#svt au reactions

[hoshifighting]

      jeonghan + anonymous sex

— where you discover that behind the scary mask, who's eating you out, is your professor, mr. yoon.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, oral, halloween party setting, penetrative sex, oral [f. rec], dirty talk, edging, taboo, fingering.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

halloween at uni was always a wild time—like, the one night when everyone just let loose and acted like idiots without any shame. it was a free pass to look either insanely sexy or terrifying as hell, and you’d seen both ends of that spectrum in past years. mostly, you loved it ‘cause it was kinda like a game of guess-who after the party, everyone spending the week after trying to figure out who was who under those masks. and that’s why the costumes just got more and more wild. anonymity? sign you up.

you and jewie, your ride-or-die dormmate, had done the whole horror bit every year, rocking the most messed up, bloodied-up outfits you could think of. but this year you both decided to go full-on sexy for once. jewie was rocking this short-ass witch outfit, all black and lace and pointy hat, and you—well, you were killing it (pun intended) in your killer bunny getup. thigh-high lacy white socks that clung to your skin, corset cinching you in, and this creepy-ass bunny mask that made you look both cute and dangerous. not to mention, the whole mask thing meant anything could go down and nobody would know.

“yo, you really gonna leave a note in his locker?” jewie whispered, eyes sparkling as the two of you snuck into the staff wing, the sound of your heels echoing off the empty halls.

“hell yeah, i’ve been crushing on prof yoon since he walked into his first lecture looking like a whole-ass snack,” you hissed back, your heart racing.

she let out a cackle, almost too loud. “he’s gonna die when he sees it. also, maybe don't bend over like that unless you want your ass out for the world to see.”

you shot her a look over your shoulder, half squinting through your mask. “fuck you, i’m not gonna walk like i’ve got a stick up my ass.”

“babe, that’s your job,” she teased, slapping your ass as you fumbled with the lock on the door. she was always like that—pushy, teasing, but down for whatever dumb thing you suggested, no questions asked.

finally, you managed to crack open the door to prof yoon’s locker, and the nervous excitement flared up all over again. “i’m doin’ it,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, as you slid the note into his stuff. just a stupid little flirty note. something anonymous and mysterious. if he recognized your handwriting? well, oops. that’s a future problem.

jewie watched, leaning against the doorframe, eyes flicking between you and the locker. “if he likes it, we might need to sneak you back in here to leave more. like a killer bunny pen pal situation.”

you laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “he’s not that dumb, but if he was, i’d consider it.”

you straightened up, adjusting your mask before looking back at jewie. the whole night felt like some weird fever dream—maybe it was the booze from earlier or just the high of running around campus dressed like this, but you felt unstoppable.

“okay, let’s get outta here before we get caught,” jewie said, pushing herself off the wall. “i swear if we see anyone, i’m pretending i don’t know you.”

“bitch, please, you’d totally rat me out,” you shot back, nudging her as the two of you slipped out of the staff room, adrenaline still pumping.

you took a long sip from your pouch, the cheap booze hitting just right as you swayed along with jewie to the beat. then, mid-spin, you spotted something—or rather, someone—that made you freeze in place, your lips still wrapped around the straw.

“i can’t fucking believe it,” you muttered, pulling the straw out and sulking like a kid who just had their candy stolen.

jewie gave you a sideways glance, eyebrows raised. “what’s got your panties in a twist now?”

you nodded toward the door, where another killer bunny had just strutted in, looking way too damn good for your liking. “look at that,” you said, gesturing with your drink. “bunny? okay, fine. but killer too? are you shitting me? what’re the odds?”

you huffed, feeling your vibe slightly killed by the sight of the other guy wearing basically the same damn thing as you—except he had this slutty, fitted black suit, and his mask was just as creepy as yours, that luscious black hair peeking out from behind it.

“wow,” jewie scoffed, following your gaze. “you’re really pressed about another killer bunny? seriously? it's halloween, dude, chill. everyone’s doubling up.”

“easy for you to say,” you muttered, still eyeing the guy. “you're not the only slutty witch in the room.”

she rolled her eyes, snorting. “uh, excuse me? i've seen, like, five other witches tonight, and one of them even had a broom—a broom, y/n. i just accepted it. it’s halloween.”

it was halloween, and sure, half the campus was probably dressed as witches, zombies, or sexy cops. but still, the nerve of this guy, strutting in like he invented the killer bunny look.

“and, you know what? my panties are in a twist, actually,” you shot back, glaring at jewie, who just gave you an unimpressed look. “like, literal twist. feels like they’re strangling me.”

she burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “oh my god, you’re such a mess. there’s a whole locker room situation going on if you wanna fix it. no one’s gonna be in there anyway..”

“the locker room?” you hummed, considering it for a second. “yeah, might as well. better than walking around with my ass in knots.”

you slipped away from the party, the beat of the music fading as you made your way down the empty hallway, heels clacking against the floor. it was eerily quiet outside the main campus area, the darkness swallowing up the noise from the party like you were walking into another world. halfway there, though, you swore you heard something. footsteps, maybe? you glanced back over your shoulder, but the hallway was just as empty as before. shrugging it off, you kept walking.

then again—footsteps.

you whipped around, heart starting to race a bit. nothing. nobody. great, you thought. either you’re paranoid or some dude in a clown costume’s gonna jump out at you any second.

you sped up, practically rushing into the locker room, slamming the door behind you like that would keep the creepy vibes out. with a sigh, you lifted your skirt and fixed the tangled mess of fabric underneath. “goddamn,” you muttered, whistling in relief as the tension eased up. “finally.”

you made your way to the mirror, fluffing up your hair, adjusting your bunny ears, trying to look like you hadn’t just freaked yourself out. but then you heard it again—footsteps. this time, not so distant. real close.

before you could even react, the door creaked open, and there he was. the other killer bunny. strolling in like he owned the place, chill as could be, like it wasn’t the feminine locker room he’d just waltzed into.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a glare through the mirror. “stole my idea and my spot?”

he snorted, leaning against the sink with his back turned to the mirror, eyes just fixed forward, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “stole your idea? babe, i’ve been rockin’ this for ages.”

“you saw it from me!” you shot back, turning around to face him, pointing at him accusingly. “i should sue for copyright or some shit.”

he let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly like he was amused by your little outburst. “you can have the bunny part. i’ll keep the killer part.”

“real original,” you scoffed, turning back to the mirror, fixing a stray curl in your hair. “and what’re you even doing in the locker room? you lost or just stupid?”

“neither,” he said simply, his voice way too smug for someone who looked like he just broke into the wrong locker room. “it was either this, or i piss in a bush somewhere. decided to be classy tonight.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the slight smirk pulling at your lips. “yeah, real classy, creeping around the women’s locker room.”

he leaned closer, still not turning to look in the mirror. “who says i’m creeping? maybe you just walked into my locker room.”

“oh, so now it’s your locker room too? boy, you’re bold.”

“what can i say? bunny privileges,” he said, shrugging like it was the most normal thing in the world.

you shook your head, turning to look at him fully now, sizing him up. he was tall, broad, the slutty suit clinging to him just right, his posture relaxed like he didn’t have a care in the world. and that hair, black and messy behind his mask—well, you’d give him one thing. he wore the costume well. too well.

“you know,” you said, leaning back against the sink next to him, crossing your arms. “if you’re tryna intimidate me, it’s not working. you’re just another bunny.”

he chuckled again, that low, almost lazy sound that somehow made your skin tingle. “maybe i’m not tryna intimidate you. maybe i’m just waiting for you to admit i look better.”

you scoffed, pushing off the sink and standing up straight, close enough now that you could smell the faint cologne clinging to him. it was… annoyingly nice. “please, i wouldn’t give you that satisfaction even if you paid me.”

“we’ll... see about that?” he murmured, finally turning to face you, his body looming over yours. his mask obscured most of his face, but his eyes locked onto yours, like he could see right through the sass.

and there it was. that thing on your lower stomach that snuck up on you out of nowhere. “you really think you can handle me, bunny?” you teased.

he didn’t flinch. his lips twitched into a grin under the mask.

“handle you?” he echoed, his voice dropping an octave. “baby, i’m just getting started.”

you raised an eyebrow, leaning in just a little closer, testing him, seeing how far you could push. “then show me what you got.”

his hand was on you in a second, pulling you toward him with a firm grip on your waist, his breath hot through the mask. and suddenly, the empty locker room didn’t feel so empty anymore. his other hand slid down, grazing your thigh before hiking your skirt up. “you sure you wanna play this game?” he cooed, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

you let out a breathy laugh, your hands fisting into the fabric of his suit. “you started it.”

“yeah?” his grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, your bodies fitting together too perfectly. “then let me finish it.”

he leaned in for the kiss, but both of you realized, almost at the same time, that the stupid mask was in the way. your lips collided with the hard plastic, and for a second, it was awkward as hell—until you both burst into laughter. “yeah, that’s not gonna work,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“guess we’ll just have to improvise,” he murmured back, and before you knew it, he had spun you around, pressing your hips firmly against the cold sink. the chill of the ceramic made you gasp, but it was nothing compared to the way his fingers slid under the elastic of your garter, pulling it away from your skin before letting it snap back on ur skin.

