Interview Vampire Daily
hello vonnie
izzy's playlists!
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
Fai_Ryy
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@theartofmadeline
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The Bowery Presents
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Color Me Curious
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$LAYYYTER
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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EXPECTATIONS
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@txtistheloml
evelyn i see u active 0.0 miss u so much !!!!
omgg moony!!! ive missed you too >< these days when i log in ive been thinking if i should send you an ask HAHAHA you beat me to it!!
how have you beennn, lots of kisses for you muacks
EVELYN OH MY GOD
I've been so inactive lately and for the last two maybe three hours I've been going through my blog backing up all my posts and saw your username was deactivated and was really sad ... hours later I see your @ for this blog and remembered your OLD blog was deactivated! Silly me that whole time thought you were gone for god )': phew <3
OMG CEE IM SK SORRY THEY DIDNT NOTIFY MY ASKS AND I HAVENT BEEN CHECKING MY ACTIVUTY BCS IVE JS BEEN LURKING AND READINH ON AND OFF💔
ohno :( itsokay im still here!!! pls dm me anytime i would be more than happy to talk to you🥺🥺
muacks lots of kisses for you cee love you lots <3
THE SLOW SURRENDER
Pairing: chaebol husband choi beomgyu x wife chaebol fem!reader
summary: The fear that you’re losing something you never truly had. Your own ring, now too heavy in your palm. A ring that should have meant forever.
Your deepest fear. Your husband.
warnings: reader discretion is advised. infidelity, arranged marriage, slow-burn, angst, toxic dynamics, emotional attachment, miscarriage!, misunderstandings, lovelorn, alcohol!consumption, guilt, repentance, rectification, accident, DUI(pls don't), anxiety!, panic-attack, implication of postpartum!depression, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.
smut-warnings: MDNI, dubcon, explicit!descriptions, different smut-scenes. guilt-ridden!smut,beomgyu begging and crying while doing"it".
wc: 24k — playlist here.
notes: may this story tear you apart, and somehow, when it’s over, stitch you back together piece by piece.
a big thank you to @killa-1009 for beta reading. ilysm.
How is it that your own wedding makes you want to flee?
"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."
His voice is strangely distant—the words belong to someone else, rehearsed and repeated.
The ring slips onto your finger, its cold touch startling against your skin. You can’t tell if it’s the chill of the metal that makes you shiver—or the way his voice carries an indifference that seems to sit deep in your chest, pulling your breath with it.
The wedding dress—tailored from the finest silk, adorned with labyrinthine details—feels like something borrowed. Isn’t this supposed to be every girl’s dream? The happiest day of your life? The moment where everything begins—the start of your own family, your own story?
None of it feels like it. Not when he hasn’t said a single word to you since you arrived. It plagues your mind. And all you want to do is kick off the heels that bite into your feet, rip off the tiara that feels like a crown of lead, and run.
You let out a shaky exhale, the breath trembling in your chest when the ring settles on your finger. Your hands slip from his grasp, falling limply to your sides. The vows are done, the words spoken, but all you feel is an overwhelming urge to escape.
Your head turns, seeking the one person who feels safe. Your unsteady gaze finds Soobin, his worried eyes already fixed on you. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind only he would know how to give. All you want is to fall apart—to let the tears come, to crumble into the silent comfort of his eyes, whispering it’s okay.
The pastor’s voice pulls you back, and your soon-to-be husband cups your face with a tenderness that feels reluctance, almost calculated. Hands warm but the eyes that meet yours, cold.
He leans in, and you close your eyes. His lips brush yours, soft, landing just shy of your bottom lip.
“And now, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declares, the words echoing hollowly in your ears.
Everyone claps.
It's official.
He is now your husband.
"Can you at least smile?" your mother’s sharp voice cuts, gaze fixed on you with her usual expectation. Her lips press together in disapproval. "I don’t want you embarrassing us, honey," she adds, eyes narrowing.
You force a small, strained smile as another guest offers their congratulations. The words feel hollow, and meaningless.
"Mother." Soobin’s voice interrupts, his equally sharp gaze lands on her, and without waiting for her permission, he steps closer, hand brushing your elbow. "We have friends over there. I’ll take Y/N for a bit."
Your mother opens her mouth, distaste printed on her face. "I could go with her—"
"It’s just our friends, Mother," Soobin interjects, his words clipped but polite enough to stop her in her tracks. "Nothing that requires your attention. Besides, I believe Miss Park was trying to get your attention earlier."
Before she can argue further, Soobin’s hand slips into yours, and he gently tugs you away. The grip is reassuring, steady—something to anchor you in this mess.
The crowd seems endless. More congratulations, more empty smiles. Your eyes wander, scanning the room, searching for the one person who should be at your side. But he isn’t there. He isn't… here.
Your husband is nowhere to be found. He vanished as soon as the ceremony ended.
Soobin doesn’t say anything as he leads you into a quiet, empty room. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind you, sealing out the noise of the party.
The second the door clicks, his hands are on your face, cradling you like you might break. And you do.
"Soobin," you choke out, your voice trembling. Hot tears stream down your face, and he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.
"Shh," he murmurs, his voice shaky, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It’s okay. Let it out."
The tears come in waves, carrying with them all the weight you’ve been holding in—every forced smile, every empty thank yous, every aching reminder of your husband. That today isn’t what it should be.
"It hurts me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It hurts me that my dearest, sister had to go through with this." His words tremble, just like his hands that hold you tightly.
You can’t bring yourself to reply. Instead, you cling to him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket—making his heart clench. "Where the fuck is he anyway?" his voice betrays his frustration.
"I don’t—I don’t know," you whisper through your sobs. "How am I supposed to do this, Soobin? He wouldn’t even look at me." And beneath it all, the deeper truth haunts you. It isn’t just his absence or his coldness that hurts.
It’s the undeniable, unspoken reality that settles into your bones and refuses to leave: Choi Beomgyu doesn’t love you—not the way you love him.
The echoes of your wedding vows dance in your ears. For better or worse, you hear. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.
Until death do us part.
Three families—known as the Choi Enterprises—dominate the landscape of your country.
Names synonymous with power, wealth, and control. Together, they form an empire that touches nearly every facet of life, businesses towering over the economy like unshakable pillars.
Untouchable.
The first family commands the skies. They own the nation’s largest airline, a fleet that spans lands, with Choi Yeonjun, the celebrated heir, poised to inherit it all.
The second family shapes the skyline with their sprawling malls, and colossal structures that symbolize luxury and excess. Choi Beomgyu, their only son, is the face of it.
And then there’s your family, the architects of indulgence. You own the most prestigious hotels in the country, five-star havens that host the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Your brother, Choi Soobin—the prodigy, the golden child who has been groomed for this role his entire life.
And then there’s you. The second child. Since young, you were conditioned, moulded—not to lead, not to build, but to belong to someone else. To be a wife. One whose marriage would serve a purpose, a bargaining chip in a deal that you have no voice to protest.
Every day since you came of age felt like walking on thin ice, never knowing when it would crack beneath you. You lived with the constant dread that your father could announce your engagement at any last moment. If you were lucky, perhaps it would be someone whose face you recognized, or someone whose name didn’t sound foreign on your lips.
The three families have stood side by side for decades, their ties intertwined by history and convenience. With the heirs of each family so close in age, it was inevitable that you all ended up in the same place: a ridiculously expensive university your families could buy their way into.
It was no surprise that you had known Choi Beomgyu since you were children. And that you've loved him since.
Though you could never quite pinpoint when it began.
Your nine-year-old eyes scanned the room, overwhelmed by the sea of adults towering over you. Too many big, tall people, too many unfamiliar faces. It was the first time your dad had brought you along, always choosing your older brother instead. Never you.
“Would you like something to eat, Y/N?” your nanny asked. You shook your head, distracted. You were trying to find your brother, the one you’d begged to follow today, only to lose him. You had thought this place would be exciting, but now, you would have preferred serving tea to your dolls.
This place wasn’t fun at all.
When your nanny got busy with a conversation, you seized the chance to slip away. You weaved through the crowd, ducking under tables when the adults became too dense. You spotted Soobin ahead, standing with his friend—Yeonja? No, Yeonjun. The one who teased you mercilessly whenever he visited your house. They were too far away.
Giggling with excitement, you ran towards them, eager to finally reach your brother. But your foot caught on the edge of a rug, and you fell hard. “Ow.” You whimpered, face smacking the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in your mouth made your eyes well up. You wiped at your lips and froze when your fingers brushed against something small and hard.
Your front tooth had come out. “No. Soobin, Daddy!” you wailed, embarrassment creeping in as people started to stare. You were about to shout again when a boy appeared, no taller than you, holding out a handkerchief.
“Use this,” he said.
“No,” you mumbled.
“Huh?”
“I said I don’t want it.”
He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do you want everyone to think you’re ugly?” His words made you pause, his brown eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something protective. The way he stood, it was as if he was shielding you from the judgmental eyes around you. “If you keep crying like that, everyone will think you are.”
The bluntness startled you, and it worked. Your mommy doesn't like it whenever you're crying anyway. She says it's unsightly. You grabbed the handkerchief, sniffling as you dabbed at your mouth. He watched you stand wobbly, one brow raised in quiet observation.
“Soobin?” he asked, recognizing your brother’s name.
You nodded, surprised that he knew.
He nodded back, taking your pinkie in his small hand and leading you across the yard, toward your brother safely.
That day was the day you first met your husband.
"Hey, have you heard? Choi Beomgyu and Park Ji-won broke up for the fourth time this semester," Jake, one of your batchmates, announces with a grin, his voice cutting through the chatter of your little group. The names make you freeze mid-conversation. "It’s hilarious, bro. Ji-won was literally stomping her feet like a kid."
"You little scandalmonger," Ryu-jin quips from beside you, rolling her eyes. "Why are you so invested in them? They’re a batch ahead of us. We don’t even cross paths with them."
You won’t encounter Choi Beomgyu often. The last time you had a proper, civil conversation—one forced by your parents—was when you were fifteen, and even then, your brother had been there too. That was five years ago.
During your first year, Choi Beomgyu was in the second. He got a girlfriend, Park Ji-won, the queen bee of their batch. Beomgyu was already famous, and their relationship quickly gained a reputation of its own, known for its ups and downs, the drama playing out like a spectacle for everyone to watch.
“Uh, h-hi, Y/N.” A boy stammers nervously in front of you. You look up, surprised to see him holding out a small box of chocolates. “I… I made these for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
A soft smile forms on your lips as you reach out to take it. “Thank you, Hanbin.”
The way his name rolls so easily off your tongue catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. He stammers out something that might be “you’re welcome” before ducking his head in a quick bow and practically fleeing the scene.
As he disappears into the crowd, Ryu-jin lets out a low whistle, her grin mischievous. “Oh-ho, my ever-charming and impossibly kind Y/N,” she teases, pinching your cheek in a way that makes you laugh and bat her hand away.
You hold the box of chocolates out to her, and without missing a beat, she takes it with a delighted, “Don’t mind if I do!”
“Why do you always know everyone’s names?” Jake asks, leaning over to snag a piece of chocolate before Ryu-jin can stop him. He pops it into his mouth, then gives you a mock incredulous look. “There are way too many people trying to win you over. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother keeping track.”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t really try to memorize their names, Jake,” you explain, your voice softening. “But when someone puts themselves out there like that—when they go out of their way to do something kind for me—even if I don’t feel the same, the least I can do is acknowledge it. Knowing their name… it’s just part of respecting the effort they made.”
Jake leans back, arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”
The rest of the conversation became a blur. The details didn’t matter—they never really did. Choi Beomgyu had gotten back together with her again. That’s how it always went, didn’t it? Still, your mind dawdled on him, as it often did, bonded to a memory from so long ago: the boy with sceptic eyes and a hand who had guided you safely to your brother.
You couldn’t explain it fully, this quiet pull you felt toward him.
Maybe it was the way he kept to himself at gatherings, speaking only when necessary. His words always carried a weight your mother would later describe as "intelligent," her tone laced with rare approval. It could’ve been his eyes, dark and warm, matching the soft chaos of his hair. Or perhaps it was his low voice, that left a faint shiver dancing along your spine without warning.
Life had always been laid out for you, each piece polished and placed neatly on a silver platter. Nothing ever seemed truly exciting, not when you could have anything you wanted with minimal effort. You’d never been particularly interested in dating, either. Why chase something when the pursuit itself felt dull?
Choi Beomgyu was… different. He wasn’t even someone you could simply talk to. Maybe that’s why he fascinated you so much.
He's impossible to ignore.
"He's sick again… ugh."
The words grated on your nerves, cutting through the hallway like nails on a chalkboard. You were at your locker, minding your own business, stacking books into your bag. Ji-won’s loud voice, drew the attention of everyone within earshot.
You were ready to walk away from the nauseating cheap fog of their perfume, when her next words stopped you cold.
"Beomgyu's sick," she continued, tossing her hair back like it was some grand inconvenience to her. "We went shopping yesterday, and he lent me his umbrella when it rained. Now he's sick. Honestly, such an idiot move."
How could she talk about him like that? Here, in front of all these people, where anyone could hear?
"And I told him not to play basketball today," Ji-won added with a careless shrug. "I mean, it's not like some game is more important than my plans."
Some game? The basketball match wasn’t just some game—it was one of the biggest events of the year, something their team had poured weeks of practice into. And she expected him to ditch it for her whims?
The sharp clang of your locker shutting ripped through the air, louder than you intended when you closed it. The hallway fell silent. Ji-won flinched, startled by the sound, then turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt her. But when her eyes met yours, the words died in her throat.
Your stare pinned her in place, unwavering. The entire hallway seemed to hold its breath, watching, waiting. Everyone knew better than to cross you—Choi trinity’s princess.
After a few long seconds, you broke eye contact, turned on your heel and walked away, each step of your Valentino sandals echoing with you.
As much as you wanted to speak, as much as the words burned at the back of your throat, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much Ji-won infuriated you, no matter how carelessly she spoke about him, this wasn’t your battle to fight.
You had no right to.
Beomgyu wasn’t yours to defend.
You body moved without thinking, pulling your phone out to call your driver. Medicine. Ingredients for a recovery soup. You listed everything quickly, your voice brisk to mask the slight shake in it.
Cooking had always been something you loved. There was a comfort in its simplicity—a recipe was just steps to follow, a methodical course that brought things to life. You liked how it could make someone happy, how it could bring warmth, even when words couldn’t.
When the ingredients arrived, you made your way to the university’s cooking room. It was meant for culinary students, but a single request to the club president had granted you access.
You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves and got to work. The familiar motions of chopping, stirring, and seasoning steadied you. The savoury aroma filled the room, spilling over into your senses. When the soup was done, you ladled it into a glass container, the warmth radiating through your hands. Perfect for the chilly wind outside.
It's no surprise that he got sick.
You packed it carefully, along with the medicine, into a small bag, and made your way toward his classroom. Sunghoon had told you where Beomgyu’s seat was, promising to keep it quiet. No one could know about this.
Not even Beomgyu himself.
The classroom was empty when you arrived, just as you’d hoped. Rows of desks stretched before you, soaked in the soft, dim light of late afternoon. Your steps faltered when you unexpectedly spotted him. You were about to turn around when you noticed he was asleep.
There he was, slumped over his desk, his head resting on folded arms. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, his face flushed with fever.
You swallowed hard, the sight tugging at something deep inside you. His eyelashes, dark and delicate, brushed against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so unlike the version of him you were used to seeing.
Slowly, you approached, placing the bag on the desk beside him with the utmost care, as if any sound might disturb him. But as much as you tried to stay quiet, the pounding of your heart seemed impossibly loud in the silence.
You stood there longer than you should have, your gaze lingering on the soft lines of his face. His fever-reddened cheeks, his slightly parted lips—he looked so vulnerable, so human in a way that made your chest ache.
Your breath caught as you turned to leave. It was hard to breathe in this room, hard to ignore the charm he had on you, even now. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you turned and walked out.
It felt like you were leaving your heart with him.
Beomgyu stirs awake, his body aching and cold, as if the chill had seeped into his skin. His head feels heavy, but a faint warmth near him pulls him in. He blinks sluggishly, there's—a container of soup resting on his desk. Soup?
Confused but drawn to it, he sits up slowly, the movement making his head spin. His fingers tremble slightly as he uncaps the container, and the smell that greets him is like a hug he didn’t know he needed. His stomach rumbles in response.
His gaze drops to the items beside it: medicine, utensils, carefully placed. Whoever left this thought of everything.
He picks up the spoon, dipping it into the golden broth. Bringing it to his lips, he tastes it. His eyes widen, a soft sound escaping him—surprised. It’s incredible.
It reminds him of his mother’s cooking, back when she still had time to make him meals. A strange fullness settles in his chest as he takes another spoonful, the warmth spreading, chasing away the numbness. He can’t stop eating—it’s too good.
“Babe?”
The sound of Ji-won’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up as she walks in, holding two water bottles. Her eyes land on the container in his hands, her expression flickering with something unreadable.
“Oh,” she says casually, stepping closer.
Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving softly, his voice lighter than it’s been all day. “Did you make this?” he asks, hope threading through his tone. “It’s amazing. Seriously, it’s… it’s so good. Fucking delicious.”
Ji-won blinks, startled by his enthusiasm. He was grumpy and on edge all day because of his fever. Who left this? she wonders, panic flickering beneath her composed exterior, her gaze darts to the container again, then back to Beomgyu, who’s looking at her expectantly.
“Oh, yeah—yeah!” she blurts, forcing a bright smile. “Of course, I made it.”
Beomgyu tilts his head, surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Anything for my boyfriend,” Ji-won replies, stepping closer as she places the water bottles on his desk. Her smile feels tight, but she pushes through. “That’s how much I love you.”
He chuckles softly, eating a spoonful again. “Well, I love it. Thank you for this. It made me feel so much better.”
That wasn’t the last time.
You told yourself it would be. Swore it, even. No more going out of your way for him. No more small, secret gestures. But every time you thought it was over, you found yourself pulled back in, like some invisible thread tying you to him.
It started with the soup. The day after you left it, you saw him. His face, pale and tired the day before, was flushed with warmth again, life returning to his features. Sunghoon mentioned, almost offhandedly, how Beomgyu wouldn’t stop bragging about the meal, how he raved about it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
And something about that stuck with you.
From then on, it became quite a bad habit. Throughout college, whenever you heard he was sick, you found yourself leaving small comforts behind. A bottle of tea on his desk, sweets slipped into his lockers during a lecture. And it didn’t stop there.
One time, Beomgyu forgot something important—a book, a charger, you don’t even remember now. You lent yours to Sunghoon, pretending you didn’t care, pretending it wasn’t just another way to help Beomgyu without him knowing.
Because you didn't want anything back.
When rumors spread about him sneaking around with his girlfriend, you stepped in before it escalated. His father will be angry about it, so you talked to that person who caught him, not for his sake but for your own, because the thought of his world unraveling in front of him was something you couldn’t bear to witness.
At least, that’s what you told yourself.
It wasn’t for him. It couldn’t be.
It was for you.
The way your eyes scanned every room at social gatherings, always searching for his familiar face in the crowd. The way you couldn’t relax until you caught sight of him or the way your heart jumped whenever you spotted him, even if he didn’t notice you.
It was an addiction. One you couldn’t seem to break, no matter how many times you promised yourself you’d let go.
Were you in love with him for those four years? Or was it more than that?
"As you already know, this is Y/N, son," Beomgyu's mother announces, her perfectly manicured hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Beomgyu’s gaze meets yours. His hair is longer now, sitting at the edges of his sharp jawline, almost to his shoulders—much different to how you remember him last, on his graduation day. A whole year has passed since then. And you've graduated now too.
His suit—a dark blue so deep it could pass for black—fits him perfectly, exuding quiet sophistication. In contrast, your white Balmain dress feels almost too bright, too bold, clinging to you in a way that leaves no room for subtlety. You feel exposed under his probing eyes.
This morning, your mother had insisted—no, demanded—that you wear an elegant dress. You hadn’t understood why, but now the reason stands clear.
Beside you, your brother Soobin sits rigid, yet observing. He’s always been offensive, and tonight is no exception.
The two Choi family heads are deep in conversation, their voices low but purposeful, like they’re planning something big. It’s just the two families here tonight, seated at an impossibly long table in an equally expensive restaurant. The grandeur of the setting only amplifies it—the entire floor of this lavish place reserved just for this dinner, the emptiness around you making it feel more like a stage than a private meal.
“Your marriage will take place at the end of the year,” Beomgyu’s father declares. The words snap you out of your daze, and your head jerks toward him in shock. A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.
“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp. His jaw tightens when he leans forward, composure beginning to crack. “You made me end things with Ji-won last week, and now you’re telling me I’m engaged?” He practically spits the words, hands curl into fists on the table. “To someone I don’t even know?”
Ji-won. You flinch involuntarily, hands dropping to your lap. You start picking at your nailbeds. The air feels thick—too thick to breathe.
“Who is that?” Beomgyu’s father demands, his tone filled with disdain. “I told you not to mention that whore again.” His words are venomous, and you barely have time to register the insult before the sound of Beomgyu’s chair scraping against the polished floor reverberates through the room.
Everyone flinches as he rises, his movements full of suppressed fury. Your heart pounds. He stands there seething, glaring at his father, everyone staring, daring for him to do something before he turns on his heel.
You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself together. The sting in your chest is undeniable. Disappointment wells up, as Beomgyu's actions fill the silence you can’t bear to break, your gaze fixed anywhere but the head table. Soobin’s hand suddenly moves into your line of sight, prying yours apart gently—stopping you from further tormenting your hands. His fingers curl around yours, tight.
Beomgyu's retreating footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, leaving a charged silence in their wake.
The next time you see him is on your wedding day.
You didn’t think it would happen like this. You truly didn’t. You’d clung to the faint hope that he’d at least show up before the ceremony—just once. You went to the fittings alone, picked out the rings by yourself, and stood in bakeries surrounded by couples, as you chose the cake flavour on your own. A conversation, even a brief one, might have eased the unease that had settled in your chest like a stone.
Maybe, when the time comes, you’ll work up the courage to ask him if he can at least try to be casual with you.
But every assurance came from his parents—empty promises that fell on ears too tired to process anymore. Your parents clung to those words, desperate for this union. A necessary marriage, they said. A solution.
None of it reassured you. How could it, when the groom himself was nowhere to be found? You never saw him. It was as though you were preparing to marry a ghost.
When he finally sees you, it’s as you walk down the aisle, dressed in a gown that feels heavier than it should. His gaze lands on you, a one-second glance that’s gone before you can even register it. He doesn’t look at you again. Not during the vows, not during the ceremony, not even as you both stand side by side, bound by words you barely believe.
And now, instead of his arms around you, you find yourself sobbing into your brother’s shoulder. Soobin holds you tightly. The irony was funny—it was Soobin, the whole reason to why Beomgyu was introduced to you all those years ago.
Beomgyu, the boy who returned you safely to your brother that night, the one who left a permanent mark so indelible it stayed for years. The same mark that now hurts you, refusing to fade no matter how many years passed.
It's cruel.
Happy 26th birthday baby girl! xoxo
You smiled faintly at Ryujin's text as you stirred the pancake batter you'd made from scratch. The comforting smell of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen—your kitchen.
As much as you endured your parents' endless whims, you had to admit, you loved the simplicity of domesticity. There was something grounding about it. It made you feel useful, capable—like you could create something perfect, even in a life that often felt far from it.
"Y/N." The sound of your name broke your focus. You looked up, catching Beomgyu standing at the doorway. He was already dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his tie. "I'm heading to the office early today,"
"Again?" Your voice was softer than you'd intended. "At least have breakfast before you go. I can finish this quickly."
"Thank you," he dismissed, gaze shifting away. Avoiding yours. Reminding you the line that's stretched between you cannot ever cross. "But I'll eat at the office. I don't want to be late. I might be back for dinner later. Maybe."
He adjusted his tie one last time, nodded in your direction, and walked out without another word. The soft click of it closing behind him felt louder than it should have.
You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was fine. You were used to this. Not because he left early again, but because it was an important day for you. A day you’d spend, once again, without him. Another day spent in the quiet of this too-big penthouse, with no one but yourself for company.
Two years into your marriage, you had learned to temper your expectations. Love was never meant to be part of the deal, and you had told yourself, over and over, that you didn’t need it. But no amount of reason could stop your heart from aching, from yearning—for Beomgyu to see you. Not as a piece of some agreement or a cog in the machinery of alliances, but as a person. As you.
Maybe even as a friend.
He wasn’t unkind. Not once had he raised his voice or shown you disrespect. But in some ways, his indifference stung more. He was here, yet not here—like a shadow that lived in the same space but never touched yours.
And sometimes, you wished that he would be mean to you, he would shout at you or he would hurt you—at least then, there would be something to feel. You hate that you gave him power over yourself.
You told your mother about it—you never saw your parents love each other, not in a way that felt real, not in front of you. She offered one thing that made sense to you.
Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose. You wanted to push back, to argue, but the next words stopped you cold—“Because if being an invisible wife isn’t enough, your children will see you.” You didn’t want to bring a child into this—into a life painted in shades of grey. An innocent child shouldn’t have to bear it. A child born not out of love? The thought made your chest tighten.
And yet, in the darkest, most desperate corners of your mind, another voice whispered something wicked. A voice that insisted maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
You sighed, finding the courage to pick up the spoon to eat, imagining a child sitting across from you, soft brown eyes mirroring his.
Alone, but somehow, it felt a little less lonely.
"Boss, there's a party later. It's Mr. Yoon's farewell dinner."
Beomgyu glanced up from his laptop, his secretary’s voice pulling him from the post-meeting haze. Mr. Yoon—one of his father’s most loyal employees, someone who had been with the company for years. Letting this occasion go unnoticed wasn’t an option, not for someone like him.
Later that evening, Beomgyu arrived at the resto-bar, the space already alive with the hum of laughter and conversation. As soon as he stepped inside, heads turned. Employees greeted him with a mix of respect and warmth, but his smile, though polite, didn’t reach his eyes. It was business, like always. When someone announced that the night’s tab was on him, a wave of cheers erupted, but Beomgyu barely reacted. He offered only a nod before grabbing a beer and retreating into his thoughts. Are you asleep—
"Omg, Beomgyu?"
The familiar voice jolted him. He turned his head sharply, and there she was—Ji-won. Her platinum blonde bleached hair gleamed under the bar lights, her lips curved into a playful smile. She looked almost the same, except more polished. She hadn’t changed much, down to the way her manicured fingers grazed her cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ears.
"It's you! I haven't seen you in what, two years? Almost?" she said, her tone bright, her lashes fluttering in the way she knew he once liked.
"Yeah," Beomgyu replied curtly, his voice neutral. "Nice to see you here." He grabbed his beer and took a long sip. Her laugh rang out, light and infectious, the same laugh that used to feel like heaven to him. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how to pull him in.
Beomgyu raised his beer and took a long sip again, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He probably should go now. Her friends surrounded them, teasing and nudging, playful comments flying back and forth. He stayed composed, answering in clipped sentences, trying to keep his distance. He just needs to find the time to excuse himself.
But at some point, her friends drifted away, leaving her behind—drunk and alone, leaning heavily against the table. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could have left her there. Maybe he should have. But instead, he found himself walking over.
"Come on," he said quietly, offering his hand. "Let me take you home."
She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft, and smiled. It was a smile that used to mean so much more.
Her warm hands envelop his.
The drive to her address was heavy with silence. Ji-won kept glancing at him, her eyes longing, but Beomgyu stayed focused on the road. Her address glowed faintly from his phone’s GPS. When they arrived, he got out, rounding the car to help her. She wobbled slightly, her drunken state evident, but he steadied her without a word and walked her to her door. She didn’t let go of his arm.
As they reached her doorstep, she turned to him, her voice trembling, raw. “Did you forget all about me already?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Because… because I haven’t. It's still you, Beomgyu. I still love you.”
The words stopped him cold. He looked at her then—really looked at her. The faint blush on her cheeks, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, and that familiar scent of her perfume. Memories flashed. The way she’d cried when he said goodbye. The way she’d begged him to stay, her arms wrapped around him like she could keep him forever. He remembered the way he had talked to his father—looking for any chance. Only to be met with a no. A hard, unrelenting no.
It was too much. She's too familiar. He's too close.
And then, she leaned in.
Her lips touched his, soft just like they used to be. He shouldn’t. But when the small of her hands gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer, he kissed her back.
It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, messy, like trying to reclaim something lost. Her body pressed against his, and the sound of her soft moan made him grip her arms. He presses her against the door. Her hands tried to open the front door for them to go inside. It felt like a reunion, a fleeting taste of something they weren’t supposed to have.
But then she whispered against his lips, “Do you think we’d be married now if your father hadn’t stopped us?”
The word married—hit him, made him open his eyes, freezing in place.
He pulled away, his breath ragged, staring at her. His lips still burned with the sin of hers. What the hell was he doing?
Ji-won stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “Beomgyu—” she started, but he shook his head, taking another step back.
“I… I can’t,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried and uneven. She reached for him—called his name, voice crying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
All he could see was your face.
At home. Waiting for him. Leaning to the countertop with your stupidly sweet unnecessary smile. The crinkle by your eyes. It flashes over and over, drowning out everyone, and everything else.
Beomgyu gets into his car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the keys. The engine roars to life with an urgency that matches his racing thoughts.
His grip tightens on the wheel as the image of Ji-won flashes in his mind. Her words. Her touch. The kiss. His stomach churns. What the hell was he thinking? Did he still love her?
The elevator ride to your floor feels agonizingly slow, every second stretching endlessly. He can barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. When the doors open, he steps out hesitantly, his footsteps dragging as he approaches the front door.
He pauses in the entryway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.
He sees you.
You're curled up on the couch, your head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. His eyes dart on the kitchen, there sits a plate of untouched food, now cold. Dinner.
His chest tightens. You waited for him. Despite everything—despite the fact that he’d made no promises, despite the countless nights like this—you still waited.
How? he thinks, his mind reeling. How could you wait for him, when he hadn't given you anything to hold on to?
He glances at the clock on the wall. 6 a.m. His jaw clenches. He hadn’t even noticed the time had passed. He’d been so caught up at the party, so lost in the haze of old memories and poor decisions, that he’d forgotten about you entirely.
He steps closer, his gaze softening as it falls on your face. You look peaceful, your breathing even, your features illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.
The urge to reach out, to touch you, is overwhelming. But as his eyes fall to your lips, a shameful reminder washes over him—he knows that his lips had been with someone else only minutes ago.
It would be cruel to let it stain the divine of your skin.
“Come here,” Beomgyu spoke, which made you look at him through the mirror for a couple of seconds before seeing him beckon you over. You walked towards him, about to sit on the edge of the bed, when he grabbed your arm and sat you between his thighs.
“What is it?” you asked softly. You felt his arms tighten slightly around you, his fingers brushing the fabric of your robe. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t so much as looked at you too. You just got out of your shower when you saw him sitting in your bed. And now, here he was—unexpected, yet demanding this closeness.
He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his breath, warm against your skin. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your side, tracing the outline of your frame. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. You knew what this was. What he wanted. What he was about to do.
This was the pattern you had grown to recognise. The times he came to you like this, seeking the comfort your body could offer. The way his touch made you feel seen. And when morning came, like always, he would retreat—pulling away, storms behind his eye, leaving you to wrestle with the hollow ache in your chest.
Nights like this made it hurt more.
“Nothing.” He says. You felt his hand caress your thigh as he kisses your shoulder. He turns you around. He licked his lips before letting it explore the inside of your mouth, making you moan. He grunts in your mouth as his hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh.
