whole room is sweltering hot, filling up with yours and his mixed scents in a way that makes you heady. The bed shakes back and forth, its frame always so sturdy but not enough to withstand the power of his thrusts without squeaking with every intense movement. He’s so big that he doesn’t have to shift the angle in any way to hit that sweet spot inside you. Every drag of his cock brushes right over it, like he was made for your little pussy. The thought turns you on so much that you wrap your arms tightly around his sweaty body, nearly delirious as you tilt your head up, right under his nose.
“Alpha,” you gasp, “bite me.”
Seungcheol snarls and doesn’t hesitate, opening his mouth and sinking his teeth into your now healed skin, right over where he already put his mark on you. Your eyes roll, your omega howls, and your orgasm barrels headfirst into you, knocking all the air out of you as you squeeze pathetically around his cock. He fucks you through it, moaning and groaning about how good you feel like this. Your rim stretches as his thrusts get sloppy, and you realise that the base of his cock is swelling rapidly, preparing itself for the omega under him. He is licking hungrily over your now fresh mark, his grip on you tightening so much you think your bones might crack. But you’re delirious under his weight, and you’re ready for him.
He groans and curses, voice breaking as he finally bullies his knot into you, shuddering as his orgasm washes over him and bathes your insides. You watch him with bleary eyes, feeling his muscles twitch and jerk under your sweaty palms. His eyes are squeezed shut, plump and swollen lips parted as he rides the waves. You can’t help but reach up and kiss him deep. He kisses you back with equal fervor as he finally comes down, breathing heavily.
The air is humid, thick, as you both try to catch your breaths. Seungcheol’s kisses turn soft and slow, less desperate as he takes his time. You wrap your arms tightly around him as he shifts to lay down on his side, his knot still locked inside you. He sighs and relaxes as you stroke his hair. He tugs the blanket over both of you, entrapping the warmth under it so you won’t get cold. You’re so tired and fucked out, you can’t stay awake even if you wanted to.
You fall asleep with the gentle scent of oak in your nose.
…………………………………..
When you come to, you’re alone in bed.
You turn on your back and stretch, wincing at how sore your hips are. You flush when you think of why that is, all the memories from before you slept coming back to you. A glance to the window tells you that it’s dark outside, but Seungcheol is nowhere to be seen.
You sit up slowly, realising that the sticky mess between your legs is gone. Did he clean you up? You flush at the thought.
There’s a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers next to the bed that makes your lips twitch with amusement. You take two quickly, finally swinging your legs over so you can get up.
Your movements are sluggish as you trudge to your wardrobe and pull on the comfiest and warmest clothes you can find. Your limbs are still stiff, and you really want to just stay in bed, but you also want to find Seungcheol and curl into him, wherever he is. You don’t know if it’s because you broke a physical barrier, or if it’s because you were away from him for days and scared that you would never see him again, but you feel like you need him more now. Like you need to be around him at all times.
You lumber down the staircase, still drowsy, wondering where exactly your alpha could be. Your mind and movements are stopped short when you enter the kitchen to find Jeonghan sitting on the island, a transparent glass with murky brown liquid in front of him. There’s no one else there, just him.
He looks up when he hears you, eyes widening. He immediately gets up to walk closer to you, wrapping his arms tightly around you in a hug. He smells like alcohol. You stiffen.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is frail, wavy. “I’m so sorry, doll.”
Your heart squeezes and you hug him back, eyes falling shut. You realise that Jeonghan blames himself for what happened, because he was the one who unknowingly gave Jisoo the information he needed that led to your kidnapping. In a way, it feels the exact same as your guilt with giving Jihoon sensitive details of Seungcheol’s business, except you are sure it feels ten times worse for Jeonghan, who put his heart and soul into this empire, and had way more at stake than you did.
“It’s okay, Jeonghan.” You mumble into his chest, patting his back softly. “It’s not your fault.”
Jeonghan only squeezes you tighter and shakes his head. You can feel a very slight tremor in his body, and that makes you pull away a little to look at him. Up close, the sight of him is heartbreaking. His hair is messy and limp, like he’s been tugging at it. The bags under his eyes are so prominent that you’re afraid he might drop at any moment. His eyelids are rimmed red, bloodshot, and you wonder how long he’s been crying. His lips are dry and chapped. He looks like a wreck.
You coax him to sit down again, asking him if he’s eaten. He shakes his head mutely and you quickly spring to the fridge to see what you can whip up for him right now. You’re surprised to find a lot of leftovers in boxes. Mingyu must’ve made all this before he left for Busan. You heat some chicken and rice, setting the plate in front of your friend. Discretely, you pull away the glass of whiskey that sits in front of him. He’s too busy staring off into space to notice.
Jeonghan eats slowly, more so picking at the food than actually putting it in his mouth, but you don’t force him. His eyes are hollow and blank. You sit with him quietly as he manages to eat at least a quarter of the plate. You will take it.
You can hear the front door open and close, followed by a familiar voice. It’s sharp and questioning, and you wonder if he’s on the phone. Your suspicions are confirmed when Seungcheol enters the room, eyebrows furrowed with tension at whatever someone on the other end is saying. He is wearing a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. It looks like he just rolled out of bed. His face softens when he sees you, but it twists again at his annoyance when he focuses on whoever he is talking to. He covers the mouthpiece with his hand and looks at Jeonghan.
“It’s Mingyu.” He grits.
Jeonghan blinks. “Is it about the shipments?”
Your alpha nods. Jeonghan stands up and holds his hand out. “Let me talk to him.”
Seungcheol is a little hesitant, but he hands the phone over anyway. Jeonghan walks out of the room with it, talking softly into the receiver. Seungcheol sighs and walks closer to you, smiling softly.
“Hi, baby.”
You pout when he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “You were gone when I woke up.”
He settles on a stool next to you, his hand not leaving your waist. He gently rubs over your side. “I know, I’m sorry. I had to take care of some stuff and I didn’t want to wake you. And then Jeonghan came back….”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “He looks awful.”
Seungcheol sighs and nods slowly. “He’s not holding up too well right now.”
You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling his lips on your hairline. You know it will take time for Jeonghan to heal. Maybe he will never be the same again. All you can do is be there for him the best that you can.
In this life, there is always pain, in one form or the other.
Jeonghan doesn’t stay too long afterwards, saying he’s tired and he’s going to try and sleep a little. You insist he stay at the house, but he pushes back vehemently against it, calling one of the drivers outside to pull his car up. Seungcheol shakes his head, so you stop asking, letting him leave on his own terms. Seungcheol knows better, obviously, so if Jeonghan needs to be alone right now, you won’t push. Jeonghan thanks you for the meal and turns to leave, before remembering something and looking at Seungcheol.
“That thing you asked,” he says, “Mingyu said he is taking care of it.”
Seungcheol nods and thanks him. He finally leaves. You give your alpha a questioning look. He wraps his arms around you and stands up, carrying you out of the kitchen while nudging his forehead affectionately against yours.
“Don’t worry about it. Just some work related stuff.”
You giggle and do what he says, the thought slipping from your mind completely before you even reach the bedroom, Seungcheol’s lips are already running up your neck, hands tugging your shirt up and off your body.
Across town, Mingyu cleans the blood off his knife as he stands in a small, studio apartment where he found his target nursing a really bad right hook on his jaw. Seungcheol has always had a mean swing, so it’s no wonder the guy was knocked out cold for hours. He was still dizzy when Mingyu showed up, so the struggle was minimal before Mingyu tilted his head back and slit his throat with one precise slash. He doesn’t know why exactly Seungcheol wants the man dead, but the order had been explicit. Besides, Seungcheol doesn’t kill just for the sake of killing. This man probably did something that really, really pissed Seungcheol off.
Mingyu’s movements are practiced as he cleans up after himself, leaving no trace. It wouldn’t matter even if he did, since no one in this area dared challenge anyone associated with the Choi empire, but Seungcheol’s always been cautious. He makes sure to preserve a finger, like Seungcheol ordered, to send to your dear old brother as a warning to stay far, far away.
Something tells Mingyu that Hoshi is not the type to take verbal warnings seriously, but a severed finger belonging to his closest ally might be enough to shut him up for a while.
…………………………………….
The following months are quaint.
Everything slowly goes back to normal, the same routine you had before it all went to hell. You wake up and have breakfast with Chan, and sometimes with Mingyu. Seungcheol goes back to his office routine, and you join him for lunch on most days. With both Jihoon and Jisoo out of the way, Busan seems to be flourishing. Things are looking up, and you couldn’t be happier about it.
There’re differences, of course. Both good and bad.
Jeonghan is dimmer now, a little more subdued than his normal, snappy, mischievous self. To the untrained eye, he is exactly the same, but you are not fooled, and neither are your closest friends. There was a spark in him that has wavered now. You know it will take him a long time to be normal, to trust again. But Seungcheol is there, reliable and someone to lean on, not just for you but for Jeonghan as well. In moments when you’re all together, watching Seungkwan and Chan bicker about something completely trivial and nonsensical, Jeonghan giggles and tries to egg them on, and for brief stretches, it feels like he’s back to his regular self. This tells you that maybe, eventually, everything will be okay.
Sometimes, you find Seungcheol drifting away too, his eyes glossing over and face blank, stiff. You know that under Jeonghan’s grief, Seungcheol’s might not be as prominent. But he was also betrayed by two men his family clearly trusted enough to let in. They might be gone now, but they caused unbelievable damage to the family before they did. It can’t be easy for him, and you know it makes him less trusting, more jumpy, about every little decision he has to make. So while everyone leans on Seungcheol to heal from their losses, you let Seungcheol lean on you. You let him lay with you at night, breathing shaky as he holds you tight, shoulders loosening after an entire day of carrying everything on his back. You try your best to be his support while he is everyone else’s.
Things change for the better too, of course.
You’ve grown a strange clinginess for your alpha, whining and complaining when he has to leave in the morning, his warmth ripped from your side. He always patters you with a million apologies and kisses, promising that he will try to get off early. Towards lunchtime, you find yourself waltzing into his office. Either he eats with you, or if he is too busy, you stick your tongue out at him and hook your arm into Seungkwan’s, telling your alpha that you are stealing his PA for a lunch date. He watches with amusement as you two traipse out of the room, taking a long lunch just to piss him off.
You always pay for it later when he bends you over his desk and fucks you so good that you see stars, whispering in your ear that he can’t believe how bratty you’ve become, that he needs to fuck the attitude out of you so you’re pliant and pretty again. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaky and teary, spitting out weak apologies and promising that you’ll be good for him again.
(You toe the line on purpose sometimes, when you want it extra hard.)
He notices your heat before you do.
You wake up feverish and sweaty one autumn morning, feeling weirdly jumpy in your own skin. You blink blearily at the wall clock to realise that it’s barely dusk, the sky still mostly dark outside. Seungcheol is steadily snoring away, his bare back to you, the large oak tree tattoo on his back rising and falling with each breath. You run a trembling hand over his skin, feeling his muscles jump under your touch. Unable to help yourself, you press your lips between his shoulder blades.
It’s your scent that tips him off, rousing him from his sleep to find you already breathless, great big blotches of red staining your face. You whine at him, unbelievably turned on as you throw your leg over his waist to climb over him. When he realises, he lets out a sound halfway between a chuckle and a groan.
“Pretty little thing, you’ve gone into heat.” He whispers, voice still hoarse and thick with sleep, letting you grind down on his rapidly swelling cock. You hardly ever ride him, mostly because you say it makes you feel shy. But you’re shameless about it now, grabbing his cock from behind and sinking down on him, so wet that he glides in smooth and easy. You both moan in unison.
Seungcheol watches you bounce on him for a little, alternating between fucking yourself down on him properly and swiveling your hips in little figure eights so that your clit grinds on his navel. He encourages you, gripping your hips to aid your movements. God, you’re so pretty like this, panting over him as you fuck yourself on him, getting more and more sweaty with the exertion, using him for your own pleasure. It’s such a contrast to how you usually are, still mostly shy about the concept of sex, even when he can see how much you enjoy it. But right now, like this, you’re uninhibited by your usual innocence, an embodiment of nothing but pure lust.
It’s depraved, how insane the sight of you on top of him makes him feel, and he quickly feels his self control waning as you whine in dissatisfaction over him. Of course, you can’t do it the way he does it, can’t hit as deep as he does, can’t pick up the same speed. So Seungcheol pulls your body down on him, anchoring your arms to your sides and planting his feet firmly on the mattress before he starts rapidly fucking up into you.
You cum three times just like that.
He knows it’s your heat making you oversensitive, but god, he loves it. He can feel your slick run down his balls, already ruining the sheets under you. Your tears as you cry with every orgasm, which he laps up carefully, reverently. He doesn’t care that the sheets are quickly getting damp, that you’re being a little louder than you probably should. He feels his knot swell, locking inside you as he groans. His own self control is weakened, heady and sluggish because of your sweet pheromones, but he doesn’t mind. He will give you whatever you want, as many times as you want it. He’s not leaving this room until you’re stuffed full of his knots and unable to think straight.
A couple of phone calls later, everyone is already gathering downstairs, ready for a week of working from home. Only this time, it’s Seungkwan who takes care of you two, and not Jeonghan or Mingyu. As if Seungcheol would let any other alpha in your immediate vicinity right now without ripping their insides out. Twenty four hours into your heat, Mingyu is tiredly handing out earplugs to everyone. Seungkwan rolls his eyes at his alpha’s dramatics and snorts.
“It’s not that bad!”
Mingyu gives his mate an incredulous look and huffs. “Not that bad? I can hear it in my sleep. She’s going to be pregnant by the time they’re done.”
Everyone snickers, even Jeonghan.
You’re not sure you can look your friends in the eye by the time your heat has ended. Now in your senses again, you realise they heard everything. Everything. And Seungkwan has no qualms about describing the sounds in disgusting, theatrical detail. You’re mortified, watching your friends crack up at the reenactment. When you turn to your alpha to protest and tell him to make Seungkwan stop, all you see is a large, sleazy, shit-eating grin on his face that makes you smack his chest hard. He only laughs and hugs you tight, your face buried in his shoulder. Everyone is still laughing and jeering. God, you hate them. All of them.
For decades, the Choi family has dominated the underground trade and criminal enterprise of Korea, and largely, Seoul. But the Choi sons start dying, until all that’s left of the empire falls to Seungcheol, the last Choi son. There is a new competitor rising to take over his territory, and Seungcheol is desperate to do anything to keep his dying empire alive.
Biting and mating with his competitor’s sister, a sheltered, treasured omega, might just be the drastic measure he has to take to keep his hold.
pairing: alpha!choi seungcheol x omega!reader
genre: omegaverse, mafia au
word count: 9.4k
warnings (for this chapter): swearing, fluff, angst, mentions of self doubt, manipulation, kidnapping, torture, physical violence and blood. mentions of emotional abuse and threats. death, betrayal, mentions of sex and some suggestive content, but nothing too explicit, member x member relationships so read at your own risk.
series masterlist
Life as Seungcheol’s omega is the perfect mix of comfortable and invigorating. A balance you never struck before you came here.
You wake up in the mornings and get dressed quickly instead of lazing around and wasting time, because you know Chan will be downstairs waiting to have breakfast with you. You have lively conversations, and sometimes, Mingyu joins you two as well, offering to cook. You think it’s very amusing when the man who is in charge of your security detail puts on a frilly white apron and turns on the stove. But Mingyu is a natural in the kitchen as well. He moves with a confidence that is justified, considering he ends up making all three of you spectacular meals. When you praise him for it, he laughs.
“Well, Seungkwan can’t cook for shit, so one of us has to be good.”
When you tell Seungkwan about it later, he acts fake offended, side eyeing Mingyu, but folding when his alpha coos at him and attacks him with kisses all over. You only giggle as you watch them, feeling some part of you twist, wondering when you will get to that point with your own mate.
Speaking of.
Once you show Seungcheol that you’re really in this with him, he lets go of his hesitation just a little bit. His tone is more carefree, and you see a side of him you didn’t really know existed. He pouts when Seungkwan yells at him for skipping meals or neglecting his health. At the gym, he whines when Mingyu manages to deadlift more than him, and you can’t help your idiotic smile as you watch him complain to Mingyu when it gets too hard or too much. You’ve made it a bit of a habit to watch him in the home gym, which he thinks is endearing and Mingyu thinks is “telling”. You have no clue what he means, but then he wriggles his eyebrows at you suggestively and you gasp, scandalized. Seungcheol pulls him into a headlock until he protests and apologizes. You only laugh as you watch them.
They rag on each other like brothers, and it warms your heart to know Seungcheol is so close to the people in his circle, and that they all genuinely care for him in return too. It puts you more at ease, knowing that he’s not completely alone after all. He’s built a family with these people, and they are the perfect example of the fact that family doesn’t end with blood.
He is less tentative around you too, holding your hand as you both walk, his fingers enveloping yours. You notice his tendency to always have an arm on your back or gripping your waist, like he’s afraid you will slip away. Even when you lean in just to whisper something to him, his hand will find its way to your hip, holding you closer to him than might be necessary, making heat crawl up your neck, your knees just a little bit wobbly when you feel the familiar heat of his palm just above your tailbone.
You like how he is possessive in physical ways, but not mental ones. He holds your opinion in high regard, even asks for it sometimes when it’s you, him, Jeonghan and Seungkwan talking about a new project or alterations to old ones. You often feel like you don’t have much to offer, but he dismisses that immediately. He says you have a way with words, probably because of how well-read you are, and when you work with Seungkwan to draft a letter for an organisation they are teaming up with, he showers you with praise, saying he should just fire Seungkwan and hire you instead. You know he’s joking, and so does Seungkwan, but that doesn’t stop him from pouting and whacking Seungcheol over the head with a heavy folder.
It’s shocking, and no one will believe you, but you think Seungcheol is so cute sometimes.
Then there’s the other side of him, the one that you have never seen in your presence, but have heard about often. You hear of it when Chan tells you about some things that go awry during work, or when Seungcheol has to physically step in to keep people in line. When Chan gawks a little as he tells these stories, you realise Seungcheol’s muscles really aren’t for decoration. You are a little shocked by it, and that makes Mingyu snort.
“You have me as your security detail. Why do you think Seungcheol doesn’t have a bodyguard as well?”
You tilt your head, considering it. “I never really thought about it.”
Mingyu shakes his head and smirks. “Because he doesn’t need it.”
The thought makes you shiver.
You see glimpses of it sometimes, too. When he answers a stressful call as you’re sitting in the backyard with him. His tone gets sharp, voice deeper as he talks into the phone. He sounds harsh, calculating, and when he spits at whoever is on the other end to do his damn job right, you can’t help how breathless you feel, something sharp and tight coiling in the pit of your stomach.
You feel sick in the head for it.
One morning in the beginning of March, you wake up later than usual and come downstairs to find Seungkwan and Jeonghan in the kitchen as well, talking and laughing with Chan, sitting on the stools around the kitchen island as Mingyu cooks. They both have laptops, tablets, and a few files littering the kitchen island before them. They all greet you, boisterous and joyful, and you giggle.
“What are you guys doing here?”
Seungkwan taps on the laptop in front of him and answers without looking up. “One week of working from home.”
You sit down next to Seungkwan, waiting for the alpha to elaborate.
“Seungcheol has a rut coming this week. Usually we all hunker down here during it instead of the office. Me and Mingyu run point and Seungkwan just stays downstairs. Business can’t stop for a whole week, you know.”
You are surprised at the information, blinking at him. Jeonghan shifts a little, and you can sense he’s slightly uncomfortable now.
“I thought you knew and you’d be up there with him. That’s why we didn’t call you down for breakfast.”
All of them are quiet now, appearing a little awkward as they try to look anywhere that’s not you. You feel anxiety and doubt creep on you. You thought you had made progress with Seungcheol. Hell, all of your friends were convinced you would help him with his rut. You’re his fucking mate. And he didn’t even tell you.
Embarrassment claws at you as you get up to leave, but Seungkwan is quick to catch your wrist.
“Don’t.” He warns. “He’s in rut. He didn’t tell you because he doesn’t want you there. I’m sure he has his reasons, but if you go up there now, it might not end well.”
You grit your teeth. “I want to speak to him.”
“Do it after his rut, then.”
Jeonghan nods. “Seungkwan is right. You aren’t going to get anything out of him like this anyway. No alpha is in his right mind during ruts. I'm sure you know this.”
You huff. “Fine.”
When Seungkwan lets go of your wrist, you mumble something about getting fresh air and leave out of the back door to trudge down the gardens. You still feel shitty about it, and very doubtful. And you have this strange buzzing right under your skin, like ants crawling over you. It’s disconcerting, and you run your hands over your bare arms to try to ease it, but it doesn’t help. Your bite mark itches, and you wonder if this restlessness is because you know your mate is rutting and you’re not there.
You hate it.
You walk around aimlessly until you reach the back of the house. There, you spot two figures down by the stream, sharing cigarettes. You squint and try to make them out, realising one of them is Jihoon. The other one you can’t appreciate properly, but then he turns his head and you see his side profile, the tiny silver ring piercing the helix of his ear, and you freeze.
It’s him, the beta that showed up to the office. The one that told you why Seungcheol mated you.
You take a few steps back, slipping into a cut in the brick side wall of the house so they can’t see you.
Who is that man? Why is he here? Why is Jihoon talking to him? You know this man works for Seungcheol, and you also know he must be someone important, because he knew about the exact circumstances you were mated under. Only a select few people knew about that. You never mentioned what happened in the office to Seungcheol, of course. Is this man part of the inner circle? If yes, then why is Jihoon speaking to him? He had made it explicitly clear that he had no connections with the inner circle, which is why he was struggling with taking Seungcheol down.
Then you handed everything over to him on a silver platter.
Guilt assaults your senses, sharp as ever. It is a regular occurrence now, living with this feeling. You feel it with every spark of joy, like a dark companion lingering over your shoulder, spoiling any happiness you might feel when you’re with Seungcheol. With every passing day, you try to work up the nerve to tell him what you did, but you can’t bring yourself to. It took you so long to get where you are with him. The thought of ruining that paralyses you.
What would he think if he knew you snooped? He would hate you, of course. He risked everything, even your life, to save this business, to save the people who worked for him. And then he spent every day afterward trying to make up for using you as a sacrifice. There’s no doubt in your mind that if you are the catalyst to his destruction, he will never, ever forgive you. Just the thought has your omega whining and scratching at itself. You absolutely would not be able to stand Seungcheol’s disappointment in you.
Then there is the fact that for the last few months, you haven’t heard a single peep out of Jihoon. You know he said it will take a while, and you anticipated a few weeks at most. But it has been a long time, and a naïve, optimistic part of you wants to believe things just didn’t work out and Jihoon gave up, so you just hope against hope that it never comes to that. That you never even have to tell Seungcheol all of this. It will be gone, buried, and everything will remain normal like it is right now.
It won’t be that way, of course. You know this. Life is rarely ever that ideal.
You huff and walk back inside, feeling even worse than when you went out. You still have questions about why that man is here. How did he even manage to set foot on the estate? Does he know Seungcheol or one of the other men more personally? Does he handle some part of the business too? You have so many questions, and his presence is making warning bells go off in your head.
Your bite mark is still tingling, verging on a burning sensation, and your anxiety is through the roof. You want to see Seungcheol so badly, to smell him and simmer down as his scent filters into your nose. He’s the only one who is capable of calming you. And you also want answers about his secrecy regarding his rut. You want to know that you didn’t make this into more than it was in your head.
Fuck it.
You can hear everyone still talking and laughing in the kitchen as you sneak quietly up the stairs to where you know Seungcheol’s room is. You’ve never been inside, and it’s in the opposite corridor to where yours is, but you know the exact door you’re looking for. Even if you didn’t, the second you step into the hallway, his scent floods your nose. Your throat tightens, knees wobbling a little. It’s dense, way more than usual, like an assault to the senses. You hesitate, wondering if you should just heed Seungkwan’s words, but the second you shuffle back, your omega whines. You want to see him. No, you need to see him.
You knock on the door with an open palm, three slow bangs as you breathe in more and more of him. You can hear shuffling inside, then the clinking of the lock. You lean off the door and it swings open. You try not to collapse on your knees right there.
He looks disheveled, dark hair springing up everywhere all over the place, falling into his eyes, a thin layer of sweat shining on his hairline. He’s shirtless, and your eyes trace down hungrily over large expanses of pale, stretched muscle. He’s so flushed, from his chest all the way up his neck, his ears, and settling pretty on the apples of his cheeks. His sweats hang low, and if you look a little too carefully, you can make out the outline of his-
He groans, immediately pulling the door back closed until only his head is visible through the crack.
“W-what are you doing?” His voice is torn, raspy. You feel your mouth dry.
“I wanted to see you.”
It sounds ridiculous now, despite how rational your reasoning was in your head before. You can’t think straight, his pheromones clouding all your senses until you want nothing else but to crumble in front of him.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You have to go. I- I can’t talk right now.”
You swallow thickly. He closes the door a bit more until it is held open just enough to let sound come through. Your omega screams in protest and you take a step forward.
“I just thought-”
He groans, and it sounds pained. “Step back. Leave.”
Your face twists, and you can feel tears spring into your eyes. “Why don’t you want me, Alpha?”
Seungcheol’s eyes widen at the shift in your tone, and he immediately pulls the door open again. His hand closes over your arm and he tugs you inside, closing it behind you. You sniffle, eyes running over him again. You feel like you can’t think straight under the dense hold of his pheromones. You can’t help it when you place your open palms on his bare chest, and you watch the way he bites his lip.
“Don’t you dare think for one second that I don’t want you, omega.” He rasps, and you can feel his hands travel down your sides, squeezing at them. His touch is heavier, more assertive than usual. Your breath stutters. The whole room reeks of him, and you feel lightheaded just smelling it.
Seungcheol lowers his head to your neck and noses over your bite mark. You mewl at the feeling. You feel yourself clench, something wet forming between your legs, and the assault of new sensations scares you a little. You’ve never felt this way before.
“Fuck.” He groans again, his hold on your hips tightening. He tugs you forward a little with his grip, and you gasp when you feel something hard and insistent against your lower stomach.
“See how bad I want you? Do you feel it?” His breath hits the mark on your neck. You tilt your head to give him more access. You feel greedy for it, digging your nails slightly into his shoulders. He grinds against you a little, his erection insistent against your hip. You feel his tongue lick a thick stripe over your bite mark, and you can’t help but whine loudly as your eyes roll up at the feeling.
“Alpha, please.”
Seungcheol’s groan is so pained that you can hear the agony in it. He pulls his head away, looking up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath as he loosens his hold on you.
“I can’t, sweetheart. Not like this.”
You feel petulant when you pout and blink up at him. “Why not?”
He chuckles down at you, reaching a hand up to brush back your hair, tucking it behind your ear. “You’ve never done this before. I can’t have your first time be when I’m in rut.”
You want to argue with him, you’re so turned on, but he’s right. This is all new to you, and you can’t imagine how it might feel if you go all the way. You felt a single pang of arousal and it scared you. What happens when you take it further? You’re not an idiot, you know what to expect, but you are realistic about your own inexperience.
“You have to leave now, my love.” Seungcheol says, running his hands almost hungrily over your body one last time, and you can hear his breathing getting heavier. “If you stay longer, I’m not sure I will be able to hold myself back.”
You nod a little, no matter how badly you don’t want to leave him like this. So you try to placate yourself, reaching up on your tiptoes to lay a kiss on his jaw. You see his eyelids flutter, exhaling shakily at the feeling. You can’t torture him more, so you turn and exit through the door, giving him a small smile just before you close it.
When you get back downstairs, everyone immediately smells Seungcheol on you. Mingyu whistles low and chuckles, shoving a forkful of egg into his mouth.
“His self control is insane.”
You only laugh, heart still racing.
………………………………
Three days into Seungcheol’s rut, you get an unexpected phone call.
You’re surprised to hear his voice, and it takes you a second to reply, a stilted ‘hey’ leaving your mouth. Your brother chuckles.
“Still mad at me, kiddo?”
You feel your lips crack a smile. “No. I can’t be mad at you, Soonie.”
“I’m glad. Do you wanna meet up? Maybe we can eat together or watch a movie. Like old times.”
You do feel relieved that Soonyoung isn’t holding on to whatever grudge he created in his head against you. And you do feel uneasy about how your last meeting with him ended. So you bring the idea up with Jeonghan that very afternoon, since you can’t go directly to Seungcheol. He hesitates a little.
“I don’t know, doll. The last time didn’t go well.”
You nod. “He’s still my brother, Hannie. I don’t want to cut him off. He’s the only family I have.”
Jeonghan sighs and nods. “Okay. What do you want to do then? Lunch? A movie?”
You smile, excited. “I’ll ask him.”
Soonyoung proposes lunch, which makes things a little difficult since Jeonghan has to tend to business during daylight and Mingyu is at the house for Seungcheol. Jeonghan ends up making some calls and arranges for someone else to provide security, a tall alpha with platinum blond hair who looks almost like a prince.
“This is Jun.” Jeonghan introduces him, and he gives you a small smile. You nod back. “He’ll be with you the entire time. It’s daytime and a public restaurant, so I don’t think it should be much of a problem. But Seungcheol wants someone there, just in case.”
“I understand.” You smile, nodding in thanks when Jun holds open the car door for you. Once you’re settled inside, Jeonghan leans against the open window and gives you a stern look.
“Seungcheol isn’t keeping tabs this time like he usually does, and Mingyu isn’t there. Keep your eyes peeled for anyone suspicious. Be careful, okay?”
“Always.” You smile at him, so he huffs in finality and steps back, nodding at the driver. You turn out of the driveway.
The restaurant Soonyoung chose is a place you often got takeout from when you were still living at your childhood home. You loved the food, and so did he, wolfing down a concerning amount whenever you watched movies together. You haven’t been there in person yet, there’s still a lot you haven’t seen of Seoul, but the smell of the food is nostalgic, and it makes you smile. You spot Soonyoung on one of the tables next to the window. None of his men are inside, but you spot them through the window across the road when you sit down, extremely conspicuous as they mutter in their phones and walking talkies. You snort.
“Don’t think we need that much security, Soonie.” You say in way of a greeting. He only smiles.
“I think we do, but I’m sure you don’t. You’re a changed woman now.”
You sigh tiredly, deflating. “I just sat down, can we not do this?”
He chuckles and raises his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.”
You order extensively off the menu, as you two always did. It feels like reliving old times, but with new vigor. You talk and laugh with your brother, reminiscing over old memories.
“I miss it, you know?” He says, pushing his food around. He looks like he’s deep in thought. You hum and nod.
“I wish we could do it again.”
“We can.” He offers, eyes flicking up to you. You feel a giddy smile break over your face.
“I would love that, Soonie. Let’s plan something.”
He shakes his head, eyes still trained on you. “No need to plan. We can do it today.”
You hum a little thoughtfully. “We could. I’ll have to call and let Jeonghan know, though.”
“No need for that.” Soonyoung’s voice drops lower as he repeats himself, and the tone makes you freeze. You look up at him, suddenly feeling a small pit in your stomach. It feels like the air has stilled, and you can hear warning bells go off in your head, the kind you get when you feel like you’re in danger. Instinct, Mingyu calls it. And he always tells you to hone in on this feeling, to never ignore it. That this is the feeling that will one day save your life.
You feel it now.
Your eyes dart around the restaurant. Nothing is different that would make this feeling make sense, the waiters weaving through the tables, people eating, talking, enjoying. You look out of the window, at the men standing across the street, both yours and Soonyoung’s security team. Except, you can’t spot Jun, or any of the other men who made up your security detail. One man catches your eye, and you feel ice flood your veins. Even from afar, you can see the glint of the helix earring, the dark brown hair, the familiar, unnerving gaze.
“No.”
It can’t be him. Six men came with you in total, including Jun and the driver. This man was not one of them. Which means he is here with-
Your face turns back to Soonyoung, who is watching you carefully. There’s something in his eyes that makes your entire body stiffen. Your fork drops onto your plate with a loud clatter.
“Don’t make a scene, Y/N.”
“How do you know him?” You barely recognise your own voice, trembling, filled with dread. Soonyoung shakes his head.
“Doesn’t matter. He’s here to help.”
“Help who? You?”
Soonyoung sighs, leaning forward a little. “We’re going to walk out of here and into my car. Let’s not make this a whole thing, okay kiddo?”
You shake your head, looking out of the window again. You still can’t see Jun. You can’t see anyone who you came here with. Your heartbeat picks up.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
“No.”
“Please. I won’t make a scene.”
“Leave your phone here, then.”
You can’t do that, and he knows this. You grit your teeth hard and stiffen your legs, looking Soonyoung in his eyes. You know immediately you’re not walking out of here easily. He won’t let you. That man was with Jihoon, now he’s here with Soonyoung. This can’t be a coincidence. It’s time. They’re making a move.
You dart from your chair abruptly, rushing through the tables to the back of the restaurant, bursting through the door to the ladies’ bathroom and slamming it shut behind you, locking it. You can hear some gasps and questioning noises from outside, but you are least focused on them. You have barely a few seconds. With shaky hands, you pull your phone out, dialing Seungcheol’s number. It goes straight to voicemail.
You curse, tears clouding your eyes. You blink furiously so you can see clearer, dialing Jeonghan’s number next. You yelp when there’s a loud bang on the door, the same kind you heard the day you met Seungcheol for the first time. The sound of someone breaking in.
You push into one of the stalls, hearing the steady ring of the phone in your ear as you push the flimsy lock on the stall door. The banging is deafeningly loud, more insistent. Outside, you can hear screaming and scrambling.
“Y/N?”
“Jeonghan!” You can feel the relief wash over you, only a brief second of it. “Listen to me, tonight’s shipments-”
You yelp when you hear the bathroom door break finally, coming down in a loud thud. Multiple footsteps rush in, but you hear Soonyoung’s voice loud and clear over them.
“This is for your own good, kiddo!”
“Y/N!” Jeonghan screams over the receiver. Your heart beats a million miles an hour. Tears run down your cheeks, your knees trembling.
“Hannie, cancel all your shipments!”
You scream when the thin door of the stall breaks clean free with one slam, a rough hand wrapping around your arm and pulling you out. A ragged edge of wood catches your leg, followed by searing pain. You struggle and scream as Soonyoung pries the phone from your hand and hurls it at the opposite wall. It smashes into pieces. He heaves you up, so close to him that his nose touches yours.
“Stop struggling.” He grits. “You need this. That asshole corrupted you.”
“Let me go!”
“Shut up!” Soonyoung shuffles back as you kick and scream. “Look at what you’re doing. Eomma would be ashamed of you!”
You sob and freeze in his hold, big heaving breaths wracking through your body as you weep. Soonyoung uses the moment of pliancy to drag you out of the bathroom. Through teary eyes you can see people crouched under the tables, eyes wide in fear, and men standing around them, holding up guns. You stumble, feet dragging as Soonyoung half holds you up and rushes you out.
You’re still sobbing as he puts you in the back of his car and climbs in after you, signaling to the driver. Once the car starts moving, he pulls you into a hug. You try to push him away, swatting at his shoulders, clawing at his skin. He doesn’t budge.
“Trust me. This is necessary. Everyone will be okay now.”
You can only cry.
……………………………….
Seungcheol feels like his world is caving in.
He knew something was very, very wrong the second he heard commotion downstairs, followed by rushed thuds, and then his room door slamming open. Seungkwan stood on the other side, face pale and horror struck, and he knew instantly that it was about you. It couldn’t be anything else, because under no other circumstance would an omega step into his room while he was mid-rut.
When he hears what happened, he breaks the wooden shelf in the living room.
He knows it’s the rut, the reason he’s being so aggressive. But he thinks that even if he wasn’t in rut, he would still be filled with this amount of red-hot rage. He sees Seungkwan jump at the deafening sound of wood cracking, sees Mingyu put an arm around him and shield his omega a little with his own body. Seungcheol doesn’t give a fuck.
“Who did you send with her?” Seungcheol knows his voice is low and steady enough to send a chill through everyone in the room. Even Jeonghan is affected, staring glassy eyed at the wall, lost in thought. Mingyu answers him instead.
“Jun.”
Seungcheol’s hands ball into fists as he eyes the splintered wood. “Get him here. I will put a bullet in him myself.”
“It wasn't his fault. They killed him.”
Seungcheol closes his eyes, shocked into silence. Jun had a family, a kid. He wasn’t actually going to kill him, maybe just rough him up a bit.
“They knew.” Jeonghan finally says, voice quiet. If the room wasn’t deathly silent, no one would’ve heard him. “That you were in rut. That Mingyu wouldn’t be with her. They knew.”
“Who?” Seungkwan’s voice is small. “It’s not possible. Who told them?”
A million things are happening on Jeonghan’s face, like pieces falling into place. Seungcheol is too preoccupied to question it.
“She said something.” Jeonghan’s voice trembles. Seungcheol thinks it’s the first time he has heard his friend sound this way. He turns to look at Jeonghan, his own eyes bloodshot.
“On the phone, just before he got her,” Jeonghan continues, “she said something.”
Seungcheol’s heart pounds. “What?”
“Cancel all your shipments.”
Seungcheol scowls, confusion racking his mind. He already feels cloudy, disoriented, and he can’t imagine what that has to do with anything. But he trusts you, more than anything else in his life. So he nods.
“Do what she said.”
Jeonghan nods and steps out of the room, already dialing on his phone. Mingyu watches him closely.
“You need to get back in the room.”
Seungcheol sneers. “Like hell I will.”
“Your mind is useless as long as you’re in rut. Soonyoung will probably hide her very well, so it might be a while until we find her location. When we do, I will tell you. But for now, go. I’ll call Wonwoo to track her down.”
Seungcheol knows he can’t argue, so he just nods defeatedly. Mingyu is right. If he wants to be any good at getting you back, he needs full use of his mind and body. He gives Seungkwan an apologetic look before he leaves. Seungkwan only nods reassuredly, but a thin film of tears covers his eyes. Seungcheol has a feeling that his own look the same.
Seungcheol’s world is still caving in.
…………………………………….
The sound of horns honking is something you’ve grown very accustomed to in the last twenty eight hours. Yes, twenty eight. You’ve been counting. Not by the clock in the room, because there isn’t one, but by yourself, ticking every hour off in your mind, going by the sun you can make out through the cracks in the blackened windows.
No one has come to see you since Soonyoung dumped you here and told you to stay put. You know his men are probably lurking downstairs, keeping an eye on the place, but no one has so much as knocked on the door. So you lay on the bed of this tiny studio apartment, watching the window and counting.
Twenty eight hours in, you hear the key in the lock. You don’t bother moving, not until the door opens and Soonyoung steps in, followed by another man. You freeze when his eye catches yours. You slowly sit up.
“Seokmin.”
He hasn’t changed, the same brown eyes, same dark hair, parted down the middle. When he smiles, it’s the same, though a little muted, and not his usual dazzling, blinding one. His voice is soft when he speaks.
“How are you?”
You want to laugh bitterly, but you stifle it in your throat, glancing at Soonyoung.
“I’m a prisoner.”
Soonyoung scoffs, setting down the bags in his hand. The aroma of food drifts to you. Your stomach growls. “You’re not a prisoner. I’m your brother. Consider this punishment for doing something bad. I will let you out when you’ve learned your lesson.”
You let out an incredulous laugh. “I did something wrong? Me? Don’t give me that bullshit. I tried the best I could in the situation I was put in.”
Seokmin watches the interaction, his expression forlorn. When you catch his eye again, he sighs.
“You’ve changed.”
You clench your teeth hard, feeling anger rise in you. You want to scream at both of them. Of course you’d changed. You know not to take crap from alphas anymore. They aren’t superior to you. They just like to pretend that they are because it panders to their egos. You will no longer lay down and take Soonyoung’s bullshit just because he hates Seungcheol.
You’ve changed because you have self respect now.
Soonyoung piles the food on a plate he finds in the cabinet of the open kitchen. Then, he places it in front of you on the bed.
“Eat.”
“Fuck you.”
Both him and Seokmin are taken aback, eyes wide in shock. You have never, in your life, spoken to your brother this way. You can smell the moment his scent sours. You don’t look away from his stare, even as it hardens and narrows to a frightening level.
“You’re more far gone than I thought. But it doesn't matter. When that mating bond breaks, you’ll remember who you really belong to.”
Your eyes widen, heart skipping. “What?”
He stands up, a slow smirk taking over his face. “Why do you think Seokmin is here?”
You feel dread spread through your chest, staining your blood, infiltrating it like ink in hot water. You shake your head furiously.
“No.”
Soonyoung tuts. “I think we’re way past that, kiddo.”
You pull your legs up to your chest, a false sense of comfort as your panicked mind goes into overdrive. “What will you do?”
“He will bite you. Right over where that bastard did.”
Your eyes are already tearing up. You frown at him. “That won’t work.”
Soonyoung shrugs. “Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. I have it on good authority from a few professionals that it will, especially since I know you haven’t….. consummated your bond.”
Nausea passes over you like a rising wave. Tears slip from your lash line, sliding down your cheeks in thick tracks. Your face crumples.
“Soonyoung, please don’t do this.”
Soonyoung’s face softens just a little, and for one second, you are reminded of your brother who cared, who did nothing but protect you. The man you looked up to. He reaches a hand out, placing it on your head. An old gesture, a familiar one. You squeeze your eyes shut.
“You can’t see it right now, but you will realise once it’s done that this is what is best for you, I promise. I would never hurt you. You know that.”
How do you tell him that this will not just hurt you, but kill you? If you have to live without Seungcheol, you will die.
You weep silently as Soonyoung whispers something to Seokmin before trudging to the door, disappearing through it without giving you another look. Seokmin closes the door and locks it behind him before sighing heavily and walking to the center of the room, collapsing on the couch.
“You can take some time,” he says softly, “but this needs to be done quick.”
You know exactly why they need to hurry this. Seungcheol is looking for you, you know it. You will hold out for as long as it takes. You know that at the end of the day, if Seokmin decides to use force, there’s nothing you can do. But you will try your best. You will resist. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you have something worth fighting for, and you sure as hell aren’t going to lay down and take whatever he plans to inflict on you. When the time comes, you will fight.
For now, you rest your head in your arms. And you think about Seungcheol.
…………………………………..
Yoon Jeonghan believes that he is a confident person. He has always thought that, because that’s what he was told. He picked up his father’s tricks and business acumen at a young age, and college solidified his personality and how he wanted to deal with people. It was almost like his job and his legacy was written in the stars. He was meant to help run the Choi empire, and he was really good at it.
But when Jeonghan gets that call from you, voice frantic, incessant banging in the background, screaming about cancelling some shipments before your voice is strangled, the dialtone buzzing in his ear, Jeonghan thinks his confidence might have slipped into arrogance. His ears ring as he pieces it together, as he thinks about everything that led to this, and he immediately knows.
This is his fault.
That night, after Jeonghan has called to cancel all shipments and left Mingyu to deal with Seungcheol, he takes a car to Busan himself (he definitely went over the speed limit). He asks Wonwoo to meet him at the docks, to get as many of their men on land weapon-ready as he can, but to stay on standby and not do anything. Jeonghan is nothing if not prepared. As he drives, Jeonghan looks back at the last few months, the decisions he made. The lapses in judgement, his lips running a bit too much.
He has only one person in mind, and a buried, dark, sick part of him knows that he has royally fucked up. This is on him. And now he needs to make it right.
He reaches the Gamcheon Port in record time, parking far out and walking the rest of the way. It’s a large area, too large to scope out, too large to search, but Jeonghan has an inkling. Mingyu calls it instinct, one that Jeonghan has honed over years and years of painstaking work to keep this business alive. And he knows when to follow it. Right now is that time.
Wonwoo meets him near the pier, nodding solemnly. He’s got two guns strapped to his waist, another, longer one with a scope hanging off his back.
“Any trace of Hoshi?” Jeonghan asks.
He shakes his head. “He’s smarter than I thought. He keeps moving all over, so do his men. We can’t get a reliable pattern.”
Jeonghan grits his teeth. “Right. Well, I have a lead.”
Wonwoo follows Jeonghan when he veers left and starts walking towards the hillside of Gamcheon, up to the village that overlooks the port. It’s a steep walk, but they keep a good pace. It’s not well lit, which is to their advantage. Jeonghan doesn’t really want anyone seeing them, ladled with guns, even if the entire area is occupied by their men, and even if it’s very late at night.
“Who are we looking for?” Wonwoo asks.
“Hong Jisoo.”
That makes him stop dead in his tracks, eyes wide behind his glasses and mouth dropped open. Jeonghan stops walking as well, looking back at his friend as he processes the words. Finally, Wonwoo speaks.
“You’re sure?”
Jeonghan nods.
Wonwoo doesn’t say anything more, clenching his jaw and nodding. Jeonghan feels it again, the twinge of hurt in his chest, the shame of the betrayal, but he tamps it down. This isn’t about him. He needs to do this for Seungcheol. For you.
Maybe it’s Jeonghan’s instinct that he knows Jisoo is here, maybe it’s the red flags that he had been picking up on periodically and kept dismissing, but it’s easy enough to scope out the few, vacant flats in Gamcheon village which he knows by heart, talk to a few carefully placed eyes, until he finds exactly the place he’s looking for. He doesn’t even bother unlocking the door, just steps back a few paces and lifts his gun, shooting the handle out.
The door opens, him and Wonwoo step inside, and his eyes meet wide, alarmed ones.
He sees Jihoon there as well, and he feels slightly vindicated. Just slightly, because he always felt that something was off about Jihoon, which is why he kept the omega at an arm’s length. But Jisoo…..
His Jisoo. The Jisoo with a silver necklace clipped around his neck that had Jeonghan’s initials carved in the back of the daisy shaped charm. Jeonghan got it because Jisoo loved jewellery, the many rings on his fingers, the tiny round hoop wrapped around the helix of his ear. He knew it would make the perfect courting gift for the beta he was slowly falling in love with. The beta who Jeonghan loved daydreaming about putting a mark on, making him his forever.
The Jisoo who betrayed him.
“You know, if you’re going to squat, you shouldn’t do it smack in the middle of enemy territory.” Jeonghan drawls as Wonwoo quickly side steps him, gun raised. Neither of the men have their guns on them. Jeonghan immediately spots them on the coffee table, along with two walkie talkies and a laptop. They both stay frozen still in the middle of the living room. Jihoon curses. Jeonghan can see the way Jisoo’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t reply.
“Wonwoo.” Jeonghan mumbles. His friend nods and points the gun right at Jihoon.
“Let’s go for a walk.” He sneers. Jihoon just grits his teeth and walks past Jeonghan, Wonwoo right behind him with a gun held to the small of his back. When the door shuts behind them, as much as it can without a handle, Jeonghan sighs.
He walks to the coffee table, picking up both guns one by one and clicking the clip on the base of the barrel so the magazine falls out and clatters to the ground. He kicks at it, and it slides across the room, throwing the gun in the other direction. Then, Jeonghan leans down to look at the laptop. It is surveillance, set up to overlook the dock receiving their shipments for tonight. Jeonghan feels his throat tighten. You were right.
He straightens up again and points his gun at the laptop. Shoots it. The screen dies.
“You aren’t going to say anything?” He mutters in the silence that follows, watching the device simmer a little. “Are you grieving for your failure to take us down?”
“Hannie-”
“Don’t.” Jeonghan can hear how his own voice hardens. He takes a deep breath. “Don’t you dare.”
Jisoo sighs, staring at the opposite wall. “What gave me away?”
Jeonghan chuckles, but it is drenched in bitterness. “Many things. Your friendship with Jihoon that I could never understand. The textbook shooting, they only teach that at the Academy. Your curiosity about the business, how everything worked. I should’ve known from the very start. I should’ve suspected. But the last straw was the fact that you are the only person on the outside who knew about Seungcheol’s rut.”
Jeonghan pauses. “The only person I told.”
This was Yoon Jeonghan’s arrogance. He thought he was invincible. He thought no one could ever manipulate him, the master manipulator. So he let his guard down. He let himself turn a blind eye. For the first time in his life, Jeonghan ignored his gut. He let himself feel Jisoo’s affection, his touch, and he loosened his tongue, thinking it didn’t matter, thinking Jisoo loved him, was loyal to him. But Jisoo was miles ahead the entire time. Jeonghan’s only intellectual equal became the weapon used against him.
Jeonghan steps closer to the beta, the man he spent countless nights next to, the same house, the same bed.
“You wanted us distracted by Y/N’s kidnapping so you could destroy everything down here. So you worked with Soonyoung too? Were you manipulating him? Sleeping with him?”