“fuck,” you hissed, as the sting amde your pussy drool. he was watching you through that damn mask, his fingers traced the hem of your skirt before he flipped it over your lower back, exposing the white lacy set you’d chosen to match the whole killer bunny thing.

“fuckin’ cute,” he growled as he took in the sight of your barely-there panties and thigh-highs. “you really wore this for halloween? shit’s a fuckin’ joke,”

the degradation in his tone made your cheeks burn, you bit down on your lip, trying to keep your composure, he noticed everything.

“what’s the matter?” he asked, mock concern as his hands skimmed over your thighs, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp again. “you like being called cute while i fuck you up?”

you didn’t even have time to respond before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down painfully slow, the lace barely clinging to your hips before he let them drop to your ankles. you kicked them off instinctively, your breath hitching when you saw him bend down slightly, he picked them up off the floor, turning the flimsy lace in his fingers for a second before shoving them deep into his pocket.

“gonna keep these,” he muttered, half to himself, half to you. standing up straight again. his hands, slid up your legs, spreading them just a bit more. the rough pads of his fingers brushed against the inside of your thighs, teasing you, waiting for you to beg, or break.

and god, you were close to breaking already.

one hand held your waist firmly in place, pressing you harder against the sink, while the other slipped between your legs, his fingers sliding against your wetness with an agonizing slowness.

“oh.. all soaked already?” he muttered, like he knew exactly how ruined you were just from his touch. “and we haven’t even started. you’ve been thinking about this? about me bending you over, fingers deep in this pretty little pussy?”

you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you as his middle and ring fingers dipped inside, your pussy swallow him immediately, even when the skin burns a little with the stretch. his long fingers immediately finding that sweet, squishy spot, for a moment, resting the fingers there.

he kept the pads of his fingers facing down, rubbing slow, tight circles against that sensitive spot, making you clench around him. you've never been stimulated like this, it looked so different and knowing for a college boy. the sensation was enough to make your knees weak, but his grip on your hips kept you steady, held in place as he worked you open.

he leaned down, the mask still in place, but you could feel the heat of him behind you. “you hear that? hear how fucking wet you are? all for me, huh?”

you did, in fact, it echoed in the empty locker room, as you try to be quiet. but you moaned in response, your head falling forward, resting on your arms as you tried to catch your breath. every stroke of his fingers had your pussy tightening, thighs shaking, and you were half-sure you’d collapse if it weren’t for the him keeping you upright.

his other hand moving up your back just enough so he could press his lips against your bare shoulder. you felt him lift the mask just slightly, and then his mouth was on you, kissing, biting, his teeth grazing your skin in a manner that had you arching into him.

“fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered. “so sweet. but i bet you taste even better down here.”

you groaned in frustration when you realized he was still wearing that damn mask, completely blocking the possibility of him going down on you. he noticed the way you moaned extra loud, probably because you’d been imagining it—his mouth between your legs, tasting how worked up you were.

he cooed, amused by your reaction, shaking his head like you were some kind of innocent mess. “fuck baby, i’d love to, but this mask is getting in the way. you know that.” his voice was so casual, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, like it wasn’t torture for you. and god, that whimper that left your throat? pathetic. even you knew it. you rolled your hips on his fingers, desperate for something, anything to replace what you couldn’t have right now. the wet, slick sound of his fingers working into you echoed around the room, filling the space with a vulgar kind of music that had him biting his lip, watching you fall apart over nothing.

“oh, you really want it bad, huh?” he laughed, and you whined again, the sound so embarrassingly needy that it should’ve made you blush. but instead, it only made you more desperate. his teasing was too much.

“fuck,” you muttered, half-begging, and he pulled back a bit, thinking for a second before a playful smirk took over his lips.

“let’s play a game then,” he offered, your brows furrowed in confusion, but the second he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, you felt your whole body heat up in response. “we take the masks off. but,” he paused, his fingers still torturing you, making your hips twitch every time he pressed just right. “we keep our eyes closed. i’ll eat you out, i’ll do anything you want, but no peeking.”

you hummed at the idea, already thinking of how good it would feel to have him without the barrier of those stupid masks. but before you could even respond, he tilted his head, adding with a teasing lilt, “but first... i gotta fuck you. because you’re so fucking tight, so fucking pretty squirming around my fingers like this.” his voice softened into something almost sweet, like he was praising you, and the way he cooed when you shyly squirmed against his hand, embarrassed by his words, had your body tightening in response. “such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

you were nodding before you even realized, the words barely out of your mouth before you agreed to it. the mask was yanked off, tossed to the side, and you felt him pull away slightly. you didn’t dare look back at him, though—you kept your promise, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling rapidly.

you felt him shift behind you, the rustle of fabric as he undid his pants filling the locker room with a sharp, exciting edge. his fingers left you with a wet pop, and the sound made you shiver. god, you could still hear it—how soaked you were, how turned on he’d made you. your body reacted to the absence of his touch with a small gasp, but the moment you felt his warm breath near your ear again, your nerves melted away.

“don’t open your eyes,” he warned in that same serious tone, even though you could practically hear the smile on his face. you nodded, swallowing hard, trying to keep still. his fingers returned, now gripping your hips firmly, and you couldn’t help but arch into him, needing more.

“good girl,” he murmured, guiding you to bend further over the sink. your chest pressed against the cold surface, your eyes squeezed shut, but you could feel everything. you were painfully aware of how exposed you were to him, the skirt flipped up, your wetness on full display.

the blunt head of his cock nudged at your entrance, slick and heavy, and you braced yourself, but he didn’t push in. instead, he slid it up, dragging it along your folds, teasing your clit and the leaking hole. the sensation had your toes curling, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “you just gonna rub it?”

he chuckled darkly, pressing the tip against your entrance again but not entering. “thought i’d take my time, make you beg a little more.”

you groaned, squirming under him, your hips moving on their own as you chased the penetration. you could feel him smiling behind you, still teasing, but his hand was firm on your hips, holding you steady as he slowly dragged his cock up and down, brushing against your clit every time. it was maddening, the way he was holding back, making you wait, making you ache for him.

“you want it that bad, hm?” he asked, and before you could even answer, he pushed in, sliding into you with a slick, deep thrust that knocked the breath out of your lungs as you watch pitch black. “fuck, there it is.”

you moaned, the sudden fullness overwhelming, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink as he held you in place, his cock buried deep inside. he didn’t move at first, just let you adjust to the stretch, but his hands were still moving—one sliding up your back, the other gripping your ass, squeezing hard as he groaned low in his throat.

“ah!–don' squeeze me like that,” he muttered, his voice strained as he began to move, his hips grinding into yours rolling the dick in and out of you. “taking me so well... pretty pussy devouring my cock.”

you whimpered at his praise, your body trembling with every slow stroke. he wasn’t holding back anymore, his pace picking up, his hand slipped down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing light, quick circles that had you moaning loudly.

the thing was;

his eyes had been wide open the whole time.

he was practically glowing with the fact that you hadn’t recognized him at all. he knew it was you from the second you stepped into the party, making him choke on his own spit, all dressed up in that killer bunny costume, and it made him feel like he was holding onto the biggest secret ever. you had no idea who you were fucking, and that made everything ten times hotter.

as you leaned over the sink, he got a perfect view of your face blushing beneath your expertly done makeup, all those little details you’d spent hours perfecting. the way the light caught the shimmer on your cheeks, the dark eyeliner framing your eyes just right—it was beautiful. even though you planned on hiding your face with that mask for the entire night.

he pretended to keep his eyes closed, even though he could barely contain his excitement. “i hope you don't open your eyes hm? you wouldn't want to lose me eating you out, right?” he’d said with a smirk, watching as you nodded obediently. you were so good at this—everything about you, from the way you shifted on the sink to the way you were biting your lip in need, made him ache to see your true reaction when you finally figured it out.

he could feel your nervous energy as you followed his lead, trusting him completely. it was almost comical how easy it was to manipulate the situation, how horny you were, and he couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself.

“you’ve got no idea how fucking cute you moan,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your ear as he continued to thrust into you. the way you squirmed made him even harder, and he could feel his own arousal rising at the thought of keeping this secret just a little longer.

“shut up,” you whined, clearly flustered by his words, and he couldn’t help but laugh softly. god, you were adorable. he kept it playful, teasing you even more as he leaned down to press his lips against your shoulder, kissing a line up your neck as he continued to roll his hips into you. “just focus on how good you feel.”

every thrust sent a quiver through you, and he could feel you responding to him, getting wetter with every move. you were lost in it, and he was completely taken by the way your body reacted to his touch. he loved how your sounds filled the space, how you couldn’t help but moan louder and louder as he picked up the pace, fucking you deeper.

“tell me how good it feels.”

“so good, you feel so good—your cock—s'big!” you breathed, and he reveled in the power he had over you. he could see the way your body squirmed beneath him, anguished for more, and it only pushed him to keep going.

“that’s right, keep saying it,” he encouraged, his fingers curling around your waist, pulling you back against him as he hit that sweet spot inside you. “i want to hear everything, since i cant see it.”

he could feel you tightening around him, your that sweet release pulsing, and just when you were about to hit that peak, he pulled out, leaving you gasping “what the fuck?!” you cried, your voice high-pitched with desperation, eyes still closed. he couldn’t help but chuckle at your frustration, knowing just how good you felt, but wanting to keep you on that brink a little longer.