He pushes his clothed crotch to your heat. He removes the top part of your robe, his lips easily finding themselves on your nipple, kissing around it before hungrily latching his mouth on it. The feeling of his wet tongue circling your bead and the growing tent on his pants rubbing on you made your body heat up.
You should push him away.
But then he looked up into your eyes, almost begging. It's soft, glassy which makes you wonder if you're ever going to see it other than like this. At that moment, the truth hit you: this was all he could offer. This collision, the press of his skin against yours—this was all you’d ever have of him. The pain intensified. He goes up and captures your lips again.
“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against your kisses. Fine, you thought. Just this once more—one last time. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back gently, turned around and got on all fours. You arched your back, pressing your head onto the mattress. Your ass was in the air, and you were exposed to him. Hearing him move behind you made you close your eyes.
Beomgyu was shocked. For you to offer yourself like this, so quickly, caught him off guard. He blinked, taking in the curve of your back, and the way you presented yourself.
You felt his tip rub against your folds and swollen clit, making you whine. He pulled your legs farther apart before plunging two fingers to make sure you were ready to take him.
You moaned, feeling his long fingers massage your walls. Your wetness trickled on his hand, and it only made him harder. He sucked his fingers when he pulled out. You felt every inch, his cock reaching places that made your body arch instinctively beneath.
It burns, and it burns so good.
“You're always fucking tight.” He kneads your ass cheeks, thrusting slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed. You felt so full as he pushed into you. He reached for your clit as you buried your face into the pillow. “Y/N…” His hard cock reaches the deepest parts of you. Beomgyu flipped your body without warning, and your arm immediately flew to your face. You turned your face away from him, not knowing that he’s been observing you.
You’ve been hiding your face the whole time as much as you can. Seeing his eyes felt unbearable. Because meeting his eyes will make you want him. To want him more than this. Something he will never be able to give.
“Y/N…I want to see your face.” He grabbed your hand to move them away, and Beomgyu felt a pang in his chest when he saw your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You were sobbing underneath him.
“Please…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Just make me cum. Okay?”
You were breaking your own heart, chasing his own. And as he stared down at you, his indifference, the wall he’d built so carefully around himself, was killing you.
“What's wrong?” He urges you. His thrusts are unceasing as tears continue to fall down from your eyes. “Y/N…” Your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curled as you cried out his name. Your walls were squeezing his cock. He grunts at how tight you feel around him. His hands were gripping the back of your knees as his hips stuttered, about to reach his own climax.
Even as he continued to move, his pace sloppy and desperate, your quiet sobs filled the room, uncontrollable. Beomgyu stilled above you, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. He hated himself—hated the way he’d reduced you to this.
You feel his hot cum inside you. When he finally pulled away, he collapsed beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. His unsure eyes drifted to you, curled up in the blankets, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle your cries. You moved your whole body under the sheets, clung to the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.
Hiding. Hiding from the one who was supposed to be your other half.
The sight of you like this made his throat tighten, his chest heavy with something he couldn’t put into words. He had never wanted to hurt you, yet here you were.
That night, Beomgyu lay unable to find sleep, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your bedroom walls. You were an angel, one he had broken with his own hands.
You wake up, heart racing.
Your hands instinctively move to your face. It’s that dream again. The same one that’s haunted you night after night. The memory of him. That night. The last time Beomgyu touched you. It’s been just over four weeks.
Even in sleep, he doesn’t let you go.
You blinked, your surroundings blurry in the faint light of your room. How did you get here? You were sure you’d fallen asleep on the couch. The question barely settles before an uneasy twist in your stomach pulls you back to the present. A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.
Your hand flies to your mouth as you scramble out of bed, your legs barely keeping up as you dart to the bathroom. You made it just in time, collapsing onto your knees as your body seized itself forward. The bitter taste burned your throat, each heave leaving you weaker than the last. You sat there, gripping the cool edge of the toilet, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.
You pushed yourself up, legs still shaky, and made your way to the sink. The cold water was a welcome distraction, splashing against your skin and dripping down in rivulets. You scrubbed at your face harder than you needed to, as if the water could somehow rinse away more than just the sweat clinging to your skin.
Grabbing a towel, you patted your face dry, letting your gaze drift to the untouched box of tampons sitting quietly on the shelf.
“Y/N?” The knock on your door startled you. Tossing the towel aside, you stepped out of the small bathroom and crossed the room to open the door.
There he stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours the second the door opened. He scanned your face. “Are… are you okay? I heard a loud thump.” His voice was uneven, like he wasn’t sure he should even be asking.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly. You moved to step past him, but the moment you did, he took a cautious step back, his body shifting as though he couldn’t bear to be too close.
It stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No,” he replies, eyes darting to the vases on the table. “You got flowers?” Beomgyu’s stares on your face. The way your face softens at the mention of them—he notices it instantly. He doesn’t like it—not one bit.
“They were given to me.”
“Two dozen?” he presses, “By who?”
“Soobin,”
“And?” he asks again, though there’s no need. He already knows who.
“Yeonjun,” The name lands heavy between you.
His jaw tightens. “He dropped them off here yesterday? Why did—” His words tumble out quickly, too quickly.
Because it's your birthday.
“He was with Soobin, Beomgyu,” you interrupt, brushing past him toward the refrigerator. Your steps feel heavier than they should Blinking, you try to push the swelling emotions back down. Normally, you’d brush this off. So why does it feel so different today? Why are you getting emotional? You pull out a bottle of water, taking a long sip to steady yourself before asking, “What time did you come home yesterday?”
Silence.
You drink slowly, giving him time to answer, but he doesn’t. The room feels stifling in the stillness, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud. You set your empty glass on the table with a dull thud, your eyes drifting back to him.
He’s standing there in his usual morning look—white shirt hanging loose, black pyjama pants slightly wrinkled. His hair is a mess from sleep, and his skin looks paler in the soft light. There’s something about how vulnerable he looks in the mornings that always catches you off guard.
He's painfully beautiful.
“Around the morning,” He's hesitant. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t meet your eyes, and the tightness in your chest only grows. There’s an ugly nagging feeling at the edges of your thoughts.
“I’ll go get ready for work,” he says, shutting the conversation before it even has a chance to go further.
It doesn't surprise you anymore.
You step into the opulent glow of the five-star Skyline Restaurant, the clink of fine china and hushed laughter swirled around. Fingers gripping your white Dior purse, you scan the room, heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Your eyes sweep over faces until a familiar one stops you in your tracks.
“Pretty girl.” Ryujin’s voice called out, smooth and warm. She raises a hand in a poised wave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. You mirror her expression, weaving your way toward her. Heads turn as you pass, your perfume—delicate yet potent.
“How are you?” she asks as you reach her, gaze soft yet probing.
“I’m okay,” you reply, sinking into the plush couch across from her. The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly. “Thank you for the gifts, by the way. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday, like you wanted.”
“I understand.” Her reply is casual, but her eyes betray her. They flicker to the dark crescents under yours, the ones you’ve tried to conceal but can never quite hide. “It’s always him, isn’t it? At the end of the day.”
Your fingers wrap around the porcelain cup in front of you. The tea is hot against your palms, and you take a tentative sip. It tasted faintly of jasmine, soothing and bittersweet. The silence between you stretches.
“Y/N.” Her voice pulls you back, insistent. Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, you can’t look away. “He’s the reason you’re like this. It doesn't have to be, but he made it this way. You see that, don’t you?”
"I know."
Ryujin’s eyes flickered with hesitation, the way someone falters before delivering a blow. Eyes darting between you and the untouched tea in front of her. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “But I… I heard something.”
Her words made your heart clench. “What is it?”
“I mean, I’m not completely sure, but it came from someone I trust and—”
“Ryujin,” you snapped, sharper than you intended. Your chest tightened as dread crept in. “Tell me.”
She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before closing again. “Did he spend the night with you yesterday?”
You felt the world shift under your feet. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your silence was enough.
He wasn't.
Ryujin’s expression softened, pity creeping into her features, “I—there was a party,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant. “One with Beomgyu and Ji-won.”
The name made your stomach drop.
“They were together all night,” she said, her words rushed, like she wanted to get them out before she lost her nerve. “And someone… someone saw them. Beomgyu practically carried her into his car. They left together.”
Your vision blurred for a second, the edges of the room fading as her words registered. You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. “Oh,” you whispered.
Ryujin stood abruptly and moved to sit beside you, taking your trembling hands into hers. “Confront him,” she urged. “Find out if it’s true.” She squeezed your hands. “I’m so tired of seeing you like this. Always giving and giving while he takes whatever’s left of you.” Her voice cracked. “Loving him silently. Loving him so hard isn’t going to make him love you back.”
You didn’t even realise you were crying until the tears started dripping onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your dress. Ryujin hated it. She remembered you in college—how you laughed so freely, how your eyes sparkled. But now, that light she admired so much was dimming, as if someone had reached inside you and quietly stolen it piece by piece.
Ryujin swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears as she watched yours fall. How hurt must you be to cry like this—without a sound, without even a gasp? Just the quiet, stream of tears slipping down your face, carving paths of pain?
She hated seeing you like this—hated how one person had managed to turn the full-bloomed, radiant version of you into a shadow of yourself, a bud closed off to the world. That someone can easily break you, when you spent years building yourself.
You're waiting.
It's 10 p.m. The hours have crawled by since you drove back here. You look around. This space, where you are supposed to build a family, where love is supposed to be—is nothing but a cold place to you.
You're sitting on the couch, the same couch you’ve spent countless nights on, staring at the clock, waiting for him. Your hands rest in your lap, trembling slightly, though you don’t realise it. With nothing but fear, the fear that you’re losing something you never truly had.
Your phone buzzes again. Two names alternate, calling over and over. You don’t pick up. You don’t even look. You can’t.
Because the truth is, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night without hearing from him. Your husband.
The elevator dings softly, and Beomgyu steps into the penthouse. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his hair tousled and far from his usual pristine self. He looks tired, distracted—like he’s been anywhere but here. His eyes met yours.
"Why are you still awake—"
"Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?" Your voice cuts, trembling. You see his eyes widen, just a fraction. It’s so small you almost missed it.
"Ji-won." Her name burns as it leaves your mouth, bitter. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second—a split second, just long enough to know that he heard—but there is nothing in them. Nothing.
He moves with calculated slowness, setting his bag down on the table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Time ticked. He doesn’t even try to explain. Doesn’t even look at you long enough for you to find a trace of the man you once thought you knew. His thumb brushes over his ring like it’s something he’s forgotten. A ring that should have meant forever.
"I can handle it all, Choi Beomgyu," you say, your voice firmer now, though your hands tremble at your sides. "I’ve handled it all, haven’t I? I didn’t say anything when you kept talking about her—days after we got married—on our honeymoon, or right in front of your family."
His back stiffens, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat.
"Not once in these two years did I tell you how small you made me feel, how you made me feel like I didn’t belong in your world. Like I was a stranger in my own marriage." Your voice cracks, but you keep going. "I stayed silent, And after all of that—after everything—I stayed. I stayed because I thought… maybe it was enough. And yet, you still chose to cheat on me?"
You’re shaking now, and your voice rises despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If you had just come to me and said you didn’t want this anymore, I would’ve let you go. I would’ve walked away, Beomgyu. Because everything I’ve done—every single thing—has been for you. For this marriage. For our families."
His head finally lifts, and his eyes meet yours. You hate how you feel small under his gaze, how his silence feels like a condemnation of your own vulnerability.
Beomgyu swallows hard, his jaw tightening. "That’s not what happened, Y/N."
"That you didn’t go home with her? That you weren’t with her on my fucking birthday?"
Your words hit him like a punch, and his eyes widen, the crack in his composure visible now.
"What?"
"You heard me." The burden festering inside you for so long is finally out. It feels small, inadequate even, but you don’t care anymore. You can’t. You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.
You rise from the couch, your movements sharp, fueled by hurt and exhaustion. Steps are quick, your breaths are shallow as you reach your room. The door slams shut behind you with a force that echoes behind. Your hands tremble as you swipe on your phone. Tears blur your vision, falling onto the screen as you scroll, fingers fumbling to find the number you need.
You don’t think. You can’t. The tears are hot and relentless, burning tracks down your cheeks as you press the call button.
The line clicks immediately.
Outside your room, Beomgyu stands in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His footsteps are uneven, restless. The truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Every time he tries to form the words in his head, they fall apart before they can leave his lips.
How can he explain it? How can he make you understand? He never thought it would come to this—never thought he’d have to say it out loud. He’d always believed he could keep it buried, that you’d never find out.
He presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. He hasn’t spoken to Ji-won since that night. Not once. She tried to reach out—texts, calls, even showing up unannounced—but he shut it all down. He shut her out.
The irony isn’t lost on him. He, who once was hopelessly in love with her had turned his back on her entirely. What surprised him the most was how easy it was. All it took was thinking of you.
And the sight of your tears now terrifies him.
Beomgyu has always been a confident man. He was raised to be one. It’s who he was taught to be—the man who could command a room, close deals, deliver speeches without a stutter. But none of that matters now. Standing here, in front of your door, he feels small. Helpless. Negotiating with the world is one thing; facing the pain in your eyes is another.
He sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. His chest feels tight, his mind racing. He should knock. He knows he should try—should say something, anything.
He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. Your eyes meet his—red, swollen, glassy with unshed tears—and it feels like the air is knocked out of him. Beomgyu's chest tightens painfully, and then his gaze falls to the suitcase in your hand,"Where are you going?"
You don’t answer. Instead, you step past him, avoiding even the smallest brush against him. The sound of your suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. His heart stutters, his feet frozen in place.
"Y/N," he pleads, reaching for your wrist. His eyes flicker down to your hand, and the absence of your ring feels like a blow he wasn’t ready for.
"Beomgyu," you say quietly, pulling your hand away from his grasp."I’m going to stay with my brother for a while."
You don’t wait for his response. You can’t. If you stop now—if you meet his eyes again—you might change your mind. You walk toward the elevator, heart pounding, and breaking, but you don’t look back. When he doesn’t follow, when he doesn’t try to stop you, it cracks a little more.
The elevator doors begin to close, you think that’s it.This is the end. But then, his hand darts between the doors, forcing them open. You glance up in surprise. You've never seen him this unsure, or nervous before.
"At least let me see you out," he says softly. "Please,"
He stares at you. You nod, stepping aside to make room for him. Neither of you speaks, and the distance between you feels impossibly wide, even in the small space.
"Call me if you ever want to talk again," he finally breaks the silence, eyes fixed on the ground, "I’ll wait for you," You don’t respond, your throat tightening as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself not to cry.
Perhaps, it is his turn to wait for you.
It’s the longest elevator ride of your life.
In the parking lot, your brother is the first thing you see—tall and imposing, his glasses doing nothing to soften the sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes sweep over you, landing on the suitcase in your hand before darting behind you. The worry darkens instantly into anger when he sees Beomgyu trailing a few steps behind.
"You fucker," Soobin spits, brushing past you to square off with him. His voice is cold and furious. Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, even as your brother towers over him.
"I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Soobin growls. "I thought, at the very least, you’d treat my sister with the respect she deserves. But you—"
"Soobin, stop!" You step forward, your hands desperately reaching out to hold your brother’s fists clenched at his sides. "Please, let’s just go."
He hesitates, jaw tightening as he swallows his anger. With a final, scathing glare at Beomgyu, Soobin turns away. He reached for your suitcase, grabbed it without a word and shoved it into the trunk of his car. Then he opens the passenger door, his expression softening ever so slightly as he looks at you. "Get inside."
You slide into the car, your hands trembling as you clutch them in your lap. Soobin slams the door shut behind you, the sound shouting in the empty parking lot like a final warning.
Beomgyu stands there eyes never leaving your form, unmoving, as the car engine roars to life. His chest feels like it’s caving in as he watches Soobin pull away, the tyres screeching against the pavement. It’s almost insulting, the way the sound seems to echo his own turmoil.
His eyes follow the car until it vanishes from sight, leaving nothing but silence and the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone.
Beomgyu steps back, dragging his feet to somehow delay the reality settling in around him. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of hope burning in his chest. Maybe you’d be there. Maybe you’d come back.
Maybe this was just a nightmare he hadn’t woken up from yet.
But you didn't.
The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, his mind blank and racing all at once. He walks, heading straight to the kitchen for water—something to soothe the dryness in his throat, the tightness in his chest. But as he passes the living room, his eyes catch on the portrait hanging above the mantel.
The wedding photo.
It hangs on there, just as it always has, but tonight it feels unbearable. His eyes lock on your face, and he falters. How could he have missed it? The slight redness in your eyes, the way your smile looks stretched too thin. How can a bride look so unhappy? How did it take him this long to realise how beautiful you looked that day—despite everything? How could he have failed to tell you?
How could he have been so blind?
He wasn’t the only one hurting that day. You had to stand there, dressed in white, while he grieved for someone else. On the day that was supposed to be yours, his mind had been somewhere else, tangled in memories of a woman who wasn’t you. And he never talked to you about it—not once. He never told you what you needed to hear. That it wasn’t your fault. That none of it was your fault.
He blinks hard, his vision blurring. The cracks were always there, weren’t they? Small at first, almost invisible, but they spread, creeping through everything until you were barely holding on. And he didn’t see it. He didn’t see you. Now, he stares at the picture like it might give him some kind of answer, some kind of clue to undo it all, but all it does is make the ache in his chest grow sharper.
He wished he had known. He wished he had known that the hurt consuming him would fade. He wished he could’ve said it all sooner, when the chance was still there. To tell you the truth. That he indeed had kissed her. That it was a mistake. He should have fallen to his knees and begged you to forgive him.
Would it have made a difference? Could one moment of honesty, one action, one choice have been enough to hold you here, to make you stay?
"Fuck," His voice was unsteady, tears stinging his eyes—tears he didn’t even know he was capable of. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe he never has. He never cried. His hand moves on instinct, reaching for the cabinet, but instead of a glass, his fingers close around the neck of the whisky bottle. Water won’t cut it tonight. He twists the cap off, letting it fall to the counter with a hollow clink, and takes a long, burning sip.
It doesn't dull anything. Not yet. So he drinks.
It’s only been an hour—barely even that—since you left, but it feels like his world is already collapsing.
You wake up groggy, your head spinning and eyes feeling heavy. You can’t remember when you fell asleep or even how. You shift on the bed—Soobin must have carried you here.
Right. You’re at his place now.
"Y/N, you awake?" your brother’s voice carries down the hall, accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of bacon. Your stomach growls unexpectedly. You drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face in the bathroom, and head out of the room.
“Good morning,” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen. The sight of Soobin setting down a plate of pancakes and Yeonjun grinning at you makes your chest feel warm.
Yeonjun stands and strides over, wrapping you in a tight hug. His hugs are always the warmest. He’s your brother’s best friend, someone who’s been in your life long enough to feel like family. He's known you since you were children, and you see him as your own brother.
He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the table as the corners of your lips tug into a soft smile you can’t seem to hold back. You sit down, and Soobin begins piling food onto your plate.
"Do you have any plans today?" Soobin asks casually, his focus still on divvying up breakfast.
“None, really,” you reply, your attention entirely on the bacon in front of you. Your stomach practically growls in anticipation, and without waiting, you dig in.
A little too eagerly, apparently. You choke, coughing as you try to swallow too quickly.
Yeonjun’s reaction is immediate—he’s already filling a glass of water before you even finish coughing. He places it in front of you and grabs a few napkins, sliding them your way with a concerned look. “Slow down, Y/N,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.
“Sorry,” you croak out, taking a sip of water to soothe your throat.
Last night, when you arrived, your brother didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled you into a hug, letting you collapse into him, tears soaking into his shirt as you broke down.
You heard him curse, his voice tight with restrained anger, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry. His hands rested firmly on your back.
He didn’t ask because he knew. He knew that words wouldn’t help—not now. And maybe, he was afraid that asking would only deepen the pain already spreading through you.
It’s the reason Soobin hasn’t married yet. He’s had plenty of offers—proposals that would benefit his business, alliances that would make sense on paper. But none of it feels right. Not when he knows what you’ve endured.
He can't forget the look on your face on the day of your wedding. He keeps his distance, telling himself he has no right to fall in love or build a life of his own. How could he, knowing the choice was never yours? How could he allow himself to stand in the light of his own happiness, knowing it would only cast a longer shadow over you?
It would be unfair. Unfair to chase his own happiness.
He’s afraid. Afraid that loving someone, finding joy in his own marriage, would feel like betrayal or it would mean abandoning you to face your burdens alone.
"How are you?" Yeonjun asks, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under your eyes. His frown deepens.
"I'm… better," you say, the words catching in your throat as you force them out. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re far from better. Not when the image of Beomgyu standing in the parking lot, staring at you as you left, keeps haunting you. He looked… You shake your head, forcing the thought away.
You can’t go there—not now.
“There’s a party this weekend,” Yeonjun says, trying to sound lighthearted as he takes a bite of his food. “Some kind of school reunion. I think it’s three batches combined. You should come with us.”
"Yeah," you mumble, poking at your plate. "Ryu-jin’s been bugging me about it. Since Jakey won’t be able to make it—he’s overseas right now."
But the words falter on your lips as the thought you’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way forward. You don’t have to say it out loud; it’s already there, written on your face. Beomgyu. He might be there.
"He won’t be," Soobin says firmly, it's almost as if he read your thoughts. "I made sure of it. And if, by some chance, he shows up, I’ll stick by your side all night."
Your eyes flick over to Yeonjun, and he gives you a slight nod, his expression softening. "I’ll be there too,"
The days pass in a haze, each one blurring into the next, but this time, you’re not navigating them by yourself. You lean on your brother more than you ever thought you would, and somehow, he never seems to mind.
Soobin, who skips work without a second thought, pulling you out of the house when he sees you sinking too deep into yourself. He drags you to museums, to quiet cafés, or even just for drives with no destination.
And then there’s Yeonjun. No matter how busy his life is, he keeps... showing up. When Soobin’s tied up, Yeonjun is there, knocking on your door with his humor pulling reluctant smiles from you when you least expect it.
It’s not perfect—it’s still hard. Some days, you still lock your doors and don't come out no matter how many times they knock. There are days you don't even utter a single word. But they’re there, both of them, holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.
For the first time in two years, you don't feel alone.
“He’s not on the list, don’t worry,” Ryu-jin’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soobin’s car leads in the lane in front of you.
"It's fine," you say, "It's not like I'm going for him, anyway."
"Okay. See you there," Ryu-jin replies before hanging up. You swallow hard, trying to push down yet another nausea rising in your throat. You focus on the road.
When you arrive, you walk alongside Soobin toward the entrance. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd. The two of you—the university’s so-called power siblings—command attention without even trying. People smile, greet you, and their eyes linger on your Dior dress, but you barely notice.
“You’re finally here,” Yeonjun’s familiar voice calls out as he approaches, his warm smile cutting the tension in your chest. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I’m glad you came,” he says softly, his eyes holding yours before focusing on Soobin.
"You're early." Soobin exchanges a quick greeting with him, heading off briefly to grab drinks for the three of you.
“Y/N!” Ryu-jin throws her arms around you, grinning as her eyes sweep over you. “Why do you always have to look this good?” she teases playfully. You laugh softly, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise heavy evening. The four of you settle at a table, waiting for the event to begin.
The night feels… okay. Not great, not life-changing, but okay. A simple glimpse of normalcy.
The week leading up to tonight lingers in your mind. Beomgyu’s messages. The flowers left at Soobin’s door. The missed calls that filled your screen, each one a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.
You ignored them all. You had to.
Even now, standing here among friends, the memories creep in when you least expect them. Every time you close your eyes, you see them. You see her. And you see him.
And all the things that could’ve happened between them.
No matter how hard you try, the ghosts cling to you, refusing to let go.
You scrub your hands under the cold stream of water, the scent of soap mingling with the sterile air. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open doesn’t register at first—not until you hear her voice.
“Hi, Y/N.” You freeze, your stomach twisting before you even turn around. Through the mirror, her face appears behind you—Ji-won. The last person you wanted to see.
“What do you want?” Your reflection betrays the tension in your jaw. Your stomach twists violently. You don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.
“Look, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened between you and Beomgyu.” Her words falter, her tone weak, as if that soft voice could somehow soften the blow. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she continues, “It just… it just happened. We didn’t mean it.”
You know what hurts more than being cheated on? It’s the sickening realization that the person they chose is better than you in every way. Prettier. Maybe even smarter. More… everything.
Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to speak, “Stop, Ji-won.” You glance at her through the mirror, your chest tightening painfully. “I get it. I can see why.”
She looks startled, her brows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I know you know we had… unfinished business—”
“Unfinished business?” You spin around to face her, and the words tumble out before you can stop them, “With someone else’s husband?”
“That’s why I came to apologize,”
You laugh bitterly, shaking your head as your chest burns with a mixture of anger and pain. “Well, I don’t need it. Did you expect me to hug you?” You let out another laugh, this one harsher.
“Congratulations, I guess.” You step closer, each word laced with venom. “But don’t you ever come near me again. If you do, I’ll press charges. It will be really ugly. Do you understand?”
Ji-won nods stiffly, her expression crumbling under the weight of your stare. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, your steps hurried, the adrenaline rushing through your veins.
By the time you’re in the hallway, your breath is coming in short gasps. Your chest feels tight, constricted, like you’re drowning in your own emotions. You press a hand to your chest, forcing yourself to keep walking, but your vision blurs with unshed tears.
You can’t breathe.
The alcohol should’ve been enough. You thought it would drown everything out—the ache, the gnawing in your gut, the weight pressing down on your shoulders. But the pain is relentless, carving its way through you, burning and cold.
It starts in your chest, spreading like wildfire, suffocating your lungs, and crawling up your spine until it feels like you’re being pulled apart from the inside. It’s sharp, chaotic, like a bullet ricocheting through your body, tearing apart every fragile piece it touches.
You hear Ryu-jin’s voice calling your name, faint and distant, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. No. The crowd around you feels stifling, every laugh and every cheer scraping against your raw nerves. You’re barely holding it together, and you know that if you stay even a second longer, you’ll shatter in front of everyone.
You just need to go. To get away. Anywhere but here. Because right now, in the middle of this party, you feel like an open wound, with no place to hide.
“Where the hell did she go?” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the hallway outside the bathroom. She had only stepped away for a minute, grabbed what she needed, and when she came back—you were gone.
She storms back to the table, her heart racing. “Soobin, did you see Y/N?”
Soobin looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”
“I lost her,” Ryu-jin admits, held up her phone, frustrated. “I’ve been trying to call, but her phone’s not connecting.” The worry on Soobin’s face mirrors her own, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.
“I’ll check outside,” Soobin says, already rising to his feet, his determination written all over his face. Yeonjun appears at the table just as Soobin leaves. “I’ll go with him.”
“Ryu-jin? Hey, long time no see.”
She turned to see Jay standing there, his familiar easygoing smile not quite registering in the chaos of her mind. “Jay,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “Hey. Yeah. Long time.”
Jay tilted his head. “Surprising. Where’s Choi’s golden girl? Isn’t she usually glued to your side?”
Ryu-jin hesitated, her smile faltering. “They… stepped out for a bit,” she lied, tone distracted.
Her gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when she saw her. Ji-won. Sitting with her group of friends, laughing, carefree, as if she hadn’t done enough damage already. The sight of her felt like a slap to the face. “The audacity…” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath.
Jay follows her line of sight, his eyebrows raising when he spots her. “That’s Ji-won, right?” he asks, his tone laced with something between curiosity and disdain. “The one who’s always been weirdly obsessed with Y/N?”
Ryu-jin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean,” Jay continues, shrugging, “back in college, she had this… thing. Like, she couldn’t stand it whenever someone said Y/N was pretty, which was often. It was kind of insane, honestly. Everyone knew Y/N was the prettiest girl back then, and Ji-won hated it. Like, visibly hated it.”
Ryu-jin chokes on her drink, coughing as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her fingers twitch with the urge to march over to Ji-won and give her a piece of her mind, but before she can act on the intrusive thought, Soobin reappears. His face is pale.
“She’s been in an accident,”
You got into an accident.
Beomgyu was sitting in his office when the call came. Everything around him blurred, the world spinning out of focus. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while the Earth kept spinning mercilessly. His body froze, but his mind was spiralling.
Y/N. Accident. The words replayed on a loop in his head, loud and cruel. He couldn't process them, couldn't let them sink in, because doing so would mean accepting that something terrible had happened to you.
You got into a car accident. Something terrible happened.
His throat tightened as he gripped the phone with trembling hands. "Wh-where… which hospital?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shatter.
The answer came, muffled like it was coming from underwater. The call ended before he could fully react. The phone slipped from his hand onto the desk as he staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him.
Somehow, he made it to his car, though he couldn’t remember how. His chest heaved. With shaking fingers, he dialled another number, desperate for more answers.
“Don’t bother coming here, Choi Beomgyu.” Soobin’s voice was sharp and breathless when he answered. It sounded strained, furious even, and it only made Beomgyu’s heart sink further.
“Is she okay?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice barely audible. The question felt like it would break him. His chest felt like it was caving in, the pain clawing at him as he braced himself for the answer. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his free hand digging into his hair as he fought to stay grounded.
“She’s…” Soobin’s voice faltered, and that hesitation was enough to send Beomgyu spiraling further. “They’re trying. The doctors are doing everything they can.”
It wasn’t enough. Those words, those pitiful attempts at reassurance, did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as panic surged through him. If Soobin couldn’t say you were okay, it meant you weren’t.
Beomgyu floored the gas pedal.
His mind raced as fast as the car, every thought more horrifying than the last. What if he was too late? What if he never got to see you again? His breath hitched at the thought. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.
He had to see you. Alive. Breathing.
Anything less would destroy him.
Beomgyu bursts into the hospital, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sterile beeping and muffled voices around him. He barely registers the nurse’s directions to your room. All he knows is that he has to see you. His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, and when he spots the door, he doesn’t expect the two familiar figures standing outside.
Ryu-jin sits on a chair, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake with sobs. Yeonjun is pacing, his expression tight with worry, his hands clenched into fists.
The moment Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, he stops dead in his tracks. His gaze hardens, sharp and unyielding, as he steps forward and blocks the door with his arm.
“She wouldn’t want to see you,” Yeonjun snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”
Beomgyu freezes for half a second before anger flares in his chest, red-hot and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouts, shoving Yeonjun hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I’m going to see my wife!”
Yeonjun doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks even angrier.
“Stop it! Both of you!” Ryu-jin’s voice cracks as she looks up, mascara streaked down her tear-stained cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. Her hands tremble as she points at the door. “Visitors aren’t allowed until tomorrow. She’s in surgery, Beomgyu. And it’s not… it’s not a minor one.”
Those words hit him like a freight train. The fight drains out of him, leaving only fear in its place. He stumbles back a step, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to breathe. “Surgery?” he whispers, his voice breaking. “What kind of surgery?”
Yeonjun glares at him, unmoving. “And now you come running,” he spits, his tone bitter. “After all this time? Now you care?”
Beomgyu clenches his jaw, meeting Yeonjun’s fiery gaze but saying nothing. Because he knows Yeonjun’s right.
Yeonjun’s shoulders sag, and his voice softens, “You don’t even know,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You don’t know what a fucking queen your wife is.”
The unexpected shift in tone stops Beomgyu in his tracks. He stares at Yeonjun. His words—they're spoken with such devastation that it leaves him frozen. He sees the sullen look on Yeonjun's face. After all, Yeonjun has always been soft when it comes to you.
So soft that it terrifies Beomgyu.
