#scoups x reader

[woncheolisms]

2:25am. (choi seungcheol x reader)

summary: no one knows you better than him.

word count: 960

warnings: slight angst, fluff, nothing else it’s all wholesome stuff

The silence of the night is only broken by the overlapping sounds of many crickets chirping in the distance. The pavement is warm where you are sitting on it, your legs extended out in front of you. The streetlight above you is harsh, a contrast to how dark the rest of the road is. The air smells like…. nothing. A heavy, hollow nothing.

You blink slowly, feeling how heavy your eyelids are. Yet, every cell in your body seems to be thrumming, like they are all individually anxious. Your muscles are pulled taut, your fingers could imitate claws. You try to relax them, staring down at how they resist. Exhaustion pulls at your eyelids again.

Behind you, the convenience store door pings, indicating someone exiting. You watch Seungcheol’s broad silhouette step out, gaze zeroing in on where you sit a few paces to his left. The plastic in his hand crinkles as he moves, grunting as he plops down heavily next to you, busying himself in tugging out two bottles of whatever electrolyte concoction he had grabbed, as well as two smaller packets of what look like cupcakes.

“Blueberry?” You ask.

“Figured you would want something sweet right now.”

He figured right.

You don’t bother checking on the drink. You take the bottle he has screwed open for you, downing a long gulp of it immediately. He busies himself in tearing open the cupcake packet. Neither of you says anything.

Life hasn’t exactly been kind to you lately. At every turn, it feels like something is ready to go wrong, which isn’t new. Everyone has problems, but this is too much, and you don’t know how to deal with it. This is the first time that your problems have made you struggle this badly. You’ve been losing sleep, spacing out at work, and where you would usually enjoy your solitude very much, now you feel like you’re trapped and alone, and that you need someone.

Your hands had moved quicker than your brain tonight. Glaring at the shining screen of your phone that said 2:25am, you didn’t hesitate to call Seungcheol. It was only when his groggy voice questioned you on if everything was okay that you realized he was probably asleep.

Of course he was. You dumbass.

You didn’t say anything. Stumbled over your words trying to apologize for waking him up when he sighed and you heard shuffling.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

And he was. Ten minutes on the dot. Wearing sweats and a large jacket over them, stuffing your feet into some shoes and grabbing your coat before both of you trudged down the road, wandering aimlessly around the neighborhood.

You blink blearily at his profile now as he takes a swig of his drink, biting into half the cupcake in one go. His hair is in his eyes - he’s been growing it out - and shines a pretty caramel under the streetlight.

“Eat.” He tears open your packet and hands you the cake. You move as if on autopilot, doing what he says. It’s instinct. Seungcheol has always taken care of you. Despite how crazy busy he is, he is the most reliable person in your life. It has been this way for nearly a decade, and you don’t see it changing anytime soon.

He knows you better than you know yourself. He understands what you need even when you don’t. He is safe. He’s your best friend. You are madly in love with him.

“Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” Your voice sounds grating and stilted. Seungcheol nods.

“6am.”

You sigh and hang your head low. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.”

Your lips twitch, despite how heavy your head is. You can’t help but snort. Seungcheol cracks a smile too, and his cheek dips as the skin dimples. He polishes off his cupcake, brushing crumbs off his hands.

“Let’s keep walking.”

And you do. You circle the neighborhood twice over the next hour, working up a sweat under your coats. Seungcheol complains to you about Hoshi and Mingyu and whatever new choreography is giving his knee a hard time. The streets are completely void of people. It’s just you two, just the way you like it, and you let him whine and ramble on, grateful to leave your world behind for a while and immerse yourself in his.

The next day, feeling better than you had in weeks, you would realize he did this on purpose. To get you out of your own head. And your theory would be proven right for the millionth time. Seungcheol knew you better than you knew yourself.

You don’t remember the time when you got back to your place, only that your limbs had stopped humming and the feeling had been replaced with a heavy tug, like cement blocks tied to your ankles. You need your bed. You need sleep.

You barely register when Seungcheol pulls your jacket off, struggling with one arm for a bit. In those ten seconds, while in his personal space, you breathe in the scent of sandalwood and something citrusy.

The air no longer smells like nothing.

He tucks you in, childish, yet doting. You sink into the covers, black already swimming in your vision.

Your unfinished half of the muffin is in the oven the next morning, your half bottle of electrolytes in the fridge. There’s a sticky note on your bedside table. A simple smiley face. He uses those a lot.

You smile back.

[junhuiscent]

—Synopsis: Seungcheol is your roommate and despite all your attempts for him to notice you, he always maintains an overly polite front. You take it into your own hands to see how far you can push him until he gives in.

—Pairing: Scoups x Female reader

—WC: 3.2k

—cw: smut, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, slight dacryphilia, soft dom cheol, sub reader

2am. At least that is what you presumed the time to be. You stumble through your apartment door recklessly, luckily being guided by the hands of a man. The sharp sting of alcohol was still present on your tongue as it came into contact with your date's equally as intoxicated mouth. Your back rests against the doorframe as your date's grip on your waist tightens slightly due to his apparent arousal.

Despite the date fizzling out, you still hadn't wanted to go to bed alone. And you certainly didn't want to lose the oppurtunity to gain a rise out of your roomate, Seungcheol. He was superior to your current date in every aspect. Seungcheol was stronger, more masculine, polite and more respectful. However, at times you found him a bit too respectful. He was sociable and popular but when you two were alone he always seemed more quiet, completely unreadable except the rare times when a polite yet enigmatic smile would be displayed onto his lips. Yet you couldn't act like those slight crumbs he gave you didn't constantly replay in your mind.

Even at times like this, cornered by a man overlooking your frame, the strong cologne invading every one of your senses. Even in this situation, your mind remained focused on the man who resided down the hallway, his room being within earshot of your drunken endeavour.

You break your lips apart from your date, panting due to his enthusiastic style, and direct him to your room. As you both venture down the hallway, bodies still entwined, your eyes lock onto the closed door owned by Seungcheol. That silence that existed in his room far too familiar for your liking.

This night you were determined to break that silence. With every mediocore movement and thrust carried out by your date, your reaction heightens. Your exaggerated moans paired with the steady, almost rhythmic thump of your headboard against the wall, assured you of an awaiting reaction. Fuelled by your hope for a falter in your roommate's polite exterior, you reach your almost theatrical "climax".

You then clean up and promptly bid your date farewell, your aspiration to see Seungcheol catalysing the speed of your movements. Seungcheol was awake. He had to be. How could anyone sleep through the show you had just displayed? Your curiousity outweighed your apprehension as your feet led you to his door, followed by an uneven knock.

Seungcheol studied your appearance as you entered before he had the chance to grant you permission. Your dress ,which had clearly been rushed onto your body, rode up your thighs and your hair was a mess. His eyes squint and you expect a comment, but all you are left with is a raise of an eyebrow followed by the question, "You done?".

It was a simple question but his tone sends a chill through you. After swiftly recomposing yourself, you attempt to manoeuvre an alternative reaction from him as your smirk before stating, "Sorry. Thin walls."

You could see Seungcheol's jaw clenching as the trail of words left your lips yet his expression remained hidden by the veneer of nonchalance he always wore.

"You're awfully quiet," you remark, taking a step further into the room uninvited, your eyes flickering to the unread book that was abandoned on his lap. "Did I interrupt something?"

Seungcheol doesn't answer right away, letting the silence in the room sit as he watches your appearance again, each factor telling a different story, inviting him to view how your night went. He examined every wrinkle in your dress, every smudge of your lipstick and every mark left by that man. Even when comprehending your state, his face remained still. That unreadable expression— calm, mannerly.

"Nothing important," He finally replied, voice low and clearly affected by the lack of sleep you were causing him.

You fold your arms, feigning indifference. He's not going to give you what you want. Not easily. However you were not one to give up that easily either.

The next night, you decided to raise the level. After stepping out the shower, your gaze fixes on your reflection as you wrap your body in a towel that just about covers your frame. You tentatively reach for the door handle and exhale a sigh of anticipation, a signal of the effect that man has on you.

The living room becomes your new surrounding as you enter the presence of Seungcheol, who had been watching tv. His eyes flicker between you and the tv, his eyes fighting to appreciate your body which was somewhat exposed. The atmosphere was thick with desire, however when it came to Seungcheol, you could never be sure.

Your hands trailed accross the back of the sofa next to his, aiming to assess the situation and the extent to which you need to heighten your pursuits.

His eyes meet yours for a moment. Just for a moment before he instinctly loooks away. Although, it was long enough for you to notice the way his jaw ticks and his fingers clench just barely— but he doesn't move.

Despite your irritation flourishing, you take his composure as an invitation to challenge his limits even further. Now was your chance to really test him.

You pull back and go to your room, that decision in itself being strategic. You scour your wardrobe before slipping into the smallest pajamas you own, the silk fabric running against your soft skin as you pull it over your curves. The fabric hugging your body close yet covering so little. The moment the garment touches your skin, you feel empowered. A new sense of confidence being established within you as you check over your appearance in the mirror for the final time.

The silence in the room feels heavy, as if it was almost mocking you in your final attempt to grab Seungcheol's attention. You feign an excuse—water, maybe a snack before stepping out of the confines of your room, the cool air kissing your thighs as the gentle silk clings to your skin.

Each step becomes a mixture of casual and calculated as you aim for the fridge. You allow your mind to focus on the low hum of the fridge as you feel Seungcheol's gaze on you. The awareness of your body and how the hem of your shorts is riding up your body leads you to bend down to reach the glass.

That's when you hear it. The slight sound of fabric moving against the leather material of the sofa, indicating that Seungcheol is now standing. This sound is then followed by the sound of him clearing his throat. The game is finally over. You won.

"You don't have to play games with me." His once-cold voice now sounds unfamiliar. In this moment, his voice transformed into one that was deeper, laced with lust. Finally his polite persona had cracked.

Turning around, you stumble back upon seeing that he was much closer than you anticipated. He steps in time with you, mirroring your actions until you make impact with the counter, your grip on the glass of water tightening. His eyes look into yours, the usual calm indifference replaced by something else— something darker. It was as if he had finally let out the desire that had been simmering underneath his manners.

"You're done showing off. You want attention? You'll ask for it like a good girl."

Your throat dries instantly, your courage faltering under the sheer weight of his presence. His voice isn't raised. There's not a single hint of threat behind his words. Just certainty. Authority. As if he has already figured you out and is just waiting for you to admit it. He's not playing anymore.

His advances strip the confidence from your tongue as he lifts you onto the counter. The feeling of his large, capable hands on your bare thighs already making your legs weak. When you are safely seated on the counter, his grasp on your under-thigh lightens as he brings his fingers to trace light patterns on your upper thigh as his right hand reaches to hold your jaw. Yet he doesn't kiss you— not until you ask.

"Tell me what you want," He murmurs. "Use your words for me."

The task he sets you seems entirely unaccomplishable when paired with his overpowering glare. That is until you force the words out of your throat, your desire overriding your hesitation.

"I want you, Cheol. All of you."

His stare lingered, thicker than before. He scanned your body as if you were his most precious possession and he was constraining himself to be able to properly cherish you. His hand that once rested on your thigh now snaked around your waist to hold your bodies closer. The heat from your bare skin met his as the distance between your bodies grew smaller and your lips finally touched.

The kiss wasn't rushed or fuelled by lust. Instead, it was slow, passionate, every movement of his lips felt crafted with precision as you moved in harmony together. He was painfully slow, as if he was savouring your taste and he was unbearably delicate as if he was worried he could break you.

Every graze of his skin against yours sent shivers down your body as you began to fall apart in his grip. His lips parted from yours but his firm grip stayed on your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him.

"You wanted attention," he mutters, breath hot against your skin. "Now you're going to take it."

As your mind was comprehending his words, he knelt down, positioning his hot breath to fan against your clothed core. His wide, dark eyes lift to yours, full of quiet want as if hes drinking in every inch of you from below. "Can I..?" He asks gently, his voice like honey, seeping out his mouth little by little and you nod eagerly.

His strong hands, defined with harsh veins that contrast to his gentle touch, drag down the waistband of your pajama shorts, letting gravity slide the silk fabric across your skin until they hit the polished kitchen tiles.

His breath hitches at the apparent sight of your lack of underwear as he takes a moment to marvel in your beauty. He holds onto you lightly to move you further up the counter, closer to him. His grasp steadily travels to your thighs as he begins to hold them apart before whispering a quiet request, "Stay still like this for me."

His eyes stay locked on yours as he leans closer, his tongue meeting your heat. He moans in immediate response to your taste as he exlores you, his tongue leisurely taking its time to drag against your core, licking a cruelly slow line up to your most sensitive spot. It's nothing like you have ever experienced before and it's as though every one of your senses is heightened.

His plump lips close around your clit before his swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves. He takes his time, dictating the pace as he contains your pleasure. It's not like he's making out with your pussy, instead its as though he's tasting you for his own pleasure, devouring you somehow at such a controlled tempo.

Every flick of his tongue pushes you further, your hands rested behind you on the counter, stabilising you as your back arches into his touch. Your thighs threaten to close due to the overwhelming pleasure but Seungcheol's strong, assuring grip keeps them parted. He plunges his tongue into your dripping core, his grasp on your thighs tightening as he feels your walls surround his tongue. His nose bumps your clit sending pleasure jolting through your body, so close to sending you over the edge until he retrieves his tongue from your pussy. You've wanted this, begged wihtout words, and now every slow movement feels like a punishment and reward in one.

He focuses his mouth back on your clit as he lifts his fingers to let two of them enter inside you. His gaze rises to meet yours as he lets both his fingers inside you at once. His mouth rests slightly open as he surveys your reaction to every one of his slight movements. You watch him gulp, his eyes never leaving you as he begins to pump his thick fingers into you.

His fingers reach deep into you, hitting spots that no one else could. You knew Seungcheol would be good, but you had never expected him to be this capable. The feeling of being full pushes your head to fall back as you lose yourself in the sensation.

Seungcheol finally rips his eyes of you as he tastes your clit again. He lets his tongue work on your sensitive spot whilst still maintaining an inhumane pace with his fingers. He can tell you're getting close with every clench of yours around his fingers, yet he lets his face remain calm as you fall apart in front of him.

Your consciousness fades into insignificance as all you can focus on is the immense feeling. Your body twitches with pleasure with each new flick of his tongue and each new thrust of his fingers. It's all too much as your eyes squeeze shut and your limbs lose all strength and you become undone.

You barely register the shift until you're cradled in his arms, pressed to his chest like a precious belonging, his mouth near your ear, a promise hidden in every breath. Still recovering from your high, your ears don't register the sound of his heavy footsteps guiding you to his room. That is until he gently places you in the centre of the bed, the plush matress meeting your skin as you relish in the feel of the cotton in contrast to the dense counter you were previously placed on.

Seungcheol climbs over you, caging you between his muscular arms that were planted on either side of your head. His eyes roam over your face, not asking, just taking you in— as if he needs to memorise your face before he ruins you.

"You're mine tonight. Is that okay with you?" His voice remains low and calm, contradicting what he is about to do to you. He waits for your reply patiently, allowing for you to collect your thoughts.

"Yes. Please Cheol, let me be yours right now." You say, your voice a faint whimper when compared to his stubborn composure.

His hand skims up your thigh, pushing your leg higher. He then sits up, slowly unbuckling his belt as he remains looking down at your pathetic frame. He throws the belt to the other side of the room in an instant, a reminder of his physical superiority to you in strength and how he could treat you if he wanted. Yet he doesn't, depsite his strength he treats you with such care which you weren't fully sure if you even deserved.

His sweats come off next, succumbing to the same fate as his belt. This leaves his boxers, his large bulge stretching against the fabric as you notice a slight stain of precum towards the end of the impressive length. Not only did he have an impressive length, but his girth is what really stood out to you. You see him fight back a smile at your reaction to his size before he slips out of the boxers as well.

His length hit just bellow his belly button, bouncing up with a faint sound at the collision of skin. He was perfect. He presses his hips between yours, slowly, like he was settling into something he's been craving for far too long. Watching him in this position feels surreal, exceeding any prior expectations.

"Look at me," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I want you to know exactly who's fucking you."

His voice makes your mind go blank again as he finally sinks into you, with a groan that sounds almost like relief— as if he had been holding back his desires until this very moment. The stretch causes you to cover your mouth as it blurs the line between pain and pleasure. Seungcheol grabs your hand and pins it to the side of your head as he continues to slowly inch into you. The feeling of him dragging against your walls as he finally bottoms out leaves you in a state of awe.

He buries his face into your neck, and for a second, he just breathes. The weight of his body on yours making you feel owned, not just taken. "You don't know what you do to me," Seungcheol murmurs into the crook of your neck as he pulls out again, the unbearable strech becoming more familiar. His voice is calm but his hands shake slightly, signalling that he is not unaffected.

This time he slams into you, his strength becoming more brutal as his self-contol leaves him. His vigour drives a trail of moans and curses out your lips as he groans low. In just one thrust, he can manage to hit every spot at once, leaving you emotionally speechless yet physically screaming.

He finally increases his restrained pace, abandoning his sense of discipline as he drives his cock into you. This time you can finally moan out his name, and when you did you were guaranteed a reaction by the man. His grasp travels to your hips as he firmly keeps you in place, angling up slightly as he proceeds with his ruthless tempo.

Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs along with cries of his name. He has to hold your body close to his to prevent you from shifting due to the amount of strength he is driving into you. You feel tears forming in your eyes, but that doesn't stop him, and neither do you want him to stop. He slams into you further, the sound of your skin hitting becoming background noise as you begin to reach your inevitable high. Its as if the world is narrowing down to all the sensations overwhelimg you. The weight of Seungcheol on you, the sound of his breaths and groans, his steady yet overpowering rhythm. All these factors are pushing you to your release, there was no way you could hold back. Not like this.

His fingers lace into your hands as they begin to tremble, "Breathe. Breathe for me." You listen to his command as he guides you through your high, unlike any other man has done for you. His pace somehow quickens even further, pushing you into a place of ecstacy as he moves back to watch you fall apart with him.

The feeling crashes over you in waves as you surrender to the pleasure with him. You both become undone as you feel him release into you, his cum spreading out and warming your insides, creating a new sense of intimacy.

He doesn't move right away. He keeps you close as all you can do is cling to him. He brushes your hair out of your face before capturing your lips in a short, sweet kiss. "You okay?" He mutters, barely audible.

You don't even have the words, just a shy nod paired with the feeling of him close to you, the feeling of him finally being yours.

[coupsalchemy]

Soft hour

Summary - Where you take care of your husband

Tags: husband!Seungcheol x f.reader, fluff

Warnings: suggestive, MDNI

Word Count: 1k

“I’m home~” you sing-sang, closing the door behind you. His black office shoes are neatly lined up next to your slippers. “Huh, that’s new.” 

Overhead orange light is the only illumination to your dark flat. You set the keys and your office id on the table near the entrance as you step carefully into your living room. “Cheol?” 

Panic sits in your stomach from meeting silence instead of your happy puppy of a husband. You set your bag by the coffee table when you call out again, “Cheol?” 

A groan and rustling of clothes answers your call, you trace your hand in darkness over the sofa patting for your husband. Soft skin hits your skin, tiny roughness of his short hair by fringes, and his ear as you smoothen his face. He groans again, “baby?” His sleep heavy voice makes you sigh. 

Sitting on your knees, you comb your fingers into his soft silky strands. He hums appreciatively, nuzzling more into your touch. “Tired?” 

He hums. 

You slip your hand to his body, ignoring his whines, tracing down his chest, feeling his button up shirt. “Cheol, you didn’t even change.” 

He grabs your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist, his lips landing on your watch more than your skin before taking it back to his hair, a request for more pats. Your heart blooms inside your chest, love bursting out of your ribcage at your lover’s antics. 

You lean in kissing what you assumed to be his forehead to only land a kiss on his eyebrow. You kiss more to the up and little right in hopes to kiss his forehead. Not getting any reaction from him, you trace his face, his eyelashes fluttering under your touch. He woke up. 

“Let’s get you changed and feed you, hmm?” you rest your chin on the sofa, his hot breath hitting your face. 

“No,” he whines. 

You press a kiss, which turns out to be his nose. “I’ll help you.”

He shifts, breaking slowly. “Undressing?” 

You hum. 

“Shower?” 

“Okay.” 

He kisses your lips before sitting up. Your cheeks warm up, his softness still lingering on your lips. 

“Chocolate.” He mumbles. 

“Huh?” 

“Chocolate,” he grabs your chin, sucking on your lower lip, his tongue swiping it. “Chocolate.” He smacks his lips. 

You pinch his waist eliciting a groan from him. You stand up, lacing your hands, dragging him to your bathroom. You turn on the soft orange light, your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness with a little sting. Your husband snakes his hands around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, pressing his cheek to yours. 

“Soft.” He traces his lips over your cheek, his chapped skin causing goosebumps and tickles. He tugs you back into him when you make an attempt to move away. 

“Cheol, we need to get your shower—” you moan at his bites on your neck “—ugh, Cheol.” You grab onto the counter, whining at his teeth grazing and sinking into your neck. 

You whimper, your waist aching from his harsh grip stopping you from moving. He pulls your button up shirt from the trousers, his hand slipping underneath it, feeling your bare skin. 

“Seungcheol!” You sprinkle water onto him, his ministrations stop from the sudden attack of water. “Let’s get your bath running.” You notice his pout through the mirror. He dejectedly goes to the bathtub sitting on the edge waiting for you. 

You calm your racing heart, shaking your head at his antics. He is gonna cause you a heart attack one day. He whines seeing you are still standing away from him. “Literal baby.” You chide, unbuckling your watch and removing your earrings knowing what’s gonna happen next. 

He rests his hands on the bathtub, watching you set the watch and earrings next to the sink. His tired eyes blink in slow motion. You walk up to him, kneeling down before him, his hand slips into your ponytail, an unimpressed grumble escapes his pouty lips, he drags the hair tie, ruffling your hair into the wilderness. He massages the back of your neck as you slowly unbutton his shirt. Your stomach coils into pleasure watching his milky white skin coming into view. 

You don’t even realize your lips are parted until he is pressing into them with his thumb. Your eyes flick to his hooded ones that are watching your lips sucking his thumb into your mouth. His lower lip caught between his teeth as your tongue pressed into his finger tentatively. You suck one last time before releasing it with a pop, Seungcheol eyes the string of saliva trailing behind his finger as he sucks his finger clean. 

His pale blue shirt hangs by his arms reminding you of your task at hand. “Stop distracting me,” you pull off his shirt. 

You throw the shirt on the floor, your eyes trailing along the hair leading to his pants. He nudges your chin up, pressing a long kiss. His stomach sucks in under your fingers, his hand stopping your wandering hands. 

You separate from him, dizzy from the sensations. You unbuckle his belt, he leans back letting you work on it with ease. Your shaky fingers fail to unbuckle, struggling with the buckle. He tucks your hair away from your eyes to ears. The leather belt finally hears your pleas coming undone. 

“Finally.” 

You pinch his thigh, he chuckles under his breath. With a tilt to his head he watches your fingers unbuttoning his jeans and pulls the zipper. Before you can pull his pants down, he stops you, “my turn.”

He sets you on his lap, brushing away the stray hair falling in your eyes. Under the white lights the love in his eyes shine, soft and tender, just like his touch trailing down your face, to your neck, twirling his finger around a curl of your hair falling on your neck, he presses a soft kiss on your collarbone. Your shirt collar shields his lips from reaching your skin. 

He unbuttons your shirt in haste, muttering a few swears under his breath. You chuckle to yourself, running your fingers through his thick hair, loving the feel of its smoothness and shine. 

“Life is worth living,” he suddenly says, leaning into your touch, “if it’s spent like this.” 

With you. You read the unsaid words. Your stomach curls in as butterflies swarm endlessly. You affirm his words in a sweet kiss. 

[mocchiixxx]

One Slap, One Kiss

Genre: Light angst, tension, playful teasing, fluffy chaos Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups x Reader

Summary: Seungcheol, your annoying but perfect classmate, keeps teasing you until you slap him. In response, he kisses you. Now, things are different, and you're left wondering if you'd rather slap him again… or kiss him back.

If someone told you that Choi Seungcheol would be your biggest headache in senior year, you would’ve laughed, why?

Because everyone at school thinks Choi Seungcheol is the perfect student. Respectful. Smart. Reliable. A real heartthrob. You do too, not until the air between you shifted in an unknown reason.

He started to be an absolute menace to you. He makes fun of your handwriting. Switches your pens when you’re not looking. Called you 'Grandma' once because you wore a cardigan.

You’ve never wanted to punch someone so bad in your life. But the worst part? You always lose in arguments. So you use your hands. Literally.

You are Grade 12, top 3 in your class, and seated right beside him.

The bane of your existence. The golden boy with the soft curls, deep dimples, and dangerously good grades.

And that mouth.

Not in that way. Well. Okay— maybe. But mostly because he never shuts up.

“I don’t know how you still can’t solve this equation,” he says, smug, leaning into your space like he owns it. “You’re supposed to be good at math, right?”

You stare at him, jaw clenched.

“Wanna borrow my brain?” he offers, tapping his temple with a cocky smirk. “I’ll charge you later though.”

“Seungcheol,” you mutter, “I swear to God.”

“Swearing? In the middle of class? So bold of you,” he whispers.

You slap his arm. Hard.

He gasps dramatically, rubbing the spot. “Abuse! This is violence in broad daylight!”

And then he says it.

“Slap me one more time… I’m kissing you.”

You scoff. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He leans in closer. “Try me.”

You wave him off. “You’re all bark and no bite, Choi.”

The next day.

You're seated quietly. For once. Peaceful. Until he taps your shoulder with the tip of his pen. Again.

You ignore it. He does it again.

And again.

“Seungcheol,” you say through gritted teeth, “don’t.”

“But you look so focused. I just wanna— what’s the word?... distract you.”

Your eyebrow twitching and you slap his arm. Instinct. Just like always.

Except this time…

He doesn’t laugh.

He just stares at you. Dead serious.

And then, without saying a single word he leans forward.

You flinch slightly, not expecting him to actually—

But he does.

His lips press against yours. Gentle at first. Soft. Warm. Confident.

You freeze.

The chaos in your brain suddenly goes quiet. Like the whole room blurred out, and it's just the two of you and the echo of your racing heartbeat.

He pulls back slowly, eyes still on yours, expression unreadable.

“Still think I wouldn’t dare?” he says softly.

You’re speechless. Your heart’s going insane.

He chuckles, brushing past you casually. “Careful next time. One slap. One kiss. Remember?”

You're left sitting there, blinking, your lips still tingling.

And for the first time ever… You don't want to slap him back.

[seokminfilm]

only yours ── choi seungcheol

🤍 pairing, choi seungcheol x reader

🤍 warnings, non-idol au, short, fluff, a little bit of angst, secret relationship, jealous seungcheol, seungcheol lowkey has an attitude, mingyu is mentioned to be a flirt, kissing, confession, seungcheol calls reader darling/angel

🤍 summary, in which seungcheol wants to know that you're only his.

🤍 author's note, hi guys *walks back into posting like i haven't been missing for ages* guess who's back! saw these coups pics and legitimately almost exploded into pieces of colorful confetti cause he's so fine 🧍knew i had to write something w these pics (PLUS lyrnation seems to LOVE my seungcheol fics for some reason) 🤷 i hope you all enjoy it, and thank you so much for 500 followers!! halfway there to 1k wtf???

🤍 now playing, xo (only if you say yes) (enhypen)

🤍 word count, 689 | for @kstrucknet, @maestro-net

"wait—what if someone sees?"

you pull away from seungcheol hurriedly, cheeks still warm with blush as seungcheol cradles your chin with his hands. he's searching your eyes, too focused on what was happening before even saying anything. the two of you had retreated to the car after mingyu had to say goodbye.

("retreated to the car" basically meaning that seungcheol had pulled you out of there as soon after mingyu said he had to go.)

"let them see, darling. i can't wait anymore." seungcheol pouts, and you don't even try to fight him, letting him bring his lips back to yours as he sighs dreamily under you.

it had been a long day for seungcheol—the two of you had decided to hang out with mingyu since his plans with everyone else were canceled last minute, and mingyu had flirted with you the whole time, unknowingly upsetting seungcheol in the process.

seungcheol knew that you loved him and were his girlfriend, but seeing mingyu attempt cheezy pickup lines and buy you lunch made seungcheol see red.

and, what made it even worse, was that you didn't even seem to notice that mingyu was flirting with you, going along with his acts of kindness without a second thought.

"seungcheol—" you pause, sentence swallowed by another one of seungcheol's warm kisses against your lips. "seungcheol, wait."

"what?" seungcheol's voice is nearly a growl now, and you put a hand on his chest, softly pushing him away as you pause to catch your breath.

seungcheol waits patiently, dark eyes glued to your figure as the setting sun lights up your back in a halo of light. you look beautiful in this moment—so beautiful seungcheol just wants to kiss you even more.

"did i do something? why are you acting like this?" you ask innocently, and seungcheol lets his head fall against the chair, letting out a pained sigh as he runs a hand through his dark hair. his thick eyebrows crease together, pouty lips pressed together as he glares at you.

"cheol, use your words, oh my god." you sigh exasperatedly, and seungcheol rolls his eyes, cheeks heating up as he crosses his arms.

"mingyu was flirting with you, and it was pissing me off. hell, it still is pissing me off, angel." seungcheol's voice is low, embarrassed, and you stare at him with confusion painted all over your face as you repeat his words. "mingyu? flirting with me?"

"yes, he was flirting with you. did you hear all the stupid pick-up lines he was using on you? the asshole even paid for your fucking lunch. that's my job." seungcheol argues, and your eyes widen, face flushing.

"i just thought he was being nice." you mumble embarrassed, and seungcheol rolls his eyes, slamming them shut as he mumbles. "of course you did, angel. you think everyone's nice."

the two of you fall silent, cheeks flushed for different reasons. you sit quietly, stunned that seungcheol had reacted to mingyu's flirting in such a way. seungcheol, on the other hand, was flushed because of anger. mingyu had his time to steal you away today, and you unknowingly let him.

"oh. i'm sorry." you whisper, and seungcheol shakes his head, looking at you as he takes your hands in his.

"no, don't be sorry, darling. if anything, i should be apologizing because of how i reacted. i—" seungcheol pauses, taking a sharp inhale as he shrugs, jean jacket ruffling with his movements. "it made me so angry, seeing mingyu flirt with you like that. i never wanted to have the world to know you were mine more than in that moment.

you lock eyes with seungcheol, studying the strong slope of his nose and the plumpness of his lips. his thick eyebrows are unfurrowed now, resting against his face calmly as he gives you a small smile.

"you're mine though, right? not mingyu's?" seungcheol asks softly, and you nod, laughing as seungcheol leans over. his face is now just a few centimeters from yours, and he tucks your hair behind your ear, staring into your eyes as you answer.

"yours, cheol. only yours."

[cherriegyuu]

whispers of desire | c.sc | part two

pairing: incubus seungcheol x f!reader  genre: smut, angst, fluff - minors do not interact word count: 5k summary:when you cut a deal with the demon king, the man who shows up to help is nothing like you imagined warnings: mentions of god, demons and religion, infertility, infidelity, buying a child, surrogacy, dirty talking ish, begging, multiple orgarms, unprotected sex, piv, face sitting, fingering... i'm probably forgetting something... idk a/n: it would mean the world to me if you comment your thoughts and reblog this fic. thank you so much for reading. hope you enjoy it!

chapters: one | two ->

“You know, there's something I can't quite understand about you.” 

You let out a screech at the same time as you took two steps closer to the street. Your heart was hammering inside your chest so hard that you could feel it in your ears. Your clear distress was enough to pull an honest laugh out of the man by your side. 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” 

Seungcheol lightly wrapped his arm around your shoulder, further pulling you into the sidewalk when a car passing by honked. 

“You should not use the Lord's name in vain,” Seungcheol laughed again, looking at the sky apologetically, a smile playing on his lips. Something told you that he was not actually apologetic. 

Long gone was the purple suit, not that you had a lot of chances to see him in it. In its place, he wore oversized jeans and a black t-shirt. 

“What do you want?” you stepped out of his embrace, though it was hard to escape on the crowded and narrow sidewalk. 

Unlike the first time, when you woke up that morning, Seungcheol was long gone and there was no real trace of him in your apartment, in your room. It was as if the place had been entirely cleaned while you were asleep and nothing had ever happened. Your pajamas had been neatly folded, and the chair on the side was in the correct place. 