“patience, bunny,” he teased, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “you’ll get what you want.”

with that, he pushed back into you, driving deep and hard, and the sound of your moan filled the locker room. “yes! please!” you begged, fingers digging into the sink as you rocked back against him.

but again, right when you were so close, he slipped out. “no, no, don’t do that!” you whined, the desperation in your voice making him grin. “i was so close!”

“i won’t let you cum on my cock,” he said, a teasing grin playing on his lips as he watched your expression crumble. your face fell against your arms in defeat, sulking like a petulant child. “why?” you whined, the sulk evident in your voice, and he couldn’t help but scoff at how adorable you looked, all flustered and desperate.

just then, his hand tangled in your hair, tugging enough to make you almost open your eyes. the sudden pressure made a strangled moan escape your throat, and he loved it.

he slowly turned you around, guiding you to sit on the cold sink. you cursed under your breath, your legs instinctively spreading wide as you positioned yourself for him.

“this is so unfair, i cant see you...” you muttered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you thought about how you couldn’t see what he was doing. you could hear the sound of your breath quickening as he dropped to his knees in front of you, the idea of him between your legs making you almost cum on spot.

“you don’t need to see it, babe,” he said, all sultry. fuck you needed to know who he was, and with that, you could feel him get closer, his breath hot against your pussy, making you squirm.

“you’re such an ass for doing this to me,” you groaned, but deep down, you were practically begging for it, and you knew it. he laughed softly, the sound thundering in his chest as he spread your legs wider, giving himself a perfect view of your pussy, the folds puffy, and flushed, dripping beautifully.

a sudden creak from somewhere down the hallway snapped you out of the fog of pleasure, and, instinctively, you opened your eyes. it took a second to adjust, to blink away the haze clouding your vision, but then you looked down—straight at him.

and—

mr. yoon?

“shh,” he whispered, a finger pressed to his own lips, a hint of a smirk twitching as he maintained eye contact with you, even as his head dipped between your legs. you wanted to pull back, to process that your professor was there, settled on his knees in front of you in a locked room, but his mouth had already found your clit.

“oh my god,” you moan, in disbelief, in pure ecstasy. he starts sucking your clit with so hard that makes you dizzy, and your back arches instinctively, the sensations overwhelming. your mind races, but the sight of him—mr. yoon, your strict, no-nonsense professor—eating you out is enough to push you right back over the edge.

you bite your lip to stifle your cries, but it’s no use. the combination of the taboo and the sucking sends you spiraling into the orgasm, and you can feel yourself clenching around his tongue as you cum in his mouth, a whimper escaping your lips.

“holy—” you breathe, panting as he pulls away, licking his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you.

he raises up to kiss you, but you back away instinctively, the shock paralyzing you.

“wait, you didn’t like that it was… me?” he asks, worry flashing across his eyes.

your mind is racing. so he was the one fucking you? after the letter—oh my god. “i… i didn’t know it was you!” you manage to stammer.

he licks his cum-covered lips, that sly grin still in place. he steps back slightly, still unsure of what to say. “so… you liked it, then?”

“well, yeah, but—” you start, but the words fail you. how do you even explain this? how do you tell your professor that he just made you come like that, and it was one of the best experiences of your life?

you catch his gaze, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of worry in mr. yoon’s eyes. he's probably already imagining that expulsion letter or the scandal that’d blow up his career.

“relax,” you murmur, smirking as he watches you. “i’m not about to go blabbing to the dean or anything.” he quirks a skeptical brow, clearly not convinced yet, and you give him a playful shrug. “but only if… you get on your knees again and show me just how much you wanna keep me quiet.”

the corner of his mouth lifts. “oh, is that right?” he murmurs, and before you know it, he’s stepping forward, hands sliding around your waist as he leans down, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“guess i’ll have to make sure you’re too busy to even think about talking,” he whispers.

[...]

monday rolls around, and it’s like the entire campus is still buzzing about the halloween party. people are dissecting every detail, trying to figure out who was behind which mask. you’re sitting at your desk, pretending to read the same damn paragraph for the fifth time, but let’s be real—there’s only one thing on your mind: mr. yoon’s dick.

jeonghan’s up at the front, leaning against his desk, teaching as if nothing happened, and you can barely keep a straight face. every time you glance up, you can’t help but picture the way he looked at you, the feel of his hands, his mouth… yeah, not the kind of thoughts you should be having in the middle of class.

the bell finally rings, snapping you out of it as everyone starts packing up. your friend pauses by the door, waiting, but just as you’re about to leave, mr. yoon clears his throat.

“y/n,” he says, there’s that hint of something under it, something only you would catch. “stay a moment, would you?”

you wave your friend off, muttering something about catching up later. she glances between the two of you and, of course, shoots you a knowing smile before shutting the door on her way out. it’s just you and jeonghan now, the room empty and quiet, his gaze pinned on you.

he raises an eyebrow, and his eyes flick towards the closed door. “should i be worried about that smile she gave you?” he asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

you blink, caught off guard. “no! no one knows about… us,” you insist, a bit too quickly.

he scoffs, giving you this look like he’s amused but skeptical. “oh, i know that,” he says smoothly, but then he taps his finger on his desk. “but she definitely knows… about this.”

with a dramatic flourish, he slides open a drawer and pulls out the letter. your stomach drops as he lays it out on his desk for you to see, the unmistakable swoop of your handwriting there in all its glory, complete with little heart and butterfly stickers surrounding a mortifyingly filthy sentence.

“wanna feel your cock hitting the deepest part of my pussy until i can’t even remember my name.”

you freeze, face heating up instantly. oh, god. did you really write that?

he chuckles softly, watching you squirm as you avoid his gaze, suddenly very interested in the stack of textbooks on his desk. you press your lips together, practically biting down to keep from making any sound, because your brain is malfunctioning.

“so,” he murmurs, “did you really mean every word?”

[svtswhorehouse]

LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

pairing: choi seungcheol x reader genre: sfw, mafia au, parent au, fluff, humor warnings: girl dad! cheol, mafia boss! cheol, husband! cheol, wife! reader, mom! reader, mentions of weapons, mentions of seventeen as uncles, soccer dad! seungcheol, physical altercation between middle schoolers, seungcheol almost kills someone — keyword: ALMOST word count: 1.8k synopsis: you preferred to think your daughter was quite like you — patient, kind, loving. but moments like this, charged by lethal stubbornness? yeah, that was all seungcheol.

sidenote: i would like to personally thank my late night scenarios for this idea. i know we're all weak for dad! cheol crumbs.

Choi Seungcheol, once ruthless, cold, and a force to be reckoned with – now turned – Choi Seungcheol, a softie at heart, a devoted husband, and the world’s number one girl dad. 

You barreled into his life when he least expected it, throwing him for a loop and taking him by surprise. All of a sudden, the big bad mafia boss that ruled an empire with bloodstained hands, was being taken down by the one thing he promised would never get in his way. 

When you first met Seungcheol, it was what you could have considered wrong place, wrong time. You had somehow managed to obliviously get in between a deal he was making. But when he stood before you seething with rage, you were utterly unimpressed by the power he wielded. And over time, as the universe decided that you two were meant for each other and you constantly crossed paths, you began to see the man beneath the reputation he was known for. 

Love in his world was a liability – and Seungcheol had never tolerated weakness. But somehow, some way, you made it impossible for him to breathe without you. God forbid, a man needs a source of oxygen. 

Cue the wedding bells, your “special day” was not what a typical woman would have dreamed of. But even despite the chaos, being surrounded by some of the most dangerous criminals and your newly appointed husband taking a shot to the shoulder –  to you, it was perfect. And Seungcheol, well… one day he was orchestrating power plays with precision, and the next, he was standing in a pastel pink nursery arguing with you over which baby monitor was better. 

He claimed that having Jihoon bug the room was the safest option. You on the other hand – plump, round, and very much pregnant, claimed that you would send a pillow hurtling straight for his face if he didn’t stop being a helicopter parent. For crying out loud, your baby wasn’t even out of the womb yet. 

When your daughter was born, everything shifted drastically. In a world built on vengeance, power, and cruelty, she was the sunlight. No one – not you, not Seungcheol, not even his men, stood a chance against this little girl who’d broken down walls and softened hearts. Suddenly, grenades were traded for baby bottles, weapons for pacifiers, and juice boxes were carried around in concealed holsters meant for pistols as she grew. 

With each passing year, the similarity between Seungcheol and your daughter became harder to ignore. Whereas your husband carried a gun, wreaking havoc in the underworld — your child brought a ball, wreaking havoc on a field. 

The rays of sun beat down on you, causing the metal bleachers to feel hot against your skin. You use your hand to fan yourself down, beads of sweat already forming on your hairline.

A middle-school soccer game was certainly not the place you wanted to be during the worst of the summer season. But still, as proud parents, it was your and Seungcheol's duty to show up for your daughter. 

You glance at the man next to you. Despite donning a regular black t-shirt and loose-fitted jeans, he still stood out amongst the crowd of suburban fathers. Maybe it was the way his dark eyes focus on the field or the way his jaw tenses as if he’s ready for someone to start a full on bullet war — but in the end, he somewhat compares to the rest. Just another husband sporting a “soccer dad” hat that his wife forced him to wear. 