"Beomgyu." Soobin's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Beomgyu out of his spiralling thoughts. He turns toward him, barely able to focus. "Let's talk here."
Beomgyu nods silently and walks over, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He follows without a word, leaving Yeonjun and Ryu-jin standing alone near the door.
Ryu-jin watches Yeonjun out of the corner of her eye. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a single word since his last bitter remark to Beomgyu. He stands there, staring at the floor. His hands clasped together.
The silence stretches uncomfortably, and she can’t help herself. “Yeonjun…” she starts hesitantly. “You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?”
Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it—really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. “You idiot,” she whispers, her voice soft with pity.
Yeonjun lets out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping again as if he can’t bear the weight of her sympathy. “She’s… my best friend’s little sister,” he murmurs, his voice raw and quiet. “I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me. Not for her.” He doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t need to. It’s all over his face.
Yeonjun was in love with you, ever since he first saw you.
Beomgyu sat across from Soobin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened. Soobin’s voice was calm but firm as he explained what the doctors had said—stress was the last thing you could handle right now. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay for you to see her."
The words didn’t settle easily. Beomgyu didn’t understand why no one would tell him anything about your condition, why every detail was kept from him. But knowing you were stable, even for the moment, was enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded, agreeing to Soobin’s terms.
Still, he couldn’t help himself. As Soobin turned to leave, Beomgyu’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please,” he begged, “Let me see her. Just once… before I go.”
Beomgyu felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest, beating so erratically it left him breathless. It begged to escape, just as he begged silently to be allowed into the ICU. His hands trembled, numb and unsteady. He flexed his fingers, forcing a crack to echo through his knuckles, before gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.
On the other side of this door was you—the woman he hurt.
The thought made him pause, the ache in his chest spreading to his throat, tightening it like a noose. He wasn’t sure he could face you—not like this. But he couldn’t stay away, not anymore.
The door creaked softly as it opened, and his heart stuttered at the sight of you. Your face was pale but peaceful, your eyes closed, your breaths slow and steady. The sound of the machines around you was the only thing keeping him grounded.
He stepped closer, each movement hesitant, his guilt weighing heavier with every inch he bridged between you. When he finally reached your bedside, he froze, staring down at your hand—fragile and adorned with IV needles. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. They were soft. Warm. And just that small, simple touch made him breathe again—really breathe—for the first time in days.
“Baby,” he whispered, the word breaking in his throat.
He sank to his knees beside you, clutching your hand to his face. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. They fell onto your skin, warm and unrelenting, a silent apology for every mistake he had made. He pressed his lips to your hand, shoulders shook as he cried.
The past few days without you had been unbearable. If he ever had doubts, or worries, if he ever hesitated—those thoughts were gone now. It's you. He’d thought about every little thing you did that he had taken for granted. All of it. And he realized, how much it all mattered.
How much you mattered to him.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, whispers to your skin as he continue to kiss your palm. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the words pouring out of him. “You mean everything to me. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. I love you. God, I love you so much.”
He squeezed your hand, hoping—praying—that somehow you could feel him. That even in this fragile, unconscious state, you could hear the desperate beating of his heart, could feel the truth in his touch. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. If you’ll just… if you’ll just give me another chance. Please.”
He didn’t know if you could hear him. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him. And he hates himself how it took him this long to figure it out.
Beomgyu’s heart was in his hands now, fully exposed and vulnerable, waiting—you could somehow feel it. He rested his forehead against your hand, tears pooling on the stark white sheets. If you gave him the chance, he’d spend the rest of his life proving that his love is real. He was finally here, standing in the world where you had once stood so heartbreakingly alone. And that his heart was yours, completely yours.
He would spend forever making up for what he had done. Even if it kills him.
“Where were you?” you asked, reaching over to grab the strawberry from the basket on the kitchen table. Beomgyu’s chuckle filled the room. “I went drinking with Taehyun. Just a light drink,” he said casually, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you to grab a plate.
“Why? Did you miss your husband?” he teased, carefully plating the food before setting it down in front of you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”
He chuckled, handing you a spoon and fork before moving around the kitchen. A tall glass appeared on the table next to your plate and he poured you water.
“Did he miss me too?” Beomgyu’s voice was soft, almost tentative, drawing your gaze upward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were caught in the tenderness there. It made your heart ache in that way only he could.
“He?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you swallowed. “What makes you so sure it's a boy?” Your hand instinctively brushed over your stomach as a quiet smile softened your face. The thought of your little one—boy or girl—filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.
“I just feel it,” A small smile flickered across his lips, “What if we get twins?”
You looked down, your thoughts wandering to tiny clothes, little shoes scattered across the floor, and pastel-painted walls filled with light and laughter. “That would be… amazing,” you murmured.
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Beomgyu pulling out the chair beside you. He sat down at first, but then, almost as if drawn closer by some unseen force, he shifted. You felt his gaze before you saw him—soft, unwavering, and filled with a kind of awe that made your chest tighten.
“That sounds nice, two little you running around.” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper. His hand reached out slowly, brushing against your stomach. You set down your utensils, giving him a soft nod as you shifted slightly, allowing him more access.
Beomgyu lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, his large hands resting gently on either side of your growing belly. He glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he let out a long, steady breath. Then, with a tenderness that made your throat tighten, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against your stomach.
“Mommy and Daddy love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small—like all the pain he had been carrying had finally spilled over. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.
Your hand moved instinctively, threading through his soft hair with slow, soothing strokes. He pulled you closer, as though being near you could quiet the storm in his heart. Your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.
And then—it shifted.
In your dream, you were cradling a baby to your chest, its tiny body safe in your arms. Beomgyu leaned down, smiling widely as you do.
You woke up, panting.
You were dreaming. It shattered as reality came rushing back. Pain coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, pulling a small, involuntary sound from your lips.
The memory hit next, as vivid as the moment it happened. Driving through the night with tears blurring your vision, your hands trembling on the wheel. The sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart. You were speeding, desperate to outrun the ache inside. Then the impact—another car colliding into yours, the violent spin before your vision went black.
“Hnn,” you whimpered, barely able to get the sound out. Your throat was dry, parched, and every part of you ached. You needed water.
"Y/N," a voice broke through the haze of your awakening. You turned your head to see your brother, Soobin. His face paled as he dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to your side. “I—I—”
“Water. Please,” you rasped, your throat dry and raw.
Soobin nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he reached for the water bottle on the nearby table. He uncapped it, holding it to your lips as you drank. Relief was fleeting; the ache in your chest outweighed the dryness in your throat.
“What happened?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now, though your hands still shook.
“You got into an accident,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. His voice was low, almost fragile. “A surgery was performed. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”
You nodded, trying to process his words, but his silence that followed unsettled you. ou looked at him, noticing the way his eyes darted away from yours, how his lips pressed together like he was holding back something he didn’t know how to say.
“What is it?” you pressed, your chest tightening with dread.
Soobin hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before he reached out to take yours. “Let me call the nurse first, okay?” You nodded, though the fear in his voice made it hard to breathe.
You nodded, your anxiety growing as he stepped out. Moments later, the nurse arrived, and then the doctor, their voices calm and professional as they began explaining the details of your condition. But their words blurred together—a haze of medical jargon that barely registered—until one sentence shattered everything.
“You were in your first trimester when the accident occurred. The baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Your world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt like your heart had stopped.
“A baby?” you whispered, the word foreign and fragile on your lips.
The nurse and doctor offered their condolences before quietly excusing themselves, leaving you alone with Soobin. Your hands trembled as they instinctively moved to your stomach. “I was pregnant?” Your voice cracked, disbelief and anguish bleeding into every word. "Soobin?"
“Y/N…” Soobin’s voice was choked with emotion.
“I mean… they’re saying I was…” You stopped, the reality sinking in with a force so cruel. “Oh.”
“I didn’t even know,” Tears blurred your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You lost a baby. A life you didn’t even know you were carrying. A piece of you that was gone before you ever had the chance to feel it, to know it, to love it.
Did you have to lose your child too?
The sobs came hard and fast, wracking your body until you could barely breathe. Your hands covered your mouth, trying to hold in the grief that spilled over anyway. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” you choked out, your voice breaking. “And now… they’re gone.” Your hands clutched at your stomach as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer there. "It's all my fault."
Soobin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as your cries tore the room. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He held you tightly. The only thing that kept you from falling out.
Your cries grew louder, as the loss consumed you. The one you saw in your dream, so warm in your arms. You had held them, hadn’t you? You could still feel the weight of their tiny body in your arms.
Your baby.
All you could do was mourn for the life that had slipped away before you even knew it existed.
It’s been a week since Soobin made his last call to Beomgyu. A week since you opened your eyes in the hospital. And yet, Beomgyu has heard nothing.
Every day, he drags himself to the hospital. But every time, the answer is the same: no. On the fourth day, he arrived—you’d been discharged. You were gone.
Still, every morning, Beomgyu wakes up with that same aching hope that refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts. He gets through the day somehow, clutching at the thought of seeing your face again. But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.
He’s distracted, eyes fixed on the same line of text glowing on his computer screen. It’s been minutes, maybe longer, and he still hasn’t moved past the first sentence. His mind is elsewhere—adrift—when a knock on the office door pulls him back.
His secretary peeks in, face filled with cautious expression. “Sir, I’ve been calling your phone. Someone’s here to see you—Park Sunghoon.”
Beomgyu blinked, confused. Sunghoon? His old batchmate, someone he’d shared classes with years ago. They hadn’t talked in forever. He nodded slowly, signalling her to let him in.
The door opens fully, and Sunghoon strides in. His pale complexion contrasts starkly with the black polo shirt he’s wearing, and Beomgyu notices the glasses perched on his nose—something he didn't have before. Sunghoon doesn’t look quite the same as Beomgyu remembers.
“Beomgyu,” Sunghoon said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’ve you been, man?”
“Sunghoon,” Beomgyu responds, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What brings you here?” He gestures toward the seat across the desk, and Sunghoon takes it. The frown etched into his brow didn’t escape Beomgyu’s notice. “Is everything okay?”
Sunghoon exhales, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. “You know I’m close with Jay, right?”
Beomgyu narrows his eyes, unsure where this is heading, but he nods. “Yeah. And?”
“Well…” Sunghoon hesitates, the words seemingly heavy in his throat before he finally speaks. “I heard about Y/N. That she got into an accident recently.” The sound of your name halts Beomgyu.
“I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter. “I made promises to her, you know? But lately… I don’t know. It’s been eating me alive.”
Beomgyu runs his hand to his hair, "Sunghoon…”
"I didn’t think it was my place to say this," Sunghoon begins, "When I heard you two got married, I thought maybe she’d tell you. Maybe you already know. But I came here personally, just in case. Because you deserve to know. And if I don’t tell you now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."
He exhales deeply before continuing. “Do you remember how you used to talk about Ji-won? How you’d brag about her cooking for you, leaving little things for you—sweets, medicine, hot packs. Or the cold water she’d always leave at your bench during those grueling practices under the sun? Do you remember how she saved your ass that time you forgot your assignment, staying up late just to finish it for you? You told us all those things, over and over, like she a gem.” Beomgyu feels his chest tighten as Sunghoon meets his nervous gaze.
“All of that, Beomgyu… it wasn’t Ji-won,” Sunghoon says carefully, “It was Y/N. Every single one of those things. I know because… she asked me to help her sometimes. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t do it for recognition or because she wanted anything back. She just cared about you. I even told her once—maybe she should tell you how she felt, and even if you didn’t feel the same, at least it’d help her move on. But she wouldn’t. She told me… her love for you wasn’t about getting something back. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t selfish.”
Beomgyu’s hand trembles under the table, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His throat feels tight, each word hitting his ears.
“At first, I couldn’t understand her decision—I even judged her for it, thinking she was only making... things harder on herself,” Sunghoon admits, voice softening. “But over time, I realized—none of us have the right to judge someone else’s pain. You can’t measure someone else’s actions by your own standards. What might seem small or insignificant to one person could be earth-shattering to someone else.”
Beomgyu had been in love with the idea of Ji-won all along.
Those moments—the little gestures, the care, the comfort—they had become the foundation of his attachment to her. How he remembered her. They were the memories he clung to, the ones burned so deeply into his mind that letting her go had felt impossible. She was, in his mind, someone who cared for him. Someone who truly knew him.
But it wasn’t her. It was you. It had been you all along.
He thinks about Ji-won, the girl he once believed was willing to stand by him no matter what. She made him think about defying his parents, about running away from everything—his responsibilities, his future, his entire life. Ji-won was the one who fueled his anger, who stood beside him as he cursed the world and everyone in it.
And then there was you.
You, who never let him go too far. You didn’t encourage his anger—you challenged it. Even when it meant standing against him, because you wanted him to understand—not everything could be run from. It was you who reminded him that his obligations weren’t a prison but a part of him, something he couldn’t just abandon. It was you who helped him rebuild the bridge to his parents when he didn’t even realise it had been burned.
It’s suffocating now, the truth. To realise that the very actions that made him fall for Ji-won—the moments he thought defined her love for him—were never hers. They were yours.
Ji-won had been nothing but a mirror to his rebellion. This truth, made him want to see you more.
“Pour me another,” Beomgyu muttered to the bartender he leaned heavily on his forearm. The man hesitated, his concern written all over his face. Beomgyu noticed but didn’t care. “I said, pour me another one.”
With a reluctant nod, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Beomgyu downed it in one go, the burn in his throat doing nothing to drown out the ache in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring back at him as he typed out messages he knew you’d never read.
I miss you, baby. Can I see you? Let’s talk, please. Are you not going to see me? Forever? Ok. I understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness. No. Please. Give me a chance. Just one chance to see you. To talk to you, please. I can’t go on another day without you. Please Y/N.
The messages sat there, unanswered.
Stumbling out of the bar, his legs unsteady and his vision blurred, he barely noticed the bartender calling his driver. He collapsed onto the pavement outside, his head in his hands, phone still clutched in his trembling fingers.
As he opened it again, ready to type another desperate plea, his screen lit up with an incoming call. His heart skipped, hope flickering briefly before seeing another unfamiliar number.
“When are you going to stop calling me, Ji-won?” he shouted into the phone, his voice hoarse with frustration and alcohol. “I’ve said it more than once—we don’t need to talk. Not ever again.”
“I just wanted to know how you’re—”
“Please!” he cut her off, his voice breaking as tears streamed freely down his face. He was shaking now, his words spilling out in a desperate sob. “Please, Ji-won… I know everything. I know what you did. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.”
He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his own cries. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible through his tears. “Just let me be.”
The line ends.
Ji-won freezes, her fingers trembling as the line goes dead. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.
She exhales shakily, forcing air into her lungs that suddenly feel too tight. Her phone slips from her hand, landing softly on the bedspread. Hot tears well in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She had let herself believe—naively, foolishly—that Choi Beomgyu could still be hers.
Even after everything, she had convinced herself that there was still a piece of him that belonged to her. But now, hearing his words, she knew. She had already lost him.
The tears came harder as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the moment it all began. The moment her hatred for you took root.
“Beomgyu,” she had chirped, plopping down beside him on the couch. He had been immersed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but she didn’t care. She wanted his attention, his reassurance. She always did. “There’s this talk going around about… Y/N,” she said, the name leaving a sour taste on her tongue. “People are saying she’s the prettiest girl on campus.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an edge of insecurity.
“But that’s not true, right? She’s not that… pretty.” She trailed off, squeezing his hand, her smile faltering as she waited for the words she longed to hear. She wanted him to say, there was no competition—that she was the most beautiful girl in his eyes.
Beomgyu was half hearing her words because he was engrossed in the book he was reading. So instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's true. I think she’s beautiful.”
It was on that day Ji-won began to hate you with every fiber of her being.
The kind of hatred that wasn’t born overnight, but nurtured by her insecurities, fed by the way you walked through the world without a care—dragging every boy’s eyes in your wake as if it were effortless. And the worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t have to notice.
Jealousy festered in her chest, growing heavier each time she caught a glimpse of you. It didn’t help that you and Beomgyu—her Beomgyu—shared a world she could never truly enter. The Chois. The big families. A legacy. Something she wasn’t, something she could never be.
The announcement of your engagement felt like the final blow. She couldn’t understand how the universe could be so evil. You, the girl she couldn’t stand, were being handed the one thing she clung to the hardest. It wasn’t fair. And as jealousy morphed into bitterness, she let herself simmer in the injustice of it all, until it burned hot enough to ignite a plan.
Ji-won thought of everything. She knew Beomgyu would be there at the party, and she knew what she had to do. She chose the kind of dress he used to love. She styled her hair the way he used to run his fingers through, practised the words he used to adore hearing spill from her lips. She even reached for the used perfume he once said he liked.
It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Ji-won walked into that room not as a guest, but as someone determined to remind him of what they once had. It didn’t matter that he was married.
You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You destroyed it. Please, just let me be.
She swallows hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away. The realization settles over her like a heavy fog, a fog that turns clear—she is nothing more than a wall. A futile obstacle standing in the way of two souls who are meant to be together.
She opens her phone, booking a flight—any flight—to anywhere but here.
“It’s here,” Soobin says softly, his hand resting gently on your back as he guides you forward. His finger points to the glass grave in front of you.
Gone, but forever in our hearts. Moon.
Your Moon. The name you gave your baby—a name as delicate and luminous as the child who never got to see the world. You thought long and hard about it. It had to be beautiful, just like him. A name worthy of all the love you poured into his short, fleeting existence.
You pull out your handkerchief, wiping at the thin layer of dust that has settled on the outside of the glass. Your fingers tremble as you do, as though clearing the smudges could make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. It never does. Your brow furrows as you fight the ache swelling in your chest. He’s in there—inside that small, delicate bottle. And this is all you can do for him now.
“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. Soobin stands beside you, his smile soft but heavy with sadness. “Do you think I would’ve been a good uncle?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the wind.
You glance at him, your heart aching at the question. He kneels to place the small flowers you’d brought together, arranging them with the utmost care. There's an unfamiliar flower resting beside it. Someone must have wrongly placed it.
“Yes,” you manage to say, your throat tight with emotion. “I think the two of you would’ve been close.” You force a smile, though it wavers, your words choking you as they come out.
He reaches up and smooths your hair, a comforting gesture that almost makes you break. “He’s up there,” Soobin murmurs, his eyes lifting to the sky. “With no pain. Watching over you.”
You nod, swallowing hard, willing your tears to stay back. You can’t cry. Not here. Not now. If you cry, your baby might worry. You’ve convinced yourself of that, even if it doesn’t make sense.
The week after your discharge was unbearable.
You clung to Soobin like a lifeline, your hands gripping his. Your parents moved you back into their house without question, simply knowing you needed them.
Your mother—the strongest woman you’d ever known, the one who never faltered—cried with you when you broke the news. She held you in her arms like you were a child again, her tears falling silently against your hair as you sobbed into her chest. Your father walked with you every day, leading you to the garden where you could sit in the sunlight, as if the warmth could somehow seep into the cracks inside you. They cooked your meals, cleaned your space, and did everything you couldn’t bring yourself to do.
Tonight, you find yourself staring blankly at the walls of your old room.
The quiet feels suffocating, pressing against your chest. Sleep won’t come, and before you even realise it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying until the dampness touches your skin. You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as if the air refuses to fill your lungs. The stillness of the bed feels unbearable, so you push yourself off it, your feet meeting the cool floor.
Pacing back and forth, you feel the tears come harder now, unchecked and unexplainable. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just there—this ache, this heaviness. You were about to go out, to get Soobin or your parents.
But then your eyes caught the window.
It glows. The moon.
It’s full tonight, impossibly bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It feels like it’s staring back at you. You stand there, frozen, the phone slipping from your hand. The moon’s reflection shimmers faintly in your tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, you forget the heaviness pressing against your chest. It’s as if the moon is speaking to you, telling you to breathe, to let go, to just be.
Your breathing steadies. You stand there, bathed in its light, feeling the faintest glimmer of peace. And the storm inside you begins to calm.
It’s been six months since you woke up.
Six months since you returned to your parents’ house, where the familiar walls offered some sense of safety. Ryu-jin and Yeonjun visit almost every weekend, their presence a small comfort. Soobin stays, too, refusing to leave your side.
It’s been almost seven months since you last saw Choi Beomgyu.
Seven months since everything fell apart.
Choi Beomgyu, who, for six months now, has spent every single day driving two hours to your parents’ house. He shows up like clockwork, no matter the weather, no matter the time. After work, he makes the trip, arriving at the big gated doors with a bouquet of white roses in his hands. Every single day.
He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes. White roses. Always white roses. They used to be your favourite.
His parents send gifts, too. Packages and handwritten letters arrive, carefully chosen and delicately worded, but you can’t bring yourself to open them.
And every day, you hear the knock at the gate. Every day, you peek from the upstairs window, watching him wait, white roses clutched in his hands like a lifeline. And every day, you stay hidden behind the curtains, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your heart too bruised to carry you to him.
But today is different. Today, it has to be.
The papers are in your hands. Unsigned divorce papers. You tell yourself it’s just paper, just ink, but the trembling in your hands betrays the truth.
You walk to the building you once called home, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway that once smelled of comfort and familiarity. Now it feels like a mausoleum.
Your hand hovers over the doorbell of your home—no, his home. The space you used to share feels distant. The ring in your other hand feels impossibly heavy, its cool metal biting into your palm.
You’ve tried to get rid of it before. Once, you even threw it in the trash, convincing yourself it was the right thing to do. But then came the panic. You tore through the garbage, hands shaking, the stench clinging to you as you clawed through. It didn’t matter that you ruined your clothes or that your mom’s voice cracked as she begged you to stop.
You just couldn’t let it go. Maybe, you should return it properly.
You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.
When the door swung open, Beomgyu’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. You felt your chest tighten painfully, the sight of him unravelling something inside you. He looked… so different. His hair, longer now, fell to his shoulders in messy waves, unkempt like he hadn’t bothered to comb it. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he’d been crying—or hadn’t slept in days.
“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand gripped the edge of the door like he needed something to steady him, his heart hammering so loudly he swore you could hear it. Was this real? Were you really standing there? He let his gaze trail over you, taking in your thinner frame, the hollow tiredness etched into your face. He wanted to say something, to invite you in, but the words caught in his throat.
You didn’t say a word. Instead, you stepped past him, the sharp click of your heels against the floor filling the suffocating silence. Each step echoed like a countdown, louder in his ears than it should have been. Beomgyu turned to watch you, his hand hovering uselessly at his side, aching to reach out but too afraid to try.
He closed the door softly behind you.
Your eyes scan the room, and it hits you all at once—everything’s a mess. Clothes are strewn carelessly over the couch, an empty chip bag crumpled on the kitchen counter, dishes piling up in the sink. The air feels heavy, stagnant, like the windows haven’t been opened in weeks.
And then your gaze shifts—to the open door on the right. Your room.
Your breath catches as you take it in. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled in a way that’s unmistakable.
He’s been sleeping there. Beomgyu. In your room. In your bed.
"Uh," Beomgyu starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's… kind of a mess."
You nod stiffly, not meeting his eyes. "It's okay."
The sound of your voice makes him freeze. It’s been so long since he’s heard it—too long. His chest tightens, but before he can savor it, your next words come like a knife to his heart. "I'm not going to be here for long anyway."
His brows furrow, panic flashing across his face. "Wh-why?" he stammers, his voice breaking. "I mean—"
You cut him off, extending the envelope toward him with trembling hands. "Let’s…" You swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "Let’s get a divorce."
Beomgyu stares at you, his mind reeling. The hope that had bloomed in his chest when he saw you standing at his door clashes violently with the reality of your words. His lips part, but no sound comes at first. Finally, he whispers, "Why?"
He can’t stop himself. The panic is overwhelming. "I went to your house every day," he says, his voice breaking. "Every single day, Y/N. I wanted to make this work. I—I sent you messages, I tried everything. Do you…" He swallows hard, his throat tight. "Do you not love me anymore?" He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t care. The speeches he’d rehearsed in his head dissolve into nothing, overtaken by the fright clawing at him.
Your breath hitches, and when you speak, your voice is cold, trembling with barely contained emotion. "I don’t care if I love you, Beomgyu. I don’t care if it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, or if it feels like I’m dying inside." You take a shaky breath, your grip tightening on the envelope. "I want a divorce. And when it’s done, you’ll never see me again."
Beomgyu flinches like you’ve struck him, his knees nearly buckling. He shifts uncomfortably, his hands shaking at his sides. "Is this still about Ji-won?" he asks hesitantly, and the way you flinch answers him before your words can.
He swallows hard, his voice growing more frantic. "It’s true, Y/N. It’s true, that I cheated. I kissed her, but as soon as it happened, I pushed her away." He presses a trembling hand to his chest. "It didn’t mean anything—it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and I hate myself for it every single day. But please…" His voice cracks, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please, give me a chance."
You shake your head, a sob breaking free despite how hard you’re trying to hold it together. "It’s too late, Beomgyu," you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands shake. You open your hands, and try to give the ring back. "Too much has happened. We can’t go back."
Beomgyu doesn’t take it. He just stands there, staring at the ring in your palm, tears streaming down his face. He knows. If he takes it, it’s over. If he takes it, you’ll be gone for good, out of his life forever.
"I can’t," he whispers, his voice broken. "I can’t take it."
He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.
“Beomgyu—” you gasped, your voice breaking as you pushed at his chest. He didn’t let go, his hands cupping your face, fingers brushing against your jaw like you were something fragile and sacred. His touch was shaky, his breathing uneven as his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.
His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress—his mattress now, the one that carried his scent.
“Wait—,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve. But even as you pushed against him, your lips didn’t stop moving from kissing him back. His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word until he declared his love for you through kisses. You let yourself melt under his touch.
Your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now found his shoulders for balance as he pressed you back into the bed. The mattress creaked beneath you, and you hated how your body still remembered him—how it responded to him like no time had passed at all.
His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours, hungry and desperate. You had missed him—every part of him. That truth burned inside you as your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.
He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with something between adoration and hunger as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.
“Don’t leave me…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of. You trembled beneath him, gasping and crying out as he whispered confessions into your skin.
His mouth was poetry, speaking without syllables. His kisses, his touch—every movement of his lips and tongue—proclaimed what he hadn’t said out loud. Your body gave in, melting under the weight of his devotion, your mind consumed by him.
“Don’t leave me again, please,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He missed you so much that he's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—apologies, regrets.
"Please," His touch was gentle, even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s always been you.”
“I love you…” he murmured, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist, and he repeated the words softly into your ear, like a prayer he needed you to hear.
"Beomgyu," You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw. When he noticed your tears, he wiped them away without hesitation, his touch careful and soothing.
“Shh, angel,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head, and his hand moved in calming strokes up and down your back. “I’m sorry… for everything.”
You had come here to end it. To finally say the words that would close this chapter for good. You’d rehearsed it in your mind, telling yourself you’d leave with your head held high.
But all of that clarity blurred with every kiss he gave you, every whisper of your name that fell from his lips. Every I love you, over and over again, spoken like a spell meant to undo you. And it did. The walls you had worked so hard to build these past seven months—brick by painstaking brick—began to crack and crumble.
And when he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, you felt yourself falter completely. Because no matter how much resolve you thought you had, it was never enough when it came to him.
Two fractured bodies came together, love-making to each other to chase away all the scars and time passed.
The papers meant to sever—to declare the ending—lay discarded on the floor, forgotten.
The brightness of the room stings your eyes as they flutter open. You blink, disoriented, your chest tightening with a familiar weight. Panic creeps up, sharp and unforgiving. He must have left. He must have slipped out of bed again, leaving you to wake up alone.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, tinged with concern as he gently cradles your face in his hands. He had woken up before you, the morning light spilling across the room, but leaving the bed felt impossible. Not when you were curled so closely against him, your bodies still tangled under the warmth of the sheets.
He stayed, wrapping himself around you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms holding you. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent that now feels like home. It was quiet—so quiet—until he felt the faint tremble on your body. His grip tightened instinctively, his voice barely above a whisper as he called out to you again. “Y/N,"
You blinked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, your eyes met his—heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest tight as tears welled in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but they came anyway.
Beomgyu’s thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the first tear as it slipped down. He didn’t miss a thing. His gaze traced every flicker of emotion on your face. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong again, but you spoke first,
“You finally stayed.”
Your words made him froze. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His forehead pressed against yours, lips hovered so close to yours.
“I won’t ever leave. Every day, you’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. Right by your side.”
Beomgyu was different—so different it made your heart ache in the best way.
He was there, every single step, helping you out of bed like it was second nature. You had to practically fight for the simple dignity of showering alone, and even then, he lingered just outside the door, making sure you were okay.
And when it was his turn to ask for something, “Please cook for me again,” he’d said, his voice begging.
So you did. You made the soup—the very first one you’d ever cooked for him back in college. As the soup simmered, Beomgyu started to talk. He told you about Ji-won, about his unexpected interaction with Sunghoon, and how he’d rejected Ji-won long before he even knew the full truth. He spoke with an honesty that left no room for doubt, his words meant only for you.
When your mind wandered, when your eyes drifted away, Beomgyu noticed. He always noticed. His fingers would gently close around yours, pulling you back to him. He’d press soft kisses to your palms, his touch saying more than words ever could: Stay with me. I’m here.
“This is too good,” Beomgyu groaned after his first sip of the soup, you know see his face lighting up like what Sunghoon told you about. His hands cradled the bowl, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his ring—the one he refused to take off. It made you looked down at your own hand, there it was—your ring, the one Beomgyu fought for last night.
You took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through you. But it did little to settle the weight in your stomach. There was still something left unsaid, something you hadn’t found the courage to tell him yet. “Beomgyu,”
He squeezes your hand—the one he hasn’t let go of, even while eating. His arm stretches across the table to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hmm?” he hums.
“Back in the hospital…” you begin, your voice trembling with of what you’re about to say. You feel his gaze shift to you, “I had a… I had a miscarriage.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I lost our child.”
The silence that follows is unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on the half-eaten soup in front of you. The warmth in his hand disappears, and your heart sinks. When you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, dread floods your chest. He’s walking away.
But then he’s there—beside you. He pulls out the chair next to yours and sits down. When he leans forward to pull you into his arms, it’s like the air returns to your lungs. He guides your face to rest against his shoulder. His arms come around you, holding you close.
“I know,” he whispers, “Soobin told me.”
Your breath catches, and your chest feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I went to him every day, you know,” he continues, his hand running soothing circles on your back. “It’s hard not to. I couldn’t stay away. He… he got me.”
You exhale shakily, your body relaxing into his. The faint memory of flowers on your baby's grave—ones you couldn’t remember bringing yourself—floats to the surface. It all makes sense now. Beomgyu had been there, mourning as you did.
Your hand never leaves Beomgyu’s as he drives.
The road feels both too short and too long, leading you to the place you’ve come to know too well. It’s green here—peaceful and impossibly beautiful in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. He parks the car, steps out, and circles around to open your door. His hand finds yours again as you step out, and together, you walk the path you’ve walked before.
In your other hand, you hold the small bouquet—a gift for the little one who rests here now, your little angel. You kneel gently, placing the flowers at the grave. Beomgyu crouches beside you, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the stone.
Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, trembling as he whispers, “Daddy’s here with Mommy now, just like I promised you.” His words catch in his throat, and he pauses, his head bowing slightly as he tries to gather himself. “I told you I could do it,” he continues, his voice shaking, raw with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry for everything. I promise I’ll take care of your Mommy. I’ll take care of her, I swear. You just play up there, okay? Don’t worry about us. Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything.”
Your heart aches at his words, and you press closer to his side. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you tight. You cling to him just as fiercely, your bodies leaning into one another, trying not to fall apart in front of the greatest what-if of your lives.