Jisoo is quick to shake his head as his face twists. He looks at Jeonghan with misty eyes, and Jeonghan feels a surge of anger and grief so strong he wishes he could put a bullet in his own head.
“There was only ever you, Hannie.”
Jeonghan scoffs, but it comes out more shaky than he would like. His heart twists so painfully, he wishes he could bury both of them in the ground right here. He places his gun right at Jisoo’s side, digging it in just enough to make the beta wince.
“Save it.”
He nudges harshly to get Jisoo to start moving, walking to the door.
“Are you going to kill me?”
Jeonghan chuckles. “Not like this. You’re going to tell us everything, what you’ve done so far, where she is, all of it. And once we find her, I’ll put a bullet in your mouth.”
They go down the stairs silently for a few seconds before Jisoo speaks again.
“So that’s it? This is how it ends?”
Jeonghan reaches up to the back of Jisoo’s neck, fingers brushing over his skin as he clasps the silver chain tightly. He applies pressure, and the chain snaps. He can hear Jisoo’s shaky exhale as he pulls the necklace away. His own initials glare back at him under the open sky, the moon making it glint. He hits the final nail in the coffin.
“You’re already dead to me.”
………………………………………
You don’t know how long Seokmin sits on the couch, staring at the ceiling. You stopped counting the hours, because all you could focus on was the roaring of blood in your skull, the ringing in your ears. Tear tracks dry on your cheeks, your eyes burn, and you think you physically cannot cry anymore. You clutch your own arms until the skin under your nails breaks, leaving crescent shaped marks. You don’t even register it. You feel pain all over.
He gives you food every few hours, which you refuse to eat. You only drink water because you feel like you will die if you don’t. He doesn’t say anything otherwise, which you are surprised by, but his face remains stoic, unreadable.
On the second day of this monotony and tense silence, Seokmin finally speaks to you.
“It’s been long enough.” He says, voice barely audible if you weren’t already so on edge. “I gave you as much time as I could.”
“How gracious of you.” Your voice is raspy from disuse, but still sharpened with sarcasm. Seokmin huffs, frowning.
“Please don’t make this difficult.”
“Mark me if you want.” You glare at him with so much venom that you can see his face twist as your eyes meet his. “I will never be yours. I will always be his.”
You see the flicker of anger in his eyes. He stands up, walking slowly to the bed. You press your back to the wall, legs pulled up to your chest. You never once break eye contact. You stare at him dead on. You’re not afraid.
He sits on the bed, one leg folded under him. He watches you carefully, silently.
“How long did we know each other?” He mumbles. “Almost ten years? We were still teenagers when we met.”
You don’t reply, you just stare at him.
“I courted you for years too. If so much hadn’t happened, if circumstances didn’t change, we would be mated by now.”
You want to scoff, but you just sneer instead. “So is that it? You feel entitled to me because you put time into this?”
Seokmin shrugs. You close your eyes so he won’t see the tears that have started to gather again.
“This is the issue, Seokmin.” You say, defeat bleeding into your tone. “No bite mark, no mating bond, nothing can make me yours if you continue to treat me like property.”
You open your eyes to look at him, and you find that he’s already got his stare fixed on you. He doesn’t reply, and you have nothing more to say. He sighs in finality.
“Well, let’s start with the mark.” He says. “And maybe you can learn to love me the way you love him.”
You clench your hands into fists, listening to the hope in his voice. You want to scream at him that it doesn’t work that way, but you suspect he won’t listen. Or he won’t understand. He can’t. He grew up in this family, in this community. He feels entitled to the omega he was promised. You can’t undo conditioning like that. Not with a few words.
It’s time.
Seokmin’s hand closes around your arm, the air stills, sizzles, like static over your skin. You hold your breath, ready to resist.
You smell him through the door. Oak, tinged with the sharp hit of cinnamon. You yank your arm away the same instant the door trembles with a deafening crack, immediately splintering at its hinges. It’s not as strong as the door Seungcheol had previously broken to find you, and if you weren’t so terrified and so overcome with the intense swell of relief, you would’ve smiled at the poetry of it all.
It seems every time Seungcheol wants to get to you, he will have to break a door.
Seokmin jerks up, stiff, and before he can reach for his gun, the second kick to the door sends it crashing to the ground. You don’t move an inch as Seungcheol steps inside. His eyes meet yours, and electricity sizzles down your spine. Your omega howls in your head.
But then Seokmin is moving, and Seungcheol’s eyes shoot towards him. He’s on him before Seokmin can reach his gun. The cracking sound of Seungcheol’s fist meeting Seokmin’s jaw is a little sickening, and it makes you wince. He falls, groaning loudly, and you just know he won’t be getting up again. It takes one sniff of the air to know. Seungcheol’s scent is still dense like it was the day you went to see him in his room. Not quite as potent, but enough. His rut is waning, but he’s not fully back yet. An alpha in rut is absolutely unmatched, and when that alpha is Seungcheol….
He’s lumbering towards where you sit. You watch him lean down to get closer. The same fist that just sent Seokmin into orbit is soft against you, unwrapping your arms from your legs, straightening you so he can get a good look. He eyes the nail indents marking your skin, brushes your hair back to get a clear look at your face. He spots the gash on your leg from when Soonyoung dragged you through the broken bathroom door, still tender but well into the healing stage. You watch him hungrily, like the very sight of him is breathing life into you. He’s sweating a bit, built up on his temples and his hairline. He’s a little disheveled. But his eyes are soft, and his touch is gentle. Just like it always is, just like you remembered and missed.
“Did he hurt you?”
His voice nearly unravels you. You push forward, closing the distance until your lips meet his in a searing kiss.
He wastes no time in reaching a large hand up to cup the back of your head, fingers burying in your hair, tilting it to deepen the kiss, the desperate roll of his mouth into yours. He groans, a sound from deep in his chest, purely alpha and so demanding that you whine in return, fisting his shirt between your palms. You never want to pull away. You want him to devour you whole.
But he rips away from you with a large inhale, keeping his forehead pressed to yours for a good few seconds, eyes heated but melting soft as he watches you. His lip ticks up in a little smile.
“I missed you too.”
You can’t help your breathless laugh, but you spot his hands then. The skin over his knuckles is torn, weeping red. Tiny dark blue bruises bloom on his fingers as well. You carefully take his hand in yours.
“Don’t worry about it.” He immediately placates you, turning your joined hands so he can lay a kiss on the back of yours. Then, he wraps both arms around you and scoops you up. “Let’s get you back home.”
You tuck your face into his neck, breathing him in where it’s the strongest. For the first time in days, you feel your muscles unwind and relax.
You let your alpha take you home.
………………………………
“I’m glad.” Jeonghan whispers over the phone, a smile cracking his face. “I’m so relieved, Seungcheol-ah. You have no idea.”
There’s a small silence on the other end of the line before Seungcheol sighs. “You want me to come and take care of it?”
Jeonghan shakes his head even though he knows his friend can’t see him. “No, it’s okay. I think I have to do this myself.”
When he gets off the phone, he stares into the distance, taking a deep breath. The door of the warehouse is far away, but the entire space is empty. It’s far from the Port, and not usually used, so he knows they won’t be interrupted here. A voice speaks up behind him, jagged and torn, unlike how soft and sweet his cadence usually is.
“Found her?” Jisoo croaks.
Jeonghan turns back to look at him, bound to a chair and hunched over. He can’t possibly lift his bloody, disfigured face. Seungcheol had done a number on him to get the information he needed. Understandably, he didn’t want Jeonghan to do that part.
“Being betrayed like this is enough,” he had said, “you’ve had enough pain to last a lifetime.”
But Jeonghan had still stayed there. Because he felt like he needed this lesson. He needed to see Jisoo get mauled by the person he came to destroy. Because the more he watched, the more Jeonghan’s brain rewired, the more it twisted Jisoo, until Jeonghan felt like he could forget him.
Not today. Not for a while. But eventually.
He’s barely recognisable now, skin cracked, bruised, bleeding. His shirt is soaked, his hair matted. Jeonghan can imagine how much it hurts, how badly Jisoo wants this to be over. Seungcheol was still in rut when he had free reign over Jisoo, and Jeonghan can’t think that felt anything other than searingly, agonisingly painful.
And Jeonghan thinks he still loves Jisoo enough to put him out of his misery.
He picks the gun up from the table slowly, knowing it is loaded, before walking slowly up to the beta. Jisoo watches him with swollen, half closed eyes. He lets out a dry chuckle that sounds more like a pained groan than anything.
“Don’t you think it’s cruel to make you do this?”
Jeonghan doesn’t look at him. He only looks at the gun. “I volunteered.”
Jisoo pulls in a shaky breath. “Smart. You’ll get a cleaner break this way.”
Jeonghan can’t help his bitter laugh. He knows his eyes are shinier than usual, coated with tears. And he knows Jisoo can tell. He holds the gun up, right between Jisoo’s eyebrows.
“Like you care.” He wants to spit it out, but it comes out way more shaky, way more vulnerable than he thought. Jisoo smiles at him through cracked, bloody lips. He knows, of course he knows. His eyes, under all that bruising and all those gashes, are soft. The same eyes from when he laid his head on Jeonghan’s pillow, his dark hair sprawled around him like a halo, eyelashes fluttering as Jeonghan placed his hand on his cheek. It’s a distant memory, like Jeonghan is looking at it through a foggy glass.
“I always cared, Hannie.”
Jeonghan closes his eyes. He pulls the trigger.
The sound echoes, silencing everything else. Jisoo’s struggling breaths are cut off, replaced by dead quiet. The casing clatters to the cement floor. The smell of smoke leaving the barrel hits his nose. Jeonghan keeps his eyes closed as he turns around. When he pulls a breath into his lungs, it’s cold and painful. His grip on the gun is still so tight that he can’t feel his fingers anymore.
For decades, the Choi family has dominated the underground trade and criminal enterprise of Korea, and largely, Seoul. But the Choi sons start dying, until all that’s left of the empire falls to Seungcheol, the last Choi son. There is a new competitor rising to take over his territory, and Seungcheol is desperate to do anything to keep his dying empire alive.
Biting and mating with his competitor’s sister, a sheltered, treasured omega, might just be the drastic measure he has to take to keep his hold.
pairing: alpha!choi seungcheol x omega!reader
genre: omegaverse, mafia au
word count: 11.8k
warnings (for this chapter): swearing, fluff, omegaverse jargon like scenting and biting, member x member, angst, betrayal, anger, lying, manipulation, self doubt. descriptions of psychological and emotional abuse and control.
series masterlist
Seungcheol decides to show you his office on a random Tuesday morning.
You’re barely out of bed when he’s knocking on your door and asking you to get ready to come with him. You’re a little shocked that he’s doing this, but you’re excited nonetheless, mostly because you love leaving the house now that you can. You’re also very curious about the place where Seungcheol spends nearly twelve hours a day. So you get ready to leave quickly while Seungcheol waits downstairs.
You run into Jihoon in the hallway as you’re leaving your room, and he is quick to remind you to keep your eyes and ears peeled for anything that can help him. To be fair, you’re still not quite sure what exactly you’re looking for, what Jihoon needs, but this time when he reminds you, it makes a tendril of guilt wrap around your throat, a sickening feeling that you can’t shake away.
Things with Seungcheol have been…… stilted. You feel like you’re walking a tightrope when it comes to him, balancing on the thin line between hating him and not wanting to be without him. You have dinner together every night, and then you walk around the gardens together. The colder it gets as the weeks pass, the closer you want to be to him. You’ve realised he runs very, very hot, which is why he doesn’t feel the chill and walks around in just one or two layers. When you curl under the blankets at night, you wonder how good it would feel if he was there too, warm and inviting against your back.
You don’t know if it’s the mark on your neck that makes your omega want him, or if it’s just you.
You aren’t exactly experienced in romance. Seokmin is the only alpha who you have ever thought of in this way. He was warm too, but a different kind. He was bright, dazzling almost, like someone who can carry your happiness as well as his own. Seungcheol is more muted, still warm, but the kind that makes you settle instead of bristling up. The kind that wants to give all his happiness to you instead of carrying any himself.
You identify with him, in a twisted, tragic way. It shouldn’t make sense. You’re poles apart, both in who you are and what you’ve been through. But when he looks at you, something in his eyes resonates. You want to be around him all the time. The same thing he said to you that day. That he wants to be around you. It makes your chest squeeze with giddiness.
Seungcheol is standing on the front porch, his phone held up to his ear, when you finally exit the house. He gives you a smile as he talks to whoever it is on the phone, gesturing to Mingyu, who is standing by the car. You say hello to the alpha as you walk towards where he stands.
“You’re coming with us, right Gyu?” You ask. You’ve grown fond of Mingyu over time. He’s very intimidating at first glance, but he’s the sweetest person you’ve ever met. His omega will be very lucky. He nods.
“Wherever you go, I go.” He says simply, giving you a smile.
You don’t have to wait in the car for long, as Seungcheol joins you minutes later and the car peels out of the driveway. There’s another right behind you, with Mingyu inside, following right after you. You peer out of the window as you leave the estate and travel to the city.
The Choi family actually has a very successful legitimate business outside of their underground activities, as Chan told you some time ago. It’s a tech company, one of the largest in Seoul, and it provides a very easy front for everything else they do. You’re sure if Seungcheol wasn’t dabbling in illegalities, it would still be very good, but what makes the empire great is everything shady that augments it and nearly quadruples its fortune.
The building is huge, in the middle of the business sector, and frankly intimidating. Seungcheol is quick to guide you inside, his office all the way on the top floor. There’s someone sitting at a sleek desk outside Seungcheol’s door, the phone receiver pushed between his cheek and ear as he quickly scribbles something into a notebook. He looks up as you arrive, looking at Seungcheol first before he spots you, eyes widening as he takes you in.
“Seungkwan, messages in five minutes.” Seungcheol mumbles, tapping the reception desk lightly with his knuckles. The man nods rapidly, still talking to someone over the phone.
Seungcheol’s office is massive, spanning over an entire corner of the building. The marble floor gleams, just as the mahogany desk does. There are framed certificates on the walls, some pictures you can’t see clearly from afar, two bookshelves, one that holds thick volumes of something about business as well as tiny trinkets, and another with a wide array of different books. To the right of the actual office, two steps lead down to a sitting area with grey and white couches, a coffee table and shaggy rugs.
“It’s beautiful.” You manage to say, truly in awe of the space. The windows span two whole walls and give a bird’s eye view of the city. You’re so high up it almost takes your breath away. When you turn to look back at Seungcheol, he’s smiling at you, hands in his pockets.
He nods his head towards the corner of the room created by the bookshelf that overlooks the windows. An armchair is fitted into the corner, tilted to the side so whoever sits in it can enjoy the view. It is draped in a soft, fleece blanket, with a smaller table beside it already set up with a plate of sweet treats and a coaster to hold a mug. You gape at it, beelining to the chair immediately.
“You have a reading nook in your office?”
Seungcheol shakes his head. “I had Seungkwan put it in a few days ago. For you.”
Your head whips around in shock. You can’t believe it. Seungcheol watches you process it, and you take a shaky breath when you realise he’s serious.
“Thank you.” You manage to whisper. You truly don’t know what else to say. His actions are so loud that it’s deafening. He wants you here, with him, because seeing you for maybe an hour when he gets home isn’t enough. He made sure to create a space within his own that would make you feel comfortable. He didn’t have to do this. He could’ve just dragged you along and told you to stay, and it’s not like you could refuse. But he took care to accommodate you in the best way he could.
You almost want to cry.
Seungcheol’s nod is a little jerky, and you can see even from the distance that his ears are turning pink. You look away, fighting not to smile.
The receptionist, Seungkwan, comes in a few minutes later when Seungcheol is settled behind his desk and you’re browsing the bookshelves. He has a tablet in his hands and three different sticky notes on his arms. He walks Seungcheol through his agenda for the day, the messages he has, and appointments that need to be scheduled with his approval. When you scent the air, you’re shocked to find out that he’s an omega.
Once he is done with Seungcheol, he turns and walks closer to you, offering you a hand to shake.
“Hi.” His smile is radiant. “Boo Seungkwan. It’s nice to meet you.”
You can’t help but return his smile. It’s contagious. This close, you can see a pin in his blond hair that is shaped like a tangerine. It’s so cute. Under the collar of his shirt, you spot a mating mark similar to yours. Oh.
“Y/N.” You manage to speak. Seungkwan nods.
“It’s so nice to meet you, finally. Seungcheol never stops talking about you.”
You can’t help but giggle as you hear Seungcheol’s annoyed huff behind Seungkwan’s back. Seungkwan’s hand is soft and warm in yours as you shake it.
“If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay?” He adds. You nod again, grateful.
“Get her a coffee please, Seungkwan.” Seungcheol mumbles from where he’s poring over a stack of papers. “Cream and sugar.”
Your face feels hot as Seungkwan nods and leaves quickly. You have never had breakfast with Seungcheol. You haven’t even touched coffee with him around, only with Chan in the mornings, yet somehow he knows how you like your coffee.
Seungkwan comes back a while later with not only coffee but banana muffins as well. Seungcheol refuses when Seungkwan sets food down at his table too, which makes Seungkwan pout and insist.
“I don’t want a cupcake.” Seungcheol scowls at the screen of his computer. Seungkwan rolls his eyes.
“It’s a muffin, first of all. And second, it won’t kill you to feel a little joy.”
“Will you shut up and leave if I agree to eat it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Shut up and leave.”
There’s no malice in either of their voices. You watch the interaction from your armchair in amusement. They feel like brothers who bicker and not like a secretary and boss at all.
“Seungkwan is very nice.” You say when it’s just the two of you again. Seungcheol looks at you and gives you a brief smile.
“He keeps me sane, frankly. He takes care of all the above ground business. He’s pretty much running it at this point. I don’t know what I would do without him.”
You feel a twist in your stomach, and it shocks you. You reprimand yourself in your head immediately. Seungkwan is mated. You can’t be thinking negatively about him like this. But praises for another omega from your alpha’s mouth make you feel queasy.
“I saw that he’s mated.” You manage to say, trying to rid yourself of the ugly green emotion inside you. Seungcheol nods, unaware of the war in your head.
“To Mingyu.”
That shocks you. “Really?”
He nods again, eyes focused on the screen. “They met through Chan, who has known Seungkwan since they were kids. That’s why he’s so good at what he does. He’s been around for years, and he knows how to juggle both sides of the business. He’s family.”
The nausea inside you immediately settles. Seungkwan being Mingyu’s mate is the best news you have gotten all day. You sip your coffee, relaxing into the chair, staring at the cover of the book you picked out. If you weren’t so lost in your own head, you would see Seungcheol’s tiny smile as he picks up the slight sourness in your scent. You’re jealous of Seungkwan, even though you’re trying to hide it.
The thought makes something in his stomach squeeze.
The day goes by at an even pace. Seungcheol leaves the office often for the conference room on the other side of the same floor to attend meetings, making sure to let you know each time how long it will take him. You appreciate the consideration, since being alone in his office does make you a little anxious. Around noon, when he’s in another meeting, the office door opens, and instead of Seungcheol, an unfamiliar man steps in. He has dark, brown hair that’s cut short at the sides, and you immediately spot a silver ring wrapped around the helix of his ear.
He smiles when he sees you, but he doesn’t look surprised at all, like he expected you. “Hi.”
You don’t smile back, turning to your book, shifting slightly. You don’t know who this person is, and you don’t know why he is here, so you would rather ignore him. You don’t trust anyone who works for Seungcheol. You aren’t even sure if you trust Seungcheol himself. He certainly shouldn’t trust you, considering the little scraps of information you are feeding to the person hell bent on destroying him completely.
You try not to think about that.
“You’ve settled in well.” The man comments, walking down the two steps and dropping down heavily on the couch. He’s chewing gum obnoxiously loud, and it’s like nails on a chalkboard for you. The couch is closer to where you are, but his scent is still not too strong. He’s a beta.
You jerk your head down in a nod, staring down at your book without really reading. After a few moments of silence, the man chuckles a little.
“I can smell your discomfort all the way here, omega.” He says.
You stiffen at his words, but you don’t look up. You don’t really know what to say to him, so you stay silent. You can’t stand up and leave, because you will have to walk past him to do that, and you really don’t want to. Seungcheol should be back from his meeting soon. You’re not sure he will be too happy about a stranger talking to you like this.
If he even cares.
“It was your brother, you know.” He says. You freeze. “He was too big of a threat. He had to be taken down a notch, so Seungcheol mated you to keep your brother on a leash.”
Your grip on the book tightens to the point that the page crinkles under it. Your heart hammers loudly, and your breath is caught in your throat.
“Worked out great. Hoshi won’t dare expand now. He’ll have to make do with whatever scraps we leave for him.”
The sound of the door opening is loud, and it breaks this thick, dreadful current that runs in the room. You quickly turn your head away towards the window when you smell cinnamon and oak, hoping Seungcheol won’t see the thin film of tears coating your eyes.
But he looks distracted. He’s got his phone pressed to his ear, Seungkwan holding up a file for him to sign, and when he catches sight of the man on the couch, he immediately scowls and gestures to him. The man stands up smoothly, greets Seungkwan with a smile and nod, and puts a hand on Seungcheol’s arm to lead him out of the room again, probably down the hall to the conference room. Seungkwan follows them silently.
Seungcheol’s voice, still talking on the phone, gets farther and farther before disappearing altogether. You sit like a statue where he left you. A single tear breaks free from your lash line to roll down your cheek as the man’s words echo in your head.
You feel a little stiff as you lower your feet to the ground and stand. Before you can think twice, you beeline to the desk. The computer is still on, and the desktop is filled with multiple tiny icons.
You don’t sit down. Reaching for the mouse with shaky hands, you start clicking and reading.
…………………………………….
“I can’t thank you enough. Really.”
The wind nips at your ankles. You wish you had worn socks. Jihoon waits for you to say something. You don’t.
“I know it can’t be easy, giving me all this information.” He says, softly. “But trust me, you’re doing the right thing. Once I tell my superiors, we can plan something and stifle his operation once and for all.”
You stare blankly down the backyard. The sun is setting, the sky angry with hues of red and orange. You wonder if you are seeing anger in the clouds because that is what is brewing in the pit of your stomach. The strange man’s words are still fresh in your head, like he’s whispering them to you right now.
Seungcheol wanted nothing to do with you. You were a means to destroy your brother. That’s all.
“How long will it take?” You ask.
Jihoon looks a little uncertain, shifting in the lawn chair he is occupying. “I’m not sure. We will send some men to verify the schedules you gave us. Extensive stakeouts at the locations you told me. Our timing needs to be exactly right if we’re going to intercept the exact ships you mentioned. That cargo has to have his paws all over it. If there’s any doubt about who is calling the shots, then his men will take the fall and he will get off scot free.”
You sigh, a little dejected. “Why are they all so loyal to him?”
Jihoon shrugs. “Beats me. They’re all like that. Ready to lay down their lives. I don’t know what he is holding over their heads.”
He stands up then, giving you an encouraging smile. “It doesn’t matter though. We don’t need any of them. You gave me everything I could ever have asked for. You did good.”
You don’t say anything, watching him leave, the cold grass crunching under his boots. You stare at his back, feeling your heart sink.
You, the only one to ever betray Seungcheol.
You know you’re doing the right thing. He took away your agency, he used you for his own personal benefit, knowing he was destroying your entire life to do so. Why? Because he wanted more money? Because of greed that made him crush all your hopes and dreams in the palm of his hand?
You could’ve had it all. You could’ve been Seokmin’s omega. You could’ve lived a good life with him. He could have mated you, given you pups. You would still be able to see Soonyoung every day, considering that the two were best friends. You could’ve had a family.
Now you’re just sitting outside this unfamiliar house, feeling nothing but cold.
When the maid comes up to your room later to tell you dinner is ready and Seungcheol is waiting, you are wrapped in blankets. You tell her that you’re not feeling well so you can’t make it down. When she leaves, you try to get some sleep, but your thoughts, the contradictions inside you, plague your mind like poison. More thoughts creep in, the anger mixing and swirling now with doubt.
For every single day after he marked you, Seungcheol has given you no reason to hate him.
You know now that he brought you here not because of you, but because of your brother. You are nobody to him. He could’ve locked you up in a shabby basement cell and called it a day. But he didn’t. From day one, he has cared for you. Through Chan, through Mingyu, through Dayoung. Even through Jihoon, though he doesn’t know that Jihoon isn’t who he thinks he is.
And through himself, with all those dinners, walks and conversations. He has opened up to you, trusted you with what goes on in his mind and in his business. You have felt his touch, although very fleetingly, on the mark on your neck or the small of your back. You have smelled him, the scent of cinnamon and oak now ingrained in your very bones.
Why would he do any of that, if you were nothing but a pawn in his game?
You hear the door open, and you smell him immediately. You stay very still, closing your eyes. You hope he will see that you’re asleep and leave. You hear footsteps walk closer to the bed, then a dip in the mattress by your side. You don’t move. There’s a small, light sigh, and then Seungcheol finally speaks.
“I know you’re only pretending.”
You can feel your jaw clench.
“For some reason, you don’t want to be around me.” He keeps going. “I don’t know why. Maybe taking you to the office was too much. You’ve been quiet ever since the afternoon.”
A pause. “If someone said anything to you, tell me. They’ll answer for it, I promise.”
A shiver runs down your spine. Slowly, you open your eyes.
Seungcheol is perched on the edge of the bed, his suit jacket discarded, and the sleeves of his plain blue shirt rolled up. He’s watching you already.
“Tell me what happened, sweetheart.”
The petname makes your chest flutter a little. You finally speak.
“Tell me why you mated me.”
You assumed he would be shocked by your words, that he would try to lie to you, but his exhale is one of resignation.
“One of my biggest trade markets is at Busan Port. Over the last few years, because of what happened to my family, we lost pretty much all routes except Busan. All my men were diverted there to keep the trades going. They moved their families down there and settled. Then, your brother started sneaking into my operations and attacking my ships. Killing my men.”
You don’t interrupt him, watching his face closely.
“If I didn’t do anything, all those men out there would lose their lives, their families abandoned. Even most minimally, they would lose their only source of income. Jeonghan suggested I hit Hoshi where it would hurt the most. You.”
He stares blankly at the wall. “Killing you to send a message wasn’t an option. Only this was.”
A shake of his head. “I didn’t want to. I knew I was sacrificing you, but in my head, I thought I could justify it if your sacrifice saved hundreds of families. I regret the way I did it, but I don’t regret having you as my mate.”
His eyes meet yours, pleading, pained. “I don’t know how to apologise for what I did. I don’t know how to make it up to you.”
You look at him only for a few more seconds. Then, you let your eyelids fall shut.
“You should have just killed me.”
You can’t see it, the way his face crumples, or the way he blinks rapidly against the wave of wetness that coats his eyes. He looks away, hands balling into fists.
“I’m sorry.”
He stands up and leaves before you can say anything else.
……………………………….
On your twenty-first birthday, your mother told you that your father had been speaking to his advisor, and they would both love for you to be mated to his son.
You were shocked, to say the least, but not in a negative way. Seokmin was one of Soonyoung’s best friends, so by extension, he knew you pretty well too. He had always treated you kindly, unlike any other rare alpha that managed to cross your path at your home. He was a little condescending at times, but that is an unsurprising trait in your family’s alphas. They are all assholes, but Seokmin didn’t look down on you, and he treated you with respect from the moment he knew you as a child as well as into adulthood.
You were okay with him as a life partner. You were happy, even. And from what Seokmin always said, he was happy too. He came to the house more often after it was made official with your families, with flowers or sweets or anything else he thought you might like. He never touched you, never kissed you. You think a part of him might have felt awkward that you’re his friend’s sister. So he always made sure you were comfortable first and foremost. He gave you a bracelet for your twenty second birthday almost nine months after your official betrothal to him, a courting gift. You wore it every day, only taking it off to sleep or to bathe.
You forgot the bracelet on your bedside table the day Soonyoung shook you awake and rushed you out of bed. The day Seungcheol came.
You often wonder about him now. Three months since you were mated to someone else. You’re absolutely sure he knows. You’re sure everyone in Seoul’s underground circle knows by now. Seungcheol is a big name. The last Choi son. This can’t be hidden news for anyone.
You wonder how he feels about it.
Seungcheol doesn’t ask you to come with him to the office after that night. He doesn’t ask you to join him for dinner. You stay in your room, not feeling any desire to leave. You wallow in your emotions, that now feel like they’re too big to even fit inside your mind. Sometimes you think you might sink into the earth under the weight of them, swallowed up until you’re suffocated, no longer able to breathe.
You miss him.
Just the thought makes your mind twitch and squeeze, pained. How can you miss him? How can you even think about the earth and the oak, the feeling of his hand warm on your back, or that little dimple that tugs on his cheek? He ruined your life. You should have no feelings towards him other than raging, burning discontent.
But then you see the bite mark on your neck in the mirror, and you miss the way he ran his thumb over it, and the shiver that traveled down your spine when he did that.
Two weeks after that night, you hear a knock on your door early in the morning. You’re brushing your teeth, body going rigid when you walk out of the bathroom door to see a head poke into the bedroom. Jeonghan looks amused, watching the way your mouth is foaming, your eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“Get dressed, doll. Twenty minutes. Pack an overnight bag.”
He doesn’t say anything more, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared. You don’t have any opportunity to question him, and you suspect he did that on purpose. Your heart hammers as you move quickly. An overnight bag? Why the hell do you need that? You haven’t been away for the night….. ever. Not since the day you were born, and even your birth was at home.
You fret over what to pack, so you just shove as much as you can into a small luggage bag you find in your closet. True to his word, Jeonghan is back in exactly twenty minutes on the dot. He nods and takes the luggage, gesturing for you to follow him. Hesitantly, and with a little bit of nervousness, you do.
You’re happy to see Mingyu outside, and he gives you a bright, comforting smile. You think he knows that you and Seungcheol aren’t doing well, because he’s extra gentle as he helps you into the car. And he might sense your jumpiness too, because just before closing the door, he leans down to look at you.
“Relax.” He whispers.
You nod slightly, comforted by the fact that he’s there. Jeonghan climbs into the car on the other side, immediately sliding down a little to rest his head on the back cushion.
“Get comfortable.” He says. “It’s a long journey.”
“Where are we going?” You ask, because you don’t know if you should have followed him, even if Mingyu is there. Seungcheol isn’t, and that puts you a little on edge.
“Busan.”
Your heart pounds. You did not expect that.
Jeonghan is busy almost the entire time, answering multiple phone calls and making notes on his tablet. You know how involved he is in the business. He is Seungcheol’s right hand man. From what Jihoon has told you, he is as important to the empire as Seungcheol is. He is to the underground dealings what Seungkwan is to the legal side.
He also makes you incredibly nervous, but you don’t really want to tell him that.
You drive for around four or five hours. You shift often, wincing when your hips and legs start aching a little. You aren’t used to traveling. Jeonghan seems unbothered, but he digs into a bag and offers you snacks. You watch out of the window for most of the time, engrossed in the view and deep in thought when Jeonghan finally says, “We’re here.”
Through the open window, you can hear the sound of the sea. Jeonghan isn’t on his phone for once, and he points things out for you as you drive into the city. The view is spectacular. Waves crash white against rocky cliffs, and fishing boats drift in and out of small harbors. Haeundae Beach stretches wide and bright, its sand pale gold under the sun. High-rise hotels line the edge like glass towers watching the tide. Busan is mountainous, so the city rises and falls in steep layers, hugged tightly between the rising hills.
You drive for a little longer, after which the car pulls down the coast and up a winding, narrower road. You can’t even begin to keep track of the unfamiliar drive, so you focus only on whatever you can see. Finally, the car stops in front of what looks like a beach house, a muted wooden pathway going through the sand to the steps leading up to the front door.
Jeonghan opens his door and gestures for you to get out as well. You wince as your limbs straighten, but you’re too preoccupied by the sight and smell of the beach, fresh and cutting against your lungs. You take a deep breath, feeling almost invigorated after the sleepy ride.
A man is walking down the steps towards where you and Jeonghan are. He’s wearing light clothes, breathable so as to let the wind in. Thin, wire-rimmed round glasses sit in the bridge of his nose. He gives Jeonghan a grin and a pat on the back in greeting.
“This is Wonwoo.” Jeonghan introduces him to you. The man gives you a muted smile. Clearly an alpha, but he looks nearly docile. You manage to smile back at him.
From the car behind yours, Mingyu steps out, stretching and groaning. He grins when he sees Wonwoo, walking to him and giving him a crushing bear hug. The man groans.
“Wonwoo runs things out here in Busan.” Jeonghan leans towards you to mumble. You watch Mingyu and Wonwoo scuffle around and laugh with each other. “He also takes care of the house for when Seungcheol visits.”
“This is Seungcheol’s?” You ask, staring up at the place. You shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not as grand as the home back in Seoul, but there’s a very cozy, very light and welcoming vibe to it. You think you might actually prefer this one to the house you live in.
Jeonghan nods and gestures forward, guiding you inside. The other two men follow. “You’ll be staying here for the night. Wonwoo, you set a room up for her?”
Wonwoo nods. “End of the hall. I’ll show you.”
Jeonghan hums. “We can rest for a bit before heading out again.”
You go along with Wonwoo when he gestures at you to follow him. The place is very well maintained, almost like a fancy bed and breakfast. The room at the very end of the hall is where he stops, opening it with a key and asking you to step in. You do.
It’s very neat, cleanly made. It’s obvious no one has touched anything for a while, but a very faint, familiar scent lingers.
“This is Seungcheol’s room. Best one in the house. It has a great view of the sea.” Wonwoo says, pointing to the window. He’s right, the scenery is breathtaking. You bite your lip. Of course you will stay in Seungcheol’s room. You’re his mate. You don’t suppose Wonwoo knows the exact circumstances or where your relationship stands with his boss. So you simply nod.
Mingyu drops your luggage off, and they both leave you for a while. Mingyu tells you they will go out for lunch in two hours, and you assure him you will be ready. You lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the hell Jeonghan brought you here.
A couple of hours later, you are walking down the long and wide wooden pier overlooking the Gamcheon Port of Busan, Jeonghan and Wonwoo right in front of you and Mingyu behind you. You shiver a little as the wind blows, making your skirt flutter against your legs. It carries with it the smell of sea salt that stings pleasantly at your nose. You cross your arms, taken aback by how blue to water is, how colorful the boats are, and how far it extends, more than your eyes can see.
Many men greet Wonwoo and Mingyu enthusiastically, more stiff when it comes to Jeonghan. When you give Mingyu a questioning look, he jokingly tells you that everyone is always a little nervous when it comes to Jeonghan. You giggle at the thought.
“I’m not the only one then.”
Mingyu laughs.
The port is lively, bustling, with people trudging back and forth with unmarked boxes. The sailors are loud as they toss cargo into and out of their ships. Wonwoo is holding a tablet in his hand, pointing and gesturing as he gives Jeonghan a rundown of everything, most of which you don’t understand. There’s a gaggle of what look like young boys laughing and singing as they work, and you try to tamp down your smile at how cheerful they sound.
They all watch you, curious.
You know their eyes are on you, but the second you turn their way, their heads abruptly jerk to the other direction. It makes you feel a little jumpy and uncomfortable, and when you ask Mingyu why they’re acting weird, he snorts.
“They won’t dare look at their boss’s mate. Not in the eyes, anyway.” He says, casually. “Seungcheol’s a naturally possessive person. Even convincing him to let you come down here was a whole thing. Not because it’s dangerous, no. This is his territory, no danger here. But because that’s too many alpha eyes on you. He’s protective of what’s his.”
You shiver a little, caught off guard by Mingyu’s words. You didn’t expect that Seungcheol’s dislike for people ogling his mate would translate even when he’s not here in person. You can’t help but think of how it speaks volumes of his authority that he’s hundreds of miles away, yet no one here would dare do anything that could tick him off.
You remember Jihoon’s words, his frustration that all of Seungcheol’s men are willing to lay their lives for him. So much loyalty, but why?
Jeonghan is gesturing to you where you stand, beckoning you to him. He’s going back up the pier with Wonwoo, and you rush to follow him. Down the path from the docks, they lead you into a small, rickety looking building, with a wooden sign that has a fish carved on it.
“It doesn’t look like much,” Jeonghan whispers to you, “but Seungcheol always stops by here during every trip. He fucking loves spicy fish stew and grilled mackerels.”
The place is really modest, and completely empty. You suspect they cleared it out because they knew Seungcheol’s men from Seoul were coming. There’s an elderly woman sitting at the counter, who looks up when the tiny bell above the door rings, signaling your entry. Her face breaks into a large smile.
“Hannie!” She gets up slowly, her figure slightly hunched as she shuffles around the counter. Jeonghan is already taking long steps to meet her there, bending down to let her hug him. It’s a warm sight, and you can’t help but smile. When they break the hug, the woman reaches up and smacks Jeonghan hard on the head, making him wince. You can’t help your gasp.
“Nearly four months since I’ve seen your face, boy.” You had no idea her frail voice could sound so stern. “I’m that easy to forget about?”
“Not at all, halmeoni!” Jeonghan whines, whines, as he rubs his head, and you twist your mouth so you won’t grin with amusement. “I was just really busy.”
She scoffs, spotting Wonwoo right behind Jeonghan, who just shrugs sheepishly.
“And Seungcheol? Where is that fool? I have a bone to pick with him. Took a mate and didn’t even tell me-”
“She’s here, actually!” Jeonghan is quick to interrupt her. You stiffen, feeling dread creep on you as Jeonghan walks back to where you stand. You widen your eyes at him, as if to say ‘don’t you dare’ but he just gives you a mischievous grin and steps behind you, grabbing your shoulders and nudging you forward a bit. You smile shakily.
“Good afternoon!” Your voice is way higher than normal. Behind you, you can hear Mingyu snort. You wish you could kick him.
The woman blinks, eyes huge behind her thick rimmed glasses. You fiddle with your fingers nervously as she eyes you for a second. Then, her face breaks into a large, warm smile.
“Well, aren’t you just the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in years.” Her voice is so soft and inviting. Behind her, Wonwoo grins. You blink a few times, feeling your cheeks warm.
“Come and sit, honey. What are you standing there for?” She gestures you forward, ushering you to a low table in the center of the room. Your heart is still racing a little, but you sit down regardless, crosslegged on the mat. The woman sits down with you.
“Let me look at you.” She says. You just smile politely and fidget a bit as she stares. You’re not used to being around elderly people. You never knew your grandparents. But there’s such a comforting air about her, like coming home after a long day. You can’t help but feel a bit at ease. She tuts a little after a few moments.
“That fool doesn’t deserve you. Can’t even come and see his halmeoni, didn’t even tell me about you. He’s just like his father.”
You blink, realisation hitting you. Is this Seungcheol’s grandmother?
Before you can reply to her, she’s already rising to her feet again, flustering about getting food made quickly, and that she wasn’t expecting you. The other men seat themselves around the table as she disappears behind a curtain, but Mingyu follows her to the back, offering his help.
“Is that really his grandmother?” You ask Jeonghan, eyes wide. He smiles and nods.
“But-” You have so many questions, you don’t even know where to start. You stare around at the place again, how ancient it looks, how nondescript. Jeonghan chuckles.
“She hates Seoul. Says she can’t fathom living in the place. She wanted to stay by the coast, something about not being able to sleep if she can’t hear the sea. She never moved down there, no matter how much Seungcheol’s father insisted. So he just stopped. This is the safest place in all of Busan, right next to the port. The place is teeming with our men. No one can harm her here. The family just tried their best to make it here every other week to visit. It’s become a bit tough when it’s just Seungcheol running everything now, so he hasn’t been down here much. I kind of get why she’s mad.”
He shrugs and rubs his head again. It really was a hard blow. You huff out a breath.
She comes back quickly, Mingyu in tow holding a large, steaming pot. She shoos at Jeonghan to move so she can sit beside you, and you smile shyly when she fills your plate herself.
She asks you all about you and Seungcheol, and you try to keep the answers as moderate and easily digestible as you can. She’s so incredibly sweet, filling Jeonghan’s plate too, gesturing for Mingyu and Wonwoo to eat as well. You can’t possibly imagine telling her the circumstances of your mating, so you just tell her that Seungcheol knew your older brother, and that’s how you met. She coos over the story, and Jeonghan looks on in amusement as you smoothly lie through everything she asks.
When she fills your plate for seconds, you politely try to refuse, but she just tuts and swats your hand away.
“You need to eat more!” Her voice is stern, but you can hear her love and concern bleeding through. “Look at you. Is he not feeding you right? That fool. You can’t carry his pups like this!”
You flush at her words, effectively going silent and just letting her pile on as much food as she wants. It’s not difficult to eat even more, since it really is absolutely fantastic. If you were Seungcheol, you would drop everything to come down here, if only for how delicious her cooking is.
You stay there for a long time. Dinner is followed by dessert, and then the men have to tend to some business. She takes you out back to a small garden, proudly showing you all the vegetables she has planted. You enjoy her company, genuinely, because the longer you stay with her, the more you learn about Seungcheol.
“You know, his mother was convinced she was having a girl.” She whispers to you almost conspiratorially. “She had all these pretty dresses made. Even chose a girl’s name. And then poof! Out popped another boy.”
She chuckles. “She couldn’t let it go. So she would keep treating him just a little bit like a girl. She would coddle him so much! My son always told her to tone it down a bit, but she didn’t.”
She tilts her head as if in thought. “Sometimes, I’m glad she didn’t. I think the reason Seungcheol is so caring now is because he was never forced to be the big, bad man.”
You are silent as she speaks, trying to absorb her words. She takes your hands gently, staring down at them. Hers are wrinkly, more soft, more scarred. The contrast makes your heart squeeze.
“I don’t know what it is, but you are a little mad at him.” She says.
Your eyes go wide. When you open your mouth to protest, she gives you a stern look.
“I may be old, but I’m not a fool. Something is stilted between you. But that’s okay. It will fix itself, because you are his mate. The mark might just be on you, but know this, child, he is yours just as much as you are his. He might be the alpha, but you call the shots. You tell him what to do, you tell him what you want, and he will fold. Trust me. I know that boy. He will give his life to protect his mate.”
You don’t know what to say, so you just stare at your hands in hers. You are hit by a wave of sadness, sweeping over you as her words float in your head. How do you tell her the reality of what’s really happening? How do you tell her that you are struggling to trust him?
And how do you tell her that he absolutely cannot and should not trust you? Not when you are about to be the singular agent of his destruction.
You are still lost in your head as you say your goodbyes to her. The sun has completely set now, stars twinkling over the curtain of the dark sky. She gives you a shawl, a deep maroon, soft cloth that feels glorious against your skin, and you thank her. She kisses your cheeks.
“Don’t be a stranger.” She smiles. “And next time you come, bring that idiot with you.”
You can’t help but laugh, nodding. Jeonghan is waiting outside, Mingyu and Wonwoo nowhere to be seen. He gives her a hug too, promising to come more often, and then you both trudge back to the docks, waving at her one last time.
Your chest feels heavy as you walk. You pull the shawl tighter around your shoulders.
“Jeonghan?” Your voice is weak.
“Hm?”
“Tell me about Seungcheol.”
He hums, not at all surprised by your request. It seems that nothing really catches him off guard.
“I met him in college.” He begins. “I knew of him way before then. My father worked for his father. You know how it is, generational bonds.”
You nod.
“But I really, properly met him in freshman year. The first thing I thought of him was how boisterous he was. Smart, but loud. He walks into a room and immediately makes his presence known.”
You nod. It’s true. Seungcheol has that aura about him.
“But I didn’t count on how insightful and perceptive he was. He doesn’t seem like the type, you know? He’s rough around the edges. But he’s caring. He cares. Sometimes, I think he cares too much. I tell him he can’t survive in this life like this. But I think his care is why it all somehow works for him.”
“Is that why everyone is so loyal to him?”
Jeonghan smiles down at you. “I think so. On principle, most crime families aren’t overly involved in the lives of their men. Most of the time, someone works for you and you pay them. Simple. But Seungcheol…”
He huffs, but it’s more amused than anything. “He wants to know what his men are up to, what they need. He feels personally responsible for all of them. It’s a huge weight to carry, but he still does it. There’s a fight in him to make sure the people under his name are all cared for, even if it means making sacrifices.”
“That’s why he marked me.” You mumble.
Jeonghan hums. “He regrets it, you know? Every day.”
You stop at the pier, watching the port. In the dark, the lights twinkle as people still move around, wrapping up for the day and preparing the night shipments that need to roll out. At one of the boats, Mingyu is laughing with a man you don’t know, helping him lug a huge crate. Someone drops something and curses, his partner bonks him lightly on the head.
“That’s why you brought me here.” The cogs in your brain are turning. “To show me what he did all this for.”
Jeonghan nods. “I know things haven’t been good with you two. And I suspected they wouldn’t get better if you just stayed in that house all the time. You needed to come out here. You needed to see why he did what he did.”
The breeze blows over your body again, cold and nipping. But you remain warm under the weight of the shawl, and the feeling that blooms in your chest as you watch on. You don’t say another word, and Jeonghan doesn’t push on it. He stands with you, hands in his pockets, as you both bask in the cool night air, letting the salt fill your lungs.
…………………………………….
When you re-enter Seoul the next afternoon, after another five hour car ride, you ask Jeonghan to take you to Seungcheol’s office and not home. He merely nods, but you can see the little uptick of his lips. He makes a call, and when you pull up to the high rise tower, you find Seungkwan waiting for you at the entrance.
“Hi!” He chirps, his smile as bright as ever. You can’t help but return it. It softens when he sees Mingyu, who lays a quick kiss on his mate’s forehead. He hasn’t seen Mingyu in over a day as well, considering he was with you in Busan. Your heart flutters at how cute they are.
Seungkwan and Mingyu lead you up, standing quietly in the elevator with you. You realise you haven’t seen Seungcheol since that night, when you told him you would rather be dead than be with him, and guilt tears at your ribs. You spent all of last night wide awake in his bed in Busan, asking yourself over and over where you want to see your life going. And after everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve heard from people, and the very limited time you’d spent with Seungcheol yourself, you had come to a conclusion.
You want to at least try.
You know you’ve made a huge error by telling what you did to Jihoon. But you can come clean about it. You can tell Seungcheol the truth and apologise. They are just shipment dates. You’re sure Jeonghan can change them, shift them around so that Jihoon is thrown off and back to square one. You can tell them all the full truth and pray that Seungcheol will forgive you.
“Relax.” Mingyu says suddenly, breaking the silence in the elevator. He always does that, tells you to relax when he can feel that you’re nervous. And strangely, knowing that someone senses your anxiety, acknowledges it, does help. You swallow tightly.
“What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
Seungkwan scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. He’ll be thrilled. He’s been looking like a kicked puppy for the past couple of weeks.”
You managed to laugh shakily at that. Your heart hammers when you step out of the elevator. Seungkwan nods at you to go ahead, so you walk towards the office, standing at his door. You take a deep breath before tentatively knocking. You hear a distracted hum of affirmation, so you open the door and poke your head in.
Seungcheol looks shocked to see you, his hands freezing over the keyboard. He blinks a few times.
“Hi.” Your heart is hammering so loud, you wonder if he can hear it. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” He replies immediately, standing up. You step inside, looking around a little. Everything is just as it was when you first saw it.
“Did you just get back from Busan?” He asks.
You nod. “Yeah. We uh, we came straight here.”
You try not to flush hot at the confession, but you can see his own ears color pink, and that eases you a little.
“I met your grandmother.”
Seungcheol groans. “I bet she had a lot to say about me not visiting.”
“She smacked Jeonghan.”
That makes him laugh, his stiff shoulders easing a little. You feel your lips lift in a tiny smile. He watches you for a few moments.
“Are you hungry?”
You shrug. “A little.”
“Okay. There’s a good place not far from here. I’ll have Seungkwan-”
“I’ll eat if you eat with me.”
He freezes, head raising to look at you. You feel a bit embarrassed, being bold like this. But your guilt and your need to make things right is pushing you. So you keep plowing forward.
“I want to apologise for what I said that night.” You stare at your feet, feeling nervous. “I was too harsh on you.”
Seungcheol shakes his head. “Please don’t. You had every right.”
You let out a mirthless laugh. “I was just…. angry. I was very angry.”
He nods solemnly, silent.
“I want to forget about it.”
You can see the moment his eyes soften, beautiful melted chocolate orbs. He nods more resolutely this time.