It seemed final, somehow. As if you’d never see him again. Which, you supposed, was likely the protocol in those cases. He had done what he was supposed to do, what you needed him to do. So, truly, it was naive on your part to ever think that there was going to be more than that. 

And by more, you had no idea what that meant. 

“Nothing, actually. I just happened to have some free time.” 

“Shouldn't you be out there getting someone else pregnant? I thought that's what incubi do.” 

God, was it jealousy that you picked up in your own voice? Were you going down that path? It wasn’t enough to make a deal with a demon; you also had to go ahead and have sex with one, and then whatever the fuck that was. You truly had lost your mind in every way possible. 

There had always been a very clear line between sanity and insanity, at least to you. It was probably safe to say that you had crossed that line in the most stupid way possible. Because why would you go ahead and be jealous of a demon, of someone—or something—that had a clear job, and once said job was finished, you’d never see him again? 

“Most people ask for money, power, fame. Getting pregnant isn’t even on the top 10 wishes.” 

“Hm,” was all you had to offer. 

“So, my question for you: Why not just get married again and then try for adoption… again?” This time, as he said the word again twice, his apologetic look seemed honest. 

Why was he following you? You could either make a run for it, though you were certain that he would catch up to you in no time, or just endure it until you reached the subway station. He wouldn’t want to be in it during rush hours. Right? 

“I felt like I was running out of time,” was your honest answer. 

“What about surrogacy?” 

Seungcheol joined his hands behind his back, his eyes solely on you. He didn’t try to step away from the people; he didn't even flinch when a man bumped into his shoulder and cursed him out. He smiled lightly when a yelp came from behind you and soon enough the man was on the ground, gripping his ankle. Seungcheol merely raised his shoulders, a look of innocent mischief on his face. 

“Got scared.” 

It was a thought that occurred to you so many times, one you had talked about with Joshua and one you almost went through with. You had done everything right from the start: you had someone willing to be your surrogate, a lawyer, a doctor for the insemination, an ob-gyn for the follow-up pregnancy.

Everything was lined up to perfection, and you were excited, happy even. You felt as if things were finally going your way, that finally you were going to be okay. 

But, of course, something had to go wrong. A day before you were supposed to meet, your surrogate simply disappeared. You got a text saying that she was sorry and that she couldn’t go through with it. It was a long text of apology, but it didn’t matter that much. You were once again at the starting line; this time, however, you didn’t have it in you to start the race all over again. 

“But not scared enough to take a deal from the demon king himself,” he pushed his lips into a pout, and for whatever reason, you felt your cheeks warm at the sight. “Weird thing to be scared of, but you do you, I suppose.” 

It was something that was on your mind the entire time: how you had gotten into something so out of character for you, something you had been warned about your entire childhood and adolescence. You had always taken your grandma’s words as the beliefs of a religious person, or something she heard from her mother, who heard it from her mother, and so on. 

It never once crossed your mind that any of it might be true. And yet, somehow, you were the one walking side by side—and sleeping—with a demon. 

“What about buying a child?” 

The mischievous gleam in his eyes gave away that he was joking, and you couldn’t hold back your smile. 

“Hm… I don't know, maybe because it's a crime?” 

Although your face was one of disapproval, Seungcheol knew that you were enjoying the banter, much more than you’d ever let on. It was what he wanted. You were always too serious, too focused on what you had to do, where you wanted to go, to just enjoy a little bit of the present. 

“At least you'd be getting a child no one wants,” he pointed out, as if it was an obvious conclusion. 

“Then I'd get arrested before the child turned twelve,” it was your turn to point out an obvious conclusion. 

“You're no fun,” he pouted again. 

The urge to pinch his cheeks was almost too strong to bear, to the point where you had to stuff your hands in the back pockets of your jeans to keep yourself from doing so. 

“Sorry, Mister Demon, there are rules for some of us.” 

“Seungcheol, no, it’s too much.” 

You tried to pull away from him, but he held you in place, his eyes somehow darkening, pleased with himself. Instead of letting you go, he quickened his movements—his fingers going faster, his tongue ruthless over your clit. 

Your grip on the headboard tightened, your hips moving at the same pace as his fingers. You felt the knot in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. 

Seungcheol wrapped his arm around your hips just as you let go of the headboard and gripped his hair, holding him even closer to your cunt despite your protests moments before. 

The sound he made at the back of his throat—guttural and pleased—the way his eyes narrowed and bored into yours with need and command, a silent order echoing through your mind despite his lack of words, made the knot in your stomach tear apart. 

A scream left your lips, your entire body shaking desperately. The orgasm rippled through you in waves, a huge one followed by smaller ones. Seungcheol seemed to know each wave, chasing them with his fingers and tongue until all that was left was your trembling body. 

Your grip on his hair loosened, and you slumped forward against the headboard, too spent to hold yourself up. 

Seungcheol licked your clit one final time, making your body shudder, before sliding his fingers out of you. He kissed the inside of your thigh lightly as he maneuvered you until you were lying on top of him. 

“You are the sexiest little thing.” 

He kissed up your neck, biting your skin before licking the sensitive spot. You had the distinct sense he was marking you, claiming something that wasn’t his. You didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop—not when you wished, just for a little while, that you were. 

“One more time,” you begged, your voice barely a whisper. 

“Needy too,” he laughed “Thought you couldn’t take it anymore” 

Your pussy hovered over his hard cock. Slowly, you rolled your hips, lazy and deliberate. Your cunt clenched around nothing, aching with need. 

“You said I need to cum two times—on your tongue and your dick.” 

You felt his laugh vibrate against your chest as you mimicked his earlier movements, biting his shoulder before sucking, leaving your mark on him. Then, you soothed the spot with your tongue. 

“You already have.” 

You lifted your head to look at him. His smile was knowing, cocky to the last second, laughter dancing in those mesmerizing eyes. 

Suddenly, those words surfaced in your mind—three small, heavy words that should never have formed, not about him, not so soon, and definitely not for someone like him. Yet there they were, screaming inside you. 

You kissed his chin, then his lips. 

“Wrong order,” you murmured, lifting your hips just enough to align his tip with your entrance. 

You tangled your fingers in his hair as you sank onto him, every inch stretching you deliciously. A moan escaped you both as you moved in sync, his gaze never leaving yours. Each lazy thrust of his hips met yours perfectly. 

“My sexy little thing,” he whispered against your lips. 

You liked working with your sister the most when she wasn’t planning a wedding, which almost never happened. Being a wedding planner didn’t give her an opportunity to do a whole lot of different events. But once in a blue moon, when someone begged the right way and offered the right amount of money, she accepted different kinds of events. 

Graduations were your favorite, mostly because those were filled with a different kind of hope. One that didn’t include someone else, one in which your happiness wasn’t directly connected to anyone else’s. It was the celebration of a chapter that finally reached its end. 

“Do you need help with anything?” you asked Luna. 

Your sister turned to you, her eyes narrow with tiredness. Jihoon, her husband, was the sole reason you were there to begin with. He had called and asked you to tag along, saying Luna was overwhelmed with work and was unwilling to accept help from anyone. 

When she first saw you, her first impulse was to kick you out, but you managed to convince her that your help was needed. There were more guests than anticipated, so there was a lot of reorganizing to do. 

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?” She threw her arms around your shoulders, pulling you in for a tight hug. “I don’t know what I would do without you here.” 

You laughed as you hugged her back. 

“You can thank your husband for that. He called me.” 

Her dreamy eyes at the mention of Jihoon didn’t go unnoticed. It was sweet that after over 10 years together, she still looked like a teenager in love whenever someone brought him up. 

“You can take a break now, okay? Most of the guests have arrived.” 

You shook your head, pushing her shoulders back and forcing her to walk backward. 

“No, you take a break.” 

She seemed unsure, but at your unwavering stance, she finally caved. 

“Fine, but just twenty minutes.” 

“However long you need,” you assured her. 

You took her place next to the entrance. 

It was a good feeling, this weird happiness. Out of the two of you, you were always the dreamer—the one who wanted things that were borderline impossible, the one who wished for a love you knew would never really exist. But a dream was just that: a dream. You could wish for whatever you wanted; that was free and hardly caused you any trouble. 

You knew very well how to separate dreams and reality. 

“You look sinful in this dress,” came a sudden whisper in your ear. 

“Jesus, what the fuck!” You covered your mouth so your scream wouldn’t disturb the guests. 

Suddenly by your side was Seungcheol, in all his purple-suited glory. He’d only ever worn it those first couple of nights. Never again. It was a sight to behold. It didn’t match the place you were in—the purple almost cartoonish in the sea of black suits—but if anyone bothered to ask, you didn’t care. 

“I don’t understand this constant call for Jesus. I never took you for a religious person.” 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear again, but this time you pushed his face away, laughing a little when you felt his smile against your palm. 

“What are you doing here?” 

You pretended to busy yourself with the clipboard in your hands, as if it held unfinished tasks you couldn’t get to because he was in the way. Truthfully, you had nothing else to do. Everything was running smoothly. 

“Like you, I’m here for work,” he said, crossing his arms behind his back with a proud smile. 

“Oh.” 

The giddiness you’d felt when you first saw him died in your stomach, leaving it hollow. You hadn’t thought a single sentence could make you feel so miserable so quickly. 

You’d been having a great day, and suddenly it was gone—like the sun overshadowed by dark clouds. The worst part was that you’d always known those clouds lurked at the edges; you’d just chosen to ignore them. 

“Are you, perhaps, jealous?” His voice was teasing, the dimple you’d grown fond of appearing. 

You wished you could hate him, wished your mind worked as it usually did—how under normal circumstances, you’d never have accepted something like this. But nothing about Seungcheol was normal. There was no protocol for this. 

“Why would I be?” 

“You are.” He laughed, throwing his head back. “You totally are.” 

“Go get someone else pregnant, Seungcheol. Not that you’ve succeeded with me anyway.” 

You shrugged. It was the truth. Almost a month had passed since he first appeared, and you’d gotten your period as usual. All hopes of a baby were gone—at least for a few more weeks. 

“Oh, now you’re doubting my abilities.” He raised an eyebrow, a cocky smile playing on his lips. 

“Off you go,” you said, shooing him away. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes from him, even if you didn’t want to watch him approach someone else. But Seungcheol just wandered the room, his gaze resting on no one in particular. 

It was the first time you’d seen him in a crowd, and the first time you noticed how much attention he drew. Maybe it was the purple suit and red hair, but you suspected it had more to do with how he carried himself—like he owned the place, like everyone was there for him. 

He circled the room twice, not speaking to anyone, barely glancing at them. Then a child bumped into his legs. Seungcheol looked down, unfazed. Your heart clenched as he knelt to the boy’s level, smiling kindly as the child stared in awe. 

You forced yourself to look away, hating how it made you wish for things you couldn’t have. From the corner of your eye, you saw Seungcheol ruffle the boy’s hair and return to you. 

“That was quick.” 

Seungcheol leaned over the stand, taking the clipboard to ensure your full attention. There was something in his eyes—like he was silently telling you something you couldn’t yet decipher. He held your hand, his thumb circling your palm. 

“I came here as a reminder,” he said quietly, almost secretively but reassuringly. 

You didn’t want to read too much into it. 

“A reminder?” 

He glanced over his shoulder before meeting your eyes again. 

“You see that woman—the pregnant one? Not my doing, by the way.”  You discreetly scanned the crowd until you spotted her: a beautiful woman in a green flowy dress, her hands protectively cradling her belly as she stared at Seungcheol with wide, fearful eyes. 

“What about her?” you asked, already knowing the answer. 

“She cut a deal with Jeonghan.” 

“She’ll give her baby to him.” 

The thought was unfathomable. While you’d give anything for a child, others were willing to surrender theirs—one they hadn’t even met. 

“Her firstborn, yeah,” he admitted, his voice low. 

“What does he do with them? The kids he takes?” You focused on your joined hands, how small yours looked in his. 

“He raises us.” 

You stared at him. Us? He was one of Jeonghan’s taken children? You opened your mouth to ask more — but then a familiar face walked in, his ever-present smile in place. 

“Shit, shit, shit, fuck.” You ducked behind Seungcheol, hoping Joshua wouldn’t see you. 

Joshua stood at the entrance, a woman on his arm. He smiled kindly as she spoke. 

“What is it? Are you in pain?” Seungcheol straightened, his hands cradling your face, his eyes filled with concern. 

“My ex-husband just got here.” 

The tenderness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a slow-burning anger. His entire demeanor shifted. This wasn’t the playful, mischievous Seungcheol you knew—this was the demon he’d never let you see. 

“Which table is he at?” He snatched the clipboard from you. 

“Sixteen, far right,” you said, pointing to the empty table. 

“Okay.” He nodded. “Stay here.” 

Seungcheol approached Joshua and the woman, his smile tight.  You’d often wondered how it would feel to see Joshua again. Reality was nothing like you’d imagined. You didn’t hurt. You didn’t feel small. You’d hidden out of surprise, not fear. 

Seungcheol returned, his posture rigid. 

“Your ex is an asshole. Why’d you marry that?”

He tossed the clipboard onto the stand, scowling. 

“What?” 

“He was talking shit about your sister.” 

“Who was talking shit about your sister?” Jiah appeared beside you, grinning. 

“Jesus, what the fuck!” This time, you didn’t bother covering your mouth. 

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips — the earlier tension gone. 

“You know Grandma would hand you your ass if she heard you talk like that, right?” 

A shrill laugh echoed through the room. Jiah side-eyed Seungcheol, amused but curious about his presence. Her gaze flicked between you and him, her smile knowing. 

“Hi, I’m Jiah.” She extended a hand to Seungcheol. “Who was talking shit about me?” 

Seungcheol seemed surprised to be acknowledged. He hesitated before shaking her hand. 

“Her ex. The shithead.” 

Jiah whirled to you, eyes wide. You waved her off. 

“Joshua is here?” 

“It’s fine.” 

She narrowed her eyes. After Joshua left, you’d been a wreck—barely leaving the house, avoiding even your sister. You’d felt broken. But now? Joshua was like sand: easy to brush off. 

“I’m taking my break now,” you said, walking away without looking back. You needed space from Joshua—and from Seungcheol, too.

The lines between you had blurred dangerously. 

You pushed into the bathroom and finally breathed. The quiet lasted a second before Seungcheol followed you in. 

“Were you really that shaken up seeing him?”

His voice had a new edge — one that sent fire skimming your skin. 

“What if I was?” You knew it was the wrong answer, knew it would provoke him, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

“How long has it been since your divorce?” He stepped closer, the room shrinking around you. 

“I suddenly can’t remember.” 

Seungcheol smiled slowly, dangerously. You heard the lock click. You were done for — and you weren’t sure you cared. 

It was confusing, your entire relationship with Seungcheol. He was always around yet at the same time he wasn't. Even when he was away, his presence lingered. It was like you could feel him everywhere. It wasn't just the sex—though you could never complain about that—it felt like he'd crawled under your skin, and when he wasn't there, you wanted him to be. 

You craved the late hours when you knew he'd come over, those quiet moments where he'd just sit on your couch, eyes closed, his hand absently massaging your thigh. It was like he was recharging. Then he'd open his eyes and start talking about things you could never follow without interrupting every few sentences. Once Seungcheol realized this, he started giving them names. 

"I had to chase after Benny today. The fucker's a shapeshifter. You know what that is, right?" You nodded, biting into another piece of the succulent steak he'd brought. "So you can imagine how hard it was to hunt down that son of a bitch." 

He was complaining, sure, but there was a proud tilt to his stance — like he'd done good work and wanted praise. That was something you'd learned quickly about Seungcheol: he loved being praised for the most ridiculous things. 

"How did you catch him?" 

"He's not smart. Loves strippers — has a favorite who happened to be working. Made it easy." 

You bit back a sudden wave of jealousy. You hated the idea of Seungcheol in places like that, around women like that. That was where the confusion set in. You knew you shouldn't feel this way about him. 

The real issue started when he came back after the first night. It should've been a one-time thing—he'd said so himself. Yet there he was in your bedroom the next night, and the night after, and every night since. 

"Can I ask you something?" you said during a lull. He nodded, curious at your serious tone. "That day at the wedding, you said Jeonghan raises the kids he takes. You said 'us.'" 

Seungcheol just smiled. It had taken you long enough to ask. He'd watched the gears turn in your head, trying to reconcile him being raised by the Demon King. 

"It's not some grand story," he assured. "My parents cut a deal with Jeonghan, and I was the price. Back then, Jeonghan didn't erase their memories, so they knew he'd take me at eighteen. That's why they weren't... great parents." 

He shrugged like it didn't affect him. It did, of course—Seungcheol was just good at pretending. Especially about his childhood before Jeonghan. 

It hadn't taken much convincing. "Where I'm taking you has warm beds and food so good you'll never want to stop eating," Jeonghan had said, snake eyes glinting. Maybe to drive home that he wasn't human. Still, ten-year-old Seungcheol took his hand and left without looking back, carrying only the clothes on his back and a teddy bear from his uncle. 

During the car ride, he'd imagined fire deserts and screaming souls—too many hell-themed video games. Reality was a pristine high-rise apartment. 

"This is where you'll live now," Jeonghan said, opening the door to a room that looked untouched. "Better than the shithole you slept in before." 

Seungcheol sat on the bed, small voice trembling. "Why?" 

"You were mine from birth. Your parents were just... babysitting." 

The next day, Seungcheol changed schools. No one questioned a mid-spring transfer. 

"We're demons, but I refuse to let us be stupid," Jeonghan said when he asked why school was mandatory. 

It took a year to adjust, but eventually, it became the only life he'd ever known. 

"So he raised you?" You frowned, unable to picture Jeonghan as anything parental.

"In his own way. He wasn't loving, but I never felt like a burden. Had everything I needed." 

For a second, Seungcheol looked lost in thought—and for the first time, you let yourself imagine him as a parent. You knew you'd be doing it alone, that your time with him was borrowed... but just for a moment, you indulged the fantasy. 

The image came easily: Seungcheol on the couch, humming softly, a swaddled baby in his arms. So vivid it hurt—like a desert mirage, real until it vanished. 

The thing about incubus is that they are very sudden beings, as well as lacking routine, according to Seungcheol. Suddenly you found yourself in this sort of arrangement with him, one that included him in your bed every single night. 

It started off slowly—him popping into your bedroom some nights while you were still awake, some when you were already asleep. On those nights, his actions would vary between two options: if it was late at night, well past 2 AM, he would just crawl into your bed in nothing but his boxers and hug you tightly during the night; if it was earlier than that, you’d wake up to his lips on your chin, your neck, your breast. 

Somehow, that turned into a small pile of his clothes on your dresser, which magically found its way into one of the drawers. A toothbrush appeared in your bathroom, and he had his own towel too. 

All of it was oddly ordinary, mundane, domestic. 

You’d sometimes wonder just where he was that he got back so late, but truthfully, you didn’t want to know. You knew who he was, what his role was. 

“If you’re going to be here every night and eat my food, you could make yourself useful, you know?” you teased him a little, pointing at the sink filled with dishes from the night before. 

It was an atypical night. Seungcheol had gotten back to your place before seven, while you were still making dinner. He had even knocked on the door, something new he had never done before. “You told me once that I should use the door, so I’m testing it out. It’s overrated, just so you know.” Somehow, a simple meal turned into a candlelit dinner, a bottle of wine turned into two, and the space you had clearly set between the two of you no longer seemed to exist. 

The dishes had been long forgotten, and for the first time in your life, you didn’t mind going to bed with the kitchen in disarray. And you didn’t freak out when you woke up to it. 

“I think I’m pretty useful,” he raised his eyebrow, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling because you knew what was coming next. “If I’m not mistaken, I made you cum twice last night, and I could have done it again half an hour ago, but you were the one who didn’t want to.” 

Seungcheol wrapped his hands around your hips, pressing hard, his lips on your neck sucking, and you knew that by the time you walked into your office, there would be a hickey, dark and purple, on your skin. 

It took all of your willpower to pull away from him. 

“You’re distracting,” you grabbed his forgotten shirt from the couch and threw it at him. “And I’m late.” 

“You’ll still be late in an hour, so why hurry?” 

Seungcheol didn’t make a single move to put the shirt on; instead, he chose to cross his arms over his chest. Idiot was flexing. 

“Because then it would be even later,” you rose to your toes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, quickly moving away before he had a chance to wrap you into his arms again—and this time, there was a high probability of you not trying to escape. “And if you really have a magic dick and managed to knock me up, I’m going to need my job.” 

“Again, you’re no fun at all,” his signature pout broke into a smile that you could swear made the butterflies in your stomach come to life. 

“Well, you didn’t complain last night.” 

The first time you truly considered having a child, you were twenty-two, fresh out of college. Your sister, though slightly younger than you, had just given birth. You were young and still didn’t have your life under control as you wanted, but the thought crossed your mind for the first time as something concrete, an achievable dream. Something that maybe, somewhere down the line, you’d be able to do. 

At the time, you were already with Joshua. Your relationship was nowhere near the commitment of marriage—it would only happen five years later—but he was someone you could picture yourself spending your life with. 

That life, that dream, however, fell short way too quickly. Your marriage didn’t have a long lifespan. The first couple of years were good, very storybook, daydream, fairytale-like. Until it wasn’t. One day it was perfect; the next, it was a multitude of negatives and bad news, one followed by the other, then another. On Monday, you were still a married woman; by Friday, Joshua was out of the house and asking for a divorce. 

And so, your loneliness began. It was like that until Seungcheol came around. He found a way to fill your life in ways you didn’t know it could be filled. He did it with such ease, like he was always meant to be right there. 

Seungcheol managed to make you believe, even if just for a short while, that there was nothing before. That all of it started with him. But just like Joshua, he too disappeared. Unlike Joshua, though, Seungcheol didn’t give you any signs that he might leave. He woke you up with soft, sweet kisses, clung to you the entire morning, up until you reached your work and he couldn’t physically join you. 

You waited for him that night. A sudden itch at the back of your throat, something telling you that something was wrong. The entire night was spent staring at the door, waiting for him to come. But he never did. The sun was already up when you forced yourself out of bed. There was no point in staying there if all you’d do was wonder if he was okay, if something bad had happened. You left for work and went back home. 

Like every day, you were greeted by an empty apartment. It felt colder than usual. You ran to your room, a sudden urgency taking over you. Gone was his hoodie, the one you’d slept in, usually folded on your bed. The drawer was empty too. Every trace of him had vanished, and you were alone. 

Again. 

if you enjoyed reading, please reblog and leave a comment, it really does mean the world to me and i would love to know your thoughts. thank you! 💕

you can read my other fics here ➝ masterlist

[nerdycheol]

Pout Trap || C.S.C

pairing: seungcheol x reader

wc: 600 words

genre: established relationship, fluff

a/n: pouty cheol (beware). also dedicated to alaska (@cherry-zip) you really made me do this— so this one's for you ^3^ jina (@facethesunflower) cuz she's such a sweetie also im thinking of making this into a series— kissy face cheol

part 1 || join my taglist

You’ve always found Seungcheol to be just… ridiculously endearing.

Like the way his smile breaks across his face with zero warning, his dimples so deep that one could swim in them. And whenever he laughs a little too hard, his eyes crinkle into imperfect half-moons, and all you can see are his long lashes.

And don’t get you started on the way he looks in his sweaters. He always wears those soft, oversized long sleeves that make him look like the human embodiment of a cozy Sunday morning. Except the betrayal is real—because beneath that marshmallow fluff exterior is one stupidly buff man who could probably bench press you and your entire existential crisis.

But your favorite thing? It’s when he does that pouty face.

It’s so dumb. And adorable. And stupidly effective.

His lips push out ever so slightly, his cheeks puff like a grumpy chipmunk, and there’s always a faint crease between his brows as if the world has personally offended him. It’s your kryptonite. And the worst part? He doesn’t even try to weaponize it—it’s just… there. Like it’s his default expression when he’s even mildly inconvenienced.

Which brings you to now.

You’re sitting across from your boyfriend at your favorite ramen spot, watching him inhale his food like he’s in a mukbang contest. His lips glisten from the broth, his cheeks are full of noodles, and his eyes sparkle with childish delight as he slurps.

And then—there it is.

The pout.

He makes that familiar face because his chopsticks slipped and a piece of egg fell back into the bowl. Just a small setback. But his mouth twitches downward, and he lets out a tiny huff, his cheeks puffed and lips pushed out in that dangerously cute way.

You don’t even think.

In a swift, rogue move, you pick up your chopsticks and gently trap his lips between them, squishing them together like a little duck bill.

Seungcheol blinks.

You lean in with zero shame and press your lips to his smooshed ones, giggling into the kiss while he makes a muffled noise of surprise. He tastes like warm broth and mischief.

When you pull back, he’s staring at you, utterly betrayed.

“You really just used chopsticks on me like I’m some side dish,” he mutters, but he does not even bother wiping his mouth, you clearly know he enjoyed it. “I feel objectified.”

You shrug, beaming. “You looked like a duck. I couldn’t help it.”

“A duck?!”

“The cutest duck,” you say sweetly, reaching over to poke at his dimple. “My duck.”

Seungcheol groans, hiding his face in his sleeves, but you can see his ears turning red.

He peeks out and narrows his eyes at you. “You know this means war, right?”

“Oh no,” you deadpan. “What are you gonna do? Pout me into submission?”

Without missing a beat, he does exactly that—puffing out his cheeks and pushing his lips out, giving you the most exaggerated pout of all time.

And damn it.

It works.

You lunge over the table again.

“Cheol, NO—wait, let me kiss you again!”

He yelps, half-laughing, half-choking on his noodles as you reach across the table. He tries to dodge but ends up nearly tipping over his bowl. You manage to land a kiss on the side of his cheek anyway, earning a loud, exaggerated groan from him.

“Public affection while I’m mid-chew? You're a menace,” he mutters, wiping his mouth as he glares at you—but the stupid fondness in his eyes betrays him completely.

You flash him a grin. “You love it.”

He tries to scowl. Tries. But then those traitorous dimples show up again, and you know you’ve won.

join the taglist

taglist: @mikrokosmos530 @smiileflower @enhacolor

[cheol-e-kat]

hi there dear would you consider writing more of neighbor cheol likethe pool one it was sooo hawwtttttttt plzzzz thank you for all your writing

haihaiiii so here's part two of neighbor cheol matching the freak of the mc wayyy too well - hope you enjoy ^^

♡ kat

╰┈➤ p.s. this is a part two, so here's [ 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝟏 ] because it will not make sense without part 1, srsly [ and here's the master list for the series ]

master list & tag list

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆, 𝒑𝒕. 𝟐

pairing: choi seungcheol/ f!reader 

summary: seungcheol noticed y/n before the summer, but once summer starts, he can’t deny that he loves all the games she plays to get his attention or that he wants her just as much as she wants him

word count:  3.1k

genre: smut, neighbors au, summer au, age gap, older!cheol, college student!reader

rating: 18+, mdni, explicit

warnings below cut

warnings: voyeurism (she knows, though - read part 1 if you don’t know), age gap, implied masturbation, fingering, food play, oral sex, cum eating, spanking, possessive behavior, penetrative sex, edging, messy sex

Seungcheol hadn’t exactly moved to the suburbs, instead, he was still inside the city, just in one of the historic districts. It was full of huge classic houses with tons of windows and faux tudor shapes, winding roads that made no sense, and bursting with greenery and beautiful flowers. 

He loved that all the houses were decorated with lights for the holidays and that there was actually a neighborhood school that kids walked to during the school year. Even his commute home was nice once he hit his neighborhood. He could sit at the same stop sign for fifteen minutes, but he also got to see all the flowers in bloom. 

And he loved his house. He loved the natural light and the way it had been updated to have a sub-zero fridge and a gas range, even if he rarely cooked, but the house still had a million pocket doors and gorgeous arches for all the rooms on the main floor. He loved the drive up the little green hill towards his house, especially in the spring - he could pop out for a quick drive, top down on his classic Mercedes, wind in his hair, and the early morning sun shining just for him. 

It was almost perfect. 

⋆.˚

Even his neighbors were nice, seemingly - he really had no clue. They were an older couple who seemed to travel a lot. He could never tell if they were home or not, except for the holidays - they seemed to be home then because they didn’t just decorate. It was an explosion of lights and wreaths and bows. They even had a party.

And he understood why. It was when their daughter came home for the holidays. He had seen her a few times, maybe more than a few. He had definitely noticed that her room faced his and that she didn’t seem to care about pulling her curtains closed when she did anything. 

He had seen too much of her - things he assumed most people didn’t see. Like the way she looked when she woke up with mussed hair to fumble for her glasses before she scrolled her phone for an hour. 

When he answered the door at the beginning of summer to see his neighbor with her daughter in tow - he tried to forget the number of dresses he had watched her try on in December. 

He especially wanted to forget that he had been disappointed when she hadn’t decided on the strapless red one that literally made her look like a gift he badly wanted to unwrap. 

He swallowed tightly as her mother introduced her. “And this is our y/n - she’s going to be house sitting for us, but since you’re new, we wanted to be sure you two met before we leave her all alone!”

He had smiled through it, even when he shook y/n’s hand. But he also, out of no where, lost his fucking mind and told her she was welcome to use his pool. Y/n had smiled at him so warmly at the invite that he almost felt like he needed to apologize then and there for unintentionally being a total creep. 

⋆.˚

It had maybe been unintentional the first time he happened to look up from his phone and see her changing clothes. But every time after that was on a sliding scale - from normal human curiosity to the depths of voyeuristic hell. And he had invited her to use his pool like an absolute idiot. 

He was too guilty to notice the way she smiled at him - he didn’t see the way her eyes followed him. He had no idea all the things she noticed about him, from his clothes and how well his shirt fit to his hairstyle and the scent of his cologne. 

He was too focused on ignoring the dress she wore and the way its neckline accentuated the size of her breasts. He didn’t need to know the shape of her waist or that she wasn’t wearing underwear. He might have died if he had known that detail. 

He spent the afternoon measuring his windows for blackout curtains. The only problem had been that she had done more than undress with her curtains open that night. 

It was more like she had known he was there in his own dark bedroom watching her, the same way actors knew there was an audience out beyond the stage lights, even if they didn’t look out into the crowd. 

She hadn’t looked out her windows. Instead, it was more like she made a clear effort to be seen. She moved slowly. She lingered too long. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

And it only got worse once her parents were gone. 

⋆.˚

He was sure she knew his schedule - when he left for the day, and when he came home. Even the days he tended to be late, she seemed to adjust things to account for his lateness. And then she would take to her stage, moving around her set and making sure he saw everything she wanted him to see. 

He wasn’t sure when he stopped feeling guilty about watching her. Instead, by the time she asked him if she could still use his pool, he had wanted to grab her then and bend her over the hood of his car. He could have fucked her fast and rough before he had even had his first sip of coffee. 

Seeing her up close was a completely different mood. It left him feeling a bit dazed. She was just as confident talking to him as she was when she stripped in her room. 

He didn’t ignore the way she stood closer than she needed to, or the way she playfully touched his arm when she spoke. He watched the shameless way she looked him over - her gaze lingering on his chest and arms several seconds too long. She was a little minx masquerading as some girl next door. 

The encounter only made that night sweeter. 

He didn’t feel any guilt then. He showered and dressed for bed, made a drink, and sat in the dark waiting for her to make her appearance. He knew she would undress for him before she showered. 

After her shower, she would come out in a robe that barely covered anything while her still-wet hair clung to her beautiful skin. She would pick out her underwear and a shirt to sleep in. 

He leaned back against his headboard at first, watching her before her shower, sipping his drink, and remembering the way she said his name so perfectly, like she had practiced, “Mr. Choi” had quickly become “Seungcheol.” She had smiled as she repeated it back to him - her pouty lips looking so pretty. He wondered how sweet she would taste. 

And after her shower, he watched every moment with his hand around his cock - her voice on repeat in his mind, “Watch me, Seungcheol,” he imagined her saying, “Watch me, daddy,” was what he wished she would say. His orgasm left him breathless. 

⋆.˚ 

His phone pinged every day to tell him when the back gate opened. He knew exactly how early she went to swim and when she left. 

He would have thought Friday was odd if she hadn’t stopped him that morning. He stared at the notification and thought of her asking to make him dinner. 

It was such a cute offer, but he also couldn’t help wondering what she wanted to happen that night. He couldn’t wait for it - genuinely, he had left early that day because he couldn’t focus on anything else. 