I can’t wait to see you, wife. Almost there. I love you.
The corners of your lips tugged into a smile as you read your husband’s text. It had been a week since you decided to reconcile. And in those seven days, he had kept every promise, showing you with quiet consistency that he meant every word.
Reaching for your perfume, you lightly spritzed it onto your pulse points. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress, a small flutter of nerves in your chest.
The past still lingered—it wasn’t something that could just disappear. There were nights you woke up gasping, caught in the grip of nightmares. But the smoke always seemed to lift the moment you heard his voice, the way he whispered comfort like he could chase away the darkness with nothing but his presence. It was a start.
You spent the weekend at your parents’ house. When you told them you were giving your marriage another chance, their eyes had softened, and they gave you their support. And now, here you were, waiting for him—your husband—who was on his way to take you on your first date.
Married for almost three years, and are going out for your first date. The date he’d practically begged for, pouting for hours until you finally agreed, because he said he wanted it.
A beginning.
You make your way down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, your eyes land on Yeonjun, lounging on the couch, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but the moment he does, he sets it down without hesitation.
Walking over to him, you don’t give him a chance to say anything. Your hands gently cup his face, and before he can react, you press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Yeonjun,” you say softly, standing in front of him now, your gaze grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”
Your words seem to light him up. A smile spreads across his face, and he attempts one of his signature winks—a clumsy one at that. It’s so bad it makes you both break into laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he replies, he stands up and asks for another hug from you.
"Take care, always, okay?" You nod to his shoulders. Grateful to this man who did things for you, without asking anything back.
After saying your goodbyes to Yeonjun, you step outside, your eyes sweeping across the open space in front of the large doors.
Beomgyu leans casually against his sleek black velvet car, the deep color almost absorbing the light, while Soobin stands beside him, mid-conversation. There’s a quiet ease between them, the kind that makes you pause. When they notice you approaching, Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back, their exchange winding down as they mutter their farewells.
They look like... brothers.
The sight tugs at your heart. When you told Soobin about Beomgyu’s promises, you weren’t sure how he’d react, but it felt like he already knew. “He’s the only one who doesn’t realise how much he loves you,” Soobin had said, his voice certain. “I saw it—starting back at the hospital. It was all over his face.”
Now, as you reach him, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that speaks more than words ever could. “I love you, Soobin.” you say, the words soft but full of conviction.
Soobin holds you for a beat longer than usual, his hand resting lightly on your back. He feels nothing but peace in his chest.
Maybe now, he can start chasing his own happiness too.
Beomgyu watches silently as you pull away from Soobin, his gaze never leaving you. When your eyes meet his and a soft smile spreads across your lips, his chest tightens. You’re beautiful. So achingly beautiful that it feels like his heart might splinter under your stare.
When you reach him, he leans down without a word, brushing a quick kiss against your lips. He knows he needs this. He knows he needs you.
Because without you, there’s no him.
The day felt like stepping back in time, a snapshot of a younger, simpler you.
It started with the movies, where Beomgyu would lean in for quick, stolen kisses during the darker scenes, his grin impossible to resist. Then came the arcade—a chaotic mix of flashing lights and laughter. He was relentless in his mission to win you a comically oversized teddy bear, to the point of nearly bribing the poor guy running the booth. When he finally succeeded, he held it up like a trophy, his smile as wide as the bear itself. For a moment, it felt like you were back in college, like this could’ve been one of your carefree dates from those days.
Now, you’re crammed into a photo booth together, squishing shoulder to shoulder as the timer counts down. Two grown, married adults pulling silly faces at the camera like teenagers. The faint hum of the machine is drowned out by your shared giggles, and you can feel the curious stares of actual teenagers nearby. They’re probably imagining your life is perfect, the kind of love they dream about. If only they knew how far from perfect it’s been—how much work it’s taken to get here.
When the photo strip finally slides out, Beomgyu grabs it first, holding it up with a burst of laughter. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, pointing to one particularly goofy expression you made. His laughter is infectious, and soon you’re both doubled over, bumping to each other as you cackle uncontrollably.
Beomgyu—who always seems so composed, so maddeningly serious—looks nothing like that version of himself when he laughs. He’s wide-eyed and carefree, his joy as pure as a child’s, and it’s beautiful. It heals you. Every day with him feels like this—a discovery, a new layer to peel back, something new to fall in love with.
“God, I love you,” he says suddenly, making your heart flutter.
“I love you too,” you whisper, the smile on your face softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. The squeals from the teenagers outside are instant, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you glance at them—your accidental audience, swooning over the two of you like you’re straight out of a rom-com, like they’ve just witnessed something magical.
And maybe they have.
It doesn’t matter if it’s slow, or if it took longer than it should have. Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. Everyone deserves a second chance—just like the one you gave your marriage. Just like the one it deserved. It may have started off messy in ways you couldn’t imagine fixing, but that didn’t mean it had to end the same way.
The road ahead still feels long, but you’re learning to let go. Of the doubt that whispered you’d never make it. Of the pain. Of the mistakes and the past that clings to you. Even the scars—the ones you thought would never fade. Letting them go is the only way forward, the only way to move on. Only then can you begin again.
You glance at Beomgyu, his fingers laced with yours, his grip gentle as he leads you out of this place. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at you, and there it is—that boyish, cheeky smile that has the power to make your heart skip. All you have to do is surrender.
This surrender—is not in defeat, but in trust. Trust in him. Trust with his promises. Trust in the hope of something better. Trust in yourself.
You’ll be okay.
THE END.
taglist: I love you @beombunni @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @soobinbunnie5 @pagelets @yoseicour @baekberrie @blossommi @younbeanz @soohashits @brrytears @shycreationdreamland @notevenheretbh1
good things will happen 🧿
things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿
THIS ONE FUCKING WORKS. REBLOG IT.
k.lh — fruit punch and stomach bugs
genre: its leehan, ofc its FLUFF, friends to lovers trope, loud leehan !! attempt on golden retriever x black cat trope pairing: friend!leehan x afab!reader wc: 3950 warning: chaotic, lame jokes, hmm lmk if i forgot anything !! listen: apple cider — beabadoobee, perfect pair — beabadoobee
you never really noticed leehan before.
sure, you knew he was part of your friend group. you knew he was the loud one, the one who somehow had endless energy no matter how late you all stayed out. you knew he had a laugh that made everyone else laugh with him, even if they had no idea what was funny. but beyond that? nothing. you never had a reason to talk to him, and you never thought about changing that.
it wasn’t like you were avoiding him—there was just never a need. every gathering, every hangout, every chaotic group chat interaction, leehan was just there. always talking to someone else, always laughing at something stupid, always moving from one conversation to another like he physically couldn’t sit still.
and you? you preferred to stay on the sidelines. observing, commenting only when necessary, giving rei and eunchae unimpressed looks whenever leehan did something particularly dumb, which was often.
like the time he tried to balance three cups of bubble tea in one hand while dramatically reenacting some anime fight scene with woonhak. predictably, all three drinks ended up on the floor.
“dude,” jaehyun had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “this is why we can’t take you anywhere.”
“no regrets,” leehan had declared, completely unbothered as he wiped milk tea off his sleeve. “the scene was worth it.”
or the time he climbed onto a shopping cart in the middle of a parking lot, insisting that sungho push him at full speed.
“this is a terrible idea,” you had muttered to rei.
“he’s going to break something,” rei had agreed.
both of you had been correct. he crashed into a curb ten seconds later, and you had simply stepped over his sprawled-out form on the pavement, unimpressed.
“so dramatic,” you had muttered as you passed.
“so heartless,” he had groaned in response.
but despite all of that, you had never actually spoken to him. not directly. not one-on-one. you existed in the same space, floated around the same conversations, but your worlds never really collided.
and you thought that was how it would always be.
until tonight.
it started with a simple realization—both of you were leaving jaehyun’s house at the same time. you wouldn’t have thought much of it, except that when you turned the corner, leehan was still there. walking in the same direction. with you.
but before that, the night had been nothing short of chaos.
jaehyun’s parties were always like this—loud, messy, and somehow both the best and worst decision at the same time. the living room was packed, music loud enough to shake the floors, and the friend group was scattered across the house, each involved in their own brand of mayhem.
wonyoung and eunchae were doing dramatic reenactments of k-drama confession scenes on the couch, taking turns being the heartbroken lead. rei was recording them, hyping up their performances while sungho kept yelling, “oscar-worthy! pure art!”
meanwhile, taesan and woonhak had somehow started an impromptu dance battle, with jaehyun acting as the referee. leehan, true to his nature, was right in the middle of it all—hyping them up, throwing in ridiculous dance moves of his own, and laughing so hard he nearly fell over.
“i don’t know whether to be amazed or horrified,” you muttered, watching as leehan attempted to moonwalk but somehow ended up looking like a malfunctioning robot.
rei, standing next to you, snorted. “knowing him? both.”
at some point, someone suggested a game of truth or dare, which quickly devolved into chaos. woonhak ended up wearing a ridiculous hat made out of plastic cups, jaehyun was dared to text his professor something absolutely unhinged (thankfully unsent at the last second), and leehan?
leehan, of course, had to take things up a notch.
“i dare you to confess to the person you find most attractive here,” woonhak smirked, clearly expecting chaos.
leehan didn’t even hesitate.
he turned, dramatically sweeping his hair back, and locked eyes with you.
“you,” he declared, pointing directly at you.
silence.
then, laughter exploded around the room as everyone hooted and cheered, assuming it was a joke. you, however, just blinked at him, unimpressed.
“you’re not funny.”
“no, but i am committed to the bit,” he shot back, grinning. “also, you should feel honored.”
“oh, so honored,” you deadpanned.
somehow, between all the chaos and ridiculousness, time flew by, and soon enough, people started heading out. and that’s when you found yourself in this situation—leaving at the exact same time as leehan. you wouldn’t have thought much of it, except that when you turned the corner, leehan was still there. walking in the same direction. with you.
and then he kept walking. and walking. through the same streets. past the same convenience stores. down the same subway stairs.
you eyed him suspiciously as you both tapped your train cards in sync. leehan, however, just looked amused.
“are you following me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“i could say the same thing to you.”
he let out a laugh, light and easy. “guess we just have the same route home.”
you hummed, unconvinced. but then, as the train arrived and you both stepped into the same car—then sat in the same row—your skepticism turned into sheer disbelief.
“you have got to be kidding me.”
leehan grinned, resting his chin in his hand. “this is kinda funny, though.”
“no, it’s weird,” you deadpanned.
“or maybe it’s fate.”
“don’t push it.”
but then it got weirder. because when you both got off at the same stop and started walking again—this time in perfect sync—it became undeniable. when you reached your apartment building, you could only stare as leehan casually pulled out his key.
“wait. you live here?”
leehan laughed, unlocking the front door. “you sound so horrified. yeah, i live here.”
“since when?”
“for, like, a year?”
you groaned, running a hand through your hair. “this is insane. i have never—not once—seen you here.”
leehan just shrugged. “guess we were never meant to meet. until now.”
“that’s actually creepy.”
he shot you a playful glare. “you’re ruining the moment.”
and just like that, it started. what was supposed to be a one-time coincidence turned into an unspoken routine. you and leehan started walking home together. started taking the train together. started stopping by the convenience store for late-night snacks, where he’d insist on paying even when you threatened to strangle him with a pack of ramen.
“leehan, put the card down.”
“why? i like treating my friends.”
“okay, but i don’t like being treated.”
“that sounds like a you problem,” he said, successfully tapping his card before you could stop him.
you huffed, grabbing your drink from the counter and stomping out of the store. leehan followed, barely suppressing a laugh.
“you’re so dramatic.”
“and you’re an idiot.”
“an idiot who just paid for your snacks.”
somehow, someway, you became friends.
which, apparently, was the most shocking thing to everyone else.
“you and leehan?” wonyoung had stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “you guys are friends now?”
rei had been even more dramatic, clutching her chest like she was about to faint. “the walking golden retriever and the resident black cat? unbelievable.”
“it’s not that weird,” you muttered, stabbing at your lunch with your chopsticks.
“no, it is,” taesan confirmed, shoving a chip into his mouth. “leehan gets along with everyone, but you? you don’t just ‘get along’ with people. you tolerate them.”
“thanks for that.”
“anytime.”
sungho narrowed his eyes. “wait, so you guys really hang out? like, outside of group stuff?”
rei gasped. “wait, wait, wait. have you ever laughed at his jokes?”
you rolled your eyes. “i’m not heartless.”
“so that’s a yes,” woonhak smirked. “wow. history is being made.”
leehan, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered. “you guys act like i tamed a wild animal or something.”
jaehyun nodded. “because you kind of did.”
“seriously, though,” eunchae piped up, eyes gleaming with interest. “do you guys ever, like, talk? or is it just comfortable silence?”
“both,” leehan answered easily, nudging your side. “sometimes she lets me ramble about random stuff. sometimes we just exist in peace.”
rei leaned forward. “and you actually enjoy that?”
leehan just grinned. “it’s okay. i like black cats.”
“it’s okay. i like black cats.”
.
.
.
“it’s okay. i like black cats.”....
.
.
.
“it’s okay. i like black cats.”
this shouldn't bother you, right? at least, that's what you’ve been telling yourself for the past 10 minutes… no, 20 minutes, as you stared at yourself in the mirror. face flushed, red as a tomato.
it was stupid. it was just leehan being leehan—annoyingly charming without even trying. he probably forgot he even said it. meanwhile, you were standing here, gripping the edges of the sink like it had personally wronged you.
“this is stupid. get yourself together,” you muttered, lightly smacking your own cheeks before splashing cold water on your cheeks, as if that would help.
except it didn’t. because the moment you stepped out of your room, your phone buzzed with a message from leehan.
[leehan]: convenience store run?
you stared at the text for a solid five seconds. you could ignore him. pretend you were already in bed. but your feet were already moving before you could think twice.
[you]: fine. be outside in 5.
when you got downstairs, leehan was already there, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, a familiar grin on his face. “you’re five minutes early.”
“i like to be efficient,” you mumbled, walking past him toward the store.
he fell into step beside you, chuckling. “so efficient that you took twenty minutes to text me back?”
“i was busy.”
“busy staring at yourself in the mirror?”
you stopped in your tracks, whipping around. “excuse me?”
leehan blinked innocently. “what? i just figured, you know, considering how red you were earlier—”
“shut up.” you picked up your pace, pretending your face wasn’t burning again.
leehan laughed, easily catching up. “you’re fun to tease.”
“i hate you.”
“no, you don’t.”
unfortunately, he was right.
at the store, you went straight for the snack aisle, grabbing a bag of chips and your usual drink. leehan, as always, hovered behind you, dramatically inspecting his options.
“hmm,” he mused, holding up two different ice cream flavors. “do i want strawberry or mint choco?”
“strawberry.”
he gasped. “wow, no hesitation.”
“because mint choco is disgusting.”
he clutched the mint choco to his chest, looking genuinely wounded. “you wound me.”
“good.”
leehan pouted before tossing both ice creams into the basket. “guess i’ll have to get both, then.”
“or you could just make a better life choice.”
“this is a personal attack.”
the next day, the unspoken routine continued as if nothing had changed. but you swore leehan was watching you a little too closely when you met at the station.
“you look extra grumpy today,” he commented, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. as usual.
“thanks,” you deadpanned.
he grinned but didn’t push further. instead, he just walked beside you, the easy rhythm of your steps falling into sync like always.
as usual, you stopped by the convenience store. but this time, something felt different. you blamed it on last night’s stupid moment, on the way your brain kept replaying his words like a broken record. because suddenly, standing next to leehan under the fluorescent lights, everything felt… hyper-aware.
“what do you want?” he asked, already reaching for his wallet.
“i can pay for myself,” you said, shooting him a glare.
“yeah, yeah.” he waved you off and grabbed a basket, throwing in his usual snacks. then, without thinking, he plucked a carton of banana milk from the shelf and tossed it in too.
you blinked. “why are you getting that?”
he looked at you like you were asking something obvious. “because you always get banana milk.”
you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. because—oh. he noticed?
“stop looking at me like that,” he teased, nudging you with his elbow. “it’s just banana milk.”
except it wasn’t. not really. it was something small, something dumb, but it still sent your heart into a quiet little panic.
this was bad.
this was really, really bad.
because of the fact that you kind of liked it.
which was a problem.
—
jaehyun’s house was packed again, music thrumming through the walls, the air thick with the scent of food, alcohol, and too many people crammed into one space. you weren’t even sure what the occasion was this time. knowing jaehyun, he probably just felt like throwing a party for no reason.
you had just arrived, barely setting foot in the living room, when wonyoung and rei ambushed you.
“oh my god, look who finally decided to show up!” wonyoung beamed, linking her arm with yours. “and here i thought you’d become too busy with your new best friend to hang out with us.”
rei snickered. “right? they’re practically attached at the hip now.”
you rolled your eyes, shaking them off. “not this again.”
“you’re not denying it, though,” taesan said, popping up from behind you with a knowing grin.
before you could snap at him, your eyes caught sight of leehan on the other side of the room, laughing at something jaehyun had said.
your stomach did something weird. you ignored it.
jaehyun noticed you staring and smirked. “hey, look who’s here.”
leehan turned his head, his eyes immediately finding yours.
and then—he winked.
you nearly choked on air.
rei and wonyoung let out a synchronized ooooh.
“okay, you guys are insufferable,” you muttered, heading straight for the kitchen, desperate for something—anything—to distract yourself.
but leehan was fast. before you could grab a drink, he was suddenly beside you, leaning against the counter like he hadn’t just almost made you collapse five seconds ago.
“you’re late,” he said.
“and you’re annoying,” you replied, popping open a soda.
leehan just grinned, stealing the drink right from your hand and taking a sip.
“hey—”
“mmm, refreshing,” he sighed dramatically, handing it back to you with an infuriatingly smug look.
you narrowed your eyes. “i should poison you.”
“aww, you’d miss me.”
“debatable.”
you took a sip from the same can, too caught up in glaring at him to realize what you’d done. but the second you did—when you felt the ghost of his lips on the rim—you nearly dropped it.
leehan saw your reaction, and that stupid grin of his widened.
“oh?” he teased. “flustered?”
“shut up.”
“you totally are.”
you needed to get out of here. fast.
but as the night went on, escaping leehan became impossible. somehow, he was everywhere—pulling you into games, making sure you were on his team during random challenges, always finding some way to be in your space.
it didn’t help that the others were having the time of their lives watching it unfold.
“oh, come on, just admit it,” jaehyun said at one point, slinging an arm around leehan’s shoulder. “you two have something going on.”
“yeah, it’s called friendship,” you deadpanned.
“nah,” taesan interjected. “i’ve never seen leehan act this way with anyone else.”
rei nodded enthusiastically. “he literally follows you around like a puppy.”
wonyoung gasped. “oh my god, he’s a golden retriever boyfriend in the making.”
leehan, unbothered, just nudged you playfully. “see? i told you i like black cats.”
you ignored the way your face burned.
—
later that night, after hours of pretending everything was fine, you finally managed to slip away from the chaos. you grabbed your jacket, heading for the door.
and then, right on cue, leehan appeared beside you.
“leaving already?”
“yeah,” you muttered.
“i’ll walk with you.”
you frowned. “aren’t you staying over at jaehyun’s?”
he shrugged. “changed my mind.”
you eyed him suspiciously but didn’t argue. and so, just like last time, you left together.
and this time, as you stepped out into the quiet night, something had shifted.
the walk back to your building was different this time. quieter. more charged.
a few months ago, leehan had been just another name in the friend group, a background character in your life who never had any real reason to cross paths with you. but now? now he was walking beside you like he had always belonged there, his presence as familiar as the crisp night air wrapping around your skin.
and maybe he did belong there.
you weren’t sure when it had happened—when he’d started showing up in your thoughts even when he wasn’t around, when the stupid things he said began lingering in your head longer than they should. you weren’t even sure when the sound of his laugh had become something you liked hearing, or when the way he looked at you started making your chest feel too tight.
but it had happened. somewhere between the teasing, the ridiculous dares, the way he always seemed to be near you even when he didn’t have to be—it had happened.
and now you were here, walking home together, fingers grazing every few steps.
you pretended not to notice. he pretended not to, either.
but you both did.
the city hummed around you, neon signs flickering in the distance, the occasional car passing by. it was late enough that the usual bustle of the streets had quieted down, leaving just the two of you and the rhythmic sound of your footsteps on the pavement.
you reached your building, stepping toward the entrance, but then—
leehan stopped walking.
you turned to him, brow raised. “what?”
he looked... different. not in the usual smug, teasing way. he was shifting his weight slightly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his gaze flickering between you and the ground like he was debating something.
and then—
“…do you want to come over?”
you blinked.
“…huh?”
his ears were turning red. red.
he cleared his throat. “w-we can, uh… eat? and have a movie marathon?” his words came out rushed, like he was afraid he’d forget them if he didn’t say them fast enough. “o-or, uh… i don’t know, whatever you’d love to do. online games?”
your lips parted slightly, caught off guard. leehan—confident, annoying, always-has-a-snarky-response leehan—was nervous.
nervous about you.
his fingers curled inside his sleeves, his usual teasing grin nowhere to be found.
and that was when it hit you. the way he always found you in a room. the way his insults had softened into something closer to fondness. the way he never actually seemed to mind when you called him annoying.
he had been holding back.
and maybe, just maybe—you had been, too.
you took a step closer, tilting your head. “leehan.”
his throat bobbed. “yeah?”
your lips twitched into a smirk. “silly, of course i’d love to come over.”
before he could fully process your words, you grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the entrance of the building.
“and while we’re at it, we’ll talk about how we don’t like each other that much.”
leehan let out a strangled noise. “huh—wait—”
you ignored him, swiftly entering his passcode like it was your apartment, pushing open the door. “hurry up, we’re wasting time.”
he stood frozen for a second, blinking at you, before breaking into a wide grin, shaking his head in disbelief. “you’re unbelievable.”
“unfortunately.”
you plopped onto his couch like you lived there, grabbing the remote, already scrolling through movie options. leehan sat beside you, close—closer than usual.
and this time, neither of you pretended to ignore it.
the movie played in the background, its soft glow casting flickering shadows across the dimly lit room. but neither of you were watching. not really.
leehan sat beside you, slightly tense, like he was aware—of the space between you, of the way your knees brushed when you shifted, of the fact that this wasn’t just another night hanging out. this was something else.
you, on the other hand, acted as if everything was normal. because if you thought too much, if you acknowledged the weight in the air, you weren’t sure what you’d do.
but leehan was staring. you could feel it.
“if you keep looking at me like that, i might start thinking you actually like me,” you muttered, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl between you.
leehan didn’t even flinch. “what if i do?”
you paused mid-chew.
slowly, you turned to him, raising a brow. “what?”
his expression was unreadable, but his fingers tapped absently against his knee, a nervous habit you’d only recently started noticing.
he inhaled, exhaled, then shrugged. “just saying. maybe i do.”
you stared at him, waiting for the punchline. some stupid joke, a teasing smirk—something to make it feel less like he was turning your entire world upside down.
but nothing came.
he just looked at you, quiet and steady, like he’d already made peace with whatever was about to happen next.
and suddenly, all those months of playful arguments, of lingering glances, of almost-but-not-quite moments came rushing back at once.
you hated him. except, you didn’t.
“you’re messing with me,” you said finally, but your voice lacked the usual bite.
leehan shook his head. “nope.”
“…seriously?”
“seriously.”
your heart was doing something weird. like a stuttering engine, skipping beats it wasn’t supposed to.
you scoffed, trying to mask it. “wow. what a plot twist.”
“right?” leehan hummed, leaning back into the couch. “who would’ve thought? me, liking you.”
“so tragic.”
“a real disaster.”
but despite the words, despite the banter, neither of you laughed.
you could still feel his gaze, waiting... waiting for you to say something.
but what were you supposed to say?
that your heart had been beating like this for weeks now? that you had started looking for him in every room before you even realized it? that you kind of liked being the first person he teased, the first person he looked at when something funny happened, the first person he always, always sat next to?
ugh.
this was so unfair.
so, instead of answering, instead of dealing with the mess he’d just dumped into your lap, you grabbed a handful of popcorn and threw it at him.
leehan blinked. “…seriously?”
“seriously.”
a beat of silence.
then, he smirked. “oh, you’re so dead.”
before you could react, he grabbed a pillow and launched it at you, knocking you back against the couch.
“leehan!” you shrieked, throwing another handful of popcorn in retaliation.
what followed was a full-blown war; popcorn flying, pillows swinging, laughter filling the small space between you. the movie played on, forgotten, as you both devolved into something ridiculous and childish and stupidly happy.
somewhere between dodging an incoming pillow and trying to wrestle the remote from leehan’s grasp, you tumbled forward, colliding into him—too close, too warm, too real.
your breath caught.
so did his.
neither of you moved.
his hand was still wrapped around your wrist. your knees were pressed against his. your face was this close to his, close enough to see the way his lips parted, just slightly.
the teasing, the laughter, the noise...it all faded.
for a second, the world stilled.
“…you’re not gonna hit me again, are you?” leehan murmured, voice quieter than before.
“depends,” you said, but it came out softer than you meant it to.
his gaze flickered down, just for a split second.
then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. “you like me.”
you scoffed, pulling back. “delusional.”
“you so do.”
“good night, leehan.”
“admit it.”
you grabbed a pillow and threw it at him again before standing up. “sleep well, best friend.”
“oh my god.”
“bye.”
leehan’s laughter followed you as you walked toward the door, his voice light, teasing but different now. like he knew something you weren’t ready to admit yet.
and maybe he did.
either way, it didn’t matter.
because as you stepped out, your heart still racing, you realized—this wasn’t the end of something.
it was the beginning.
© hancorys, 2025.
ᅠ ✿ ᅠ NOT THAT I CARE OR ANYTHING ──── ᅠ ( han taesan )
𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your ex, seemingly sweet anton, spreads malicious rumours about you that could potentially ruin your entire academic weapon career, so you have to take desperate measures𑁋and that includes a fake-dating contract and the bane of your existence, han taesan.
ᅠ 한태산 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 13k ⠀ genre college au fluff angst if you squint one sided rivals to lovers academic weapon x campus crush ⠀ contains mentions of food vulgar words skinship pet names several ocs ⠀ note i’m sorry if this fic is.. all over the place a bit coz,, yea!! but this fic is highly.. self-indulgent.. heheh! and i originally wanted to make this more angsty but i’m already sad and single so, No! anyways, enjoy reading ^_^ ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net
ᅠ ＞︿ please leave feedbacks & reblog
“ALRIGHT. Let’s do it.”
As you gaze into Taesan’s determined eyes, the entire series of events flashes through your mind.
It was back in your first year of university—early winter, the day of the first snowfall. You were walking towards the three-floor library, the cold wind stinging your eyes. You rushed inside, grateful for the gush of artificial warm air that greeted you as soon as the doors closed behind you. The library was quite packed for some reason, and you could barely spot any empty seats.
You walked towards the edge of the library, a corner with the largest window of the level. There it was—one of the only empty seats in the entire library—but that seat was next to a boy, heavily occupied with his studies. Your pace slowed down as you hesitated. The boy had a focused blank look on his face, his headphones on, and several papers and notebooks were scattered on the table around him.
You felt like you wanted to just leave and go back to your room, but remembering how cold it was outside, you decided against it.
After taking a deep breath, you approached him. With a shaky smile, you tapped the boy’s shoulder, muttering a silent prayer.
“Excuse me,” you said as he lowered his headphones to his neck. “May I sit here? I-I mean, if it’s cool with you..”
He simply nodded. “Sure.”
You had sat down next to the mysterious boy for the entire day, not knowing that, in the present, he would be the bane of your existence.
In this moment, you’re brought back to the present, startled at how you’re standing in front of him. The mysterious boy that you had sat next to turned out to be Han “Taesan” Dongmin—KOZ School of Law’s campus crush. There’s almost nothing “bad” that you’re heard of him, yet, when you find yourself walking towards him with a fiery determination in your eyes—you immediately know that you’re about to get hit with something you’d never expect.
“A-are you sure?” you say, surprised to even find yourself stuttering. You’ve held yourself to such a high reputation—being your school’s academic weapon—you’ve worked hard to keep yourself true to that name.
Well, to be fair, you didn’t expect Taesan to even say yes to your ridiculous plan—given that all that’s he’s ever done for you is say everything that will get on your nerves.
Taesan gives you a smirk. “Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “Being the boyfriend of KOZ Academy’s academic weapon isn’t something you get to do everyday.”
The way he presses the emphasis on the word ‘boyfriend’ makes you flinch. It reminds you of your stupid plan; who in their right mind would offer Han Taesan—your rival—a fake dating deal just to make rumours about themselves go away?
“Right,” you roll your eyes. “Anyway, I think we need to enforce some guidelines and boundaries regarding this… set-up.”
Taesan shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight to let himself stand more comfortably. The smirk still on his face, he replies, “alright. Hit me with all of ‘em.”
You whip your phone out, quickly showing him a document that you spent an entire night typing out—complete with every single thing he needed to do for you.
“Here,” you say, frustrated at how Taesan’s smug smirk just never falters.
Taesan runs a hand through his hair before leaning down to read through the document displayed on your phone. He finishes reading it quickly, taking a step closer to you after. He doesn’t say anything for a while, only to startle you by abruptly saying, “I agree.”
“What–?” you blurt out, surprised once again. You thought that Taesan would be more picky than–
“Your terms are easy for me to do. However,” you narrow your eyes at the boy who’s towering in front of you. Of course he’s picky—he’s Taesan. “I’d like you to agree to my conditions as well. If I have to do some things for you, you’d have to do some things for me too.”
You sigh before nodding. How hard could it be? Besides, this whole ‘relationship’ you’re having with Taesan is merely a fake dating set-up.
“Okay.”
Taesan whips out a full-blown smug smirk, making you roll your eyes. He pushes his glasses up his nose bridge, holding out two fingers.
“First, you have to also put in the effort to make things real. Like, wearing my jersey when I have basketball games, and wearing my initials ‘round your neck,” he pushes his middle finger down, the smug grin still plastered on his face, “and secondly, you’ll have to let me kiss you anytime.”
The moment the word ‘kiss’ escapes his mouth, you choke on thin air.
Why is my plan backfiring on me?
“What? No–”
Taesan shrugs. “Basically, physical contact is allowed to be done anytime.”
You feel your face flush, immediately recalling the third condition that you showed Taesan. No physical affection unless needed.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that—it’s clashing with my third term.”
“But your first term: ‘the other party must always do his utmost best to make the relationship seem real’ exists, am I right?” Taesan objects relaxedly. “Then, my second term doesn’t clash with that. And I also do believe that that first term of yours comes before the rest. Am I right?”
You grit your teeth, sucking in a sharp breath. How could you forget? Taesan will always work to have the last word—be that in court or in conversations.
Plus, he’s not entirely wrong.
Though, you’ve never been someone who lets Taesan win willingly.
“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, your heart twisting in detest at the way Taesan’s face lights up with a smirk again.
“Then, we have a deal?” Taesan asks.
You stare into his dark brown eyes once again, registering what you’re about to commit yourself to. All just to get rid of your ex and the rumour he’s pulled you into.
You hold out your hand, Taesan gladly reciprocating.
“Deal.”
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
IT didn’t hit you that you’re officially Han Taesan’s girlfriend that night. However, the next morning, right after the two of you signed the document at the coffee shop you always study at—it hit you like a million bricks from the sky.