Your fingers reach out to loosely intertwine with his, keeping him grounded when you notice the way he grips the bench. His gaze tracks the middle schoolers on the field, where his pride and joy was absolutely wrecking the competition.

Give her a soccer ball and you can promise that your daughter turns into the monster your husband does whenever he’s pointing a barrel at someone’s head. She was fast and fearless, weaving through players even if they were twice the size of her. 

Seungcheol’s body leans forward, anticipation coursing through his veins as he watches his little girl near the net. She just barely escapes the gang up of two players on the opposite team, and with a forceful kick, she sends the ball flying right past the goalie’s head.

Immediately, Seungcheol explodes off the bench. “Aha!” His voice booms. “That’s my girl!” He points to her dramatically as if she’d just won the World Cup. Some parents turn to look. Others chuckle. There are a few who grimace. But you only giggle, gently nudging him back to take a seat.

“Very subtle Cheol.” 

He grins, plopping beside you. “She’s good at what she does – gets it from me.”

You raise a brow, looking at him in mild amusement. “Seungcheol, baby,” He turns to face you, “Stick to what you know.”

Your husband scowls, knowing exactly what you were referring to – his harsh line of business. “Still my blood, babe.”

“Yeah,” You huff playfully, “Mine too.” 

Truth be told, she may be your child, but when it came to all things soccer, your daughter inherited her skills elsewhere. Her uncle Jeonghan, Seungcheol’s second in command, taught her everything she knows. Somehow, he was able to convert his talent of playing mind games to trickery on the field. Your child picked up well, her talent only growing as she got older. 

When Jeonghan’s duties became heavier alongside your husband, somehow your daughter managed to recruit someone else to fulfill the role of “coach.” Uncle Mingyu, who she once used as a jungle gym when smaller, seemed to be the perfect person. He reluctantly agreed. After all, no one could resist her puppy dog eyes (that reminds everybody way too much of her father). Mingyu was big and fast, the perfect person to treat as an obstacle between the ball and the net. It didn’t take long until she was playing better than a typical pre-teen, being able to beat her uncle’s in a sport she’s grown to love. 

You glance at the scoreboard, seeing that the opposite team is losing. No one stood a chance against your daughter’s team, especially when she was on the field. You find her easily, sporting a #17 jersey. She sidesteps two defenders, stealing the ball from the opposite team and taking off down the field. Others run behind her to catch up, but just as someone nears, she rockets the ball straight into the net. 

You and Seungcheol both clap proudly, celebrating the successful goal made by your child. Your moment of peace only lasts a few seconds before things take a turn. 

Your eyes track the players on the field, noticing the way a girl stalks up to your daughter angrily. She shoves at her shoulders, sending your child falling back onto the turf. 

You suck in a breath at the impact, watching as your daughter winces. Next to you, Seungcheol stiffens, hands clenching into fists. He goes to stand, but your arm shoots out to tug at him. 

“Sit,” You whisper.

Seungcheol only regards you for a mere second, eyes softening as soon as they land on you. However, much to your dismay, they darken once again when a man – presumably the other girl’s father – shouts. 

“Pathetic, maybe she should stick to the sidelines if she can’t handle someone roughing her up!”

Seungcheol’s head immediately snaps towards the guy. You can practically feel the fury radiating off of him.

“Care to repeat that?” His voice was low and dangerously calm, causing chills to run up your spine. 

The man furrows his brows, emboldened by ignorance. “You heard me,” He steps closer, puffing out his chest to try intimidating your (much more) muscular husband, “What are you gonna do about it?” 

Seungcheol’s lips curve into a deadly smile, one that promises regret. “Oh, I’ll show you what I’ll do,” He deadpans. 

You watch the interaction curiously, seeing Seungcheol casually untuck his shirt and reach underneath. It’s only when you catch a glimpse of something metallic reflecting in the sunlight, you take action. 

The gun only barely escapes from under the fabric before you’re clutching onto his arm, nails digging into his skin. “Choi Seungcheol,” You hiss. Your eyes widen in warning as you shove the weapon back before anyone can see it, “You start something and I swear to god, I’ll kill you before you kill him.”

Seungcheol blinks at you, caught between rage and obedience. But, because he was more scared of you than he would like to admit, and because your daughter was watching from the field, he huffs and grudgingly eases back into his seat. 

The other father smiles in victory as he says something instigating. You have to wrap your arm around Seungcheol’s bicep to keep him from pouncing, whispering into his ear, “It’s not worth it Cheol.”

When you finally feel him relax against your touch, dropping the argument – that’s when chaos erupts on the field. 

Your daughter, clearly having enough, picks herself right up off the floor. She confronts the girl who pushed her with a fierce determination that could only have been inherited by her father. Words were exchanged. Shoves were given. And as soon as the opposing player laughs in your kid’s face, you knew this could only mean no good. 

Your daughter – your sweet, loving, stubborn daughter – socks the girl in her jaw. 

Your mouth drops open in shock as you watch the exchange. Instead of hair pulling, your child resorts to punches, and needless to say – she was beating the other girl’s ass. 

“You get 'em baby!” Seungcheol darts up, his fist pumping into the air with pride. “Right hook! Just like I taught you!”

“Seungcheol!” You gasp, smacking his chest. 

Your husband has the audacity to look genuinely wounded by your scolding. He rubs at where you hit him, soothing the pain away. A small pout forms on his face, like he was the victim here.

“What?” He asks confused. “She has great form.”

“Don’t encourage her.”

Seungcheol playfully rolls his eyes when he sees your mouth twitch. He raises his brows when you finally break out into a smile, shaking your head as you turn to look away.

“She really is your child.” You remark fondly.

Seungcheol sits down, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. The referee blows a whistle, rushing to pull the kids apart. It takes some effort, but with a tug, you both watch as your child is finally separated. You wince in dismay when you can catch sight of the damage done to the other girl, blood trickling from her nose and shirt slightly torn. The crowd murmurs in shock, but Seungcheol only gleams with pride as he kisses the crown of your head.  

“Like father, like daughter baby.”

[thedensworld]

Duty Finished | C.Sc 

Pairing: Duke Seungcheol x reader Genre: Noble House Au! Type: Romance, Angst, Smut (mdni!) Word count: 22k Summary: The wife and the son of Choi's house went missing one night. 

“Sir…”

Seungcheol didn’t bother lifting his head right away. He was halfway through a glass of aged whiskey, the ice barely clinking as he swirled it in his grip, eyes still scanning the reports on his desk. His office—sleek, dim, and built like a vault—reeked of silence, save for the sharp interruption of his right-hand man’s voice.

When Mingyu barged in, slamming the door open with the kind of recklessness he should’ve known better than to display, S eungcheol finally glanced up. His gaze was frigid. Controlled. The kind that made men squirm and executives sign whatever he wanted just to escape it. Mingyu stood just inside the threshold, his breathing tight, jaw clenched like he was trying to bite back a disaster. He didn’t speak right away, which meant only one thing—this wasn’t just bad. It was catastrophic.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he placed the glass down on the leather blotter. “This better be worth the noise,” he said, voice smooth but carved with warning. “Or I’ll personally remind you of protocol.”

Mingyu swallowed. “It’s… your wife. And your son.”

That got a reaction. Barely. One brow ticked upward. Seungcheol’s mind flicked briefly, vaguely, to you. And the boy. When was the last time he saw either of you? He had to think. It all blurred together. Boardrooms. Contracts. Private jets. Endless handshakes. The house was his base, not his home. You were part of the arrangement—an accessory that came with it. And the child? A product of timing. Nothing more.

He left both of you in the care of his mother, the Duchess. But you never complained. Not seriously, anyway. You knew what this marriage was. Five years of luxury, power, and cold silence. You got the title. He got the freedom. That was the deal. A marriage crafted from ink and strategy, not affection.

An arrangement.

The Choi family’s wealth was forged—literally—in fire and steel. Their legacy built on the backs of blacksmiths, blades, and the unyielding rhythm of iron mines. For centuries, they supplied the royal army with weapons and armor, their influence woven into the very skeleton of the kingdom.

But not all legacies are immune to decay.

Twenty years of mismanagement had nearly bankrupted the family. Lavish galas, failed ventures, and an aging patriarch too obsessed with tradition to adapt—it had all but dragged the Choi name through the mud. The empire of steel had rusted.

And then came Seungcheol. Sharp. Surgical. Unforgiving.

He returned from his education abroad not with fanfare, but with a scalpel in hand—cutting out inefficiencies, dismantling old loyalties, and selling off sentiment piece by piece. The boy they once dismissed as too cold, too ambitious, had become the man who would not flinch while setting fire to his own house just to build it back stronger.

He didn't save the family for pride. He did it because he hated failure. Now, the Choi name gleamed again. Polished. Feared. Powerful.

The silence that followed Mingyu’s words was weighted. Heavy. Not with grief—Seungcheol didn’t operate in emotions—but with calculation.

“What happened,” he asked at last, voice like chilled steel.

“They were kidnapped.”

Kidnapped.

The office door opened again, this time more cautiously. Seokmin stepped in, still in uniform, dust clinging to the hem of his coat and sweat slicking his brow. He looked like he had run—like he had failed.

“Sir,” he said, breathless.

