#Jeonghan x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yerimacoustic · 2 months ago

Text

𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 ♡ jeonghan x reader

↳ ❝ 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩'𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙘𝙚 ❞ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

summary : after an arranged marriage you come to realize that your new husband, the crown prince, and his kingdom are not like anything you expected

content warnings : prince!jeonghan x princess!female reader, fantasy au, regency au, arranged marriage trope, strangers/friends(?)/rivals(?) to lovers, reader and jeonghan are in their twenties, swearing, references to seggs but NO SMUT, kissing, fluff, angst, a few descriptions of v0miting/illness, lots of lore, historical inaccuracy for the sake of plot, featuring gahyun, seungkwan, wonwoo, hoshi and woozi. 16.2k wc!

notes : IM BACKKKKK i finally wrote a full story and published it, isn’t that wild 🤧 this takes place in the same universe as my joshua fic, for the first time . i’m thinking of adding more into this storyline cause i love a good fantasy au, especially when seventeen (and perhaps another certain boy group..👀) is involved. not proofread, and don’t mind the historical inaccuracy, i wanted to play around a bit. also quick disclaimer, woozi can be pretty mean in this fic but that’s no reflection of how i feel about him as a real person, this is fiction!! hope you guys enjoyyyy

you’d known for a long time that as the only child of a king and queen, an arranged marriage was more than likely to be a critical part of your future. it was how your mother and father met, how their parents met, how their parents met.. and every one of those marriages turned out great. for the most part.

you only wished you had the chance to meet with your fiance, prince jeonghan, at least a few more months before the wedding. hell, you’d take even a few more weeks..

as the wheels of the carriage skated less than gracefully across the large rocks in the path, the aching in your stomach only grew worse. as you stared out the window, a trivial act that usually soothed your anxieties, the trees and bushes rushing past you in a blur seemed to add to your nausea.

this was not lost on your lady in waiting, gahyun. a look of concern etched across her features as she watched you from across the carriage. “are you sure you’re alright?” she asked for possibly the millionth time.

“yes, quite sure,” you replied, clearing your throat. “i’ll feel much better once we’re at the palace.”

although she nodded, something in her demeanor conveyed she wasn’t quite as convinced as she was trying to lead on. “princess, if there’s anything about your engagement that worries or concerns you, you know you can always talk to me. you..do know that, right?”

you flashed her a brief smile of gratitude before staring helplessly out the window once more, barely making out the palace in the distance. “yes, gahyun, of course.” you paused. “i just..i have no idea what he’s like.”

“it’s perfectly understandable to be nervous,” she told you with a small smile. “prince jeonghan has a very good reputation. a friend of mine knows one of his servants and they’ve never had anything negative to say about him.”

“good to know.” with a half-hearted nod, you looked down at your lap and tried to think about anything besides the fact that your mind was reeling in time with your stomach and there was an odd taste in your mouth.. “gahyun?”

“yes, your majesty?”

“can we talk about something?”

she chuckled, “the uh..flowers outside are really beautiful, aren’t they?”

“i barely noticed.” it wasn’t completely a lie.. mostly everything was blurred every time you looked out the window. but you weren’t sure if it was nausea induced or if the speed of the carriage was the biggest contributing factor.

“right, of course,” gahyun chuckled awkwardly. “have you thought about what kind of flowers you want at the ceremony?”

“no.. i sort of assumed that his family would be taking care of most of the..trivial arrangements.”

gahyun wasn’t sure what else to say..so she stayed silent, watching you gulp with a sympathetic grin. for the duration of the carriage ride, she hummed a quiet tune to herself which..surprisingly enough, kept you grounded. before either of you knew it, the carriage came to a full stop and the two of you let out a synchronized sigh of relief.

she was the first one to step out, taking a long look at the majestic castle in front of her before looking back towards you. once you caught the smallest glimpse of the royal family lined up along the driveway, you made a conscious effort to straighten out your shoulders and stiffen your neck.

gahyun grabbed your hand, meeting your gaze and nodding in reassurance. after nodding in return, you took a few timid steps forwards and in less than a breath you were face to face with the king and queen. your future in-laws…oh god..

“good day, princess,” the queen greeted you with a polite, barely visible smile. “how was your journey?”

“bumpy at times but.. well, i’m glad to finally be here, your majesty,” you replied, trying to keep the tremble in your voice to a minimum.

“we’re happy to have you,” the king stepped in, gesturing towards his left…where his son, jeonghan was standing quietly. oh god… “allow me to introduce our eldest son, prince jeonghan.”

you curtsied politely, bowing your head in hopes that no one would see your lower lip tremble. you did everything in your power to ignore the rapid beating of your heart…of course he was handsome. of course he had gorgeous dark hair and striking yet soft features..“your highness.”

“it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” the prince didn’t hesitate to step closer and extend his hand towards you. you stared at his palm for a moment, almost unsure what to do. almost as if you’d never greeted anyone in your entire life.. luckily you snapped out of it and shook his hand before he could acknowledge your hesitance.

“the pleasure’s all mine, your majesty..” you gulped, lifting your chin to meet his gaze once more. suddenly, feeling his hand linger against yours and your eyes remain locked..it all felt so..real. “my apologies, would you excuse me for just a moment?”

“oh, uh- yes that’s-”

“thank you.” it felt as if the whole family’s eyes were on you, watching you rush towards an opening near the gates. you stumbled, finally reached one of the taller trees near the edge of the garden and before you could even fully gain your footing, you retched. almost violently, at that.

maybe it was paranoia, but you swore a collective groan filled the air across the grounds.. had they witnessed the whole thing?

your worst fears were all but confirmed when gahyun slowly crossed the lawn and laid her hand flat upon your upper back. “princess?” she asked quietly and tentatively.

“...yes?” you managed to choke out.

“would you like me to fetch you something? perhaps some tea or..a biscuit?”

you shook your head while trying to maintain at least some composure, wiping your lower lip. “no, that won’t be necessary, thank you. i’m not sure i’d be able to keep it down anyways,” you forced a sheepish chuckle, finally looking your friend in the eye.

gahyun nodded stiffly, her eyes widening just a tiny bit once they briefly flicked towards the spot on your dress. “oh..uh-”

you grimaced. “don’t tell me-”

“i’ll get it out in no time,” she was quick to reassure you and pull out her handkerchief. before you could protest, telling her not to use such a precious item to clean up the mess you’d made, she was already dabbing at the hideous, unwelcomed mark on your light blue dress. of course, it was easier said than done.. “oh, you poor dear..”

“gahyun, please.. tell me it’s not noticeable,” you groaned and began to rub anxiously at your temples.

“it’s not noticeable,” she answered a little too quickly while continuing to dab at the spot.

“god-” you let out a shaky sigh and closed your eyes. “i haven’t even been here for a full five minutes and i’ve already managed to make a fool of myself.”

“i think you’re perfectly justified in your feelings, princess. your whole life is about to change, not to mention the journey was rather choppy.”

“that’s one way to describe it,” you chuckled and took a quick look across the lawn.. as expected, every eye was on you. you stared at the bewildered prince, your betrothed, for just a moment too long- he was probably second guessing his entire life at this point. not that you could blame him.. “i suppose we should make our way back now?”

gahyun extended her hand to rest upon your upper back once more, watching you straighten out your shoulders. “are you sure you don’t want to take another minute to collect yourself?”

“i don’t really see the point,” you gently countered with another sigh. “if i stand here for another minute longer, they might get bored of watching me.”

gahyun laughed before leading you back towards the rest of the group, where several pairs of concerned eyes lingered on your stiffened figure. your gaze shifts towards your fiance, who was biting his lip with what you assumed to be a hint of amusement in his eyes.. you knew better than to reprimand him in front of his parents. especially after the scene you’d just caused, unintentionally or not..

“are you quite alright, princess?” he asked through a stifled chuckle, much to your embarrassment. his father nudged discreetly at his arm, forcing him to stumble backwards for less than a second before he regained his footing.

“never been better,” you lied, plastering on your loveliest smile.

after a seemingly never ending tour of the palace, you were seated next to gahyun in the library. the royal family had offered to give you some privacy after your embarrassing display in the garden, much to your relief. while gahyun suggested going to your private quarters to rest, you were the one who opted for the library; reading had always relaxed you.

seeing no purpose in trying to present yourself in a ladylike manner, you were slumped against the sofa with your head tilted against the backrest. “did you see the way he was laughing at me?”

“he wasn’t laughing, your highness,” she countered in a gentle tone.

“he was definitely laughing,” you argued back, closing your eyes. “i saw the way the king scolded him. maybe he’s used to this sort of behavior from his son.”

she moved a hand to brush through her hair and rub at her aching temple in the process, “well..if he was laughing, at least we know he has a sense of humor?”

you chuckled at her vain attempt at comforting you, taking another look around the large room. as much as you hated to admit it, their collection of books was far more impressive than yours. shelves and shelves of books sat comfortably against the wall, from the floor to the ceiling. there was a large oval window in the center of the room which overlooked the gardens and provided a perfect ambience for the library.

gahyun watched you look around the room in pure awe with a small smile. “princess, why don’t you find something to read? take your mind off things?”

“i fear i can’t concentrate on anything except how mortified i am,” you sighed. “i’m just happy to be away from them. at least for a while.”

the door behind the sofa clicked open, which you found to be less than serendipitous. you straightened yourself out all the same, rising to your feet and watching jeonghan and an unfamiliar man walk in.

“oh- my apologies, i didn’t realize you we-” jeonghan started before clearing his throat. “ladies, this is our newest steward, seungkwan. our previous one recently got a promotion. of sorts.”

“promotion?” you raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“he married my sister, actually. they’re currently away on holiday and won’t be back in time for the wedding,” he replied. he chuckled shortly upon realizing he’d given the pair way too much information than necessary. “i’m..sorry. we would have told you that earlier if you weren’t so-”

“out of sorts?” you asked with a chuckle.

“if that’s how you want to describe it..then yes,” after laughing a little too hard for your liking, he exchanged a glance with seungkwan and smiled faintly back at you. “anyways, there were just a few private matters i had to discuss with seungkwan-”

“you want us to leave?” you offered, sharing a quick glance with gahyun.

“wellll-” jeonghan snickered, glancing awkwardly between the three of you.

seungkwan, much to your surprise, was the first person to interrupt. “if i may, your highness- the two of you are to be married. she’s going to have to sit in on a few meetings with you soon enough, anyways.”

jeonghan paused, as if the reality of your shared situation had finally sunk in for him as well. he looked contemplative for a moment or two, not to mention slightly annoyed. before too long, he forced a cheerful smile, “very well.”

“actually, that’s alright,” you interjected with a thin-lipped smile. “i have some freshening up to do before dinner, anyways.”

“but-” jeonghan and seungkwan began to protest in unison.

“no, please. don’t let me get in your way.” you were quick to reassure them with a wave of your hand, ushering gahyun out of the room with you. after the less than appealing first impression you made earlier that day, the last thing you wanted was to appear to be a nuisance.

however, something told you this would definitely not be the last of your awkward encounters with jeonghan.

you watched the silverware and porcelain placed tactfully in front of you twinkle against the candlelight, getting lost in the floral patterns on each saucer and bowl. since gahyun had to eat with the other servants near the lower level of the palace, you were left to sit alone with your new family. if that was even the right word to call them..

“princess,” the king gently called out to you, prompting you to tilt forward to meet his gaze from the other end of the table. “will you have any guests in attendance this weekend?”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “this weekend…?”

right…this weekend.

“this weekend..” you spoke quietly, watching jeonghan and his mother pause their eating to listen to you intently. “my parents should be here in two days. they wished they could have made the journey along with me, but they had important business to attend to.”

he nodded in understanding, though a small chuckle escaped his lips. “that is perfectly understandable. but i meant.. anyone you know outside of the palace? friends or associates?”

you paused, contemplating your next choice of words. while you had no desire to appear self-deprecating, it seemed nearly impossible to be perceived any other way as you spoke, “i.. won’t have any friends of my own in attendance besides my handmaiden, gahyun. my mother and father have already made most of the arrangements.”

the three of them exchanged a glance before nodding in understanding. the silence was deafening.

you flashed the small family a reassuring smile before speaking up again, “i’m looking forward to the ceremony. your family has made quite a name for yourselves; everyone in our kingdom talks about the lavish birthday parties thrown in the palace.”

you regretted those words the moment they left your lips. especially when you caught the smallest hint of amusement in jeonghan’s irises before he bowed his head and continued eating.

“that being said, i know this union is really important and shouldn’t be reduced to the ceremony-” you clarified with a short chuckle, “not that it shouldn’t be celebrated but-”

the queen was first to speak, her tone as gentle as ever, “you don’t have to explain anything. i think we can all understand where you’re coming from.”

you nodded stiffly before bowing your head again, watching the steam rise from your bowl of soup. the tip of your tongue was still aching from the last time you’d dared to even take a lick of the stew, forcing you to stare at the broth in a yearning manner. not that it would do much to soothe your nausea, anyway.

you looked up to see jeonghan sitting directly across from you, exchanging playful but polite banter with his parents. you envied him greatly; he didn’t seem nervous about anything. much to your surprise, he didn’t seem to be second guessing your union, either. he did little to comfort or assure you, however.. not that it was his responsibility, per se.

but even so..

you took a few measly spoonfuls of your soup before the meal collectively ended. the king and queen spoke amongst themselves as you and jeonghan trailed behind them in awkward silence. besides an awkward glance here and there, the two of you barely acknowledged each other in the hallway.

of course, you had to take a mental note of just how close you were standing to him. if you raised your hand even slightly, you could’ve intertwined it with his own. if only you were so bold..

just as your gaze shifted from either of your hands to meet his own, he nodded his head dismissively and grinned, “it was a pleasure to meet you, princess. i hope you get some good rest after your long journey.”

wait.. he’s turning in for the night? just like that?

“i-” you stuttered, clearly taken aback by his words. before you could even formulate a gentle protest, however, he turned on his heel and crossed towards the large spiral staircase. his parents wished you a quiet goodnight and went in the opposite direction, most likely to discuss a few more political arrangements.

very odd.

much to your surprise, gahyun and seungkwan were waiting in the hallway near your private chambers once you strolled up the staircase. they smiled once they made eye contact with you and seungkwan bowed politely before excusing himself to bed.

“how was dinner?” gahyun asked and opened the bedroom door for you before following you inside. she grimaced once she heard the half hearted chuckle escape your lips, a sympathetic smile tugging at her lips.

“it was..good practice. i’ll leave it at that.”

once you sat near the vanity, she took the liberty of gently pulling each pin out of your hair and laying them on the table’s smooth surface. “i think you should give yourself a little more credit,” she spoke quietly, as if she could sense the migraine beginning to form while brushing through your hair. “this sort of thing is never easy for anyone. you’re not the exception.”

you sighed and folded your arms across the table, watching your close friend’s reflection brush through your hair. “it seemed easy for my parents,” you countered. “all i’ve heard is about how quickly they got along, how happy they’ve been since they met at the altar..”

“yes, but think about how nervous they must have been,” she replied, tying the ribbon at the end of your braid. “they’ve probably neglected to tell you all of the embarrassing parts because they assume you don’t want to hear about them.”

you chuckled. you knew she brought up an excellent point, as per usual. “true. i guess its only been a few hours since we’ve arrived. he’s got plenty of time to prove me wrong.”

after a few days in the palace, you were still finding it difficult to adjust to your new home. it felt as if the royal family walked on eggshells around you, as if the tiniest thing any of them were to say or do would frighten you. in your honest opinion, it was worse than being spiteful towards you.

to make matters worse, your parents, the ones who played a major role in the arrangement, had not yet arrived at the palace. as a direct result, gahyun was the one who was tasked with the burden of providing you emotional support. at least..you saw it as a burden. after all, there was little she could say or do to comfort you during such a life changing event.

after yet another long dinner filled with dull pleasantries and trivial wedding discussions, you’d found yourself sitting alone in the gardens. although you appreciated gahyun’s sweet efforts to comfort you, you needed time alone to gather your thoughts.

you stared at your lap while perched on a bench near one of the darker corners of the garden. it was rather peaceful, actually, listening to the water from the fountain babble gracefully and stare at the darkened flowers as the stars shone against the petals. for a brief moment, all of you worries seemed so trivial. nonexistent, even. that was, until someone else had other plans.

“princess?” jeonghan called out from behind you.

you sighed as quietly as you were able, briefly closing your eyes before responding. “yes, your highness?”

you heard him take a few steps closer, the crisp blades of grass gently crunching in his wake. “i didn’t see you after dinner. it was like you vanished into thin air,” he chuckled. to be honest, you were surprised he even noticed your departure.

“if only that were the case,” you muttered without a second thought, looking behind your shoulder to see him standing a few good feet away from you.

jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “you mean to tell me you don’t enjoy banquets with the royal family?”

your eyes widened in horror as you mistook the prince’s sarcasm for genuine offense. “oh..no, i just meant-”

“relax,” he held up a hand, snickering once again. it was odd; his little laugh would have brought you comfort if it didn’t seem so..deliberate. “i just wanted to make sure that you weren’t feeling nauseous again. i’d hate to think our shared meal had anything to do with it.”

“no, no, the prime rib was delicious,” you assured him with a faint smile.

“i..wasn’t exactly talking about the quality of the food, but that’s good to hear,” jeonghan laughed again, circling around the bench to face you properly. he kept his distance, standing more than an arm’s length away from you.

“can i ask you something?” you spoke timidly.

“go ahead.”

“when i first arrived, when i-” you stopped, gently tilting your head to the side. evidently, that was enough for jeonghan to get the hint; you watched him stifle another chuckle and bow his head. “i wanted to know- why did you laugh?”

jeonghan seemed contemplative for less than two seconds before amusement filled his eyes once again. “it’s just..not something you see everyday, i suppose.”

even if you were taken aback by his words, you managed a small smile. “well, i will say this: i appreciate your candor.”

he shrugged his shoulders and took a quick look around the perimeter of the gardens, as if to ensure your solitude once more. even if the two of you were engaged, it was better to be safe than sorry. “did i insult you?”

“hmm?” you raised an eyebrow.

he chuckled at your ignorance, which he found endearing. “when i laughed. did i insult you?”

you parted your lips, stunned for a moment. one thing was for certain: you weren’t sure if your embarrassment from the..accident in the garden would ever completely go away. you shook your head all the same. “no, your highness.”

one corner of the prince’s lips turned upwards in a smirk. “no?”

“no,” you confirmed, even though it couldn’t have been further from the truth. “to be honest, i would have laughed if the roles were reversed.”

“i guess i’ll have to take your word for it,” he replied as his smirk broadened, shoving his hands in his pockets. he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his intense gaze meeting yours once again. the man was a complete mystery; he appeared to have so much to say but would rather keep his cards close to his chest.

he seemed to take a mental note of how flustered you were when you’d caught him staring. you forced a friendly smile, “so..are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

jeonghan paused, his smirk growing just a tad wider before he nodded. “it’s been too long since our last lavish party. your words, not mine.”

embarrassment flooded through you once more as his smirk only seemed to add insult to injury, “i only meant-”

“there’s no need to explain yourself,” jeonghan cut you off. “are you looking forward to it, princess?”

you bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. especially since you weren’t sure how long he was planning on staying in the garden with you.. “i think i am,” you nodded, forcing another thin-lipped smile. “it’s pretty funny to think the first party i will be attending here is technically in my celebration.”

“our celebration, you mean,” he corrected you, his tone getting slightly lower as he did so.

our celebration.

jeonghan never really talked about the wedding if he could help it, even at the handful of meals you’d shared with him and his parents. the way he carried himself so loosely didn’t strike you as a man who was finally about to settle down- it only further cemented the sad truth that this wedding wasn’t anything more than a transaction.

but to hear him refer to it as a celebration.. not only that, but a shared celebration, brought a smile to your lips. even if he was just relaying your words. “right,” you finally chuckled, watching his dark eyes shine in the moonlight and wishing he’d take at least one step closer and allow you a closer look.

but before you could pluck up the courage to ask him to sit with you, he drew in a deep breath and removed his hands from his pockets. “if you’ll excuse me, princess, i must turn in for the night.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, quickly rising to your feet. “already?” you paused and watched him mirror your confused expression. “i only meant- must you be so hasty? it’s a lovely night.”

jeonghan’s eyes lingered past your shoulder for a moment, seemingly transfixed on one of the palace’s entrances. or rather, the figure standing in the doorway. once he’d blinked and refocused on your figure, he smiled gently. “that it is. but i’m afraid i’ll have to leave you to enjoy the stars for the both of us. goodnight, your highness.”

he bowed his head so politely it was almost comical before starting towards the castle. you called out to him, raising your voice for the first time, “you can call me by my name.”

your mysterious fiance stopped in his tracks just enough to steal a quick glance at you standing dumbfounded, sending you a one-sided smile before continuing on his way. not for the first time, you wished that you could peer into his mind for even a minute or two. at least you’d have some enlightenment as to his train of thought.

luckily for him, you had chosen not to watch him walk the rest of the way to the palace. one pair of judgemental eyes on him was more than sufficient, and of course that was proven true when he got a clearer look at seungkwan standing in the door frame with folded arms.

“are you happy now?” he asked the younger man with a weary sigh.

seungkwan was rather quick to shake his head. “majesty, if you don’t mind me saying this, you're going to spend the rest of your life with this woman. you could try to make conversation with her.”

jeonghan scoffed, “i’m sorry- did you not see me standing in the garden with her just now, making conversation? besides.. i’ll have plenty of time to get to know her after the wedding.”

“that’s the spirit,” seungkwan sneered and led the prince back inside the palace, carefully shutting the door behind them.

jeonghan stopped in his tracks for a moment to maintain almost comically intense eye contact with the younger man. “you know, our last steward was a lot less lippy. i suggest you take a page out of joshua’s book.”

“so i’ve been told,” he sighed. as the two of them began to stroll up the spiral staircase, he tilted his head in contemplation. “well, i suppose i should be giving you more credit; it was the longest conversation the two of you have had.”

“thanks for that.” before too long the pair found their way to the secluded library and pulled the door shut. jeonghan let out a weary sigh as he plopped down near his desk, greeted by the all too familiar sight of endless paperwork.. “besides, we both know there are a lot more pressing matters to deal with.”

you peered through the small crack in the doorway, trying to get a good look at the large crowd scattered throughout the ballroom. the sounds of your heavy breathing seemed to drown out all of the conversations taking place in front of you. suddenly, the idea of being the center of attention within a kingdom that threw notoriously large parties was much, much more daunting.

you should have known it was foolish to hope your parents would make an unexpected appearance. even so.. how could they abandon you without so much of a warning?

the fact that your corset was practically molding to your body and preventing you from hunching your shoulders by even an inch was not aiding any of your anxieties. it felt like you were riding in the carriage with gahyun all over again, nausea and fear taking over you. there wasn’t much you could do except pray that you wouldn’t vomit all over the altar.

“it could be a lot worse,” you kept repeating to yourself in a low tone. “you could be forced to give a speech..”

“and you could be forced to consummate the marriage in front of the court-” you stumbled to the side as the door clicked open, prompting gahyun to quickly shut it behind her. “i believe they’re ready to begin whenever you are, your highness,” she told you in a gleeful tone, perhaps to ease the tension.

“oh god-” you grimaced, wringing your gloved hands. “well.. let’s get this over with.”

“it’ll be over before you know it.” a small chuckle escaped her lips as she bent down to carefully gather the long, long train of your wedding dress. then she nodded in your direction, a clear signal to begin your stroll down the aisle. and so you did.

every eye was on you from the moment you stepped foot into the ballroom and the orchestra began to play a gentle tune. much to your surprise, jeonghan maintained eye contact with you during the entirety of your graceful walk down the aisle and made an effort to intertwine your hands with his own as soon as gahyun took your bouquet.

to be honest, the ceremony dragged on much longer than you would have hoped. the priest’s voice was rather monotonous, your gaze constantly shifted from jeonghan’s intense stare to your joined hands, then towards the guests.. then quickly back towards the beautiful man in front of you. however, it seemed he never once averted his gaze from you.

you grew incredibly flustered during the exchange of vows, when jeonghan’s stare only grew all the more intense. there was a comedic edge to it, especially with the smirk tugging at one corner of his pouty lips- it really could have been a lot worse. the man you were betrothed to could have been hideous.

he looked in your eyes, as if silently asking permission before tugging the glove off of your left hand. the touch of his bare hand against yours was enough to send a shiver down your spine as he slipped the ring onto your finger and stopped to admire the diamond encrusted band. you weren’t sure if you imagined him whispering, “it looks beautiful on you..” but his voice echoed in your mind nonetheless.

and then came the part you were definitely the most nervous about.

“you may kiss the bride.”

you appreciated jeonghan’s wariness when he cupped your cheek, still holding your white glove in his free hand. you could have sworn you saw his eyelashes flutter just as he leaned in to press his lips against yours in a chaste but lingering kiss. the audience broke out into polite applause once the union between the two large kingdoms was finally sealed.

when he broke the kiss, you shifted your attention to the glove he had stuffed in his jacket pocket. you thought nothing of it, wondering if he’d kept it simply because you might have found it to be a nuisance. “i’m guessing i’m not getting that back?” you whispered.

“i want everyone to see how lovely it looks on you,” he nodded towards the dazzling ring on your finger before taking his hand in yours and pressing a light kiss against your knuckles. once again, you felt the shiver run down your spine..

not for the first time, you were grateful that the wedding ceremony would end with the banquet. too many knowing smirks and the occasional winks were sent in your direction as you walked to the center of the dance floor with your new husband. with one hand cupping your waist and the other holding on gently to your bare hand, he began to lead you in a gentle waltz.

the two of you were to share your first dance alone before any of the other guests could participate. as a direct result, nearly every eye was on the two of you once more, studying your movements carefully.. jeonghan, who seemed to notice how the observation unnerved you, gently squeezed your hand, “don’t pay them any mind, your highness.”

for a moment, you could only manage a half hearted smile; it was much easier said than done. “you don’t seem to mind being the center of attention,” you noticed.

jeonghan chuckled, his voice filled with affection as he spoke, “it comes with the territory. i’m sure you know what i’m referring to.”

you shook your head just before jeonghan lifted his arm to twirl you around, prompting another chuckle to leave your lips. “on the contrary, my parents usually do all the talking for me while i fade into the background.”

“really?” jeonghan’s surprise was evident, his eyes growing wider. “i’m surprised they weren’t here to recite your vows in your place.”

a pang of hurt briefly filled your heart at the reminder of your parents’ negligence. it was very uncharacteristic on their part. perhaps jeonghan recognized the sadness his words had brought upon you, but you were quick to brush off his apology. “you have nothing to be sorry for. although.. i can’t help but feel disappointed that they didn’t come.”

jeonghan nodded and took a deep breath, his chest going a little stiff at the impact. “i’m sure they’ll be here to give you their best wishes soon.”

“i hope so.”

once the melody came to an end, jeonghan took it upon himself to ensure your shared waltz ended in the most theatrical way possible. with his arms encircled tightly around your figure and his hands resting firmly on your back, he prompted you to bend your knees as he gracefully dipped your body towards the floor. he held you close…so close that his heartbeat was too fast to ignore.

applause rang through the court as he just.. held you there for a moment. you had to laugh at the absurdity before allowing yourself a deeper look into his eyes.. his large, dark eyes. for the moment he seemed to be just as captivated in you as you were in him, and it felt as if the two of you were finally alone.

and then the orchestra began to play another song, prompting the guests to scurry towards the dance floor to join you. this amused jeonghan as he gently pulled you to your feet, his hands still resting gently on your waist. “what do you say, your highness? one more dance?” he chuckled lowly.

you pretended to ponder his question, raising a single eyebrow. “i think i could handle one more dance.”

once again, with jeonghan’s assistance, you nearly forgot where you were as he led you in circles around the dance floor. the two of you glided across the polished floor in perfect synchronization, all the while holding onto each other so tenderly. neither of you spoke; it seemed you shared a desire for intimate silence.

his smile never left his lips as the dance went on, it only dissolved once his intense gaze softened. there was a sentimental look deep within his eyes, one that you could easily commit to memory. maybe things wouldn’t be so bad.

by the end of your second dance, you were sure your cheeks were hot to the touch. you couldn’t recall a time when someone made you feel so flustered, even when performing such a simple act as kissing the top of your hand. but you watched him cross to the other side of the ballroom with a giddy smile, feeling disbelief.

after all, how had you gotten so lucky?

and to think you were plotting an escape just the night before.

“do you require anything, your highness?” a small voice from behind you called, effectively pulling you out of your smitten gaze.

you turned around, greeting gahyun with a sheepish smile. “no, thank you. i’m feeling much better.”

gahyun smiled, relief flooding through her features. “that’s excellent to hear, your highness. i am so so happy for you.”

once the ball was finally over and every guest began to take their leave, your heart began to race in anticipation. you’d read enough novels to know what would come next. suddenly, as the breath got knocked from your lungs all over again, you remembered just how constricting the fabric of your corset was. gahyun and seungkwan, among the other servants, remained in the ballroom with the two of you to tidy everything.

the two of you stood in silence for a moment, hand in hand, as you looked over to him expectantly. he seemed to pick up on your silent communication, for he excused himself and thanked the servants for a job well done before leading you into the secluded hallway.

there, he let out a heavy sigh and smiled in your direction. “thank god that’s over, right?”

“right,” you laughed. silence filled the air between the two of you for a moment, prompting you to look down at your ring. it shone brightly in the beautiful, dimmed ambience of the hallway and caused you to wonder once again where he’d managed to find something so beautiful. “it wasn’t as bad as i thought it would be.”

“indeed. nothing like when our grandparents got married,” he chuckled, taking a step further and lacing his fingers with yours once they brushed together during your stroll towards his bedroom. he gave your palm a gentle squeeze as he opened the door and quickly shut it once you were safely inside.

his (well, technically your) room was large and spacious, roughly the size of the library on the middle floor. most of the room was taken up by a gorgeous fireplace next to his desk and bookcase. it was clean, very organized.. other than the desk, where several papers and quills were strewn. it looked like a mad man’s workspace.

you stood near the foot of the bed with an expectant look in your eyes, your hand still laced with jeonghan’s. the ever persistent glint of mischief pooled in his irises as his expression softened and he took in your flustered state. “that’s a lovely veil you’re wearing,” he complimented you in a low tone.

“thank you.” a small, flustered chuckle left your lips before you raised your free hand to lift the crown from your head, allowing the pool of tulle to fall to the floor. his chin fell as he watched the white fabric hit the dark red carpet before meeting your gaze again and smirking faintly.

even such a small movement seemed calculated as he rose his hand to cup your cheek, effectively prompting you to step closer. he ghosted his lips over yours for a moment before giving in and pulling you in for a proper kiss. it shouldn’t have surprised you that even in a moment like this, the future king found a way to act so crafty.

however, you weren’t at all expecting him to place a quick peck upon your lips before chuckling affectionately and crossing to his desk. you stood near the end of the bed, dumbfounded, before turning to him. “your highness?”

“yes?” he asked before sitting comfortably attempting to sort through the mess on his desk.

you chuckled at the..absurd scene before you, clasping your hands together. “forgive me if i sound..untoward, but-” you chuckled again, prompting a smile to tug at one corner of your husband’s lips.

“go on-” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

you gestured towards the large four poster bed behind you, hoping the small action would speak for itself. “will you not join me?”

jeonghan followed the movement of your hand, his eyes fixed upon the bed for a moment. he appeared tempted for a moment, judging by the way his lips fell apart.. and then he spoke in a low tone, “in a moment, dearest.”

you froze. “excuse me?”

he chuckled lowly, seeming unaffected by your reaction. “there’s just a few things i have to take care of and then i’ll come to bed.”

you tilted your head in astonishment as he began to sort through the papers again, dipping his quill in the small bottle of ink. was he seriously returning to his paperwork on his wedding night, of all nights? “aren’t we supposed to-” you started, unwilling to voice the word at the tip of your tongue.

“oh yes, there’s plenty of time for that,” he replied without so much as lifting his head up from the parchment. you weren’t exactly sure why, but his negligence (if that was even the right word) infuriated you.

you bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to raise your voice. “but..it is custom for-”

jeonghan let out a little laugh before finally meeting your gaze again, eyes filling with that annoying affectionate gaze once again. “yes, it is. but surely it can wait a few hours, yes?”

“a few hours?” you asked, your voice a bit louder than you intended.

“is someone getting impatient?” jeonghan teased, even tilting his head to the side.