You’re in a “relationship” with the person you loathed the most for the past year. The exact same man who everyone adores, who’s called the it-boy, the campus crush—is now your most “beloved”. Freshman you would rather jump off a cliff than to offer her nemesis a fake-dating pact.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I guess.
“Here,” Taesan hands you a velvet box—one that obviously contains jewellery of some sort.
Of course. Han Taesan’s always prepared.
You let out a deep sigh, knowing what’s inside. Despite that, you ask, “what’s this?”
Taesan gives you a grin, one that you always see him don during the countable times that he beats you in quizzes. “Open it—I’m sure you’ll like it.”
You run your fingers around the edges of the velvety box, sceptical at Taesan’s sudden soft tone. “Don’t talk to me like that,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.
Taesan, instead of immediately throwing a scoff in your face, simply leans back into his seat with a chuckle.
Not waiting for whatever reply he’s preparing to throw to you, you open the box. Your eyes lay upon a beautiful, dainty necklace with a “H.D” pendant, nested elegantly in the box. You bite back a gasp, though you’re unable to hide your surprise. The silver necklace is one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery you’ve yet to lay your eyes upon—it’s dainty and simple, yet it screams elegance in the best way possible.
You look up at Taesan, obviously bug-eyed. “What- I’m- thank you?”
Taesan throws his head back, laughing. He perches an eyebrow up, clearly amused. “What am I supposed to answer? ‘You’re welcome’?”
Oh. It’s part of his terms.
You glare at him.
Not missing a beat, Taesan says with a big grin on his face, “what is your lazy ass waiting for? Put it on—or do you need me to help with that?”
You massage your temples, tempted to stick your tongue out at him, hissing the obvious at him—that you do not want to wear his initials around your neck.
“I don’t need your help,” you say between gritted teeth, harshly yanking the necklace from the box. You swiftly clasp the necklace around your neck, secretly surprised that you’re able to do so.
Maintaining a glare, you retort, “I’m only wearing this stupid necklace because it’s part of your terms.”
You throw your gaze elsewhere, Taesan laughing his stomach out in the background. Why is he finding your irritated state so funny?
The pendant feels cold against your skin, sending tingles. You gulp, feeling odd. You hadn’t announced your ‘relationship’ to your friends yet—but seeing you with Taesan’s initials could certainly start rumours.
A part of you is jumping with triumph—your plan is starting to set its course, while another part of you is afraid of it all. What if you’re finally not good at something, no matter how much you try—pretending you’re in love with your rival, the bane of your existence?
“We’ll start slow,” you hear Taesan say, pulling you back into reality. You quickly morph into your stoic expression—one that you find yourself often putting up around people. “Like everyone else does. Soft launch.”
“Ah,” you manage, nodding. “Sounds good.”
“Even though that necklace certainly is a big jump for a soft launch,” Taesan voices, chuckling. His words cause you to narrow your eyes at him, hyper aware of the cold metal against your skin—a mark that Taesan managed to place on you.
It’s all fake, you chant to yourself. Once Anton gets the message, it’ll all be over.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
THE past few weeks had been a blur. Nothing was out of the ordinary—you attended classes, performed mootings and sent in assignments like usual. Though, only one thing that was out of the routine.
Taesan no longer felt like a thorn to your side.
You still hate him—you despise the way he carries himself, so proud and confident. You wish you could punch his face for the way he’s so smooth with his words, the way that his charm works on everyone so well. You absolutely hate the way a handsome idiot like him had the potential to beat you in every single subject if you slacked for even a minute.
Yet, to the public, he’s your boyfriend.
A cliche: rivals to lovers, they say.
Despite being the one proposing the whole fake dating plan, you had been the one following Taesan’s itinerary so far. The two of you had finally exchanged phone numbers, and at night, Taesan would always send a list of ideas on how to make the soft launch more obvious day by day.
The first week, you found yourself wearing tops that highlighted the H.D pendant, styling your hair to make it more noticeable—you even went as far as attending Taesan’s birthday celebration to top the chances of people noticing the pendant. And Taesan didn’t inform you of this one, but you often found him telling his friends, yours, or random coursemates to pass you drinks and snacks. You had no idea how Taesan had gotten the list of all your favourite things to munch on, but you secretly did enjoy the free flow of snacks. Anton had passed you a snack from Taesan too—five packs of your favourite Choco Pie. You couldn’t forget the bewildered face Anton had as he passed them to you, eyes filled with question and a hint of jealousy.
“What’s up with Han?” he asked.
You shoved the Choco Pies into your shoulder bag, biting back a smile. Who wouldn’t be jolly after getting five of their favourite tidbits?
“How would I know?” you replied bitterly. You quickly turn away from Anton, the uncomfortable feeling of being around him overpowering the bubbly feeling you had from getting snacks.
“Well, those Choco Pies are from him,” Anton repeated for the second time. “And I don’t recall him being anything but hostile to you.”
You suppress a scoff. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart? His brain is probably tired of coming up with things to try and outsmart me,” you muttered. As if.
“Well, if anything—if that asshole tries to do anything to you, I’ll… be here for you, Y/N,” Anton said, taking a step closer. Your eyes widened and your jaw clenched. You quickly finished packing your bag up, swinging it over your shoulders.
You said that last time, too.
“Don’t talk to me, Anton,” you responded as monotony as possible before running out of the lecture hall, not giving Anton even a glance.
The following weeks, Taesan was hanging out with you even more than the previous week. He wasn’t being too obvious, but to you, him walking slightly behind you and not throwing a loud sarcastic remark was already an apparent sign that would show everyone that your dynamics had changed.
Anton had found yet another chance to corner you after a Public International Law lecture. You stayed back in the hall to reread your theoretical essay before sending it in. Behind you, Taesan was packing up his things, busy scrolling through something in his phone.
“Hi, Y/N,” you froze when Anton’s voice reached your ear drums.
You look up at him with a glare. “What do you want?”
Anton flashed his usual pitiful, soft smile. “Nothing. Just a meal with you—this week has been quite stressful for you, right? I heard that last Monday’s mooting was rough.”
“You’re not even a law student, Anton,” you seethed. The KOZ School of Business student ID card hanging on Anton’s neck looked extremely out of place amongst the ocean of law students. “Please kindly get lost, go back to the Business building.”
“My course mates are boring. Besides, you’re more fun to be around,” Anton replied. “I know we… haven’t been on good terms, but give me a chance to fix it all?”
You gritted your teeth, your hands beginning to shake.
The audacity of this boy… where is my stupid fake boyfriend when I need him–?
“I think she clearly said for you to get lost, bud.”
You fought back a grin. Finally.
“Han?” Anton tilted his head. “Wait– who are you to tell me that?”
Taesan stood next to you, his backpack dangling from one shoulder. His height towered significantly above you, making you standing right below his shoulders—enough to match Anton. “Who do you think I am?”
Anton’s eyes darted towards the pendant on your décolletage, his eyes bulging. “What the…” you heard him mutter under his breath.
Taesan seemed to notice this too, and he swiftly pulled you close, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “So, get it now? Get lost, Lee, and give your ex some space. An ex is an ex for a reason.”
Anton then left with a fuming expression, leaving you in fits of relieved laughter after. You thanked Taesan, who simply responded with a polite smile.
“By the end of this, don’t forget the wish, yeah?” he said, before walking out of the lecture hall.
You stood there, blinking profusely. You had completely forgotten the last clause of your agreement with Taesan—once you were satisfied with his service, you had to grant him one wish. Anything that he wanted.
You face palmed yourself. Why didn’t you think twice before typing that down? You mentally made a note to yourself to prepare your wallet for the outrageous request that the thorn in your side would make later on.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
“ARE you and Taesan dating?”
Sophia’s question makes you almost spit your lunch through your nose.
“What?”
“Girl, don’t you dare pretend not,” Yunjin interrupts, pointing her spoon at you. “You literally have his initials as a necklace that you never take off! H.D., which means Han Dongmin, right? Isn’t that his real name?”
“It’s not like–”
“No, no. It’s so obvious! Taesan’s around you more now, and he even gave you a birthday present!”
Sophia smiles, “he looks at you so differently now!”
Yunjin laughs, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, that too, I guess,” she then looks at you, directly in the eyes, “I guess Han Taesan and Y/N L/N have finally begun their lovers era, huh?”
You feel your cheeks warming up, and guilt fills your chest. You draw a sharp inhale before telling the girls the full story. And subconsciously, your fingers find the pendant, playing with it.
“It’s fake,” you sigh, “I mean, not the necklace—he’s just pretending. I’m pretending, too. None of this is… real.”
Sophia gasps and Yunjin frowns.
“Are you… sure? What for?” Sophia asks.
Yunjin nods in agreement. “I’ve always thought that dude had feelings for you, but I… I didn’t realise it’s actually wrong and my deductions were totally off.”
You scoff, though Yunjin’s words left you wondering. “Taesan doesn’t like me—have you girls seen how he treats me?”
“He treats you well,” Yunjin states plainly, shoving a spoonful of rice into her mouth.
“No,” you immediately shake your head, “he hates seeing me happy! He always finds a way to stick his annoying nose into my life, mocking me. He’s like always, always there to only laugh at my face.”
“Then why did he agree?” Sophia asks.
“To what?”
“To fake date you,” she continues, taking a sip of her yakult. “Well, I’m sure you have a plan—a contract and all—don’t you?”
Your eyes widen. How do these two girls know you so well?
“Yeah. I do. I’m doing all this because of Anton,” the look on your friends’ faces makes you feel a little relieved, “I need him to shut up about me.”
You recall the ridiculous rumour you’ve heard about you from Yunjin, that’s been going around like crazy—the rumour that you used to date Anton because he’s rich and that you used him as a bribe to get outstanding grades. Those close to you knew that is and would never become true—yet people are always jealous of others who have certain things better than them.
It may seem like a small matter to some, but to you, it’s a matter of reputation. Your whole image and potentially, your graduation is at risk. What if the rumour reaches some professor and they report you? You couldn’t risk the huge amount of money and time you spent, only to be scrapped off the dean’s list due to some rumour.
Yunjin herself had recorded proof of Anton trying to turn her against you, using that rumour. If she hadn’t shown you the recording, you wouldn’t have believed that sweet, kind Anton was the one who spread those malicious whispers about you.
Now, you’ve got to end it all. One way or another.
You continue finishing your lunch, Taesan somehow in mind. By the end of your lunch, you’re convinced that this is truly all an act—it’s nothing real, and in the end, you’re both just people who hate each other and use each other for selfish, personal reasons.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
“DO I really have to wear your ugly varsity jacket?” Dongmin hears you grunt through the call. He stifles a laugh, tossing a ball up and down.
“Obviously, you dimwit,” he replies, “you’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?”
Dongmin lets himself smile. The word rolls off his tongue like a simple melody—it feels natural for him to say. He finds it odd, yet entertaining—your reaction is worth it all. Besides, it’s quite refreshing to take a break from hating you, sometimes.
“Besides, your ex is going to be there,” Dongmin reminds, his voice more throaty than expected. “He’s on the team as well, remember?”
“Yeah,” he catches your quiet answer.
“Anyway, how do you even have time for all this?” you question from the other end of the line.
“Hmm,” Dongmin hums, “I do have time.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” you hiss. “You’re in law school, Han Taesan.”
“What? Like it’s hard?”
Dongmin lets out a hearty laugh as he hears you gasp—one of the loudest and most genuine expressions he’s gotten out of you yet.
“I’m so done with you,” you huff. Dongmin hears you shuffle through your closet, most likely finding something to wear.
“You say that everytime,” Dongmin whispers to himself softly.
“Anyway,” you announce loudly, “you better have some food for me once I arrive—I’m wearing your stupid varsity jacket.”
“Alright, sweetheart, anything for you,” Dongmin jests in a sing -song voice.
He hears you yelp in disgust, chuckling. “Yuck! Fuck off, Taesan!”
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
IT’S a friendly match, nothing serious, Taesan had said; yet you’re here amongst other significant others, to watch him and his team play against another school’s team.
At the bleachers, you feel called out, and insanely out of place. Everyone looks so in love—girlfriends wearing jerseys with their boyfriends’ numbers and names on the back, painted their faces accordingly, and even cheering for them with their hearts; mothers and siblings gathering together to support their sons and brothers.
Everyone looks so genuinely in love, and you’re the only one who’s there just because you have to. You arrived only two minutes before the match started, too, because you obviously don’t love Taesan enough to be rescheduling your work shift to see him play.
You fidget with the edges of the varsity jacket you’re wearing, oddly feeling how it’s perfectly oversized on you.
Earlier, Taesan had spotted you sitting awkwardly on the bleachers. He ran over to you, quickly handing you a quesadilla and a cup of bubble tea, before jogging back to the basketball court to warm up. He didn’t say anything, nor did you—but the gesture made you feel weirdly fuzzy.
Taesan did actually get you some food, even though you grumpily yelled at him to do so. You thought he wouldn’t, just so that he could get on your nerves, just like he always does.
You watch him and the team warm up, pumping up positive energy with each other. You take a bite of your quesadilla, trying to ease your heart—yet you just can’t forget the real reason why you’re here.
Jersey number 35.
The whistle blows, indicating the start of the game, and you catch Anton’s glance at you. He gives you a wide smile, winking twice—a sign that he made up, thanking you for coming, just like the old days. You grimace, turning away.
The mission is to make it seem like I’m in love with Taesan.
You intently watch Taesan play in the arena, his moves sharp and powerful. He slips through the opposition’s defense flawlessly, scoring goals smoothly. Every time he throws the ball, it gets into the hoop—people erupt in cheers and he’s surrounded by his teammates.
And every time, Taesan looks up at you, flashing his signature smirk. His grin sparkles, lighting up the room—it makes you feel like you’re the only one in the huge arena.
It makes you feel odd.
Like there’s so much more under that grin he flashes to you every time he scores.
You touch the pendant on your décolletage, the cold metal stinging against your skin. Your fingers trace the letters—the initials of Taesan’s birth name—reminding you this is all a set-up. You’re supposed to pretend, and Taesan is pretending too.
He must be.
Taking a deep breath, you tug the varsity jacket closer to your body, shoving your hands into its pockets. The weight of Taesan’s name and number lay heavy on your back, yet you don a bright smile—trying your best to show your support for him.
Right now, you’re Han Taesan’s girlfriend. Player number 11’s girlfriend.
The match ends with Anton’s final goal, and KOZ Academy’s team wins 115-113. The entire gym erupts in waves of cheer and heartfelt hugs, every attending person feeling proud of their team, losing or not. You jog down the stairs, heading towards Taesan, whose height stands out in the crowd.
When you reach the end of the stairs, you notice Anton’s gaze on you. You glance at him, the weight of past memories dragging you down. At the end of these exact same stairs, you used to run straight to Anton, engulfing him in a hug after a match. You used to kiss his cheek, congratulating him for a successful game. You used to feel like your entire world revolved around him, and that you would be happy with him.
But that was in the past. Now, you can look at Anton with nothing in your heart. You feel nothing but plain resentment—damning him for the things he did to you. You had thought he was the love of your life, that you’d grow old with him—but Anton had other plans, and another girl that he prioritised more than you.
You turn your head away, directing your gaze towards Taesan. He’s talking to his friends, his hair wet from the sweat. He’s grinning proudly, talking about something that’s interesting to boys.
You sigh. Hopefully this whole set-up works—Anton leaves you alone, the rumours die down, and you can go back to bashing Taesan’s head.
And hopefully, you can move on, too. Once and for all.
From the corner of your eyes, you see Anton take a step towards you. Though, what you don’t see is that Taesan is faster. He waves at you, calling your name with a big grin, before running to give you a hug.
Your eyes widen upon the impact, and it’s like everything is in slow motion.
Taesan pulls away, ruffling your hair. His eyes crinkle with his grin. “Are you proud of me, darling?”
Darling.
You gulp.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
You give him a laugh, trying your best to not make it sound staged. Your nose crinkles at the smell of sweaty boys. Taesan notices, of course, and he chuckles.
“Sorry, I must smell bad. I’ll be sure to spray on some more deodorant next time.”
You gaze into Taesan’s eyes, his arms still around your waist. There’s some kind of softness behind his teasing look—something that you’ve never seen before.
A small smile forms on your lips, one that you’re unable to hold back. “Good job, Taesan.”
“Yeah?” Taesan laughs, his eyes forming crescent moons. “Thanks, Y/N.”
He then leans in to whisper, “that’s the first time I’ve heard that from you.”
You push him away, rolling your eyes. “Fuck off, Taesan. I’ll be waiting at the bus stop.”
Taesan laughs loudly as you stomp away. “By the way,” he yells, “you look good wearing my number, sweetheart!”
You lower your head, biting your lips to fight two things—the urge to flash the middle finger to the jolly Taesan behind you, and the weird fluttering feeling that erupts in your stomach every time he calls you ‘sweetheart’.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
“Y/N,” you turn around, finding a panting Anton in front of you.
You’re standing in line outside one of the most famous pasta restaurants in the heart of the KOZ School of Medicine square, waiting to buy this one pasta dish you’ve been craving for the entire month. You didn’t tell anyone you’d be here—not even Taesan or the girls—so you’re weirded out by the fact that your ex found you here.
“...Anton,” you curtly acknowledge.
“Is it true?” he asks.
You force your eyes close for a second, wishing that it wasn’t wrong to beat someone up. “What?”
“That you’re dating Han Taesan. I saw him kissing your cheek last time.”
Your heart almost stops beating for a second. Almost two months have passed, and almost everyone in the entire campus of KOZ Academy knows that you and Taesan are finally getting tired of fighting each other—falling in love instead.
Your plan has passed the soft launch phase, and now, you’re having your nemesis call you sweet, adoring nicknames out in public.
“Yes,” you answer, managing a deadpan expression. “What about it?”
“Do you love him?”
You narrow your eyes at Anton, feeling like if he keeps on shooting questions like this, he’d go home with a black eye. “Why does it matter if I love him or not?”
“Because,” Anton starts, his voice beginning to waver with every following word, “you used to love me.”
His words hang in the air, thick with a known, cursed history. You could hear your heart stutter for a split second, but you shake your head, quickly suppressing the feeling. You take in a sharp breath, feeling the heat of old anger rise in your chest. You force yourself to look at Anton, eyes hardening.
“That was two years ago, Anton,” you say, your voice detached. “And you made sure to end it, remember?”
Anton’s face flickers with something—guilt, regret, maybe even a hint of fear—but you’re not interested in seeing it. You’re sick of it—too familiar with the way he can spin his words to make himself seem like the victim.
“You don’t get to do this,” you continued, lips tightening into a thin line. “You don’t get to just show up and act like we can pick up where we left off, after what you did with Mina."
Anton’s face darkens the moment your old best friend’s name leaves your mouth, but you hold his gaze without flinching. Anton opens his mouth, probably to throw another lame and poorly explained excuse that you’ve heard before, but you’re faster than he is.
“Save it,” you snap. “You don’t have any right to ask me if I love Taesan after what you did. You lost that right the moment you lied to me and slept with her.”
Anton looks taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected you to bring that up, but obviously, you don’t care. You’ve held your feelings in for so long—leaving them behind quietly to try and move on without a commotion. You’ve spent enough time letting him walk all over you in the past—you’re not about to let him do it again.
For a moment, Anton looks like he’s about to say something more, but you don’t give him a chance. You turn away, taking a small step back as you glance briefly at the line in front of you. “I’m done with this conversation, Anton. You should be, too.”
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
THE next morning, after your first class of the day, you sigh as you find yourself waiting outside of a rather packed coffee shop—allegedly Taesan’s favourite one—bundled up in Taesan’s scarf. Autumn is starting to give way to winter, and as it’s doing so, the winds and temperatures are getting crazier. You bury your face further into the softness of Taesan’s scarf, letting the mixture of champagne orange, passion fruit, and sugar vanilla attack your senses. It’s disturbing, once the fact that the scarf that’s warming you up belongs to Taesan registers in your head; however, you had no choice. Freezing your nose off was the only other option.
“Hey,” you hear Taesan’s voice, turning instantly towards him.
“Apple pie latte?” he says, handing you a warm cup of said coffee. Grabbing it from him, you perk your eyebrows up.
“How did you know?” you say, pushing the scarf down. Taesan shrugs, sipping his own drink. You glance at the sticker on his cup: cinnamon maple latte.
“Instincts.”
You snicker at his reply, rolling your eyes. “Cut me some slack.”
The two of you then walk back towards the law school complex, where both of your classes will be held next. The winds begin to blow, and you find yourself hiding half your face behind Taesan’s scarf. You squint your eyes, blinking harshly as the stray strands of hair sting them.
“I love autumn, but not this kind,” you mumble.
Taesan glances at you, and in one swift motion, he grabs your free hand and shoves it into the pocket of his coat. He interlaces his hand with yours, letting his body warmth transfer to you.
Your eyes widen, your brain slow at processing the situation. You whip your head towards the tall man walking with you, his expression relaxed as ever.
“What are you doing?” you hiss, trying to pull away.
Taesan gives you a look that yells ‘really, Y/N?’. “Keeping you warm?”
“I don’t need your help,” you retort, yanking your hand away.
Taesan grabs it back, shoving it into his pocket. This time, his grip on your hand is firmer than before. “I don’t need my girlfriend to freeze to death—it’s going to ruin my reputation.”
Realisation hits you, again, like a ton of bricks right at the face.
Oh.
“Okay,” you say quietly, letting him do his thing. You look away, deciding to admire the surrounding golden trees. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself of how this whole ‘thing’ with Taesan is temporary—and having a personal heat packet isn’t too bad.
Once the two of you reach the lecture hall together, people begin to clearly spectate. You pull your hand away from him, rushing to your usual seat. Taesan, his expression calm as he always is, walks over to his usual seat as well—directly behind you.
Then, two minutes before the lecture starts, the person you truly hated comes into view, and decides to sit at the empty seat next to you.
“Hi, Y/N,” your ex, Anton, greets you with the biggest smile on his face. You mentally sob—already dreading the three hours to come.
You turn away, scooting as far as you could. The memories rush like a flood you can’t stop—reminding you of the heart-tearing pain the boy sitting next to you caused.
“Y/N? You alright? You look pale,” Anton says, probing further.
“It’s the weather,” you reply dully, your lips downturned. You unravel Taesan’s scarf from your neck, placing it on your lap. Your eyes fixed onto the lecture, you ignore Anton’s attempts to get you conversing with him.
“Y/N, are you free after class?” Anton whispers, twenty minutes into the lecture.
“No.” You give him a side glance.
“And you don’t even take IT,” you fake a smile, “so I don’t think you should even be here. With due respect, get lost, yeah?”
“I’m honoured,” Anton whispers back. The soft smile on his face makes you gag. “You still remember things about me.”
“Oh, please,” you grimace, anger beginning to bubble up inside of you. “I’d rather make out with Taesan than remember even the tiniest bit of–”
You suck in your breath sharply, your cheeks flushing at an alarming rate. You had blurted your words out too fast to even register the fact that you’re actually wearing the said person’s initials in a necklace ‘round your neck.
“You’d rather what now, sweetheart?”
Hearing Taesan’s voice, you can almost see his smug smirk decorating that annoyingly attractive face of his.
Your eyes widen.
I did not just admit that.
You turn to Taesan for a moment, flashing him a sheepish smile. You quickly spin back to face the lecture, forcing yourself to focus.
After the lecture concluded, you find yourself stuck in a sticky situation—Anton just can’t let you go out.
“Do you want to go and grab lunch together? It’s pretty late for lunch, and I know your stomach gets upset easily if you don’t eat,” you wince upon hearing his soft tone.
You frown, hating the fact that Anton knows almost a lot of things about you. “No, Anton, I’m sure I said–”
“She said no, Lee, I’m sure even a stupid motherfucker can understand.”
Seeing Anton’s eyes almost pop out at the sight of Taesan next to you, you’re sure that you look the same. You turn sharply towards Taesan, who has his hand perfectly placed on your back. The look on his face is fierce and scary, like he’s about to completely destroy Anton exactly where he’s standing.
“Han,” Anton addresses him curtly. “I didn’t know that you’re on… good terms with Y/N.”
You fidget with the charm on your décolletage, collecting every bit of energy you have to maintain a stoic expression.
Taesan flashes a sly smirk, pride radiating from his eyes as the corners of Anton’s lips twitch. “Why? Is it important to you who I’m close to?”
“No, but given your history with Y/N—I don’t want her to get hurt,” Anton blathers, “so I’m gladly asking you to–”
“What? Fuck off?” Taesan scoffs. Your eyes bulge, somehow not expecting Taesan’s choice of words to be so vulgar. “I think that’s what you’re supposed to do, Lee.”
“Y/N,” Anton says, desperation vivid in his voice. He grabs your wrist, and you instinctively step back. “C’mon, let’s go. I know you don’t like this stupid asshole here–”
Before you could even act, Taesan steps in front of you, shoving Anton to the floor. The students who are still lingering around stop to look. You couldn’t hold in your gasp—Taesan looks extremely angry, you swear you could see fire in his eyes.
A thought clicks into your head.
Taesan is the it-boy, of course he’s good at acting.
You take a step back, weirded by the heavy feeling of disappointment that begins to cloud your heart as soon as you remember the arrangement.
It’s just acting, Y/N. Get it together.
“Don’t touch her, bastard,” you hear Taesan hiss before he turns to you. Anger still lingering around, you watch with silence as Taesan relaxes the tension in his jaw. In a mirroring silence, he gestures for you to follow him out. You nod.
As you turn on your heel, Anton calls out, visibly irritated.
“Y/N,” he says, “what’s going on?”
You give him a mocking smile. You swing Taesan’s scarf around your neck. “I don’t think I owe you an explanation, Anton.”
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
AS you and Taesan walk out of the lecture hall, you can’t ignore the heavy weight settling in your chest. It keeps replaying in your mind: the way Taesan stepped in, fiercely protective—it’s all an act, right? You sneak a glance at Taesan, but his face is unreadable, his jaw still slightly clenched from the encounter.
“Taesan… you didn’t have to do that,” you mumble, playing with the hem of his scarf.
Taesan exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising slightly. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he then adds under his breath, “fucking bastard.”
You blink, unintentionally slowing your steps. That’s… different from what you expected.
“Taesan,” you try again, but he shoves his hands into his pockets, picking up the pace.
You know you should just let it go, but the air between the two of you feels heavier than it was before. Was it just an act? Maybe it was—and that Taesan’s acting skills are as good as the rom-com actors—but something about the way he had looked at Anton; like he was seconds away from doing more than just shoving him to the ground.
It feels too… real.
A sudden gust of wind cuts through your coat, making you shiver. Instantly, Taesan grabs your wrist and pulls you into a nearby convenience store.
“Sit,” he orders, disappearing for a moment. You watch him move through the aisles, confusion twisting in your chest. You take a seat exactly where he ordered you to, your head fuzzy from the mixture of confusing, unnamed emotions.
When he returns, he kneels slightly, pressing a warm drink and a heat pack into your hands, his fingers lingering just a second too long.
“You’re hopeless,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “First my scarf, now this.”
You gasp dramatically, rolling your eyes as your lips twitch, your heart knocking against your ribs. “You’re the one who keeps giving me things.”
Taesan just hums in response, his gaze locking onto yours. His usual unreadable expression softens, something almost unreadable flickering in his eyes.
Your grip tightens on the cup, trying to shake off the way your body reacts to his warmth. This whole thing with Taesan was supposed to be temporary. So why did it feel like something had changed?
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
DONGMIN takes several deep breaths, his eyes shut. The jazz music plays in the background, and the buzz of the cafe calms him down.
No wonder Y/N likes this place.
Dongmin opens his eyes, finding himself staring at you ordering drinks and some food for the two of you. You had dragged him here as soon as you finished your drink at the convenience store, repeating that you needed to treat him to some food. Your voice rings in his head, telling him that he needed to follow you to the coffee shop, to cool off his steam.
“Do you like apple pie?” you ask, setting a plate of two slices of said dessert, accompanied by two scoops of vanilla ice cream.
“Why do you even ask if you’ve already gotten it? Seems like my preference doesn’t matter,” Dongmin replies, putting on the usual smirk.
Your eyes widen and he chuckles.
“Well,” you huff, “I like apple pie—and it’s impossible to find someone who doesn’t.”
“Alright,” Dongmin laughs, and it hits. His laughter dies down as the realisation sinks in—watching you devour your slice of apple pie like it’s the only food you’ll eat until the end of time.
Dongmin, as he puts a bite of his food into his mouth, realises how messed up he is. He realises how often a hearty laugh escapes him when he’s with you—how a flustered, frustrated mess you make him.
“Why are you being nice to me?” Dongmin asks. He pokes his fork absentmindedly into the crust of the apple pie, second guessing his question the moment it leaves him.
You and he had always, always been rivals—a pair that’s never meant to get along. He’d always find you muttering curses and throwing glares in his direction; and he’d always find himself trying his best to reciprocate your disdain for him.
Dongmin does hate you, too.
He hates how you’re so confident, so diligent, so talented. He despises how hard you work, how determined you are, how you seem to always effortlessly bring him down and defeat him in academics. He feels the most intense dislike for you—whenever you walk in the room, he feels like the world is about to explode, along with his sanity.
Dongmin hates, with a burning passion, how he can’t stop himself from falling in love with you. He absolutely loathes the way you smile, the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, and the way you look at him—with such fiery determination that’s enough to knock him off his feet. He completely hates the way that he has to keep his tongue sharp, and his attitude insufferable, for you to give him a sliver of your attention. He perfectly hates the way it’s impossible for him to let you know that he doesn’t hate you, at all.
Dongmin watches you open your mouth to reply, yet you don’t for a few moments. You return his gaze, uncertainty playing around in her eyes.
“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion. “We’re just eating apple pie, Taesan,” you laugh sheepishly.
For the first time, Dongmin doesn’t have an immediate answer. He swallows the bite of apple pie in his mouth, unsure of what he should say next. His smirk fades and hesitation engulfs him.
You notice this, of course, and your frown deepens. Though, before you could do anything, Jaehyun—Dongmin’s friend, suddenly appears.
He greets Dongmin, patting his shoulder. “Yo, Taesan, long time no see! Wait–” he pauses, laying his eyes on you. “Wait, am I dreaming? You two? Sitting together? Laughing? Are pigs flying now?”
You immediately shake your head, laughing along with Jaehyun. Dongmin, on the other hand, is dazed. He stays silent, still unsure of what to say. He’s finding everything peculiar—the way he’s unable to say anything, the way that his heart is thumping loudly against his chest at the mention of you as his girlfriend.
He watches you politely say goodbye to Jaehyun, gaining certainty with every beat of his heart.
His little crush on you is resurfacing, after two years of pushing it down with faked hatred.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
AFTER Jaehyun leaves, you let yourself sneak a glance at Taesan, who’s absentmindedly poking holes in his already destroyed pie crust, avoiding your gaze. You notice his oddly quiet state—the Taesan you know would never miss the chance to throw in a witty remark.
You throw him a glare, slightly hoping it’d make him knock out of his trance. You set your fork down with an audible clink. “You’re being weird. I mean, you always are insufferably weird, but this is even weirder.”
Taesan scoffs, lifting his drink to his lips. “And you’re being annoying. Paranoid.”
You cross your arms, an annoyed grimace forming on your face. “Am I?”
Taesan holds your gaze for a moment too long, something flickering in his eyes before he looks away. “Maybe not.”
Oh.
You lean back, sighing dramatically. “Fine. I don’t get what you being weird has with me being paranoid, but yeah, I’m totally being paranoid. Definitely imagining things,” you scoff sarcastically.
Taesan hums in agreement. “You do that a lot.”