“There’s nothing I would like more.”
Seungkwan makes a call, and almost an hour later, you’re sitting in the balcony of a beautiful restaurant not too far from Seungcheol’s office. There’s no one else on the balcony, though there are people eating inside. He rented the whole space out. You love the view, and the fresh air. You tell him about your Busan trip, how much you loved the beach house and how calming you found it.
“It would be so wonderful to live there.” You say offhandedly, but Seungcheol nods with complete seriousness.
“We can do summer trips. The beach is wonderful around that time.”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “I thought you didn’t have time to go down there?”
He shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “I’ll make time.”
Your stomach erupts in butterflies. You don’t know what to call this feeling.
The moment is tranquil, with soft wind blowing through your hair and Seungcheol’s eyes warm as they look at nothing but you. It’s almost like you were never apart from Seungcheol at all, and conversation resumes from where you left off. You are so relieved, so happy about it, that you convince yourself you will talk to him tomorrow, tell him about Jihoon and what you did. You can’t destroy this moment right now. You just made up with him. You don’t know if you could bear his hurt.
The fatigue of the drive starts catching up to you when you return to the office, so Seungcheol calls Mingyu and tells him to get the car ready to take you home. He walks you out himself, helping you into the car as Mingyu climbs into the passenger seat.
“You’ll come see me when you get back?” You phrase it like a question. Seungcheol smiles and runs a delicate thumb over your wrist. It makes you shiver a little.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
You don’t stop smiling the entire way back.
…………………………..
Things settle into somewhat of a routine for a while. You don’t go to the office with Seungcheol, but you visit in the afternoon and ask him to have lunch with you. He always makes time, even if it is while eating in his office instead of driving somewhere. It warms your heart that he is indulging you like this, even though he is unbelievably busy. He bids you goodbye after lunch with a smile and the softest touch of his fingers brushing the scent glands on your wrist. When you hold it up to your nose and inhale later, you can smell cinnamon and oak. It makes you giddy.
The end of a business quarter is approaching, which keeps both him and Seungkwan very occupied. You don’t know when to bring up the Jihoon thing, your fear and the circumstances making you hesitate. Briefly, you entertain the idea of telling Jeonghan instead, but you quickly dismiss that. For one, you know Seungcheol will feel some type of way about you going to Jeonghan with this instead of him. And for another, a part of you is still very nervous around Jeonghan. So that option goes out of the window.
You restart your evening ritual of dinner and a walk in the backyard. The winter chill is breaking a little, so it’s more pleasant outside now. It is on one of these walks that you bring up to Seungcheol something that you have been mulling over in your head for a long while.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Seungcheol hums. “Anything.”
You hesitate, feeling how your heart is pounding. Seungcheol must sense it, because he stops your walk with a light touch on your hand, tilting his head so you’ll look him in the eye.
“Anything, sweetheart.”
So you bite your lip hard, and then you speak.
“Can I see Soonyoung?”
Seungcheol blinks, as if he didn’t hear you right, and then he lets out a light laugh. “Your brother? Of course.”
You gape at him. “Really?”
He gives you a reproachful but gentle look. “When have I ever stopped you from doing whatever you want?”
That’s a good point. Seungcheol doesn’t really care about where you go during the day. His only requirement is that Mingyu be with you, so you can remain safe. You have been exploring the city for a few weeks now, since you were never allowed to before. Often on these trips, you remember your mother, who spent her whole life in your childhood home. You wish she could see what is out there, how much the world has to offer. You often wonder why your family operates so differently from Seungcheol's, why you never had the freedom there that you have here.
Nevertheless.
You’re both excited and nervous to see your brother again. It has been months, and you think you’ve fundamentally changed as a person since the last time you and Soonyoung were in the same room. Seungcheol makes some calls, and two more security men, a beta and an alpha, join Mingyu this time. He assures you it means nothing, it’s just about security, since the situation with Soonyoung is still a bit volatile now that he is forced to stop using the Busan Port for his trade. You accept it in stride. Frankly, you weren’t expecting to see Soonyoung at all, knowing that if you made any demand like this in your family, the answer would be a resounding ‘absolutely not’, so you won’t be difficult about anything that will make Seungcheol feel at ease.
When your car pulls up into the driveway of your old home, you drink in the sight hungrily. You missed it so much. It’s not nearly as big as the new one, but grand regardless, and associated with a million memories. You did spend your entire life within its four walls until very recently. Returning to it feels heavy but bittersweet.
Soonyoung is standing outside, waiting for you along with a few of his men. All of them have guns strapped to their fronts, probably as a show to send a message to Mingyu and the rest of the security team. You don’t care though, because the second you see your brother, tears spring into your eyes. You rush to him, letting him envelope you in a crushing hug. You can hear his mantra of ‘thank god, thank god’ mumbled against your ear. You let yourself cry on his shoulder.
He pulls away to look down at you, and his eyes immediately shoot to the large mark on your neck. He scowls at it, lip curling in distaste. You wipe your eyes and smile at him.
“I’m okay, Soonyoung.”
He nods, albeit a little stiffly, but ushers you inside with a sure arm around your shoulders. You turn to look at Mingyu, who only smiles and nods at you to go, knowing he will be waiting outside with Soonyoung’s men.
“You’re really okay?” Soonyoung’s voice sounds a little hoarse, and up close, you can see the dark circles under his eyes. Your chest pangs.
“I’m great Soonyoung, really. I’m fine.”
He sighs, visible relief washing over his features.
“I was so sure he would’ve torn you to shreds by now.”
You laugh a little. “He won’t do that. I’m his mate.”
Soonyoung scoffs and flops down on the couch. You sink into the familiar cushion beside him.
“Like he cares.”
“He does care, surprisingly.” You smile at your brother. “I’m….. happy.”
Soonyoung looks a little shocked. “You’re happy? With him?”
You nod, caught off guard when you see his face twist again, this time in anger.
“And what about Seokmin? Did you forget you already have an alpha?”
You blink, taken aback. Soonyoung’s tone is accusatory, like you’ve done something wrong. You don’t appreciate it.
“Seokmin was never my alpha. He was courting me. I wasn’t his mate. Seungcheol mated me. What the hell did you want me to do?”
Soonyoung’s eyes narrow at your tone. “Watch it.”
You grit your teeth. “You’re implying that I’m in the wrong here. I’m trying to make the best of a terrible situation I was put in.”
“You’re betraying your alpha.”
You bark out a laugh. “Seokmin is not my alpha.”
“He might as well have been. The only thing missing was the mark.”
“That mark means something.”
Soonyoung’s eyebrows pull together, eyes darting between yours as if he’s trying to figure you out. “Why are you giving me so much lip? What the hell did he do to you?”
“I don’t know what that means, but he didn’t do anything. I’m fine. Better than I have been in ages, actually, since I can set foot outside the house.”
Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Right. That. The fact that he even let you come here proves he’s a shit alpha.”
You grind your teeth, feeling very irritated. “He knows he can protect me.”
One corner of Soonyoung’s lip lifts in a little sneer. “Sure.”
You don’t like his tone. And you almost regret coming to see him. You stand up.
“I think I should leave.” You mumble, feeling disappointment curl in your chest, an ugly emotion. Soonyoung sighs.
“I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, Y/N. You know I love you. I want nothing but the best for you.”
You sigh, feeling your shoulders slump as he continues.
“He is not the best for you. Seokmin is. Seokmin has always been.”
You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Soonie. I’m Seungcheol’s now. It’s done.”
He stares into space. “Right.”
His tone of voice sends a little chill down your spine, but you ignore it. You don’t like the way he’s acting. You know better now, after being exposed to so many alphas on a daily basis, like Jeonghan, Mingyu, even Wonwoo, however briefly you met him, and you don’t appreciate being talked down to, especially not by your brother, who has been doing it his whole life. Something you always considered normal until you learned that it’s not.
“I’ll see you around, Soonyoung.” You mumble. He sighs and nods, but he doesn’t stop you, silently standing up to walk you out. It seems he’s not a fan of your new attitude either.
Mingyu is a little surprised that you didn’t stay for longer, but you just shake your head and pile into the car. You weren’t expecting this either, but you can’t stay if all Soonyoung is going to do is level you with more condescension and judgement. Especially for something that wasn’t your fault. You remain silent as you stare out the window, running over the interaction in your head.
“Everything okay?” Mingyu asks cautiously. You clear your throat and nod.
“Can you take me to the office?”
“Of course.”
You turn your head back to the window, resting your forehead on it and closing your eyes.
For the longest time, you idolised your brother and the life you lived before all this. You would wake up in the mornings and have breakfast brought to you in bed. Every day would be a lazy day, getting up very late and taking all the time in the world to get ready. As you think back on it, you realise that was probably because you didn’t have much to do at all, so every action, every part of the day, had to be dragged out in order to get through it. You remember spending so much time either reading or conversing with your mother as you sat on your patio. Towards the end of the day, your father and Soonyoung would get back from work, usually in a foul mood, scarfing down dinner before turning in for the night. Sometimes, Soonyoung would watch a movie with you, and if you ever asked him how his day went, he would just put a large, comforting hand on your head, replying shortly.
“Nothing you need to worry about, kiddo.”
You thought you were so lucky to not be involved. Soonyoung and your father cared so much that they never wanted to expose you and your mother to the life they lived. It’s only after your talk with Soonyoung now that you realise; when you keep someone in the dark so much, you can easily just tell them what to do and they will listen.
In Soonyoung’s mind, you will still listen to him and his judgement, just like your mother always taught you. ‘Listen to your brother, he knows best’. But does he? What does your brother even know about your life now? How can he know that Seungcheol treats you like a partner, an equal, while caring for you to the best of his ability, and not like something that needs to be shut away, never to see the light of day?
The second you opposed your brother’s opinion, he turned sour with you. And that tells you everything you need to know about how he sees you. About how he has always seen you.
Your heart hurts.
Seungcheol stands when you enter his office about half an hour later. You can see the little line between his thick eyebrows, showing his worry. Mingyu probably told him your visit was cut short.
“What happened?” He asks. You shake your head, walking behind the desk and wrapping your arms around him tightly. You can feel him stiffen for a second before relaxing, his arms heavy and comforting as he hugs you back. You feel his heartbeat against your ear, regular and calm. It eases your nerves after being unable to get Soonyoung’s cold expression out of your head the entire car ride here.
“Tell me what happened, sweetheart. I’ll fix it.”
You laugh a little and shake your head as much as you can with it still pressed to his chest. You feel like choking down tears as you think of Seungcheol and his need to fix anything that goes wrong in your life. You breathe in his scent, letting it wash over you, grounding you like it always does.
“There’s nothing to fix. I’m fine, I promise.”
He sighs at the reassurance. You don’t know how much he believes you, but you’re glad that he doesn’t press. You sway a little, holding each other tightly. After a few minutes, you huff.
“I know I have to let you get back to work, but I don’t wanna let go.”
His body shakes as he laughs. It makes you smile.
“Alright. Come here.”
You yelp when his arms slide down to your thighs, lifting you up. You instinctively cling to him, afraid to fall. He takes a few steps back until he’s sinking into his office chair again, settling you in his lap, straddling him. You flush at the position, but then his left arm wraps reassuredly around your waist, pulling you close until your head is resting on his shoulder. Your omega preens, and you tuck your arms to his chest, settling. Your heart is still racing a mile a minute, but this feels right.
Seungcheol goes back to work, the keyboard clacking away in the quiet of the office. He answers the phone a few times, and Seungkwan comes in to have him sign some things and look over more schedules. You hear him softly tell the omega to cancel any meetings he has. You doze in his arms, warm and comfortable. Your nose is so near his scent gland that all you smell is him. When he speaks, his voice reverberates in his chest, and you can feel it on your skin. He’s so warm, like he always is even in the dead of winter, and it’s so easy to be lulled into peaceful, dreamless sleep.
When you wake, everything is eerily silent. You blink a few times, assaulted by a familiar scent, and you realise you are still in Seungcheol’s lap. Except now, you’re practically draped over him. You lift your head to look up, and Seungcheol’s face is tilted to the side, eyes closed and mouth parted slightly as he sleeps. The back of the chair is adjusted to lower it more, so he’s almost lying down on it, you on top of him. You turn to look the opposite way, mouth dropping open.
It’s nighttime, the dark sky visible from the floor to ceiling windows. The lights in the office are dimmed too, except a lamp on Seungcheol’s desk and another on the coffee table in front of the couches. His computer is turned off. You can’t hear a single sound from outside. Everything is quiet.
You feel a large, warm hand cup the back of your head and push down, making you lay against his shoulder again.
“Go to sleep.” His voice is rough and throaty. Your heartbeat picks up a little.
“We can just go home.”
He wraps his arms around you tightly. “Don’t feel like moving.”
You can’t stop your grin even if you wanted to. You close your eyes, relaxing against his body again. Just before you drift off to sleep, you feel a pair of lips brush lightly over your forehead.
For decades, the Choi family has dominated the underground trade and criminal enterprise of Korea, and largely, Seoul. But the Choi sons start dying, until all that’s left of the empire falls to Seungcheol, the last Choi son. There is a new competitor rising to take over his territory, and Seungcheol is desperate to do anything to keep his dying empire alive.
Biting and mating with his competitor’s sister, a sheltered, treasured omega, might just be the drastic measure he has to take to keep his hold.
pairing: alpha!choi seungcheol x omega!reader
genre: omegaverse, mafia au
word count: 2k
warnings (for this chapter): swearing, mentions of death and violence, sheltered upbringing, kidnapping, forced biting and mating, pain and blood.
Soonyoung’s grip on your arm is tight to the point that you want to cry out at the bruising force of it. But your overwhelming panic masks the pain, and you just let him frantically drag you down the hallway. Your feet are near silent on the carpet, but even if they weren’t, you are sure no one would hear you with all the commotion happening downstairs. Especially not with how deafening the gunshots are. They make your heart pound, your stomach lurch. You don’t do well with loud noises, especially not gunshots. You’ve rarely ever been exposed to them. But you try to ignore them in favor of focusing on what’s happening right now.
Soonyoung is unfazed compared to you. Of course he is. This is second nature to him. You’re sure he wouldn’t even flinch if someone fired a gun right next to his ear. Hell, he’s been shot at more times than either of you can count. You remember when you were just a teenager, when Soonyoung started to really involve himself in the family business. Your mother would always rush you out of the room when he was injured, arm coming up to obstruct your line of vision.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with!” She would bark, closing the door just enough that only her head was poking out to look at you. You couldn’t see inside, couldn’t register Soonyoung’s bloody form as the nurses worked to get his bleeding under control. “Go to your room, sweetie. Read something.”
And so you would. Sprawling on the bed to immerse yourself in a book while in the adjacent room, Soonyoung would brace himself against the sting of antiseptic, his blood and the spirit mixing as they stained the sheets.
He is a very resilient alpha. He can take anything.
His face is eerily calm right now, considering the mess you are stuck in. Downstairs, there’s yelling, scuffling, and more shots fired. Soonyoung opens the last door, your mother’s old bedroom before she passed away, and tugs you inside. He closes the door and finally turns to you. The noises fade just a little bit.
“Listen to me carefully,” he says, his grip on your arm turning much gentler, the kind you’re used to. Soonyoung is never harsh with you, but there’s an urgency in his voice that you have never heard. It alarms you. “No matter what happens, no matter what you hear outside, do not open this door. Understand?”
You nod shakily, but your heart pounds. “Soonie, I’m scared.”
His face softens from its porcelain rigidity. He nods. “I know, kiddo. But just stick it out for me. I know you’ve never seen any of this before, but trust me. Everything will be okay.”
He puts his hand on your head, warm and sure, before giving you a tiny smile. You know it’s supposed to be placating, but it does nothing to ease your nerves. You watch him open the door again and step out, giving you one last look before leaving. You hear a click, signalling the key turning in the lock outside. With your heart still pounding, you turn back to the empty room.
You haven’t been in here since your mother passed away. Frankly, you couldn’t bear to step foot inside. She withered away on this very bed, only months after your father was killed, the grief of being separated from her mate finally making her succumb to the inviting embrace of death. You were by her side every second of those last few weeks. So you took her death way harder than Soonyoung, who quickly stepped up to take your father’s place in the family when he passed, running the business the best way he was trained to. In fact, he barely saw your mother in her last days, too overwhelmed with keeping the struggling family alive.
Nevertheless, your mother’s advice would always be the same. Listen to Soonyoung, do what your brother says, he knows best. And you knew she was right. It was under Soonyoung’s strong leadership over the following years that the family business really took off, morphing into something like an empire the heights of which even your father hadn’t achieved. It was the success of the empire that made you live so comfortably, so sheltered, and with a brother as protective as Soonyoung, you never had to worry about a single thing.
Back then, kneeling by your mother’s bed, you were too overcome with the pain of losing her, the only person in your very constricted life, and you never really registered her words. But now, trapped in this mess, all your trust is firmly with your brother. You shakily sit on the edge of the bed, eyeing the door. If Soonyoung told you not to move, you would not move. To you, your big brother’s word is law.
The noise outside seems to be cresting, rising to levels that make it bleed concerningly through the walls. You fist your hands in the sheets, body rigid with worry. You pray for Soonyoung under your breath. And you stay perfectly still.
The sounds peak, and then suddenly fall, leaving silence in their wake. You swallow tightly, back straightening when you hear shuffling on the other side. You expect the clinking of the key in the hole, but you don’t hear it. Instead, there is a very loud bang on the wood, deafening like thunder, and you yelp instinctively. A pause, as if someone has heard you, and then another booming thud, like they are trying to kick the door in.
Your hand flies to your mouth, clamping it shut as your breaths come quick and heavy. Fear blooms like poison ivy in your chest, enclosing your heart. You stand up and scramble back until your shoulder blades meet the far wall. Then, you are rendered helpless. There’s nowhere else to go.
The doorframe groans under the strain as more and more kicks keep coming. The first splinter is so noticeable that your eyes catch it immediately, right on the edge of the door near the knob, but the rest come quick after that, until the entire frame breaks with a resounding crack, and the door falls with a loud slam on the carpeted floor.
It kicks up some cement and sawdust, but through it you can see the tall, broad frame of the man on the other side. The light behind him from the hallway is too bright, so you can’t see his face properly, but he is quick to walk in, side stepping the fallen door. His face is finally illuminated, and you stiffen at how unfamiliar he is. You don’t know a lot many people, but he is not one of them. The small, naïve part of you wants to hope that he is one of Soonyoung’s men, but when you catch his eye and he looks you up and down, you immediately know that he isn’t.
You scramble back into the wall again when he makes a beeline to where you stand, pausing mere inches from you. He studies your face, and up close, you can see how brown his eyes are. His hair is the color of chestnut, long enough to brush the collar of his tight black shirt, and a little wavy. His scent is nearly overwhelming, cinnamon and oak, spicy and earthy. He’s an alpha through and through, even someone as clueless as you, who has only seen a handful of alphas in her whole life, can tell, which means he’s dangerous.
He reaches a hand up and brushes your hair off your neck, and you instantly feel vulnerable. You are completely frozen in place, despite your body screaming at you to push him away. But he’s huge, he towers over you, and you wouldn’t be able to get away no matter how hard you tried. You pray again, pray for your brother to come barreling through the broken doorframe, to save you from whatever is coming, but a terrible, sickening pit in your stomach tells you that you’re on your own.
He reaches a hand up, the same one that exposed your neck, and places his palm firmly over your mouth, encompassing the entirety of the lower half of your face. You are trembling, eyes already glassing over just from fear, when he lowers his head, moving closer to you. He uses his grip on you to tilt your face the other way. Then he says his first words to you.
“Don’t scream, omega.”
Blinding pain.
It pierces right over your scent glands, so sharp and pointed that your entire body goes rigid. You try to gasp, but your mouth is obstructed under the alpha’s firm grip, and you can only breathe in sharply through your nose, a pained inhale that does nothing to stop the way your head spins, nor the fire that seems to ignite on your neck and rush down your veins, invading every capillary to the last ends of your fingertips. Your eyes water, and instinctively, your hands reach up to slam hard into the man’s chest. He doesn’t even budge, standing firmly as he digs his teeth harder into your neck.
You struggle, kicking at his shins, clawing at his clothes, dizzy with the pain. After what feels like an eternity but is likely only a few seconds, he finally pulls away, his mouth leaving your neck in the same instant as his hand leaves your mouth. You gulp in a huge breath before sobbing, hands flying up to your neck. You press on it, tears flowing freely down your cheeks, trying to relieve the ache of it, but it does nothing. Your knees buckle as you weep, sliding down the wall when it feels like you can’t hold your weight up any longer.
Your head is still spinning, spinning, spinning, and a wave of nausea passes up through your chest, settling in your throat like a tight ball. You’re still crying, big sweeping bawls. You can hear more commotion, but you’re numb to your surroundings. You’re too distracted by how detached your body feels, a separate entity from you. You hear broken sentences, but they don’t make much sense.
“Put her in the car. The first one.”
“Me and Jeonghan still have some stuff to deal with.”
“Ground floor is clear.”
“I know. It’ll be easier to get out.”
You feel a strong grip on your upper arms, the same place where Soonyoung held you, tugging you up until you’re on your feet. You sway, knees buckling again, but before you can fall, you are being lifted up over someone’s shoulder. You try to kick, but your legs are quickly held together, rendering you immobile. You still press tightly on the wound now etched into your neck. You can’t scream, because just opening your mouth makes you nauseous. Your center of gravity tilts when you’re lifted, and it takes all your strength to not vomit, gulping hard to keep the bile down.
You don’t even remember being carried out of your childhood home, or being placed in a car, nor do you recall when you have a blindfold put on you. You feel even more dizzy with your vision obstructed, but when you try to tug it off, hands grip your wrists and tell you to stay still or you will get tied up too. It’s a different voice, different scent, but also alpha and also unfamiliar.
You cry the whole way to wherever they are taking you, wetting the cloth over your eyes, your body still tingling strangely, like a quiet buzzing in your bones. You hate the feeling, and it almost feels like there’s someone else living under your skin along with you, like you’re not alone. It’s terrifying. And not welcome.
You think of Soonyoung, wondering if he is even alive. He must not be, because you cannot imagine he would ever let this happen to his baby sister. You pray that you will wake up in your own cozy bed, and this will just be a nightmare you cooked up after reading one too many horror fiction books. You know though, deep in your brain, that this is real. All of it is completely real. And here you are, in the very thick of it.
For decades, the Choi family has dominated the underground trade and criminal enterprise of Korea, and largely, Seoul. But the Choi sons start dying, until all that’s left of the empire falls to Seungcheol, the last Choi son. There is a new competitor rising to take over his territory, and Seungcheol is desperate to do anything to keep his dying empire alive.
Biting and mating with his competitor’s sister, a sheltered, treasured omega, might just be the drastic measure he has to take to keep his hold.
pairing: alpha!choi seungcheol x omega!reader
genre: omegaverse, mafia au
word count: 11k
warnings (for this chapter): swearing, mentions of killing, disease and death, kidnapping and imprisonment, feelings of guilt, anxiety, hunger, pain, slight mention of injuries and blood, cigarette smoking
series masterlist
Seungcheol remembers the golden days.
It’s what he calls them, back when he was still a child. The cobblestone pathway that wound all the way to the large mansion which he called his childhood home. Leading up the steps and through the grand oak doors was a beautiful entryway, lit up by a truly magnificent, golden chandelier. His mother loved the house, she was always one for theatrics and glamor. The house was built brick by brick, according to her exact desires. His father had no say in it, neither did he want any. He threw money at however many contractors and architects it took and told them only one thing; bring my mate’s vision to life.
Seungcheol was born in that house, in a large bedroom that had been set up as a birthing suite, surrounded by a doctor, a midwife, and many maids. He was the youngest in his family, so they all doted on him as he grew up. Sometimes, Seungcheol thinks that this is why it took him so long to get a handle on things when it all fell to him. He was never taught to toughen up, because no one imagined he would be the one taking over and leading the charge. He was always the baby of the family.
It seems that no one really anticipated the calamity that would fall upon them. His father’s failing health, his mother’s death, his brothers killed one by one in rival family clashes until it was just Seungcheol, left to pick up the pieces of a crumbling empire. In merely a few years, it seems everything broke faster than any of them could fix it. Maybe if they knew what the future held, they would have taught him the ins and outs of the business better. He was never meant to be the leader. He had been the youngest all his life. But here he was now, no older brothers to hold the reins anymore, and a huge team of delinquents to lead as he tried to save his family’s business.
At least we have Busan. That’s what Seungcheol would always say when he felt the panic of his responsibility seep into his bones. He said that when they lost a big portion of their underground trade to police raids. He said that when the Incheon smuggling operations were shut down. He said that when he lost many, many men to fighting that was so frequent now, nearly unprecedented in the Choi empire. Busan Port is their biggest source of revenue. Nearly their entire trade comes from his men posted out there.
At least we have Busan.
Then the Kwon Family closed in on their ships, and all hell broke loose.
They can’t lose Busan. They can’t. If Busan gets taken, if their ships are occupied or destroyed, then there’s nothing holding his business up anymore. The empire his father built would officially collapse. Generations worth of spilled blood will be rendered useless. Seungcheol can’t let that happen, no matter what cost.
“Damn Kwon Family.” Jeonghan mutters under his breath. “Since when are they such a threat?”
He’s lounging on the couch in Seungcheol’s office without a care in the world, sprawled with his legs draping over the arm. To the untrained eye, it looks like he’s relaxed, but Seungcheol knows that despite what it looks like, Jeonghan’s brain is racing a hundred miles an hour. There’s a reason Jeonghan is allowed to lay around Seungcheol’s office so casually. None of his other men would dare be so brazen. But Jeonghan is his most trusted confidant, his advisor, and the only reason that the Choi empire hasn’t completely collapsed in the last few years. Seungcheol trusts Jeonghan above all else.
“We need to do something about this.” Seungcheol mumbles. He’s leaning back in his office chair, feeling like the weight of the world is holding his shoulders down. “Maybe we need to send a message?”
Jeonghan hums and shakes his head, still staring up at the ceiling. “No. Too much police pressure right now. We can’t be reckless.”
Seungcheol huffs. “So what else?”
Jeonghan doesn’t reply, eyes unfocused. Seungcheol can practically see the gears in his head turn.
“Give me a few days. Let me find out what I can about them.” He finally says.
Jeonghan is true to his word, because a few days later, he has a full portfolio of everyone associated with the Kwon family. They’ve been around for a while now, a smaller business with not much influence, but under the Kwon son’s new reign, they are expanding at a frightening pace. He’s reckless, sharp and unrelenting. Seungcheol’s men call him ‘Hoshi’. Tiger’s gaze. Frankly, Seungcheol isn’t a fan of titles, but he can see why this one stuck, considering how he has shaken up the business so quickly and effectively. He can understand why Hoshi is an intimidating figure, and it seems his hold on underground drug circles is way stronger than Seungcheol originally thought.
“This is where we can strike.” Jeonghan says, swiping on his laptop to land on a photo, turning the screen to fully face Seungcheol. It’s a woman, definitely younger than Seungcheol himself, with wide open eyes and a mouth pulled into a pout. The picture is taken from afar and zoomed in, so it’s a little grainy. She’s sitting on a balcony. Across from her is the Kwon family son, Hoshi. What’s his name again? Soonyoung? He’s smoking a cigarette.
“Who is she? His mate?”
Jeonghan shakes his head. “Sister.”
Now that he’s mentioned it, there is some similarity, though not a lot. Seungcheol frowns.
“Okay. What about her? Do we kill her as a warning?”
Jeonghan snorts a little. “Broaden your horizons a bit, Seungcheol-ah. There’s ways to do things without killing.”
Seungcheol rolls his eyes. He’s really not in the mood for any of Jeonghan’s usual quips right now. “So what do you propose?”
“You take her as your mate.”
Seungcheol’s eyes widen, head jerking to the side to look at his advisor. Jeonghan doesn’t seem perturbed at all. He only looks at Seungcheol in anticipation.
“What?”
Jeonghan leans back in the seat across the table where he sits. “Think about it. Killing her won’t help. From what I know about Hoshi, that will only piss him off. He’s not one to receive a message like that kindly. He won’t back down, he will try to expand twice as hard if you take her out of the picture. But if you were to mate her, make her your omega…..”
He trails off. The gears in Seungcheol’s head turn, and he finishes Jeonghan’s sentence.
“He becomes compliant. He won’t risk ruining his sister’s life by taking me down.”
Jeonghan nods, the corner of his lip ticking up in a smirk. “Exactly.”
Seungcheol ponders over it for a few minutes, and Jeonghan doesn’t interrupt him. At the end of the day, it’s really Seungcheol who calls the shots. Jeonghan might be an excellent strategist, but nothing gets done without Seungcheol’s explicit say so. His rough circumstances meant he had to grow up way quicker than he ever anticipated or wanted to. He doesn’t know if he’s a good leader, but he sure as hell tries, and it seems Jeonghan trusts his final word.
It’s not uncommon or unheard of in underground circles to take omegas and mate them as leverage. It’s one of the reasons why family omegas are so fiercely protected and hidden. There’s a good chance that Hoshi’s sister has never set foot outside her family’s estate, and being her alpha brother, there’s no way Hoshi will stay stubborn if the threat of his sister’s mate is hanging over his head.
There’s hesitation here, though. As common as it is, Seungcheol has always found the method to be sleazy, leveraging someone’s life like that. He may be part of a crime family, hell, Seungcheol has killed many with his own hands, but there’s something about this that seems more violating than death. Death is a quick reprieve. A flash of pain and then nothing. But this, this is prolonged suffering. This might as well be classified as torture.
He looks at the picture again. You’re in your early twenties, maybe. Sheltered and protected your entire life. This might be a blow to Hoshi, but he can’t imagine what it would feel like for you. He stays silent for a long time, pondering.
Maybe Jeonghan senses Seungcheol’s doubt, because he says the one sentence that could push Seungcheol to the point of desperation.
“We will lose Busan.”
Seungcheol closes his eyes. Jeonghan is right, he knows this. It’s either this, or Seungcheol loses everything. His men lose their jobs, hundreds of families that are dependent on him, his business. His own family is gone, he doesn’t have a whole lot to live for. But he knows how far his business stretches. He has been in those warehouses, on those docks. The men who look to him for guidance, the men who have served him, his father, his grandfather, for generations before. He can’t say no. Too many people are at stake here. It’s too big a price to pay.
You will just have to be the sacrifice.
………………………………
The light is bright when your blindfold is pulled off, and it makes you squint. You shield your eyes, bringing your knees up to your chest so you can curl into a ball. The mattress where the strange alpha plopped you down is soft, but you don’t dare relax. You blink furiously to clear your vision. A few stray tears run down your cheeks as things come into focus.
The unfamiliar scent you smelled all through the car ride belongs to a very tall, intimidating looking alpha. He’s broad and very muscly, bare arms appear threatening in his sleeveless black shirt. You’re sure that if he wanted, he could tear you limb from limb. You kick with your feet so your body shuffles back. You feel your shoulder blades meet the headboard of the bed you’re on. The sheets are maroon in color, velvet and very soft, much more luxurious than the ones you have at home. But right now, you would sleep on the floor of your bedroom, cold and naked, rather than be here.
The alpha watches you for a few seconds before walking to the window. He tugs in the window pane. It doesn’t budge. Then, without a word, he walks to the door and closes it behind him. You hear a click. He has locked you inside.
You stay frozen still for a long time, listening for any sound, any whisper. There is none, but you don’t move. Half out of fear, and half out of grief. You think of Soonyoung again. And along with that, you think of Seokmin.
Joyous, warm Seokmin. The boy you grew up with. Well, a man now. An alpha. But you knew him even before he presented. He was a sensitive child. He was in tune with your emotions just as well as his own. His smile was brighter than the sun. His laugh lit up the room. And when he presented as Alpha, none of it changed. He was still bright, still shining.
When you presented as an omega, your mother was delighted, a reaction not usually seen in crime families. Usually, omegas are an imposition, a weak point, but your mother was not bothered, and Seokmin was a big reason why. Seokmin’s father was the advisor to your own father, so your family knew his family very intimately. It was almost a no-brainer that when the time came, Seokmin would be your mate. And that put your mother at ease.
But then your father died, and then your mother, and everything just…… kept getting delayed.
You blink a little, eyes still bleary, and your hand reaches up to press on the fresh wound on your neck.
What would Seokmin say, knowing that you now belong to another alpha?
It takes you a long while to finally move, limbs sore and stiff. You feel wobbly on your feet, but you manage to shuffle to the dresser across the room. You barely recognise yourself in the mirror, eyes hollow and cheeks smudged with wet tears. You pull your hand away, and your face crumples at the sight.
It’s huge, the mark. It’s still beaded with some blood, and the skin surrounding the teeth marks is reddened. You wince when you brush your fingertips over it. It’s tender. Your eyes well up again.
You always imagined being marked, every omega daydreams about it. In all your fantasies, it would be Seokmin giving you his mark. It would be warm and soft, and it would feel so good, like you are connected to him, filled with nothing but love and trust for each other, just like your mother described. All her stories about a mating mark are so intimate, regaling you with her feelings of peace and bliss, but absolutely none of that has happened for you.
All you feel right now is fear, and this anxious feeling that someone knows exactly where you are. You know mating marks connect you to your alpha, but you always thought that it would be a comforting feeling, that you would feel safe. Now, it feels like being watched. This creepy, heavy feeling that prickles your skin in the worst way. This is nothing like you imagined. This is your worst nightmare.
It would break your mother if she knew. Maybe it’s good that she isn’t around to see this happen.
There’s a tentative knock on your door, and you nearly fly out of your skin. You scramble to get back on the bed, pulling the sheet up and curling into yourself like it’s supposed to protect you in any way. There’s a clinking of keys in the door, and then it opens. You fist the sheets tightly in your hands, frozen in fear.
The man that steps through is also a stranger, and not the alpha who marked you. He’s shorter, but has a lean, sturdy build. Your nose twitches as you feel him out. A beta.
You relax only a smidge. At least it’s not an alpha, but Soonyoung’s warnings are clear in your head. You can’t trust anyone, not even betas or omegas. Anyone can be dangerous. So you are still stiff and on guard.
The beta steps in and closes the door behind him. He’s holding a white box with a Red Cross on it, a first aid kit. He gives you a smile.
“Hi. I’m Chan.” He is not as big and imposing as the alpha from before. His hair is brown and somewhat shaggy. He reminds you of a wide eyed little animal. He steps closer to the bed, but not too quickly. He places the first aid kit on the mattress at the edge of the bed, and clicks it open. Inside, you see gauze, antiseptic, bandages, some ointment and cotton balls. Then, he steps back and puts his hands in his pockets, turning them out. Empty. He lifts his shirt just enough to show you the waistband of his pants. Then does the same by turning around and showing you the back as well. No gun tucked into his jeans.
He’s trying to show you that he won’t hurt you. Maybe he knows that saying the words won’t mean anything, so he’s proving it to you with action. You eye him with a little suspicion still, but your neck is throbbing really bad. And the blood is worrisome. You don’t want to get an infection. Slowly, you lower your legs and the sheet, sitting straight.
That’s invitation enough, because the man smiles and steps closer with the box in his hands. He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning forward just a bit. You slowly show him your neck.
He works quickly, efficiently. You wonder if he is some kind of medical person, because it looks like he knows what he’s doing. You flinch when he cleans the area with the antiseptic, and he softens his touch immediately. Once the wound is bandaged and taken care of, he places a leaf of painkillers on the bedside table, along with a bottle of water.
“I wouldn’t take the medicine just now. I think lunch is on its way up.” He gives you a small smile. “Eat something and then take these. Okay?”
You nod slowly. Normally, there’s no way you would ingest anything they gave you, Soonyoung was adamant on drilling that inside your head over the years (‘poison, or a sedative, could be anything’), but the medicine is sealed, and so is the water bottle. So maybe you will take just those.
Half an hour later, a maid brings you food on a tray. It looks like a warm, hearty meal, but you don’t dare touch it, Soonyoung’s warnings in your mind. It could be laced with anything. You don’t even want to imagine what they will do to you if you’re unconscious. You have to be on guard.
You stay curled up like that for hours. The only sound you hear is the periodic ticking of the clock. As the sun goes down, you can hear dogs barking in the distance. Occasionally, you will hear someone speak, a far away shout or a loud laugh, but nothing more than that. You can feel your joints scream from being pulled taut for so long, and your nerves are frayed. You don’t move an inch.
The maid comes back around 8 o’clock with another tray of food. She sighs when she sees the first one just as she left it, but doesn’t say a word. She just replaces the old tray with a new one holding fresh, warm food, leaving quickly. The aroma drifts into your nose. Your stomach growls.
You fall asleep like that, propped up and slumped a little against the headboard. You jerk awake at the slightest sound, a shuffle, a car door slamming outside, someone coughing. It’s fitful, and only makes you more tired instead of giving you rest. Your feet and hands are cold, but you don’t curl into the blanket on the bed. The wound on your neck still throbs. You power through.
After a very long, very fearful night, the sun comes up. The untouched dinner tray gets replaced with a breakfast one by the same woman. You close your eyes when the smell of fresh cooked eggs hits you. You’re not used to rough conditions like this. Your father and then Soonyoung always had people tending to your every need, pampering you the best they could. You have never wanted for anything in your life. Hunger claws at you, menacing, biting. A feeling you have never known.
By late afternoon, you’re still slumped against the headboard. You’re dead tired, and you don’t know how to stay upright any longer. But your ears are alert, twitching at even the slightest of sounds. Exhaustion has made you even more hyper aware of your surroundings, somehow. When you hear the key turn in the lock again, you expect more food that will go wasted. But then the door opens, and a familiar scent of cinnamon and oak assaults your nose.
It’s him.
You go rigid, pushing yourself up. Wide, tired eyes meet sharp, brown ones. He stares at you for a long moment before stepping aside. The maid is behind him, holding more food. She steps in wordlessly and replaces the old food with the new one before leaving. All the while, the alpha stands with his arms crossed over his white, button down shirt. He thanks the woman under his breath as she leaves before slowly closing the door behind her. The room falls silent again.
Your bite mark throbs, sensing his presence near. You dig your nails into your arms where they wrap around your legs.
“You haven’t been eating.” He finally speaks to you, stepping closer. His voice is soft but deep, and it somehow booms in the room, commands it. He puts his hands in his pants pockets. He stops at the edge of the bed. “Why?”
You have no intention of answering him. You stare at the wall over his shoulder. You hear him sigh.
“You think I had the food laced? Is that it?”
You don’t say a word.
“This food shouldn’t be a problem for you then.” He says, looking down at it. Your eyes snap to the tray as well, and you notice that everything on the plate is in packets. A carton of milk, sealed sugared fruit slices, sealed sandwich.
“It’s not the most healthy,” the man mumbles, “but it’s better than nothing.”
He steps towards the side of the bed. You stiffen as he draws near. He leans down to pick up the leaflet of pills on the bedside table and tuts.
“This is sealed. How come you didn’t take this?”
You are silent.
He bends then, placing one hand on the mattress as he leans closer. You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting desperately to scramble away from him, but you’re frozen with fear. His breath hits your ear as he speaks.
“You have no reason not to eat now. Eat all this by the time I come back, or I will have Chan force food into you with an IV. Got it?”
You don’t nod or shake your head. You sit rock still. This close, his scent is particularly potent. It unsettles you. He finally pulls away and walks quickly to the door, closing and locking it behind him. You breathe a shaky sigh of relief, straightening a little. Tears escape your eyes as you replay the interaction in your head.
You weep as silently as you can.
………………………………
Seungcheol has been on edge since the day they raided the Kwon house. He’s irritable, something uncharacteristic of him. He’s usually more assured in his decisions, more confident in where he stands. But unease gnaws at him now, almost constantly. He sleeps with it like a companion on his shoulder, and he wakes with the same feeling. He regrets what he did, unsurprisingly. He had a feeling that he would. Maybe this should’ve been the first time he didn’t listen to Jeonghan.
When he voices the thought to his advisor, the alpha just chuckles.
“You realise it’s not you, right? This feeling.”
Seungcheol scowls. Jeonghan continues talking.
“It’s her distress. You can feel it because of the mating bite. That’s why you feel uneasy. This is her, not you.”
Oh. Seungcheol processes the words a little. It does make sense, since Seungcheol knows just how shot your nerves are. He’s seen it. You look nothing like you did when he first found you. You flinch and jump whenever he visits, like you expect him to tear you to shreds at any moment. He can’t understand your apprehension. He’s your mate. Your alpha. He would never harm you. Well, except the harm he has already done.
Jeonghan is still watching him closely. He speaks again when Seungcheol remains silent.
“If you have any regrets about this whole thing, this will wipe them away.” He says, holding up his phone. “Hoshi’s advisor just called. They’re calling off this month’s Busan shipments. The port will remain ours.”
Seungcheol almost can’t believe it. He sits up in his chair, wide eyed. Something in his chest lifts.
“You’re serious?”
Jeonghan nods, smiling.
The sigh of relief Seungcheol lets out feels like it’s peeling away layers and layers of unending fatigue and anxiety. He runs a hand down his face and through his hair, like he wants to scrub the tension away.
“Just like that.” He breathes.
“Just like that.” Jeonghan repeats. “I told you, taking omegas is effective.”
Something new gnaws at Seungcheol’s chest. He bites the inside of his cheek. This is all possible because of the hell he has put you through. Without knowing, you’ve saved his family, his men, him.
He feels guilty.
Jeonghan senses it, because of course he does. He leans forward to catch Seungcheol’s eye, and then he speaks softly.
“You can give her a good life.” He says. “Even better than she had previously. The Choi empire is above and beyond whatever she had at the Kwon household. The circumstances of your bond might not be ideal, but you could be a good mate for her, and her for you.”
Seungcheol lets out a mirthless laugh. “She will never trust me. And I don’t expect her to.”
Jeonghan shakes his head. “She will. You’re a good man, a good alpha. You can do right by her. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
Seungcheol nods slowly, though he doesn’t fully believe Jeonghan’s words. But his advisor is right. What has happened has happened. He can at least try to make do with these circumstances the best he can.
If you let him, that is.
…………………………………..
You don’t know how long you remain in that room. The days blur together. You can see the sun rise and set from the window, but at some point, you lose count of how many days have passed. Every one of them is the same, except now, you see more of your alpha.
He comes around dinner time, the maid with him holding a tray of food. She leaves and he stays, sitting in a chair across the bed and watching you eat. He doesn’t leave until you empty everything on the plate. There’s something different every day, but it’s always in packets. Store bought. After many days of this, he comes in with a home cooked meal, warm and inviting.
“I hope you trust me enough by now to know I wouldn’t hurt you.” He says. “Not like this.”
He doesn’t say anything more, watching you in anticipation. But Soonyoung is in your ear. You can’t trust anyone except your family. His words are so loud it’s almost like he is in your head. You can’t eat this. You can’t. Silently, you reach a hand forward and push the tray away.
He sighs, almost in resignation. Your heart squeezes a little, but you don’t budge. You can’t trust him. He mated you by force. He probably killed your brother too. You can’t even look at him.
He doesn’t come the next day. Or the day after that. No one does except the maid with a tray of food, all sealed. You claw at the skin of your arms, feeling uneasy. You’re fed now, eating whatever you can that looks safe enough. But you still feel sickly. You miss the feeling of the sun against your skin. You miss the fresh air. You sit by the window for a few hours in the afternoon, when the sun is angled in a way that it hits your face. It feels glorious. You watch out of the closed window, massive expanses of gardens sprawling as far as the eye can see. There’s a stream going through the grounds, and you can hear the water faintly through the closed window. There are lawn chairs and a table sprawled on the grass a few feet away from the deck. You sometimes see people there. You recognise Chan, and the large alpha who brought you here that first day. Lots of men filter in and out of the backyard, talking and laughing. After three days of sitting by the window, you see your alpha there too.
He’s wearing a black suit, but he takes the jacket off when steps up to a chair, draping it on the back. He drops into the chair with what looks like a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair and rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. There’s a man with him, just as tall but way skinnier. His hair is darker and longer. He settles into another chair and pulls out a box of cigarettes, offering one to your alpha. He accepts it, lights it, and takes a long drag.
You watch the two men talk a little. You still don’t know your alpha’s name. You wonder who he is. Why he mated you and took you from your home. You’re a little upset that your mother and you were so detached from the business side of things in your family. Maybe if you knew a little more, you wouldn’t be so lost. Maybe you would know what to do in this situation.
A knock on your door surprises you, and you turn your head sharply towards the sound. You don’t expect anyone right now, it’s not time to eat. The key clinks in the lock and it opens, a head of long, dark hair poking in. You scent the air, and you’re even more shocked. It’s an omega.
He smiles at you and steps in, closing the door behind him.
“Y/N?”
You’re a little caught off guard. You haven’t been referred to by name since you got here. Hell, barely anyone has talked to you at all. Chan worked silently, changing your bandage and leaving every couple of days. The maid never said a word. Your own alpha said less than three sentences to you.
You nod sharply. He walks closer to the bed and sits down on the edge. You remain sitting on the seat by the window.
“My name is Jihoon. I work for Seungcheol.”
You blink a few times but don’t reply.
“He asked me to come down to see you. That maybe you would feel more at ease if an omega was around.”
You have enough brain to realise who the hell this Seungcheol is. So that’s his name. You watch the omega with wary eyes. He stands up and walks closer to where you’re sitting, peering out the window. He sees the two men in the backyard, still talking. He nods to himself, as if making a decision.
“Okay, I’m going to be honest with you.” Something in his tone shifts to be harder, more direct. He reaches into his pocket and tugs out a small leather book. He pulls it open and your eyes widen. It’s not a book. A golden badge gleams at you, along with an ID. You read the name. LEE JIHOON. Shock grips you. He’s an officer?
“As you can see, I’m not exactly who I appear to be.” He pockets the badge. “I’ve been here for years, undercover, and I’ve been scoping this family out for a long, long time. They don’t know who I really am. To them, I’m just a worker.”
You are frozen solid, not even pulling a breath in, watching the man with wide eyes. He takes a moment before he speaks again, as if waiting for you to process his words before he gives you more information.
“I have been working silently to take this family down for a while now. Seungcheol, he is the last Choi son. If he falls, the whole empire collapses.”
A chill runs down your spine. Choi. Your alpha is a Choi son? Your mind reels. You may be sheltered, and you may be naïve, but even the biggest, most dense idiot in Korea knows who the Choi sons are. A long line of formidable alphas, raised under the tutelage of their equally scary patriarch. At their height, the Choi sons had more power than even the most high ranking government officials. Over the last few years, the empire fell out a little, with the Choi sons dying one by one after their father. But the whispers remained. Their reputation precedes them. Everyone, whether part of the underground crime business or not, knew not to touch the Choi family with a ten foot pole.
You are a Choi son’s omega. The last surviving son.
It’s almost too much to take in, but it makes sense. The huge house, the unending lawns. From what little you can see, only a family like the Choi clan can afford a place like this. But along with shock, all you feel is confusion. What the hell does a Choi son want from you? You’re no one. You know enough to understand that while you had a cushy life, the Kwon family is not nearly the same level as these people. Yet, here you are. Why? Did Soonyoung do something? Is this revenge?
Jihoon speaks again after a long moment.
“When I found out he took an omega against her will, I knew this could be the final nail in this family’s coffin.” He says. “You’re an outsider, just like I am. You aren’t like them. You want nothing to do with them.”
He leans forward so he can catch your eye. “I can get you away from here. If we take him down, you will be free again. But for that, you have to work with me. You have to help me end this once and for all.”
Your voice is hoarse when you speak, considering that you haven’t said a word in so long. “I can’t do anything.”
He nods resolutely. “Yes, you can. You’re his mate. If anyone can earn his trust, it’s you. The omegas in this family work differently. They aren’t kept in the dark, they work alongside the alphas and betas. You can involve yourself in their operations. You can get me information.”
You feel apprehension claw at you. This seems way above anything you are capable of. “Can’t you do it yourself?”
He shakes his head. “Sadly, I can’t. No matter what I do, I’m not part of his inner circle. There are some things he shares with only a few select people. You could be one of them. You just have to cozy up to him a little.”
You are shaking your head before he is even finished talking. “I can’t.”
“You can. Don’t you want to see your brother again?”
You freeze, eyes wide. “Soonyoung is alive?”
Jihoon nods. “He is. He’s injured, and pissed as all hell, but he’s alive.”