Seungcheol didn’t raise his head. “You were assigned to her today.”

Seokmin froze in the doorway. “Yes, sir. I—I was. I didn’t leave her side… until West Gwanrae.”

A beat passed.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair slowly, folding his hands together. “Explain.”

“We stopped by a boutique. Lady Choi wanted to try on a dress. She was with her lady-in-waiting. I checked the perimeter twice. There were no signs of threat—nothing. But when I came back inside, the store was empty. Everyone gone.”

“You lost them in a boutique?” Seungcheol’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

Seokmin flinched. “The store was a front. We’re looking into the workers now, but the boutique was staged. There were no real records of the staff. The surveillance cameras were wiped clean. Whoever planned this… they were prepared, sir.”

Silence followed, thick and brutal.

Seungcheol stared at the unopened letter on his desk. His jaw ticked once.

“And the boy?”

Seokmin swallowed. “They took him too.”

Still no emotion. Not visibly. Not in his face, not in his posture. Just a colder shift in his gaze, like steel icing over.

Mingyu stepped forward, holding something in his hand. “A letter arrived at the estate,” he said. “No return address. It was hand-delivered through a driver—anonymous. The staff didn’t question it. They thought it was routine.”

He passed the envelope across the desk.

“They used paper,” Mingyu added. “No traceable signal. No digital footprint. If this is a kidnapping, sir… it’s a careful one.”

Seungcheol didn’t react immediately. He stared at the envelope—ivory, expensive paper, sealed with red wax. Old-fashioned. Deliberate.

“This was a move,” Seungcheol muttered, almost to himself. Then, finally, he broke the wax seal.

The letter inside was handwritten. Cursive. Expensive ink. “If legacy is all you care about, we’ve taken your future.”

No ransom. No demands. Just a warning. Who dares to warn Choi Seungcheol?

Seungcheol didn’t pace. Pacing was for the uncertain. He stood behind his desk like a statue carved from winter stone, fingers drumming against the glass surface with chilling precision. One beat. Two. Three.

“Find out who’s behind this,” he said, his voice smooth and flat like polished obsidian. “The ones who’ve been sniffing around our territory. The ones who smiled too long at that last summit dinner. I don’t care if it’s a silk-suited investor or a sewer rat with a grudge—dig them out.”

Mingyu stood straighter, but something in his shoulders betrayed him. A delay. Barely noticeable—unless you’d spent a decade watching a man read war tables like bedtime stories.

Seungcheol’s gaze slid to him, a flick of ice under shadow. “You’ve got names in mind already,” he said, not asking. “Start there.”

Mingyu opened his mouth, then shut it. His throat moved with a slow swallow. “Understood.”

The air tightened between them like an old wound reopening.

“Good,” Seungcheol muttered, already turning away, as if dismissing both the man and the moment. “And Mingyu—”

He paused at the window, eyes cast toward the distant skyline, where the horizon bled rust and coal smoke.

“If someone thinks they can take what’s mine, make sure they understand the cost.”

The silence that followed rang louder than any threat.

Mingyu nodded once, firm—but when he left, his steps weren’t as sharp. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t head straight for the security floor. He took a detour. Past the portraits no one dusted. Past the closed doors where your laughter used to echo before it fell into absence.

And when he stopped, it was in front of one painting. Yours. Just for a second. Then he kept walking.

*

“What’s going on, Seungcheol? My birthday is in a week, and your wife and son went missing? Are they insane?”

His mother’s voice pierced through the marble halls of the estate like a thorn catching on silk—sharp, persistent, unwelcome. Seungcheol barely glanced at her as he passed, his coat still dusted with the chill of dusk, jaw clenched with exhaustion. The Choi household, once a fortress of routine and elegance, had descended into chaos. Guards scrambled across city districts. His right hand, Mingyu, was stretched thin with investigation routes. And Seungcheol—he was running out of patience.

“If only your late father had been in his right mind,” his mother continued, trailing after him in her usual designer heels. “That marriage—what good has it brought? Nothing but problems. Look where it’s led us. And now, of all times—before my birthday party!”

He stopped at the base of the grand staircase, one hand gripping the railing tighter than necessary. His mother caught up, her perfume too sweet for his senses, too loud for the grief she pretended to wear. Her expression faltered when she met his gaze—cold, unreadable, and far too silent for comfort.

“I’m sorry, son,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to sound rehearsed. “I’ve just… been lonely lately. Your father’s gone. Your wife never cared for me, and the boy—he avoids me like I’m a ghost. And now they’re missing. I only wanted someone to talk to. Someone to understand.”

She folded her arms, her sorrow wrapping around her like a well-tailored coat. A performance—quiet, pitiful, tragic.

Seungcheol took a breath, long and steady, his eyes drifting past her to the portrait of his father hung above the hallway. A man with vision but no spine. A legacy he had to rebuild with blood and bone.

“I understand, Mother,” he said at last, voice controlled, cold. “But right now, I need silence. And space.”

He turned away again, leaving her standing at the foot of the stairs in her designer grief.

Seungcheol passed your room on his way to his own, but his steps faltered at the familiar curve of the mahogany doors. Without a thought, he turned, hand reaching for the ornate brass handle. The door creaked softly as it gave way under his push.

He stepped inside.

A scent lingered—soft, distinct. Yours. That subtle blend of lavender and something sweeter, something warmer. It hadn’t even been ten hours since you vanished, but the room still breathed you in every corner. It was as though the space had been carved around your presence—crafted to cradle only you.

He walked further in, letting his eyes sweep over the room he never truly looked at. Not until now. He had never wandered here—not out of curiosity, not even out of care. Usually, if he needed you, he came to your bed. If he needed to speak to you, he summoned you to his library. Cold, efficient. Just like him.

But now, he noticed the details.

The delicate lace curtain that fluttered slightly with the wind. The vanity table with brushes still holding strands of your hair. The books stacked haphazardly beside your bed, half-read. A teacup on the nightstand, still stained with lipstick.

"It’s her favorite color."

A voice broke the silence.

Seungcheol turned. Minyeong stood by the doorway, hands folded tightly in front of her apron. She had served your family for decades, and had been assigned to you ever since your wedding. Her gray hair was pulled into a neat bun, and though her body was aging, her eyes were as sharp as ever.

Seungcheol’s gaze dropped briefly to the soft lilac sheets before meeting hers again. “I suppose you have something to say to me?”

His tone was flat—too calm. It was the calmness before a blade struck, laced with something colder than anger. Minyeong bowed, trembling faintly.

“I failed, sir. I should have protected the lady and the young master.”

“That’s exactly what you were meant to do, Minyeong. And yet—they’re gone.” His voice didn’t rise, but the weight in it pressed against the room like a storm cloud. “Do you know if my wife ever received any threats? Any enemies she failed to mention?”

Minyeong looked hesitant, her brow furrowing. “It’s hard to say, sir. The lady rarely entertained guests. She barely had friends in society. Most of the time, she stayed here… or in the garden.”

Seungcheol’s jaw ticked as he scanned the room once more.

“Then someone must’ve watched her from the outside,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Minyeong wrung her hands tightly, her knuckles whitening. She stepped forward, her voice trembling as she fell to her knees in front of Seungcheol.

“Please, sir… you must find her. The lady—she may not speak much, but I see things.”

Seungcheol's eyes didn’t waver. He watched her with the same stillness he offered his enemies in negotiation—silent, unreadable.

“She bore the weight of this marriage without complaint,” Minyeong continued, eyes brimming with guilt. “Never once did she dishonor the Choi name.”

His gaze flickered at that, just slightly.

“She never asked for anything,” Minyeong whispered. “Not love. Not affection. Just safety. For herself. For Jiho. And I failed to give her even that.”

Seungcheol looked down at her—an old woman who had watched over your days like a silent guardian, now crumpled before him. He didn’t kneel. He didn’t speak words of comfort. But his voice, when it finally came, was low and steel-edged. “Get up, Minyeong. I’ll find them. That’s a promise.”

And when he turned, his footsteps carried something heavier than usual—a crack in his otherwise flawless control. As Seungcheol stepped out of your room, his shoes silent against the marble, the lingering scent of you clung to the air like smoke after a quiet fire. Lavender and something faintly citrus—he never bothered to ask what you used. He just knew it had always been there, soaked into the sheets, the curtains, the collar of his shirt when he walked too close to you.

He hadn’t intended to think of you tonight. But something about the silence of your room, the untouched comb on your vanity, the faint imprint on the armrest where you used to sit and read—unsettled him. Not in grief. Not in worry. In disturbance. Like a room missing its weight. A system missing its balance.

You’d entered his life five years ago—unwanted, inconvenient, and needed. A solution. Your family’s downfall had brought you to his door like a merchant pushing damaged goods wrapped in silk. He hadn't wanted a wife. He wanted leverage. Political gain. A calm household. A woman who wouldn’t scream. Instead, you had the gall to challenge him.

You walked into the Choi estate in that faded navy hanbok, spine straight, eyes sharp, and mouth far too honest. You questioned everything—the contract, the house rules, even the arrangement of his schedule. You moved through his life like a storm in slow motion, unraveling the stiffness in his perfect world.

He hadn’t liked you. But he hadn’t hated you either. You were just… noise. Eventually, like all things, the noise faded.