“no! i just-” you paused, clamping your eyes shut and letting a deep exhale escape through your nose. after all, something told you he had no intention of joining you anytime soon. “actually..i do not wish to disturb you for a moment longer. i’ll go to sleep in my private quarters tonight.”

jeonghan scoffed, “i hardly think that’s necessary.”

“then we’re both in agreement. goodnight, your highness,” you muttered bitterly under your breath before snatching the veil off the floor and stomping towards the door. to your dismay, he made no effort to stop you from slamming the door shut and racing angrily towards your bedroom.

the nerve of that man.

It was no surprise that you barely got any sleep that night, frustration coursing through your veins and keeping you from even trying to relax. you weren’t sure what you were expecting from an arranged marriage, but you hoped that at the very least jeonghan would treat you like his companion and not like some vague acquaintance. from the moment you stepped inside the palace, however, it seemed that he had no intention of getting to know you on a deeper level.

you weren’t even sure if you could call him your friend.

gahyun and your brand new handmaidens were surprised to see you already awake in your private quarters, but they chose not to question anything. instead they got to work immediately, helping you get dressed. today was the first day you were to join jeonghan in one of his meetings with the royal court and..well, to say you were nervous was definitely an understatement.

you soon found your seat next to jeonghan, barely acknowledging him as you moved stiffly. not that your actions seemed to affect him, of course, he merely continued scribbling away on his piece of parchment. typical.

once everyone was in their assigned seats, jeonghan finally looked up from the piece of parchment and cleared his throat. his gaze shifted towards a man, jihoon, sitting on one of the lower pews and he sent him an expectant nod. the younger man nodded and rose to his feet, gaining the attention of everyone else in the room.

“order, order. this court is now in session with the honorable prince jeonghan presiding. if there are no other announcements, we will get started on today’s agenda.” jihoon carried a large scroll as he paced back and forth in front of the pews, carrying an authoritative air with little to no effort.

after a short pause, a man in the center of the third row stood up and beamed, “allow me to say, your majesty: on behalf of the entire royal court, congratulations on your wedding. we look forward to your upcoming coronation.”

jeonghan smiled in gratitude, even going so far as to let out an amused chuckle. “the princess and i thank you, soonyoung.” odd.

jihoon nodded, his chest stiffening as he took a deep breath and quickly released it. he continued, “yes, thank you for that display of kindness on behalf of the rest of the court, soonyoung. are there any other announcements regarding more of our pressing concerns?”

the room fell silent and it felt as if your heartbeat was echoing in your ears. you had no idea parliament meetings could be so.. intense, for lack of a better word. then again, you wondered why you were so surprised.

“very well,” jihoon continued. he pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, clearing his throat. “the king writes, ‘i regret not being in attendance on this day but hope i can depend on jeonghan to preside over future meetings in a dependable manner. now as we all know, the eldest princess has unintentionally renounced the throne by marrying a commoner. the queen and i appreciate your patience as we navigate the passing of the crown from father to son while upholding our strong family values, as our beloved subjects expect of us. there is no doubt in my mind that jeonghan will be an exemplary ruler and carry out any and all decrees that i am unable to.’”

a few mutters and whispers filled the courtroom as the king’s words echoed in your mind.. strong family values. you knew that this marriage was nothing more than a transaction, but the letter served as the last nail in the coffin. whether it was intentional or not.

jihoon cleared his throat, effectively silencing the court. “if there are any questions, please stand and recite your name in an orderly manner. now is as good a time as any for the princess to get to know her new court.”

oh god.

a tall bespectacled man rose to his feet, locking eyes with you immediately. “jeon wonwoo, director of commerce. your highness, when can we expect an increase in trade between our kingdoms?”

you paused just as your throat went dry. to your dismay once you looked to your husband for an answer, you were only met with an expectant glance. “i..i don’t know.”

the man furrowed his eyebrows but chose not to question you any further, opting to sit back down. you would have let out a sigh of relief had it not been for soonyoung, who quickly rose to his feet. “kwon soonyoung. what are your family’s opinions on the prospects of magical cooperation?”

your lips fell apart and for a moment you sat in silence. magical cooperation? “i..didn’t know there was such a thing,” you admitted with a bashful chuckle.

once again, mutters and whispers seemed to surround you from every angle and prompt your heart to race. you rubbed the back of your neck, which suddenly felt hot as embarrassment fogged your mind. and of course, jeonghan made no effort to silence the court.

jihoon, as expected, looked annoyed. his eyes were narrowed as he studied the piece of parchment in his hands and he froze in place, as if he’d come to a horrid realization. as if it had dawned on him in real time that you, the useless future queen, had no idea what you were doing. guilt washed over you as your eyes scanned through the room, your efforts in avoiding exasperated stares proving to be fruitless.

“very well. we’ll come back to that later,” jihoon coughed, gathering everyone’s attention. “now, as for the sudden decline in land management…”

you wanted desperately to listen. you knew that it was the responsible thing to do, that it would most likely come back to haunt you if every word in these meetings went ignored..but you couldn’t help it. as jeonghan met your gaze, he maintained a neutral expression- somehow, you found that worse than any sour look he could give you.

you knew you disappointed him. you knew you annoyed him. he must have thought you were the most foolish person he’d ever come across. but for some odd reason, you wished that he would just voice every grievance he had with you outright.

the meeting seemed to end in the blink of an eye, but you knew the day was far from over. once jeonghan dismissed the court and everyone promptly left the room, he rose to his feet with a weary sigh. you parted your lips to speak, unsure of what to say first; an apology, an explanation, or perhaps some words of comfort.. instead, you watched him in silence.

you watched as he nodded dismissively in your direction and walked out of the room with seungkwan practically attached at his hip, as he always was. and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was to be the rest of your life.

gahyun made her way into the courtroom once the meeting had adjourned, greeting you with a smile. “how was the meeting, your highness?”

“terrible, just terrible,” you spoke bluntly, your tone a little harsher than you’d intended. guilt overtook you all over again once gahyun’s smile faded. “have you received any word from my parents?”

“yes, actually. this was delivered just now.” she held out a small envelope with the familiar red seal in the middle.

she watched you gently take it from her hand and unfold the parchment, desperation filling your eyes. you muttered to yourself as you read in silence,

‘dearest, we sincerely apologize that we were unable to attend your wedding. there were a few complications, namely meetings we couldn’t get out of and disagreements between members of our court. we wish to reassure you that we will be in attendance for your coronation and urge you to keep your chin up, darling, for the rest of your life starts right now. goodbye for now, dearest.’

“...that’s it?” you stared at the parchment, dumbfounded.

gahyun tilted her head, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “sorry, what?”

“no.. arrival dates, no details, no.. no instructions? am i supposed to figure everything out by myself?” you asked, your frustrations echoing throughout the empty courtroom. “they might as well have just thrown me onto the front lines without any armor!”

“with all due respect, i’m sure th-”

“no! no, i’m not-” you stopped yourself once you met gahyun’s gaze, realizing that you’d broken one of your own rules. “forgive me. i didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

gahyun smiled, although it didn't quite reach her eyes. “it’s alright, i understand all of this is happening so quickly for you.”

you nodded stiffly. in that moment, you would have loved nothing more than to disappear. to be transported to a much simpler place where you weren’t seen as a nuisance or thrown into a life you didn’t ask to be a part of. but the question remained.. were you being dramatic after an understandably difficult first day on the job?

“come now, i imagine some time in the gardens will do you good.”

you weren’t the only one who had received a letter that day. seungkwan watched jeonghan pace back and forth in the prince’s suite, his eyes glued to the cursive detailing on the parchment before him. he muttered lowly to himself over and over again, a small action that annoyed seungkwan greatly. luckily, he was smart enough not to voice his weariness.

‘joshua has reconnected with a few of his family members on our holiday. while it’s been wonderful to see him happy and comfortable around people who share his talent, i worry for him, brother. i cannot imagine something terrible happening to someone i cherish so deeply.

‘and it’s not just him i’m worried about. it’s anyone and everyone who possesses magical talents that they are forced to conceal. it’s anyone who’s scared to be themselves, to live their beautiful truths. i’m glad to be forced off of the throne. i want nothing to do with a bloodline that so readily casts practitioners of magic to the side and sweeps their horrible actions under the rug.

‘i know you are soon to take a seat upon the throne, so i plead with you.. something has to change.’

something has to change. something has to change.

he knew his sister was right. for too long, the royal family (himself included, at one point in time) had been unjustly cruel towards practitioners of magic. to the extent of jeonghan’s knowledge, his family was notorious for ignoring them, casting them aside. unlike a handful of other kingdoms.

seungkwan, finally having had enough of jeonghan’s worrisome pacing and ramblings, rose to his feet and stated, “your highness, are you going to tell me what was in that letter or not?”

jeonghan froze in his tracks and ran a hand through his messy hair. “whatever i tell you doesn’t leave this room. understood?” once the young steward nodded, jeonghan let out a heavy sigh and plopped down onto the nearest armchair. “my sister didn’t run off with just any commoner.”

“that’s right, she left with the previous steward,” seungkwan nodded.

“right. let me finish,” jeonghan grimaced. “joshua.. came from a long line of sorcerers. he was forced to keep it a secret when he came to work with us.”

seungkwan’s eyes went as wide as saucers and he slapped a hand over his mouth rather aggressively. “you’re telling me.. you’re telling me a sorcerer has walked these very halls and no one knew about it?”

“multiple sorcerers, actually. the only people that know about joshua’s lineage are myself, my sister…and now you. i intend to keep it that way.” he paused, rubbing anxiously at his temples. “i judged people like him too harshly when he was the first sorcerer i’d ever met. i was needlessly cruel to him when he was trying to help my sister. and i will carry that regret with me every day.”

seungkwan nodded in understanding and let out a weary sigh. “what are you going to do?”

“i have to make things right. somehow.” he spoke without hesitation, sitting upright. “although, i’m weary of telling my father about my plans.”

“but he’ll be renouncing the throne soon, will he not?” seungkwan countered, tilting his head.

“he will,” jeonghan nodded once, staring at the rug below his feet. “god willing.” he knew his father was weary about letting him make too many changes once he would be crowned king. but he also knew it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had a say in any new laws jeonghan would most likely be upholding..as bleak as that sounds.

it didn’t take too much critical for seungkwan to guess the cause of jeonghan’s weariness. “you mean-”

“he does have a nasty habit of changing his mind at the last possible second,” the prince finished in a low tone.

“but there are rules-” seungkwan interrupted, stumbling over his words. it was clear that the young steward was trying his best to provide the young prince with as much hope as he could muster up himself. even if it wasn’t a lot.. “there are regulations that even the king can’t ignore. it clearly states-”

“yes, seungkwan-”

he continued, “that when the eldest sibling is eligible to sit on the throne, the king and queen are to relinquish their control of the throne, and therefore, their leadership of the kingdom-”

jeonghan groaned begrudgingly, “yes, seungkwan! i’m well aware of my kingdom’s customs.”

a knock on the door startled the two men out of their anxiety induced stupor. jeonghan, automatically assuming the worst, practically lept towards the door and allowed only a tiny crack between himself and the frame. the prince let out a sigh of relief upon seeing a timid handmaiden in the hall. “what is it?”

“her highness requests your presence at dinner tonight,” she spoke barely above a whisper.

shit.. jeonghan’s eyes widened and he stood pensively in the doorway for a moment before finally speaking up. “tell her i’ve already gone to bed. it’s been a long day.”

“very well, your majesty.” after a quick curtsy, the handmaiden stumbled down the hallway to carry out his request. the door clicked shut and a heavy sigh from jeonghan soon followed.

“forgot you have a wife again, did you?” seungkwan teased, his voice laced with amusement.

jeonghan knew that he would regret voicing any quick, witty remark that came to mind. instead, he chose to sit comfortably against the pillows adorning the window nook and stare at the endless mazes of gardens below. lost in thought, as per usual..

marriage had been one of his top priorities ever since the throne had been all but snatched from his sister. the burden of finding a great economic and eternal partner fell upon him. as much as he hated to admit it, it felt like he’d finally crossed something off of a never ending checklist. he felt like he could move on to the next great task of his.

of course, that left you at the ridiculously large dining room table alone. even though you were surrounded by a select few handmaidens and footmen, you couldn’t recall a time loneliness had ever felt so intense. were honeymoons also a thing of the past? or, god forbid, conversations with your spouse that lasted longer than five minutes?

as you ate, you reflected on everything you’d wished to bring up to jeonghan that night. how you regretted snapping at him on your less than climactic wedding night, the embarrassment you felt when during the first meeting with parliament.. most importantly, how badly you wished to get to know him. he seemed like a nice enough fellow with a penchant for mischief- maybe some humor could soothe your anxieties.

but he seemed to constantly switch from seeing you as a humorous spectacle to a nuisance. or perhaps.. an item on his stupid checklist that he checks off every time he so much as glances in your direction.

the plate wasn’t even half empty by the time you’d excused yourself. as much as you hated the thought of good food going to waste, eating felt like a chore at a time like this.

since the king and queen had prematurely arrived from their excursion they encouraged the two of you to carry on with the coronation as quickly as possible. this command, of course, affected the servants as well. preparations that usually took weeks and weeks of hard labor were now to be condensed into less than a week’s time. and of course, one of those preparations they were to oversee was your apparel.

your wedding gown was merely a forgettable party dress compared to the gown you were to wear for your coronation. layers and layers of silks, laces, jewels, any spectacular material that was sure to turn heads was to be sewn into the largest, downright flocculent dress. you felt guilty upon realizing that it was a previous monarch’s dress- but it provided a little comfort knowing they began alterations before you’d arrived.

you stood on the platform near the center of your bedroom, staring at your reflection in the mirror and inattentively watching the seamstresses work at your feet. your arms came to rest stiffly near your waist as not to ruin the trim under your arms and near your hips. pins still adorned most of the fabric clinging to your figure and you feared even the smallest movement would ruin their progress.

suddenly, there was a knock at the door. gahyun set down her scissors in favor of rushing to open it and was immediately startled by the sight of your visitor, “oh- good morning, your highness.”

in less than a second, jeonghan smiled and nodded politely towards each servant in the room before locking eyes with you. he stopped in front of the platform and his smile only grew. “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, your majesty.”

you bit your tongue as the temptation to return his seemingly genuine compliment with a sassy remark became unbearable. ‘surprised you noticed.’ ‘then why do you avoid me at every chance you get?’ instead, you forced a polite smile. “what brings you here this morning?”

“i just wanted to see how you were feeling about the upcoming coronation,” he shrugged, watching gahyun get back to trimming the hem of your heavy skirts.

“really?” you thought out loud. you weren’t expecting such a..generous effort on jeonghan’s part, all things considered. still.. he always had a way of surprising you.

he nodded without hesitation, appearing too gleeful to be unsuspicious. “really.”

“alright, i suppose,” you replied while uncomfortably shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “how difficult could it be besides wearing a crown and promising to rule the kingdom with integrity and grace?”

he rubbed the back of his neck and avoided your gaze, as if he knew much more than he was letting on. something about the way his eyes widened once they fell to the floor told you everything you needed to know. “yes, of course. except the small factor that it will be in front of the entire kingdom…”

“as expected,” you sighed.

“and..” he paused, once again meeting your gaze with pursed lips. “you’re expected to address your new subjects..”

“what?!” you shrieked, catching gahyun and everyone else at your feet off guard. to be honest, if they accidentally pricked you with pins and needles you probably wouldn’t have noticed.

jeonghan furrowed his eyebrows, stifling a chuckle. “what..you mean you didn’t know? i thought your parents would have-”

“no,” you interrupted in a low tone, feeling your heart drop to your stomach. “they didn’t tell me a thing.” and of course they hadn’t bothered to see you before the most important day of your life, perhaps to warn you what such an occasion might entail. there was no doubt in your mind that this was definitely the worst case scenario.

although you were the only child in the royal family, you rarely found yourself addressing the kingdom. you had watched your parents address their subjects several times before, wishing to steal even an ounce of their confidence, their charm.. to say you weren’t much of a public speaker was definitely an undersell.

the mere thought of addressing a large crowd of strangers made your stomach churn. not to mention the knowledge that every single person depended on you and your new husband, who was like a stranger to you, for their wellbeing..

“are you alright? you look a little..pale,” jeonghan noted, his voice mixed with amusement and concern.

you forced yourself to meet his gaze, clearing your throat. putting on your best, most artificial smile, you told him, “yes. yes, i’m doing just fine.”

you clung to the tiny slip of parchment so tightly that it was wrinkled beyond repair. you and gahyun had worked tirelessly to prepare a statement for the coronation, hoping to convey every heartfelt sentiment you were sure they would love to hear from you. but, as much as you’d practiced reciting it out loud, you didn’t feel quite capable of memorizing it.

it didn’t help that it was terribly, terribly hot that day and you were wearing nearly thirty layers of fabric. you were forced to reminisce about the day of your arrival, the unfortunate incident you had in the garden in front of everyone.. and of course, you were forced to pray that nothing like that would happen again. and pray and pray and pray some more.

before the ceremony begun, you were surprised to see your parents sitting in the front row. however, as relieved as you were to see them finally make an effort to support you, disappointment quickly came in its place as you realized they hadn’t congratulated you, wished you good luck, or at the very least, said hello to you.

but you could deal with all of those emotions later.

once you and jeonghan reached one of the lower balconies of the palace, which was spacious enough for seating an elite few and granted each and every villager a decent view of the newly weds, the crowd’s cheering and whistling was drowned out by your racing heartbeat, which you felt in your temples. the sun seemed to shine directly on the two of you (and you wondered if it was the king and queen’s intention), the air was thick and humid, and there were many, many, many more people in the courtyard than you were expecting.

jeonghan took you by the hand and you weren’t sure if it was part of the ceremony or an effort to soothe your visible nerves. once you looked up to him, he was already smiling at you, brightly.. as if he’d discovered one of the world’s greatest treasures and had the honor of keeping it all to himself. his eyes shone with admiration, his smile lighting up his features..no one had ever looked at you that way. especially not him.

jihoon, dressed in smart black robes with a pair of spectacles resting near the top of his head, stepped in front of the two of you, “i apologize- i know that this is all happening really quickly for the two of you.”

jeonghan was quick to brush off the younger man’s apology, chuckling. “honestly, i think we’re both just happy it's happening sooner rather than later.” he looked towards you, his eyebrows raising once he noticed you looking a little worse for the wear. “right?”

you blinked repeatedly and cleared your throat. “right. yeah. right, of course.”

jihoon, although appearing unconvinced, nodded his head. “very well. then let’s get on with it, shall we?”

once again, you nodded towards the two men in reassurance and watched the younger of the two step forward to address the crowd. his words faded, losing their clarity as you took a look around the balcony. the king and queen were seated merely inches away from you and jeonghan, sending the two of you a prideful smile. mostly jeonghan.. not that you could blame either of them.

the two of you were definitely a sight to behold, wearing a matching shade of deep blue. white fur lined the sleeves of either of your robes, jewels were encased in the fabric of your bodice and the trim near his upper arms. however, one of you looked significantly sicker than the other..

as much as you hated to admit it, jihoon’s statement towards the people was completely lost on you. you were pulled out of your daze once he turned his back on them in favor of facing the two of you, motioning for wonwoo and soonyoung to approach him with the large pillows carrying the ceremonial crowns.

soonyoung, tasked with gifting you the ridiculously large crown, avoided your gaze as he placed it carefully and securely on the top of your head. wonwoo mirrored his actions, doing the same for jeonghan. the crowd erupted into deafening applause, cheering as loudly as they could for their new king and queen as soon as the two of you were sworn in.

suddenly, jeonghan stepped forward and the courtyard fell eerily silent. he spoke as loudly as he was able as he addressed the crowd with such regal ease, “good day to you all. my queen and i are thrilled that all of you took time out of your busy day to attend an important day for the two of us.”

much to your surprise, he turned around to meet your gaze and held out his hand for you to take. you did so with timidity before he gently pulled you to stand at his side, his fingers still laced delicately with yours. but it wasn’t in a territorial or possessive manner.. it felt more as if he saw you as his partner and wished for his (and your) subjects to do the same.

or maybe, it just occurred to you, it was an act..

he brushed his thumb along your wedding ring, smiling to himself before continuing, “but.. it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge a terrible thing that has troubled our nation for too long.”

it looked as if the entire crowd was holding their breath. seungkwan, standing near the edge of the balcony with gahyun, went wide eyed and you could have sworn you saw him mutter something under his breath. perhaps some pleading, some cursing.. maybe both.

jeonghan took a deep breath, squeezing your hand as if the most incapable person on that makeshift stage could provide him any semblance of reassurance. “there has been a terrible stigma around practitioners of magic, namely sorcerers, witches, warlocks, enchantresses-”

he paused, drawing in a shaky breath. now the crowd was definitely holding their breath… you suddenly felt faint; you weren’t entirely sure if it was due to the gravity of his words or the fact you knew it was your turn to speak next.

“and i wish to put an end to the defamation of each and every one of them,” he finally continued. “i am certain that such hatred is rooted deep within my family history and hope that by the time my reign has ended…no one in this kingdom feels like they have to live in fear.”

once again, following jeonghan’s words, you took a quick look around the balcony. seungkwan looked bewildered, gahyun looked confused, his mother and father looked… neutral? somewhat calculating..

applause scattered throughout the sea of people in waves, startled expressions capturing your attention. jeonghan squeezed your hand again and looked intently into your eyes, as if to silently communicate his best wishes to you. it didn’t do much, unfortunately; you had no idea how you were supposed to follow a display like that…

you stepped forward and cleared your throat, speaking as loudly as you were able (which of course, was not very much), “h-hello.. i’m thrilled to be a part of th-” you paused, allowing yourself a small glance at the wrinkled piece of paper you’d kept hidden in your free hand. however, once you unfolded it, the wind promptly blew it out of your shaking hands.

your stomach was doing somersaults at this point, your lower lip quivering as you stared at the crowd in a confused stupor. you had nothing memorized. speaking from the heart wasn’t an option; you’d never had a way with words in the way your parents did. but silence wasn’t one either. your throat ran dry, your voice coming out scratchy as you stumbled over your words,

“i’m- i’m absolutely thrilled to be part of this family..and this kingdom..” you paused, your heartbeat practically echoing in your throat at this point. “this kingdom… i’m so.. so thrilled to learn more about.”

suddenly, you made eye contact with your mother. the disappointment in her expression, mixed with the bile rising within your stomach was enough to force you off of the balcony. you booked it towards the french doors and slapped your hand over your mouth, confusing the audience and startling your companions on the balcony greatly.

“for god’s sake, the crown!!” soonyoung shrieked and promptly plucked it off of your head, much to the visible relief of jihoon.

once safely inside the halls and behind the large doors, you thoughtlessly threw up into the nearest and largest vase, which sported an impressive majesty palm. guilt briefly, very briefly crept over you once you thought about how long it must have taken to attend to such a plant.. and of course, that made you sick all over again.

you quickly rose to your feet once the door clicked open, backing away from the vase and stumbling in the process. jeonghan emerged from the chaos-stricken balcony, promptly shutting the door behind him. “what on god’s green earth just happened??”

“jeonghan, i’m sorry..” you spoke, your chest stiffening upon hearing his unfamiliar harsh tone and once again recalling just how restricting your corset was. you were met with an unwelcome sense of deja vu.

he looked around the small space between the two of you, eyebrows furrowed before his narrowed eyes fell to the majesty palm next to him. “you threw up into that pot, didn’t you?”

“...no-”

jeonghan sighed in exasperation and rubbed at his temples, muttering his annoyance under his breath. “for god’s sake. you are a queen now! you are a leader! you have to get a hold of yourself and show some refinement!”

“don’t you think i know that?” you snapped, your eyes growing wide partially out of shock. you’d expected him to laugh, to ignore you maybe.. but you never expected him to reprimand you for a simple mistake. “don’t you know how i’ve prepared for this day my entire life-”

“your majesty-”

“that i’m expected to be nothing besides a perfect, composed and beautiful wife-”

jeonghan grimaced, avoiding your gaze. “i know fully well-”

you snapped, effectively silencing him, “but i couldn’t be the furthest thing from a perfect, composed and beautiful wife! not that you would notice or even care!” you paused, your throat aching from the effort of your cathartic shrieks. “since i’ve been here, you make no effort to get to know me. you laugh at me one moment, you flirt with me another, you ignore me the very next-”

“yo-”

“i beg of you! i beg of you to just tell me outright that you resent me, that i embarrass you, that-”

“would you let me speak??” jeonghan finally cut you off, frustration causing him to raise his voice but not to an alarming rate. when you fell silent, he did the same, and for a moment undeniable tension muddled the air in the hallway. for a moment it was like he desperately wanted to speak but couldn’t formulate a dignified response.

suddenly, the french doors swung open and startled the two of you. gahyun and seungkwan appeared, the former appearing to be much more level-headed than the latter. the steward immediately stepped towards jeonghan, his cheeks reddening and eyes widened to nearly twice their size. “what the hell was that?? you said you weren’t going to say anything!”

“i lied,” jeonghan stated dryly but with firmness all the same. it was becoming increasingly apparent that his mind was still elsewhere as he argued, “i couldn’t just stand there in these ridiculous clothes and be paraded like some sort of doll. i had to say something!”

seungkwan groaned, the sound echoing throughout the large hallway. “jeonghan- do you not realize what’s at stake here??”

“what’s done is done,” jeonghan snapped, letting out a heavy sigh of annoyance and exhaustion. “whatever happens-”

gahyun, with her eyes glued to the two men in front of her, calmly interjected, “i don’t understand..” her shoulders stiffened once jeonghan and seungkwan turned to face her, awaiting her explanation. “jeonghan has complete control of the throne now and clearly.. he has the best intentions- how.. how-”

“what are you two on about?” you interrupted, voicing gahyun’s thoughts in a more aggressive manner than she’d initially intended.

the two men froze, jeonghan’s narrowed eyes meeting yours. much to your own surprise, they were not filled with disdain or annoyance towards you. actually, it was more along the lines of..hopelessness. dread. exhaustion. and then, when jeonghan spoke in a calm tone it finally dawned on you, “there’s a lot more that goes on behind the scenes than you may realize.”

he was gone before you could ask him to elaborate.

the next few days that followed were miserable, to say the least. jeonghan threw himself into his work, uninterested and incapable of focusing on anything else. meanwhile, you were still feeling physically and emotionally spent after the coronation and opted to spend most of your time in any corner of the palace he wasn’t. you avoided him like the plague, and he seemed to extend the same discourtesy towards you.

even during his meetings you were allowed to sit in on, the two of you only really spoke together when necessary. once again, you hated to think that this was the life you’d never really signed up for.

it was nearing the time for you to join jeonghan in a meeting with the entire court again. considering how awkward the last council was, you weren’t sure if you should strategize an escape or an excuse to remain completely silent. when it rolled around, however, you knew you were utterly doomed to participate in conversations you had little to no idea about.

upon taking your seat on the throne, you instantly began wringing nervously with your hands. the room was unnervingly silent while awaiting jeonghan’s arrival, every individual in the room appearing to go out of their way to avoid eye contact with you. it only made you all the more nervous, wondering just how many conversations concerning your incompetence took place behind closed doors.

jeonghan arrived with seungkwan trailing behind him, the two men appearing exhausted. there were pronounced dark circles under the young king’s eyes, signalling another sleepless night. you thought of how you wished desperately to help him.. but feared that you didn’t have the tools or even the bare knowledge of how to do so.

all eyes remained solely on jeonghan as he took a seat next to you, nodding towards jihoon in silence without greeting him with so much as a half-hearted smile. the chairman rose to his feet, capturing the attention of everyone in the room so effortlessly that it made you jealous.

“it’s good to have you all here again,” he stated without much emotion in his tone, causing you to wonder if he truly meant it. “it has been a confusing, daunting time for our new king as he grapples with the responsibility of running this kingdom. but during the time approaching the coronation and even after the ceremony, new issues have come to our attention.

“the first subject the court wishes to bring attention to, your highness, is the statement you made concerning the magical practitioners in the kingdom.” he turned around, facing the king with a somewhat suspenseful look in his eyes and making an effort to avoid looking at you for even a second.

jeonghan couldn’t help but chuckle darkly at the way jihoon’s voice trailed off, as the younger man expected the king to finish his sentence for him. and at that moment it was clear as day that during the shift of power, tensions were higher than ever in the palace. “yes? and what of it?” he asked in partial amusement.

“what happens now?” soonyoung chimed in, rising to his feet.

“what happens now?” jeonghan repeated incredulously. “how do you mean?”

wonwoo rose to his feet, his voice as monotonous as ever, “should we expect to see more of them permitted to enter the palace?”

it was the first time since you’d met him that he appeared somewhat..flustered. even then, he remained cool and collected without as much of a shift in his tone. “well.. maybe, yes.”

jihoon chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “‘maybe? yes?’” he paused, looking back and forth from the king to his court in an unnerving manner. “your highness, with all due respect all we want is a straight answer.”

“i can’t really give any of you a straight answer when you ask such condescending, idiotic questions,” jeonghan snapped, his tone effortless and even somewhat laid back. “these incredibly gifted people are just that, people, just like you and me. and yet.. we ostracized them, why? because of jealousy? greed? because we, as very fortunate people, are angry because the gods have not blessed us with extraordinary powers?”

“if i may, your highness,” wonwoo interjected before the king’s words could fully register with everyone in the room. “perhaps we could turn this into something that benefits everybody.”

jeonghan’s eyes narrowed and he almost looked..completely disgusted. “and what do you propose?”

wonwoo’s expression remained blank and he didn’t even raise his voice an octave. it was.. somewhat alarming, the way he was able to keep his cool during such a tempestuous meeting. “perhaps if we came to a financial agreement with them, it could give other kingdoms, like your wife’s for example, more incentive to trade with us. surely they’re in possession of magical elements, potions-”

“absolutely not,” jeonghan shook his head, seeing no purpose to provide any reasoning. hopefully, it wouldn’t take much critical thinking to see why he steadfastly rejected the idea.

the room fell silent, everyone in the room appearing to be silently wrestling with the dilemma of speaking up and saying their piece. when you looked over to jeonghan, his arm was draped over the furthest armrest of his throne, his piercing eyes practically burning a hole through the door on the other side of the room. you knew the feeling…

“if i may,” the three words slipped out of your lips before you even had time to process your thoughts. all eyes fell on you in anticipation, but.. it didn’t feel like they were waiting eagerly for you to speak the way they did for jeonghan. it felt more like they were waiting for you to say or do something embarrassing again. “i think jeon- the king only wishes for them to live in peace. to come out of the shadows without being expected to act a certain way.”

“and what would you know of this matter?” jihoon finally spoke up after practically stewing in silence. his tone startled you, prompting your cheeks to heat up upon realizing just how flustered you’d become.

“i’m sorry..?” you asked in the most polite tone you could muster.

jihoon paused, pacing back and forth in front of both thrones and practically monologuing to the court rather than to you. “you’ve clearly made no effort to learn anything about our kingdom. you know nothing of this family’s history. you walk into the palace blindly and expect to be doted upon and held to the highest regard simply because of who you married.”

“that is quite enough.”

you snapped your head back to see jeonghan, his jaw clenched as he sat in intimidating silence. his anger practically radiated off of him- but why? why had he decided to finally speak up?

“what?” jihoon chuckled in bewilderment.

“i said that is enough. you have absolutely no right to talk to my wife in such a manner.” my wife.. “she is your superior. she is your queen. you, actually, all of you-” he gestured towards everyone in the room, even sitting on the edge of his seat for effect. “would do well to treat her with the respect she inherently deserves. not just as your queen.. but as a human being. is that perfectly clear or would you have me elaborate any further?”

everyone fell silent including you. he hadn’t gotten quite this defensive over any particular subject during his meetings, as far as you were aware…but here he was, so readily defending your honor for the first time. it felt like someone had knocked all of the air out of your chest and you could only sit there gawking…in the best possible way, of course.

however, no one else in the room seemed to be rejoicing upon discovering jeonghan’s newfound attentiveness. the two of you were met with mostly neutral expressions, a few sheepish efforts to avoid your collective gaze, and even a few awkward nods. jihoon donned a stunned expression, staying silent as he mentally calculated his next statement.

“very well,” he finally spoke. “my apologies. can we carry on?”

“please do,” jeonghan replied without hesitation, his back slumped against the throne. throughout the rest of the meeting, you finally found yourself enabled to mirror his effortless confidence knowing that at least one person in that room truly believed in you.