Your eyes mist over in relief. You can’t believe it. You had spent days trying to contend with the fact that your brother is likely dead. Just knowing he’s alive has taken away so much of your worry.
“So you’ll do this?” Jihoon says. “You’ll help me?”
Your hands ball into fists. You want to see Soonyoung again. You want to get out of here. So you nod.
“Okay. I’ll help you.”
………………………………………..
Jeonghan insists that Seungcheol should go to his omega again. Frankly, Seungcheol doesn’t want to, but his advisor insists that he should.
“Jihoon talked to her.” He offers. “He said it went well, that she’s more at ease now. Take her something nice to eat, maybe offer her to come out of that godforsaken room.”
Seungcheol is unwilling, and he doesn’t really think you’ll have a change of heart so quick, considering how stubborn you have been so far. But he gives in to Jeonghan’s request anyway. If you’re going to be a permanent part of his life, then Jeonghan is right. He has to keep trying.
You’re sitting by the windowsill when he comes in today, your legs tucked to your chest as always. You look so small like this, curled against the glass, staring outside. Something scratches at Seungcheol’s chest. You really need to leave this room. It’s a miracle you haven’t gone crazy by now.
You eye him as he sits in his usual chair across the bed. The tray is placed on the table by the bed as usual, the bowl steaming. It’s freshly made just for you. Seungcheol leans forward to place his elbows on his thighs, waiting for you to catch his eye before he speaks.
“Please eat.”
He doesn’t expect you to unfold yourself and walk carefully to the bed, sitting down and pulling the table closer to you. He sits completely still, watching you take the first spoonful. Something in him eases, like a knot being untied.
He watches you eat, watches how your cheeks flush a little when the food warms you up on the inside. Your scent, a sour tinge that has been stinging his nose every time he sees you, sweetens just a little. Seungcheol still has no clue what you actually smell like. You’ve been so on edge, so fearful this entire time, that he could never place your actual scent. He gets a whiff of it now, and it’s soft and light. He’s sure that if you were truly happy, it would smell even better. He wonders if he’ll ever know what that’s like.
A part of him hopes he does.
You empty the bowl in minutes, and Seungcheol is already pressing the portable pager in his pocket. The maid comes in with a second helping, and he watches your eyes widen in surprise. You don’t protest though, silently eating it. He wonders if you’ve been starving a little since you got here. His stomach twists.
He’s a terrible alpha.
You get halfway through the second bowl before you finally let up, pushing the tray away. He wants you to keep eating, because you being well fed makes him feel less guilty about this whole thing, but you shake your head when he says so. He decides not to push.
Once the table is cleared, Seungcheol walks to the window and undoes it with the key in his pocket. He tugs it open, lips pursing. This should’ve been open from day one, but Mingyu has always been overly cautious. He thought you would jump out the window and try to take your own life, so he had it locked. Seungcheol thinks he needs to take a leap of trust now, especially after you’ve put your trust in him by eating a meal. You both will go nowhere if he doesn’t return the faith you’ve placed in him.
“I’m sorry for keeping this closed.” He says. “It will be open now, for as long as you want it. And the door will be unlocked. You can come out and look around. If you don’t like this room, you can choose another. It’s your house, go wherever you want.”
You don’t say anything to him, but you do nod. He’ll take it. Usually, you don’t acknowledge him at all, so this is a huge win for him. He wants to do more, make you trust him more, but he won’t push. Not yet.
He doesn’t lock the door when he leaves. He can only hope that you come out of the room now.
……………………………………
The house is huge.
You didn’t see any of it when you got here, considering you were carried inside with a blindfold on. You didn’t even realise how massive the estate was until now, when you’ve tentatively stepped out of the room. You’re in the room at the far end of the hallway, which is probably why you had such a good view of the backyard. There’s more doors on either side of the hallway than you can count. You don’t go into any of them, walking down the beige carpet leading to the stairs. They’re wide and curving down. You hesitate but step on them anyway, wary of your surroundings. So far, you haven’t seen anyone else, but you can hear voices downstairs.
You find Chan in the kitchen with a plate of eggs, toast and a cup of coffee. He’s wearing frameless glasses that rest on the end of his nose. He’s a little surprised to see you, but he gives you a warm smile. He pours you a cup as well, and insists you drink it even when you try to refuse. It’s warm and soothing in your throat. You sit on the stool opposite to him at the kitchen island.
“Do you work here?” You ask tentatively, unsure of what else to really say to the beta. He nods.
“As soon as I graduated nursing school. My dad worked for his dad too. I’m sure you know a lot of this works within families.”
You nod, understanding. After all, the father of the alpha you were promised to also worked with your father. Things like this are usually generational. That’s why it’s so hard to dismantle crime families. Outsiders aren’t allowed. You think back to the conversation you had with Jihoon. It’s impressive that he has managed to destroy so much of the family’s power while being an outside eye looking in. He must be really good at what he does.
Maybe he really can help you get out.
Chan decides he wants to show you the rest of the house, so he takes you on a little tour. There's an in-home theatre, an office, and even a library. This is where you linger, feeling giddy at just how many floor to ceiling shelves are crammed full of books. You had a little reading nook back at home too, but that’s nothing compared to this. You eye a very cozy looking armchair in the center of the room, facing the fireplace. It would feel so nice to curl up there with a good book.
The gardens at the back that you saw through the window are nothing compared to what is actually there. There are two outdoor courts, one with a net in between and one with two basketball hoops on either end.
“We all love sports a lot.” Chan comments, pointing to small sheds near the corner, likely filled with sporting equipment. “It’s an easy way to relax and bond.”
It’s new to you, definitely, that the family is so close to the men they work with. Well, it’s not much of a family anymore. It’s just Seungcheol. But still, Chan even lounging around the house is strange, considering your family doctor lived off the grounds in a place within walking distance, and only came into the house when called. It seems things really do work differently here.
You sit down in one of the lawn chairs, taking a deep breath. It feels nice to step outside and take in some fresh air. Chan eyes you for a bit before stepping forward.
“May I?” He holds his hands up to your neck. You nod slowly, tilting your head back so he can peel the bandage off your skin.
“I don’t think you need this anymore.” He mumbles, eyeing the wound. It hasn’t pained you in days, so you’re sure it is healed. When he steps away, you gingerly brush your hand over it. The skin is still sensitive, and will likely be for a long time, but it’s not a bother.
Chan sits with you for a while, telling you little tidbits about his life. You try to glean anything from it that might help you or Jihoon, but there isn’t much. It’s mostly stories from his university days, or the worst injuries he’s seen since he started working with the family. You’re sure none of this will be interesting information to your new ally. Almost an hour into talking, Chan’s pager beeps. He eyes it for a little bit before standing up.
“I have to go now. Will you be okay here or do you want to go inside?”
You’re really sick and tired of the indoors, so you shake your head. “I’ll be okay.”
He gives you another smile and leaves, and you continue looking across the lush, green grounds. The wind blows softly, and it feels calming when it crosses through the strands of your hair. You feel almost a little sleepy, your body buzzing and cozy.
The wind carries with it the scent of cinnamon and oak.
It’s all over the house, you had noticed when you first stepped out of your room. It’s very faint, and kind of lingering, but you still feel it all around you. It laves over your skin, like something that is alive. Every wall, every brick of this house carries Seungcheol’s scent. It’s like these objects speak for him, tell his story.
It gets denser now. Your nose twitches. You turn around.
He’s standing on the deck, watching you. He’s wearing a white Henley, the sleeves pushed up, his hands in his pockets. A silver chain gleams against his neck. When he sees you looking, he steps onto the grass and walks closer to you. You try to avoid his eyes. He seats himself in the chair Chan vacated, letting out a light sigh.
“Glad to see you out here.” He speaks. “Do you like the house?”
You nod hesitantly. “The library is really nice.”
It seems to catch him a little off guard, and you realise this is the first time you’ve spoken to him. You feel a little shy about how he looks at you, but he recovers quickly enough.
“That’s good.” His voice sounds more cautious. “You can have a closer look later. If you want to change anything, let me know.”
You nod slowly. You’re surprised he’s willing to allow any alterations, since the library is clearly built to cater to him specifically. It flatters you somewhat, but you shake it away as best as you can.
After a bout of silence, Seungcheol leans forward and pulls out a box of cigarettes from his back pocket. You scrunch your nose when he lights it and takes a drag, the smell hitting your nose. He immediately notices.
“Not a fan of cigarettes?” He asks.
You shake your head.
He leans forward towards the table, stubbing the freshly lit cigarette into the ashtray. You blink, surprised. He doesn’t say anything more. You fidget a little.
“It just muddies your scent.” You say, trying to justify your disapproval. You don’t want to irritate him. You know how these men are with their addictions. Soonyoung can’t go a day without emptying a pack, no matter how much your mother used to reprimand him. He'd shout at anyone who tried to make him quit. Even Seokmin refused to stop smoking, even when you asked many times. He didn’t say anything about it, but the corner of his mouth would harden in annoyance. But Seungcheol just nods.
“Okay. I won’t smoke again.”
No fuss. No irritated huff or sharp gaze, or telling you to mind your business. He pockets the box and stays seated, peering out at the grounds, not saying anything more.
Your heart squeezes a little. It kicks at your ribs. You fiddle with your fingers, trying to stop it racing. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but the readiness of you making a demand, and him fulfilling it, it feels wonderful. You can’t help how it makes you a little queasy, in a pleasant way.
He sits with you for hours, engaging you in conversation only sparingly, but dealing with other business as it arises. His phone is ringing constantly, and he answers it every time, his replies short and curt. Some men filter in and out of the backyard to show him something or let him know the progress on whatever business they’re attending to. It’s fascinating to watch. No one in your family ever brought anything related to the business back home. Not your father, and not Soonyoung. You knew for a fact that your mother knew nothing about how things worked, and neither did you. It feels invigorating to sit here like this, to not be asked to leave the room with the other omegas when the alphas and betas sit down to talk about business, swatting at you like you’re a fly. You might not understand all of it, but the fact that your presence isn’t a bother to Seungcheol makes your heart flutter.
Nothing any of the men say is too apparent, you can’t make sense of most of it. Seungcheol listens silently, barks out quick orders, dismisses them. You notice the difference in tone immediately. He doesn’t speak to you like that at all. With you, it’s softer, more gentle. You try not to let your thoughts linger on that for too long.
A few hours later, another man comes to see him. You recognise him as the man who is with him often when you peer out from your window, the dark haired, skinny one. He appraises you with sharp eyes, the only man coming to see your alpha who has looked directly at you. Seungcheol doesn’t stop him, but the sharpness of his eyes makes you a little jumpy.
“Nice to see you out and about.” He quips, voice softer than you anticipated. His eyes are shrewd, as if he knows more than he’s letting on. He’s also the first man to talk to you directly. You wonder who he is. He obviously has Seungcheol’s trust if he’s so brazen about addressing you.
He doesn’t say anything more to you, sitting down on a spare chair and talking to Seungcheol extensively, a tablet in hand. His voice is low, but there’s a lot of talk about shipments to Busan, what times they are scheduled, what routes they are taking and what goods will be on them. You stare off into the distance, trying to memorise all of it the best you can, wondering if it will be of any help to Jihoon anyway. When the man finally stands up to leave, he gives you a little smile.
“You should be here more often, omega. He’s calmer when you’re around.” He says. You blink, shocked.
“Jeonghan.” There’s warning in Seungcheol’s voice, so the man, Jeonghan, just smiles thinly and walks away. As he passes you, he places a large hand on your head, patting it. It feels weirdly affectionate, and not at all what you’re expecting. Seungcheol sighs.
“Sorry about him.” He mumbles. “He means well.”
As the sky dims a little, streaks of yellow and orange break through the blue. You’ve spent the whole day lounging around outside, but it’s getting colder now as the sun goes down. Seungcheol stands up and stretches a little, the fabric of his shirt expanding as he does. The chain gleams around his neck in the golden light. You look away. He huffs out a long breath.
“Let’s go inside. It’s cold now. And I have to leave soon to work through some things.”
You stand up and walk alongside him silently. He walks you all the way to your room, stopping briefly in the kitchen to ask that your dinner be brought up. When you get back to the room, you realise it has been cleaned, and you can see some products on the dresser top.
“It’s just some essentials.” Seungcheol explains when he follows your gaze. “There are some clothes in the closet too. I’ll send you out with Jihoon in a few days and you can buy what you want.”
You don’t really know what to say. You don’t buy your own clothes, since Soonyoung thought it was too dangerous to let you step out. Whatever you wanted, you sent him pictures or let him know, and someone working for him got it for you. The thought of going out yourself is both exciting and frightening, but you try to shelf it for later.
“Thank you.” You manage to get out. You aren’t lying, you truly are. So far, he has done nothing to harm you. Well, except the mark marring your neck, which he put there against your will.
He’s standing closer to you than ever before as he nods. His eyes dart to your neck. This close, he can see the mark despite your hair covering your skin. He brushes the strands back, just like he did that first time he saw you, but slower this time. His thumb brushes over the mark, and you gasp at the feeling. It sends a shiver down your spine, your nerves tingling. You flush and bite your lip when you realise the sound that escaped you is loud enough for him to hear.
Embarrassment claws at you. But he doesn’t do anything, only lets his eyes pass over the mark and up to meet your stare. His gaze has darkened, more smoldering now, more charged. A long moment passes as you watch each other. The air thickens until he opens his mouth, breaking it.
“Get some rest. Dayoung will bring dinner up soon.”
His words are a mere whisper, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the air around you. You nod. His hand pulls away. Your fingers curl into fists at how empty and cold it feels. He shuffles out of the door, closing it gently behind him.
You stare at it for a long time, unmoving.
………………………………
“I don’t know if any of this is going to help you.” You shake out a brown wool scarf, holding it between your fingertips carefully. It’s so soft. Somewhere behind you, Jihoon hums, face shadowed by deep thought.
“I do know all this.” He says. “These specific shipments and timings aren’t exactly confidential information.”
You turn to give him an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head, his face clearing a little. “No, this is good. He’s taking meetings with you present this early, which means he isn’t hesitant about discussing business around you. He trusts you, for some reason. Probably because you’re his mate. We can use this.”
Something gnaws at you as you listen to him. ‘He trusts you’. Does he? Is Jihoon right? You stare down at the scarf again, the material slightly scrunched under your fingers. If it’s true, if Seungcheol does trust you, then why? He must know that you aren’t loyal to him, even if you are his mate now. He took you by force. You don’t actually belong to him, mating doesn’t work like that. Omegas submit only to the alpha that their hearts truly desire. You don’t desire him. You don’t even know him. So how on earth can he trust you?
Maybe this is why Jihoon was able to bring the Choi empire to its knees. Maybe his brothers were trusting with everyone too, including an outsider like Jihoon. Maybe that was their downfall.
You blink, shocked by your own thoughts, by the sudden venom behind them. You’re standing in this luxury store, free to buy whatever you want, because of that man. And you’re using his questionable trust in you to feed the very mouth that will rip the heart from his chest.
You place the scarf back on the shelf you picked it from. You can’t buy it. It’s dirty with the stain of your sin.
It becomes too many bags to carry at some point. Despite not really being who he is pretending to show himself as, Jihoon has a grand time buying you whatever your eyes even slightly linger on. Your protests don’t mean much, since he says he’s under strict orders from his fake boss that you should get whatever you want, no matter how much. You feel guilty spending Seungcheol’s dime, but Jihoon tells you not to. It’s illegal money, so you might as well enjoy it, his exact words. If anyone deserves to, it’s you.
Seungcheol sent that tall, intimidating alpha with you, who you now know is called Mingyu. He heads the family’s security detail, and since you’re pretty much the only family, he’s exclusively responsible for looking after you. He doesn’t come into the stores with you, opting to stand outside, but he’s useful because he can carry a hefty amount of bags in his arms. When he speaks for the first time, his voice is higher and more bubbly than you imagined. It’s almost cute.
When you come back home, he carries everything to your room and dumps it on your bed. You organise all of it in the wardrobe except an oversized pashmina sweater, which you put on yourself because the material is too soft and inviting not to. Chan is nosing around the house as usual, and he pokes his head in as you’re going through all the stuff, so he joins you. He talks your head off, just like that day you were in the kitchen with him, and you just listen. It’s nice, because he fills the silent air a little bit, almost like a radio.
Seungcheol comes to see you after sundown, just as you’re cleaning up the last of the bags.
“I think we spent too much. I’m sorry.” You say, genuinely feeling a bit bad. But he simply shakes his head as he walks closer to where you stand in front of the dresser. He thumbs at the sleeve of your sweater, and the corner of his mouth ticks up a little.
“Pretty.” He comments, and you try to will away the heat that invades your cheeks. He’s not wearing a sweater, still in a thin dress shirt, despite the winter fast approaching. You wonder if he’s cold.
“Did you have dinner yet?” He asks. You shake your head.
“We had a late lunch at a restaurant, so I’m not too hungry.” You reply. The space between his thick eyebrows creases a little. He nods.
“I’m about to eat. Sit with me.” He phrases it as a statement, but there’s question in his tone. You nod.
“Okay.”
The dining table downstairs is set up for two place settings instead of one when you follow him there. When you sit to eat, Seungcheol puts food on your plate first. You try to protest.
“Just have a little. Not a full meal.” He says, now focused on filling in own plate. You sigh and reluctantly nibble on the meat, just to appease him.
Why do you want to appease him?
“Um,” you finally speak when the silence becomes too heavy, “H-how was your day?”
It feels very weird to ask this, and you wince a little at how it sounds, even to your ear. But Seungcheol’s face softens with amusement as he looks up at you.
“It was fine. Same old.” He replies. “But you’re the one who had an eventful day. Tell me about it.”
You shrug. “It was fun. I’ve never been shopping before.”
He hums. “Right. Jeonghan told me the omegas in your family don’t do that.”
You nod. “We aren’t allowed to leave the house. Too much danger.”
That makes him huff a little, almost sounding like a scoff. “There’s never enough danger to imprison someone like that. If you’re not powerful or influential enough to take care of your omegas then you don’t deserve omegas.”
You feel a shiver run down your spine at the confidence in the deep timbre of his voice as he speaks those words. His eyes are focused on his meal, so he doesn’t see the surprise on your face, thankfully.
“Soonyoung tried his best.” You mumble. Seungcheol sighs.
“I’m sure he did. But things are different here. You go wherever you want. Keeping you safe is my worry, not yours.”
God, you wish he didn’t talk like that. Like he cares for you and wants to protect you. It makes your omega whine inside, makes your heart sing, makes something knot deep in the pit of your stomach. You know you’re staring, but you can’t help it. There’s something very grounding about him. Sturdy. Reliable. You breathe in the notes of oak in his scent. It’s so apt. A strong, mighty tree, resilient and stable. Like him.
“Do you get lonely in the house?” He asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Chan says you spend most of your time in the library. You like to read?”
You nod, feeling a little excitement brew in you. “I love to read. I had a library at home too. Not as big as this, but it was comfy. You have a very nice collection here. Are they all yours?”
He shakes his head. “My mother’s. She loved reading too. She could spend hours if not days with a book. Used to drive my father crazy.” He chuckles. “‘Always with those damn books’, he would say. But I know he loved that she was so passionate about them. That library is basically her entire life in one room.”
You are a little caught off guard by the revelation. Your heart squeezes. “I’m sorry, I shifted some stuff around. I shouldn’t have-”
He’s already shaking his head, looking up at you. “Please don’t be. Those books would collect dust if it wasn’t for you. You’re keeping her alive, in a sense.”
He places some stir fried vegetables on your plate. You pick one up and nibble at it thoughtfully.
“Can I ask what happened to her?”
Seungcheol chews slower now, as if thinking of the words. “Primary MS. Took her legs first. She was on a wheelchair for a few years. Progressed upwards, her bladder, bowel, lungs, until she couldn’t breathe.”
You look down at your plate, unable to bear looking at him. “I’m sorry.”
Seungcheol shrugs. “She was happy until the very end. Never heard her speak without a laugh, even when her voice got frail.”
Seungcheol pauses, the chopsticks hovering over his plate. He stares into the distance. “My father did too, because he didn’t want her to think he couldn’t live without her. But I never saw him smile a single day after she was gone.”
You blink rapidly when your eyes mist over. The air is somber, and you can practically feel the grief in it. You don’t want to ask about Seungcheol’s brothers. You know they were all killed. He’s the only one left.
You wonder how alone he feels.
“My mother was sick too.” You offer. “It wasn’t chronic. It took her within a couple of weeks. Some lung thing. I don't really know. The doctors told us about it, but it’s hard to listen to anything after they tell you that your mother is going to die.”
Seungcheol nods slowly. “I understand.”
Maybe he does. Besides Soonyoung, you think he might be the first person to really get it. You wonder what’s worse, watching someone you love slowly wither away, trying to come to terms with their inevitable death, or losing someone you love so quickly that you can’t even process it.
You both know pain, just different variations of it.
An exasperated chuckle leaves Seungcheol’s mouth, as if he can’t believe how depressing everything got all of a sudden. He shifts a little, as if to break away from the air that has settled over you like a thick blanket. You give him a tiny smile, and he returns it, eyes soft. He places more meat on your plate. You huff.
“You said I wouldn’t have to eat.”
“You’re keeping me company.” He retorts. “I’d feel awkward if I was the only one eating. Just take little bites.”
You shake your head but give in anyway, doing as he asks. He eats seconds, then thirds, and you watch with interest as he puts it all away like it’s nothing. You can see why he’s so physically massive. He must need a lot of calories just to maintain what he looks like. He reminds you almost of a giant puppy in this moment.
When he’s finally done, he leans back and takes a long gulp of water. He eyes you when you stand up.
“You should walk around a little.” You suggest. “You ate a lot.”
He pouts a little, as if he deeply resents the idea of walking right now. He looks, dare you say, cute like this. You can’t believe that just a few weeks ago, you were deathly afraid of him.
“Come on. The gardens are so nice at night. Let’s walk around a little.”
He gives in pretty quickly, standing up. “Fine. I do feel a little bloated.”
You strangle a snort, wondering how he can say that when all you see under his tight shirt is a set of hard abs. But you remain silent as you both head out of the back door and off the deck to the rolling plains of grass behind the house.
The night is peaceful, if a little cold. You’re glad for your sweater, and you still wonder how he’s wearing nothing but a shirt and he doesn’t look bothered at all. He keeps a respectable distance between you two, his hands in his pockets. Your mind relaxes the more you walk aimlessly, drifting. Crickets chirp, the grass crunches under your shoes. Already, you can see the dew forming on the blades.
“What are you thinking about?” Seungcheol asks after a bout of silence.
You blink, looking up from the ground. He already has his eyes on you. His gaze still feels heavy, despite the fact that it’s on you more often now. You are not used to him.
“Just how drastically my life has changed so quickly.” You are honest with him. “I never would’ve imagined all this a few weeks ago.”
Seungcheol sighs, looking at his feet as he walks. “I don’t think I can ever take away this beginning, or make it any less painful.”
You don’t reply.
“And I don’t think I can make any excuse in the world to justify what I did.” His voice is soft, so delicate that it feels like it’s walking on a thin line. “If I could change it, I would. If I could leave you alone for the rest of your life, not bothered by me or anyone else, I would.”
Your walking has slowed. The air fogs as it leaves his mouth when he speaks.
“But I think,” his eyes bore into yours, “I think I can’t leave you alone. Or maybe I don’t want to. I want to see you every day if I can. If you’ll let me.”
You’ve stopped walking, standing stationary on the grass. There’s distance between you, but you suspect that there really isn’t. That feeling of something crawling under your skin, it’s less shaky now, more solid, steady.
It’s him. You feel him.
You stay outside until your hands are numb. Even the weight of your expensive sweater can’t keep the cold out, but warmth seeps in your bones, larger than life, all encompassing, a certainty.
summary: he tries to reach you to reveal the truth about that night, but you've already started moving on with someone steady
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader x kim mingyu
genre: heavy angst, hurt/comfort, fluff
word count: 15,781 words
a/n: the long awaited finale chapter is here!! I hope the ending is satisfactory, I enjoyed reading all the theories and comments about this fic so much and I'll miss it!!
Part 1
Part 2
~°~
Chan leaned back in his chair, chest rising and falling unevenly, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. The room was painfully quiet, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioner. Even the managers stood back, sensing the fracture running through him.
He should feel relieved right?
Relieved because that wasn’t his child and that he would never wake up one day raising a life born from the night he lost you.
But all he felt in that moment was anger at Gemma’s carelessness and the way she had used his lowest moment to chain him to a lie.
“I… I can’t believe she,” Chan whispered, voice hoarse. “All this time. What the hell…”
Chan shot up from his chair so fast it scraped loudly against the floor.
“You ruined my life!” he shouted, charging forward before anyone could stop him. “How fucking dare you—”
Gemma froze. Her face drained of color as she instinctively leaned back on her chair, her eyes went wide and breath hitched. She hadn’t expected this version of him, it was so unlike the usual composed idol that she was used to seeing.
“You used me,” he continued, voice rising now. “You watched everything fall apart and still kept lying. You let me drown in guilt for months.”
Someone reached for his arm. “Chan—”
He shrugged them off, pointing at her, eyes burning. “You’re going to pay for this. You hear me?”
Gemma swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. She looked genuinely afraid now, not of consequences, but of him. Of how close he looked to losing control.
“I—I didn’t mean—” she stammered.
Chan laughed once, sharp and broken. “Get away from me.”
He turned and stormed out before anyone could stop him, the door slamming so hard it echoed down the hall.
He quickly stumbled towards the bathroom at the end of the hallway of the meeting room’s floor and slammed the door shut, locking it, palms braced against the sink as his reflection stared back at him—eyes wild, face pale, chest rising too fast.
He tried to breathe normally, but his breaths came jagged anyway, one piling on top of the other until his vision blurred and his fingers began to shake. His heart hammered like it was trying to escape his ribcage, panic clawing up his throat.
No, no, no. He cannot have a panic attack now.
He splashed cold water onto his face, but it didn’t help. His vision blurred anyway, spots dancing in front of his eyes. His heart was racing so fast it scared him.
This was too much.
He bent forward, gripping the porcelain, forehead resting against the cool mirror as everything crashed into him at once—the lies, the months of guilt, the weight of what he had lost.
And instinctively, painfully, his mind reached for you.
Even when he was miles away, somehow you felt it when he was on the verge of a panic attack. Somehow when he was spiraling or if he was close to breaking, your name would light up his phone. He used to joke that you shared one soul split into two bodies. That you were wired into him in a way no one else ever could be.
You would’ve known. You always did.
If you were nearby, you’d rush to him without a word, wrapping your arms around his shaking frame, pressing soft kisses to his temple, your hands steady against his back as his breathing slowed to match yours.
“I’ve got you, baby,” you’d whisper every time. “Just breathe with me.”
His chest tightened painfully. He sucked in a sharp breath as the realization hit him that you won’t be here. And you weren’t going to call and you weren’t going to come running down a hallway or knock on a bathroom door anymore, because he had lost the right to be held by you.
That reality shattered what little control he had left.
He slid down the wall beside the sink until he was sitting on the cold tile floor, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around himself like he could somehow replace your warmth. His breathing came in broken sobs now, chest heaving, body shaking uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he whispered into the empty bathroom, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
But apologies didn’t reach you anymore and there was a very real, terrifying chance they never would.
His head fell forward as tears finally spilled, hot and relentless. He cried for the love he destroyed. For the future that vanished overnight. For the person he had been when you were still there to steady him.
But could he blame you for leaving? No. He deserved this.
When Chan stepped out of the bathroom, his face was still pale, eyes rimmed red, jaw set tight like it was the only thing holding him together.
Gemma was standing there waiting. He stopped short, every muscle in his body stiffening.
“You have some nerve,” he muttered coldly, voice stripped of emotion, “showing your face in front of me.”
She flinched.
“Chan,” she said quickly, hands clasped together, knuckles white. “That night… nothing happened between us.”
The words hit him like a slap. He froze.
“What?” he asked, disbelief sharp in his tone.
She swallowed, eyes darting to the side before meeting his again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to say this before. You have to understand—I had no choice but to drag you into this mess.”
His chest tightened painfully. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped. “What do you mean you dragged me?”
Her voice trembled. “Please. Let me explain. Just… let’s sit down.”
For a moment, he looked like he might explode. His fists clenched at his sides, breath uneven, mind spinning too fast to keep up.
Finally, he nodded stiffly. “Fine.”
He led her toward his studio. The floor was eerily quiet— it was an off day for his band so there were no staff, nor music echoing through the halls, just empty rooms..
Before opening the door, Chan stopped.
“Wait,” he said sharply. “I’m calling someone.”
He stepped aside and pulled out his phone, hands shaking as he dialed. He couldn’t do this alone. He wouldn’t.
Minho answered on the second ring.
“Hyung?” Minho said immediately, already sensing something was wrong.
“Are you at the office building?”
“Yeah, I’m at the dance practice room, why?”
“Come down at the studio. Now,” Chan said.
Minutes later, Minho walked in, eyes scanning Chan’s face. He was standing at the hallway outside his studio room, as he saw Minho approaching he nodded towards the studio room and opened the door, Minho took in the empty room before flicking Gemma sitting stiffly on the couch, fingers fidgeting in her lap.
“What’s going on?” Minho asked quietly.
Chan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “She just told me… that nothing happened between us that night.”
Minho’s brows furrowed. “What?”
They both turned toward Gemma. She shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, shoulders hunched inward like she was bracing for impact.
“Chan,” she began, voice shaky, “I’m not some monster. I’m just… a person struggling with money right now.”
The room went silent. Minho’s jaw tightened instantly. Chan felt something cold settle in his chest.
“What does that have to do with ruining my life?” Chan asked, voice dangerously calm.
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I was desperate. I needed security. I needed someone powerful enough to protect me. And when that opportunity came, I—”
“You used him,” Minho cut in sharply, stepping forward. “Say it properly.”
Gemma flinched.
“I didn’t think it would go this far,” she whispered. “I didn’t think he’d lose her.”
Chan felt dizzy.
Images flooded his mind—your tears, the engagement ring hitting the floor, the way you walked out without looking back.
“You watched me destroy the woman I love,” he said quietly. “And you said nothing.”
“I was scared,” she cried. “I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to abort the child—I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I just… I thought if I tied you to this, I’d be safe.”
Minho laughed once, humorless. “You didn’t tie him to anything. You trapped him.”
Chan closed his eyes, pain searing through him.
Chan’s voice came out hoarse.
“You said… nothing happened between us that night?”
Gemma nodded slowly, eyes glossy. “You were drunk. Barely standing. I helped you to your hotel room.”
Chan’s hands curled into fists.
“I had spoken to the father of this baby just hours before that,” she continued. “He made it very clear he wanted me gone. He didn’t want me. He didn’t want the child. Nothing.”
Chan tilted his head slightly, trying to process. His chest felt tight.
Minho crossed his arms. “Go on.”
Gemma swallowed.
“From the lobby to the lift… all you talked about was her. Her laugh. How much you missed her. How you couldn’t wait to go home to her.” Her voice cracked. “When we entered the room, you stopped me. You said her name. You said you loved her.”
Chan squeezed his eyes shut.
“I was already emotional,” she went on. “Everything in my life felt uncertain. And seeing how deeply you loved her…” She laughed bitterly. “I got jealous. I thought—even I deserve to be loved like that.”
Minho’s jaw tightened.
“You asked me if I needed a place to stay,” Gemma said quietly. “I knew you meant it kindly. It was late. I was exhausted. The bed looked better than my apartment. So I stayed.”
Chan felt sick.
“The next morning,” she continued, “you woke up angry. You told me to leave. You insulted me. You treated me like I was nothing.” Her eyes filled with tears. “And I realized… you thought we slept together.”
Chan’s breathing turned shallow.
“I was humiliated,” she said. “My ego was bruised. So I thought—fine. Let him think whatever he wants.”
She wiped her cheeks roughly.
“Later, I told my roommate everything. She said the baby’s father wouldn’t help anyway… and that you were too kind. Too responsible.” Her voice trembled. “She suggested I say it was yours.”
The room felt like it was spinning.
“I thought you’d handle it quietly,” Gemma rushed. “Pay for everything. Protect me. And after the baby was born, I’d tell you the truth. I know you, Chan. You would’ve understood. You would’ve helped me raise the child.”
Chan’s legs gave out.
He dropped to his knees.
“You…” his voice broke completely. “You let me believe we slept together.”
His hands pressed against the floor as if grounding himself. “You watched me destroy my life. You watched her walk away.”
Gemma sobbed. “I’m telling you now because I know what’s coming. I know you’ll put a restraining order on me. I know I’ll never be able to contact you again.” She looked desperate. “Please… help me.”
“You have some audacity,” Minho snapped, stepping forward. “You manipulated a drunk man. You lied about a pregnancy. You ruined a relationship and still have the nerve to beg?”
“I was scared!” Gemma shouted back. “I was alone!”
“You were cruel,” Minho shot back. “There’s a difference.”
Chan stayed on the floor, staring blankly ahead, heart pounding painfully. His chest felt tight, like every breath scraped against his ribs. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes dark and hollow as they locked onto her.
“Then tell me something,” he said quietly.
The room went still.
“Why,” Chan continued, voice shaking despite his effort to steady it, “were you so shocked when my manager started reading the DNA report?”
Gemma froze.
“I—” she swallowed hard. “I didn’t know you were running a DNA test.”
Chan let out a short, bitter laugh that held no humor at all. “What?”
“I thought,” she rushed on, panic seeping into her words, “I thought your team was just running basic tests. For the baby’s health. That’s what managers do, right? I didn’t think— I didn’t think they’d actually test paternity.”
Minho scoffed under his breath.
“It caught me off guard,” Gemma admitted, eyes darting around the room. “If I’d known, I would’ve told you. I would’ve talked to you first.”
Chan’s jaw clenched. “Then why did you say “maybe it was the other guy”?”
Her shoulders sagged.
“Because I—” she faltered, voice dropping to a whisper. “Because I was scared. If I said the truth… your team wouldn’t have spared me. I panicked.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
“If your team had known,” Gemma whispered, “I’d be in police custody by now.”
Minho let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah?” he said coldly. “Well guess what. I’m exposing your ass.”
Gemma’s head snapped toward Chan in panic. She crawled a step closer, desperation written all over her face. “Chan, please—please stop him. You’re a good person. You’re kind. You wouldn’t do this to me. I was afraid so I lied.”
Chan stared at her, cold and devastating clarity settling in his expression.
“So you let me destroy my life,” he said softly. “You let me lose the woman I loved… because you were afraid.”
Gemma didn’t answer. Well, she couldn’t.
Minho crossed his arms, disgust clear on his face. “Get her out of here.”
Chan didn’t move. Didn’t speak again. He just stared there on the floor, the weight of everything crushing down on him—knowing that even with the truth exposed, even with her lies unraveled, the damage had already been done.
Chan lifted his head slowly, eyes red but no longer unfocused.
“If you had told me the truth,” he said, voice eerily steady, “I would’ve helped you financially anyway.”
Gemma sobbed looking down.
“You didn’t have to lie,” he continued. “You didn’t have to drag my name through the dirt. You didn’t have to let the woman I love walk out of my life believing I betrayed her.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“And when you saw her break up with me,” he added quietly, “you still didn’t say anything.”
Gemma’s lips trembled. “I… I felt greedy,” she admitted in a small voice. “I wanted you to myself. I thought maybe—maybe we could be a family.”
The words hung in the air like poison. Chan turned his head slowly toward Minho.
“Tell her to stop speaking,” he said, tone low and lethal.
Minho stiffened.
“Because if she says one more word,” Chan continued, “I will ruin her. Legally. Publicly. Completely.”
Gemma went pale.
“I’m not threatening you,” Chan added flatly. “I’m informing you.”
Minho stepped forward immediately, positioning himself between them. “You’re done,” he told Gemma sharply. “You’ve said enough.”
Gemma’s hands shook as she nodded, tears spilling freely now. She looked at Chan like she was finally understanding the gravity of what she had done.
“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” she whispered.
Chan let out a hollow laugh. Gemma’s shoulders shook as she broke down completely.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Please… please help me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m scared. I don’t know how to do this alone.”
Chan stayed still for a long moment, staring at the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was way too calm.
“We’ll get you a lawyer,” he said quietly. “A real one. The father of the child will be located, and he will take responsibility. He’ll pay for what the child needs.”
Gemma looked up, stunned.
“And until that’s sorted,” Chan continued, not meeting her eyes, “I’ll tell my manager to arrange some money. Enough so you’re not desperate. But after today, all communication goes through legal channels. Nothing else. You will not contact me again. Not directly. Not indirectly. Never.”
Minho turned sharply to look at him. For a second, he couldn’t hide the disbelief on his face.
How can hyung still be kind?After everything she’s done?
Gemma clasped her hands together, tears streaming freely. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much. Please… forgive me.”
Chan sniffled looking away.
She pressed a hand to her stomach unconsciously. “You don’t understand what it feels like. When you realize there’s a life inside you… it changes everything. You start thinking about warmth, safety. About how a child needs stability. A mother will do anything—anything—to protect that.”
Her voice trembled. “I was wrong. I was selfish. But I was terrified.”
Chan flinched at the word mother.
She stood slowly, bowing her head deeply. “I’m sorry for everything.”
Then she left and the door closed softly behind her.
Minho turned back to Chan immediately. “Hyung…”
That was all it took as Chan’s composure shattered.
His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, hands covering his face as a fractured sound slipped from his chest. All the restraint, all the forced calm collapsed at once.
“I lost everything,” he sobbed. “She ruined my life.”
Minho crossed the room in two steps and pulled him into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around him protectively. For the first time since Chan had talked about that night, Minho didn’t hold back.
“It’s not your fault,” Minho said fiercely, voice breaking. “You hear me? This wasn’t your fault.”
Chan cried into his shoulder, body shaking violently, grief pouring out of him in waves. He cried for the love he lost. For the future that vanished. For the way one lie had rewritten his entire life.
Minho held him just as tightly, tears slipping down his own face as he cried for his brother.
The studio stayed silent around them, bearing witness to two men breaking in different ways.
*********************
You stared at your phone for a long time before doing anything.
Changbin had given you Mingyu’s number almost a month ago. It sat there in your contacts like a quiet question you kept avoiding. You’d told yourself you weren’t ready. That dating another idol sounded exhausting, complicated and… risky.
Did you really want to go through that again?
But tonight felt heavier than usual. The ache of loneliness sat deep in your chest, dull and persistent, and for once, you didn’t want to sit with it alone.
It can be casual, you reasoned.
Just a distraction. Nothing serious. Just… something.
So, before you could overthink it, you typed a simple message.
You
Hi, this is Y/N.
Changbin gave me your number, hope that’s okay
You stared at the screen, heart racing, half-expecting regret to crash into you immediately.
Instead, his reply came almost instantly.
Kim Mingyu
Hey! I’m glad you texted.
I was wondering if you would.
That alone made you smile.
One message turned into two. Two turned into paragraphs. Somehow, two hours disappeared without you noticing. You talked about everything and nothing—music, late-night food cravings, stupid inside jokes Changbin apparently shared with both of you. Mingyu was easy and genuinely funny without trying too hard.
By the end of it, you realized your cheeks hurt from smiling. You set your phone down, staring at the ceiling, a soft laugh slipping out of you before you could stop it.
Damn, you thought. Changbin really knew what he was doing.
The next two weeks passed in a blur of late-night texting and quiet flirting. Voice notes sent when one of you couldn’t sleep. Good morning texts that felt oddly comforting. Little moments of laughter that made the days feel lighter. Mingyu felt… safe. Not in a boring way—but in a way that didn’t demand anything from you.
And then one afternoon, your phone buzzed.
Kim Mingyu
Do you want to get coffee with me sometime?
You
I’d like that!
You replied happily, heart fluttering in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.
Maybe this wouldn’t last and it would just be a chapter, you know that gentle reminder that you were still capable of feeling joy.
And for now… that was enough.
You set your phone down, pressing a hand to your chest as you exhaled slowly. A flicker of guilt settled in, not because you wanted him back, but because Chan had been your first love after all. Letting go of someone who once meant everything was never clean or painless.
But that chapter was over.
He was moving on. There was a child involved now. And even if your heart still ached sometimes, you knew the kindest thing you could do for yourself was to take small, careful steps forward.
One breath at a time.
To distract yourself, you reached for your phone again and opened Instagram, and almost instinctively typed Mingyu’s name into the search bar, just like you had been for the past two weeks. His page loaded, and you couldn’t help but blush.
God, he was unfairly attractive.
Bright smile. Broad shoulders. Effortless warmth even through a screen.
You were so excited to meet him.
*********************
Two months into the breakup, Chan finally accepted that staying in the apartment you had once shared was destroying him, it felt like living inside a memory he couldn’t escape. Every corner carried echoes of you—your laughter, your routines, the way you used to hum while doing nothing at all. It was unbearable.
So he packed a bag and moved back into his old dorm, telling himself it was temporary, and that he just needed space.
Now, here he was lying awake long after the lights in the dorm had gone dark, one arm thrown over his eyes like it might quiet the thoughts crashing through his head — replaying everything that had happened that day, over and over again.
He hadn’t slept with anyone else. The truth still echoed in his chest, heavy and sharp all at once. Relief washed over him in waves so strong it almost hurt. Even drunk, even spiraling, even at his lowest—his body hadn’t betrayed what his heart already knew. There had only ever been you. There would only ever be you.
From the very first date, five years ago, he’d known.
You’d laughed at his stupid joke, eyes crinkling, head tipped back just slightly and something inside him had settled, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. He remembered thinking, Oh. It’s her. It’s always going to be her.
That certainty had never left. Not even once.
Now that the truth was out, the urge to run to you—to explain, to beg, to hold you and never let go—was almost unbearable. His fingers twitched with the instinct to reach for his phone.
But then reality pressed in, he had a two-month tour in Europe. The flight was tomorrow morning. And you… you deserved more than a rushed call between schedules and rehearsals. You deserved eye contact. Honesty spoken face-to-face. You deserved him standing in front of you, not hiding behind a screen.
So he decided to wait.
He would finish the tour. He would come back. That, he told himself, was the only respectful way. When he returned—then, and only then—he would speak to you properly. This was his last chance, and he couldn’t afford to ruin it. He would move carefully, calmly, even as every part of him ached to run to you now.
God, he just hoped he wouldn’t be too late.
You, on the other hand, went on your first date with Mingyu carrying nothing but light expectations.
You’d told yourself it was just coffee. Just conversation. Just a way to step outside the ache for an hour or two. But somehow… it had turned into laughter that came too easily. Stories that flowed without effort. Silence that didn’t feel awkward, just comfortable.
You had gone home with butterflies in your stomach and a constant smile plastered on your face. Which felt like a miracle.
By the time the second date came around, you were still cautious, but excited nonetheless. Mingyu had texted you to dress casual and be ready by a certain time.
Exactly on the dot, his car pulled up in front of your house. You stepped outside, heart lifting before you could stop it.
Punctual, you noted with a small smile.
And then your mind drifted unwillingly to a certain someone... Chan had always been like that too. Early to everything. Flights, dinners, trips. You used to joke that he ran on a different internal clock than the rest of the world. On vacations, you’d turned your brain off completely bringing just vibes because Chan handled everything. Hotels, budgets, reservations. You’d trusted him so deeply it had felt effortless.
The memory tightened your chest.
You let out a quiet sigh before Mingyu could notice, hating how much you still missed him and also hating that even happiness came with shadows.
“Hey,” Mingyu said warmly as he stepped out of the car.
Your thoughts scattered instantly.
He looked… really handsome. Dressed casually just like he’d said, but effortlessly put together. His cologne hit you gently in a warm and comforting way.
Your smile came easier than you expected.
“Hi.”
The drive was calm, music low, conversation flowed easily. You kept asking him where he was taking you but he was adamant to keep it a secret.
But when he parked, that’s when you realized that the building in front of you wasn’t a café.
It was an aquarium.
Your eyes widened as you turned to him. “Mingyu…?”
He grinned, suddenly a little shy. “Surprise?”
Inside, the place was empty. Like completely empty.
Soft blue light shimmered against the walls, water casting gentle reflections everywhere. Fish glided past massive glass panels, the entire space humming with quiet magic.
You stopped walking.
“You… booked the entire aquarium?” you asked softly, disbelief lacing your voice.
Mingyu scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay. I just thought it’d be nicer without crowds.”
Your chest twisted with guilt.
“That must’ve cost a lot,” you said quickly. “Mingyu, you didn’t have to—”
He turned to face you fully, expression serious but kind. “Hey. I wanted to.”
“Still…” you whispered.
“Let’s sit for a second.” Mingyu suggested seeing your guilty expression.
You sat on a nearby bench, the glow of the tanks washing over you.
You took a breath. “I should be honest with you. I’m… not in a place for anything serious right now. I like spending time with you, but I don’t want to lead you on—especially after you did all this.”
He listened without interrupting and with no defensiveness. Then he smiled softly.
“No pressure at all,” he said. “Changbin told me everything. About where you’re at. And honestly? I’m just glad you’re here with me.”
You blinked. “You are?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged lightly. “Ever since Changbin showed me your picture, I kind of fell for your smile. It looked… real. Like someone who feels deeply.”
Heat crept up your cheeks. “That’s embarrassing,” you muttered, laughing under your breath.
He laughed too, eyes warm. “I mean it. I’m not asking you for forever. I’m just asking for now.”
Something in your chest eased. It always seemed to be in Mingyu’s presence. You were at awe at how he did it so effortlessly.
As you stood and walked beside him, fish swimming lazily around you, you felt the faintest shift. Not quite love, but still something that felt a lot like adoration.
Somehow, without you realizing it, time passed.
Mingyu’s schedule had lightened, and instead of letting the distance grow, he made space for you in the quiet pockets of his days. Between rehearsals and photoshoots, he showed up—sometimes he'd give you a quick call, sometimes just to walk with you for a while. He would text you constantly, sharing updates about his day and asking about yours. He told you many times that spending time with you was his favorite thing in the world.
And with time, without either of you naming it, the dates kept happening.
So by the fifth date, you stopped pretending it was just a distraction.
Not because you were suddenly healed. Not because the past no longer lingered in the quiet spaces of your mind. Some nights still hurt. Some memories still pressed too close. But something about Mingyu made it impossible to lie to yourself anymore, because he had never tried to replace anything. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t pry. Didn’t ask for more than you were ready to give.
He just showed up.
The fifth date was simple, almost intentionally so. No grand gestures this time. Just a late evening walk, warm cups of coffee in your hands, the city humming softly around you. Streetlights reflected off wet pavement, and the air felt calm, like the world had decided to slow down for once.
You talked about small things. Childhood memories, the office gossip and everything like the kind of conversations that don’t try to impress, it was only done to connect.
At some point, you stopped walking.
Mingyu turned to you, eyebrows lifting slightly in silent question. “Everything okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah. I just… wanted to stand for a second.”
He smiled and leaned against the railing beside you, giving you space without stepping away. That was his thing—you were starting to notice. He never crowded you. Never assumed.
The silence stretched, comfortable but charged.
You became suddenly aware of how close he was. The warmth of his shoulder. The way his fingers curled loosely around his cup. The sound of his breathing, steady and calm.
Your heart started to beat louder.
He looked at you then, in a loving and careful way.
“Can I ask you something?” he said softly.
You swallowed. “Sure.”
“Is it alright if I kiss you?”
The question caught you off guard.
Not because you didn’t want it, but because no one had asked you like that in a long time.
You met his eyes and nodded. “Yes.”
Mingyu moved slowly, giving you time right up until the last second to change your mind. When his lips finally met yours, the kiss was tender and almost reverent. Like he was afraid of breaking something fragile.
Your eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him back, softly at first, then with a little more certainty. It didn’t give you fireworks, but it was warm and grounding. And that felt incredible.
When you pulled apart, neither of you spoke. He rested his forehead gently against yours, close enough that you could feel his smile before you saw it.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“For what?” you asked, your voice barely steady.
“For the best kiss ever,” he said quietly, a teasing warmth slipping into his tone.
You let out a soft giggle before you could stop yourself, forehead bumping lightly against his. Mingyu smiled wider, like he’d just been rewarded with something precious.
“And there it is,” he murmured. “I was hoping I’d get to hear that.”
Your chest warmed, something gentle and real settling inside you as you leaned into him just a little more.
That night, when you finally returned home, the usual quiet didn’t feel so heavy.
You lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, fingers brushing softly over your lips as you couldn’t stop recalling that sweet kiss with Mingyu.