You choke on air. Glaring at Taesan, you retort, “you’re infuriating.”
“And yet, here you are, sharing dessert with me,” Taesan smirks, tilting his head.
You pause, blinking profusely.
That… is a valid point. How did you even get here? You and Taesan are supposed to be rivals. Aren’t you supposed to hate each other?
Your stomach twists, and suddenly, you find it difficult to swallow your final bites of apple pie.
After moments of deafening silence, you say, your voice slightly wavering, “you’re unbelievably good at dodging questions, Taesan.”
You bring your drink to your lips, hoping that you sounded casual.
Taesan looks up from his finished plate of apple pie, smirking as he leans back. “Oh, yeah? Have you ever considered that you’re too good at asking too many questions, and it’s insufferable?”
Your eyes widen slightly, flickering to the way that his eyes glare vaguely at you. “Maybe I am,” you admit quietly, “but you’re dodging the real ones.”
Taesan’s smirk falters a little bit, just for a second, and there’s something unrecognisable in his eyes. Something you can’t put a name on.
Maybe a shift in the air. Maybe it’s just your imagination. Or maybe it’s because your heart is racing just a little too fast.
You’re so focused on trying to read Taesan’s expressions that you don’t notice the way your voice softens. “So… if this whole thing is an act, why do I keep feeling like you actually care?”
You mentally hit yourself. That isn’t what you meant to say—and it’s certainly not what you would say in front of Taesan.
Though, it’s out before you can stop yourself. The words hang in the air, heavy and uncertain.
Taesan freezes, his eyes widening with a vulnerability for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly as it came, his guard comes back up. “Like we’ve discussed before, it’s an act. Nothing more.”
His voice is stern and plain, and his expression is stoic, but you catch the tremble in his hand as he’s fiddling with his fork.
That, somehow, doesn’t sit right with you.
You learn forward, the pendant swinging against your décolletage, your expression more serious now. “Then why do you care so much?”
You watch him closely, catching the tightening in his jaw and the way his hand proceeds to rest on the table, fingers anxiously tapping against the wood. Taesan doesn’t answer immediately, and instead, he looks away to drift his gaze to the window.
Your chest suddenly tightens. He’s acting like this is nothing, but you certainly feel it—the crack in the walls you’ve both constructed carefully against each other. It’s a tug at the back of your mind, a repeating whisper you’ve been trying so hard to push away.
And yet, the silence between you feels louder than ever.
Minutes pass by and the silence gets louder and louder. You’re lost in your own thoughts—realising just how much you’re affected by Taesan; just how much more you’re feeling than you want to admit. In the silence, you’re wondering, are you just imagining all this? Maybe it’s just you, maybe it’s the fact that you’re finding something more from this fake relationship you have with Taesan, your nemesis.
Though, there’s something that you can’t deny: the fact that your chest tightens with fluttering butterflies every time he gets too close, every time his words shift to something softer than usual, it’s something that makes your heart trip in your chest.
“Y/N,” Taesan calls, his voice softer than anticipated, and you’re pulled out of your train of thought. You look at him slowly, uncertain and afraid of what’s to come. He pauses, as if he’s unsure of what to say next. “What if… I told you I’m not sure if I can pretend much longer?”
His gaze finally meets yours, and for a moment, there’s no mask—just the raw sincerity in his eyes.
Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You open your mouth, trying to say something—but nothing comes out. The evident truth in his words hits you like an ocean wave on a sunny day, and you can’t help but feel something is shifting between you both.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
THE next few weeks pass by like a ridiculously large time-skip in a movie. You’re doing things like you usually do—attend classes, do mootings, send in assignments, study for exams. Though, there’s one big thing in your life that you can’t ignore—Taesan, your fake-dating arrangement, and the lingering, unspoken tension between the two of you. The first week after the coffee shop episode, you couldn’t sleep even a wink—your mind kept on replaying the scenes over and over again, the way you caught Taesan’s guard almost falling down. You’re sure you felt it too, the cracks in the walls you’ve built against him—even for a short moment.
At school, you’re hyper aware and extra distracted by Taesan. He’s doing his part of the agreement well, acting like he agreed he would. Every glance from him feels like a load of unspoken words, and the air between you two feels heavy. Every day you ponder, unsure of what to do with the new, fragile tension that’s settled between you and Taesan.
Today is the same—everything passes in a blur of lectures, assignments, and studying. You drag your heavy footsteps out of the room, your head spinning at the thought of the many assignments waiting for you. You look up, and the moment you step into the hallway, you see Taesan leaning against the wall, phone in hand, looking as calm as ever.
You walk near him, and your eyes meet—you see a flicker of something there—a tension, a question neither of you have the answer to.
“Y/N,” Taesan greets you with a casual, unreadable smile. You pause in your steps, turning to face him.
“Hi,” you reply quite timidly. You’re trying to sound casual, but you can hear the slight hitch in your voice. There’s no pretending this isn’t different now. There’s no pretending you didn’t almost cross a line last time.
Taesan takes a final glance at his phone before shoving it into his pocket. “Still pretending this is just an act?” he asks, his voice surprisingly soft but laced with something familiar, almost teasing.
You pause, your breath stuck in your throat. Your heart, yet again, skips a beat, and you try to brush it off by laughing nervously. “Me? Pretending? I’m not pretending,” you say, and it’s directed more towards yourself than to him.
You’re not sure who’s trying to convince who anymore.
Taesan looks taken aback. He blinks profusely before putting his usual, calm expression back on. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding, “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”
You watch him walk away, heart twisting in the weirdest way.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
DONGMIN hates the way everything is now. Why can’t he just tell you everything? Why can’t he just tell you that he isn’t pretending, that he actually cares?
He wants to stop everything–going back to shoving insults at your face might be the safest option of them all. Yet, Dongmin finds himself caring for you in the little ways—wrapping his scarf around your neck, adjusting the placement of your bangs with a simple ruffle, placing a tin of coffee and bread in front of you whenever you seem exhausted with studying, sliding post-its to you with his handwriting reminding you to take breaks when needed. He still finds his heart racing upon seeing you; the way your lips pout when you’re deep in thought, the way you smile and laugh so adorably upon hearing a funny joke from your friends, the way you’re still so cute even when frustrated.
As he walks away, Dongmin fights with his own heart. Why was he acting like this? It’s so clear that you’re expecting something more, but why is he pushing you away?
Dongmin takes a deep breath. Yeah, he’s scared. He’s afraid that maybe it’s all in his head, maybe you’re the one acting so well and it’s just gotten to him.
Dongmin swears to get himself together, but it looks like he’s going to need more than just mental affirmations.
The next day, he misses his alarm, for the first time in forever, and is running late to his 9 AM lecture. He’s speed walking through students, dodging them with a bag hanging on one shoulder and his hair still partially wet. Just as he’s about to near the entrance of the Law building, he hears raised voices nearby. He puts his hood up, his first instinct is to ignore it all—he’s got no time to eavesdrop on people’s business. However, he recognises one of the two quarrelling voices—yours.
Dongmin’s steps come to a halt, and he turns to face you. His eyes slightly widen and his shoulders begin to tense as he sees you and Anton standing a few feet away, locked in an argument. He’s a bit too far away to hear the full conversation, yet he catches some bits of it.
You’re standing at your full height, stiffly in front of Anton, arms crossed and eyes blazing with fury. Anton, on the opposite side of you, no longer has that sickening, innocent smile—instead, he’s flashing you a mocking smirk.
The argument is already reaching its peak, yet Dongmin is quick to analyse the situation just by picking up a few bits.
“You think you’re really something, don’t you?” Anton taunts.
You scoff. Dongmin could tell you’re offended, yet the mask you put on really makes a difference. “At least I don’t have to put other people down to feel important.”
Anton scoffs back, “please. You act like you’re above all this, but you’re just as desperate for attention as everyone else.”
Dongmin clenches his jaw, watching the argument unfold as his fingers begin to twitch.
You give Anton a mocking laugh, stepping forward. “I don’t care what you think, Anton Lee. I don’t care if you think I don’t love Taesan, because what matters is my own feelings, not yours. And I’m done wasting my time on you.”
Before you could turn away and enter the building, Anton grabs your wrist.
It’s not aggressive, but it’s enough. Enough to make Dongmin see red.
Everything’s a blur—one second later, he’s towering in front of Anton, his eyes glaring daggers.
“Let her go,” his voice is low and threatening, as sharp as a blade.
Anton looks up, initially startled, but as soon as he sees Dongmin, he rolls his eyes. His hand still around your wrist, he says with a sneer, “look who’s here, Y/N’s knight in shining armour! Oh, so great, always the hero.”
Dongmin is too busy counting down the ways he could destroy Anton’s life to be noticing how immediate the warmth creeps up your cheeks. Dongmin, in one fluid motion, steps closer, standing between you and Anton.
“Did you hear me?” his voice drops deadly lower than before, his posture relaxed yet his eyes are dangerous. “Let. Go.”
Anton huffs, roughly letting go of your hand. He shakes his head. “You two are seriously something else,” he mutters before storming away.
You and Dongmin stand next to each other, cautiously eyeing Anton until he disappears from sight. For that moment, none of you say anything.
“What was that for?” you say suddenly, crossing your arms. “I didn’t need you to step in.”
Dongmin shoves his hood down to his neck, raising his eyebrow. Feeling slightly irritated, he scorns. “Yeah? Looked like you were having a great time.”
You roll your eyes, scoffing, but something pinches Dongmin’s heart as he notices there’s no real bite behind it. “I’m fine—I had it all handled.”
Silence.
Dongmin exhales sharply, words shooting out of his mouth without second thought. “I know. It’s just–”
He stops, his eyes landing on your wrist. Closes his mouth.
You wait for a few moments, before warily asking. “What? Just what?”
Dongmin hesitates. Suddenly, it’s all he can push out of his throat. He’s already there, halfway crossing the line he’s put between you and him for the past two years.
And then, it just… slips out.
“I just can’t stand it, okay?”
Your frown deepens, confused. “Stand… what?”
Dongmin lets out a frustrated breath, turning sharply to completely face you. “I can’t stand seeing you with people like that fucking bastard. I can’t stand watching you get into these stupid situations. And I really, really can’t stand how much I—”
His eyes widen, and his words stumble upon a stop. Dongmin stammers, realising what he was just about to say.
“Taesan,” you call, gently, hope suddenly shimmering in your eyes. “How much you what?”
Dongmin freezes. He’s silent, tongue frozen, unable to utter another word.
He can’t say it.
Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath.
“You know what?”
“Taesan–”
“Next time,” he says quickly, in a softer voice, “don’t… waste your time on a guy like him.”
Your eye contact is still intact, you open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Your eyes widen for a split second—as if you’re catching on to the feelings displayed, unknowingly, on Dongmin’s face.
His concern is real.
“W-we should go,” you stammer instead, gesturing to the Law building.
Dongmin nods. He grabs your backpack from you, signalling for you to walk in first. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
You force yourself to walk as swiftly as possible to the lecture hall, heart pounding, mind racing. Behind you, Dongmin’s entire body is tense. He’s finally realising he can’t keep his feelings for you hidden forever.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
THE next day, you can’t stop thinking about Taesan—and whatever he was about to say to you. Your mind races with a million different thoughts throughout the day. What if he actually feels the same? What if you’re not the only one looking for something more in this fake arrangement?
However, given that exams are looming closer, you’re only given a short amount of time to dwell on your thoughts. After your last class of the day, you find yourself cooped up in the library, studying the rest of the day away. Several of your friends join you, too.
The study group grows, joined by both your friends and Taesan’s—though, you didn’t even realise that Taesan is sitting across you the entire day, until everyone starts leaving one by one.
By midnight, it’s only you and him. You don’t look up, but you can feel your heart thumping faster than usual. You’re hyper aware of your surroundings—how close he is, how his scent feels comforting yet intimidating, and how his presence is reminding you of something that you’re too afraid to admit.
“Y/N,” you open your eyes to someone gently shaking your shoulder, the reality of things crashing onto you all at once. You lift your head up, realising that you fell asleep in the middle of reviewing a past paper. Your eyes meet with Taesan’s concerned gaze.
His voice is low and soft, as if it’s only for you. “Let’s take a break. You’ve been snoozing off way too many times.”
Your heart is beating a little faster than usual, but you agree. Taesan’s request seems too casual, and he looks like he needs a break too.
You follow his lead, walking a little bit behind him to the convenience store that’s still open in campus grounds. He’s silent, observing you and letting you pick anything you want before paying for both your things and his.
“Go sit,” he says, holding your instant tteokbokki package in hand, along with his instant noodles. “I’ll heat these up.”
Taesan quickly moves to the microwave before you can say anything in retaliation, a sign that you take seriously. He’s not in the mood for any fights.
You take a seat, and soon after, Taesan joins you. He puts your instant meal in front of you, breaking your chopsticks for you.
“Here,” he says, his voice quiet. “Careful, the tteok is still hot.”
He then slips his coat around you before turning back to his own beverages.
You find yourself staring at him, long after he’s handed you your things. You watch him, peacefully releasing his tension—running a hand through his hair, chugging down a cup of coffee.
Everything around you looks like it has a blurred filter on, yet one thing is crystal clear: Taesan, and his evident care for you. The longer you stare at him, the more you realise.
He’s always been the one. He’s always been there.
It hits you harder than any bad grade has ever done.
Taesan has always been like this—quietly looking out for you, quietly caring for you.
All this while, all the banter, the little arguments, moments, and glances—it’s not just rivalry. It’s not just the fact that he always finds a way to make you all grumbly and irritated. It’s not just the fact that, even back when you were with Anton, he’d always find a way to show his care for you.
It’s not just the fact that you enjoy his company, even if he makes you feel like you want to bang your head against the wall.
You like him.
You like Han Taesan.
You quickly turn your head away, blood rushing to your head as soon as the realisation hits you. You stuff a few bites of instant tteokbokki into your mouth, wanting to quickly get rid of whatever this warm, refreshing feeling is.
“Can you stop looking at me like that, L/N?”
You cough, shocked at how his sudden comment breaks through the almost comforting silence. All the past moments you’ve had with him—the banter, the insults, the arguments—run through your head as soon as your last name, what Taesan had always called you, reaches your ears.
“Like what?” emboldened by the awakening of your feelings, you retort, your tone more challenging than you intended.
Taesan snaps, pushing his chair back, raking a frustrated hand through his hair.
“Like I’m your fucking boyfriend.”
“What?” you’re confused, not expecting that out of his mouth. “What are you–”
“Like you’re waiting for me to say something that I know I can’t take back.”
“Say it, then.”
You say, challenging him. It feels sentimental—like the old days, where all you did when you met Taesan was throw taunting words at him. But at the same time, the words come out of your mouth without realising—daring the two of you to finally cross the line.
“I like you, okay? I probably love you at this point, I don’t know. I don’t know when it started, but I do. And I—” He exhales sharply, his voice softer. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t.”
The world stops spinning and you stare at him, blank.
Your tongue feels numb, your heart racing at a million miles per hour.
You feel the same, you’re sure, but you don’t know how to respond. Do you smile and say it back? Do you tease him, calling him an idiot like you always do?
“I didn’t mean to fall for you,” you catch Taesan muttering.
You smile. “Me too,” you say softly.
Taesan lifts his head immediately, sharply turning to you with widened eyes. “... pardon?”
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
THE next few days feel like a refreshing spring breeze in the peak of winter, yet the air is filled with a cute awkwardness. After the confession, neither of you explicitly announce to one another that the two of you are a real couple now—yet your interactions feel new and unscripted, but no one exactly is making the first move.
Of course, your friends notice before the two of you do.
You’re sitting at the food hall together with Yunjin and Sophia, eating breakfast. You’re halfway through your pancakes, and Taesan—or Dongmin, as you call him now—suddenly takes a seat next to you.
“Mind if I join, girls?” he asks, a charming grin on his face. He’s asking the table, yet his gaze is directed to you. You bite your lip shyly, nodding.
“Sure, make yourself at home,” Yunjin says, her words laced with teasing. She watches with eagle eyes as Dongmin puts all of the sliced bananas from his serving of pancakes onto yours, knowing that you especially enjoy them with your breakfast pancakes. She snorts at the obvious look of love in Dongmin’s eyes, more evident now that he isn’t shoving insults at your face. “So, you two are really dating now?”
You choke on your bite of pancake, immediately blurting out,
“No!”
“Yes.”
You sharply turn to Dongmin, who has a smug look on his face. It’s the one look on his face that you’re used to, yet there’s a tint of pink on his cheeks. The edge of his smirk twitches, threatening to form into a cute, lovesick smile.
“...I see,” Sophia interrupts your awkward eye contact, sighing dramatically.
“We’re dating?” you ask Dongmin acutely, your brows connecting in an embarrassed frown.
“I don’t know,” Dongmin shrugs casually, the look in his eyes teasing. “Are we?”
The blush that instantly creeps up your cheeks tells you the answer. You look away, suddenly focused on the way you’re cutting your pancakes. Dongmin’s laugh echoes to your left, and your friends’ send you teasing looks.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
A few months later, on the first week back after winter break, you go on a walk around campus with your boyfriend, Han Dongmin. It feels weird, calling him yours now. Just almost half a year ago, you were fighting your ego to have your nemesis fake-date you in order to intimidate your ex into leaving you and your life alone. Now, that same thorn in your side has become the light of your life, the apple of your eye. Now, the two of you are in something that’s not written on a flimsy contract.
Dongmin had also helped clear out the rumours surrounding you—in the most annoying, Han Taesan way—announcing the truth about Anton by spreading it like a rumour to everyone. You still get second-hand embarrassment remembering that day, bombarded by questions and apologies from acquaintances and people you’ve only seen around.
“You know,” you say dreamily, distracted by your train of thought, “you’re so annoying—but I love you.”
Dongmin freezes, his steps coming to an immediate halt. You, too, freeze in your steps as you realise you’re a few steps ahead of him now. You turn around, eyebrows perked up. “What’s wrong, Dongmin?”
Dongmin.
The sound of your voice calling his birth name repeats in his mind, like a favourite song on loop. He stares, unable to say anything. His eyes fall on the pendant dangling from your neck, one that you started wearing due to the fake-dating arrangement. He remembered insisting that you take it off, so that he can buy you a new one later, but you said that it’s special so you won’t take it off.
I love you.
Dongmin feels a smile slowly bloom on his face.
She said it. She didn’t even hesitate. It’s like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
His face softens, jogging up to you. He gives you a cheeky smile.
“Say that again.”
You frown. “What again?”
“The first part.”
“What–” you pause, eyes widening as you get what he’s talking about. Heat rushes up your cheeks, warming your face despite Dongmin’s scarf wrapped around it. “I–”
“Yeah,” Dongmin says, smirking as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Me too.”
You bury yourself into the familiar scent of Dongmin’s scarf as he kisses your cheek.
“Fuck you, Han Dongmin,” you grumble, ignoring the obvious butterflies in your stomach.
˚ ▒ ₊ㅤ Ⳋ᧙ ⁺
THAT weekend, you and Dongmin are eating lunch together at your favourite coffee shop. Dongmin had said that the vibes there makes him sleepy, and tried to bring you to eat at one of the more famous restaurants near the KOZ School of Engineering, yet the plan backfires on him when the line is certainly too long.
Now, the two of you are back at your favourite coffee shop, sipping warm cinnamon lattes.
“See?” you tease, smiling cheekily. “I told you this place is the best.”
Dongmin rolls his eyes, taking a big spoonful of the chocolate cinnamon roll on your plate. “I want to eat some real food, like kimchi jjigae, not these sweet chocolate desserts,” he complains, though he can’t hide the fact that he secretly loves it.
“Yet you’re the one finishing my cinnamon roll,” you retort, letting him subconsciously finish your dessert. You’re familiar with his love for chocolate.
Dongmin flashes you an innocent smile, shrugging. “Not my fault.”
Comfortable silence engulfs the two of you, letting you bask in each other’s presence. Suddenly, Dongmin leans closer, adjusting the place of the H.D pendant on your décolletage. Frozen, you watch him lean back into his seat, smiling as he admires you.
“You look good today,” he murmurs, “actually, you look good everyday.”
An undeniable tint of pink colours your face. “I’m literally wearing a black turtleneck sweater, Dongmin.”
His gaze softens. “Like the first time you sat next to me, three years ago, during our foundation year.”
Your eyes widen, your mind replaying the memory, fresh like it happened yesterday. “You… remember?”
“Of course,” Dongmin replies, his smile delicate.
“I even remember the day you walked up to me, confident and all. I thought you were going to brag to my face that you won first place for the quiz we had the day before, but then you told me to fake date you.”
You almost spit out the coffee from your mouth. “Han Dongmin!” you hiss. “Don’t remind me… it was so stupid.”
“Stupid?” Dongmin asks, tilting his head. The signature cocky smirk is back on his face. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah…” you sigh, “I mean, I could’ve resolved the matter by myself, you know–”
“But you know that I’m the best option,” Dongmin cuts you off, smug. You roll your eyes.
“I don’t think it’s stupid, though,” he continues, his expression softer. More… raw. “To be honest, I think I was ecstatic that you walked up to me that day.”
“Why?” you ask croakily.
“‘Cause I’ve always liked you, Y/N. I always have. I just don’t understand where things went wrong—maybe it’s the way I thought teasing you would gain me your attention at first. It did. But then, you became used to my teasing and thought of me as a threat—maybe ‘cause I’m smart as hell, too—but yeah. I don’t know how to say it but, all of that hatred was… pretend.”
You blink at him, too shocked to process his words. You try to reply, but mere stuttering comes out, and your face turns bright red.
Dongmin notices this, of course, and he turns on his shameless, impudent grin. “Besides, you said you’re going to grant me any wish that I have, right?”
Oh.
You inhale sharply. How could you forget? You immediately bring out your phone, checking the balance in your bank account. It’s quite a luxury, due to you working a few part time jobs during your break and whenever you can—but you certainly don’t think it’s fit for whatever grand wish Dongmin is about to demand from you.
“Fine,” you huff, “only because it’s part of our… old contract.”
“Old contract, huh?” Dongmin wheezes, already laughing hard. You frown, fighting back a smile.
“Why are you always laughing whenever I speak, dumbass?”
“Hey,” Dongmin pauses his laughter, flicking your forehead gently. It doesn’t even hurt, but you gasp dramatically, and he laughs it off. “It’s babe for you, sweet girl. And, I’m not laughing at you. I’m just admiring how cute and funny you are.”
Babe, huh?
You snort, hiding a smile. “Fine.”
“Anyway, speaking of the old contract,” Dongmin grins, “what’s the new one, then?”
“You haven’t even told me what sort of dumb, overpriced thing you want for your wish,” you say, lips set in a grim line. “And now you want another one?”
“My wish, huh?”
The unreadable look on his face makes you brace yourself and your wallet.
“Then, my darling, this is my wish.”
Dongmin leans forward, brushing his lips against yours. It’s subtle, short and sweet, but significant enough for you to realise it all—the reality of your feelings and his. He lingers for a while before sitting back in his chair.
“So,” he says coolly, ignoring the plain blush streaked across his face. “Can you grant me the wish? To kiss you anytime, and anywhere I want?”
“Basically, physical affection can be done anytime?” you say, quoting what this man in front of you said months ago, when both of you first agreed on the fake-dating situation. The whole absurd set-up that brought the two of you to where you are, today.
Dongmin laughs, clearly impressed. “Yeah,” he nods.
You give him a warm smile, glad that you’re finally able to follow your heart’s desires, and to not put up a wall of defense around him anymore.
“Wish granted.”
― © htaesan, 2025.
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄
sunghos s/o being jealous of onedoor and sungho reassuring her he’s all hers while he thrusts into her…
contains: dom!sungho x sub!reader, jealous!reader, idol!sungho, dacryphilia, penetration (p in v), bulge kink?
“shh, it’s ok sweetheart. you know you’re the only one for me.”
if you were still crying because of your insecurities, he would’ve leaned down to wipe the tears away gently with his thumbs while cupping your cheeks. but now you’re crying because of how good he’s making you feel, and it’s safe to say, sungho’s turned on by it as your cheeks glow a bright pink from cumming and hiccuping so cutely. your boyfriend’s sweet words contrasted his harsh thrusts as you cried, first while telling him about your jealousy but now because of how he’s hitting your g-spot so perfectly. he pulls out slow before pushing back in quickly, relishing the feeling of your gummy walls clenching around him. he’s pushing a bit too, holding down on your tummy to put more pressure so you really feel what he’s giving you. in a way, his actions are affirming his words. he just wants to make sure you know you’re his priority, this being one of the most intimate ways to do so—while he’s deep in you and pushing you past your limit as you swallow him whole. a constant stream of reassurance from him further helps you believe him, making it a cycle of his actions and his words that help you believe him. he’s just too perfect for his own good… no wonder you feel jealous, because no wonder everyone wants him.
saw ur bunny hybrid leehan post and now im thunking,, what if bunny hybrid reader🧐
i've written bunny hybrid reader with sungho before! i've also written hybrid reader x dom!bnd so... just linking if you are interested <3
bunny hybrid reader would be a joy for leehan actually. he loves how you are so cute and adorable, especially your sensitive ears he plays with whenever, getting you so aroused so easily. you'd be humping his thigh as you whimper before you even knew it, whining at how this isn't enough and you want him buried inside you. he'd tease you so much though, not giving you exactly what you want. but that's not an issue because you can go on for way too many rounds that it doesn't even matter if he gives you his cock now or later. he's also almost always using toys on you, a vibrator stuffed into you as he controls it while you do any work around the house. being a pet isn't so easy when leehan's your owner <3
HOW BOYNEXTDOOR LOVES YOU
how boynextdoor shows their love for you, even if it isn't always by words
( 対 ) boynextdoor + fem. reader 1230WC · tooth rotting fluff contains! skinship, kissing so cheesy holy sharts / archive
은 : sorry for posting so late >< i've been so busy lately because of exams and couldn't post, but i'm back now ^^ i hope you enjoy ~
myung jaehyun
with myung jaehyun, love isn’t just quiet care. it’s a bit like him; bubbly and playful. he’ll throw his jacket over you with a little joke and a smile that warms you up more than the jacket itself, winking as he pulls the lapels up dramatically to keep you protected from the cold wind.
he notices things, even if he pretends not to. “you’re holding your bag funny. give it to me.” he’ll say, taking it from you before you can even protest. it doesn’t matter if it weighs a ton. jaehyun will carry it for you.
on rainy days when you two are sharing an umbrella, he’ll tilt it to your side so you’re protected from the raindrops even as his side gets drenched in rainwater. when you try to tilt the umbrella back to him, or tell him to get under it properly, he’ll just smile and say, “i like the rain.” before giving you a peck on the cheek.
and with all this, jaehyun never expects anything in return. jaehyun gives his love without expectation or demand because, well, he loves you.
park sungho
sungho could listen to you talk forever. whatever nonsense you say, whatever irrelevant thing you’re rambling about, if it’s you, it becomes poetry to park sungho.
sungho remembers the smallest details about you. he remembers the way you take your coffee, the name of the book you once mentioned during a conversation, the exact shade of the sky on the day you first said “i love you.”
sometimes, he even remembers the things you forget; the date of your childhood hamster’s birthday, the lyrics to a song you used to hum under your beeath as you busied yourself in the kitchen- which he took the time to figure out what song it exactly was so he could play it for you on the guitar one day- the way you scrunch your nose when you’re deep in thought. some people say these random bits and pieces of you are useless, but sungho keeps them close, storing the, in the quiet corners of his mind to pull out when the time is just right.
“you like this one, right?” sungho will say, handing you a drink exactly the way you like it. “you wanted to watch this movie,” he’ll murmur as he turns on a film you mentioned briefly weeks ago. “you always sleep better when it rains,” he’ll say, opening a window when the first drops hit the pavement.
park sungho says your name like it’s the most beautiful word in the world. it’s not just a name to him, it’s much more than that.
lee sanghyuk
riwoo often reaches for you without realising. his fingers brush yours when you’re walking side by side, barely a whisper of his warm skin against yours, but enough to make your breath hitch. he tucks a stray strand of hair behind our ear absentmindedly during conversations, his touch light as if he’s handling delicate glass.
riwoo doesn’t even notice how often he does it. how his body naturally gravitates towards yours like second nature. when you’re laughing, he leans in just a little closer. you have a pretty laugh. when you’re focused on something, his hand settles on your wrist.
riwoo’s actions aren’t calculated. they’re not meant to fluster you. it’s simply how he is. his the type of person whose love is felt in the warmth of his palm against you break as he guides you through the door, in the way his knee knocks against yours under the table, in the way his drapes his arm around you.
sometimes when riwoo realises, it's different. the moment he realises that his fingers linger too long, that his touch isn’t just habit but something more, he hesitates. his eyes flicking to yours to make sure you’re not uncomfortable in any way. when he gets your reassurance, he shakes off any doubt with a small smile, his hand staying where it is.
han dongmin
taesan’s love is found in ink stained fingers and the way his lyrics always seem to sound like you. he doesn’t always say it outright, it’s not always blatantly there. but if you listen carefully, you’re woven into every song, every notes, every unfinished berse scribbled in the margins of his notebook.
maybe taesan doesn’t say “i love you” in the way others. but he’ll give you pieces of himself in a song, in a melody, in the esy his voice and eyes soften when he sings the lines that remind him of you.
when you can’t sleep in late hours of the night, taesan will sing you to sleep with a new song he worked on earlier that day, smiling down at you fondly as you doze off to his soft voice.
it’s taesan’s way of showing you love. he might not be the best and telling you exactly how much he loves you with words, but his music says enough for you to know. the lyrics that are always referencing you in one way or another, the melody that sounds a bit too much like your pretty laugh. he writes about late night talks and your pretty eyes, the way the silence between you two are comforting instead of lonely.
kim donghyun
leehan’s love for you is found in the way he looks at you- like you hold the stars in your hands, like you’re the only person existing in the vast universe. his gaze lingers a second too long, that moment always filled with unspoken words that can’t quite be translated into words.
it’s the way leehan’s pretty eyes soften when you talk, the way he watches you even when you’re not looking, memorising each and every detail of your face. he thinks you’re the best thing that ever happened to him, and he can’t help but admire you.
you’ll sometimes feel a gaze locked on you when you’re busy with something- cooking, studying, you name it. and when you turn, it’ll be leehan, staring at you with soft eyes and a gentle smile that only holds fondness. seeing you flustered from his gaze only makes him watch you more, smile widening when your cheeks turn pimk as you pretend you didn’t see him staring at you like that.
when you finally meet leehan’s gaze, when you finally catch the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, you’ll understand just how much leehan loves you, even if it’s done quietly.
kim woonhak
woonhak’s love for you is found in laughter, the kind that leaves you breathless with a pain on your side, the kind that turns even the worst days into something bearable.
woonhak’s the person who notices when you’re quiet with tired eyes and a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. instead of asking what’s wrong and focing out words you don’t have, he nudges you with his shoulder, makes a ridiculous face and cracks the woest joke you’ve ever heard since you existed.
and somehow, somehow, it works.
perhaps the joke is so terrible, it made you laugh, or maybe it’s just that face woonhak made, but it gets a smile out of you. and that’s all he needs.
woonhak always seems to know what you need. and when you laugh, the weight lifting just a little, he smiles like he’s gotten the whole world.
well, to woonhak, he has.