———

you didn’t speak much with jeonghan after the fateful meeting; he was dragged away to another one soon after it ended. for the rest of the day, you kept to yourself, replaying the events in your mind over and over..how quickly your husband jumped to your defense. was it because of what you’d said to him at the coronation? had he finally come to his senses?

you couldn’t help but wonder if there was a twinge of truth to what jihoon said. you still had much to learn about the kingdom, about your new family’s history, and you could no longer blame your parents for being so negligent. especially when it never occurred to you to simply ask..

later that evening, you found your way to the library. nothing sounded better than getting lost in a world that wasn’t your own, all alone, at that. but.. upon pushing the door open and realizing you weren’t alone, you froze. jeonghan, sitting on the large sofa with his back towards you, looked past his shoulder and greeted you with a.. neutral, half-hearted smile.

strange. you would have expected him to order you to leave. especially after noticing how.. out of sorts he seemed after promptly leaving the courtroom.

you cleared your throat, an awkward shift in your tone causing your voice to crack, “sorry, i can leave-”

“no.” jeonghan shook his head before shifting in place to create more space for you on the sofa. “you don’t have to do that.”

his statement caught you off guard, leaving you standing frozen in the doorway for a moment or two. he actually..wanted you to sit with him? after everything.. you followed through with his silent request against your better judgement, crossing to the sofa and timidly sitting down. you left plenty of space between either of your figures, barely even glancing at him out of your peripheral vision.

jeonghan had to chuckle at the absurdity but made no effort of closing the space between the two of you or forcing eye contact. he sat in silence for a moment, reveling in how the tension seemed to have dissipated since the unfortunate argument after the coronation. “i wanted to thank you,” he finally spoke, his words slow and deliberate. “for what you said earlier.”

your eyebrows knitted together; you’d nearly forgotten what you said on his behalf just hours earlier. “i should be thanking you, your highness,” you chuckled faintly just as the bashfulness began to take over. the more you thought of his defensive words, the more your heart began to race.. “besides.. you were right. they should know that not everything is a transaction.”

he nodded in agreement and hummed, a gentle sigh soon following. for just a moment, silence filled the space between the two of you and you were forced to contemplate scooting closer. or even just asking him your burning question.. but he beat you to the punch, speaking in a near whisper, “i think you were right.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, staring at your hands placed delicately upon your lap. “about..?”

a small chuckle left his lips, “i’ve been misleading. you probably felt as if you were married to three different versions of the same person.”

you paused, contemplating his words for a moment. “i couldn’t have said it better myself.”

another chuckle before his tone shifted to one with much more intent, his head tilting against the back of the couch to meet your gaze. “i’m going to be forthright from now on. we’re going to be working together for a while; we could do well to work on communicating.”

you nodded in agreement, mirroring his position and finally meeting his gaze. once you quickly got lost in his dark irises, that familiar warmth spread throughout your heart and your cheeks.. but now was not the time to get lost in your flustered state. or your husband’s eyes for that matter. “i will too.”

jeonghan slowly nodded, something of a smile tugging at just one corner of his lips. “good. good.” he paused, briefly looking down towards his lap. “then i should tell you..things are not going to be easy around here. as you’ve probably already guessed, there’s a lot of terrible things happening and..i’m so so sorry to think that you’ve been thrown into all of this without much preparation or notice.”

“well.. i could have done better to prepare myself,” you countered lowly, jeonghan’s reprimanding words coming to mind once again. “and..show some refinement.”

jeonghan shook his head, visibly dismayed by your words. “no.”

“no?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he paused, allowing you to watch him formulate his response while his gaze softened. it was the closest thing to vulnerability you’d ever seen from this man and it wasn’t even concerning his own emotions. “you get nervous. i understand. i get nervous too.” he paused, letting out a soft chuckle that contained no malice. “it just.. manifests itself in different ways for the both of us.”

“you get nervous?” you asked, your voice filled with disbelief. “you’re lying.”

“no, i really do,” jeonghan replied defensively. “i tense up. i shut myself down.. i don’t want to talk to anyone.”

you paused, looking away in favor of staring at your lap again. such a simple statement explained so so much.. you thought out loud, “i..can’t believe that it never really occurred to me until now that..your life is changing too. you weren’t expecting any of this to happen so quickly, especially after your sister-”

your voice trailed off just as you met your husband’s gaze once more. flustered couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt upon discovering his eyes were already on you. he spoke lowly, his delicate voice sending shivers down your spine, “at least we don’t have to go through it completely alone anymore.”

his words brought a smile to your lips, a lingering one that jeonghan clearly found infectious. for the first time since you’d moved into your new, unfamiliar home, things felt..comfortable. almost perfect. but you would be remiss without asking him, “if you don’t mind me asking..why did you get so defensive over me earlier?”

for a brief moment, he appeared taken aback by your words and you wondered briefly if he felt just as flustered. and then he spoke simply to you, as if the answer should have already been obvious, “i care about you.”

“you..care about me?” you asked incredulously while still managing to keep your voice lowered.

“yes,” he replied without any semblance of uncertainty. he looked down, allowing you a glance at his perfectly curled eyelashes resting upon his cheeks, and promptly took your hand in his. since the wedding, you’d forgotten how it felt to have his bare hand against yours, the way it immediately brought butterflies to your stomach. “more than expected.”

you chuckled, making an effort to lace your fingers with his and give his palm a gentle squeeze. “i don’t know if i should take that as a compliment or not.”

he laughed, and it prompted that warm feeling in your cheeks all over again. “you should. you should take it as a compliment.”

“very well,” you laughed and shifted in your place on the sofa, using it as an excuse to scoot just a little bit closer to him. the two of you looked away at the same time, staring at your respective laps in the most comfortable silence that had taken place within the palace. “thank you.”

“i think-” he spoke up, watching you pull your gaze away from the lace on your skirts and focus on his wide, expressive eyes instead. “we should start planning our honeymoon.”

“honeymoon?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. you couldn’t resist an opportunity to tease him. “i was not aware you knew such a thing existed.”

jeonghan briefly stuck out his lower lip in a pout before admitting, “i’ve been really foolish lately. i would like to make it up to you.”

you shook your head in reassurance, “please. don’t feel pressured-”

“i don’t,” he gently cut you off and squeezed your hand. “for the first time in forever.. i don’t feel pressured. and i want.. i want you alone. i want to spend more time with you. please..please let me do this for you.”

you would have chuckled if you weren’t so incredibly flattered by his words. if flattered was even the correct way to describe the sentiment. “very well.”

a prideful smile immediately tugged at his lips, leaving you bewildered at just how expressive this man truly was. “brilliant.” another pause..then he brought his free hand up to rest against your jawline. his touch was gentle but firm, as if he was scared to make the wrong move again and lose his precious time with you.

but he had nothing to be afraid of. you quickly found yourself leaning in to press your lips against his in a chaste but heartfelt kiss, one that seemed to convey everything the two of you had just spoken of. your lips gently parted against his upon feeling his hand squeeze your own tightly, warmth spreading throughout your heart as a direct result.

the two of you broke apart, only so jeonghan could move his hand from yours to curl around your figure while the other remained practically glued to your cheek. his lips found yours again and this time, it was one of the furthest things from the innocent kisses you’d shared. he seemed to be pouring his heart out to you as he moved his lips with yours and you listened willingly, devoting every ounce of attention you had to his beautiful pouty lips.

he held you tight against him without caring just how scandalous such a simple movement could be perceived to be. in turn, you draped an arm around his shoulders and brushed through his short, well kept hair as your lips desperately, desperately chased his. a knock on the door startled the two of you, but you were more lost in the way his nose brushed against yours as he pulled away to compose himself.

“come in!” he called out just after the two of you sat properly on the sofa, making space between your shoulders again. he sent you a devilish smirk just before the door clicked open, his flirtatious expression promptly dissolving into a more neutral one.

it wasn’t long before seungkwan stepped inside, standing firmly in front of the two of you without a single clue what had just taken place… “your highness, the king requests a word.”

jeonghan fell silent, as if he’d been forced to come back to reality too quickly. after sending you an apologetic glance he rose to his feet, “very well. tell him i’ll be there shortly.” once seungkwan left (rather quickly, at that), you took his place beside jeonghan and reached for his hand again.

“is there anything i can do?” you asked, bringing his hand to rest against your chest. jeonghan smiled upon feeling your heart race just near the spot where his knuckles had found purchase against the fabric of your dress.

he shook his head. “i’ll detail you on everything once i get out of this. i promise.” he brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles and causing you to chuckle when he all but suctioned his lips against them in a dramatic fashion. “just think about where you’d like me to take you on our honeymoon.”

you nodded, thoughtlessly moving your hand to cup his cheek in an effort to reassure him. to silently remind him that no matter what would happen, you would be there for him. that neither of you had to go through this alone for much longer. “your wish is my command,” you whispered.

“in that case..” he paused, the alarmingly attractive smirk tugging at his lips once more. “will you wait for me in our bedroom? i seem to remember another detail we both have skipped over.”

“absolutely,” you whispered before pressing a gentle kiss against his lips, smiling into the kiss before quickly pulling away. you had no intention of letting yourself get too carried away. “now go. i’ll still be in the palace when you get out, dear husband.”

“i’m counting on it.”

as you watched him leave, a snicker fell from your lips; he couldn’t stop himself from stealing a longing glance at you while making an effort to step out of the library. he looked past his shoulder once, twice, three times, before finally giggling to himself and shutting the door. a loud, dazed sigh on your part filled in the silence before you exited through the other door, determined to keep your promise.

you made no effort to get rid of your lovestruck, downright idiotic smile as you started up the stairs. warmth spread throughout your entire figure as you came to realize… while the two of you still had a lot of things to figure out, neither of you could deny that things were much, much better than expected.

318 notes · View notes

diamonddaze01 · 5 months ago

Text

Full Throttle (i)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 20.6K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOOOOOW BURN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // eventual smut.

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record

summary: jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

a/n: this one is gonna be long. buckle in. this is dedicated to kae @ylangelegy , who was the one who pushed me to write this in the first place, and also graciously beta read this // this is also dedicated to alta @haologram , who watched me lose my mind over this for so long and gave me so much love and support as i wrote this. // huge thanks to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading and giving me their thoughts, especially about when things were too technical // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 2 here! <3

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit

The Australian Grand Prix had come to an end, but the buzz from the race still lingered in the air. The paddock had started to quiet down, though the echo of cheers and the scent of champagne were still fresh. Jeonghan stood at the edge of the pit lane, watching as the last of the mechanics began to clean up, the high of the win beginning to settle into a low hum of satisfaction.

His fingers absentmindedly brushed over his helmet, the familiar weight grounding him after the chaos of the race. But his mind wasn’t on the mechanics or the trophy waiting for him. No, it was on you.

You had walked away with that smug grin of yours, and even now, hours later, the image of you—cool, collected, and far too clever for your own good—lingered in his thoughts. The way you’d turned the tables on him, effortlessly making him feel like the one caught off guard. For once, it hadn’t been about the race or the rumors swirling around his personal life—it had been about you and the way you knew how to press all his buttons without breaking a sweat.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. "I should’ve asked her to dinner."

But there was no time for that now. The press was waiting. The fans, too. He needed to play the role of the cool, collected champion for the cameras, the last thing he needed was another round of gossip, another round of teasing from the people who loved to stir the pot. And yet, the thought of you, the way you’d made him feel a mix of frustration and something else entirely, was almost too tempting to ignore.

The crew cheered as he finally made his way back to the motorhome, the world still swirling in a whirlwind of victory and flashing cameras. But inside, it was quieter. More personal.

"Jeonghan!" His manager greeted him with a smile, the kind of smile that signaled the end of a long race and the beginning of yet another whirlwind of interviews, photos, and meetings. But Jeonghan only half-listened as his manager spoke, his mind flickering back to the conversation earlier.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, don't you?" His manager chuckled, noticing the distraction in his eyes. "The headlines are still buzzing. You planning on setting the record straight anytime soon?"

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "Let them talk," he muttered, flashing a grin. "It’s part of the game."

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. It was you. The way you’d baited him, just enough to make him feel the heat of the moment. He had never been this distracted by anyone—or anything—before.

"You have a minute?" a voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. It was his publicist, holding a phone in one hand, the other gesturing toward the press conference set up for him in the next room.

Jeonghan looked at her, then glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see you again. But you were gone, just like that. He gave a small sigh, almost imperceptible to anyone watching.

"Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this," he muttered, before stepping forward. Jeonghan’s footsteps echoed through the motorhome hallway, the thrum of victory still running through his veins, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the way you’d looked at him—those piercing eyes, full of challenge. He'd seen that expression before, but this time felt different. You weren’t just some reporter stirring up a bit of drama—you were someone who knew exactly how to get under his skin.

His publicist was waiting outside the press room, ready to brief him on the upcoming interviews and meetings. "You’ve got a full schedule, Jeonghan," she said, giving him the rundown with practiced precision. But Jeonghan barely heard her, his mind still distracted by the way you’d turned the tables.

"Hey," he cut in, slowing to a stop in front of her. "What do you know about Y/N?" he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The publicist blinked in surprise, and beside her, his manager gave a short laugh. "Y/N? You mean the reporter?" the manager asked, voice dripping with amusement. "The one you’ve had run-ins with over the past couple of seasons?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "Run-ins?" he repeated, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. "What exactly are you implying?"

The publicist shrugged, exchanging a look with the manager. "She’s been covering F1 for a while, pretty sharp with her articles," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "Some of them have definitely gotten attention, especially that one a few weeks ago... the one about you and the whole ‘mysterious love life’ thing." Her eyes flicked to his manager, who made a face at the mention of that piece.

Jeonghan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d tried to forget about that article, but your earlier conversation (read as: challenge) had baffled him. "I shouldn’t have said anything," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "But you know she always gets a rise out of me, don’t you?"

The manager snickered. "Oh, we know. It’s not every day we get to watch you struggle to keep your cool. She’s got a way with words, that one." He winked. "But hey, I get it. She’s a great reporter—sharp, clever—and always knows where to find the juiciest stories. You just might want to be a little more careful with what you say around her next time."

Jeonghan smirked. "Careful? Since when have I ever been careful?"

His publicist gave a pointed look, clearly not impressed. "That’s not the problem, Jeonghan. It’s that you tend to forget she knows exactly what buttons to push."

Jeonghan chuckled, his eyes glinting with a new energy. "Oh, she’s good, I’ll give her that. But I’m not so easily rattled." His mind wandered back to the way you’d smirked and walked off, leaving him standing there feeling like he'd just been served a dish of his own medicine.

"Don’t underestimate her," the manager added, half-joking. "You’ve been in this game long enough to know, no one gets a rise out of you like that without knowing exactly what they’re doing."

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you’re right. But maybe..." He trailed off, eyes narrowing as a plan started to form in his mind. "...Maybe it’s time I gave her a taste of her own medicine."

The publicist and manager exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything. They knew that look—the one Jeonghan got whenever he was plotting something, usually with a dash of mischief and just the right amount of charm to make it impossible for anyone to say no. The same charm that had gotten him into trouble more times than they cared to count.

"You’ve got your interviews now, Jeonghan," his publicist reminded him gently, pulling him back to reality. "We can revisit this later. Just keep your head in the game for now."

He nodded, though his mind was still fixated on you. "Yeah, yeah. Later."

As he entered the press room, he was immediately hit with a barrage of questions. The usual ones about his win, his performance, and his plans for the rest of the season. But even as he answered, his thoughts lingered on you and that damn article. You were always one step ahead, always stirring the pot just enough to keep things interesting. But now, it seemed you had caught his attention for real.

And maybe—just maybe—he was going to have some fun with this.

FORMULA 1 MSC CRUISES JAPANESE GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Suzuka Ciruit

The neon lights of Tokyo cast a kaleidoscope of colors on the bustling streets, the city alive with energy even late into the night. After a long day of prepping for the upcoming race, you’d decided to wind down with a quiet drink in a tucked-away bar that promised a moment’s reprieve from the chaos of the paddock.

The bar was small and intimate, the kind of place that felt like a secret only locals knew about. Jazz music hummed softly in the background, and you found a seat near the corner, ready to savor your drink in peace.

But of course, peace wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice made you freeze mid-sip. Turning your head, you found none other than Yoon Jeonghan standing a few feet away, his face lit with mild surprise and unmistakable amusement. He wasn’t in his Ferrari team gear for once—just a sleek black jacket and jeans, looking effortlessly casual in a way that somehow made him even more irritatingly attractive.

“Jeonghan,” you replied evenly, setting your drink down. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sliding onto the stool beside you without an invitation. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Taking a break from the madness.” His eyes flicked to your glass. “Whiskey? I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type.”

“And what type is that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into that trademark smirk. “The type who drinks whiskey alone in a bar and pretends they’re not thinking about work.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not thinking about work. I’m thinking about how nice it is to not deal with questions about lap times and tire strategies for five minutes.”

Jeonghan chuckled, signaling to the bartender for a drink. “Fair enough. Though, if memory serves, you’re usually the one asking those questions.”

“Occupational hazard,” you shot back. “And if memory serves, you’re usually the one avoiding them.”

“Touché.” He raised his glass when it arrived, a silent toast that you reluctantly mirrored with your own.

For a while, the conversation meandered through safer topics—Tokyo’s sights, the food, the insanity of race week—but there was an undercurrent of something sharper, a game of verbal ping-pong that neither of you seemed willing to let go of.

“You know,” Jeonghan said after a particularly clever jab from you about his less-than-stellar start in Australia, “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

“Oh?” you asked, amusement dancing in your tone. “Do tell.”

“You act all cool and collected, but deep down…” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in slightly. “…you love the chaos. You thrive on it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And what about you, Mr. Reigning Champion? Aren’t you the one who said chaos is just part of the game?”

“True,” he admitted with a lazy shrug. “But I like to think I’m more strategic about it.”

“Strategic?” you echoed, incredulous. “You literally said ‘let them talk’ after crossing the finish line in Australia. That’s not strategy, Jeonghan—that’s reckless arrogance.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how it made your chest tighten just a little. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, sipping your drink instead, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you with a knowing glint. “This feels familiar.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What does?”

“Let’s just say you have a knack for leaving me with something to think about,” he said casually, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

A flicker of amusement crossed your face. “Still losing sleep over it, Jeonghan?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low, laced with mischief. “Not quite. But I’ve been wondering if you’re all talk or if you actually mean half the things you say.”

You smirked, leaning back just a little. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Guess you’ll have to find out next time,” he said smoothly, signaling to the bartender and slipping his card onto the counter.

You frowned, catching on quickly. “Jeonghan, you don’t have to—”

“Of course I don’t,” he replied, his smirk growing as he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop, intimate and teasing. “But what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t treat you every now and then?”

“A terrible one,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, standing up and adjusting his jacket. “Always so quick with the comebacks.”

You tilted your head, not backing down. “And yet, here you are, still trying to keep up.”

He grinned, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “Oh, I’m not just keeping up, sweetheart. I’m leading.”

With that, he threw on his jacket, turning to leave, but not without one last playful remark. “Enjoy your night, Y/N. And next time…” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, his voice dipping lower. “Try putting that mouth of yours to better use.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you could hear his laugh as you watched him disappear into the neon-lit streets.

Damn him.

The Suzuka Circuit’s air was heavy with anticipation, the disappointment in Ferrari’s garage palpable. Jeonghan leaned against the barrier in the media pen, his crimson Ferrari suit contrasting with the growing dusk. Despite his relaxed posture, the tension radiating off him was hard to miss.

"Yoon Jeonghan," you began, stepping forward with your mic. "P11 today—your first time not making it to Q3 since your rookie season. What happened out there?"

His smile was thin, masking the fire simmering beneath. "Suzuka’s a tough circuit. I put in a solid lap, but in the end, it just wasn’t enough. A couple milliseconds make all the difference."

"Kim Mingyu of McLaren knocked you out in the dying seconds of the session," you pointed out, your tone as neutral as possible.

"Yeah, Mingyu had a great lap," he said, though his smirk betrayed a hint of frustration. "Kudos to him for that. It’s the nature of the game—sometimes you’re the one knocking others out, and sometimes you’re the one being knocked out."

You tilted your head, pressing just a little. "Ferrari’s upgrades were supposed to shine here at Suzuka. Do you think the car—or the driver—fell short today?"

His eyes met yours, sharp and knowing. "Is that your way of asking if I’m losing my edge?"

You smiled faintly. "Just doing my job, Jeonghan."

"And doing it well," he replied smoothly. "I’ll make sure to give you something better to write about tomorrow."

Yoon Jeonghan’s Q2 Knockout: A Sign of Ferrari’s Struggles or a Driver Underperforming?

Your analysis was live before the sun set over Suzuka, dissecting Jeonghan’s performance lap by lap:

"While Ferrari’s SF-24 showed promise in Q1, Jeonghan’s Q2 lap exposed cracks in execution. Hesitant braking into Spoon Corner cost him vital time, and a wide exit through Degner 2 raised questions about his confidence under high pressure. Kim Mingyu’s decisive lap in the McLaren only highlighted the contrast, leaving Ferrari fans wondering if Jeonghan can rebound from this rare stumble."

It didn’t take long for the article to ripple through the paddock—and reach its subject. The article was sharp, critical, with the same bite that you had become a household name for. And Jeonghan read every word.

He must have been an idiot to assume you would be kinder after the way he’d left you gobsmacked a few nights prior at the bar.

You had just wrapped up your interview with Mingyu, the day’s pole sitter, when Jeonghan found you.

"Got a minute?" he asked, voice deceptively light.

You glanced up, startled to find him so close, still in his Ferrari suit, his hair slightly damp from the cool-down lap.

"Something on your mind?" you replied, keeping your tone professional.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. "That article."

You raised an eyebrow. "Specificity helps, you know."

He chuckled darkly. "The one where you ripped apart my Q2 performance like you’re a technical director." He took a step closer, and for the first time, the calm façade cracked - his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Hesitant braking? Lack of confidence under pressure? You really think I’m losing my touch?"

"I think Suzuka demands perfection," you replied evenly. "And today, perfection wasn’t what we saw."

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "You love this, don’t you? Watching me stumble so you can tear me apart in print."

"Jeonghan," you said, straightening, "if you want me to write glowing reviews, give me something to work with."

"You should’ve mentioned how close I was to Mingyu’s time," he shot back.

"Close isn’t enough," you countered, coolly. "Not in this sport."

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Careful, sweetheart. Don’t let them think you’re this obsessed with me."

"Careful, Jeonghan," you shot back mockingly. "Sienna Hartley might not like hearing you get so worked up over me."

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could walk away. "Here’s an exclusive for you," he said, his voice sharp. "Me and Sienna? Not together."

You blinked, thrown off for just a moment before you schooled your expression. "Good to know. Now let go."

He released you immediately but lingered just long enough to murmur, "Don’t think this is over."

The Suzuka chaos worked in Jeonghan’s favor.

When the lights went out, Jeonghan’s start was perfect—clean, aggressive, calculated. By the first corner, he had already gained two places, capitalizing on a sluggish Alpine and threading the needle between a Williams and an AlphaTauri.

The midfield battle was fierce. Suzuka’s notorious esses demanded precision, and Jeonghan attacked them with surgical efficiency, his Ferrari responding like an extension of his own instincts. He overtook the Aston Martin of Lee Seokmin into Turn 11 with a move so bold the crowd audibly gasped.

Each pass felt like a small victory, but it wasn’t enough. The podium still felt miles away. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he navigated the sweeping Spoon Curve, catching a glimpse of the orange McLaren far ahead—Mingyu.

The memory of your post-quali interview slipped into his mind. Close isn’t enough. Not in this sport.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. Now wasn’t the time. Jeonghan approached Degner 2, the car planted firmly under him. He could feel the wear on his tires but knew he still had grip to spare. He glanced briefly at the digital display on his steering wheel, calculating the gap to the car ahead—P5, the Red Bull of Choi Seungcheol.

As he accelerated toward the Hairpin, your voice echoed in his head again. Hesitant braking. Confidence issues.

His jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger—it was something more complicated. Why did you always manage to get under his skin? He should’ve been focusing on tire wear, fuel management, or his next target, but instead, his mind betrayed him.

He thought of the way you’d smirked during the interview, how your tone had been sharp, almost daring. The way you’d walked away, leaving him with more to say.

Focus. He snapped himself back, braking perfectly into the Hairpin. The slip of attention hadn’t cost him, but it had been close. Too close.

A well-timed pit stop under a virtual safety car catapulted him to P4. He rejoined the track with fresh mediums, slicing through the field with an aggression that stunned even his team.

By Lap 40, he was staring down the rear wing of Kwon Soonyoung—his own teammate. The team’s radio lit up, the pit wall hesitating.

“Jeonghan, Soonyoung ahead on a different strategy. Keep it clean.”

He didn’t wait for a direct order. Into 130R, the fastest corner on the track, he swung to the outside. His car shuddered with the force of the maneuver, but he held his line, leaving Soonyoung no choice but to yield.

“P3, Jeonghan. You’re on the podium now. Great move.”

With only two laps to go, he was in P2, chasing Mingyu, who had a comfortable lead. Jeonghan knew catching him was impossible, but that wasn’t the point anymore. This was about proving something—to his team, the fans, and maybe even to you.

The Ferrari hummed beneath him, a symphony of power and precision. Every turn, every braking zone, every shift felt like redemption. When he crossed the line in P2, the roar of the crowd was deafening, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

The media room was packed, buzzing with questions for the podium finishers. You started with Mingyu, still glowing from his dominant victory.

“Kim Mingyu,” you began, “another win for McLaren. How does it feel to catch up to Jeonghan in the driver’s championship?”

Mingyu smiled, leaning into the mic. “It feels incredible. The car was perfect today, and the team did an amazing job. Credit to everyone back at the factory.”

Before you could move on to the next question, Jeonghan interjected from his spot.

“Must feel nice to start up front and stay there,” he quipped, his tone light but pointed.

Mingyu grinned, unfazed. “You would know, Jeonghan. But you kept me looking over my shoulder the whole time.”

The room chuckled, and you shot Jeonghan a warning glance, which he ignored entirely.

Later, when a question was directed at Jeonghan about his race recovery, his response was pointed. "Oh, you know. I’m pretty good at managing tire degradation. And I had a lot of people doubting me on this track specifically, so I had to prove them wrong too."

His gaze locked on yours as he delivered the last line, and the meaning wasn’t lost on you—or anyone else in the room.

Jeonghan barely made it three steps out of the press conference room before Soonyoung intercepted him, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tires like he had all the time in the world. The amusement on his face set Jeonghan’s internal alarms blaring.

“What the hell was that about?” Soonyoung asked, arms crossed in mock authority.

Jeonghan blinked, expertly schooling his expression into one of pure confusion. “What was what about?” he replied, his tone dripping with innocence.

“Oh, don’t even try to play dumb with me, Jeonghan. I know you too well.” Soonyoung’s grin widened as he stepped closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You were doing something during that press conference. I’ve never seen you look that smug unless you’re—”

“I was answering questions,” Jeonghan interrupted smoothly, plucking a water bottle from the cooler without breaking his stride. He unscrewed the cap with deliberate calm, taking a slow sip. “That’s what press conferences are for, in case you forgot.”

Soonyoung squinted at him, unconvinced. “Right. And here I thought press conferences were for you to pretend you’re unbothered while delivering backhanded digs at Kim Mingyu.”

Jeonghan barely managed to keep a straight face, though he felt the tiniest flicker of pride. He had been particularly good with his barbs today. Still, there was no way he was admitting that. “Don’t project, Soonyoung,” he drawled. “Not everyone uses media day as therapy.”

Before Soonyoung could retort, a new voice joined the conversation.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee.

“You know what?” Jeonghan asked warily, his eyes narrowing.

“That look you had during the Q&A,” Sunwoo continued, leaning casually against a tool chest. “You were staring at her, man. Like, full-on laser focus. It’s like you were trying to send her a message.”

Jeonghan’s grip on the water bottle tightened. He felt his ears heat up but refused to let it show. “I was answering her question,” he said evenly. “It’s called eye contact. You should try it sometime—people like that sort of thing.”

But Sunwoo wasn’t done. “And don’t think we didn’t notice you getting all flustered when Mingyu’s name came up,” he added, his smirk widening.

“Flustered?” Jeonghan repeated, letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “Right. That’s definitely the word I’d use to describe me.”

“Come on, dude.” Sunwoo shrugged, undeterred. “Admit it. You’ve got a crush.”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jeonghan froze mid-sip, choking slightly as the water went down the wrong way. He coughed, spluttering as Sunwoo and Soonyoung erupted into laughter.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said sharply once he’d recovered, pointing a finger at Sunwoo. “You’ve been spending too much time on TikTok. Get back to work before I have you polishing rims for the rest of the season.”

But Sunwoo only grinned wider, completely unbothered. “Jeonghan’s in loooove,” he teased, drawing out the word in a sing-song voice.

“I said that’s enough,” Jeonghan snapped, the slight pink tinge creeping up his neck completely betraying his forced composure. “Shouldn’t you be tuning an engine or something useful?”

Soonyoung, meanwhile, was doubled over laughing, clearly enjoying himself far too much. When he finally straightened, he clapped Jeonghan on the back. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. If you need advice, just let me know. I’m great with women.”

Jeonghan groaned, brushing him off. “The day I take advice from you, Soonyoung, is the day I retire. He shoved past them toward his motorhome, muttering under his breath. “Insufferable. Both of you.”

But even as he slammed the door behind him, Jeonghan couldn’t stop the echo of Sunwoo’s words from rattling around in his head.

You’ve got a crush.

He scoffed aloud, shaking his head. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, tossing the water bottle onto the couch. But as he sank down beside it, arms crossed and jaw tight, he couldn’t quite stop himself from wondering.

Jeonghan didn’t want to be here.

The club pulsed with energy, a humid swirl of bodies pressing too close, the bass reverberating in his chest like a persistent headache. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, and the air smelled faintly of spilled drinks and cheap cologne. Somewhere in the chaos, Soonyoung had disappeared, leaving Jeonghan to fend for himself.

He’d been ready to make his exit the moment they walked in, but Soonyoung had insisted. “You need to loosen up, Jeonghan. Let the adrenaline from the race wear off. Have a drink, maybe dance.”Jeonghan had scoffed at the idea, knowing full well that his reason for not wanting to stay wasn’t exhaustion.

No, it was you.

Even when you weren’t in the room, you lingered in his mind like the ghost of a song he couldn’t stop humming. The podium had been a nice distraction. But now, surrounded by the chatter of strangers and the clinking of glasses, his thoughts drifted back to the press conference and the pointed, teasing look you’d given him when he spoke.

And then there was Mingyu—always Mingyu—whose name you’d said with just a little too much warmth. Jeonghan had pretended not to notice, but it had been impossible to ignore.

Shaking his head, Jeonghan pushed through the crowd, determined to leave. He had almost made it to the exit when someone collided into him, hard enough to send him stumbling forward.

“Whoa—watch it!” a voice slurred, sharp with irritation but unmistakably familiar.

He turned, already scowling, but the expression froze on his face when he saw you.

“Jeonghan?” you said, blinking up at him, your voice teetering between surprise and amusement. Your cheeks were flushed, lips curling into a slow smile as you adjusted your grip on the drink in your hand.

“You?” he blurted, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second.

“What are you—?” you started, only to trail off as a giggle bubbled out of you. Shaking your head like you were trying to clear it, you added, “Wow. Small world, huh?”

“I guess so,” Jeonghan said, his tone carefully even, though his gaze lingered on the way the dim light caught the sheen of your hair, the curve of your smile. His eyes dropped to your drink, then back to your face. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly, before adding with a sheepish laugh, “Okay, maybe. Just a little.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, threatening to curve into a smile. “Sure looks like it.”

You waved him off with a dramatic flourish, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be... I don’t know, brooding on a podium somewhere?”

He tilted his head, pretending to be affronted. “I don’t brood. And besides, this is a celebration.”

“Oh, right,” you said, stepping closer. Your gaze softened, and your voice dropped just enough to make the words feel like they were meant for him alone. “The big comeback.”

“Lots of doubters, huh?” you added, the slight slur in your voice doing nothing to dull the edge of your words.

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard, before a chuckle escaped him. “Well, your article did the talking for you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your eyes a little too bright, your smile a little too slow. “What a way to get my attention, pretty boy.”

His breath caught, his carefully built façade cracking for just a second. “You think I’m pretty?”

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, a hand landed firmly on your shoulder.

“There you are!”

Jeonghan looked up to see one of your friends glaring at him as they steadied you. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re... what? Flirting with Yoon Jeonghan now?”

“Not flirting,” you protested weakly, though your lopsided smile said otherwise.

Your friend wasn’t convinced, nor were they interested in his response. They tugged you into the crowd with an apologetic glance over their shoulder. “Sorry about her—she’s had a night.”