He had sat impatiently in his living room waiting for her. He was tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair he sat in when the doorbell rang. He had been considering texting her and asking if they could just order food. 

But she hadn’t stayed at the pool very long that day - he assumed that meant she was doing other things. 

And when he answered the door, it was obvious how she had spent the day. He was surprised that anyone would spend that much time planning and cooking for him. Especially the gorgeous girl next door who was taking care of her parents’ house for the summer. 

He felt bad for wondering what kind of underwear she had on.

⋆.˚

He almost couldn’t bear the fact that she had literally cooked a true meal for him. It was so sweet. And so was she. It made his teeth ache. He worried that he had been wrong about everything. 

Until he said she had gone to too much trouble, and she laughed, “I’m home alone all day - this was a fun distraction, plus your pool is so amazing and you’ve been so nice to let me use it,” she said, smiling. 

It was such a normal thing to say. But he couldn’t hold back anymore - he had to test the waters. He nodded, “How could I say ‘no’ to you, though?” He asked, his voice low and soft.

Her cheeks brightened at the question, “I mean it’s pretty easy actually - my Dad says ‘no’ to me all the time,” she smiled and went back to what she was doing. 

He watched her for a moment before speaking again. And when she looked back at him, he spoke again. “I’m sure you don’t do quite so much to try to please your Dad, though, do you?” he asked in a teasing voice. 

She considered it. “That’s not really my department,” she whispered, her gaze wandering from his face down the line of his body. 

He smiled - he was starting to feel comfortable. “No, you don’t want to make your father happy?” he asked, feeling like that wasn’t true at all, as he gave his drink a small swirl. She seemed like a total daddy’s girl. 

She pulled dishes from the oven. He would freely admit that everything smelled so good. He almost wished she were bad at cooking or that things smelled and looked less appetizing. He hadn’t had time for lunch that day. But he would happily skip a meal to eat her. 

She was quiet at first. Too quiet. He wondered if she was embarrassed. He felt the little thread of hope slipping away and moved quickly to grab it. 

He slid his arms around her and grabbed her hips gently as he leaned close to her, his lips grazing against her throat. 

“Does he know the kind of underwear you wear to bed?” he asked as his hands squeezed her hips possessively, “Does he know what a slut you are for my attention?” he whispered just beneath her ear, his lips dragging gently over her skin.

She moaned softly as his hands slid down the front of her dress, over her hips, and down her thighs as he hiked the fabric up and out of his way. He needed to know what underwear she had put on for him.

“What underwear are you wearing tonight, baby girl?” he whispered, his hands traced up the silky skin of her thighs to her panties - he felt the barely there satin that just covered her pussy. 

⋆.˚

He wasn’t sure how he made it through dinner after he knew how wet she was for him. Sitting across from her was only bearable because he was hungry, her food was delicious, and because she had genuinely cooked for him. 

He was too desperate by the time there was dessert. All he could think of was her - her moans and kisses, how soft her skin was and how sweet he thought her pussy would be. 

He couldn’t help himself as he pulled her down to his lap, kissing her hungrily as his hand slid back under her dress. She was even wetter than she had been before they ate. He couldn’t help the way he rushed to fill her cunt with his fingers. He needed to make her come.

He needed to know what it was like. The way her pussy sucked his fingers in and clamped down on them as her cum flowed for him was intoxicating. He had to taste her. 

He was quick to pick her up and put her on the table. He marveled at the way she lay back on the table for him, the way her legs parted. The way she licked cream from his fingers. 

He barely registered the idea of filling her pussy with the same sweet cream she used on the dessert, but the moment she licked his fingers clean, he knew just how he wanted to experience her sweetness. 

She was too perfect. She moaned and whined so sweetly. His cock ached to be inside her. But he had other thoughts - other things he wanted first. He wanted to make sure she understood who could see her if she wanted him the way she seemed to want him. 

She left her curtains open every night for him. And then she went running in the mornings and let anyone and everyone see her beautiful body. That hadn’t sat well with him for weeks. He had decided that no one else should get to see her that way. If she were going to be his, she needed to know she was for him.

And when he finished, he felt a bit bad when he saw how red and angry her skin was after he spanked her. She whimpered even at the softest touches. 

He carried her upstairs and helped her undress before sitting her gingerly on his bed. He leaned down, kissing her for a few moments before she pushed him back.

“Undress,” she whispered.

He smirked, “Right, that.”

She nodded, sitting back to watch him. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, letting it drop to the ground. He wasn’t in a rush.  He pulled off his undershirt. 

She sat up and caught his belt buckle. He grinned as she finished undressing him. “In a rush?” he asked sheepishly.

She nodded, glancing up at him. “Umhm.” 

He wasn’t prepared for the look on her face when she touched him. As she slowly traced her hands down his chest and stomach and hips - it struck him that she actually wanted him. She leaned forward to kiss his stomach and then she kissed his cock through his underwear before she pulled those off too. 

He gasped when she kissed the base of his cock and began to slowly kiss her way up his shaft - he watched her teasingly kiss and lick the head of his cock before he finally felt the perfect warmth of her mouth surrounding him. He groaned at the feeling of her tongue tracing along the sensitive skin of his cock as she moved her head. He reached down for her, only to ground himself. 

He was close to coming when she suddenly pulled off him with a grin. 

“Evil,” he hissed, feeling robbed.

Her grin grew, “Maybe,” she cooed, “but you know you like it.” She bit her lip gently as she stared at him - her gaze was playful… hopeful.

He nodded and climbed onto the bed with her. He smiled at the sight of her lying in his bed, her hair haloed on his sheets. It was more than he expected. 

He leaned down to kiss her and to tease her with his dick - he let his head just press against her opening, barely entering her. She smiled through their kiss and pulled his hair gently. He knew what she wanted, but he was enjoying the painfully slow pace he was setting. 

When he finally sank into her, they both groaned. He was still for a few moments, just feeling how tight and warm she was for him. And then he finally moved, slowly, deliberately - he wanted to feel everything about her - about the moment if he were honest. He wanted it imprinted in his mind.

The second he felt like he was close to coming, he pulled out. She whined.

He bit his lip, “Mmh, I just want it to last,” he confessed.

She stared for a moment before reaching for him, pulling him close and kissing him deeply. They went back and forth that way - he pushed them closer and closer to the edge, holding them both there and pulling back just before either could fall.

He was covered in sweat - she was lying next to him while they kissed lazily. She leaned back to look at him and smoothed his bangs back from his face. “Good?”

He nodded, reaching over to tease her clit, which only made her glare as he moved back between her legs. 

“I hate you,” she laughed as he pressed his fingers into her - she moaned.

“Hmm, I think you’re loving this,” he whispered, watching her. 

She nodded, gazing at him, “Yeah, I am,” she murmured. 

He nodded. “Good,” he smiled. 

He pulled his fingers from her, and then he pushed into her slowly and ducked down to kiss her as he started to move his hips faster - it was the last time. He wanted to come - he wanted her to come. And when he finally felt it - felt her and the way she gasped and spasmed around him - it was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. 

It was like a flash and falling. Free-falling into absolutely nothing but perfect bliss. It was on par with what he imagined sex should be like, instead of what it normally was for him, boring. 

He would have passed out if she hadn’t dragged him into the bathroom - he had to have fallen asleep because the shower was already on and warm. She was all business as she cleaned him up - he got nothing but a few stray kisses. 

And then they were back in bed, cuddling and finally sleeping.

⋆.˚

He woke up to her leaning over him, poking his cheek gently. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled.

“How is your fridge virtually empty? There’s like a random coconut water,” she said it with a hefty amount of judgment. 

He sighed, “It’s not that serious.”

The look she gave him was withering. “Not serious? I need to go next door if I want to make breakfast - you don’t even have the basic ingredients” —

He pulled her down to him, cutting her off, “Noo - stay here,” he whined softly, “Just order stuff.” He stuck his hand out and felt for his phone. 

When he finally felt it, he unlocked and went to settings, turned off his passcode, and handed it to her. “Go nuts.”

She smiled, “Just like that?”

He nodded. “Just like that.” He had no other thoughts - she could do anything, spend anything, but he didn’t want her to leave, not unless she absolutely had to. 

a/n: i genuinely love how unhinged they are for each other - they would totally get married after she finishes college - she will spend all her holidays with him - man has already planned their life together AND so has she - they have a china pattern and an intense wedding registry - their astrology charts would be disturbing to anyone else outside of their relationship - they would def have kids and pets - and ultimately a very respectful give and take relationship that's actually really lovely and is totally 'until death' - life long love <333

♡ kat

this fic is now a series, so read the rest here:

master list

part i (summer) reader pov - 2.2k

part ii (summer) seungcheol pov - 3.1k [ you've just read part 2 ]

part iii (fall / winter) - posted - 3.0K

♡ ♡

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞 ^^

angst - [ a ] || fluff - [ f ] || smut - [ s ]

teasers: all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight

drabbles: co-worker & spanking [ s ] |୨୧| gamer boy [ s ] |୨୧| professor one [ s ] | valentine's day [ f ] #kat_drabbles

fluff: profound, not sudden [ f ]

smut: see bingo series above and random slutty thoughts collection

series: obvious affection [ pt. 1 f ] [ pt. 2 f & s ] |୨୧| 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 [ pt. 1 S ] [ pt. 2 s (that's this fic) ]

seungcheol bingo [warning all smut]: knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (never let you go pt. 1) | bodyguard + drunk confession | anon sex + hair pulling + mask wearing | big dick!cheol + hate sex (choose your own adventure) | sexual frustration + ex sex |

omegaverse (a/b/o): alpha seungcheol [pt. 1 s] [pt. 2 s] || never let you go [master list] [part 1 f & s] [part 2 f ] ||

[ taglist ]

☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎

[woncheolisms]

You're such a good writer!!! Your latest Seungcheol fic got me straight in the feels. I was hoping you could write cheol and s/o in the gym together having a little friendly competition but they're both competitive as hell so things get steamy in the end. Thank you!!

sweaty. (choi seungcheol x reader)

word count: 1260

warnings: smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, established relationship, seungcheol is very competitive, wall sex, choking if you squint

taglist is open! just send me an ask

buy me a coffee?

“How much do you wanna bet I can do the stairmaster longer than you?”

A teasing eyebrow raise and an accompanying smirk. “You’re joking, right?”

You pretend to contemplate as you re-tie your shoe. Behind you, your boyfriend shifts. You know he’s still looking at you. So you take your sweet time before responding, just to tick him off.

“All you did on Tuesday was cry about how tough the stairmaster is.” You goad him, recalling your last visit to the gym with him. “So I’m pretty sure I can stay on it longer than you can.”

You stand up straight and turn to look at him.

Choi Seungcheol is staring right back, clad in an oversized sweatshirt and loose shorts. You can see a dent in his cheek where he is biting on the inside of it. Oh, you’ve got him. He’s too competitive for his own good. And as soon as you imply in any way that he can’t do something, he immediately feels the need to prove that he can.

You nearly snort. He’s so easy.

“What are the terms?”

“Loser buys dinner.”

“Deal.”

Fifteen minutes later, you are panting like a dog all over the machine, hands clinging to the railing like claws, trying not to keel over and die. Seungcheol is faring better than you, though not by much, but his stubborn streak and ego are pushing him through, and in hindsight you regret making a deal in the first place, knowing how he reacts to a challenge. Dammit. Maybe you are just as competitive as him.

“Listen,” you finally wheeze out. “If we both stop together, we can forget the whole thing.”

Seungcheol barks out a breathless laugh, eyes shining despite how exhausted he looks. His hair clings to his forehead and the back of his neck. “Not a chance!”

You groan loudly, knowing you’ve lost. You can’t do this. Your legs feel like jelly. There’s no way you can keep going. But this also means Seungcheol has won. God, you won’t live this down.

“Fine.” You manage to grit out. “Your win.”

Seungcheol immediately steps off with a whoop, pumping his fist a bit. You collapse on the wooden floor, trying to catch your breath. Sweat rolls down your back, and your body feels like it’s on fire.

A few feet away, Seungcheol pulls his giant sweatshirt over his head, leaving him in a thin tank top. He crumples the cloth and throws it on the bench before sitting down heavily next to it, reaching for his water bottle.

Oh.

He is nearly basting in sweat. The entirety of his shirt clinging to his back and sides. His pale skin shines under the harsh lights of the gym, the dewy glow shifting as his biceps flex. His cheeks are beautifully flushed. He pushes his hair off his forehead, making it stick up a bit as he uses a small towel to wipe his face and the back of his neck. The silver chain he is wearing glints along with his skin. You gulp.

You know your boyfriend is a specimen. You know that. Doesn’t make being around him any easier. The need to constantly jump his bones has been there since before your relationship began, and it seems it has no intention of going away. But here, in the gym where he is often thinly clad, sweating, breathing heavily, grunting as he lifts weights, that need lights a fire under you. And there’s only one person who can put it out.

Good thing he has never been able to say no to you.

With almost renewed energy, you push yourself up on your feet and make a beeline for him. He sets his water bottle down, sending you a teasing smile and wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’m not letting you weasel your way out of this. We’re going all out for dinner.”

You hum, stepping between his parted knees. He instinctively reaching for your hips, runs his hands up the sides of your legs, kneading on them slightly as you brush your fingers over his shoulders.

“We might have to delay dinner a bit, babe. I have other things to do.”

A confused look. “What things?”

“You.”

He lets out a hearty laugh, not at all surprised at your raunchy words. This is nothing new to him. Nearly every gym session ends with both of you on the floor, or against the full length mirror in the room, or in the shower. One of the many benefits of having a gym at home is not worrying at all about anyone interrupting you two in your many steamy activities.

Once your lips meet Seungcheol’s, he hums in approval, craning his neck up to let you feel him easily. His hands travel from your legs to your ass, squeezing before slinking up further under your shirt. Once you push into him more, he stands up, now leaning down to continue nipping and biting at your lips, while also hooking his thumbs into the hem of your shorts and pulling them down along with your panties. This would be rushed. Hard. Short, quick strokes to quell the flame now burning inside you both.

He takes the lead immediately, pushing you into the wall behind him and pressing himself tight into you as he fumbles with his own shorts, just enough to free himself. His knee knocks against the back of your thigh, wedging between it to push your legs apart, and then you feel pressure, his thick cock carving its way into you. Your mouth drops and you moan shamelessly, arching deeper to make more room for him. He groans appreciatively when he bottoms out, hand squeezing hard at your bare hip. Your knees are trembling, but now for a different reason than ten minutes ago.

He doesn’t start slow, hips snapping back and forth quickly. You try to catch your breath, try to keep up with his pace, but it’s almost impossible. It always is with him. But it’s just the way you like it. And you let him know.

“Cheol.” You gasp out, already feeling your core tighten and your brain turn to mush as he presses into your most sensitive spot, one that he is intimately familiar with. “Feels so good.”

“This what you wanted?” He grunts out, voice an octave lower and jolting under the weight of his movements. His right hand slides up, wrapping around your neck and thumbing at your jaw to tilt your head towards him. His lips press into yours with bruising intensity. Inside your gym shoes, you can feel your toes curl.

It’s not long before you are teetering on the brink of orgasm, sobbing and mumbling incoherently while Seungcheol breathes heavily behind you, moaning into your shoulder as he pounds hard into you, and when his fingers meet your desperate, needy clit, it takes only a few harsh rubs to send you over the edge.

You feel him flood your insides with warmth as you tremble your way through your own high, scrambling for purchase against the wall and finding none. Your eyelids feel heavy almost instantly as you come down, your limbs buzzing. You whine as he pulls out, and he shushes you, running a gentle hand over your waist and hips. A soft kiss brushes against your sweaty temple. You sigh in contentment as silence stretches over both of you, Seungcheol’s weight a gentle comfort on your back. Then his words break through the quiet.

“So, about dinner..”

You barely hold back a laugh.

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 2 || csc

(banner by @itaeewon)

You Think You Might (masterpost) Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k total, this chapter 11.7k

Warnings: angst, reader working through some Stuff, language, drinking, Soonyoung is reader’s biological little brother, family drama, scoups and his ex are mutually toxic when together but neither is villainized, full warning list on the masterpost

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing, and @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character and teaching me about the Levels of Noona.

You wake up facing the other direction - Seungcheol’s direction - cuddling something. As soon as your brain processes this, you freeze, trying to calculate how bad the damage is.

You open one eye, afraid of what you’ll find. Seungcheol is still asleep, facing you - but he’s still a good six or seven inches away. You’re cuddling, you realize with relief, the sheet you two had rolled up and put in the center of the bed. You have woken up spooning the Blanket Wall.

But at least you aren’t spooning Seungcheol.

Slowly, you extract yourself from the Blanket Wall’s sweet embrace and roll back to what is safely your half of the bed, and lift your phone to check the time.

It’s almost time for your alarm anyway, so you check your socials and your texts. Your mother has texted already this morning, confirming your breakfast plans. You shoot back an affirmative, and head for the bathroom.

When you emerge, dressed, it seems like Seungcheol is still asleep. You creep to the foot of the bed and wiggle one of his feet through the blankets, gently.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Mmm?” he responds, turning his head towards you and making a definite attempt to open one eye.

God, he’s cute. 

You shove the thought away - it’s neither productive nor helpful.

“I’m sorry,” you say, still whispering. “But we’re - I’m - supposed to meet my family in like forty minutes and I didn’t know how much time you’d need to get ready. If you’re coming with me. Which you don’t have to.”

“Thanks,” he tries to say, though it sounds like he says it around marbles, letting his head drop back to the pillow. Then, a minute later, he says - much more clearly - “If I’m not out of the bed in five minutes please hit me with a pillow.”

You laugh, then move to open the curtains, hoping a well-lit room will help him wake up on his own. You dip back into the bathroom to hang up your towel, and when you come out again, he’s upright, stretching his arms towards the ceiling and yawning loudly. You decidedly do not look at his arms as he does this.

You take your phone out on the balcony, able to enjoy the view of the ocean now that it’s daylight, to give him a little space while he gets ready.

When it’s five minutes until you should walk down to the resort’s main dining room, you head back inside. Seungcheol is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at something on his phone, face serious - but he’s dressed and looks pretty ready, his hair pushed back to frame his exposed forehead, his shirt sleeves clinging to his biceps.

You force yourself to look elsewhere. You clear your throat, and he pulls his gaze away from the phone screen to look up at you, eyebrows raised in anticipation for whatever you’re going to say. “Just one final time - you don’t have to deal with breakfast with my mom if you don’t want to. You and I could meet up later.”

He tilts his head a little. “I’m here to sell the idea that we’re a serious couple, right?” he asks, unnecessarily. You both know the answer. “It would be weird for you to go to breakfast without your boyfriend.”

“I guess,” you admit.

He pushes himself to standing, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I agreed to do this,” he points out. “If you spend the next two days worried about whether I really, really want to attend each event, you’re going to make yourself crazier than you would have been if you’d come alone. I’m here, so let me do it right.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Just… I appreciate you. And I know some of this won’t be fun for you, and I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, takes one small step closer. “Don’t be. It’s all part of the job, right?”

Something had been simmering in you, unnamed, since you’d kissed last night with sand between your toes and the stars’ reflections on ocean waves. At these words from Seungcheol, you feel it jerk to a halt behind your navel.

He’s right. You’d agreed, explicitly, on what this would be. You don’t want a mess - neither of you does. You need to be better than this - you need to be able to handle some muscley arms and kissing. 

“Yes,” you say belatedly, when you realize you hadn’t replied. “Yes, part of the job. Okay, well, if you’re ready… we can walk down?”

“I’m ready,” he says.

You check your hair and makeup in the mirror as you pass, grab the cute purse you’d bought just for this sundress, and head for the elevators, your fake boyfriend trailing just a step behind you.

“That dress is nice,” he tells you in the elevator, his voice innocent and even. You flush anyway, murmuring a thank you.

You spot your family right away when you pause at the dining hall’s entrance. They’re seated near a large window overlooking the beach. Behind them, the sun streams down, bright and unrelenting. Your stomach clenches when you see your mother’s profile, but loosens when you hear Soonyoung (and Chan, god, you can’t believe Dumb and Dumber are here with you) laughing.

You reach behind you blindly, fumbling for your fake boyfriend’s hand. He slips his fingers between yours and gives your hand a squeeze.

“Ready, babe?” he asks, one side of his mouth twitching, an eyebrow raised playfully.

Whatever shut down inside you when you were upstairs gives a tiny sign of life at the endearment.

“I am if you are,” you say, and then lead him through the dining hall, weaving around other tables until you reach your own.

“There they are!” Chan cries happily. “We thought perhaps you got delayed, what with the romance of the beach and -”

“Chan,” you say, smiling through gritted teeth, “I would like to remind you that you are not a member of my family and therefore I have zero qualms about ending your life.”

“Didn’t even make it to 9am without death threats,” Soonyoung sighs dramatically.

Your mother has risen to hug you, so you drop Seungcheol’s hand to return it.

“Um,” you say, stepping back when she releases you, “Mom, this is my boyfriend, Seungcheol.”

Her face tightens, but she covers it with a quick smile, reaching out a hand to shake Seungcheol’s. “Nice to meet you, boyfriend Seungcheol,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. She doesn’t even try to make it subtle. Then, she turns back to your little brother, who is still seated - eternally unbothered. “Did you know your sister was dating someone?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Of course I did,” he says easily. “They met through me. I didn’t know that you didn’t know. Noona didn’t say it was a secret.”

Everyone looks at you again. You flush. “It wasn’t a secret,” you say defensively. “I just… I don’t know. It felt weird to bring up, and…”

You trail off, sheepish, and Soonyoung pipes up to defend you. “Ah, Noona’s always been private about this stuff,” he points out. “She didn’t tell the family about her new job until she’d been there long enough for her first promotion, remember?”

Chan rests his chin in his hands, leaning closer to you from his side of the table. “Why are you so secretive? Have you ever explored this in therapy?”

“Chan,” you growl threateningly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Seungcheol interrupts, his deep voice coming from your left. “I’ve been telling her to set up a dinner with you for ages, but she gets so wrapped up in work - you know how she is when she’s focused on a project.”

You glance sideways at him, curious. Does he know this chink in your mother’s armor, your work? Or was it a lucky shot? Either way, your mother softens slightly, and gives him a more genuine smile.

“Yes, she can certainly have a one-track mind when she’s got a goal to meet,” she says warmly, sliding back into her seat and opening her hand towards the two empty chairs, inviting you to sit.

The rest of breakfast goes well - better than you could have hoped, really. Seungcheol fits into the conversation easily, having years of friendship with Soonyoung and Chan. You almost feel like the outsider in the conversation - though, once he’s done eating, Seungcheol leaves his arm casually draped over the back of your chair, absently drawing lazy shapes on your bare shoulder. You fight back a shiver at the sensation, and Soonyoung meets your eyes across the table, folding his lips all the way back into his mouth and biting on them to keep from outright laughing at this turn of events.

You might kill him and Chan both, “family” be damned.

Your mother asks, as you expected, about how you got together. Seungcheol follows directions and lets you tell it. You keep it simple, and Soonyoung helps by acting all smug that he set you up, to which Chan argues that he hadn’t done it on purpose and shouldn’t act like he did. It’s all so normal, so natural, that you could almost believe the story yourself.

“So if you’ve been together almost a year,” your mother muses, dabbing at her lips with the linen napkin, “you must have been together for the holidays. I’m surprised we didn’t meet then.”

“I was with my family,” Seungcheol says easily, with a small shrug. “We’d only been together around five months by then - holidays with the family felt a bit heavy.”

Your mother purses her lips, her eyes on you even though Seungcheol is the one who answered. 

“It wasn’t that serious yet,” you chime in. “I think I got him a sweater as a gift.”

“Hey, I like that sweater,” he complains, joining the bit without delay. You love how quick he is. 

“Hm,” your mother says tightly, and sips at her tea. She isn’t buying it, not completely. You need to turn it up.

You send Seungcheol a sideways smile, trying to make it a little sly. “Better presents are on the horizon,” you promise. “With our first anniversary coming.”

He raises his eyebrows at you, leaning back in his chair to look at you appraisingly. “Oh, are they?” he asks playfully. “What did you get me? A car?”

Soonyoung laughs. “Maybe a Hot Wheels,” he cackles.

“Shut up, Soonyoung,” you snap, but there’s no heat behind it. 

“Better get me a few Hot Wheels,” Seungcheol says, “if you want to keep up with what I got for you.”

Your eyes widen, even though this is a fake present for a fake anniversary. “What did you get for me?” you ask in a rush, leaning forward towards him, reaching for his hands. “Is it sparkly?”

“Yes, it’s a mirror. Enrichment for your enclosure,” Chan quips.

You turn to face him, Seungcheol’s hands still in yours. “Chan, you are quite literally the worst part of my morning.”

Your mother, the actual worst part of your morning, watches this but says nothing. 

And then, blessedly, the conversation moves back to the wedding you’re here for.

“I assume you’re joining us later, at the salon?” your mother asks.

You fight to keep your face neutral, to keep the scowl off. “Yes,” you say, as evenly as possible. “I saw that on the itinerary.” 

You’d been emailed an hour-by-hour schedule, in fact, detailing exactly where you needed to be and when for the entire weekend. You’re supposed to meet with Nayoung, her one bridesmaid that isn’t family, and your mother at a salon just off the resort to get your nails all done together. “Bonding”, Nayoung pretended, but you know it’s because she wants to make sure you all match.

“What are you gonna do all day while the girls get pretty?” your brother asks, and next to you Seungcheol shifts in his seat.

“Hadn’t really thought about it,” he admits. “I mean, we’re at the beach, so I figured I’d find something to do. Walk the beach and see if I can score any numbers -”

You elbow him in the ribs harder than necessary. He laughs, squeezing your shoulder playfully.

“She’s too easy to wind up,” he says, smirking at you sideways.

“Don’t think you’re safe just because you’re tall and handsome,” you warn.

You can feel your mother’s eyes watching this teasing exchange and you try to ignore the prickly feeling of her dissecting the interaction. As you work on avoiding her gaze, Soonyoung invites your date to join him and Chan for the afternoon.

“Do you care, babe?” he asks lightly, turning to look at you.

You can’t help it - you laugh. This is all so absurd. Him calling you babe. His hand on your shoulder. Him asking permission to go hang out with his friends. What a stupid situation you’ve created.

“Of course not,” you say brightly, your nose growing an inch as you do. “I’ll text you when we leave the salon? I think we’ll have a few hours between that and rehearsal dinner - maybe we can go down to the pool or something?”

He gives you a little squeeze again. “That sounds good,” he agrees.

When you all rise, he waits behind your chair, pushing it in for you after you vacate the seat.

“See you later?” you ask quietly, stepping into his space and looking up at him. It’s code, and you hope he hears it - we’re good? You’re okay for now?

He leans down and kisses your forehead, and something inside you longs to close your eyes and lean into it, thirsty for affection.

“All good,” he says, giving you a sweet, dimpled smile. “Text me when you’re heading back.”

“I will,” you promise, and then, since everyone is watching, you rise up on your tiptoes and give him a quick kiss on the lips goodbye. You step away lightly, but he tugs you back by the wrist and kisses you again, firmer, lingering.

“Have fun,” he says, still smiling, when you pull away from his surprise attack.

“Don’t get too many numbers,” you shoot back.

“You two are disgusting,” Chan complains.

“Quit crying because you’re single,” you sniff.

It’s believable, you think. We’re doing it.

But as you follow your mother through the dining hall - intending to share a ride to the salon - you feel something twinge behind your ribcage. It feels like nerves, like you’re afraid that when you step away the whole facade will crumble.

–

Nayoung and her other bridesmaid - her college roommate, Sheyla - are already there when you follow your mother into the nail salon.

“Oh, good!” your sister cries, rising from her seat. “You’re here!”

She hugs your mother first, then you, stepping back and saying, “Eomma says you brought a boyfriend.”

As if she just saw you last week, and this didn’t come up in conversation. As if you usually tell her things about your life, and you omitted something. As if you have some kind of relationship, and it’s normal and expected for her to tease you.

When the truth is you have no relationship, no room to tease this practical stranger, no reality where she knows even the barest details about your life. You could be married and she wouldn’t have known - just like you stand here today, not even knowing what her fiancé looks like, knowing his name only from that embossed invitation that came in the mail months ago.

“Should I have left him at home and brought the mailman instead?” you ask, a bit acidic. 

She smiles at you like your petulance is cute, while behind you your mother whispers your name sharply. 

“No,” she laughs quietly. “I just meant, it’s so weird that you’re even grown up enough to come with a boyfriend, share a room, all that stuff. You should still be too little for all that.”

Yes, you think, because the last time you were around me for any length of time, I was nine. 

You’re here for her wedding. This weekend is about her, and her new husband. You can be a brat later, in private. 

“I don’t think me having a serious boyfriend is really the big news here,” you say as lightly as possible, despite the churning need to barb that you feel. “You’re getting married tomorrow.”

She laughs and Sheyla lets out a “damn right!” from her seat. You’ve never met Sheyla before - only know who she is from your mother’s unsolicited updates about Nayoung’s life.

You let Nayoung dictate the shade and shape for your nails. You try to engage in the conversation just enough that you don’t look sullen. Mostly, you watch your sister - like if you watch her long enough, she might start to look like someone you know, and not a stranger. Like if you watch her long enough, she’ll become the sister you remember from childhood, who watched Saturday morning cartoons on the living room floor with you even though she was “too old” for them, who helped you with homework while your dad cooked dinner, who let you sleep in her bed when it thunderstormed.

It doesn’t happen. She stays a stranger, a woman you don’t know at all.

You hear all about Nayoung and her fiancé - how they’d known each other in college, but never dated, how they’d ended up working together by chance and had fallen into a relationship. The story’s sweet, you can’t deny.

“He’s so whipped for her, it’s appalling,” Sheyla jokes.

“Is not,” your sister protests, giggling. “We have a very equally-matched relationship, thank you very much.”

“Mutually whipped.”

“Sheyla, I know where you sleep.”

They kind of remind you of yourself and Soonyoung, and even Chan. 

“There’s a restaurant down this block,” Nayoung tells you and your mother as you stand near the front of the salon to pay. “Sheyla and I were going to grab a small bite and a drink before we head over to get ready for rehearsal. Do you want to join?”

“That sounds lovely,” your mother says, seemingly for both of you.

Absolutely not.

“I should get back to the resort for a little bit,” you say, trying to sound apologetic. “Seungcheol’s been with the guys all day - I should see what they’re up to.”

“I’m sure they’re just fine,” Nayoung says. “He’s with his friends at a private beach - they’re probably having a blast.”

“Maybe I miss him,” you say, a bit of challenge creeping into your tone.

“So cute,” Sheyla coos, and you can’t even examine if it’s patronizing or sarcastic or genuine because your mother’s eyes narrow and you need to get away before you cave and do what she wants instead of what you want.

“I’ll grab an Uber,” you say, turning before anyone can argue. “We’ll grab a ride to rehearsal with Soonyoung and Chan later, okay?”

You’re a thousand percent sure they’re talking about you as you slip out into the hot sun. You’d rather wait inside, in the aircon, but you’ll have to tough it out, now. Luckily, the car doesn’t take long, and you’re back to the resort in no time.

From the car you send, “omw back. where is everyone?”

Seungcheol answers, “at the pool furthest from the entrance - less crowded. see you soon”

And then the fucker sends a heart.

You roll your eyes.

You: is that really necessary?

Seungcheol: you have to admit its a little funny

Seungcheol: i have to amuse myself somehow

You don’t answer; it’s not his fault you’re in a terrible mood. You head up to the room first, relishing the quiet and the chance to be “off” for a few minutes as you fish a bathing suit out of your suitcase and get changed. You pull the same sundress back over the suit and grab your phone and a pair of sunglasses.

You have two missed texts from the few minutes you were changing.

Seungcheol: you joining us?

Mom: It’s a little rude of you to go spend time with the people you see every day when you have the rare opportunity to visit with your sister.

You slap your phone back down on the counter and try to take a deep breath, closing your eyes against the wave of fury that rises up in you.

Kind of rude of you, you answer in your head, to think I should spend all my time with someone who hasn’t cared about my existence in over fifteen years instead of the people who give a shit that I am alive.

You answer Seungcheol first - “stopped in the room. be there in a few”. Then, after much pacing, you send your mother, “sorry. feel bad letting my date fend for himself. i’ll see nayoung lots tonight and tomorrow.”