For the first time since your breakup, the thought of moving on didn’t scare you.
*********************
Chan couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling, no matter how he tried. The entire day felt… off. Uneasy and weirdly heavy. A tension that sat low in his chest, refusing to budge. He couldn’t pinpoint it—his routine was the same, his body functioning normally, the tour pressing on as usual. Yet every little noise, every glance at his phone, felt like a bell tolling in the back of his mind.
He mentioned it to the doctor during a quick check-up in the afternoon. “I feel fine physically,” he said, but my mind… it’s like something’s wrong.”
The doctor had given a soft, understanding smile. “Mr. Bang, sometimes your body holds what your mind can’t. Stress, exhaustion, poor sleep—they can make you feel exactly like this. Just take care of yourself, get proper rest, and don’t overthink it.”
He nodded, but the reassurance barely reached him. The truth was, it wasn’t his body—or even the tour—that was bothering him. It was something else. Something he couldn’t name.
He felt behind. As if time was running out and he should hurry.
Two more weeks. That’s all. Two more weeks of tour, and then he’d be back in Korea. He’d see you. He’d finally be able to talk to you properly—look you in the eyes, explain himself, tell you everything he hadn’t been able to say over calls or messages.
The thought should have been comforting.
But instead, it only made the ache in his chest sharper.
Because he didn’t just want to talk.
He wanted you to hear him. To believe him. To see that even after everything, you were still the only one he had ever loved, the only one he had ever truly wanted.
Chan clenched his fists, staring out at the city lights from his hotel window, letting the unease settle into a quiet determination. Two more weeks. He could endure two more weeks.
And then… he’d make things right. He would.
He had to.
Changbin stared at his phone, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as your message lit up the screen.
Seeing you happy with Mingyu, it just warmed something inside him. As one of your closest friends, he had always wanted the best for you. And now… he could see it. That soft, in-love glow he hadn’t seen in months. The way your words carried excitement, the way you laughed even through text—it made him feel lighter, even if just a little.
He leaned back in his chair, hands resting on the edge of the table. Changbin knew deep down that setting you up with Mingyu had been the right choice. You deserved someone patient, kind, someone who didn’t come with heartbreak in tow. But a part of him couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest. He missed you and Chan together. The two of you were literally soulmates. The kind of couple that made everyone around them feel the magic.
He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. What if… his mind wandered to that night, the night everything went wrong. What if I hadn’t let Chan hyung drink so much? What if I’d stayed with him that night? He shivered at the thought of how differently things could have turned out, the weight of “what ifs” pressing on him.
His eyes drifted to Chan’s corner of the practice room. Minho had been getting close to him again, laughing at little jokes, giving pointers during practice. Was Minho forgetting everything already? How can he be so chill with Chan? And Chan… was he really moving on, or was it just a mask? Changbin wanted to understand, to ask, to dive into the heart of it—but practice never gave him a moment. Exhaustion gnawed at him, the day’s energy fading like sand slipping through his fingers.
Tomorrow, maybe, he could talk to Minho. Tonight he just needed to rest.
He tapped a few heart emojis back to your message, a silent way of saying, I’m happy for you. Truly.
And then he set his phone aside, letting the quiet pull him into sleep, the soft glow of your happiness lingering in his mind as he finally closed his eyes.
Minho was the only one who knew the full truth. The only one who had seen Chan collapse to the floor when the lie finally unraveled. Every time he looked at Chan, he saw not just his leader, but a man drowning in regret.
But, no matter how much Minho cared about Chan, he couldn’t fully forgive him either. Because you were like a sister to Minho.
You had eaten at his house. Sat beside him during schedules. Laughing softly, scolding Chan when he forgot to take care of himself. You were family long before you were Chan’s fiancée. So, even if Chan hadn’t slept with Gemma, Minho couldn’t ignore the one thing that still cut deepest is the fact that Chan should’ve come clean to you immediately. Should’ve told the truth he believed back then instead of hiding it.
On the other hand, every time Minho looked at the other members, he saw anger that hadn’t cooled yet, wounds still too fresh to touch. The rest of the members didn’t know yet and that was the problem.
Chan wanted to tell them.
As their leader, he felt like he owed them the truth. He had always preached honesty, accountability, and responsibility. How could he stand in front of them and talk about trust when this lie was rotting in the middle of the group?
So many times, he almost said it.
Late nights in hotel hallways. Quiet dinners after shows. Moments when Changbin lingered, like he wanted to talk.
Chan would open his mouth, then close it again, because the truth came with shame anyway.
Because even if he hadn’t slept with Gemma, he still drank too much and put himself in a position where lies could grow.
Minho noticed the way Chan kept retreating into himself. One night, after rehearsals, Minho finally stopped him.
“I can tell them,” Minho said quietly. “At least some of it. They have to know.”
Chan shook his head immediately.
“No,” he said. “It has to come from me.”
Minho frowned. “Then when?”
“When the schedules ease up,” Chan replied. “I can gather everyone properly. I don’t want to drop this between flights and rehearsals like it’s another inconvenience. I’ll tell them everything. I promise.”
Minho studied him for a long moment with his jaw tight. Finally, he exhaled and nodded, reluctant but respectful. “Okay. But don’t wait forever.”
Chan didn’t answer.
Because protecting others, even at his own expense, was the only thing he knew how to do.
So the truth stayed between him and Minho.
But for the two months of tour, the group felt wrong.
They were together all the time, yet emotionally miles apart. Conversations were clipped. Practice was silent except for counting and instructions. Jokes died halfway through. The warmth that used to fill every room they entered was gone, replaced by something stiff and careful.
Chan noticed everything. He noticed how the younger members hesitated before approaching him, like they didn’t know which version of him they were allowed to touch anymore.
And every time, his chest tightened.
Because they thought he was a cheater and they thought he had betrayed you.
Minho would catch his eye sometimes — just a look, brief but grounding — silently reminding him: I know. You’re not crazy. You’re not lying.
So, Stray Kids continued the tour as professionals, flawless on stage, fractured underneath — while Chan carried the weight of a lie he never meant to live with, waiting for a moment when telling the truth wouldn’t feel like another kind of destruction.
Minho waited. At first, he told himself it wasn’t his place. That Chan would speak when he was ready. That time would dull the sharp edges of everything that had gone wrong.
But time didn’t heal anything.
Every day, Minho watched Chan sink further into himself as the self-loathing settled in like a second skin. Chan talked less. Ate because he had to, not because he wanted to. Apologized for things that weren’t his fault. Took blame too easily. Let the others brush past him like he wasn’t their leader anymore.
What hurt the most was watching the maknaes change. They didn’t mean to be cruel, but distance has a way of becoming sharp. Conversations stopped mid-sentence when Chan entered the room. Inside jokes continued without him. Decisions were made without asking his opinion. The unspoken message was clear: we’re still angry.
And Chan accepted it. That was the part Minho couldn’t stand.
He saw it in the way Chan’s shoulders hunched, in the way his eyes never quite met theirs anymore—as if he believed he deserved to be erased. As if punishing himself was the only atonement he was allowed.
Minho waited longer than he should have.
Until one afternoon, during a rare long break in schedules, when the backstage felt too quiet and the tension pressed heavy against the walls, something in him finally snapped.
Enough was enough.
Before he could second-guess himself, Minho grabbed Chan by the wrist firmly and pulled him back into the living room where the others were scattered. His voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding.
“We need to talk.”
The room went still as everyone looked at Minho. Chan looked startled, almost frightened, like he expected to be scolded instead of defended.
Minho didn’t look at him right away. He looked at the maknaes.
“You don’t get to keep pretending nothing’s wrong,” Minho said flatly. “And you don’t get to keep punishing him without knowing the whole truth.”
Only then did he turn to Chan, his expression softening just a fraction.
“It’s time,” Minho said quietly. “They need to hear it. And you don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
Chan swallowed hard.
“Sit. All of you.”
Something in Minho’s tone made them obey without question.
Changbin frowned. “What’s this about?”
Minho looked at Chan for a long moment before answering.
“The truth.”
Chan’s heart dropped.
Minho turned back to the others. “You all think Chan cheated.”
No one denied it.
“You all think he slept with that woman and destroyed everything with Y/N.”
Still silence, but the atmosphere was heavy now.
“That’s not what happened,” Minho said.
Chan shot up from his seat. “Minho—”
“Sit down,” Minho snapped, sharper than anyone had ever heard him.
Chan obeyed.
Minho exhaled slowly. “Gemma lied. She admitted it. There was no affair. No hookup. The pregnancy… the child isn’t his.”
The room erupted instantly.
“What?” Hyunjin shot up from his chair.
“You’re joking,” Jeongin said, his tone filled with disbelief.
“Then why didn’t he say anything?” Han snapped defensively.
“Hyung, what the hell?” Seungmin demanded, shooting Chan a sharp look.
“You’re serious?” Felix asked, his voice laced with shock.
Chan couldn’t breathe.
Minho raised his hand. “Let him speak.”
But Chan didn’t speak. Instead he moved slowly till he stood up. Then, in front of all of them, he dropped to his knees. The sound of it echoed through the room.
Every single member froze.
“I’m sorry,” Chan said, bowing deeply, forehead nearly touching the floor. “I’m sorry to all of you.”
Changbin stood up. “Hyung—don’t do this.”
“I deserve it,” Chan whispered. His voice was broken, raw. “Even if I didn’t cheat… I let her believe I did. I got completely wasted and I put myself in a position where lies could destroy the woman I loved.”
His hands trembled against the floor.
“I lost her because I was weak. And because I was ashamed. And because I thought protecting everyone meant destroying myself instead.”
His voice cracked completely.
“I failed you all as a leader.”
No one spoke. As Chan continued to cry harder.
“I failed her.”
Changbin’s eyes burned. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Chan lifted his head slightly, eyes red and hollow. “Because I couldn’t fix the only thing that mattered. And I didn’t want forgiveness I didn’t earn.”
Minho clenched his jaw, “Hyung.”
Chan bowed again. “I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
Silence stretched. Then Changbin walked forward and stopped in front of Chan.
“You know what hurts the most?” Changbin said, voice shaking. “Not that you didn’t cheat. But that she suffered anyway.”
Chan nodded, sobbing. “I know.”
Changbin swallowed hard then knelt too.
“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I’m angry. But I don’t hate you.”
One by one, they closed the distance. Someone let out a shaky breath, another broke down, and before anyone realized it, they were clinging to each other. Everything they’d been holding in for months finally spilled over.
“So you didn’t cheat?” Felix said, his voice full of relief.
“I didn’t cheat,” Chan whispered, “I found out weeks ago.”
The words settled slowly, heavily.
“Did you tell noona?” Jeongin asked quietly.
Chan shook his head. “No. I found out the day before our flight,” he said, voice low. “I thought she deserved better than a text or a call. I’ll tell her the day after tomorrow… when we finally get back home. Properly you know. Face to face.”
Changbin inhaled sharply.
“Hyung,” he said.
Chan looked up. “Yeah?”
Changbin hesitated. His jaw clenched, eyes flickering briefly toward Minho before returning to Chan. “I think… noona is seeing someone.”
Chan’s faint, fragile calm shattered instantly.
“What?” His smile faltered so fast it was almost painful to watch. “What do you mean—seeing someone?”
Changbin swallowed. “Not seriously. At least… not yet.”
Chan’s chest tightened. “Who?”
Changbin sighed. “Mingyu.”
Chan felt his heart stutter, then drop hard. The room blurred for a second, the air suddenly too thin to breathe properly.
“Mingyu… as in… your friend idol Kim Mingyu?” Chan asked, voice dangerously quiet.
Changbin nodded. “Yeah.”
Chan laughed once, breathless and hollow. “Of course it’s him.”
Jealousy surged sharp and uncontrollable, coiling in his chest like something feral.
“They’re… together?” Chan asked, already dreading the answer.
“No,” Changbin said quickly. “Noona’s not ready for that. They’ve just been going on a few dates. That’s all.”
Just dates. The words didn’t help.
Chan stood abruptly. “I need to talk to her.”
Minho’s head snapped up. “Hyung.”
“I’ll call her,” Chan said, already reaching for his phone. His hands were shaking. “I can explain now. I can fix this—”
“Hyung,” Seungmin cut in sharply, standing up too. “Is that a good idea?”
Chan froze.
Seungmin walked closer. “You just found out she’s trying to move on. If you call her right now… in this emotional, jealous and desperate state, you might hurt her more.”
Chan clenched his phone tightly. “But she deserves to know the truth.”
“Yes,” Seungmin said. “She does. But she also deserves peace.”
The words hit deeper than Chan expected.
“She’s healing,” Seungmin continued gently. “And if you rush this and text her like this, you’ll lose her for good.””
Han nodded in agreement. “He’s right. If you rush in now, it’ll look like you’re only speaking up because she’s moving on.”
Seungmin crossed his arms. “And that would hurt her even more.”
Chan’s shoulders sagged as the truth of it hit him.
He hated that they were right.
Hyunjin crouched down in front of him. “You waited too long already. If you want even the smallest chance… you have to do this right.”
Chan stared at his phone, thumb hovering uselessly over her name. Every instinct screamed to reach out—to explain, to beg, to undo everything.
But for once, he didn’t act on instinct.
Slowly, painfully, he locked the screen and let his hand drop.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll wait.”
Minho released his wrist, squeezing his shoulder instead. “Good.”
Chan bowed his head again, chest aching with jealousy, regret, and longing all twisted together. He poked his cheek with his tongue as he painfully thought about how someone else was sitting across from you, making you laugh. Someone else was learning your habits. Someone else was earning your time. And the thought hurt more than he could put into words.
“…Yeah,” Chan whispered finally. “You’re right.”
His voice broke on the last word.
“I don’t get to be selfish anymore,” he said quietly. “Not after everything.”
Changbin watched him carefully. “Hyung… are you okay?”
Chan opened his eyes.
“No,” he admitted. “But I will be.”
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I’ll wait. Until I can tell her everything. Properly. Without dragging her backward.”
Minho nodded once, approving. “That’s the right call.”
Chan looked down at his phone again—at your name still saved with his last name. He sighed, that proposal felt like a lifetime ago, everything was so good then.
“I just hope,” he said softly, “that when the time comes… I’m not already too late.”
No one answered because none of them knew, they all had a deep fear settled for their hyung.
*********************
The two days blurred together as the tour crawled toward its end, but for Chan, every second was a countdown.
He rehearsed the words endlessly—on post concerts, in hotel rooms, in the back of vans while the others slept. He practiced where he would pause, where he would breathe, how he would look at you so you’d know he wasn’t lying. He planned to tell you everything. About Gemma. About the lie. About how even at his blackout drunken state, he only thought about you because it had only ever been you.
And then he would beg. He’d beg like his life depends on it, because it actually does. He would ask you to come back. To give him one more chance to love you the way you deserved.
Then there was Mingyu. The thought of Mingyu made his chest tighten every time. He hated how jealous he felt. Hated that it gnawed at him even though he had no right. He didn’t know how far you had gone with him, didn’t know if you laughed the same way, if you smiled the same way, if you were already forgetting how Chan’s arms used to feel around you.
The unease never left.
When the plane finally landed, Chan’s hands were shaking as he took his phone out. He didn’t even wait to stand.
Future Mrs. Bahng 💋
I’m back. Can we meet?
I really need to talk to you. Please.
He stared at the screen waiting desperately for your reply.
Minutes passed, still nothing. He refreshed. Locked it. Unlocked it again. Still nothing.
By the time he reached baggage claim, his parents were already there. His mom pulled him into a tight hug, her familiar warmth grounding him for half a second. His dad clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling softly.
“You look thinner,” his dad said gently. “You eating properly?”
Chan nodded absently, eyes flicking back to his phone.
In the car ride home, his dad tried to fill the silence—talking about traffic, about his gardening, about small things Chan usually listened to. But Chan barely heard him. His leg bounced nonstop, fingers gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles went white.
His mom noticed. Of course she did.
“You okay, Chan-ah?” she asked carefully.
“Yeah,” Chan lied. “Just tired.”
His parents insisted he stay with them for a few days. He agreed easily—anything to keep himself distracted while he waited for your text. Anything to keep from unraveling alone.
That evening, while his mom finished setting the table, she called out, “Chan-ah, can you bring the china plates from the cupboard?”
“Yeah,” he replied, forcing himself to stand.
The cupboard door creaked as he reached up, fingers brushing the plates set he’d seen a hundred times before — plates you once admired, plates his mom had said she’d save for special family dinners. His chest tightened at the thought.
Ping.
A notification sound.
His mom’s phone lay on the counter behind him. He wasn’t trying to snoop. He really wasn’t. But the screen lit up, and his eyes caught it without permission.
Y/N 💬
His heart stuttered.
For half a second, something dangerously close to hope bloomed in his chest. Bittersweet, aching, painful but warm. You were still talking to his mom, texting regularly. You hadn’t disappeared completely. You were still… there.
His hands trembled.
He hated himself for it, but his body moved before his mind could stop it. He stepped closer. The plates forgotten. His gaze dropped to the screen. His hands trembled as he stepped closer, curiosity overpowering restraint. He shouldn’t have. He knew he shouldn’t have.
But he did, he picked up the phone, but his world collapsed seeing the photo you sent.
In the picture, you stood beside Kim Mingyu, his arm resting easily around your shoulder, your body relaxed, your smile real—wide and unguarded in a way Chan hadn’t seen in months. You looked… happy. Not pretending. Not forcing it. Just genuinely happy.
Below the picture was your message.
Y/N
Mama Bahng, he officially asked me to be his girlfriend today.
We’re officially dating.
ㅋㅋㅋ
The words blurred.
Chan’s grip slipped, and he had to grab the cupboard door to keep himself upright. Plates rattled softly as his knees nearly buckled beneath him. His chest constricted so tightly he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything except the crushing certainty settling deep in his bones.
Dating.
Official.
He had waited too long.
The realization hit him all at once, all those rehearsed words and all that hope gone to vain.
He was too late.
His vision darkened at the edges. His ears rang, a hollow roaring sound drowning out everything else. He could feel his pulse in his throat, his hands trembling uncontrollably.
His mom turned around then, saw him frozen there with her phone in his hand, his face drained of color.
“Chan-ah?” she asked softly.
He couldn’t answer. His mom’s eyes followed his frozen posture instinctively. She glanced at the phone in his hand, then at the screen and for a brief second, she smiled softly.
“Mom…” Chan’s voice cracked on the single syllable.
She looked back at him properly then and the smile vanished instantly.
His face was pale, lips trembling, eyes glossy with unshed tears that looked seconds away from spilling. He didn’t look jealous or angry.
He looked shattered.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, stepping closer. “Chan—baby—”
He handed her the phone without a word. She read the message again, slower this time. The picture. The words. The finality behind them.
“Oh, Chan-ah…” Her voice broke. “Oh, my baby.”
That was all it took. He broke down right there in the kitchen, shoulders shaking violently as sobs tore out of him, raw and uncontrollable. He dropped to his knees without realizing it, the same way he had in the practice room, the same way he had learned to do when guilt was too heavy to carry standing up.
His mom knelt with him immediately, pulling him into her arms, cradling his head against her chest like she used to when he was small.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, stroking his hair over and over. “Cry, baby. Let it out.”
He clutched her sweater like a lifeline.
“I was going to tell her,” he sobbed. “I swear I was. I just— I thought I had time.”
She held him tighter, her own eyes wet.
“Tell her, what? Baby?”
“How I let her go thinking I cheated.”
Her brows knit together in confusion. “What?”
“I didn’t,” he repeated, voice trembling but firm. “That woman—Gemma—she lied. About everything.”
His mom stiffened, slowly setting the phone down on the counter. “Chan… explain.”
And he did. The kitchen was dead silent when he finished. After a long moment, his breathing slowed just enough for words to form.
“You’ve been carrying this all alone…”
“I ruined everything,” he choked. “I lost her. Even though I didn’t cheat—I still lost her.”
She stroked his hair again and again, rocking him gently. “You were manipulated. You were scared. That woman committed fraud, Chan. What she did was evil.”
“But I still let her believe it,” he sobbed. “I still didn’t tell her the truth. I thought— I thought if I waited, if I fixed it first, she’d stay. I was scared she wouldn’t understand and leave me forever.”
His mom pulled back slightly, tears streaming down her own face as she cupped his cheeks.
“Oh, baby…” she whispered. “I wish you had told her that very morning.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“She loved you,” his mom continued softly. “She loved you deeply. If you had told her from day one—if you had gone after her with the truth instead of silence—maybe she would have been angry, yes. Maybe she would have needed time. But at least she would have known you didn’t betray her in a conscious state.”
His breath hitched.
“You were planning to hide it forever,” she said gently, not accusing, just honest. “And that… that’s what breaks trust, Chan. Not just the mistake but the secrecy.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know that now.”
She pulled him back into her arms, kissing the top of his head. “Fear makes us do foolish things. Even good men.”
He clung to her, voice barely audible. “Mom… did I lose her for good?”
Her heart cracked at the question. She didn’t answer immediately. She just rocked him gently, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“If you had gone after her right away… told her the truth before the lie had time to grow… maybe she would have understood.”
“So… is that it?” he asked brokenly. “Is she really gone?”
She closed her eyes, holding him as tight as she could.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But if she is… then you have to respect that. Loving someone sometimes means letting them be happy, even if it’s not with you.”
Chan just cried harder hearing that.
After what felt like hours—but might have only been minutes—his sobs finally slowed. His mom moved him gently, like he was made of glass.
Chan barely remembered walking to his old bedroom. Everything felt distant, muffled, like he was underwater. The familiar walls, the shelves filled with old trophies and books, the faint scent of home—it all felt unreal, as if he no longer belonged to this place or any place at all.
His mom sat him down on the bed and quietly brought him food. She fed him slowly, patiently, the way she used to when he was sick as a child. Each bite felt heavy in his mouth, but he didn’t refuse. He knew she needed this— to take care of him in some small way.
He didn’t say much. His eyes were hollow, red-rimmed, unfocused. The kind of tired that sleep alone couldn’t fix.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Chan lay down on his side, curling in on himself instinctively, like a boy seeking comfort instead of the man who carried the weight of a thousand expectations. His breathing evened out, lashes still damp with tears that hadn’t fully dried.
His mom stayed. She sat on the edge of the bed long after he fell asleep, watching the rise and fall of his chest, memorizing the face of her eldest child—the same face she once kissed every morning before school, now worn down by guilt and regret and a love he was afraid he had lost forever.
Her heart broke quietly.
“Oh, Chan-ah…” she whispered, voice cracking.
She pressed a hand to her mouth as tears slipped free, soundless but relentless. A mother’s grief was different—it had no place to go, no one to blame, only love that hurt because it couldn’t protect enough.
She thought of you.
Of the girl who once laughed at their dinner table, who fit into their family so naturally it felt inevitable. Of the future she had imagined so clearly, you as her daughter-in-law and you and Chan giving her grandchildren. But now… all that seemed impossible. She clasped her hands together, bowing her head slightly as she prayed for healing for both of you.
Both of you… together or separately, she just wanted you both to be okay.
She leaned forward, placing one last kiss on Chan’s forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary, as if imprinting love into his skin.
“Sleep well, my son,” she murmured. “You’ve suffered enough.”
Then, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her cardigan, she stood quietly, turned off the light, and left the room.
*********************
You saw Chan’s name light up your phone yesterday. And you ignored it. Not out of weakness. Not because you were tempted. But because you were tired.
What does he want now? you thought, irritation bubbling up in your chest. What else could he possibly say that wouldn’t reopen wounds I’m finally learning how to close?
You’d spent enough nights replaying every word, every fight, every unanswered question. Enough mornings waking up with that hollow ache in your ribs. You were done letting his presence—real or digital—disrupt the fragile peace you’d started to build.
You were moving on. And Mingyu was a big part of that.
The past two months with him had felt… light. Easy in a way you didn’t know you were craving until it happened. There was no tension, no guessing games, no emotional landmines. He listened. He waited. He never rushed you, never asked for more than you were ready to give. He respected your boundaries so naturally it almost startled you at first.
Just yesterday he officially asked you to be his girlfriend and you have been beaming since last night.
Tonight was one of those quiet, domestic dates you didn’t know you’d end up loving so much. You were at his place, sleeves rolled up, standing side by side in the kitchen. Soft music played from his speaker. Mingyu had insisted on cooking, despite you teasing him about how a man his size somehow managed to look extra gentle while chopping onions.
You were cutting vegetables next to him when you noticed it. He kept stealing carrot sticks from the cutting board.
“Kim Mingyu,” you warned, narrowing your eyes as he popped another piece into his mouth, completely unbothered. “Those are for the dish.”
He hummed, chewing thoughtfully. “Quality control.”
“You’re impossible,” you muttered, reaching to grab the bowl away from him.
That was your mistake.
The second you leaned closer, he turned, arm wrapping around your waist effortlessly, and pressed a soft kiss to your lips quickly. The kind that made your protests dissolve into a laugh you didn’t even try to hold back.
“That’s cheating,” you said, breathless, pointing at him.
He grinned, eyes crinkling. “You didn’t say it wasn’t allowed.”
Before you could retaliate, the doorbell rang.
Mingyu frowned. “That’s weird… I wasn’t expecting—”
He opened the door to reveal his members, Joshua and Dino, standing there mid-argument.
“I’m telling you,” Dino said, holding up a controller, “Wonwoo said we could borrow the PS5.”
Joshua rolled his eyes. “You heard what you wanted to hear.”
They both stopped when they saw you. There was a beat of silence.
Then Joshua smiled politely. “Oh—hi. You must be the famous one.”
You blinked. “Famous?”
Mingyu groaned. “Hyung—”
“He hasn’t stopped talking about you,” Dino added cheerfully, stepping inside without hesitation. “Like, at all.”
You laughed, slightly embarrassed, greeting them properly as Mingyu shot them a look that said please don’t expose me further.
Joshua glanced between the kitchen mess and Mingyu’s flushed ears. “So… are we interrupting something?”
“Yes,” Mingyu said immediately.
“No,” you said at the same time, laughing harder.
They stayed for a bit, just long enough to tease Mingyu mercilessly, steal snacks, and make you feel strangely… included and comfortable, like this wasn’t some dramatic situation you had to brace yourself for, but just life unfolding naturally.
When they finally left—with the PS5 and plenty of jokes at Mingyu’s expense—you leaned against the counter, still smiling.
“Your friends are… something,” you said.
He chuckled, stepping closer. “I’m sorry if they were too much.”
“No,” you said softly. “They were sweet.”
And you meant it.
Later, as you sat together on the couch eating what turned out to be a surprisingly good meal, your phone buzzed again.
You didn’t check it, still Mingyu noticed anyway—not the notification, but the way your expression briefly shifted.
“You okay?” he asked gently, with concern.
You nodded, leaning into his side. “Yeah. I am.”
And for the first time in a long while, it was true. Whatever Chan wanted to say, it could wait.
Tonight belonged to warmth, stolen kisses, meeting his friends, and a future that felt optimistic.
“Kiss, please,” Mingyu said, then immediately puckered his lips in an exaggerated way, cheeks puffed slightly like he was trying way too hard.
You burst out laughing. “Why do you look like that?”
“I’m being romantic,” he defended, eyes crossing just a little on purpose.
“Ridiculous,” you said fondly, leaning in anyway.
Just as your lips were about to meet, you get interrupted with a notification sound.
You groaned, pulling back with a dramatic sigh. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Mingyu chuckled, dropping the act. “Alright, alright. Go on. Check who’s texting you like a maniac.”
You grabbed your phone, already annoyed, and then froze.
Chan
I’m sorry for pushing you, but we really need to talk.Please, Y/N. There’s something you should know.
You took a deep breath and showed Mingyu the texts from Chan, your thumb hovering nervously over the screen.
“I… I don’t want to hide anything from you,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.
Mingyu smiled warmly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I know. That’s what I love about you.”
You swiped the screen toward him so he could read the message. He glanced at it casually, with a calm expression.
“So,” he said, setting the phone down, “what do you want to do?”
You shrugged, feeling a little lost. “Min… I don’t know. What does he even want to talk about?”
Mingyu tilted his head slightly, watching you with quiet patience. “I think you should hear him out,” he said thoughtfully, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe it’s something you left at his place. Or maybe it’s… unfinished business. You spent years together, Y/N. That’s not nothing. Doesn’t mean it has to upset what’s happening now, but you deserve to know if there’s closure or something that needs to be said.”
You blinked at him, stunned, heart pounding as you absorbed the depth of his understanding. He wasn’t just being considerate. He was thinking about your feelings, your comfort, even your emotional history, without judgment, without pressure. Wow, you thought. This man… he truly gets you.
“What?” he asked with a chuckle, seeing your dazed expression.
“Mingyu… how are you so perfect?” you breathed, shaking your head slightly, trying to process just how grounded and caring he was.
He laughed, a low, playful sound that made your heart skip. “Perfect? Me? You’re the one who’s perfect.”
Without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him. Harder than you expected, and just like that, he stumbled back onto the couch, grinning against your lips.
“Hmm,” he murmured as he caught his breath, “feisty, aren’t you?”
You giggled, hands resting on his chest as he pulled you closer. Another kiss followed, slow, tender, and filled with the quiet electricity of a connection that made your head spin.
And for a moment, the world outside faded—the past, the heartbreak, Chan’s texts—all of it dissolved. There was only this. Only him and the warmth and the laughter and the gentleness that had begun to stitch your heart back together.
He pulled back first, just barely, lips still brushing yours as if he hadn’t fully decided to stop kissing you.
“Hey,” he murmured, eyes flicking between yours. “Um… okay… before I chicken out… can I ask you something?”
You laughed. “What?”
“Would you stay over tonight?” he asked, hopeful. “I really like having you here.”
Your heart skipped. “Stay… over?”
He nodded, thumb brushing absent-minded circles into your side. “Yeah. I want to wake up with you. If that’s okay.”
You laughed softly, a little shy now. “It’s just—” you hesitated, then admitted, “I didn’t bring my pajamas.”
For half a second, he looked confused. Then he grinned. That slow, boyish smile that made your stomach flip.
“You can definitely wear mine.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly. “Your pajamas?”
“Mm-hmm,” he said, clearly pleased with himself. “They’re comfy. And way too big on you. Which is kind of the point.”
You tried to protest, but the idea—his clothes, his space, the intimacy of it—made your chest feel light and full all at once.
“Okay,” you said finally, smiling despite yourself.
He pulled you into a hug immediately, chin resting on top of your head. “Good.”
And as you melted into him as you felt excited over your first ever sleep over with Mingyu.
*********************
Morning light filtered through the curtains in pale gold streaks, warming the quiet room. You woke to the steady rise and fall of Mingyu’s chest beneath your cheek, his arm still securely draped around your waist like it had never moved all night.
For a moment, you just stayed there, listening to him breathe.
Then he shifted, lashes fluttering as he woke up, eyes still hazy with sleep. When he noticed you watching him, a lazy smile tugged at his lips.
“Good morning,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
“Morning,” you whispered back.
He tightened his hold on you slightly, pulling you closer until your legs tangled. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “Really good.”
He hummed in satisfaction, brushing his thumb along your arm in slow, absent-minded strokes. “Good. I was worried I snore.”
You laughed quietly. “You do.”
His eyes widened. “Hey.”
“I said you do, not that it was bad,” you teased. “It was… kind of comforting.”
That earned you a soft laugh as he dipped his head, pressing a gentle kiss to your hair, then your forehead. You tilted your face up, and this time there were no interruptions—just a slow, unhurried kiss that tasted like sleep and warmth.
When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Stay a bit longer?”
You nodded without hesitation, curling closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Your fingers traced slow circles into Mingyu’s scalp, nails lightly scratching the spots that made him melt into the pillow. He let out a soft sound, eyes closed, completely relaxed beneath you.
But your movements slowed. Your gaze unfocused, drifting back to those texts Chan sent.
Mingyu didn’t open his eyes, but he felt it—the way your touch went absent, the way your breathing changed just a little.
“Hey,” he murmured.
You blinked, looking down at him. “Hmm?”
He opened his eyes this time, reaching up to gently hold your wrist, grounding you. “You’re thinking about him.”
You didn’t deny it. You sighed instead. “I don’t want to. But my brain won’t shut up.”
He studied you for a second, then sat up slightly, propping himself on one elbow. “Then don’t let it spiral.”
You frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Meet him today,” he said calmly. “Otherwise you’re gonna overthink all day, babe.”
The word slipped out naturally, like it belonged there. Your chest warmed despite the knot inside you.
“You’re… okay with that?” you asked quietly.
He nodded. “I trust you. And I trust that whatever he wants to say doesn’t get to live rent-free in your head.”
You smiled, small but grateful. “Thank you.”
He reached for your phone on the nightstand and handed it to you. “Alright. What do we say?”
You unlocked it, thumbs hovering. “Something neutral. Not cold. Not too inviting.”
Mingyu leaned closer, chin resting on your shoulder. “Okay. How about—”
You typed together, adjusting words, deleting, rephrasing until it felt right.
Finally, the message read:
You
Hi. I can meet later today.
Let me know where and what time.
You stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
Mingyu kissed your shoulder gently. “Send it.”
You did as you heard your phone buzzing softly as the message went through. You set it face down, exhaling like you’d just crossed a line you’d been standing at for too long.
Mingyu smiled, tugging you back into his arms. “See? One step at a time.”
You nestled against him, fingers returning to his hair, this time fully present.
Chan immediately texted back, suggesting a private cafe, in two hours. You agreed and had asked Mingyu to come with you but he shook his head, smiling gently.
“The two of you deserve a proper closure,” he said. “You can tell me later. I trust you.”
You appreciated the thoughtfulness, the patience, the understanding that had made these past two months with him so light and easy. Mingyu had become a safe space for you, and you knew that letting him stay out of this meeting was the right choice.
So, you got into the car and Mingyu drove you to the cafe. The ride was quiet but comfortable. You watched the passing streets, the familiar city smells, and your mind wandered to Chan—how you would see him again, how your heart both ached and fluttered at the thought.
When you arrived at the cafe, you didn’t notice him immediately. But as you stepped inside, Chan was already there, sitting near the corner, head lowered, and his eyes immediately caught sight of you. You didn’t notice the way his heart lurched when he saw Mingyu wave goodbye outside the car just moments ago, how his fists clenched tightly as his jaw set. He saw the small, almost imperceptible kiss you had shared before you stepped out of the car, and something inside him flared violently.
Jealousy burned in his chest. He wanted to storm outside, yank you back, punch Mingyu for daring to touch you, but he stopped himself. This wasn’t the right moment. It wasn’t fair. And yet… the intensity of his emotions, the ache of seeing you with someone else, made him want to crawl into a hole and explode all at once.
For a fleeting second, he considered texting you to cancel, to force you to postpone, thinking maybe he wasn’t ready to face this. But another, louder voice inside his head whispered—the sooner you know the truth, the better. He needed to say it now, to set things right, to unburden himself of the lie that had shadowed these past months.
So he waited. Until you walked in.
You froze when your eyes met his. There was so much between you in that split second—the nostalgia, the heartbreak, the tension, the things unsaid—but you kept your composure.
“Y/N,” he said, voice low and rough. “Thank you for coming.”
You nodded stiffly, trying to keep your emotions in check. “You wanted to talk?” you asked, voice flat but firm.
He gestured to a nearby table, and you both sat, the weight of years and heartbreak pressing down on you.
“I… I need you to know everything,” Chan began, swallowing hard. “I never… I didn’t sleep with anyone else. That night, nothing happened. It was Gemma—she lied. The child… the money… everything… it wasn’t what you thought. I’m telling you now because you deserve to know the truth.”
He began to explain everything and you listened, silently, heart twisting with conflicting emotions. You only spoke when he was done.
“Chan…” you whispered finally, voice breaking slightly. “I… I’m with Mingyu now.”
His shoulders slumped, his heart shattering in real time. “I know… but Y/N, the reason we broke up was because of cheating. I didn’t. So… why can’t we go back? Why can’t we try again?”
You shook your head slowly, tears prickling your eyes. “You literally hid from me. How am I supposed to just… forget that? How am I supposed to trust that nothing else will happen?”
Chan’s voice cracked. “I was scared… scared you’d leave, scared you wouldn’t understand. I thought if I kept it hidden, I could protect us. I never… I never meant to hurt you.”
You took a deep breath, your chest tight. “But you did, Chan. You hurt me more than you realize. Even if you didn’t cheat… you hid that night from me. You would’v never told me about it, if it wasn’t for the fucking paps. That’s the part that’s unforgivable. You can’t just… say the truth now and expect me to forget months of pain and betrayal.”
He reached across the table, hand hovering over yours, trembling. “Y/N… please. I… I want you back. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you. I never loved anyone like I love you.”
You shook your head, tears spilling freely now. “I’m sorry, Chan… I can’t. I’m with Mingyu. He’s… he’s been kind and patient. He sees me. He respects me. I need to give this… this chance to heal, to move forward.”
His hand fell slowly, the color draining out of his face, leaving only a hollow ache where hope had been. He stared at you, the reality of losing you for good finally sinking in.
“Please..”
“I wish you the best, but this is the end for us.”
He looked at you, eyes glistening, throat tight. “So… there’s truly… no us?”
You swallowed hard, heart breaking all over again as you nodded. “No, Chan. There’s no us. I’m… I’m sorry. I wish it could be different. I wish… I wish we could go back to the way we were. But we can’t. Not now. Not ever. I loved you so much… and I always will—but I have to let you go, and I have to let myself move on.”
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, filled with all the memories you had made together—the late nights, the whispered dreams, the laughter, the plans for a life that would never be yours. Chan’s chest heaved as he tried to speak, to fight, to argue—but the truth in your voice, the finality in your eyes, silenced him.
He leaned back, staring at you as if trying to memorize every detail one last time—the curve of your lips, the way your lashes trembled, the softness of your voice, the heartbreak etched across your face. “I… I always loved you, Y/N,” he whispered, voice breaking completely now. “I… I always will.”
“And I always did,” you said, voice low, almost a whisper, “but love… love isn’t enough. Not when trust is broken, not when the life we wanted together turned into pain. I hope… I hope you can forgive yourself someday. I hope… you can be happy. Truly happy.”
“I… I’ll always love you, Y/N,” he whispered, voice breaking. “No matter what.”
“I know,” you replied softly. “And I hope someday… you will also find someone.”
The cafe seemed impossibly quiet as you stood up, lifting your bag with a heavy heart. Chan watched, unmoving, as you walked away, leaving not just the cafe, but the possibility of reconciliation behind.
Outside, Mingyu was waiting, and you felt a strange sense of relief, warmth, and sadness all at once. You glanced back once at Chan through the glass, and he looked smaller, more fragile than you had ever seen him. His hands were clenched into fists, eyes glistening, shoulders slumped but even in his heartbreak, there was still a part of him that loved you fiercely, and a part of you will always love him too...
You exhaled, shaking your head to clear the swirl of emotions. The past was behind you. You were moving forward. And for the first time in a long while, you felt… ready to do just that.
Mingyu reached for your hand gently as you sat on the passenger seat, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, smiling softly despite the tears threatening to fall again. “Yeah… yeah, I think I am.”
And as you walked with him away from the cafe, your heart ached for Chan, but also, quietly, it began to mend for yourself.
*********************
After the conversation with Chan, sleep became something you only brushed against, never fully sank into.
You’d lie in bed with the lights off, phone face-down beside you, staring at the ceiling as memories surfaced uninvited. Not just the breakup. Not just the hurt. But the honesty in his voice. The way the truth hadn’t felt like reopening a wound — just pressing gently on scar tissue to remind you it was still there.
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You told yourself you were past it.
Still, night after night, your thoughts circled back, restless and unresolved with the “What ifs”.
But you didn’t want to be hung up over that, so you did what you were supposed to do. You focused on Mingyu. You leaned into the softness of what you had with him — the easy affection, the way his presence never overwhelmed you. You laughed more. You kissed him longer. You let yourself melt into his arms when he pulled you close, his chin resting on the top of your head like it belonged there.
For a while, it almost worked.
There were afternoons spent sprawled across his couch, legs tangled, some show playing in the background that neither of you were really watching. He’d press lazy kisses to your temple, murmur something teasing under his breath, and you’d smile because it felt good — safe, warm, uncomplicated.
“This is nice,” he’d say sometimes, voice low, content.
And you’d nod. “Yeah. It is.”
You didn’t talk to Chan anymore. But you felt him in small ways, in moments you didn’t expect. A song you’d once shared would drift through your mind. A scent of the air reminded you of him. Sometimes, when you were laughing with Mingyu, your chest would tighten for no reason at all and you’d have to look away, blinking rapidly, forcing yourself back to the present.
One night, the tightness became a full-blown panic. You woke with your heart hammering against your ribs, the ceiling blurred with the residue of a nightmare. Chan was in trouble — he was hurt, or he was alone and afraid — you didn’t know, but your body knew. Your hands shook, and your throat tightened until you had to breathe through it deliberately.
In a haze, you grabbed your phone and searched for him online. Relief and a strange rush of emotion collided when you saw he was live, chatting quietly with fans, safe, smiling — untouched by whatever your nightmare had imagined. You watched him for a few minutes, letting the simple knowledge that he was okay settle over your panicked thoughts.
Mingyu stirred beside you, half-asleep, and whispered, “Everything okay?”
You shook your head, hugging the pillow to your chest. “I… I just needed to know he’s okay. I couldn’t… I just needed to hear him, see him… for a second.”
He stroked your hair gently. “I get it,” he said softly, and you felt the sincerity in his voice, and also the unspoken understanding.
The following weeks were a balancing act. You spent time with Mingyu, yes, but you also let your mind drift back to Chan. You thought about him constantly — how he had always known you, how he had always seen you. How he had hurt, but had never lied. Every little memory sharpened the truth you’d buried deep: you’d never stopped loving Chan.
You felt guilty. Especially whenever Mingyu talked about the future, not seriously, just casually enough that it should’ve felt natural.
Then his military enlistment date came. He told you one evening while you were eating together, scrolling absently on his phone before locking the screen and setting it aside.
“They confirmed it,” he said, like he was talking about the weather. “I leave soon.”
You looked up. “Soon… how soon?”
“Couple of months.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It will be eighteen months longs.”
The number sat heavy between you.
“Wow,” you murmured. “That’s… a long time.”
“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “It is.”
After that, everything felt a little heavy. You tried to imagine waiting, you really did. Writing letters. Counting days. Planning surprise visits. Building your life around his absence.
But deep in your heart, yo
The night you finally talked about it, there was no tension in the air, just stillness.
You were sitting side by side on the floor, backs against the couch, the room lit only by a lamp in the corner. Mingyu was fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
You swallowed. “Mingyu… can we talk for real?”
He stopped immediately, turning to face you. “Hey. Yeah. What’s wrong?”
You shook your head. “Nothing’s wrong. That’s the problem.”
He let out a quiet breath, nodding. “Okay. Talk to me.”
You stared at your hands for a moment before looking up. “I’ve been thinking a lot since… everything. And with you leaving soon, I realized I need to be honest with you. With myself.”
His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I care about you,” you continued. “I really do. You’ve been kind to me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. But when I think about the future — about eighteen months apart — I don’t feel anchored. I feel like I’d be forcing something that should come naturally.”
Mingyu was quiet for a long time.
Then he said, gently, “You don’t think we’ll make it.”
You winced. “I don’t think we should try to make something work just because it should. You deserve someone who’s all in. Someone who doesn’t hesitate.”
He leaned back against the couch, eyes lifting to the ceiling. “I’ve felt it too,” he admitted quietly. “I just didn’t want to say it first.”
You looked at him, surprised. “You have?”
He nodded. “I like you. A lot. But I’ve been pretending that’s enough to carry us through eighteen months, and… it’s not. Not the way it’s supposed to be.”
Your chest tightened. “I was scared you’d think I was giving up.”
He let out a soft laugh. “No. This doesn’t feel like giving up. It feels like… choosing what’s real.”
Silence settled again but this time, it wasn’t heavy.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you said finally, voice softer. “You matter too much to me.”
Mingyu smiled then with a little hint of sadness around the edges. “You won’t. I want you in my life. Just… not in a way that hurts either of us.”
You nodded sadly.
“You’re still thinking about him,” he said calmly.
You looked at him, his question caught you off guard.
Mingyu let out a slow breath, nodding, and you felt his understanding sink into you. “I figured,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to say anything first. But I can feel it too… that it’s not the same.”
You blinked back tears. “I’m sorry, I tried so hard not to. I thought time would fix it. I’ve enjoyed every moment with you. You’ve been… wonderful. Gosh, this stupid heart of mine…”
“Y/N… heart wants what it wants, right?”
That broke you.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t even want to go back to him. I just know I can’t lead you on.”
He pulled you into a warm, steady hug. You cried into his chest, fingers clutching his sweater.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he smiled. “You loved deeply once. That doesn’t disappear just because you want it to.”
He rested his chin on your head. “I’m glad I got to know you. Even like this.”
You pulled back, wiping your tears. “I’ll always be grateful to you.”
“So… friends?” he asked softly.
You nodded. “Friends.”
He smiled. “Good. I’d hate to lose you completely.”
When you said your goodbyes that night, the air didn’t carry any bitterness. Just two people letting go gently.
*********************
After the breakup with Mingyu, you devoted yourself to you. For the first time in years, life wasn’t about anyone else. You moved to New York, enrolled in a master’s program, and threw yourself into work, studies, and a rhythm of life that left little room for heartbreak. Nights were quieter, mornings were busier, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, you began to feel whole again.
Two years passed, measured in long study sessions, coffee-stained notebooks, and the occasional lonely weekend, but you didn’t mind. You had learned how to enjoy your own company, to make peace with your past, and to let go of expectations. Life had taught you patience, resilience, and the quiet satisfaction of being independent.
And then, the universe, in its strange and unpredictable way, brought you back to Seoul — to Changbin’s wedding. The city felt familiar, alive with old memories, and the wedding itself was beautiful, joyous, filled with laughter and love. But among all the happy faces, one stood out.
You had expected to see him there, but hadn’t prepared for the quickening of your heart the moment your eyes landed on him. He looked different — older, more grounded, and undeniably healthier. The same smile lingered, but it carried a warmth and ease you hadn’t seen in years. You had watched him in SKZ videos, seen him interact with fans, and known he’d been doing well… but in person, he was brighter, calmer, and somehow more himself.
You both gravitated toward each other naturally, there was no awkwardness, just recognition — a quiet acknowledgment that time had passed, that both of you had grown, and yet the bond had not fully faded.
“Bang Chan,” you said with a teasing smile as you took in the way he carried himself, “look at you… healthier, happier. I barely recognize you.”
He laughed, and it sounded like a melody you had almost forgotten. “I’m surviving,” he said with mock solemnity, then grinned. “Actually, I’ve been busy. Focused on work, training, everything. And I learned to play the ukulele.”
You raised your eyebrows, impressed. “Hmm… Bang Chan, the ukulele player? That’s… unexpected.”
He shrugged, a little bashful, a little proud. “I had to have a hobby. Something that wasn’t screaming deadlines or schedules. It’s… surprisingly calming.”
You laughed genuinely, the sound carrying freely across the room. It felt so natural, so easy, to be around him again. You talked and talked, hours slipping by like minutes, sharing small updates about life, work, mutual friends, and quiet confessions about how the past few years had changed you both.
A few weeks later, the texting started in a light, playful but warm way. Then one evening, he sent you a message that made your chest flutter.
Chan
I saw a new café today.
Would you like to check it out?
You stared at your phone, smiling. Something about the simplicity of it, the casual care in the message, reminded you why you had always loved being around him. You typed back immediately:
Yes. I’d love to.
You and Chan settled into a small, sunlit corner of the cafe, the warm glow spilling across the wooden table as the scent of freshly baked pastries mingled with coffee. The place had that perfect mix of casual and cozy — mismatched chairs, soft indie music playing in the background, and a small bookshelf tucked in the corner.
The two of you ordered a little bit of everything: pastel macarons, chocolate lava cake, a slice of tiramisu, and a ridiculously oversized cinnamon roll that looked like it belonged in a bakery catalog. Every time a plate arrived, you laughed a little too loudly, drawing the occasional glance from other patrons, but neither of you cared.
“This one’s way too sweet,” Chan said, holding a macaron between his fingers and squinting like it offended him.
“You’re just mad it’s better than your baking,” you teased, taking a bite and smirking at him.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nope. Absolutely unfair. You have impeccable taste.”