Jeonghan stayed rooted in place, his gaze following your retreating figure. His lips curved into a faint smile as your words replayed in his mind.

“What a way to get my attention,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

And yet, as he stood there, the thought struck him that maybe you’d already gotten his.

FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX DE MONACO 2024Track: Circuit de Monaco

The paddock at Monaco was alive with its usual glitz and glamour, the unmistakable hum of anticipation hanging thick in the air. Cameras flashed, team personnel buzzed around, and the harbor glistened under the sun. Monaco, the crown jewel of the F1 calendar, had a way of amplifying everything—victories felt sweeter, defeats more crushing, and the stakes impossibly higher.

Jeonghan, fresh off securing pole position, had his usual air of nonchalance, but the glow of triumph was undeniable. The fans chanted his name; the cameras adored him. Yet as he stepped off the podium erected for the post-qualifying festivities, his sharp eyes caught sight of something—someone—that brought him up short.

You.

You were standing just beyond the throng of journalists, your press badge gleaming under the midday sun. It had been weeks since he’d last seen you, weeks since your sharp quips and piercing questions had filled the air between you like sparks on dry wood.

Those weeks had been… odd, to say the least. You’d been reassigned to cover Formula E, a shift Jeonghan had learned about only after noticing your absence at the paddock in China. He had played it cool, pretending it didn’t matter, but he had found himself seeking out your byline anyway—reading articles that had nothing to do with him or F1, just to feel the rhythm of your words.

Even the searing critiques you usually aimed at him had been sorely missed. It was maddening, really, how much quieter the world had felt without your fire.

Now, here you were again, back in the fray of Formula 1, as though no time had passed. Jeonghan’s expression remained casual, but his stride toward you was deliberate, cutting through the chaos of the paddock.

When he stopped in front of you, his smirk was already in place, a shield against the strange, unwelcome flutter of relief in his chest. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, tilting his head with practiced ease.

You looked up from your notebook, arching a brow at him. “Missed me, Jeonghan?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

The word landed between you like a drop of rain on hot asphalt, its simplicity taking you aback. Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but notice how the sharpness in your gaze softened for a fraction of a second.

But then, as quickly as the moment arrived, he leaned in, his smirk deepening. “Someone had to keep the paddock interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, recovering your composure. “I see the Monaco air hasn’t done anything for your humility.”

“And I see Formula E hasn’t dulled your wit,” he shot back, stepping closer so the noise of the paddock faded slightly.

You shook your head, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’ve done not too bad these past few races, huh?”

The comment was offhand, tossed in almost as a formality, but it hit Jeonghan harder than he expected. Compliments—genuine ones—were rare from you, and they stirred something unexpected in him.

Jeonghan blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second before he quickly replaced it with mock arrogance. “Not too bad?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I dominated in China, held my ground in Miami, and destroyed Emilia Romagna. Give me some credit here.”

For all his ego, Jeonghan knew he wasn’t wrong. He’d won China by a jaw-dropping 22.3-second margin, Mingyu so far behind that Jeonghan had time to deliver an entire thank-you speech over the radio before the McLaren driver even crossed the checkered flag. In Miami, even a grueling five-second stop-go penalty hadn’t stopped him; he finished P2 (behind Kim Mingyu, annoyingly) and picked up the extra point for the fastest lap, earning him Driver of the Day. And in Emilia Romagna, he was the clear favorite from the moment the race weekend began. The Tifosi were relentless, their cheers in the grandstands so deafening that Jeonghan could barely hear his engineer’s voice over the radio.

When he crossed the finish line first, the sea of red under the podium roared with such thunderous applause that his ears rang for hours afterward. In just three races, Jeonghan had cemented himself as the best contender for the 2024 World Champion.

And yet, somehow, it wasn’t as sweet without you there to write about it.

“Alright,” you said, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’ve been exceptional.”

The word struck like a sucker punch. For once, Jeonghan didn’t have a clever retort.

"Congrats on pole, Jeonghan," you said, your voice cool but sincere, offering him a small smile. It made his heart skip a beat.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You called me exceptional."

You glanced up at him, closing your notebook with a flick of your wrist. The corner of your mouth quirked into a smirk. "Yes. Now, thoughts on pole?"

He's silent for so long that you politely clear your throat, hoping to cut through the sudden stillness. "Maybe this should be my headline for the day, Jeonghan. Monaco's Maze Leaves Golden Boy Spinning Out."

It's like someone doused him with ice water. His easy, sun-soaked posture stiffens, and the small smirk he'd been wearing evaporates.

You're still a journalist. He forgets that sometimes.

"Why do you do that?" he mutters, voice edged with something unfamiliar—disappointment, maybe.

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt change in tone. “Do what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely between you and the notebook tucked in your hand. The lenses of his sunglasses catch the sunlight, but there’s no mistaking the intensity behind them. His gaze pierces, searching for something in your expression. “Bringing the shitty headlines into every conversation."

You arch a brow, tucking the notebook closer to your chest as if shielding it from his line of sight. “Shitty? You mean accurate, Jeonghan.”

His jaw tightens, a subtle movement, but enough to draw your attention. There’s a faint crease forming between his brows now, and you realize it’s not your usual back-and-forth banter. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, voice low and barely audible over the hum of the paddock—the distant rumble of engines, the echo of voices, the clinking of tools in nearby garages.

For a moment, you’re at a loss. Jeonghan doesn’t let things like this bother him—or, at least, he’s always been good at pretending they don’t. His whole brand is carefree charm, a perpetual smirk, and the confidence of someone who knows he’ll always be the center of attention. This feels different.

“You’re upset about a headline?” you ask, genuinely curious now.

“It’s not about the headline.” His tone sharpens, but he stops himself, jaw clenching like he’s swallowing something bitter. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his fingers brushing over the brim of his cap. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “It’s about how you never let up, even when it’s me.”

The admission lands heavily between you, unexpected and disarming.

You shift uncomfortably under the weight of his words, the way they seem to strip away the professional distance you’ve been clinging to. “Why should I?” you counter, keeping your voice steady despite the flicker of doubt creeping in. “You’re just another driver, Jeonghan.”

His laugh is short and humorless, cutting through the charged air between you. “Right. Just another driver.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, almost resigned—that catches you off guard. The bitterness in his tone isn’t theatrical; it’s real, raw, and so at odds with the image he projects to the world.

You glance at him, searching for the Jeonghan you’re used to—the one who shrugs off criticism with a knowing grin, who always has a teasing retort ready. But for once, he’s not hiding behind a smirk or a cocky quip. He looks tired, the weight of his words pulling at the edges of his carefully maintained charm.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he shakes his head, cutting you off before you can find the right words. “Forget it.”

He takes a step back, and it feels like a gulf opening between you. The mask of indifference slips back into place with practiced ease, but you’ve already seen the cracks. “You’ve got your job to do,” he says, his tone clipped and distant. “Make sure you spell my name right in that next ‘shitty headline.’”

You hate the way your chest tightens at his words, hate the instinctive urge to reach out and stop him as he turns to walk away, his figure retreating into the chaotic swirl of the paddock.

But you don’t.

Instead, you grip your notebook tighter, the edges digging into your palm as if the physical discomfort might drown out the ache building in your chest. The buzz of your phone in your pocket snaps you out of the moment. Grateful for the distraction, you pull it out to see a text from your editor: Post-qualifying article. Deadline: 6 PM.

Just another driver.

The words echo hollowly in your mind, unconvincing and painfully untrue.

Because the truth is, Jeonghan has never been just anything to you.

And that’s exactly why this is so damn complicated.

Jeonghan spends the night refreshing his Twitter feed.

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, honestly.

Maybe it’s the rush of validation that comes from a clever reply, or the sting of criticism that reminds him he’s still human under the helmet. Or maybe it’s something else entirely—something he doesn’t want to name. The applause of the crowd is long gone, and the adrenaline from securing pole position hours earlier has settled into a restless hum. His phone feels heavier in his hand as he scrolls, tapping at random links and skimming comments that veer between praise and criticism.

The article finally pops up, your name bold and unmistakable at the top. His stomach tightens, a sensation he’ll never admit to anyone, least of all you.

He clicks it immediately.

The headline strikes first:

Kim Mingyu’s Risky Qualifying Lap Keeps Rivals on Edge

For a moment, he freezes, his eyes scanning the words again to make sure he didn’t misread.

Mingyu?

Confusion knots his brow as he scrolls down. The opening paragraph is a glowing analysis of Mingyu’s audacious lap—a near miss in the second sector, a masterful recovery in the final corners. The kind of detailed, evocative writing that Jeonghan knows you reserve for stories you care about.

Then, buried halfway through, he finds his name:

“Jeonghan, true to form, delivered a flawless lap to secure pole position. His consistency and precision were unmatched, placing him at the front of the grid for tomorrow’s race.”

That’s it.

No breakdown of his sector times, no mention of the deft control it took to navigate the tight Monaco corners under immense pressure. Just a single, clinical acknowledgment, overshadowed by Mingyu’s second-place drama.

Jeonghan stares at the screen, his thumb hovering over the refresh button. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—a parade in words? A headline with his name front and center?

It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. Pole position speaks for itself. It doesn’t need a poetic article to back it up.

But that doesn’t stop the irritation bubbling under his skin.

He tosses his phone onto the bed with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. His hotel room feels quieter than it should, the distant hum of the city barely seeping through the windows.

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re making a point. That this is your way of reminding him that while he might be the golden boy on the track, he doesn’t get special treatment in your world.

Not in your writing. Not from you.

It’s infuriating.

And yet, a part of him—one he’s unwilling to examine too closely—wants to know why you didn’t write more about him. Wants to know what he’d have to do to make you look at him the way you clearly look at Mingyu.

Not just another driver.

But the one worth writing about.

The morning of the Monaco Grand Prix dawned with the soft hum of engines filling the paddock and the gleaming streets of Monte Carlo radiating under a cloudless sky. Jeonghan arrived early, his customary calm masking the roiling anticipation beneath. Pole position was his—secured with a lap so clinical it had left his rivals chasing shadows. Yet, the sharp sting of your article still lingered, buried beneath layers of pride and annoyance.

By mid-morning, the paddock buzzed with tension. The Monaco circuit—narrow, unforgiving, and relentlessly demanding—left no room for error. Victory here wasn’t just about speed; it was about precision, strategy, and an unwavering mental edge. Jeonghan knew that all too well.

As he suited up, the familiar ritual steadied his thoughts. Helmet, gloves, fireproofs—each piece transformed him into the driver everyone expected him to be. His engineer’s voice crackled over the comms. “Focus on the start, Jeonghan. Turn One is everything.”

He gave a curt nod, stepping into the car. The roar of the crowd was muffled as the cockpit enveloped him. Lights on the dashboard blinked in sequence, a visual metronome syncing with his heartbeat.

The engine roars to life beneath Jeonghan as he settles into the cockpit, the familiar hum of the Monaco Grand Prix vibrating through the seat, up his spine, and into his very bones. His focus sharpens like a blade, the heat of the sun seeping through his visor, but he’s not thinking about the sweat trickling down his neck or the weight of the helmet that obscures his field of vision. He’s thinking of the laps he’s put in, of the sacrifice, the years of work that led him here, to this very moment, pole position in Monaco.

He has no illusions about the challenge ahead. This track has always favored the one at the front, especially when that one is someone as methodical and precise as Jeonghan. It’s not often that the pole sitter falters here. But that’s not what has his stomach in knots. It’s not the track or the other drivers. It’s you. The thought of your words, your perspective, your gaze.

What if this win isn’t enough? What if I’m still just another driver to you?

His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and for a moment, he considers the possibility of failing, of cruising through the race without the sharp, passionate energy that has always pushed him. What if he doesn’t even get the headline he’s chasing? What if all this effort amounts to nothing more than another expected victory, no deeper praise, no recognition?

He blinks, pushing the thought away. He can’t afford distractions. He’s here to win—nothing else matters.

The lights blink, one by one, before finally turning off, and he’s off, the car surging forward into the narrow streets of Monaco, engines screaming in unison. His concentration narrows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. The first few laps are a blur of tactical moves, maintaining the lead, setting the pace. Behind him, Mingyu is close—too close—but Jeonghan has enough room, enough air to breathe.

The laps tick by, the gaps between drivers stretching and shrinking like the ebb and flow of a tide. In Monaco, you can’t make mistakes. The barriers are close enough to bite, and one slip-up could send everything into chaos. Jeonghan doesn’t think of that, though. He doesn’t think of the press, of his reputation, of the words hanging in the back of his mind.

What he thinks about is the win. The pure, simple joy of crossing that finish line first. He wants to feel the weight of the moment, of the accomplishment, and more than anything, he wants to look up and see you there—see that your words reflect the magnitude of this victory.

He holds the lead through the race, but it’s a quiet victory, one he can feel in his bones but doesn’t fully experience. The lap times are consistent, but nothing spectacular happens. No drama, no surprise overtake, no breathtaking maneuver.

It’s a clean, controlled victory—exactly what everyone expects from the driver in pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waves, Jeonghan crosses the line in first. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Jeonghan doesn’t feel the same rush of emotion. The thrill is absent, replaced instead by a deep, gnawing sense of doubt.

The win is his, but it feels like it’s already slipping away from his grasp.

In the post-race briefing, he sits with his team, nodding as they discuss tire strategies, pit stops, and the things that went right. But his eyes keep drifting to the back of the room, to where you stand, clipboard in hand, scribbling notes with focused intent. Every time he tries to catch your gaze, to make eye contact, you look away, as if determined to keep your distance.

It stings more than it should.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, the weight of his helmet resting against his neck, the pressure of your indifference pressing down on him. He wants to reach out, wants to tell you that this win—this clean, controlled, expected win—deserves something more. But he stays silent, twisting the words in his mind, unable to voice the insecurity that’s suddenly consuming him.

The press conference follows the briefing, a whirlwind of questions, cameras, and flashing lights. The room is full of journalists, all clamoring for soundbites, all eager to discuss the expected result—Jeonghan, pole position, and now, victory. But Jeonghan doesn’t care about the usual congratulatory remarks. He’s waiting for something more. Something real.

When the article finally drops, hours later, he barely waits before pulling it up on his phone. He knows what it’s going to say, but still, the disappointment claws at his chest as he reads the headline.

Jeonghan Dominates Monaco: Pole Position Translates to Victory

His stomach twists, and he exhales sharply, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through him. It’s everything he expected—a result that leaves no room for admiration, no room for praise. Just the simple, obvious statement that he did what everyone expected him to do. The race was clean, flawless even, but there’s no depth to the words, no recognition of what it takes to win here, at Monaco, the most challenging track in the world.

The thought gnaws at him.

It’s not enough.

The press conference continues, the cameras flashing, but Jeonghan’s mind is far from the words he’s being asked to repeat. He’s not thinking about the team’s success, about the strategies that worked, or even about the crowd's cheers. His eyes find you across the room once again, but this time, you don't look away. Your gaze is fixed on something—anything—but not on him.

He can’t help but wonder if it’s because you don’t see him as more than just another driver. Just another one of the usual suspects who gets a win when it’s expected. He’s fighting for something more—something beyond the surface. But for now, it seems like that’s something he’ll never get from you.

He’s won Monaco. But in that moment, the victory feels like the hollowest thing in the world.

FORMULA 1 AWS GRAND PRIX DU CANADA 2024Track: Circuit Gilles Villeneuve

The Canadian Grand Prix feels like a blur. The rain starts as a light drizzle, but by the time the race begins, it’s pouring, transforming the circuit into a slippery mess. The slick track glistens under the flood of water, making the circuit treacherous, a spinning wheel of danger. The air is thick with the scent of wet asphalt, and there’s an ominous tension in the paddock, a murmur that hangs in the atmosphere as if everyone knows something bad is about to happen.

You catch sight of Jeonghan on the grid. He’s staring straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back, his posture perfect, like the picture of composure. But you can see it in his eyes—something flickers there, a mix of tension and determination. His car, finely tuned for dry conditions, isn’t built for this. The engineers have done what they can, adjusting the setup, but there’s only so much they can do when the weather turns so violently. You know this track—the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve—is not forgiving, and for someone like Jeonghan, a precision driver who thrives when everything falls into place, this is the worst-case scenario. He’s trying to keep his focus, but you can see the strain on his face, the pressure mounting with every passing moment.

The starting lights go out, and the cars roar off the grid, their engines screaming in defiance of the rain. Jeonghan��s car is sluggish in the first few laps. You see him fighting with the wheel, struggling to keep the car in line, each turn a reminder that the odds are stacked against him. The rain is only getting heavier, and the car, built for speed in perfect conditions, is no longer responsive, no longer the finely-tuned machine he’s so accustomed to. It’s like he’s driving a different car altogether.

As the laps tick by, the race feels like a slow-motion disaster, unfolding before your eyes. Jeonghan’s always been skilled in the wet, but this is different—this is more than just rain. This is a mechanical mismatch, an impossible task to overcome. You watch him push, trying to find any way to make up time, but it’s clear he’s just not able to. The car slides wide through the corners, the back end kicking out as he struggles to maintain control. His frustration is palpable, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

And then, it happens.

The rear end of Jeonghan’s car breaks loose as he enters Turn 6, and for a moment, it’s a dance of power and precision, a flick of the wheel, an attempt to save it. But it’s futile. The car loses traction, and before you can even process it, he’s in the barriers. The sound of impact is like a gut punch, a sickening crunch that sends a wave of dread through you. The crowd's collective gasp is drowned out by the static crackle of his radio.

“Jeonghan, do you copy?” The voice of his engineer is urgent, panicked, but there’s no mistaking the defeat in it when the response comes through. Jeonghan’s voice is clipped, emotion stripped away in favor of the cold reality.

“I’m out. Car’s done.”

The message is simple, the weight of it crashing down on you. The race is over. Lap 30. The dream, the chance to prove himself in a season that’s been anything but easy, has slipped away, drowned by the rain.

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. It’s a loss for Jeonghan, but it feels like a loss for you too. Not because of the race itself, but because of the frustration you saw in his face. The disappointment. The feeling of helplessness. It’s all there, and it hits you harder than you expect.

He doesn’t speak to anyone after. He doesn’t go to the media pen, doesn’t stand in front of the cameras for the obligatory interview. There’s no deflection, no distractions. He’s just... gone. You barely see him in the paddock. He doesn’t even go to the Ferrari garage to debrief with his team. He disappears into the background, like he’s trying to erase himself from the scene altogether, retreating into the shadows, avoiding the world that’s waiting to cast its judgment.

And you? You stay away too. The press room feels suffocating, the questions ringing in your ears as you try to focus. You write your piece, a cold, sharp report about the race and Jeonghan’s crash, a clinical dissection of what went wrong. But something feels hollow as you type. The words don’t flow the way they used to. They’re just words, strung together to meet the deadline, to give the readers what they want. It’s not about the story anymore. It’s not about the race. It’s about the loss.

You can’t shake the image of Jeonghan crashing out, of his frustration written in every line of his face, every motion of his hands. You can’t forget the way he looked when he climbed out of the car, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto him. His eyes are distant, like he’s already checked out, retreating into himself. It’s a look you’ve seen before, but it’s sharper now, more pronounced. He’s carrying something, a burden that you don’t understand, a burden you’re not sure you can even help him carry.

But all you can do is write. And even that doesn’t feel like enough.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO GRAN PREMIO DE ESPAÑA 2024 Track: Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

The Spanish Grand Prix feels different from the moment you step out of the car, the heat oppressive, the air thick with anticipation and the inevitable tension of the weekend. The usual rhythm of the paddock is off-kilter, heightened by the suffocating summer heat, the burning sun beating down on every exposed surface. The heat is more than just physical; it's palpable in the way the drivers move, in the clipped tones of the engineers, in the quiet buzz of conversation that flickers out like static.

But even through the sticky, heavy air, the tension feels electric—charged, ready to snap. The circuit is a challenge in itself, and the drivers know it. There’s no room for error here—just wide, hot tarmac and the constant pressure of chasing that perfect lap.

You’ve done your best to avoid Jeonghan, kept a comfortable distance as much as possible. But there’s something about the way he carries himself now—an edge that wasn't there before. It’s sharp, biting, and yet there’s an underlying vulnerability that makes everything harder to ignore.

When qualifying results flash up, you’re caught off-guard. Soonyoung is on pole, Mingyu in second, and Jeonghan… Jeonghan is in third.

Jeonghan strides into the paddock after qualifying, his face carefully composed, but there’s a look in his eyes—something sharp, something that makes you hesitate. You haven’t spoken in days, not since Canada, not since he shut you out. You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s been avoiding you, but you both know the silence can’t last forever.

You’re standing near the media area when he approaches, and for a moment, it feels like the world holds its breath. The slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze flicks over your shoulder, pretending not to care, but you see through it.

"Don't do this," he says, his voice tight, but it's not the playful teasing you’ve grown used to. It’s something darker. Something tired.

"Don’t do what?" you snap, your patience running thin. "Pretend everything’s fine?"

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. "You’ve been avoiding me. Why? Because of Canada?"

You blink. The question hits harder than you expect, and you struggle to keep your composure. “You expect me to just forget what happened? You were fine after the crash, Jeonghan. You didn’t even bother with the press. I can’t just pretend that wasn’t... anything.”

The words come out sharper than you intend, and for a split second, you regret it. You see the way his shoulders stiffen, the brief flicker of pain in his eyes before he masks it with that carefully constructed indifference.

"Maybe I didn’t want to deal with your harsh words," he snaps, taking a step closer. “Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect driver for you, the one who’s supposed to be good enough to meet your standards. But I’m not—am I?"

Your chest tightens at the accusation, at the sudden rawness in his voice. "You think I’m too harsh? You think I’m just waiting for you to be perfect all the time?" You laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. "That’s what this is about? You crashing out wasn’t because of me. I write the truth, Jeonghan. And maybe the truth is you didn’t have the car for that race. It was out of your control."

His expression darkens, and you see that familiar flash of anger—one you’ve seen more times than you care to admit. "No," he hisses, taking another step toward you. "The truth is, you're so wrapped up in your narratives, you forget that I’m human. You forget that I have feelings too, and that maybe... maybe I wanted to do this for myself, not for some headline or some article. But you... you don’t see me that way, do you? You see me as another story, another fucking headline to dissect. Just another driver."

His words cut deeper than anything else could, and the final crack in your restraint breaks wide open. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat, the way your breath hitches.

“You want me to treat you differently?” you bite back, furious, stepping into his space. “You want me to hold your hand and tell you it’s okay every time you fail? Because you’re so tired of being just another driver? Well, you know what, Jeonghan? I am tired. I’m tired of trying to keep this professional, of pretending that I’m not watching the same guy who couldn’t even handle his own crash. You don’t get to demand better treatment from me when you can’t even handle the heat.”

For a moment, neither of you move, and the silence is thick, charged with the weight of your words.

He stares at you, eyes dark, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. You’re both too close now, caught in this space where words are weapons, and you’re both bleeding out.

Finally, Jeonghan turns away, his expression unreadable, but you can see the tightness in his back, the way his jaw works, like he’s holding something back. "Maybe you should stop writing about me altogether," he mutters, his voice rough, before stalking off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and chest aching.

For a moment, you stand frozen, caught between regret and relief, between the anger that still simmers beneath your skin and the sudden emptiness that creeps in now that he's gone.

The moment Jeonghan storms off, leaving you standing there with a surge of anger and a pounding heart, you don't realize someone’s been listening. But someone has. The faint click of a camera, barely audible over the sound of your pulse, is enough to make you pause. You turn, instinctively, to see a familiar face from the gossip side of the paddock. It's Soojin, a reporter known for getting the juiciest bits of drama and twisting them into scandalous headlines. She’s got a camera in one hand, her phone in the other, furiously typing something into it with a smirk that sends an uncomfortable ripple through your gut.

Before you can say anything, she’s already gone, blending back into the throng of people milling around the paddock, her steps quick and sure. The damage has been done. You know it, and the prickling sensation in the pit of your stomach tells you that it’s about to get a lot worse.

By the time you’ve made it back to the media center, the storm has already hit. Your Twitter feed is flooded with the words “Trouble in Paradise?”, and the accompanying photos. The images are damning—Jeonghan’s angry face, red with emotion, and your own flushed, furious expression, both of you screaming at each other in the middle of the paddock. There’s no context, no explanation, just the raw emotion, raw enough to sell.

The headline isn’t even what stings. It’s the comments that follow. Speculation, assumptions, and a flood of opinions. Some call it a lover’s quarrel, some assume the worst, but most seem content to paint the picture of two people on the verge of breaking. It’s not just your name that gets dragged through the mud; it’s Jeonghan’s too. Both of you, caught in a perfect storm of emotions and bad timing. The last thing either of you needs.

You try to shut it out, but it’s impossible. The text messages from your editor come through, asking for a statement. Your phone rings with calls from the PR team, from your colleagues, and even from your friends, who all seem to know about the situation before you’ve even had a chance to process it yourself.

And then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, the email comes. It’s from Ferrari’s PR team, and it’s almost too professional to be true:

Dear Y/N, In light of the recent events surrounding your interactions with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan, we would like to offer you full access to the Ferrari garage for the remainder of the season. This will provide you with the opportunity to write an in-depth feature on the team, showcasing the work and dedication that goes into each race weekend. We believe this move will allow for a clearer perspective on the situation and help ensure that your reporting reflects the true nature of the team and its drivers. We look forward to your continued coverage. Best regards, Ferrari PR Team

It’s a calculated move—a distraction, a chance to smooth things over. And you know it. The message is clear: everything must look fine. Everything must be fixed, packaged neatly for the media and the fans to consume. You’re a pawn in a much bigger game, and they’re making sure you play along.

At first, you think about refusing. You think about how everything feels so wrong right now. About how the image of you and Jeonghan, caught in the heat of an argument, is being used to feed the frenzy. But the PR team doesn’t leave room for argument. You know that declining would only escalate things further, make them harder to fix.

So, you agree.

The access starts almost immediately. They give you a full tour of the Ferrari garage, show you the inner workings of the team, introduce you to the engineers, the strategists, the pit crew. You’re given permission to write about the team’s strategy, their behind-the-scenes preparation, but there’s always a sense that you're being watched—every move, every word.

You can’t help but notice Jeonghan’s absence. Every time you walk through the garage, he’s not there. The driver who once greeted you with a cocky smile and a teasing remark, the one who always found a way to make you laugh, is nowhere to be found. It’s like he’s vanished, swallowed by the thick wall of Ferrari’s PR machine.

It’s as if nothing is real anymore. The false smiles, the calculated interviews, the way the drivers exchange glances with a rehearsed ease. The more you observe, the more you realize how much of this world is a performance, a show put on for the audience, with no room for anything real. It all feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but an empty, fragile façade.

Still, you’re expected to keep writing, to deliver the polished pieces the team expects. You’re supposed to put the headline “TROUBLE IN PARADISE?” behind you and focus on the carefully constructed narrative. So, you do. For now.

But even as you walk the pits, breathing in the scent of burnt rubber and sweat, there’s a quiet ache in the back of your mind. The truth is, you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that everything is fine.

Not when you still feel Jeonghan’s words hanging in the air between you, like the remnants of a storm that’s yet to pass. Not when you still want, with everything in you, to be able to fix it.

And maybe that’s the problem.

The crash happens so quickly, so violently, that it almost feels unreal. One moment, the tell-tale red of Jeonghan’s car is cutting through the circuit with his signature precision. The next, it’s a twisted mess of metal and rubber, skidding off the track, his car spinning wildly as Lee Seokmin’s Aston Martin clips him just before the tight corner at Turn 14. You watch it all unfold from the pit wall, your heart stopping for a brief second as the sound of the crash echoes through the air.

There’s a collective gasp from the crew around you, followed by the frantic chatter of engineers and strategists, trying to process what just happened. You can see the smoke rising from the wreckage, and your breath catches when the marshals begin to swarm the car, signaling that Jeonghan is still inside.

The radio crackles to life, but Jeonghan’s voice doesn’t come through. For a second, it feels like time slows down. The pit wall is a blur of motion, but you’re frozen, eyes locked on the track, praying for him to be okay.

Then, finally, the confirmation comes: “Jeonghan is out of the car. He's fine. We'll move him to the medical center.”

A wave of relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. The weight of the crash—his crash—still hangs in the air, and it’s clear from the looks of the Ferrari crew that no one knows exactly what went wrong. The tension in the paddock is palpable, and as you’re given full access to the debriefing room afterward, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken frustration.

Jeonghan walks in with that same seething expression he had after the crash, and the room goes silent. His eyes are red-rimmed, his jaw clenched, the kind of anger that’s so deep it can’t be shaken by anything or anyone. His usual confident swagger is replaced by a taut, barely contained rage that makes it hard for anyone to even breathe in his presence. His voice, when he speaks, is sharp, cutting through the room like a knife.

“You think this is a joke?” he snaps, looking at his team with a glare so intense it’s almost suffocating. His fists are balled at his sides, his shoulders tense with barely controlled fury.

The debriefing begins, but it’s clear that no one knows how to handle him. His coach tries to keep things calm, but Jeonghan's sharp words only make the tension worse. The rest of the team sits in silence, unsure of what to say, how to fix the situation. His eyes never leave the table, his posture rigid, as though every part of him is fighting the urge to storm out.

The meeting goes in circles—strategies discussed, what went wrong, how to move forward—but nothing seems to land. Jeonghan doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to listen to anyone right now. His frustration is palpable, and it’s clear this crash, this failure, has broken something inside of him.

When he finally stands, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, there’s an air of finality to it. Without another word, he storms out, leaving a tense silence in his wake. No one dares to speak, knowing that anything they say would be pointless. The door slams shut, and the meeting disbands soon after.

But you don’t leave. You don’t really have anywhere to go. Not yet.

You make your way to the Ferrari canteen, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. It’s one of those rare moments when you’re not chasing a headline, not following the usual routine, and the monotony of it all feels like a relief. You order two beers without thinking. You don’t need two, but for some reason, it feels right. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the crash, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything—the pressure, the disappointment, the simmering frustration with Jeonghan that you haven’t had the chance to process yet. The beers are cold, the glass bottles slick with condensation, and when you walk outside to the grandstands, you find him.

Jeonghan is sitting alone, his back against the metal railing, the crowd long gone. The air is warm, the kind of summer heat that clings to your skin and makes everything feel a little heavier. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back as he stares at the sky, and for a moment, you wonder if he even notices you approaching.

Without saying a word, you sit beside him, the soft crunch of your shoes against the gravel the only sound in the stillness. You don’t offer him a drink immediately. Instead, you hold the bottles in your hands, feeling the chill seep into your palms, letting the silence stretch between you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hand him one of the beers. He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the faintest shift in his posture, a soft hum of acknowledgement as he accepts it, cracking the cap with a quick twist.

“Jeonghan,” you say, breaking the silence, your voice quieter than you expect it to be. He doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. You take a sip of your own beer, the bitter taste grounding you in the moment. You can feel the tension that’s been building between you both, the weight of the unspoken words, but for now, you can’t bring yourself to make him speak.

Then he does. “Full access, huh?” His voice is rough, the teasing edge to his words gone, replaced by something heavier. The bitterness is unmistakable. “You must be thrilled, getting to see me crash out in front of the entire team.”

You almost choke on your beer. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuinely hurt, but it stings regardless.

“I’m not,” you say quickly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish he would look at you, but he’s staring straight ahead, his jaw still tight, muscles still coiled like a spring. "I don’t want that, Jeonghan. What don’t you get?"

“No?” He tilts his head slightly, but his gaze stays fixed. “I would think Miss Scathing Articles would relish the chance to tear me down again.”

A sharp retort sat on your tongue, but you swallowed it. There was no point. Instead, you looked away, focusing on the distant horizon where the racetrack lay, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "I don’t," you said quietly. "I’m not interested in tearing you down. I never have been."

Jeonghan’s laugh was hollow, almost like a scoff. "Color me surprised."

A beat passed between you both, the air thick with unspoken words. You took a sip of your beer, now lukewarm and slightly flat, but it didn’t matter. Neither of you had the luxury of pretending everything was fine anymore.

He finally turns to you, his eyes meeting yours; there’s something in the way he looks at you—raw, vulnerable, almost like he’s waiting for the punchline of some cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” you say after a long silence, your voice softer this time, barely above a whisper. You’re not sure if he hears you, but he looks at you with an expression that makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into a minefield.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he exhales a long breath, rubbing his forehead with his fingers as though the weight of it all is finally catching up to him. The tension between you hangs heavy in the warm summer air, the quiet hum of distant cicadas filling the space where words should be. Jeonghan takes another sip of his beer, the bottle pressed lightly against his lips as though it might cool the heat simmering under his skin. He looks tired—no, more than tired. Worn down. The type of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says finally, the words coming out uneven, almost like they’re foreign on his tongue. His voice is softer now, missing the sharp edges that had cut into you moments before. “You were just doing your job.”