— ilysungho valentine’s special 💗
a/n: hello my loves ^-^ happy valentine's day! i hope you all like what i've prepared! let me know if any of the links don't work. and as always, enjoy <3 wc: 250-300 words each! contains: nsfw links, short scenarios, specific tags for each member, tags also say what's in the link, lowercase intended taglist: @antoncore @ericlvr @mari3s @dobbiesvvorld @zynz0 @kyujinii @gclhn @hanfourz @taylorluvation @txtistheloml
sungho -> link
contains: sungho x reader, not really a defining power dynamic so take it as you will, lingerie lol, dollification? sorta, use of nicknames, dry humping, penetration (p in v)
the lace laid on you like skin, perfectly fitting your body in every way, atop every curve of yours, for your boyfriend to see. sungho knew you would look absolutely stunning wearing the lingerie he picked out just for you. but actually seeing you wearing it was… something else. he was awestruck by your beauty as his fingers traced the fabric on your back, kissing you deeply.
“you look so perfect for me, better than i imagined, doll.” it had been his dream to have you wear something he picked out for you, waiting for the right moment until he gave you the gift. he had expressed to you that he wanted to dress you up like his doll, so when you agreed to it for the special day, he was ecstatic.
your breath hitched every time sungho’s fingers got close to your nipples while making out. you’d had your fair share of sex, but the timing and clothes made you feel so much more sensitive. he loved your reactions too; knowing that he is the one making you feel so good had him riled up.
he wanted to keep the pretty clothes on you, barely covering you but still just enough to entice him, hiding your private parts he so wanted to see. “get on top,” he whispered to you as he laid down on the bed. a shy smile decorated your face as you got on top of him, the thin fabric not doing much to keep your arousal a secret.
as he laid almost bare under you, you moved slowly to tease your boyfriend. the once shy smile now became confident as he smiled at you in love, following the motions into the special day.
riwoo -> link
contains: sub!riwoo x dom!reader, lingerie (again...), handjob, use of nicknames
the day had gone by perfectly, riwoo coming to surprise you with flowers and chocolate like any other typical couple, but also holding a small bag with what you thought was lingerie. and you were right as he showed you the pearly and lacey garment. what took you by surprise was how he shyly explained how he thought you would like seeing him wear one and do as you please. he guessed correctly as always, his senses always coming in clutch, when he saw you lick your lower lip, softly exhaling, "go ahead baby, change into it then."
after changing into the new lingerie, the pretty boy sat against the headboard of your shared bed. his shy face accompanied by his compact figure made him look so much smaller than he really is as you went to sit in front of him. taking a hold of his hard cock, you spread the already leaking pre-cum in your usual motions. riwoo looked at you with the prettiest of glossy eyes as you looked back at him tenderly, telling him how he looks like the prettiest little boy for you. his choice was immaculate, you thought to yourself, as his body jerked from the stimulation.
soft whimpers coming out of the short boy’s mouth gave you yet another signal that he was close to his release. he looked at you, as if asking for permission to let go, with doe like eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth. "go on love, you can come." such simple words led to your boyfriend cumming rather quickly. maybe it was the occasion, maybe it was the attire, but he was too cute not to have all your fun with for the night.
jaehyun -> link
contains: sub!jaehyun x dom!reader, blindfolding, sort of dumbification?? idk you tell me, edging
“you’re gonna be a good boy for me right, myungie?” your hand held onto his chin softly, moving his head to nod as he kept still. patiently waiting for you to touch him, jaehyun let out a soft whimper to signal an opposite sense of urgency. no matter how well behaved he was, he only had one weakness and it was to ask you for more. he was a greedy puppy after all. good, but greedy.
“y-y/n p-please… mo-more… i need m-more…” chuckling at his disposition, you finally gave him a touch where he wanted you, but it wasn’t what he expected. in the moment when he thinks you will be mean and harsh to him, you were rather soft. your delicate touches on his hardness over his boxer while whispering the dirtiest of praises made jaehyun so sensitive. he could only keep his eyes shut and endure, not that it would help much with the blindfold.
being unable to see was another reason your puppy couldn't stop himself from pleading for more. your slow touches as you sat your thighs on top of his had him wincing in pain. "you're so good, you can endure for me right? i know you want to see me wearing the pretty clothes you picked for me."
his quivering lips made you so curious to see his most likely teared up eyes, yet you too kept composed. even though it's such a romantic day, you still have to show you love to him the same way as always, because he will take what you give him with no complains. he's just that good of a puppy for you.
taesan -> link
contains: (suggestive) taesan x fem!reader, taesan likes your boobs, reader has oral fixation
putting on your best clothes for the date taesan had planned out for valentine's had you so excited for what's to come. the dress perfectly fit you, especially accenting your boyfriend's favorite features of you. well, he loved all of you, but he really would do anything to find a life to stay in your arms amongst your boobs forever.
"babe, are you ready y-" the man you thought of all day appeared behind you as you were putting on any final touches. his face showed an expression you knew all too well, one where he was at a loss of words. "you look so stunning." he simply stated the obvious as his hands caressed your exposed shoulders, slowly going down to fondle your boobs as he so loved to do.
"taesan i just got ready," you uttered, closing your eyes to the feeling of his touch. he just hummed in response as he felt more of you, one of his thumbs coming up to go into your mouth. he knew you would quiet down as soon as you started sucking on his thumb as you always did. he loved how your tongue played with him, letting him know that he literally has you wrapped around his finger.
your own hands reached up to pull him down into an intimate kiss, letting go to ask "can we just stay home?" against his lips. your lover responded curtly, a smirk lighting up his features as he shook his head and pulled you to stand up.
"we have the whole night ahead of us, sweetheart."
leehan -> link
contains: dom!leehan x sub!reader (sorta, but it can be taken any way in the vid), glasses leehan, overstimulation, thigh riding
"good girl, just like that." leehan's lazy hands guided your body on his as you rode your high out on his clothed thigh. his glasses threatened to fall of before you brought your hand up to push it back onto his nose bridge amidst the feverish kiss you shared. your swollen clit felt extra sensitive as you rubbed against the wet fabric under you, yet leehan didn't stop kissing you, his hand firm on your waist.
your movements stilled as you came back to your senses, lips still clashing, until your boyfriend’s grip moved your body on the same spot once again. “you can come once again baby, don’t stop hm?” whimpering and nodding, you gave into his command-like plea as his grip loosened to give you back control.
feeling extra sensitive, having just came, you were much more vocal than you previously were. your boyfriend liked that though, smiling as he watched you rut on him. he thought you looked so cute while doing as he says even if your just using any part of him. whether it be his fingers, mouth, dick or even abs, you always rubbed against him with fervor. he means it when he says he could only watch you for hours and be entertained, the movie playing on the tv becoming just background noises against your needy voice.
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safe haven (how much longer do we have?) ➵ leehan
leehan x reader, slight sungho x reader
you can only hope for more tomorrows with leehan.
genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, heavy angst with a happy ending, touch of fluff, gender-neutral reader, reader is shorter than leehan and sungho, lowercase intended, apocalypse au, hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), depictions of grief, descriptions of gore/blood, use of guns, allusions and discussions of suicide, minor character deaths, sungho is your ex, myungjae and taesan appearance :’), elements of the last of us (don’t support neil druckmann!), mostly written in past tense (because u’re remembering!)
word count ➵ 6.2k words
inspired by ➵ “anaheim” by niki, “are you happy?” by wavesmp3, “love wins all” by iu, episode three of hbo’s the last of us, and “you’re gonna carry that weight” quote from cowboy bebop
a/n ➵ i really love this piece with everything in me so i thought i'd release it to bonedoblr as well!! you can check out the jacob & taerae versions as well. if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback!
want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist
time was the one thing that occupied everyone’s minds. it held value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and people revolved their lives around it.
questions flew around with every tick and tock—what day is it today? when’s your next doctor’s appointment? how long has it been since you’ve last seen your friends from high school? until when does this meeting last?
as the hands of the clock continue to rotate, the calendar pages would flip along. birthdays were celebrated with every revolution as candles on cakes were lit up, awaiting the puff of celebrants as they wished for their desires. holidays were ones to look forward to; people dressed up to celebrate periods of the year that mattered to them while others slept in until noon. and days were spent counting down until graduations, where caps with tassels would fly to the expanse of blue and orange as cheers and sobs sound throughout.
but now, no one keeps track of time. clocks stopped moving and calendars weren’t produced annually. once the surge of the infected took over, grabbing on humans—taking them away from the lives they’ve lived—everyone ran like they were running out of time. with every second that passes, people are ridden with possibilities of how they might bid farewell to life itself—would it be through the hands of the infected or their own?
now, only one question echoes within their minds: how long do we have?
yet, the clock continues—tick, tock, tick, tock. it keeps going, and going, and going, like how everyone expects it. while everyone seemed to let time go, you still kept track of it all: birthdays, holidays, a graduation you never had.
the outbreak hit two years ago on the day of sungho’s graduation. cheers turned into screams. white togas and diplomas were splattered with red. the lively became lifeless.
you remember sungho’s hand in yours, fingers gripping you as if you were his life, as you charged out of the gymnasium, legs keeping up with the speed of his. you darted off to nowhere as images of the infected tearing people apart took up every block, all the way from skin to bone.
and while it was a rush of tragedies, sungho was the only hope you had.
“keep your eyes on me,” he glanced at you, “don’t look at them. only look at me.”
it was impossible to ignore the wails that filled your ears, but you would repeat his words—his soft-spoken voice—to drown them out.
by nightfall, you and sungho found yourselves in a motel room, skin cleaned from blood splatters and dressed in clothes that engulfed your figures, and in each other’s arms on a twin-sized bed. the duvet that wrapped around you two is thin, not at all keeping you warm for the night, but the warmth of sungho was enough to provide you a sense of security—stability amidst the ever-changing world.
he whispered into the crown of your head, words meant to dispel your fears, all while you sobbed into his shirt. there was nothing that he could do but stay strong for you.
and for a few days, that room acted as your safe haven. the time spent within those four walls is the life you imagined your future with sungho. it would’ve been in a two-story house with a garden where a singular orange tree stands, lounging on the couch as you played movies to fall asleep to, but all you had was an old room with a carpeted floor with unrecognizable stains and a bathroom unable to fit two.
yet, you would choose this over anything. even if it meant eating instant noodles for every meal or sleeping on a mattress that ruins your backs, you would choose this if it meant sungho would be with you.
still, time continues to move. sungho knew that you both couldn’t stay in that room or else the infected may reach you. so when you both went to bed on that last night, you outlined his features from the space between his eyebrows all the way to his lips, and you spent that time memorizing his warmth to carry with you for the rest of your life. you could only hope that he stays with you until the end.
after a month passed, you and sungho met jaehyun, an injured boy who only wanted to live. at first, sungho was hesitant to take the stranger in, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to live with the idea of abandoning someone in need. in a world where the infected have taken over, it only seemed right to help out others; save them from a fate they’re not ready to meet.
what started off as a pair turned into a trio. you’ve learned more about what it takes to survive in this life. long gone is the need for money to buy necessities; you need to scavenge for supplies if you want to live in an infected-ridden world. thanks to jaehyun, you and sungho got to learn about how to find them in every building that you pass on the journey.
but it’s not enough to know where to find food and bullets. sungho decided that it was only right to teach you how to use a gun. with every morning that came, you two spent hours learning how to hold, reload, and fire.
“don’t worry,” he told you as his chin hovered over your shoulder. you both stared at the tin can situated on a stack of boxes only a few meters away. “you won’t have to worry about fighting alone. i’ll be here with you.” as you exhaled, your eyes zeroed in on the target. “now, shoot.”
six months have passed, and you were happy that you were still a trio. jaehyun became your best friend over that time. his laughs were enough to shine glimmers of hope onto you. you were glad that you decided to help him off the ground and tend to his bullet wound that day.
until you found yourselves retreating from the horde of infected.
time moves at a constant speed but it can become swift if it decides to. when you and jaehyun reached the doors leading to safety, you remember seeing sungho fighting off those who were once like you, bullets firing at their heads. you remember your screams, telling him to run to you—go to where it’s safe—so that you can keep having tomorrows with him.
yet, sungho glanced at jaehyun, nodding at him before his eyes met yours. you watched how his mouth moved, a soundless three-word phrase leaving him before the doors shut before you. you would’ve pried them open but jaehyun kept his arms around you, holding you back. from letting the infected reach you. from letting sungho come back to you.
the wails that left you were enough to attract the infected. if only they were to burst through the doors, grab onto you and bring you to sungho, then maybe you would stop crying. yet, jaehyun dragged you away. you never saw him as your best friend after that.
a month passed, and you still refused to talk to him. the boy tried to strike up a conversation with you, trying to earn your laugh like he used to, but he was only met with a cold shoulder. with every brick he put, you smashed your sledgehammer against it, dispelling any hope he had in rekindling his friendship with you.
the two of you learned to live in silence, fighting for survival while dealing with the loss of the one who would always bring you both to safety.
until you came across another boy who pointed his gun toward you. his defensive demeanor reminded you of sungho, and you wondered if this was his doing—his reincarnation. but before he could pull the trigger, jaehyun saved you from meeting your fate.
somehow, the duo had turned into a trio once more. you still refused to talk to jaehyun but would eavesdrop on the conversations he shared with the stranger. you learned that the new addition is named leehan.
but even the stranger wasn’t enough to fill the void that sungho left. with every nightfall, when the soft snores of the two boys filled your ears, tears streamed down your face as sobs threatened to spill out. the palm of your hand wasn’t enough to muffle your weeps. behind your eyelids, sungho’s last words to you play on repeat. the ones he failed to say. the ones you’ll never hear again.
maybe if you didn’t leave that motel room then he would’ve still been with you, arms finding their place around your waist as he trails kisses all over you. if the outbreak didn’t happen, then maybe you would be living in that two-story house with him. maybe you would wake up to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by the bedside table and the warmth of his lips on your forehead. and maybe you could finally tell him yes before he slips the silver band on your finger—you could’ve grown with him until your hair turns grey.
the weight you carry never got lighter with time. the void continued to consume you whole with the goal of ripping you apart. as another month passed, another life was lost—not to the infected but to the raiders.
“myungjae, you have to stay with me.” those were the first words you told him since sungho’s death. crimson continued to spill out of his abdomen through the gaps between your fingertips in the same way tears flow out. “leehan! find gauze, betadine, anything!” you never glanced at the stranger, keeping your gaze on your best friend whose eyes continued to droop.
still, jaehyun caressed your face, thumb wiping teardrops. as he slowly entered territories that you both knew he would never escape, he grinned at you one last time. “i missed hearing you. i’m glad you’ll be the last thing i hear.”
but you tried to tell him that you couldn’t be the last voice he heard. it should’ve been with someone he can imagine his future with, maybe in a two-story house or a cramped flat in an apartment complex. he deserves more tomorrows in the same way sungho did.
but time continues to move. it took him away from you in a matter of minutes, slithering away without a second thought and no regard for the value of life, and all you were left with was his temple—still. lifeless. as you sobbed into his shirt, still holding the wound, the warmth of leehan’s hand stayed on your back, moving along with your wails.
now, you carry the loss of two. it never got easier with time.
leehan still sticks with you. it only seemed right. stay strong in numbers as you wander off to nowhere, grasping at the loose ends of survival.
two weeks have passed. you and leehan got used to the new dynamic; while he went hunting and you were tasked with scavenging, you both played your roles in combat, ready for any raid or horde. when night comes, you both took shifts, keeping watch while the other got some shut-eye.
until that one evening.
you recall the sounds of wood crackling from the fire. it stood strong against the breeze—burning, shining—surrounded by greens that latch on browns. hues of amber cascaded over your skin, painting you with warmth—it’ll never compare to the one you craved. your eyes drifted to leehan who sat across from you, his eyes trained on the fire as he rubbed his palms together. perhaps he craved the same type of warmth you longed for.
“we used to be three.” his eyes snapped towards yours. “before you came, we used to be three—jaehyun, me, and—” it rose in you like bile, wanting to escape but never leaving. “we were three then.”
you glanced at the wood that continued to burn. “we met jaehyun a month after the outbreak, spent six months together until—” the claws of the void struck against your throat, holding you back from sharing with the stranger what your life was before he came. while you never found the right words to say, leehan never pushed, letting you say what you wanted to share while filling in the blanks on his own.
“i resented jaehyun after what happened.” you moved your gaze to leehan whose eyes never left you. “refused to talk to him. refused to forgive.” and you remember how you hesitated, taking a deep breath in before sputtering out the next sentence. “refused to accept.”
nine months ago, the outbreak didn’t happen. nine months ago, you were attending sungho’s graduation. nine months ago, you two were imagining your tomorrows together—for eternity.
and those nine months fractured all hopes and dreams; the glass is now littered with cracks, ready to burst into shards.
“but i think about the last time we saw jaehyun,” the image of him sitting in front of you all frail, treading the line between life and death, flashed in front of you; it’s quick but strong to remind you of what’s lost. “and i wish i could’ve learned how to forgive during those two months.”
but it was an impossible request. how could you ever forgive a boy you’ve known for only six months for taking your future away? how could you forgive a world that took him away? how could you forgive and live?
and still, you did.
you left it at that. they were enough. so when you told leehan that you’ll take over tonight’s shift, he never asked to hear more. instead, he laid near the campfire as you kept an eye out.
and once enough hours have passed, you allowed yourself to sob like other nights. the breeze that passed through branches reminded you of jaehyun; rustling leaves imitated the giggles of the boy you’ve only known during the apocalypse.
the wind that grazed against your skin should’ve been a nuisance, but the warmth of the fire wrapped you up like the duvet in that motel room. and you don’t complain—it’s the only part of sungho you have left.
the heat was enough to last you the night, but the chill of reality sent you back to the void.
that night, leehan listened to your sobs. not one of you got enough rest for the journey.
another two weeks went by. you two got into a better groove of the routine; instead of hunting and scavenging in silence, you and leehan found yourselves talking more about your lives before the outbreak. you learned that he’s only a year younger than sungho, and he shared that he had plans to pursue music.
“if the world finds a cure to this mess, you have to promise me that you’ll get me front-row tickets to your first show.” it was a joke. in what world could there be a cure for the infected? but the wishful thinking of what could be—what could’ve been—is all you had left.
still, leehan promised you that.
that night, you two stayed in the living room of an abandoned house. instead of lighting the fireplace, candles were placed on the coffee table. they shined in the middle of you two, you who stayed on the couch and leehan who sat on the mattress lying on the floor.
“where were you?” his eyes met yours. “on the day of the outbreak, i mean.”
he leaned back, hands resting on the mattress before he looked once more at the wax that continued to melt. “i was there for my upperclassmen’s graduation.” it hit you like sudden downpour on a sunny day. “i knew people in the music program and we were going to celebrate after. until the infected came.”
and when you said the name of the university, his gaze met yours as his shoulders stiffened. “m—my sungho.” it’s the first time you spoke of his name, and the sight of leehan’s eyes widening over it was enough to speak for himself.
“i—i didn’t know,” he whispered, but his words were loud enough to shatter glass. “i only spoke to him a few times. he talked about you with so much love.”
your heart skipped beats; it should’ve been enough to send you off into the same territories where sungho and jaehyun now stay. your mouth turned dry as leehan’s voice morphed into radio silence.
before you knew it, the two of you left the information to hang in the air as you tried to drift into slumber.
the clock continues to tick. minutes turned into hours; time moves like it usually does once more.
yet, you were stuck in the same gymnasium, fixing sungho’s toga as you scolded him about how wrinkled it’s become—hey! you’ll go up on stage soon. we can’t take pictures of you like this. despite your words, he smiled at you before grazing his lips on your temple—his silent way of telling you the three-word phrase.
in a split second, you were off the couch. you barged out of the house, clutching your chest as the knot constricted your throat, and your feet dragged you off to nowhere. every sound has turned into a buzz—only the voice of sungho being the one clear thing amidst the hysteria.
before you knew it, you stood before a horizon of green. it takes only one step into the woods, alone with no protection, for you to meet your demise. you would’ve charged into it in the same way you would’ve charged out to save sungho that day.
all it takes is one step, and—
“what are you doing?!” a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with the last form of life that you know of. his breaths were short as his fingers dug into your arms. “you can’t just rush out in the middle of the night! i woke up worried sick.” his eyebrows knitted in frustration. confusion. distress. the voice was caught in your throat.
how does one begin to unpack the baggage they’ve learned to carry? when the items they bring are revolting, rotten, repugnant, how does someone not feel shame about showing all the tattered-up objects?
how do you learn to open up to someone you’ve only known for three months?
your hands trembled; you’ve carried the weight of it all for too long.
in that split second, your nose met the juncture between his chin and shoulder. the material of his shirt against your cheek allowed you to bathe in what you miss—the hand of jaehyun that once caressed your face. the lips of sungho that lingered with every kiss. all the moments that you hoped time would freeze just for you lives in the boy you stick with for survival.
all it took were leehan’s hands to rest on the lower side of your back for the tears to begin their stream. the sobs spill out. for once, they weren’t muffled like those other nights. they sounded throughout the space that surrounded you two. you allowed yourself to drop the baggage only for a few minutes.
leehan took you back to the house that night, allowing you to sob about all that you’ve kept under the wraps.
when sunrise came, you found your legs mixed with his as his arms remained wrapped around you and your ear pressed against his chest. the sound of his breathing is the one reminder of what a safe haven is.
half a year went by. leehan still stays by your side. the baggage got lighter.
it should’ve been the same routine; leehan goes off to hunt while you scavenge, and you’ll take turns on the night shifts. but that night shifted something between you two. stolen glances. quiet giggles. linked fingers.
two months have gone by. the moon shined through the trees, their shadows cascading on an abandoned cabin that you and leehan decided to stay in for that night.
it should’ve been the same set-up as other nights spent in abandoned houses; you’ll sleep on the couch while he sleeps on a dragged-out mattress. instead, he sat with you, your back resting on his chest along with his hand staying on your arm.
a lit candle rested on the table; its amber tones painted leehan’s skin—close to the fruit tree that stands in your lost future.
“what would you do if there is a cure to this?” you watched how his fingers danced across your skin, calloused from plucking guitar strings or wielding a gun.
leehan’s chest rumbled against your back as he hummed. “what would you do?”
a giggle left as you looked at the boy. “i was the one who asked you first!”
he shot you a grin as his hand slipped into yours. the candle continued to burn; it did a poor job of giving you light and warmth that night. but he did it all—one smile. one exhale. one indication to show that he lives.
“travel, maybe? or i’ll go back to writing music.” you nodded at his plans before looking back at the light source. “what about you?”
“i don’t know.”
there was no point in going back to university after such a catastrophe. if anything, the year spent surrounded by the infected, fighting for survival, has shown you that there’s more to life than the perpetual cycle of working a nine-to-five.
so…
“i would settle down if i could.” the wax continued to melt. “i think i’ve seen enough of the world. for once, i just want to stay home. indulge in my hobbies. live the life that i want.”
his breath grazed the top of your head. “with someone?” and suddenly, you became aware of it all—the heat that emitted from his palm. the movement of his chest against your back. the gravity of his question.
the words get caught in your throat. your heartbeat rang in your ears. for the first time since sungho’s death, you considered it.
“with someone.”
before you knew it, his hand caressed your cheek. you were forced to meet his eyes which glistened with devotion. he leaned forward, his breath grazing your skin while you held in yours. you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips before he met your eyes once more.
then, he held back. it’s a choice, one only you can make. but when your eyes shut, it’s a quiet plea—a silent yes.
his lips met yours.
the warmth that blossomed in your chest wasn’t like the one in that motel room. not like the embrace of the one you’ve lost. it was one of all seasons—changing with the weather, bringing comfort throughout the everchanging times.
it’s a perpetual cycle of fighting for survival.
you’ll endure through it all.
a month passed by, and you came across another boy on the journey. he’s named taesan, and he told you of a safe haven located in the town that you and leehan grew up in.
for a moment, it was an internal debate—should you go back to where the downfall started? can you go to where the memory of sungho still lives?
but one glance at leehan was enough to settle it. the three of you embarked on your journey.
you remember that day. it was a walk with the goal of finding a car to make the journey back an easy one. the heat of the sun prickled against your skin but you still kept your arms crossed.
“are you two together?” taesan asked, causing you to whip your head towards him. your eyes met leehan’s for a split second—confusion. dejection—before they landed back at the stranger who kept his eyes on the path you took.
“no, we aren’t.”
for the rest of the journey, it was quiet.
sundown came, and you found yourselves in a convenience store for that night’s shelter. leehan was in charge of taking the night shift, allowing you and taesan to rest up. when the stranger went off to sleep on the makeshift bed, you were left alone with leehan.
you watched how he cleaned his gun with a rag stained with dark splotches. the moon gleamed through the window—it can’t compare to how leehan shines.
you needed to get some sleep, is what you tell yourself. with one spin, you were about to make your way to where you’d sleep for that night.
“are we really not?” you halted in your tracks. “did it mean nothing?”
not a single answer left your mouth. your eyes remained straightforward as you refused to meet his gaze.
the warmth vanished with a lack of an answer. instead, it was replaced once more with the cold—the void—that attempted to consume you whole.
and when a scornful chuckle left leehan, you knew that you’d burnt the bridge. you walked away, leaving him to do his job, bidding farewell to the closest form of a safe haven.
two weeks went by and another goodbye had to be done. taesan stood in front of you two, a grin on his lips while tears streamed down his face. his arm was out, revealing a bite mark. the veins near the wound had already turned black. he would’ve turned in a few hours.
“go out.” those were leehan’s first words to you since that night in the convenience store.
you remember the last thing you told taesan before you left the room—you’ll get to your safe haven. the sobs that spilled out of him are ones you’ll never forget. and when you shut the door behind you, it took 20 seconds until you heard a gunshot.
the weight got heavier once more.
another two weeks went by, and you and leehan found yourselves standing in front of the remains of a safe haven. the fences were torn down. streaks of dark red littered over pavements. not a single sight of a soul lived.
still, you two trudged your way through the town, all the way until you reached leehan’s house. like others, his was abandoned. the cream walls were littered with red strokes and vines. when you both entered, you didn’t miss how leehan’s eyes lingered on a photo hung on the wall—a picture of him and his parents.
you gave him all the time he needed to explore, to sit with the mess, while you stayed in the living room. as you sat on the couch that had gathered dust, you caught sight of a bowl of plastic produce that rested on the coffee table. it held a variety of fruits whose paint had chipped: watermelon, chestnut, and fig.
but amidst the crowd of old, torn-down, plastic fruits, a pear and an orange leaned against each other as grime collected on them. once your hands reached out to the fruits, you pulled them apart—a mess of green and orange stained the two.
he came back to you in 30 minutes, eyes glistening with tears. yet, he only gave you a nod, and you two went to another house.
you then stood in front of your old house with leehan by your side. weeds grew in the front yard, and the wooden exterior has turned a few shades darker. silence settled between you two.
to be back in a place you grew up in, where all your memories live, is a process—a grieving one. being face-to-face with the damage brought by the infected can only remind you of what you had and could’ve had.
and once you made your way to your childhood room, you were reminded of all your hopes and dreams before the outbreak. dust rested on top of books. the laptop on your desk had no charge. potted plants have withered.
when you approached the picture frames found on your table, your hand darted out to a photograph of you and sungho. there was no occasion when that picture was taken—the fact that you two were together was enough for it to be remembered. memorialized.
as you made your way back down the stairs, you saw leehan crouched in front of the console table with eyes trained on photographs. “was this your high school graduation?” you approached him and saw the picture he was referring to, you who stood beside sungho with a big grin as his lips were on your temple.
“yeah,” you said as you crouched beside leehan. “we knew each other back when i was a freshman.” your fingers trailed on the wooden frame, gathering the dust before flicking it away. despite your efforts, it was still covered in grime, but you didn’t mind.
“and you stayed together since?” all you did was hum. “did you find anything up there?”
for the first time since you entered your old house, you looked at leehan and he met your gaze. your eyes trailed his features. the eyes that speak of a thousand words. the lips that once kissed yours.
and it hit you like the gunshot that filled your ears, the breeze that rustled the leaves that one night, the doors that shut close. it was 20 months since the outbreak happened, 13 months since you lost sungho, and 11 months since jaehyun told you his last words.
but it was also 13 months spent with leehan, choosing to survive with him.
“yeah.”
you found a lot of things within those four walls. there were books you once read growing up, stuffed toys you slept with, and the one picture of you and sungho; they’re the remaining pieces you have left of a life that was good.
you would’ve kept it all, rebuilt the life that was ripped away by the hands of the infected—
“but nothing to hold on to.”
they’re memories, ones you’ll carry with you, but ones worth moving on from.
“oh,” he said as his eyes still held your gaze. “okay.”
and with one exhale, you said, “let’s rebuild it, just a place for us two.”
it was a whirlwind of emotions in leehan’s eyes, ones you can’t identify. for a moment, you thought he’d say no. maybe he decided that 13 months was enough. one more day with you would be too much, and—
“okay.” when his hand reached out for yours, linking fingers with you like all other times, you gave him a small smile.
when you and leehan stood up, you made your way out of the house, off to find a place just for you two—a safe haven to last you many tomorrows with him.
a month passed. the safe haven was rebuilt; the fences stood strong with electrical wires and barbed wires, and the town was cleaned of all remnants of grime and blood. the two of you took up different tasks ranging from cleaning, cooking, building, and maintaining the haven.
but while you were okay with a knife, accidents did happen. “fuck!”
“what happened?” you remember how leehan came rushing in, only to see you pressing on the skin around the cut on your finger.
before you knew it, you were sitting down with him as he wrapped gauze around the wound. “leehan, it’s just a cut. i’ll be fine.”
“still, i don’t want you getting hurt.” you watched how his eyes were focused on treating your finger. “i’ll be in charge of cooking now.”
you shook your head. “no, i like to cook. i want to cook for us.” his gaze then met yours, his filled with worry while yours filled with determination. they flickered back to your finger and his hands busied themselves with covering it up.
once he was done, his hand continued to hold yours. you remember the heat of his thumb as it drew patterns on your hand. he’s etched himself onto you.
his eyes met yours once more, and he said, “okay, just let me help out.” all you gave him was a nod.
another month went by, and you woke up to the sound of gunshots. you remember how hazy your vision was that night, fresh from sleep but panic coursing through your veins. and when you looked beside you to only see an empty spot, you didn’t think twice about rushing out of bed.
when you exited the house, you saw leehan holding his gun, firing at the people who attempted to tear down the haven’s fences. “leehan!” he looked back at you and you caught sight of the crimson that poured out of his abdomen.
another gunshot was fired, grazing leehan’s leg, and he fell to his knees. you ran to him, reaching out to rest your hand on the wound as you began to sob. “fuck! you have to stay with me.” with his arm resting around your shoulders, you dragged him back to the house.
you set him on the table and moved his hand to hold where he was shot. “hold it.” you rushed to where the medical supplies were stored and gathered whatever you could hold. when you got back, you saw how blood continued to spill out.
you got to work, focused on trying to patch him up, making sure he stays. “you can’t go. i won’t let it happen.” and while your hands busied themselves with treating the injury, you remember how leehan’s hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away the spilled tears.