Between bites, you caught up on each other’s families. You told him about your mom’s new obsession with hydroponic plants, and he laughed, imagining her surrounded by greenery.
“And Hannah is still a menace,” Chan said suddenly, grinning mischievously.
“Hey! Watch it,” you warned mock-seriously, pointing a finger at him.
he laughed, trying to hold back a snort. “She deserves it! You know how she is, she’s still the same so she’s earned the title.”
You shook your head grinning.
He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head fondly. “I swear, one of these days she’s going to take my car and drive it straight into the pool. I just know it.”
You giggled, sipping your latte, feeling an unexpected lightness in your chest. “And yet you’re still somehow the responsible one.”
“I had to be,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours. “Someone has to keep my siblings and the rest of my maknaes in check.”
There was a pause, the two of you watching the sunlight shift across the table. In that small cafe, amidst laughter, desserts, and stories about family, it didn’t feel like old wounds or regrets existed — just a quiet, comfortable closeness, like you’d both pressed pause on time and rediscovered each other in pieces.
The hangout ended quietly, neither of you rushing to leave, just lingering in the warmth of conversation and shared laughter. Outside, the evening air was soft, carrying the distant hum of the city, and you felt the strange comfort of being with someone who had been such a defining part of your past — but in a version of him that was new, mature, and steady.
“I… had a really nice time,” Chan said softly as you walked toward your car. His voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant, like he was afraid to shatter the moment.
You smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Me too. It’s… nice seeing you like this.”
He nodded, and for a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The air was filled with unspoken memories — of first dates, heartbreak, misunderstandings, and long nights of thinking about each other — and yet, there was no weight pressing down, just the gentle pull of familiarity.
“Do you… want to do this again?” he asked finally, looking at you with that old earnestness softened by time.
You hesitated, thinking of all the years that had passed, the mistakes, the distance, and the ways you’d both changed. “I… yeah,” you said slowly, “I think I’d like that. Just… let’s see where it goes, without pressure.”
A small, relieved smile curved his lips, his dimples on display. You realized this might be a gentle reopening of the door to possibility.
“Sounds good,” he said, glancing away for a moment, then back at you. “Friends. Or… maybe more. Whatever feels right. And…” he hesitated, then added firmly, “no more hiding. I’ve learned from my mistakes. No secrets, no pretending. Just… honesty.”
You laughed softly, a little breathless, a little wistful. “Yeah. Whatever feels right.”
And in that moment, with the city lights reflecting in the windows and the quiet promise of new beginnings around you, it felt like both of you had come full circle. Not because everything was fixed, not because all the pain had vanished, but because you were here — two people who had loved, lost, and grown — ready to see what could be next.
You didn’t know exactly what the future held. Maybe it would be friendship, steady and comforting. Maybe it would bloom slowly into love again. Either way, you felt a rare and steady certainty: that this time, you could take it one step at a time, together.
summary:after a slew of tragic romances and with the help of your best friend, you decide to try dating again. it's hard not to fall for him, not when he's a complete gentleman
wc: 5332
cw: fluff, comfort, talk about an abusive ex (it is about a paragraph of it, nothing too explicit but please don't read if this will hurt you)
a/n: ahh, this is only the beginning of my curly-hair/glasses/gentle giant changbin agenda
event masterlist ... masterlist
"Just tell him I'm sick or something," you whine, head thrown against the arm of the couch. Your legs are swung on top of your roommates legs. He shifts a little under them. Your arm is thrown over your eyes, but you can tell he's fixing you with a warning glance. "We don't even know each other, it's not like he's going to be that upset."
"He will be," Felix counters, "because I've been talking you up all week."
You sit up and look at him, "you haven't shown him any pictures have you?"
"Actually I have."
"Unfair!" You throw a cushion in his direction. He half-dodges it, but it still scrapes his face. "You have to show me one now!"
"No!" He pushes your legs off his lap, "the whole point of this is that you go in with no expectations."
Your shoulders slump and you fall back against the couch. You cross your arms when he scooches closer to you. You sigh, "it's hard."
"I know," Felix soothes, reaching out to calm his hand down your arm, "but I've told you, he is a complete gentleman okay? And if he does anything that remotely makes you uncomfortable, you can brag about it all you want and give up on men entirely." He watches your face for a reaction, but there's only a small tilt of your head. He continues, "I refuse to let you give up on love because of-"
"Don't even say his name."
"That little twerp." He finishes, "I promise you Y/N, Changbin is nothing like him."
Date One:
"I feel ridiculous." You slump, smoothing over the outfit Felix practically forced you in to.
"Well you look beautiful," he mutters, rounding your figure to adjust several things on your outfit.
You think for a moment, a small blush creeping up on your face as the question forms on your tongue. Usually, you'd be embarrassed to ask such things, but with Felix, there's never any judgement. "You... you told me he was hot..." you let your eyes flick over to his, "how hot exactly?"
"If you're wondering if he's going to be attracted to you, I'm going to stop you right there." He doesn't look at you, just keeps fiddling with the outfit.
"You said he was rich."
"Okay yes, but you can't tell him I told you that... he hates people knowing."
"So what you're saying is he could have anyone... any girl he wants... and he's being forced to go on a date with me."
"Right," Felix drops his hands and sets his eyes on you, "I don't know how many times I have to tell you. I've shown him your instagram, I've talked to him about the things you like. He wants to go on this date with you. If you saw the way he blushed when I showed him that picture I took of you at Hyunjin's New Years Party, you wouldn't be doubting him for a second."
"Don't remind me of that party..." you huff, "that's literally my favourite picture of myself and it's tainted with memories of him."
"Yes, it's tragic..." he muses, taking a step back to take you in. "You're so beautiful Y/N."
"You have to say that."
He sighs, "you know, one of these days, someone is going to say that to you and you'll believe it."
"No we've been through that. And now he's god knows where, burying himself in god knows who." You smile at him, rather sarcastically.
"Right." Felix perks up, "no more talking about what's in the past. Tonight is about your future. Tonight is about healing," he grabs your shoulders, "you don't owe him a second date, but you owe it to yourself to go on this one. To open yourself back up. Trust me, this is good for you."
You can do nothing else but nod.
You shift silently on the pavement. You feel ridiculous. Ridiculous and nervous. Felix insisted you arrive 10 minutes early. You hate to admit it, but it was smart. Changbin, having known what you look like thanks to Felix, would be the one to approach you. You wouldn't need to look around the restaurant awkwardly trying to find a man you'd never met.
"Y/N?" His voice is like a siren call, drawing your attention to your left. "I'm Changbin," his voice makes you so weak you forget to be cynical for a moment.
You allow your eyes to rake over his body. Felix wasn't lying when he said he was built, but he failed to mention his arms would be straining against the fabric of his black button-up. The first two buttons are undone, revealing a gold chain that catches the light of the street-lamp. And then there was his face, round, angled jaw and a mop of curly dark brown hair. His eyes, dark brown and dreamy, are hidden behind small-rimmed round glasses. And then his lips. Plump, bottom trapped between his teeth.
You hate how right Felix was. He was exactly your type. But you tell yourself it's physically. He can be hot all he wants, but he could have a horrible personality.
"These are for you," he reveals a large bouquet of flowers. Shit.
"Thank you..." you finally manage, "sorry.. um... I'm Y/N."
"I know," when he smiles it's sweet. His cheeks go full and his lips pull taut. He points to the restaurant door, "shall we?"
You nod.
Before you can even reach for the handle, he's pulling the door open for you. He gestures inside, waiting until you're inside before he enters too.
He booked a nice table. A quiet one in the corner, with a view of the river outside.
The chatter was classic first-date small talk. You force polite smiles and craft the perfect responses. He does the same.
But then that demeanour slips.
"You're really beautiful," he whispers, nearly like he wasn't meant to say it out loud. But you heard it. And because he hasn't looked away from you, he sees the flinch in your reaction. He clears his throat, "sorry. I'm trying to be respectful but I'm having a hard time taking my eyes off of you."
You chuckle, because is this guy serious? You narrow your eyes at him, "you're good at this."
"At what?"
"Flirting."
He chuckles and drops his eyes to his plate. You feel it in your own stomach. He looks back up to you, shurgging, "I'm just being honest."
"Sure you are."
He watches you for a moment before, "Lix told me you almost pulled out of coming."
"Did he?" You ask, but already know the answer. You mutter, "snitch."
"But I'm glad you didn't," he says it with a straight face. He says it with a softness that has you double take. Because how can a voice that soft tell you something untruthful? He waits a moment, like building the courage to ask, "can I ask why?"
You shift, "why I almost pulled out or why I came anyway?"
"Both," he leans forward, caught on your every word.
You allow yourself a breathy laugh, "well I came because Felix can be pretty persistent when he wants to be."
He laughs, "I know that much."
"And the why I almost pulled out..." you let your words die, "that's a story for another day. Not really first date material... let's just say my dating history is full of shitty men who can only think with their dicks."
You expect something more. A reaction, an argument, a 'not all men' speech. But he fixes you with the gaze he's had all night, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Not smug, but knowing. And then, he mutters something that nearly has you choking on your water. Because it's bold, entirely too bold, but said in that sweet, soft tone he's been speaking to you in, "I can change that."
You blink. He's not looking at you when he says it. He's looking down at his plate, like he's just accepted a challenge for himself. Not a sleazy one, but determined to be a mark in your history. Whether you let him stay and be your future to is up to you. At the very least he wants you to look back at his chapter and think 'maybe there is such thing as kindness.'
The waiter comes over with a little black folder and places it on the edge of the table. You both reach for it, but he snatches it up so quickly you think you've offended him. And clearly you have because he scoffs, "absolutely not. What kind of man would I be to let you pay for a date you were forced to be on?" He laughs.
His eyes are darting over the bill, hands reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. You don't think you've ever seen anything more attractive. The way his bicep bulges under the shirt as his arm flexes with the movement, the way he flips open his wallet and drops his card into the folder without care. When he signs the bill, he closes it, and hands it back to the waiter with a small kind smile.
When the waiter walks away, his eyes are back to you. You swallow, "I wasn't forced."
"Mm?"
"To be here. I wasn't forced, just heavily encouraged. I've just... it's been a while and I was nervous to come... that's why I nearly didn't... but Felix knew that... he kind always knows what's best for me."
Changbin chuckles, "I get that..." he thinks for a moment, "and for the record I was nervous too. If you could see my bedroom right now, I think I threw every shirt and pair of pants I own onto my floor and over my bed. I nearly had a breakdown at the florist because all of the bouquets looked so different, and I wanted to get the right ones for you."
You laugh. A genuine, unmasked laugh.
When you're outside the restaurant again, he poses the question, "can I drive you home? You can totally say no, I'll understand."
You smile, "it's a 10 minute walk, I'll be fine."
"Can I walk you?" He asks, hands wringing together. His eyes flick down to the flowers in your hand, "they look heavy. I could carry them for you?"
And you found yourself saying yes. For yourself? Maybe not. But to tell Felix you said yes? Definitely.
He takes the spot closest to the road, and you're convinced he read that somewhere. He walks close, but not enough to brush against you. His hands remain behind his back, gripping the flowers like a lifeline.
"So how do you know Felix?" He asks.
"We met through my ex actually. He um... he kinda screwed us both over so he and I were kinda there for each other... we've been really close since."
"I see..." he nods like he's still processing.
"Sorry," you defend, "I shouldn't talk about my exes on a first date."
"It's fine Y/N." He smiles. Something about that felt genuine, like he really didn't care.
You stop just in front of your building, "this is me."
He nods and reveals the flowers to you again, "I had a really nice time tonight."
You hum and can't help the smile that forms, "yeah.. me too."
He smiles big, but tries to lessen it a little, scared he might run you off with his eagerness. He clears his throat, "goodnight Y/N."
"Goodnight Changbin.."
You turn and walk up the small set of stairs outside your building. As you reach for the handle, his voice calls you back.
"Sorry if this is too forward but... I'd um... I'd like to see you again... if... if you'd like to as well..." he waits for your reaction, but is too impatient, "sorry I don't do the whole 'wait three days to call you back' thing."
You laugh, "I'd like to see you again too Changbin."
Date Two:
He'd insisted on something more casual, that's how you found yourself walking into a higher end bar. You see him immediately when you walk in. Still unruly hair flopping over his glasses-covered eyes, but the tight black t-shirt he wears feels a little different.
Yes, the button-up suited him well. But there was something so simple about seeing him look so casual.
"Y/N," he beams, walking over to you, "this is my favourite bar. I was thinking we could play billiards?"
You nod and allow him to guide you over to the table.
You'd be lying if you said you knew how to play. Instead of hiding it, you admit to it. Luckily for you, you're not playing with just anyone. You're playing with Changbin.
He takes his time to explain the rules, restating anything he thinks is complicated and helps you pick a cue.
And now you both dance around the table, pool cues in hand, quiet chatter amongst you.
"What is it you do again?" You ask, lining up a shot the best you can.
"Producing," he answers. He's planted the pool cue on the ground, leaning against it with one hand, the other holding onto the table.
"You enjoy it?" The white ball rolls and rebounds off the side of the table. You sigh and stand up again.
"Very much," he starts lining up his own shot. "I would have gotten into music myself if I didn't need to come back home to take care of my mother."
"Oh," you hum, watching as he tried several angles to get the cue positioned right. "She's unwell."
"She was," he mutters and your heart drops. "But she's okay now."
You breathe a sigh of release, "that's good to hear. Would you take it up now?"
"Not a chance," he laughs, moving away to pick up the chalk and rub it on the cue, "turns out I love producing music more than I ever liked performing it."
He tries again, but the angle feels awkward. He huffs and straightens up, swinging the cue behind his back to line up the cue one last time. Satisfied, he knocks the ball and watches as it sinks his green one. He smiles.
You watch in awe, "how do you do that?"
He tries to sink another, but fails, "practice. Learning about angles and power and position."
"You sound like a professional." You state, leaning down to line up your own.
"It's rather easy actually," he watches you for a second, "here."
He rounds the table, finding a place beside you. He leans his cue against the wall and lifts his hands. He doesn't touch. Instead, he asks, "may I?"
You nod.
He moves beside you. Not behind like most men would do. It's intentional. His moves are intentional. One hand hovers gently around the middle of your back, still not touching. His other finds your hand and moves it back on the cue. From there, his hand glides up your arm to position your elbow better. He crouches, eyeing the angle of the cue before moving it over slightly. When he rises, he's close to your ear, "I want you to aim for the centre of the ball," he moves the cue forward a little to show you before pulling it back. "When you hit it, make sure to follow through, and with enough power," he pulls the cue back himself and your hands follow. The hand by your back is now warm and splayed across it. You're not sure when he did that.
With his grip still on the back of the cue, he pushes. You watch the white ball knock into your red one, and sinks in the back corner. You straighten with a bright smile, as it's your first one. You nearly knock him over with how quickly you rise.
Your faces are closer than they've ever been. His eyes flick down to your lips, for a second too quick for you to comprehend before he's stepping away.
"So yeah," he starts, but his voice is squeaky. He clears it before, "you have another turn now. You sunk it so..." he points to another ball, "why don't you try this one?"
You watch him for a moment longer before moving to line up the cue again.
And then it's the same routine as last time. You walk outside the bar to both head home.
"I can drive you if you'd like? It's a longer walk this time," he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.
You smile, thankful for the darkness in the street as you feel your face heat up under his gaze. He leads you to his car. No, he leads you to his lamborghini. Slick, black, low to the ground. He opens the door for you. You've never been in a car with doors that open up instead of out. You step inside and he closes the door after you.
You blame the hormones. Or maybe just the attractive man in the seat beside you. But watching him drive, one hand up on the wheel, the other propped on the centre console, makes heat drop right to your stomach.
"I've really enjoyed tonight Y/N. Next time we'll have to do something that you like." He laughs, sneaking a glance over to you.
"Next time?" You ask.
His smile drops, "uh well... I mean... I'd like to see you again..."
You smile, "yeah... I guess that wouldn't be too bad."
He laughs. It's more of a cackle really, but it's endearing and sweet.
Soon you find yourself on the stairs in front of your building again. He's a step below you as you mutter goodbyes to each other. Then you get the sudden urge to be bold.
Because how can he stand there, with cheeks this kissable, but no lipstick marks to stain them? So you lean forward and press one to his cheek. He immediately goes red and coughs slightly, "uh... thank you." He mutters, before scurrying down the stairs and back into his car.
You flop onto the couch with a loud sigh. Felix pauses his movie.
"What?"
"I think I like him." You admit before slapping your hands over your face. You scream a little into them, thrashing your body a little before dropping your hands and groaning. "I hate that you've done this to me."
Felix laughs, "done what?"
"You put me in front of an attractive, sweet, caring, gentleman and expect me to be calm about it!"
"I never said you had to be calm!" He exclaims.
You crawl up the couch more to rest your head in his lap. "Do you think he's seeing anyone else?"
"Doubt it."
You sigh, "what if I mess this up? What if... what if he's just pretending? What if when the time comes, he shows me who he truly is?"
"I can guarantee you, that whoever he is around you, is who he is."
You sigh again and settle further into Felix's lap, allowing him to push against your muscles to ease them.
Date 5:
You bumble down the stairs to meet him. He's wearing a leather jacket tonight, and you have a hard time keeping your thoughts quiet.
You let out a small giggle as you lean to kiss his cheek. He slips his hand into you, smile wide across his face. He leans back to look at you, "how do you manage to get more and more beautiful everytime I see you?"
You smack his arm playfully, "stop it."
"I'm serious," he looks over you once more, nodding like he's agreeing with someone other than himself, "I could look at you all day."
"Well you can't," you tease, "we have a booking."
He smiles and leads you over to his car.
The theatre is packed. You find yourself gripping tighter to Changbins hand as he guides you through the crowd. He weaves through people, trying to make his way to the snack bar. You'd insisted it was okay, and that you didn't need any snacks.
But then he said, "I'm not taking my girl to a show and not feeding her. You will have snacks." And you melted.
You don't think he even realised he called you that. 'My girl', like it was nothing or natural or something he had always on the tip of his tongue and just couldn't use the brain power to keep it in anymore.
He stops at the front of the line, and you hug his arm. You didn't realise he'd paid for the premium package until you arrived. It's not like he every flaunted his money, and it was never really a point of conversation for either of you.
But Felix had also told you how much he enjoyed spending on other people. Yes, he bought himself a fancy car and nice apartment, but those were needs that he decided to upgrade. When it comes to the wants of other people, he spares no expense.
You watch him order the snacks and drinks you want and hands one to you. The rest he balances in his other hand. Neither of you let go of the ones you're holding.
Tonight was good. You'd maybe even risk saying it was perfect. You felt yourself slowly melting into Changbin. His gentleness, his patience, his ability to ask questions without probing too much. Both of you knew there were things you weren't telling him, but he didn't mind.
Not that he'd told you, but he wanted you to feel safe enough with him to tell him. But he could go his whole life not knowing and be completely fine.
He feels your hand tense in his, "Y/N?"
Your eyes are locked across the room. A familiar mop of hair, standing out amongst the crowd. He smiles like he hadn't ended your world a year ago. And before you can do anything about it, he's walking over to you.
"Y/N." That voice. That horrid, scratchy voice. And those fucking eyes. You feel disgusting under his gaze. "It's been a minute." He eyes the way you cling to Changbin.
Who, still confused by the situation, introduces himself. But he can feel how uncomfortable you are.
"This is my ex." You whisper to Changbin, "this is Changbin," you say louder.
"Ah, your new side piece huh?"
Your stomach drops, your heart breaks. He's still the same, still the asshole, dickhead, son of a bitch you once knew.
Changbin straightens, "are you being territorial about a girl you barely know anymore?"
Your ex blinks, and his demeanor falters. "You don't know anything."
"No, but I can tell just by looking at you that you're a dickhead."
You choke on air, turning to see Changbin's demeanour. His straight, chest puffed out and shoulders rolled back. He looks confident. Confident and hot.
"Listen here-" your ex nears.
Changbin tuts and nods his head towards the security guard, whose eyeing them both up, "I wouldn't go doing anything crazy now."
And with that, he scoffs and walks away.
Changbin turns to you, "are you okay?"
You can't form any words.
Why does he have to show up now? Now, when you'd just started letting yourself heal, after you had just met Changbin?
"Hey, let's go," he says, dragging you towards the doors.
"No, we paid for the tickets."
He shrugs, "I heard it's lame anyway. Plus, we got our snacks so we're set for the rest of the night." He pulls you outside.
Instantly you feel better. Whether it's the cool, fresh air hitting your face, or maybe it's the absence of the vile creature you used to date. Or there's another option, where it's the presence of Changbins hand in yours. Either way, your heart doesn't feel so heavy.
"If you want, we can go back to my place and watch that movie you've been talking about?"
You think for a moment, eyeing him off suspiciously.
"What?" He asks.
"Are you not put off by that?"
"By seeing your ex?" He asks and you nod, "no. Should I be?"
"No."
He waits a moment, "well then I'm not. I can drop you home if you'd prefer?"
"No, I um... I like the sound of movie night."
"Perfect," he smiles, opening the door of his car for you, "you can wear something of mine if you'd like so you're not so uncomfortable." He drops, before closing the door and rounding the car.
And when you walk into his place, the nerves start to build up again. Because this apartment, which you thought would be void of all personality, is surprisingly cozy. The building itself is modern, the technology is modern, but the furniture provides a warmth you hadn't expected.
"Here," he hands you a pair of basketball shorts and his hoodie, "the bathroom's just in there."
He points and you enter.
When you emerge, you find him making popcorn in the kitchen and pouring you each a drink. He's wearing a tank top. A fucking tank top. It's the first time you're seeing his arms exposed like this.
"Hey," you croak out, trying to sound unaffected by him.
"Hi," his voice is sweet and his eyes find you in the doorway. He mutters, "fuck. Careful jagi, you look that good in my clothes I might have to pack you a suitcase full of them."
"Binnie..."
"Fuck," he drops what he was doing to turn his body to you fully.
"What now?"
"You've never called me that before."
"Oh, sorry."
"No don't apologise." He walks over to you, "I liked it. A little too much actually. You can... if you want... you can call me that anytime."
"Okay Binnie," you chuckle when he squeezes his eyes shut.
"You're going to kill me," he laughs, walking back into the kitchen to retrieve the popcorn.
Once you're settled on the couch, close but not cuddling, you decide to bring it up. He's searching for the movie, trying to find which platform it's on.
"Binnie?"
"Yes Princess?" He responds, eyes still glued to the screen.
"Can I... can I tell you something?"
The remote is out of his hand in a second and his body is turned to you, "anything."
"I... I just wanted to thank you for before. With my ex," your heart is beating like crazy. You hadn't spoken about it with anyone other than Felix. And it was your fifth date with Changbin. But you had to say something. "He wasn't exactly... he... he just treated me like shit... like I was his maid, and his cook and his therapist... and everything was always about what he wanted... what meal he wanted, what show he wanted to watch. We only ever had sex when he wanted to... even sometimes when I wasn't even in the mood..."
"Princess," he grips your hands tightly, "I'm so sorry..."
"You don't need to apologise. I feel like I need to apologise to you!"
"What? Why?"
"Because I haven't been able to... like... give myself fully to you... like we haven't even kissed and I haven't been that open with you..."
"Princess..." he soothes, "I don't care about that. I do, but I care that you do right by yourself first. You tell me what you need. You tell me what you want me to know when you're ready, not because you feel you owe it to me, because you don't."
"I just," you're holding back a tear, "I'm just worried that the waiting is going to make you resent me..."
"I don't think I could ever find a reason to resent you. And I'll wait until you're ready. And even if, a month from now, you decide you can't do it, I'll respect it and move on." He moves closer to you, "because-" you're not looking at him, "listen to me. Eyes up here. Because, you deserve happiness. You deserve love."
You're not sure how, or why or when, but a moment later, your lips are on his. He stills, breathing you in by letting you take the lead. It's soft, charged and addicting. You pull away a moment later and "sorry! Sorry- I should of asked! I should have-"
"Do it again." His voice is low and his tongue darts out to taste what's left of you on his lips. He's staring at yours, "please Y/N..." he flicks his eyes back up to you, "unless you-"
"Don't ask if I want to." You stern, "you always ask that. You always add 'if you want to' like I would ever say no to you."
"Jagiya," he breathes before your lips meets again.
This time it's hungrier, like the thought of not kissing you would kill him. His hand comes to cup your cheek, as he brings your face closer to his own. He moans into your mouth, like he's been holding back for so long.
When he pulls back for air, his hand remains on your face and his eyes stay closed. "God I don't think I ever want to do anything else ever again." His eyes flutter open, "I just want to kiss you for the rest of time."
You laugh and lean back in.
Date 10:
"Binnie! Come on!" You giggle, dragging him over to the shooting game. You pause in front of it, "you have to win me a prize or else you're not a real man."
He gives you a fond smile, "is that so Princess?"
"Mmhm," you nod your head.
"I assume you want the big one?"
"No!" You scoff, "I want the pink bunny!"
He looks over the prizes, eyebrows screwing together. "Jagi, that's a pig."
"It's very much NOT. It's a pink bunny!"
"It's clearly a pig!" He turns back to you, "but if you want the pig you can have the pig," he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.
You pull back, but your faces remain close together and you whisper, "bunny."
"Pig," he whispers back.
If you weren't sure about your decision before, you're sure of it now. You want to call him more than just the guy who spends all his money on you. You want to call him more than the guy you have fun with.
And seeing him now, handing over the last tickets in exchange for more turns to win you the prize, you couldn't be more sure.
Eventually, the guy behind the counter fishes down the plush and hands it over to him. Changbin beams, turning to you immediately, "your pig m'lady."
"Bunny!" You laugh, but pull it close anyway.
"I don't know why you wanted that one so badly..."
"It reminds me of you!" You giggle.
"How?"
"It has your energy!" You laugh together, the sounds of the carnival allowing you to be as loud as you want.
Your eyes drift over to the ferris wheel, "come on," you say, picking up his hand and dragging him over.
The wheel whirs to life, the carriage you're in rocks a little under the movement. It moves, then stops, and moves then stops. With it rocking like this, you scooch closer to Changbin to steady yourself.
"It's so pretty from up here," you laugh and turn to him, "and don't pull the 'you're the better view' bullshit on me."
"At least you know it," he shrugs, "means I've done my job."
You smile at him, and soon the wheel stops at the top.
"Binnie?"
"Yes Princess?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything, Jagi." He smiles.
You take a deep breath, smile impossibly big and painful. "Binnie, would you be my boyfriend?"
"What?" His smile drops and his eyes widen. You know it's not a bad reaction, it's just a reaction. "You... you want me... to be... your boyfriend?"
"Yes."
"YES!" He shouts and you flinch. He reaches for you, "sorry- sorry Jagi I got excited." He clears his throat, "yes Y/N... I want nothing more than to be your boyfriend."
"Really?"
"Are you kidding?" He leans over and smashes his lips into yours. It's quick, heated and adorable. He pulls back, thumbs caressing over your cheeks. He sighs and takes you in, "you're as beautiful as the day I first saw you."
"Lixie showed you a picture before I saw you."
"No..." he shakes his head, "do you know how long I was standing around, building up the courage to approach you?" You look at him confused, "I was half an hour early Jagi. I watched you arrive, I watched you stand there and I had to psych myself up to approach you because holy shit, that's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, how on earth would I ever be in her league? And now..." he leans over again, "and now she's my girlfriend. I have a girlfriend!" He turns his head to shout into the air, "I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!"
You slap your hand over his mouth, "oh my god Binnie."
He pretends to bite your hand, forcing you to pull it back. You're laughing, and so is he.
It fades into his sweet smile, the one you've grown so fond of.
"I have a girlfriend," he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again.
summary: one day, you’re buying a soft, brown fur coat from the thrift store. the next, you have a man on your doorstep claiming he’s your husband.
word count: 6.8k
warnings: selkie!dino, human!reader, references to scottish folklore but a very loose interpretation, swearing, reader is bitter, mildly depressed and very tired of life, chan is the cutest sweetest boy ever, questionable self preservation instincts, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, kinda sub!chan, oral (fem!receiving), riding, slight nipple play.
a/n: so this was loosely based on an ask i got about selkie!dino, and i really did a lot of research on selkies and came up with a plot to go w it. im sure this isn’t what anon originally wanted, but i loved the idea of selkies and i went with it ㅠ
SELKIE (n.) — from icelandic, irish and scottish lore
⦾ shapeshifters. they live as seals or otters in the sea, but shed their skin or fur to change into beautiful humans on land.
⦾ a selkie must hide their skin carefully when they walk on land, because if their skin is lost, they cannot return to the sea.
⦾ whichever human finds and keeps the skin/fur of a selkie is considered as the selkie’s spouse.
These last few weeks have been the most impressive run of insanely crappy weeks you’ve ever had.
Everything just keeps going wrong. With work, with bills, and even a petty fight with one of your closest friends. To top it all off, your last phone call with your mother went awry too, with her complaining about your schedule and you getting a little too harsh on the phone. You regretted it immediately, but now she’s a little icy with you, which only dampens your mood further.
It has just been bad overall, so this shopping trip with Seungkwan is really something you need, even if you don’t have a whole lot of money to spend.
“Oh, I like this one.”
You hold the large coat up to your chest and turn to Seungkwan so he can take a look. It’s huge, falling all the way to your knees, and the fur is dark brown, a neutral and earthy color that looks shiny and smooth. It’s very soft to touch, and you have to wonder how it ended up in a thrift store. It looks and feels so high quality.
Seungkwan tilts his head as he appraises it. “Put it on.”
You do, standing in front of the full-length mirror for a better look. You turn to assess some angles, but you’re quickly being distracted from the way it looks, focusing more on the way it feels. It’s comforting as hell, and very warm. You’re still in awe that you managed to dig up something so good from this store.
“I’m getting it.” You announce before Seungkwan can even give his opinion. You don’t know why, but you really feel drawn to this coat. Something tells you that you need to own it. And after the shit week you’re having (it’s not even Wednesday), you think you deserve this. You haven’t bought anything new in ages. If this can give you a little boost of happiness when you feel like you’re drowning, then you won’t pass that opportunity up.
It doesn’t cost a lot, considering how wonderful it feels on your skin and the fact that you’re getting your next paycheck after the weekend. You feel a positive sensation jump in your chest as you walk out of the store, listening to Seungkwan whine about something work related. You’re quickly swept up in his emotions, augmenting his words and losing yourself in the conversation. You really do need to vent, and Seungkwan is the perfect person for something like that. He matches your energy, understands your struggle since he himself is afflicted with a terrible case of jerk-boss. You feel like you are shedding off pounds and pounds of negative build-up, which you are so thankful for.
Two more workdays follow your trip with Seungkwan, and they weigh heavily on you. By the time the weekend rolls around, you are so grateful you could cry. You need this, the relief of two whole days of no work. You get home on limbs that weigh like lead. With nothing but rotting in bed in your mind, you quickly change into something more comfortable, a loose shirt and leggings. You go through your streaming services to find something to watch as you cook. Just when you’re settling on the couch to start eating your freshly cooked meal, you hear a knock on your door.
Your eyebrows furrow, confused. For one, you aren’t expecting anyone. And for another, you have a doorbell, so the fact that someone is knocking makes even more questions arise. Before you can think further, there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you’re quickly placing your bowl on the coffee table and scrambling to the door before you can wonder about who it might be. You curse the fact that front doors in your apartment building don’t have peepholes. You carefully unlock and open the door a tiny smidge, peering outside. You blink, confused at the sight.
It’s a man. He looks young, around your age, and has a head of thick, shaggy brown hair that is falling into his equally dark eyes. You look down, and you pause at what you’re seeing. He’s wearing a sweater vest over what looks like another sweater, both terribly mismatched. And he’s wearing…. a skirt?
Yes, it’s a plaid skirt. Deep maroon. Layered over dark denim jeans. And right below them, leather sandals.
You don’t even know what to say. You look back up at the man, and this time, he’s wearing a wide smile. His eyes are wide and bright, and you’re caught off guard by how cheerful he looks.
“Hi.” His voice is fresh, chirpy. You nod your head uncertainly.
“Hello.” Your own is uncertain and damp. You hold the edge of the door tightly, bracing yourself.
“My name is Chan.” He says.
You nod slowly. “Okay.” There’s no way in hell you are telling this stranger your name.
“May I come in?”
Your jaw drops at the question. Who is this man? Why is he dressed so strangely?
“Who are you?” You can’t help but scowl. You don’t have time for this. If this is some strange sales call or something, you are not interested.
The man blinks, as if confused by the question. “I’m Chan.”
Is he stupid? You stare at him for a moment. “Look, I don’t know you and whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
As you go to close the door, the man rushes forward, knocking his palm on the wood and stopping it in place. You freeze, feeling slightly scared now. He immediately pulls his hand away, now fiddling with his fingers and looking incredibly nervous.
“I’m your husband.”
You blink once. Twice. He doesn’t say anything more, just stares like he has told you nothing more than a fact about the weather.
“Excuse me?”
He looks just as nervous, but he nods slowly. “You took my fur. You bought it. So I’m your husband.”
You are so confused and shocked that you don’t even realise you’ve opened the door properly. You’re just holding the doorframe now, jaw dropped, an incredulous look on your face as you eye him. He shifts a little uncomfortably, swaying back and forth as he wrings his hands.
“I’m a selkie.” He babbles. “You bought my fur. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. I lost it near the pier a few weeks ago. I can’t go back without it. But I’ve found it now. It belongs to you. Which means I belong to you now. I’m your husband.”
You don’t understand more than two words out of his mouth. Briefly, you think of drugs, and you edge the door slowly closed again.
“Listen,” you say, trying to keep annoyance and confusion out of your tone to make it more soft. Maybe he will listen to you that way. “There’s a shelter just a few blocks down. I promise you will find help there. I’m sure if you ask someone, they will tell you exactly where it is.”
You wave your arm to the left in a vague gesture for direction. He just stares at you. You fidget.
“I can’t leave.” He says. “You have my fur. I belong to you.”
You are starting to get a little scared, so you shake your head vaguely as you keep pushing the door closed. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”
You close the door before he can say anything else, immediately locking it. You stare at it for a second, listening. You can’t hear shuffling, or footsteps. You wonder if he has left.
You double check the locks before moving back inside, wondering what you should do. The whole interaction has left you a little shaken. You eye your now cold food, and the paused movie on your television screen. It only makes you grit your jaw and huff, feeling annoyed again. You have enough on your plate without worrying about some weirdo at your door. You can’t let this weigh on you. It’s probably a one-off, someone who just got confused. And you did try to help him, so hopefully he takes your advice.
But you can’t focus. Even as you sink onto your couch and finish absentmindedly eating, your stare blank as you watch the screen. You can’t help but think of the gibberish he spoke. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for your laptop, pulling it towards you and opening the search bar. Quickly, you type ‘selkies’.
There’s so much you find. Page after page of what looks like old, Scottish lore. Sketches and paintings, as well as written text. They are sea creatures, like seals or otters, that can transform into humans by shedding their skins or furs. You remember the man’s words.
‘You have my fur. You bought it.’
As you keep reading, you learn that taking a selkie’s fur means having ownership of them. It symbolises an intimate, lifetime bond. Like mates, or spouses. You recall him calling himself your husband, making an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach. Everything he said somehow makes sense. It’s fantastical, and outlandish to think it might be real, but in the context of it all, it really isn’t random words strung together. Maybe he was confusing you with someone else. Maybe they are doing some weird role play thing. You’ve seen stuff like that on the internet.
Your phone dings. You absentmindedly look at the text. It’s from the lady who lives across from you.
[minyoung apt 34]: hey. theres a man sitting outside your door. should i call someone? are u home?
You stare at the text, confusion and a small bit of realisation dawning on you. You throw your phone on the couch and stand up, quickly beelining to the door and unlocking it, pulling it open.
He is sitting beside the door, back against the wall just to your right. He looks up when you appear, blinking at you. You gape at him.
“You’re still here.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
He nods. “I can’t leave.”
The cheery, bright tone seems to have drained out of him. He sounds….. sad, almost. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His silly skirt is bunched up to his thighs, and the jeans are maybe two sizes too big for him. You hesitate, and then you make a very stupid decision. You brace yourself.
“Get up. Come on.”
He seems surprised, and honestly, so are you. You pull the door open more and step aside, watching him quickly scramble up. His face seems to have lightened, but he still looks apprehensive. Slowly, he walks in. You sigh deeply and shut the door behind him.
He’s looking around like he has never seen a house before. Or a living room. Four walls, pictures, a couch. His eyes are wide and beady as he stares at the television. You watch him carefully. In complete honesty, you don’t know why you invited him in. But there’s something in his voice that doesn’t ring any warning bells in your head. You’re sure your parents would have a heart attack if they heard of this, cursing at themselves and you for not instilling ‘stranger danger’ as well as they should have. But he doesn’t give you that vibe at all. When he turns to look at you again, there’s something earnest about it. Sincere.
You shift uncomfortably. “Chan, was it?”
He nods.
“And you’re… a selkie?”
His nod is even more vigorous this time.
“Okay.” You don’t know what to do with your hands. He keeps staring. “And you came here because…”
You prompt him to continue, and he does. “I’m your husband.”
You feel a flicker of irritation. “Yeah, you said that already. But I don’t know what that means.”
He frowns a little, lower lip jutting out. It’s almost cute. You shake the thought away.
“You bought my fur.”
You huff. “Yeah, I don’t know what exactly that is, but I don’t have anything of yours, buddy.”
He tilts his head, as if thinking hard. You start to regret inviting him in.
“I-it’s brown.” He says. “Dark brown. And very soft. A little heavy. And it smells like the sea.”
Your face smoothens in realisation. Wait, does he mean….?
The coat. Your newly bought fur coat. You haven’t worn it yet, since it’s a little too warm for the current weather. You’ve been waiting for a particularly cloudy and chilly day to put it on. Realisation dawns on you.
You leave Chan in your living room, taking less than a few seconds to find the thing and carry it back out. The way Chan’s face lights up at the sight of it has your heart racing. Again, you are hit with the reality of how sincere and pure he feels. No one can be this good an actor.
“You can have it.” You hold it out. “This is what you’re here for, right?”
While he looks happy to see the coat, he shakes his head, turning his bright eyes back to you. “I’m here for you.”
You feel your face heat a little, remembering the spouse and mate stuff you just looked up. You fidget where you stand, considering him.
God, your run of insanely crappy weeks just won’t end. And you really feel like you can’t deal with this right now. So you just huff and nod, feeling drained.
“Fine. But you will sleep on the couch until I know what to do with you.”
His resulting smile is so blinding, you wonder if there truly is something mythical about him.
…………………………………….
You don’t tell Seungkwan about Chan. Frankly, you’re still not sure what you will do about this whole situation, since you know that even if Chan leaves, he will just go back to sitting outside your door. He tells you as much himself. You also don’t know how supportive Seungkwan will be when he finds out that you have an unknown man living on your couch, claiming to be a supernatural creature of the sea. You honestly don’t have the energy for that lecture, or to convince Seungkwan that something deep in your chest is telling you that Chan is harmless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, a strange reverence in his eyes, like he has never seen something more fascinating in his life. Or maybe it’s the fact that he genuinely doesn’t know anything.
You find some of Seungkwan’s and your brother’s clothes in your stuff, telling him to change into a sweatshirt and pants and to take off whatever ridiculous clothing he is wearing. He looks much better that way, more normal, but he claims to feel weird.
“Are you sure this is enough clothes?” He looks uncertain. You can’t help but feel amused.
“Yes, because you’re indoors. You can put something else on top when you go outside.”
He nods, albeit a little hesitant. But he seems to trust your judgment.
When you offer him a meal, he accepts it carefully, eyeing the bowl of noodle soup like he has never seen it before. He picks at it, and makes a face when he eats it. He tries to quickly hide it, but he can’t fake anything to save his life, so you spot it immediately, and when you ask him what he usually eats, he lists varieties of fish and shellfish you have never heard of before. You do end up buying some for him, and conveniently, you don’t even have to cook it. He eats it raw.
“You would love sushi.” You quip as you watch him eat. When he gives you a confused look, you just shake your head and wave it off, mentally making a note to take him to a sushi place sometime.
Chan tells you he has never left the water before. His pack never trusted him enough to do it, and apparently they had been right. He lost his fur very quickly, without even realising, and he has been trying to track it for weeks, claiming he can’t go back without it.
“So now that you’ve found it, you can go back.” You say, but he shakes his head.
“I can’t leave you. You’re my wife.”
Right. He keeps saying that, always in the softest tone, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. It lights your face on fire, makes you fidget where you sit, but he is never fazed by it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It’s not like you’ve never had anyone’s romantic attention before. You have had boyfriends. Granted, most of them ended terribly. You’re still not sure if you’re completely over your ex cheating on you. But Chan is different. Hell, he’s not even human, so it’s not like you can compare him to anything from your past. Dating has always been difficult for you, and you kind of gave up on it when you moved and got hit by the shitstorm that is now your life. It was put so effectively on the back burner that you had forgotten what this felt like. Having someone like you like this.
With Chan, it’s hard to figure out how to act. You don’t know what to do with all his…… positivity. Chan feels like something untouched, untainted. He reminds you of how you were when you just moved to this town. Hopeful and ready to start your adult life. And then the universe decided to start beating the crap out of you, until you felt like you were just surviving, going through the motions.
Chan isn’t like that. Chan is….. luminous. He randomly compliments you, talking about how nice and colorful your apartment is (you don’t think it’s anything special). Or saying he likes something you’re wearing, or that your hair is pretty and shiny. Simple compliments, nothing too poetic, but he says them all with so much earnestness. He especially gets giddy when you wear his coat, saying you look best in it, patting you down before you go to work. It always leaves you hot and fidgety. You really don’t know how to handle him, or his easy affection.
Your life changes as the weeks go by.
Work is just as hectic as always. You get the mountain load of two or three people, enough to have you ready to pull your hair out. You slave away all day, dragging your feet as you finally get home, but this time, it is not to an empty house. Because Chan is there. Chan and his bright smile and his endlessly curious but simple questions. Chan with his many, many stories about life under the sea. He always notices that you’re tired, and he offers to cook for you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he is good at following instructions. So if whatever he is cooking comes from a packet with directions on the back, he ends up making something very hearty and nice. Usually, you are so tired that you don’t mind anything he makes. You will eat it as long as you aren’t the one who has to cook it after working all day.
You complain to him that your legs get cramped up from sitting on your desk chair for so many hours. He pulls your legs towards him before you can protest, plonking them down on his lap and kneading the calf muscles. All your rejections die in your throat as soon as you feel the glorious pressure of his hands. You moan appreciatively, not noticing how Chan positively perks up at the sound, doubling down on his efforts to lessen your fatigue.
That becomes a daily occurrence.
A few weeks of Chan living with you has made you much more comfortable with him. You watch the screen with tired, bleary eyes as he runs his fingers over the soles of your feet from where he has them in his lap. It feels wonderful, as always. While you watch the TV, he watches you. He does that often, just openly staring. It used to make you uncomfortable, and you got very close to scolding him a few times. But the look on his face always makes you stop. A look of awe that you’ve never felt directed at you before. There’s nothing creepy about it, only pure, unfiltered marvel. So you just let him do what he wants.
A voice deep inside you says you don’t actually mind, you might even enjoy it, but you try not to think about that voice.
You let out a weary sigh and shift a bit, rolling your shoulders to adjust the ache in them. Chan notices, because he always notices, and he pauses his movements on your feet.
“I can rub your shoulders.” He offers.
You blink, considering it. You already know how good it will feel, but you don’t know if you want to cross that boundary. This is different, having your feet in his lap. But you don’t know how you feel about Chan’s hands all over your back and shoulders. It would feel too much like testing dangerous waters.
The truth is, you like him. He has become a breath of fresh air in your bitter and depressing days. Every day, you come home while looking forward to his company. He is so different, light, cheerful, effervescent. He talks and talks and talks, about any and everything. And it doesn’t annoy you. Never. He injects something warm in your cold, silent evenings.
You don’t have to worry with him. There’s no agenda here. He doesn’t want anything from you except your company. He takes care of you like no one has for a really long time.
Sometimes, he feels like a dream. And you perpetually carry the fear that one day, he will go away.
He’s still watching you, anticipating your reply. His hands slowly work on the arch of your foot. His eyes, that deep warm brown, pores into yours. For the first time in a long time, you can’t bring yourself to care about consequences. You just nod.
“Okay.”
He ends up seating himself beside you, coaxing you to turn your back to him on the couch. You can feel him touch your sweater before speaking again.
“Would it be better without this?”
You flush but nod, reaching down to tug the sweater off, so you’re left with a long sleeved shirt instead. You feel his touch right in between your shoulder blades. Slowly, he starts pressing into the skin over your shirt.
Chan is way too good with his hands for a creature that didn’t even have hands until a few weeks ago. He digs his thumbs into the lines of your shoulder blades, making your eyes roll as he breaks knot after knot of tension in your muscles. He purses his lips and frowns as he gets a feel of it. You hear a soft huff of breath.
“Your muscles are so tense.” He murmurs. “This only happens to me when I swim for a very, very long time. Hours and hours. With no breaks.”
You crack a little smile at the comparison.
“It feels like that sometimes.” You mumble, staring at the opposite wall while lost in thought. “Like I’m just swimming and swimming. No breaks. No end in sight.”
His touch slows, but doesn’t lose its strength. His fingers coil around your shoulders, kneading. Your eyelids flutter.
“Human lives are difficult.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear him in the silence of the muted television screen. “I feel like none of you are happy.”
You purse your lips. “What makes you say that?”
Another exhale, this time almost like a defeat. “You never smile. You never laugh.”
You blink, processing. You don’t know why that is unexpected, but it catches you off guard. Your mind whirs. You think on it.
When was the last time you were truly happy?
When you try to look back on the last few months, you can’t pinpoint anything. Then, a memory floats to the surface, from just a couple of weeks ago. Chan had tried to bake something, and while he succeeded, he left the kitchen in such a mess that he was almost reduced to tears by the end. He had pouted and whined about it, saying it is ’way too difficult’ to make a cheesecake. You couldn’t help but muffle your laughter at his flour caked face.
It still makes you smile.
“You make me happy.” You say.
His hands pause. Not a falter, a complete halt. You wonder if you’ve crossed a line.
“I do?” There’s something shaky in his voice, like he can’t believe it. You just nod.
With the hold Chan has on your shoulders, he maneuvers you to turn around. You do, finally able to see him face to face. Your breath hitches at the hope in his eyes, the unadulterated happiness.
“I make you happy?” He asks again, like he just can’t bring himself to accept it.
You can’t help the lift of your lips. You nod again. “You do.”
You don’t expect him to kiss you, but you don’t stop him either. His lips are endlessly soft, and so, so eager. When you don’t push him away, he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You are hit with the very faint scent of sea salt, and it feels like you’re on the coast. Your heart squeezes. Your hands reach up, cupping his face, and you push harder into him.
Chan whines, whines, lapping at your lips like he needs them to breathe. His tongue licks into your mouth. His enthusiasm is almost too much for you. It should be a surprise, but it’s not, because it’s Chan, and he has always been like this. He hangs on to your every word like it’s law. He looks at you like you’re the mythical creature, not him. You feel his hands now, on your knees before they slide up, gripping your hips tightly. He inhales your every sigh, and something warm and electric coils in the pit of your stomach. Your hand winds in his hair. It’s soft, just the same texture as your (his) coat, and you can’t help but grip it tight. He moans openly into your mouth. It’s too much. You break away for air with a loud gasp.
It doesn’t seem to deter him, because he smooches over your cheek, your jaw, further down your neck. Your eyelids flutter, tilting your head back, your hand still in his hair. You encourage his movements. His tongue licks over your skin. He moans again.
“I want to taste every part of you.” His voice is breathless, desperate. You feel yourself clench. He pulls away so he can look at you, his eyes pleading, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. This close, you can see that his pupils are completely blown.
“Please? Can I?” His tone is shaky.
God, he needs to stop doing that. It’s making wetness pool at an alarming rate between your legs. You so desperately want him down here, it makes your hips buck up involuntarily. You don’t even think about it, all inhibitions thrown out the window. You nod.
He doesn’t let you undress yourself, gently brushing your hands away because he claims he wants to do it himself. He lays you down on the couch, hovers over you on his knees as he peels your clothes off, until you’re left completely naked under him. He watches you with so much hunger in your eyes that your face flames, and it takes everything in your power not to shrink into yourself. Truthfully, you love it, love seeing the sincere lust in his face, the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes lingering over every inch of you, like he wants all of you.