“Jeonghan,” you start, but he holds up a hand, silencing you.

“No, really.” He forces a thin smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of expression you’ve seen him use in press conferences—a shield, practiced and perfect. “You’re here because Ferrari told you to be. Because someone thought it’d be a great PR move. You don’t owe me anything beyond that.”

The words sting, even though you know they shouldn’t. He’s not wrong. This isn’t your world, not really. But you can’t help the knot tightening in your chest as you watch him retreat into himself, the walls going up before your eyes.

“I’m not here because they told me to be,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I’m here because I wanted to be. Because I saw the crash, Jeonghan, and I—” You stop, swallowing hard as the memory flashes behind your eyes again. The twisted metal, the plume of smoke, the moment you thought—

“I was scared,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly. “Not as a journalist. Not as someone with a job to do. As someone who—” Jeonghan’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there’s something vulnerable there, too, something unguarded.

You don't finish the sentence.

Jeonghan watches you closely now, his beer suspended mid-air, forgotten. The sharpness in his gaze softens, replaced by something else—curiosity, maybe, or an unease he doesn’t quite know how to address.

The air between you feels heavy, suffocating in its quiet. You can still hear the faint echoes of the crash in your mind, the awful screech of metal against asphalt, the split-second horror of thinking you’d just seen him—

He sets the bottle down with a soft clink against the railing, breaking the spell.

“Scared, huh?” His voice is quieter now, and there’s a touch of disbelief, as though he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words or dismiss them.

You nod, throat tightening as you try to push through the lump that’s settled there. “Terrified,” you admit, the word feeling foreign and vulnerable on your tongue. “Not because of what I’d have to write, but because I thought—” You bite down on the rest of the sentence, unwilling to say it aloud.

Jeonghan exhales, long and slow, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back against the railing. “I’m fine,” he says eventually, the words flat and unconvincing. He glances at you, his lips pressing into a faintly wry smile. “A little bruised. A little pissed. But I’m fine.”

It’s not enough to untangle the knot in your chest, but it’s a start. You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

He finishes his beer in a few swallows, the motion oddly decisive, before standing and brushing off his pants. For a moment, you think he’s about to leave without another word, the tension between you both left unresolved.

But then he turns, holding out a hand toward you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint curve to his lips that feels almost... playful.

“Friends?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. “If you’re going to be hanging around the garage all season, might as well, y’know?”

You blink at him, taken aback. The man who’d stormed out of the debriefing room in a fit of rage, who’d spat barbs at you moments ago, now stood here offering a truce like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Friends,” you echo, narrowing your eyes as you take his hand. It’s warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if this is another performance—an act to keep you at arm’s length.

But when he pulls you to your feet, there’s something genuine in his expression, something almost relieved.

“You better not make me regret this,” he says, letting go of your hand as he shoves his now-empty beer bottle into your other one. “And don’t think this means you’re off the hook for the shit you wrote.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as he smirks.

For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosens just slightly. You follow him back toward the paddock, your steps lighter than they’ve been in weeks.

And for now, that’s enough.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Red Bull Ring

The Red Bull Ring stretches out before you like a postcard of precision. Nestled in the Austrian hills, the track gleams under the soft morning sun, its curves and straights inviting the first roar of engines. The garage is alive with motion—engineers bent over laptops, mechanics tightening bolts, and the hum of anticipation that comes with any race weekend.

You step into the Ferrari garage, an interloper in a sea of red. Jeonghan’s car gleams in its designated spot, pristine and ready, as though it hadn’t been a crumpled wreck just a week ago. The team works around it like a well-oiled machine, barely sparing you a glance. You’re supposed to be here, technically, but that doesn’t stop the slight twinge of unease as you find a quiet corner near the monitors.

“Back again?”

The voice is unmistakable, light and teasing. You turn, and there he is: Yoon Jeonghan in his fireproofs, the sleeves tied around his waist, his white undershirt faintly clinging to his frame. He looks every bit the picture of calm, like he hasn’t spent the past few days fielding press questions about his crash.

“Didn’t think you’d miss the chance to watch me run into someone,” he adds, smirking as he adjusts his gloves.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying you’re aiming for Aston Martin?”

He laughs, a real laugh this time, and it’s startling how much it changes the air around you. “Not today. But I’ll keep you updated if Seokmin starts driving like a rookie again.”

“Careful, Jeonghan,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “I might put that in my next article.”

He leans casually against the wall, his dark eyes scanning your face with an intensity that’s become familiar in the past few weeks. But there’s no edge to it today, no armor. Just him, relaxed and—for once—almost easygoing.

“You’re not as scary as you think you are,” he says after a beat, his voice low enough that the hum of the garage nearly drowns it out.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the grin that creeps onto your face. “And you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

He tilts his head, considering this like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day. “Fair. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Purely professional,” you quip, ignoring the way his smirk grows.

Before he can reply, the engineer by the monitors calls him over, gesturing to the screen. Jeonghan holds up a finger, signaling for a moment, then turns back to you.

“Stay out of trouble, yeah?” His voice is lighter now, teasing but not in the way that cuts. It feels natural, like banter between...well, maybe not quite friends. Not yet. But something close.

You shrug, watching as he walks toward his team, the confidence in his stride unmistakable. The tension that had lingered after the crash feels like it’s finally begun to dissolve, replaced by something steadier. Not quite trust, but something adjacent.

As you settle into the corner, notebook in hand, you can’t help but glance at him every so often. On the surface, it’s just another practice session, another day at the track. But for the first time in weeks, it feels like something close to normal.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS BRITISH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Silverstone Circuit

Silverstone roars to life under a blazing sun, the grandstands filled to capacity with fans waving flags and wearing team colors. The overcast sky has burned off, leaving the track shimmering under the summer sun. It’s one of the biggest stages of the season, and Jeonghan delivers a masterclass in qualifying, the finely tuned Ferrari underneath him responding to every input like an extension of himself. The sharp smell of rubber and fuel lingers in the air, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He’s back.

The final lap times on the leaderboard tell the story: pole position. Ferrari’s garage is electric with celebration, engineers clapping each other on the back, a cheer rising when Jeonghan steps into the swarm of red. His team surrounds him, hands gripping his shoulders, voices shouting praise over the din.

He grins, wide and unguarded, the weight of the last few weeks lifting ever so slightly. Spain and Canada had shaken him, but this—this feels like a reckoning. Proof that the mistakes and setbacks weren’t the whole story.

“Perfect lap, Jeonghan,” his engineer says, beaming as he hands him a water bottle.

He nods in acknowledgment, taking a swig, his heart still racing as he glances around the paddock. The sun is high now, glinting off the sleek curves of the cars lined up in parc fermé. Jeonghan’s gaze sweeps over the crowd, soaking in the energy—until he sees you.

You’re standing just outside the McLaren garage, the vibrant orange of their branding a stark contrast to the reds and blacks of his world. You’re leaning against a barrier, the breeze tugging at your hair as you laugh at something Mingyu says. Your face is so open, so full of light, that it’s almost magnetic.

Mingyu gestures animatedly, clearly in the middle of some ridiculous story, his grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. You throw your head back with a laugh, and Jeonghan feels a tightness in his chest he can’t quite place.

The joy that had filled him moments ago flickers.

Why does it bother him?

The thought lingers as he watches you, his water bottle dangling forgotten in his hand. Jeonghan isn’t used to this kind of gnawing discomfort. He’s competitive, sure, but this is something else entirely.

Jealousy.

The sun is lower in the sky when he finds you, his long strides purposeful as he weaves through the paddock. The golden hour light makes everything seem softer, but Jeonghan’s mood is anything but. His thoughts from earlier have been simmering, the warmth of victory eclipsed by a frustration he can’t shake.

You’re leaning against a railing, scrolling on your phone when he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you be in the Ferrari garage?” he says, his tone sharper than he intends.

You blink up at him, startled. “I was just catching up with Mingyu.”

Jeonghan crosses his arms, his brow furrowing. “Funny. I thought you were doing a full-access piece on Ferrari, not McLaren.”

There’s something in his voice—an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “I am,” you reply slowly, standing up straighter. “What’s this about?”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “Is that why your articles about Mingyu are always glowing? What, are you sleeping with him?”

The accusation is like a slap, cutting through the air with a harshness that leaves you stunned.

Your expression shifts, disbelief giving way to anger. “Are you serious right now?”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight. The regret in his eyes is fleeting, buried under the weight of his own misplaced frustration.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. “It’s always one step forward, two steps back with you, Jeonghan.”

His lips part as if to reply, but you don’t wait for him to dig himself deeper. You storm off, your footsteps echoing against the paddock floor. The sting of his words lingers, but so does the look on his face as you walk away.

Jeonghan stands there, watching you go, the tension in his shoulders giving way to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows he’s crossed a line, and the weight of his own stupidity settles heavily over him.

The knock on your hotel room door comes before sunrise, soft but insistent. You groan, burying your face in your pillow before dragging yourself to the door.

When you open it, the hallway is empty. But at your feet sits a bouquet wrapped in crisp white paper, tied with a simple satin ribbon.

Roses. Soft blush pink, their petals perfectly unfurled, paired with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath.

The arrangement is beautiful, almost heartbreakingly so, the kind of bouquet that feels like a story in itself. You crouch to pick it up, your fingers brushing over the velvety petals. The faint, sweet scent of roses fills the air, mixing with the crisp morning chill that seeps into the hallway.

Nestled among the flowers is a small envelope.

You pull it out, your thumb brushing over the edge of the paper as you open it. Inside, scrawled in a slightly messy hand that’s unmistakably Jeonghan’s, are two simple words:

I’m sorry.

You glance down the hallway instinctively, half-expecting to see him lingering in the shadows. But it’s empty, as silent as it was before you opened the door.

You stand there for a moment longer, the bouquet in your arms and the note trembling slightly in your fingers. The apology feels heavier than the flowers, weighted by the memory of his words from yesterday.

He didn’t need to apologize like this, you think. He could have texted, could have mumbled something in passing when you inevitably crossed paths today. But instead, he’d gone to the trouble of figuring out your favorite flowers—roses and baby’s breath, a detail you don’t even remember telling him.

The realization stirs something in you, softening the edges of your anger.

The roses sit on the desk as you get ready for the day, the baby’s breath adding a delicate touch to the arrangement. The card leans against the vase, its two-word apology a quiet presence in the room.

Somewhere in the city, Silverstone is waking up, the air already buzzing with anticipation for the race. But here, in the stillness of your hotel room, you take a moment to breathe, to let the gesture sink in.

Jeonghan’s voice echoes faintly in your mind, the memory of yesterday’s confrontation still fresh. And yet, as you glance at the roses again, the sting of his words begins to dull, replaced by something softer, something not yet ready to be named.

The pre-race buzz was electric. The roar of engines echoed faintly in the distance, a constant backdrop to the paddock’s chaotic rhythm. Mechanics zipped between garages, reporters hustled to get last-minute quotes, and fans outside the barricades chanted their favorite drivers’ names. Amid all this, your footsteps fell heavy against the asphalt, your target in sight: Yoon Jeonghan.

There he was, leaning against the nose of his red Ferrari, his race suit a striking flash of scarlet that caught the sunlight and made him look annoyingly pristine for someone who had caused you so much grief. He was chatting with an engineer, that easy, charming smile plastered on his face like he hadn’t thrown baseless accusations your way less than 24 hours ago.

You marched toward him, purpose sharpening your steps. The bouquet from this morning was still vivid in your mind—blush pink roses, soft and elegant, their delicate petals almost glowing against the green of the baby’s breath, a stark contrast to the seething frustration you still carried. And the note—just two infuriatingly simple words—burned in your pocket, a reminder of the apology you hadn’t quite accepted yet.

“Jeonghan,” you called, your voice cutting through the low hum of conversation around you.

He glanced up, his casual demeanor faltering for a split second when he saw you. Then, like a switch had flipped, his smile returned. “Oh, hey.”

You stopped a foot away, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “How did you know my favorite flowers?”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he leaned ever so slightly against the car, as if the conversation were a game he’d already won. “Oh good, they got delivered to the right room.”

“Jeonghan,” you said, your tone sharper now, “don’t deflect.”

“Deflect what?” He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with that infuriating glint of mischief that made you want to throttle him and laugh in equal measure.

“JEONGHAN.” The snap in your voice turned a few heads nearby, but you didn’t care.

He sighed dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. A certain papaya-colored birdie told me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Papaya-colored birdie... Mingyu?”

Jeonghan hesitated, his grin faltering for just a moment. You saw the gears turning in his head, calculating whether to deflect again or come clean.

“Spit it out, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, stepping closer, “or I’ll never write a single kind thing about you for the rest of your life.”

His mouth twitched, caught between amusement and resignation. Finally, he shrugged, his voice almost too casual. “Childhood friends, eh? You and Mingyu? That explains yesterday.”

You blinked, thrown by the abrupt shift in topic. “Don’t change the subject,” you snapped, though his words tugged at something in the back of your mind. “You really went to Kim Mingyu for help? After accusing me of—”

“I might have... aggressively encouraged Mingyu to spill everything he knew about you,” Jeonghan admitted, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised a brow. “Aggressively encouraged?”

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I threatened to steal his steering wheel from the McLaren garage if he didn’t talk.”

Despite your irritation, a snort escaped you. “And he just handed over my life story, huh?”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, mirroring your stance. “What can I say? He’s surprisingly chatty when he thinks you’re in trouble. Very protective, that one.”

You clenched your jaw, the pieces clicking into place. “So, that’s why you jumped to conclusions yesterday. You thought—”

He cut you off, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I know. I was out of line. That’s what the flowers were for.”

For a moment, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade. The wind carried the faint scent of burning rubber, and the distant cheers of fans reached your ears like a muted hum. Jeonghan’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, his tone lower now, “I really am sorry.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of the last day lifting slightly from your chest. “You’re lucky I like roses.”

“I know,” he replied, his grin returning, lighter this time, almost boyish. “Good taste, huh?”

“Good recovery, at least,” you muttered, your lips twitching despite yourself.

Jeonghan’s laughter followed you as you turned and walked away, the sound less grating than it had been the day before. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it felt like a start.

FORMULA 1 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Hungaroring

The Hungarian Grand Prix paddock was buzzing, but you could tell something was off. The sound of chatter and engines felt like distant echoes as you stood by the garage, watching Jeonghan’s Ferrari pull back into its stall after a less-than-stellar FP1. The car’s engine quieted as the mechanics immediately went to work, inspecting it. But it wasn’t the car that caught your attention—it was Jeonghan himself.

He was unusually quiet, his usual cocky confidence buried beneath the furrow of his brow as he stripped off his helmet and gloves. His gaze was focused on the car, but it was clear his mind wasn’t in the garage. He seemed... distant, almost frustrated. The others in the team were busy talking strategy, discussing the data, but Jeonghan barely spoke up during the debriefing. It was strange.

The team finished up, but you noticed Jeonghan lingered near the back, hands on his hips, staring at his car like it had personally betrayed him. It wasn’t like him to be this quiet, especially not after a session where he was so used to being in control. You could practically feel the weight of his thoughts from where you stood.

You didn’t want to be intrusive, but you couldn’t ignore it—something was wrong.

You walked over, careful not to disturb the mechanics who were still busy at work. "Jeonghan," you called softly, stepping beside him. He turned to you, but his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. They were focused on something distant, like he was seeing the track or the car but not really seeing them.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the concern out of your voice, but it slipped through anyway. “You’ve been quiet since the debriefing.”

He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t buying it. You had known Jeonghan long enough to recognize the way he carried his frustration. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be hidden behind a casual smile, no matter how practiced.

“You sure? You know you don’t have to be okay all the time, right?” you pressed, stepping a little closer. The air around you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words.

Jeonghan exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into his gloves before he slowly pulled them off. He seemed to be gathering himself before speaking. “I hate it,” he muttered, and his voice had a rawness to it that caught you off guard. “Not being perfect. I... I can’t stand it.”

“Not being perfect?” you echoed, surprised. Jeonghan, the ever-cocky, confident driver, admitting that?

He looked up at you then, his eyes intense, as though he was searching for something in your gaze. “Yeah. I know it sounds stupid,” he said with a wry laugh that lacked its usual humor. “But it’s who I am. I’m a perfectionist, always have been. Every little mistake... it sticks with me. I can’t just move on. I think about it. Constantly.”

You watched him, absorbing his words, the vulnerability in his tone feeling like a crack in his otherwise polished exterior. Jeonghan, always so composed on the surface, always teasing and joking, was admitting something deeper now—something more personal.

“Is that why you were so quiet during the debriefing?” you asked, keeping your voice soft.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the car again. “I know I didn’t have the best session, but it feels like... like I failed. Like I’m not doing my job right. I could’ve done better.” His jaw clenched as if he were angry at himself.

The silence that fell between you was thick, almost suffocating, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. You hadn’t seen him like this before—not with this level of self-doubt.

“You’re not failing,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re allowed to have bad sessions. Hell, everyone has bad days. But that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It’s just a part of it.”

Jeonghan glanced over at you, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, nodding. “I mean... it’s not all about being perfect. Sometimes it’s the mistakes that push you to be better.”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still clutching the gloves, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I get it,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the side of the garage. “But you’ve got a whole team behind you. And we all know what you’re capable of. You’ll get there. It’s just one session.”

He finally met your gaze, his eyes softening. “Thanks.”

There was a long pause, the sound of distant chatter and the hum of the paddock filling the silence. You were so used to Jeonghan’s teasing and cocky attitude that this quieter, more introspective side of him felt like a different person altogether. And maybe it was—it was the side that wasn’t the driver who fought for every fraction of a second on the track, the side that just wanted to be good enough.

“It’s not stupid, you know,” you added quietly. “Caring about being good at what you do isn’t stupid. It’s just... exhausting sometimes.”

Jeonghan laughed lightly, the sound a bit more genuine this time. “You have no idea. But I’m getting better at... handling it. I think.”

You smiled at him, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was still that hint of unease in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders, but for the first time all day, he seemed a little more at ease with himself.

As you turned to leave, you shot him one last look. “Just don’t be so hard on yourself next time, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. And for a moment, you almost believed him.

The stands were eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd just hours earlier. You wandered through the empty paddock, your steps unhurried as the hum of the night settled around you. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint clatter of the Ferrari team packing up, but Jeonghan wasn’t with them.

You’d seen him after the race, his jaw tight as he climbed out of the car. Finishing P5 wasn’t bad by any measure, but it wasn’t what he wanted. And with Mingyu overtaking him in the Driver’s Championship by just twenty points, it was clear Jeonghan had taken it as a personal blow. His disappointment hung around him like a shadow.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d gone.

Sure enough, when you climbed up into the grandstands, there he was. Sitting alone in the middle row, still in his Ferrari race suit, unzipped to the waist to reveal his black base layer. His hair was tousled from the helmet, his posture slouched, shoulders hunched as though the weight of the day hadn’t yet left him. Beside him were two bottles of beer, one already open and resting loosely in his hand.

You approached quietly, but Jeonghan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn around when you reached him, your feet crunching softly against the debris of the crowd—discarded programs, empty wrappers, and forgotten flags. He must’ve known it was you, though. He always seemed to know.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice breaking the stillness.

He finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “It’s a free grandstand,” he muttered, gesturing to the empty seats around him.

You slid into the seat next to him, the cool metal chilling through your clothes. Jeonghan’s gaze returned to the track ahead, where the floodlights illuminated the ghost of the race. He took a sip of his beer, silent.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable—just heavy. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, the bitterness that came with being so close but not close enough.

“You should drink this before it gets warm,” he said suddenly, pushing the unopened beer toward you.

You picked it up, twisting off the cap with a small smile. “Thanks. Not exactly the post-race celebration you were hoping for, huh?”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Not exactly.”

The silence fell again, but this time you weren’t willing to let it linger. You turned to him, watching the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the neck of the bottle. “You’re still in the fight, you know,” you said gently.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, you are,” you insisted. “Three points. That’s nothing. You’ve come back from worse.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head back, looking up at the dark sky above the track. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It’s not just about the points. It’s about everything. The mistakes, the pressure... the expectations. It’s like... like I have to prove that I deserve to be here. Every single time.”

“You do deserve to be here,” you said firmly, the conviction in your voice enough to make him turn to you. “You wouldn’t be in that seat if you didn’t. You’re one of the best drivers on the grid, Jeonghan. Everyone knows it. Even Mingyu. Especially Mingyu.”

Jeonghan scoffed, a flicker of a smile breaking through his stormy expression. “Bet he’s loving this right now.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning back against the seat. “But knowing Mingyu, he’s probably already plotting ways to rub it in at the next race.”

That earned a laugh, small but real, and the sound was enough to make you smile too.

“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment, his tone softer now. “Talking me off the ledge.”

“Someone has to,” you replied with a shrug. “And honestly? I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. One race doesn’t define you, Jeonghan. You’re not just a number on the leaderboard.”

He looked at you then, his gaze lingering. There was something in his expression—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. “Thanks,” he said simply, the word weighted with more than just appreciation.

You clinked your bottle against his. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the weight of the day slowly lifting as the quiet of the night wrapped around you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And as Jeonghan leaned back in his seat, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles, you knew he’d be okay. Eventually.

You took another sip of your beer, the chill of the bottle grounding you as Jeonghan’s earlier tension began to melt away. The ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips, and for the first time since you’d climbed up to find him, his shoulders seemed lighter.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, his voice tinged with a familiar mischievousness, “what’s your headline going to be this week?”

You raised an eyebrow, scoffing softly as you bumped his shoulder with your own. “You’ll see it when you see it, Yoon Jeonghan. No spoilers.”

His chuckle was low and warm, a sound that felt like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” you replied, the corners of your lips quirking upward. “But maybe not too much this time.”

He gave you a curious look, his expression halfway between wary and amused, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze drifting back to the track. The night was calm now, the weight of the day’s disappointment tucked into the folds of shared silence.

The headline hit Monday morning, and Jeonghan had to admit, you’d delivered once again.

Ferrari Falters in Hungary: Yoon Jeonghan's Fight for the Title Tightens

The article was incisive, as sharp as he’d expected. You broke down his struggles in FP1, critiqued his race strategy, and even called out the overtaking move that cost him crucial points. It was the kind of detailed, no-nonsense analysis you were known for, and Jeonghan read every word with a mix of frustration and admiration.

But at the bottom, tucked beneath the last paragraph, there was a footnote—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

“Despite Hungary’s setback, Yoon Jeonghan remains one of the most popular and formidable contenders for the championship. With only twenty points separating him from the lead, Belgium offers a more than fair chance for the Ferrari star to close the gap and reclaim his momentum.”

Jeonghan blinked, then read it again, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, the paper still in hand, and shook his head.

“Subtle,” he muttered, though his tone was anything but annoyed. It was gratitude, warmth, and a flicker of hope all wrapped together in a single word.

He might have faltered in Hungary, but you’d reminded him—the season wasn’t even half over. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fighting alone.

FORMULA 1 ROLEX BELGIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps

The weekend at Spa began like a dream.

The legendary Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps was a driver’s haven and a monster in equal measure. The longest track on the calendar, its 7 kilometers of asphalt wound through the lush forests of the Ardennes, combining high-speed straights, sweeping corners, and the unpredictable challenges of its microclimate. The iconic Eau Rouge and Raidillon dared drivers to go flat out, while the downhill plunge into Pouhon tested their courage and precision. It was a place where skill separated the good from the great.

Jeonghan thrived on its challenge.

FP1 and FP2 were his playgrounds, his Ferrari gliding through corners like it was made for this circuit alone. The car was responsive and balanced, every adjustment in setup shaving precious milliseconds off his laps. Jeonghan pushed it to its limits, feeling every bump and curve beneath him as if Spa’s asphalt were an extension of himself.

By the time he returned to the garage, his name was at the top of the timesheets, and his team wore expressions of pride and relief. Engineers crowded around him during the debrief, their excitement palpable. Even Mingyu wandered over to toss a mockingly impressed, “Don’t get used to it, Yoon,” in his direction.

Jeonghan, basking in the buzz of dominance, had only winked.

But then came the penalty.

A breach in power unit regulations—an unavoidable technicality that slapped him with a grid penalty. It was frustratingly bureaucratic, a punishment that felt out of his control and yet deeply personal. His pole position was stripped away, and he was relegated to P10.

In the Ferrari garage, Jeonghan leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, the weight of his helmet heavy in his hand. The rhythmic hum of power tools and bursts of chatter around him did little to soothe his simmering frustration.

It wasn’t just the penalty—it was the sting of perfection slipping through his fingers, a weekend that had started flawlessly now teetering on the edge of disappointment.

He glanced up, ready to bury himself in the chaos of the paddock, and froze.

You were there, leaning casually against the pit wall, chatting with one of the mechanics. The glow of the overhead lights caught in your hair, and despite the whirlwind of activity, you were a picture of calm. Your hands moved as you spoke, animated yet confident, the faintest flicker of a smirk playing on your lips.

His gaze lingered.

It hit him—a memory of your words from Hungary, your unwavering belief cloaked in sharp wit: “A more than fair chance to close the gap.”

For the first time since the penalty, the gap didn’t feel insurmountable.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring until you caught his eye. Your brows rose, and you tilted your head in mock curiosity before excusing yourself from the mechanic and walking toward him.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice laced with a note of amusement and something softer underneath.

Jeonghan shrugged, plastering on his signature cocky grin. “Since when are you worried about me?”

Your lips twitched in a barely concealed smile. “Oh, I’m not worried. Just curious. I wanted to see how Ferrari’s golden boy handles a little adversity.”

His grin faltered for the briefest moment before sharpening again. “Keep watching,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I might surprise you.”

You tilted your chin, your expression a blend of challenge and intrigue. “Don’t disappoint me then.”

The way you said it—like you meant it—sparked something fierce in him.

As you turned to leave, the faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air, anchoring him to the moment. Jeonghan watched you disappear into the paddock, your confident stride a sharp contrast to his brooding, and for the first time that day, a smirk tugged at his lips.

It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

P10 to P1.

It was the kind of race drivers dreamed of—the kind that earned its place in highlight reels for years to come.

The chaos began even before the lights went out. Rain had threatened all morning, dark clouds heavy over the Ardennes, but it held off just long enough to keep everyone guessing. Jeonghan sat in his Ferrari on the grid, surrounded by cars that had no business being ahead of him. He’d spent every second since the penalty recalibrating his mindset, shifting his frustration into fuel.

As the lights went out, his singular focus kicked in.

Turn 1, La Source: Jeonghan dived inside, threading through a gap that barely existed. The radio crackled with his engineer’s voice, commending his clean move, but he barely registered it. Eau Rouge and Raidillon loomed ahead, their uphill sweep demanding precision, bravery, and trust in his car.

He took the corners flat out.

By Lap 5, Jeonghan was in P7. His mind churned as he studied the cars ahead, each one a problem to solve. Every braking point, every shift in weight through the curves—it all required perfect execution.

But then came the rain.

It began as a drizzle at Pouhon, the light sheen on the track turning treacherous by the next sector. Jeonghan’s grip on the wheel tightened as he adjusted his lines, feeling for every ounce of traction.

“Box this lap for inters,” his engineer instructed.

“No,” Jeonghan replied, his voice steady. He could feel it—the balance of risk and reward. He stayed out one lap longer, the gamble paying off as he overtook two cars struggling on the wrong tires. When he finally pitted, the stop was flawless.

By Lap 20, the red flag came out, the rain too heavy for safety. Jeonghan sat in the pit lane during the suspension, helmet off, sweat beading his brow. His thoughts wandered for the first time since the race began.

Your words came back to him.

"Jeonghan’s perfectionism is both his weapon and his curse. When he is at his best, he’s untouchable. But the question remains: can he handle the pressure when the odds aren’t in his favor?"

His jaw tightened. You were right—about the pressure, about the way he held himself to standards so high they sometimes crushed him. But you’d also written something else.

"A more than fair chance to close the gap."

He wasn’t sure why, but that sentence anchored him.

When the race restarted, Jeonghan was a man possessed.

Sector by sector, he clawed his way through the field, each overtake cleaner and bolder than the last. At Blanchimont, he overtook Soonyoung in a move that was half instinct, half calculated risk. His engineer’s voice came over the radio in a disbelieving laugh: “Mate, you’re insane!”

By the final lap, he was leading. The roar of the crowd blended with the steady beat of his heart as he crossed the finish line, victory his once more.

The pit lane was a blur of celebration. His team engulfed him in a sea of red, their cheers drowning out even the din of Spa’s loyal fans. Soonyoung appeared out of nowhere, throwing an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“Winning in Spa from P10? You better believe I’m buying the first round,” Soonyoung declared, grinning despite his P2 finish.

Jeonghan laughed, the sound ragged and raw from effort, but his mind wasn’t entirely in the moment.

Later, in the quiet of the motorhome, when the adrenaline had settled and exhaustion was creeping in, Jeonghan pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar before typing your name.

The article was already live.

His breath caught as he read your headline:

From P10 to Perfection: Yoon Jeonghan’s Masterclass at Spa

It was glowing, but in your unmistakable style—balanced, sharp, and honest. You praised his overtakes, his strategy, and his ability to rise under pressure. Your writing was like poetry, an ode to his resilience, his precision in the rain, his ability to claw victory from the jaws of defeat. But what caught him off guard was the final line.

"With the championship fight closer than ever, it’s not a question of if Jeonghan will close the gap. It’s a question of when."

Jeonghan read it three times, his chest tight with something that felt almost like pride.

For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe them.

The bass thrummed low and heavy, a pulse that seemed to reverberate straight through the packed room.

Jeonghan leaned against the bar, his drink in hand, his racing suit long since replaced by a fitted black shirt with the top buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled just enough to expose his forearms, the dark fabric clinging to his frame in a way that effortlessly commanded attention. Around him, the club buzzed with post-race energy—drivers, engineers, and team members alike reveling in the victory and chaos of the day.

Soonyoung was next to him, buzzing with his usual infectious energy. Jeonghan caught snippets of his teammate’s banter, but his mind was elsewhere.

“God, Jeonghan, if you stare any harder, she’s going to spontaneously combust,” Soonyoung teased, sipping his drink with a knowing smirk.

Jeonghan blinked, startled. “What?”

Soonyoung rolled his eyes, nodding toward the dance floor. “Her. You’ve been staring at her like she’s a particularly tricky apex all night.”

Jeonghan followed his gaze.

There you were, dancing with a group of Ferrari engineers, the colored lights spilling across your frame, making your skin glow. You laughed at something one of them said, your head tilting back, your hair swaying with every movement. Jeonghan’s grip on his glass tightened.

“You’re hopeless,” Soonyoung said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just go talk to her. Or better yet, dance with her. God knows you’ll make everyone else jealous.”

Jeonghan scoffed, setting his empty glass down on the bar with a sharp clink. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure, and you just happened to spend the past ten minutes glaring at the poor guy she’s dancing with.”

Jeonghan shot him a warning glance, but Soonyoung only grinned wider.

“Look, you’ve already won at Spa,” he added, leaning closer. “Might as well take another victory tonight.”

Jeonghan shook his head, but the heat in his chest betrayed him. He cast one last glance at you before downing the rest of his drink and pushing off the bar.

The crowd was a blur of movement, bodies packed tightly together under the pulsing lights, but Jeonghan moved with purpose. He found you easily, your energy magnetic even in the chaos.

The beat shifted as he approached, slowing to something deeper, sultrier. He stepped in behind you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your ear.

You turned slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a teasing smile, your eyes dancing in the dim light. “Jeonghan. Didn’t think you were the clubbing type.”

He smirked, his hand brushing lightly against your waist. “I make exceptions for special occasions.”

You arched a brow, leaning back into him just enough to blur the line between teasing and inviting. “Special occasions, huh? Like winning at Spa?”

“Something like that,” he said, his voice a touch quieter now. His fingers rested lightly on your waist, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

You turned to face him fully, your hands drifting up to rest on his shoulders, playful and almost casual. “So? What’s it like being untouchable?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again. “You’d know,” he said smoothly, “if you were paying attention during my races instead of writing snarky articles.”

You laughed, a soft, melodious sound that made his chest tighten. “I did pay attention,” you countered, leaning in slightly, your lips barely a breath away from his ear. “You were alright, I guess.”

