tropes: domestic life, established relationship || warnings: fluff, bf seungcheol, drunk seungcheol, mentions of alcohol (soju), reader is whipped for him (and coups is eating it UP), skinship, kissing, slight manhandling (coups pulls reader onto his lap), pet names - babe (seungcheol), oh they're WHIPPED
word count: 822 || writing for: @k-records || listening to: omg - nwjns (i miss them..☹️)
a/n: guess who's actually not dead!! sorry this update took like YEARS to happen...i had no writing spark and then when it ACTUALLY came my internet went out for a week and 2 days 😐 consider this cheol fic as an apology of sorts!! hope u guys like it <3 ALSO thank user @kyeomiis for this genius idea...drunk bf coups you will forever be famous!!
your boyfriend, choi seungcheol, is all man.
he strides into the living room, cheeks slightly flushed from the soju the two of you had with your dinner tonight. his grey sweatshirt does well to hide his insanely muscular figure, beanie tugged over his bed head hairstyle as he falls into the cushion beside you. seungcheol's dark eyes are wide and soft as he looks at you, large hand instantly going to your thigh as he pecks your cheek.
it feels inappropriate to call him just your boyfriend. with the way he's looking all soft and strong at the same time, making your stomach churn in the best way possible, you should call him a manfriend.
"the food was amazing, babe," seungcheol's deep voice is slightly slurred—not impossible to understand, but mumbled enough to remind you that the familiar buzz of soju is starting to set in.
you lean your head on his shoulder, hand on his chest as you smile. "so you liked it?"
"oh, i loved it." seungcheol's voice is soft as he pulls your chin towards him softly, full lips covering yours in a kiss that isn't long enough to satisfy you. "made it just the way i was craving it."
giggling at nothing in particular, you blush at seungcheol's praise, smile too big to be wiped off your face in one go. he's laughing at something too now, and whether it's you, thinking about how heavenly his dinner was, or a mixture of both—it's got him wanting to pull you into his lap and kissing you silly.
"come here, babe." there's no mistaking the soft baritone that creeps into seungcheol's voice, and you do as you're told, falling into his arms as he tugs you into his lap.
he's warm, pleasantly so, and you find yourself leaning into him for that warmth. he chuckles smugly like the proudest man alive, tilting his head to the side slightly as he speaks. "do you know how perfect you are?"
"perfect? no way—" you're cut off by seungcheol's lips quickly pecking yours, drunkenly missing them by half a centimeter before recentering himself to where he needs to be.
"ah, ah, ah. let me finish." he's pouting like a little toddler now, and it breaks your thought train instantly, tipsy mind only focused on how he makes you feel.
"you're so good to me, babe. cooking me my favorite meals, being my support and caregiver, spoiling me with kisses and love all the time—" he pauses, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before pulling you a little closer to him. "you're just so damn perfect."
you're now just centimeters away from seungcheol's lips as he glances down at them quickly, wetting his own as if subconsciously tasting you on his own lips. you're cupping seungcheol's flushed cheeks, and he's leaning into the touch, letting you close the distance and kissing him softly.
seungcheol's melting into your kiss, hands going to rub your lower back as you smile against his mouth. he sighs when you pull away, lips jutting out in his signature pout as he huffs out, "kissing me like that and then pulling away from me without warning is like least favorite thing ever."
you laugh aloud, throwing your head back as your cheeks seem to blaze at seungcheol's eyes on you. "sorry. you know how much i love teasing you."
"sadly i do," seungcheol groans exasperatedly like a little child, grinning never the less when you pull him in for another kiss and a bear hug afterwards.
"what would you do if i called you manfriend instead of boyfriend?" the question comes out of the blue, and seungcheol looks at you with a cute expression of confusion as he hums to himself.
"manfriend is a little odd, and it makes it seem like you're free for taking. and you're not. you're mine." seungcheol doesn't say the sentence in a possessive way, but the implication is more than enough to make you blush. "why would you call me that anyway?"
"well, you're just such a...a man." you say like it's obviously, quickly adding on once seungcheol gives you another confused expression. "like you're my boyfriend, yeah, but you're definitely not a boy. you're so strong, and big, and manly..."
seungcheol's grinning proudly from ear to ear when you trail off, and you roll your eyes, laughing to yourself as you finish off with, "i just don't think boyfriend fits who you are."
"it'll do for now. you could use my nickname, too. i like whatever you call me." seungcheol mumbles shyly. he leans over, laying his head on your chest as you fling your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as you smile. "okay, cheol."
he's playfully throwing you on the couch and peppering your face with kisses before you can even think to start laughing at his flustered expression.
a/n: drunk boyfriend seungcheol is the best idea to EVER be formulated ty @kyeomiis 😝 WOW its been so long since i've updated my tumblr.......pls excuse that!!!! i've been so busy with work and watching netflix that i haven't opened tumblr w the intent to post anything in what feels like AGESSS anyways!! i hope u guys liked this fic <3 reblog and comment!!
F1 driver!Lee Seokmin x fem!Reader (x ex!Choi Seungcheol)
Genre: big angst. fluff. reader overcomes a toxic relationship.
Word Count: 24.1k
Fic Content Warnings: food mentions. adult language. one suggestive scene but no explicit smut. toxic (and i cannot emphasise this enough) asshole ex!Choi Seungcheol. toxic journalists/media. something vaguely like a panic attack. confrontations that almost lead to physical fights. a tiny little car crash but no serious injuries. little cameos by my favourite drivers.
[Formula 1 AU] When your fiancé chooses his Formula 1 career over you and makes it everyone’s problem, his teammate Seokmin is not about to just sit back and watch.
♡ This fic is part of @camandemstudios Lights Out collab! Don't forget to check out the other writers' works and tell us what you think!! ♡ Big thank you to @haoboutyou for beta-reading and brainstorming with me. Couldn't have done it without you, bestie! ♡
[SPIELBERG 2024]
There he stood, right in front of the cameras, finally clad in the Red Bull Racing uniform he’d longed to wear all these years. Not only was he signed, he was their new golden child, sneaking onto the podium like it was all he knew how to do. And you couldn’t help but feel like you were being left behind.
You’d met Choi Seungcheol your first year on the paddock, back when he was just a fresh-faced rookie in a Haas uniform, not yet the absolute racing god he was now proving himself to be. Back when his eyes shone with a newfound spark every time they met yours in the crowd.
The AlphaTauri drivers laughed and winked at you every time they practically dragged him over, all too aware of his reddening face and the slight stutter he only seemed to develop around you.
“He’s good for content,” they’d joke while practically begging you to find games and challenges to do between the three of them, all while sharing conspiratorial grins and whispers you couldn’t hear.
Seungcheol seemed awkward the first few times, and you almost apologised to him for your drivers’ lack of consideration for his feelings. But he interrupted you with a shy, “I don’t mind. I kind of like it, actually, hanging out with you.”
You were smitten. How could you not be? He was handsome, he was sweet, he was humble and kind. He brought you chocolate-covered snacks whenever he snuck into the AlphaTauri hospitality. He paid no mind to the teasing comments your drivers made between filming and photo shoots, only smiling shyly when you scolded them.
When you shared your first kiss – an emotional congratulations for his first points as a Formula 1 driver –, the AlphaTauri drivers cheered as if it was their own personal accomplishment. They were certain you had found the one – a romance of the ages, a love story with a happy ending. You believed them, giggling and swatting at their arms when they teased you about the affectionate looks your boyfriend sent your way.
Two perfect years passed, an engagement ring found its way onto your finger, you moved into an apartment in Monaco together. You thought it couldn’t possibly get any better.
Then he walked in with a wide smile and said the words that would lead to your downfall: “I got signed by Red Bull Racing for next season!”
At first, it seemed good. Perhaps you should have known it was too good to be true when he got you a promotion to the main team just so you could spend more time together.
“Never should’ve introduced you to him,” Yuki half-joked when he found out, suddenly bemoaning the loss of his favourite social media manager. Now, only some months later, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had that exact same thought again with no humour at all as he watched it all burn down from the sidelines.
It was nothing grand – the end. Nothing that would catch anyone’s eyes if they weren’t looking. No snide comments, no big displays of disinterest. Only an ever-growing lack of affection.
He no longer brought you snacks, no longer saved a seat for you next to him, no longer ran over to you for a kiss after getting points. He wasn’t getting just points anymore anyway, only podiums now that he got to drive a car that could actually achieve them. No comments thanking his fiancée for support. No mention of a fiancée at all.
He dedicated his first winning champagne to his mother, his second to his father, his third to his first carting instructor. An interviewer joked that Seungcheol’s grandmother’s cat would get a dedication before his lady friend, and your fiancé looked genuinely surprised when he asked, “Have I not dedicated one to her yet?”
He dedicated the next one to his race engineer while you tried not to cry.
“That guy really can’t take a hint,” Seokmin, your fiancé’s teammate, commented and nudged your side. He was still clad in his dark blue racing suit, cheeks flushed and hair a mess from the long drive. You felt a little guilty that you hadn’t paid attention to his race, unable to even guess where he’d ended up on the leaderboard.
Not on the podium, you realised with a pang of compassion and offered him a smile you hoped wasn’t as sad as you felt. “He’s like that sometimes. Good drive, by the way.”
Seokmin scoffed out a laugh equal parts amused and disbelieving. He didn’t seem dismayed, not even a little bit unhappy. His eyes shone as he ruffled his hair and joked, “Did you even watch the race?”
You grimaced. “That obvious?”
“How do you work for Red Bull Racing and not watch the race?” he wondered as if it were truly a mystery. “We both might get reprimanded by the team principal at this rate.”
“Both?” Your eyes widened just a bit at the notion. You barely paid any mind to the way his hand found its way to your back and gently led you away from the podium, into the garage, away from the crowds. “Why would you get reprimanded?”
He shrugged. “Only one Red Bull on the podium tends to do that.”
Now curiosity was starting to get the best of you. “Where’d you finish?”
“P8,” he answered after some hesitation, just as the national anthem of South Korea started blasting through the track. You glanced back over your shoulder but shrugged it off.
“That’s not too bad.”
“I might have kind of gotten in your boyfriend’s way on the track,” he added quickly, his eyes widening as if it was only hitting him now. “When they told me to let him through.”
“You ignored team orders?” you gasped and slapped his arm. He only laughed. “Why would you do that? You’re going to be in so much trouble!”
He shrugged and looked towards the ceiling for answers. “Maybe I thought he needed to be taken down a notch. His head’s getting too big with all these podiums.”
You suspected that was only half of the truth. Not that you could prove it.
“Much good it did, he still won the race,” you half-joked. “But good effort though.”
His smile was as bright as the sun. “I’ll try harder next time.”
“Maybe you should–”
“Hey, (Y/n), you’re friends with Seungcheol, right?” a voice asked, speedy footsteps rushing up to you. A small cardboard box was placed in your hand, and your fiancé’s new press officer smiled at you, pleading, “Can you give him this? I’d do it myself, but I have to rush to catch my flight. Family emergency, you know how it goes.” You could barely nod before she smiled brighter and left. “Thank you!”
Your mouth was open, but no sound came out. You could only stare at the box in your hand as the reality set in, one tiny and painful word at a time.
“Did she just–?” Seokmin voiced your thoughts for you, equally baffled. “She’s worked here for years. How does she not know?”
Your chest felt tight. There was something in your throat, and it tasted a lot like tears you hadn’t yet had the courage to cry. Seokmin took the package from your shaking hands before you could find the words to ask him to.
“I need air,” is all you finally managed to say as you rushed away from him, away from everything. The friends you’d made on the paddock watched in concern, calling your name as you practically ran from the event.
Your car smelled like his body wash and cologne. His back-up bag sat on the back seat, still unzipped from when he’d searched for his paddock pass just some hours ago.
Back when everything was still okay, you thought to yourself before laughing without much humour at all. Your head came to rest on the steering wheel, the cold leather providing relief, keeping your tears at bay. The ring felt heavy on your finger.
His friend. A year ago, no one would have dared to even guess something like that. It used to be so obvious: his lovesick smiles, his soft glances, the way his attention never seemed to stay on task when you were around. Most people had assumed you were dating long before you made it public, but now you were engaged to marry and you had been described as just his "friend" more times than you could count this month alone.
No, you were hit with a heavy realisation some twenty minutes later and wiped your tears. It hasn’t been okay in a while.
You found him two hours later, sitting in the garage, smiling and laughing with the mechanics and engineers. As if everything was fine and dandy and perfect – for him, maybe that was the truth. Perhaps it was only you that had a problem.
You needed to know.
“Seungcheol, can we talk?” you interrupted one of the mechanics’ anecdotes.
They shared confused, curious looks, raising their brows at your fiancé. Some wiggled their eyebrows and laughed, patting him on the shoulder as they left one by one until there was no one between you and the man you had thought you would marry. You didn’t feel so certain of it now.
“I was starting to wonder where you were." He smiled at you and got up from his seat on the floor, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. You turned your head before he could. His lips landed on your cheek instead. He didn’t seem to mind. “Didn’t see you when I was on the podium.”
A part of you wondered if he’d even looked at all. If he ever had.
He noticed your silence, all too familiar with your habits. His brows furrowed in something like worry as his hands wrapped around yours. You gently removed them and hid your hands in the pockets of your team jacket, squeezing them into fists so hard your nails pricked the skin.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and his voice sounded so soft, so gentle. For a moment, it felt like you had your Seungcheol back: the way his tone always softened when he spoke to you, the way he never dared to raise his voice in front of you, the way he never missed a chance to hold your hand. You hadn’t seen this version of him in months.
“Do I still matter to you?” you voiced your doubts so quietly you barely heard them yourself.
But he heard you just fine. You knew he did, even when he leaned forward with wide eyes and asked, “What? What are you talking about?”
“Do I still matter,” your wavering voice paused as you swallowed, “to you?”
His brows furrowed even more. Your fingers itched to reach up and smooth his frown like you used to do back when it was just the two of you. You resisted the urge and bit down on your lip to remind yourself you needed answers.
“Of course you do,” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Do I?” you parroted, feeling like a broken record. He’d given his answer, you knew he had, but you couldn’t help but not believe him. This is what it felt like, you now realised: not trusting the person you love most.
“You do matter to me!” his voice suddenly rose and echoed in the garage. The few mechanics still left tried their hardest to look uninterested, but even a fool would’ve known they were all texting about it in a group chat.
For once, you were the centre of attention. But you couldn’t have cared less. Just like he had just moments ago, you felt yourself burst with emotions you didn’t recognise. Your voice matched his before you could think about it twice. “If I matter so much, then why do you keep hiding me?! Why do you keep avoiding me in front of the media?”
“I don’t– I’ve never–”
You scoffed so hard it hurt your throat. “Your press officer asked me if I’m your friend. Your friend, Choi Seungcheol!” The diamond on your finger flashed past his eyes – a reminder. “A year ago, you were ready to drop everything if I just said ‘yes’, and now I’m just your friend?”
“You’re not just a friend,” he tried to assure you, his voice hoarse from the emotions coursing through his body. “You know you’re not–”
“Do I?” An unwanted tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it as fast as it appeared. You wouldn’t cry in front of him, you wouldn’t let him see how much he had hurt you. You shouldn’t have to. “It’s like I don’t know you anymore. I used to know you like the back of my hand: all your habits, your mood, your fucking dreams. Then you got that seat and suddenly I don’t know the man who sleeps in our bed, who mumbles racing stats in his sleep, who lets the media call me just a friend.”
That word felt like bitter poison on your tongue. You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, glaring holes into his car instead. The damned dark blue Formula 1 car with the damned red number 8. Eight for his birthday, for infinite possibilities, for eternity. It was clear you were no longer part of his eternity, or even his present. Before you knew it, the ring was clenched in your right hand. You gave it a pitying glare before all but shoving it into his palm.
The hurt was clear in his eyes. Tears, unshed yet but certainly not for long. His jaw agape while he gasped for air as if you had just actually punched the air out of him. Just a broken man in a racing suit.
Good, you thought and turned to leave. Serves him right.
Just like that, you were done. Two and a half years gone in an instant, a romance burnt in mere seconds. You hoped the ache in your chest would disappear before the next race weekend.
[ZANDVOORT 2024]
The ache had other plans. It didn’t go away the next race weekend, nor the one after it. Silverstone, Budapest, Spa – three races passed and you still couldn’t look him in the eyes. You asked an intern to do the filming, the photos, the mini interviews for the fans, and focused your attention on the editing and the paperwork. The ache persisted.
“You’re going to get a hunched back sitting over your laptop like that,” Seokmin commented and sat down next to you, right there in the hospitality where most of the team had started to avoid you. He smiled and motioned to an ice cream cup in a previously empty spot next to your laptop. “The weather’s hot today. You should be careful.”
You almost dismissed his worries, assuming he was just making conversation. That’s what the team members who hadn’t taken Seungcheol’s side had started doing anyway.
Then he pinched the fabric on the sleeve of your Red Bull hoodie, two sizes too big for your stature. “Seriously, you’re going to get a heat stroke in this weather.”
“Oh,” was all you could say, feeling dumb all of a sudden. Had heartbreak broken you physically as well as emotionally? You hadn’t even realised how hot it was, the late August heat wave blasting through the paddock. Outside, the people wore sundresses and shorts. And yet here you sat, cowering in an oversized hoodie as if it was the middle of winter.
When you glanced up, Seokmin was looking at you. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, small and full of concern you had only started noticing after your break-up. You couldn’t help but worry you had broken the paddock’s resident sunshine along with your own heart.
“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked and he had never sounded so soft. You were used to loud, boisterous, jokingly arrogant Lee Seokmin, driver of the car 9, always distracting his teammate from the goal of whatever you were filming, always the loudest man on track. Usually, there was no corner of the paddock where you couldn’t hear his voice, but now you could barely hear him at all as he sat next to you.
You found yourself nodding. “I was hoping I would be back to normal by the time we get to Monza, but that seems far-fetched now.”
He looked at you for a while. There was something indecipherable in his eyes. Something unfamiliar and yet so warm. He cracked a smile. “Do you want me to drive him into the wall today?”
“You’re already on thin ice with the team,” you reminded him and shook your head.
“Fine,” he sighed before his eyebrows rose, a thought occurring under your very eyes. “I’m sure Yuki would jump at the chance though.”
“Don’t you dare give him ideas,” you warned him with a weak laugh. “He’s already crashed his car, like, twice this season.”
There was a stupid smile on his face. The one full of childish glee, as if you’d granted him his Christmas wish. “Third time’s the charm.”
“So is actually finishing the race!”
“If he does it during the last lap, I could give him a little push across the finish line.”
“Pretty sure that’s against regulations.”
He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “When did you become the FIA regulations’ expert?”
You couldn’t help but laugh some more. It felt good. Freeing. It had been a while since you’d last actually laughed. Maybe you wouldn’t feel normal until way after the season’s last Italian Grand Prix, but perhaps you were on your way to recovery still.
Something about the smile on his face told you Seokmin was thinking the same thing. But his smile faded moments later, yours following close after.
There he stood once again: Seungcheol with brown eyes stuck on you as if he was incapable of looking elsewhere. The dark blue team kit polo stretched across his torso as he crossed his arms over his chest, deadly daggers replacing the longing stares he'd once reserved for you. He turned on his heel and walked away to his room before you found your breath again.
“Well, that was rude,” Seokmin mumbled under his breath. His gaze had taken a similar hard edge, following your ex’s (it still felt weird to think of him as such) movements like a guard dog on patrol. “You’d think he’d be nicer when he’s the reason you broke up.”
“Well, I did break up with him,” you noted and hid your face in your hands, “and he holds a grudge like no other.”
A comforting, warm hand placed itself on your back, rubbing soothing circles.
“The offer still stands, you know.” He was only half-joking. “The wall looks mighty tempting today.”
You shook your head once more. “Don’t. He’s my problem, not yours. You’re supposed to be teammates.”
“Yeah, well, you’re my friend, and if he starts treating you badly, I won’t stay silent,” he said and it sounded like a sacred promise.
A promise he fulfilled by beating Seungcheol in the race later on Sunday. He snatched the 2nd place from right under Seungcheol's nose in the last lap, overtaking him just before the finish line. The crowd cheered, you alongside them.
You should've known he was adding fuel to the fire.
That night, you caught a glimpse of one of Seungcheol's post-race interviews. You hated that your heart still skipped a beat — at least it was a small one now, rather than the leaps it used to do back then — when you saw him on the screen. You despised the fact that you couldn't look away.
He wasn't smiling. His brows were pulled into a frown, his gaze focused on the journalist as he intently listened to the questions.
You didn't mean to turn up the volume. It was a reflex, something you were yet to unlearn. His voice soon filled the room but no one stopped you. He was the leading driver of the team, after all. Everybody wanted to hear what he had to say.
"I mean, it was tough today," his low voice somehow sounded even lower than usual through the mic. "It's been a tough few races for me personally this season. Not just adjusting to the car, but overcoming personal challenges."
You wondered if he even considered the chaos his next words would bring.
"Driving with a broken heart is harder than I thought it would be, but I won't let that stop me."
And suddenly you were the new centre of the entire world: every sports fan, every sponsor, every colleague.
"Seungcheol and you broke up?" someone from the strategy team asked, staring at you with wide, disbelieving eyes as if such a possibility hadn't even occurred to him. "Since when?"
"A few weeks ago," you managed to say before the realisation fully hit you. In a matter of hours, you'd be the talk of the town, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.
[MONZA 2024]
The news spread like wildfire. By the time you got back to your hotel, you were in the headlines of every gossip blog and magazine. You were being tagged in every TikTok over-analysing your past relationship, the fans demanding explanations and answers. You avoided your personal social media like the plague for a week. It didn't help a lot — you still had to manage the team's accounts, monitor them for activity.
But at least you could hide from the public eye. You weren't famous enough to be recognised in the streets, not without Seungcheol by your side. To the world, you were just a part of his story. They didn't stop to consider that you might be a person with feelings, too.
That much became evident on Thursday. Media day in Monza. The day when you and your interns were supposed to shine behind the scenes, organising interviews and filming silly short-form videos for fans to watch. You used to love Thursdays: the thrill of managing the schedules of your drivers, the chaotic joy of re-familiarising yourself with the paddock and the track, the buzzing of fans and social media interns and journalists all around you.
This time, you hated all of it. Every last thing you used to enjoy became your personal hell the moment you tapped your paddock pass at the gates.
Like predators on prey, all eyes turned to you. It was silent for a moment. They processed the situation. You almost breathed out in relief. Then someone called out, "Isn't that Seungcheol's girl?"
They descended like vultures, rushing over with their cameras and phones and microphones. Invasive questions flying left and right as you tried to push past them, they made you the main character you had no interest in being.
"How long ago did you break up?"
"Why did you break up?"
"Did you break his heart or did he break yours?"
"Is it true that you cheated on Seungcheol?"
The questions blended together. You refused to answer them. It was salt in the wound, the unwanted tearing off of a bandaid — your wounds had scarcely started to heal, and now they were getting torn open again.
You looked up to find your way, desperately seeking the hospitality unit. He caught your eye instead, leaning against the building, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you struggle. Seungcheol didn't smile but there was no remorse in his eyes either.
Gone were the days when he would have rushed to protect you.
An arm wrapped around you before you could tear your eyes away. You recognised him by his voice before even seeing him. Seokmin ushered the journalists away, threatening to call the security for breaching your privacy.
The flashing of the cameras got just a bit more tolerable but you could still hardly see where you were going. As if noticing your distress, Seokmin reached up to pull off his hat. The dark blue cap with a proud number 9 on it was gently placed upon your head, the cap pulled low to hide your eyes. His arm tightened around you, protective and sure.
"If she wants to tell you something, I'm sure she'll be happier to speak to you after she's had breakfast," he told the few who refused to listen to his warnings. His bodyguard made a path through the people, clearly more intimidating than Seokmin could ever be. Still, he continued. "Until then, please leave her be. She's not a driver — you should have no interest in her. It is not your business."
"But she dated Choi Seungcheol," one of the journalists told him like it was a piece of information that would change everything.
Seokmin laughed, but you heard no joy in it. "And I dated a member of Twice once. Make that your headline, if you must. Leave our staff out of it and go find a driver to bother. I'm sure Lando has something more interesting to say about his win last week."
"But the people want to know! Why did Choi Seungcheol and —"
The door slammed shut and you were welcomed by the blissful quiet of the Red Bull hospitality. Your knees gave out underneath you and you sank to the floor, Seokmin rushing to kneel beside you. Vaguely, you heard him tell someone to get you something to drink. His arm remained tight around you, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder.
"You're okay," he told you so softly you hardly heard it. Or maybe it's just that your heart was beating and your ears were ringing so loud that he sounded softer than usual. "You're safe here. You're okay."
"They all hate me," you found yourself whispering while you fought back tears. There was a glass of water in your hands; you had no memory of getting it. Your eyes burned and stung, but you refused to let them make you cry. You had cried enough already. "Why do they hate me?"
"They don't hate you," he insisted.
"They think I cheated on him."
"And we both know they're wrong. You don't owe them an explanation for their own inventions." He adjusted the hat on your head so he could see your eyes.
The smile he offered you was almost too sweet for the moment. It was the kind of smile a lover might give their loved one in a secret shared moment. You weren't sure you could smile at anyone like that ever again, betrayed to the highest degree.
You hugged him instead. His team kit polo smelled like fresh laundry and cologne you could never afford. You didn't bother to resist the urge to hide your face in it.
Let the others see, you thought. Let him see. You were too tired to fake it anymore.
"Oh my god," you heard a familiar voice tinged with a Japanese accent. Yuki — the man you might have blamed for your heartbreak if you felt any more vengeful. The man who had been your friend since your first day on the paddock. His voice lowered to a worried whisper, "What happened?"
"Seungcheol happened," Seokmin told him and handed you away. Suddenly, there was an undertone you had never heard in his voice. Something wild and dangerous. Something incredibly protective. Still, he offered you a kind smile and patted your shoulder as Yuki took his place next to you on the floor. "I'll be back in a sec, okay? I have to do something."
You didn't question it. You didn't dare to.
Instead, you enjoyed the comforting presence of an old friend. It wasn't the same, you realised. Yuki didn't deal in comforting whispers, warm smiles, and silent acts of service, not the way Seokmin did.
"Really shouldn't have introduced you two," he told you, not even bothering to hide his anger and annoyance as he hugged you close. You could practically hear him gritting his teeth in an effort to hold back. "This is all his fault."
"Please don't take your anger out on him on the track. I don't need you getting a penalty because of me."
He contemplated for a moment as if you had just presented an impossible ethical dilemma. A deep sigh. "Fine. I'll just beat him instead."
You hummed in approval. "I hope you will."
He didn't say anything else. Just sat there in silence, nothing more than a comforting presence, a wall between you and the harsh outside world.
Voices, angry and betrayed, rang from the hallway where the drivers' rooms stood. Someone passed by and whispered that Seokmin and Seungcheol were arguing. You forced yourself to ignore it even as their words became loud enough to be legible.
"If you cared for her half as much as you claimed you did when you got down on one knee, you'd put a stop to this and tell them to leave her alone! Haven't you hurt her enough?!" Seokmin.
Seungcheol didn't hesitate to reply, "She hurt me first!"
"So what?! You're getting even now?" Seokmin's laugh was boisterous, venomous. The type that made someone's blood freeze in their veins. "By spreading rumours and sending the press to hunt her down like your little bloodhounds?"
"How I get even is not your business!"
You got up and walked out; you couldn't stand to listen any longer. Yuki followed in silence, no doubt glaring at anyone daring to even look your way. It would explain the quiet that surrounded you now.
"It'll pass," he told you when you made it to the track.
Walking further and further from the paddock, you hoped he was right.
[SINGAPORE 2024]
"Alright," Seokmin's cheerful voice echoed between the paddock buildings, his eyes trained on the phone camera in your hand, "qualifying — done. It was fun. Starting from P5… I probably could've done better, but…"
As his gaze caught yours over the edge of the screen, he trailed off, his smile dropping. Head tilting on instinct, he rushed closer and asked, "You okay?"
Startled by the sudden interruption to your usual workflow, you blinked at him, wide-eyed like an owl. "Yeah? Why?"
You must not have been very convincing because his eyes narrowed. Without even acknowledging it, he took the phone from your hand and lowered it. There was no place to hide now.
"You seem down."
To be fair, you doubted anyone would have a good day after having to film TikToks with their spiteful ex after an intern called in sick. Or after having another group of said ex's fans follow them around, begging for answers. You were just unlucky enough to experience both in close succession in the span of this one short day. Frankly, you were exhausted and the humid heat of Singapore was doing you no favours.
You could've told him exactly that — he wouldn't have judged, you knew he wouldn't have. But still you kept your problems to yourself and faked a smile.
"It's fine," you told him and made a point to look down at the phone. Deleting a messed-up video clip was a good enough excuse to avoid looking in his eyes and getting stripped bare of your defences.
Then, as if you couldn't help yourself, as if a part of your subconscious was fighting back and needy for comfort, you added on in a mumble, "Not all days can be good days anyway."
Seokmin made a loud noise of disapproval. "I knew there was something off!"
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "Seokmin—"
"It's okay," he interrupted, and there was a smile threatening to break out on his face. It looked more conspiratorial than sympathetic. "I'll just have to make your day better."
"Seokmin—" you tried again.
He was simply not listening. "You know, there's a nice restaurant I've been meaning to visit here. We should go—"
"Seokmin, my bad days are not your responsibility!" you cut him off, sharper and harsher than you had intended to. Your eyes squeezed shut at your error — you hadn't meant to snap at him. Counting to five, you prepared to meet his eyes again, certain they'd be full of hurt and fear.
With a deep, calming breath, you opened your eyes again. He was looking at you still, his smile a little less bright, but his eyes still overflowing with that familiar sweet warmth.
"You're right," he told you, voice low and soft as if he was sharing a secret he inexplicably was fond of, and leaned close. You could've sworn his nose touched yours, but before you could focus on that, he continued, "Your bad days are not my responsibility. But that doesn't mean I won't try to fix them. You want to know why?"
"Why?" you breathed out after a pause of thought.
There was a shiver up your spine that you hadn't felt in months — so familiar but so foreign at the same time. A feeling you had once cherished in the arms of Seungcheol.
He smiled wider. "Because I care about you."
Something about the stars in his eyes said it was about more than that.
With a sudden movement, almost a flinch, he leaned back. It was as if he hadn't realised how close you were until this moment, as if he'd pressed so close to you subconsciously. He cleared his throat and glanced away, smiling at Lando Norris passing by, congratulated him for getting pole.
You were left wondering, pondering the meaning of his words. Caring about someone suddenly felt like the most vague phrase anyone's ever uttered. Your mind swirled with meanings and definitions and hopes and fears.
He turned to you again. "You're staying at the same hotel as us, right?"
Too lost in your thoughts, you could only nod.
He mirrored your action, the corners of his lips quirking a bit as he did so. His hands busied themselves with adjusting his dark blue racing suit; his eyes wandered around the paddock, almost like they were avoiding your gaze. His voice didn't waver but it felt like it should have as he spoke, "I'll meet you in the lobby at eight. Wear something nice but comfy, okay?"
You wanted to ask questions. You had so many flooding your mind.
But he ran his fingers through his dark hair and nodded towards the phone in your hand. "We should probably do another take of that recap. I messed it up a bit, I think."
He treated it all with such nonchalance that for a while you wondered if it had been a joke. Maybe a vivid hallucination. With the year you were having, you wouldn't have put it past yourself to imagine something so seemingly impossible.
You battled these doubts when you walked into your hotel room and removed your work uniform. You continued doing so as you picked out an outfit for the evening, just in case it was real. They didn't escape your mind as you did your make-up and checked your phone for the fiftieth time.
Unwanted memories of similar scenarios restricted your cautious excitement. They were memories of Seungcheol telling you to dress pretty, that he'd pick you up at seven, that he was excited to show you the world. They were memories of standing in hotel lobbies, dressed to impress no one because you waited for hours, all alone under the pitying stares of the receptionists. They were memories of half-hearted 'I'm so sorry I forgot; I'll make it up to you, I swear' texts at 2 am. You feared you'd be played for a fool again this time.
But Seokmin was waiting in the lobby when you finally found the courage to go down and see. A part of you wondered if he'd had the exact same doubts; his chest heaved with visible relief when you met his eyes, and it seemed to do the same every time he looked at you across the table at the restaurant. It was as if he couldn't believe you were really there with him.
His eyes kept wandering to you every few minutes even after you'd eaten dinner, even when you were walking in the Gardens by the Bay and the pretty lights and plants should've had all of his attention. You couldn't remember the last time someone had made you feel like you were their sole focus. It made you nervous but excited all the same.
"So," you started between bites of ice cream, desperate for a distraction from the nagging fluttery feeling in your tummy, "only seven races left. Excited for next season yet? I hear Red Bull's coming out with an even faster car."
"Honestly?" Thinking about it, he hummed around the spoon sticking out of his mouth. He lowered the spoon into his plastic cup. "I'm terrified for next season."
That wasn't the answer you'd been expecting.
"Why?" you wondered.
He shrugged and lowered his eyes, staring at his dessert as if it had all the answers of the universe and he wasn't ready to hear them yet. "I don't know if I'll race next year. Maybe my time in Formula 1 is over."
Your jaw dropped at its own accord. Your feet froze on the ground, unable to take another step. He stopped a few steps ahead of you, smiling sadly like he could read your mind and knew exactly the words you wanted to scream at him.
"Why would you say that?" you croaked. Your voice wavered and broke, shock evident in every syllable. "Seokmin, what are you saying?"
"Red Bull's terminating my contract early," he told you like it was no big deal. Maybe he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you. "Either I find another team to sign or I leave the sport."
It didn't make any sense in your head: Lee Seokmin was a racer. He'd been on the grid since he was barely twenty. He was fast and vicious on track, stood on the podium more often than not since his second year. If there was anyone that was built for this, it was him.
"Why would they terminate your contract?"
He laughed, head thrown back to stare into the sky, but there was no joy in his voice. "Who knows? Maybe I've lost my spark. Maybe Seungcheol said something to the team principal. Either way, I'm leaving." He sighed. "But honestly? I don't think I would've wanted to stay either way."
You found yourself humming in agreement.