Then you head for the elevators, putting your phone on do not disturb so that your mother cannot continue to disturb you.

When you reach the last of the resort’s three pools, you spot your brother first, sitting on the pool’s edge with his legs in the water. You sit down next to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face against his sun-warmed arm.

“Thank you for not being a horrible sibling,” you say, releasing him.

He blinks at you, surprised by this display. You and Soonyoung are close, definitely - but this isn’t a common occurrence.

“It was that bad, huh?” he asks, as Chan approaches with one of those umbrella drinks in hand.

You sigh. “Not really. Just. Made me appreciate you.”

“Well,” Soonyoung grins, “I appreciate the appreciation.”

Seungcheol swims over, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “Hey,” he says. “How’d it go?”

You shrug. “I survived. Did I miss anything fun?”

“Just this,” he says, placing his palms on the hot cement next to where you’re seated and pushing himself up out of the water to plop down next to you, water dripping from him and running underneath your legs.

“You want a drink?” he asks, and when you turn to look at him he’s looking at you so seriously, brows furrowed, as if he’s scanning you for wounds.

He may have found one. You suddenly feel choked with emotion under his investigative gaze, and you look away before he can see it on your face.

“Yeah,” you manage. “Actually, a beer sounds fucking amazing right now. Thanks.”

The concern gone from his face, he sends you a quick wink as he stands, still dripping pool water. “Anything for my baby.”

You groan, leaning against your chuckling brother again. “He’s enjoying this too much,” you complain as he walks away. You do not watch the muscles across his back ripple as he walks away.

When he’s out of sight, you sigh heavily. “Mom’s mad at me,” you tell Soonyoung. “Because I didn’t go get drinks with them after nails. But I really, really would rather be here with you guys.”

He gives your knee one quick, sympathetic pat. “Sorry,” he says, and you know he means it but doesn’t get it, because she never does this to him.

“It’s okay,” you say glumly. “She’ll get over it.”

“I think we were actually going to go upstairs soon?” Your brother says this like a question; he’s scared it’s going to upset you - you can tell. “We both wanted to nap a little before rehearsal dinner tonight.”

Your heart sinks. You wonder if Seungcheol will have the same plan, leaving you alone for the rest of the afternoon. The thought depresses you further. But when Seungcheol returns, he has two beers in hand, so he must be planning on staying for a little.

“My brother and his date -”

“Roommate!”

“-are abandoning me,” you tell him. “To snuggle.”

“Take naps in separate beds!”

“Would you like to go snuggle?” Seungcheol asks you seriously, handing over your beer.

You groan in exasperation. “No,” you assert. “I want to stay here, drinking until I’m not annoyed at every single family member I have. I just wanted to know what your plan is.”

Seungcheol nods, clearly amused at your ranting, one eyebrow raised and mouth turned down in mock-consideration.

“Well, I guess,” he says, finally, coming to take his spot next to you on the pool deck, “as your boyfriend, I better stay and help you get unannoyed.”

“Teasing me is a step in the wrong direction,” you mutter, but to be honest, the banter is kind of fun. A healthy outlet for your annoyance, really.

“I did get you a beer,” he points out.

“That was helpful,” you agree.

To your right, Chan and Soonyoung have both toweled off and gathered their stuff; they stand waiting to say goodbye. You agree on what time to meet in the lobby to head to rehearsal dinner and then they waddle off in matching slides. You watch them go forlornly, and then turn back to the sparkling pool.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” you tell Seungcheol, just in case. “If you want to go rest before tonight or something, feel free.”

His whole face scrunches. “Will you quit trying to get rid of me? I’m trying to enjoy sitting poolside with a beer and a pretty girl.”

You feel yourself flush. “You don’t have to say that when no one’s here to hear it,” you mutter, embarrassed and pleased.

“Eh,” he says, as if he isn’t so bothered by whether or not you have witnesses. “It’s true, so why shouldn’t I say it?”

“Well, thanks,” you say to your knees, swishing your feet around in the water self-consciously.

“Do you want to talk about what pissed you off?” he offers.

You sigh. “It’s nice of you to ask, but no - I’d rather just have fun and enjoy my afternoon with you.”

You sit in silence for a few minutes. Then, you ask, “Will you watch my beer for a minute? I want to cool off.”

“‘Course,” he says, going so far as to pull your plastic cup closer to his own, as if to guard it.

You slip into the water, which feels wonderful after you’ve gotten warm under the unrelenting sunshine. You tread for a minute, then slip beneath the surface and push hard off the wall into a streamlined glide. You kick and pull all the way across, then surface with a splash, pushing your hair out of your face. You tread on that side for a minute until a couple of kids splash too close to you, and you move closer to the middle and roll to float on your back. Above you, the sky spans uninterrupted blue in every direction.

You’re surprised by fingers touching your wrist and you sit up, turning to see Seungcheol has joined you.

“Who’s watching the beer?” you ask, feigning indignation.

“I finished them,” he laughs. “The water looked good.”

“It is good,” you sigh happily. “I want to live here. Do you think someone would bankroll me to just live at a beach resort year-round?”

He laughs again. “I’m sure someone would, if you tried the right website,” he jokes.

You grin. “I could be a sugar baby. I’d be great at it.”

“You would not,” he says, starting to paddle away from you. “You can’t control your attitude. Those guys want a sugar baby, not a spice baby.”

You follow him, trailing by a few feet. “They want a spice baby sometimes.”

“You don’t pick the right moments,” he tells you, treading water near the spot you’d been sitting before. Your beer cup, as he said, sits empty next to his.

“I can’t believe you drank my beer,” you complain.

“See?” he says, raising that eyebrow again. “Spice baby.”

This makes you laugh, because damn, he’s right.

“So,” he says suddenly, reaching up to grip the edge of the deck, holding himself in place instead of treading. His voice strikes you as suddenly deeper, but you’re not sure if it’s your imagination. “Am I boyfriending okay?”

The smile is on your face before you can even fully process the question. “So far so good,” you tell him, smiling warmly, delighted by the bit. “I thought breakfast with my mom was particularly strong Boyfriending.”

He nods, feigning humility. “I did try,” he deadpans.

“It was commendable, especially for a novice,” you tell him.

He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s not much heat behind it. “I’m not a novice boyfriend,” he argues. “I was with Jieun for -”

“Not to be a total spice baby about this,” you say, holding up a hand to stop him mid-thought, “but you have to calculate by uninterrupted dating time. What’s the longest you two went without breaking up?”

You swear he flushes a little, but it could be the sun or the beer causing the tips of his ears to go red.

“Five months,” he mutters, looking away from you to pick a leaf out of the water.

“And how many of those five were things actually good?”

His head snaps up, and you can see all over his face how he’s ready to fight.

“No judgement,” you add quickly. “My point is only that… it’s different to Boyfriend during a rocky five months where you’re constantly cycling between fighting and making up, and to be years into something steady. The roles are different.”

His face has gone stony. “I didn’t realize you had so many opinions about my love life.”

“I don’t,” you say, as gently as you can, but your pulse is racing; you hadn’t meant to piss him off or hurt his feelings. You try your best to do damage control. “I just have a lot of opinions about the right way to Boyfriend after the eight month mark. There are rules.”

You can almost watch him weigh the moment in his mind, deciding if he wants to lean into his hurt feelings or if he wants to let you off the hook.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and push on when he looks surprised. “I wasn’t trying to, like… make a statement about you guys. I’m sorry it came out that way, and I’m sorry if it made you upset. I’ll watch what I say better.”

His stare is absolutely blank, a hint of petulance still on his almost-pouting lips.

“People in long-term relationships have to own their mistakes,” you tell him sagely. “And apologize, and take steps to do better. That’s one of the rules.”

He continues to stare at you like you’ve sprouted an extra limb. Then, he laughs a little, shaking his head. “So you’re the expert now?”

You push back the defensive wave that rises in you. “Out of the two of us,” you say, shrugging. “My last relationship was over two years.”

His mouth twists as he considers this. “I didn’t like that guy,” he says off-handedly, as if he’d forgotten. Maybe he had. “So, why’d it end, if you’re such a pro?”

This sobers you a little. “Oh,” you say, and you hate how you can hear how small your voice is. “It was…”

He moves suddenly, pressing closer, reaching out. “No, I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “You don’t have to tell me. That was douchey.”

You smile, a little relieved. “I feel like it’s only fair,” you say. “I broke up with him because… it was two years, but I just never felt secure, you know? I never felt like… he was it, and I definitely didn’t ever get the sense he felt that way about me, either. It was just kind of… fine? And I…”

You lift your eyes to meet his, darkly watching you, the water around you glinting white in the bright sun. “I wanted more,” you admit quietly. “It was selfish, probably, but… I wanted to love someone, like… I wanted to be in the kind of love that makes you crazy, that you make bad decisions for, where you miss them before they even leave - that all-consuming, stupid love. I never felt, like, wild stupid in love with him.”

He gives a wry laugh, and when you look up at him he’s peering off at the horizon, where the sun is beginning to descend over the ocean. “That’s funny,” he says, something acidic in his tone that you’ve never heard before. “I feel like I’ve only had the bad-decision, stupid thing. I don’t even know what it’s like to have something… calm. Or sensible.”

Sensible. What a boring word. What a boring way to love.

“I think it’d be really refreshing to level up to questionable decisions instead of dumpster-fire ones,” he adds, smiling that half-smile you’re coming to recognize.

“Questionable decisions do sound better,” you agree, smiling back.

You tread closer, the water bobbing with the movement of other swimmers and pushing you closer than you’d intended. Your fingers brush his arm innocently as you both work to stay afloat. The air between you feels charged; for a second, you think about kissing him again.

Instead, you push yourself back up to the pool deck, laying back and relishing in the warmth from the cement seeking into your water-chilled skin. There’s a splash and a shadow over you for just a second, letting you know that your fake boyfriend has joined you.

“I think,” you say to the sky, “I’m gonna lay out until I’m dry, and then head up to shower."

“I’m gonna go replace your beer,” Seungcheol says, and you look over to see the little smile he sports. “And get my own.”

“Don’t overdo it,” you warn. “We’re gonna need a lot of alcohol to get through tonight. Or I am, anyway. Gotta pace ourselves.”

“I’m good. I only had like a third of yours,” he assures you, before lumbering off again. When he returns, you’re stretched out on one of the loungers, reaching for the cup he offers you. He settles on the lounger next to yours, and a minute later you feel him poke your arm as he offers an earbud, as he had in the airport.

You take it gratefully, and for the next hour you don’t speak, only sit in companionable silence, sipping at amber liquid, watching the blue sky, listening to a thundering bassline against the rhythmic crash of ocean waves.

You think you might feel happy.

—

You take a while getting ready, and when you finally relinquish the bathroom, Seungcheol is out on the balcony, scrolling on his phone.

“Hey,” you say, poking your head through the doorway, “bathroom’s all yours.”

He closes whatever he’d had open and turns, and you’re surprised to see a look akin to anger on his face before he schools it, shooting you a belated smile.

“Okay,” he says, rising. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, without really thinking it through.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m gonna go shower, if you’re done in there.”

He pushes past you, and you take a step back to give him room. He disappears into the bathroom, the door closing with a definitive click.

You settle carefully on the bed and start scrolling through social media to pass the time. You had posted a picture of the beach earlier, and you check the few comments your friends have left you before scrolling the new posts on your feed. You smile to yourself when you see that Seungcheol had posted an almost identical picture, coupled with a selfie in which his wet hair is pushed back from his face and his eyes are closed in laughter.

There’s one comment underneath, from an account that couldn’t be anybody else: Jieun.

“gorgeous,” she’d written, and nothing else.

Seungcheol doesn’t emerge from the bathroom until four minutes until go-time, and you’re standing near the doorway fastening the straps on your heels. He stops short as he takes in your appearance.

“You look nice,” he says, a little haltingly.

“Thanks,” you say. But you’re thinking about that instagram comment. You’re wondering if that’s why he’d looked mad when you’d called him inside.

It doesn’t matter, you know. This isn’t real. But you’re curious. What’s the deal with the two of them - what does it mean that she’s showing up in his comments? Is he happy to hear from her? Or is this a sign of trouble for him?

You don’t know how to ask. You’ve never talked about this stuff with him. And what if he thought you were bringing it up out of jealousy?

You ruminate on this the whole time you’re in the car with Soonyoung and Chan - who chatter cluelessly the whole time - heading for the venue.

You’re among the first to arrive; your mother and Nayoung and a handsome man who must be her fiancé stand outside the front doors, deep in conversation when your Uber pulls up. You slide out first, followed by Seungcheol and the younger guys.

Nayoung beams at you and Soonyoung as you approach. “Guys! I’d like you to finally meet my fiancé, Jeongwoo.”

You ignore the finally, shove down the defensive voice that says whose fault is it that we’re only meeting him now?

Instead, you show your teeth like a good girl and move to shake his hand, but he moves with clear intention for a quick hug. You adjust quickly, patting his shoulder lightly and pulling away.

“Great to meet you,” you say, as warmly as you can manage. You introduce yourself and then Seungcheol, who reaches forward to successfully shake hands. Soonyoung and Chan do the same.

“Which one’s actually the younger brother?” Jeongwoo asks, looking at Soonyoung and Chan with uncertainty.

“Both of them, really,” you joke, and then you realize that for Nayoung that simply isn’t true. As much as Chan has been like your second brother since the first week of his undergrad, this is her first time meeting him. It strikes you again, as it often does, how differently you and Nayoung experience this family.

“I am,” Soonyoung says, saving you from the moment.

“Ah, I see it now,” Jeongwoo says kindly. “You have Nayoung’s smile.”

“Should we go in?” your mother asks, just as another car pulls into the parking lot. You all pause, waiting to see if it’s another member of your party.

It is.

Everything leaves your head - Seungcheol’s bad mood earlier, his ex on his instagram, Nayoung’s absence in your life, the weirdness of meeting her almost-husband. You’re left with nothing but static as your father walks around the front of his parked car and opens the passenger door for his date.

Your mother’s hand slips into yours and squeezes tight.

You squeeze back. For all her bullshit, for all the times you get annoyed with her, she’s yours and you love her, and you know this is shitty for her. You know the family blames her, and you know more than they do how much the ruined marriage was a two-person job. You were there to witness it all.

He strides over, and you squint at the date he brought. She’s expensive-pretty, and young - probably not too much older than Nayoung. Don’t be judgy, you think to yourself. Don’t be judgy.

He hugs Nayoung for a long time, long enough that you wonder if he’s been more present in her life than yours since the divorce. Was the split two sides, not three as you’d always thought? Was it Nayoung and Dad versus the rest of you? How had you not known that, for all these years?

When he disentangles himself with Nayoung, he gives Jeongwoo a firm clap on the back and it’s immediately clear that, yes, they have met before. You keep your mother’s hand firmly in yours, squeezing tight. You feel Seungcheol shift behind you, not far from your side.

Your father moves to Soonyoung next, making a fuss over your brother’s muscular build. Something sour simmers in you and it surprises you. You’d known you were mad at Nayoung for leaving you all behind. You hadn’t really examined if the sentiment carried over to your father, too. Apparently it had.

You talk on the phone about as much as you talk to your mother… and sure, you see him on most holidays, way more than you see Nayoung. But still. He had left, too, hadn’t he?

When he hugs you, it takes you a second before you can force yourself to return it, your mother stepping backwards to give you room, to put space between herself and the man who’d left her - or whom she’d driven away, depending on who you asked. Or both.

When he releases you, you turn to Seungcheol, ready to introduce him. You find him watching this exchange with a peculiar look on his face, as if he’s doing calculations in his head - and you really don’t know if you’ll like the answer he gets.

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Seungcheol,” you say quietly, and Seungcheol steps forward, clasping hands. There’s something hard and unreadable on his face as he shakes your father’s hand, no sign of the warm, dimpled smile he usually sports.

“Boyfriend, eh?” your dad says, and you watch his eyes flick over Seungcheol, evaluating. You feel weirdly protective, like you want to step between them. Which is stupid, because Seungcheol isn’t yours, and he doesn’t need protection from anyone even if he were.

“Nice to meet you,” Seungcheol says, his tone as hard as his expression.

Your father responds to this with a hmm that makes your blood start to boil. “I’m sure we’ll have the opportunity to talk later and get to know each other better,” he says, and to you - and probably no one else - it sounds like a threat.

Then he turns to your mother, saying her name flatly and extending a hand. They shake, and you again fight the urge to step between them. You aren’t used to this - wanting to protect everyone from the potential to wound each other. You haven’t felt this way since before the split, when the fighting was at its worst, and you’d only had your brother to protect back then. You’d put years and distance between yourself and this impulse, and it feels dizzying to be back in it so completely.

Your father introduces his date to your mother - he hadn’t for any of you kids - and you watch her smile tighten as she fights to remain gracious, reaching out to shake hands.

Seungcheol steps closer to you, wraps an arm around your shoulders, and pulls you against his side. “It’s okay,” he says, tucking his head closer to yours and speaking so quietly that no one else could possibly hear him. “It’s not your job to fix it.”

You look up at him, sideways. This moment of kindness, of soothing, is real, is from him - your friend Seungcheol. Not fake-boyfriend Seungcheol. (But it is still really good Boyfriending.)

You nod once, giving him a thankful nudge with your shoulder. He gives you a quick squeeze, but keeps his arm around you for show. You glance around, but Nayoung has her back to you now, talking to her fiancé. Soonyoung and Chan are both on their phones, side by side like oblivious bookends.

“I need a drink,” you mutter, and Seungcheol’s mouth quirks.

“Should we go in?” he asks the group, and Nayoung turns at the sound of his question.

“Oh,” she says, sounding a bit lost. “Sure, let’s head in. Everyone else is on their way.”

The restaurant staff inside lead you to a side-room which Nayoung has clearly rented out for the night. The table is set with place cards, and you find your name between Seungcheol’s and your mother’s. You set your purse on the chair and look around, finding the bar and making your way over. You glance over your shoulder to see where Seungcheol is. He’s hanging his suit jacket on the back of the chair next to yours, chatting casually with Chan on the other side of the table. It’s the happiest you’ve seen him look tonight, so you leave him alone.

At the bar, you order a beer for him and a cocktail for yourself, leaning on your elbows as you wait. Someone comes up behind you, close, and whispers in your ear, “Can you believe the nerve of him, showing up with a practical teenager? What’s he trying to prove, that he’s a big man?”

You close your eyes and take a breath. “I don’t think he’s trying to prove anything,” you say as neutrally as possible. “But I’m sure it feels very weird and uncomfortable for you, and I’m sorry.”

All those eldest daughter memes leave something out. If the real eldest daughter moves out at eighteen and leaves the middle daughter in the house, then the middle daughter gets the Mom’s Therapist responsibilities.

She continues to mutter next to you as she waits for the bartender to bring her glass of wine; you nod and mhm and pat her hand until your two drinks come.

“I’m bringing Seungcheol his beer,” you say. “I’ll be at the table - you’re sitting next to me.”

She stops her litany of complaints and nods at you, letting you go. You make your way to the guys, pressing yourself up next to Seungcheol and holding out his beer.

He looks surprised as he takes the glass from you. “Thanks,” he says. “You didn’t need to do that.”

You shrug. “Sure I did.” Then, thinking of how he’d been teasing you this whole time, you add, “Gotta take care of my man, don’t I?” You give a playful head tilt as you say this, feeling a smirk on your lips.

“I think I just puked,” Soonyoung complains.

Seungcheol’s smile crawls across his face like he’s not sure it’s safe, like he can’t believe you’re playing along with his little game. “I appreciate that,” he says, and there’s something new to his tone, something lower that makes your navel tug.

More guests have arrived and you know none of them - Jeongwoo’s family members, probably, and maybe some of the couple’s friends and coworkers. The room fills with people and noise, and you feel yourself relax a little as you lose track of everyone except the three young men you’re sticking close to. But, maybe an hour in, you catch sight of your mother - standing alone, mostly empty wine glass in hand, looking around the room like she’s lost.

“Excuse me for a minute,” you murmur to Seungcheol, stepping away before he can ask any questions.

“Hi,” you say simply as you stand next to her.

“Hello,” she says evenly, but you can see the relief in her shoulders. “Are you having a nice time?”

You shrug. “You know I don’t like events like this. Too many people. Too much small talk.”

She gives a knowing mm, eyes scanning the room behind you. “You father certainly seems like he fits into this crowd,” she observes lightly, but you hear the accusation behind it. Nayoung has let him into her world, and your mother is realizing she’s on the outside, just like you.

“He lives closer,” you try to rationalize, though you don’t know why you do it. Seungcheol’s words echo in your mind - it’s not your job to fix it. But you want to anyway.

“It doesn’t matter if you know all their work friends,” you say firmly. “Nayoung loves you. You’ll always be important to her.”

Your mother looks away, suddenly misty-eyed, reaching out and squeezing your bicep gratefully.

You glance over your shoulder to check on Seungcheol, but he’s still with Soonyoung, so you stay put. You stand in silence for a little, just so she won’t be alone.

“Jeongwoo seems nice,” you say finally.

“He’s a good man,” she agrees, turning to look at where Nayoung and Jeongwoo stand close together, talking to an older couple - maybe his parents. “She did alright for herself, even after everything.”

This confuses you. “After everything? What everything?”

She sighs, drains her glass. “Ah. You were there - you know already. Things were so ugly at the house… I’m not blaming anyone… but she left as soon as she could to get away from it all. We put her through college financially, of course, but she didn’t have the emotional support she should have; we were both very distracted by our own mess. I regret it very much. Those years are so formative, and she was all alone. I’m proud of what she made for herself.”

You don’t know what to say. You hadn’t thought about it like that at all. And you wonder, but won’t ask, if she’s proud of you and Soonyoung - for standing witness to the burning rubble of your family unit, for holding up the frame of the collapsing house for as long as you could, for keeping each other going when home became a warzone. You both grew up from that - moved on and made lives for yourselves, too.

It isn’t worth it. Not here, not now.

“She seems really happy,” you say, instead, because it’s the most appropriate thing you can. “I’m going to find the bathroom real quick. Do you want another glass when I get back?”

In the bathroom, you place both palms flat on the counter and heave a breath, shoulders sagging and head flopping forward. When the door creaks open behind you and someone says your name, you almost swear out loud.

It’s Nayoung, and she slips into the restroom, letting the door close behind her.

“Hey… is Mom okay?” she asks quietly.

You stare at her, weighing your choices for an answer. “Don’t worry about Mom,” you say finally. “It’s your weekend. I’ve got her. She’s fine - everything’s fine.”

She stares back, like she’s trying to decide if you’re lying - like she’s trying to decide if she should let you shoulder this responsibility. “Okay. Thanks,” she says finally. “If you need me, let me know.”

I needed you fifteen years ago, you think, but, god, maybe it’s time you let it go. It is what it is - you can’t go back and neither can she. Maybe you all just did your best in a shitty situation.

“I will,” you say. 

She nods again and slips back out through the door as quietly as she’d come. You take another minute, check your reflection, and rub absently at the backs of your heels. Your shoes are killing you, blisters forming on both feet. You check the time and calculate how many more hours you’ll have to power through the pain. Too many, it seems. You sigh heavily, give your heel one last sympathetic rub, and then rejoin the party.

You scan the room for Seungcheol, knowing you’ve been away from him for a while and should probably check on him. You find him quickly, in the far corner of the room, still standing with Soonyoung. But now they’re joined by your father.

“Oh shit,” you blurt, and beeline for them.

“Ah!” Your father says cheerily when you sidle up to Seungcheol again, reaching a hand around his waist and pressing up against his side, your spare hand coming to rest lightly over his stomach. “There she is!”

“Sorry, I was with Mom,” you say. “Everyone good here? You need anything?” You direct this question up at Seungcheol, who smiles down at you.

That is not his normal smile. That is not his happy smile. He, like you, is baring his teeth and doing his best to hide the threat in it.

Your stomach sinks. You wonder what you missed.

“The guys were just catching me up,” your father tells you. “I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

“Yeah,” you say, giving a little awkward laugh. “We were trying not to put a lot of pressure on it at the beginning, and then… I don’t know, time just passed, right? And here we are. It felt weird to, like… announce it.”

Your father clicks his tongue. “You’d think it would come up over the course of a year.”

“Less than a year,” you point out unhelpfully.

“For what it’s worth, sir,” Seungcheol says, and something in you sits up straight in alarm, “I’ve been around for a lot longer than that. Since college, actually. I was there when she graduated with honors, and I was there when we all cooked to celebrate when she started at her job. I was there helping Soonyoung get her sofa up the stairs when she moved apartments after her first promotion, too.”

He says this very off-handedly, looking sideways at you, but the lightness of his tone is a lie that’s meant to be seen through. You all hear, loud and clear, the end of his thought: you, her father, weren’t there for any of that.

And he’s right - about both parts. Seungcheol has been in the periphery of your life for years now… you just hadn’t really given him much thought. And your father… he’d been around, but he hadn’t been there.

Across from you, Soonyoung’s eyes are wide. Next to him, Chan is literally pressing his hand against his mouth, eyes dancing between the two men.

Your father clears his throat. “She’s lucky to have good friends,” he says, sidestepping the dig.

“It’s not luck,” Seungcheol says, his hand tightening almost uncomfortably on your waist, “that she’s surrounded by people who love her. It’s because of who she is.”

“Cheol,” you murmur, reproach and apology both present in your voice.

He turns to look at you, and seems to snap out of it. “I’m sorry,” he says, giving your father a quick bow. “What I mean is, you raised two great people. I hope you see that.”

“We need some air,” you interrupt. You don’t wait, don’t apologize, don’t look back. You grab Seungcheol’s hand and tug him towards the doors that lead to a small, outdoor patio.

“Holy fuck,” you say, as soon as the doors close behind you. Outside, night has fallen, the sky the mottled purple of late sunset and early dusk.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, grabbing for your hand like he’s scared you’re going to take off and leave him there to think about what he’s done. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have popped off. I just got mad - I have been around for all those things, all these pieces of your life, and he wasn’t there for any of it. How does he get off demanding answers from you?”

“It’s okay,” you say, though you’ll probably have to answer for this at some point. “It’s fine. This is just… this is just what they do.”

He sighs heavily, rubs a hand down his face. “It’s not okay. I’m supposed to be making this weekend easier for you, not causing problems. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say again, voice almost a whisper. You feel raw, coming down from the rush of adrenaline, hands shaking a little at your sides.

He notices.

“Hey,” he says gently. “God. I’m sorry.” He steps forward and wraps his arms around you. This isn’t fake-boyfriend Seungcheol, either - there are no witnesses, no one to fool. But you let him envelop you, and you take a shuddering breath in the safety of his shirt.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, voice low. “I’m sorry, really - I’ll go back in and apologize -”

“It’s fine, stop apologizing to me,” you say, swatting at his ribs lightly. “He deserved it. And I’m fine.”

To prove this, you step back out of his embrace, looking up at him so he can see your face.

“Your family is intense,” he tells you seriously. “I should have known, how else do you end up with someone as crazy as Soonyoung?”

This makes you laugh. “Is my need for emotional support making a lot more sense to you now? You haven’t even met the jackals - they won’t be here until tomorrow.”

“Honestly,” he says, leaning against the stone balustrade, “it really is.”

You both go quiet for a minute, listening to the distant crickets and frogs, the sound of muted laughter from inside. You take the opportunity to lean heavily on the low wall beside you, slipping a finger beneath the offending shoe-strap over your heels, loosening each, wincing as you do.

Seungcheol watches you silently, plump lips downturned.

“That was some very good Boyfriending,” you point out as you adjust the other shoe. “Very believable.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he admits. “That just came out.”

“You’re a natural, then.”

“You’d think I’d have a better track record to show for it,” he says darkly, and the reference to Jieun sends you both back to silence.

“You really have been around for a lot of stuff,” you muse eventually, to move you on from the moment. “I never really thought about that.”

He sends you a wry smile. “Crazy, right? College feels like yesterday, when we would all be squeezed into Seungkwan’s dorm since he had the best tv.”

You smile, remembering. “We barely fit in there. I always ended up on someone’s lap, and not in a sexy way.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow. “Not mine.”

“Jieun would have beat my ass. Or keyed my car.”

“That’s… probably true. Sorry.”

You shrug - it’s ancient history, and a bit funny now with the years to soften the edges.

“Do you remember that one Halloween?” he asks.

You know instantly which one he means. You and Seungcheol’s senior year, Soonyoung’s junior year, and Chan’s sophomore year you’d gone with the rest of the guys on a Halloween pub crawl in the city.

The group had split up into three after the fourth bar. Joshua, Vernon, Seungkwan, and Mingyu had continued on with the pub crawl, shouting raucous goodbyes into the night as they followed the crowd onto bar number five. The rest of you had gotten into three different cabs to head back to campus.

You’d ended up in a cab with Seokmin, Seungcheol, and Jieun - who at the time, was definitely still his girlfriend. They’d been wasted - you all were - and they’d been arguing next to you in the back seat. Seokmin had turned around from the front passenger seat and looked at you, wide-eyed, as you both witnessed the shouting and crying going on next to you.

Back at the dorm, it was clear that the cab with Soonyoung, Chan, and Jeonghan had arrived before you. Soonyoung had greeted you at the door, face drawn, with, “Chan’s throwing up.”

This was quickly evidenced by the sound of heaving from the small, dorm bathroom.

Behind you, still in the hallway, Jieun was screaming at Seungcheol, “And what about last week, when you didn’t text me for two whole days?”

He shouted back, “What did you need me to text you for? Wasn’t Rob from Econ class enough company for you?”

You covered your face, feeling the ghost-white face paint sticky against your palms. “Where did Hannie go?”

“Back to his room to sleep,” Soonyoung tells you, then turns to peer into the bathroom to check on Chan. “Chan, dude, stay by the toilet, don’t come out here -”

“Alright!” You’d called out, voice carrying, clapping your hands once for emphasis. Everyone went still and quiet. Probably shocked. You weren’t a yeller. “Lee Chan, get your body back to the toilet and don’t leave until noona tells you to, got it? You two -” you pointed at your brother and Seokmin - “are in charge of him. You two -” this, you directed at the couple still standing furiously in the hallway, “you need to come have this fight inside before someone calls campus security on you. Let’s go. Inside.”

Your sudden yelling seemed to snap everyone out of it. The guys shuffled into the cramped bathroom to babysit the baby, and Seungcheol glowered as he led his lady friend into the dorm, sulking behind him.

“Okay,” you’d said, mostly to yourself. “The rest of the guys should be back here any minute. Let’s just put on a movie or something and all relax.” You crossed the dorm - Soonyoung’s, but you were there enough that it felt like home to you, too - and dug some water bottles out of the mini-fridge.

“Here,” you said, handing a bottle to Seokmin, who was hanging in the bathroom’s doorway, unable to fully fit inside with Chan and Soonyoung. “Make him take small sips. You have one too.”

You turned to get more for the rest of the room - Seungcheol and Jieun - only to find them on the couch. He was seated, feet planted wide on the floor, and she was straddling him, body pressed tight to his front. His hands were up the back of her shirt and her hips rocked noticeably as they kissed.

Your hand flew to cover your eyes. “Maybe,” you had said loudly, hoping it would get through to them even in this drunken state, “if you two are going to make up now, you might want to go to that in your own dorm instead of my brother’s common room?”

You uncovered your eyes when you heard them shuffle close to you. Sure enough, they were on their way out. Jieun gave you a nasty side-eye as she passed, but Seungcheol had the sense to look a little embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he slipped by you.

You’d texted Jihoon - “you guys almost back?” - and went to check on the bathroom crew.

The aftermath of the night had rippled out. It was the night that cemented Chan and Soonyoung’s close friendship, one of those things you come out stronger for. Seungcheol and Jieun had broken up for two weeks and then got back together for three more.

And the guys in the third cab, who didn’t make it back to campus until sometime the next day, had somehow ended up in international waters on a boat forging a lasting friendship with a billionaire named Big Jerry. They still talk sometimes. It was a whole thing.

Now, years later, you say, “How could I forget? I can’t believe none of us got arrested that night. Or alcohol poisoning.”

“I think Chan technically did have alcohol poisoning,” Seungcheol points out. “God, we were all such a mess. That was me and Jieun at our fucking worst.”

Me and Jieun. It sounds so natural coming off of his tongue, a phrase he’s said a million times.