“Alright?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You called it a masterclass. Don’t think I didn’t read your article.”

Your grin widened, the fire in your eyes matching the teasing edge in your tone. “Oh, that? Don’t let it go to your head, Yoon. I still expect a proper interview.”

His hands shifted to your hips, grounding you against him as he swayed slightly to the beat, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“And if I did?” you teased back, your voice soft but no less challenging.

For a moment, the world around you fell away. The music, the lights, the press of the crowd—it all faded as the space between you closed. Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on your lips, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing.

Then, just as you tilted your head, leaning closer—

“JEONGHAN!”

The moment shattered.

Sunwoo’s voice boomed over the music as he appeared out of nowhere, the mechanic’s grin wide and oblivious. “Bro, come on! You can flirt later! Dance with me!”

Jeonghan groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as your laughter spilled over him like warm sunlight.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You pulled back, still laughing, and met his gaze with a wink. “I’ll hold you to that.”

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN DUTCH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Zandvoort

The paddock at Zandvoort was always one of Jeonghan’s favorites. The smell of fresh sea air mixed with the unmistakable tang of fuel and rubber, while the orange-clad crowd painted the stands in a fiery glow. Jeonghan didn’t even mind the noise—something about the Netherlands had a way of energizing him.

He was walking back from the driver’s parade when he spotted you outside the Ferrari hospitality tent, a coffee in hand, your eyes scanning the throng of people with practiced ease. The crisp breeze tugged at your hair, and Jeonghan slowed his pace, his lips curling into a familiar smirk.

You glanced up just in time to catch him staring. “Don’t you have a race to focus on?”

“Don’t you have an article to write?” he shot back, his voice smooth as ever.

“I’m multitasking,” you replied, raising your coffee in a mock toast.

Jeonghan stepped closer, close enough that the conversation felt private despite the bustling paddock around you. “Let me guess,” he said, crossing his arms, “today’s headline is, ‘Ferrari Driver Jeonghan Looks Extra Handsome Under Dutch Sunlight.’”

You snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “Oh, please. I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘Can Ferrari’s Yoon Jeonghan Deliver After Spa Masterclass?’”

“Flattering,” he mused, tilting his head. “I thought you’d save the sarcasm for the post-race write-up.”

“I aim to keep you humble,” you said with a shrug, though the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a thrill down your spine. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like a fan.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word in—

“Jeonghan!”

A voice cut through the tension like a knife. You both turned to see Soonyoung jogging up, waving enthusiastically. “There you are! We’re late for the strategy briefing!”

Jeonghan sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced back at you. “Guess we’ll have to finish this later.”

You grinned, your eyes dancing with amusement. “Don’t let me keep you from your briefing, Ferrari’s golden boy.”

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened. “I’ll see you after I win.”

He walked off, Soonyoung talking his ear off as you watched him go, the heat in your chest lingering far longer than it should have.

The race came and went, and though Jeonghan didn’t win—Mingyu’s dominance at Zandvoort was almost an inevitability—he still managed to bring home a solid podium finish.

Later, back at the hospitality suite, you found yourself standing near the balcony, staring out at the ocean waves in the distance.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” came a familiar voice behind you.

You turned to find Jeonghan leaning casually against the doorway, his hair still damp from the post-race shower. He’d swapped his racing suit for a simple white shirt and jeans, but somehow, he still looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “Though I was expecting a win. Should I change the headline to ‘Close, but Not Quite’?”

Jeonghan’s laugh was low and smooth as he closed the distance between you. “I think you’re just trying to rile me up.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Is it working?”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint freckle on his cheekbone, the way his lashes caught the light. “You tell me.”

The air between you crackled, your banter giving way to something heavier, something unspoken. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Jeonghan!”

The door slammed open, and Mingyu’s booming voice shattered the moment.

Both of you jumped, turning to see the taller driver grinning sheepishly. “Uh, sorry. Team dinner’s starting soon, and they’re waiting for you.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, but he plastered on an easy smile. “Of course they are.”

Mingyu left as quickly as he’d come, leaving you and Jeonghan alone again.

“Do people just have radar for this?” Jeonghan muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Maybe it’s the universe telling you to focus on racing.”

He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Or maybe it’s telling me I’ll just have to try harder.”

Your pulse quickened, but before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically, stepping back with a rueful smile. “Guess I’ll have to settle for third interruptions.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “You’re consistent, at least.”

“Don’t forget it,” he said with a wink, his voice smooth as ever as he walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone, the waves crashing in the distance as you wondered how long this game of cat and mouse could last.

another lil a/n: full throttle is probably one of my favorite things i've EVER written and i am so proud of myself for getting this out of my head and onto the page.

2K notes · View notes

pochaccoups · 4 months ago

Text

facetime — choi seungcheol & yoon jeonghan

pairing — choi seungcheol x yoon jeonghan x f!reader

summary — when three people in a relationship want to fuck but one of them is in a different country, facetime comes in pretty handy.

wc — 4k

warnings — nsfw content minors dni! smut, established polyamorous relationship, threesome (technically), phone sex, butt plugs, anal and vaginal fingering, oral (m and f receiving), masturbation, so much dirty talk, soft dom!seungcheol, brat tamer!seungcheol, prone bone, creampie, slight daddy kink, reader referred to as a girl, a lot of ‘cheollie’ and ‘hannie’ sorry but i think they sound cute

author’s note — umm hi can u tell i had so much fun writing this …… this will be part of a poly jeongcheol series i have in the works so pls stay tuned and enjoy !!! :>

seungcheol: just finished up the show, what are you up to?

jeonghan: busy.

Attached is a photo that’s slightly shaky and dimly lit, but Seungcheol can make out every detail of you with Jeonghan’s cock halfway down your throat.

It takes less than a second for Seungcheol’s caller ID to pop up on Jeonghan’s phone screen, and Jeonghan doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“Yah… You know I hate being left out,” is the first thing Seungcheol says. The sound of his deep voice makes you draw your mouth off of Jeonghan.

“Cheollie?” you ask, beaming as you snatch your boyfriend’s phone from his hands so that you can see your other boyfriend through the screen.

“Hi, pretty,” Seungcheol says, waving. He looks hot, but that’s a perpetual characteristic of his. He hasn’t removed his makeup yet, and his hair, getting longer, is still styled from the show. “Miss me?”

“So much. We both do,” you say with a grin. You make a show of mouthing at Jeonghan’s cock for the camera, sticking out your tongue so you can slap the tip on it, swirling it around, all with a faint mischievous gleam in your eyes at the sound of one boyfriend’s whines and the other’s sulking.

“Yeah? Doesn’t really seem like you do,” Seungcheol says, laying back on a bed that’s way too soft, too cold, too far away.

“Seungcheollie, you know how needy our girl is-ah,” Jeonghan pipes up, moaning as you wrap your lips around him and bob your head up and down.

“I do know, and you’re not innocent either, Jeonghan. You miss getting your pretty little ass fucked, don’t you?”

You worry Jeonghan will bust then and there from the way his cock twitches in your mouth, but fuck was Seungcheol right. It’s why you all prefer to have sex with all three of you present, because at this point having someone missing feels… weird. Not bad. Definitely not. But the absence of a third lover becomes far too apparent.

Right now, you and Jeonghan don’t have much of a choice though. Duty calls, meaning Seungcheol is touring on the other side of the world—has been for the last two weeks and will be for another two weeks. Jeonghan would be with him if it weren’t for his enlistment. Alas, you have Seungcheol’s voice to do what it does best: tell you two exactly what to do.

“Take all of him, baby, you know you can,” he says, soft and slightly commanding in a way that makes you want to do good just for him, make him proud. And you’ve taken Seungcheol, who’s a little longer and far thicker, all the way down your throat many, many times before that swallowing Jeonghan’s entire length feels like a mere warmup.

Pride swells through you when your two boyfriends curse above you, filling you with an eagerness to give them more. So while one of your hands holds the phone, albeit shakingly, your other hand pumps the base of Jeonghan’s cock, in rhythm with your mouth as you bob up and down. It’s wet and obscene, the way you lap up the precum that leaks from your boyfriend’s tip only to let it spill from your lips and drool all over him, all over your fingertips.

Your eyes never break away from Seungcheol, who’s chewing on his bottom lip and staring at you with eyes that are both clouded over with desire and dark with concentration. If you know your boyfriend then he’s thinking of all the things he would do if he was in the same room as you two.

Jeonghan doesn’t expect it when one of your spit-slick fingers creeps down to his ass and traces his hole, and he squirms and cries as you prod at his opening before pushing inside. He’s taken Seungcheol many, many times, too, that your finger should feel like a warmup, but two weeks without his boyfriend’s cock stretching him out is torture, so the slide of your digit in and out is a sweet relief that he’s forgotten.

You pull your mouth away from him, sitting up on your knees so that you can angle the camera for Seungcheol to watch as your finger dips in, all the way to your knuckle, then back out of Jeonghan’s hole.

“He’s so whiny today, Cheollie.”

“Mm, more than usual, huh?” he replies, licking his lips, his hand reaching to his crotch to palm at it just a little. He thinks about how his fingers are twice as thick as yours, how Jeonghan would sob if it was his hands inside him.

“He misses your fat cock,” you say, and Seungcheol feels his sanity jump straight out of his hotel window. You’ve always proven detrimental to his patience and self-control, taking years off of your poor boyfriend’s life with your bratty ways. “Right, Hannie?” you say, right as you pull your finger out of him, grinning as he squirms and curses under his breath as a reply.

You only stop fingering him because you have an idea. With the phone still in hand, you dangle yourself off the side of the king bed to open one of the bedside table drawers, grab the silver heart-shaped plug and bottle of lube, then clamber back between your boyfriend’s legs. Jeonghan watches with glistening eyes as you drizzle the plug with lube. Once it’s drenched, you flip the phone camera around, letting Seungcheol watch as you press the tapered end of the plug against Jeonghan’s hole. The cold toy makes him flinch at first, and he shudders as you circle his rim with it until he’s thoroughly smeared with the sticky liquid.

The sound Jeonghan makes when you push the plug inside of him is pitiful, and it’s in harmony with a deep groan of approval from Seungcheol. You’re the furthest one from dominant among the three of you, and yet you have these men dangerously wrapped around your finger. Your men.

“There,” you say, content, like you’ve just painted a masterpiece—and your boyfriend’s pretty ass with a cute heart-shaped butt plug nestled inside comes pretty close.

“That’s my girl. So thoughtful,” says Seungcheol, and his praise ignites you with a sense of accomplishment that rivals the highest of promotions.

“Can I make him eat me out now?” you ask, because it’s Cheol who does this best; sets the pace, tells you what to do, lets you sit in the palm of his hand while he does all the thinking for the three of you. A true leader, through and through.

“Keep sucking Hannie off, baby, just for a bit,” is his instruction. It would be easy to disobey him, yes, to disconnect the call and turn off the phone if you so pleased, but the thing about Seungcheol is that even when his voice is soft, it still commands.

You pout only for the sake of pouting because, really, having Jeonghan’s cock in your mouth is one of your favourite pastimes. You waste no time swallowing him all the way down to his base again, only to pop right back off him just to hear a tortured moan from him. You fall back into an up and down bobbing rhythm then, steadily, lips wrapped tight around your boyfriend’s length in the way that you know won’t make him last long.

“Jeonghannie,” Seungcheol calls out, but the man in question is too busy whining and whimpering to hear him. When he’s close his brain all but shuts off and the only thing he can do is take whatever he’s getting with pretty, pretty moans.

“Baby, don’t let him cum yet,” Seungcheol urges you instead.

Jeonghan nearly sobs this time when you pop your mouth off his cock, but there’s a force in Seungcheol’s voice that compels you to listen. “Yes, daddy,” you say—the cherry on top.

Seungcheol drags a hand over his face, groaning. “Fuck, you two want me dead, huh?”

“Yeah, well, you two are disgusting… and annoying,” says Jeonghan, who sounds thoroughly irritated as a cute frown knits his brows together.

Poor, poor you, with not one but two needy, jealous boyfriends who can’t stand not being the subjects of all your affection. If it was you in Seungcheol’s position, alone on the other side of the world, you would never get this sulky. You’d be completely rational about it. Obviously.

The urge to soothe Jeonghan comes as an instinct, one that makes you crawl up from between his legs so that you can straddle his slender waist and kiss his pouting lips. He melts into you when you do, mouth moulding against yours so sweetly, his hands falling to your waist and the tips of his fingers dancing softly against your skin. The Facetime call is forgotten, much to Seungcheol’s dismay, as you drop the phone to the bed in favour of cradling Jeonghan’s cheeks in your hands so that you can kiss him harder. Your crotch, still clothed, rocks back and forth over his erection and soon you’re moaning into one another’s mouths, muffled by your tongues that are swirling together.

Jeonghan doesn’t have half of Seungcheol’s strength to manhandle you around, so he opts to gently guide you off his lap and onto the bed until you’re underneath him. He kisses you once, twice, thrice, leaves you reeling as he moves on to pepper your neck with soft nibbles and scrapes of his teeth. He pulls away for a moment only to drag your t-shirt (one of Seungcheol’s, of course) up and over your head.

Now that you’re less occupied with Jeonghan’s lips, you pick up the phone again and bring the camera up to your face, grinning at Seungcheol’s small pout on the screen. If you could only hop through the phone and into his lap, you would do it in a heartbeat.

“Cheollie, wanna see your cock, please,” you say, shivering as Jeonghan mouths at one of your nipples. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue as his hands reach up to grasp your tits delicately, and you sigh when his warm, wet mouth envelops one of your hardened buds.

“Not yet, baby, I’ll take it out when Jeonghan fucks you, okay?”

Seungcheol chuckles fondly at your unhappy hum, so he adds, “I wanna cum with you two, yeah?”

“Okay, fine- wait, Hannie,” you whine. “My boobs.”

He peers up, already between your legs, having decided he was done giving attention to your tits. You see right through it—your boyfriend is nothing if not vengeful.

“You’re too spoiled,” he quips, peeling your shorts and panties down your legs, exposing your drooling pussy to him.

“And you’re used to Cheollie doing everythi-ahh!” Jeonghan cuts you off when he licks your cunt without warning, sending your eyes rolling back into your head and your hand grabbing a fistful of his now-short hair. He’s far from rough and aggressive, but it’s precisely the patient softness of his touch that leaves you keening for more.

“Baby, can you do me a favour?” Seungcheol asks, practically cooing as he watches your eyes glaze over with pleasure.

But all you can focus on is the way that Jeonghan’s warm tongue flicks lazily over your clit as well as the grip of his fingers on your thighs.

“Baby?” Seungcheol tries again, only a little louder. This time your eyes flick to him on the screen and you make a little affirmative noise. “Will you flip the phone screen around for me, please? I wanna watch Hannie eat your pretty pussy.”

You do as he asks, pointing the camera to give Seungcheol a view of his boyfriend between his girlfriend’s thighs.

“Good girl,” he says, breathier now, his tone darker. It’s deliberate; malicious, you would say—his praise makes you a whiny, needy mess. His voice alone turns you into a slut and he knows that because you’d told him that, word for word. “And since I’m not there, can you play with your tits for me, baby? The way that I would do it? I know it’s not the same, but it’ll still feel good.”

“Mhm,” you moan. You find yourself closing your eyes as you let go of Jeonghan’s hair and bring your hand to cup your own breast, to squeeze and grope at it, to tweak and tug at your nipple, all while imagining that you’re leaned against your boyfriend’s sturdy, broad body and that it’s his big, unrelenting hand cupping your tits and not your own.

At the same time, Jeonghan eats your pussy like the fiend that he is. Unlike Seungcheol, who lacks the control to stop himself from ravaging you like an animal until your pussy is raw and puffy, Jeonghan is much more, as he is in all aspects of his life, calculated. He’ll string you along with swipes of his tongue that seem coy until he’s making passes through your folds, prodding at your dripping, awaiting entrance. He licks into your hole and sips at your arousal like it’s honey, intent on making you fall apart slowly.

“How does his mouth feel, angel? Tell him,” says Seungcheol, whose lips have gotten swollen from his relentless chewing on them.

“God, Hannie, feels so good,” you squeak, your eyes still screwed shut as if that’ll help soothe the heat that burns through your body from Jeonghan’s mouth. Your fingers keep pinching at your nipple, and then Jeonghan slips two of his fingers into your heat, sending your hips bucking against his face and leaving you whining desperately, shamelessly.

While his mouth makes out with your cunt, Jeonghan’s fingers dip in and out of you, massaging at your most sensitive spot over and over. He finds it with practiced ease, and he knows by now exactly what kind of vigour it needs to have you crying. He’s practically petting at your insides, your walls clamping around his fingers as your moans start to grow louder.

“H-hannie, I’m close, please, right there,” you squirm as your walls attempt to suck his fingers in.

You don’t see it, but his eyes flash with something devilish. Your other boyfriend sees it, though.

“Jeonghan, don’t even think about edging her.”

Jeonghan smirks with mischief, letting his fingers do the work as he pulls his mouth away from your pussy.

“Let me have my fun, Seungcheollie.”

“If I did that neither you nor her would cum at all,” is your other boyfriend’s response.

There’s silence as Jeonghan ponders whether he should obey or disobey. All the while, you’re mere inches away from your edge, hot with frustration because it’s so close; you’re so close. You just need a little bit more. It’s not too much to ask.

“Hannie, please…”

And he can’t find it in himself to deprive you any longer, so he crooks his fingers and works them as fast as he possibly can until you’re clenching, gushing, writhing all around his hand, wailing his name as you grab at his wrist but he still won’t stop.

“Such a good boy, huh, Jeonghannie? Making her cum so good,” comes Seungcheol’s voice, sounding more breathless with each time he speaks. “Now we’re all happy.”

It’s only once your walls have stopped spasming around his fingers that Jeonghan finally slips them out of you and pops them straight into his mouth, licking them clean of every drop of your sugary arousal. He makes sure to gaze directly into the camera as his tongue laves and swirls over each one of his digits, knowing Seungcheol’s dick is twitching at the sight.

“I haven’t cum yet though. So I’m not happy yet,” he says, dragging a finger out of his mouth with a pop.

You sit up on your elbows with your cute, blissed out features, your eyes falling to his red-hard cock.

“Come here and fuck me, then,” you say, impatient, like he didn’t just give you an orgasm. You paw at the hem of his shirt (also Seungcheol’s) and bite your lip as he pulls it over his head, letting your hands roam over his pale torso.

“Ride me?” he asks. How predictable. If it’s not Seungcheol taking him from behind then it’s you on top of him. God forbid Yoon Jeonghan does the work.

“Actually, I have a better idea. And this way Cheollie can see us both,” you say with a grin.

With the phone on the front-facing camera, you prop it up against the headboard and roll onto your stomach, craning your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“Like this?” Jeonghan asks, straddling the backs of your thighs.

“Yeah,” you say, parting your legs a little, arching your back and raising your hips—presenting your soaked, messy hole to him. “Try not to get tired.”

He responds with a half-hearted smack to your ass and Cheol scoffs out a chuckle. Jeonghan slides his cock between your folds, coating it with your slick, revelling in your tiny gasps every time it catches on your entrance. You’re prepared to whine and nag at your boyfriend to hurry up, but you suppose he’s feeling just as impatient as you are because he’s pushing in before you can even speak up. You look at Seungcheol, mouth dropping as you’re stuffed full with Jeonghan’s cock until he’s buried to the hilt inside you. His hands land on either side of your elbows so that he can hover over you, reel his hips back, and fuck himself into you like that.

In this position, Jeonghan’s length brushes right against your gummy, sensitive spot with every stroke, making you keen for more even though he’s just started.

“Harder, Hannie,” you sigh, pushing your ass up against his hips.

Instead of listening, he drops his head to the crook of your shoulder and kisses your skin. His breath tickles your ear when he whispers to you: “ah, what’s the rush, angel?”

You turn your head to catch his gaze, to drink in the sight of his face as he takes what he needs from you; his cheeks pink, his eyes tired and full of hunger. His lips, plump and enticing, evoke an unrivalled craving within you and he reads you well, brings his mouth to yours to give you as much satiation as he can muster.

Seungcheol sits, silent, waiting. His patience is mere embers as he watches you two, his boyfriend and his girlfriend, tangled within one another. The wet slap of Jeonghan’s balls against the back of your thighs; the smacking of your lips, teeth, and tongues. He misses it. Fuck, he could go insane.

“Cheollie,” you whine, when Jeonghan’s lips are no longer enough. “Want you to feel good too.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replies, abandoning all semblance of the self-control he’d displayed up until now. It’s time, anyway, he thinks. He’s held off long enough. He puts his phone down and there’s shuffling as he strips himself of his sweat-soaked outfit from the show and settles upon the bed sheets once more.

Saliva pools from the sides of your mouth when he angles his camera to show you his hand wrapped around his thick, erect dick and God, what you’d do to have it bruising the back of your throat until you’re gagging, letting him defile you all while he coos the sweetest of praises at you.

“Daddy, I miss your cock so bad,” you admit in a weak whimper, shivering when Jeonghan angles himself deeper inside you.

“Yeah? Miss how I’d fuck your pretty little mouth?”

“Fuck, she’s clenching so hard around me, Seungcheollie,” Jeonghan grits. “Greedy little thing.”

“I mean, it’s our fault one cock’s not enough to make her happy anymore,” says Seungcheol, sighing with relief as he thumbs at his leaking tip, squeezing his fist around it, reminiscent of the way that you and Jeonghan like to tease him.

“Like I said,” says Jeonghan as he pushes two of his fingers between your parted lips. “Spoiled.”

You moan around them, staring straight into the camera as you suck on them, staring at Seungcheol, who starts to pump his hand up and down his cock. He wants to shut his eyes and pretend it’s your hand, or Jeonghan’s hand, or one of your tight, warm holes, but he can’t take his eyes off of his phone screen no matter how hard he wants to, and, well, he doesn’t want to.

He jerks himself off to the same rhythm that Jeonghan’s hips grind into yours. Seungcheol likes things a little faster, usually, more rough, but it’s Jeonghan who’s inside you right now, not him, so he matches his boyfriend’s lazy but not too slow pace, one that’s just enough to give you a gradual stimulation.

There’s something about the whole thing—being fucked on camera, being teased with Seungcheol’s cock when you can’t have it—it has you way more excited than you expected. Way more turned on than you expected. It shows in the floods of arousal that drip from your pussy and dampen yours and Jeonghan’s thighs, in the way you’re whinier and more sensitive than usual.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s own noises don’t help. In fact they spur you on, coax you closer to your edge, urge the heat in your belly to grow. When Seungcheol isn’t giving deep, rasped curses, he’s letting out pretty, breathy, borderline whimpering moans. Jeonghan’s sounds are as angelic as he is. His voice is a holy choir in your ear, heavenly and soft as he gasps with exertion and pleasure; as he does things to you that any God would frown upon.

Jeonghan, too, is more sensitive. With the plug constantly brushing at his prostate, he can’t help but screw his eyes shut and pretend it’s his big, buff boyfriend fucking his girth into him. It makes his thrusts grow raggedy, like he’s more heavy. His body weight presses into you as his arms start to ache just a little. He’s impossibly deep in your guts like this and it feels so fucking good that your brain starts to melt.

Seungcheol recognises the look in your eye—absent, like you’re starting to tap out and letting yourself become consumed by bliss.

“Is she getting close, angel?” he questions, punctuating it with a moan, the slick glide of his hand up and down his cock like music in your ears.

Jeonghan hums affirmatively. “Pretty pussy’s choking me,” he says, his voice cracking, his composure with it. He tries to put more vigour in his thrusts, more determination. The sooner you cum, the sooner he cums.

“Cum for Jeonghannie, baby,” Seungcheol urges softly.

“Cum for me,” Jeonghan echoes. You don’t stand a chance.

The heat inside you coils up, then erupts. Jeonghan fucks you through your climax as you tremble beneath him, crying his name and clawing at the sheets below you.

“There it is, my good girl,” Seungcheol coos, tightening his grip on his cock as he tugs at it harshly as though it could ever replicate the feeling of your warm walls clamping down on him as you cum.

“Ah, fuck,” Jeonghan gasps, dropping his head to your shoulder, cock twitching. His next request is a broken, pathetic moan. “Ch-cheollie, cum with me.”

Jeonghan stills inside you, whimpering softly with every rope of cum that he spills inside you, letting you milk him of every last drop. At the same time, Seungcheol gives a resounding groan as he brings himself to his own release, cum splattering over his toned stomach.

There’s a moment of silence, or, rather, nothing but a harmony of laboured breaths as the three of you come down from your orgasms. You give a noise of protest as Jeonghan suddenly rolls off of you, but his stamina is always drained after sex—especially when he’s doing the work. You shiver, both from the emptiness in your cunt and the cold air that hits you now that you no longer have your boyfriend’s body as a shield from it.

“Seungcheollie’s gonna wanna see your cum leak out of me, you know,” you say.

“You know me so well, baby,” is Seungcheol’s reply.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. He makes no effort to move from his spot, opting to stretch his arm above his head and pat around until he finds the phone. He sits up next to you, points the camera between your legs as he grips one of your ass cheeks and spreads you apart.

There’s a screenshot sound as white drools from your spent hole.

“Seungcheol!” you shriek. “You pervert.”

“Coups-ya, send that to me.”

thank you for reading! reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated <3

tags — @svtiddiess @ylangelegy @simpxxstan @caibeauchicfashion

1K notes · View notes

cheers-to-you-th · 2 months ago

Text

Even Dumbasses Deserve Love

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x reader

Genre: Fluff, f2l, angst if you squint, smut !MDNI!

Warnings: Jeonghan being an idiot, oral (f receiving), dry humping, unprotected sex (don't do it yall), multiple orgasms, let me know if I missed anything

Summary: Yoon Jeonghan, your beautiful, wonderful, amazing, dumb-ass of a best friend who somehow doesn't see how hopelessly in love with him you are.

Until he does.

Banner by @orngejuic Beta Readers: @gyubakeries @sanaxo-o @mylovesstuffs ily guys <3

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows @cynthbee

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Jeonghan prides himself in being two steps ahead of everyone. It’s just how he is—how he operates. He reads people easily, anticipates what they’ll do before they can even think it themselves. It’s why he always wins petty bets, why he always manages to dodge responsibility, why he can talk his way out of anything with nothing more than a lazy smile. He sees the signs before they become obvious, notices the smallest shifts in expression, the tiniest changes in behavior.

That’s why, after knowing you for years, Jeonghan finds himself baffled. The first time he notices something is when you sit in your normal seat next to him before your lecture starts, sliding a coffee in front of him. It’s something you do so often that it barely registers—until Seokmin starts to complain.

“Where’s mine?” Seokmin whines, dramatically slumping against the table. “Why does Jeonghan always get special treatment? I like coffee too, you know.”

You scoff, sipping from your own cup without a second thought. “You have two legs, Kyeom, use them.”

Seokmin pouts, muttering something about Jeonghan’s legs and injustice, but Jeonghan barely hears him. Because for the first time, he’s thinking about what Seokmin had said. You always bring him coffee. Always. Even when you’re running late, even when you don’t get one for yourself. Even when you grumble about how he doesn’t deserve it.

He lifts the cup, staring at the little details he’s never bothered to notice before. The way his name is scrawled across the side in your handwriting instead of the barista’s. The way you always get it exactly how he likes—two sugars, just enough milk to take the edge off the bitterness. The way you don’t even wait for a thank you.

Like it’s second nature. Like it’s just… what you do.

And now, he can’t stop thinking about it.

He starts noticing other things during the lecture.

How you always roll your eyes when he leans against you, but never actually push him away. How you scold him for doodling on the margins of your notebook, but still let him get away with it every time. How you look at him when you think he isn’t paying attention.

It makes something shift in his brain—tilting, twisting, catching on a thought he’s somehow never had before.

And maybe that should be the end of it.

But it isn’t.

Not yet.

Because a week later, it happens again.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It’s late—too late for you to be waiting around for him, but you do anyway. The library is nearly empty, the last stragglers packing up as Jeonghan stretches his arms over his head with a groan.

“Finally done?” you ask, voice amused as you glance up from your phone. You’re already leaning against the table, your bag slung over your shoulder, like you’ve been waiting for him this whole time.

Because you have.

Jeonghan blinks. He hadn’t asked you to. Hadn’t even considered it. He just assumed you’d gone home when you finished hours ago. But you didn’t—you stayed.

“Why are you still here?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you said you were leaving at nine.”

You shrug. “Changed my mind.”

Changed your mind.

Jeonghan frowns but doesn’t push further. Because now, he’s thinking about it again.

About the way you always are there whenever he needs you, about how you never actually leave until he does. About how, even when you complain about him, you’re still here.

Always here, waiting for him.

His stomach twists with something unfamiliar. Something that feels a little too warm, a little too close to something he isn’t ready to name. He follows you into the cold night air, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His thoughts are too loud, too disorganized, for him to focus.

And when you shiver beside him, he doesn’t even think—he just shrugs off his hoodie and tugs it over your head before you can protest.

You freeze, blinking up at him. “What—”

“Just wear it,” Jeonghan mutters, looking away.

And maybe, if he let himself think too hard about why he did that—why the sight of you in his hoodie makes something tighten in his chest—he’d realize he’s in way more trouble than he thought.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The next time, it’s at a party.

Jeonghan isn’t even sure why he came—probably because Mingyu wouldn’t stop nagging him about needing to ‘go out and touch grass,’ whatever that means. The music is loud, the room packed with people, and Jeonghan, as usual, is lounging in the corner with a drink in hand, thoroughly entertained by the mess unfolding around him.

Then he sees you.

You’re talking to someone—some guy he doesn’t recognize, who’s standing a little too close, leaning in a little too much. You don’t seem bothered at a glance, but Jeonghan notices the way your fingers tighten around your cup, the slight shift in your stance. It’s subtle, something no one else would catch. But he does. He sees the tightness in your smile and the way you recoil when the man touches your arm.

Before Jeonghan can think twice, he’s already moving.

He slides up next to you easily, arm slinging around your shoulders like it belongs there, like it’s second nature. “There you are,” he drawls, flashing his most infuriating smile as he pointedly ignores the guy in front of you. “Been looking for you everywhere.”

You blink up at him, startled for only a second before you relax against him, leaning into his hold like it’s instinct.

The guy shifts awkwardly. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were—”

Jeonghan tilts his head, still smiling. He doesn’t say anything, just lets the weight of unspoken words hang in the air until the guy gets the message and quickly excuses himself.

Once he’s gone, Jeonghan glances down at you, raising a brow. “You okay?”

You let out a breath, rolling your eyes. “I was handling it.”

“I know.” He shrugs, arm still around you, still holding you close. “Felt like bothering you anyway.”

You huff, but you don’t pull away.

And then it hits him again.

The way you always let him do this—let him close, let him linger. The way you lean into him, like you belong there. The way it feels so natural that he doesn’t realize he's still holding onto you until his fingers tighten slightly on your shoulder.

Something warm twists in his chest.

He should let go. He should step back.

But he doesn't.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Another day, it’s at lunch.

Jeonghan doesn’t think much when you slide into the seat across from him, tray in hand, like you always do. He barely glances up from his phone as you start picking at your food, the conversation around you blending into background noise.

Then you do something that makes his fingers still over his screen. You push the cucumbers off his plate. It’s so natural, so absentminded, that you don’t even seem to notice yourself doing it. Just a quick movement, the same way you always do.

Jeonghan stares at his plate, where the cucumbers had been only seconds ago, now neatly placed onto yours without a word. He glances up at you, but you’re still focused on your meal, completely unbothered, like this is just… normal.

He thinks back—tries to remember when this started. When you figured out he didn’t like cucumbers. When you decided, without being asked, to take them off his plate every single time.

Jeonghan swallows.

“Are you gonna eat that?” you ask suddenly, pointing at the bread roll on his tray.

He blinks, momentarily caught off guard before scoffing. “At least let me offer before you start eyeing my food.”

You roll your eyes, reaching over to grab it anyway. “Please, you were gonna give it to me either way.”

He doesn’t argue. Because you’re right. He always does.

And now, as you tear off a piece of the bread and pop it into your mouth without thinking, Jeonghan can’t help but notice the way this has all become a habit. The way there are things you do for him without question. The way there are things he does for you, too.

Jeonghan exhales, poking at the rest of his food, but suddenly, it doesn’t taste the same.

Because now, he’s thinking about it again.

Thinking about what makes you act like this.

But he doesn’t ask.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The next instance is in the rain.