"My contract's ending soon too," you told him. "I don't think I'd return to Red Bull even if they doubled my pay."
He tore his gaze from the sky and looked at you. He didn't even bother to fake a smile this time. "Because of Seungcheol?"
"I can't stand to be in the same room as him anymore," you confessed. "Especially when he's the one that got me this job."
Without another word, he walked closer. You felt his arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest as if to hide you from the world and give you the space you so clearly needed. If you cried at all, the tears soaked into his T-shirt before they could fall. You needed this — how he knew was beyond you.
"Where will you go?" he asked some minutes later, his voice muffled against your skin.
"Where will you?" you replied.
Seokmin laughed at that.
"Well, wherever you go, I hope it'll make you happy." He paused. Then his voice softened. "I was supposed to cheer you up tonight and instead I made both of us sad. Sorry."
"It's okay," you told him. "Thank you, for caring about me."
He squeezed you tighter like a playful threat. "Don't thank me for silly things. Just enjoy it instead."
[AUSTIN 2024]
Seungcheol's press officer called in sick. You tried hard not to feel bitter about it. It wasn't her fault — how was she supposed to know the sushi had gone bad? But a part of you still couldn't help but imagine texting her some choice words because she had inadvertently brought forth your newest, worst nightmare: filling in for her at the post-race interviews.
When the reality settled in, you'd tried to find someone else to do the job but it seemed there was no way out for you, short of bribing the team principal. You didn't have that kind of cash, so you gritted your teeth and squeezed the company-issued phone a little tighter than necessary while following him around.
He didn't even spare you a glance. The indifference he was displaying seemed almost believable. It was his words that gave him away.
"Yeah, the race was tough," Seungcheol told the press while adjusting his hat until it was backwards on his head. You could've sworn he did that on purpose — there had been a time when you'd thought he looked handsome when he wore his hat this way, you were sure you had told him so. Now he mocked you for it. "The grid is tight this year, hard to hold our own. But our car's incredible. Our team worked so hard. It's thanks to them that I won today."
Somewhere behind you, you heard a familiar scoff of laughter. You glanced back to find Seokmin standing there, his own press officer in tow, eyes narrowed as he listened to his team mate's interview. His eyes met yours and his smile dropped. He knew what was coming.
"You had an incident in turn 3 with your team mate. Do you think it was just a gamble to win, or did it have anything to do with the pictures from Singapore? Of your ex and Seokmin?" the journalist asked and it took everything to keep your jaw from dropping.
Suddenly, reality hit. You weren't just replacing the press officer. This wasn't just an interview. It was a humiliation ritual, whether these two men realised it or not.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Seokmin's jaw clench as the words hit him as well. His press officer pressed his hand against his chest to keep him from rushing over and starting a fight. You weren't sure how long he'd last with the way Seokmin's hands were clenching at his sides.
You watched Seungcheol, eyes begging him. This was the part where Seungcheol was supposed to laugh and shrug and say his team mate's doing the best he can. This was the part where he was supposed to tell the journalist to ask Seokmin and walk away. He did neither.
"I mean, it's Seokmin." His eyes glinted with something vicious as he spoke, "He's always behind me on the track, on the grid— Hell, even his racing number's right behind mine! Of course he'd want my leftovers."
"Are you insane?!" the driver behind you blurted.
His press officer could only mumble frantic apologies as Seokmin walked over and glared at both Seungcheol and the journalist. The latter's eyes widened, his face paled as he realised what he'd just unleashed. Seungcheol didn't even blink, the same bored, cruel look in his eyes.
"If you dislike me that much, just say it to my face! Don't drag her into this!" Seokmin demanded, face reddening as anger took him over.
You slipped away as tension grew and their voices grew louder. For sure, there were penalties waiting to be filed their way — fines for swearing on camera, grid drops for unsportsmanlike behaviour. You wanted nothing to do with any of it. You'd already had your share of suffering and insults.
[are you okay?]
[where did you go?]
Your phone vibrated with messages some half an hour later. You didn't bother to reply; finally hidden away in your own little sanctuary. It was a small corner of the paddock, somewhere behind the McLaren hospitality: peaceful, far removed from the noise of the crowd. The only person you'd seen in the past fifteen minutes was Oscar Piastri, deeply engrossed in a phone call but he'd only offered you a small smile as he passed by.
This was exactly the place you needed to be to calm down and hide. You needed to get your mind straight, to untangle the wires of hurt feelings and destroyed pride. You needed to get away from Seungcheol. It was only ironic that the place furthest from him was the very place he'd shown you just last year. Now you wondered how you could get further away from him still.
Your contract would come to an end in a few months anyway. What could stop you from just calling it quits right here, right now? Could your shaking fingers type out a letter of resignation and email it to the team principal before the day's end? You weren't sure you had any other options now that Seungcheol had really crossed the line.
The phone vibrated once again. Begrudgingly, you clicked on the power button. The screen lit up, four text messages and a new email on display. It was a reminder that the world did not care for your hurt — it simply moved on, business as usual.
[seungcheol was wrong to say what he did, you know, right?]
You couldn't type a reply with his words, Seungcheol's wicked glare still twisting around in your head. Swiping away the messages, you tapped on the email by accident. It unfolded before your eyes and your breath got caught when you read it.
As if answering your prayers, the email revealed a job offer — 'Williams Racing needs a new social media manager', it said. 'Considering your prior work experience and the quality of it … at first opportunity … drivers excited to work with you'.
This was it, you realised with a sharp intake of air. This was your chance to get away, handed to you on a gold platter. You didn't hesitate to tell them yes.
Your letter of resignation landed in your supervisor's inbox before the team got the tyres off the cars.
[MEXICO CITY 2024]
"You finished P15 today, your worst result yet this season. What happened?"
Seokmin grimaced visibly in front of the cameras, his nose scrunching up as he struggled to answer. "The pace just wasn't there today, I guess."
"You made a few errors on track, especially in turn six, where you kept going wide, and compared to your brilliant performance here last year, I just wonder if there is some kind of a psychological component to your result today?"
"Could be." He adjusted his hat, lips twisting into a sad smile. "I'm just human like everyone else."
"We did hear your team's former social media manager resigned from her position last week, effective immediately. We've heard you're quite close with her. Is she the reason—?"
"I think that's quite enough questions," Seokmin interrupted with a defiant nod. He walked off without another word, only his back visible to the camera.
[LAS VEGAS 2024]
It was almost funny how fast you became a nobody.
When you walked into the paddock for the first time in two weeks, you expected the journalists to go crazy. You could just about imagine the headlines: "Choi Seungcheol's ex switched teams after dramatic fall-out with fiancé!".
You took a deep, calming breath before swiping your paddock pass, preparing for a frenzy and no one to defend you. Your hands shaking, you swiped the pass, everything unsteady about the familiar flick of your wrist. The lights flashed green and you walked through, knees wobbly as you took three steps.
No one batted an eye. No one as much as glanced your way. Gone were the judgmental fangirls of your ex, the compassionate smiles of the few drivers that cared, the journalists asking a thousand questions you had no answer for. It was as if just by changing your Red Bull team kit for a Williams one, you had become someone new.
If you'd known it was this easy, you would have switched teams months ago.
You embraced the peace, the first of it you'd had since your break-up back in June. Fans and journalists walked past the Williams' hospitality like you weren't even a dot on their radar, like you didn't exist. Only a few of the drivers recognised you, doing double-takes as they rushed past, offering simple smiles when they made eye contact. A part of you wondered if you'd gone back in time to your first days of work all those years ago.
"Just out of curiosity," Alex — one of your team's drivers — spoke, leaning back against the door as he surveyed the paddock, "does your old team know you're with Williams now?"
Contemplating for a moment, you shrugged. "Maybe?"
His eyebrows rose, teasing. "Well, then they're about to find out. Ten bucks says Seokmin will do a double-take."
"Enough with the double-takes," you joked and adjusted your laptop screen, the glare of the sunlight reflecting off it and offending your eyes. "I swear Charles almost fell over when he recognised me."
"If he asks about you, I'll tell him I have no idea who he's talking about," he offered a little too readily before bursting into laughter. "Yeah, that'll fuck him up good."
"You're impossible."
He completely ignored your protests. Leaning forward, hands on his knees, eyes locked on something in the distance like his favourite game was about to start and he had placed the bet of a lifetime, Alex began commentating, "He's walking this way. He's got a Red Bull and he's frowning like he wanted whiskey instead. "
"Who is?"
"Lee Seokmin approaches—" That explained it. "He's walking fast; he might be late to the press conference. Oh! His eyes moved. Did he look this way? I think he might have."
"You think he'll recognise me?" you wondered. It was hard to decide if you wanted him to.
Alex scoffed. "If he doesn't, I'll make him." You weren't entirely sure you liked the sound of that threat. "Oh! He's coming this way. He's looking right at us. He's waving at me. He's looking at you—"
Your name sounded like a call from home. It was all affection and warmth and joy. Seokmin repeated it like it was holy, like it was a prayer he'd been keeping for better days.
His Red Bull scattered to the ground and broke his daze. With hurried movements, he stammered out an apology and picked up the now half-empty can before all but running over. For a moment, you worried he'd trip and fall over the cords, or maybe he'd be unable to slow down in time. He proved your worries futile and came to a perfect stop right in front of you, towering over your sitting form.
He smiled wide and you could've sworn it was brighter than the damned Las Vegas sun. Your name came out in one more elated breath.
"You're back!" he spoke as if it was a miracle. "You're really back!"
Without a second of hesitation, he placed his Red Bull down and pulled you up into a tight hug. His breath was warm against your neck, his hands even warmer around your back, squeezing you close as if you'd disappear if he gave you any space to do so.
"Well, I wasn't about to give up my whole career just because Seungcheol is an asshole," you told him, and a warm hum filled your chest at the reverent look on his face. A realisation hit you, it rattled your world — you liked being recognised if it was him. Hell, you thought, you would've been heartbroken if he hadn't.
"Good. He's not worth it anyway," he told you. His hands seemed unable to leave the fabric of your shirt, unwilling to let you go just yet. He glanced down at the fabric, at the bold white logo on your chest. He chuckled. "It'll take some getting used to. It's a different blue."
You shrugged. "Well, I like this blue."
"I think I like it too," he told you softly. Something in the tone of his voice said there was more to those words. You didn't pry. His eyes lit up once more, his smile brightened. "Have you eaten yet?"
"I—"
"All she's had today is a granola bar and way too much coffee," Alex interrupted, reminding you of his presence with a teasing smirk. "Here's an idea!"
"Don't even—" you started but were beaten once again.
"Seokmin, you should get her some lunch! You know, some proper food."
You sighed. "Seokmin, you don't have to—"
"We'll bring you something back too," Seokmin readily told the other driver and grabbed your arm. Too baffled to protest, you let him practically drag you away. "Is pizza okay? The one they sell here is heavenly."
You couldn't help but laugh. "It's perfectly fine."
"Good, because I've been craving it all week," he told you solemnly once you reached the Italian food stand. "You liked yours without olives, right?"
Had you told him that? You couldn't remember. He rattled off an order to the employee, always wearing that wide, friendly smile of his. No matter how many times you tried to tear your gaze away, it always returned to him. A hollow thump of your heart and you made a second realisation of the day, one you couldn't help but question.
Was it possible to have missed someone so much when it had only been a month?
"Why Williams?" was the first thing he asked once you found a place to sit. "Surely any team here would have been happy to take you."
You shrugged. "They were the first ones to reach out. I actually got the email back in Austin, after that… interview."
His face fell at the reminder. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, unwittingly pulling your attention to it. You spotted a fading bruise right in the crook of his neck. The sight and implications made your heart ache horribly.
"He shouldn't have said those things," Seokmin repeated the words he'd texted you back then. "I wished I'd driven him off the track just for thinking that."
"Did you get in a fight with him?" you asked the question itching in your throat.
"I did." It didn't surprise you. You'd suspected as much all month, ever since you saw the fire in his eyes when those words slipped off of Seungcheol's tongue. "And I'd do it again."
"He's your teammate, Seokmin," you reminded him with a sigh. "You're not supposed to fight him, not over a girl anyway."
"But you're not just a girl."
You weren't sure the world saw it that way. "If you'll keep acting this way, Red Bull will find a new driver for next season. Someone Seungcheol gets along with."
"Let them," he told you, and it infuriated you how carelessly he did so, how ready he was to burn that bridge of no return, uncaring of his future. "They want me out either way. I told you already: they want me gone."
Right. Your eyes squeezed shut at the memory. He'd told you back in Singapore, hadn't he? He'd poured his heart out to you in the gardens, and you hadn't even responded to his texts before resigning from your job a month later.
"Then where will you go?" you asked once again, but there was none of that sadness you'd felt the last time you spoke that thought.
There was only desperation now that you could finally see it all clearly again. Without Seungcheol on your side, you only had one person who kept you sane in the chaos — you would have done anything for him not to leave.
Seokmin didn't seem sad either. He didn't seem desperate, not even defeated. Something like hope glinted in his eyes, a new promise he was keen to keep to himself for now, as if he wouldn't be able to make it come true if he told you now.
"I've gotten a few offers from the teams," he told you and it felt like only half the truth. The glint in his eyes was full of life, of newfound joy as he added, "But I think I've made up my mind."
You only found out what he meant two weeks later from a news headline:
'SEOKMIN LEE SET TO JOIN ALEX ALBON IN WILLIAMS RACING FOR THE 2025 SEASON'
Not daring to even breathe while you processed the information, you scrolled through the article, afraid it would somehow become untrue if you checked elsewhere. You just sat there in your hotel bed and waited.
Your phone rang with a new text message five minutes later, Seokmin's contact name somehow bolder and brighter than usual.
[told you i liked that blue]
You breathed out in relief and finally dared to smile.
[MELBOURNE 2025]
Being with Seungcheol must have blinded you — it was a realisation you now made as the paddock came to life once again, officially opening the 2025 season. There was no other way you'd otherwise been oblivious of the absolute beauty that was Seokmin.
Ready to take on the new season, he pulled on his brand-new white and blue racing suit. It looked like it had been designed with him in mind, with each and every curve of his body, with the very undertones of his skin. The carefree smile he wore only served to make him look more radiant. Suddenly, you couldn't even remember what he'd looked like in the Red Bull suit.
You watched him from the back of the garage, leaning against a wall with your phone in hand, filming the very first race weekend day of your team's newest member. The camera didn't do him justice, you thought while glancing between him and the phone.
"You're staring," he pointed out with a nervous chuckle when he finally found the time to come over to you. "Does it look that bad?"
There was an overwhelming urge to fight whoever had planted that idea in his head. "You look like you belong here, with this team. It really suits you."
"Yeah?" He smiled a little brighter. With a glance back towards the car — the brand new blue Williams, his number 9 proud on display, polished by the mechanics to make it stand out even more —, he took a wavering breath. "Do you think I'll do well? I mean," he stammered and ran a hand through his hair, "I know it's only practice today, but—"
"You've been driving Formula 1 cars for seven years, Seokmin," you reminded him with a gentle smile and fought the need to fix the mess of hair on his head. "You've been on podiums more often than not." He already looked like he wanted to argue but you left no room for that. "You'll do perfectly fine today, and tomorrow, and especially on Sunday. You're going to get in that car, and you're going to feel right at home with your new race engineer. And on Sunday, you'll come back to me and we'll film a silly TikTok to celebrate your first podium with Williams."
His eyes narrowed but the smile remained. "You dream big."
"One of us has to," you joked and finally gave in to the itch you'd been fighting, lifting your hand to smooth down the dark strands he'd messed up. "Why are you so nervous?"
He hesitated to answer. Or perhaps he was too lost in the moment to remember to.
His race engineer called out — only three minutes until the session would start.
"I've only driven for Red Bull before," Seokmin told you softly. "I don't know what it's like to drive for another team."
You wanted to scoff. "That's a lie."
"It's true," he argued but his defensive tone told you it was anything but.
Your eyebrows rose, disbelieving, daring him to lie again.
The man in front of you rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's half-true."
"That's better."
"I've never had anyone actually cheering for me from the sidelines," he finally confessed after a moment of thought, his smile fading. He was baring his heart for you. "But this time you're here, on my side of the garage, looking at me like I've already won the race when I'm not even sure I can pull this car out of the garage without stalling."
Confusion muddled your thoughts but he didn't say anything more. "Why does it matter?"
"Because…" He hesitated once again, eyes drifting away, focusing on anything that wasn't you. "Because I don't want to let you down."
"You could never," you told him and you meant every syllable. You hoped he felt your sincerity in the way you fixed his hair once more or in how you adjusted the collar of his fireproofs. You met his eyes once more. "Are you planning on crashing into a wall today?"
"… No."
"Then you won't let me down," you repeated yourself and his smile found its way back, lighting up the room. "So don't worry about that and just drive, okay?"
"Can I…" he started, fingers reaching for the comforting weight of yours still on his shoulder. "Can I ask for a dumb favour?"
You lifted a single eyebrow and grinned. "Do you want me to sabotage the new Red Bull rookie's car?" He snorted out a laugh and you joined him. "Because I don't think I have the clearance for that."
"No, I—" He laughed harder as if he could imagine it clearer by the second. "Why would I ask you to do that?"
"To really show Red Bull what they're missing," you told him. "Even though everybody here knows you're better than the new kid."
"Right," he joked. The race engineer called out again — one minute to go. Seokmin straightened his shoulders as if the action alone would fill him with courage. His voice remained tender as he asked, "Do you think you could wear my number for the race? Just on a t-shirt or something." He swallowed and scratched the back of his neck. "It would make me less nervous, I think."
Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest. "You want me to?"
"I mean, you don't have to but I just thought—"
You chuckled to hide the noise your heart was making. It hadn't been so loud and insistent and excited in years. "I'm not sure if Alex would approve of me picking favourites," you glanced across the garage to where the other driver was already climbing into his car, "but I'll see what I can do."
Seokmin looked as if you'd told him you'd bring him the entire galaxy and some more. "I'd like that."
It was hard to remember the last time you'd felt so nervous watching a race. Maybe seeing Seungcheol fight for the podium nearly every weekend had made you numb to the fierce midfield competition, or perhaps you had turned a blind eye to it all at some point. But this time it was like you were watching a race for the first time ever.
Your heart was drumming in your chest; it was far from the steady rhythm of a metronome. It matched the revs of the engines and the rumble of gravel getting pushed off-track: unsteady, chaotic, loud. You could hardly breathe, hands clutched against your chest, eyes glued to the leaderboard.
Seokmin hadn't qualified very high. It was to be expected: a new car, a new team, a new type of pressure. He'd pushed the engine to P17 before it gave up on him last night. Now you watched the three letters of his last name steadily climb, closing the time gaps to other drivers despite the track conditions.
When they were preparing to go out on track, you heard his race engineer tell him the priority was not to get to points but to stay on the track. Wet races always had a risk factor and the team couldn't afford to make an error this early into the season. But Seokmin was proving himself to be the overachiever you always knew he was.
No less than a third of the grid had already retired their cars, due to technical failures, due to racing incidents that could've ended horribly. Seokmin remained on the track, P14, only five laps to go. You didn't bother to check who was in front of him — one of the Haas cars, slow and steady compared to the top runners on this day —, all you could focus on was the time gap.
Barely two seconds between the two cars. You heard his race engineer tell him to push harder, to overtake. You echoed the sentiment silently, barely conscious of the prayers you were whispering while the timing screen demanded your attention.
One second to the Haas car. Seokmin was steadily closing the gap. Your palms hurt from how hard you were squeezing them with your nails. It served to keep you alert and focused amid the loud, excited whispers around the garage.
Less than half a second of a gap. Two laps to go. It was now or never. He just had to find a place to overtake, a corner where the other driver was prone to mistakes. There had to be some place to pass that car.
The TV producers seemed to finally catch wind of the fierce battle. Finally, you saw Seokmin's blue car take the outside line, ready to do the very thing you and his race engineer had been begging him to for the past fifteen minutes. Breath caught in your throat, you watched as a Seokmin pushed the car past its limits just long enough to pass the Haas.
The timing screen swiftly switched around: '13 LEE' it read and you almost jumped with joy.
When the race ended a few minutes later, you were the first one to run to Seokmin. He'd just removed his helmet, hair a right sweaty mess under it all, his breath heavy from exertion. Exhaustion was evident in his every movement.
His eyes caught yours and the circuit lit up with his bright smile. It was still tired, full of evidence of his hard work, but it was warm and joyful and yours.
"P17 to P13 isn't too bad a drive," you told him, matching his grin. "And look at that! You didn't break the car!"
He let out a short laugh, not quite recovered yet for a full one. "I came close though. Turn 3, lap—" He paused and thought about it, brows furrowing as he stared up at the sky for answers. Finally, he shrugged, "—something in the 20s? Lap 23 maybe?"
His gaze lowered back to you. There was a sense of appreciation in the fondness of his eyes, something like gentle disbelief. Then his eyes widened just a bit, his brows quirked upwards in surprise. You made it a point to stay still while he approached you, his right hand lifting to tug on the lower hem of your new blue jacket.
"That's my number," he pointed out, nothing short of reverent. His smile grew wider. "I thought they didn't sell Williams' jackets with my number yet?"
"They don't," you told him and you couldn't help but feel incredibly proud of yourself. "But someone on the design team owed me a favour."
Seokmin's laughter filled the space, loud and demanding the attention of everyone passing by. He didn't seem to care for the eyes that glanced his way. He didn't seem to even notice the cameras flashing when he reached for you. You didn't have time to remind him with the way he pulled you into his arms, lifted you off the ground, and spun you around in three neat circles, nothing but cheers and laughter filling your ears.
When he lowered you back down, you were both out of breath and smiling like fools. In the midst of your sudden dizzy spell, you could've sworn his gaze flickered to your lips. It lasted less than a second before he was giggling and grinning all over again.
"Thank you," he finally told you, fingers just barely brushing over the proud yellow number 9 on your jacket. "This means everything."
Somehow, you had a feeling he meant every word.
[SHANGHAI 2025]
The garage burst into loud cheers, mechanics and analysts alike hugging each other like they'd just won the race. You knew that P7 and P8 were a long way off from podium positions, but that didn't put a damper on anyone's joy. It was the team's first double points of the season and it deserved nothing short of a celebration.
Just like the week before, you ran out to congratulate him, a wide smile on your face. You just about jumped into his arms on instinct. With a quiet huff of exertion and laughter, he caught you, arms wrapped tight around your waist.
"P7!" you practically screamed, unable to wipe the grin off your face. "You got points! In a Williams!"
Seokmin's arms reluctantly abandoned their place on your back to fix his hair. He pushed it off his forehead, only a few stray strands left behind. His smile was blinding. "Guess I've still got it."
"Did anyone even really think you lost it?" Alex wondered, having found a comfortable spot near the two of you. You half-remembered to give him a congratulatory hug as well, patting him on the back a little harder than necessary when he gave you a funny look for it.
"Good job, both of you," you told them like the team player you were. Even though the number 9 stood bright and proud on your jacket and on the brim of your hat, betraying your clear bias. "I'm proud of you."
"A little prouder of one than the other, I think." Alex punctuated his mumbled comment with a teasing scoff and a big sip of his water, eyes flitting about the paddock as he did so. You made a mental note to make his post-race social media duties more unbearable than usual, and you mentally double highlighted the note when his eyes caught yours again and a wicked grin appeared. "So, Williams' Lovebirds, huh? The two of you have something to share with the class?"
It took everything in you not to roll your eyes.
The new nickname had appeared from the depths of social media after the race last week, accompanying photos and videos of the hug you'd shared. Photos and videos that made the innocent action look far more intimate than you had dared to believe. Even this morning, your mentions had been full of ship names and edits of moments you'd shared in the background of so many TikToks without ever realising. It was almost enough to make you believe there was something there.
You glanced at Seokmin, watched the way his eyes lit up when you made eye contact. Perhaps you wanted to believe there was something there, after all.
"Yeah, you got something to share?" an all-too-familiar low voice interrupted the friendly atmosphere. You felt the vibrations of his voice before you heard his words; your entire body flinched like you'd been hit with a bucket of ice water.
Seungcheol stood right in front of you, dark blue racing suit half-zipped, hanging off his hips in a way that would've made you weak at the knees this time last year. Even now, you had to admit he looked deadly in Red Bull colours, especially with his arms crossed over his broad chest, muscles flexing under the skin-tight white fireproofs.
You frowned and reminded yourself that this was no longer the man you had once fallen in love with. As far as your heart was concerned, you didn't know this man any more than you knew any of the rookies on this grid.
"What are you doing here, Seungcheol?" you asked him, forcing your voice to stay as level as it could. A waver in the tone felt like it would have been an admission of guilt you had no part in.
His brown eyes glinted with something dangerous. "I came to congratulate my old team mate on his first points in a new team." He turned to Seokmin, forced a smile that looked more like a snarl to anyone who knew him. "Congrats, friend."
Seokmin, bless his heart, wore a much more comfortable expression, even if his eyes burned with barely restrained annoyance. "And congratulations on P2. Glad to see you're still on your podium streak."
"I'm sure you wish yours had continued."
"I'll work my way back, don't worry."
"Coming for what's mine again?" Seungcheol maintained his smile. His knuckles were turning white from how hard he was gripping the fabric of his shirt. "I won't make it easy this time."
Seokmin's brows rose. His fingers fidgeted, curled and uncurled like they were contemplating their next action. "When have you ever made it easy?"
You thought he might hit him when Seungcheol's lips quirked into a smirk, venomous and all-knowing, eyes flitting to yours just long enough to mean something. "This one was pretty easy, was it not?"
Your hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him away with a strength you hadn't thought you possessed. Glaring daggers at him, you said, "Get over yourself, Seungcheol. What happened between us had nothing to do with him."
"Yeah?" Seungcheol challenged, glancing back to see Seokmin looking like he might follow, barely held back by Alex and a mechanic. "That's odd because he sure seems involved for someone who has nothing to do with this."
"He's my friend!" you argued. The urge to tug your — and maybe his as well — hair out was growing by the minute. "Why can't you just grow up and accept that we're over? Why are you so goddamn spiteful? Just leave us be!"
He laughed, low in his throat, no humour in it. "That's rich coming from you. You broke up with me in front of my team, humiliated me, broke my heart. And then you ran into his waiting arms before my tears could even dry!"
"Then take it out on me instead of targeting him," you demanded with a frown, your ears ringing with anger at the sheer audacity of his words.
"He's not some innocent goody-two-shoes either, you know?" He laughed once more. "That— That weasel has been looking at you like you're the trophy since the first day he stepped into the hospitality. I saw it, watched it with my own two eyes — how he followed you around, volunteered for all those dumb videos just to spend more time with you, laughed at all of your jokes, practically begged for recognition every time he made it into points.
"You both might have gotten what you wanted," he spoke lowly, leaning closer so only you could hear his words, "but I sure as hell won't make it easy for you."
"You're an asshole," was all you could find the strength to say. Frankly, spitting on him would not have been enough to show your rage. You spun on your heels and marched away from him, back to where you belonged, right by Seokmin's side.
His hand reached for you immediately, landing on the side of your arm. "Are you okay? What did he say?"
"It's nothing," you lied and forced a smile. "It'll be fine. We should be celebrating, not fighting Seungcheol tonight."
Alex glanced back at the Red Bull driver, a single brow rising in disbelief. "Doesn't seem like nothing. He looks like he wants to burn our hospitality down."
"He could use the jail time for arson," you joked under your breath. "But whatever."
Seokmin nodded along, the corners of his lips lifting. "It was just some good old trash talk between rivals. You know how it goes."
"Maybe you two should just date for real," the other driver started again. "Give him something to actually be upset about."
The comment took you off guard. You blinked at Seokmin, expecting him to react with similar confusion and shock, maybe even a boisterous laugh. He was glaring backwards at Seungcheol's retreating figure, a dangerous spark threatening to turn into real flames in his usually warm eyes.
That should have been the first sign that he wouldn't just leave it be.
[SUZUKA 2025]
Rumours of the newly dubbed Williams' Lovebirds only got bigger with every passing day. The week-long break between Shanghai and Suzuka only seemed to intensify them; fans fuelled by boredom made edit after edit of moments you hadn't dared to give a second thought to.
They proudly showcased all the times Seokmin had looked at you, on the other side of the camera lens, with something unfamiliar in his eyes, a gentle smile on his face, an airy glow to his expression. It was something you hadn't been able to put a name to — 'adoration' all of the fans agreed.
They pointed out the number 9 you wore on your jacket, the bright smile you hadn't realised the broadcast cameras had caught when Seokmin crossed the finish line. And you could hardly count the edits of your two hugs this season, set to romantic songs you had never heard before.
They flooded your social media channels, all of your mentions, all of your emotional space with videos comparing your ex-fiancé and a man you hadn't realised you saw as more than a friend.
'I'm glad she's with Seokmin now; she deserves better," a comment read, liked by a thousand users. You were starting to realise you agreed.
When you stepped onto the paddock on Thursday, you knew you weren't the only one unable to escape them. You were acutely aware of the accusatory glare Seungcheol sent your way when you passed him in front of the Red Bull hospitality.
That should have been the second red sign that a clash was inevitable. Without realising it, the fans had opened the floodgates of tension all over again, and there was no stopping it now. All you could do was pray they wouldn't take it out on each other on the track.
“Fighting for 3rd place, Lee is closing in on Choi. The two former teammates are in a battle for the podium with only fifteen laps to go.”
You couldn’t help but lean towards the screen, breath caught in your throat. This is the closest they’d been all season.
“Lee takes the outside. No use. Choi shows his mastery of defending and keeps his place.”
“Come on, Seokmin,” you found yourself whispering into your fist. Your fingers were starting to hurt from how hard you were clenching them together, but you couldn’t have cared less.
“But Lee isn’t about to give up, is he? He’s pushing again, pedal to the metal. If he plays his cards right, he could overtake at the next turn and we could see the first Williams podium since 2021 right here in Suzuka.”
A cursory glance around the room told you the other team members were watching with similar bated breaths, fingers crossed, palms pressed over their mouths as if a single loud breath could blow away Seokmin’s chances of getting on the podium.
A collective gasp echoed through the room. Your head snapped to face the screen again. Mouth falling agape, you stared as the graphics declared safety car conditions.
The room filled with shocked chatter, loud enough to drown out the race audio. You couldn’t figure out what had happened but somehow you knew the exact answer. You begged your gut to be wrong.
One by one, the cars fell in line behind the green vehicle. You quietly counted them, the camera clearly more focused on the parade of racing cars than on the aftermath of whatever had happened. Two orange McLarens, a black Mercedes, two red Ferraris… No Red Bull, no Williams in the top 10. Your heart dropped.
The chatter fell away and you could hear the commentary again, confirming your suspicions.
“Both drivers are out safely, but that was one hell of a crash. I don’t suppose either team is particularly happy about this result. So close to P3 and now neither Lee nor Choi will get to see the podium today.”
You felt your eyes fill with tears — of fear? worry? anger? you weren’t sure yet – while they replayed the crash from three different angles. In slow motion, Seokmin’s Williams got wheel-to-wheel with Seungcheol’s Red Bull, pushing and pushing. For a moment, you thought Seokmin was going to pass him and take P3.
Then he turned his wheel to the right. Just the smallest amount, just for half a second. The cars met, tyres crashing together, debris flying across the track as they spun across the grass, far off the asphalt. Two third-place contenders stood in the green background, suspensions snapped, tyres flat on the ground, dust still floating in the distance. It’s a miracle neither of them flipped.
“Lee is a seasoned driver. He doesn’t mistake his left and right. I fear the reality is that he wanted to push Choi off the track. Whether he expected to go off-track with him or not is an entirely other question.”
“But that’s the thing: Lee is not a particularly aggressive driver. He’s never been in a racing incident like this before. Could it have been a mistake? An overcorrection leading to a crash?”
“Either way, that is no doubt going to be a hefty penalty for Lee.”
You didn’t bother to listen any longer. Gathering up your things, you stomped out and right to his driver’s room.
He appeared some fifteen minutes later, hair a mess like it always was, racing suit half-unzipped and hanging off his hips, revealing the white fireproofs underneath. His mouth opened, no doubt ready to spew excuses, the moment he noticed you sitting on his chair.
You silenced him with a glare and demanded, “What the hell was that?”
“An incident,” he told you as if it were normal. As if he hadn’t just practically rammed your ex, his own old teammate, off the track without a single regard for safety. “It happens.”
“It happens?” You almost laughed at his audacity. “So what? You just happened to turn your steering wheel to the right on a straight? You just happened to push him off? That was no accident. Anyone could see you meant to do that.”
“So what if I did?” he argued, brows furrowing, his mouth downturned in anger. Somehow, you knew he didn’t mean to direct it at you. “He deserved it.”
Your brows rose, your arms crossed over your chest. “He deserved it?”
“He’s been calling you names to the press since last year. The things he's been saying about you during drivers' parades— Even Oscar looked like he wanted to hit him today!" He took a breath through gritted teeth, glaring up at the ceiling lights. "I told you I wouldn’t just sit by and do nothing. I meant it.”
“You still can’t just force people off the track, Seokmin.”
“Apparently, I can,” he replied with a shrug and reached for a change of clothes.
“You could’ve been on the podium today! Podium, Seokmin! This team hasn't been this close to a podium finish in four years! And you just threw all that away to what? Defend my honour?” You weren't just pissed. You were livid on behalf of both yourself and the team.
He smiled and it looked like a sad replica of the real masterpiece. “If I got that close this time, who’s to say I can’t do it again next time?”
It was damn hard to argue with a man who's already decided he's right. It was even harder to argue with Seokmin, who made decisions based on loyalty instead of logic.
“You’re going to get a penalty." The rage had already almost disappeared from your voice. Maybe you weren't the most rational being either. "A big one.”
He pulled off his fireproof shirt, sweaty skin glistening golden under the lights. You averted your eyes, glaring increasingly duller daggers at a framed photo of the team.
“I’ll take it proudly. I’ve had a clean record until now.”
Your eyes stung with tears waiting to be shed. You gritted your teeth and tried to sound more angry than scared when you told him, “You could’ve been hurt.”
He paused, his team kit polo halfway on. After a moment of thought, he slipped the rest of it on and sighed while straightening it out.