The moment feels heavy, now that he put it out there. You’re not sure if you should let the moment pass, or press on it. You decide, after everything he’s been through for you today, to risk it.

“I saw she showed up on your instagram today,” you say, trying to keep your voice light, free from accusation. “Is that… normal?”

His face twists with annoyance, but you don’t think it’s at you. “She shows up like that every few months, I guess,” he admits.

You wait him out, unsure if he has more to say. When he doesn’t follow this up, you tentatively venture, “Does it bug you? Or…?”

He shrugs. You wait. You know he’ll answer.

“Yes and no,” he finally says. “I get… it pisses me off sometimes, the way she shows up when I’m good, when I’m happy, like she can’t stand that she’s not part of it. But when we’re together, she could give a shit if I’m happy.”

You stay silent. You’ve wondered often about their on-again-off-again thing - mostly wondering why either of them would go back at all, after you’ve witnessed firsthand how bad things seem when they’re together. Your whole group of friends has watched time and time again as they repeated the cycle: great for a few weeks, a few weeks of fighting, a loud breakup, a few weeks of bitter silence, and repeat.

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” you say quietly, after a few minutes. “It shouldn’t be like that. Whoever you’re with… they should want you all the time, not just when they feel, like, fomo or whatever.”

“Is that one of your long-term relationship rules?”

“No,” you say meekly, responding automatically to the bite in his voice. “I think it’s just… true.”

Just common sense, is what you wanted to say.

He shakes his head a little, his gaze far away. “You think it’s possible?” he asks. “You watched your parents break up - I did, too, with mine. You think there’s actually an ending, for anybody, that isn’t just hating each other?”

“Yeah,” you admit. You don’t even have to think about it. Despite everything you witnessed growing up, you really do believe in happy endings, in lasting partnership. Maybe it isn’t promised, maybe it means effort. But still. “I do.”

He gives a soft huff of a self-deprecating laugh. “I wish I could. Maybe then I could say no to her. But most of the time… she feels like the ending I deserve.”

You move closer, sadness weighing you down. “Everyone deserves to be happy, Seungcheol. Including you. Including her.”

He shoots you a sideways look like he doesn’t believe you, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he glances back at the lit-up windows behind you. “Should we head back in?”

“Probably,” you say. “Though I’m much happier out here.”

“Come on,” he says, cajoling. “Let’s go in, or we’ll miss dessert.”

Inside, he walks ahead of you and goes straight to your father. You follow at a clip, heart pounding, your eyes on your father’s tight face - he won’t be taking an insult twice. 

“I’m sorry for how I acted before,” Seungcheol says seriously. “I just get protective when it comes to her. It makes me… kind of crazy.”

The kind of love that makes you crazy, you’d said earlier, at the pool.

He reaches backwards as he says this, reaching for you even though he can’t see you, as though he can sense you coming near. 

As you take his hand, let him pull you closer, you’re struck by how much you could believe the lie he’s saying.

—

You survive the rest of the night. You stay quiet in the car back to the resort. You feel your brother watching you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything. Back at the resort you say goodnight quietly and head to the room. You don’t talk much as you take turns showering.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, mentally organizing what you need to have ready for the wedding tomorrow, when there’s a quiet knock on the door. Seungcheol’s closer, so he opens it, letting Soonyoung in.

“Hi,” your brother says. “I just wanted to check on you?”

There’s a second where you almost ask him why, almost deny that you need checked on. Then, you shake your head, eyes rolling in frustration at your whole existence. “Tonight was a lot. Mom’s a mess, Dad’s a jerk… Nayoung’s oblivious…”

Soonyoung frowns at you. “One more day to go?” he says, his voice hopeful. You know he just wants to help. But now, in the safety of your room, the events of the evening seem to come crashing down around you. The pressure you’d been holding up finally crushes you, and you cover your face with your hands and take a shuddery breath.

“It’s fine,” you say automatically, before anyone can react. “It’s fine. I just need to get some sleep, get through tomorrow, and go the fuck home.”

There’s a tense silence above you, and then - inexplicably - Seungcheol says, “I’ve got it, bro. You can go to bed.”

Got what? you think, lifting your head, but you already know. You. He’s got you, even here in the privacy of the room where there’s no one to see it.

When Soonyoung is finally convinced enough to head back to his own room, Seungcheol sits heavily on the edge of the bed next to you.

“I shouldn’t have done this to you,” you say bleakly, all apology. “It’s too much. The family stuff, there’s so much, I didn’t mean to drag you into our mess so badly…”

“It’s really okay,” he assures you, looking over at you seriously. “I’m not part of this, it doesn’t affect me the way it affects you. Don’t worry about me.”

You look at him silently, not believing it.

“Stop worrying about me,” he repeats, this time smiling a little, knowing you’ll be hard to convince.

You shake your head, leaning back. “I’ll try,” you say finally.

“We’re all good,” he promises. “I’m doing what I’m here to do. We’ve got one more tough day, and then you’re free.”

You groan, thinking of the wedding. “God, tomorrow’s gonna suck.”

He slaps at your knee playfully. “You need some rest if you’re gonna make it. Want to watch a movie or something? Until you’re tired?”

You consider this. “That actually sounds nice,” you admit.

He pulls up a streaming service on his phone and hands it to you. “Pick something while I brush my teeth,” he says, and then lopes off to the bathroom.

When he emerges, you’re under the covers, having turned out all the lights except the small one above his nightstand. He slides into his side and reaches for his phone. You start to adjust your pillows so you can see his screen better, but he lifts an arm and smiles over at you.

“Come on, fake girlfriend,” he says, that tease back in his voice. “Come watch the movie with me the right way.”

You hesitate, unsure if this is wise. “Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer, just gives the arm he’s still holding open for you a wiggle in invitation.

After an apprehensive moment, you follow directions, sliding closer and laying your head on his chest. He lowers his arm around your shoulders and hits play on his phone screen. You glance up at him a few times, lit up by the phone, his hoodie pulled up over his head, but he’s always dutifully watching the movie, paying no attention to the girl curled up against his side. Eventually, you settle in, relaxing against him, letting your hand rest over his stomach. You can feel it rise and fall with his breathing, can hear his steady heartbeat beneath your ear where you rest.

At some point, you fall asleep this way.

<- Prev || Next ->

thank you for reading!!! Chapter 3 will go up on Friday, April 25!

[gotta-winwin]

i (almost) do | s.c

⭐ starring: choi seungcheol 💌 genre: angst | wc: 1.5k 💬 preview: at 12 years old on the playground, you traded plastic wedding rings with Choi Seungcheol, the boy who sat in front of you in class. he slid the ring onto your ring finger, a teasing smile on his face. 15 years later, you watch as he slides a real wedding band on her finger. 

cw/tw: angst, marriage, being the other woman (kinda?), seungcheol being an impatient lil fucker, childhood lovers to strangers, multiple proposals.

🪽fic rating: pg ☁️ masterlist & a/n: here’s the promised fic from our svt x what could’ve been poll! couprangs, you guys are insane (mwah ily) this idea was first born in the depth of my chats with @gyubakeries and @studioeisa…this is for you, choi seungcheol, and your immensely sufferable face :3 (and the biggest thanks to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for the banner!)

now playing: i (almost) do by taylor swift 

this is a special from the svt x what could’ve been event -> click here to read svt x what was (@studioeisa) and svt x what is (@gyubakeries) :) 

Choi Seungcheol’s fiance looked suspiciously similar to you. 

Perhaps it was just your delusion talking, but the similarities were simply too difficult to ignore. 

The way she always sat with her right leg propped up on her left. The way her lips curled into a smile, hiding the insecurity of her teeth she had carried with her since childhood. Even her hair fell the same over her shoulders, the strap of her bra never sitting properly on the crook. She ran her hands across Seungcheol’s arms in a beat that matched how yours once did. 

“It’s uncanny.” Joshua murmured into your ear at the wedding rehearsal. “It’s like he ordered her from the y/n factory because he knew he couldn’t have you.”

You fake a smile. You feel bad for her. After all, if everyone could see the resemblance she could too. Yet you couldn’t help but resent her anyway. Because even if you had been here first, it was still her at the altar. Her in his sweatshirt. Her in his bed. Her as the mother of his children. 

She looks and acts exactly like you. The only difference is the wedding band that sits nicely on her ring finger and the aching void that is on yours. 

”Choi Seungcheol!” 

He runs past you towards the open field, a soccer ball in his arms.  The smile he looks back at you with is full of warmth and open admiration. 

You forget how long you sit on the wet grass to watch him play. 

His sweaty arms envelope you in a hug. You are both far too young to understand love, yet it surrounds the two of you anyways. The teachers see it and they smile with understanding. Your classmates see it even if they don’t know what it is yet. 

“Let’s get slurpees from the gas station after school.” Seungcheol walks you back to class. “My mom gave me ten bucks today.” 

You nod. You know you’re staring at him with the sappiest look on your face. You can feel the awkward stares of others in the hallway. But love doesn’t feel embarrassing when you’re being loved by Seungcheol. 

”You’re embarrassing me!” His fiance chides him through laughter. 

He has his hands on her waist, spinning her across the dance floor. 

You look at his face and watches as his eyes fucking glow. They glow in a way that never happened when he looked at you. It stings. Joshua brings you another drink and you swallow it down. 

The wedding photos are sent to your group chat a week after the actual event. You open them first thing in the morning and nearly choke on your own spit. Without your glasses on, the image is blurry and she looks just like you. 

You hate it. 

If Seungcheol had married a girl the complete opposite of you, you could’ve chalked it up to the fact that you just weren’t his type. But the fact that she was you— the only acceptable conclusion was that Seungcheol loved you, he did. He just didn’t want to choose you. Not in any way that actually counted. 

You stare at your ring finger and pretend you don’t feel the urge to chop that shit off. 

He proposes for the first time in the middle of July at six years old. 

“Let’s get married when we’re 30.” 

You frown, because the age 30 seems eons away. “Why 30?”

”My parents got married at 30.” He pauses. “I think?” 

“30 is old.” You counter, swinging your legs in boredom. “Why can’t we get married now?”

”Well, you need to be much taller to get married. I think. All married people are much taller.” Seungcheol had always been much smarter than you. 

“How tall do you need to be?” You think about how tall your parents are and your frown grows. “What if you’re old and not tall enough?”

The question stumps Seungcheol. “I don’t know.” 

You stand up and press your back against the wall of your bedroom. “Measure me. How tall do I have to be?”

He presses his hand against the wall, on top of your head.  “Much taller.” Picking up a piece of chalk, he climbs onto your bed and draws a straight line a couple feet above you. “This tall.” 

You stare at the line on the wall of your childhood bedroom, now faded and barely visible. You let out a wet laugh because Seungcheol had drawn the line impossibly tall and you were still nowhere near the line. 

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name is familiar, easy. A tongue that had spent years perfecting a few syllables that made up a cherished noun. 

“Seungcheol.” 

The way you say his name is hesitant, as if your brain had short circuited trying to pronounce it. You pretend not to see the flinch at his own name coming from your lips. 

“You know I hate when people use my government name.” 

It’s true. His friends call him S.Coups. His parents call him son. “It’s your name isn’t it?” You say. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

”You used to call me Cheol.” 

“Your fiance calls you that.” 

He winces and you let out a quiet, defeated sigh. 

The both of you had learned in fourth grade that names had power. It was in some stupid English novel your teacher had forced you to read in class— entirely boring and useless, yet the sentiment had always stayed. 

“Goodbye, Seungcheol.” 

He watches as you leave. 

You take the power he holds over you away. You revoke his claim on your heart. You refuse to call him anything other than his government name ever again. 

He proposes the second time over winter break at 15 years old. 

“Our parents think we’re going to get married when we’re older.” 

You laugh because you’ve heard it from your parents multiple times over the course of the last six years. ”I know.”

”Do you think we will?” Seungcheol no longer looked like the little boy you had grown up with since kindergarten. He looks different and so do you. 

“If you don’t make me mad before we’re 30, yes.” 

He looks offended. “I would never.”

Seungcheol could never imagine making you mad or being the reason for your tears. 

“I want one of those fancy weddings.” He comments, picturing the scene. “With all our friends— somewhere in the middle of August. Right after my birthday.” 

“Me too.” You lay next to him, looking up at the ceiling of his room. His ceilings are still decorated with the solar system from his youth. “With a big cake, big decorations, a DJ, and I want my veil to reach the floor.” 

You can see the wedding day so perfectly in your mind, and when you turn to look at him looking at you— you know he can see it so clearly too. 

Seungcheol gets married on a farm at 27 because his fiance wanted to. There were no elaborate cakes, big decorations or a DJ. Her veil was modest and fell neatly on her shoulders. It lacked most of his high school friends. It was in February. 

You return to your empty apartment after a long day of work and you can almost see the visible trails of energy Seungcheol had left behind. 

Perhaps you were slowly going insane from the loneliness, but your apartment carried wisps of gold, flowing through the air and gathering dust on your couch. 

You feel the sudden urge to run to him. You almost do. 

Instead, you pour yourself a cup of warm tea and curl up on your one seater couch. You welcome the loneliness in and invite it to stay for a while. 

Joshua tells you Seungcheol and his fiance had just moved into their marital home. You imagine it’s homey and illuminated with a thousand warm lights. You imagine she cooks for him in their giant kitchen and he hugs her coming home from work. You imagine they sleep on the same side of the bed. 

You fight each wave of yearning towards him, each urge to knock on his door begging for answers. For another chance. For him to leave the carbon copy of you. You want to run to him. You almost do, but you don’t.

He proposes for the last time in the middle of a snowstorm at 25.  

“Let’s get married.” It’s less of a proposal and more of a beg. “Fuck the idea of 30. I want you to be my wife now.” 

Yet you know you’re not ready. Deep down he knows it too. “I can’t.” 

“Why not?” He’s angry, frustrated. You can tell. You always do.

You look away. “I want to finish my degree before I get married, Cheol. You know this. You know what they say about women who get married and still try to pursue law.” 

You look back and he’s on his knees. “Marry me.” He says again. “You can do both.” 

“You know I can’t. We said 30, Cheol. Please.” It’s your turn to beg, as you sink down to meet him at his level, your knees scraping the wooden floor of your shared apartment. “Wait for me. Please.” You hold his face in the palms of your hands.

He nods, but you can tell from the way he gets up silently that you’ve betrayed him. That somehow putting you first had burned him. 

So Cheol gets married at 27 with you in the audience. He doesn’t wait for you. You get your degree a year later.

[tick-tam]

Oh the way it had me in a chokehold. Since haechan's part was based on races and all I didn't expect this to be so midlife crisis, angsty and all about feelings. This has three parts yet it still doesn't feel enough. The division is actually perfect. The way this leaned into tension(the avoidance), the way the things creep up😌. As an f1 fan I loved how you described the way cheol felt as a second priority. Like I am always fascinated how the driver's feel.

The way this is not only about the relation but also how the driver's feel. The midlife crisis we didn't know we needed. Also the RING it gave me such a whiplash. Like there was a ring. Oowoowowow.

OFF THE GRID PT.3

pairing: f1driver!scoups x ex!femreader

genre: angst, romance, exes to lovers au, childhood bestfriends / neighbours au

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series: Four-time world champion Choi Seungcheol has spent years at the top with Ferrari, but as the 2025 season drags on, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite where he used to be. The competition is catching up, his team isn't what it used to be, and for the first time, he’s starting to wonder if he’s past his prime. By the time the season winds down, he finds himself back in his hometown, which isn't quite the same either. But the hardest race was never on track, and sooner or later, he’ll have to figure out what comes next.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, f1 heavy

w/c: Part 1 - 14k Part 2 - 13k Part 3 - 19.5k

glossary taglist

a/n: the final installment!!! writing this fic out of all the ones I have in my series was probably the easiest and at the same time the trickiest to deal with. not just because it's an e2l but just also because of the f1 bits of it. while it's always challenging to write the race scenes, purely because most of the time i'm just spewing words and hoping they make sense while also trying to make sure that the stuff happening is stuff that actually happens, the most fun part was to put forth how one may feel shunted in their own team and what that does to a person. it’s lonely and quiet in the worst ways and sometimes you start to believe it’s your fault. that maybe you were always meant to be on the outside. writing that part felt very real and if you’ve ever felt like that, i hope this story sits with you a little. i love this one a lot and i hope you do too! please don't hesitate to reblog/comment/send an ask with your thoughts!

HOME

The cold air bites at your skin, but you barely feel it.

You sit on the porch steps, phone pressed tightly to your ear, listening to the monotonous ring of a call that you already know isn’t going to go through. It’s the fourth time you’ve tried the number your dad gave you. The fourth time it’s gone straight to voicemail.

You press the heel of your free palm to your eyes, rubbing at them. Great. Just great.

A pipe leak. In the middle of winter. Water pooling under the sink, seeping through the cabinets, creeping toward the floor faster than you know how to handle. And now, the only plumber you know isn’t even picking up. 

Really, your luck must be fucking terrible. How could this happen exactly when your parents weren’t at home?

Your head pulses with another wave of pain as you weigh your options. Do you try fixing it yourself? Do you just shut off the main water supply and deal with it later? Do you-

No.

You’re not calling Seungcheol.

You refuse. You won’t.

You grip your phone tighter, swallowing hard, trying to think. You can figure this out. You have to.

But then to your luck, or rather, the lack of it you hear the sound of tires rolling over, a door opening and slamming shut, paper bags rustling.

And before you even have to look up, you know.

Seungcheol.

You curse internally, willing him to keep walking, to go inside, to not notice the way you’re sitting here, hunched over, stress radiating from every inch of your body.

But of course, he does.

“Hey,” he calls out casually at first.

You don’t answer right away. You keep your gaze on the phone screen, like if you just focus hard enough, the plumber will just magically call you back.

But Seungcheol isn’t an idiot. And he knows you well enough to tell when something’s wrong.

The porch creaks under his weight as he steps closer. “What’s going on?”

You sigh, finally glancing up. He’s standing at the foot of the steps, a grocery bag in one hand, the other stuffed in his jacket pocket. His hair is still slightly damp from the snow, and the cold has left a faint pink tint across his skin.

You look away quickly. Not the time.

“Nothing,” you mutter, voice tight.

Seungcheol doesn’t buy it. He tilts his head slightly, glancing at the phone in your hands, to the way your grip is a little too tense.

You see the exact moment he puts the pieces together.

“…Something’s broken.”

It’s not a question.

You let out a sharp breath, rubbing your temple. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”

Seungcheol exhales, setting the grocery bag down on the step. “What is it?”

You hesitate. If you tell him, he’s going to fix it.

But the alternative is letting the house flood while you sit outside, pretending you don’t need help.

You purse your lips, debating. Then, finally you answer. "Pipe’s leaking under the sink."

Seungcheol’s brows lift slightly. “Bad?”

“Water’s spreading. That bad enough?”

He glances toward the house. “Did you shut off the valve?”

Your throat dries up. You should have. You know that. You know enough to do that. But you were so fucking stressed, so caught up in trying to call the plumber, that you didn’t even think about it.

Seungcheol immediately clocks your hesitation.

His expression almost morphs into amusement. “Come on.”

You shake your head immediately. "No."

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “You want to let it keep leaking?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Really?” He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. "With what tools?"

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Okay. Fine. Maybe you don’t have a plan.

But that doesn’t mean you need him.

Seungcheol exhales sharply, hand reaching down to loop through yours and pull you up. "Just let me do it, alright? It’ll take ten minutes."

You hesitate for a second too long, brain switching off at the way he effortlessly manages to lift you up. No, you willingly stood up. You shake your head

A moment of hesitation is all that he needs.

With a small shake of his head, Seungcheol picks up his grocery bag and walks past you, shoulder just barely grazing yours as he makes his way inside.

You hover near the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching as Seungcheol shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over a chair before crouching down in front of the sink.

The water hasn’t fully spread to the floor yet, but it’s bad enough, a slow but steady trickle pooling at the base of the cabinet, seeping into the wood.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue. "You should've shut the valve off earlier."

You bristle. "I was trying to call someone."

He doesn’t argue, just sighs loudly before rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, forearms flexing slightly as he moves.

“Where’s your wrench?” he asks, already reaching under the sink.

You blink. Right. Tools.

Your mind scrambles for an answer, but it comes up empty. You have no idea. Your dad always handled these things before. 

“I-” You hesitate, shifting on your feet.

Before you can figure out what to say, Seungcheol just sighs. Then, without looking up, he mutters 

“Still in the laundry room?”

You freeze.

He doesn’t even wait for your answer. He just pushes himself up and walks off, heading straight down the hall, like he already knows exactly where to go.

And the worst part is that he’s right.

You swallow, fingers tightening around your arms as you listen to the sound of him opening the cabinet, rummaging through old tool boxes like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Like he still remembers where everything is.

When he comes back, wrench in hand, you don’t say anything.

And neither does he.

He just crouches back down, one arm reaching under the sink, the other bracing himself against the cabinet. His shirt rides up slightly at the hem as he shifts into position, and you immediately snap your gaze to the ceiling.

A few minutes later, when he's almost done,  Seungcheol's phone rings from where he threw it onto the kitchen island. Your eyes flicker to the screen before you look away just as quickly, not catching the name.

“Who is it?” Seungcheol's voice comes out muffled from below.

“Uh, wait,” You mumble before shifting over to see the caller's name. It makes you stop, hand frozen in air for a few seconds before you shake yourself out of it. “It's someone from Aston Martin. Do you want me to bring it over to you?” You observe him as you reply, eyes sharp.

You can see Seungcheol stop for a moment too, like a kid caught stealing candy before he resumes, shaking his head slightly. “Nah, just leave it.”

No.

No, it's been way too long to let this slide again.

You fold your arms tightly over your chest, jaw tight. “Seungcheol.”

His name comes out sounding sharp from your mouth, maybe a little more than you intended, but still, stern.

Slowly, he exhales. Then, bracing a hand against the cabinet, he pushes himself up. Straightens. Stretches his shoulders. But he doesn’t look at you.

Your fingers curl against your sleeves. “What is going on with you?”

He sighs before running a hand through his hair, still refusing to meet your gaze. “It’s nothing. I don't know why they're calling either.”

“Are you done with the leak?” You point at it, already moving past him to the cabinet above the stove where you keep your kettle.

He nods, albeit a little confused before he checks, washing his hands after the water doesn't leak again.

“Okay, good.” You mutter as you start it up, preparing to make tea. This conversation is something that's been avoided for way too long. “Because you're going to sit down, drink this tea and fucking explain what you've been doing in this past one year.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you interject before he can, “Don’t you think we deserve to know what’s going on?”

Seungcheol exhales, shoulders rising before he lets them fall. He looks like he wants to argue. Like he wants to say no, like he wants to leave, like he doesn’t owe you this conversation.

But you’re not letting him.

Not this time.

So you turn toward him, crossing your arms, eyebrows raised in challenge. "Well?"

Seungcheol sighs, rubbing his temple. But after a moment, he drags a chair back and sits.

He leans back against it, arms crossed, gaze dropping to the counter. "What do you want me to say?"

You huff, setting the cups down harder than necessary. "How about the truth?"

Seungcheol scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. "It's not that simple."

"It never is," you agree.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy, frustrating. The only sound is the quiet hum of the kettle as steam starts to rise.

You glance at him, but he’s still looking at the counter, fingers tapping lightly against his arm. Like he’s debating. Like he’s deciding how much to say.

When Seungcheol finally begins to talk, his voice is the quietest you’ve heard it in a while.

“Where do I even start? I guess it began last season itself, after I won the world championship. After COTA, I didn’t have much to fight for, other than the constructors. The team started the orders in Mexico and back then it didn’t feel like I was losing out on anything. I’d already made enough points and they wanted to make sure Jaehyun ended up P2 in the driver’s standings to help with the constructors. So I agreed.”

You nod. You remember the second half of the season in 2024. It wasn’t unlike Seungcheol to go a little easier on his teammate once he’d won, so you hadn’t thought anything was off either.

“And then into winter break,” Seungcheol continues, “One of the reasons I didn’t come back home was, yes, because it would be really awkward with us, but the team had kept me really busy too. I’d done so many tests and runs for them that you’d expect the car to come out in a way that suited my driving style a little more.”

“It wasn’t entirely off,” Seungcheol shrugs as you pour a little honey into his cup, “Just, it was quite obvious that Jaehyun was more comfortable in there than I was. Felt like the work I’d done was useless, almost. Pre-season testing too. They were a lot more proactive when it came to Jaehyun’s feedback, but I just assumed it was because he was relatively newer to the team and that they’d have to learn his preferences a little more because they already knew most of mine.”

You settle down into the chair beside him, a soft hum leaving your lips as you listen.

“And you know, for the first few races it felt like things were back to normal in the team itself. I was still qualifying better, still the first one to bring the fight. Yeah, Red Bull were insanely quick and we were—from the start—second to them, but it felt alright inside. So I let it go, thinking I was just being paranoid.”

"And then?" you prompt gently.

Seungcheol exhales, the sound barely audible over the quiet clink of your teaspoon against the ceramic rim of your cup. His fingers drum the outside of the mug.

“And then the calls started,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothing major at first. Just small things. Strategy tweaks that didn’t make sense but weren’t outright sabotage. Early pit stops that put me in traffic. Tire compounds I hadn’t preferred. I wasn’t the only one noticing it either—my race engineer, the mechanics, even some of the guys in the factory. But no one wanted to say it outright.”

Your brows furrow. “But you knew.”

Seungcheol’s lips twitch, not in amusement, but in resignation. “I had a feeling. But when you’re fighting at the front, you can’t afford to doubt. You just drive.”

You nod, thinking back to those early races. From the outside, nothing had seemed blatantly wrong. Ferrari was still Ferrari with their fast cars, quick pit stops, a strong driver lineup. And Seungcheol was still the one leading the charge. If anything, it had looked like he was comfortably holding onto his position as the team’s priority.

But now that he says it, you remember. The radio messages that had sounded just a little too forced. The hesitation before the pit wall gave him the go ahead on certain strategies. And then later, when Jaehyun’s results started coming together, how the dynamic had shifted ever so slightly.

“Monaco,” you murmur, realization settling in.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “No. Miami. By Monaco, I already knew. But it was Miami where the doubts started.”

You know what he means. That race had been his to win. Fastest all weekend, pole secured by two tenths, an aggressive but clean first stint. And yet, somehow, Jaehyun had come out ahead after the pit cycle. The team had called it an unfortunate timing issue, but Seungcheol had looked more confused than upset in the post-race interviews. Like he wasn’t sure how it had slipped through his fingers.

He rubs a hand over his face, leaning back into the chair. “That’s when I started realizing it wasn’t just paranoia.”

Your fingers tighten around your mug. “But you still let it go.”

Seungcheol lets out a short, humorless laugh. “What else could I do?” His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable. “I drove for them, remember? They made the calls.”

“I wasn’t okay. After Monza, when you called,” He tries to sound slightly nonchalant. But you know. 

“That’s why I called,” You sigh, “Were there more problems because of that crash? Between you two?”

Seungcheol almost laughs, “You know, throughout this entire season, I don’t think we’ve actually ever argued about all this stuff. The next race weekend was shit. Both of us were absolutely blasted by the team. But most of this isn't his fault. I mean, the crash probably was, but it happens. It's not like I’ve never crashed into a teammate before. ” He admits. You can see that it takes a lot out of him to say that.

You understand. It would be so much easier to blame someone else, someone newer instead of the people who’ve been around you for so long.

“He’d be fucking stupid if he kicked and yelled and made everyone stop to treat us both the same.”

Sighing, you contemplate reaching a hand out to comfort him. Seungcheol sits with his shoulders slumped and head down, fingers fiddling with the cup in a restless way. But you stop yourself. You're listening to him to understand and to clear up things, that's it.

“So you made the decision to leave Ferrari,” You say, humming for him to continue.

“After Monza, I kind of knew, but it was Singapore where I made my decision.”

You remember that race. The tension, the buildup. The entire grid waiting to see if Haechan would clinch the title.

“It wasn’t like some big revelation,” he continues. “I think I’d already been telling myself for weeks that it was over. But that night, it just… solidified.”

His fingers tap lightly against his arm, like he’s still turning the memory over in his head. “They pitted me early. Said it was to put pressure on Red Bull, to force Haechan into an earlier stop. But I knew what it was. It was about Jaehyun. Making sure he didn’t lose time, making sure he had the advantage when it counted. That was my job now.”

Your fingers tighten around your mug.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “And then Haechan crossed the line, took his title, and I was standing in that media pen, listening to everyone talk about the championship fight and the future, and I realized I wasn’t part of that anymore. Not with Ferrari.”

“So I told my manager that night. Told him I wasn’t going to re-sign.”

It’s said so simply, so quietly, but you remember twenty two year old Seungcheol when he got his first Formula 1 seat. You remember twenty three year old Seungcheol when he got the Ferrari offer, his biggest dream coming true. You remember seventeen year old Seungcheol, arguing with his school teachers that, yes, racing is what he wants to do. Not school. “I’m serious about this. You can just watch, I’ll get there.”

It must have been one of the hardest decisions he’s ever made. 

But there’s just one more thing you don’t understand.

“But if not with Ferrari,” You begin cautiously, softly, “You could’ve done it with any other team. They’d be scrambling to sign you. Why’d you leave the entire thing, Cheol?”

Seungcheol slowly shake his head. “It wasn’t just about Ferrari.”

His fingers begin to drum lightly on the counter again. “I thought about signing somewhere else. It would’ve been easy—hell, my manager already had teams lined up before I even told him I wasn’t re-signing. But after Singapore… I just didn’t know if I wanted to anymore.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Why?”

For a second, you think he won’t answer. His fingers tighten around his mug, his shoulders tensing slightly. But then he sighs, the weight of it heavy.

“Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure if I still had it in me.”

His voice is quieter now, but there’s no hesitation. No bitterness. Just quiet exhaustion.

“I always knew what I was fighting for. Even in my worst seasons, even when everything felt like shit, I still wanted to be in the car. I still wanted to be in the fight. But after Singapore, I wasn’t sure if I did.” He pauses, shaking his head slightly. “Not because I don’t love it. Not because I don’t think I can still win. But because I didn’t know if I could give myself to it the way I always have.”

“You know, for years, I thought that as long as I kept pushing, as long as I proved myself over and over again, everything else would fall into place. That it would always be enough. But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like it was.”

You don’t say anything.

Because what do you even say to someone who’s spent their entire life chasing something only to realize they don’t know if they still want to chase it anymore?

Seungcheol leans back slightly, glancing down at his mug. “I needed time,” he says simply. “To figure it out.”

You hesitate for a moment, watching him. He’s not looking at you, eyes still on the mug in his hands, fingers tracing the rim like he’s still lost somewhere in his own thoughts.

Then, quietly, you say, “That makes sense.”

Seungcheol glances up, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that.

You exhale, shifting slightly in your seat. “I mean… you’ve never really stopped, have you?” You tilt your head. “Since we were kids, it’s always been about the next thing. The next race, the next win, the next goal. You never let yourself slow down. Maybe—” you pause, choosing your words carefully. “Maybe it’s okay that you needed to.”

His fingers still against the mug. He doesn’t say anything, but something in his expression softens, just slightly.

“You’re allowed to figure it out, Cheol,” you say, quieter now. “Even if it takes time.”

For the first time since he started talking, he really looks at you. Like he’s trying to figure out if you actually mean it.

And when he doesn’t find doubt in your face, when all he sees is quiet understanding, something inside him loosens.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that.

It’s stupid, maybe. He’s had months to sit with this, to justify his decision to himself, to convince himself that taking a step back wasn’t weakness. That it didn’t make him any less of a driver. Any less of himself.

But it’s different, hearing it from you.

Hearing someone else say it—you say it—makes it feel real.

He exhales again, deeper this time, like something heavy has finally slipped off his shoulders. The tension in his posture eases just a little.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice lighter than before. “Maybe it is.”

And for the first time in a while, he almost feels like he can breathe.

You shut your laptop with a quiet sigh, leaning back into your chair to give yourself a moment before you start packing up to go home. You stretch your fingers out, rolling your wrist absentmindedly, the stiffness a reminder of how long you’ve been working.

At least you’re leaving earlier than usual today. It’s rare, but you’d wrapped up the project that had been eating up most of your time this past month—sent the final files off, double-checked every detail, and even managed to get your inbox down to something manageable. It’s a relief, a quiet kind that sits at the back of your mind, knowing that for once, you won’t have to think about work the second you step out of the office.