Jeonghan had told you to go home before the storm hit, rolled his eyes when you stubbornly refused– insisting you’d be fine– until he finally managed to convince you. And now, standing under the awning of a closed convenience store, watching the rain pour down in sheets, he’s debating whether he should call you just to say, “I told you so.”

Then his phone buzzes.

You: are you still at the library?

Jeonghan frowns, quickly typing back.

Jeonghan: no, at the convenience store across from it, dorm ran out of soju You: don’t leave yet. I’m coming to get you.

He stares at the screen, brow furrowing. You’re coming to get him?

It takes you fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes of Jeonghan watching the rain fall, of tapping his fingers against his phone, of wondering—really wondering—why you’re doing this.

And then you’re there, pulling up to the curb with your hazard lights flashing, hair slightly damp from the short sprint to your car. You barely give him a chance to react before you’re unlocking the door, waving him in.

“Hurry up,” you say, like this is normal. Like it’s nothing. Like you haven’t just driven across town in the middle of a downpour for him.

Jeonghan slides into the passenger seat, dripping water onto your floor mats. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches you as you reach into the backseat and pull out a towel.

You toss it at him without looking, focused on pulling back into traffic. “Dry your hair before you get sick.”

Jeonghan stares at the towel, then at you. “Did you—”

“I always keep one in my car,” you interrupt, as if reading his mind. “For emergencies.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. “So, I’m an emergency now?”

“You’re definitely something.” You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “I don’t know why I bother with you.”

But you do.

You do, every single time.

You didn’t have to come get him. You didn’t have to wait for him at the library, or bring him coffee every morning, or let him cling to you at parties without question.

And yet, here you are.

Jeonghan exhales, pressing his lips together, fingers tightening around the towel in his lap.

His chest feels warm again. Too warm.

He should say something. Should tease you, should make some dumb joke to brush this off like he always does.

But for the first time, he doesn’t.

For the first time, he just sits there, watching you drive, heart pounding against his ribs.

But he doesn’t want to think about how you make him feel.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The worst time is when he’s sick.

Jeonghan rarely gets sick. He prides himself on that, actually—on having an immune system strong enough to withstand whatever hell Mingyu’s cooking experiments unleash upon their friend group. But now, he’s curled up in bed, utterly miserable, his head pounding and his throat raw.

He doesn’t remember texting you. He’s not even sure if he did. But somehow, you’re there.

The knock on his door barely registers, his brain foggy with fever, but then you’re pushing it open, arms full—plastic bags rustling, a familiar frown on your lips.

“Dumbass,” you scold immediately, setting everything down on his desk before walking over to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dying?”

Jeonghan groans, burying his face in his pillow. “Not dying.”

“You sound like you swallowed glass.” You reach out, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead before he can stop you. Your skin is cool against his overheated skin, and it makes him shiver.

You frown deeper. “You’re burning up.”

“I’ll live,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

You click your tongue but don’t argue, instead moving back to the desk, unpacking the bags you brought. Jeonghan watches through half-lidded eyes as you pull out medicine, a bottle of his favorite drink, a container of porridge, and— he freezes, heart stuttering.

You brought the exact brand of honey lemon lozenges he likes. The ones he always complains are overpriced but still buys anyway. His fingers twitch where they rest against his blanket.

“How’d you—” He stops to clear his throat. “You remembered?”

You glance at him, raising a brow. “Of course I did.”

You say it like it’s obvious, as if he’s the weird one for even questioning it. Jeonghan doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, watching as you pour medicine into the cap and hold it out expectantly.

He doesn’t complain. Doesn’t make a fuss like he normally would.

He just sits up, takes the medicine, and lets you take care of him.

And this time, he doesn’t try to push the warmth in his chest away, choosing instead to bask in your care, pretending it means more than it does.

But he doesn’t admit that.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The next time Jeonghan notices it, really notices it, is a week later.

You don’t know it’s happening (not that you ever do). Don’t notice that he’s staring at you from across the table, barely registering Seungcheol’s story about some girl who ghosted him after three dates. Don’t know that something in his brain is shifting—catching on a thought that’s finally fully formed.

He watches the way you laugh at something Mingyu says, how your nose scrunches slightly when you sip your too-sweet drink. Watches the way you lean back in your chair, rolling your eyes at something dumb he said earlier.

He thinks about how easily you fit next to him. How you always have.

And then it hits him.

A slow-burning realization that should’ve hit him years ago.

The reason you always let him steal your food even when you pretend to be annoyed. The reason you text him good morning when you know he won’t wake up until noon. The reason you never let him get away with his bullshit but still let him stay, no matter how insufferable he is.

The reason you look at him sometimes like he’s the only person in the room, like you’d give him the world if he just asked.

The reason you always have.

His stomach flips.

Oh.

Jeonghan blinks. Swallows hard. Tries to ignore the sudden, inexplicable rush of warmth crawling up his neck. Because this—this—should not be happening. He’s Jeonghan. You’re you. His best friend. The one person who never falls for his tricks, never gets caught up in his nonsense.

Except… you do, don’t you?

And he’s been too blind—too stupid—to see it.

“Oh, shit,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath.

Mingyu pauses mid-bite, looking up. “Huh?”

Jeonghan forces a lazy smile, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

But it isn’t nothing.

It’s everything.

And Jeonghan—who has always prided himself on being two steps ahead of everyone else—has never been more terrified in his life because now, he can’t stop noticing.

It’s in the way you always save him a seat, even when the lecture hall is packed. The way you complain about his bad habits but never actually stop him. The way your fingers brush against his when you pass him something, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

It’s in the way he finds himself looking for you first in a crowded room, in the way his teasing has softened without him realizing, in the way his heart stumbles over itself when you laugh at something he says.

It’s in the way you listen to him—even when he’s talking absolute nonsense—nodding along like his words actually matter. How you remember the smallest things, like how he hates cucumbers or how he always picks the sesame bagel first. The way you instinctively move closer when he nudges you, like it’s second nature, like you don’t even think about it.

And Jeonghan—who has always prided himself on knowing things before anyone else, on seeing things before they happen—is suddenly drowning in a realization that has been staring him in the face for years.

Because it’s not just you.

It’s him, too.

It’s the way he always shifts closer to you on instinct, the way his gaze flickers toward you the second you walk into a room. The way he lets his guard down without thinking, lets you see the parts of him that no one else does. The way he keeps finding excuses to be near you, even when he tells himself he’s not.

It’s the way his hoodie still hangs in your closet because you never gave it back—and he never asked for it. The way he’s memorized the exact rhythm of your footsteps when you walk beside him. The way he never thinks twice about sharing his food with you, even when he swats Seokmin’s hand away for trying the same thing.

The way his heart is racing right now, loud enough that he swears someone else must hear it.

He swallows hard, fingers tightening around his drink.

Because if all of this is true—if he’s been feeling this way without even knowing it—then that means everything has already changed. And he has no idea what to do about it.

Jeonghan feels like he can’t breathe. The noise of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the laughter, the clatter of plates—it all feels too loud, too much. His skin is buzzing, his thoughts spiraling, and before he can stop himself, he’s pushing back his chair and standing up.

No one really notices—Seungcheol is too caught up in his story, Mingyu is still chewing—but you do. Of course you do.

Jeonghan mutters something about fresh air and slips outside before anyone thinks to ask questions. The cool evening air hits him like a slap, sharp and grounding, but it does nothing to quiet the way his chest is tightening. He leans against the brick wall, pressing his palms against his eyes, trying to steady himself.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

The door swings open behind him.

“Jeonghan?”

Your voice is gentle, cautious.

He forces himself to relax, dropping his hands and looking at you with the most neutral expression he can manage. “What’s up?”

You step closer, studying him, your brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”

Jeonghan scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You give him a look—the one that tells him you know he’s full of shit. “You just got up and walked out in the middle of a conversation. That’s not normal.”

He shrugs, shifting his weight. “I just needed some air.”

You don’t move. Don’t buy it for a second.

“Jeonghan.” Your voice is softer this time, almost hesitant. “What’s wrong?”

And he could lie– brush it off, smirk, make some dumb joke to change the subject. That’s what he always does. But for some reason, with you standing there, looking at him like that—like you care, like you’re waiting for the truth—he finds that he can’t.

So instead, Jeonghan exhales sharply, shakes his head and looks away. “I think I just realized something really, really big.”

You tilt your head. “What?”

He hesitates– opens his mouth, closes it.

Then—

“It’s nothing,” he says, too quickly. Forces a smirk, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Come on, let’s go back before Mingyu eats all my fries.”

You watch him for a moment longer, and he wonders if you can see through him, if you can hear all the things he isn’t saying.

But then, finally, you sigh. “You’re acting weird.”

Jeonghan laughs, bumping his shoulder against yours as he steers you back inside. “I’m always weird.”

You roll your eyes but let him pull you along. And Jeonghan?

Jeonghan wonders if he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

He tells himself it’s fine. Tells himself it was just a weird moment, a fleeting thought, something he can push down and forget about if he just acts normal.

So that’s what he does.

For the next few days, he’s careful– not staring too long when you talk, not lingering when you walk beside him. He keeps things exactly the same—laughs at your complaints, steals your food, teases you like he always has.

But he can’t unsee it now.

Can’t unfeel the way his heart stutters when you smile at him. The way his skin burns when your arm brushes his. He finds himself watching you when you aren’t looking, cataloging all the little things about you that he somehow never realized were his favorite things.

Worst of all—he can’t unsee the way you look at him.

Because now that he’s noticed, he knows.

You’ve always looked at him like that.

And now it’s killing him.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It all comes to a head one night when you’re at Seungcheol’s place for a movie night. The room is dim, the couch too crowded, so you end up sitting on the floor between Jeonghan’s legs. It’s normal. You’ve done it a hundred times before.

But tonight, Jeonghan feels every shift, every time you lean against him. Your shoulder against his knee. Your head tilted back against his leg when you laugh at something on the screen. The warmth of you, right there, so close, so easy.

And then—because the universe is cruel—you grab his hand absentmindedly, just to play with his fingers like you always do when you’re fidgeting. But this time, Jeonghan’s entire world tilts on its axis. His breath catches, heart lurches.

And suddenly, all he can think is—I’m so fucked.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at your hand in his, feeling the slow, absentminded way your fingers trace along his knuckles. It’s nothing.

Except it isn’t because now he knows, and knowing makes it unbearable. So he does the only thing he can think of: he pulls his hand away and stands up.

Too fast. Too abrupt.

You blink, looking up at him in confusion as he mumbles something—some excuse that even he knows doesn’t make sense—and makes a beeline for the door. He barely hears the others calling after him, barely registers the cool night air as he steps outside, pressing a hand to his chest like he can physically push down whatever the hell is clawing its way up his throat.

This can’t be happening.

He can’t be acting like this.

But it is, he is.

And then—

The door creaks open behind him.

“Jeonghan?”

Your voice. Soft, uncertain.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second before forcing a smile and turning around. “Yeah?”

You step closer, arms crossed against the cold. “You’ve been… off these last few days. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Too quick. Too easy. A lie, and you know it.

You frown, chastising him, “Jeonghan.”

And the way you say his name—like you know him too well, like you can see straight through him—makes his stomach flip. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I just needed some space.”

You study him, searching his face like you’re piecing together a puzzle only he knows the answer to. “Did I do something?” Your voice is quiet, hesitant, like the idea of hurting him actually hurts you. It almost makes him want to laugh because God, you have no idea.

“No,” he says, too soft, too real. “You didn’t do anything.”

You don’t look convinced, but you don’t push. Instead, you step closer, tilting your head. “Then what is it? I’m worried about you.”

Jeonghan looks at you—the way your brows furrow, the way your lips press together, the way you’re always standing too close but it never mattered until now. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—to push this moment away, to pretend like it’s just another weird, fleeting feeling. But then he looks at you, really looks at you.

Your eyes, wide and trusting, waiting for him to say something that will make sense of whatever the hell happened in there. He takes a step forward, slowly, almost reluctantly, like his body is moving on its own. His arms wrap around you on instinct, like muscle memory, like habit. But when his face finds the crook of your neck and you rub soothing circles into his back, it doesn’t feel like a habit at all. It feels like something else entirely.

Jeonghan pulls back slightly, his hands still lingering on your arms, as if trying to ground himself. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, and he knows he can’t run from it any longer. His heart is beating fast, and he finally asks, his voice tentative, “Do you... do you like me?”

You blink, the question catching you off guard. He’s asked you this before, often asking “what about me” whenever anyone compliments another person. For a moment, it feels like time has paused. He’s looking at you with this vulnerability, this rawness, and it’s both terrifying and comforting at the same time.

“Of course I like you, you’re my best friend.”

Jeonghan’s chest tightens at your words, and his breath catches in his throat. It’s not the answer he was hoping for, not exactly, but he’s not sure what he was expecting either. His heart sinks a little. He didn’t know what kind of answer he wanted, but this... wasn’t it.

“I—yeah, I know,” he says quickly, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly frustrated with himself. He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous now, why it’s suddenly harder to breathe. “But I mean... do you like me more than that? Like, in a way that’s not just... like that?”

There’s a pause as you look at him, and he can’t read your expression, can’t tell if you’re confused or just processing. But your eyes soften as you take in the question.

You tilt your head, trying to make sense of it. “Wait... are you asking if I like you like you?”

Jeonghan nods, a bit sheepish, unable to hide the vulnerability on his face now. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Have I been reading the signals wrong? Am I more than just...do you see me the way I see you?”

For a moment, you don’t say anything. The silence stretches, and Jeonghan feels his heart racing, anxiety curling in his stomach. He regrets even asking, but he can’t bring himself to back out now. Finally, you take a step closer, a smile tugging at your lips, though it’s a little teasing. “And what if I do?”

The words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Jeonghan just stands there, blinking at you, his mind scrambling to catch up. He wasn’t ready for that answer. He wasn’t prepared for the shift in the air between you.

“Well,” he says, frowning. “Do you?”

You laugh softly, but there’s no mocking in it, just warmth. “I think you’re a little slow, Jeonghan, I don’t know how much more obvious I could’ve been. I’ve liked you for years.”

Jeonghan’s breath catches, and for a split second, he feels lightheaded, overwhelmed by the sudden clarity. His heart thuds in his chest as you step closer, and there’s a quiet intensity in your gaze that makes everything feel like it’s falling into place.

“You...” He’s still struggling to get the words out, his mind still spinning, but this time, it’s not confusion that’s holding him back. It’s something else entirely. “I didn’t know.”

You smile again, shaking your head and stepping just a little closer until there’s barely any space between you. “Well, I wasn’t exactly going to say it first, was I?” you tease, but there’s something deeper in your voice now. “You’ve been my best friend for how long now? I’ve seen you turn down hundreds of women.”

Jeonghan reaches out, his hands trembling just slightly as he gently cups your face in his palms, searching your eyes for any hint of doubt. “But... you’re different.” He whispers, his voice low but steady.

You lean into his touch, your eyes never leaving his. “Am I?”

He nods and you smile, causing warmth to spread across his chest. “What does this mean?” He asks hesitantly. Sure he’s been in plenty of relationships before, but he didn’t care about any of them like he cares about you because, like he said, you’re different.

“It means you’re an idiot for taking this long,” you say with a grin. “But it also means I don’t have to wait anymore.”

Before he can say another word, you close the space between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, slow kiss. It isn't urgent. There’s no rush, no pushing– just the slow pull of two people who had been waiting for this moment for far too long. Your lips are gentle, testing at first, as if asking for permission. And he gives it, deepening the kiss with a quiet intensity as your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss feels like a quiet promise, an unspoken exchange of everything you’ve never said. Your lips part, and he follows, the kiss turning softer, more tender as he tries to memorize every inch of you. He cups your cheek as if you’re something delicate, something worth protecting. Because you are.

It feels like time is suspended, like there's nothing else but the warmth of your mouths, the softness of your hands. Every part of him is alive with sensation, heart racing faster with each passing moment. He can feel your pulse, too—faster now, matching his.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, both of you smiling, hearts racing.

“How did you put up with me? I was such an idiot.” Jeonghan says softly, his voice full of affection, but also amusement.

You laugh, your fingers tracing his jawline. “Nothing out of the ordinary. And hey, even dumbasses deserve love.” You say, giving him a peck on the lips.

The sound of a door creaking open behind you breaks the moment, and you pull away reluctantly, both of you still close, but now acutely aware that you’re no longer alone. The sound of Seungcheol’s voice filters through the hallway. “Hey! You two coming back in or what? We need someone to help pick the next movie!”

You glance at Jeonghan, both of you smiling, the weight of the world feeling just a little lighter now. He laughs quietly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you, a bit sheepish.

“Guess we should probably... go back,” you say with a grin.

He nods, still unable to wipe the smile off his face. “Probably, yeah. Or we could go over to my place instead?”

You just laugh, shaking your head, “Maybe next time, loverboy,” you say, dragging him back to the living room, this time snuggling up next to him under a blanket. Your hand rests on his thigh, trancing slow patterns absentmindedly onto the skin and making a shiver go down his back. It’s not the first time you’ve done this–heck you were fidgeting with his hand before he left–but this time is different. Because now you both know. Jeonghan tries his best to focus on the movie, he really does, but all he can think about is the softness of your lips on his, the way you tugged at his hair when he licked into your mouth, the way your hand feels so good as it squeezes his thigh.

Nope.

Nope nope nope nope nope.

He grabs your hand, flipping it up to interlock his fingers with yours because he is not about to get hard. You gently squeeze his hand, resting your head on his shoulder. He’s hyper-aware of how your hand slots perfectly with his, how you fling your legs over his own. When he glances over at you and sees a mischievous glint in your eye so often found in his, he knows he’s screwed.

And god does he love it.

It’s a running joke between your friends that Jeonghan can never last more than two hours, whether it’s drinking, socializing, or partying, after two hours Jeonghan will clock out. He manages to make it through three hours of your teasing as the movie plays in the background. He doesn’t know what's happening in the movie, and quite frankly, couldn’t give any less of a fuck. Not when he’s endured your breath ghosting over his neck, your weight shifting on him slightly too much for it to be innocent, for three. Whole. Hours.

Yawning and pretending to stretch when the movie is paused for a bathroom break, he stands up, allowing the blanket to fall from his lap and enjoying your complaint at the sudden cold.

“Alright,” Jeonghan announces, rubbing at his eyes dramatically. “I think that’s my cue to head out.”

A chorus of groans follows. “Dude, the movie isn’t even over,” Minghao complains, arms crossed.

“You do this every time,” Jihoon adds, unimpressed.

Jeonghan sighs. “It’s not even that good.”

“Bro, it’s nominated for like, five academy awards.” Vernon guffaws.

Jeonghan shrugs, entirely unbothered.

You roll your eyes but don’t move from your spot on the couch. “You’re so predictable.”

He hums, tilting his head at you. “I’m consistent, there’s a difference.” He grabs your hand, attempting to tug you up. “Come on, let’s go.”

You blink at him, feigning innocence. “Where am I going?”

“Home. With me. So we can escape these idiots. Duh.”

A pillow flies in Jeonghan’s direction, courtesy of Seungkwan. “We can still hear you, dipshit.”

Jeonghan easily dodges it before turning back to you with a grin. “Come on.”

You stretch your arms over your head and settle deeper into the couch, smirking at him. “I think I’ll stay.”

Jeonghan stares at you like you’ve just betrayed him. “But who’s going to drive me home?” He pulls his lips into a pout.

“I guess you’ll have to take the bus,” you drag out, watching the way his face scrunches in displeasure, “I want to finish the movie.”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at you, crouching slightly to be level with your gaze. “But you don’t even care about the movie.”

You shrug. “Apparently it’s nominated for whatever Vernon said. Very interesting stuff.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath. He drops onto his knees in front of you, leaning against the couch as he complains. “But I wanna go home.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then go?”

His hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you slightly forward. “Not without you.”

“Jeonghan,” you warn, but it holds no real bite.

He whines, a real, genuine whine that has Jihoon groaning in disgust in the background before tugging you forward to whisper in your ear. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be with you. Alone. Where I don’t have to share you with all these people.”

You fight a smile. “Wow, I never knew you were so clingy.”

He glares up at you, pout still prominent. “Only for you.”

There’s a beat of silence before you sigh dramatically, running a hand through your hair. “Ugh, fine.”

Jeonghan perks up immediately, eyes glimmering with victory. “Nice!”

You shove at his forehead lightly. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you’re still coming with me,” he sing-songs, standing up and holding out a hand.

You take it begrudgingly, rolling your eyes when he laces your fingers together smugly.

“Bye, quitters,” Seungkwan calls out, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jeonghan doesn’t even spare him a glance, tugging you toward the door with a satisfied grin.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Jeonghan is not used to being the one squirming, yet here he is, sitting in your passenger seat, fingers twitching against his knee, fighting the urge to run his tongue over his bottom lip, needing something to do.

He’s been watching you for the past fifteen minutes, the way your hands flex on the wheel, the way your brows furrow slightly whenever he shifts in his seat. You’re pretending to be unaffected, as if his presence this close—his breath practically in your space, his eyes raking over you like he’s memorizing every detail—does nothing to you.

It’s almost convincing. Almost.

But Jeonghan knows you too well.

He wonders if you can feel the weight of his gaze as he studies you, cataloging every flicker of your expression, every little movement. The way your lips part slightly when you exhale, the way you press your tongue to the inside of your cheek when the traffic slows.

You’re gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. It makes him smirk.

“You’re staring,” you say, voice clipped.

“Am I not allowed?” he asks, all feigned innocence. He props his chin up on his hand, leaning toward you just slightly, just enough to feel the tension coil even tighter between you.

He watches your fingers tighten just a little more. You don’t look at him. He grins.

“Thought so,” he murmurs, just to be annoying.

You exhale sharply through your nose. “Maybe if you weren’t looking at me like that, it’d be easier.”

“Like what? I’m just looking at my beautiful best friend who happens to be madly in love with me.”

You scoff, shooting him a pointed look, but he just smiles at you, that cute smile he always does when he’s being the picture perfect image of innocence.

He shifts in his seat, lets his hand fall casually onto your thigh. The reaction is instant—your muscles tense, just for a second, but he notices. He always does.

You don’t shove him off. You don’t even flinch. He lets his thumb move, tracing small, slow circles against the fabric of your jeans. Not enough to be obvious, but enough to be felt. Enough to make you react.

“Jeonghan,” you warn.

He hums, fingers pressing just a little firmer. “What?”

“You’re distracting me.”

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Wonder what that must be like.” He muses.

The car slows to a stop at a red light, and for the first time, you turn to face him fully. Your eyes meet his, and god, it’s enough to make his stomach twist. There’s a challenge there, a silent push and pull that makes Jeonghan wonder who’s going to break first.

Just as he’s about to push further, you grab his wrist.For a brief moment he worries that he’s gone too far, made you uncomfortable enough to shove him off, but you don’t. Instead you just turn his hand upwards to intertwine your fingers the way he did before.

“Behave,” you say simply.

And then you’re driving again, like nothing happened.

Jeonghan blinks. His mouth parts slightly, caught somewhere between shock and amusement, and he lets out a quiet chuckle, leaning back into his seat. His knee bounces slightly—he hates how much you affect him. (No, he doesn’t.)"

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

As soon as his apartment door closes, your mouth is on Jeonghan’s. Your lips move urgently against his as he smiles into the kiss. When you tilt his chin to deepen it, pushing your tongue into his mouth, he makes a sound he didn’t know he was capable of– something between a whimper and a groan that screamed neediness.

“Angel,” He whines against your lips, hands running up and down your body as he pushes you harder against the door, slotting a leg between your thighs. Your fingers tug at his hair deliciously, soft lips contrasting the way they devour him. You grind against his thigh, sighing at the friction,your hands trailing down his body to tug at his shirt. You break apart so he can tug his shirt off, your hands leaving goosebumps as they trail across the newly exposed skin.

You break the kiss, trailing kisses across his jaw and down his neck, sucking marks onto his collarbone that have his mind reeling, “Please,” His hands squeeze your waist tighter, he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for anymore, all he knows is that he needs more; more of your touch, your lips, your smell, you, you, you.

You smile against his skin, your breath making him shiver as it fans across the wet patch of skin you had been ravishing, “Aww, Hannie,” you coo, “are you getting impatient baby?” Your hips grind into his thigh again and he lets out a shaky breath.

Witchcraft, he decides, is the only explanation to whatever spell you have him under. He nods frantically, hips involuntarily thrusting forward when you chuckle, lifting your face back up to his. The look in your eyes is a cross between adoring and down right evil as you kiss his lips languidly before moving towards his ear, “Think about how I’ve felt all this time.”

The whispered words get lost in his soft groans as you continue to kiss him, grinding harder on him and whimpering against his skin. Suddenly you’re pushing him, not separating your lips as you force him to walk backwards. You know his apartment like the back of your hand– even helped him unpack his moving boxes when he first bought it– so it’s no surprise that you lead him to the bedroom without a hitch, clothes falling off somewhere along the way until you’re standing in front of him, clad in a white set that-

Wow.

If Aphrodite exists, you must be blessed by her, he thinks (not wanting to eternally damn you by saying you rival her beauty—although he definitely wouldn’t say you don’t). The lace hugs your curves perfectly, small bows accentuating every beautiful—fuck, he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking anymore because you just look that good. Jeonghan doesn’t even realize he’s reaching for you, hands hovering in the air between you as if he's scared you’ll disappear if he touches you.

You reach out your hand to intertwine your fingers with his, pushing until he falls back onto the bed before climbing on top of him. You thread your fingers through his hair as you straddle him, kissing him slowly, grinding against his hardness through his boxers. The feeling has his eyes closing, needy groans escaping his lips before he can stop them.

“My pretty baby,” you whisper against his lips, hands tugging in his hair to give you access to his throat again, licking and sucking marks in ways that have his back arching off the bed. Your hands run up and down his torso, hips grinding harder against his prompting a string of curses to escape him as he grabs your hips—to stop you or push you against him more, he doesn’t know. “So needy for me, huh? Who knew that behind your teasing facade you were really just a brat?”

Does Jeonghan have a degradation kink? He didn’t think so until this moment, when his hips buck into yours involuntarily with a whine. “Angel, please, I—I need you.” He practically sobs when you start to climb off him, settling yourself on the bed and spreading your legs open. Jeonghan rushes towards you, breath catching in his throat at the sight of a damp spot in the center of your panties.

He settles himself between your legs, leaving marks on your inner thigh before nuzzling himself against your covered core. The sound of your breath hitching makes him chuckle as he presses a wet kiss directly over the damp fabric, “And you said I was needy.” He mutters, bringing a hand up to slide your panties to the side of your corce, practically drooling at the clear string of liquid that connects them. Unable to help himself, he licks at your entrance lightly, humming at the taste and the way your legs quiver next to him.

“You’re lucky I love you because if there’s one thing you were right about, it's that I am a tease. But tonight?” Jeonghan starts rubbing slow circles over your clit, “Tonight, I’m going to have you shaking under me.” With that, he rids you of your underwear completely before diving into your heat. Your hands once again shoot to his hair, pushing his face further against you as he eats your pussy like it’s his last meal on death row.

“Shit, Hannie,” You whine above him, moans getting higher in pitch as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking harshly, “Fingers, please– fuck, please.” He isn’t one to deny you when you beg so cutely for him, reveling in the way your pussy practically sucks his finger in. He can feel how tight your walls are, slipping another finger in with ease because of how wet you’ve gotten. All for him. He curves his fingers into a spongy spot that has your back arching off the bed, proceeding to target the spot while attacking your clit with his tongue. The sounds coming from above him is music to his ears, all of his senses taken over by you as he feels you break around him. He doesn’t stop, drinking your juices and bringing you to another high just as quickly, until you’re quivering around him.

He slows down, not stopping but giving you time to catch your breath when you pull him away, bringing his lips back up to yours, not caring that you can taste yourself on his lips. You make quick work of your bra, throwing it to the side somewhere and Jeonghan can’t help but ogle. He sits up, dragging his hands up your bare body and resting them just below the swell of your chest. Slowly, he connects his lips to the skin, closing his eyes as one hand goes to fondle the other. Your hips start moving against his again, sweet moans coming from both of you. Eventually you push him back to the bed so you can appreciate the sight of Jeonghan, face flushed, hair splayed across the pillow behind him, lips parted.

With each rock of your hips, Jeonghan moans louder. Your movements get faster and faster, and so do Jeonghan's moans, the whimpers only making you need him more.

He can hardly stand it, gripping your hips as tight as he can, trying to hold himself back, but the pressure feels so good, and you look so angelic as you rub your bare pussy against him.

You grab his hair and pull his head back. "Fuck," he chokes, looking down at where you're grinding against him. You feel his cock twitch inside his pants, and switch your pace to a quicker rhythm, grinding harder as Jeonghan's eyes darken under you.

He grabs your hips tightly, goes still, and lets out a low whine. You feel his hips jolt beneath you, and you pause. His face is flushed a deep pink all the way to his neck.

You stare in disbelief. Jeonghan hides his face in your neck, holding your body close. You look beneath you, a dark spot forming in Jeonghan's boxers.

"Aw, Hannie," you pull his face from your neck, looking him in the eyes. "My sweet, sweet Hannie." You smile and kiss him slowly, full of adoration and love. You kiss down his neck, making way towards his dick before finally sliding onto your knees on the floor between Jeonghan's legs. You press a kiss to the wet spot in his boxers, looking him directly in the eyes as you do, and feeling him twitch against your lips.

You gently pull his cock out of his underwear, shocked to see him covered in his own cum. He twitches at the contact, sensitive.

"Fuck, you’re perfect."

You teasingly stroke his length and watch him twitch when your thumb runs over the tip. “Please,” he looks up at you through his lashes, pleading, "I need you."

Those words are all you need to hear before planting your legs on either side of him, reaching between your bodies and wrapping your hand around Jeonghan's length. You glide the tip along your entrance, soaking him in your arousal before lowering your hips to slide him inside you. Loud moans escape both of you at the sensation of him filling you. He says your name like a prayer, hands rubbing circles on your hips, not knowing if it’s to ground you or himself. You slowly lift yourself up before sitting back down quickly, loving the way Jeonghan’s head falls to the side. "Shit, pretty. So perfect for me, god."

His grip on your hips gets tighter as you pick up speed, your pussy squeezing around him as if it never wants to let him go. All thoughts are wiped from his brain when you start kissing him through moans, whispering in his ear about how good it feels, how much you love him. He can feel you getting closer, your cunt pulsating with every roll of your hips. He brings a hand to your clit, starting to rub circles when you break, bringing him over the edge with you.

Your body collapses over Jeonghan's, shaking slightly as you come down from your high. Although he’s not in a much better state, he flips you onto your back, slipping out of you despite your protests and appreciating the way his cum drips out of your hole. He makes his way to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth to clean you up a little until he notices you awkwardly waddling in after him. He’s unable to stop the laugh that bubbles in his chest, making you pout as you sit on the toilet to let the cum drain out of you.

Jeonghan leans over, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, and he can’t help but notice how beautiful your smile is—how it lights up your face and his days.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Epilogue:

Jeonghan doesn’t change. He still steals your food, still drapes himself over you like a cat when he’s tired, nuzzles into your shoulder and complains that you’re too warm when it’s his fault for climbing all over you in the first place. He still teases you mercilessly, grinning that lazy, adorable infuriating smile whenever you roll your eyes at him.

What’s changed is that now, you kiss him to shut him up. And Jeonghan—who spent so long hiding behind his charm, his easy confidence—doesn’t even try to stop you. If anything, he leans into it. Leans into you.

Now, on mornings before class, he walks in with you through the doors of the coffee shop, one arm wrapped around your shoulder as he complains about how early it is, burying his face in the side of your neck. He picks you up in the rain, stays late at the library with you, and drives you home—like it's second nature.

1K notes · View notes

hanniescookie · 27 days ago

Text

object permanence - yjh

—⁠☆ to love you, i must know that you will always be there OR object permanence being a concept that means that objects continue to exist even when they are out of sight.

pairing - jeonghan x f!reader

genre/warnings - non idol au, college au, psychological au, maybe set in the 1980s or smth, romance, fluff, slight angst, references of a psychological concept, mentions of a little bit of insecurities, skinship, use of petnames, lots of love and yearning, kissing, attachment, simp and insecure jeonghan

wc - 1.5k

A/N - finally!!! the idea that i got while studying for my mids is here, and i'm not very proud of it. it looked more good in my head but like okay ಠ⁠︵⁠�� have a good read!

| @maestro-net

Jeonghan knows the die is cast for him again.

The moment he sees you, perched against the wide, arched window sill of the old library, a halo of soft afternoon light catching the flyaways in your hair, he tells himself that he's ruined beyond repair.