You didn’t look. You didn’t dare to lower your face, afraid the tears would really come if you did. But you felt his presence as he stepped closer.
Heat radiated off of him as he stood right in front of you, close enough that you could taste his words when he whispered, “Were you worried?”
The words were on the tip of your tongue. Still avoiding his eyes, you resisted the urge to scream them.
“Were you?” he repeated, his fingers caressing the apple of your cheek.
You wanted to slap him for throwing away the podium. You wanted to shove him for making you worry. You wanted to grab him by the collar and pull him close for shielding you even when you didn't ask him to, even when it got him in trouble. You wanted to kiss him dumb for caring so much.
“Of course I was worried,” you told him, your voice hushed and raw. “How could I not be?”
A smile appeared on his face, soft and gentle and small. “Look at you, getting all soft on me.”
“You could’ve been really hurt,” you reminded him, your eyes finally finding his. The feeling of vulnerability was no stranger, but it had never felt quite so demanding. Without your consent, or any thought at all, your hands rose to take his face between them. Your fingers ran across his skin, wordlessly checking for injuries and scrapes the doctor might have missed. You breathed out in relief and rested your hands on his collarbones. “Never do that again, okay?”
He chuckled. “You’re asking a lot of me.”
“Never. Again.” You forced your voice to be firm even as the first tear slipped down your cheek and right onto his fingers. “Promise me. Promise you’ll race clean. Promise you won’t try to push him off again. Promise you’ll come back to me, uninjured.”
His thumb brushed across your cheek, wiped away the salty bead. Face solemn, sincere, he whispered, "I promise you."
You kissed him before you could hesitate. Pressed your lips to his with such force it almost made you wince. Fingers threading into the hair on the back of his head, breath mixing with his, you didn't want to let him go.
If he was startled, he didn't show it. You'd grown familiar with the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist, but this time it felt like more. His fingers found the hem of your jacket, slid underneath as if the feel of your skin alone could heal the ache in his bones.
"Say it again," you asked against his lips before kissing him again and once more for good measure. "Promise me again."
One arm wandering higher to push against your upper back, to pull you even closer, he let out a soft, strangled sound. Eyes squeezed shut like he was afraid it was a dream he'd have to wake up from, he repeated, "I promise you. I promise."
"Never again," you begged. "Never make me worry like that again. Come back to me."
"Always back to you," he spoke fervently while his lips found a path — one he cherished with a slow passion — from your mouth to your collarbone. The first of many love bites would bloom right there in a mere minute.
Music played softly in the background, slow and strangely nostalgic, just like the feeling of his breath against your neck, just like the gentle touches of his fingers against your palm.
His lips left another warm mark on your skin. You couldn't help but smile at the feeling, free hand reaching up to play with his hair. He let out a soft hum, content and fulfilled.
"You were made to be loved like this," he suddenly mumbled, his words muffled and yet to clear.
You snorted out a little laugh, tried to decipher the meaning of his words. "In a hotel bed after a grand prix?"
He let out a noise of protest but stopped mid-way, lashes fluttering as his eyes opened and he leaned up on his elbow. Lips pursed in a defiant pout, he glared down at you as if you'd offended his very being. His fierce expression only served to amuse you, and seeing your smile, he melted.
"No, I meant— Okay, yes, a little bit in a bed after a grand prix," he conceded with a roll of his eyes before slumping back down and burrowing back into his new favourite hiding place in your embrace. You couldn't help but feel like he belonged right there.
"Was it worth the penalty? Five grid places dropped?" you wondered jokingly.
"So worth it," he replied with a smile. It melted into something softer, sweeter when your eyes met. He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. "I actually meant… Never mind, it's too silly."
"Nothing you say is too silly," you told him, fingers brushing through his hair.
He pressed another kiss to your skin at the words.
"Come on," you urged, nudging him just a little. He giggled and it was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard. "What were you going to say?"
"I was trying to say," he started, hesitant all of a sudden as if he feared the moment had passed, "that you should be loved gently. Reverently — I think that's the word." He leaned up once more, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. His gaze spoke a thousand words but he settled for fewer. "You deserve so much more than he ever gave you. I need you to know that."
You smiled. It was a sad smile, the regretful kind. It said you wished he was right.
As if he could read your mind, he sighed and matched your smile. "I wish I'd met you before he did. I wish it was me who earned your love and made you smile and laugh. I wish you never had to face the things he threw your way — the media frenzy, the accusations, the humiliation. You deserve so much more."
"It's a good thing you got me now then, right?" you whispered back.
He looked at you, really looked. His gaze caressed every inch of your visible skin, every mole, every birthmark, every scar. "I still can't believe this is real. You and I. On the same team. In the same bed." He laughed. "Maybe I'm still dreaming."
"You're not dreaming."
You weren't sure he believed you yet. You weren't sure you believed it yourself.
[JEDDAH 2025]
The circuit was buzzing. Ten minutes until the race, twenty cars lined up on the grid, a crowd of journalists and fans and mechanics alike walking about the track for final preparations.
All too aware of all the eyes, you fixed your lipstick and made your way over to Seokmin, his blue Williams neatly parked in the 6th grid box. He wasn't in the car yet, his racing suit still half unzipped, a wide, relaxed smile on his face while he gave an interview.
His eyes lit up some more when he caught your eyes. As soon as the journalist had wished him luck and started the hunt for the next willing victim, Seokmin waved you closer.
You glanced about the track dramatically before smiling at him. "Haven't seen you this far up the grid in months."
"Yeah?" He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead in a way that was so devastatingly attractive. "Yeah, I guess it's been a while."
"Planning on getting some points today?" you teased, nudging his side.
"For you?" he replied, eyes glinting with promises you couldn't wait to hear. "As many as you want. Just say the word."
Your entire being softened at his words. Memories of his crash two weeks ago were still fresh on your mind, replaying even now when you looked at his car. You looked further up the grid — Seungcheol was starting from pole today, having barely found enough the tenths of a second to out-qualify the McLarens.
First and sixth, you thought and felt bad for the sigh of relief you almost breathed out.
"Even just one point is fine," you told him, hand reaching up to adjust his collar. Your thumbs brushed his jawline and you couldn't help but laugh at how easy and right it felt. It was as if a switch had flipped back in Suzuka. Gone were the days when you'd been too hesitant to even nudge his side; now it seemed you couldn't keep your hands off of him at all. It was natural, you supposed. Blinking the thought away, you smiled at him. "Just don't crash. Remember, you promised."
"I'll try my best," he replied. His gaze lowered and he grinned wide. "You're wearing my number again."
You raised a brow. "And that's enough to make you smile like a schoolboy?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" he wondered and it sounded like a genuine question from his heart. As if he couldn't wrap his head around the possibility of not being excited about something as simple and cliché as someone wearing a jacket with his racing number on it.
The realisation made you giddy inside. You didn't fight the urge to kiss his cheek, lingering longer than was probably polite. A mechanic whistled and smirked at the sight, only laughing when you pulled away to glare at him. He laughed harder when he looked up at Seokmin.
You soon gasped and followed suit. Reaching up to wipe Seokmin's cheek, you apologised, "I forgot I just re-applied my lipstick. I'm so sorry."
"Did you get a mark on me?" he asked and giggled when you confirmed his suspicions. Before you could clean it off, he practically jumped out of your reach, his hand covering the mark like a shield while he grinned. "Don't you dare!"
"You can't go racing with lipstick on your face!" you protested through laughter of your own and tried to wipe it off again. He dodged your efforts until you eventually gave up with a defeated sigh. "You're impossible."
He shrugged. "Maybe. But I'll take all the luck you give me, the lipstick included."
"It's bright red."
"Matches my helmet."
"You'll get your padding all dirty. It'll smudge."
"Even luckier," he sang before reaching over to get his balaclava. He smiled even as he pulled it on over his head. The lipstick mark peeked out from under the white fabric, just a corner of the red still visible on his cheek.
It looked like a secret you couldn't wait to share. Your fingers twitched around your phone, itching to take a photo to upload on the team page, to let the world know it was your lipstick he wore with such pride.
"You really think it'll bring you luck?" you wondered, some disbelief still obvious in your voice.
He nodded like it was one of the fundamental truths of the universe. "It's from you."
And maybe he was right. Or maybe he was simply that good of a driver. You liked to think it was a combination.
The rouge on your lips wore off by the halfway point of the race, smudging and flaking under your anxious biting. It was only fair to assume the stain on his cheek had also disappeared, a victim to sweat and cloth. You had no time to care — Seokmin had long abandoned his 6th spot in the line-up, climbing higher and higher up the leaderboard.
The entire team seemed to be holding their breath. You heard someone whisper a prayer under his breath, begging the higher powers to keep recent history from repeating. The air was tense with anticipation.
"And what is this? A Williams challenging Charles Leclerc's Ferrari for 3rd place?"
Even the commentators sounded baffled.
"There's still 13 laps to go but it looks like Lee has somehow found enough pace to close the gap. Less than two tenths of a second between them."
The two cars raced across the screen in a blur of reds and blues, side by side, before Seokmin fell back again in a corner. You felt your nails digging into your palms.
"And he started from 6th, did he not?"
"An impressive race for him, regardless of whether or not he makes it onto the podium today."
"He did almost make it to 3rd place back in Japan just two weeks ago. Could this finally be his lucky break?"
"Come on, Seokmin," you whispered and willed your heart rate to slow down. "You can do this."
The cars were side by side again, evenly matched, perfect equals for those five seconds down the straight. Then one of them seemed to find the little extra something — Seokmin passed the Ferrari in the next corner to the sound of loud cheers from the garage and the crowd alike.
"In a simply amazing move, Lee has made it into the top three, joining Seungcheol Choi in second and Oscar Piastri who's currently leading the race."
Your eyebrows rose at their own accord; focused on Seokmin's race, you hadn't even noticed when Seungcheol had lost the lead. Whenever that had happened — you realised while looking at the track position graphic — Seungcheol had lost more than three seconds to the McLaren.
Seeing their names so close together on the screen again made it hard to breathe.
"He promised," you mumbled to yourself. A reminder. "He told me he promised."
But Seungcheol hadn't, and he wasn't the type to give in easily. Isn't that what he told you just two weeks ago? That he wouldn't give up this time? You could only hope he cared more for his team's position than for this stupid grudge.
Ten laps to go. The gap was still big enough to avoid another crash, two seconds between the drivers. But Seokmin was gaining on him fast.
'Fastest lap: Seokmin Lee' read the purple graphic on the top part of the screen. The commentators predicted the fight for P2 could happen in just a few laps at the current pace. You were torn between hoping they were right and praying they were wrong.
You wanted to get on the radio and tell him that just getting on the podium was enough. You wanted to tell him to just focus on defending his position. A third place was more than the team had dared to hope for this season; he didn't need to keep pushing for the second place, you were already proud of him.
But you were just a woman on the social media team. You weren't privy to the radio messages and strategy calls. All you could do was stare at the TV screen and hope for a lucky ending to this race.
Five laps to go. The gap was practically non-existent now. Two blue cars next to each other on the track, battling for P2 like it was the championship title.
"What a marvellous move by Choi, defending his position! Lee's going to have to find a different place to overtake."
Every camera angle seemed to be focused on the man of your past and the man of your present. You thought your heart might stop working at this rate. Someone from the team stepped closer and patted your shoulder; it did nothing to ease your worries.
"Lee tries again, but Choi is a master of defensive driving and blocks his attempt. This is absolutely cinematic to watch. A proper clean battle on the track."
You couldn't have cared less for the cinema of it all. All you wanted was for Seokmin to finish the race safe and sound and without a single scratch on the beautiful face you intended to kiss silly. When you dared to glance away from the screen, you found yourself clutching the number on the jacket, nails locked under the edges of the sewn-on patch.
"That was an unlucky lock-up for Choi but an incredibly lucky one for Lee, who has now taken P2 from right underneath his former team mate's nose! Absolutely fantastic! And he's already creating a gap between them!"
There was a squeal of excitement. It didn't hit you until moments later that it had been you who had made the sound. Your lips spread into a wide grin, hands coming up to cover it as if showing your elation could be bad luck. Only three laps to go, less than 5 minutes of the race left, and Seokmin — your Seokmin — was so close to the podium that he could taste it.
"Was our car always this good?" someone on the team whispered between the restrained chatter of excitement in the garage.
"Yeah," you replied softly, hands falling down to clutch the number on your chest again, smile still lighting up your face. "But now it has the drivers to prove it."
The better part of the team practically ran out of the garage the moment the finish line was crossed. You were pulled into a group hug to the sound of hollering and cheers and laughter.
"Albon P9, Lee P2," someone called out to inform everyone. The celebrations at the barricade got louder.
One by one, the cars rolled into their spots. The winning McLaren took its spot in the centre of it all, but you weren't paying it much attention. It was hard to when Seokmin's Williams rolled into the spot right next to it, dusty and gravel-scraped from battle, its driver jumping out of the cockpit and smiling the moment he got his helmet off.
The red mark still stood proud on his cheek when he hugged the winner to congratulate him. It seemed to shimmer under the lights when he looked out to the crowd to find you. He pointed at the stain, eyes questioning.
"Is it still there?" he asked wordlessly and you nodded. He smiled wider like that little fact was worth more than the trophy he was about to receive.
Behind him, you saw Seungcheol, freshly rolled into the spot designated for P3. His Red Bull still looked pristine — you supposed it had barely even been a battle for him —, but the driver looked like he'd been through hell and back. Eyes red-rimmed with tears and anger, mouth down-turned, tugging on his hair in frustration when his eyes met yours. He glared. His foot hit the front left tyre in anger. Off he went to get weighed.
You looked at him for a short while, wondered what you had seen in him. He wasn't always like this, you thought as if to reassure yourself. But you couldn't pinpoint when the change had happened, nor did you want to. He wasn't your problem anymore, hadn't been for a long time.
"Not to discount the car, but you had a phenomenal drive today," the journalist spoke. "Your best of the season. How did that happen?"
"How did I drive so well today?" Seokmin laughed at the clumsy question, glancing up at the ceiling in thought before shrugging. "The team's been amazing, the car was great today—"
"But anything about your life specifically?" the journalist pressed, and you could practically hear the mischievous smile in his tone. "Something to do with the red on your cheek, perhaps?"
Seokmin's eyes lit up with the realisation. Instinctively, his free hand rose to touch the mark. It barely even looked like a lipstick stain anymore, just a vaguely shaped blob of Ruby Woo on his skin. "Oh, that's from my muse. I told her it would be a lucky kiss but she didn't believe me." They laughed in unison. "Guess I was right."
[MIAMI 2025]
The city was buzzing with excitement, and so were you, for a different reason altogether.
The nights before races have always been equal parts stressful and amazing. There's work to do, cars to maintain, pre-race rituals to partake in. You could hear the fans out in the streets, making memories and predictions between singing their favourite drivers' fight songs. They've bought their favourite teams' jackets, papaya orange and Ferrari red and Red Bull blues. From the corner of your eye, you spotted a couple in Williams' jackets, proud numbers 23 and 9 on his and her backs respectively.
But while they donned team kits and colours, you were abandoning yours for the night. Your staff shirt was long forgotten on the bed while you did your make-up. Seokmin's text message practically burned into your brain:
[i'll meet you in the lobby at 8 :)]
You had giggled, kicked your feet against the hotel mattress like you were the lead in a 2000s rom-com, and quickly replied with a 'can't wait' and a heart-eyes emoji. You hadn't checked your phone even once since then, too busy picking out your outfit and bringing forward the inner beauty you hoped would make up for the tired bags under your eyes.
Perhaps, you now thought and glanced back at your phone, the emoji had been a little bit too much. It wasn't like you were anything serious. Not yet anyway.
Sure, you'd kissed his cheek. Sure, you'd earned a gentle noise complaint back in Japan. Sure, you were giddy and giggly and getting ready for a date.
Oh.
Maybe it was serious.
For some reason, that thought made you smile wider.
You checked your reflection one last time and practically danced out of your hotel room, phone in hand. It was only in the elevator that you checked your phone again — just a brief glance at the lock screen for any stray notifications.
It hit you how different things were now. You used to check your phone every few minutes back then, anxious to see if your fiancé had decided to cancel another date. Even with Seokmin, you'd spent the first few times going out memorising the messages and overanalysing every interaction like there was a hidden rejection written into his warm gaze.
A little bit of trust and comfort goes a long way, you supposed.
There was an email from work, something about the next day's itinerary. There was a message from home, some notifications from your social media apps. And there was a message from Seokmin. You tapped on the last one without hesitation.
[are you more of a tulips or a roses type of girl?]
[pls answer quick. the flower store employee's starting to look at me weird]
[…]
[i'm so sorry if you don't like roses 😭]
You were laughing when you walked out into the hotel lobby. One of the drivers walked past you and offered a silly smile, curious but too tired to ask. His attention was promptly stolen by his girlfriend showing him something on her hand, just as yours was by the sight of a familiar wide smile.
Seokmin stood near a window, leaning against a pillar. He looked so different out of his racing suit, out of his team kit polos. You almost wished the FIA made it mandatory for drivers — or at least this driver — to wear dress shirts and slacks more often. At least once a week would do, you supposed as you walked over to him.
His arms reached out, inviting you into his warm embrace. The stems of the flowers pressed gently into your lower back, the petals brushed over your exposed skin. You held him closer.
"You look mighty handsome," you told him with a chuckle, trying so hard not to let your knees buckle and your heart stop. A fan walking past the hotel window with her friends visibly gasped and feigned falling over at the sight — she had no idea how much you were fighting not to do the same.
He practically beamed at the compliment, free hand rising to rub the back of his reddening neck. "Nowhere as gorgeous as you."
Pretending his words didn't affect you as much as they did, you looked for a distraction. You gave the bouquet in his hand a pointed glance. His breath caught in his throat as if he'd been caught in a crime.
"Oh!" He held the flowers out for you to take. "You didn't tell me if you liked roses or tulips more, so I got roses. I hope that's okay." He barely gave you any time to reply. "I mean, if you don't like them, we can just pretend this didn't happen and I can get you some tulips instead. Or lilies. Or daisies. Are daisies romantic? I've never done this bef—"
"The roses are perfect," you told him with a gentle laugh and took them from his hand, holding them close to your chest in appreciation. "Thank you."
As if you'd said the magic words, he visibly relaxed in front of you. "Okay. That's good. That's— Yeah. I'm glad you like them."
"You weren't this awkward back in Singapore," you joked and grabbed a hold of his arm. The muscles flexed under your hand, firm and steady and safe. "Or even Suzuka."
"Well, to be fair, I wasn't trying to date you back in Singapore," he told you as he led you to the hotel restaurant. "And I'm still not entirely convinced what happened in Japan wasn't a fever dream."
You supposed you couldn't blame him for that.
The harsh lights of the lobby disappeared and gave way to a warmer atmospheric light from candles and fairy lights. A waitress led you to a table, handing out drink menus with practised grace. She made a joke about running out of vases with all the romantic dates happening on this evening but rushed to find you one anyway. She ended up setting it on the table for you to rest your roses in.
It was like straight out of a movie — a perfect date filled with affectionate glances, warm smiles, sharing your dishes because "yours looks so much better!". His fingers found yours from across the table before dessert. He drew shapes onto your skin with his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours as he listened to every word you said like it was gospel.
A flash and a panicked movement caught your attention. Playfully, you sighed. "I guess we've been found out."
Seokmin chuckled and his eyes briefly snapped to see the culprit. "Does it bother you?"
"The fans?" you wondered.
"The attention." His head tilted in thought, his smile a little more mellow than before. "It must be strange, going from just someone on the paddock to having people recognise you just because you were seen with a Formula 1 driver. You were just (Y/n) back when you joined AlphaTauri, but now people see you and think…"
He hesitated to continue but you weren't as reluctant. Pitching your voice just a little bit higher, you imitated the countless girls you'd met on the paddock: "'Oh my god, aren't you Seungcheol's ex?' Yeah, it's a little bit weird." You took a sip of your wine, stared at the candle flame. "Apparently, there are fan pages for me? I guess maybe I should've capitalised on the fame a little more when I had the chance."
It was a pattern seen a thousand times before, one you had somehow avoided this far. You'd seen it in the way other drivers' girlfriends reacted to new-found fame: all too-aware of the cameras, switching from team hoodies to designer dresses to fit in the box the fans expected them to be in. You'd been protected from some of that pressure by the virtue of being a staff member — no point in doing your hair and picking out outfits when you were mandated to wear your team polo everywhere you went.
He made a noise in the back of his throat. "Well, I think 'Isn't that Seokmin's girl?' has a nice ring to it."
Your cheeks were starting to hurt from how much you'd been smiling all night.
'Seokmin's girl' — it sounded unreal, like something from a distant dream you hadn't dared to hope would become reality. At first, it had been jarring, being associated with Seokmin instead of your ex. Then it became some sweet but unfamiliar. You couldn't wait until it would become second nature.
His train of thought seemed to have taken a similar route, his eyes bright with excitement and adoration as he mumbled, "My (Y/n)."
"I think a certain Red Bull driver might start causing collisions on purpose if you start calling me that to the media," you reminded him with a bashful grin.
"So what?" He leaned closer. "I'll walk out of a thousand crashes if it means I get to come back to you."
"Or," you reasoned, "we could keep it quiet and avoid all of that." He looked like he wanted to protest. You rushed to add, "Just for a little while. Just until this… feels real."
"It is real."
"You just said what happened in Suzuka felt like a fever dream."
"Can you blame me?" He laughed. "I got out of a crash to you yelling at me. And then you kissed me and then suddenly we were in my hotel room, naked. For all I know, I might have been hallucinating from a secret concussion."
"I can assure you," you squeezed his hand and chuckled, "it was very real."
"Then this is real too. But I suppose," he sighed with theatrical despair, "I can survive keeping this our little secret for a little longer."
You were about to argue it wasn't much of a secret if he wore your lipstick stain on race days and ran to hug you after every racing event, but he leaned over the table, careful of the candle, and pressed his lips to yours.
You blinked and giggled when he leaned back into his seat with a victorious grin. "We're going to have to discuss your definition of a secret."
He scrunched up his face, still smiling, and leaned closer again. He whispered, "I'm very bad at keeping secrets."
A stray thought passed by. You latched onto it. It wasn't your fault you were curious by nature, even if it was to your own peril.
"Yeah?" you teased, leaning closer as well. You could practically smell the tiramisu in his breath. "I heard there's one you kept a little too well."
His lashes fluttered in confusion. "What?"
"I heard you've had a little crush on me since I first joined AlphaTauri."
You watched his ears turn red, his eyes squeeze shut with embarrassment. "Who told you?"
A gasp of delight. You leaned back to laugh out loud. "So it's true!" He slumped in his chair, hiding his face in his hands. "You've liked me that long?"
"Can you blame me?" you faintly heard Seokmin mumble over the bossa nova mix playing in the background. Seokmin grimaced but slowly relaxed again, a rueful smile on his face when he looked at you again. "I think half the grid had a crush on you back then."
"Now you're just being dramatic."
"No, I swear," he argued. "I distinctly remember at least seven of us lining up near the AlphaTauri hospitality to see you."
You should've guessed it was the truth — Seungcheol might have been an asshole, but he'd never been a liar. He'd long found a weapon in twisting the truth instead. There was a certain taste of victorious revenge to the way you now turned one of his hurtful half-truths into a moment of joy and love for your heart. The next step would be to forget him entirely.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?" you asked him, voice soft and fingers reaching for his again.
He shrugged. "I'm telling you now."
[MONTREAL 2025]
Starting 4th was not the most ideal way to go, no matter the strategy. Especially when the car lined up next to his on the grid bore the number 8.
"Just avoid the walls," you reminded Seokmin, smiling at him like you often found yourself doing. He laughed as if it was easier said than done, eyes full of longing as he looked at your red lips. Catching onto his intentions, you took back one step and laughed.
Faux innocence and adoration were written all over his blinking eyes. "What?"
"You look like you want to kiss me," — he let out a hum of agreement at your words —, "and I promised the team I wouldn't let you do that in public."
"What?!" Seokmin's brows furrowed in near-vicious protest. "What next? Are they going to ban you from wearing my number too?"
You glanced down at your jacket. It was a newer version, still the familiar Williams' blue but now with yellow accents, his number 9 designed rather than haphazardly sewn onto it. Your hat matched it to a T, though you'd scribbled a clumsy bold 23 on the side of it as a slight concession to the team's reminders.
"Well," you started and burst into laughter again when he practically glowered at you, all dramatics but no bite. Instead of entertaining his jealousy further (and possibly accidentally earning his wrath), you pulled out your phone and tapped on the camera app. You might have been a woman in love — in like? you weren't entirely sure yet — but you were also a woman with a job.
You almost pressed record before hesitating. Something was odd about the sight on your screen. It was Seokmin, sure, but there was something missing. You tilted your head to the side and frowned.
Seokmin's scowl had melted into a gentle smile, his head tilting to match yours as if he could see you better this way. He glanced at the camera and raised a brow. "Something wrong?"
"Well, no, but," you trailed off. A glance away from the screen to look at him off of it. Back to the screen. Everything was right, but …
"Did you forget something?" He leaned closer, teasing you. Eyes sparkling with mischief, he pointed at his cheek — plain tan skin, only a mole and a faded scar from a past racing incident. You stared at it. He snorted out a laugh. "Is this it? You're breaking up with me? Sending me off to the race, luckless?"
Luck. Of course. You should've known he wouldn't let you forget.
With a dramatic defeated sigh, you leaned forward and kissed his skin. Free hand reaching up to hold his head still by his chin while his body began to shake with gleeful giggles, you made sure to press your lips against him a little harder than necessary. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close (you couldn't see the half-hearted glares he sent the mechanics and drivers who dared to offer questioning looks or teasing smiles).
You stepped back — he let out something like a soft whine — and admired your work. Bright and red and perfectly shaped. If that one wasn't lucky enough to get him on the podium, you weren't sure what would. With a satisfied nod, you lifted the phone again and pressed record before he could fully recover.
"Any promises for this race?" you asked in your most professional voice, and he stared at you for a moment, completely dazed by the turn of events as if this didn't happen on most weekends.
"Did you ask Alex that as well?" he wondered after a moment of thought, a gleeful spark in his eyes. He was buying time. "What did he say?"
"Alex promised to cause havoc in the middle of the grid," you informed him, glancing back at the driver of the car 23, already half-inside the cockpit back in P9.
Many heads turned to the sound of Seokmin's laughter. Uncaring of their attention, he ran a hand through his hair. "That sounds about right."
"Right. So, your promise?"
He winked. "To get on the podium."
The race started seven minutes later to the sound of roaring fans and engines. Seokmin's promise seemed more like a wishful hope now that he got pushed to fifth place by a Mercedes at the first turn of the very first lap. The broadcast producers made sure the replay the overtake what felt like twenty times. It didn't stop the team from pushing forward — there were still 69 laps to go and make up positions.
It was five laps later that the cameras focused on him again. The blue Williams in hot pursuit of the very Mercedes that had overtaken him. Only two tenths of a second behind. Even the commentators were buzzing with excitement — if you hadn't known better, you would've thought they had taken a liking to Seokmin.
"They're approaching the last chicane. Will Lee take this opportunity, or will he bail? He's overtaken in far less convenient places on this circuit in the past."
"I can't imagine he'd be very happy to finish the race in a lower place than he started—"
Seokmin's car pulled out of the Mercedes's slipstream, going wheel to wheel with him for a chance. It was a risk, but so was every part of this sport. You held your breath.
"He's going for it! Lee's taken the inside line through the chicane and it's paid off! He's back in fourth position, right where he started."
Someone in the garage jumped out of his chair and let out a victorious cheer.
"But it looks like he is not satisfied with just fourth. He's already closing the gap to Choi in P3. We could get another interesting battle between these two. They were team mates last season, but it seems that this year they're rivals, and they're both out for blood."
"I don't imagine their teamwork ended on a high note, considering some of the comments we've heard them make about each other. Rumour has it Lee stole Choi's girlfriend."
"And he's about to steal more than that right in this moment. Lee's got the inside line again—"
"It's like clockwork. He's found a trick that works, and he's sticking with it.
A woman — some celebrity invited to watch the Grand Prix — glanced your way. You supposed your reputation was more widely known than you would've liked. But there was nothing to do about it now.
There was a cameraman in the garage, the lens ominously pointed at you. There was no doubt about it — the producers were about to point you out for the whole world to see. You let out a soft breath of annoyance before the realisation hit you: you didn't care.
You didn't care that the world villainised you for falling out of love with one and in love with another man. You didn't care that they were still milking this stupid drama for views and content and chaos.
It wasn't your fault, any of it, no matter what the social media pages and forums claimed. You had no reason to cower and hide, panic spreading in your chest, breath caught behind words of apology you'd never utter. Your past had nothing to do with your future, for all you cared.
All you cared about was that Seokmin was out there, on the track, fighting for a spot on the podium just as he'd promised the fans — as he'd promised you. You ignored the camera and smiled at the TV screen when the leaderboard updated again, Seokmin's name now above Seungcheol's. Williams above the Red Bulls.
"George Russell's still in the lead, Oscar Piastri right behind him with only a two-second gap, and behind them is Seokmin Lee, still on his podium streak in the Williams, also only two seconds behind! Behind him, Seungcheol Choi, who started in third and is now in fourth. What an exciting race!"
The blue Williams followed close after the orange McLaren in front of it, closing the gap a hundredth of a second by a hundredth of a second. Silent electric anticipation filled the garage around you, mechanics and engineers and guests alike watching the screens with bated breath.
Lap 14. Pit stop to change the tyres. The car stopped in front of the garage for 2.4 seconds before practically flying back onto the track. The McLaren pulled into the pit lane two laps later — the commentators mumbled something about a poor strategy call that could cost him a position. They weren't wrong.
All cameras seemed to be focused on their battle for P2, the other 18 drivers on the circuit long forgotten. Seokmin might have only gained his position through the grace of a pit stop advantage, but he was not about to lose it for poor race craft. He was defending hard while you fought the urge to start biting your nails and picking at the red colour on your lips.
The McLaren never fell far behind, even while defending against Seungcheol's aggressive advances. It provided you a reason to be an anxious mess for the next fifty laps, obsessively staring at the leaderboard, at the gaps, at any glimpse of the two cars.
Soon, the cameras seemed to get tired of following only the top of the grid. They switched to show the battle for P8 instead, the commentators overanalysing every twitch of the wheels, every lost second through the chicane, every missed overtake opportunity.
And then it happened, in the shadow of the broadcast, unnoticed by almost everyone.
Your jaw dropped. Your eyes went wide and suspiciously blurry all of a sudden, your breath sharp and hollow. Seokmin's name moved to the very top of the leaderboard with only five laps to go.
It took the commentators a whole minute to catch onto the situation, their voices rising with disbelief, demanding to see a replay of the historical moment immediately. Even the broadcast graphics delayed in surprise, finally declaring Seokmin the new race leader now that it had been brought to their attention.
"Are my eyes deceiving me? A Williams? Leading the Canadian Grand Prix?" one of the commentators practically screeched before laughing with nearly maniacal doubt. "Lee is really leading the race!"
The garage burst into cheers as if the team had already won the Grand Prix. A little early, you supposed and joined in — it's never bad to savour the moment. Especially one as special as this.
"Okay, finally a replay!" the second man spoke, a smile evident in his voice. "It looks like Lee closed the gap in the DRS zone — I didn't even know a Williams could go this fast! And he tried to overtake in turn 1, but the Mercedes defended. But Lee's not one to give up, so he tried again in turn 2, and this time it worked! And that is how he got the lead! Absolutely beautifully done."
You couldn't wait to repeat those exact last three words to Seokmin when he'd finish the race and inevitably run to hug you at the barricade.
Three laps to go. He kept the lead.
Two laps to go. Somehow, he'd managed to put an entire three seconds ahead of the Mercedes, leading at a comfortable distance. The team's first win in over a decade seemed all but inevitable now.
The final lap. You were starting to feel dizzy from how much you'd been holding your breath and squeezing your hands close to your chest. The commentators had no doubts anymore — why would they? The gap to second place was well over three seconds, still with only a kilometre to go.
"It has been a beautiful day, a beautiful race, and it's about to become a thousand times more beautiful for the Williams team. When Seokmin Lee crosses the finish line, it will be — there is no doubt about it now — not only Seokmin's first win with the team, but also his first win in two years and, more importantly, the team's first Grand Prix win since 2012. Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing a historic moment, hopefully with many more to come."
He crossed the finish line, the checkered flag, held by some celebrity you've never heard of before, waving in above the track. The garage burst into cheers and sobbing, overwhelmed by emotions that couldn't be described. Elation, surprise, excitement for the future.
"And there he comes! Seokmin Lee, a racer with heart and passion and determination like no other, crosses the finish line and wins the 2025 Canadian Grand Prix!"
Your lung capacity seemed to expand all of a sudden, and finally you could take full breaths. There was something wet on your cheeks — tears of joy, you realised. The little make-up you wore was surely smudging under the weight of it all.
You smiled brightly through the crying when your face appeared on the screen. The cameraman had found you again. Your name appeared on the screen under the tear-stained face and it took your breath away once again.
(Y/n), Williams' social media manager, partner of Seokmin Lee.
It felt real. Finally, it felt real.
A member of the team pulled you into a hug before practically dragging you out of the garage to meet the drivers, her voice full of joyous laughter like the team had won the Constructors' Championship instead of a single race. You couldn't blame her, practically squeezing her waist in similar excitement as the two of you walked.
The barricade was full of people, team and family members alike, but they made room for you. The team shared almost conspiratorial smiles and winks as they let you through until you were at the very front.
You had half a mind to reach for your phone to record the celebration — surely the fans would love to see this angle, to feel like they're part of the team's celebrations. The team member you'd walked with stole the device from your hands just as Seokmin, freshly out of the car, practically ripping the helmet and balaclava off his head, broke out running towards the barricade.
The cheers got louder, you among them when he reached the team. He jumped up into their arms, hugging his race engineer and the team principal tightly in celebration. In the distance, someone started a crowd chant of his name. You were about to join in when he reached you.
His arms wrapped around you, tight and secure, almost pulling you over the barricade as he kissed you. Right there, in front of hundreds of people, millions watching on the TV, he kissed you like you were the reason he'd won the race.
Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. The cheers only got louder at the sight.
In the back of your mind — the last part that wasn't completely conquered and owned by the man in front of you yet —, you realised there would be a thousand edits of this very moment tomorrow morning. A thousand angles showcasing a relationship you hadn't dared to put a label on yet. And for once, the thought didn't cause you fear, or anxiety, or indifference. It brought excitement for the future to come.
You pulled back when you ran out of air and laughed, rubbing the slight tint of red from his lips. "What was that for?"
He grinned wide. "For everything." For a moment, he seemed sheepish, as if he'd just realised what he'd done. A nervous laugh. "Sorry, I probably should've asked first— If you're not comfortable—"
"We'll talk about this later," you told him, the smile never fading. Your heart was tender and so full. You would've kissed him a thousand more times, once for every butterfly he'd unleashed inside of you. "You have interviews to give and a trophy to collect."
Your words seemed to comfort him. He offered one more smile, hesitated for a moment and then sneaked a peck on your cheek before rushing off again, over to the increasingly impatient journalist waiting in front of the cameras.
The team member who had stolen your phone grinned as well and held out the device for you to take. A silent replay of a video you hadn't seen before played on the screen. A video she had taken, you and Seokmin in each other's embrace like lovers in a romance movie. You felt a heat of embarrassment climb up your neck and cheeks at the sight and quickly locked the phone, eyeing her suspiciously while you did so.
"Credit me when you upload it," she told you with a wink. "The fans will love it."
How the team's event coordinator managed to throw this celebration together so last minute was beyond your understanding. Perhaps she'd gotten some help from the other teams who were more prepared for such situations. Or maybe she was simply a magical being.
Whatever the case, the party was in full swing in the paddock. Music blasting with Alex at the DJ station, drinks of various colours and alcohol strength flowing, a snack table made up of skittles and crisps and convenience store snacks — it was a celebration for the ages. And it was all for him.
Seokmin stood in the middle of it all, bright-eyed, smiling wide, laughing so loud it almost drowned out the music. Someone had popped open a champagne — a gift from the Mercedes team, from what you'd heard. He got the first taste of it, toasting with the team principal before downing the drink like it was a shot of tequila. The team hollered and you made sure to get it all on camera.
You stepped back from the crowd when a mechanic started a conga line. The team could celebrate, but you still had a to-do list to fulfil, posts to make, videos to edit. You found a less crowded spot near a corner, occupied an armchair and made yourself comfortable.
An intern had shared a video draft with you; it was a compilation of clips from this glorious day. Seokmin's promise of getting on the podium before he got in his car, his cheek stained with your lucky lipstick. His car pulling up in parc fermé after the race, right at the big number 1 position board. Seokmin standing on top of his car, still wearing his helmet, hands lifted high in celebration. Him running to celebrate with the team. Him standing on the podium, the trophy in hand.
You wiped away a tear of pride and messaged the intern to tell her she did a good job. She'd have two reasons to celebrate on this night.
Then you opened the camera folder on your phone. You'd been taking videos all weekend long, so many clips to edit and post. You scrolled through them all, contemplating your options.
Your thumb stopped on the one with the kiss. Glancing around as if you feared someone would catch you doing something forbidden— God, this man had you feeling like a mischievous teenager all of a sudden! You played the video, muted but so vibrant.
His eyes lit up at the sight of you. He was practically glowing when he reached for you. Arms wrapped around your waist, lifted you so you were half-hanging off the metal barricade, his lips firmly on yours. Increasingly loud cheers and chants in the background while the two of you got lost in your own little world. A moment so intimate, so special, and yet so public.
You couldn't help but smile as the video played again and again.
Realising you'd been watching the same 30-second clip for five minutes straight, you laughed at yourself and switched away from the app. It took all of your professionalism to put the clip away from your mind and focus on the social media app in front of you instead. You decided to upload the intern's compilation. It had fifty likes before you could switch back to the main page.
You scrolled through the videos on the page, clips of the race, fan reactions, about five edits of your kiss, set to the cheesiest love songs you had ever heard.
Overcome with mild embarrassment, you were just about to close the app and return to the party when a clip of Seokmin signing the champagne bottle came up. His smile so wide it was obvious even from the awkward side-view angle, he held the white marker.
His handwriting was clumsy — whose wouldn't be while writing onto a bottle of all things? — but perfectly legible: 'To my (Y/n), thank you for being here'.
Your heart clenched. Eyes started stinging with unshed tears. You held the phone close to your chest as if to cherish the moment and blinked up at the ceiling to will the tears away.
He found you just then, two drinks in hand as he approached you. You didn't notice him until you heard his soft laughter, his head tilting curiously as he watched you.
"You good?" he wondered and leaned down to kiss your cheek.
You didn't dare to answer; your lips were starting to wobble. There weren't enough words in the world to tell him how you felt anyway. A thousand dictionaries, a hundred languages could never be enough to tell him how proud you were, how much your heart craved his presence and gentle words, how you thought you might fly away just from the power of love.
Love.
Love.
You loved him. Whole-heartedly. In ways your broken heart had wanted to swear off just last year, and even more.
The ceiling was your safe space for this little while. You were certain that if you looked at him, you'd burst out crying and confess your adoration in the most embarrassing manner, probably through snotty sobs and on your knees. The team would get a kick out of it.
But poor Seokmin couldn't read your mind. He soundlessly set the cups on a table nearby. You heard no smile in his voice when he asked, "Is this about the kiss? I'm sorry. Are you upset with me? I'm so sorr—"
You straightened up and grabbed him by the collar of his stupidly attractive dumb white t-shirt. And you kissed him. Poured every adoring word, every overpowering feeling, every dumb doubt, every exhilarating revelation into it. You wanted him to feel what you felt, wanted him to know that this was real, wanted to erase every doubt so completely they wouldn't even leave a single crease on the paper.
His hand on your waist, the other resting against your cheek, he kissed you back with the same intensity. Like he'd waited his entire life for this very moment, like he could read your thoughts and wanted to memorise every line.
"Oh my god, get a room!" someone from the crowd shouted. It sounded an awful lot like Yuki.
You pulled away with a laugh, ignored the stray tear that ran down your cheek as your feelings reached a high point. Seokmin whined in protest and chased your lips, pressed against them once more, gently now. He was practically straddling you on the chair now. The team would definitely never let you live this down.
"That was…" You breathed out, hands lowering to rest against his chest. You giggled when he tried to lean forward to kiss you a third time. "People are watching."
He scowled. "Oh, but when you do it, it's fine?"
You conceded and let him kiss you once more, laughing into it. Finally, he pulled away and smiled brightly at you.
"I thought you were mad at me," he told you.
Your head was shaking before you could find the words to say. "I was mad at myself."
His brows furrowed but the smile — oh, that beautiful smile — remained. "Why?"
"Because I didn't realise how much I loved you until now," you confessed, and it felt easy. There was no anxiety, no red-hot flash of realisation you'd said the unthinkable running up your spine. You simply said it. And it felt right. "I love you."
He seemed to melt into goo right in front of you. He was red-eared, eyes sparkling and pupils wide like those videos of cats looking at Christmas ornaments. His entire body seemed to vibrate with shy giggles. He swallowed hard and looked all around the room like he couldn't be trusted to look at you. You wanted to pull him back into your arms and hug him close, to squeeze him until he'd beg for you to stop through overwhelmed laughter.
He cleared his throat. And it was like a switch flipped — the shy Seokmin hid away, a more confident and love-struck one taking his place. His eyes found yours again. He grinned and leaned forward to kiss you again, short and sweet, before whispering, "It's a good thing I love you too, then."
"Definitely a good thing," you agreed, positively kissed dumb by now.
"I guess there's no point in pretending we're just friends who kiss sometimes anymore," he joked. Well, half-joked, you supposed. It's not like you'd put a label on it so far. You could only imagine what the rest of the world thought the two of you were when even the two of you couldn't decide.
You shook your head no. "But I do think this is the part where you ask me to be your girlfriend."
He gasped, always so endearingly theatrical and over the top. "So you can reject me?"
"Maybe."
"You can't reject me today," he concluded after a moment of thought. "I won the race, so you have to say yes."
"Maybe."
"So will you? Be my girlfriend? Be mine?" He seemed to practically glow at the idea. And he only seemed to get happier when you nodded yes and leaned forward to kiss him once more for good measure.
"My girlfriend," he mumbled, forehead leaning against yours. He was looking at you like you were the only people in the room, like Lando Norris wasn't screaming playful threats of reporting the two of you to the FIA for public indecency. Seokmin's grin widened, and suddenly he was standing up, hands holding yours in a tight grip. "You know what that means?"
Your lashes fluttered a thousand times a minute, confusion evident in the hesitant way you let him pull you up as well. "What?"
"You're legally obligated to dance with me," he declared and gave you a twirl. Your confusion melted into laughter as you took to the dance floor, the crowd cheering you on.
While he twirled you around like it was the only dance move he knew, from the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar figure. Seungcheol stood by a wall, still dressed in the Red Bull team kit. You felt a little guilty that you couldn't even guess where he’d ended up on the leaderboard.
Not on the podium, you realised and the thought didn't bring any feelings at all. The blank space he'd left in your heart had long since been filled by another man, a better one.
You offered Seungcheol a tight-lipped smile, a peace-offering after the year of rivalries and scandals — you were taking the higher ground. There was no point in fighting when the bridge between you had long burnt down. He seemed almost startled to see it. His lips curved into a small, hesitant smile. Then he walked away like a man who'd lost more than the podium. And you felt nothing at all, for him at least.
You were done with that chapter, looking at a whole new book.
Seokmin kissed your cheek. "I love you."
"I love you too," you told him, tearing the last of your attention away from the man of your past. "Even if you twirl me around a thousand times a minute."
He laughed and twirled you once more. You supposed this near-perfect man was allowed to have this one flaw.
"I love you," he whispered once more as he pulled you closer until you were chest to chest. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
It was impossible not to laugh and melt. "How many times are you going to say that?"
He pressed his lips to yours once more. "A thousand times." You supposed you could live with that. "Today." Laughter bubbled from your throat. "Then about a million tomorrow. And another million the day after, and the day after—"
"You're crazy."
"Only for you, my love," he replied with a smile, and you melted all over again.
synopsis: Going raw for the first time? DK doesn't stand a chance.
requested: AMANI IM BEGGING for breeding kink with any member of seventeen.
warnings: mdni, 18+, pwp, dubcon, unprotected, dirty talk, mating press, dk is down bad, so are you, dk big, dk strong, pussdrunk, multiple orgasm, threats/promises of impreg, breeding kink unlocked, dk crashes out, he talks you through it? yeah?, little descriptions of the idea of the reader being preg, etc.
wc: 1.2k+
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
Lee Seokmin doesn't know he has a breeding kink until he pushes his cock inside you, raw, for the first time.
He visibly shudders, squeezing his eyes shut as he fails to take a full breath after. You're so warm, so wet, and taking all of him so deep inside that his mouth actually waters. And when he blinks his eyes open, it only gets worse for him. Harder, maybe would be the better word. His cock twitches, rubbing against your gummy walls, and your mouth parts in awe as he looks down at you.
You're so pretty underneath him.
You're lying on your back, staring up at him with glossy lips and starry eyes, and fuck, your walls are gripping him so tightly he doesn't want to leave.
But then you start squirming, giving him the signal to start moving, and he does. He would do anything for you - and you gasp just as much as you did when he bullied his way inside as you do when he pushes his hips back. He slides back until the tip of his thick cock remains inside your drooling cunt before he surges forward. The bed creaks, your pretty tits bounce, and the mushroom-shaped head of his cock kisses your cervix in greeting, making both of you groan in unison.
It's like a flip is switched for Dokyeom. His vision whitens, his cock twitches, splurting a few gooey wads of precum along your cervix, and he can only think about cumming inside. Filling you to the brim with his seed until you're round and it sticks. The image of you, a mess, dripping with him, makes a deep groan slip from the back of his throat, and he's hitching your leg higher onto his hip to press even deeper into your weeping cunt.
The pretty noises you make rise in pitch when he does, and Seokmin's lips curve up into a lovesick grin. "So pretty, you're so pretty." His thrusts grow in strength, just like his grip on your hips does. He jostles you, pulling you back every time his hips push you up on the bed, and his tongue licks his lips with a newfound hunger for more.
Sweat begins to line his forehead, the muscles in his back straining as he gives, and gives, and gives. You're making it harder for him to leave your pretty pussy, soaking him with your sweet slick as you chant his name like a prayer. Your nails claw into the bedsheet underneath you, trying to grip onto anything, something, until they dig into his back as he brings you closer to the edge.
Your stomach flexes, your thighs twitching with a pleasurable hum, and Dokyeom can't look away from where he's connected to you. Your sweet pussy is slobbering all over his cock, coating it in a shiny sheen that makes each thrust slippier, and effectively makes DK more pussydrunk after each snap of his hips. "You're makin' it harder for me to leave, Baby." He confesses with a gasp, his pupils blown, and his jaw clenching as you whimper back in response.
The familiar heat swirls low in your abdomen, the telltale sign that you're going to cum, and it's got Dokyeom sliding his hands down from your hips and under your thighs, pushing your plush legs up until your knees bend. This position makes your mouth drop, your tongue lewdly sticking out as the mating press keeps you trapped under his strong arms. The position is squeezing the air from your lungs as he carves a deeper path inside you, his cock dragging over all the sweet spots inside your sopping cunt like you were truly made just for him.
And maybe you are. Because the idea of you just like this, dumb on his cock, can only get better if he gets you pregnant. The way your body would change, your tummy soft and round, and your pretty tits full as he makes you feel so good - the idea of you glowing and carrying his child - fuck, his eyes roll and you're falling apart underneath him with a wail.
Your pussy pulses around his shaft, trying to milk him, and it's the cause of the final thread of his sanity snapping. His teeth grit, his fingers dig into the fat of your thighs as he fucks you through your orgasm, his hips pounding you into the mattress with one goal in mind. "Fuck, you're so perfect - I'm gonna cum inside your pretty pussy, okay? Need you to take - fuck - need you to take it all, okay?"
His eyes swirl, and the filthy squelches of your pussy taking his cock to the hilt resonate louder in the room as his words begin to slur.
"So good for me, you're gonna be so good for me." He huffs, and your pussy flutters at the praise, your orgasm subsiding only to be brought back up as he blabbers, drunk off the idea that he's going to breed you. "M'gonna cum and stuff you full of my seed, Baby. And then I'm gonna do it again, and again - you'll let me, right? Let me breed your sweet pussy until it takes." Your pussy squeezes him tighter, and a baffled, delirious laugh bubbles from his lips, his smile growing more lovesick as he slips a hand down your stomach and to where you two were connected between your thighs.
Your orgasm had made it wet and sticky, your sweet slick dripping down to his balls as he fucked you with determination. He finds your puffy clit with ease and begins thumbing your little nub to get you over the edge again. His thrusts were growing erratic, and he wanted you to cum one more time before he did.
"That's it, Baby. Need you to cum one more time for me, okay? M'gonna have you nice n' wet for when I cum inside."
And just like he wants, you cum, crying out so beautifully as your eyes roll back because of him. He coos happily, rubbing sloppy hearts into your clit and giving you praise until it is his turn to shiver in ecstasy.
When he cums, he cums a lot. Rope after rope of his gooey seed spills from his thick tip, and your pussy flutters in waves as he paints your gummy walls white with a low groan from his chest. His head drops as he feels his cock jerk, and his eyelashes flutter as he presses his hips flush against your ass, making sure not to waste a drop of his seed as he keeps you in a dirty mating press.
It feels like forever when he finally moves a couple of inches from your drooling cunt. Your puffy folds are swollen, gripping onto his cock even in the aftershocks, and Dokyeom can see his cum threatening to escape - so he pushes forward, earning another sweet moan from you. "Can't let it go to waste, Baby." He licks his lips and spreads your legs wider, giving you shallow thrusts as he fucks his cum back in deeper. "Think I need to fuck you again, gotta make sure it takes, mamas."
Any response you might have for him gets silenced when your glossy eyes blink up at him, only to see him still focusing on your pretty pussy stretched around his cock. It's then that you realize he's still hard, sliding in and out at a delicious slow rate that makes you feel everything. Every vein running down his shaft, every kiss his tip gives your soft cervix, and the slosh of his cum stirring inside you.
"Yeah, this pussy just needs to be bred, Baby. Tell me, do you want a boy or a girl?"
Ong the lactation kink with gyu,,,,, i need lactation kink with different cheol 😭😭😭😭 maybe like mc is pregnant and it starts leaking?
had no idea i loved lactation stuff until lactation kink gyu and now I'm OBSESSED
i just know cheol would be all about the "helping" even though he knows damn well he's getting off to it and its nothing to do with helping really
(thanks for sending another ask with your age and I've seen your other request and i'm going INSANE)
18+ content, MDNI
Warning- lactat¡on kink
Baby daddy Seungcheol who hears you panicking about something in the bedroom as he's getting ready for work one morning, his coffee almost dribbling down his tie as he launches himself to his feet to see what's wrong with you.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who looks completely disgruntled when you try to hide yourself from him, you're carrying his baby, surely there's nothing to hide at this point.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who has to act pretty quickly when you finally show him what's upsetting you and you think his blank face is because he's embarrassed that your tits are leaking. You knew it was coming, you're only a week or so off your due date after all.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who soothes your worries straight away, telling you that it's nothing to be embarrassed about and feels pretty content as he heads off to the office.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who spends the whole day at the office thinking about the little wet patches on the t-shirt of his you were wearing. His mouth waters, his dick stirs in the middle of his board meeting and all he can think about is how much he wants to lick those little droplets of milk as they fall.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who as soon as he gets home senses you're in a bit of a mood and when you tell him exactly why and that your tits are aching, he takes his opportunity.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who sits you on the couch and kneels in front of you, slowly taking your top off and using your stunned silence as his queue to tell you exactly what he's been thinking about all day whilst he should've been working.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who gropes one of your tits firmly, making you whine and arch your back. He feels his dick twitching in his suit trousers and it isn't because of your whining, even though its one of his favourite noises, but because a couple of little droplets of milk fall from your nipple and he has to hold himself back a little.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who makes you lie on the couch and asks if he can help you with the pain, smirking a little when just look at him open mouthed and nod.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who kneels beside you, his fingers running soothingly over your swollen belly as he closes his eyes and takes your leaking nipple into his mouth, the small airy moan you let out only making his dick even harder.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who sucks gently on your nipple, savouring the sweet taste and deciding there and then that he's going to struggle to share once your son arrives.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who toys with your other nipple a little, enjoying the way your body twitches and arches into the slight pain of it, before he switches his milk covered lips to your other needy nipple.
Baby daddy Seungcheol whose lips are frantic as he suckles on your milky tits, your milk is the sweetest thing he's ever had the joy of tasting and the way it feels as he sucks and is rewarded with the warm liquid makes his head spin and his dick throb.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who can't help taking his throbbing length out as he licks and sucks your swollen nipples, you taste so good and the moans you let out as he helps you with this just have him so needy.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who fists his own dick as he leans over your pregnant body, his lips and chin covered in milk and drool as he's eager to make sure he gets every last drop your swollen tits are willing to give him.
Baby daddy Seungcheol whose moaning and groaning frantically into your tits, his tongue basically drooling all over you as he switches between your nipples, like he can't decide whether he wants to lick or suck or just bury his face in them.
Baby daddy Seungcheol whose fist is fucking his dick quicker and quicker the more your milk takes over his senses, the taste of it and the fact he's helping you so much by suckling at your milky tits only driving him closer to the edge.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who really doesn't want to take his lips away from your chest but he's about five seconds away from cumming and if his milk and drool look beautiful on your tits, there's only one thing that can improve it even more.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who stands beside you on the sofa, taking in your puffy, lip bitten nipples covered in his spit and drops of milk that haven't made it to his mouth, he looks at the fucked out expression on your face just from him enjoying your swollen tits and fists his dick right over you.
Baby daddy Seungcheol whose cum lands all over your milky tits, mixing with whatever is already there and looking so fucking pretty as his white hot seed drips from your nipples much like your milk had when he first exposed your swollen tits to him.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who takes two of his fingers and swirls them round in the milky cum on your tits and uses it as lube to finger your needy pussy, not that you need it, you're fucking dripping
Baby daddy Seungcheol whose dick hardens again a little when he feels just how wet him suckling your tits got you.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who fingers you so fucking well until you're cumming round his fingers as he promises to help you with your sore tits every day until the baby comes.
Baby daddy Seungcheol who uses the same two fingers he fingered you with to gather even more of the cum and milk that still lies on your chest and shoves them in your waiting mouth, just hoping that once the baby arrives, you'll both still somehow find the time to enjoy each other like this.
Summary: Drunk you has no filter and your husband has always been a weak, weak man when it comes to you. He just didn’t expect your family planning conversation to awaken the caveman part of his brain or a raging breeding kink in both of you.
Warnings: smut!MDNI, established relationship, trying to conceive, pregnancy, soft dom!cheol, domestic fluff, humor, healthy communication, breeding kink awakening, enthusiastic consent, multiple + creative locations and one very smug husband who knocked you up in paradise, married life, baby fever, hormone-induced chaos, obsessed husband!Cheol x obsessed wife!reader, as usual I might be missing something.
W.C: 18.1k
Sometimes being married to Choi Seungcheol felt like a fever dream as you often wondered how you managed to bag a man that ticked every box. He had his moments, his little beige flags as you liked to call them, but you knew that man loved you which is why you’re seeking him out as soon as you stumble through your front door. You had an itch only your husband could scratch and if you were right, he would still be holed up in the home office.
Seungcheol had been reading reports in his home office when he heard the front door slam. A quick look at his watch alerts him to the time, 1:47 AM.
His eyes narrowed. Why didn’t you call him to come pick you up? He gets out of his chair when he hears the unmistakable sound of heels being kicked off carelessly and soft humming.
“My husband!” your voice singsongs from the down the hall. “Where are youuu?”
He barely has time to make it to the hallway before you stumble into the room seconds later, eyes glazed and clutching your purse like it’s plotting against you.
“Babyyyy,” you gasp, “There you are.”
His brows draw together. “You’re drunk.”
You blink at him, smile growing. “Nuh-uh, just a tiny bit tipsy.” You measure with your fingers before breaking into a fit of giggles. Seungcheol can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you drunk—it’s still one hand—as you can hold your liquor very well.
You walk—well, sway—across the room and launch yourself at him. He stumbles half a step back, catching you as your arms wrap tightly around his waist, face burying into his chest.
“You smell expensive and…sexy,” you mumble.
“What happened?” he asks, voice low.
“Work has been shit,” you whisper. “Needed a—” you hiccup, “—a break.”
He exhales slowly before his hand finds its way to your back. His grip tightens as he studies your lightly smudged eyeliner and flushed cheeks. The scent of your favorite wine lingers on your breath but beneath it lies your usual perfume, brown sugar, coconut, vanilla.
“You’re a mess,” he murmurs, though there’s no bite in his tone.
You giggle against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “You married this mess.”
A beat of silence passes before his lips twitch despite himself. “What am going to do with you, huh?”
The weight of you against him is familiar, grounding even, despite the alcohol-fueled abandon in your movements. Seungcheol’s hand moves in slow, deliberate circles against your back, a habit he’s developed over the years; one that always seems to settle you.
“Do with me?” you repeat, pulling back just enough to look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes are glassy but focused entirely on him, pupils blown wide. “I have some ideas.”
He catches the shift in your tone immediately, the way your fingers stop their aimless fidgeting and instead trace deliberate paths along his chest. His jaw tightens.
“You’re drunk,” he repeats, firmer this time, even as his treacherous body responds to your proximity.
“In loveeeeee” you respond as you attempt to sing lyrics from Drunk in Love.
Seungcheol’s resolve wavers as you butcher the Beyoncé song, swaying in his arms with unselfconscious joy. Despite everything—the late hour, the worry that had knotted in his chest when he heard the door slam, the very valid concern about your current state—he feels his lips curve into a reluctant smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but his hands have already moved to steady you, one sliding to your hip while the other cups the back of your head.
“Ridiculously in love with you,” you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. The motion throws off your already questionable balance, and you stumble forward again.
He catches you easily, muscle memory from years of being your safety net. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Ooh, bed,” you waggle your eyebrows in a way that would be seductive if you weren’t also hiccupping. “See? You do have ideas.”
“To sleep,” he clarifies, already guiding you toward the bedroom with his arm firmly around your waist. “We’re going to bed to sleep. You’re going to wake up tomorrow wondering why you thought drinking on a work night was a good idea.”
“Tomorrow me’s problem,” you declare, then immediately contradict yourself by clinging tighter to him. “Don’t you dare leave me alone tonight, Choi Seungcheol.”
Something in your voice—beneath the alcohol and the playfulness—sounds small. Vulnerable.
His expression softens. “Never,” he promises quietly. “Now come on, let’s get you changed.”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You stop and ask randomly as he sits you on the bathroom counter and tries to remove your makeup.
Seungcheol blinks. This was getting more surreal by the second. You were sitting before him, arms hanging off his shoulders with your head tilted with genuine curiosity and you wanted to know if he’d love you…as a worm? He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his hands curve around your waist.
“A worm?” he repeats, deadpan. “Seriously?”
“Yahhhh, you wouldn’t?” You pout.
Seungcheol sighs, the kind of deep, put-upon sigh that somehow still sounds fond. He reaches for the micellar water and a cotton pad, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can start wiping away your makeup.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, ignoring your question as he gently swipes at your eyeliner.
“You’re avoiding the question!” you accuse, though you do hold still,mostly. “That means you wouldn’t love me. You’d just…leave me in the dirt somewhere. Alone. A poor, lonely worm—”
“I would build you a terrarium,” he interrupts, deadpan, moving to your other eye. “With the best soil money can buy. Organic, the expensive kind.”
You gasp, eyes flying open and nearly getting makeup remover in them. He gently presses them closed again with his thumb.
“I said hold still.”
“You’d really build me a terrarium?” Your voice has gone soft, touched, as if he’s just promised you the moon.
“Mhm.” He’s focused on removing your mascara now, touch careful and practiced. “With a heated lamp. Perfect pH balance in the soil. I’d probably hire someone to monitor your…worm health.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m answering your question.” His lips twitch as he tosses the used cotton pad aside and reaches for another. “You’d be the most spoiled worm in existence. I’d make sure of it.”
You’re quiet for a moment and when he glances at your face, you’re smiling at him with such open adoration it makes something in his chest squeeze tight.
“I love you,” you whisper.
His hand pauses mid-swipe. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering.
“I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin. “Even if you ask me stupid questions at two in the morning.”
“Not stupid,” you mumble but you’re already melting into him again, arms tightening around his shoulders. “Important worm logistics.”
“Right. Very important.” He pulls back just enough to finish cleaning your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “Now let’s get you into pajamas before you ask me what I’d do if you were a dolphin.”
“Ooh, would you—”
“No.”
You cup his cheeks in your hands squishing them together, looking at him with those eyes before you kiss him. “Please, Cheollie? Want you?”
“Not tonight, princess.” It’s utterly amazing, the way you switch from asking him unhinged shit to asking him to fuck you. It should give him whiplash but it’s not the first time it’s happened.
“‘m not drunk…” you pout. “Can’t a girl just want her hot husband?”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexes under your palms, his eyes darkening despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He gently pulls your hands away from his face but doesn’t let go, instead intertwining his fingers with yours.
“You can,” he says, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “And you will, tomorrow. When you’re sober and won’t regret it.”
“I would never regret you,” you protest, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his. “Not possible. Scientifically impossible.”
“Scientifically impossible,” he repeats and there’s amusement threading through the restraint in his tone. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” You nod seriously, the motion making you slightly dizzy. “Did research. Very thorough.”
His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand; that same grounding gesture, keeping himself anchored as much as you. “Your research involved how much wine exactly?”
“Irrelevant data,” you whisper, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “The conclusion is still valid.”
He inhales sharply and for a moment you think you’ve won. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip but then he’s pulling back, putting necessary distance between you even as everything in his expression says he doesn’t want to.
“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk,” he says firmly. “I don’t care how much you pout or how many times you tell me you’re fine. This is non-negotiable.”
You study him for a long moment, his set jaw, his dark eyes that are clearly affected despite his iron will, the way his hand trembles just slightly against yours.
“You really won’t?” you ask, quieter now.
“I really won’t.” His expression softens. “Ask me tomorrow. When you can look me in the eye without the room spinning. When you’ll actually remember every detail.” His voice drops to something almost possessive. “Because when I do touch you, I want you to remember all of it.”
The promise in his words sends heat pooling low in your stomach despite your alcohol-hazed state. You bite your lip and his eyes track the movement with dangerous focus before he deliberately looks away.
“Evil man,” you mutter. “Making me wait.”
“Responsible husband,” he corrects, then slides you off the counter and scoops you up bridal style in one smooth motion. “Now come on. Pajamas, water, bed, in that order.”
“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “But I’m picking the pajamas.”
“As long as you actually put them on instead of trying to seduce me again.”
“No promises.”
He huffs what might be a laugh as he carries you toward the bedroom. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Y’know everyone thinks I married you for your status and money.” You say switching the subject again as he starts unbuttoning your shirt.
“No, you didn’t. You had no idea who my family was when we met so I know it’s not that.”
“I married you for that fat ass.” you reply, hands drifting down and grabbing his ass. “don’t need your money.” You grin at the look on his face.
“God, I forgot how handsy you get with alcohol in your system.”
“Horny too but I guess I don’t do it for you cause…what kinda hisb—” you hiccup “husband doesn’t like his wife t-throwing herself at him? Is it Jeonghan? Is Hannie prettier than me?”
Seungcheol freezes mid-button, his eyes snapping to yours with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.
“Did you just—” He stops, takes a breath, then continues with strained patience. “Did you seriously just ask me if I want Jeonghan?”
“Well, you don’t want me,” you say, bottom lip trembling in a way that would be more effective if you weren’t also still squeezing his ass. “He’s got nice hair,” you say defensively, words slurring slightly. “And that whole…pretty boy thing going on. Maybe you like that better than—”
“Jesus Christ woman,” Seungcheol mutters, catching your wandering hands and firmly moving them to your sides. “Okay, listen to me very carefully.”
He cups your face with both hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“First of all, Jeonghan is my best friend and I love him like a brother, which means the thought of anything else makes me want to bleach my brain.” His thumbs stroke your cheeks as he continues, voice firm but gentle. “Second, I always want you. Every single day. Sometimes so much it’s inconvenient, like in the middle of board meetings when you text me something cute.”
“Really?” you sniffle.
“Really.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “The reason I’m not touching you right now isn’t because I don’t want to. It’s because I respect you too much to take advantage when you’re drunk. Do you understand the difference?”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing. Then, “So, you do think I’m prettier than Hannie?”
A laugh bursts out of him, unexpected and genuine. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?”
“But am I prettier?”
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he says and the sincerity in his voice cuts through your alcohol-fogged brain. “Drunk, sober, first thing in the morning, all dressed up, doesn’t matter. It’s always you. Only you.”
Your eyes well up. “Cheollie…”
“Oh no.” He recognizes the signs immediately. “No crying. We’re not doing drunk crying tonight.”
“But you’re so nice to me,” you warble, tears already spilling over. “And I love you so much and you built me a theoretical worm terrarium, and you think I’m pretty—”
“I think we need to get you in pajamas right now,” he says, already reaching for the shirt buttons again with renewed determination, “before this spiral gets worse.”
“’m not spiraling,” you protest, even as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Just got a lot of feelings about my hot, respectful, worm-loving husband.”
“Worm-loving,” he repeats under his breath. “What is my life?”
“Your life is amazing,” you inform him, helpfully (unhelpfully) trying to unbutton your own shirt and just making the process more difficult. “You have me. And my ass. Which is also amazing.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly, gently batting your hands away so he can actually finish unbuttoning. “I married it, remember?”
You gasp, delighted. “You do remember! See, we’re perfect for each other. You married my ass, I married your ass—”
“That’s not how marriage works.”
“—it’s like…ass-tronomy. No, wait. Ass-trology? We’re ass-trologically compatible.”
Seungcheol pauses, shirt halfway off your shoulders, and just looks at you. “Did you just—you can’t just put ‘ass’ in front of words and expect them to make sense.”
“Ass-olutely can,” you say with complete conviction.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly praying for strength. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“You love it,” you singsong, finally cooperating enough to let him pull your shirt off. “You love meee and my drunk ass puns.”
“I love you despite your drunk ass puns,” he corrects, reaching for one of his old t-shirts from the drawer. “Arms up.”
You obey, lifting your arms like a toddler as he slides the shirt over your head. It’s enormous on you, falling nearly to your knees and smells like his cologne and laundry detergent. You immediately burrow into it with a happy sigh.
“Now pants,” he says, reaching for your waistband.
“Ooh, taking my pants off. Scandalous.”
“We’re literally married.”
“Still scandalous.” You boop his nose as he efficiently unbuttons your pants. “You’re being very professional about this. Very doctor-y. Do you do this for all your patients?”
“You’re my only patient and you’re testing my patience,” he mutters, helping you step out of your pants. “Other leg. Good.”
“Such a good caretaker,” you coo, patting his head as he kneels in front of you. “Gonna leave you five stars on MangoPlate. ‘Husband refused to have sex with drunk wife. Very responsible. Would recommend.’”
He looks up at you with an expression of pure suffering. “Please never write that review.”
“‘Also has a great ass,’” you continue thoughtfully. “‘Ass-ceptional, even.’”
“I’m begging you to stop.”
“‘Ass-tounding restraint—’”
He stands abruptly and just picks you up, cutting off your commentary as you squeal in surprise. “Okay. That’s enough. Water and bed. Now.”
“You can’t silence me!” you declare, even as you wrap your arms around his neck. “The people deserve to know about your ass!”
“The people know plenty,” he says, carrying you toward the bed with the long-suffering patience of a saint. “Now drink this.”
He somehow manages to grab the water bottle from the nightstand one-handed and present it to you. You take it obediently, suddenly realizing how thirsty you are.
“Good girl,” he murmurs and even in your drunk state, you don’t miss the way his voice dips on those words.
You lower the water bottle, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just say things like that and then refuse to—”
“Drink,” he interrupts firmly, tipping the bottle back up toward your lips.