Something about being so deeply desired has your head spinning.
He is true to his word. His lips trail over every inch of you. He runs them over your shoulders, your arms, even holding your hands gently to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Every few inches, he lays a soft kiss, before going back to running his lips and tongue over the skin. He licks down the valley of your breasts, burying his face in them for a few seconds. He spends extra time on your nipples, sucking and flicking his tongue over them until they are stiff and peaked. By the time he is anywhere close to your core, you’re already gasping and trembling under him in anticipation.
Finally, finally, he spreads your legs. He stares for a long time, thumbing at your outer lips, opening your slit to the cold air, peering at your little nub, swollen and ready, neglected.
“Pretty.” He whispers. “You’re pretty all over. Every inch of you.”
You feel a pressure build behind your eyes. Fuck. You can’t be this lame. You can’t be the one crying during sex. But Chan isn’t touching you, he is worshipping you. In his hold, under his hands, you feel like something precious, something worthy of this kind of reverence. It’s an unprecedented feeling. You don’t think anyone has ever wanted you this much. Not before him.
He leans closer, and you feel his breath on your pussy as he speaks.
“This is it, right? This is where I can pleasure you the most?”
You suddenly remember that Chan isn’t really familiar with human anatomy. So far, you haven’t felt his lack of experience at all, mostly because you think his enthusiasm is so intense that it masks the inexperience completely. You nod at him, swallowing tightly.
“Yeah.”
He licks his lips. “Can I taste it?”
The words are way sexier than you thought they would be. You throw your head back. “God, yes. Please.”
Something about the ‘please’ does it for him, because he licks a long, thick stripe all the way from your clenched hole to your clit, dragging slowly over it. He hums when his tongue withdraws, just for a second, just to taste, and then he’s digging in again, flattening his tongue over and over on your slit, like he approves of the taste, like he wants more.
He’s sloppy, not bothered by the filthy wet noises your sopping cunt makes, lips and tongue running over every nook and cranny. But there’s one spot where you need him the most, and you can’t help it. You wind a hand through his hair, tugging his head up until his tongue runs just over your clit. Your hips jerk.
“There,” you gasp, “right there.”
He’s a quick learner, just like he learned to cook after just a few tries, and how to work the television and your Netflix account, and how he figured out which clothes go together. His tongue flicks eagerly over your clit, like he’s hanging on to every cry and moan that falls from your lips. He must register how the noises amp up when he pays attention to your clit, because he pushes your legs further apart, buries his face deeper into your cunt, wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. Your back arches right off the couch, gripping his hair tightly. He groans into your pussy.
It’s a cycle. His lips and tongue make you feel good, you tug at his hair in encouragement, he hums into you, and the vibrations feel even better, sending chills up your whole body. Your high builds a little too quick, and you wish this could just go on for hours and hours. You have no doubt in your head that if you asked him, he would do exactly that. And very happily too. But your need for release is more pressing than that, so you hold him close, you babble about how you’re almost there, and when your orgasm hits, you go cross eyed with it, wave after wave of pleasure cresting inside you as you shake and cry through it. Chan doesn’t slow for a single second, letting you writhe and twist under him, chasing your hips wherever they go. It’s only when you tug his hair hard enough to pull his head away that he finally stops, looking up at you with dazed, teary eyes. His whole face is sweaty, wet, and blotched pink over his pale cheeks.
He’s a vision.
You pull hard at his sweatshirt until he’s scrambling up your body, and you kiss him hard. He moans appreciatively, immediately licking into your mouth like he needs it to breathe. Your own taste invades your tongue.
“Let me do that again.” He whines. “Please. Wanna make you feel good. Let me lick you again.”
You moan and feel yourself clench hard, head spinning with how badly he’s turning you on. But you feel so empty, and you need him in other ways too, or you feel like you might combust.
“Later.” You promise him. “Need your cock right now.”
“My what?” He pulls back, still looking unfocused as he frowns down at you. You blink a little, clearing the fog in your head a little. Oh.
Your hand travels down until you palm the bulge in his pants. He jerks violently and gasps.
“This,” you whisper, biting your lip. Chan’s eyes shoot down to where it is trapped between your teeth. “Need this inside me.”
“Inside….?”
It’s better to do than to explain, so you push yourself up, arranging him under you until you're straddling his lap where he sits, undoing the drawstring of his sweatpants and pushing them down enough to free his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s girthy, way more than you’ve ever taken before, and he curves just at the tip in a way that you know is going to make you see stars when he fucks you right. You run your hand over him, and he gasps again, hips bucking into your touch.
“Feel good?” You ask. Chan nods furiously.
“Wanna make you feel good.” His voice sounds wrecked. You can’t help your giddy smile at his laser focus on making this pleasurable for you.
“You will.” You adjust yourself until you’re hovering over him, running his tip through your slit. You feel him grip your thighs tightly.
The first slide in is glorious. He’s so thick that he stretches your poor pussy out enough to make your legs tremble violently. He runs his hands over them, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure and pain. If you had more control of your mental faculties, if you weren’t so busy taking his massive cock in, you would try to placate the worry on his face, but you have other things to concern yourself with right now.
The deeper he slides in, the farther up his eyes roll. His jaw goes slack, and you watch with a tinge of amusement as the feeling makes his own face go through a million emotions in the span of a few seconds. It makes you brave, more daring, and it makes you feel so sexy to have the power to make him feel all this for the first time. His grip on your thighs is near bruising, which you don’t think he realises, too lost in how warm and tight your cunt feels. Finally, you are fully seated on him, all the way up to the very base.
“Good?” You manage to gasp out. It seems he chokes on his own words, because he just pulls your body close and jerks his head down in a nod.
“What about you?” He looks up at you, blinking furiously. He looks like he might cry if you say that it doesn’t feel good, not that you would lie like that. You giggle breathlessly.
“It’s so good, Channie.” You coo, running a hand through his hair. “You fill me up perfectly, like you were made for me.”
He whines, so loud and thick with want that you think he might cum right there. He holds you tight against him.
“Yes.” He gasps. “Made for you. My wife. Wanna be with you forever.”
It’s incoherent babbling. Uninhibited because of the lust. You shouldn’t take him seriously. Except you know Chan. You know he doesn’t lie. You know he means this with every fiber in him. Your heart stutters, your exhale shaky. You hug his body tight to you, unable to respond. You want him impossibly closer. You tug at his sweatshirt.
“Off.”
He doesn’t waste a single second, revealing wide expanses of built muscle. You run your eyes over him, hungry for the sight, for the feel of him. Once more, emotion builds inside your chest, filling you up from the inside out.
Finally, when you feel like you’ve adjusted to his size, you rock your hips on him, testing. He gasps immediately, hands running everywhere he can reach you and feel you. You let him, basking under the attention now that your hesitation has melted away and the lust has left you wanting. You slowly build up a rhythm, bouncing on him with less and less care until you feel his cock properly fuck into you the way you wanted. Little gasps and moans leave your lips as well as his. Your body warms under the exertion, the deep penetration making your core clamp up slowly and steadily, pleasure building inside you. Skin against skin makes wet plopping noises, a dirty sound that only adds to what you’re already feeling. It seems Chan just can’t stand to have his mouth unoccupied, because he quickly finds your nipple and starts sucking, making you cry out at the feeling.
Exhaustion starts pulling at your limbs after a while, and you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. You’re so close, you can feel it. You just need a little more, his cock really ramming into you, just a few well aimed thrusts and you know you would topple over.
“Chan.” You pull his head up with a tug on his hair, a habit you’ve created by now. “I’m- I’m tired-”
He doesn’t even wait to hear more, gripping your hips tightly and pistoning up hard into you. You gasp, arching into him.
“Like this?” His voice is raspy, rough. You nod vigorously, unable to form words as he keeps going, fucking up hard into you until you feel nothing but the intense stimulation on your sweet spot, his tip rubbing insistently over it again and again. His pelvis grazes your clit just right with every thrust. You don’t even have time to warn him, clamping tight around him as your orgasm racks through your core. Your whole body winds up with the release, toes curling and eyes rolling. Your lips release a mantra of ‘oh god, oh god, oh god’ as you weep through it, nearly blacking out with how intense it is.
Chan groans loudly then, and you feel something warm coat your insides. Beneath you, you can feel his body jerk and shake, and you hold him tight against you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He moans into your chest as he comes down from his high.
He leans up, kisses you slowly, softly, a welcome feeling after the harsh pounding you just took. You hum into his lips, savouring the feeling of it. Your head is fuzzy, like someone just cleaned it out, leaving nothing behind. Chan nudges his nose against yours, and you blink your eyes open. His smile is dopey, giddy, and you can’t help your giggle.
“I like you like this,” he whispers, “you look so relaxed.”
“All thanks to you.” You brush his hair away from his sweaty face, scratching his scalp a little. He visibly shivers. You can’t help but smile.
You kiss him again, still light and soft. You feel his cock twitch inside you.
“Can I lick you again now? Please?”
You are a little caught off guard, huffing in amusement. “I don’t think I have it in me, Channie.”
“I’ll be gentle.” He runs his hands carefully up your bare back, as if to make a point. “Please. Wanna make you feel good.”
Something stirs in your core again. God, this man will be the death of you. Well, not really a man. A selkie. Your selkie. And his blinding smile when you give in to his begging is enough to tell you that there’s no coming back from this.
Not that you would want to. Like Chan said, you want him to be here with you forever.
summary: after discovering his infidelity, he struggles to win you back while you navigate life after the breakup
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader
genre: heavy angst, no comfort
word count: 6146 words
a/n: after so many great plots and ideas here's the sequel part, originally I wanted to wrap it up within two parts, but it was getting way too lenghthy and I really wanted to post something today for you lovies, so here you go ♡
p.s. there’s a voting poll at the end so please make sure to choose!
Part 1
Part 3 (coming soon)
Masterlist
~°~
The apartment felt wrong without you.
Bang Chan noticed it the second the door slammed shut behind you. Your phone’s charger that was always connected to the dressing table’s socket was gone. Your perfume no longer lingered in the hallway. Even the air felt colder, like it had chosen a side.
He defeatedly sat there for a long time, your engagement ring was still lying where it had landed on the floor. He didn’t pick it up… because touching it will feel like admitting that it was really over.
He took out his phone from his pocket and immediately dialed your number, but it went straight to voicemail.
“Please,” he whispered to no one, thumb hovering before trying again.
The call failed again. He tried multiple times. Then he typed out frantic messages that he knew you’d not reply, but he texted you anyway.
Future Mrs. Bahng 💋
Baby, please answer me
I know I don’t deserve it but please just let me explain
I’m sorry, please give me one last chance.
I’m begging you
Chan started crying again for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. When he felt his legs beginning to numb, only then he stood up and sat on the edge of the bed you once shared, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Every memory attacked him at once—your smile when he came home exhausted, the way you stole his hoodies so they smelled like you, the quiet nights where you held him when the world felt too loud.
He had protected his idol image with iron walls, but he had never protected you and now you were gone.
He called again and again. And again. All of the calls went straight to voicemail.
At some point, desperation replaced dignity, so he got out of both of your shared apartment and started his car. He drove to your sister’s place first, but she was confused as to what happened, Chan couldn’t tell her due to the shame. Then he drove to your best friend’s apartment.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” your friend said firmly, arms crossed in the doorway. “And honestly? You should respect that.”
The door closed before he could answer.
For the first time in years, Chan cried in public—head bowed, shoulders shaking, because the world finally knew what you had always carried quietly.
When he returned home, the apartment was darker than before. He went to your shared bedroom and then finally picked up the ring with trembling fingers, his chest tightened and his knees gave out. He sank to the floor, clutching the ring like it might disintegrate if he held it too tightly. Every apology he had practiced felt useless now.
Inside his head, all he could hear was the echo of the door slamming shut. You had truly left him and this time, no amount of begging could bring you back.
Three days passed and when Chan still didn’t show up at the studio, his members grew worried.
At first, the members assumed he was sick or maybe he just needed rest because Chan had missed studios before—rarely, but it happened. But three days with no calls returned, no texts read, no late-night voice memo explaining himself?
That wasn’t Chan.
Minho was the first to say it out loud.
“He’s not answering,” he muttered, phone pressed to his ear for the fifth time. “This isn’t normal.”
Changbin frowned. “He hasn’t even sent revisions. Hyung doesn’t disappear like this.”
Hyunjin hovered nearby, worry etched into his face. “Should we go check on him?”
Minho didn’t hesitate. “I’m driving.”
They drove to his place in silence. Minho unlocked the door with the spare key, already calling out for Chan. “Hyung?”
The smell of stale alcohol, unwashed clothes, something sour and heavy in the air hit them first. The living room was a mess. Empty bottles littered the floor and coffee table. Clothes were strewn everywhere. The curtains were drawn shut, trapping the dim light inside like the apartment hadn’t seen daylight in days.
Then they saw him.
Chan was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, shoulders hunched. Photographs were scattered around him—printed pictures, old polaroids, ones he must have dug out from drawers he hadn’t opened in years.
Pictures of you, pictures of you with him. He clutched one to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him breathing.
Minho froze. “What the hell happened here?”
Chan looked up slowly, like it took effort just to register their presence. His eyes were red and swollen, his face blotchy from crying. His lip trembled, and suddenly the words spilled out in a broken rush.
“I messed up,” he sobbed. “I messed up big. Please—please help me.”
Changbin crouched down instinctively, panic flashing across his face. “Hyung, what did you do?”
Hyunjin placed a hand on Chan’s shoulder. “Hyung… talk to us.”
It took a long time before Chan could say it. And when he finally did, his voice was barely recognizable.
“I don’t deserve— I don’t—” He sucked in a breath that sounded painful. “I cheated.”
The room went cold.
Minho straightened immediately, his expression hardening in a way Changbin rarely saw. Changbin’s face fell, disbelief quickly giving way to something sharper—something disappointed. Hyunjin’s hand dropped from Chan’s shoulder.
“You did what?” Minho asked quietly.
Chan covered his face with his hands, shaking. “I ruined everything. I lost her. She won’t even look at me anymore.”
Minho’s jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. “You cheated,” he repeated flatly. “On your fiancée.”
Chan swallowed, eyes glossy. “After the LA show, remember how we all went to grab a few drinks?”
They all nodded quietly.
“I was drunk and out of my mind. She was one of the venue staff and it just… it just happened. I thought I could bury it. Pretend it never existed.” His voice cracked again. “But she… she reached out and told me that she’s… pregnant.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Chan dragged a hand down his face, tears slipping free. “She brought me back to the hotel. I don’t even remember getting there. I don’t remember that night at all.” His shoulders trembled. “I woke up the next morning and she was there beside me, and that’s when it hit me. What I’d done.” He let out a broken laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I panicked. I told her to leave. I kicked her out and just—” His chest heaved. “I sat there and cried. I couldn’t believe I ruined everything.”
Hyunjin’s eyes widened slowly, pieces falling into place.“That’s why…” he said quietly. “That’s why you were off and snappy for the rest of the North American tour.”
Chan didn’t look up. He only nodded, shame weighing heavier than anything else.
Changbin stood up.
“I need air,” he said, voice tight. He didn’t look at Chan when he spoke again. “I didn’t think you were capable of that.”
Minho stared down at Chan, eyes unreadable. “Do you have any idea,” he said quietly, “how much she loved you?”
Chan sobbed harder.
“She stayed hidden for you,” Hyunjin said sharply. “And you humiliated her in front of the world.”
That was worse than shouting.
They left soon after. They didn’t offer any hugs or reassurances. Just a lingering look of disappointment that weighed heavier than anger ever could.
By the next day, the others knew.
No one said it outright during practice. There was no confrontation, neither any dramatic explosion, there was just distance.
Chan arrived late, his eyes were hollow and movements slower than usual. He tried to greet once but the sound died awkwardly in the room.
Minho focused on stretching. Changbin kept his replies clipped. Hyunjin avoided eye contact entirely. Han spoke only when necessary. Felix’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Seungmin ignored his existence all together and Jeongin didn’t ask for his help with the lines, instead he went to Changbin.
The band practiced. They corrected formations. They spoke only when work demanded it. And for the first time since becoming their leader, Chan stood among them feeling utterly alone.
He deserved it. He knew that. But knowing didn’t make the silence hurt any less.
A whole week passed like that. Practice became mechanical. Conversations stayed short and strictly professional. No jokes. No late-night talks. No checking in.
On the other hand, all his attempts to contact you seemed to go in vain. His calls went unanswered. Messages stayed unread and the apologies piled up in the chat box, long paragraphs turning into single, desperate lines—please, just talk to me, I need you—until even those stopped. You gave him nothing.
No reply. No acknowledgment. No space in your life anymore.
You were staying over at your best friend’s place. Luckily, she had an empty room and had been looking for another roommate. You grabbed the opportunity immediately. It felt as if the universe was gently telling you that Chan’s chapter in your life was finally over.
He came over a few more times after that. Each time, he argued with your friend, trying to get her to let him in, but he always failed. She stood her ground firmly and you were so grateful for her. You really did not want to see him anymore, even the thought of him twisted your heart painfully, so seeing him will make you crumble, you knew that. You still loved him very much, so all you wanted was to cry all day, eat unhealthy snacks, and lose yourself in dumb rom-coms. But you had a job, and in a strange way, it became a blessing. Work distracted you, gave you something else to focus on, even if only for a few hours.
The nights were the worst though. They felt heavy and endless. You cried yourself to sleep, over and over again, still struggling to believe that Chan had cheated. He had always been so loyal. It felt completely out of character—so unlike the person you thought you knew. You never imagined he could hurt you like this.
*********************
Every day had started to blur into the next.
The same routine consisting of endless writing lyrics, choreography, deadlines, late-night practices. The same rooms filled with people who no longer looked at him the same way.
And you… you had taken the “never existed in each other’s lives” so seriously it terrified him.
No texts. No calls. No accidental run-ins. Like he had been erased.
All he wanted was to talk to you. Just once. To explain and to make you understand that he had never looked at another person like that. Not once, not ever! The very idea of another person, another touch, another smile meant for him, instead it made his stomach turn.
He had been drunk out of his mind that dreadful night, disgustingly so. He hated himself for it. Hated that he drank too much, also hated that he was even out with his team that night. Hated that one reckless, blurred moment had cost him the most important person in his life.
If he could rip that night out of existence, he would. God, he so wished he could do that.
He didn’t even feel like eating nowadays, but he still forced himself to the kitchen, hands moving on autopilot as he made a plain tuna sandwich. He didn’t even put any seasoning, it was a total no effort sandwich, just something to quiet the ache for a few minutes.
He ate standing up, silently, staring at nothing.
The house felt cold, big and too quiet. He could almost hear his own blood rushing in his ears.
The ringtone cut through the silence like a blade.
Chan stared at his phone for a long moment before answering, already exhausted, already hollow.
“Mom?”
Her voice was warm. “Baby, are you and y/nie coming this weekend? It’s almost time for our monthly dinner. I was thinking of making her favorite—”
His breath hitched. The word her shattered something inside him.
“Chan-ah?” his mom’s voice came through the phone again, gentle now. Worried. “Are you okay, baby?”
His throat closed.
He swallowed hard. “Mom… we’re not coming.”
There was a pause. “What do you mean?”
“Y/N and I…” His voice cracked despite his effort. “We’re not together anymore.”
Silence.
Her tone changed instantly. “What? No, what? When did this happen?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I messed up. I hurt her. And now she won’t even talk to me.”
“Oh, Chan-ah…” his mom said softly, she was speechless hearing the news.
The dam broke. He couldn’t stop the sob that tore out of his chest, sharp and ugly, the kind that startled even him. He pressed the phone closer, shaking.
“Mom,” he sobbed. “Please… can you come over? I need you.”
There was no hesitation. “I’m on my way.”
His mom arrived less than an hour later.
The moment she stepped inside his apartment, her face fell. She took in the mess—the bottles, the darkness, the way her son looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten properly in days. Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, my baby…” she whispered, rushing to him.
But when he collapsed into her arms, sobbing like a child, she felt something was deeply, terribly wrong.
“Tell me,” she said, stroking his hair. “Whatever it is, tell me.”
He pulled away, shame carving his face apart.
“Chan-ah,” she whispered. “What happened?”
They sat across from each other, and he told her everything—his voice cracking, his head bowed in shame. The cheating. The drinking. The pregnancy. The way you had looked at him before you left.
When he finished, the room was silent.
His mother didn’t yell and that hurt more.
She stood slowly, eyes glistening with tears, but not of anger, but of heartbreak.
“How could you do this?” she asked quietly. “To her? To yourself?”
Chan let out a sob.
“You cheated,” she said, almost to herself. “On the girl who called me ‘mom’ before we were even engaged. On the only girl your father and I approved of from the very beginning.”
He sobbed harder. “I know… and I hate myself for this. Please—please don’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” she whispered, tears falling freely now. “That would be easier.”
She pressed a hand to her chest like it physically hurt.
“She trusted you,” his mom said softly. “And she loved you unconditionally, but you failed her.”
He broke down again and dropped to his knees. He crawled toward her desperately.
“Please, Mom,” he begged. “She loves you so much. Please—please tell her to come back to me. I can’t do this without her.”
His mother knelt too, gripping his shoulders firmly.
“No,” she said, voice steady despite the tears falling. “She is like my daughter. And she deserves better than a man who would betray her and then beg for forgiveness only after losing her.”
Chan cried openly, uncontrollably, “Please mom, just do this one thing for me. I swear I’ll never ask anything from you ever again. Please just… talk to her. Tell her to come back. I’ll do anything. I’ll fix it.”
“No.” His mom said sharply.
The word felt final. She knelt in front of him, holding his face gently.
“I love you,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “But loving you does not mean defending what you did.”
The words cut deeper than anything his members had said. She left not long after.
And while she drove home, she called you.
You answered hesitantly.
But when you heard her voice, warm and trembling, “My sweet girl…”
You broke down. All the strength you’d been forcing yourself to hold onto collapsed as you cried openly, grief pouring out of you. She didn’t rush you. She didn’t defend him. She just listened. You apologized through tears even though you had nothing to apologize for.
“I loved him so much,” you whispered. “I tried so hard.”
“I know,” she said, voice thick. “I saw it every time you looked at him.”
She didn’t ask you to forgive him. She didn’t ask you to go back.
She just said, “Please don’t disappear from my life. Call me. Visit me. Let me still love you.”
That made you cry harder.
“You will always be my daughter,” she continued gently. “No matter what happens with my son.”
You nodded even though she couldn’t see you. “I promise.”
In the end, she said quietly, “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
After you hung up, a strange lightness settled over your chest. It wasn’t the kind of relief that erased the pain but it did feel like a small thread of warmth weaving itself into the emptiness.
You hadn’t told your own family about the breakup yet, because how could you? How could you even begin to explain that the person you had imagined your whole life with, the person you trusted completely, had shattered everything in one drunken mistake?
But talking to his mom—hearing her voice, feeling her concern, and knowing she still saw you as part of the family in her heart—felt like the virtual hug you didn’t realize you had been craving.
So, for the first time in weeks, you let yourself breathe. You let yourself cry without guilt. Let yourself be comforted, even from a distance, by someone who had loved both of you deeply and wanted the best for you.
*********************
After his mom left, the apartment felt emptier than before. Chan sat alone in the silence when his phone buzzed again.
A new message from the other woman.
Gemma
I’ve decided I’m keeping the child. I think we should meet and talk.
His stomach twisted violently.
He typed back immediately.
Chan
No, I don't want this.
Please don't contact me again.
His hands shook as he set the phone down. Inside, his thoughts spiraled.
If it’s not Y/N, he thought bitterly, I’ll never be a father.
He couldn’t imagine holding a child that wasn’t born from love. From you. He couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t have your laugh in it, your warmth, your presence.
Without you, everything felt wrong.
But Gemma didn’t stop. She kept calling and texting and finally he gave in because he was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of thinking, tired of waking up every morning with your absence sitting heavier than his own guilt.
“Come to my place,” he told her over the phone, voice flat. “I don’t want paparazzi seeing us again. We’ll talk and that’s it.”
He didn’t even wait for her response before hanging up.
When she arrived, Chan barely looked at her as he opened the door. He kept his distance, arms crossed, shoulders rigid, like he was bracing himself for impact.
They sat on opposite ends of the couch. The silence stretched.
Then she smiled at him, trying to ease the tension in the room. “So… what are we going to do?”
Chan exhaled slowly. “I don’t want this child.”
Her smile faltered.
“You can keep it if you want,” he continued, forcing the words out like they were poison. “I’ll cover everything. Hospital bills. Living expenses. Whatever you need financially. I can meet the child occasionally—every other weekend, maybe. That’s all I can do.”
Her face hardened instantly.
“So that’s it?” she snapped. “Did I ask to get pregnant, Bang Chan?”
He didn’t answer or defend himself. He just stared at the floor, already defeated.
“That’s not fair,” she continued sharply, standing up now. “You think money fixes everything? You think I want to do this alone?”
Still nothing from him. That silence made her angrier.
“You’re going to support me,” she said coldly. “All of it. Doctor visits. Appointments. Delivery. Or I will ruin you.”
Chan laughed bitterly, finally looking up at her. “You already ruined me. What else do you want?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You have a band to protect.”
That stopped him.
For the first time, something like fear flickered across his face, not for himself, but for the people who had nothing to do with his mistake.
“You don’t get to threaten them,” he snapped, standing up. “Don’t make me involve lawyers.”
The word seemed to sober her.
She hesitated, then scoffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. No lawyers. But I want your full support during the pregnancy.”
Chan closed his eyes.
“Fine,” he said quietly. “But you’ll meet with my managers at JYPE. There will be documents and some NDA’s. Everything in writing.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
Chan followed a few steps behind, exhausted, numb until movement on the other side of the door made his heart stop.
The lock turned and the door opened. There you were, key still halfway in your hand. You looked at him with widening eyes. Your breath caught somewhere between surprise and pain.
“Oh,” you said softly. “I thought you weren’t home.”
Your gaze shifted and then you took her in, standing there beside him, close enough to look intentional.
Chan’s world collapsed all over again.
“No—wait,” he said immediately, panic flooding his voice as he stepped toward you. “It’s not what it looks like—”
But the damage was already done. You looked at them sadly, he saw the flicker of disappointment in your gaze.
“I was just leaving,” the woman said quickly, slipping her shoes on, eyes flicking between the two of you.
You nodded once, polite, distant. “Yeah, me too.”
You stepped back, ready to turn away. That was when Chan grabbed your wrist.
“Please,” he said, voice breaking. “Just—come inside. Please. I can’t have you misunderstand this more.”
You froze, but not because you wanted to stay. No, because you knew what a scene outside would cost him.
Slowly, you pulled your hand from his grip. “Five minutes,” you said flatly.
Inside, the apartment felt like a stranger’s home now.
Nothing screamed you anymore.
The woman lingered awkwardly near the door as Chan turned to face you, panic etched into every line of his face. She quickly left without another word.
“I didn’t invite her here like that,” he started quickly. “She just came to talk—”
“Stop,” you said harshly.
He swallowed.
“We’re not together anymore,” you continued calmly. “So you don’t owe me explanations. You can do whatever you want.”
He felt his heart twisting.
He shook his head, stepping closer. “It’s not like that. I don’t want her. I don’t want this—”
“That doesn’t matter,” you replied. “What you want stopped mattering the moment you slept with someone else.”
You cleared your throat. “I was just here to get the rest of my stuff, I’ll be quick.”
You turned away from him, walking toward what used to be your bedroom. The room where you had fallen asleep tangled in his arms, where you’d whispered plans about the future, about kids, about growing old together. Now it felt like a stranger’s space.
“No wait,” Chan whispered.
You stopped, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag, then turned back.
Chan stood there completely undone. His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes wet, shoulders shaking like he was holding himself together with sheer will. He looked smaller somehow, like the man you loved had been hollowed out and left behind.
“Y/N… how can I fix this?” he asked desperately. “Please. Just tell me what to do.”
“There’s no way,” you said softly.
The finality in your tone made his breath stutter.
“Please—” he tried again, stepping closer, reaching for you before stopping himself, hands curling into fists instead.
“You didn’t make one mistake,” you continued gently. “You made a choice. And some choices don’t get undone.”
You picked up your bag.
“I hope you heal,” you added, meeting his eyes one last time. “But I can’t be part of your life anymore.”
Something in him broke completely. You walked past him making your way to the bedroom.
“She’s going to keep the baby,” he said suddenly.
You stopped in your tracks, your hand tightening around your bag, heart betraying you by stuttering at the mention of the baby.
“I’ll be there financially. I’ll do what I have to.”
“I hope you do,” you replied calmly. “That child didn’t ask for any of this.”
He nodded slowly, avoiding eye contact as he looked down.
Silence filled the apartment again.
“Can we… try again?” he asked quietly. “Y/N, you know me. I would never cheat. I was drunk. I lost control.” His voice broke. “Please… forgive me.”
Your heart clenched painfully, but it didn’t waver.
“No,” you said gently.
The softness didn’t make it easier.
His breath shook as he exhaled, hands gripping the wall nearby like they were the only things keeping him upright.
“You always wanted to be a father,” you continued, voice steady despite the ache spreading through your chest. “Raise the child properly. Be present. Be better.”
He shook his head immediately, desperation flooding his expression. “No. I wanted to be the father of your child. Not anyone else’s.”
That was when the tears came.
You looked away before he could see them fully, blinking hard as your vision blurred. “I guess destiny had other plans,” you said quietly.
The words tasted bitter, but they were true.
You both stood there in that truth, the apartment heavy with everything you had been and everything you would never be. The walls felt like they were listening — like they remembered your laughter, your arguments, your late-night confessions whispered under dim lights.
“I’ll always love you,” he said softly, barely louder than a breath.
“I know,” you whispered. “And I hope you’re happy someday.”
You lifted your bag, pausing for half a second like your body was fighting your decision even though your heart already knew.
“I’ll send my friend another day to grab the rest of my stuff,” you said quietly. “It’s better if I leave now.”
Chan’s jaw tightened, eyes shining, but he said nothing.
You took a step back, then another. “Goodbye, Chan.”
He looked up at you like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. The curve of your lips. The moles around your face. Like this might be the last time he was allowed to see you like this.
You looked at him one last time too.
And in that silent apartment, both of you quietly mourned not just each other but the life you had believed in with everything you had.
You let out a sigh before turning towards the main door.
He didn’t reach for you, even though he wanted to. But he knew he lost that right, so he just watched you leave, tears blurring his vision.
Every step you took toward the door felt like you were carrying a piece of him away and leaving pieces of yourself behind in the quiet apartment that had once been your home.
When your hand wrapped around the doorknob, you hesitated and just for a moment his heart felt hopeful but it quickly turned hopeless when you opened the door and stepped out.
The click of it closing behind you echoed through the apartment.
Chan stayed where he was long after you left, staring at the empty space you had occupied, chest aching with a pain so deep he didn’t think it would ever leave.
*********************
Two months later, your life felt different. You were still aching but no longer suffocating, and that was a huge progress.
Changbin showed up on a rare free afternoon, a grocery bag in one hand and his familiar grin on his face like he was trying to remind you of something you’d forgotten.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said as he stepped inside. “I brought snacks. I’m a guest, not a therapist.”
You laughed despite yourself, the sound surprising you both.
You spent the afternoon sprawled on the couch, music playing softly in the background, talking about everything and nothing—tour stories, silly arguments between the members, the weird dreams Changbin kept having lately. It felt easy and comforting like it always did with him.
At some point, the laughter faded into quiet.
Changbin glanced at you, his expression gentler now. “You okay?”
You nodded automatically. Then shook your head just as quickly as the tears came without warning.
He didn’t say anything, he just opened his arms, and you folded into him and cried into his chest, fingers clutching his hoodie, grief finally spilling out now that it had somewhere to land.
“It hurts,” you whispered.
“I know,” he murmured, one hand rubbing slow circles into your back. “You don’t have to be strong around us. Ever.”
When you finally pulled away, wiping your face, you let out a shaky breath. “How is he?”
Changbin hesitated just a second too long.
“Miserable,” he said honestly.
You sighed, sadness blooming quietly in your chest, but not with relief or satisfaction. Just grief for what had been. “I figured.”
The room fell silent again, comfortable but heavy.
Then Changbin tilted his head, eyes lighting up with a mischievous spark. “So. I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s never good,” you said weakly.
He chuckled. “YAH! So rude. But listen… my friend Kim Mingyu?”
You blinked. “Kim Mingyu of Seventeen?”
“Yes, that Mingyu,” Changbin said, nodding. “And before you freak out—no pressure. I’m not setting you up tomorrow or anything.”
You stared at him, stunned.
“He’s… a total green flag,” Changbin continued earnestly. “Respectful. Gentle. Good listener. And he’s been single for a while now.”
You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Bin, I’m barely functioning. You think I’m ready to even think about someone like him?”
“I think,” Changbin said softly, “that you deserve someone who won’t hurt you. And I think it wouldn’t hurt to remember that good people still exist.”
The room grew quiet again.
You hugged a pillow to your chest, eyes unfocused. “I’m not saying yes...”
“I didn’t ask for yes,” Changbin replied with a grin. “I asked for maybe someday.”
You glanced at him, something fragile but hopeful flickering in your expression.
“Maybe someday,” you echoed.
And Changbin smiled, knowing that for now, that was enough.
*********************
Chan kept tabs on you.
It was harder than he expected though, because you were never someone who lived online. You barely posted. So he had nothing for him to cling to.
So he did the only thing he could.
He watched your friends’, cousins’ and colleagues’ accounts. Any tagged photos he could find. Any glimpse that proved you still existed in a world that no longer included him.
And when he found them—small, accidental moments—he saw that you were glowing.
You were healthier, brighter and alive in a way you hadn’t been in months.
He noticed the way people still surrounded you.
Your family hosted game nights almost every week now — laughter spilling through the photos, proof that you were still held and still loved dearly.
He noticed how his members reached out to you quietly and carefully. They never took any sides, not out loud at least. Once, late at night in the studio, he overheard Seungmin on the phone in the hallway. Seungmin’s voice was low and soft in a way Chan rarely heard.
“You don’t have to be okay right now,” Seungmin had said.
Chan stayed where he was, frozen, listening to only one side of the conversation, trying to imagine your replies. Wondering if you sounded tired. If you still laughed the same. If you mentioned his name or avoided it completely.
Even his parents still spoke of you like you were family.
His mom called you regularly. His dad asked about you over dinner like it was the most natural thing in the world. They used your name fondly. One afternoon, as he passed by his sister's room, meaning to grab a charger. Her phone buzzed on the bed. He wasn’t trying to look but your name lit up the screen: Y/N 💗
His breath caught painfully and he stopped walking.
For a split second, his heart betrayed him, he smiled softly seeing your name before reality settled in. You weren’t texting him. You hadn’t in months.
His sister smiled at the notification, fingers already moving to reply. “She’s sending me pictures from game night,” she said casually, not noticing the way Chan’s face had gone pale. “She looks happier.”
He nodded stiffly, forcing a small smile, and walked away before she could say anything else. His chest felt tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the house anymore.
Everyone still had access to you. Everyone except him.
You existed everywhere in his life — in conversations, in laughter, in phones lighting up with your name — just close enough for him to see, but forever out of reach.
You were not alone, and that knowledge both comforted and devastated him. At least he hadn’t destroyed you completely. At least you were healing, even if it was far away from him.
The guilt never left. He had broken the one person who had loved him without conditions, without expectations, without fear. He lost you, the love of his life, and he was forced to carry that bitter truth for the rest of his life.
It was like you left and took away all the light. His members still spoke to him, but it was different now. It was polite and professional. The warmth was gone, replaced by distance that no amount of time seemed to fix. His parents were disappointed in him in a way that cut deeper than anger. His siblings barely hid their disapproval, their voices careful whenever your name almost slipped into conversation.
And then there was… Gemma.
She lingered, she was always around and always was finding excuses to text him, to check in, to suggest coffee or dinner like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t watched his life fall apart and decided it was an opportunity.
Chan wanted nothing to do with her.
The idea of dating—of touching someone else, of pretending he could move on—made his stomach turn. He would rather be alone for the rest of his life than replace you with anyone else.
You weren’t replaceable. And he knew, with painful clarity, that the version of you he loved so desperately was gone from his life forever and it was his own fault.
*********************
Chan sat stiffly in the JYPE office, the sterile fluorescent lights above reflecting off the polished table. His hands were gripping the edge so hard his knuckles were white. The envelope with the DNA results lay in front of him like a loaded gun.
“Not the father,” the manager said quietly, sliding the paper toward him.
Chan’s chest tightened. His stomach lurched. He blinked, as if the words themselves were an insult.
“What… what do you mean I’m not the father?” he demanded, voice low and sharp.
The authorities, present to mediate, explained gently but firmly. “We conducted the test. The child is not biologically yours.”
Gemma, sitting stiffly across the table, looked utterly confused, her words fumbling. “Wait… maybe it’s… the other guy? I don’t understand…”
Chan’s fists slammed down on the table, rattling the pens and paperwork. “Other guy? You—are you kidding me?!” His voice cracked, sharp and dangerous, the kind that made the room freeze.
His managers immediately held up their hands, keeping their tone calm. “Chan… breathe. Please. Just breathe. Sit down.”
He finally sank into the chair, shoulders hunched, rage and relief fighting in his chest. His legs shook. The adrenaline of fury and the exhaustion of months of guilt and anxiety left him trembling.
One of the managers placed a bottle of water in front of him. “Chan… just drink and calm down first. We’ll handle the rest.”
He stared at the bottle, trembling so badly it spilled a few drops onto the desk. He grabbed it anyway, chugging it down like it might wash away the storm inside him, but of course it didn’t.
His mind raced with betrayal, anger, frustration and everything that had been bottled for months exploded all at once. Gemma’s carelessness, the deception, the false hope… and yet, deep down, there was relief. Relief that it wasn’t his child. Relief that he could never make the mistake of raising someone else’s child when his heart—and the part of him that truly mattered—forever belonged to you only.
He leaned back, trying to control his breathing, fists still clenched. The room was quiet, except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. Even the managers were careful, letting him have the moment.
Chan finally whispered, almost to himself: “I… I can’t believe she… all this time… what the hell…”
The managers nodded silently, letting him process the whirlwind. Tension clung to the air as they watched Chan. He looked as though he was fighting the urge to destroy everything.
summary: your world collapses when you find out that he cheated on you
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader
genre: heavy angst, no comfort
word count: 2936 words
a/n: based on this request
Part 2
Masterlist
~°~
You were lying on the couch, half-distracted, scrolling through Twitter while the room around you stayed quiet. It was late afternoon on a weekend, and your mind felt pleasantly empty, the way it usually did when you let yourself think about nothing at all.
Then the page refreshed.
#BANGCHAN was trending.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
Of course your fiancé was trending. He always was. Maybe he’d posted another gym photo on Bubble, or maybe he’d written something flirty teasing STAYs on Bubble or FANS, the kind that made them scream while you rolled your eyes fondly because you knew who those words were really meant for. So, it was probably another one of his chaos moments. You could already imagine the captions.
You let out a soft giggle as you tapped the hashtag, already prepared to tease him about it later.
He’s at it again, you thought fondly.
The smile didn’t even have time to fade slowly. Instead, it dropped sharply and immediately as if someone had ripped it straight off your face as you saw the first photo that loaded.
There was no mistaking him, Bang Chan, dressed casually, a black cap pulled low, shoulders tense as if he were aware he was being watched. His hand was held slightly behind him, fingers wrapped around someone else’s wrist in a way that was instinctive and familiar.
A blonde woman walked beside him.
Another photo followed, it was blurry, clearly taken in a hurry. The two of them stepped out of a private building, dimly lit, discreet. The kind of place kpop idols didn’t go unless they really trusted who they were with.
Your chest tightened.
Your heart dropped for a split second but it was enough to knock the air from your lungs.
No. No, this had to be wrong.
You scrolled faster as you felt your pulse thudding in your ears.
There was a video that you played quickly. The footage was shaky and was taken from a distance. A bodyguard moved ahead of Chan and that woman, motioning them towards a car quickly. You saw Chan’s hand reach back automatically, fingers closing around her wrist protectively. He guided her forward, placing himself slightly between her and the cameras. His expression wasn’t soft. It was worried, stressed and almost strained.
You barely registered yourself breathing.
The video continued. He opened the car door for her, shielding her as she got inside, his body angled deliberately so she wouldn’t be seen. Only after the door shut did he move to follow, the bodyguard stepping in front just in time.
The clip ended and your chest felt hollow. You stared at the screen, replaying the moment his hand had closed around hers. Your heart broke seeing how easy it looked, and how it was done without hesitation, without fear and without the careful distance he always kept with you.
You scrolled further and read the comments under the video.
“who is that?”
“chan looked stressed as hell”
“is he dating??”
“bro was HOLDING HER HAND”
“we have a mom now?”
“that should be me”
“luckiest girl in the world”
Your fingers felt cold.
Maybe she was staff, or a new manager, or someone foreign who needed protection, maybe even someone important enough to warrant secrecy. There were explanations, yes, there had to be.
But none of them explained why it hurt like this.
You had been hidden from the beginning. Always a step behind him. Always waiting indoors while he left. Always careful not to touch him in public, not to stand too close, not to exist where someone could see. You’d learned how to love quietly, how to shrink yourself into the shadows because that was the price of being with him. And yet here he was holding someone else’s hand in public. Protecting her without hesitation. Letting the world see that.
Your phone felt heavy in your hand as your heart began to race, and maybe also because it wasn’t about who she was, but instead it was about the fact that he had never allowed to see you like that. Not even after your engagement.
Your phone vibrated in your hand bringing you back to reality. You flinched as if it had burned you. You didn’t have to unlock the screen to know who it was, but you did anyway. You were right, it was him, he was texting you.
Channie 💘
Baby, I can explain.
I’ll be home soon, okay?
I love you.
You stared at his texts, the words blurring slightly as your head began to spin.
Explain what?
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, then froze. You couldn’t reply. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts crashing into each other too loudly to form a sentence. Whatever was happening felt too big, too sudden, like the ground had shifted beneath your feet without warning.
You set your phone down and stood up slowly, the room tilting just enough to make you pause.
You decided to make some tea. Tea always helped calm down your nerves. You moved into the kitchen on autopilot, filling the kettle, waiting for it to boil, focusing on the familiar routine because it was easier than thinking. Easier than replaying the video again and again in your mind.
When you finally wrapped your hands around the warm mug, your shoulders loosened just a fraction. You took a careful sip, letting the heat settle in your chest.
Your other hand drifted absentmindedly to your ring.
You twisted it gently around your finger, a habit you’d developed without realizing it. The engagement ring caught the light softly, quiet and private, just like everything else between you and him.
There was no way. He wouldn’t. Your Channie wouldn’t cheat. Not him. He was your angel boy. He couldn’t. You were engaged.
You remembered the engagement and how much effort he put in to propose to you, how his hands had shaken when he slid the most beautiful ring that you had ever seen on, how he’d whispered that you were it for him. That no one else mattered. The way he kissed you and how you both made love that night.
Just then you heard the front door open. You heard his frantic steps as he called for you.
“Baby?” Chan’s voice called out, breathless and panicked.
“In here,” you said, clearing your throat.
His hurried footsteps followed as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. His hair was slightly damp, his chest rising and falling too fast, eyes wide as if he’d been holding himself together by force alone. He crossed the room in seconds, as his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost desperately, pulling you against him as if he was afraid you might disappear. His body shook as he buried his face into your shoulder, a broken sound leaving his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he choked, words muffled. “I’m so— I’m sorry.”
Then he started sobbing uncontrollably. It was raw and frantic, like everything he’d been holding back had finally snapped.
You stood there, frozen, your tea forgotten on the counter, your mind struggling to catch up with the scene unfolding in front of you. This wasn’t anger. This wasn’t defensiveness. This wasn’t what you’d prepared yourself for on the walk to the kitchen.
You were confused.
So many questions pressed against your tongue—Who was she? Why were you holding her hand? Why does the world get to see that and I don’t?
But his grip tightened, his breathing turning shallow and uneven, and you felt it then, he was on the verge of a panic attack.
You swallowed hard.
Whatever this was, whatever answers you deserved, they would have to wait.
Slowly, you lifted your arms and wrapped them around him, one hand pressing gently between his shoulder blades, the other rubbing small circles into his back.
“Hey,” you whispered softly, steadying your voice for him. “Breathe, Chan. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay?”
His sobs stuttered, uneven breaths hitching against your neck as you held him together while everything inside you threatened to fall apart.
You wanted answers but right now, he needed comfort, and you loved him enough to give it. As you felt him calm down a bit, you guided him gently toward the living room, one hand pressed firmly against his chest as you tried to ground him.
“Channie,” you said softly, steady despite the chaos in your head. “Let’s sit down. Okay? Come sit with me.”
He shook his head at first, arms tightening around you as if letting go—even for a moment—might make you vanish. His fingers dug into your back, his breath still uneven and sharp.
“Please,” you murmured again, firmer this time. “We need to sit.”
Reluctantly, he loosened his hold. The second your body shifted away from his, his hand shot out, gripping yours with startling strength, fingers lacing through yours so tightly it almost hurt. It felt less like affection and more like fear.
Like if he let go, he’d lose you.
You swallowed, your confusion deepening as he let you lead him to the couch, never once releasing your hand. Even when you sat, he stayed angled toward you, knees brushing, shoulders tense, eyes flicking to your face again and again as if memorizing it.
You sat there in silence for a moment, his thumb rubbing frantic circles against your knuckles.
He finally spoke.
“Please,” he said shakily, voice already breaking. “You have to know how much I love you.”
Your stomach tightened.
“I need you,” he continued, words tumbling over each other, desperately. “I need you more than I need air. I can’t— I can’t function without you. You’re everything to me, you’re my home, you’re—” He choked, dragging in a breath. “I would die without you.”
Your chest ached, but not in the way it used to when he said things like this.
Something felt wrong.
You gently pulled your hand back just enough to get his attention. He resisted at first, then froze, eyes snapping up to yours as if he’d been caught doing something unforgivable.
Your voice came out steadier than you felt.
“Chan,” you said, stern now, grounded. “What did you do?”
The words landed heavily between you. His face went pale.
You watched it happen—the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes flicked away, the way his breath stuttered like he’d been punched in the chest. Your heart sank slowly, dread curling deep in your gut.
“Don’t,” you warned quietly. “Don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what happened.”
Your instincts screamed that something was deeply, horribly wrong.
He swallowed hard, shoulders slumping as if the weight he’d been carrying had finally become unbearable. His grip on your hand loosened just slightly as if he was bracing himself.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” he whispered.
Your chest felt tight.
Find out what?
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, and you realized with a unsettling ache that whatever came next would change something fundamental between you.
He stared at the floor for a long moment, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“It happened during the North America tour.”
Your body went cold.
“One night,” he continued shakily, “after the concert, everyone was exhausted, and… there was drinking. Too much drinking. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t myself.” His words stumbled over each other. “One thing led to another and—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. He teared up and then confessed.
“I slept with her,” he said quietly. “Once. It was a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life.”
Your hand slipped out of his as if his skin had burned you.
The movement was small, but the effect on him was immediate. His head snapped up, eyes wide, devastation written clearly across his face.
“She contacted me recently,” he said, tears spilling freely now. “She said she’s pregnant.”
Pregnant.
The word echoed in your head as you felt your world spinning.
“Baby, please,” he sobbed, reaching for you again. “I made a mistake. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you so much.”
Your voice came out broken, stripped of warmth. “You cheated.”
The words felt unreal as they left your mouth.
“I never expected this from you,” you whispered. “Never.”
He shook his head violently, desperation etched into every line of his face. “It was an accident. I was drunk out of my mind, I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t care!” you yelled at him.
The sound shocked both of you.
“I don’t care,” you repeated, standing up abruptly. “Being drunk doesn’t erase what you did.”
He tried to grab your arm, words pouring out in frantic fragments—apologies, explanations, promises—but you pushed him away and walked straight toward your shared bedroom.
You didn’t look back.
Your hands shook as you opened the wardrobe and grabbed a suitcase, throwing it onto the bed. You began packing without thinking—clothes, essentials, anything within reach—your movements were sharp and angry.
Behind you, he followed, crying openly now.
“Please, stop,” he begged, pulling clothes out of the suitcase as fast as you put them in. “We can fix this. Please don’t do this.”