You are a silhouette against the dusty gold, your head bent over a thick, worn book, and your brows furrowed in concentration. One leg is tucked beneath you, the other dangling slightly, your foot gently tapping a silent rhythm against the wall.

It isn't even the first time that he's seeing you. Worse, it's probably the hundredth time within a week. He sees you all the time, and each time he feels his heart fill with a familiar ache—a longing that stays unspoken and unchanging.

All that he desires right now is to be close to you—to breathe the same air as you.

The need claws at him and he feels a rising panic at the intensity of it. It's illogical and absurd — this maddening urge to keep you within his sight makes him feel a little insane. He fights the urge to simply cross the room and touch you, to break the peaceful concentration etched on your face.

The volume of ancient pyschology that he had been reaching for is long forgotten, and he lets the pain in his chest control his movements.

He walks closer to you, taking deliberate steps as to lessen the disruption his movements are causing. His gaze snags on the curve of your neck, the delicate slope of your shoulder visible beneath the loose knit of your sweater.

A soft breeze rustles the leaves of a nearby tree, sending a dappled pattern of light dancing across your face. You shifts slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and for a fleeting moment, your eyes flicker up, catching his.

His breath hitches as you wave your hand at him with a smile blooming on your face. Jeonghan can count his favourite things on his fingertips, and your smile usually tops the list. He can't help but smile back at you because he likes how your lips curve up just a little more at his gesture.

He's just about to reach you when your neck cranes to your left. A drop of your smile for a second, and then a pout forms on your perfect set of lips. Somebody else has successfully taken your attention.

Jeonghan doesn't even have to look elsewhere to know that much. You're already up and out of his vision, and a bubble of poison rises up his throat.

He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears. The library around him spins, and his hold on the thick psychology book loosens. He wants to run and scream for you. He wants to find you because now you're gone and you'll not return.

Except you do.

“Hannie?”

He blinks, not having realized that his vision is blurred by his tears. You're standing right in front of, your face contorted with concern and your voice a low whisper in the silence. “Why are you crying?”

He touches his cheek absentmindedly, feeling the dampness. Then he chuckles, his nerves calming a little at your sight.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, holding the book out to you. “I was just reading this.”

You sigh, taking the book from him and instead holding his hand. Then you're dragging him out of the library. He doesn't question it, being a little too tired to say anything.

Once you both are out in the golden sun, you stop, making him sit on the bench of your college garden. The book rests in your lap as you stare at him quietly for a while and he lets you.

He knows what you're thinking. He knows he's absurd. He is sure you're going to confront him, and cut ties with him. He's already visioning himself wailing in his cold bed because he's lost the one real connection he had found in this world.

“I love you.”

Jeonghan’s world comes to a standstill.

He stares at you, his mouth slightly agape, the weight of unshed tears still clinging to his lashes. He blinks once, twice, as if trying to clear a smudge on his vision, but you remain, your gaze soft and unwavering on his face. Had he heard you correctly?

He searches your expression for any hint of mockery, any sign that this was some elaborate, albeit incredibly painful, joke. But all he finds is a gentle sincerity that sends a tremor through his already frayed nerves.

It couldn't be. It simply couldn't be.

This isn't a scene from one of the melodramatic novels he occasionally indulges in. This is reality, and reality, in his experience, rarely offers such unadulterated grace.

Jeonghan finally manages a shaky breath. "You... you what?" The words are barely a whisper, laced with such disbelief that they sound foreign even to his own ears. He reaches a hesitant hand towards yours, stopping just short of making contact, as if afraid you might vanish if he dares to touch you.

You smile softly, a knowing glint in your eyes. "I said, I love you, Hannie." You gently take his hand in yours, your thumb tracing small circles on his knuckles. "I know it might sound sudden, maybe even unbelievable. But it's true."

You glance down at the thick book resting on your lap. "You know, we spend so much time reading about the human mind, trying to understand its complexities, its fears, its attachments. So I can tell."

You look back up at him, your gaze softer than he ever remembers it being. "I've seen you, Jeonghan. More than you probably realize. I've seen the way your eyes follow me across the room. And yes," you add, a touch of gentle amusement in your voice, "I've also noticed the way you sometimes seem a little… unsettled, just for a moment, when I'm not right there."

He flinches slightly, a blush creeping up his neck. He hadn't thought his feelings were that obvious. He suddenly feels the weight settling on his chest again. What if you truly think he's weird?

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. "It's okay, Hannie. I think… when you care deeply about something, the thought of it not being present can be a little unsettling, can't it? We learn, studying what we do," you nod towards the book, "about how the mind grapples with what's there and what isn't. But you are here, Jeonghan. You are real, and you matter to me."

He takes a little while to process your words, his eyes refusing to look away from yours. You aren't mocking him; you are understanding him, seeing past the surface of his sometimes-intense emotions.

"And," you continue, your voice soft but firm, "I am also not something that can just disappear.” You lean a little closer, your eyes filled with warmth. "So, yes. I love you. And I am not going anywhere.”

The warmth in your eyes melts away the last bit of Jeonghan's doubt. He breathes out slowly, and he can finally really look at you – the soft curve of your smile, the gentle worry on your face, the sincerity in your eyes. The fast beating of his heart starts to slow down, and he feels a hopeful flutter instead.

He lifts his hand, not hesitating this time, and softly touches your cheek. Your skin feels tender under his fingers and his own hand trembles.

"You..." he begins again, his voice still a bit rough, "You’ve no idea..." He stops, not able to say how much he feels, the constant longing that had been with him for so long.

Your hand comes up and covers his on your cheek, your touch making him feel warm all over. You lean into his hand, closing your eyes for a second. When you open them again, they look soft and inviting.

You both understand without words. Jeonghan leans in slowly, looking only at your lips. He can feel your breath near his, a sweetness building between you.

Your lips touch, softly at first, a light brush that makes Jeonghan shiver. Then with a shared sigh, the kiss deepens.

His hand moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck, his fingers touching your soft hair. Your arms come up without thinking, your hands resting on his shoulders, pulling him closer. The heavy book falls from your lap to the ground, unnoticed.

When you both pull away, a little out of breath and with red faces, Jeonghan's forehead touches yours. He can feel your warm breath on his skin, and his heart is threatening to crawl up his throat.

"I..." he starts, his voice full of yearning. He moves back a little, looking into your eyes, his own showing a newfound vulnerability and a love that feels both overwhelming and right. "I think... no. I know I love you too."

Saying the words feels like a relief, like a weight has been taken off him after a long time. He can love you freely now, no longer tormented by your potential disappearance from his little world. Now you love him too. You'll be by his side. Your love has grounded him to a stable reality.

He can't help but mirror your smile.

81 notes · View notes

cheollvrs · 3 months ago

Text

“WANNA TRY OUT SOME FREAKY POSITIONS?” VOCAL UNIT TWITTER LINKS ( MDNI/18+ )

CONTENT WARNING. m/f sex, unprotected sex, fingering, spanking, squirting, creampie, anal, deepthroat, etc.

hiphop unit ★ vocal unit ★ performance unit

🎀 JEONGHAN. his whole hand ⋆ you're so tight ⋆ want some water? ⋆ just keep bouncing! ⋆ <3 <3 ⋆

🎀 JOSHUA. trying anal for the first time ⋆ faster, harder ⋆ he's strong ⋆ nice and slow ⋆ you missed him ⋆

🎀 JIHOON. he loves sucking your tits ⋆ car sex ⋆ so much cum ⋆ it's so good ⋆ his fingers are the best ⋆

🎀 SEOKMIN. water fountain ⋆ deepthroat ⋆ tummy bulge ⋆ he likes to hold you ⋆ taking his big cock ⋆

🎀 SEUNGKWAN. pretty pussy and pretty dick ⋆ titjob ⋆ you can't get enough ⋆ mirror ⋆ shower ⋆ rubbing ⋆

3K notes · View notes

minyoongisprivateaccount · 2 months ago

Text

💗💗💗 Jeonghannie😇 shared with you 💗💗💗💗

I’ve never been much of a writer, but now, whenever the image of you is conjured in my mind, I cannot help but have this urgency to express every tender emotion I have for you, and you alone. it is unfortunate that I cannot tell you in person how much I yearn for you or the festering desire I have to hold you, would it be too forward of me to say “and never let go”? Nevertheless I hope you wouldn’t decline my offer.

I blame time for keeping us apart, the relentless passage of days and nights. They will never know the anguish I feel because I cannot speed up the clock to be close to you or slow it down to savor our moments together. Oh well, it gives me the ability to work on my patience, although you make it very difficult. But please never question if I could not wait for you, I would wait happily, without hesitation.

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗 3:33 A.M. 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Jeonghannie😇: hi 😊

Jeonghannie😇: what do you think? 😗

22 notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 6 months ago

Text

jeonghan + anonymous sex

— where you discover that behind the scary mask, who's eating you out, is your professor, mr. yoon.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, oral, halloween party setting, penetrative sex, oral [f. rec], dirty talk, edging, taboo, fingering.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

halloween at uni was always a wild time—like, the one night when everyone just let loose and acted like idiots without any shame. it was a free pass to look either insanely sexy or terrifying as hell, and you’d seen both ends of that spectrum in past years. mostly, you loved it ‘cause it was kinda like a game of guess-who after the party, everyone spending the week after trying to figure out who was who under those masks. and that’s why the costumes just got more and more wild. anonymity? sign you up.

you and jewie, your ride-or-die dormmate, had done the whole horror bit every year, rocking the most messed up, bloodied-up outfits you could think of. but this year you both decided to go full-on sexy for once. jewie was rocking this short-ass witch outfit, all black and lace and pointy hat, and you—well, you were killing it (pun intended) in your killer bunny getup. thigh-high lacy white socks that clung to your skin, corset cinching you in, and this creepy-ass bunny mask that made you look both cute and dangerous. not to mention, the whole mask thing meant anything could go down and nobody would know.

“yo, you really gonna leave a note in his locker?” jewie whispered, eyes sparkling as the two of you snuck into the staff wing, the sound of your heels echoing off the empty halls.

“hell yeah, i’ve been crushing on prof yoon since he walked into his first lecture looking like a whole-ass snack,” you hissed back, your heart racing.

she let out a cackle, almost too loud. “he’s gonna die when he sees it. also, maybe don't bend over like that unless you want your ass out for the world to see.”

you shot her a look over your shoulder, half squinting through your mask. “fuck you, i’m not gonna walk like i’ve got a stick up my ass.”

“babe, that’s your job,” she teased, slapping your ass as you fumbled with the lock on the door. she was always like that—pushy, teasing, but down for whatever dumb thing you suggested, no questions asked.

finally, you managed to crack open the door to prof yoon’s locker, and the nervous excitement flared up all over again. “i’m doin’ it,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, as you slid the note into his stuff. just a stupid little flirty note. something anonymous and mysterious. if he recognized your handwriting? well, oops. that’s a future problem.

jewie watched, leaning against the doorframe, eyes flicking between you and the locker. “if he likes it, we might need to sneak you back in here to leave more. like a killer bunny pen pal situation.”

you laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “he’s not that dumb, but if he was, i’d consider it.”

you straightened up, adjusting your mask before looking back at jewie. the whole night felt like some weird fever dream—maybe it was the booze from earlier or just the high of running around campus dressed like this, but you felt unstoppable.

“okay, let’s get outta here before we get caught,” jewie said, pushing herself off the wall. “i swear if we see anyone, i’m pretending i don’t know you.”

“bitch, please, you’d totally rat me out,” you shot back, nudging her as the two of you slipped out of the staff room, adrenaline still pumping.

you took a long sip from your pouch, the cheap booze hitting just right as you swayed along with jewie to the beat. then, mid-spin, you spotted something—or rather, someone—that made you freeze in place, your lips still wrapped around the straw.

“i can’t fucking believe it,” you muttered, pulling the straw out and sulking like a kid who just had their candy stolen.

jewie gave you a sideways glance, eyebrows raised. “what’s got your panties in a twist now?”

you nodded toward the door, where another killer bunny had just strutted in, looking way too damn good for your liking. “look at that,” you said, gesturing with your drink. “bunny? okay, fine. but killer too? are you shitting me? what’re the odds?”

you huffed, feeling your vibe slightly killed by the sight of the other guy wearing basically the same damn thing as you—except he had this slutty, fitted black suit, and his mask was just as creepy as yours, that luscious black hair peeking out from behind it.

“wow,” jewie scoffed, following your gaze. “you’re really pressed about another killer bunny? seriously? it's halloween, dude, chill. everyone’s doubling up.”

“easy for you to say,” you muttered, still eyeing the guy. “you're not the only slutty witch in the room.”

she rolled her eyes, snorting. “uh, excuse me? i've seen, like, five other witches tonight, and one of them even had a broom—a broom, y/n. i just accepted it. it’s halloween.”

it was halloween, and sure, half the campus was probably dressed as witches, zombies, or sexy cops. but still, the nerve of this guy, strutting in like he invented the killer bunny look.

“and, you know what? my panties are in a twist, actually,” you shot back, glaring at jewie, who just gave you an unimpressed look. “like, literal twist. feels like they’re strangling me.”

she burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “oh my god, you’re such a mess. there’s a whole locker room situation going on if you wanna fix it. no one’s gonna be in there anyway..”

“the locker room?” you hummed, considering it for a second. “yeah, might as well. better than walking around with my ass in knots.”

you slipped away from the party, the beat of the music fading as you made your way down the empty hallway, heels clacking against the floor. it was eerily quiet outside the main campus area, the darkness swallowing up the noise from the party like you were walking into another world. halfway there, though, you swore you heard something. footsteps, maybe? you glanced back over your shoulder, but the hallway was just as empty as before. shrugging it off, you kept walking.

then again—footsteps.

you whipped around, heart starting to race a bit. nothing. nobody. great, you thought. either you’re paranoid or some dude in a clown costume’s gonna jump out at you any second.

you sped up, practically rushing into the locker room, slamming the door behind you like that would keep the creepy vibes out. with a sigh, you lifted your skirt and fixed the tangled mess of fabric underneath. “goddamn,” you muttered, whistling in relief as the tension eased up. “finally.”

you made your way to the mirror, fluffing up your hair, adjusting your bunny ears, trying to look like you hadn’t just freaked yourself out. but then you heard it again—footsteps. this time, not so distant. real close.

before you could even react, the door creaked open, and there he was. the other killer bunny. strolling in like he owned the place, chill as could be, like it wasn’t the feminine locker room he’d just waltzed into.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a glare through the mirror. “stole my idea and my spot?”

he snorted, leaning against the sink with his back turned to the mirror, eyes just fixed forward, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “stole your idea? babe, i’ve been rockin’ this for ages.”

“you saw it from me!” you shot back, turning around to face him, pointing at him accusingly. “i should sue for copyright or some shit.”

he let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly like he was amused by your little outburst. “you can have the bunny part. i’ll keep the killer part.”

“real original,” you scoffed, turning back to the mirror, fixing a stray curl in your hair. “and what’re you even doing in the locker room? you lost or just stupid?”

“neither,” he said simply, his voice way too smug for someone who looked like he just broke into the wrong locker room. “it was either this, or i piss in a bush somewhere. decided to be classy tonight.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the slight smirk pulling at your lips. “yeah, real classy, creeping around the women’s locker room.”

he leaned closer, still not turning to look in the mirror. “who says i’m creeping? maybe you just walked into my locker room.”

“oh, so now it’s your locker room too? boy, you’re bold.”

“what can i say? bunny privileges,” he said, shrugging like it was the most normal thing in the world.

you shook your head, turning to look at him fully now, sizing him up. he was tall, broad, the slutty suit clinging to him just right, his posture relaxed like he didn’t have a care in the world. and that hair, black and messy behind his mask—well, you’d give him one thing. he wore the costume well. too well.

“you know,” you said, leaning back against the sink next to him, crossing your arms. “if you’re tryna intimidate me, it’s not working. you’re just another bunny.”

he chuckled again, that low, almost lazy sound that somehow made your skin tingle. “maybe i’m not tryna intimidate you. maybe i’m just waiting for you to admit i look better.”

you scoffed, pushing off the sink and standing up straight, close enough now that you could smell the faint cologne clinging to him. it was… annoyingly nice. “please, i wouldn’t give you that satisfaction even if you paid me.”

“we’ll... see about that?” he murmured, finally turning to face you, his body looming over yours. his mask obscured most of his face, but his eyes locked onto yours, like he could see right through the sass.

and there it was. that thing on your lower stomach that snuck up on you out of nowhere. “you really think you can handle me, bunny?” you teased.

he didn’t flinch. his lips twitched into a grin under the mask.

“handle you?” he echoed, his voice dropping an octave. “baby, i’m just getting started.”

you raised an eyebrow, leaning in just a little closer, testing him, seeing how far you could push. “then show me what you got.”

his hand was on you in a second, pulling you toward him with a firm grip on your waist, his breath hot through the mask. and suddenly, the empty locker room didn’t feel so empty anymore. his other hand slid down, grazing your thigh before hiking your skirt up. “you sure you wanna play this game?” he cooed, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

you let out a breathy laugh, your hands fisting into the fabric of his suit. “you started it.”

“yeah?” his grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, your bodies fitting together too perfectly. “then let me finish it.”

he leaned in for the kiss, but both of you realized, almost at the same time, that the stupid mask was in the way. your lips collided with the hard plastic, and for a second, it was awkward as hell—until you both burst into laughter. “yeah, that’s not gonna work,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“guess we’ll just have to improvise,” he murmured back, and before you knew it, he had spun you around, pressing your hips firmly against the cold sink. the chill of the ceramic made you gasp, but it was nothing compared to the way his fingers slid under the elastic of your garter, pulling it away from your skin before letting it snap back on ur skin.

“fuck,” you hissed, as the sting amde your pussy drool. he was watching you through that damn mask, his fingers traced the hem of your skirt before he flipped it over your lower back, exposing the white lacy set you’d chosen to match the whole killer bunny thing.

“fuckin’ cute,” he growled as he took in the sight of your barely-there panties and thigh-highs. “you really wore this for halloween? shit’s a fuckin’ joke,”

the degradation in his tone made your cheeks burn, you bit down on your lip, trying to keep your composure, he noticed everything.

“what’s the matter?” he asked, mock concern as his hands skimmed over your thighs, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp again. “you like being called cute while i fuck you up?”

you didn’t even have time to respond before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down painfully slow, the lace barely clinging to your hips before he let them drop to your ankles. you kicked them off instinctively, your breath hitching when you saw him bend down slightly, he picked them up off the floor, turning the flimsy lace in his fingers for a second before shoving them deep into his pocket.

“gonna keep these,” he muttered, half to himself, half to you. standing up straight again. his hands, slid up your legs, spreading them just a bit more. the rough pads of his fingers brushed against the inside of your thighs, teasing you, waiting for you to beg, or break.

and god, you were close to breaking already.

one hand held your waist firmly in place, pressing you harder against the sink, while the other slipped between your legs, his fingers sliding against your wetness with an agonizing slowness.

“oh.. all soaked already?” he muttered, like he knew exactly how ruined you were just from his touch. “and we haven’t even started. you’ve been thinking about this? about me bending you over, fingers deep in this pretty little pussy?”

you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you as his middle and ring fingers dipped inside, your pussy swallow him immediately, even when the skin burns a little with the stretch. his long fingers immediately finding that sweet, squishy spot, for a moment, resting the fingers there.

he kept the pads of his fingers facing down, rubbing slow, tight circles against that sensitive spot, making you clench around him. you've never been stimulated like this, it looked so different and knowing for a college boy. the sensation was enough to make your knees weak, but his grip on your hips kept you steady, held in place as he worked you open.

he leaned down, the mask still in place, but you could feel the heat of him behind you. “you hear that? hear how fucking wet you are? all for me, huh?”

you did, in fact, it echoed in the empty locker room, as you try to be quiet. but you moaned in response, your head falling forward, resting on your arms as you tried to catch your breath. every stroke of his fingers had your pussy tightening, thighs shaking, and you were half-sure you’d collapse if it weren’t for the him keeping you upright.

his other hand moving up your back just enough so he could press his lips against your bare shoulder. you felt him lift the mask just slightly, and then his mouth was on you, kissing, biting, his teeth grazing your skin in a manner that had you arching into him.

“fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered. “so sweet. but i bet you taste even better down here.”

you groaned in frustration when you realized he was still wearing that damn mask, completely blocking the possibility of him going down on you. he noticed the way you moaned extra loud, probably because you’d been imagining it—his mouth between your legs, tasting how worked up you were.

he cooed, amused by your reaction, shaking his head like you were some kind of innocent mess. “fuck baby, i’d love to, but this mask is getting in the way. you know that.” his voice was so casual, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, like it wasn’t torture for you. and god, that whimper that left your throat? pathetic. even you knew it. you rolled your hips on his fingers, desperate for something, anything to replace what you couldn’t have right now. the wet, slick sound of his fingers working into you echoed around the room, filling the space with a vulgar kind of music that had him biting his lip, watching you fall apart over nothing.

“oh, you really want it bad, huh?” he laughed, and you whined again, the sound so embarrassingly needy that it should’ve made you blush. but instead, it only made you more desperate. his teasing was too much.

“fuck,” you muttered, half-begging, and he pulled back a bit, thinking for a second before a playful smirk took over his lips.

“let’s play a game then,” he offered, your brows furrowed in confusion, but the second he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, you felt your whole body heat up in response. “we take the masks off. but,” he paused, his fingers still torturing you, making your hips twitch every time he pressed just right. “we keep our eyes closed. i’ll eat you out, i’ll do anything you want, but no peeking.”

you hummed at the idea, already thinking of how good it would feel to have him without the barrier of those stupid masks. but before you could even respond, he tilted his head, adding with a teasing lilt, “but first... i gotta fuck you. because you’re so fucking tight, so fucking pretty squirming around my fingers like this.” his voice softened into something almost sweet, like he was praising you, and the way he cooed when you shyly squirmed against his hand, embarrassed by his words, had your body tightening in response. “such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

you were nodding before you even realized, the words barely out of your mouth before you agreed to it. the mask was yanked off, tossed to the side, and you felt him pull away slightly. you didn’t dare look back at him, though—you kept your promise, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling rapidly.

you felt him shift behind you, the rustle of fabric as he undid his pants filling the locker room with a sharp, exciting edge. his fingers left you with a wet pop, and the sound made you shiver. god, you could still hear it—how soaked you were, how turned on he’d made you. your body reacted to the absence of his touch with a small gasp, but the moment you felt his warm breath near your ear again, your nerves melted away.

“don’t open your eyes,” he warned in that same serious tone, even though you could practically hear the smile on his face. you nodded, swallowing hard, trying to keep still. his fingers returned, now gripping your hips firmly, and you couldn’t help but arch into him, needing more.

“good girl,” he murmured, guiding you to bend further over the sink. your chest pressed against the cold surface, your eyes squeezed shut, but you could feel everything. you were painfully aware of how exposed you were to him, the skirt flipped up, your wetness on full display.

the blunt head of his cock nudged at your entrance, slick and heavy, and you braced yourself, but he didn’t push in. instead, he slid it up, dragging it along your folds, teasing your clit and the leaking hole. the sensation had your toes curling, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “you just gonna rub it?”

he chuckled darkly, pressing the tip against your entrance again but not entering. “thought i’d take my time, make you beg a little more.”

you groaned, squirming under him, your hips moving on their own as you chased the penetration. you could feel him smiling behind you, still teasing, but his hand was firm on your hips, holding you steady as he slowly dragged his cock up and down, brushing against your clit every time. it was maddening, the way he was holding back, making you wait, making you ache for him.

“you want it that bad, hm?” he asked, and before you could even answer, he pushed in, sliding into you with a slick, deep thrust that knocked the breath out of your lungs as you watch pitch black. “fuck, there it is.”

you moaned, the sudden fullness overwhelming, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink as he held you in place, his cock buried deep inside. he didn’t move at first, just let you adjust to the stretch, but his hands were still moving—one sliding up your back, the other gripping your ass, squeezing hard as he groaned low in his throat.

“ah!–don' squeeze me like that,” he muttered, his voice strained as he began to move, his hips grinding into yours rolling the dick in and out of you. “taking me so well... pretty pussy devouring my cock.”

you whimpered at his praise, your body trembling with every slow stroke. he wasn’t holding back anymore, his pace picking up, his hand slipped down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing light, quick circles that had you moaning loudly.

the thing was;

his eyes had been wide open the whole time.

he was practically glowing with the fact that you hadn’t recognized him at all. he knew it was you from the second you stepped into the party, making him choke on his own spit, all dressed up in that killer bunny costume, and it made him feel like he was holding onto the biggest secret ever. you had no idea who you were fucking, and that made everything ten times hotter.

as you leaned over the sink, he got a perfect view of your face blushing beneath your expertly done makeup, all those little details you’d spent hours perfecting. the way the light caught the shimmer on your cheeks, the dark eyeliner framing your eyes just right—it was beautiful. even though you planned on hiding your face with that mask for the entire night.

he pretended to keep his eyes closed, even though he could barely contain his excitement. “i hope you don't open your eyes hm? you wouldn't want to lose me eating you out, right?” he’d said with a smirk, watching as you nodded obediently. you were so good at this—everything about you, from the way you shifted on the sink to the way you were biting your lip in need, made him ache to see your true reaction when you finally figured it out.

he could feel your nervous energy as you followed his lead, trusting him completely. it was almost comical how easy it was to manipulate the situation, how horny you were, and he couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself.

“you’ve got no idea how fucking cute you moan,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your ear as he continued to thrust into you. the way you squirmed made him even harder, and he could feel his own arousal rising at the thought of keeping this secret just a little longer.

“shut up,” you whined, clearly flustered by his words, and he couldn’t help but laugh softly. god, you were adorable. he kept it playful, teasing you even more as he leaned down to press his lips against your shoulder, kissing a line up your neck as he continued to roll his hips into you. “just focus on how good you feel.”

every thrust sent a quiver through you, and he could feel you responding to him, getting wetter with every move. you were lost in it, and he was completely taken by the way your body reacted to his touch. he loved how your sounds filled the space, how you couldn’t help but moan louder and louder as he picked up the pace, fucking you deeper.

“tell me how good it feels.”

“so good, you feel so good—your cock—s'big!” you breathed, and he reveled in the power he had over you. he could see the way your body squirmed beneath him, anguished for more, and it only pushed him to keep going.

“that’s right, keep saying it,” he encouraged, his fingers curling around your waist, pulling you back against him as he hit that sweet spot inside you. “i want to hear everything, since i cant see it.”

he could feel you tightening around him, your that sweet release pulsing, and just when you were about to hit that peak, he pulled out, leaving you gasping “what the fuck?!” you cried, your voice high-pitched with desperation, eyes still closed. he couldn’t help but chuckle at your frustration, knowing just how good you felt, but wanting to keep you on that brink a little longer.

“patience, bunny,” he teased, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “you’ll get what you want.”

with that, he pushed back into you, driving deep and hard, and the sound of your moan filled the locker room. “yes! please!” you begged, fingers digging into the sink as you rocked back against him.

but again, right when you were so close, he slipped out. “no, no, don’t do that!” you whined, the desperation in your voice making him grin. “i was so close!”

“i won’t let you cum on my cock,” he said, a teasing grin playing on his lips as he watched your expression crumble. your face fell against your arms in defeat, sulking like a petulant child. “why?” you whined, the sulk evident in your voice, and he couldn’t help but scoff at how adorable you looked, all flustered and desperate.

just then, his hand tangled in your hair, tugging enough to make you almost open your eyes. the sudden pressure made a strangled moan escape your throat, and he loved it.

he slowly turned you around, guiding you to sit on the cold sink. you cursed under your breath, your legs instinctively spreading wide as you positioned yourself for him.

“this is so unfair, i cant see you...” you muttered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you thought about how you couldn’t see what he was doing. you could hear the sound of your breath quickening as he dropped to his knees in front of you, the idea of him between your legs making you almost cum on spot.

“you don’t need to see it, babe,” he said, all sultry. fuck you needed to know who he was, and with that, you could feel him get closer, his breath hot against your pussy, making you squirm.

“you’re such an ass for doing this to me,” you groaned, but deep down, you were practically begging for it, and you knew it. he laughed softly, the sound thundering in his chest as he spread your legs wider, giving himself a perfect view of your pussy, the folds puffy, and flushed, dripping beautifully.

a sudden creak from somewhere down the hallway snapped you out of the fog of pleasure, and, instinctively, you opened your eyes. it took a second to adjust, to blink away the haze clouding your vision, but then you looked down—straight at him.

and—

mr. yoon?

“shh,” he whispered, a finger pressed to his own lips, a hint of a smirk twitching as he maintained eye contact with you, even as his head dipped between your legs. you wanted to pull back, to process that your professor was there, settled on his knees in front of you in a locked room, but his mouth had already found your clit.

“oh my god,” you moan, in disbelief, in pure ecstasy. he starts sucking your clit with so hard that makes you dizzy, and your back arches instinctively, the sensations overwhelming. your mind races, but the sight of him—mr. yoon, your strict, no-nonsense professor—eating you out is enough to push you right back over the edge.

you bite your lip to stifle your cries, but it’s no use. the combination of the taboo and the sucking sends you spiraling into the orgasm, and you can feel yourself clenching around his tongue as you cum in his mouth, a whimper escaping your lips.

“holy—” you breathe, panting as he pulls away, licking his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you.

he raises up to kiss you, but you back away instinctively, the shock paralyzing you.

“wait, you didn’t like that it was… me?” he asks, worry flashing across his eyes.

your mind is racing. so he was the one fucking you? after the letter—oh my god. “i… i didn’t know it was you!” you manage to stammer.

he licks his cum-covered lips, that sly grin still in place. he steps back slightly, still unsure of what to say. “so… you liked it, then?”

“well, yeah, but—” you start, but the words fail you. how do you even explain this? how do you tell your professor that he just made you come like that, and it was one of the best experiences of your life?

you catch his gaze, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of worry in mr. yoon’s eyes. he's probably already imagining that expulsion letter or the scandal that’d blow up his career.

“relax,” you murmur, smirking as he watches you. “i’m not about to go blabbing to the dean or anything.” he quirks a skeptical brow, clearly not convinced yet, and you give him a playful shrug. “but only if… you get on your knees again and show me just how much you wanna keep me quiet.”

the corner of his mouth lifts. “oh, is that right?” he murmurs, and before you know it, he’s stepping forward, hands sliding around your waist as he leans down, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“guess i’ll have to make sure you’re too busy to even think about talking,” he whispers.

[...]

monday rolls around, and it’s like the entire campus is still buzzing about the halloween party. people are dissecting every detail, trying to figure out who was behind which mask. you’re sitting at your desk, pretending to read the same damn paragraph for the fifth time, but let’s be real—there’s only one thing on your mind: mr. yoon’s dick.

jeonghan’s up at the front, leaning against his desk, teaching as if nothing happened, and you can barely keep a straight face. every time you glance up, you can’t help but picture the way he looked at you, the feel of his hands, his mouth… yeah, not the kind of thoughts you should be having in the middle of class.

the bell finally rings, snapping you out of it as everyone starts packing up. your friend pauses by the door, waiting, but just as you’re about to leave, mr. yoon clears his throat.

“y/n,” he says, there’s that hint of something under it, something only you would catch. “stay a moment, would you?”

you wave your friend off, muttering something about catching up later. she glances between the two of you and, of course, shoots you a knowing smile before shutting the door on her way out. it’s just you and jeonghan now, the room empty and quiet, his gaze pinned on you.

he raises an eyebrow, and his eyes flick towards the closed door. “should i be worried about that smile she gave you?” he asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

you blink, caught off guard. “no! no one knows about… us,” you insist, a bit too quickly.

he scoffs, giving you this look like he’s amused but skeptical. “oh, i know that,” he says smoothly, but then he taps his finger on his desk. “but she definitely knows… about this.”

with a dramatic flourish, he slides open a drawer and pulls out the letter. your stomach drops as he lays it out on his desk for you to see, the unmistakable swoop of your handwriting there in all its glory, complete with little heart and butterfly stickers surrounding a mortifyingly filthy sentence.

“wanna feel your cock hitting the deepest part of my pussy until i can’t even remember my name.”

you freeze, face heating up instantly. oh, god. did you really write that?

he chuckles softly, watching you squirm as you avoid his gaze, suddenly very interested in the stack of textbooks on his desk. you press your lips together, practically biting down to keep from making any sound, because your brain is malfunctioning.

“so,” he murmurs, “did you really mean every word?”

2K notes · View notes