You take your time packing up, sliding your laptop into your bag a little more carefully than usual, making sure everything’s in place before zipping it up. The usual rush to leave isn’t there tonight; instead, you pull on your coat at a slower pace, looping your scarf around your neck as your phone vibrates on your desk.

A quick glance at the screen shows a text from Seungkwan in the group chat.

Seungkwan: jihoon and cheol are you guys free my manager just asked to sit through another client call and it’s going to take at least 45 more mins can ya’ll go pick her up i promised to but i can’t rn [16:48]

Jihoon: yeah sure [16:50]

Seungcheol: i can [16:50]

Seungcheol: oh nvm u can go then [16:51]

Jihoon: no actually i can’t  my meeting got extended too Seungcheol? [16:58]

Seungcheol: omw [17:00]

You shake your head slightly as you scroll through the chat. You could’ve taken the bus ride home, but Seungkwan had sent his car for servicing and had driven the two of you to work in your car today. He’d have fussed about it if you took the bus and, honestly, you didn’t mind the ride back. At least it’d be warmer.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way out of the office. Most of people in your team are still at their desks, wrapped up in whatever they need to finish before they can call it a night, but you get a few nods and murmured goodbyes as you pass. The elevator ride down is uneventful, and by the time you step outside, the sky is a dark shade of blue with streaks of fading orange and pink clinging onto the horizon.

You don’t have to wait long before a sleek black car rolls up to the curb, headlights cutting through the dimming evening. You spot Seunghceol through the windshield before he even pulls to a full stop, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the gear shift, fingers drumming idly. His hair falls slightly over his forehead, and he’s got that same relaxed-but-not-really posture you know so well.

The door unlocks with a quiet click, and you pull it open, slipping inside.

"Hey," you greet, settling into the passenger seat.

Seungcheol glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. "Hey. Seatbelt."

You roll your eyes but comply, the buckle clicking into place as he merges back into traffic. It’s only when you hit a red light that Seungcheol speaks again, eyes flitting over to you.

"You finished your project, right?"

You blink, turning to look at him. "How’d you know?"

He shrugs, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "You only leave early when you finish something big."

You press your lips together, caught off guard. He’s not wrong.

"Yeah," you say after a moment. "Finally. Feels kind of weird not having it hanging over my head anymore."

Seungcheol hums, driving forward as the light turns green. "Bet that’s nice."

"It is," you admit, nodding as you slump back into your seat. "Kind of don’t know what to do with myself now, though."

He glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile. "Is that why you let me pick you up instead of just taking the bus? Needed something to fill the time?"

You scoff, nudging his arm lightly. "Shut up."

His chuckle is soft, barely audible over the low hum of the car, but you hear it anyway.

“Can we stop at a convenience store, by the way?” Seungcheol clears his throat after a few minutes of silence.

You hum in response. “Sure, you’re driving anyways.”

He nods, taking the next right turn without another word. The neon glow of the store comes into view a few minutes later, its sign flickering slightly against the darkening sky. He pulls into an empty parking spot, shifting the car into park before turning to you.

“You want anything?”

You shake your head, already reaching for your phone. “I’m good.”

Seungcheol doesn’t press, just unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out. You watch as he stretches—arms over his head, a quick shake of his shoulders—before heading inside.

A few minutes later, Seungcheol returns, a plastic bag in hand. He slides into the driver’s seat, the faint rustling of wrappers filling the car as he rummages through it. Without a word, he pulls out a bag of chips and hands it over, like it’s second nature.

You blink, looking down at the bag in your lap, then back at him.

You narrow your eyes at him as you open the bag, pulling out a chip and popping it into your mouth. “What if I didn’t want this today?”

Seungcheol hums, setting his drink down before shifting the car into reverse. “Then you’d tell me to go back inside.”

You make a face, annoyed that he knows you too well, but let it slide. Instead, as he pulls out of the parking lot, you reach into the bag again—this time, holding a chip out toward him.

Seungcheol glances at it briefly before flicking his eyes back to the road. “What?”

“You want one?”

He hesitates—just for a second. And that’s when it hits you.

Your hand hovers in the air, and for a moment, you almost pull back. But then, Seungcheol leans in just slightly, just enough.

And without a word, he takes the chip from your hand.

Neither of you say anything after that.

—

The evening is loud, the kind of easy chaos that comes with Jihoon, Seungkwan, and Seungcheol crammed into your living room, half-watching something on TV while bickering over absolutely nothing.

Seungkwan had claimed his usual spot on the couch, legs kicked up onto the coffee table despite your protests. Jihoon sat on the floor, leaning against the armrest, scrolling through his phone but still chiming in whenever Seungkwan said something particularly stupid. 

It’s normal. Stupid jokes, Seungkwan laughing too loud, Jihoon threatening to leave but never actually moving. And for a while, you let yourself fall into it, let the noise drown out the things you don’t want to think about.

But then, Jihoon stands, stretching his arms overhead. “I should go,” he says, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Early morning tomorrow.”

Seungkwan groans dramatically but stands up too, stretching in sync with him. “Yeah, yeah. I should head out too.”

After Jihoon and Seungkwan leave, you linger by the door for a moment, listening to their voices fade as they walk down the street. When you turn back, Seungcheol is still there, getting off the couch to walk into your kitchen.

You hesitate, then exhale, shaking your head as you make your way back to the couch. The house feels different now—quieter, heavier.

You sink into your usual spot, pulling your legs up beneath you, reaching absently for the TV remote even though you’re not really paying attention. But after a few moments of silence, you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Is it just me, or do I keep running into you everywhere?” You scoff, finally turning to face him. 

Seungcheol stands behind your kitchen counter, filling a glass of water before he stops at your words. He searches your face for any signs of playfulness, but finds none. Your eyebrows are knitted, a slight scowl on your lips and your words come out sharp and almost irritated.

“What?” He asks, a little confused, “I mean, I am living next to your house. Would be weird if you didn’t see me around.”

"You know that's not what I mean." You cross your arms, getting off the sofa.

“Well, for starters. Everyone was here today, so you kind of invited me over.” Seungcheol shrugs. “I was going to leave anyway, sheesh.”

"Yeah, this time," you say. "But what about the rest? It’s like things are just happening again, like nothing’s changed. You keep showing up, and it’s not just at work or around the neighborhood, it’s—" You pause, shaking your head before scoffing. "God, I don’t know. It’s confusing."

Seungcheol only watches you, setting his cup down with an unreadable expression. 

So you continue.

“It’s been over a year, Seungcheol. And then you come back and suddenly we’re going back to whatever this was. As if that entire period of our lives didn’t even exist. We didn’t talk to each other, Cheol. Didn’t talk, didn’t check in, didn’t even pretend that we existed and now—” You huff out, shoulders dropping, “Don’t you think this is strange? That we can just pretend like nothing happened and fall back into line like this?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away. He looks at you, fingers tapping idly against the counter. Then, finally, he says, "Maybe it’s not that strange."

You groan, running a hand through your hair. It seems to tick him off a little because he speaks up again.

“You were the one that said that we were best friends, and that you wouldn’t stop treating me like that because we broke up,” Seungcheol says, voice firm. “You told me that none of it would change, that we’d figure it out. And now you’re acting like it’s weird that I’m here, like I’m some stranger you keep running into instead of the person who—” He stops himself, shaking his head before he can say too much. His fingers tighten against the counter. “I’m not pretending nothing happened. But I’m not the one who changed their mind.”

“Fuck, I know!” You exclaim, a little louder than before, “God, I know and I’m sorry, okay? I thought it would be fine. I thought I could handle it but it’s not, Cheol. It’s not.” Swallowing, you hesitate. “It’s just hard, okay? Seeing you, talking to you and being around you like this just reminds me of everything and I don’t know how to act like it doesn’t hurt.”

You look up at him to gauge his reaction, but the way his jaw tightens just makes you feel worse.

“You think it wasn’t hard for me? That it still isn’t?” His voice is low, but his eyes are bright, anger slipping into them. “The difference is, I didn’t choose this. I didn’t wake up one day and decide we shouldn’t be together anymore.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “That was you.”

You throw your head back, eyes scrunching in frustration before you snap back, “Do you really think I didn’t think it over? That I didn’t even try or want this to work? I wanted it to. But it always felt like I was waiting for you, Seungcheol. Waiting for the next race to end, waiting for your next flight home, waiting for a moment that never lasted long enough before you had to leave again." You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "And I know it wasn’t your fault—I never blamed you for any of it. But you have to see how unfair it was, too. I was the one adjusting, always making room in my life whenever you had the chance to come back, and when you left again, I was the one picking up the pieces."

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. "You think I didn’t try? That I didn’t want more time with you?" His voice rises slightly, rough around the edges. "I missed things too, you know. I missed birthdays, I missed stupid little inside jokes, I missed you. But I tried. I called every chance I got, I stayed up even when I was dead tired just to hear your voice, I—" He cuts himself off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I know it wasn’t enough. But it wasn’t like I didn’t care."

"I know you cared, Seungcheol," you say, voice quieter now but strained nonetheless. "But caring wasn’t the problem. It was never just about missing each other—it was about how impossible it felt to keep up. You were gone all the time. I couldn’t call you whenever I needed to, I couldn’t just show up when things got hard. And you—you were so busy, and I didn’t want to be just another thing on your list to worry about."

Seungcheol exhales sharply, shaking his head. "That’s not fair," he mutters. "You were never just some obligation to me."

"But that’s what it felt like!" The words leave you before you can stop them, your voice cracking and your chest heaving. "Not because of you, not because of anything you did, but because of the way things were. I felt like I was trying to hold on to something that was slipping away no matter how much we wanted it to stay."

Seungcheol’s eyes darken, frustration clear in the way his fingers ball into fists at his sides. “So what, then? We just give up because it was hard?” His voice is louder now, the calm he’s tried to hold onto starting to slip away. “You think I didn’t feel like I was losing you too? You think I didn’t sit there in hotel rooms on the other side of the world, wishing I could be home with you instead?”

“Well, you weren’t home, Seungcheol!” you shoot back, eyes stinging. “And I couldn’t keep waiting for something that wasn’t going to change! I had to live my life too, I had to stop putting everything on hold for a relationship that—” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, willing your voice not to break. “That wasn’t going to work no matter how much we wanted it to.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “That’s bullshit,” he mutters. “You didn’t even let me try. You made the choice for both of us.”

 “Are you serious right now? You did try, Seungcheol. We both did! But you were never going to have a life where you could just stay, and I never wanted you to give that up for me. I just—I wanted to feel like I wasn’t the only one adjusting, like I wasn’t always the one left waiting.”

His whole body goes rigid, and when he speaks next, Seungcheol’s voice is clear but scalding.

“Well, I quit,” he says, the words sharp and deliberate. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to look away. “So are you happy now?”

It hits you like a slap to the face—sharp, stinging, and almost disorienting. You blink at him, air knocked out of your lungs, stunned, mouth opening slightly but finding nothing to say.

Because this isn’t what you wanted. Not like this. Not for you. Not because of you.

But Seungcheol is still looking at you, chest rising and falling, waiting for you to say… say what? What do you even say to that?

“That is not what I said, and you know it.” Your voice is quiet but fierce when you finally reply, unyielding.

Seungcheol scoffs, running a hand over his face, but he doesn’t respond.

You shake your head, throat tightening. “I don’t want to talk to you like this.”

He laughs dryly, shaking his head as he looks away. "Right. Of course, you don’t."

You clench your jaw. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?" His gaze snaps back to yours, frustration smeared across his features. "You get to throw all of this at me, tell me how impossible it was, how you couldn’t keep up. And then the second I react, you decide you don’t want to talk anymore?"

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. "Because you’re twisting my words, Seungcheol! I never wanted you to quit. I never wanted you to throw everything away for me.” You breathe in, feeling the tears fill your eyes as Seungcheol’s figure starts swimming in your vision. You look away, quickly wiping them and willing your voice to come out calm before you continue.

“I only ever wanted to be equal, Cheol. Just equal.”

His brows furrow, the sharp edges of his anger dulling into something heavier and blunt. His lips part like he wants to argue, to fight back, but nothing comes out. Instead, his shoulders drop just slightly, like the weight of everything between you is finally settling in.

"I would’ve done more," he says finally, so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. "If you had told me, I would’ve done more."

You sigh, feeling all the fight and adrenaline draining out of you, leaving only exhaustion and regret. “I know. But I didn’t want to have to ask.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “For not talking to you about it properly before. For not giving us a real chance to figure it out together.”

Seungcheol stands still for a few beats, looking unsure. Then, he grabs the glass he’d left full on the counter before turning around to dump it in the sink. The sound of water slinking down the drain fills the heavy atmosphere between you, and for a moment, it feels like neither of you knows what to say next.

His back is to you, shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath, and when he finally speaks, his voice is dull and subdued.

“I should go,” he murmurs, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you. Seungcheol sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before shaking his head, almost like he’s trying to shake off everything this conversation has brought up.

You don’t know what else to say, so you swallow hard and nod, even though he can’t see you. When he pushes himself out of the kitchen, you step aside. He walks slowly, almost like he doesn’t know how to act around you anymore. It’s not surprising. You’ve never felt this exhausted and on-edge around him either.

A muted, confused voice in your head, tells you to stop him before he goes. This isn’t done. Even if it is, you don’t feel like it is anyway. With the way Seungcheol hesitates, you can tell he doesn’t either. 

But you ignore it, for now. 

Seungcheol walks out of your door, closing it softly behind him. You think it’d be a little easier if he’d slammed it instead.

—

Seungcheol remembers being sixteen, sprawled next to Jihoon on the floor of your room. He can hear your dad watching the news on the TV, the loud and clear voice of the anchor cutting through the house.

“Seven-time Formula 1 world champion Lewis Hamilton has announced his retirement from the sport, shocking fans and experts alike. The Mercedes driver, widely regarded as one of the greatest of all time, confirmed in a press conference earlier today that this season would be his last."

Seungcheol barely pays attention. He’s freaked out over it already and so he idly flips through one of your textbooks, while Jihoon hums to himself, distracted with his guitar. Meanwhile, you sit straight next to him on the floor, biting on your lower lip in concentration as you try to tackle the integration worksheet your class was handed today. You twirl a yellow mechanical pencil between your fingers as you scan the page in front of you, brows furrowed. The dim yellow glow of your lamp casts soft shadows on your face, and Seungcheol finds himself staring without meaning to.

It’s nothing new—you studying, the three of you lazing around in your room, wasting away a slow evening together. But something about this moment feels different.

Your hair slips over your shoulder as you reach for another page, and for some reason, he can’t stop staring.

It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you before. You’ve been best friends since you were kids, growing up side by side, running through the same streets, bickering over stupid things only to make up a few hours later. You’ve always been there, always been you.

But right now, in this quiet moment, you look—

Pretty.

The thought creeps in so naturally that it startles him. His grip tightens on the textbook.

It’s not like he’s never thought about it before. He’s not blind. But this is different. Because it’s not just pretty, it’s you. And it feels important. Like something’s cracked open, like something’s about to change.

He quickly tears his gaze away, back to the textbook in his lap, but he doesn’t see a single word. His heartbeat is suddenly too loud in his ears, his skin warm under the collar of his hoodie.

Jihoon groans again, shoving his guitar aside. “I give up. This song is cursed.”

Seungcheol almost laughs, almost lets himself be pulled back into the moment. But then he glances at you one more time, catching the way you tuck your knee to your chest, biting your lip as you concentrate.

And just like that, he knows.

Knows that something is different now. Knows that, no matter how hard he tries, he won’t be able to unknow it.

Seungcheol remembers finally, finally telling you that he likes you. He does it on a call, early morning on a Friday in Australia. Not ideal, not how he pictured it, but the words are there, pressing against his throat, demanding to be let out.

You look so soft on the screen, eyes half-lidded from sleep, cheek pressed into your pillow. It’s late where you are, but you still picked up when he called, even though you had work in the morning. The thought makes something warm settle in his chest, until he realizes he’s been staring at you too long, silent for too long, and you’re blinking at him now, confused.

"Cheol?" your voice comes through the speaker, quiet and a little groggy.

He sighs, shaking his head softly. He should wait. He should do this in person. But waiting has never been his strong suit, and the thought of another day, another week, another month of keeping this to himself—

"I like you."

The words fall out before he can stop them, before he can overthink them.

You blink slowly, drowsiness slipping away. “You what?”

He huffs out a little nervously.

"Say it again." You stare back at him with wide eyes, your head raised to get a better view.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I like you.”

Your breath catches. He sees it, sees the way you bite your lip like you’re trying not to smile, like you knew but needed to hear it anyway.

“You’re insane,” you say, but your voice is barely above a whisper, “Come back home, Cheol.”

Seungcheol grins, relief rushing through him. He laughs, a little breathless. “I will.”

“No,” you shake your head, firmer this time. “Come home soon.”

When Seungcheol comes back to you on Monday, you’re already waiting. 

You stand near the arrivals exit, arms crossed, watching the steady stream of passengers trickle out. You spot him before he sees you—hood up, suitcase rolling behind him, duffel slung over one shoulder.

And then his gaze lifts, finds yours, and stops.

Surprise flickers across his face followed by something softer, closer to relief. He lets out a quiet laugh as he stops in front of you.

“You look exhausted,” you say, voice calm, but your fingers twitch where they rest against your arm.

His lips tilt, but you can see it now—the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion clinging to his shoulders. Still, his eyes don’t leave yours, like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” he murmurs.

You shrug, glancing away for a second. “Didn’t think you’d tell me you like me over the phone.”

He laughs, softer this time. The duffel slips from his shoulder, forgotten, as he takes half a step closer. Close enough that the warmth of him seeps into the space between you, close enough that you feel the weight of his gaze settle over you.

“Missed me that much?” he teases, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

You scoff. “You wish.” But your voice lacks bite, and he sees the way you shift from one foot to the other, like you’re holding yourself back.

So he doesn’t.

Seungcheol reaches for you, one hand cupping the side of your face, the other sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. And before you can react, before you can even breathe, he kisses you.

It’s not cautious. Not nervous. Not testing the waters. It’s sure, like he’s known this is where he’s meant to be all along.

Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his hoodie, exhaling against his lips like you’ve been waiting for this too. Like all the late-night calls, the moments of hesitation, the unspoken truths were leading to this.

When he pulls back, just slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

Your heart stumbles, and for once, you don’t pretend to fight the smile that tugs at your lips. “Took you long enough,” you whisper.

He laughs, soft and warm, before kissing you again.

Seungcheol remembers the countless races that you’ve flown in for, without him even asking. The paddock is still buzzing when he finally steps into his motorhome, his race suit unzipped to his waist, the fireproofs underneath clinging to his skin. The adrenaline from qualifying still lingers in his veins, a familiar and electrifying hum of energy that usually takes hours to fade.

He breathes in deeply, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. P3. Not bad. Not what he wanted, but not bad. Tomorrow would be the real fight.

But when he finally looks around, Seungcheol’s eyes land on you before anything else.

You’re sat on the small couch in the corner of his motorhome, one leg tucked under the other, scrolling through something on your phone. His jacket is draped over your shoulders, the red standing out starkly against your skin. Your hair is tied up loosely, like you’d done it without much thought, and there’s a half-empty water bottle on the table in front of you.

Seungcheol stops in his tracks, momentarily stunned. He calls out your name, making you perk up as you notice him.

“You flew in?” he asks, still slightly breathless.

Your lips curl up, “Yes, as you can see.”

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s right in front of you. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It’s called a surprise, Cheol.” You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head playfully. “You’re supposed to like it.”

He lets out a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course I do.”

You grin, setting your phone down. “P3’s not bad.”

Seungcheol hums, rubbing a hand over his nape as he exhales. “Not bad. Could’ve been better.”

“It’s always ‘could’ve been better’ with you,” you tease, nudging his knee lightly with your foot. “You’re still starting from the second row. That’s a win in my books.”

He glances at you again, still not entirely believing that you’re actually here.

“How long have you been here?”

“Landed this afternoon and came straight to the track.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow slightly. “And you’ve just been… waiting here?”

You shrug. “I wanted to see you.”

Something about the way you say it, so simple and matter-of-fact, makes his throat dry up.

He doesn’t say anything. Just steps forward, reaching for your wrist, fingers wrapping around it gently before tugging you up onto your feet. You let him pull you in without resistance, your hands naturally finding their place against his sides.

And then he hugs you.

It’s steady and comforting—the kind of embrace that feels less like holding on and more like coming home. His arms wrap around you with quiet certainty, like this is where you’ve always belonged. He feels the way your body relaxes against his, the tension melting away, and it makes him hug you a little tighter. You breathe out softly, the sound barely audible.

“I missed you,” he murmurs.

Your arms tighten around him. “I know. Me too.”

Seungcheol thinks he remembers when it all started to go wrong too.

He remembers staring at the screen, waiting.

The call rings once, twice, three times before it cuts to voicemail. Again.

He sighs before locking his phone. It’s past 2 AM where you are, but he’d hoped—just maybe—you’d still be awake. It’s been getting really hard to deal with the timezones, especially with all the new tracks on the calendar and more added races. He hasn’t been home in over two months.

His eyes droop with exhaustion as he types out a quick message. Call me when you wake up. Miss you.

You don’t get to reply until the next day.

By then, he’s already on track, already somewhere else.

Seungcheol remembers that the first thing he does after winning is look for you.

His team is cheering, his engineers clapping him on the back, cameras flashing in his face. But none of it matters until he sees you.

But he doesn’t.

His phone buzzes in his race suit pocket. He pulls it out, fingers clumsy from the adrenaline. A message from you.

I don’t know when you’ll see this but can’t make it today Cheol. I’m so sorry. I love you.Congrats on the win!!!

He exhales slowly, staring at the words.

You’d told him just last week that things were piling up at work. That you were barely getting enough sleep, that you’d skipped lunch twice because there was too much to do.

He’d told you to take care of yourself, his voice soft but firm. And you had laughed it off. But now, reading your message, the unease settles back in.

He wants to call. Wants to hear your voice, wants to check if you’ve eaten, if you’re resting like you should be. But there are cameras on him and a team waiting to celebrate.

So instead, he just types out a reply.

Love you too. Get some rest, yeah?

Then, he puts his phone away, and forces himself to smile.

Seungcheol remembers the last time he came back home before it all ended. March of 2024. You’re in his arms, holding on tighter than usual, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie.

“You’ll be back soon, right?” Your voice is quiet against his chest.

“Of course,” he says, pressing his lips to your hair. “Two weeks.”

You nod, sighing against his shoulder. “Okay.”

He should’ve kissed you longer. Should’ve told you he’d make it work, somehow. Should’ve said ‘I love you’ one more time.

Because two weeks turns into a month. A month turns into two and in the way that things go—

Seungcheol remembers the day you broke up with him too. He doubts he’ll ever forget it.

He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His race suit is gone, replaced by a plain t-shirt and joggers, but he still looks tired. Not from the race but from everything else.

You stand near the window, arms crossed, staring at the city lights outside. You don’t know how long the two of you have been sitting in silence, but it feels like forever. Like neither of you wants to be the first to say it.

But eventually, you do.

“Cheol, I don’t think this is working.”

Seungcheol inhales sharply, looking down at his hands. He nods once, slow, like he’s known this was coming but still hoped it wouldn’t. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

That should make it easier, but it doesn’t. It only makes your chest feel heavier.

“I love you,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “I love you so much.”

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

But the lack of love had never been the problem. Maybe the distance would’ve been easier if it were.

Seungcheol exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Is there…” He swallows, voice hoarse. “Is there anything I can do?”

You should say no. Should shake your head and leave before you change your mind. But your breath hitches, your body betraying you before your mind can catch up.

Because even now, even after everything you don’t want to leave. Maybe you never have.

And maybe Seungcheol sees it, or maybe he’s just desperate, but then he says, so quietly, his voice cracking.

“Stay.”

It’s one word. Small. Fragile. But it’s a plea that sends your heart leaping for one last time before it falls flat again.

You should walk away. You know that. But your feet won’t move. And when Seungcheol shifts slightly, when he finally reaches for you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, you don’t pull away.

“Just tonight,” you whisper, almost like you’re convincing yourself.

Seungcheol nods slowly. “Just tonight.”

So you stay.

You let him pull you toward the bed, let him press his forehead against yours, let yourself sink into the warmth of his arms, into the quiet safety of him.

Seungcheol tries to memorise you in the last few hours that he gets. He doesn’t know if you’re pretending to be asleep or if you actually are, but he needs to remember the way you feel in his arms, the way your body curls against his like it’s instinct, like it’s habit. He presses his palm against the small of your back, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing, trying to sync his with yours. His fingers brush lightly over your shoulder, tracing absent patterns into your skin, committing the warmth of you to memory.

Your hair spills across the pillow, a few strands tickling his chin, and he doesn’t dare to move them away. He doesn’t want to disturb anything, doesn’t want to break the illusion that this is just another night. That when morning comes, you’ll still be here.

Seungcheol knows that in a few hours, he’ll wake up, and you won’t be here. That he’ll turn over in bed, reach for you out of habit, and find nothing but empty space.

Now, Seungcheol sits at the desk in his room. The house is quiet—too quiet. The kind that settles over you like a weighted blanket that you don’t want on you. He thinks about knocking on your door. Thinks about standing outside your house like an idiot, waiting for you to let him in. Thinks about calling you, but what would he even say?

I love you. I never stopped. I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Instead, he breathes in, slow and deep, massaging his temple like he can will away the headache that is forming. He knows sleep won’t come easy tonight.

The next day, when Jihoon calls you, asking if you’ll come with him to your old school, you have half the mind to refuse. You’re still exhausted, maybe not ready to face people yet. But Jihoon doesn’t usually ask for favours and maybe a little contradictingly, you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts right now. 

So you say yes.

The sun’s begun to shine a little brighter these days, so when you walk out, locking your door behind you, the cold doesn’t bite too hard. 

Jihoon’s car is already parked by the curb, Seungkwan in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when you approach, breaking into a grin.

“Well, look who decided to be social.”

You roll your eyes, pulling open the door and slipping into the back seat. “Jihoon made it sound urgent.”

Jihoon, hands on the wheel, scoffs. “You make it sound like I’m forcing you to come. You could’ve said no.”

You hum, settling into your seat. “Could’ve.”

But Jihoon doesn’t start the car. Instead, he just drums his fingers against the wheel, glancing at Seungkwan, who is still scrolling through his phone like they’re waiting for something. Or someone.

You frown. “Hello? Can we go?”

Seungkwan barely looks up. “Do you want to leave Cheol here then?”

Your stomach dips before you can stop it. “What?” You shift forwards in your seat, grabbing onto Jihoon’s headrest. “You didn’t say he was coming.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Jihoon asks, a little perplexed.

“Did he not say anything to you?”

The boys go quiet for a good three seconds before Seungkwan turns in his seat to face you.

“Don’t lie. Did you two fight? Come on, you’re not kids anymore!” He nags, an exasperated look on his face, “What did you fight over, hmm? Him rattling around all the washed utensils? Did he spoil that stupid book you’ve been reading? Or was it—” Before Seungkwan can continue, the door on your left opens, making all three of you look that way. 

Seungcheol slides into the seat next to you, pulling the door shut behind him with a quiet click. He huffs, brushing his hair back before glancing around—first at Jihoon, then at Seungkwan, and finally at you.

And then he pauses.

Just for a second, his eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting to see you here. Like it hadn’t occurred to him that, of course, you would be here. His lips part as if to say something, but then he presses them together, looking away slowly.

“Morning,” he says, voice a little careful.

“Morning,” Seungkwan and Jihoon reply in unison.

You hesitate for a split second, but you don’t want Seungkwan and Jihoon to start poking their noses in right now, so you mumble out a small greeting too.

Jihoon exhales, twisting the key in the ignition. “Alright. Now we can go.”

The drive isn’t long, but the silence stretching between you and Seungcheol affects the two sitting up front and you know it too. Seungkwan—usually never quiet during car rides—sits a little slumped, eyes trained on the scenery outside the window. Jihoon doesn’t talk much anyways, but this early in the morning, he usually has a complaint about not picking up coffee that doesn’t come out either.

You don’t know if Seungcheol looks at you through the ten minute drive. You’re too on-edge, too awkward to even turn in his way. 

When Jihoon finally pulls up to the school, parking in the visitor’s lot, Seungkwan stretches his arms over his head. “Alright, children. Let’s go relive our glory days.”

“Glory days?” Jihoon snorts, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You mean the years you spent crying over exams and losing bets?”

Seungkwan whines in response as he gets out of the car. Jihoon sighs, shaking his head before continuing.

“I’m going to be in 11C. Think it’ll take maybe an hour? Ya’ll go do whatever, I guess.”

Jihoon leaves without much more to say, disappearing down the hall with a lazy wave of his hand. You watch him go, resisting the urge to call him back when you realize that leaves only three of you.

You turn to Seungkwan with a silent plea, hoping he’d pick up on it. He does. But he just doesn’t care.

“I think I’ll go look for Ms. Kang,” he announces, stretching his arms out. “Haven’t seen her in ages. She always liked me the best.”

“She liked you because you were a teacher’s pet,” you point out.

Seungkwan gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “I was charming.”

You shoot him a look, unimpressed, but he only grins before waving over his shoulder. You don’t have time to reply before he’s gone, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall, painfully aware of the fact that there’s only one person left beside you.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The school is quieter than you remember, the halls emptier now that classes are in session. Sunlight filters in through the old glass windows, casting a warm glow on the polished floors, on the familiar blue doors, on Seungcheol as he sighs softly beside you.

You steal a glance at him. He looks at home here, in a way that makes your heart ache a little.

“I didn’t think I’d ever come back here,” he murmurs, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

You nod, fingers unconsciously picking at your nails. “Me neither.”

He hums, before taking a slow step forward. “Guess we might as well look around.”

And then he’s walking ahead, and you find yourself following without a word.

The school’s gym is exactly how you remember it—high ceilings with fluorescent lights that cast a slightly harsh glow, the faint scent of sweat and polished wood lingering in the air. The basketball court is lined with scuff marks from years of games, sneakers squeaking against the surface. The walls are still adorned with the same faded banners, boasting school mottos in bold, challenging letters. The chatter and yells of students already in there make you feel sixteen again.

You watch as Seungcheol quietly makes his way to the top of the bleachers, away from all the noise. For a moment, you stand still. You don’t know what this means. But you can’t just stand here near the entrance like some weirdo, so you walk up the stairs too, before sitting down at a respectable distance from him. When you do, Seungcheol glances over at you.

Your breath catches at the way you can still see the seventeen-year-old Seungcheol in him. The way he leans back slightly, palms on his knees, eyes trained on the court in thoughtfulness. You remember when Seungcheol told you he’d found a seat in Formula 2. 

Tearing your gaze away from him, you look around. The two of you were probably sitting only a few seats to the left when he broke the news. The memory comes back to you so clearly, like it’s been waiting for the right moment to resurface. You can almost hear the way his voice had wavered just slightly when he said it out loud for the first time, the way your heart had lurched in your chest. 

You remember the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his sports uniform. It had been the last step before the dream he’d spent his entire life chasing. And when the realization had fully settled in, you had grinned, throwing yourself at him in excitement.

Now, thirteen years later, you turn back to the Seungcheol in front of you. All the mistakes, all the dreams, all the unfinished businesses lay in the space between you two.

You shift behind, your fingers pressing against the cool concrete of the bleachers.

Seungcheol had always wanted this. This life, this dream, the career he chased relentlessly since you were kids. He was the boy who never stopped moving forward, never once looked back—not because he didn’t care, but because the only way to reach the top was to keep climbing.

And yet, here he is, sitting beside you in a school gym, watching a bunch of kids play basketball like he has nowhere else to be.

The thought unsettles you.

You want to ask. Want to say, And what now, Seungcheol? Where do you go from here?

But you don’t.

Instead, you clear your throat, leaning back into the seat like it’ll smooth over the tension from last night’s argument.

Seungcheol drums his fingers against his knee, his gaze steady on the court below. “Feels smaller now,” he murmurs, almost absentmindedly.

You hum, glancing around the gym. “Well, you were always made for bigger things.”

You don’t mean for it to sound like a reminder of everything that’s already happened, but maybe it is. Maybe it always will be. Seungcheol doesn’t respond right away, just breathes out slowly, his fingers curling into his palm.

When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “I got an offer from Aston Martin,” He says, finally looking up at you. “For 2027. I don’t think I’ll take it.”