You drink, plotting your revenge but the cool water actually does help clear some of the fog. When you’ve had enough, he sets the bottle aside and carefully deposits you onto your side of the bed.
“Stay,” he commands, pointing at you like you’re a mischievous puppy.
“Woof,” you respond because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth has completely dissolved. He huffs what might be a laugh and disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running and then he’s back with a damp washcloth, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come here,” he says softly, and when you scoot closer, he gently wipes your face; getting the spots he missed earlier, cooling your flushed cheeks. It’s tender and intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.
“Cheol?” you whisper.
“Mm?”
“’m really glad I married you. Not just for your ass.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know.”
“For your heart too. And your face. And the way you take care of me even when I’m being ridiculous. Oh, and that dick, can’t forget about that.”
“Woman, I swear to—”
“Just lemme keep it warm, please?” Your hand moves to rest low on his stomach. There you go trying to get him to fuck you, again.
“Baby, no. We both know you won’t stop there.”
You open your mouth to protest—to make very compelling arguments about your self-control and how you would totally just keep things innocent—but he cuts you off by pressing his thumb gently against your lips.
“Don’t,” he warns, though there’s affection in his eyes. “Don’t make promises drunk-you can’t keep. I know you.”
You deflate slightly because, fine, he’s right. Sober-you has minimal self-control around him. Drunk-you has absolutely none which is exactly why you keep asking.
“Just wanna feel you inside, promise I’ll behave.”
Seungcheol’s composure cracks visibly, his breath hitches, his grip on the washcloth tightening as his eyes darken with want. For a moment, you think you’ve finally broken through his resolve.
Then he closes his eyes, jaw working and when he opens them again his expression is pained but firm.
“You’re killing me,” he says roughly. “You know that?”
“Good,” you mumble, though you’re already yawning. “Suffer with me.” You say pressing your lips to his.
“I shouldn’t have to deal with my ovulation alone.” And suddenly the wheels are turning in Seungcheol’s head. He goes completely still against your lips, his brain clearly short-circuiting as he processes what you just said.
“Your…what?” He pulls back to look at you, eyes wide.
“Ovulation,” you repeat matter-of-factly, like you’re discussing the weather. “Why d’you think I’m so horny? It’s science, Cheollie. Biology. Nature.” You wave your hand dramatically. “My body wants a baby and it’s making me crazy and you’re—you’re just sitting here looking all hot and responsible and—”
“Okay,” he interrupts, voice strangled. “Okay, we’re not, you can’t just drop that information on me while you’re drunk and expect me to—”
“To what?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious despite the alcohol. “Finally give your wife what she wants?”
His eyes flutter closed and he takes several deep breaths, clearly fighting an internal battle. When he opens them again, there’s a new tension in his expression; want, restraint, and something darker all tangled together.
“That’s not fair,” he says roughly. “You can’t use the ovulation card. That’s playing dirty.”
“Everything’s fair in love and baby-making,” you counter, then giggle at your own modification of the phrase.
“We are not having this conversation right now,” he says firmly, even as his hand unconsciously tightens on your hip. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober, when we can have an actual discussion about—about family planning and—”
“Already know I want your babies,” you interrupt, cupping his face. “Known that for years. Since like…our third date probably.”
“Third date,” he repeats faintly.
“Mhm. You were wearing that gray sweater and you laughed at my joke and I just thought—” you sigh dreamily, “—‘yeah, I want tiny humans with his laugh and dimples.’”
Something shifts in his expression; it goes soft and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart squeeze even through the alcohol haze.
“You’re not playing fair at all,” he whispers.
“Don’t wanna play fair,” you whisper back. “Want you. Want your baby. Want—” another yawn interrupts you, “—want you to stop being so responsible and just…”
But exhaustion is finally catching up with you, the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster of the evening taking their toll. Your eyes are getting heavier despite your best efforts.
Seungcheol notices immediately, his expression gentling. “There we go,” he murmurs, carefully maneuvering you under the covers. “Finally.”
“’m not tired,” you protest weakly, even as you burrow into the pillow.
“Sure you’re not.” He slides in next to you and immediately you roll toward him, seeking his warmth.
“Cheol?” you mumble against his chest.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Tomorrow…we can talk about it? The baby thing?”
His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Tomorrow,” he promises. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”
“And you’ll actually consider it? Not just…say we’ll talk and then avoid it?”
There’s a pause, and then, “I’ve been considering it for months,” he admits quietly. “I just wanted to wait for the right time. When we were both ready.”
You manage to pull back just enough to look at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “Months?”
He smiles, a little embarrassed. “Why do you think I cleared out the guest room last month? I’ve been planning…thinking about turning it into a nursery. Eventually.”
“You—” your eyes well up again, “—you sneaky, wonderful man.”
“Don’t cry,” he says, but he’s smiling as he wipes away the tears with his thumb. “Save it for tomorrow when you can properly yell at me for not telling you sooner.”
“Gonna yell and cry,” you inform him. “And then jump your bones.”
“Looking forward to it,” he says dryly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”
“Worth it,” you mumble, already drifting. “Got you to admit you want babies…”
“I want your babies,” he corrects softly. “There’s a difference.”
But you’re already asleep, a small smile on your face, wrapped securely in your husband’s arms. Seungcheol lies awake a little longer, looking down at you; his drunk, ridiculous, beautiful wife who just ambushed him with baby talk and ass puns in the same conversation.
“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers, echoing his earlier question.
But this time, he’s smiling as he says it. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow they’ll talk—really talk—about the future. About expanding their family. About all the things he’s been too cautious to bring up, worried about timing and readiness and a thousand other factors.
But tonight, you’re here, safe and warm and his, talking about wanting his babies since the third date.
Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.
He presses one more kiss to your forehead before settling in, keeping you close. His ovulating, drunk, perfect disaster of a wife. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
The next morning, you wake up to three things; a pounding headache that feels like a marching band has taken up residence in your skull, blinding sunlight streaming through curtains you thought you closed and the smell of coffee and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.
You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Your mouth tastes like something died in it and when you try to sit up, the room spins just enough to make you regret every life choice that led to this moment.
“Oh god,” you mutter, flopping back down.
Fragments of last night start filtering back through the haze. Coming home late. Seungcheol’s concerned face. The bathroom counter. Worm terrarium? You definitely said something about worms. And then—
Your eyes fly open.
“Oh no.”
The baby conversation. The ovulation announcement. Your very detailed commentary about your husband’s ass. The—you bury your face in your hands—the begging.
“Kill me now,” you whisper to the empty room.
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
You nearly jump out of your skin. Seungcheol is leaning against the doorframe, holding a mug of coffee and wearing an expression that can only be described as deeply amused.
He’s already somewhat dressed for the day in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly damp from a shower, looking infuriatingly well-rested and attractive. Meanwhile, you’re pretty sure you look like a gremlin who lost a fight with a bottle of wine.
“How long have you been standing there?” you croak.
“Long enough to hear you bargaining with God.” He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, setting the coffee on the nightstand. “How’s the head?”
“Like I deserve it,” you admit, gratefully reaching for the mug. “How much did I—” you pause, coffee halfway to your lips, “—how bad was it?”
His smile grows. “On a scale of one to ten?”
“Cheol.”
“You asked if I’d love you as a worm,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You accused me of wanting Jeonghan. You made approximately ten puns involving the word ‘ass.’ And—” his expression shifts to something more heated, “—you made some very compelling arguments about baby-making.”
You choke on your coffee. “Oh my god.”
“Also, apparently you decided you married me for my ‘fat ass’ and not my money or status, which is good to know.”
“I hate everything,” you moan, setting the coffee down so you can bury your face in your hands again. “I’m never drinking again. I’m becoming a nun. I’m moving to a remote island where I can’t embarrass myself—”
“Hey.” His hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His expression is soft now, affectionate. “You were cute.”
“I was a disaster.”
“A cute disaster.” He coils a loose curl around his finger. “You always are when you drink. It’s part of your charm.”
“There’s nothing charming about drunk me telling you I want to—” you can’t even finish the sentence, heat flooding your face.
“Keep me warm?” he supplies helpfully. “Just want it inside you, you’d behave, you promised?”
“Seungcheol.”
He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying your mortification. “Or was it the part where you said your ovulation shouldn’t be a solo activity?”
You grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it. He laughs, catching it easily and tossing it aside before catching both your wrists in his hands.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes dancing with mischief, “you were very…articulate about your needs.”
“I’m going back to sleep,” you announce, trying to pull away. “Wake me in ten years when I’ve died of embarrassment.”
“Can’t do that either.” He releases one wrist but keeps hold of the other, his thumb tracing circles on your pulse point. “We have things to discuss. Remember?”
Your heart skips. The amusement in his expression hasn’t faded, but there’s something else there now; something serious and warm and a little nervous.
“The…baby thing?” you venture quietly.
“The baby thing,” he confirms. “But first—” he reaches over to the nightstand and retrieves two pills and a glass of water you hadn’t noticed, “—pain meds. Then breakfast. Then we talk.”
“Cheol, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—”
“You didn’t.” He’s firm about that, waiting until you take the medication before continuing. “You surprised me, yeah. But uncomfortable? No.” He pauses. “Turned on while trying desperately to maintain my morals? Absolutely, but not uncomfortable.”
Despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “I really tried to break you, huh?”
“You almost succeeded,” he admits. “The ovulation thing was a low blow.”
“It’s true though,” you say, then immediately want to take it back because…
“I know.” His voice drops, eyes darkening. “I checked the calendar while you were sleeping. You’re right in the middle of your fertile window.”
The air between you shifts, charges. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in bed, wearing only his t-shirt and he’s looking at you like,
“Breakfast first,” he says firmly, standing up. “You need food and hydration. Then we’ll talk. Really talk. About timing, readiness and what we both want.”
“And if we decide we want the same thing?” you ask, unable to help yourself.
He leans down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside you, bringing his face close to yours. “Then I clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” he murmurs. “And give you exactly what you were begging for last night.”
Your breath catches.
“But sober,” he adds, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before straightening. “And enthusiastically consenting to every single detail.”
“That’s—” you have to clear your throat, “—very responsible of you.”
“Someone has to be.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and baby? For the record?” He looks back with a devastating smile. “I’ve been ready for months. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting in bed, headache temporarily forgotten, heart racing with possibilities. From the kitchen, you hear him call, “French toast or pancakes?”
“French toast!” you call back, already scrambling out of bed.
Suddenly, you’re feeling much better about facing this day and the conversation that could change everything.
You pad into the kitchen after finishing your morning routine. He’s plating the last of breakfast before sitting down and as you go to take your place beside him, he pulls you onto his lap.
“Cheol?”
“You asked me to keep it warm last night,” he whispers. “Think you can do that while we sit and have breakfast, love? Bet I’d be able to slide right in.”
You freeze, every nerve ending suddenly awake and hyper-aware. Your headache? Gone. The lingering nausea? Vanished. There’s only Seungcheol beneath you, solid and warm, his breath hot against your ear.
“I…what?” Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
His hands settle on your hips, fingers slipping just under the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing. “You heard me.” His voice is low, rough in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “You wanted this last night. Said you’d behave. That you just wanted to feel full.”
“I was drunk,” you manage, even as your body is already responding, already leaning back against his chest.
“And now you’re sober.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “So, I’m asking properly. Do you want this? Want to sit here, keeping me warm while we eat breakfast and talk about our future?”
Your breath hitches. This is…it’s obscene. It’s intimate in a way that makes your head spin and you want it so badly you can barely think straight.
“What about the talking?” you whisper. “The responsible conversation?”
“We can still talk.” One hand slides up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. “I can be very articulate, even when I’m buried inside you. Question is, can you?”
It’s a challenge. One you’ve never backed down from.
You turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark, intense but there’s a question there too. Real consent. Making sure this is what you actually want and not just lingering drunk decisions.
“Yes,” you breathe. “I want this.”
His grip tightens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shift in his lap, feeling him already half-hard beneath you. “Want you. Always want you.”
He makes a low sound in his throat. “Lift up a little, baby.”
You obey, bracing your hands on his thighs as he shifts beneath you. You hear the rustle of fabric, feel him pushing his sweatpants down just enough, and then,
“No underwear?” His voice is strained as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, discovering you came to the kitchen in just his shirt and nothing else.
“Seemed inefficient,” you manage, gasping when his fingers brush where you need him most.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and you feel him stroke himself once, twice. “You’re already so wet.”
“Told you,” you say breathlessly. “Ovulation. Biology. Can’t help—oh—”
He’s guiding himself to your entrance, letting you feel the blunt pressure of him. “Slow,” he murmurs. “Take your time. We’ve got all morning.”
You lower yourself gradually, inch by torturous inch, feeling the stretch and burn and perfect fullness of him. His hands are steady on your hips, helping you and his breathing is harsh against your neck.
“That’s it,” he encourages roughly. “Just like that, baby. So good for me.”
When you’re fully seated, both of you still for a moment. You’re trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it; sitting in his lap in your bright kitchen, completely joined, the morning sun streaming through the windows.
“Okay?” he asks, voice strained.
“So okay,” you breathe. “So…Cheol, you feel—”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I know, baby. Now—” he reaches around you for the plates, sliding them closer, “—breakfast.”
You laugh, slightly delirious. “You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious.” He picks up a fork, cutting a piece of French toast. “Open.”
This is insane. You’re sitting on your husband’s lap in the kitchen, full of him, while he feeds you breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You open your mouth and he slides the fork in. The French toast is perfect, crispy outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of cinnamon and syrup. You chew slowly, hyper-aware of every small movement, how even that makes you shift slightly on him.
His breath catches. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?” You shift deliberately, just a little and feel him twitch inside you. “I’m just eating breakfast.”
“You’re playing with fire,” he growls but he’s already cutting another piece. “Now, let’s talk about this baby thing.”
You nearly choke on nothing. “Now? You want to have this conversation now?”
“Why not?” His free hand settles possessively on your lower belly, thumb stroking just above where you’re joined. “Seems like the perfect time. Can’t run away. Can’t deflect. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
His voice is teasing but there’s an edge of seriousness underneath. He really does want to talk about this. Like this. Your utterly insane, wonderful husband.
“Okay,” you manage, reaching for your coffee with shaking hands. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
“So,” Seungcheol says, his voice remarkably steady despite the situation, “you said last night you’ve wanted this since our third date.”
You take a sip of coffee, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that you can feel every minute shift of his body. “I—yeah. I mean, not immediately, obviously but I knew. Knew that I wanted a future with you. Kids. All of it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” His hand is still on your belly, thumb tracing idle patterns that are absolutely not helping your concentration.
“I don’t know. Timing? We were building our careers, and I didn’t want to pressure you, and—” you gasp softly as he shifts slightly beneath you, “—are you doing that on purpose?”
“No,” he says but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Just getting comfortable. Keep talking.”
“You’re evil.”
“You’re stalling.” He offers you another bite of French toast. “Come on. I want to hear this.” You accept the bite, chewing while trying to organize your thoughts, which is nearly impossible when you’re so acutely aware of him inside you, stretching you, filling you so completely.
“I was scared,” you finally admit. “That maybe you didn’t want the same things. That I’d bring it up and you’d feel trapped or obligated and then months kept passing and it felt like the moment never came up naturally and—” you laugh shakily, “—I guess drunk me decided to just rip the bandaid off.”
“Drunk you has terrible timing but good instincts.” His lips brush your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to have this conversation for months too.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He sets down the fork, both hands coming to rest on your hips now. “I meant what I said earlier. About clearing out the guest room. I’ve been thinking about it constantly…what it would be like. You, pregnant. A baby. Our baby.”
Your heart stutters. “Cheol…”
“I think about you with a bump,” he continues, voice going rougher. “About feeling them kick. About watching you become a mother.” His hips shift up slightly, making you gasp. “About putting a baby in you.”
“That’s—oh god—that’s not fair,” you whimper, fingers digging into his thighs.
“What’s not fair?”
“Saying things like that when I can’t move, can’t—”
“Who says you can’t move?” His grip tightens on your hips. “I said sit still during breakfast. We’re done eating now.”
Your breath catches. “Are we?”
“Mhmm.” One hand slides up to cup your breast through the thin t-shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I think it’s time for dessert. Don’t you?”
“Seungcheol—”
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice dropping to that commanding tone that never fails to undo you. “Use your words, baby. Sober words.”
You’re trembling now, desperate. “Want you. Want this. Want—” you break off as his other hand slides between your legs, finding where you’re joined.
“Want what?” he presses. “Say it.”
“Want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. “Want you to put a baby in me. Want…please, Cheollie, please—”
“There she is,” he murmurs approvingly. Then his grip shifts, and he’s lifting you slightly before pulling you back down, finally, finally giving you the friction you’ve been craving.
You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he sets a devastating rhythm. The breakfast dishes rattle on the table with each thrust and you distantly think you should care about the mess you’re probably making but then he angles his hips just right and all thoughts scatter.
“That’s it,” he growls against your neck. “Take it. Take all of me.”
“Yes, god, yes—”
His hand on your breast squeezes while the other works between your legs and the combination is overwhelming. You’re already close, wound too tight from sitting still for so long, from the filthy intimacy of it all.
“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna give you exactly what you want. What we both want. You want that, baby? Want me to get you pregnant?”
“Yes,” you sob and you’re not even sure if it’s the hormones or the moment or the fact that this is your husband, your partner, your person and you’re finally talking about this, finally doing this…
“Come for me first,” he demands. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you want this.”
His fingers press harder and that’s all it takes. You shatter, clenching around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves.
“Fuck, baby—” his rhythm falters, becomes erratic and then he’s following you over, groaning against your neck as he pulses inside you, holding you tight against him. For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing hard, trembling, still joined together as aftershocks roll through you.
“So,” Seungcheol finally says, voice rough and satisfied, “I think that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”
You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss him. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”
“Good.” He nuzzles into your neck. “Because I meant every word. I want this. Want you. Want our family.”
“Even though I ambushed you while drunk?”
“Especially because you ambushed me while drunk.” You can feel his smile against your skin. “Shows you trust me. Even when you’re not in control.”
You shift slightly and he groans. “Don’t move yet. Just…let me hold you like this for a minute.”
So, you do, sitting in your dining room in the morning sunlight, still connected, still close, talking softly about the future you’re going to build together.
About nursery colors and baby names and how you’ll tell your families and whether you want to know the gender or be surprised. About all the beautiful, terrifying, wonderful possibilities ahead and when he finally, reluctantly slips out of you, he immediately scoops you up and carries you back to the bedroom.
“Again?” you ask, surprised but definitely not opposed.
“We’re optimizing our chances,” he says seriously but his eyes are dancing. “It’s just good planning.”
“You’re a fein.”
“You’re ovulating,” he counters, laying you gently on the bed. “And I have months of baby-making fantasies to work through. So,” he crawls over you, settling between your thighs, “we’re going to be here a while.”
“What about our schedules?” you tease. “Don’t you have meetings? I have work.”
“Cancelled everything,” he says, leaning down to kiss you slowly, deeply. “Told them I have important business with my wife.”
“Very important business,” you agree, gasping as he enters you again.
“The most important,” he murmurs against your lips. He flips you on your hands and knees first, arched just the way he wants you.
“Stay just like that,” Seungcheol commands, his hands spreading across your lower back, pressing down slightly to deepen the arch. “Perfect. So, fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling already, forehead pressed against the sheets, completely exposed to him. You feel vulnerable like this, open, but the way he’s looking at you; you can practically feel the heat of his gaze dragging over every inch of exposed skin.
“Cheol—” you start but the word cuts off into a moan as he runs his hands up your sides, thumbs tracing your spine.
“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s positioning you, adjusting your hips exactly where he wants them. “Just feel.”
One hand wraps around your hip while the other slides between your legs, finding you still wet, still sensitive from before. You jerk at the contact and his grip tightens, holding you steady.
“Still so ready for me,” he muses, almost conversational, like he’s not currently destroying your composure with just his fingers. “Even after I just filled you up. You really do want this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp into the sheets. “God, yes, please…”
“Please what?” He’s teasing now, the head of his cock brushing against you but not entering, just barely there, making you crazy.
“Please fuck me,” you whimper, trying to push back against him, but his hand on your hip keeps you in place. “Please, I need—”
“Need what, baby? Use your words.”
“Need you inside me,” you practically sob. “Need you to…to get me pregnant, need you to—oh fuck—”
He slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself completely, and the angle is devastating. You can feel him so deep like this, stretching you, filling every inch.
“This what you need?” His voice is strained now, control slipping. Both hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and you hope they do, want to see the marks tomorrow, proof of this.
“Yes, yes, don’t stop—”
“Not stopping,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Not until you’re dripping with me. Not until I know it took.” The pace he sets is brutal, desperate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you crying out with each thrust. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding you.
“Gonna look so good pregnant,” he pants. “Gonna love watching your belly grow. Knowing I did that. That you’re carrying my baby.”
“Cheol—” you’re incoherent now, can only hold on as he takes you apart.
“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”
“Want your baby,” you gasp out. “Want you to…to come inside me, want—god—want everyone to know I’m yours.”
His rhythm stutters at that, becomes somehow even more intense. “Mine,” he agrees roughly. “Always mine. My wife. Mother of my children. Mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty, sends you spiraling. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, whiting out your vision and you feel yourself clench around him rhythmically.
“Fuck—baby—” he groans and then he’s there too, pressing as deep as he can go, holding you against him as he fills you again. This time when he pulls out, he immediately maneuvers you onto your back, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under your hips before you can protest.
“Elevate,” he explains breathlessly and you can’t help but laugh.
“You really did research.”
“Told you.” He collapses partially on top of you with his head resting on your chest. “Months of thinking about this. I’m prepared.”
Your fingers find his hair, feeling satisfied and tender and so completely loved. “How long do I have to stay like this?”
“Twenty minutes at least.” His hand finds your belly again, splaying possessively across it. “Maybe thirty to be safe.”
“And what are we doing for the next twenty to thirty minutes?”
His eyes darken again and you feel him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I can think of a few ways to pass the time. After all—” he rolls you on your side carefully, mindful of the pillow, settling behind you and lifting your leg up and over his hip, “—we should really make sure we’re being thorough.”
“Thorough,” you repeat breathlessly.
“Very thorough,” he agrees, kissing down your neck. “It’s important to be thorough about these things.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“You’re irresistible.” He nips at your collarbone. “And ovulating. And my wife. Who I’m trying to get pregnant. So yes—” he enters you again, slow and deep, making you both groan, “—insatiable sounds about right.”
And as he begins to move again, slow and intimate and perfect, you think that maybe drunk you had the right idea after all.
Sometimes the best conversations happen in the most unexpected ways.
Seungcheol folds you with both legs to your chest and you know your body is going to complain about it later.
“Wait, Cheol—” you gasp as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you in half.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his hands hooking under your knees, spreading you open as he presses them down. “This angle—fuck, baby, you have no idea—”
And then he’s sliding back in, and oh—he’s right. The angle is incredible. Overwhelming. He’s somehow even deeper like this, hitting spots that make stars explode behind your eyelids.
“Oh my god—” you can barely breathe, pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy.
“That’s it,” he groans, watching where you’re joined with dark, hungry eyes. “Take it. Take all of me.”
Your flexibility has never been your strong suit and you can already feel the strain in your hips, your thighs protesting the position but the pleasure overrides everything else; the way he’s grinding against you with each thrust, the delicious pressure, the intimacy of being folded completely under him.
“You’re so deep,” you whimper, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. “I can’t…it’s too much—”
“Not too much,” he counters, but there’s a question in his eyes even as he maintains the brutal pace. “Color?”
“Green,” you gasp immediately. “So green, don’t stop, please don’t—ah—”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with perfect pressure, and you nearly scream. Everything is heightened like this, every nerve ending on fire, every thrust punching the air from your lungs.
“Gonna keep you just like this,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple. “Gonna fill you up so deep it has to take. You want that?”
“Yes—yes—Cheol, I’m—”
“I know, baby. I can feel it.” His movements become more purposeful, grinding deep rather than thrusting, the friction against your clit constant and maddening. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Show me how much you want my baby.”
The combination of his words, his thumb, the relentless pressure against that spot deep inside, it’s too much. You shatter with a cry that’s probably too loud for the morning, clenching around him so hard you see white.
“Fuck, just like that—” Seungcheol’s rhythm falters, his hips jerking erratically as he follows you over the edge for the fourth time, groaning your name like a prayer as he empties himself inside you.
He stays buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting, trembling. Then carefully—so carefully—he releases your legs, helping you straighten them out with gentle hands.
“Ow,” you whimper immediately as your hips protest, muscles cramping.
“Sorry, sorry—” he’s already massaging your thighs, pressing kisses to your knees. “I got carried away.”
“Worth it,” you manage, even as you wince. “But I’m definitely going to feel that tomorrow.”
“I’ll give you a massage later,” he promises, still working the tension from your muscles. “A proper one. With oil and everything.”
“You better.” You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss. “I’m going to be walking funny for days.”
“Good,” he says against your lips, unrepentant. “Let everyone wonder why.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.” He rolls to the side, immediately pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His hand finds your belly again; it’s apparently his new favorite spot. “Think it worked?”
“Cheol, we can’t possibly know that yet—”
“But do you think it worked?” he insists, almost childlike in his eagerness.
You soften, covering his hand with yours. “I don’t know, maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“And if not?”
“Then we try again,” you say, smiling. “And again. As many times as it takes.”
His answering grin is devastating. “I love this plan. Best plan we’ve ever had.”
“Of course you love it,” you tease. “You’re getting sex on demand.”
“I’m getting to start a family with the love of my life,” he corrects, suddenly serious. “The sex is just a bonus. A really, really good bonus, but still.”
Your throat tightens with emotion. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead. “Now, twenty more minutes with your hips elevated, and then I’m running you a bath.”
“And then?”
“And then lunch. Hydration. Maybe a nap.” His smile turns wicked. “And then round whatever we’re on.”
“Again?!”
“Baby,” he says solemnly, “we’re not leaving this bed until tomorrow. I told you, I’m being thorough.”
You should protest. Should remind him you both have lives, responsibilities, that you can’t spend an entire day having sex no matter how appealing that sounds but then his hand starts tracing patterns on your belly again and he’s looking at you with such love and want and hope that all protests die in your throat.
“Thorough,” you agree weakly. “Right, very important.”
“The most important,” he confirms and as he settles beside you, already planning the rest of your day—which apparently consists entirely of various positions and strategic pillow placement—you think that maybe, just maybe, drunk you deserves some credit.
After all, she got the conversation started, even if her methods were…unconventional. Your husband certainly isn’t complaining and neither—despite your aching hips and the knowledge that you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow—are you.
The shower was supposed to be innocent, just washing off, getting clean, maybe some gentle aftercare. That lasted approximately three minutes before Seungcheol’s hands started wandering from “helpful” to “decidedly unhelpful.”
“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned but it came out breathless as his fingers traced your hip. “We’re supposed to be cleaning up.”
“We are cleaning up,” he murmured against your neck, pressing you forward until your palms hit the cool tile. “Very thoroughly.”
“That’s not—oh—”
His hand slid between your thighs from behind, finding you still sensitive, still wet with more than just water. “Still ready for me,” he observed, voice dropping an octave. “Even after all that.”
“It’s the hormones,” you managed, even as you arched back into his touch. “I told you, ovulation makes me—fuck—”
“Makes you what?” He was already lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “Insatiable? Desperate? Willing to let me fuck you against the shower wall?”
“All of the above,” you gasped as he pushed in, the slide easy despite how much you’d already taken him today.
This time was different, harder, more primal. The tile was cold against your breasts, your cheek, contrasting with the hot water and his body pressed against your back. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly, keeping you in place as he took you apart.
“This is what you do to me,” he growled in your ear. “Walking around, talking about my baby, being so fucking perfect—”
“Cheol, baby please—”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, I need—”
“I know what you need.” His other hand found your clit, and you nearly sobbed. “Need me to breed you. Need me to pump you so full—”
You came with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he followed immediately after, groaning against your shoulder as he held you pinned to the wall.
The water was starting to run cold by the time you both caught your breath.
You genuinely thought he’d be tired after the shower. Thought maybe you’d eat, cuddle, take that nap he’d mentioned.
You made it halfway through your sandwich.
“Come here,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pushing his chair back.
“I’m eating—”
“You can finish later.” There was something almost feral in his eyes as he stalked around the table toward you. “Right now, I need you bent over this table.”
“Choi Seungcheol—” but you were already standing, already letting him turn you around, already bracing your hands on the polished wood as he flipped up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on.
“No panties again,” he noted with approval. “It’s like you want me to fuck you at every opportunity.”
“Maybe I do,” you shot back, then gasped as he entered you in one smooth thrust.
The angle was perfect, the table the ideal height and he took full advantage of it. His fingers dug into your hips as he set a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin obscenely loud in your quiet dining room.
“Look at you,” he panted, gathering your hair in one fist. “Taking it so well. So eager for it. Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere right now, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, god, anywhere—”
“Kitchen counter? Bedroom floor? Against the windows where the neighbors might see?”
The thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but combined with his relentless pace, it pushes you over the edge. You came with a strangled moan, and he wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t give you time to recover. Just pulled out, ignored your whimper, and guided you to the couch.
“Hands on the back,” he instructed. “Ass up.”
You were shaking as you obeyed, gripping the back of the couch as he positioned himself behind you again. This angle was even deeper, and you could feel him in your belly with each thrust.
“Too much,” you whimpered, but you didn’t use your safeword, didn’t actually want him to stop.
“Not too much,” he countered, one hand sliding up your spine. “You can take it. You can take everything I give you.” And you did, you took it until you were crying with pleasure, until your legs gave out, until he had to hold you up as he finished inside you for the—you’d lost count at this point.
When he finally pulled out, your legs couldn’t support you. You collapsed onto the plush living room carpet, and he followed you down, immediately positioning you on your hands and knees.
“One more,” he said, voice rough. “Just one more, baby, and then we’ll rest.”
“Can’t—” you protested weakly, but your body was already responding, already arching for him.
“You can.” He slid in easily, and the stretch was almost too much on your oversensitized flesh. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so perfectly. Gonna make such a good mother.”
The praise broke something in you. You dropped to your elbows, pressing your face into the carpet as he took you with long, deep strokes. There was something almost desperate about it now, like he couldn’t get deep enough, close enough, like he was trying to merge you into one person.
“Love you,” he panted. “Love you so fucking much. Gonna give you everything. Everything you want. Everything you deserve.”
You were too far gone to respond with words, could only moan and take it and feel yourself building toward yet another impossible orgasm.
When it hit, it was almost painful in its intensity. You felt him swell inside you, felt the warmth as he came again, and then everything went soft and hazy.
You came back to yourself slowly, aware of gentle hands cleaning you with a warm cloth, of being lifted and carried, of soft sheets against your skin.
“Did I pass out?” you mumbled.
“Just for a minute.” Seungcheol sounded worried now, the feral intensity finally broken. “I’m sorry, I got carried away—”
“Don’t apologize.” You caught his hand, pressing it to your cheek. “That was…I didn’t know you had that in you.”
He laughed shakily. “Neither did I. I just—when you said you wanted a baby, something in my brain just…short-circuited.”
“Clearly.” You shifted, wincing at the soreness. “I’m going to be feeling this for a week.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised immediately. “Bath, massage, whatever you need. I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.” You pulled him down beside you. “I liked it. Loved it, actually. I just…didn’t expect the conversation about trying for a baby to turn my usually controlled husband into…that.”
“Into what?”
“Into someone who fucks me in every room of the house,” you say bluntly. “Who can’t go an hour without being inside me. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me.”
He flushed. “The ovulation thing wasn’t helping. Knowing you’re fertile right now, that any of these times could be the one—” he broke off, shaking his head. “It did something to me.”
“I noticed.” You traced his jaw. “For the record? I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised and very, very sore.”
“Nap now,” he decided. “Then massage. Then dinner. And then—”
“If you say ‘and then round whatever number we’re on,’ I’m divorcing you.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “I was going to say ‘and then we’ll see how you feel.’”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”
“But if you’re feeling up to it…” His hand slid to your belly again. “We should probably maximize our chances.”
You stared at him. “You’re actually insatiable.”
“Only with you.” He kissed your forehead. “Only ever with you.”
And despite the soreness, despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that you’d had more sex in one day than most couples have in a month, you found yourself smiling because this was your husband. Your partner. The father of your future children and if his method of “trying for a baby” involved fucking you in every room of the house until you couldn’t walk straight?
Well.
You’d had worse problems.
“Fine,” you conceded. “But after a nap and a massage, you’re carrying me everywhere for the next week.”
“Deal,” he agreed immediately, already pulling you closer.
Nothing came from that day of marathon sex but with how feral your husband had gotten that day you knew something had awakened in him that would be hard to reign in which is how you found yourself in your current position, bent over the balcony of your bedroom at the Airbnb that had been booked for his work trip to Hawaii which he insisted you come on. Something about a second honeymoon.
You should have known something was up when Seungcheol insisted you come on his work trip.
“It’s Hawaii,” he’d said, showing you the booking confirmation with an innocence that should have been your first warning. “We’ve never been. Plus, my meetings are only in the mornings. We’d have the afternoons and evenings together.”
“A second honeymoon,” he’d called it with that devastating smile.
What he’d failed to mention was that the “trying for a baby” conversation had apparently permanently rewired something in his brain.
You’d learned this over the past few weeks. The man who used to be controlled, measured, professional in every aspect of his life had developed a hair-trigger when it came to you. A lingering glance, your hand on his thigh at dinner, the way you bit your lip while concentrating—any of it could result in him finding the nearest private surface and bending you over it.
The office after hours? Check.
The car in the parking garage? Check.
The fitting room at the boutique where you’d been shopping for maternity clothes (optimistically)? Very much check.
But this—this was a new level, even for him.
“Cheol,” you hissed, gripping the balcony railing as he pressed against your back, his hands already pushing up your sundress. “We’re outside. Someone could see—”
“The nearest villa is hundreds of feet away,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “No one can see unless they’re in a helicopter.”