“Stop it,” you said, voice trembling.
He didn’t.
You turned on him, chest heaving. “I said stop.”
“Please,” he cried, pulling items back out. “Don’t leave. Please don’t do this.”
The slap landed before you could think twice. The sound of your palm against his cheek echoed sharply through the room. He froze as you continued packing.
“There is no us anymore,” you said, your voice trembling but unyielding. “You destroyed it.”
He collapsed in front of you, sobbing openly now. “Baby, please. Don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.”
A broken laugh escaped you.
“Go to her,” you said bitterly. “Take care of the baby.”
“No,” he cried. “She doesn’t want it. She told me she doesn’t want the baby.”
“Oh,” you laughed again humorlessly. “So I’m supposed to stay?”
You pulled the engagement ring off your finger, the metal cold against your skin, and tossed it toward him. It landed on the floor between you with a dull clink.
“Do not try to contact me ever again,” you said. “Let’s pretend we never existed in each other’s lives.”
“No,” he sobbed, stumbling after you. “You don’t mean that. Please. You don’t mean that.”
You didn’t respond. You lifted the suitcase from the bed and walked toward the door without looking back.
He moved fast, panic overtaking him, and stepped directly in front of the bedroom’s doorway, blocking your path. His hands trembled as he reached out to hold your hand, you jerked your hand harshly.
“Please,” he cried. “Don’t leave. Please. I can’t lose you like this.”
You stopped inches away from him.
“You hid it from me,” you said quietly.
The room went still.
His breath hitched as the words sank in, his shoulders sagging like he’d been holding himself upright by force alone.
“I was scared,” he whispered. “I was so scared that my one night of drunken mistake would come back to haunt me. I thought if I kept it buried, if I never said anything, we could stay the same.”
Your grip tightened on the suitcase handle.
“I can never forgive you for this,” you said, voice breaking despite your resolve. “Not for cheating. And not for lying to my face every day after.”
He shook his head frantically, tears spilling. “I was drunk. I wasn’t in my senses. Please, baby—please. It never happened before. This was the only time.”
You looked at him then, really looked at him.
“I don’t trust you,” you said.
He broke completely then.
“Baby,” he cried, voice rising, raw and desperate. “Yell at me. Please. Slap me again. Do anything… hurt me, punish me but please don’t leave. I’ll take anything. Anything is better than this.”
The words made something in your stomach turn.
You stared at him, really stared, and for the first time you didn’t see the man you loved. You saw someone clawing at you out of fear, not love. Someone trying to keep you at the cost of your dignity.
“If you love me,” you said slowly, your voice shaking but firm, “if you respect me even a little bit… then you’ll move and let me leave.”
He shook his head violently, tears dripping from his chin. “No. No, please. I’ll do anything else. Literally anything. I’ll disappear, I’ll beg, I’ll fix it, I’ll—”
“Move, Bang Chan.”
The way you said his name flatly, made him freeze. He noticed how you looked at him with utter disgust. There was no warmth or love in those eyes, he never saw your eyes like this. His mouth opened, then closed. His shoulders sagged as shame crashed over his face, and his eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet yours any longer.
You pushed past him firmly. His legs gave out, and he stumbled back against the doorway, collapsing to the floor. Your suitcase swung by your side as you moved past him, not looking back.
He reached for you one last time, fingers brushing empty air as you turned away.
Seconds later, the sound of the main door slamming shut echoed through the apartment.
He froze, eyes wide, chest heaving, listening to the finality in the noise.
And in that moment, standing in the bedroom doorway, he realized with crushing clarity that you were never coming back. And no amount of tears, apologies, or desperation could ever bring you through that door again. You were gone forever.
synopsis: while you and chan are wrapping christmas presents, one thing leads to another until eventually he’s wrapped in ribbon and you’ve made yourself at home between his knees.
pairing: sub-ish!chan x f!reader
genre: smut
contains: ribbon used as a blindfold, ribbon used as hand restraints, kissing, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart), reader calls chan ‘chris’ like- twice, blowjob, head pushing, face fucking (kinda)
word count: 5.4k
now playing: strings - taemin
event taglist is open!!
[a/n]: this one is for my subby chan enjoyers >:) did i go a lil overboard on this without even realizing… yeeeees. and what ab it? he’s fine as FAWK and i’m just appreciating fr :p this has not been proof read!!
the living room floor is a chaotic sprawl of wrapping paper and ribbons, gift boxes sprawled about in various states of completion.
you sit cross-legged amidst the festive mess, carefully folding a corner of silver paper over a rectangular box while chan hums along to the holiday playlist playing from a speaker somewhere to your right.
"i think we bought too little tape," chan mumbles as he holds up a nearly empty dispenser with a sheepish grin.
"that's because someone uses half a roll per present," you tease, eyeing toward the gift he'd just finished wrapping—a box of his own that’s more tape than wrapping paper.
your boyfriend is good at so many things, but gift wrapping unfortunately is not one of them.
you shake your head fondly and reach for a roll of red ribbon that rests between the two of you, measuring out a length of it against your forearm. the scissors make a satisfying snip as you cut it to your needed size. chan has already moved on to his next victim: a oddly-shaped item that he was attempting to wrap with increasing frustration.
"why would anyone make something this shape?" his complaint is grumbled, turning the object this way and that as wrapping paper crinkles, refusing to cooperate. "it's like... a weird triangle situation."
"here," you set aside your own project and scoot a little closer. "let me help, channie"
together, you manage to wrangle the paper around the awkward angles, your fingers brushing against his as you both reach for the same piece of tape. chan's hand lingers for just a moment, warm and gentle, before pulling back with a soft smile.
"thanks. you're better at this than me."
"practice," you reply, tying a neat bow on top of the newest wrapped present. "and patience."
"two things i apparently lack," chan manages with a laugh as he stretches his arms above his head. his sweater rides up slightly, and you can’t help the way your eyes gravitate to the sliver of skni.
the next hour passes you by in comfortable companionship.
you wrap presents with practiced efficiency while chan provides running commentary on everything from the optimal bow-tying technique (which he absolutely does not possess) to whether snowflake or reindeer paper is superior (an ongoing debate).
"your bows are so perfect," chan says with a tinge of awe, watching as you created another flawless loop. "how do you do that?"
"it's all in the wrist," you demonstrate, but when chan tries to mimic your movement his ribbon ended up in a lopsided knot.
"i think my wrists are broken," the announcement is a little dramatic and it’s promptly followed by him holding up his hands like they’ve betrayed him.
you laugh, reaching over to fix his attempt in only a matter of seconds. "they're perfect wrists. the ribbon is just being difficult."
chan's expression softens at that, something fond and warm flickering across his face. "you're always so nice about my complete lack of wrapping skills."
"well, that's because watching you struggle is entertaining." you hum.
"wow, using me for entertainment. i see how it is."
"would you rather wrap presents alone?"
"absolutely not," he says immediately, giving you one of his little looks—brow raised, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“no?”
"nah, this is the best part of the holidays. just... this." he gestures vaguely at the scene around you—the mess, the music, the two of you sitting close together on the floor. there's something so sincere in his voice that it makes your chest feel warm.
"yeah," you agree softly. "it really is."
chan picks up another ribbon and winds it absent mindedly around his fingers as he studies the remaining pile of gifts. "we're making good progress though. only... what, ten more?"
"twelve," you correct, "but who's counting?"
"apparently you are," he grins. before you can respond, he loops the ribbon loosely around your wrist like a bracelet. "there. now you're festive."
you look down at the makeshift decoration. when you glance up you’re met with a pleased expression, the sight of it making that warmth in your chest expand. "very stylish, channie"
"what can i say? i'm a trendsetter," chan declares with a shrug, already reaching for more wrapping paper, completely unaware of how endearing he is in this moment—hair slightly mussed, that bright smile. you say nothing, but you have a passing thought about how he seems brighter than the lights decorating the tree tucked in the corner.
you pick up your scissors and cut another length of ribbon, content to spend the rest of the evening exactly like this.
as chan returns to wrestling with another stubborn piece of wrapping paper, you eye the spool of ribbon beside you—the same one he’d used to fashion out your bracelet.
a cruel thought pops into your head, one you can’t be blamed for. he started it, after all... right??
"hey, chan?"
"mm?"
his head raises to spare you a glance, but before he can actually take in what’s happening you’ve vut a generous length of ribbon and leaned forward, carefully wrapping it around his head so it covers his eyes like a blindfold. you tie it loosely at the back, just secure enough to stay in place.
"there," you say, fighting back a laugh. "now you're festive."
chan's hands immediately come up to touch the ribbon, his mouth falling open in surprise before dissolving into laughter. "oh my god- are you serious right now?"
"completely serious. it's a great look on you."
"i can't see anything," he states the obvious while still laughing, his fingers tracing the edge of the ribbon carefully. "this is a safety hazard. what if i cut my finger off??”
"i’m sure you'll manage, baby" you hum, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. "consider it a challenge."
chan tilts his head, the ribbon shifting slightly with the movement but his smile is still there—bright and easy. "okay, okay. you got me. very clever."
he reaches up again, presumably to remove the ribbon, but his movements are slow, a little hesitant maybe. his hands hover near the knot at the back of his head.
"should i...?" he starts, but the question fizzles out into silence.
it’s that singular moment of hesitation that causes something in the air to shift
laughter fades, replaced by something heavier, quiet but tense. you're suddenly very aware of how close you're sitting. the way chan’s next breath comes a little heavier doesn’t go unnoticed.
"you could leave it," you hear yourself say, the words coming out without you even having to think about them. "just for a minute."
with that chan's hands drop slow back to his lap. "yeah?"
"yeah."
he's still for a moment, and you watch the way his throat works as he swallows.
without his eyes visible, every other detail becomes magnified—the slight part of his lips as he exhales, the faint blush that's been there earlier now spreading down the pretty column of his neck. his broad shoulders seem to curve inward just slightly, making him appear slightly smaller despite his arguably large frame.
"this is... different." chan’s voice comes quiet, something vulnerable lingering around the edges.
"good different?"
he huffs out a breath that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been so airy. "i don't know. i just- i can't see you, but i can feel you looking at me."
"…is that okay?"
"yeah." the word comes out too quickly, almost breathless. "yeah, it's... it's fine."
without really meaning to you find yourself scooting closer, drawn in by the way chan seems to be holding himself so perfectly still. it’s almsot like he's afraid any movement may shatter whatever spell has settled over you both.
"chan," his name falls soft from your mouth and is met with his hum of acknowledgement. "you can take it off whenever you want."
his hands twitch in his lap but he doesn't move to remove the ribbon. your lips pull into something deceivingly sweat as he breathes out slow, deliberate. he says nothing, only offering you a nod in confirmation.
you take his confirmation as the unspoken permission that it is, shifting forward slow and deliberate.
watching the way chan's chest rises and falls with each breath sends a dull heat thrumming alongside the blood in your veins.
he doesn't move away—doesn't even seem like he wants to. if anything, he seems to sink back slightly, his shoulders meeting the edge of the couch cushions behind him as you close the distance between you.
"comfortable?" you ask, your voice quiet in what little space remains between you.
once again chan doesn’t offer you words—just a sound that rolls low in his throat, one he pairs with another of those single nods. his hands are grip his own thighs like he needs something to hold onto before he snaps.
you let your fingertips ghost over his knee first. it’s barely there, testing, but it still makes chan's breath hitch. he doesn’t twitch away though, and that’s all you need to keep going.
encouraged, you let your palms flatten against his thighs, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric of his sweats as you drag your hands upward in a slow, deliberate path that you know makes his mind go blank.
"this okay?" you murmur even though you can see the answer in the way he's gone pliant under your touch, lips parting around a shaky exhale.
"more than," chan manages, his voice rough around the edges. "you’re- yeah. keep going."
there's something intoxicating about this—about the way he's letting you set the pace, letting you explore without question or hesitation. chan doesn't usually ask for this kind of attention, rarely lets himself be the center of it, and the knowledge that he's just… giving in sends a thrill of satisfaction straight through you and pools low in your stomach.
your hands travel higher, brushing over the planes of his stomach and feeling the way his muscles tense and release instinctively under your touch. you trace the lines of his chest through his sweater, slow and intentional, before letting your fingers drift up towards his shoulders and down the length of his arms.
chan shivers, head tipping back to rest against the couch cushion.
the ribbon shifts with the movement and you can see the flutter of his eyelashes beneath it, the way he's keeping them closed even though the fabric is doing the work for him.
"you're doing so well," your hands find their way back to his chest, feeling the way his heartbeat thunders beneath your palm. "just sitting here, letting me touch you."
chan's jaw tightens, and you watch the muscles work as he clearly fights to maintain some semblance of composure. "i can-" he starts, but his voice cracks slightly before he can stop it. he has to clear his throat before he continues. "i can handle it."
"i know you can," you purr, something teasing in your tone now. "you're always so good at staying in control, aren't you channie?"
his breath stutters at that, and you feel the way his chest expands unevenly under your touch.
chan is always the one who takes charge—in the studio, with the members, with you. he's steady, reliable, the foundation everyone else builds on. but right now, with that ribbon hiding his eyes and your hands mapping the geography of his body, he looks anything but stable.
"yeah," he agrees but it comes out strained. "always."
your following hum is a thoughtful, condescending thing. letting one hand drift lower, you let your fingertips graze along the line of his waistband. chan's hips shift almost imperceptibly, but you catch the movement, the way he's already fighting against himself to not react.
"what if you didn't have to be, though? just for a little while?"
chan's lips press together and for a moment you think he might protest, might pull the ribbon off and take back the reins like he always does.
instead, you watch as his hands flex against his thighs, fingers spreading wide before curling into loose fists.
he exhales slowly through his nose before speaking, or trying to, at least.
"i don't-" he pauses, swallows hard. "i'm not used to this."
"i know, baby"
"it's not that i don't want to, i just…" another shaky breath. "it's hard to let go."
"then don't let go all at once," you say, thumb stroking small circles just above his hip bone, trying to ease the tension coiled there. "just lemme take care of you, channie. one piece at a time. yeah?"
chan makes that same sound again—something caught between agreement and surrender—and the last bit of resistance seems to bleed out of his shoulders.
he sinks further back against the couch, his thighs spreading just slightly wider, and you take that as the invitation it is.
you move to position yourself between his legs properly, your knees digging against the carpet.
from the new angle, you can see everything—the way his chest is rising and falling faster now, the muscle twitching at the side his neck, the way his hands are gripping his own thighs so hard his knuckles have gone pale.
"breathe," you remind him gently, and it takes barely a second before chans drawing in a deep breath that makes his whole body expand and release.
"there you go," you praise, not missing the way his breath catches again at the word, expression shifting into something soft and sharp all at once.
you let your hands roam more freely now, tracing the lines of his torso with increasing confidence.
when your fingers find the hem of his sweater and slip beneath it, chan makes a soft sound—barely audible but, lucky you, you're just close enough to catch it.
his skin is warm, smooth, and you feel the way his abdomen jumps under your touch.
"cold.” the word is hissed through his teeth, the muscle along jaw ticking tight.
it’s at that moment that you know without a doubt that you hwve him right where you want him.
you smile, even though he can't see it, and push his sweater up slowly, exposing more skin inch by inch. chan lifts his arms automatically when you tug at the fabric, and you pull it over his head carefully, mindful of the ribbon still tied around his eyes.
the sweater joins the wrapping paper chaos somewhere to your left.
without the barrier of clothing, chan looks even more vulnerable—bare-chested, blindfolded, whole body taut with barely restrained tension.
you can see the rise and fall of his breathing more clearly now, can see the way his nipples have already pebbling under the cool air, the faint flush that has spread down from his cheeks to his chest.
"you're so handsome, chris…" the compliment is quiet bit so, so deserved.
because fuck, just look at him.
the red dusting his skin flushes deeper. chan turns his head slightly to the side like he's trying to hide from the compliment despite having nowherr to go. "you can't even see my face right now."
his deflection only makes you laugh.
"don't need to. i can see everything else."
that pulls a new sound from him, one that’s soft, maybe a little wounded.
you watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows hard.
you lean in, letting your breath ghost over his collarbone before pressing your lips there—just once, feather-light. chan's entire body goes rigid, back arching slightly off the couch before he can catch himself. when he realizes how easily he’s bent, he tries to sink back down.
"it's fine, baby," you murmur against his skin. "you don't gotta keep still."
"i'm-" his voice cracks again, and he has to stop, has to breathe before he can even think about continuing. "i'm trying."
"trying to what?"
"not fall apart," it’s a whisper. a whisper that has something so raw, something honest and unguarded that he probably wouldn't say if he could see you looking at him.
you press another kiss to his collarbone, then another to the hollow of his throat. you can’t keep from smiling when you feel his pulse hammering under your lips. "and what if i want you to fall apart?"
chan makes a choked sound, his hands closing into fists where they now rest against the floor. "that's- that’s not fucking fair, sweetheart.”
"no?" you trace your tongue along the line of his throat, tasting salt and something uniquely him. chan can’t help the full-body shudder that runs through him in response. "seems pretty fair to me."
"you're-" he gasps when your teeth graze his skin, gentle but present. "you're evil."
"and you're being so good for me," you counter, letting your hands sooth up his sides, thumbs brushing dangerously close to his nipples. "staying right here, letting me do what ever i want."
chan's breath punches out of him, hips jerk up involuntarily before he can stop them. you can feel him now—can feel exactly how much this is affecting him, the evidence of it tenting his sweatpants, unmistakable.
"that's it," you encourage, your voice dropping lower. "you don't have to hide it, honey."
"not trying to hide," chan manages. his voice is wrecked, all pretense of control completely shattered. "can't hide anything from you anyway."
you hum in agreement and finally, finally, let your thumbs drag across his nipples.
chan's reaction is immediate and visceral—his back bows off the couch again, harsher than before. his mouth falls open around a gasp that's so nearly a moan, his whole body trembling with the effort of not completely losing it.
"fuck." he breathes out, the curse barely audible, and you feel a surge of satisfaction at breaking through that careful composure.
"sensitive?" you ask, doing it again, watching the way his chest heaves and his fingers twitch to curl in the fabric at the side of his thighs.
"yes- fuck. yeah, i—" he can't seem to finish a sentence, can't seem to do anything except react, his body portraying every thought before he can have the chance to voice it.
when you lean down to replace your thumb with your mouth, chan makes a sound you've never heard from him before—high and desperate and completely unhinged. his hand comes up to tangle in your hair, not pulling, just holding on like he needs the anchor.
but the moment his fingers graze your hair, you go completely still.
then you pull back. it’s not gently, not gradual—just away.
the space you put between the two of you is immediate and no doubt jarring. chan’s chest pushes forwards to try and chase your lips, his brows pinched in something close to frustration as cold air washes over where your warm lips had been only seconds ago.
chan's hand hovers for a moment before falling back to the ground, confused, and you can see the moment uncertainty crashes over his features.
"what.." he starts, breathless and disoriented. "did i- baby, did i do something?"
you don't answer.
you don't say a word, actually—just stand up from where you've been kneeling between his legs to leave him there—blindfolded, shirtless, hands braced against the floor as his chest rises and falls with rapid, uneven breaths.
"wait, sweetheart i'm sorry, i didn't mean to-" chan's voice cracks with genuine worry now, his head turning as if trying to track your movement by sound alone. "please, i shouldn't have—"
the silence stretches.
you count the seconds—ten, fifteen, twenty—letting him sit with it, letting him feel the absence of your touch, the weight of not knowing. chan shifts on the couch, his hands flexing uselessly, his whole body tense with the effort of staying put when every instinct is probably screaming at him to fix whatever he's broken.
"i'm sorry," he says again, quieter this time, and there's something devastating in his voice that almost makes you cave. "look,i won't touch you again, i promise, just please…"
chan's head snaps toward the sound of you shifting, his lips parting around what might be relief or another apology. whatever it is, you don’t give him the chance to say anything.
"hands," you say simply, voice calm. even. it make chan freeze.
"what?"
"give me your hands. in front of you."
there's a pause—confusion flickering across his features—before he gives in, hands lifting from where they’d been sitting useless at his side until their in front of him, wrists pressed together. his fingers tremble slightly.
you have another length of ribbon in your hands. a ribbon that you wind around his wrists carefully, not tight enough to hurt but secure enough that he'll feel it, that he'll know exactly what it means.
chan's breath hitches as you tie the knot, his whole body going very, very still. "oh," he breathes out, and it sounds like an understanding than a breath. "oh."
"you don't get to touch," you say quietly, finishing the binding and letting his bound wrists fall to rest in his lap. "not unless i say so."
chan swallows hard, his throat working around the words he can't quite seem to form. when he does find it in him to speak, it’s singular and barely above a whisper.
"okay."
"okay?"
"yeah," he says, a little stronger. "yeah, i understand."
you let your fingers trail along his jaw and the tension you feel there sends another wave of bone deep satisfaction through you. how could you not get off on the way he so clearly fights to not lean into the touch?
"good boy," you muse, taking chan’s chin between your fingers and shaking him gently once. chan chokes like all the air has been punched from his lungs.
his bound hands flex in his lap, instinctively trying to reach for something—for you, probably—before he remembers the ribbon that keep him from doing so.
you can see the effort it takes, can see the way his whole body is wound tight, torn between the need to touch and the determination not to.
chan's lips part, whether to say somethiing else’s or just to breathe you aren't sure, but you don't give him the chance to do much of either.
you lean in and kiss him properly—your mouth covering his, swallowing the surprised gasp that escapes him.
for a moment chan goes completely still, shocked into stillness before he’s melting into you with a desperation that makes your heart stutter. his lips move against yours with an urgency that borders on frantic, like he's trying to pour every ounce of want into this single point of contact since it's all he's allowed.
you can feel him straining forward, trying to deepen the kiss, and you let him—just for a moment.
you let him taste you, let him chase the warmth of your mouth with his own. his bound hands lift slightly from his lap, an instinctive movement he catches and stops immediately with a frustrated sound caught in his throat.
and then you pull back.
not far—just enough to break the kiss, to leave a breath of space between your lips and his. something deep rolls in chan’s throat as he leans forwards to try and follow you. you have to press a hand to his chest to stop him.
chan's chest is heaving beneath your palm, skin warm and slightly damp with sweat. you can feel his heartbeat—rapid, uneven—hammering against your fingertips as he tries to catch his breath.
"stay still," you say while applying just enough pressure to keep him pinned back against the cushions.
"please," he breathes out, and the way his voice is frayed around each syllable makes your thighs twitch. "please, don't. i need it, baby-"
"need what, chris?"
"more," chan admits, shameless now in his wanting. "please, just need more."
you hum thoughtfully, letting your fingers trace idle patterns on his chest while he sits there blindfolded and bound, lips still parted and kiss-swollen, waiting for mercy you have little intention of granting yet. "maybe later," you hum. "if you're good."
the sound chan makes is somewhere between a whimper and a groan, his head falling back against the couch in defeat. "you're killing me."
"you'll survive," you assure him, letting your hand drift lower. it skims down his sternum. chan's breath catches, whole body tensing in anticipation.
you take your time working your way down, pressing kisses to his chest—soft ones at first, barely there, until chan is practically vibrating with need.
when you finally reach his nipple again and close your lips around it, he jerks so hard you have to brace yourself against him.
"fuck-" the word punches out of him, desperate and harsh, and his bound hands clench into fists in his lap.
you work him over slow, thorough, alternating between gentle suction and the careful graze of teeth until chan is a trembling mess beneath you. every sound he makes goes straight through you—broken gasps and bitten-off moans and your name falling from his lips like a prayer.
"please," chan it over and over again though you aren't sure he even knows what he's pleading for anymore. "fuckin’ hell, please-"
you switch to the other side, giving it the same attention, and chan's hips buck up involuntarily.
you can see how hard he is now, how his sweats have grown tight and uncomfortable. you ignore it though—focusing instead on reducing him to nothing but sensation and want.
his bound hands lift again just to hover uselessly in the air for a moment before he forces them back down, shaking his head as if silently scolding himself. "i want to touch you so badly," he draws, voice broken. "want it so bad it hurts."
"i know," you murmur, your voice soft and soothing as you let your hands drift down to his thighs. "i know you do."
chan's breath hitches at the contact, his legs tensing under your palms.
it starts slow—just gentle pressure at first, your thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of his sweatpants. the muscles beneath your hands are coiled tight with tension, and you work at them patiently, massaging in slow, deliberate strokes.
"relax," you try and coax, applying more pressure as your hands move higher up his thighs. "just feel it."
chan makes a choked sound, his legs falling open slightly under your touch.
you encourage it, your hands spreading wider, pushing his thighs apart to your liking. he doesn't resist—can't resist, really. not when every touch seems to unravel him more and more..
"that's it," you praise, watching the way his chest flutters when you graze a hand over his dick print. "so good for me."
you shift yourself lower until you can ease yourself between his knees, pressing your lips to his stomach just above the waistband of his sweatpants. chan's whole body jerks at the contact, a gasp knocking out of him.
you take your time working your way down, trailing kisses across his abdomen—soft, open-mouthed things that make him tremble.
his stomach is taut beneath your lips, all hard muscle and definition that you take a moment to appreciate, letting your tongue dip along the defined lines of his stomach
"you're so beautiful," you murmur against his skin, and chan makes a sound like he's been stabbed instead of praised.
you hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants to tug them down. it’s not all the way, just enough to expose the dark fabric of whatever designer boxers he’s wearing today.
the evidence of his arousal is impossible to miss now, and you let your breath ghost over him through the thin material.
chan's reaction is immediate and visceral, hips jerking up and a broken moan bubbling past his lips. "oh god-"
you press your mouth to him through his boxers, wrapping your lips around the wet spot where heads been leaking a steady steam of pre. chan practically sobs. his thighs tremble on either side of you, his whole body shaking with the effort of staying still and completely falling apart.
"fuck, please sweetheart." his voice is wrecked beyond recognition now, desperate and pleading. "please, i can't- i need—"
you mouth along the length of him, letting the wet heat of your mouth seep through the fabric.
chan is incoherent above you now, just broken sounds and half-formed words, his bound hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.
you pull back just enough to hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down slowly. chan lifts his hips to help, a desperate, eager movement that makes something warm unfurl in your chest.
when you finally free him he lets out a shuddering breath, cock hard and flushed against his stomach.
"so pretty," you mutter, wrapping a hand around him as you admire. chan's whole body jerks at the contact, a broken sound escaping his throat.
you don't make him wait any longer.
without warning, you lean in and take him into your mouth properly this time, no teasing, no barriers. just wet heat and suction that has chan crying out above you.
his bound hands fly up instinctively, and before you can process it, he's maneuvered them over your head despite the ribbon binding his wrists together.
suddenly his bound hands are behind your head, fingers tangling in your hair, and he's pushing—guiding you down down down until you can feel him hitting the back of your throat.
you could stop him. should stop him, maybe. but something about the desperation in the gesture, the way he's so far gone that even being bound and blind can't keep him from seeking what he wants. needs.
you let it happen. let him push you as far as you can take him, let him use your mouth the way he so clearly needs to.
"oh fuck-" chan's voice is airy and lost as his hips starting moving in shallow thrusts. "fuck, fuck baby, you feel so good, so perfect…"
his bound hands tighten in your hair, holding you in place while he fucks into your mouth with increasing desperation. you can feel him trembling, can hear the way each of his inhales are sucked in through clamped teeth, can taste the salt of him on your tongue.
you hum around him in permission, in encouragement, and chan makes a sound like he's dying.
his movements become more erratic, bound hands pulling you down harder as he chases release with single-minded focus.
"close," he warns, voice breaking on the word. "m’ so close"
that’s all you need to know for you to hollow your cheeks and suck harder.
apparently that’s all it takes for chan too, because in the next second he’s coming down your throat with a choked cry, hands holding you in place so he can use the warmth of your mouth to ride out his high.
when he finally releases you, his hands falling limply to his side.
it’s then that you pull back to look at him, and you can honestly say that it’s the most delicious sight you’ve ever seen.
chan is slumped against the couch, chest heaving in silent gasps. his head his hanging down, chin pressed hover right above his collarbones as he tries to get a grip on himself. the ribbons still covering his eyes and binding his wrists.
he looks completely undone—lips parted, skin flushed, trembling with aftershocks.
chan makes a soft, vulnerable sound and tries to lean into you when you move to perch on his thigh. his bound hands lift to hold yhou before he remembers and stops himself. "can i-" he starts, then hesitates. "take this shit off.. please."
it’s less of an ask and more of a statement.
you reach up and carefully untie the ribbon from his wrists first, then the one covering his eyes. when he can finally see again, when his hands are finally free, chan immediately wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, burying his face in your neck.
"thank you," he whispers against your skin, and you can feel him smiling. "that was…"
"good?" you supply, running your fingers through his hair.
"understatement of the century," chan murmurs, pressing a kiss to your throat. his hands are everywhere now, making up for lost time, and you let him—let him touch and hold and ground himself in the feel of you.
you know damn well that all other presents this season will be ruined for you. because honestly, how could anything one up pulling a blindfold off your lover?
hyunjin thought a group day off would be easy. until he realised he can’t skate, he can’t hide his feelings, and he definitely can’t handle you smiling at someone else. good thing holiday magic and his generous heart gives him the courage he needs.
pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader
wc: 3.3k
tags: fluff, f2l, assumed unrequited feelings, awkward and jealous hyunjin, platonic ot7 (which is a tag in and of itself) | divider creds @lariesographic !
❅ day ten of a very merry kpopmas!! thank u larie and angel for organising this <3 ❅
hyunjin wasn’t expecting good news when he checked the schedule that morning. he was still half-asleep, hair tied up messily, unevenly buttoned pyjama shirt sliding off one shoulder as he shuffled into the kitchen. changbin was already there with coffee, humming something aggressively off-key.
“did you look?” changbin asked, eyes sparkling with drama.
“look at what?” hyunjin mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“the schedule, god. open your phone.”
hyunjin did, thumb tapping lazily through the notifications—until he froze.
day off for the entire group. today. as a treat :)
he blinked. then blinked again, like the letters were an illusion brought on by sleep deprivation.
“we’re… off?” he whispered.
changbin nodded as if announcing the birth of a royal heir. “chan said we should all do something together. like, group bonding, christmas vibe.”
hyunjin’s brain should’ve gone straight to: cool, where are we going? instead, it smacked into a brick wall labeled you.
you, his best friend.
you, the person he’d been hopelessly in love with long before he wanted to admit it to himself.
you, who smiled at him like he painted constellations across your sky, even though he was 99% sure you meant it platonically. maybe. probably.
hopefully not.
every time he thought about confessing, he got dizzy and had to lie down.
“you should invite her,” changbin said casually, sipping his coffee.
hyunjin nearly choked on air. “what— why— how do you even— i didn’t— that’s— no?”
changbin stared at him, blinking slowly. his disposition yelled “lets be for real rn…”
“you talk about her like she’s a deity you worship.”
“i do not,” hyunjin muttered weakly.
“you do,” changbin repeated. “yesterday you said her laugh could reverse global warming.”
“i was joking—”
“you were blushing.”
hyunjin groaned, burying his face in his hands. he wanted to invite you. he wanted you there for everything, always. but asking felt dangerous, like tipping the entire balance of your i-want-to-be-more-than-friends-but-i’m-not-quite-sure-where-she-stands relationship.
still… a small part of him wanted to risk it.
so when he finally stepped onto the balcony, scrolling to your name on his contact list, his heart was beating so stupidly fast he thought it might actually escape through his throat.
he called before he could chicken out.
you picked up on the second ring. “hey jinnie!”
suddenly, every word he knew how to speak died in his throat.
“uh… everything okay?”
your voice did something devastating to him. he leaned against the railing of the dorm balcony, trying to breathe like a normal human being.
“uh— yeah,” he said, which was a lie because his pulse was tap dancing. “we got the day off! all of us. and we’re gonna go out. like… ice skating or something? if you, um. if you wanted to come.”
there was a beat of silence, and he panicked immediately.
“you don’t have to!” he rushed out. “like, seriously, don’t feel pressured—”
“hyunjin.”
the way you said his name—soft, fond, like it belonged to you—shut his mouth instantly.
“i’d love to come,” you said.
relief flooded him so fast he nearly slid down the wall. “okay. cool. great. awesome. uh—i don’t know when we’re leaving? hold on—”
he moved the phone away from his face:
“CHANGBIN!! WHEN ARE WE LEAVING?!”
an echo of—unintelligible, yet undeniably changbin’s—yelling coursed out of your phone speaker. the normalcy in their chaotic interactions would always amuse you.
“—he said we’re all leaving in like an hour? you all good to come here around then?”
“yes of course,” you laughed. “i missed your face.”
he stared out at the morning sky, cheeks warming. “yeah. i, uh… i missed you too.”
too much, maybe. but he couldn’t say that part.
when you arrived at the dorm later, bundled in a scarf and smiling at him, every coherent thought hyunjin had evaporated instantly.
changbin leaned against the wall behind him and whispered, “close your mouth, romeo.”
hyunjin kicked him lightly without breaking eye contact with you—because you were already walking toward him, and god, he really hoped you couldn’t hear his heart pounding like an audition drummer.
“hey! we ready to go?” changbin greeted you, giving a casual hug.
“yeah! i’ve never skated before though, so i’m a little nervous,” you toyed with the ends of your scarf, laughing anxiously, “i don’t want to eat shit and embarrass myself.”
“i’m sure you’ll be fine— hyunjin can help you!” he replied, smacking between hyunjin’s shoulder blades, snapping him out of his trance.
“uh—yeah! yeah i can…”
this was going to be the most embarrassing experience of his life.
the rink looked like something out of a winter postcard—gold fairy lights, drifting snow, soft music playing from hidden speakers. kids wobbled across the ice with unearned confidence; couples glided like they practiced it for years; the rest of the boys were already arguing about who would fall first.
“it’ll so be han,” chan said.
“no way! it’ll be you chan,” jisung gasped and shot back.
“it’ll be hyunjin,” jeongin added immediately.
hyunjin gasped. “why me?!”
“your center of gravity disappears when you panic,” felix laughed, patting his shoulder.
“i don’t panic,” hyunjin insisted.
you snorted softly. he ignored it as a matter of emotional survival.
the moment everyone laced up their skates, hyunjin felt… unsafe. profoundly unsafe. the ground was already too slippery, and he hadn’t even stepped onto the actual ice yet.
you nudged him lightly. “you okay?”
“i’m a dancer,” he said, as if reminding the universe. “i should be able to do this.”
seungmin passed by, deadpanning: “you say that every year. it’s never true.”
before hyunjin could argue, you stepped onto the ice. and you… didn’t wobble. nor did you flail. and not a single scream was heard.
you glided. carefully at first, then smoother, turning experimentally like you’d just unlocked a hidden skill tree.
hyunjin stared at you, stunned. “wait. you told me you’ve never done this before!”
“i haven’t,” you laughed, pushing off your own feet again. “but it doesn’t seem to be that hard once you get going.”
his jaw worked silently like his words were buffering.
he placed one foot on the ice— and immediately slipped, arms flinging out in a dramatic windmill that almost took felix down with him.
“okay— okay— hold on— hold on—” he panted, scrambling for the railing, knees bowing inward as he tried to pull himself up. “why’s it— why’s it doing that?”
“because you’re moving too much,” minho replied smugly, skating past with the elegance of someone who had lived on ice in a past life.
you blinked. “wait, minho, you’re good at this?”
“hm? oh.” minho shrugged casually, skating backwards. “yeah. i used to come all the time.”
then he looked at you, letting his gaze flick briefly to your feet. “you’re good too. natural talent.”
you smiled at him, bright and easy. “thanks— that’s sweet.”
and hyunjin’s soul left his body. he wasn’t proud of what washed through him—this warm, sharp fizz in his chest, like jealousy disguised as soft drink foam—but he felt it anyway. he clung to the railing, watching the two of you talk while his skates tried to murder him for free.
felix reappeared at his side, voice gentle. “you okay?”
“no,” hyunjin whispered. then louder: “i mean yes. fine. perfect. incredible.”
“hyune,” felix said softly, “your eye is twitching.”
“is it?” hyunjin asked weakly.
“yes. very much.”
across the rink, you and minho skated in a little looping path—him correcting your stance once, you copying it flawlessly, both of you laughing hard when jisung crashed somewhere behind you. he heard you laugh at a comment made about jisung not being one for sports.
hyunjin wanted to be happy for you. he was happy that you got along with his members. but also that feeling once again churned in his stomach—
felix leaned closer. “you could go skate with her, you know.”
“i can’t skate,” hyunjin muttered, feeling totally humiliated and defeated.
“you could try.”
“and fall in front of her? no thank you.”
felix considered this. “she thinks everything you do is cute.”
hyunjin nearly choked. “she does not—”
“hyunjin,” felix said, amusement spilling into his voice, “you’re the only person here who doesn’t know that she likes you.”
hyunjin froze. actually froze. he forgot how to breathe, forgot the concept of oxygen temporarily.
“felix.”
“hm?”
“don’t say things like that unless you have scientific evidence.”
felix pointed toward you—where you were looking at hyunjin, smiling softly, your face full of awe. you cocked your head, beckoning him your way. you were waiting for him to join you.
“there’s your evidence.”
hyunjin’s heart somersaulted. then tripped. then hit a wall.
“okay,” he murmured. “okay, i’ll— i’ll go over. eventually. when i can move without embarrassing myself.”
“no, now,” felix said, scooting behind him and giving the smallest, most traitorous push.
hyunjin yelped, flailing into motion.
you skated toward him immediately, laughing when he grabbed your forearms like they were his personal life preservers.
“i’ve got you,” you giggled. “you baby.”
he stared at you, overwhelmed, flustered, and totally melting despite the cold.
yeah. he was really, seriously, undeniably in love with you.
you kept hyunjin upright for a full lap, which, considering gravity’s apparent vendetta against him, was genuinely impressive. he gripped your hands like the ice would open a sinkhole beneath him at any moment—in a way that made your pulse flutter embarrassingly fast.
every time you steadied him, he mumbled some variation of “i’m fine,” “i wasn’t falling,” or “that was intentional,” which only made you smile harder.
and hyunjin… god. he felt all of it.
he felt the warmth of your fingers through your gloves.
he felt his jealousy gnawing inside him where he wished confidence lived.
he felt your laughter settle in his chest and make itself at home.
when you skated ahead a little—just to test your balance—minho drifted beside hyunjin once more, slow and casual.
hyunjin side-eyed him, proving his point. minho smirked.
“you have nothing to worry about, hyunjin. i have no intention of swooping in, or whatever you’re overthinking about—which i know you are before you complain that you aren’t.”
before hyunjin could argue further, chan skated up—significantly less gracefully than minho, but with leader energy that suggested he had a plan.
“break time,” chan announced. “my knees hurt and i refuse to tear a ligament before christmas.”
everyone chorused agreement. your face lit up.
as the nine of you walked toward the exit after handing in your skates to the clerk, you and felix started some sort of conversation as you unintentionally led the group to the exit.
hyunjin lingered back as jisung nudged him from behind. “so,” he whispered, “when are you gonna tell her you’re in love with her?”
hyunjin stepped wrong and nearly folded in half. “i— what— i’m NOT— don’t SAY that—”
jisung blinked, feigning innocence. his tone was soaked in sarcasm. “oh. sorry. i forgot it was a secret from yourself.”
changbin laughed, clapping hyunjin’s back, similar to that morning. “you’re painfully obvious, dude.”
“i’m not—”
“she looks at you like you hung the moon,” jeongin chimed in, beaming.
hyunjin opened and closed his mouth. no sound came out. shock had killed language.
“okay, okay,” chan cut in, raising his hands. “enough bullying for now. look.”
he pointed toward the far end of the plaza, where rows of christmas market stalls lined the snowy walkway—string lights overhead, warm scents drifting through the cold.
you inhaled softly. “oh— those are pretty.”
you didn’t say you wanted to see each stall. you didn’t have to.
three things happened at once unspokenly:
all seven boys noticed your expression,
all seven boys looked at hyunjin,
all seven boys decided to disappear.
totally “accidentally,” of course.
“we’re gonna check out the food trucks,” chan announced. “right? guys?”
“uh-huh,” jisung nodded, already walking away.
“definitely,” jeongin said, joining him.
“i saw a stall selling corndogs,” felix added.
“i need hot chocolate,” minho deadpanned, rubbing his cold hands together.
“i need privacy,” seungmin said, glancing between you and hyunjin pointedly.
hyunjin felt panic crawl up his spine. “wh— wait— guys— don’t just—”
but it was too late. they were gone, vanished like a team of elves who’d completed their mission successfully.
you looked at him, hands tucked into your sleeves, breath puffing into the cold air. “do you wanna… look at the stalls? we don’t have to buy anything. just walk… unless you’re hungry, we can follow them! i don’t mind… i can just come back another time…”
hyunjin’s heart pressed itself against his ribs like it wanted out.
“i want to stay with you,” he murmured. “i’d like to do what you want with you.”
he missed how flushed you became.
so the two of you began walking—slowly, gently, side by side—your shoulders brushing now and then, each touch sending a ripple of warmth through both of you.
he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking. you kept smiling when you caught him anyway.
and somewhere behind the hot chocolate stand, the rest of the members peeked around the corner like spies surveilling a fragile diplomatic negotiation.
“step one complete,” jisung whispered dramatically. “the oblivious idiots are alone.”
“step two,” chan said, “is letting them think we didn’t plan it.”
“we absolutely planned it,” minho replied.
felix giggled. “they’re so cute.”
you and hyunjin walked slowly, side by side, your elbows brushing each time one of you stepped around a child or a bundled-up couple.
“your cheeks are really pink,” you murmured.
“it’s cold,” hyunjin said too quickly.
it was not the cold. it was you. he was very aware of this and desperately hoping you didn’t catch his white lie.
you stopped at a stall filled with delicate glass ornaments—hand-painted, shimmering under the string lights. you picked one up shaped like a small sprig of mistletoe, blown in pale green glass with tiny white beads for berries.
“oh… this is so cute,” you whispered, turning it gently in your hands.
hyunjin watched you, watched the way your eyes softened, watched you fall in love with something that fit perfectly with the warmth you carried everywhere you went.
“you should get it,” he encouraged quietly.
you shook your head, smiling ruefully. “mm, it’s really pretty but… it’s too expensive. i shouldn’t.”
he wanted to say: but you deserve everything you reach for. instead he said nothing, just nodded as you placed it back carefully, and a little sadly.
you walked on to the next stall—candles, then knitted scarves, then little trinkets—but hyunjin lingered behind.
the vendor looked at him knowingly. “for her?”
hyunjin flushed immediately. “i— well— she liked it.”
“people don’t light up like that over just anything,” the vendor said, wrapping the ornament before hyunjin even finished deciding.
he paid quickly, tucking the little paper bag into his coat pocket before jogging to catch up with you.
“there you are,” you laughed. “i thought i lost you.”
“no, no, i was just… looking.” — a terrible lie. his voice trembled as if honesty was leaking through the cracks.
you continued your slow stroll until the crowd thinned, leaving a quiet corner near the end of the market—soft lights overhead, a small tree decorated with ribbons.
that was where hyunjin finally cleared his throat.
“hey,” he murmured, sounding shy even to himself. “can i… give you something?”
you blinked in surprise as he pulled out the tiny paper bag. your brows lifted as you opened it, careful fingers peeling back the tissue.
“hyunjin…” your voice softened instantly. “you didn’t…”
“you liked it,” he said, trying not to rub the back of his neck anxiously. “and i wanted you to have it. it’s nothing, really. if it makes you happy, then… that’s a good enough reason to get it for me.”
your heart pressed hard against your chest. “hyunjin, it’s not nothing—”
“it is,” he insisted quietly. “compared to your happiness.”
his face went red immediately. “i mean— compared to— i— that sounded weird—”
you laughed softly, stepping closer, close enough that your breath warmed the air between you.
you lifted the ornament, holding it above the two of you. “it looks like mistletoe, doesn’t it?”
hyunjin stopped breathing. your fingers toyed with the red ribbon as it spun in the air between your flushed faces.
“yeah,” he whispered. “it… it does.”
you leaned up—slow, giving him time to pull away—and kissed his cheek, dangerously close to his lips, soft as snowfall.
his eyes fluttered shut, his whole body going still, like that tiny touch had rearranged the universe.
“thank you, jinnie,” you murmured, lowering the ornament. “it’s perfect.”
hyunjin opened his eyes, and something brave flickered in them.
“i wish that wasn’t a cheek kiss,” he blurted out.
your breath hitched. “oh?”
he swallowed so hard it looked like it hurt. “i… like you. i really like you. more than i’m supposed to. and i didn’t want to make things weird, or ruin anything, or confuse you. i value our friendship so much, but i— i think about you all the time. and i didn’t know if you liked me back, and everyone kept saying you did, but i—”
you pressed a hand to his chest, gentle. his heart hammered under your palm. you stepped closer into his space.
“hyunjin,” you whispered. “i like you too.”
he stared at you, stunned. “wait. seriously? like— like-like?”
“yes,” you laughed. “very much like-like.”
a disbelieving smile bloomed across his face—wide, boyish, bright enough to melt the frost around you.
“can i—” he whispered, leaning in, “make it a real kiss this time?”
“please.”
this time, he kissed you—soft, trembling, warm despite the cold, a perfect collision of relief and wonder and feelings you’d both been carrying too long. it was a short and sweet kiss, almost like he was adjusting to the fact that this was still the real world and not a dream.
and when you pulled back, he kept his forehead resting against yours, smiling like he was finally able to exhale.
“i’ve wanted that for too long.”
hyunjin kept your hand in his long after the kiss ended—like he was afraid letting go would wake him from whatever dream he’d slipped into. his thumb brushed over your knuckles every few steps, tentative, reverent, amazed.
he’d been hopelessly in love with you quietly for so long that walking beside you like this felt unreal, like a future he never let himself imagine was suddenly unfolding without resistance.
“they’re gonna tease us so bad,” you murmured, smiling down at your joined hands.
“i don’t care,” hyunjin said too quickly. too honestly. “not anymore.”
the two of you rounded the corner toward the food trucks—and immediately spotted seven heads duck down behind a stand like a bunch of spies who did not understand the concept of cover.
felix popped up first, saw your hands, and shrieked. actually shrieked.
“THEY’RE HOLDING HANDS.”
“felix!” minho hissed, yanking him back down by the hood.
but it was too late; chaos erupted instantly.
jisung emerged dramatically, clutching his heart. “i knew it. i KNEW it. destiny is real.”
jeongin fist-pumped the air. “finally!”
chan dragged a hand down his face, muttering something like, “thank god, now we can stop pretending they aren’t stupid.”
seungmin took one look at your interlocked fingers and nodded like he’d solved a mystery. “told you. pure heart eyes.”
you covered your face with your free hand. hyunjin, unfortunately for him, couldn’t—his hand was still trapped in yours, and his panic had nowhere to go.
“can we not—” he tried, already blushing up to his ears.
“NO,” changbin yelled, pointing a finger of fate at him. “you don’t get to ask for peace. you’ve been in love with her since— what— march?”
“february,” jisung corrected. “remember that time he talked about her smile for thirty straight minutes when we were trying to record?”
“jisung,” hyunjin begged, “please don’t—”
“he said ‘her smile feels like when a candle is first lit,’” felix recited dreamily.
“i DID NOT—” hyunjin tried to protest, but you squeezed his hand gently, saving him from spontaneous combustion.
you giggled softly. “candles, huh?”
he buried his face in your shoulder. “i’m never talking again.”
“you say that every time you’re embarrassed,” minho said, sipping his hot chocolate.
“and every time you fail,” seungmin added.
the boys formed a loose circle around you both—some teasing, some smiling softly, some just warmed by the moment. there was no pressure, no spotlight, just affectionate chaos.
after the excitement had died down and the circle had dispersed, hyunjin finally lifted his head from your shoulder. you turned toward him, brushing a stray snowflake off his hair.
he looked at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.
chan clapped his hands once, gathering everyone’s attention. “okay, now that our resident lovebirds have finally confessed, who’s ready for corndogs and more skating?”
hyunjin stiffened. “i’m not skating again.”
“you are,” minho said.
“absolutely not.”
“i’ll hold your hand,” you offered.
hyunjin paused.
“…okay maybe,” he murmured.
the group erupted into groans and cheers.
and as the eight of you walked back toward the rink—your hand snug in hyunjin’s, his smile soft and unguarded—nothing felt cold anymore.