You can’t do anything but nod, slowly. It’s not relief, not exactly. Because you know him. You know how much he loves this, how racing is such a big part of him. And if there’s one thing about Seungcheol, it’s that he doesn’t just walk away from the things he loves that easily.

When you don’t say anything, he turns away before muttering, “Do you ever think about how it would’ve been if I never left? If I never started racing in the first place?”

You pause, taken aback. “No.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, a small, bitter smile on his lips when he glances at you, “No? Really?”

“No,” You assert again, “Because you were always going to leave. You were made for something bigger than all this—this mediocrity and this small-town life. This was never going to be enough for you and I’ve always known that, Cheol. Everyone does.”

Seungcheol looks like he wants to retort, but you continue speaking.

“And I never wanted it to be enough for you. Racing, that adrenaline, that feeling of winning—that is your sun, Seungcheol. You will forever revolve around it.  I can’t take that away from you and I have never wanted to.” You emphasize, looking into his eyes and hoping, pleading that he understands what you mean, “But I can’t leave with you either. I can’t live my life on flights and airports just to be with you, Seungcheol. My work, my life is equally as important to me. I have always, always loved you, but I can’t live like that.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, his voice coming out with an edge of desperation when he speaks. “I never wanted you to do any of that. I never wanted you to give up anything for me.”

“How else was it supposed to work, Cheol?” You let out softly, “It wasn’t like you were in a position where you could just get up and come on a whim either.”

He doesn’t reply, but you see the way his figure slumps slightly. You hate all the exhaustion that you’ve been feeling around each other lately. What are you even doing this for? You force yourself to think about what you want from this, from him.

Even though you don’t dare to admit it, you know. It’s always been the same answer. You want him. And it’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid. You’re the one who decided that it wasn’t going to work.

But what if it had? 

The thought lingers in your head. But there’s no point in thinking about that now. Even if Seungcheol still loves you, even if you decide to try again, what reassurance do the two of you have that it won’t end in the same way? 

You don’t even think about Seungcheol rejecting Aston’s offer. You know that it’s only him trying to convince himself. He will agree to it and you want him to. But what will it mean for the two of you?

—

Seungcheol doesn’t realize how much time has passed until he unlocks his phone to listen to a different playlist. His sleeves are rolled up, hands slightly dusty, and the room smells like old cardboard boxes.

He’d only planned to put away the clothes piled up on the chair in the corner of his room, but one thing leads to another and now he sits cross-legged on the floor of his room, with his closet half-emptied out. The floor is littered with old clothes, forgotten magazines and other things that he once thought he might need again.

Seungcheol grunts as he gets up, his numb legs making him stumble a little as he walks over to the last drawer in his closet. Just clean out this one and we’ll be done, he thinks, sliding it open and reaching in.

There’s a bunch of ticket stubs from concerts, two used passports, filled to the brim with stamps, worn because of years of constant travelling, and a bunch of receipts and paper clippings that Seungcheol should probably throw away. There’s one of his first career wins, some from his championships and some from his debut. He smiles with slight fondness before letting them drop onto the trash pile on the floor. Noticing one more, he tries to pull it out from the depths of the drawer only to realize that there’s something on top of it.

Seungcheol shoves his hand in further, but when his fingers touch the box, he freezes.

He knows what it is before he even pulls it out. He knows because he never threw it away. Never even considered it. Just stuffed it into the back of the drawer and left it there, like hiding it could make it mean any less.

His hand tightens around the edges of the box as he slowly walks back to the edge of his bed. The velvet is slightly worn now, its shine being dimmed by time and neglect, but it still feels just as heavy as it did the first time he held it. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but Seungcheol flips it open anyways.

The ring is exactly how he left it. Silver, simple, but deliberate. Something he picked out after months of indecision, after staring at a dozen options and thinking, No, not that one. Not yet. Until he found this—the one he could picture on your hand, the one that felt right.

Seungcheol runs his thumb over the navy blue, velvet lining.

It’s been over a year since he’d meant to give it to you. He had meant to ask. He’d meant for so many things to happen that never did.

Seungcheol had a plan. A future. A moment he thought would belong to you two for the rest of your lives. Now, he just sits, staring at something that never got the chance to be what it was supposed to be. 

He closes the box shut quickly, setting it onto his bed and shaking his head like it’ll push away the image of your hand with the ring on.

Seungcheol swallows hard. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at it, caught between regret and mourning before his gaze finally shifts to the notebook on his desk.

For the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements as he gets up from his bed with the box in hand and walks over to the desk. He keeps it, right next to his laptop, before grabbing the first pen he sees.

Hey. So.

I should’ve said this a long time ago. But I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that.

And I don’t know if it makes any difference now, if any of this still matters and if you’ll even finish reading this letter. Maybe you’ll see my handwriting on this, sigh and put it away. Wouldn’t be surprised if you threw it away, either.But if you’re still here and reading this, then I need you to know something.

I found the ring today. While cleaning my closet, I found it buried under old ticket stubs and some rubbish paper, stuffed into the back of my closet, untouched for over a year. I don’t know why I kept it. I don’t know why I never got rid of it. 

I had this entire plan to ask you once the season was over, during the winter break in 2024. I thought about it for months. Where I’d do it, what I’d say, whether you’d laugh at me for being so nervous. I had imagined a hundred different versions of it in my head—sometimes in a place that meant something to us, sometimes when you least expected it, sometimes in the middle of some ordinary moment, because you always made the ordinary feel like more. But well, by the time we reached December, we weren’t the same anymore.

I’m sorry if hearing this makes you uncomfortable, but when I found it today, it still felt like it belonged to you.

It’s strange, the things you think you’ve moved past, the things you tell yourself you’ve let go of. You move forward, you keep busy, you fill your days with schedules and noise and people who don’t look at you the way you used to. You convince yourself that you’re okay. That it’s just life. That this is how things were meant to be.

And then you find something like this—something small, something tangible, something that holds the weight of everything you never said—and it knocks the air out of you.

I used to think that no matter how many flights I had to take, no matter how many nights we spent apart, no matter how much we had to bend to fit into each other’s lives, we would make it. That as long as we loved each other, we could find a way.

But you knew better, didn’t you?

You always saw things more clearly than I did. You knew that love alone wasn’t going to be enough to hold us together, not when I kept asking you to meet me in the middle without realizing my middle was always shifting. Not when I couldn’t give you the things you needed and I swear—it was not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how to.

I should have told you that I never let you go without a fight because I wanted to. I walked away because I thought it was the only way we’d both get what we deserved. You always told me I never knew how to slow down. I used to laugh it off, but maybe you were right. Maybe I only realized it too late.

You deserved someone who could put you first. Someone who wouldn’t spend half the year in different countries, someone who didn’t come home exhausted and drained, someone who wasn’t constantly pushing you to adjust to his life without knowing how to meet you halfway.

And I don’t even know what I deserved. But I know what I wanted. I know what I still want.

You.

It’s always been you.

And I know that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair for me to say this now, after all this time, after we tried and tried and still fell apart anyway. But the truth is, I never stopped trying. Even when I convinced myself I had. Even when I told myself I was doing the right thing by staying away. So forgive me for being selfish.

I think about you more than I should. I think about you when I land in a city I know you’d love, when I hear a song that reminds me of you, when I open my phone and my first instinct is still to tell you something before I remember I can’t.

So here’s what I need you to know—what I should have told you then, what I should have promised you when I still had the chance.I won’t ask you to adjust to me anymore. I won’t ask you to bend, to compromise, to give up parts of your life just to fit into mine. I won’t expect you to be the one making all the sacrifices, the one who has to keep up with the way my life moves. If we try again—if you let me have this chance—I promise I will learn how to meet you where you are.

And if you’ve reached here, but still don’t think this is worth it, I won’t try to change your mind. I won’t ask you for something you don’t want to give. But if there’s still a part of you that trusts me, that thinks this could work, then tell me. I won’t ask for anything more than that. Because I don’t want to let this slip away without knowing if there’s still something left to hold on to.

I can’t promise that things will be perfect, that we won’t have to figure things out as we go. But I can promise that I’ll try. That I won’t let the things that pulled us apart be the same things that keep us from trying again. I don’t know where this leaves us. But if there’s something still left here, I want to figure it out with you.

Lastly, I did not write this letter because I was too scared or not sincere enough to say this to your face. I wrote it because I needed to get it right, because if I tried to say all of this out loud, I don’t know if it would come out the way I wanted it to. Maybe I’d fumble my words, maybe I’d get caught up in everything I’m feeling and forget half of what I need to say. But this is everything, exactly as I mean it.

I’m sorry, I love you.

Seungcheol.

You read the letter once, twice, thrice, sitting down on the floor of your room. 

The first time, it doesn’t fully sink in. The second time, your eyes catch on certain words—the ring, I never stopped trying, I love you. By the third, you realize your fingers are gripping the pages too tightly, creasing the paper in places you shouldn’t.

You inhale, slow and shaky.

You should have expected this—you don’t know why, but you should have. Seungcheol was never the kind of person to leave things half-finished. He always had something to say, always had one more thing left in him, and now, even after everything, even after all this time, he’s still here. Still reaching for you in the only way he knows how.

The truth is—you believe him.

You believe that every word on this page is real, that he isn’t saying this just to pull you back into something fleeting. You believe that when he says he’ll meet you where you are, he means it. That when he asks if there’s still something left to hold on to, he’s not asking out of desperation—he’s asking because he’s ready to try.

And you trust him. 

The thought doesn’t surprise you much. You always have. Even when things fell apart, even when you told yourself it was better this way, even when you tried to move forward without looking back.

But now?

Now, he’s standing at the other end of the bridge, waiting. And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re the only one crossing it.

Your hands tremble slightly as you fold the letter along its creases. You stare at it for a little longer as if the words might change. As if you haven’t already memorized them.

But nothing changes. And deep down, you know—you don’t need to read it again. You already have your answer.

You inhale sharply, then push yourself up from the floor, legs stiff from sitting too long. Your head feels heavy, maybe from the lack of sleep, or from the toll this has been taking on you. But as you grab your keys from the kitchen counter downstairs, you realize you feel lighter than you have in a very, very long time. You’re sick of being uncertain, of hesitating.

So you open the door, step outside, and let yourself believe.

—

Seungcheol hears the knock, quiet but firm.

It’s late—too late for visitors. Still, he moves.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it’s you and for a moment, he’s surprised that you’re already here.

You stand there, breathing a little hard, arms wrapped around yourself like you only just realized how cold it is. No jacket, no hoodie, nothing but the clothes you must’ve been wearing at home. Like you didn’t even think before coming here.

And in your hand, his letter.

Neither of you speak.

Your fingers press into the paper, grip just tight enough to crumple it. The porch light flickers slightly, your eyes flitting to it quickly, before they settle back on him.

Seungcheol holds his breath and steps aside wordlessy to let you in.

You step inside without a word, the warmth of his house settling over you the moment the door clicks shut behind you. It should be a relief after the bite of the cold, but it isn’t—it barely registers.

Because Seungcheol is right there.

Close enough that you can hear his breathing, see the way his fingers flex slightly at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He doesn’t say anything—not yet. He just watches you, gaze flickering from your face to the letter still clutched in your hand.

For a moment, neither of you move.

The silence isn’t unfamiliar. You’ve had silences like this before, the kind that stretched between phone calls, between airports, between too many things left unsaid. But this one is different. This one is hopeful—you can sense it.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the letter before you finally hold it out to him.

“I read it,” you say, your voice quieter than you expected.

Seungcheol swallows, his throat bobbing as he glances at the paper, then back at you.

He doesn’t ask what you think or demand an answer. He just waits. It’s something new, this patience of his, and it makes your heart twist in your chest. Your fingers finally let the letter slip from your grasp, setting it down beside you without looking away from him.

"You meant all of it?" Your voice is quieter than you expect, calmer than you feel.

Seungcheol swallows, his throat bobbing slightly. “Yeah,” he says, “I meant all of it.”

You nod, shifting slightly on your feet. The warmth of his house is pressing into your skin now, but it’s not the heat from the room that’s making your heart spike—it’s him. It always has been. It’s the way he’s looking at you, careful but so open, like he’s letting you see everything without saying a single word.

And the truth is, you already know.

You’ve always known.

The realization settles over you, sinks its teeth into your skin, and for once, you let it.

You step forward, closing the space between the two of you, hesitating only for a split second before reaching for him, locking your hands behind his back. It’s instinct more than anything else, something your body remembers even if your heart has spent so long pretending to forget.

Seungcheol stiffens—you can feel it. But before you can pull away, his arms come up to encircle your waist, warm and familiar. 

You don’t know how long you stay like that, but it’s long enough for the tension to slip from your body, for his hand to smooth over the curve of your back, for the ache in your chest to settle into something more subdued. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, his breath fanning against the side of your face as he holds you like he’s afraid to let go.

And then, slowly, carefully, you pull back just enough to look at him.

His arms stay where they are, his hands settling lightly at your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

His gaze flickers down, just briefly, before finding yours again.

You lean in first, but Seungcheol’s quick to meet you down, half-way.

He reacts immediately, like he’d been waiting for this—for you. His hands tighten on your waist, his breath stuttering for just a moment before he kisses you back, like he’s trying to make up for every second he lost.

His fingers slide up to cup your face, tilting your head just right, pulling you closer. You let him, let yourself get lost in it, in him, in the way he still kisses you like he knows you, like he’s never forgotten what you like, what makes you sigh against his lips, what makes you grip onto him just a little tighter.

And then, slowly, the urgency fades.

His thumb brushes against your cheek, your fingers relax where they’ve been fisted in his shirt, and for a moment, all you can hear is the quiet sound of your breathing mixing in the space between you.

When you finally pull back, it isn’t all at once. Your lips part, but your foreheads stay pressed together, noses barely grazing. Seungcheol exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself.

Your fingers loosen where they’d been clutching his shirt, but instead of pulling away completely, his hand finds yours. You let his fingers slip and tighten between yours, a small, relieved sigh leaving your lips.

Eventually, Seungcheol leans back slightly, but he doesn’t let go.

He exhales, then nods toward the couch. “C’mere.”

You glance at it before looking at him again. He probably sees a sliver of hesitation, but it’s not because you don’t want to. Rather because it feels surreal, too easy after everything. But then his fingers squeeze yours, just barely, and it’s enough.

So you go.

You settle beside him, not pressed together, not too far apart—just close enough. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and absentminded, like it’s second nature. It is, you suppose. It’s surprisingly easy to slip back into old habits after trying so long to ignore and forget them.

“You’re freezing,” Seungcheol murmurs after a beat, squeezing your hand lightly.

You hum, shifting a little to get comfortable. “I kind of didn’t think too much after I read the letter and just, well, came.”

Your gaze flickers to the coffee table, where a motorsport magazine sits at the top of a messy stack. The cover is creased, the pages slightly bent from being flipped through too often.

“You’ve been keeping up?” you ask.

Seungcheol follows your gaze before sighing, almost guiltily. “I tried not to.” He pauses before slowly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Didn’t really work.”

You know how it feels. You never stopped watching his races either, even when you tried so hard to convince yourself that it was possible.

“Have you decided yet?”

He doesn’t pretend not to know what you mean. He breathes in deeply, tilting his head back against the couch.

“I told myself I wouldn’t take it.” Seungcheol says it with a sense of fake surety. He may believe it now. 

But sometimes you know him better than he knows himself. You know that Seungcheol has always had that fire in him. The burn to win, to be bigger, better. That ambition that you once respected, still do, but the same one that’s torn the two of you apart. The worst thing is that it is not something that can be dampened out. You can see it in his eyes, even now. His body is on a break, but you know that Aston offer has been running in his mind. Once you get addicted to that adrenaline, to that feeling of being the fastest person in the world, you can’t ever let it go. And Seungcheol isn’t anywhere close to being done. You know it.

And it hurts. Just a little, because you know he is about to leave again. Even before he’s made his decision, you know. But you have always loved Seungcheol and racing has been a part of his life almost as long as you have. You cannot take that away from him. You won’t. He belongs there, on track, in a car, fighting for his dreams and proving his worth.

You can only hope that he belongs here too, beside you on his couch, fingers running through your hair as he hums an old song under his breath.

But it’s about time you take that leap of faith again, and something tells you that you won’t fall down and scrape your knees this time.

The first time Seungkwan notices that something’s off, it’s on the late night coffee run that he drags the two of you to. 

Initially, he’d only meant to call you since you’re the only one who’d even come. So it surprises him to see Seungcheol behind you when you open your front door. Seungkwan doesn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s just here to give you something, or help you with something. Maybe there was a bug in your room and you yelled for him to come over and kill it. You do that sometimes. 

What other logical explanation would you have for him to be in your house past 10?

So thus, Mister Muscle ends up coming with you two, too.

In the convenience store, the cashier barely raises his head to look up at you guys, the glass door swinging shut behind you. Seungkwan heads straight for the coffee dispenser, mind running through all the tasks that he needs to complete before this week ends. File that report, write an email regarding missing documents from the 5th floor. Ask for an increase in vacation days. He needs to fix that printer tomorrow morning.

He notices you and Seungcheol move in sync without a word, making your way to the refrigerated drinks. He doesn’t follow immediately, and only watches for a few seconds as you pick out different drinks.

The store’s window seats are empty, so you slide into one, Seungkwan and Seungcheol taking the spots beside you. The glass reflects the neon signs outside, a soft glow spilling onto the counter in front of you.

Seungkwan tears open a protein bar, already mid-rant about something, while you set your drink down with a quiet thud, a mildly disgusted expression on your face.

Without a word, you reach for Seungcheol’s bottle instead.

You take it from his hand, twist the cap, and drink.

Seungcheol doesn’t react. Like it’s nothing, he just picks up your iced tea and takes a sip, barely glancing your way.

Seungkwan stops mid-chew.

Since when did you two start getting along so well? 

As the two of you look at him, expecting him to continue his rant, he convinces himself that it’s for the better anyway. At least some things are coming back to normal.

The second time, Seungkwan’s too sleepy to care at first.

He breathes out as he steps outside, barely awake, iced coffee in his hands but not doing much yet. His morning routine is automatic—walk out, wave to you, go to work. No thinking required.

But today, when he looks up toward your driveway, Seungcheol is there.

Seungkwan blinks, rubbing his eyes like maybe he’s still dreaming. But no, you’re definitely there, your metal water bottle in hand, listening to Seungcheol say something with that too-casual, too-familiar ease.

Seungkwan slows his steps.

You shift your bag higher up your shoulder. Seungcheol tilts his head slightly. 

Maybe Seungkwan’s still sleepy and bleary eyed, because for a second he swears he sees Seungcheol lean down to you. He also thinks you don’t move away either.

What was that?

And then it’s gone.

By the time Seungkwan gets close enough, you’re stepping back, tucking your keys into your pocket, like nothing just happened.

Seungcheol shakes his head, stretches his arms overhead like he’s just waking up, and steps away from the car when you finally notice him.

Seungkwan thinks you wave a little over-enthusiastically at 8 in the morning. Maybe you just slept well.

The third time, it’s at Jihoon’s house, just a casual hangout. The man had been isolating himself in his studio all week, and Seungkwan had thought that it was about time he came out of his hibernation.

Seungkwan sits cross-legged on the floor, next to the coffee table, searching for movies to play tonight. But when he looks up at you, his eyes narrow in on the way you and Seungcheol sit, way too close to each other when there’s so much space around you two.

It’s not even the way your legs bump every few minutes, or the quiet conversations you have that seem just a little too easy for two people who supposedly haven’t been together in a year.

Seungkwan finally begins to understand when he catches Seungcheol reaching for your hand. It’s so casual and normal that he doesn’t even think anything of it at first. It’s only when you glance up at him, after he fixes the bracelet on your hand that’s about to fall off, that he realizes.

It’s not a surprised glance, not a startled reaction, just a look that lingers. Like this isn’t the first time, like it won’t be the last.

And then, you smile.

It’s small, just barely there, but undeniably fond. Soft around the edges in a way that doesn’t belong to people still figuring things out.

And Seungcheol smiles back.

Seungkwan’s jaw drops slightly before he forces himself to tear his gaze away, feeling like he’s intruded on something very personal to them. He turns to look at Jihoon beside him, who only shakes his head, a small grin on his face.

“You knew?” Seungkwan asks, incredulously.

Jihoon doesn’t even look at him. “It really wasn’t that hard to figure out. Maybe you’re just a little dense.”

Seungkwan glares at him before turning his attention to you.

“Are you two back together again?”

“Yeah.” The answer comes out instantly, almost nonchalantly too. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just the simple truth, spoken like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Seungkwan blinks.

Jihoon huffs out a quiet laugh beside him, shaking his head like he saw this coming from a mile away.

He’s spent weeks piecing things together—watching, observing, feeling like he’s uncovering the fact that you two are starting to act lovey-dovey again—only to find out that you two have actually been back together this whole damn time?

He sighs sharply, rolling his eyes at the couple before turning to Jihoon again.

“So this is why you didn’t tell me.” Seungkwan swats his shoulder, “Pay up.”

Jihoon only sighs loudly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a neatly folded bill before wordlessly handing it over.

Seungkwan snatches it and shoves it into his own pocket.

“Thank you,” he says, voice smug.

You blink. “Wait—what?”

Seungkwan hums, crossing his arms pettily before leaning back into the sofa. “We bet on how long it would take you two to get back together.”

Your mouth falls open. “You bet on us?”

“Of course we did,” Jihoon mutters.

Seungcheol tilts his head, amused. “How long did you say?”

“Three months,” Jihoon answers.

Seungkwan scoffs, smug. “I said two.”

You fold your arms. “Wow. Love the faith you guys had in us.”

Jihoon shrugs. “You’re both kind of predictable.”

—

The house is quiet, the kitchen warm with the scent of food as you move around it together. It’s late, but neither of you are in a hurry.

Seungcheol stands behind you, arms locked at your waist. His breath on your neck makes you squirm a little, a small laugh leaving your lips. You twist in his grip, just enough to face him, and suddenly, you’re close.

Too close—the kind where your noses brush, soft and fleeting, as he tilts his head slightly.

Your breath catches for half a second, but Seungcheol just smiles, his arms pulling you in a little more. “What?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, nudging your nose against his in retaliation. “Can you just let me grab the plates in peace?”

He laughs—a warm, hearty sound—his forehead pressing lightly against yours. “I don’t really think you mind.”

Your fingers find their way around his neck before you even think about it, elbows resting lightly against his shoulders. Seungcheol hums and for a second, you think he’s about to kiss you when—

The front door unlocks.

Your stomach drops. Seungcheol’s arms fall away instantly, the warmth of his touch lingering even as you take a hurried step back.

“Oh.”

Your mom stands in the doorway, suitcase in hand, her brows lifting slightly as she takes in the sight of you both.

“Oh,” you echo, your voice a little too high, a little too fast.

Your dad steps in behind her, glancing up just in time to see the two of you standing too close, looking entirely too guilty. He blinks, his gaze shifting between you and Seungcheol, expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, he nods. “Huh.”

Seungcheol clears his throat, visibly struggling for words, one hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck while the other hangs uselessly at his side.

You, on the other hand, want the earth to swallow you whole.

“Welcome back!” you blurt out, voice strained. “You’re early!”

Your mom eyes you suspiciously before turning to Seungcheol. “Yes, well, we caught an early flight. Didn’t realize you’d be here too, sweetheart.”

Seungcheol, to his credit, doesn’t completely crumble under pressure. He musters up a sheepish smile. “Just—uh—helping out.”

Your mom’s expression softens almost immediately, her eyes flickering between the two of you before she exhales, a small, knowing smile forming on her lips.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, setting her suitcase down. “It’s good to see you both like this again.”

Your breath catches slightly, throat tightening at the gentle relief in her voice. Beside you, Seungcheol shifts, his shoulders relaxing,

Your father doesn’t say much. He only claps Seungcheol on the shoulder as he moves past you two with the suitcases. But as he walks ahead, his voice drifts back to you, muttering under his breath.

“Who was it that said two months? Was it Jihoon or Seungkwan? Gotta pay them now, damn it…”

Seungcheol freezes. You blink.

What?

Your mom sighs, following after him like this is a normal conversation. “You can just be happy for them, you know.”

“I am happy,” your dad grumbles. “I just thought I had more time before I had to hand over the money. Those silly boys roped me into their bet.”

Seungcheol presses his lips together, struggling to hold back a laugh.

“Why has everyone been betting on us?” You exclaim, throwing your hands up as you turn to your father.

“Because it’s only ever been a matter of time when it comes to you two,” He sighs, shaking his head at the two of you as he disappears into his room.

You gape at his exiting figure, before dragging a palm over your face. “This is fucking insane.”

Seungcheol almost snorts, stepping away when you try to swat him.

Seungcheol is stretched out on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding his phone at an angle. You’re sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, skimming through something on your laptop, barely paying attention to anything beyond the soft hum of the heater and the occasional click of your keyboard.

It isn’t until the familiar sound of engines fills the quiet that you glance up.

His phone screen reflects off his face, but from this angle, you can’t see what he’s watching.

“Has testing begun?” You question, standing up to walk over to him.

Seungcheol grunts a little as he pushes himself up to make space for you, holding his phone out so that you can see too. He nods as you sit beside him, leaning into you as his eyes stay fixed on the screen.

You watch him, a little carefully. Seungcheol’s brows are furrowed in concentration and his eyes flick across, analyzing, checking. His fingers tighten around his phone slightly, his jaw set in focus. Every so often, his thumb taps idly against the side of the device, a habit he’s never really shaken. His eyes flicker across the screen, sharp and intent, following the cars as if he’s trying to place himself back in the cockpit.

You hum softly, resting your chin against your knee. “You’re still keeping up with everything?”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose, finally leaning back against the couch. “Not really,” he says, but the way he doesn’t look at you makes it feel like a lie.

You don’t push, just let the moment pass as another driver’s onboard appears on screen.

“That car looks good,” he mutters, nodding toward one of them on screen. “Stable through the high-speed corners, barely any correction on exit.”

You blink, glancing at the timing bar. “Williams?”

He scoffs. “Yeah. But you can’t trust anything yet.”

“Sandbagging?” you guess.

“Mhm.” Seungcheol nods. “The bigger teams always run heavy in testing, low power mode. You won’t know their real pace until the first race.”

You glance back at the screen, watching as another car rolls into frame—this time, a deep green, with a small rake of aero sensors still attached to the side.

You hesitate for only a second before saying, “What do you think about them?”

Seungcheol doesn’t react immediately. He watches for a few more seconds, his expression unreadable, before he breathes in deeply.

“You never know,” he murmurs. “It’s just testing.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

Neither do you.

Instead, you think of the meeting you had yesterday, the offer sitting in your inbox—marked as important.

—

You don’t expect to see Seungcheol outside at 8 A.M. when you close your front door behind you and make your way to the driveway to go to work.

But there he is—standing by his driveway, shaking out his damp hair, dressed in a hoodie unzipped over a sweat-soaked shirt. There’s a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his gym shoes still on, like he just got back.

Your fingers pause over your keys. It’s early. Not too early for you, but early enough that he shouldn’t be up unless he had somewhere to be.

Seungcheol spots you almost immediately. His face shifts into something easy, something warm, as he steps closer.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still a little rough from the cold air.

You glance at him. “You’ve been out?”

He hums, nodding as he adjusts the strap of his bag. “Yeah. Gym.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “At this hour?”

Seungcheol grins, leaning in to press a quick, fleeting kiss to your lips before you can say anything else. But when he pulls back, you’re still looking at him, eyes narrowed.

“How long have you been up?”

He sighs like he already knows what’s coming, before tilting his head slightly. “Four?”

Your stare sharpens. “Seungcheol.”

He laughs, stepping back slightly, like he knows he’s caught. “What? I couldn’t sleep.”

You cross your arms, watching as he shifts his weight from one foot to another, fingers tapping absently against his duffel bag. He doesn’t look tired, but he doesn’t look at ease either. His body is still holding onto that restlessness that he hasn’t figured out how to shake.

“You’re working out a lot,” you say finally, voice careful.

Seungcheol shrugs. “It’s just habit.”

You watch the way his gaze shifts slightly, the way his shoulders tense.

And maybe you shouldn’t say it—at least, not yet. But the words slip out anyway.

“You aren’t used to not prepping hard around this time, are you?”

For the first time, his expression falters just slightly.

It’s quick—so quick that if you weren’t watching him this closely, you might have missed it. But it’s there. That brief flicker of something in his eyes, something unsure, something lost.

He exhales, looking away for half a second. “Yeah.”

You nod, watching him straighten up.

“But not this year,” you murmur.

Seungcheol tries brushing it off like it’s nothing. “Nope.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, carefully, you tilt your head. “And you’re okay with that?”

He doesn’t reply right away. It gives you the answer you needed. 

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you pipe up again, “Do you have any plans today?”

He laughs a little at that, “Yep. Busy schedule. I need to rot in bed, get out of my room, roam around the kitchen and go back in again until my girlfriend decides to come back home.”

You smile softly, before stepping closer, reaching up to fix a stray strand of hair sticking to his forehead. He stills for half a second before leaning into the touch, eyes flickering down to yours.

“I’ll see you when I get back, Cheol. I have something to talk to you about.” You admit as you step back.

He nods slowly, before motioning for you to get into your car. “Sure, I’ll see you then. Have fun at work!”

You shake your head as you shut the car door, putting on a sour expression. It makes him laugh, so you guess that’s half the mission accomplished for today.

—

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed when Seungcheol walks in, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the doorframe, watching you with a smile.

“You never knock,” you mutter without looking up.

“You never lock your door,” he counters, stepping inside like he belongs there.

You huff out a small breath, shaking your head as he settles onto the bed beside you. He stretches his legs out, arms propped behind him, fingers tapping lightly against your blankets. He’s comfortable, always is when he’s here, but there’s something knowing in his gaze, like he’s been waiting for you to speak first.

Seungcheol tilts his head. “You look like you’re overthinking.”

You press your lips together before sighing. “Maybe.”

He hums. “Want to tell me what’s up, or should I start guessing?”

You hesitate, picking absently at a loose thread on your sleeve. No point in dragging it out.

“I got a job offer,” you say.

His brows lift slightly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “It’s in the UK.”

Seungcheol doesn’t react right away. His fingers still against the bed, but there’s no visible surprise—just a slow, careful inhale as he absorbs it.

“That’s big,” he says after a moment. His voice is steady, even. “A good one?”

You nod again. “Better position, bigger projects.”

He watches you for a second longer. “And?”

You sigh, leaning back against the headboard. “And… I don’t know.”

Seungcheol adjusts his position so he’s facing you fully now. “You don’t know what?”

“If I should take it,” you admit.

He tilts his head. “Do you want to?”

You hesitate, the words catching somewhere in your throat. Because it’s not that simple, is it?

Seungcheol must notice because he doesn’t say anything right away—just waits, gaze unwavering.

“It’s not just moving—it’s starting over. A new city, a new routine. Everything changes.” You pause. “Including us.”

Something flickers in his expression, but it’s gone too fast for you to catch.

Instead, he exhales, nodding. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

You blink at him. “You’re not going to tell me I’m overthinking?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “No. I mean, you are overthinking, but it’s a big decision. You should take your time.”

You purse your lips. “And what if I don’t know what the right choice is?”

Seungcheol tilts his head, considering. “Then you think about what scares you more—taking it, or not taking it.”

His words sink in slowly.

You chew on your lip. “What if both scare me?”

He smiles, just slightly. “Then you take the one that moves you forward.”

For a moment, you just look at him.

“You always make things sound so easy.”

Seungcheol sighs, lips quirking. “That’s because it is.”

You shake your head, but there’s a warmth in your chest, the feeling of being sure and unsure at the same time.

After a few moments of silence, carefully, you say, “It’s funny, though.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What is?”

“How things happen at the right time,” you murmur, eyes flickering to his. “Me getting this now. And you with the—” You cut yourself off, shrugging slightly.

“The what?” Seungcheol asks, casually. Too casually.

You sigh, slumping down onto the bed, beside him. “Come on, Cheol. Aston Martin. They're based there too. How long are you going to make them wait?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “This isn’t the same thing.”

“Is it not?” You hum, waiting, still patient.

“No. This is different. You got an actual offer.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what did Aston give you? A suggestion?”

Seungcheol huffs, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Seungcheol shuts his eyes close, breathing in deep. You know he doesn’t want to have this conversation now, but it hurts you to see him like this.