“That’s not the point—”
“The point,” he interrupted, one hand sliding between your thighs to find you already wet—because of course you were—your body had learned to anticipate him now, “is that you’ve been walking around all day in this dress. This tiny, barely-there dress. Bending over to pick up seashells. Stretching in the sun. Driving me insane.”
“We were on the beach,” you protested weakly, even as you arched back into him. “What was I supposed to wear?”
“Nothing.” His fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them aside. “Preferably nothing.”
You were about to respond when he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, and all coherent thought fled. Your fingers tightened on the railing as he set a deep, rolling rhythm that had you biting your lip to keep quiet.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, one hand gripping your hip while the other slid up to cup your breast through the fabric. “Take it. Take all of me.”
The view from the balcony was stunning; turquoise water stretching to the horizon, white sand beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and pink. It should be romantic.
It was romantic. Just also obscene.
“God, you feel so good,” Seungcheol groaned, picking up his pace. “So perfect. Made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to carry my baby.”
There it was, the thing that set him off every time. The baby talk. Ever since that day, since you’d opened that door, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was like the idea of getting you pregnant had become an obsession.
“Cheol—” you gasped, trying to keep your voice down even as pleasure built in your core. “Someone might hear—”
“Let them hear.” His hand slid from your breast to your throat, tilting your head back. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. How well you take me. How desperate you are for my baby.”
“You’re insane,” you managed, but it came out more like a moan.
“You made me this way.” His lips brushed your ear. “Walking around, talking about wanting my babies, being so fucking perfect—you broke something in me, baby. Can’t think straight anymore. Can’t function unless I’m inside you.”
His hand left your throat to slide down your body, finding your clit with practiced ease. The dual sensation—him inside you, his fingers working you expertly—was too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as you started to tremble. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I fill you up. Maybe this time it’ll take. Maybe in nine months you’ll be here with my baby in your belly.”
The image he painted—you pregnant, round with his child—combined with his relentless pace pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry you couldn’t quite muffle, clenching around him and felt him follow seconds later with a groan. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, the sound of waves crashing below mixing with your racing heartbeats.
“We need to talk about this,” you finally said, even as you melted back against his chest.
“About what?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still not pulling out.
“About this—” you gestured vaguely, “—thing that’s happened to you. This breeding kink you’ve developed.”
You felt him smile against your skin. “Is it a kink if we’re actively trying for a baby?”
“Cheol, we’ve had sex multiple times everyday in the last week. Everyday.”
“You’re counting?”
“Hard not to when I can barely walk straight.” You turned your head to look at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the sex. The sex is incredible but you’ve been…intense. Ever since that conversation.”
His expression shifted, becoming more serious. He finally pulled out—you whimpered at the loss—and turned you around to face him, hands gentle on your waist.
“I know,” he admitted. “I’ve been…I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something clicked that day, and I can’t turn it off. Every time I look at you, I think about getting you pregnant. About you carrying our baby. About our family. And it just—” he broke off, looking almost embarrassed. “It does something to me. Makes me crazy.”
“I’ve noticed,” you said dryly.
“Is it too much?” There was genuine concern in his eyes now. “Am I being too much? Because if you need me to dial it back—”
“No,” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, yes, it’s a lot but it’s also…kind of hot? Knowing you want me that badly. That you’re that desperate to start our family.”
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how badly I want you. How much I want this.”
“I’m getting a pretty clear picture,” you teased, feeling him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Case in point.”
He huffed a laugh. “Can you blame me? You’re standing here, freshly fucked, my cum dripping down your thighs, the sunset making you glow and you’re surprised I want you again?”
“We literally just finished—”
“And I’m already thinking about round two.” His hands slid down to cup your ass. “And three. And four. We have all night, baby. No work tomorrow. No interruptions. Just you and me and this view and a very comfortable bed inside.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.” He kissed you, deep and slow. “Now, shower, dinner and then I’m taking you apart in that massive bed. Sound good?”
It sounded perfect, actually. Even if your husband had apparently turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation. Especially because your husband had turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation.
“One condition,” you said as he started leading you inside.
“Anything.”
“When we get home, we’re making a doctor’s appointment. To make sure we’re doing everything right. That I’m healthy. All of it.”
His expression softened. “Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll set it up as soon as we’re back.”
“And maybe—” you bit your lip, “—maybe we dial it back just a little? Don’t get me wrong, I love the enthusiasm, but I’d like to still be able to walk when we get home.”
He grinned. “No promises but I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
As he pulled you inside to the shower, his hands already wandering again, you thought about how much had changed in just a few weeks. Your controlled, measured husband had been replaced by someone who couldn’t keep his hands off you. Who fucked you on balconies and whispered filthy promises about getting you pregnant. Who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
The test from last week had been negative. You’d both been disappointed but not surprised, these things took time but watching Seungcheol now, the way he touched you with reverence even as his eyes promised wickedness, you knew something had fundamentally shifted between you.
This wasn’t just about making a baby anymore. It was about the intensity of wanting something together. About the intimacy of trying. About how the goal had somehow made everything—every touch, every kiss, every time he was inside you—feel weighted with meaning and possibility.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, soaping your shoulders.
“About how that drunk conversation might have been the best terrible decision I ever made.”
He laughed. “Oh, it was definitely terrible. But yeah,” he pulled you close, “also the best.”
“Even though I asked if you’d love me as a worm?”
“Especially because you asked if I’d love you as a worm.” He kissed your forehead. “Now come on. We have dinner reservations in an hour and I plan on having you at least twice before then.”
“Twice?! Cheol, we just—”
But he was already lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and honestly? You weren’t complaining, not even a little bit.
Your insatiable, baby-crazy, utterly perfect husband. You wouldn’t change a thing.
You didn’t make it to dinner.
Well, not the reservation anyway. By the time Seungcheol had finished with you in the shower and then carried you to the bed still dripping wet, you were both too boneless and satisfied to even consider getting dressed and going out. Instead, he’d ordered take out—an absurd amount of food—and you’d eaten on the balcony wrapped in plush robes, watching the stars come out over the ocean.
“This is nice,” you murmured, stealing a bite of his dessert. “Romantic. Almost makes me forget you’ve turned into a caveman.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Caveman?”
“Mhm.” You grinned. “Me want baby. Me fuck wife constantly. Me carry wife everywhere because wife can’t walk—”
He silenced you with a kiss, tasting like chocolate and coconut. “I don’t hear you complaining when I’m making you come.”
“That’s because my brain stops working when you’re making me come.”
“Mission accomplished then.” His hand found yours on the table, fingers interlacing. “But seriously, are we okay? This isn’t too much?”
You squeezed his hand. “We’re more than okay. I promise. Yes, you’ve been insatiable. Yes, I’m going to need a week to recover when we get home. But Cheol,” you met his eyes, “I love seeing you like this. Passionate. Uninhibited. It’s like you’ve finally let yourself want something without overthinking it.”
“I want you,” he said simply. “I want our family and yeah, maybe I’ve gone a little crazy about it, but…” he shrugged, unapologetic, “I’m not sorry.”
“Good.” You stood, letting your robe slip off your shoulders. “Because I’m not done with you yet either.”
His eyes went dark, tracking the fall of fabric. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You moved to straddle his lap, the balmy night air warm on your skin. “We have four more days in paradise. Might as well make the most of them.”
“Four more days,” he repeated, hands spanning your waist. “Think we can set a record?”
“For what? Most times having sex in a single vacation?”
“I was thinking most creative locations, but that works too.” His thumbs traced circles on your hipbones. “There’s the beach at night. The private pool. That hammock near the—”
“You’ve been planning this.”
“Maybe.” He pulled you down for a kiss. “Can you blame me? My beautiful wife, a tropical paradise, and no responsibilities for four whole days? I’m going to worship you in every way possible.”
And he did.
You woke to his mouth between your thighs, the sunrise painting the room in shades of gold and pink. He brought you to orgasm twice before you were even fully awake and then pulled you into the shower where he took you against the tiles while water cascaded over you both.
Breakfast was served on the balcony, and you made it through most of your meal before he was pulling you onto his lap, pushing your sundress up, filling you while you clutched his shoulders and tried to keep quiet.
“Love you like this,” he murmured against your neck as you rode him slowly. “Sun-kissed, desperate and so fucking wet for me.”
“Always wet for you,” you gasped. “Can’t help it.”
“Good.” His hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect angle. “Never want you any other way.”
Later, he kept his promise about the hammock. You’d been reading peacefully in the shade when he appeared with that look in his eyes and suddenly your book was forgotten as he stripped you down and arranged you across the swaying fabric.
“Cheol, this is going to tip—”
“I’ve got you,” he promised and he did, holding the hammock steady as he knelt between your legs and proved that his mouth was just as talented as the rest of him. By the time he finally entered you, you were already trembling, oversensitive, and the gentle sway of the hammock with each thrust was unlike anything you’d experienced.
“This is insane,” you laughed breathlessly.
“This is perfect,” he corrected and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his universe—made your chest tight with emotion.
His morning meeting ran long and you’d gone down to the beach alone, content to swim and sunbathe and give your body a much-needed break. You should have known better. You were waist-deep in the crystal-clear water when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.
“Meeting over?” you asked, leaning back against his chest.
“Cancelled the rest.” His lips found that spot behind your ear that made you shiver. “Told them it was a family emergency.”
“Cheol! You can’t just—”
“Can’t just what? Choose my wife over a conference call about quarterly projections?” His hand slid down your stomach, disappearing beneath the water. “Pretty sure I can since y’know, I’m the boss.”
“Someone could see—”
“No one’s around.” And he was right—the beach was completely empty, the nearest people just tiny dots in the distance. “And you’re wearing this bikini. This tiny, barely-there bikini. What did you expect?”
“I expected to swim peacefully—oh—”
His fingers had found their target, working you expertly while his other arm banded around your waist, holding you against him.
“Can you be quiet?” he murmured. “Or are you going to let the whole beach know how good I make you feel?”
You bit your lip, trying desperately to stay silent as he worked you closer to the edge. The water lapped around you, warm and gentle and the contrast between the peaceful setting and what he was doing to you was almost too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Come for me, baby. Right here in the ocean where anyone could see how desperate you are for me.”
You came with a strangled gasp, your legs giving out and only his arm around your waist kept you upright.
“Good girl,” he praised, turning you around. “Now, think you can stay quiet while I fuck you?”
You couldn’t, as it turned out but the beach stayed empty, and Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind your breathless cries as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he entered you in the warm, shallow water.
The private pool became his new favorite place. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you there; bent over the edge, pressed against the infinity wall overlooking the ocean, on the submerged lounger, against the smooth rocks of the artificial waterfall.
“We’re never leaving,” he declared as the sun set on your last full day. “I’m cancelling our flights. We live here now.”
“We have jobs,” you reminded him, though you were currently in his lap in the pool, still joined, neither of you in any hurry to move.
“We’ll work remotely. I’ll buy this villa. We’ll raise our kids here.”
“Kids, plural?”
“At least three.” His hands slid over your belly, possessive and tender. “Maybe four.”
“Let’s start with one,” you laughed. “See how we do.”
“We’ll do perfectly.” He kissed you slowly. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”
“And you’re going to be an amazing father.” You cupped his face. “Even if you are a sex-crazed maniac right now.”
“Only for you,” he promised. “Only ever for you.”
You woke early, bodies tangled together, the sound of waves your only alarm. Seungcheol was already awake, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip.
“Morning,” you murmured.
“Morning.” He brushed hair from your face. “Last day.”
“Don’t remind me.” You snuggled closer. “I’m not ready to go back to reality.”
“Me neither.” His hand found your belly again,it was becoming a habit. “But we’ll take this with us. This feeling. This certainty.”
“The certainty that you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“The certainty that we’re ready for this. For our family. For our future.” He shifted, rolling you beneath him. “And yeah, also the certainty that I’ll never get enough of you.”
The morning light filtered through the curtains as he made love to you slowly, tenderly, so different from the frantic desperation of the past few days. This was soft and sweet and full of promise.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So much. More than I can say.”
“I love you too,” you breathed. “Even when you’re being insane.”
“Especially when I’m being insane,” he corrected with a grin and as you lay together afterward, wrapped in each other and the morning warmth, you thought about the past few weeks. The conversation that started it all. The shift in your relationship. The intensity and passion and sheer want of it all.
You still didn’t know if you were pregnant yet. Wouldn’t know for another week at least but somehow, it didn’t matter as much as you thought it would. Because you had this. Had him. Had the absolute certainty that whatever happened, you were in it together. Even if your husband had apparently developed a permanent breeding kink in the process. You could think of worse problems to have.
“Round two?” Seungcheol murmured hopefully against your neck.
You laughed. “We have to pack. And check out. And catch a flight.”
“So that’s a yes to a quickie before all that?”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
And because he was right—because you did love it, loved him, loved this new chapter you were writing together—you pulled him down for a kiss.
“Make it quick,” you warned. “We actually do need to pack.”
His answering grin was wicked. “Oh baby, I haven’t done anything quick with you since university.”
He was right about that too. You missed your flight but honestly?
Totally worth it.
The next few months go by in blur of your everyday life and the fact that you and your husband behaved like two virgins in a whorehouse at every given opportunity. He had somewhat simmered down, a work project keeping him busy and away from you for the past month.
You knew he was stressed so tonight you had planned to treat him, leaving work early to set up everything and it was well worth it when he comes through the door of your home calling out for you. He asks what smells so good before he stops when he takes in the way you’re dressed, in that cherry red dress he loves, and his mind starts wandering to important dates.
“Did I forget something?”
You turn from the stove, wooden spoon in hand and can’t help but smile at the panic already creeping into his expression. Seungcheol stands frozen in the doorway, briefcase still in hand, tie loosened, eyes frantically scanning you for clues.
“Did I forget—” he starts again, more urgently this time. “Is it our anniversary? Your birthday? Some other important—”
“Relax,” you interrupt, setting down the spoon and crossing to him. “You didn’t forget anything.”
“Then why are you wearing that dress?” His eyes drag over you, taking in the cherry red fabric that hugs every curve, the neckline that shows just enough to be distracting. “You only wear that dress for special occasions.”
“Maybe I just wanted to look nice for my husband,” you say innocently, reaching up to loosen his tie the rest of the way. “Is that a crime?”
His hands find your waist automatically, pulling you closer. “You’re up to something.”
“Maybe.” You stretch up to kiss him softly. “Or maybe I just missed you. You’ve been working so much lately.”
Something in his expression shifts, guilt mixing with exhaustion. “I know. This project has been insane. I’m sorry, baby. I’ve barely been home and when I am, I’m usually passed out or distracted—”
“Which is exactly why I wanted to do something nice tonight.” You smooth your hands over his chest. “So,no work talk. No stress. Just dinner, wine, and your wife who’s been very lonely without you.”
His eyes darken at that. “Lonely?”
“Mhmm.” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen. “Very lonely. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve touched me?”
“Twenty-two days,” he says immediately and you blink in surprise.
“You’ve been counting?”
“Of course I’ve been counting.” His grip tightens on your waist. “You think I haven’t noticed? That I haven’t been dying every night, coming home to you already asleep, leaving before you wake up? I’ve been going insane.”
“Have you?” You press closer, feeling him already starting to respond. “Because you seemed pretty absorbed in your work.”
“The only reason I’ve been able to focus on work is because I’ve been channeling all my sexual frustration into spreadsheets and project timelines.” His forehead drops to yours. “I’ve missed you so much. Missed this. Missed touching you.”
“Well,” you slide your hands up to his shoulders, “dinner’s going to take another twenty minutes. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
“Twenty minutes?” He’s already backing you toward the counter. “I can work with twenty minutes.”
“Cheol,” you laugh as he lifts you onto the granite, “we eat here.”
“We’ve done worse shit here.” He’s already pushing your dress up your thighs, and his eyes go even darker when he discovers what you’re not wearing. “No underwear. You really were planning this.”
“Maybe I was planning to torture you through dinner,” you tease. “Make you wait. Make you suffer.”
“Fuck that.” He drops to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “I’ve suffered enough. Now I’m collecting.”
Your protest dies as his mouth finds you and suddenly the simmering pots on the stove are the last thing on your mind.
Dinner is slightly overcooked by the time you both make it to the table—flushed, disheveled, and thoroughly satisfied. Seungcheol keeps apologizing for ruining your perfect meal but you just laugh and pour more wine.
“It’s fine,” you assure him, serving the pasta that’s only a little too soft. “This was kind of the plan anyway.”
“To seduce me before dinner?”
“To remind you that I still exist.” You raise your glass. “That we exist. Outside of work and stress and trying to conceive and everything else.”
His expression softens. “I know we exist. I always know that.”
“But you’ve been distant,” you say gently. “And I get it, this project has been huge, and you’re under a lot of pressure but Cheol…” you reach across the table for his hand, “I’ve missed my husband. Not just the sex, though yes, definitely that but you. Talking to you. Laughing with you. Just being with you.”
He squeezes your hand, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I thought I was handling it okay, but I guess I’ve been shutting you out.”
“A little bit,” you admit. “And I know it’s not intentional. You get focused on work and everything else fades but we can’t let that happen, especially not now when we’re trying to start a family.”
“You’re right.” He stands, moving his chair closer to yours so he can pull you against his side. “I’m sorry. Really. The project wraps up next week, and then I’m all yours. No more late nights. No more missing dinner. No more—”
“No more twenty-two day dry spells?” you supply with a grin.
“Especially no more dry spells.” His hand slides up your thigh. “In fact, I think I need to make up for lost time.”
“We haven’t even finished dinner.”
“We can reheat it.” He’s already pulling you into his lap. “Right now, I need to apologize properly to my wife for neglecting her.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
His smile turns wicked. “I have some ideas.”
You’re curled up on the couch together, plates pushed aside, wine glasses empty, and you’re finally feeling like you have your husband back.
“So,” Seungcheol says, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder; your dress didn’t survive the transition from dining room to living room, “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Hmm?” You’re pleasantly drowsy, content in a way you haven’t been in weeks.
“About the baby thing.”
That gets your attention. You sit up a little, looking at him. “What about it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been trying for almost three months now. And I know that’s not that long in the grand scheme of things, but…I don’t know. I guess I thought it would happen faster.”
Your chest tightens. You’ve been thinking the same thing but haven’t wanted to say it out loud. “Yeah. Me too.”
“And I was thinking—maybe we should make that doctor’s appointment. Like you said. Just to make sure everything’s okay. That we’re doing everything right.”
“Okay,” you agree softly. “Yeah, we can do that.”
“I’m not worried,” he adds quickly. “I mean, I am a little worried, but mostly I just want to be proactive. Make sure we’re giving ourselves the best chance.”
You cup his face, making him look at you. “Hey. Three months is nothing. The doctor will probably tell us to keep trying and come back in a year if nothing happens.”
“I know, but—” he breaks off, frustrated. “I just want this so badly. Want to give you this and every time another month goes by and the test is negative, I feel like I’m failing somehow.”
“You’re not failing,” you say firmly. “This isn’t something we can control. It happens when it happens.”
“I know that in my head. But in my heart,” his hand finds your belly, “I’m impatient.”
“I’ve noticed,” you tease gently. “The whole ‘acting like virgins in a whorehouse’ thing kind of gave it away.”
He huffs a laugh. “Was I that bad?”
“You were that eager,” you correct. “Which was actually pretty hot. Still is, when you’re not drowning in spreadsheets.”
“No more spreadsheets,” he promises. “Project’s almost done, and then I’m taking some time off. We’ll go somewhere. Relax. Maybe not having so much stress will help.”
“Maybe.” You kiss him softly. “But either way, we’re in this together, okay? Whether it happens next month or next year, we’ll figure it out.”
“Together,” he agrees, pulling you closer.
You settle back against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, and try to ignore the small kernel of worry that’s been growing with each negative test.
Three months isn’t that long but it feels longer when you want something so badly. When every month brings hope and then disappointment. When you see the look on your husband’s face each time that single line appears instead of two.
“Hey,” Seungcheol murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “No spiraling. We’re okay.”
“We’re okay,” you repeat.
And you are, you will be. Even if it takes longer than expected. Even if the road is harder than you hoped. You have him, and he has you, and that’s what matters.
Everything else will come in time, you just have to keep believing that.
Seungcheol had accompanied you to your usual checkup with your doctor and you’re currently waiting for your results to come back. When she enters with your files there’s a look on her face you can’t really read.
“Is there something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, his hand squeezing yours tighter.
“Well, that depends Mr. Choi,” she says before turning to you. “This happens quite often and I know it can be a shock, but I hope you both will make the decision that suits you best.”
The suspense is killing you and before you can ask what she means she says “Mrs. Choi, did you know that you’re three months pregnant?”
“Que?”
You must be hearing things. You took tests, hell you had a period two weeks ago. The room tilts slightly, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down.
“I’m—what?” Your voice comes out strangled, disbelieving. “That’s not—I can’t be. I’ve been having my period.”
Dr. Kim’s expression softens with understanding. “What you experienced was likely implantation bleeding and spotting, which can be mistaken for a light period. It’s more common than you’d think. Based on your blood work and the ultrasound we just did, you’re measuring at about twelve weeks.”
“Twelve weeks,” you repeat numbly. Your mind is racing, trying to do the math. Twelve weeks ago was…
“Hawaii,” Seungcheol breathes beside you, and when you look at him, his face has gone pale. “That was twelve weeks ago.”
Dr. Kim pulls up something on her computer screen, turning it so you can see and there it is. A tiny blob on the screen, barely distinguishable, but with a flickering white spot in the center.
“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Kim says gently, pointing. “Strong and healthy.”
Your own heart seems to stop entirely.
“But—” you’re struggling to process this, “—I’ve taken at least four pregnancy tests in the past two months. They were all negative.”
“How early were you testing?”
“I don’t know—a few days before my period? And then after what I thought was my period…”
“That’s likely why. Some women don’t produce enough HCG hormone early on for home tests to detect. It’s rare, but it happens.” Dr. Kim’s smile is warm, reassuring. “But your levels now are exactly where they should be for twelve weeks. You’re pregnant, Mrs. Choi. Congratulations.”
The word hangs in the air between you and Seungcheol.
Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’ve been pregnant for three months and didn’t know.
“I—” your voice cracks, “—I’ve been drinking coffee. And I had wine at dinner last week. And I, oh god, I’ve been taking ibuprofen for my headaches—”
“Hey, hey,” Dr. Kim interrupts gently. “Let’s take a breath. Small amounts of caffeine are fine. One glass of wine before you knew won’t hurt anything. And occasional ibuprofen, while not ideal, isn’t going to cause problems at this stage. Your baby looks perfectly healthy.”
Your baby.
“I can’t—” you turn to Seungcheol, and the expression on his face nearly breaks you. He looks stunned, overwhelmed, and like he might cry at any moment. “Cheol—”
“We’re having a baby,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “We’re actually…holy shit, we’re having a baby.” And then he is crying, tears streaming down his face as he pulls you into a tight embrace.
“You said there was a decision to make?” Seungcheol asks suddenly, pulling back and looking at Dr. Kim with concern. “Is something wrong? You said—”
“Oh, no—I’m sorry, I worded that poorly.” Dr. Kim looks apologetic. “I just meant that unexpected pregnancies can be a shock, and I wanted to make sure you knew you had options. But if this is welcome news—”
“It’s welcome,” you say immediately, even as your hands are shaking. “Very welcome. We’ve been trying. We just—we didn’t know it had already worked.”
“Well then—truly, congratulations.” Dr. Kim starts printing out information. “I’m going to refer you to an OB for your ongoing care. You’ll want to schedule your first official prenatal appointment within the next week or two. I’m printing out the ultrasound photo for you, and some information about what to expect in your first trimester—though you’re already almost through it.”
Almost through the first trimester. You’re almost through the first trimester and you had no idea.
“Can you—” your voice is shaky, “—can you print two copies of the ultrasound? Please?”
“Of course.” Dr. Kim smiles knowingly. “Most parents want several.”
Parents. You’re going to be parents. The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. Dr. Kim goes over nutrition, what to expect, warning signs to watch for, answering questions that Seungcheol asks because you seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences.
By the time you make it back to the car, you’re both silent, clutching the ultrasound photos like lifelines. Seungcheol doesn’t start the car. Just sits there, staring at the grainy black and white image in his hands.
“We made this,” he finally says, voice thick. “In Hawaii. In that villa with the ocean view. We made our baby.”
“All those times,” you whisper, then laugh slightly hysterically. “All those months we kept trying, and it had already happened. We were already pregnant during—oh my god, we were pregnant when you bent me over the dining room table last month—”
“And in the shower last week,” he adds, then starts laughing too, slightly wild. “And on the counter. And—Jesus, we’ve been having incredibly athletic sex while pregnant.”
“Dr. Kim said it’s fine—”
“I know, I just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “—I can’t believe we didn’t know. How did we not know?”
“I don’t know.” You’re staring at your own copy of the ultrasound, at that tiny blob that’s apparently your baby. Your baby who’s been growing inside you for weeks while you had no idea. “I feel like I should have known. Like my body should have told me somehow.”
“Hey.” Seungcheol reaches over, taking your hand. “This is okay, right? This is—we wanted this.”
“We wanted this,” you confirm, squeezing back. “I’m just…I’m in shock. Are you in shock?”
“Completely.” He brings your hand to his lips. “But also, baby, we’re having a baby. We’re actually having a baby.”
The reality of it starts to sink in, and suddenly you’re crying too. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears, scared tears, all mixed together.
“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, and it feels more real each time you say it. “In—oh god, when? When am I due?”
Seungcheol scrambles for the paperwork Dr. Kim gave you. “It says…June. June tenth. Holy shit, that’s only six months away.”
“Six months.” You press a hand to your stomach, which still looks completely normal. “There’s a baby in there. Right now. With a heartbeat.”
“The fastest heartbeat in the world,” Seungcheol says, smiling through his tears. “Did you hear how fast it was going? Like they’re already excited to meet us.”
“They.” The pronoun makes it more real somehow. “We’re going to have a tiny human. Who depends on us for everything. Who we’re responsible for.”
“Are you freaking out?” he asks gently.
“Little bit. You?”
“Completely.” But he’s smiling, radiant, more happy than you’ve ever seen him. “But also,I’ve never been more excited about anything in my life.” You lean over the center console to kiss him, tasting salt from both your tears and his.
“We’re going to be parents,” you whisper against his lips.
“Best parents ever,” he promises. “This kid is going to be so loved.”
“So spoiled.”
“That too.” He pulls back just enough to cup your face. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For giving me this. For—” his voice breaks, “—for making me a father.”
“Cheol—” now you’re really crying, “—you did half the work.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one growing them. Carrying them. Creating an entire human being inside you.” His hand moves to your stomach, reverent. “You’re incredible.”
“Ask me again in four months when I’m huge and miserable and demanding pickles at 3 AM.”
“Still incredible.” He kisses you again. “Now, we need to celebrate. And tell people. And—oh god, my mom is going to lose her mind. Your mom is going to cry. Jeonghan is going to make fun of me for crying earlier—”
“We don’t have to tell anyone right away,” you interrupt. “I’m only twelve weeks. A lot can still—” you can’t finish the sentence, but he understands.
“You’re right. We’ll wait. Just, maybe a little longer? Until we’re into the second trimester?”
“Which is only a few more weeks now,” you realize. “We’re already almost there.”
“We’re already almost there,” he repeats wonderingly. Then, more firmly, “Okay, new plan. We go home. We process this. We maybe have a minor freak out and then we start planning.”
“Planning what?”
“Everything.” His smile is infectious. “Nursery. Names. Parenting books. Baby-proofing. Everything we need to do in the next six months to get ready for this tiny human who’s apparently already been along for the ride.”
You look down at the ultrasound again, at that flickering heartbeat frozen in time. Your baby. Made in paradise, growing in secret, already loved beyond measure.
“Let’s go home,” you say softly.
Seungcheol finally starts the car, but before he pulls out, he looks at you one more time.
“I love you,” he says. “You and our little blob.”
“I love you too.” You press your hand over his on your stomach. “All three of us.” And as he drives home, both of you stealing glances at the ultrasound photos, you think about how everything has changed in the span of one appointment.
All those months of trying.
All that hoping and waiting and disappointment and it had already worked.
Your baby had been there all along, growing quietly, waiting to surprise you. Just like everything else with Seungcheol—unexpected, intense, and absolutely perfect.
Even if you had been doing very athletic things while pregnant without knowing it.
You’d probably need to apologize to your baby for that eventually but for now, you just hold the ultrasound close and let yourself feel it.
Pure, overwhelming joy.
You’re going to be a mom and Seungcheol is going to be a dad. In six months, your family of two is going to become three.
Best surprise ever.
You both still haven’t told anyone and it’s been two months since you found out. Your body hasn’t changed much but your need for your husband has which has made Seungcheol work from home twice now and this morning is no different when he wakes up with your mouth on him.
Seungcheol wakes slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves. There’s warmth, wetness, and a familiar pressure that has him groaning before he’s even fully awake.
“Fuck, baby—” His hand instinctively goes to your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. You’re under the covers, between his legs and the sight when he lifts the duvet nearly finishes him right there—your eyes meeting his as you take him deeper.
“What are you—oh god—what time is it?”
You pull off with an obscene pop, your hand replacing your mouth as you stroke him slowly. “About six thirty. You have a meeting at nine.”
“Then why are you—” his words cut off as you lick a stripe up his length, “—trying to kill me?”
“Because,” you pause to take him in your mouth again, working him in that way that makes his brain short-circuit, before pulling back, “ I need you…again.”
“Again?” His laugh is strained. “Baby, love we went three rounds last night. How are you—”
“Pregnant,” you finish, crawling up his body. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else and when you straddle him, he can feel how wet you already are. “I’m pregnant and my hormones are insane and I can’t stop thinking about you inside me.”
“Not complaining,” he manages, hands gripping your hips as you position yourself above him. “Just concerned about your poor—Jesus—”
You sink down on him in one smooth motion and his concern evaporates. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides in effortlessly despite no preparation.
“Fuck, you feel good,” you moan, starting to move. “So good. Why do you always feel so good?”
Seungcheol can’t answer because his brain has officially stopped working. You’re riding him in the early morning light, his t-shirt riding up to reveal the slight swell of your stomach, barely visible but there. Evidence of your baby growing inside you.
His baby. The thought still makes him feral.
“That’s it,” he encourages, helping you find your rhythm. “Take what you need. Use me.”
And you do, you ride him with an urgency that’s become familiar over the past two months. Dr. Kim had warned you that increased libido was common in the second trimester, but this was beyond anything either of you expected. Not that Seungcheol is complaining.
“Cheol,” you’re already close, he can tell by the way you’re clenching around him, “touch me, please.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with practiced pressure and you come apart with a cry that could wake the neighbors. He follows seconds later, pulling you down onto him as he empties inside you. You collapse on his chest, both of you breathing hard.
“I’m calling in sick,” he announces.
“You can’t. You have that important meeting—”
“Then you’re coming to the home office with me,” he decides, rolling you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Because if the past two months have taught me anything, it’s that you’re going to need me again in approximately—” he checks his watch, “—two hours and I’d rather be here than trying to take a ‘lunch break’ or hoping my camera stays off.”
You laugh, remembering last week when he’d had to abruptly mute himself because you’d walked into his office wearing nothing but a smile.
“That was your fault for working from home in grey sweatpants,” you point out.
“Everything is apparently my fault now.” But he’s smiling as he says it, pressing kisses down your neck. “You needed water at 3 AM? My fault for getting you pregnant. Your jeans don’t fit? My fault. You cried at that commercial with the puppy? Definitely my fault.”
“It was a very sad commercial,” you defend, even as you’re arching into his kisses. “And yes, this is literally all your fault. You and your—” you gesture vaguely at him, “—your everything.”
“My everything?” He’s laughing now, working his way down your body.
“Your face. Your body. Your—Cheol, what are you doing?”
“Well—” he settles between your thighs, “—if I’m working from home anyway, might as well make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied before my first meeting.”
“You just…we literally just—”
“And you’re going to need me again soon anyway,” he points out reasonably. “Might as well get ahead of it.” His mouth finds you and your protests dissolve into moans.
Seungcheol is forty-five minutes into his video call when you appear in the doorway of his office. He sees you in his peripheral vision and tries to focus on the presentation his colleague is giving but you’re wearing that look. That needy, desperate, “I need you right now” look.
He mutes himself and mouths, After this meeting.
You pout. Actually pout. Then you do something that nearly makes him fall out of his chair; you pull up your dress to show him your stomach, running your hand over the small bump. It’s not fair. It’s biological warfare. You know exactly what seeing you like that does to him.
He unmutes. “Actually, I need to step away for a moment. Personal emergency. Give me ten minutes?”
His colleagues agree—they know he’s been working from home more lately—and he kills his camera and mic before you’ve even crossed the room.
“Ten minutes,” he warns as you climb into his lap. “That’s all we have.”
“Then you better make it count,” you challenge, already undoing his belt.
He does.
“We need to tell people,” Seungcheol says over lunch. You’re both in the kitchen, you’re eating pickles and bacon cream cheese spread—a combination that horrifies him but apparently makes perfect sense to your pregnant brain—and he’s trying not to watch in fascinated disgust.
“I know,” you agree around a mouthful of your horrible creation. “We said we’d wait until after the first trimester, and we’re at—what? Fifteen weeks now?”
“Sixteen tomorrow,” he corrects. He’s been tracking it religiously, has an app on his phone that tells him how big the baby is each week. Currently, the size of an avocado.
“Sixteen weeks,” you repeat. “And I’m starting to show. Like, actually show. I can’t hide it in loose clothes forever.”
“You look beautiful,” he says immediately.
“I look pregnant.”
“Beautiful and pregnant.” He comes around the island to wrap his arms around you from behind, his hands spanning your small bump. “Best combination ever.”
You lean back into him. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“My mom is going to plan the entire baby’s life before they’re even born,” he corrects. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“Both our moms are going to lose their minds,” you decide. “And then they’re going to become best friends over baby shopping.”
“Jeonghan is going to make fun of me.”
“Hannie’s going to be the uncle who teaches our kid bad habits.”
Seungcheol groans. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we don’t tell anyone. Just let them figure it out when you go into labor.”
“Cheol.”
“Fine.” He kisses your temple. “This weekend? We’ll have both families over. Tell them together?”
“Together,” you agree. Then, after a pause, “Are you scared?”