The storms dulled. Your voice softened. The fire in your chest smothered itself into embers. He watched it happen gradually—arguments turned into nods, sharp words into silence, protests into polite compliance. You stopped decorating your days with resistance. You stopped speaking unless spoken to. You became still.

And Seungcheol—he thrived in stillness.

He never told you to change. He never needed to. Your defiance melted the longer you stayed, and what remained of you was quiet, predictable, peaceful. He didn’t love you. He didn’t hate you. You were just… there. Like furniture that fit the room too well to be noticed.

You gave him peace without touching him. You gave him space without absence. And that was the closest thing to comfort Seungcheol had ever known.

Then the child came.

Jiho. A small, soft echo of you. A boy with your eyes and your uncanny quietness. At first, the sound of his laughter grated him. Too alive. Too human. But one night, Jiho had fallen asleep on his office couch, book in hand, head tilted back. Seungcheol had watched him for minutes without understanding why. He didn’t touch the boy. Just stood there.

Now… that boy was gone. You were gone. And peace was cracking at the edges of his life again.

He reached the study, fingers grazing the edge of his mahogany desk, his reflection staring back from the glass of the scotch bottle he didn’t touch. Seungcheol didn’t mourn. He didn’t fear. 

But the quiet wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was hollow.

Seungcheol woke with a violent jerk, breath caught sharp in his throat. The sheets were tangled around his legs, damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, soft and silver, illuminating the untouched side of the bed beside him.

It was just a dream.

But the phantom weight of your body still clung to his arms—limp, warm, then terrifyingly cold.

In the dream, you had curled into him after the haze of an intimate moment, skin bare against his, your voice still hoarse from whispering his name. His hand had rested on the dip of your waist, fingers tracing the soft line of your spine, when he felt something wet. Sticky.

He pulled his hand back. Crimson.

He remembered shouting your name, once—twice—his voice breaking the peace of the room. You had turned your head slowly, eyes glassy, your lips moving without sound before your body slumped against him. Blood soaked through the sheets like spilled ink, blooming across white cotton in uneven circles.

Then Jiho appeared. Small feet pattering against the wooden floor.

“Appa!” His voice cracked. 

“Appa!”

The boy’s tiny frame stumbled into view, hands outstretched, his nightclothes soaked in blood up to his elbows. Not yours. His. He was crying but not sobbing—just calling, repeating the word like a broken hymn.

Seungcheol reached for him— And the dream shattered.

Now, in the stillness of his room, the air felt heavy, oppressive. He sat up, elbows on his knees, dragging both palms across his face, trying to scrub away the remnants of the nightmare. His heart wouldn’t calm down. It thudded with unnatural rhythm, out of sync with the silence around him.

He looked at the empty side of the bed again. The pillow still held the faintest indentation of where you used to sleep, as if your absence had weight.

The scent of your skin, the softness of Jiho’s voice—he could still feel it in his bones.

Was it guilt? Fear? Loss?

Seungcheol didn’t know. He didn’t care to name it.

He stood, slowly, quietly, as if afraid the wrong sound might call the dream back. He moved to the window, looking out over the dark courtyard, the lights of the estate flickering like the last embers of a dying fire.

Somewhere out there, you were breathing. Alive.

At least, he told himself that.

And somewhere out there, someone was playing with his mind. Twisting his fears into letters. Into silence. Into images that crept into his dreams like poison.

He would find you. He had to. Because if the nightmare ever became real— He wasn’t sure there would be a man left in him to crawl out of it.

*

The ballroom shimmered under a thousand crystal droplets, chandeliers glinting like stars caught mid-fall. Music swelled, delicate and distant, barely cutting through the sound of expensive laughter and clinking glasses.

Seungcheol stood with a glass of aged champagne in hand, sharp in a tailored navy suit embroidered with fine gold thread that curled like ivy across his lapels. The suit was commissioned weeks in advance, as always. His presence alone demanded perfection—and he delivered.

Then you arrived.

A soft blue dress, simple in its silhouette. No jewels. No embroidery. No lace, no drama. It barely touched your ankles, and the neckline was too modest to flatter. Next to him, you looked like a shadow of yourself—muted, out of place, and hauntingly quiet.

He had turned to say something that night. Something biting. The words were already in his mouth: “You’re underdressed.”

But he said nothing. Not because he approved. Because he didn’t want to argue. Not there. Not now.

Still, the memory of your first ball played in his head like an echo—louder than the orchestra. You had stormed into his study with silk swatches and sketches, your arms full of fabrics, babbling about tone and fit and social expectations.

“It has to match,” you’d said with bright insistence. “You in dark navy, and me in silver. Or black. Or deep emerald—something with character, Seungcheol. People talk about these things. I won’t have them saying your wife dresses like an afterthought.”

You were alive then. Not just breathing, but burning. And now… you dressed like a ghost. Clothes dull. Accessories absent. Hair always pulled back in the same low bun, practical, forgettable.

“Do you think my wife has an enemy?” Seungcheol asked, his voice low and steady as the car rolled through the city, tinted windows blurring the passing world into streaks of gray.

Mingyu, seated beside him, turned slightly in his seat. The silence between them had lingered for most of the ride until now.

“She was a bit vocal,” Mingyu said carefully, “but watching her all this time… I don’t think there’s anyone who would hate her. Not truly.”

Seungcheol arched a brow, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Are you sure?” His tone held weight. “No one in the house? Among the servants?”

Mingyu hesitated, then gave a small shake of his head. “Your wife baked everyone cookies last winter.”

The words pulled Seungcheol’s gaze toward him, his expression unreadable. “Cookies?”

“Mm,” Mingyu nodded, lips twitching faintly. “I got one too. Peanut butter and cinnamon. They were pretty good.”

Seungcheol leaned back in his seat, letting his elbow rest against the car window as he stared out. The tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. If anything, it pulled tighter.

“I didn’t receive any.”

Mingyu glanced at him. “You were buried with the railroad project, remember, sir? You barely came home that month.”

The car went quiet again, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between them. Seungcheol didn’t respond—not immediately. But his jaw tensed, and a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes.

He hadn’t even known you baked.

Seungcheol stepped into his office with the weight of a storm dragging behind him. The heavy doors shut with a soft thud, muffled by the thick carpet covering the marble floor. The space was cold as ever—sleek black furniture, sharp-edged shelves lined with files and books no one dared touch unless permitted. The glass windows stretched wide behind his desk, revealing the smoky outlines of Gwanrae’s skyline blurred by early morning fog.

Before he could sit, Seokmin entered quietly, his presence firm, respectful.

“Sir,” he said, approaching with something folded carefully in his gloved hand. His face looked drawn, strained.

Seungcheol turned halfway, eyes narrowing as Seokmin held it out.

A flash of red.

It didn’t need unwrapping. Even from a distance, the fabric bled familiarity. Seungcheol’s steps slowed as he approached, gaze fixed on the item like it might vanish if he blinked.

The scarf. Your scarf.

Worn and soft from use, it still carried the faint scent of your perfume—floral with a hint of musk. Years ago, he’d given it to you without much thought after he noticed how you tugged at your collar to hide the bruises he'd left the night before. It wasn’t an apology, not quite. It was possession disguised as protection.

Now it was evidence.

“Who else knows about this?” Seungcheol asked, his voice quiet but sharp, a blade hidden in velvet.

“Just the search unit. They haven’t spoken to anyone.”

He gave a single nod, eyes still fixed on the red scarf in his hand, thumb grazing a fraying thread near the hem. His mind flickered—your neck wrapped in that scarf, your voice low against his chest, your hand twitching in sleep as you pulled it tighter around yourself.

Seungcheol’s fingers paused mid-fold.

There, at the very tip of the scarf—just above the frayed hem—faint ink bled into the threads. It was subtle, like it had been brushed in haste or with something barely permanent. He squinted, bringing the fabric closer to the pale morning light.

A line of handwriting.

Almost delicate in its curve. Almost playful.

“So beautiful but this scarred? Can’t wait to take off more than this scarf.”

The ink was uneven. Someone had written it quickly, perhaps without care—or maybe with too much pleasure. The handwriting was unfamiliar. Not yours. Not Seokmin’s. It wasn’t the neat, meticulous penmanship of his staff or the strict, cold lettering from official documents.

Personal.

Seungcheol’s chest tightened with a sick heat, as if something vile had begun to churn slowly under his ribs.

He read the words again.

So beautiful.

But this scarred?

Who had seen you up close enough to write this?

The scarf had hidden a bruise, a bite, a scar—one left by him. He remembered that night. How you turned your face away as you buttoned your blouse. He hadn’t apologized, and you hadn’t asked him to.

But someone else had noticed. Someone who had looked. Touched. Written this message.

The fury came like a low flame, slow and silent. It didn’t need a burst to burn—it simply simmered, eating through logic and restraint, until his fingers curled tightly around the fabric.

Not only were you taken. Someone had been near enough to you to leave this behind. Near enough to humiliate him, to provoke him. To mock him.

This wasn’t just a disappearance. It was a challenge. A message dressed as a taunt.

His reflection glared back at him in the glass of his office window—sharp suit, expression like stone, eyes void of softness. For a man known for never flinching in courtrooms or boardrooms, something now stirred within him. Something ancient. Primal.