So you mutter, a little softer now, “How long are you going to pretend like you aren’t thinking about it?”

His gaze flicks to you at that, caught.

Seungcheol looks away. “It’s not about thinking about it. It’s about—” He stops, running a hand over his face. “It’s about if I even should.”

You’re not too surprised, but hearing it from him takes you aback for a second. Still, you don’t waver. “And what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know,” He mumbles, quietly.

“Then try and figure it out, Cheol.” You say, still looking at him.

Seungcheol keeps quiet for a long minute before he sighs, a little reluctant. “What if I come back and I’m not good enough anymore?”

You shift closer, reaching out ,your hand settling over his. “Seungcheol.”

He doesn’t look up immediately, but he doesn’t pull away either.

“You know what I think?” you murmur.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly. “What?”

You squeeze his hand. “I think if you didn’t believe you could still do it, you wouldn’t be struggling with this so much.”

Seungcheol’s breathing comes out slower this time.

“You’ve been restless, working out like you’re still in pre-season,” you continue. “You follow testing, you analyze race strategy even when you pretend you’re just watching for fun.” You pause. “You’ve been waiting for someone to tell you to go back. But the only person who can make that choice is you.”

His jaw tightens slightly, like he knows you’re right but doesn’t want to admit it.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” you add. “But I know you, Seungcheol. And you don’t walk away from things unless you know you’re done. And you know that you aren’t done with this. Are you?”

Finally, he looks at you.

Seungcheol’s throat bobs as he swallows. His fingers curl into the blankets, and when he finally exhales, it’s slow. Careful.

“No,” he says quietly.

You nod, like you knew this answer was coming. Because you did.

His fingers tighten around yours.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “I think I’ve always known.”

You smile, just slightly. “So what’s stopping you?”

Seungcheol exhales, but this time, he doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, his thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow, thoughtful. His gaze flickers downward. And when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter—more hesitant than before.

“…What about us?”

Your breath catches slightly, because you hadn’t expected him to ask that first.

He lifts his gaze back to yours, eyes searching. “If I do this,” he murmurs, “I’m going to be gone all the time again. I’ll be at the factory, traveling for races, testing. If I go back… I don’t want things to fall apart again.”

The words settle heavily between you.

Because he’s right.

If he does this, it’ll be different from before—but in some ways, it’ll be the same. He’ll be just as busy, maybe even more. And after everything you’ve been through, he’s scared that history will repeat itself.

You inhale slowly, squeezing his hand. “You’re thinking too far ahead,”

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh. “Someone has to.”

You tilt your head. “Why do you always assume the worst?”

“I’m trying to be realistic.”

You pause, then gently, “Then be realistic about this, too. I don’t think we’re the same people we were back then, Cheol.”

His expression softens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“We already lost each other once,” you continue. “We know what it feels like. And I don’t think either of us wants to go through that again.”

Seungcheol swallows. “No,” he says quietly. “We don’t.”

You nod, voice softer now. “Then we won’t.”

Seungcheol exhales slowly, then sits up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck. For a moment, he just presses his palms against his knees, staring at the floor like he’s letting it all settle in. Then, with a slow breath, he nods.

You watch as he reaches for his phone, turning it over in his hands. His fingers hover over the screen for a second before he glances at you, something steadier in his gaze now.

“I should probably stop putting this off.”

You nod, lips curling slightly. “Yeah.”

He exhales, tapping at the screen, and just before he brings the phone to his ear, he glances at you one last time.

And this time, there’s no hesitation.

BAHRAIN, PRE-SEASON TESTING, DAY-1

February 25th, 2027

“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL RETURNS TO FORMULA 1 WITH ASTON MARTIN—SET TO WORK WITH ADRIAN NEWEY.”

After months of speculation, four-time world champion Seungcheol Choi is officially returning to Formula 1 with Aston Martin, marking one of the most highly anticipated comebacks in the sport’s recent history.

The Korean driver, who departed with Ferrari and stepped away from F1 following the 2025 season, will be rejoining the grid just as Aston Martin embarks on a new era of technical leadership under Adrian Newey. With Newey’s expertise in car development and Choi’s proven track record, expectations are already high for the team’s future.

“I’m excited for this next chapter,” Choi said in a statement. “Aston Martin has shown incredible ambition, and with Adrian on board, I have no doubt that we can build something special.”

His return raises questions about the competitive landscape of F1 moving forward, with Aston Martin aiming to challenge the front-runners in 2027. With pre-season testing in Bahrain starting today, all eyes will be on Choi as he steps back into the cockpit for the first time in over a year.

The Bahraini air is dry as usual, the morning sun bright across the paddock as the first day of testing begins. The garages are alive with movement—engineers making final checks, mechanics making last minute changes, cameras capturing every detail.

And at the center of it all, Seungcheol stands in Aston Martin’s green.

The suit fits like it always has. The gloves slide on without hesitation. When he pulls the balaclava over his head, it feels like no time has passed at all.

But it has.

He knows it. Everyone here knows it.

He breathes slowly as he steps toward the AMR27, sleek under the artificial lights of the garage. 

Seokmin crouches beside him, grinning like he’s been waiting for this day just as much as Seungcheol has.

“Well,” Seokmin says, knocking on his helmet lightly. “You look good in green.”

Seungcheol snorts, shaking his head. “Better than red?”

Seokmin hums, pretending to think about it. “The red was iconic. Give it some time.”

Seungcheol laughs, the sound being muffled by his helmet.

A familiar voice crackles through his earpiece.

“Alright, Cheol, let’s get you out there.”

Seungcheol glances at his steering wheel, a small smile pulling at his lips. He knew this was happening, but still—it feels surreal to hear his old Ferrari race engineer, still here, still speaking to him over the radio. Adjusting to a new team has been challenging, but this makes it a little bit easier.

And then, his gaze shifts past the mechanics, past the flashing screens, toward the edge of the garage to where you’re standing—arms crossed, standing just outside the blur of engineers, watching him like you always have.

This is right.

This is where he’s supposed to be.

You tilt your head slightly, smiling just enough for him to catch it. It’s small, barely there, but he knows what it means.

Seungcheol lifts a gloved hand, throwing you a thumbs up. It makes you smile a little wider.

Seungcheol rolls the car out of the garage and into the end of the pit lane, engine idling as he waits for the session to go green.

To his left, the Red Bull pulls up.

Seungcheol glances over just as Haechan does the same. Two time world champion now. Let’s see if we can keep up.

Without hesitation, Haechan lifts a hand and gives him a small wave.

Simple and casual. A ‘Welcome back.’

The light flicks green.

Seungcheol exhales, nods once and pulls out onto the track.

tagging: @sojuxxi @the-vena-cava @cl41rsblog @coupsma @stupendouschildnerd @selenethings @yawnozone @syluslittlecrows @angelarin @ceruissleeping @smiileflower @minjiech @stwrlightt @archivistworld @livelaughloveseventeen @exomew @starshuas @fancypeacepersona @znzlii @gyuguys @luxmoonlight @reiofsuns2001 @blckorchidd @teddybeartaetae @ddeulgiabs-blog @kookiedesi

[pappigyu]

Obsession in Bloom

Pairing: Yandere!Seungcheol x Reader Genre: Psychological Thriller, Romance, Angst Warnings: Obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, possessiveness, mild violence (later), unhealthy relationship

(a/n - had this in my drafts for ages. Felt like posting it. DIDN'T PROOFREAD ANYTHING)

Chapter 1: First Glance

You always thought you'd met Seungcheol by accident.

It was a rainy Tuesday, one of those days where the sky couldn't decide if it wanted to cry or scream. Your umbrella had flipped inside out, useless against the sharp gusts of wind. You were soaked by the time you ducked into the nearest coffee shop, shivering and miserable.

That's when you saw him. Seungcheol.

He looked like he belonged in a painting: dark hair damp from the rain, a black hoodie clinging to his frame, eyes sharp and deep, following you the moment you entered. He smiled at you — and it was a kind smile, at first glance. Warm, almost comforting.

You didn’t know it then. But that was the moment he decided you were his.

"Rough day?" he called out, when you were shaking water off your sleeves near the counter.

You laughed awkwardly, embarrassed. "Yeah, you could say that."

He pushed his coffee cup toward you without hesitation. "Here. It's still hot. You need it more than I do."

You blinked at him, surprised at the sudden kindness from a stranger. You should have said no. You should have walked away.

Instead, you smiled back. And that was all he needed.

Chapter 2: Closer

It started small.

You noticed him around town more often. At the grocery store. On your walk home. Waiting at the bus stop across the street from your building. He always waved, always smiled, always made a little comment about how "coincidental" it was to run into you again.

At first, it was... flattering.

You'd been lonely. Busy with work, stressed about life. Having someone look at you like you were the center of the universe was a strange, dangerous kind of comfort.

One evening, after a long shift, you came home to find a small bag hanging from your doorknob. Inside was a container of your favorite soup from the cafe downtown — the one you always ordered.

No note. Just the food. Still warm.

You told yourself it was a neighbor being kind. You told yourself you were imagining the dark figure you spotted across the street, watching from the shadows.

Chapter 3: The Bloom of Obsession

Seungcheol wanted to be everywhere you were. Needed to be.

He learned your routines — what time you woke up, which mornings you grabbed coffee, the nights you stayed late at work. He memorized the way you smiled when you were proud of yourself, the little sigh you made when you were frustrated.

He collected pieces of you, like flowers pressed between the pages of a book.

He filled notebooks with your name, wrote down conversations you had, hoarded scraps of your life like they were holy relics.

And the more he had, the more he needed. The more he loved you, the more he ached.

It wasn't fair that other people could look at you. It wasn't fair that you laughed with friends, smiled at coworkers, existed in a world that wasn't exclusively his.

He told himself he was patient. Good things took time.

But when you mentioned — casually, stupidly — that you had a date next Friday, something inside him cracked.

You didn't see it. The way his jaw clenched. The way his hand tightened around the glass he was holding, until it spiderwebbed into pieces.

You just laughed. "Wish me luck?"

He smiled.

"Of course," he said. But that night, he followed you home.

And he didn’t leave.

Chapter 4: Thorns

It started subtly.

You couldn’t find your favorite lipstick one morning. Your phone, charged and ready the night before, was dead by morning.

Little things.

Then bigger things.

Your door sometimes clicked open when you swore you had locked it. You found footprints on the balcony when you lived on the fifth floor. You woke up once to your bedroom window slightly ajar, curtains fluttering.

You told your friends. They told you you were paranoid.

Seungcheol agreed. He offered to stay over sometimes — just to make you feel safe.

"You shouldn’t be alone," he said, voice low and concerned, hand brushing yours with just enough pressure to make your heart skip.

"I don't know, Cheol..." you hesitated.

He smiled, slow and easy. "You trust me, don't you?"

You did. You thought you did.

Chapter 5: In His Hands

Seungcheol moved himself into your life so gradually, you barely noticed until he was everywhere.

You woke up to him cooking breakfast in your kitchen. He started leaving clothes in your closet, toothbrushes in your bathroom. He took your spare key, promising it was "just in case."

You never remembered giving it to him.

Sometimes you caught him staring at you — too long, too intense — like he was memorizing you again, burning you into his mind.

"You’re mine," he whispered once, when he thought you were asleep, breath warm against your ear. "I'll protect you. Always."

The scariest part? A part of you believed him.

Because Seungcheol was good to you. He brought you flowers. Held you when you cried. Made your favorite meals without asking.

He made it so easy to depend on him. So easy to need him.

And once you needed him — you could never leave.

Chapter 6: The Cage

The day you tried to leave was the day you realized just how far gone he was.

You had packed a single bag. You weren’t sure where you would go. You just knew you needed to breathe.

But when you opened your front door, Seungcheol was already standing there.

Smiling.

Holding a small bouquet of daisies — your favorite.

"Going somewhere?" he asked softly.

You stumbled over your words, heart hammering. "I — I just needed some air."

He tilted his head, studying you. For a long, terrifying moment, he said nothing.

Then, still smiling, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face.

"You don't need air," he said gently. "You need me."

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The lock turned.

And just like that, you were his.

(to be continued...)

[wooahoe]

how svt would help you when you’re crashing out a bit

dory’s notes: because all of my irls think i’m either adhd or autistic or both and honestly i’m starting to believe them because there’s no way that this level of crashout/burnout/dysfunction is normal. man it’s bad bad like you know it’s bad when your hw list for spring break is 40+ items long and it’s mostly just late work that your teachers let you make up. also when your teacher tells you to get help. it’s okay 😎 fuck it we ball

cw: swearing, a lil bit of crying, implied neurodivergent reader but tbh reader could just be depressed. man idk reader is just burnt out that’s all u need to know.

wc: 549

🎧 saranghey❕dory’s playlist — @maestro-net

—

scoups, jun, vernon

they would be the type that wouldn’t want to disturb any sort of attempts at productivity that you’re trying to make, but they’re also worried for you. worried enough where they’d mention maybe taking a break, or getting you up and out of that chair. they’d remind you to take your meds and drink water, let you use their headphones once yours have died, would definitely bring you snacks every once in a while, and if it gets too bad, maybe gently force you to take a nap. they’d make sure you had plenty of their shirts you had dubbed the best material on standby, so you could be as productive as possible without being overstimulated. would be very sweet but probably not all that helpful production wise. but!! they will hold you while you cry and rant about your frustrations, and honestly, that’s all you could ask for.

jeonghan, hoshi, the8, seungkwan, dino

they are not going to let you rot in that chair and wallow in your frustration. no, you are getting up and going with them for a walk. what do you mean you can’t? you haven’t eaten, moved around, used the restroom, or drank water for the past six hours. you need this !! (any attempts at waving them off are futile) they’d either try and get you to move your work spot, or, if that isn’t possible, take a small break with them. whether it’s to eat, nap, dance, or just sit there with them and talk about anything that’s on your mind. you need to let yourself rest, even if it’s just for a little bit. (jeonghan, hoshi, and seungkwan jokingly mention you just not finishing your work entirely, but the glare you send them is enough for them to shut up on the matter entirely.) they know that sitting in front of that screen isn’t going to do you any good, at least not for the next half hour. might as well spend it with them, and just let your brain turn off for a little while. they know how much you need it.

joshua, wonwoo, woozi, dokyeom, mingyu

probably the most helpful out of the bunch. they’d try and actively help you make the situation better/more productive. is the vibe in the room wrong to you? okay, maybe try his room. are you just dehydrated? he’ll bring you more water every hour or so. they’d text you to remind you to do your normal human activities (drink water, eat a little something, use the restroom, etc etc) and make sure you’re giving yourself a break every once in a while. if none of this is working, well, then, they’re not gonna stop until they find something that does work for you. but they also know that you’re probably emotionally drained, too, and while they know you can’t exactly stop working right now, they’re going to make sure that when you do allow yourself a break, the two of you are going to have to talk. this situation of coping isn’t healthy, and they know the both of you know it. but if the temporary solution is just a power nap? well, then they’re more than happy to oblige: your bed is calling you, and their arms are waiting.

—

a/n: man what if i just become a hs dropout and audition for like. idk. the new hybe america thingie (i can’t sing or dance)

taglist: @sousydive @dreamingofpcy @junplusone @mary1618rosie-blog @iris65 — wanna join my taglist?

[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment. — WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.

here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:

you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.

joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.

but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.

which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:

“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”

“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.

“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.

you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.

“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”

which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.

you unlock the door, push it open,

and immediately wish you hadn’t.

seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.

your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.

the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.

he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.

the next few seconds happen in slow motion.

his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.

“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.

you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”

“what about joshua?!”

“he… he needed a document.”

seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”

“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”

“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”

“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”

“HE’S NOT HERE.”

“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”

but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”

you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.

back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.

so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.

“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.

you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.

“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.

seungcheol tenses. “so?”

“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”

he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.

so you take a step forward. just one.

his breath hitches.

“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”

he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.

so you take another step.

and another.

until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.

his jaw tightens. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”

in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.

you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.

his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”

you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.

so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

“or what?” you whisper.

his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”

your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”

he snaps.

the shirt under you is gone.

his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.

you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt. 

his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.

the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”

no warning. just that.

you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.

there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.

seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.

but he’s not.

because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.

and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.

so he helps.

his hands clamp down on your waist.

and then he slams you down.

the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.

because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.

but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.

your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.

you can’t move.

“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.

“too big for you, baby?”

you whimper.

“thought so.”

and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.

and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.

“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”

you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips. 

his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.

he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.

“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”

you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.

and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”

a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.

he groans, grinding up into you.

“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”

your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.

and he sees it.

his grin turns cruel.

“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”

you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.

“poor little thing.”

he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.

and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.

“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”

his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”

he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.

“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.

“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”

his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.

“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”

he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.

“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”

heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.

“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”

his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”

he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.

you shatter.

your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.

it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.

your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you. 

the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.

seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.

“you good?” 

you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”

he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.

his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”

you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.

you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.

you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.

you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.

his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.

“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.

you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”

he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.

you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.

he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.

the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.

his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.

your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.

your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”

you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.

he sees it. he knows.

his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.

your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.

but then—a whimper.

not from you.

from him.

you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.

seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.

he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.

“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”

your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”

he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.

your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.

seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.

your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.

your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.

you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.

but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.

the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.

but it’s enough to make him look at you.

you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.

then it hits you.

the documents.

joshua.

fuck.

your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”

seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”

he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”

you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”

“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”

your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”

“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”

“no.”

he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”

you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.

yeah. you can fight him about the joshua thing later. maybe. probably not.

[cheol-e-kat]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (for parts one and two - otherwise, you'll be lost)

pairing: choi seungcheol/ f!reader 

summary: seungcheol and y/n didn't meet in a traditional way, and they aren't a traditional couple, but they have an intense connection that only grows when y/n realizes she's pregnant.

word count:  3.0k -- fic in progress

genre: smut, neighbors au, seasons of the year au, age gap, older!cheol, college/grad student!reader, pregnancy au

rating: 18+, mdni, explicit

a/n: also thank youuuuuu to @scoupshawty for reading this part because i wasn't sure about it and def hadn't planned out what happened - so thanksss for reading and telling me your thoughst and generally hyping me ^^

♡ kat

master list & tag list

warnings (for this part): hand job, oral sex, fingering, possessive behavior, penetrative sex, messy sex, pregnancy mentioned

𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 & 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

⋆.˚

He felt her press against his side in her sleep. he had to be awake, meanwhile, y/n’s winter break had only started. He was envious. She didn’t have to go outside in the cold - she got to stay inside where it was warm and cozy. 

His alarm hadn’t gone off yet. He glanced at the clock to see he had ten minutes left before he officially needed to wake up. He sighed deeply enough for her to stir. She nuzzled closer to him. 

“Go back to sleep,” she murmured. 

He smiled. “I have to wake up.”

She whined softly, “Not yet, though.”

“Like ten minutes.”

He knew she was pouting even if he couldn’t see her. She turned over and kissed his chest before leaning up to look at him. 

“You are taking some time off aren’t you?” she asked. 

He nodded. “Next week and the week after,” he reassured her. She had made him promise to take time off. Every time she saw him since the summer, she told him he worked too much. Even in the summer, actually. 

She wasn’t wrong, but usually, what else did he have to do? play video games and? And nothing. 

Half his friends were married. Then another half were engaged, and the rest were either with someone or looking for someone. 

He was the only one who hadn’t actively been looking. He hadn’t been on a date in ages. Apps freaked him out. He hadn’t fucked in months before her, at least months, probably more. 

And then she appeared out of nowhere. Perfect and sweet. He hadn’t told his friends about her immediately - he was too afraid it wasn’t serious for her. Every day he saw her in the summer was like a countdown to when she would go back to uni and some guy her own age. 

But then it didn’t. She went back and sent texts all along the way. He thought she would have written him off. Instead, the first texts he got from her were how she already missed him and asking about when he would visit. 

They talked almost every day and saw each other at least every few weeks, if not more. She wasn’t that far away. 

He would drive up and spend his weekends at her apartment, going to cute local coffee shops on Saturday mornings. His hoodies and bed head fit in perfectly in a college town. 

And he liked the way she always stood close to him in line, pulling his hand gently or leaning against him so she could say some silly thing. He would find himself leaning in to kiss her cheek, smiling as he did. 

Then Sunday mornings were for staying in bed and fucking until they were both breathless and maybe boneless. He could lie there all day, or until she decided lunch should exist and would disappear to make something. 

And then he would lie in her bed, stretching out under the cool sheets and savoring the fact that it was him who got to join her in it. Not the obnoxious guys he constantly saw eyeing her. 

He had been annoyed by them maybe the first weekend he visited her, right up until he saw the way she shut one of them down - the menacing glint in her eye as she told one of them to ‘fuck off’, she was ruthless. 

And then she looked back at him the way she always did, eyes filled with affection, like he was the only person in the room with her. He almost wondered if he should be afraid sometimes, not for himself, but for other people - anyone who bothered her or him.

He loved her apartment too - it was very her. The ‘her’ he had seen the winter before. The ‘her’ who got up early to go to a grocery store and came back with tons of ingredients, and then snuggled under her blankets half the day reading. 

He felt like there were maybe, at least, a million books neatly scattered around her apartment. In piles against the tall windows and walls, mixed in with plants. There was always sunlight streaming in during the day, and only lamps in the evening and at night - never the “big” light, it was very obviously her space.

The only thing he hadn’t liked was realizing that she lived alone and didn’t have an alarm system or anything. She had rolled her eyes, saying that it was a “super safe” neighborhood. He had looked at her skeptically and immediately started looking at how to add her apartment to his account. 

She had been mildly annoyed about a technician showing up the next week - mostly because she liked to sleep late. Besides that she had thanked him and said it was probably smart, even if it made him sound like her parents. 

He knew she had told her parents she was seeing someone, but not who. And she knew he had only told a few of his friends. 

The holidays were when they were both supposed to tell people. He guessed that some of his friends might have questions. And he absolutely dreaded the idea of going to her parents’ holiday party. 

⋆˙⟡

He suddenly felt her kissing him. Her warm lips dragged him out of his thoughts and back to the present. He groaned when she palmed his cock. He had been missing weekday morning sex. 

She pulled away. “I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered as she leaned up. 

He watched her move to sit between his thighs. She pulled the waist of his pajama pants and underwear down, and jerked him off as she kissed his stomach and then began licking his cock before taking him between her lips. 

He loved the way she went down on him. It was noisy and sloppy and never too quick because she enjoyed teasing him and playing with him. She moaned as much as he did. 

She pulled away before he came. He watched her take off her shirt. “Come here,” he whispered, knowing she would when she had done what she wanted. 

Her hands went to her breasts for a moment - he watched her squeeze and tease herself before she leaned over him, letting him top her and squeeze and suck her tits for himself. 

He kissed just between her breasts, palming each as he did and kissing them in turn. He pressed them together, squeezing them as he sucked one nipple and then the other. She moaned and played with his hair as he did. 

“Feels so good,” she whimpered as she pulled his hair teasingly.

“Missed this so much,” he mumbled as he pulled away from her. 

She nodded and bit her lip. “Me too.” She smiled as he began to tease her open. 

“Always so wet for me, baby.”

She grinned. “Course I am,” she groaned as his fingers went deeper, “who wouldn’t be for you?”

He loved when she fed his ego. Especially when she was so blatant about it. But he also knew she was serious - he knew he turned her on. He knew she missed him and his cock. 

He didn’t tease her, instead, he went straight in, filling her in a single quick motion. He watched the way she reacted - her eyes closing, her lips parting for her to moan as her hands searched blindly for anything to grasp onto. 

“Mmhm,” she breathed, “feels so fucking good,” she whined. 

He nodded, pulling out slowly and slamming back into her. “Feels fucking perfect,” he said with a smirk. He fucked her in earnest then, knowing just how to get them both where they needed to be. 

He liked when they came together. He sucked his fingers before sliding them down to stroke her clit. She gasped in surprise at the contact. Her fingernails scraped over his shoulders and down his chest. 

He could only smile - it was so cute to him when she left marks. He slowed down a bit, pushing deeper and rolling his hips more precisely as he teased her clit. 

“Come on, princess, you know you want to let go for me,” he murmured. 

She nodded in response. He moaned softly and shifted his hand to her low stomach, pressing down, adding pressure for her. He snapped his hips faster, making rough contact with her. 

“Relax,” he breathed, determined to make her orgasm. 

She whined and pushed him back. He pulled out and watched her move onto all fours and offer herself up to him. He blinked slowly, wondering how the actual fuck he met her. 

He plunged into her happily, fucking her faster and harder, whatever she needed. 

He felt her come. He heard her gasp and whine, and he felt the intense way her pussy squeezed him as her juices flowed around him, dripping down her inner thighs and his cock and balls. 

He only needed a few more thrusts to fill her. He slumped against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to the side with him. Lying there, he dozed for a few minutes, his cock still inside her. 

He heard his phone ping, though. The cursed second alarm he always left set. “Fuck,” he groaned and slowly parted from her. 

He got up and went to start the shower. He came back for her, though, waking her up gently. “Want to shower too?” he asked. 

She watched him through half-closed eyes for a few moments before nodding and getting up. 

⋆˙⟡

They didn’t fool around in the shower. He wasn’t exactly in a rush, but he didn’t want to be late. And while he was brushing his teeth, she was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, scrolling. 

He glanced to see her looking confused for a moment before getting up to peek out the bathroom shutters. “Oh,” she muttered. 

His toothbrush timer hadn’t gone off. “Hmm?” he asked through a mouthful of toothpaste. He only looked mildly rabid. 

She bit her lip. “It’s snowing,” she said with a small laugh. 

Their area didn’t usually get snow so early. “Really?” he asked as he finished brushing. 

He left the sink to look outside and immediately saw the thick blanket of white covering the back yard. “Wow,” he whispered. 

“Are you sure you have to go in?”

He shrugged, “I wouldn’t think so, but they’re insane.” He was still watching the little flurries he could see still coming down. “Maybe a work from home day?” he had no idea. 

He all but ran downstairs to grab his work phone and check his email. And there was the reprieve - a weather warning. He grinned at the idea of staying home. 

Staying home, and the fact that, outside of his immediate family, he had never spent the holidays with anyone. Even the longer-term relationships he had been in, it just hadn’t been the right time of the year or the right time in the relationship. It always felt like too much - too big of a commitment. 

But when she came down looking amazingly perky, he was simply glad about everything. Glad he had already picked out and bought her gift. Glad she was there with him. Glad he had absolutely nowhere else to be. 

“So?” she asked as she headed towards the kitchen. He smiled, knowing she was going to make coffee. 

He followed along. “So I just need to appear available online,” he said with a smile. 

He watched her smile grow. “Good - I get you to myself.” She looked happier than he could have imagined.

⋆˙⟡

He changed back into comfortable clothes and spent the day hanging out with her. She read. He gamed. 

And when he got mad at his teammate, she offered to step in. Which secretly put him over the moon. Especially because he knew she was really good. 

And when she started yelling at the screen when things pissed her off - he thought he might actually come when she suddenly called the opposing team a bunch of ‘pussies.’

They fucked on the floor in front of the fireplace afterwards. It was insanely good. He loved when she wanted it rough. He always felt like a pile of goop after, lying next to her, breathing hard. 

He was still catching his breath when she sat up and looked over at him with a serious look. “Can I tell you something?”

He nodded, almost worried. “Yeah, of course,” he breathed. 

She watched him for a moment, looking nervous. Which was highly abnormal for her. He watched as she bit her lip, clearly thinking about how to tell him whatever it was. He sat up and pulled her over to his lap, hugging her close. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, squeezing her gently.

She gave a small laugh. “Uh, it could be wrong or maybe really good, depending on how you think about it,” she whispered. At the same time, she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her low stomach. 

“I took like five tests…” she trailed off. 

He was quiet, wondering if he had misheard her. Or misunderstood. He didn’t necessarily want to have done either of those things, but he needed her to actually say it. 

He pressed closer. “Tests?”

She sighed gently. “I think I’m pregnant,” she said it like she was asking him. 

He nodded slowly, pressing his hand gently against her skin. “Like with me? From us?” he asked and instantly regretted it.

She glared back at him. “Did you really ask that?”

He stared for a moment, “I - that’s.” he paused and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant - I mean.” he stopped again, still thinking. “So we maybe - maybe…” he trailed off. 

“Cheol, are you broken?” she sounded concerned as she cupped his cheek softly. 

He wasn’t sure what to say. His mind was headed in 5,000 directions. All good directions, but still. He shook his head and traced his hand gently against her stomach. He nuzzled close to her. “Did you take pictures?” he knew how that sounded. “So we can show people?”

She laughed. “We’re not showing people the thing i had to piss on - that’s just between us.”

He nodded slowly. “But don’t people take photos?”

She smiled. “Yes, but usually with the ultrasound, you know when it still looks like a dinosaur alien growing inside me, and the doctor has double-checked everything.”

He was still mesmerized by her stomach and the idea of a small version of them being inside it. He thought about nesting dolls. And then how he probably shouldn’t share that thought. 

“I can’t tell if you’re happy and freaked out or just freaked out.” He felt her hand trace over his. 

“Happy,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “Deliriously happy,” he added without a thought to how it sounded.

She kissed his cheek. “Good,” she whispered softly against his skin. 

He felt the long sigh she let out and realized how worried she had been. He pulled her closer, wondering how she would have thought this could ever be bad news.

They were both quiet for a few minutes, the fire crackling softly near them, and snow still quietly piling up outside. 

“Are you happy?” He asked, hoping the answer was ‘yes.’ He had no idea, though. 

They hadn’t talked about it. That didn’t mean the thought hadn’t passed through his mind - her and him and little thems running around, needing things and time and attention - and how he wanted that in his life. He blinked, realizing how much he actually did want that.

A few of his friends already had kids, and they complained about them, but not without countering it with some cute thing. To Seungcheol, it was a dual thing - kids being gross and annoying and boring in many ways, but also completely magical and special. 

She nodded. “I didn’t think I would ever be happy to see two little lines appear,” she paused, her hand still tracing against his, “but I also didn’t know you,” she laughed softly and glanced back to him, “and now, I’m so happy and excited - there’s just so much to look forward to and think about - it’s kind of scary too, I guess,” she mumbled the last part. 

He could only grin stupidly as he listened to her. She looked so happy and excited and glowy somehow. More than normal to him. 

He nodded his head, “Mhm, a little scary is probably right,” he sighed, “but amazing too?”

She nodded, smiling and relaxing against him.

He had no idea how to tell her all the things he felt. Instead, he leaned close and kissed her over and over. A thousand sweet, gentle kisses. 

It crossed his mind to tell her that he loved her, but he had been planning for that and wasn’t sure he wanted to change it. He wanted it to be a surprise and for her to know how much he meant it. 

He worried that if he said it now, it would seem like it was only because of what she told him and not just because of her and the fact that she existed in his life. He didn’t want it to seem like an afterthought. 

⋆˙⟡

Lying in bed with her, he tried to tell himself that he didn’t feel differently about anything. But that wasn’t true. He suddenly felt so protective of her and even closer to her. 

It was some innate thing that he couldn’t just shrug off because it meant that no matter what, they would always be connected and a part of each other’s lives. For once, he wasn’t going to let his anxiety ruin something. Instead, he pulled her closer, making sure she was warm and tucked in.

Somehow, meeting her parents seemed much less significant.

a/n: srsly i love them - pls let me know if you think they are as insanely cute as i do ^^'

♡ kat

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here] - if you want to be tagged in this fic you can leave a comment or the tag list form

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞 ^^

angst - [ a ] || fluff - [ f ] || smut - [ s ]

teasers: all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight

drabbles: co-worker & spanking [ s ] |୨୧| gamer boy [ s ] |୨୧| professor one [ s ] | valentine's day [ f ] #kat_drabbles

fluff: profound, not sudden [ f ]

smut: see bingo series above and random slutty thoughts collection

series: obvious affection [ pt. 1 f ] [ pt. 2 f & s ] |୨୧| 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 f & s ] [ pt. 3 f & s ]

seungcheol bingo [warning all smut]: knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (never let you go pt. 1) | bodyguard + drunk confession | anon sex + hair pulling + mask wearing | big dick!cheol + hate sex (choose your own adventure) | sexual frustration + ex sex |

omegaverse (a/b/o): alpha seungcheol [pt. 1 s] [pt. 2 s] || never let you go [master list] [part 1 f & s] [part 2 f ] ||

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