“Terrified,” he admits. “But also, this is real now. We’re really doing this. In four and a half months, we’re going to have a baby. Our baby and I want to share that with people. Want everyone to know how happy I am.”
You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “Even though I keep attacking you at inappropriate times?”
“Especially because you keep attacking me at inappropriate times.” He grins. “Though maybe we should warn the doctor at your next appointment. Make sure this is…you know. Normal.”
“I already asked,” you admit, blushing. “Last appointment while you were filling out paperwork. She said it’s completely normal and actually healthy.”
“Healthy,” he repeats, smirking. “So really, we’re just being responsible parents-to-be.”
“Exactly, very responsible.”
“Speaking of responsible—” his hands slide down to cup your ass, “—I think I have another meeting in an hour. Which means we have time—”
“On the counter?” you ask hopefully.
“Wherever you want,” he promises, already lifting you.
The pickles and cream cheese are forgotten as he makes good on his promise and later—much later—when he’s finally back at his computer for his afternoon meetings, you curl up on the couch in his office with a blanket and one of your pregnancy books.
This has become your routine over the past two months. Him working, you nearby and periodic breaks for the insatiable need that’s apparently a hallmark of your second trimester. It’s chaotic and wonderful and occasionally makes him miss important conference calls but he wouldn’t change a thing.
This is his life now. His pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him. His baby growing bigger every day. His future taking shape in ways he couldn’t have imagined a year ago. All because of one drunk conversation about worms and ovulation and wanting his babies.
Best conversation ever. Even if it did result in him having to work from home regularly because his wife has turned into an insatiable pregnant goddess. He glances over at you, at the small bump visible even under the blanket and feels that now-familiar surge of overwhelming love.
Four and a half months until they meet their baby but first, telling their families this weekend and surviving whatever chaos that brings.
Speaking of books it's been a while since I've seen one of these posts going around & I'm curious so everyone could you tell me what you are reading rn in the tags please
⊹˚. ♡ "You and I, we go together/You're the sky, I'll be the weather/A pretty thing, the sun and rain, who knew?" ⊹˚. ☽
pairing: chaebol!seokmin x caterer!reader (fem)
word count: ~6.9k
genre: modern cinderella of sorts. fluffy strangers to lovers. when an accident actually works in your favor.
summary: reader just wants to make enough money to open her own bookstore/café. seokmin doesn't want to be just the heir to a diamond empire. maybe for christmas, they'll both get what they want.
warnings: brief mention of violence against reader in the past. mentions of reader's dad who passed away. some suggestive comments. some swearing. blatant classism and sexism.
author's note: for my @sunshinedokey... surprise!! merry christmas, i love you lots!! thank you for being in the 218 boys delulu club with me. i hope you enjoy your gift. ♡
"A ball? What do they think this is, Bridgerton?"
You looked up, the word ball catching your attention.
"Did you say a ball?" you asked, the words slipping from your mouth before you had a chance to stop yourself.
Your two noisy coworkers—the ones who always looked at you like you were beneath them, as if you weren't all doing the same job—turned their heads in unison to look at you, looking unimpressed as always to see you standing there.
"A new job Cindy just picked up," the one called Ana drawled, smacking her gum. "Some rich family in the city is having a Christmas ball."
"Word on the street is that they're looking for a wife for their son," the other one—Drea—said, sounding bored. "Anyone who's anyone will be there."
You wrinkled your nose.
Rich people are so weird, you thought.
Then again, if these people were that kind of rich, the pay for working the event might be good, great even, even if it meant you would have to work during your favorite holiday of the year. You could put away more money for a space in the city—someplace that was all yours. Maybe you could even finally move out of the small, cramped apartment in the not-so-nice part of town that you'd been living in since your dad had passed away—make some new memories, start living a new life.
You let your mind drift as you often did when you thought about your dream. Sunny yellow walls, plants hanging from the ceiling, fresh bread in the oven, your two orange cats sitting in the front window...
"Is that him? He's pretty easy on the eyes."
You looked up, seeing the two of them huddled around Ana's phone.
"Wouldn't be so bad being his wife if it meant never having to work another job in the city again," Drea commented wistfully.
"Girl, please," Ana scoffed. "You wouldn't last a minute as a society girl."
"Like you'd do any better!"
You tuned out their bickering again, knowing from experience that once they got started, they could keep going for a while.
You had been working at Cindy's Catering since you were eighteen. It wasn't glamorous work, but money was money. It helped keep the lights on and food on the table, and that was enough for now.
"Are you sure you want to do this, kid?" Cindy had asked you when you had first applied for the job. "It's a lot of hard work, and people aren't always kind."
You massaged a spot on your upper arm reflexively—the place where an angry client had grabbed you when you had accidentally spilled coffee on one of his guests before Cindy had come barging in guns blazing.
It had been your first time on the job.
"Always be kind to others, my little princess," your father had said to you often as a child. "Whenever you have the choice, choose to be kind."
You thought about the upcoming ball as you undid the laces on your work shoes. No one knew that Cindy was your dad's oldest friend, since she treated you like any other team member in front of the others, but you thought your chances of getting to work the event were pretty high regardless of your relationship with her. You were her most senior employee after all.
"You thinking of going for it?"
You jumped, realizing that Ana and Drea were looking at you, identical haughty expressions on their faces.
"I'm sorry?"
"The family having this ball are the Lees," Drea said, rolling her eyes. "As in the King's Valley Lees."
"Oh, well..." Your face started turning pink under the weight of their attention, realizing that they expected you to know who they were talking about. "I'm guessing they're really rich then?"
They looked at each other for a moment, exchanging a look, before turning their heads to look at you again.
"You don't seem like the type of girl who has a man," Ana said haughtily, looking you up and down in the way that mean girls often did. "Bagging the son of the richest family in Castle Park sure would turn your life around."
"I don't care about that," you protested weakly. "Besides, money like that would turn anyone's life around, not just mine.."
"Hmm."
They both raised an eyebrow at you then shrugged, heading for the exit. You exhaled with relief as you reached behind your back to untie the strings of your apron, glad to be rid of them.
"I hope you have your A-list uniform ready," you heard someone say from behind you.
You turned around, seeing Cindy herself leaning against the row of lockers opposite you, arms folded over her chest.
"Hi, Cindy," you greeted her. "Yeah, I washed it after that banquet at Glass Tower." You paused, the pieces clicking together in your head. "Oh my gosh, really? Me?"
Cindy snorted.
"Of course. We're going to need the entire team for this shindig, the Lees invited just about everyone with deep pockets and trust funds in Castle Park." She slapped a folder onto the bench between you. "It's on Christmas Eve, which means that there are a lot more details to take into account, so make sure you read that. I want you running lead."
"You want me to run lead?" you repeated, looking down at the folder in awe.
"Who else? You've been here longer than anybody, except me."
You bent down to grab the folder, tucking it securely into your bag.
"I'll read this tonight." You beamed, giddy. "Cindy, this could be huge! I can feel it."
Her face softened as she tucked a loose strand of hair that had escaped your ponytail behind your ear.
"You've been working hard for so long," she lamented. "It about breaks my heart to know that you're pushing yourself like this, but... I know why you're doing it—and I know your old man wouldn't want to see you give up on your dream, either."
"I miss him, Cindy," you whispered.
"I know, kid." She sighed. "I know." She pushed herself off the lockers, giving you a look. "Go on home, I'll be there in a bit."
"Okay." You heaved your bag over your shoulder and closed your locker, securing the lock. "Thank you," you said softly, pausing beside her.
She patted your shoulder.
"Don't worry. We're going to get you there."
"Do you think we'll get to meet him?"
"Who?" you asked absently, tucking the crisp powder blue shirt into the waist of your tailored black pants.
"The hunky bachelor these people are trying to marry off," Jacqueline clarified, turning her head one way then the other as she studied her reflection in the mirror above the bathroom sink. "Wouldn't mind getting to know him on a first-name basis if you know what I mean."
"Not really, no," you murmured, fingers combing through your hair as you pulled it back into a neat ponytail.
Out of everyone who worked at Cindy's Catering, you had known Jacqueline the longest—and it hadn't been intentional on your part, either. She was just always around, like the neighborhood cat who visited everyone's home. Soon enough, she had managed to convince Cindy to hire her brother, Augustus—or Gus, as everyone called him—and then you'd had two new friends, which was two more than you expected to have.
The kids at school hadn't exactly been sympathetic when your dad had passed. Instead, they gave you weird looks and left you to sit alone at lunch. It had made growing up very lonely, but sometimes you wondered if it was better to be alone than to have friends who didn't actually care for you.
You would never tell Jacqueline this, but in spite of all the ways in which she made you uncomfortable with her shameless attitude and bold behavior, you would always stick by her, ever since that day she had found you sitting alone at the diner across the street the winter that she had started working at Cindy's and slid into the booth across from you.
"I just want you to know that someone—" She had coughed conspicuously. "—called the Hartmans the other night to let them know that they had seen a shady man in their daughter's bedroom. They came home and busted Tracy right as she and her loser boyfriend were about to get it on."
"Oh my gosh." You covered your mouth, realizing at once what she had done. "Jacqueline, why would you do that?"
She shrugged.
"She was disrespecting you," she said casually. "I know you're too nice to do anything about it, so I figured I'd teach her a lesson. Now she's grounded and can't go anywhere except school and work."
"Thank you," you said softly, trying not to cry right there in the middle of the diner.
"I got your back, princess."
Returning to the present, you glanced at Jacqueline out of the corner of your eye, feeling fond. She was a little rough around the edges, but she was good.
"Are you ever going to let Gus take you out?" she asked you suddenly.
You looked at her in surprise.
"Gus wants to take me out?
She turned away from the mirror, giving you a look of disbelief.
"You can't tell me you didn't know that he's been asking you to dinner," she said flatly.
"Oh, well, I..." You bent down to reach for your shoes, flustered. "I thought he just wanted to, you know, hang out. As friends."
"Dinner," Jacqueline enunciated. "He's been asking you to dinner." She shook her head. "Gosh, princess. You're hopeless."
"I thought I told you not to call me that."
"Yeah, well... you know I never listen. If you don't want to go out with Gus, you should just tell it to him straight. It'll hurt his feelings more if you let him go on like that." She pulled a tube of lipstick out of a worn cosmetics bag, swiping the color over her lips. "Speaking of people who never listen, I think I have to break up with Bruno. We always fight about the same dumb shit because he never listens to anything I say and then does the same fucking thing that pisses me off after I told him it pisses me off."
"I told you that you should never have gone out with him," you said, looking for your tinted chapstick. "Now it's going to be weird whenever you work together."
"I know, but it's the shoulders," she whined. "He's built like a damn upside down triangle."
You hummed in acknowledgement, going over your eyelashes with mascara.
Normally you wouldn't care so much, but after Ana and Drea's snide comments, you had looked up the Lees and quickly realized that you shouldn't give them or anyone in attendance a reason to complain or criticize you.
Remember what you're doing this for, you told yourself silently. Everything will be okay.
"Alright," Jacqueline announced, pulling on the matching fur-trimmed powder blue Santa hat that you had to wear during the holidays. "Showtime, princess."
You gave your reflection one last look, adjusting your own Santa hat on your head so that it sat just right. It was just one job. You weren't going to let anything ruin Christmas for you, not even having to work some stuffy rich people ball.
"Yeah," you echoed. "Showtime."
"I swear that woman's face does not move," Lucy hissed in your ear.
"Her and pretty much everyone else in this room," you muttered back, balancing a tray full of shrimp and cocktail sauce with your right hand, the other tucked behind your back. "She seems to like Bruno, though."
Lucy scoffed.
"It's not Bruno she likes, it's the champagne."
You both giggled, then schooled your expressions as another bejeweled socialite floated past you.
The event had been going for a couple of hours already, with no signs of slowing down. The guests were definitely consuming more alcohol than food, but you figured that that would soon change. Nobody liked overpriced party food more than drunk rich people.
From your place by the banquet tables, you could see the Lees standing on the podium taking up one side of the room. There was an enormous Christmas tree decorated in shades of blue, champagne, and gold, which seemed to be the color scheme for the event itself. Meticulously wrapped gift boxes were nestled beneath the tree, artfully arranged on pristine white cloth to mimic fallen snow. Delicate crystal snowflakes hung from the ceiling, gleaming in the light from the enormous Swarovski chandelier hanging in the middle of the room like a giant centerpiece.
You'd had to swerve quickly to avoid bumping into what looked like a real ice sculpture of the Lee who had originally founded King's Valley earlier, his entire family's likeness sprinkled throughout the room like stern-faced chaperones. That was something you privately felt you could have done without, but that wasn't up to you.
You had to admit, though—everything did look nice.
Both Mr. Lee and his son were dressed in matching black suits with pale blue dress shirts, gold silk ties, and various glittering accessories pinned to the lapels of their jackets. Holding her head high with her hand in the crook of her husband's arm, Mrs. Lee looked like a walking billboard for Tiffany & Co., head to toe in that signature blue color and sparkling jewelry. They were an impressive-looking bunch, albeit a little stiff.
You knew that they also had a daughter who had recently gotten married, and you had seen her mingling, her husband glued to her side at every turn. She rarely returned to the podium, which told you everything you needed to know about the inner workings of that family.
It had been said that Sienna Lee had married well, but it didn't seem to matter when the weight of the family's legacy rested squarely on her younger brother's shoulders. She may have been the oldest, but she was still a woman; and the papers all claimed she would never see any position in her family's company higher than that of an overpaid secretary.
Meanwhile, as the heir to the King's Valley diamond empire, the boy who had trailed behind her to every event as a child while she schmoozed her father's business partners was expected to take over the family business and carry on in the footsteps of all the Lee men before him.
That's a lot for one person to handle, you thought sadly.
"God, that must be awful," Lucy commented, watching as yet another Castle Park heiress in designer clothing walked up the steps of the podium. "He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else."
You had to admit that even from here, you could tell that Seokmin Lee was very handsome. He was tall with strong memorable features, dark hair falling artfully over his forehead, his well-fitted suit hugging his trim frame.
He might be even more handsome if not for the strained smile on his face that told everyone that he was not enjoying himself one bit. You watched as he turned to say something to his parents then jogged down the steps of the podium and past the young woman who frowned at his back as he made his escape.
"Poor guy," Lucy said, voice sympathetic. "I'd run away, too."
Mr. and Mrs. Lee exchanged disappointed looks before turning to apologize to the scorned heiress.
"Another one bites the dust." Lucy whistled. "Do you think he's ever going to pick someone?"
You stared at the door Seokmin had fled the scene through, remembering that it led to the gardens.
"Who knows," you murmured. "Come on, let's see if we can tempt any of those golf course grandpas with appetizers."
As you had predicted, everyone who had been throwing glasses of champagne back like water were suddenly ravenous within the hour, sending you running back to the kitchen for a fresh tray of shrimp and cocktail sauce.
You tested the weight of the tray, balancing it carefully. When you felt confident that it wouldn't fall, you stepped backwards into the kitchen door, pushing it open.
As you turned to face forward, you felt your foot catch on something—and time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Your eyes widened as the entire tray tipped forward, splattering the one and only Seokmin Lee with cold shrimp and red cocktail sauce... and all you could do was watch as it happened in slow motion.
"Oh my gosh!"
Mortified, you stood there frozen as he tried to wipe the sauce off his likely very expensive gold silk tie, only succeeding in smearing it further, much to his growing distress.
"I am so sorry," you blurted out, finally jumping into action. "I didn't see you and—"
"It's okay, I wasn't paying attention," he said kindly, waving off your apologies. "My parents, however, probably won't be so forgiving." He sighed. "Well, it's not like this night was going great to begin with."
Having heard the commotion, Gus pushed open the kitchen door, eyes bugging out of his head when he saw the shrimp on the floor.
"What the hell happened?" he asked you.
You thought about what Jacqueline had said about leading him on. That was the last thing you wanted to do to someone as nice as Gus... But this was work. Surely he wouldn't think twice about helping you in a situation like this?
Deciding quickly, you motioned for him to come over, gesturing frantically.
"Can you please clean this up? I'm going to have Jacqueline get a new tray ready and then order more shrimp," you told him. "Thanks, Gus! You're the best!"
You barged into the kitchen, looking around for Jacqueline.
"Jacqueline! I need you to take over shrimp! And we need a new tray!" you called out.
"Roger that, princess," she replied, appearing from a back room.
Satisfied that you had addressed that particular problem, you whipped out your phone to place a rush order on a new batch of shrimp. They reassured you that it would arrive quickly—anything for Cindy, they said—and you thanked them profusely. As soon as you hung up, you let out the breath you had been holding, slumping against a nearby counter.
"Um, excuse me?"
Your head snapped up, noticing Seokmin Lee standing by the door and looking very out of place. He was still holding onto his stained tie gingerly.
"I didn't want my parents seeing me like this," he explained. "Or anyone else, really."
You winced.
"Right... Sorry about that. Again," you apologized. "But if you put your tie in to wash with cold water and a mild detergent, the cocktail sauce will come right out."
You paused, seeing the expression on his face that suggested that he had never done a load of laundry in his life.
"Uh, never mind," you said awkwardly, looking at your phone's lock screen for the time so you wouldn't have to keep looking at him. "So... are you just going to hide in here for the rest of the night?"
"I'm considering it," he muttered. "I don't think I can meet another Castle Park clout chaser. I'll lose my mind."
"I'm sorry that you're not having a good time," you offered. "Especially on Christmas Eve."
"I've always loved the holidays," he said wistfully, staring at the sauce-spattered tie in his hand. "It was always the one time of the year when we would actually be a family instead of always talking about the diamond mine or profits or what Mrs. Kim wore to the Giving Tuesday charity ball..." He stuffed the tie into his pocket with a resigned sigh. "Seeun just got married. I don't see why this was necessary."
"Seeun?" you repeated, confused.
"My sister," he said. "Of course you wouldn't know that that's her real name, not when she goes by Sienna now."
You stared at him for a few moments, remembering the way he had run off the podium earlier. There were clearly many things bothering him, not just the fact that his parents were practically holding him hostage to find him a wife on his favorite holiday of the year.
You stepped closer to him.
"Here." You did up two of the buttons on his jacket, effectively hiding the stains from the cocktail sauce that had landed on his dress shirt. "Your parents will probably ask you what happened to your tie, but at least no one will know that you got cocktail sauce on yourself."
"Thanks." He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "This is not the night I wanted to have." He paused, suddenly looking embarrassed. "Then again, it's probably not the night you wanted to have, either."
You smiled, shaking your head.
"Christmas is my favorite holiday, too."
"I'm sorry you had to be dragged into work for this," he apologized sincerely. "I don't know why it has to be like this. I—" He threw his hands up in the air. "Have you ever had a dream that your life was just... anything but the one you were living?"
You saw the vision of the space in your mind, the one you always pictured in your daydreams—sunny yellow walls, plants hanging from the ceiling, fresh bread in the oven, your two orange cats sitting in the front window…
You could see it as clear as day.
"Yeah," you said slowly. "I have." You felt your phone buzz in your hand, a text message letting you know that the supplier was at the back door with the shrimp. "It's what keeps me going every single day."
You started walking backwards towards the door so that Seokmin would know that you weren't just leaving him there, turning around only when you had reached it and pushed it open.
"Got your shrimp here," the delivery man announced, gesturing over his shoulder.
"Thank you so much, you guys are a lifesaver!" You held the door open for him and his partner as they brought in the shrimp you had ordered. "I'll let Cindy know to expect an extra charge for this."
"Eh, don't sweat it." He winked at you, tipping his hat in farewell. "Merry Christmas, kid!"
You smiled as he got into the truck, waving as he drove away.
"That was kind of him," Seokmin commented, suddenly appearing behind you.
"He and Cindy have been friends forever, they're practically family," you explained, letting the door close behind you as you walked back towards where they had set down the shrimp. "They're always doing each other all sorts of favors."
"That sounds nice, honestly." He looked down at the shrimp, an odd expression on his face. "In my family, we don't do anything for other people if we don't know what's in it for us in return. It's kind of bleak."
"That sounds so miserable."
"You have no idea." He cleared his throat, trying to put on a happy face. "So what do you do besides serve shrimp to a bunch of drunk elitists on Christmas Eve?"
You giggled.
"Not much, honestly," you admitted. "I'm saving up to move out to the city. I..." You hesitated, unsure why you were spilling your guts to Seokmin Lee of all people. "I really want to open a shop that doubles as a bookstore and a café, a place where people can come and just relax and feel safe and happy. So... I try to work as many events as I can, especially ones like this."
"That's the dream, huh?" he asked you.
"Yep, that's the dream." You laughed nervously. "Um... what about you? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," you added quickly. "Oh gosh, never mind. Forget I asked."
"No, no, no! I..." He took a deep breath. "I want to open a dog shelter."
You blinked in surprise.
A dog shelter? That's not what you had in mind when he had started talking about dreams.
"Crazy, right? Dogs, not diamonds." He laughed bitterly to himself. "I've pitched it to my parents more times than I can count, but because it's not profitable..."
"I'm sorry," you said softly, reaching for his hand. "I think that's a good dream. A great dream, even. You shouldn't give up just because your parents don't see the value in it. You'll just have to find a way to make it happen yourself."
He looked down at your joined hands, seemingly shocked into silence by the gesture.
"Hey, princess, I got the shrimp all cleaned up—"
You pulled your hand back, looking up at Gus standing in the doorway.
"Thanks, Gus," you said quickly, hoping that he hadn't noticed anything. "I really appreciate it."
"Yeah, no problem," he said slowly, looking back and forth between you and Seokmin. "Aren't you the guy everyone's looking for right now?"
"Are they?" He grimaced. "I guess my time's up." He turned to face you. "How do I look?"
"Like you've never had an encounter with shrimp cocktail in your life," you told him, smiling sheepishly.
He grinned.
"I guess I'll leave you to it."
He nodded at Gus, pushing open the kitchen door. Before he walked out, he paused, looking at you over his shoulder.
"Thank you," he said. "I hope you can achieve your dream soon."
"I... y-yeah, you too," you stammered, blushing.
As soon as the door had swung closed behind him, Gus side eyed you curiously.
"So what was that all about?"
"N-nothing!" You hurried over to the prep table to put together a new tray of shrimp and cocktail sauce so that you could relieve Jacqueline of shrimp duty when she got back. "We just talked for a little bit, that's all."
"Hmm." You heard the sound of a stool being pushed back, the legs scraping against the floor. "Listen, I know tomorrow's Christmas, but I was wondering if... you'd maybe like to meet at Ellie's in the morning."
Ellie's was the local diner, the very same one Jacqueline had found you at all those years ago—and they were open twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.
"Gus... you're a really great guy," you said carefully, "and I really like having you as a friend... but I don't like you like that. I'm sorry."
He nodded.
"Jackie told me that you might not have been picking up on the fact that I was asking you out," he said, sounding as though he had expected this response. "No worries, though. We're still good."
"Thanks." You smiled at him. "Can you let your sister know that she can be done with the shrimp now?"
"Sure thing."
He hopped off the stool, heading for the door.
"Oh, by the way, princess..." He turned his head to look at you. "I don't know what's going on between you and the Lee boy, but... please be careful."
You simply stared at him as he walked out, unsure of what to make of his warning. There was nothing going on between you and Seokmin, obviously—couldn't be anything going on between you.
"Hey, Gus said you were ready to swap back..." Jacqueline paused, seeing the expression on your face. "Uhhhh... what's going on?"
"Nothing." You shook your head. "There was just an accident, that's all."
"Okay..." She gave you one last look as you backed out of the kitchen, tray full of shrimp. "Just be careful this time."
You don't have to tell me twice, you thought.
"And where is this shrimp from?"
"Um..."
You blanked as the pompous old lady who had probably consumed several pounds of shrimp on her own interrogated you, her cloying perfume threatening to suffocate you where you stood.
"I only ask because shrimp is only good when it comes from this one place down the river..."
You hummed in reply, trying to think of a polite way to disengage when a familiar voice came floating in from behind you.
"My dear Rosemund, you're looking absolutely resplendent this evening," Seokmin greeted the older woman, grinning with an easy charm that you hadn't seen on his face all night. "I hate to interrupt your chat with this lovely lady, but I do believe Sienna was looking for you. She loves your little talks ever so much."
"Oh, is she now? I must go look for her then." She patted him on the arm. "You look so handsome, my boy. We'll find a good wife for you yet."
You tried not to wince as his smile seemed to freeze in place.
"Thank you, Rosemund," he said politely. "Your well wishes are deeply appreciated."
You watched her trot off, then exhaled in relief.
"Thank you so much," you breathed. "She was grilling me about where the shrimp was from... I had no clue what to say to her—"
"She just likes to talk. I don't think she was trying to target you specifically." He turned to look at you directly. "I must admit, I'm very curious about this bookstore slash café you want to open. Care to tell me more about it?"
"Oh, well, I..." You looked around, catching Jacqueline's eye as she raised an eyebrow at you. "That's it, really. I just want to, you know, have a place that's really cozy and comfortable—"
"What colors?" he interrupted.
"Um, yellow." You bit your lip. "I really like yellow. I think it's warm... and hopeful. And a lot of green. I want a lot of plants." You paused, thinking. "Lots of wood, too. And really plush armchairs."
"That sounds lovely," he said, smiling. "Have you started looking at spaces for rent yet?"
"I have some places bookmarked—"
"Seokmin."
You stiffened, seeing Mr. Lee standing behind his son, his eyes fixed on you. You lowered your head in silent deference, hoping that you weren't about to be in trouble for talking to the King's Valley heir.
"Father," Seokmin returned, his tone neutral as he turned around to acknowledge him.
"You keep disappearing," Mr. Lee said pointedly. "You're making it difficult to accomplish your goal tonight."
"You mean your goal."
You felt Mr. Lee's eyes on you once more, boring into the Santa hat on your head.
"Regardless of whose goal it is, it won't be accomplished here," he said flatly. "There are certain... standards that should be adhered to, son."
You could feel your ears turning red.
Of course you weren't good enough for Seokmin Lee. He was the son of the wealthiest family in Castle Park... and you were just a serving girl who had been lucky enough to share their world for one night.
"That remains to be seen, Father," Seokmin said coolly, his hand reaching for your free one behind his back.
You tried not to jump when you felt his fingers lace with yours. You kept your head down, grateful for the silent show of support as he faced off with his father.
You heard Mr. Lee make a clicking sound with his tongue, the only other indication of his disapproval.
"Don't take too long," was all he said before turning and walking away.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Seokmin said quietly, turning around to face you, his hand still holding yours. "He's very... concerned with appearances."
"No, I... I get that." You tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. "You are who you are. There are expectations."
"His expectations are garbage." He rolled his eyes. "All these people he wants me to meet... they're so insufferably boring and shallow... I could never be happy living the life he has planned out for me."
"So what are you going to do?" you asked him, keeping an eye out for Mr. Lee.
"Well, for tonight, I'm just going to do what I want to do, which is avoid all those vapid socialites that he keeps trying to set me up with," he replied, plucking a shrimp off of your tray and dipping it in the sauce. "You know, this is much better when it's not all over me."
You giggled.
"How did you get into the catering business anyway?"
"Oh." You looked around to make sure none of your coworkers were nearby, then said, "Cindy is an old friend of my dad's. Um... she took me in when my dad passed, so I started working for her when I turned eighteen."
"I'm sorry to hear about your dad." Seokmin squeezed your hand gently. "That must have been very hard for you."
"It was," you admitted, "but Cindy's been so good to me. I wouldn't have been able to get this far without her. She's always believed in my dream."
"It's a very compelling dream." He smiled. "It makes me want to believe in it, too."
You smiled back shyly.
"Hey, princess, I gotta go get a new meatball tray," Jacqueline said, appearing out of nowhere and making you jump, dropping Seokmin's hand. "Be right back."
"Okay." You gave her a look, one that she returned as she walked away. "Don't take too long."
"Never."
Seokmin grinned, delighted.
"Why does she call you princess?"
"Oh, I don't know," you huffed. "That's just been her nickname for me since we first met. Her brother calls me that, too."
"Ah, yes, your knight in shining armor from the kitchen earlier." He wiggled his eyebrows at you knowingly. "And how long has he been pining away for you?"
You grimaced.
"Was it that obvious?"
"I'm afraid so." He sighed delicately. "I hope you had the good sense to let him down gently."
"Of course. He's my friend, I didn't want to hurt him," you replied.
"Hmm."
You looked past his shoulder, noticing Mr. and Mrs. Lee both looking at the pair of you now, Mr. Lee's expression one of frustration and his wife's one of thinly veiled interest.
"Your parents are looking at us," you said softly.
"Let them." He rolled his eyes. "I'm not done with this shrimp." To emphasize his point, he picked up another shrimp off the tray, dipping it in the cocktail sauce with exaggerated movements. "Do you think Cindy would give me a job if they disowned me?"
You coughed, startled by the question.
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm just saying." He shrugged. "I don't think they're going to like it when I tell them I'm not getting married. At least not to any of the women they've introduced me to tonight."
"Well, have you—"
"Hey, princess, we've gotta start cleaning up for the night."
Gus approached you carefully, eyes locked with Seokmin's as he came up behind you.
"I... okay." You looked at Seokmin one last time. "Um, it was nice meeting you. I hope everything works out for you. Truly, Seokmin."
"I—"
"Seokmin."
Mr. and Mrs. Lee were both standing behind their son now, identical expressions of polite indifference on their faces. He ignored them, looking at you instead, eyes pleading.
You shook your head almost imperceptibly.
Jaw clenched, he nodded.
"You, too."
You rushed off to the kitchen, Gus trailing you closely.
"I thought I told you to be careful," he hissed at you as you pushed open the kitchen door.
"I was!" you protested.
"Sure didn't look like it."
"It doesn't matter anyway, Gus." You wiped your face with your sleeve quickly. "I'm never going to see him again after tonight."
"You wanna talk about what happened?"
You looked up at Jacqueline, who was leaning against the lockers opposite you.
"Talk about what?" you muttered, looking back down at your shoes as you slid them off your feet one by one.
"You and Prince Charming."
You scoffed, standing up to tug your shirt out of your pants.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Are you sure? Because it looked like you two were getting real close tonight." She turned to open up her locker, offering you a semblance of privacy. "He liked talking to you, I could tell."
"Well, how would you feel if the only reason everyone wanted to talk to you was because you're rich and single and your parents want you to find a wife?" You slipped your shirt over your head, quickly replacing it with a cozy, oversized sweater that you had packed for the walk home. "He's just... unhappy, and he needed someone to talk to."
Jacqueline sighed as she undid the buttons on her shirt.
"It's okay if you like him, you know," she said, her back still turned.
"Please. As if we could ever be together." You shimmied off your pants, pulling on a pair of thick fleece tights before wearing your jeans on top of them. "His parents would never let that happen."
Jacqueline's head popped up through the neck hole of her sweater as she turned to face you.
"I think we've seen that he's willing to not listen to his parents when he wants something," she said slowly.
You frowned.
"Jacqueline, that's not the point—"
Suddenly, you heard the sound of banging against the glass of the front window, as if someone was pounding their fists against it repeatedly.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
Exchanging startled looks with Jacqueline, you both rushed to the front of the store, Cindy close behind you.
Standing outside in the cold, hands and nose pressed against the glass as snow started to fall, was Seokmin Lee, heir to the King's Valley diamond empire—and he looked about five seconds away from freezing.
"What are you doing here?" you demanded, running over to unlock the door and let him in.
"I... had... to see you," he gasped, folded over as he caught his breath, hands on his knees.
You looked over at your shoulder, watching as Jacqueline and Cindy backed away slowly, knowing expressions on their faces. You shook your head, but were grateful that they were leaving you alone.
"How did you get here?" you asked him, looking him over for any signs of harm or distress.
"Took a cab," he replied, finally straightening up.
His cheeks were so pink, although he looked better as he soaked up the warmth from the heater that Cindy had plugged in by the receptionist's desk.
"Did you really have to come all the way out here?" You frowned, noticing that he was only in his suit from the ball—no coat at all. "You could get sick."
"Yeah, I had to come all the way out here," he confirmed, looking straight into your eyes. "I couldn't catch you before you left. My parents basically kept a hand on me for the rest of the night."
"Oh. Well..." You fiddled with the sleeves of your sweater. "What's up?"
"What's up?" he repeated, momentarily stumped. "I... um... well... this is going to sound crazy because we just met and we barely know anything about each other, but..." He gulped. "I think you are... the most amazing person I've ever met, and..."
He put his hands on his hips, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, seeming as though he was gathering all his courage.
"And?" you prompted gently.
He looked back down at you.
"I told my parents that I wanted nothing to do with King's Valley if it meant that I couldn't live my life on my own terms," he said firmly. "I'm not marrying some Castle Park heiress I don't really know or like, and I'm not giving up on my dream."
"That's great, Seokmin!" You beamed at him. "I'm so happy for you."
"That's not all."
"Oh." You tilted your head to one side. "What else is there?"
He stepped forward, taking your hands in his.
"How do you feel about turning your bookstore slash café into a bookstore slash dog café that's partnered with a local shelter to help dogs get adopted?" he breathed, his words rushing together. "And... how do you feel about... running it together?"
"Oh, um..." You bit your lip, trying not to let it show on your face that you were kind of disappointed. "I think that's a great idea, Seokmin, honestly—"
"And," he interrupted, moving even closer to you so that your joined hands were squished in between your bodies, "how do you feel about me?"
You felt your face turn bright red.
"I, um," you squeaked.
"Because I'm rather fond of you, princess," he murmured, bending down so that he was at eye level.
"Don't call me that," you protested feebly.
He laughed, his forehead against yours.
"I'm waiting, princess."
"I guess... I'm fond of you, too," you admitted. "Even though you still smell like shrimp."
He pulled back, his lower lip stuck out in a pout.
"I can fix that."
You laughed.
"Come on." You took him to the back room, picking through the lost and found for a scarf or coat he could wear. "This might fit you. Here, put it on."
"Hey, kid, I'm heading out," Cindy called from the doorway. "You'll be alright?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine," you assured her, smiling. "I'll lock up."
Seokmin presented himself for inspection, the coat hanging loosely over his fancy suit.
"It'll do," you said.
He nodded, then scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
"So, uh, I don't really have a plan from here on out," he confessed. "I don't know what I'm doing and I definitely don't know what to do now."