He looked down at the scarf one last time before slipping it into his inner coat pocket. Not like a keepsake. Like evidence.

Whoever wrote that message had no idea what they'd started.

*

A week had passed since your disappearance, yet rumors swirled like wildfire—fanned further by his mother’s lavish birthday party, held defiantly even as family members vanished without a trace. The glittering ball went on, but Seungcheol arrived burdened, exhaustion etched into the lines of his face and the slump of his shoulders.

He stepped through the grand doors with the weight of sleepless nights pressing down on him, every movement heavy. His plan was simple: greet his mother, offer the obligatory birthday wishes, and retreat swiftly to his office to bury himself in the endless updates about you and Jiho.

Choi Jiho—his son. The name still felt strange on his tongue, foreign yet tethered to his heart in ways he didn’t fully understand. After Jiho’s birth, your world had shifted. Your attention poured into your son with a fierce protectiveness that left little room for him. Seungcheol’s role was clear-cut: provide. Make money. Supply everything you and Jiho could need.

But sometimes, when work allowed a brief reprieve, he caught glimpses of Jiho wandering into his home office. The boy would settle himself on one of the leather couches with surprising ease, fingers busy sketching on scraps of used paper strewn about. No words passed between them—just presence. Quiet companionship.

Those moments peeled back years. They reminded Seungcheol of the early days of their marriage.

You, sitting patiently on the couch nearby, engrossed in a book or your journal, brows furrowed in thought. He remembered the way your eyes would occasionally flick up toward him—focused, calm, sometimes weary. A stark contrast to his own sharp, guarded expression.

And every time his gaze fell on Jiho, it was as if he was looking at a perfect carbon copy of you: the same gentle concentration, the same subtle intensity. In those moments, the cold, ruthless man he was softened, caught off guard by the echo of your presence in his son.

“Seungcheol.”

He turned slightly to find Hong Jisoo—an old friend of yours—approaching from behind a marble column. Impeccably dressed in a muted gray suit, the heir of the Hong family from East Gwanrae always carried an air of soft elegance. His eyes, though gentle, now bore a solemn weight.

“My deepest condolences,” Jisoo said quietly once he was close enough. “I heard about Y/n and your son. I… I can’t imagine the weight you're carrying.”

Seungcheol didn’t flinch. Didn’t nod. He simply returned the gaze, still and unreadable. The golden light made his tired face look sculpted from cold stone—sharp, shadowed, untouched by grief in any conventional sense.

“Thank you,” he replied, voice smooth and devoid of emotion.

Jisoo hesitated, then offered, “If there’s anything I can do—my men in the East are reliable. If you permit me, I’ll send them to sweep that side of Gwanrae. Discreetly.”

There was a pause. A thin, sharp one.

Seungcheol’s expression didn’t shift. “I appreciate the offer,” he said with practiced politeness. “But I prefer to handle my family’s matters internally.”

Jisoo studied him for a moment, as if trying to read what lay behind the cool surface. But Seungcheol gave him nothing. No worry, no despair—only poise carved out of discipline and restraint.

“Of course,” Jisoo replied after a beat, offering a small bow. “Should you change your mind, I’ll be around.”

Seungcheol inclined his head once, and watched as Jisoo disappeared into the sea of well-dressed guests. The noise of the party returned in full as the space between them widened, but inside Seungcheol, everything remained quiet. Still.

Because wavering now would be a crack in the foundation—and if he cracked, the whole house would fall.

“Seungcheol…” his mother began, catching his arm just as he approached to greet her.

“Everyone’s talking about your wife and your son! This is my party!” she hissed through a tight smile, her voice kept low behind her glass of wine as Seungcheol offered nods to her circle of well-dressed friends.

“I told you to postpone it,” Seungcheol replied, his tone measured and calm, but with the faintest edge of warning.

His mother scoffed softly, brushing imaginary dust from her sequined sleeve. “Remind me to punish your wife once she returns. This level of disrespect toward the Choi family can’t go unchecked. I’ll speak to her family personally.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. The weight of her words sank heavier than usual tonight. Something about the way she spoke—so cold, so performative—rubbed against the unease already nesting in his chest. He cleared his throat, a silent attempt to dispel the building discomfort.

“I think you’ve said enough, Mother,” he said, voice clipped with restraint. “Perhaps you should enjoy your party. I won’t be staying long.”

Before she could respond, Seungcheol bowed politely. “Happy birthday,” he said simply, then turned on his heel, walking past the soft glow of chandeliers and champagne flutes, out of the suffocating warmth of the ballroom—and toward the silence of his office, where duty and dread awaited him in equal measure.

The scent of paper and aged mahogany greeted Seungcheol as he entered his office—a sanctuary from the shallow glitter of the ballroom. He barely had time to close the door behind him when his eyes fell on something out of place.

A single envelope. It sat in the center of his desk like it had been waiting.

His gaze swept the room with calculated precision, eyes narrowing slightly. Every item seemed untouched, precisely where he left it. Yet the letter’s presence felt like an intrusion. Quiet, deliberate, and too bold.

Without removing his coat, he pressed the intercom.

“Mingyu. My office. Now.”

He didn’t sit. He stood before his desk, gloved fingers pulling the envelope open in one slow motion. The paper inside was thick, almost luxurious, as though it were meant to mock him in its elegance. But it was the handwriting that made his breath pause—neat, feminine, unfamiliar.

“He looks exactly like you. Do you know he’s mute?”

The words didn’t strike—they clawed.

A slow-burning fury flickered in Seungcheol’s chest, tempered only by years of discipline. His eyes darkened, and when the door creaked open behind him, he turned sharply, holding the note up.

“What is this supposed to mean?” His voice cut through the silence, firm and low.

Mingyu paused at the threshold. His expression faltered—not from fear, but hesitation. “Sir…” He stepped in slowly. “I didn’t know you didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” Seungcheol’s tone remained steady, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

Mingyu lowered his gaze to the floor, exhaling quietly. “Jiho… Your son... he’s barely spoken.”

Seungcheol’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His fingers clenched the paper tighter. All those moments—Jiho silently watching him, quietly doodling, smiling without sound—they flooded his mind in sharp, disjointed flashes.

The air in the room felt heavier. He slowly lowered the letter to his desk and turned toward the window, eyes distant, yet sharpened with a quiet storm.

The letter still sat open on his desk, but Seungcheol’s gaze had drifted toward the couch across the room.

That old leather seat, worn smooth at the edges, once held a different kind of weight—your weight. Now, he saw Jiho in your place. His small figure curled up, legs barely reaching the edge, papers sprawled before him. A single crayon tucked behind his ear, his little fingers busy sketching something only he understood. His head would tilt, brows furrowed just so, lips parted ever so slightly in concentration.

He didn’t make a sound. He never did.

And yet Seungcheol saw you.

Five years ago, it was your body stretched across that couch, draped in a silk robe or one of your too-large knits. Your legs would swing lazily, a journal balanced on your lap, your pen tapping the pages as your thoughts spilled freely. You used to talk then. A lot.

“Seungcheol, don’t you think this room needs better curtains? Or should we get one of those antique globe bars?”

“I saw Lady Jung’s daughter wearing canary yellow at the ball—do you think I’d look good in that shade?”

You were bold, curious, utterly unfiltered. Sometimes he listened. Sometimes he didn’t. But he had always heard you.

It was strange. At the time, he thought you were exhausting. Always pushing at boundaries, filling silences he once treasured. Yet now, in the stillness, all he could think about was how much color you had brought into this room. Until that color faded.

He didn’t know when it started. Maybe it was after Jiho was born. Maybe it was before that.

Your voice softened. Your steps grew quieter. You stopped suggesting changes to the curtains. You stopped speaking about colors and dresses and opinions. You simply… adapted.

You scribbled in silence. You waited in silence. You moved through the house like a shadow he had grown used to but never truly studied.

“Journal…”

The word left his lips in a whisper, as if spoken too loudly, it would break the thread of memory he was clinging to.

He remembered it—faintly—seeing a book on your vanity. A worn leather-bound journal, the corners soft from years of turning, its spine slightly cracked from frequent use. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. Just another one of your habits. Another thing you kept close.

But now, it felt urgent. He rose from his chair with a suddenness. His strides were long, purposeful. The echo of his shoes down the hallway broke the house’s stillness, like a force too large to be quiet anymore.

The bedroom still smelled faintly of you—of jasmine and the warm, almost nostalgic scent of dried lavender. It hadn’t changed in the past week. Everything remained untouched, as if time itself was reluctant to erase you from this space.

And there it was.

Sitting right where it always had—on the vanity, beside your untouched bottle of perfume and a silver hairpin he bought you years ago in Vienna. The journal.

He reached for it slowly, as if it might vanish. His fingers hovered just a second longer before making contact, brushing over the soft cover. It was warm from the afternoon sun slipping through the lace curtains. He held it in both hands, staring.

You wrote. Every day, almost. He remembered catching glimpses of it—your hand furiously scribbling after arguments, after dinners, even on lazy mornings where you stayed curled in bed long after he had left. You used your journal like a vault, locking pieces of yourself away when you couldn’t say them aloud.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of the bed—your side. The weight of the mattress sank just as it used to when you lay there. He cracked open the journal, pages filled with your looping script, so familiar and yet so distant now.