“in the basement, there’s a piece of paper that has all the codes. if you ever—”
“no, you’ll be okay.”
still, he continued to talk. “if you ever forget the codes, you can always look at the paper. don’t forget that you need to always check the water system every two days, and—”
“leehan!” you croaked out his name in between sobs. “you’ll be okay. you have to, okay?” the more he went on about what to keep in mind, the baggage got heavier. “i can’t do this without you. i won’t allow it.”
because 15 months ago, you would’ve bid farewell to the mayhem. 13 months ago, you hoped for time to drag you away. 12 months ago, you would’ve walked into the forest. but it’s been 22 months, and you were still walking on this earth, choosing to live amidst the chaos—so long as leehan was with you.
and when you leaned your forehead on his, eyes closed, you felt his breath graze against your lips. “i need you.”
all it took were three words from you. “okay.”
it’s been two months since that happened. the safe haven was rebuilt once more. you and leehan fortified the defense system, hoping they’ll be enough to keep any infected and raiders out. all that matters is that you two were protected—safe—from the chaos.
now, you sit on a couch as you flip through the pages of a book you didn’t have time to read before the outbreak. when all responsibilities vanished, you were able to find enough time to do things you couldn’t do then.
you were ready to get yourself sucked into the world of the novel, but leehan came into the living room with his hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips. “do you remember what you made me promise you before?”
you frown at him, confused, until he shows you an acoustic guitar. “oh my god, you found one?” you put the book on the coffee table.
he takes a seat beside you, body facing towards you as he rests the instrument on his lap. “here, front-row tickets to my first show.” you almost laughed because this is no stadium or club, but a home—one you built with him.
it takes only one smile from him for you to hold it back.
“any song requests?” he strums on the guitar strings, perfectly in tune. it’s almost as if he tuned it before coming to you.
a hum leaves you as you rest your head on your hand propped on the couch. “whatever you want to show me.”
it takes him a few seconds, fingers fiddling with the strings, until he figures out what to play. when he sings out the words—dearest, darling, my universe—you melt like the candles you lit up those nights. as he continues to play a song of a world in hysteria but a love that endures, that’s when you realize what you’ve had all this time.
time is the one thing that occupies your mind. it holds value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and you learned to revolve your life around it.
it takes you two years to figure out that life doesn’t end after the outbreak—and 17 months to realize that your safe haven is not a two-story house with an orange tree in the garden but the boy in front of you.
when you lean closer to him, his fingers falter, messing up the chords. your hand reaches out to caress his face as your eyes flicker to his lips. you don’t miss how leehan holds his breath, how he stops playing the guitar, how his eyes look back at yours—it’s a slurry of warmth. tenderness.
“i love you.”
all it took was a three-word phrase from you for him to close the distance.
the warmth that spreads within you is like the one you experience in the abandoned cabin. but now, you’re full of hope—a reason to stay—in an infected-ridden world.
now, only one question echoes within your mind: how much longer do we have?
an eternity is what you hope.
tag list: @onedoornet @kflixnet @loserlvrss @lionhanie @nicholasluvbot
@blumisiu @0310s @icyminghao @shegotthewoobies
ੈ✩‧₊˚ bnd with pregnant!reader
ot5 bnd x reader [fluff, afab!reader, pregnant!reader]
a/n - i just felt a bit weird writing woonhak, considering he’s younger than me idk,, hope you still enjoy!!!
sungho🎀 [4 months along]
“wait! wait, wait,” he said quickly, slamming the car door on his side before running round and opening your own.
you chuckled, “thank you, ba–”
“here,” he said, taking your hand, placing his other hand on your back as he helped you out the car.
“sungho,” you sighed, as he rushed to grab your bag and lock the car before ushering you inside, “sungho!”
he stopped, turning to you. he’d just reached the front door of your house, key in his hand as he stopped.
“you need to stop fussing over me,” you laughed, “i’m fine. i’m barely even showing yet!”
sungho sighed, placing his hand protectively on your back as the two of you walked inside, “i know. i’m sorry, i just– i already worried about everything when you were just you! now it’s you and our baby, in one person?! everyday i think i’m going to combust when i think about it.”
you collapsed on the sofa, your body tired and achey. even if you weren’t showing, pregnancy was still doing a number on your body. you laughed at your husband’s words, beckoning him to your side, “i need you to be normal, for my own sanity. and i need you to calm down, for your own health.”
he nodded, leaning on your shoulder, wrapping his arm round your waist, “i’ll try.” he sighed in contentment, his thumb rubbing gently on your stomach, “that was a good scan today.”
you nodded, placing your hand over his, “i love hearing their heartbeat.”
sungho grinned, looking to you and nodding, “i know, makes it feel real that there’s a little person in there! i can’t believe it.” he quietened down again quickly, massaging your legs he knew were aching, kissing your forehead softly. “son or daughter?”
you chuckled, placing your hands over your stomach and humming, “i have no idea.”
“come on,” sungho jeered, “mum’s instinct?”
you smiled, butterflies erupting at the sound of being called mum for the first time, “the instinct is that they’re beautiful and loved, no matter what.”
“yeah…” your husband hummed, “but a daughter would be lovely, right?”
you giggled, nodding as you played with his hair, “and you’d spoil her completely, i’m sure.”
riwoo 🦦🍡 [3 months along]
“was that a dream?”
you hummed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before snuggling into your husband’s chest, “what?”
“last night,” he said, staring at the ceiling. he glanced at you, a small smile on his face as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. “i could swear i had a dream that you told me you were pregnant.”
you giggled, “hmm, i wonder why.”
riwoo chuckled, “i can’t believe it. i feel like i need to do something… tell someone? buy something?”
you laughed, “just hold on. i think we should wait until 20 weeks to tell people. that’s what they suggest, anyway.”
“sounds good,” he nodded, sighing with contentment, “wow. i mean, before the years over we’re gonna have a baby. at christmas! oh wow. do you think it’s gonna be a boy or a girl?”
you giggled, closing your eyes from sleepiness, “i don’t know, sanghyuk.”
“i need to research,” he hummed, stroking your hair, “i don’t know anything about pregnancy or babies.”
“did you know they can already hear?” you smiled, rolling onto your back and placing your hand on your stomach. nothing was showing, but just the idea was exciting. riwoo looked shocked, scooting down the bed and resting his head on your chest, his hand on your lower stomach.
“they can hear me?” he smiled, stroking the skin softly.
“yeah,” you said, stroking riwoo’s hair, “go on, say something. i’ve done it a couple times.”
“okay,” he chuckled, humming for a moment as he swiped his hand over your stomach, “hey baby. i– i don’t know anything about you yet. haven’t even seen a scan. but i’m your dad. um… i guess you’ll get to know me pretty well. i’m excited to meet you, in 7 months. it feels long, but i’m sure it’ll go by quickly, and then you can celebrate christmas with me and your mum. speaking of your mum… you’re inside her now, so she’ll take good care of you. but i hope you treat her well too, don’t make her too ill. um… i don’t really know what else to say so i’ll say bye for now but i’ll speak to you again soon, okay? i’ll play you one of my songs too! feel free to kick or whatever to respond if you like it–”
“five months.”
“hmm?”
“usually you don’t feel the baby kick until five months,” you smiled, stroking your husband’s hair back as he turned his face to look at your face now, instead of your stomach.
he frowned, “that’s so long.”
“come on, we have to get up now,” you groaned, stretching before sitting up.
“okay,” riwoo sighed, pressing a quick kiss to your stomach and leaping out of bed, “i’ll start the coffee— oh.”
you grumbled, glaring at him, “don’t rub it in.”
jaehyun🪻🐕 [6 months along]
“hiya pretty girl,” he said, bursting into a smile as you wandered into the living room.
you glared at your husband, “don’t patronise me.”
“i’m not,” jaehyun laughed, “come on, sit down, i’ll rub your feet.”
“you will?” you asked, almost tearing up in gratitude.
“of course!” he exclaimed, voice soft like a melody as he helped you onto the sofa before pulling your legs up so they were resting in his lap.
“sorry i was grumpy,” you said sheepishly, as he started massaging your soft-covered feet and legging-covered calves.
“it’s okay,” he beamed, “be as grumpy with me as you want, my girl! you’re carrying my baby.”
one of his hands trailed up to rest on the bottom of your rounded stomach. you smiled, placing your hand over his before dragging it upwards to where your daughter’s little feet were kicking repetitively.
“woah, harsh!” he gasped over-dramatically, rubbing the spot with his thumb.
jaehyun was good at leaving you to your own devices during pregnancy, knowing that too much worrying and fussiness would be overbearing for your already over-loaded body and mind, but sometimes you didn’t mind a bit of fuss.
“do you want anything particular for dinner?” he asked, moving back to massaging your feet.
you hummed, “no, i don’t have anything in mind. you can choose.”
“okay,” he said suspiciously, “but i’ll check with you first, yeah? i want you to eat.”
you smiled, nodding and going back to your phone.
“oh check your emails, by the way,” he said, barely even looking at you as he spoke, “i ordered some things for the nursery.”
you clicked on the app, eyes widening at the confirmation email you’d received that morning. “some things?! jaehyun, this is the whole nursery!”
“well we needed to get it done, right?” he shrugged.
“oh thank you,” you cooed, removing your legs from his lap and instead cuddling into his side, “how did you know i was stressing about that last night?”
“you wrote it on a post-it note to remind yourself, and then forgot to put it up,” he chuckled, kissing your forehead, “no need to worry anymore, though.”
you sighed, pregnancy brain ruining your ability to even think anymore, “thank you, love.”
“that’s okay, pretty girl,” he smiled down at you, “and hey, why don’t we go clothes shopping soon? hmm? you know we’re gonna love that.”
you smiled, nodding as jaehyun pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “you’re the best.”
taesan 🎸🐈⬛ [7 months along]
“dongmin, have you seen my tape?”
“woah,” he smirked, sitting up on the bed as he ogled you in the doorway.
“what?” you sighed.
you were stood wearing nothing but a crop top that only covered your boobs nowadays, with booty shorts, and your hair which had finally had a wash after a week was put away messily.
“you look gorgeous,” he blinked, face unwavering as you rolled your eyes.
“please,” you scoffed, practically waddling over to your husband.
he smiled, “no, i’m serious. i don’t think i’ve ever been more turned on. god you’re sexy.”
“oh my god keep it in your pants! i’m already pregnant,” you rolled your eyes, standing in front of him, “now can you answer my question?”
“your tape? oh the belly supporter one? yeah, it’s in the dresser,” he hummed, “i’ll get it, you sit down.”
he swapped your positions so you were sat on the edge of the bed and he wandered over to grab the tape, coming and helping you stand back up to put it in position.
“how could you possibly find me sexy right now?” you laughed, looking at yourself in the mirror as you planned where to put the tape to support your body the most.
“cause you’re all mine,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder as he stood behind you, “and everyone knows it. and you’re so cool, you’re carrying a person, our person.”
you smiled, taesan’s hands snaking round your waist and resting on your stomach as his head rested on your shoulder.
“sorry i find cool and powerful women so sexy,” he shrugged.
“wow you’re such a feminist,” you laughed, taesan shaking his head as he chuckled. “speaking of, how’s the nursery coming along?”
“nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, princess,” he hummed, kissing your shoulder as he went and grabbed his laptop off the bed, “in two weeks it’ll be done, and we’ll be fully ready for our little guy. okay?”
you nodded, smiling as taesan continued to stand behind you, admiring you in the mirror. you basked in the moment for a while longer, sighing in contentment as you leaned against his body.
“fuck,” you cursed under your breath, seeing a large wet spot appear on your crop top.
“fuck,” taesan murmured, “i need to get you pregnant more often.”
you glared at him, “not helping.”
leehan🪸🐠 [5 months along - warning: mentions of like,, being able to see the baby move? some people find that gross so i wanted to leave a warning😭]
“y/n?”
“up here!” you called from the bedroom, as leehan came through the front door after work.
you heard your husband sprinting up the stairs, two at a time as he usually did, appearing in the bedroom doorway with a goofy smile on his face.
“hey, how was your— woah.”
he stopped his question, looking at your rounded stomach which was seemingly moving beneath the skin.
“this is so freaky,” you chuckled, “i mean, interesting. but weird, right?”
“that is so cool,” he said, quickly coming to the side of the bed and kneeling down, peering closely at the skin.
you laughed, “she’s really in there, huh?”
“hey, baby,” leehan spoke, poking your stomach gently, “why you wriggling so much? you uncomfortable?”
you chuckled at his words, stroking the hair on the back of his head as he resting his chin on the mattress.
“wah,” he spoke, placing a hand flat on your stomach, letting it be moved by your unborn child, “wah. hi baby, it’s daddy. remember me?”
“i hope so, considering you speak to her twice a day,” you laughed.
he smiled, kissing his fingers and pressing it to the skin. he continued to blink, in a quiet fascination of your baby, and of you, for carrying her inside you.
“is it uncomfortable?”
“no,” you shook your head, “feels weird though. i couldn’t even describe it if i wanted to.”
he nodded thoughtfully, “how long has she been doing this?”
“all afternoon,” you said, before adding sheepishly, “i phoned the doctor at first. they were a bit pissed at me, i think, cause it turns out it’s absolutely nothing to worry about. but i just thought this movement seemed excessive, right?!”
“yeah, they’re a dick,” leehan said, voice almost emotionless, “you’re just worried for your baby, you’re being a good mum.”
you smiled, “thanks, love. anyway, they said she’s probably just moving position, but it’s early enough that they’re confident she’ll move back before it’s time to come out.”
“she’s just an acrobat, hmm?”
“or a dancer, maybe?” you smiled, leehan looking at you shyly before looking back to your stomach.
“i want to name her sua,” he said, suddenly.
“sua?” you repeated, “as in… water themed?”
he nodded, “either that or i name her after a fish, so it’s up to you.”
you laughed, leaning over and kissing his head, “sua sounds perfect.”
hi im back… any thoughts about rough!dom leehan? i need to be a brat for him, degraded constantly, slapped, manhandled and for him to use a bunch of restraints just everything rough and painful hahah like yes make me cry 😍 i just need him to use me i feel crazy
- 🪷
rough-dom!leehan would be very into all of that and more! he definitely has the motto 'try everything at least once'. i've mentioned a lot that he likes toys, and he's not shy about using them either. he'd thoroughly test out various combinations of what all he can use on you at the same time, stretching you thin from all the orgasms he pulls out of you. on another hand, i don't see him using his strength a lot, but when he does, it would mostly be to mess with you. whether it be pushing you onto the bed or flipping you over, he would still rather tell you what to do than to do it himself. that way, he can praise you for listening to him well. manhandling would come out if you're being a brat and don't listen to what he tells you to do. now i might be projecting but leehan would also love to hear you degrade yourself. he gets off on it in fact. listening to you call yourself his cumtoy, sex whore, slutty hole, etc, would leave him needing to fuck you multiple times through. it's one thing for you to repeat what he calls you, but it's another to hear you say it all on your own. that, in my opinion, is what he finds the hottest.
pain would also be prominently seen through the way he would like to have you submit. common ways for him to give that would be through slapping, spanking, and of course restraining. but outside of those, he would also dabble in temperature play, mostly hot wax. he'd pour it on your tied up body, drawing shapes and writing words mindlessly as you're trying hard to keep quiet. tears would brim your eyes and you'd be biting onto your ball gag tightly, breath shaky as you're suppressing your moans. he would punish you if you didn't listen to what he had asked of you, expecting obedience and compliance in return for giving you pleasure through pain.
good morning. have been thinking abt sungho again (shocking i know..) but. what if dom sungho maybe injured his leg at practice (like not Badly ofc but pulled muscles or something) n is told he has to stay in bed and rest. like sungho getting all pent up n needy bc he Loves being on top and taking care of you but he literally can’t and it’s up to you to take care of Him n make him feel good (and maybe sit on his face if he begs for it enough) idk i Need sungho all whiny and frustrated bc he just wants to take over n fuck you stupid but all he can do is tell you how to ride him and help you with his hands on your hips.. 🐶
puppy i literally have not stopped thinking about this ask since i got it AHHHHHHH i love your mind
injured dom!sungho not being able to top you like you deserve to be really would drive him insane. he'd be so big on treating you like a princess that any moment where he can't would make him so upset. he'd whine about how he shouldn't have hurt himself, his injury messing with his emotions. and he'd be so frustrated every time you both are making out, getting denied any movement to flip you over so he could be on top like he's so used to :( every time, the only way he's able to make you feel good is by letting you ride him. he would always praise and apologize to you simultaneously for doing so much work to give yourself the pleasure you deserve. he's happy to know that you are able to use him when you need him, but he still wants you to not have to worry about anything,
after he's all healed or close to being fully healed though, i can see a scenario of you telling him to just relax. even though he's able to move normally once again, you tell him not to do any work and leave it all up to you. he hesitates to agree but ultimately lets you have your way as you sit him down and get between his knees. your mouth would work on him slowly, telling him how he's always so good to you even while he was injured, but he should also be able to feel the same. he can't help but soften his gaze as he smiles at you, one hand going to your hair to pull you closer to him, making you slightly choke on his girth. he'd chuckle and apologize quickly, helping you readjust your mouth to take him better. he knows he's big but he also knows that you would give back to him just as much as he gives to you, and that makes him love you more.
SONG FIC SUNGHO PLEASE…
- your new anon ☁️ (ilysungho! but ill go by the emoji cuz it’s easier)
saw your post with all your upcoming works and ran SPRINTED to anon msg so fast
song fic!💋
now playing… she’s a baby by zico
park sungho x reader [fluff, fem!reader - she/her pronouns used]
a/n - ahhhh hello my luv!!!!! i’m so sorry this took so long to get round to especially since i LOVE your blog, you ALWAYS deliver😚 hope you enjoy! (also i simply decided to pretend the last lyric doesnt exist cause i wanted fluff)
15:36 - “come on,” sungho smiled, shaking you awake in the back of the taxi, “y/n? we’re home. let’s get upstairs so you can sleep properly.”
you whined, stretching out your body and mumbling an apology to the driver before getting out after sungho. your boyfriend slung his own bag as well as yours over his shoulder before offering his hand to you. you yawned, wrapping your hand around his finger as if instinctual (though, it was at this point - sungho had been persuading you to hold his hand like this for so long and in your sleepy state, you forgot you didn’t have to). he pursed his lips for a moment in order to not explode at your cuteness, glancing up at the sky, before heading inside the apartment building.
“come on, sleepyhead,” he smiled, your body quickly following along behind him. once in the elevator, sungho sighed in satisfaction, pulling you into his body. you were so often the one planning, carrying out errands, and running around for friends and family; sungho had practically made it his mission when you first met to be the one person in your life who would give you a break. before he knew it, the change had already happened in front of his eyes.
entering the dorm building, you waved a sleepy greeting to the boys sat around, sungho paying them no mind as he beckoned you into his bedroom.
“come on, little love,” he said, his voice smooth as he instructed you to undress quickly, grabbing the pyjamas he’d bought after he saw you looking at them in a shop the other day, “you wanna wear these?”
“are they mine?!” you gasped, sungho nodding with a smile as he kissed your forehead.
“if you want them?”
“of course i do!” you giggled, quickly getting changed and getting under sungho’s sheets, the man tidying up the clothes just taken off and the various bags collected from your date today.
he walked to the bedside, ready to chat for a while as you liked to do before sleeping; only to find you lightly snoring against the pillow.
sungho smiled, pulling the duvet up around your body before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your head, “sleep well, baby.” he walked out the room, closing the door with a light click.
“hyung! come—”
“shh!” sungho exclaimed quickly, finger to his lips as he glared at woonhak stood outside his bedroom door, having just exited the bathroom. he grabbed his arm, dragging him to the living room where the other members were spread around, “y/n has just fallen asleep, okay?! leave her.”
woonhak suppressed a laugh, surrendering innocently, “sorry, hyung. didn’t realise we had a sleeping baby in the house.”
sungho sighed, rolling his eyes as he joined the boys in their game of fifa, “shut up. she’s special to me, okay? just let her sleep.”
extra? ->
16:56 - “oh?” riwoo laughed, watching you appear from sungho’s bedroom, “someone’s awake.”
you giggled, continuing to rub the sleep from your eyes as you waved. looking around the room, only riwoo, leehan and sungho remained, playing diligently. you caught sungho’s eye and he smiled, almost proudly, as you laughed.
wordlessly, you left the doorway and sunk onto the floor beside him, his arms opening up to invite you into his warm body.
“sleep well?”
you nodded into his chest, arms linked around his waist as he chuckled, rubbing your arm as he pressed a kiss to your head, “good. my baby.”
ㅤ୨ৎ ｡｡ MAKE MY HEART MELT IN YOUR ARMS, BABY ────── 보이넥스트도어
𝑓emale 𝑟eader ⟡ 1874 words / fluff , established relationship ✶ skinship , kissing ! ( click for more ) — @kstrucknet & @k-films & @sgz-net
alternatively ───── when they pull you on their lap.
myung jaehyun.
you’re sitting on the couch, the room bathed in dim light, and a movie is playing. a movie you’ve both seen a hundred times, but you never seem to get tired of it. even though you know the entire plot by heart, with every scene memorized, you’re still so engrossed. jaehyun, however, had grown bored within the first five minutes, now fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie, hoping you’d notice and do something to entertain him. but you’re too focused on the screen, completely unaware of his subtle signals.
any other night, jaehyun would’ve been able to get through the movie with ease. usually, you’d be cuddling him, or letting him rest his head on your lap while you played with his hair. but tonight, you’re on the other side of the couch, and jaehyun’s patience is running thin. he needs your attention, and he needs it now.
he scoots a little closer, but you don’t even glance at him. he scoots even closer, still no response from you. finally, he can’t take it anymore. with a small whine, he tugs at your shirt, making you finally turn to face him.
“what?” you ask casually, not yet realizing what he’s up to.
another tug at your shirt, more insistent this time. “jaehyun, what—”
before you can finish, he pulls you onto his lap, catching you completely off guard. you land on his lap with a surprised yelp, and before you can protest, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. he buries his face in your neck, nuzzling his face against your cheek. “this is better,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your skin as he places a few open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.
it’s hard to argue with him when he’s holding you like this. so you just bite back a giggle, melting into his embrace and resting comfortably against your boyfriend’s chest.
park sungho.
you’re pacing back and forth around the room, rambling for what feels like forever, hands moving animatedly as you explain new ideas for a project you’re working on. sungho’s head is starting to pound from watching you move around like a damn pendulum, your energy practically buzzing in the air.
just when you pass by him again, he can't take it anymore. he reaches out, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap. his arms secure you in place, pulling you close, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, breathing softly against the skin of your neck. “you’re making me dizzy,” he mutters, his tone light but his hands gently resting on your hips, a calm anchor against your whirlwind energy.
you’re still talking, but now your voice is softer, less intense. his warm breath against your neck makes it hard to focus. you can feel your heart do a little flip in your chest as you try to concentrate, but it’s nearly impossible with sungho staring at you, looking up at you with those big doe eyes that are full of admiration and something else—a softness that makes your stomach flutter.
you can’t help but smile, the words slowing down as you realize how much you’ve been rambling, your heart racing a little faster under his steady gaze. “sungho,” you murmur, and his arms tighten around you slightly, as if he’s making sure you stay right where he wants you.
“i’m listening,” he says, his voice low and a little teasing, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness in it as he looks up at you with that lovesick expression. and for a moment, everything else fades away. nothing matters except for the way he’s looking at you, holding you in his arms, making you feel like you’re the only thing in the world worth focusing on.
lee riwoo.
you’re pouting, arms crossed as you tap your feet against the ground impatiently, clearly upset about something. maybe it’s something silly, like a text you didn’t get a reply to, or someone stealing your food that you were looking forward to eating. whatever it is, riwoo can’t help but notice the way your lips are puffed out. it’s cute, but it’s also driving him crazy.
"hey," he says softly, patting his thighs. "come here."
you glance at him, a little surprised by the sudden request, but before you can protest, he’s already reaching out and pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you in close. the warmth of his embrace sends a little shiver down your spine, but you’re still too focused on your pout to fully let go.
"riwoo," you mutter, trying to squirm away, your blush spreading quickly across your cheeks. "i’m fine. i don’t need you to—"
"shhh," he cuts you off gently, his hand coming to rest on your lower back, keeping you exactly where he wants you. "you’re fine right here, okay?"
“hey, let me go,” you say, but it’s half-hearted, because being this close to him feels nice.
“nah,” he says with a grin, his fingers lightly tapping on your side. “i think you like it. besides, you know i can’t stand it when you pout.”
you roll your eyes, but you can’t fight the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. he pulls you a little closer, making sure you stay exactly where he wants you. “now stop being all grumpy. i can’t handle it.”
you finally stop squirming, relaxing into him, and he just grins, clearly satisfied with himself. he playfully pinches your side, the mood light, and for the first time today, you forget whatever it was you were upset about.
han taesan.
you were mad at taesan for whatever reason—maybe he forgot to do a chore you asked him to, maybe he left the toilet seat up, or maybe he forgot to kiss you goodnight last night. it didn’t really matter. all taesan cared about right now was making it up to you. he’d do anything to get you to talk to him again.
he was sitting in his chair, working on the new album, but the ideas just weren’t coming. he didn’t even care about the damn song anymore; all he cared about was getting your attention. you were in the same room, doing mundane tasks here and there, but not once did you glance at him. he let out a frustrated sigh, fed up with your cold shoulder. the silence between you two was driving him crazy, and he couldn’t focus on anything else.
finally, he pushed back in his chair and leaned forward, grabbing your wrist with a gentle but firm tug, pulling you towards him. “taesan,” you gasped, caught off guard as he tugged you back, your knees hitting the chair before you ended up in his lap. your breath hitched at the sudden shift, and before you could even react, his hands locked around your waist, holding you firmly in place as if he wasn’t going to let you go anywhere.
“can’t believe you’re giving me the silent treatment,” he said with a pout, his lips brushing against your shoulder before resting his chin there. his eyes met yours, and with a small smirk, he asked, “you’re not mad at me anymore, right?”
how could you be?
kim leehan.
you were just finishing up the last touches of your makeup, standing in front of the mirror with a brush in hand, trying to apply just the right amount of blush. the room was quiet, only the soft hum of music in the background. you thought you were alone, but the door creaked open, and before you could turn around, you felt the weight of someone’s gaze on you.
a small smile tugged at your lips. leehan had a way of sneaking in unnoticed, always so sure of himself. you kept your focus on the mirror, pretending not to notice him at first.
but you could feel his eyes on you, tracing every movement. was he doing it on purpose or just caught up in how you looked? you couldn’t tell.
after a moment of silence, you glanced over your shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “are you just going to stand there and stare?” you teased.
he didn’t flinch, just grinned. “just admiring my pretty girl.”
before you could respond, he was already walking toward you, slow and sure, and within seconds, you found yourself being pulled into his lap. you gasped slightly, surprised by the sudden move, but your heart skipped a beat when his arms wrapped around you, pulling you snugly against his chest.
"leehan, what the hell—" you started, but the words died in your throat as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then your temple, and then your jaw.
“you look so beautiful,” he murmured between each kiss, his lips lingering against your skin, making you shiver slightly at the softness of his touch.
you tried to pull away, but his hold on you was firm. "leehan, I’m trying to finish," you muttered, but the soft kisses he was placing along your neck had you melting into him, your resolve weakening with each one.
"you’re already perfect," he whispered, placing a kiss right beneath your ear. “no need to rush, I just need a little more of you.”
you rolled your eyes, though the playful smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. "you're ridiculous," you sighed before finally relaxing into him.
kim woonhak.
woonhak had been grumpy all day. ever since he came home from work, it had been one sigh after another, banging doors, and muttering under his breath. you decided to give him space, not wanting to push him further, especially when you weren't sure what had set him off. so you sat on the couch, reading your book, trying to stay out of his way.
but then, without warning, woonhak flopped down beside you on the couch, pulling you onto his lap with a low grumble. you were caught off guard, your book slipping from your hands as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. you instinctively squirmed, surprised by the sudden shift in his mood. he'd been in such a sour mood all day, and now here he was, acting like he couldn't get enough of you.
"hey," he murmured, his voice low and warm against your skin. "i think i need a little attention from my favorite person." you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way his voice softened, a stark contrast to his earlier grumpiness. his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close, and his lips brushed against your cheek in a light kiss.
you tried to shift, attempting to regain your personal space, but he just tightened his hold, pulling you further against him. "what are you doing?" you asked, voice half-amused, half-confused.
"shh," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "you know i can’t stand it when you're all distant. now, relax." you rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. there was no resisting him when he got like this—soft, warm, and just a little needy.
"fine," you mutter, rolling your eyes, but you can’t resist resting back against him, a smile tugging at your lips.
• feedback 🗯 reblogs ───── highly appreciated ˆᗜˆ
tags ( boynextdoor ) @voikiraz , @coquettejunnie , @hanninova , @chaeneu , @aloe-7 , @en-dream
hiii
may i req 5, 51, 46 with vry soft dom leehan & sick/slightly feverish needy and a little frazzled (bc feverish nd stuff) sub reader 🥺
a/n: hi love! thank you for asking and i’m so sorry for how long it took to put this out… enjoy nonetheless and lmk your thoughts! wc: 0.7k contains: soft dom!leehan x sub!reader, reader is sick/has a fever, fingering, lowercase intended, prompts italicized
coughs and sneezes echoed through the walls of your room as you sat on the bed, sniffling with a red nose and a trash can full of dirty tissues. but still, your fever wasn't enough to hide the smell of the hearty soup leehan prepared for you. or well, ordered and is reheating at the moment.
he stepped into your bedroom with a cute apron around his waist, reading "kiss the chef". you bought it for yourself, being the cook between the two of you, but it was a treat to see him dressed like so.
"may i kiss the chef?" you smiled as he leaned down to check you temperature, the back of his hand on your forehead. he looked confused but quickly realized it was his apron you referred to.
"no, you may not. i love you but who's going to take care of you if i get sick?" he gave his signature smile, eyes forming into the beautiful crescent shapes. you pouted, thinking about how you haven't kissed him in the past 2 days from being so sick.
the pout almost made your boyfriend cave in, but he stayed strong. well… a compromise could surely be made right? he was never one to deny when you wanted something after all.
“ok how about this. you let me take care of you, yeah? i’ll do the work.”
“care how though? you’ve already been doing so m-” a hush followed by his finger on your lips made you quiet as he sat beside you, bringing you to sit on top of his lap. you gasped at the shift in position, not used to moving around a lot in the time you’ve been sick.
“lift your hips up for me, baby.”
you followed his command, already feeling hot in anticipation as he hooked his fingers onto the sides of your bottoms, pulling them down to leave your lower body bare. he caressed the supple skin of your thighs, kissing your neck in unison as he hummed words of love and praise. his fingers reached towards your clit after, touching the nub ever so gently.
as you moaned out, he slid his other hand up your shirt to provide some more stimulation through your nipples. he touched you softly, yet your fever heightened all the sensations quicker than ever before.
“you feeling good baby?” leehan kissed your neck once more as you nodded, back arching slightly. he chuckled as his fingers spread the wet slick that fell out of you around your folds. aligning his fingers in between the folds, he rubbed up and down slowly, slightly squeezing your clit every time his fingertips went close.
your lips sputtered out sounds of pleasure as you closed your eyes and grabbed the sheets below to steady yourself. he perfectly touched you, still praising you as if you were the one doing the work.
your moans turned into whines as his fingers slipped past your hole, now fingering you. his strokes were slow, but every single one led to you feeling more on edge than before. maybe it's the sickness that has you feeling extra sensitive, but leehan loves how you are getting so excited so quickly.
he's done this many times before, so he knew exactly which buttons to press to get you to come for him. you felt his fingers explore you, curling into you as you moaned out your boyfriend's name in a sultry voice. he chuckled as he kept going, kissing your shoulders one again as you shook under him.
“leehan i-”
“i know baby, just let go.” he breathed against your ear, pulling his fingers out and stimulating your clit once again. and you got the exactly you needed to finally let go and release on his hands. your body limp, you laid against leehan’s chest as you breathed out until you came back to your senses.
leehan put you down on the bed as he got up to go to the kitchen once again. but before he left, he leaned down and kissed your forehead while whispering a softly exhaled, “i don’t think i can ever get enough of you.”