You smiled, taking his hand as you led him back to the front of the store, out into the snow, and across the street to Ellie's—where you knew hot cocoa and pumpkin pie awaited you.
"Now," you said, tugging him into the warm diner, "we make our dreams come true."
synopsis: being married to seokmin feels like proof that love only grows heavier with time. even after several years, he still looks at you like he's stunned you exist. still stumbles over his words when you hold his gaze for too long. still needs you in that ways words will never be enough for.
wc: 5.4k
warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, dom!reader, sub!seokmin, soft power play, praise kink, begging, teasing & denial, possessive language, light hair-pulling, multiple orgasms | established relationship, marriage, swearing, fluff, aftercare.
authors note: okay so i’m not actually sure how much i like this but i think this is the best it’s gonna get for now lolol. i’m sure you’ve all seen the things that this man has been doing to me lately, and i honestly owe it to ki for suggesting to write him as a sub bc it fits him SO well. as always, i hope you that enjoy, and please feel free to let me know what you think! ♡
the rain has been steady since dinner, a soft percussion against the windows, wrapping the apartment in that muted, honey-colored quiet that only belongs to night. the bedroom is warm, lit by the low glow of the bedside lamp.
your husband, seokmin, is stretched across the bed, back against the headboard, one knee bent as he scrolls idly through his phone.
his hair is still damp from his shower earlier in the evening, curling faintly at the ends. the sleeves of his t-shirt are shoved up, putting his large muscles on display, as his sweats sit low on his hips.
“baby,” he calls without looking up. “you have to see this thing i found—”
the bathroom door opens before he can finish, steam spilling around you as you step into the room. your white designer robe hangs loose, tied in a lazy knot, the collar gaping just enough to reveal skin still flushed from the shower.
he glances up mid-sentence and goes completely still.
his thumb freezes on the screen. his eyes drag over you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.
“what?” you ask, smiling because you know this look too well.
the phone slips from his hand into the blankets. he shakes his head, almost dazed. “how are you my wife?”
you laugh as you cross to the bed. “we signed papers, remember? you were there.”
“no, like—” his hand makes a helpless little gesture, his words stuck in his throat. “how do you just walk out looking like that? we’ve been married for years and you still—” he cuts himself off with a grin. “it’s not fair.”
you climb onto the mattress, settling beside him. “you’re ridiculous.”
“and you’re ridiculously beautiful,” he counters as his eyes sweep you again, much slower this time. "it’s actually sort of offensive at this point.”
you shake your head, amused. “all i did was take a shower, minnie.”
“exactly!” he says, leaning towards you. “you shower and somehow come out looking like…like you belong on a magazine cover. meanwhile, i look like—”
“—my husband?” you cut in with a smirk.
he grins, leaning closer until his nose nearly brushes yours. “your very lucky husband.”
you laugh under your breath, reaching up to adjust his messy hair. “you’re so dramatic.”
“obsessed,” he corrects softly, eyes holding yours. “completely, and hopelessly obsessed.”
“mm,” your smile turns teasing. “i’m aware.”
“good,” he murmurs, keeping his voice warm. “just making sure.”
you roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth still curves in spite of yourself. “you act like you’ve never seen me in a robe before.”
“not this robe,” he says instantly, sitting back just enough to take in the whole picture. “or maybe i have, and just blacked out.”
“you’re the one who bought it,” you remind him, amused by his flustered reaction.
“which only proves my taste is flawless.” he responds, clearly very proud of himself.
you shake your head, shifting to sit cross-legged in front of him. “you were about to show me something on your phone literally two minutes ago.”
he waves it away, eyes fixed on you instead of the phone lying useless beside him. “whatever it was, it’s irrelevant now.”
you smirk. “me, fresh out of the shower, is more interesting?”
his gaze sweeps over you once, slow and unashamed. “you—always. but fresh out of the shower like this?” he makes a small, helpless gesture toward you. “it’s criminal, baby.”
you let him look, your smile curving deeper at the way his eyes cling to you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.
you lean in, brushing a light kiss against his mouth. “you’re in a mood tonight.”
“more like a spell,” he murmurs, catching your wrist before you can pull back.
“a spell?” you echo, brows lifting.
“yeah.” his voice dips, playful threaded with sincerity. “the kind where my wife looks so good that i forget how to breathe.”
you laugh under your breath, and he takes advantage of the moment, guiding you into his lap with ease.
his fingers go straight to the knot at your waist, instinct pulling at the belt.
“woah—” you catch his hand. “not so fast.”
he blinks, surprise flickering before that familiar, adoring grin spreads across his face. “why not?”
“because,” you say, letting your thumb trace over his knuckles. “you don’t just get to unwrap me because you feel like it.”
“i always feel like it,” his instant reply has you shaking your head with a small smile.
“exactly,” you murmur, leaning in just enough for your nose to brush his. “and if i let you have your way every time, you’d forget how to work for it.”
his gaze darkens, voice low and edged with promise. “i’d never forget.”
“prove it,” you whisper, releasing his hand but keeping the knot secure.
he eases back for a moment, studying you with that same unwavering intensity he always reserves for moments like this. no frustration, just focus, almost like he’s committing you to his memory even though you’re the only thing that ever crosses his mind to begin with.
“you know i’ll do anything you ask,” he says finally, reverence woven into every syllable.
“i know.” your palm cups his jaw for a fleeting moment before falling away. “that’s what makes it fun.”
his grip on your waist tightens, but he doesn’t touch the knot again. instead, his mouth finds the hollow beneath your ear, leaving slow, deliberate kisses along the line of your throat.
the robe shifts, causing his breath to falter, but before he can take advantage of the slight movement, your fingers curl into his hair, tugging lightly until his eyes lift back to yours.
“mm, easy,” you mumble with a knowing smile. “i’m not convinced yet.”
“not convinced?” he echoes, like the words are a personal offense. “i’ve been obsessed with you for years, and you’re not convinced?”
you tilt your head, feigning thought. “flattery’s sweet, minnie, but too it's simple. you’ll have to get creative.”
his lips twitch like he wants to laugh, but the hunger in his eyes drowns it out. “creative, huh?”
you shift against his lap, the movement subtle but enough to draw a sharp breath from him. “make me believe you deserve to untie it.”
his hands slide to the back of your thighs, coaxing you closer until the knot presses against his chest. his mouth trails along your jaw, lingering before he finds the spot just above your pulse, sucking lightly until your breath hitches.
“you could just let me,” he mutters, his voice a low plea. “i’d worship you all night.”
a quiet laugh escapes you as your nails drag down his arm, the muscle flexing beneath your touch. “i’m sure you would. but where’s the fun in that?”
he groans, caught between frustration and want, cupping your ass to press you harder against the obvious strain beneath his sweats.
his mouth returns to your throat, rougher this time, teeth grazing your skin until you gasp.
“mm,” you warn, still smiling. “you’re getting greedy.”
“i’ve been greedy since you walked in,” he breathes. “since the day i met you.”
your grip in his hair tightens, tilting his head back so he has no choice but to meet your eyes. “prove it.”
he moves without hesitation, one hand anchoring you in place while the other slides beneath your robe, dragging his palm up your thigh inch by inch until you shiver under his touch.
his fingers trace higher, lingering just shy of where you need them most, but he doesn’t rush. he holds your gaze, lips parted like he’s waiting for permission that he already knows you’ll give.
“you’re shaking,” he murmurs, the back of his knuckles brushing the inside of your thigh. “and you want to tell me i haven’t earned it?”
your laugh is soft, caught somewhere between amusement and need. "i didn’t say that. i just like watching you work for it.”
his jaw flexes, but his mouth softens into something almost boyish. “you just like teasing me.”
“i love teasing you,” you correct, tugging lightly at his hair until he groans. “especially when you've got that look—like you’d do anything i say.”
“i would,” he replies instantly. “you know i would.”
“say it properly,” your tone dips, quiet but still commanding.
his eyes never leave yours. “i’ll do anything for you. anything you want. always.”
your smile is equal parts tender and cruel. “i know, baby. that’s why i married you.”
his fingers drift even higher, his fingertips circling lazily, as if he has all the time in the world to remind you he knows every inch of you.
but he doesn’t push them inside of you. not yet. he just watches your face, hungry, waiting for that moment when your control starts to waver.
“you’re already so wet for me,” he says softly, like it’s still something that surprises him.
you hum, your nails grazing along his shoulders as your hips roll against his hand. “maybe i just like watching how desperate you get.”
his eyes flutter shut when you grind harder, but he forces them open again, staring at you like you’re all that exists. “i’m desperate for you all the time.”
“i know,” your fingers thread through his hair again. “and i love when you beg without even realizing you are.”
his laugh comes out shaky, but it’s cut short when you grind against him. “please,” he breathes, the plea spilling out from his lips before he can stop it.
the sound of his desperation makes you ache. “please what, baby?”
his jaw tightens, but his body leans into your hand, need written all over him. “please let me—please let me make you come.”
you tilt his chin up with your hand, forcing his gaze to lock onto yours again. your chest tightens at the sight; how badly he wants to give, and how much he’s holding back right now.
“go ahead, handsome,” you whisper. “do it.”
the noise that leaves him is half relief, half hunger. his hand finally shifts with intent, sliding lower, his fingers sinking into the heat he’s been taunting.
he groans against your collarbone the second he feels you open for him.
“fuck—” his voice breaks as he eases a finger inside, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you steady. “you’re perfect. always so perfect for me.”
your hips rock instinctively, pulling him in deeper. your head tips back, a soft sound spilling from your lips, and he watches you like a man starved.
“yeah? that’s it,” he murmurs, curling his fingers just right, while his thumb drags slow circles over your clit. “ride my hand, pretty girl. let me feel how bad you need it.”
you moan at his words, clenching around his fingers when he slips a second one in. he swallows hard, eyes flicking up to your face, dark with need.
“god, you’re gonna ruin me,” he whispers, breathless, his pace quickening as you grind down against him. “look at you—already trembling.”
your laugh comes out broken, tangled with a whimper. “mm, and you’re already a mess just watching.”
“i can’t help it—fuck, you’re so gorgeous when you’re on top of me like this.” he says, knowing the praise will bring you closer to your high.
your hips grind down harder, chasing the pressure that won’t quite break. frustrated, you catch his wrist and guide him deeper, a breathless moan spilling out when he obeys instantly.
“that’s it,” you whisper, eyes on his. “good boy. just let me use you.”
his jaw slackens at the sudden praise, his pupils blown wide. “fuck…” he groans, clutching your hip like he’s drowning.
you rock down onto his hand with more intent, every curl of his fingers hitting just right. his own sounds come out wrecked and strangled, like he’s the one unraveling instead of you.
“you’re being so good for me, minnie,” you mumble, dragging his soaked fingers deeper with every roll of your hips. “you love when i ride you like this, don’t you?”
“yes—god, yes,” he chokes out, forehead pressed to your chest, voice breaking “you feel incredible—you always do, baby.”
your head falls back, a cry tearing loose as the pressure quickly builds. “look at me,” you command, forcing his dazed eyes to stay fixed on yours. “don’t look away. i want you to watch what you do to me.”
the room fills with the wet, relentless sound of you. his thumb circles faster over your clit, and your pulse kicks harder, stuttering beneath his touch.
“that’s it—fuck, just like that,” he gasps, his voice breaking as you grind down, meeting every thrust of his hand with a sharper roll of your hips.
your nails scrape against his shoulders, your whole body trembling in his lap as you ride him, always greedy for more.
“min—” the word cuts off in a strangled cry, and his answering whimper is broken and desperate.
he can barely breathe, watching you unravel in his lap. “oh baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your jaw as you continue to fuck yourself on his fingers. “you’re so fucking beautiful.”
your thighs tense, body jerking with every deliberate curl of his fingers. your breath falters, breaking into uneven gasps, your throat too tight for words as his thumb moves even quicker against your clit.
“baby—fuck—” you cry out, causing him to groan, relentless as he works you through your first orgasm of the night.
“come for me,” he murmurs against your skin as his lips ghost the curve of your chest. “let go, pretty girl. i want to feel you fall apart.”
you unravel on his hand, body seizing as you cry out, clutching at him like he’s the only thing keeping you anchored.
he doesn’t let up. his pace stays steady, his fingers relentless, coaxing you through the high until every aftershock ripples out of you.
“that’s it,” he rasps, voice low and wrecked, one arm steadying you as the tremors fade. “there you go, beautiful.”
still catching your breath, you let your fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently as you whisper, “you can take it off now, baby. you’ve earned it.”
he exhales hard, almost as if you’ve given him access to the thing he’s been aching for his entire life.
with trembling focus, he works the knot loose. your robe falls open, the silk pooling around you, baring exactly what he already knew would be there.
for a moment, he just stares; jaw slack as his eyes devour you.
“fuck…baby…” he groans, voice raspy. “you’re—” he breaks off, shaking his head, too undone for words.
you smile faintly. “speechless? that’s rare.”
that earns you the softest laugh before he shifts, his hands grabbing your waist as he flips you effortlessly, settling you onto your back.
his lips find your shoulder first, brushing a slow kiss against the curve of it. you can feel his smile there, warm against your skin.
“you’re so beautiful,” he mumbles as his lips trail lower on your body. “every inch of you. you drive me crazy, you know that?”
your breath hitches, but you can’t stop the soft laugh that slips out. “you tell me that every day.”
“because it’s true every day,” he answers without hesitation, his mouth pressing reverently along your collarbone.
each word comes between kisses, like he can’t decide whether to worship you with his voice or his lips. “i’m never gonna stop saying it. never gonna stop needing you.”
you sink into the mattress, warmth spreading through your chest. “god, minnie…”
he hums at the sound of his name on your lips, hands framing your waist as his mouth moves lower, starting at your chest and following a slow path over the soft curve of your stomach.
“i’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your skin, the words torn between a vow and a plea.
your fingers curl into the sheets. “you already do,” you breathe.
“not enough,” he insists, soft but still sure. his lips graze the edge of your hip before trailing along the inside of your thighs; slow kisses that make you shiver. “never enough.”
your body arches towards him instinctively, need spilling out before you can voice it. “please, baby…”
he chuckles as he brushes his mouth just above your pelvis, so close it makes your thoughts splinter. “yes, ma’am,” he says with a smirk, mischief flashing in his tone.
but the teasing is gone as quickly as it came, replaced by sincerity as he kisses just beneath your navel. “i love you. i love you more than anything.”
your fingers twist in the sheets, then slip into his hair, pulling gently when he lingers at your lower stomach.
he presses another slow kiss there, right where you’re aching for him, and the tension in your chest breaks with a sound you can’t contain.
“seokmin,” you breathe, the sound equal parts wanting and warning. your voice falters when he looks up at you; his eyes too soft, too full of devotion.
“i know, baby,” he assures you gently, his smile brushing against your skin. “i know what you need.”
he doesn’t make you wait any longer. his mouth opens against you, warm and wet. the first stroke of his tongue makes your whole body tighten, your head falling back into the pillow.
he sighs like he’s home, like this is where he’s meant to be, the sound reverberating through you.
your hips twitch for more, but his hand steadies your thigh, as if to remind you that he’ll give you everything, and that you just need to be patient.
“oh my god,” you gasp, tugging his hair, your body betraying every ounce of control you try to hold. “you—fuck—you’re insane…”
he moans against you from the sound of your pleasure, his eyes flicking up briefly; filled with nothing but devotion.
“that’s it—my perfect boy. you always know exactly what i need,” the words tumble out of you before you can catch your breath.
his tongue moves deeper, steadier. you feel him responding to your every tremor, only desperate to give you more.
“slow down, baby,” you whisper, and he obeys instantly, pulling back just enough to drag his tongue in long, lazy strokes that make your thighs tremble.
your grip in his hair tightens, guiding him gently. “look at me.”
he lifts his gaze, mouth still pressed to you, eyes still burning with admiration.
“god, you’re so beautiful like this,” you breathe, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. “between my thighs, making me lose my mind.”
he whines softly, muffled against you, and the sheer need in the sound makes you pulse.
“don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “please, baby, don’t stop.”
he clings tighter to your body, his tongue working in perfect rhythm, deliberate and unrelenting.
“yes,” you moan, hips rolling against his mouth. “yes, just like that. you’re perfect, minnie. so fucking perfect.”
he pulls back only once, lips wet, breath ragged. “i love this,” he admits, his voice hoarse, almost shy. “i love you like this.”
your chest tightens at the raw honesty in his voice, the way he says it like it’s the simplest truth he knows.
seokmin was never one to be shy about letting his feelings for you spill out into the open. he always loved you loudly, earnestly, and with a steadiness that made it impossible for anyone to doubt.
“and i love you for it,” you breathe, voice trembling before it steadies into something needier. “now finish what you started.”
he groans at the command, diving back in with renewed hunger.
your voice fractures into moans and gasps as your thighs tremble around his shoulders. “don’t stop—oh my fucking god, don’t stop—”
he wouldn’t dream of it. he stays with you through every wave, coaxing you gently until you’re trembling and crying his name into the dark.
when it finally subsides, you sink into the sheets, breathless and undone. he soothes you with soft kisses, reverent and unhurried, like he’s worshipping the aftermath as much as the act itself.
“come here,” you breathe at last, tugging him up with the little strength you have left.
his lips are swollen, his jaw glistening faintly, and his eyes hold nothing but love as he hovers above you.
you cup his face, smiling through the haze. “you did so well for me, baby.”
his answering smile is shaky, almost boyish. “i could stay there forever.”
“i know,” you whisper, pressing your mouth to his, tasting yourself on his lips. “that’s why i’ll never let you go.”
his breathing is ragged against your mouth, chest pressing into yours. his hips push down, restless, aching. you feel the hard length of him straining through his sweats, desperate for relief.
your hand slips between you, wrapping your fingers around him through the fabric. he shudders at your touch, forehead dropping to your shoulder like his body can’t hold him up anymore.
“baby,” he groans, his voice breaking.
you kiss his jaw, slow and deliberate, stroking him just enough to keep him on edge. “you want me to take care of you now?”
he nods against your neck, a whimper spilling out. “please. i need you.”
your smile softens, tender even as you keep him trembling. “let me make you feel good, baby. you’ve earned it.”
in seconds, his pants and boxers are thrown to the floor, his whole body quivering as your hand finally closes around his aching shaft. you stroke him slowly, your thumb circling his slick head until a ragged gasp tears from his throat.
“fuck,” he chokes, hips jerking into your hand.
you press your lips to his temple. “relax, minnie. let me take care of you.”
he nods frantically, but his body betrays him, straining for more. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close so the length of him slides between your folds.
his breath hitches, head snapping up to meet your eyes.
“you feel that?” you whisper, moving your hips just enough to drive him mad. “you’re so hard for me, baby. so perfect.”
“fuck—don’t tease,” he begs, the words breaking as his voice gives out.
you guide him slowly until his tip nudges against your entrance. he inhales sharply, and you hold his gaze, pressing your body into his just enough to make him whine for more.
your free hand cups his jaw, thumb brushing along his skin as the other hand strokes him again, unhurried and cruel in the sweetest way.
“look at you,” you whisper fondly. “you’re already falling apart for me and i’ve barely even touched you, baby”
he moans your name, hips jerking helplessly into your hand. his forehead drops against your shoulder in defeat, damp hair clinging to your skin as his breath breaks unevenly against your collarbone.
every whimper vibrates through your chest, muffled into your neck.
“baby,” he rasps, the sound cracked and desperate.
you tighten your grip, twisting your wrist just right and causing his whole body to tense up. “you like that, don’t you? the way i touch you?”
his head tilts slightly, lips dragging across your skin like he can’t help himself. “yes—god, yes. only you. always you.”
your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice; a reminder that years of marriage haven’t dulled the way he unravels under your hands.
you slow your strokes, watching his brows knit and his mouth fall open, helpless against your touch.
“you sound so pretty when you beg, minnie,” you whisper as your lips brush against his cheek. “say it again.”
he tries to hold it in, but his voice fractures. “please. i need you—need to feel you. i can’t—fuck—i need to feel you.”
you reward him with a slow drag of his cock against your slick folds; still not inside, but just enough to make his whole body jolt like he’s been shocked.
“you’ve never changed,” you breathe, stroking his hair back until his eyes meet yours. “years later, and you still fall apart the second i touch you. still all mine.”
“always…god—always yours. i couldn’t belong to anyone else if i tried,” his voice fractures when he finally gets it out, every word dragged from his chest.
you drag him against you again, slow and cruel, and his hips snap helplessly. “say it again.”
his breath stutters, the words catching in his throat before they break free. “you…fuck—yours. i’m yours. always…only you.”
your smile softens at his words, but you keep him there, balanced on the edge, his body trembling with restraint.
“i need you. please—don’t make me wait anymore.” his words spill out, stripped and honest.
his plea hangs heavy in the air, raw and trembling, until you finally relent. you guide him inside slowly, inch by inch, your grip now firm on his biceps as his body eases into yours.
his moan breaks in your ear. “god—” his forehead presses to yours. “fuck, baby, you feel—”
you swallow his words with a kiss, wrapping your legs tight around his waist to lock him in place, deep inside of you. his hips twitch, desperate to move, but you flatten your palm against his chest and hold him still.
“please,” he whispers into your mouth, voice splintering. “i’ll lose my mind if you don’t let me move.”
your lips brush the shell of his ear. “beg for it.”
his breath hitches, broken against your throat. “i am begging,” he chokes as his hands grip onto the sheets. “baby, i’m fucking begging you. let me move. let me make you feel good. please.”
you can already feel the tension winding tight inside of him, his thighs shaking as he forces himself to stay still.
“please, baby. please let me fuck you,” he breathes as his hands slide up your sides. “i can’t—i can’t hold it when you’re like this. you’re killing me.”
when your eyes lift to his, he looks wrecked — pupils blown, lips parted like the next breath might break him.
“okay,” you whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to him as the word settles deep between the two of you. “you can move, baby.”
he doesn’t hesitate after that. he eases back just far enough to make you ache, then thrusts forward hard, a low groan spilling from his chest; half prayer, half hunger.
you cling to him as he finds his rhythm, deliberate and heavy with years of knowing exactly how to undo you.
“fuck,” he groans into your shoulder, his teeth grazing agaisnt your skin. “you were made for me.”
your nails drag down his back, pulling a broken sound from his throat before his mouth crashes back onto yours, messy and consuming.
“fuck, minnie,” you gasp against his lips, the words trembling out. “just like that—give it to me.”
his weight sinks into you, pressing you deep into the mattress, his chest hot and unrelenting against yours.
“oh my god, baby…” his voice comes out wrecked. “you’re perfect. you’re everything.”
you scratch lightly down his spine, just enough to make his body jerk. “don't hold back,” you murmur, voice quiet but commanding. “i want all of you.”
“fuck—take it. it’s yours. all yours,” his chest heaves as the words tumble out rough, almost like they’re pulled straight from his lungs.
you frame his face in your hands as your thumbs stroke his cheekbones. "let me watch you fall apart for me, baby."
he obeys, doing his best to keep his eyes locked on yours, but it doesn't last long. the moment your body clenches around him, he breaks it.
“fuck, baby…i can’t—” his forehead falls to yours, his voice fracturing with the pleasure of it.
“don’t fight it, pretty boy.” you whisper, locking your legs tighter around his waist. “let go with me.”
his rhythm falters, breath shattering. “baby…oh god—fuck—” he chokes, his voice unraveling as he drives deeper.
“oh—oh my god, right there,” you moan against his mouth, pulling him closer.
your body breaks first, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as you clench around him, pleasure tearing through you in jagged shocks.
the sound wrecks him. he follows instantly, hips slamming into you as a loud moan tears out of him, everything in him giving way all at once.
the release leaves you both unsteady, your breaths stuttering as the intensity slowly ebbs. he collapses into your chest right away, his body still lightly trembling, all warmth and weight as you wrap your arms around him.
you hold him there, one hand stroking gently through his damp hair, the other pressed firm against his back to keep him close.
he doesn’t lift his head or try to move away; he just gives in completely, falling into you with a quiet shudder, like his body hasn’t quite caught up to the world yet.
the room hums with silence, broken only by your uneven breaths and the loud beats from both of your hearts.
“jesus…” you breathe, a weak laugh slipping out with it. “you’re gonna kill me one of these nights.”
he huffs against your collarbone. “worth it,” he mutters, voice cracked and hoarse. “you’re always worth it.”
you smile faintly, closing your eyes, still stroking his hair. “you’re a mess.”
“your mess,” he retorts, almost slurring it as his lips brush lazily against your skin.
after a long moment, he finally lifts his head from your chest, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple before carefully sliding out of bed.
you sink deeper into the mattress, heavy and spent, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he leaves the room.
you don’t need to ask where he’s going; aftercare was never something seokmin left to chance. he always insists on taking care of you himself, like loving you properly afterwards is simply part of loving you at all.
when he comes back into the room, there’s a warm cloth in his hand. he settles between your knees again, his movements careful and unhurried. “lift up a little for me, beautiful.”
you do, pliant beneath his touch, and he cleans you with steady, practiced hands. every pass is slow and thoughtful, never rushed; tender in a way that makes your chest ache.
it doesn’t feel like routine.
it feels like care. like reverence. like the steady reassurance of knowing you’re safe with him, the way you always have been.
“you always take such good care of me,” your lips curve faintly, the words coming out fragile but certain.
he glances up, eyes soft despite the exhaustion written all over his face. “of course i do,” he says, as though there’s no other truth in the world.
when he’s finished, he picks your robe up from the floor and holds it out to you. you sit up a little so he can help, arms sliding into the sleeves without either of you having to say a word.
he gently pulls it around your shoulders, his hands lingering just long enough to make sure it’s settled before moving down toward your waist.
his fingers work the belt into a loose knot before he finally leans back with a tired smile. “best thing i ever bought you.”
you let out a weak laugh. "not the ring? not the house?"
his smile deepens, somehow still boyish even through the exhaustion. "nope. the robe wins. nothing else even comes close."
instead of calmly climbing back into the bed, he drops face-first onto the mattress beside you with a dramatic groan, one arm hanging off the edge.
your laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. it's the kind of laugh he always manages to pull from you, no matter what mood you’re in.
he turns his head at the sound, just enough to brush a lazy kiss against your arm before melting into the sheets again.
“i'm so tired,” he mumbles into the cotton, voice muffled.
“big baby,” you tease, rolling onto your side to face him. your fingers trail slowly down his back, light and soothing, and he exhales hard, his shoulders quickly loosening under your touch.
“mm, don’t stop,” he mutters, already halfway gone. “this is heaven.”
your smile widens against the pillow. "thought i was your heaven."
he cracks one eye open, a tired smirk tugging at his lips. "you are. this is just...the proof."
btw i want to say that the entire tumblr community banding together is what got these changes reversed so i hope u all realise the power of a reblog and start reblogging posts instead of just liking them this is the reblog website so hit that button right now
*Slice of Life, Romance, Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Mutual Pining, Comfort*
The neon lights of "Strike City" hummed with a nostalgic energy, casting a blue-and-purple glow over the polished mahogany lanes. Dokyeom or Seokmin, as he’d insisted you call him tonight was currently doing a dramatic warm-up stretch that looked more like contemporary dance than sports preparation.
He held a neon-orange ten-pound ball aloft, declaring that his soul was becoming one with the equipment. You leaned against the scoring console and giggled, telling him he didn't need to channel the gods of the lane for simple cosmic bowling. He responded with a toothy, unabashed grin and a wink, though he immediately lost his cool when his bowling shoe slipped on the carpet, forcing him into a clumsy, adorable recovery.
When it was finally time to play, Seokmin stepped up for his first frame with a look of intense concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he calculated his move. He performed a four-step approach that started gracefully but ended with a dull thud as the ball drifted immediately into the gutter.
He froze in his follow-through, slowly turning his head to look at you with wide, pleading eyes, jokingly blaming a localized earthquake for the tilted lane. You teased him right back, offering to play coach as you stepped up to help him square his shoulders.
The playful energy shifted into something softer and warmer as you adjusted his grip. Standing close, you could smell the clean, citrusy scent of his laundry detergent and feel the heat radiating off his sweater. You instructed him to swing the ball like a pendulum, your hand briefly brushing against his wrist.
When he turned to look at the pins, the distance between your faces was barely an inch. He gave you a soft, crinkly-eyed smile that felt more rewarding than any score, and when his next roll knocked down seven pins, he celebrated by scooping you up into a sudden, spinning hug.
By the tenth frame, the scoreboard was an afterthought compared to the sheer chaos Seokmin was creating. He spent most of the time attempting "trick shots" that nearly resulted in him face-planting, all while cheering for your turns so loudly that the people in the next lane started to stare. Before his final throw, he leaned in and made a lopsided bet: if he got a strike, he got to hold your hand all the way to the car; if he missed, he’d have to hold your hand anyway just to steady himself from the "shame."
He stepped up, took a breath, and delivered a surprisingly smooth shot that cracked against the pins for a perfect strike. He didn’t even wait for the pins to clear the screen before spinning around with his arms open, his face glowing under the blacklights.
As you walked out of the alley into the cool night air, he laced his fingers firmly through yours. He started humming a bright tune, swinging your joined hands between you, and whispered that while he loved the win, he mostly just loved being the one standing next to you.
The ice cream parlor down the street was a vintage-themed dream, smelling of toasted sugar and waffle cones. Seokmin practically dragged you through the door, his excitement undimmed by the late hour. He insisted on a "winner’s choice" shared sundae, which resulted in a mountain of mint chocolate chip and strawberry scoops topped with an aggressive amount of rainbow sprinkles.
As you sat in a cramped red vinyl booth, the light from the overhead lamp caught the faint shimmer of the bowling alley’s hand-stamp still on his wrist, a tiny neon star that matched his current mood perfectly.
He spent the first five minutes meticulously trying to feed you the perfect bite, his brow furrowed in concentration as he balanced a cherry on top of a spoonful of ice cream. When he finally succeeded, he let out a triumphant "A-ha!" that made the couple at the next table smile. He wasn't just eating; he was narrating the entire experience, describing the flavor profile like a world-class food critic before accidentally getting a dab of whipped cream on the tip of his nose.
You reached across the table to wipe it away with a napkin, and for a fleeting second, he went very still, his dark eyes searching yours with a look that was far more tender than his usual goofiness.
The conversation drifted from the night's gutter balls to more quiet things how he’d been working hard at the studio and how much this night out had recharged his spirit. He reached across the table, not for the spoon this time, but for your free hand, tracing the lines of your palm with his thumb.
He admitted that he’d been nervous about the "date" part of the evening, worrying he’d be too loud or too much, but your laughter had been the only green light he needed. It was one of those rare, grounded moments where the high-energy idol faded away, leaving just the boy who wanted to make sure you were having as much fun as he was.
As you both finished the melting remains of the sundae, Seokmin started a silly competition to see who could make the best sculpture out of their used napkins. He ended up creating a crumpled "swan" that looked more like a flattened marshmallow, but he presented it to you with such flourish you couldn't help but tuck it into your pocket like a prize.
He sighed contentedly, leaning back against the booth and watching you with a lopsided grin. He told you that even if he’d bowled a zero, the night would have been a strike just because he got to see you laugh like that.
When it was finally time to leave, he didn't let go of your hand as you stepped back out onto the sidewalk. The walk to the car was slow and deliberate, the silence between you feeling comfortable and heavy with unspoken "next times." Just before you reached the door, he stopped under a streetlamp, the yellow light casting long shadows behind you. He leaned down, his forehead resting gently against yours for a heartbeat, and thanked you for being his "lucky charm" before placing a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek that left your skin tingling long after the car heater kicked in.
The car ride back was filled with the low hum of the radio and Seokmin’s off-key but soulful humming, his hand still firmly anchored over yours on the center console. When he finally pulled up to the curb in front of your place, he didn't put the car in park immediately. He lingered for a second, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
"So," he began, his voice dropping into that rich, honeyed tone he only used when the cameras were off. "Scale of one to ten. How was the Bowling Experience'?"
"I’d give it a solid nine," you teased, reaching for your bag. "Losing one point for the gutter ball that almost took out the lady in lane four."
"Hey! That was an artistic choice," he protested, finally killing the engine. The sudden silence made the space between you feel smaller, more intimate. "But seriously, Y/N... I had a really great time. I don't get to just... be a goofball often. Thanks for not judging my warm-up dances."
"I never would," you said softly, turning to face him. "They’re my favorite part."
He beamed, that signature sunshine smile lighting up the dark interior of the car. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over, his shoulder brushing yours. "Wait, wait! Don't go yet. I have to check something. Is it true that bowling makes your hands cold? Because mine are freezing."
You laughed, knowing full well his hands were like radiators. "Seokmin, it’s 70 degrees out."
"Internal 70, external freezing," he insisted, catching your hand and pressing it between both of his. "See? I’m a human popsicle. I might need five more minutes of warmth before I can safely drive home. It’s a medical necessity."
"A medical necessity, huh?" you mirrored his grin, settling back into the seat. "And here I thought you were just a professional at stalling."
"I’m a man of many talents," he whispered, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles. He looked down at your joined hands, his expression softening into something genuinely sweet. "Actually, I just really didn't want the night to end. Is it okay if I stay until this song finishes? Or maybe the next one?"
"You can stay for the whole playlist, Seokmin."
He let out a tiny, relieved sigh and leaned his head back against the headrest, looking at you through his lashes. "Good. Because I was already planning our rematch in my head. Next time, no bumpers. And the loser has to wear a giant inflatable bowling pin suit for the whole walk home."
"You're on," you challenged. "But you realize that means you'll be the one in the suit, right?"
"We'll see about that, Pro," he chuckled, squeezing your hand one last time before leaning in to press a lingering, soft kiss to your forehead. "We'll see."
given how fucking stupid this tumblr update is, i’m going to be doing my very best to reblog content from its original creators moving forward, rather than the person i follow who reblogged it onto my dash.
i don’t like this because i want the person who put it on my radar to know that i’m 🫱🏻🫲🏼 Sharing Their Interest 🫱🏻🫲🏼 , but obviously, it’s significantly more important that the people who 🫵🏻 Made The Thing 🫵🏻 know that i’m 👁️👄👁️ Perceiving It 👁️👄👁️.