His breath caught when he read the first line on the open page. Seungcheol’s eyes traced the words again, but this time, their meaning twisted deeper into his chest.

“I sold all the accessories my husband had given to me this morning. But I failed to hide the new dresses. She got mad.”

*

“You know where my wife is…” Seungcheol said, voice low and tight, the moment the last servant slipped out and the door clicked shut behind them.

His mother barely lifted her gaze, swirling her tea as if his words were no more significant than idle gossip. “What nonsense are you talking about, Seungcheol?”

But there was nothing nonsensical about the storm building in his chest. The weight of guilt, disbelief, and a boiling rage pressed down on his shoulders, making it hard to breathe. Seungcheol remained still, but his hands trembled slightly at his sides, fists curling and unclenching.

“I think you’ve hidden them—my wife, my son.” His tone was calm, but every syllable was laced with something sharp, jagged. Accusation.

His mother let out a soft chuckle, amused. Amused. It made his stomach turn. “You’ve lost your mind, my son.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tensed, the muscles twitching. He didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. Just stared, as sentence after sentence from the journal echoed relentlessly in his head.

“She hit me again today for making her go to the ball instead of me. She met her enemy: Duchess Kim.” “Minyeong has treated my wound, but it was still hard to sleep last night.” “She put Jiho in the cupboard. I couldn’t do anything but cry. I’m sorry, Jiho.”

His hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles whitened, veins visible beneath his skin. Guilt gnawed at his gut like rust. All this time, he had thought he was protecting you by providing, building an empire so you and Jiho would never lack anything. But while he was drafting deals and signing contracts, you were being dragged through hell under the same roof. By his own blood.

“You lost your mind hitting my wife behind my back,” he said, voice as brittle as cracked glass.

She lowered her cup then, finally sensing something in his tone. Her eyes narrowed. “She told you?” Her voice was low, disbelieving. There was no remorse—only the offense of being exposed. “How dare she,” she muttered, her lips curling.

The air thickened between them, tense and suffocating.

“I don’t know her whereabouts,” his mother snapped, lifting her chin. “Maybe she went somewhere. Maybe she was kidnapped. Either way, she deserves it. That woman was a pain in this family.”

Pain.

The word echoed in his chest. What she called a pain—he now knew as suffering. Suffering you endured in silence, under his roof, while he turned a blind eye.

He turned his back to her, not because he was retreating, but because he couldn’t look at her anymore without feeling sick. His voice dropped into a tone colder than stone. “Say that again, and I’ll cut your funds immediately.”

She gasped behind him, rising from her seat. “My son, don’t let a woman’s tantrum undo your reason. You forget how she came here—she wanted our money. Her parents sold her, and I suppose she’s no better than they were.”

His steps were slow, deliberate, echoing on the marble floor as he walked toward the door.

Every word she said now sounded like static in his ears. His body felt hollow and burning all at once, his heart pounding like a war drum. He had failed you. He had failed Jiho.

He paused at the door and turned his head slightly, enough for her to see the disdain now written in his eyes.

“From today,” he said, “your accounts are frozen. Until my wife and my son are back, not a single coin will reach your hands.”

Then he stepped out, not looking back—not for her, not for excuses, not for explanations.

Ten days since you were gone.

The world kept turning—ballrooms were lit, contracts passed hands, and the morning sun still crept through the windows of the Choi estate. But for Seungcheol, everything had stopped. Days blurred into nights, and the silence of your absence grew louder with every tick of the clock.

His work was a mess.

Documents piled on his desk, untouched. Reports sat unanswered. Meetings were postponed, calls ignored. He couldn’t sit through briefings without seeing your face flash in the expressions of strangers. Couldn’t look at maps without wondering if you were somewhere cold, scared, or worse.

He couldn’t even think straight. Every time someone knocked on his door, a violent hope bloomed in his chest—that it was you. That someone had found Jiho.

But it was never you.

Never.

Seungcheol sat slouched in his office chair, eyes hollow, staring blankly at the open folder in front of him. He didn’t even know who the client was anymore. Their voice on the speaker was just noise.

When the man across the table mentioned “transport,” Seungcheol flinched.

“You say something about moving her?” His voice was suddenly sharp.

The client blinked, confused. “I was talking about coal—shipping routes to the West—”

Seungcheol stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. Mingyu rushed in before he could throw the folder across the room.

“You think I care about coal when my wife and son are gone?” he barked, eyes bloodshot. “Why are you all still talking about shipments and investments like this is normal?!”

The man stammered an apology before fleeing the room. Mingyu stayed quiet, closing the door behind him with a heavy sigh.

Seungcheol pressed his hands into the desk, head hanging. His breath was unsteady, raw with exhaustion. A man who once commanded fear with composure now looked like a soldier losing a war no one else could see.

“I can’t do this, Mingyu,” he muttered. “I can’t even look at people without wondering if they had something to do with it. I sit in front of allies and I wonder if they betrayed me. I see enemies and I can’t decide if they’ve hidden her out of spite.”

He looked up, eyes gleaming but empty. “I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

*

It was five months into the marriage when Seungcheol pushed open the bedroom door without knocking, only to find you brushing your hair in front of the vanity. You looked serene, like a painting—but he knew better. You were always eerily quiet when you were angry.

“You didn’t leave the room all day,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “I assume the bed’s more interesting than our entire estate now?”

Without looking at him, you replied, “I didn’t realize I needed to submit a movement report.”

“I’m your husband. I think I’m allowed to ask.”

You let out a low chuckle. “Since when do you ask anything without sounding like it’s an interrogation?”

He stepped into the room. His eyes caught the reflection of your face in the mirror—expression calm, but your tone cut like glass.

“You’re mad at me again.”

“No, Seungcheol,” you said, finally turning to look at him, “this is just my face. Turns out five months of marital bliss leaves me glowing.”

He ignored the jab. “I’ve been patient with you, Y/n. But I come home and find you locked up in here like some moody debutante. What do you want from me?”

“Oh, you want honesty tonight?” you quipped. “Interesting choice.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I think I’m pregnant, Seungcheol.”

The words fell heavy—but not soft.

He blinked. “You think?”

You shrugged. “Unless nausea and crying at toothpaste commercials is just a charming new hobby of mine.”

Seungcheol stared at you for a moment. His reaction was unreadable, which only fueled your irritation.

“Right. There it is,” you said bitterly. “You look more panicked than when the market crashed.”

“I’m just... processing.”

“You mean calculating,” you snapped, standing up. “You’re already thinking about how this messes with your timeline, your quarterly goals, or—God forbid—your public image.”

“I never said that,” he said, jaw tight.

“You didn’t have to,” you shot back. “You speak in silence better than you do with actual words.”

“And you don’t speak at all unless it’s laced with attitude.”

“At least it’s real.”

The room buzzed with tension—resentment, sarcasm, the ache of two people who couldn’t stop clashing because they both refused to bend first.

Still, as always, it ended the way it always did: your bitterness crashing into his restraint, your fingers eventually finding his shirt collar, his hand gripping your waist too tightly. No solution. No apology. Just another night pretending friction meant intimacy.

Seokmin barged into the office, breathless, eyes wide. “Sir—they found her. Your wife and son are on their way to the estate. They were spotted in East Gwanrae market.”

The room froze for a split second before it snapped into motion.

Seungcheol shot up from his seat, already reaching for his coat. Mingyu was two steps behind, phone pressed to his ear, barking instructions as they stormed down the hallway.

“Driver!” Seungcheol shouted. “Pull up the car. Now.”

The black vehicle cut through the city like a blade. Inside, silence hovered thick between them, save for the low murmur of Mingyu speaking on the phone with Seokmin.

Seungcheol’s hand rested on his knee, knuckles pale. His voice broke the silence, low and rough. “What did Seokmin say? Is she okay?”

Mingyu hesitated—just for a second. Too quick for most to catch, but Seungcheol noticed. His eyes darted toward his right hand, waiting.

“They looked like they were… escaping someone,” Mingyu finally said, his voice carefully measured. “Your wife was with Jiho. She was holding him close, keeping low in the market crowd. Someone recognized her and followed the trail. They were scared. Hungry, probably. But alive.”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed. “Escaping?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu said, avoiding eye contact. His jaw tensed faintly. “Seokmin thinks they were trying to run from the person who had taken them.”

The words lingered in the air, cutting deeper than Seungcheol expected. He leaned back against the seat, staring at the blur of the road outside, expression unreadable.

But Mingyu didn’t speak again. He only tightened his grip on the phone, as if holding in something more.

Something he wasn’t ready to say.

*

Seungcheol didn’t wait for the car to stop completely. As soon as the estate’s iron gates creaked open, he pushed the door and ran—feet heavy, breath sharp. The guards barely had time to bow before he was past them, storming through the halls he built but never cared to live in.

In his mind, you were collapsed in a corner. Maybe barefoot, trembling. Your clothes torn, hair matted, Jiho sickly pale and clinging to you for warmth. That image had haunted him for days—kept him up, fed his guilt like a slow poison.

But what he saw when the door opened made him freeze in the doorway.

You were sitting on the bed.

Clean. Dressed in a simple beige dress, hair slightly tangled but tied loosely at the back. Jiho curled against your side, his small hand holding your scarf like a lifeline. You were whispering something to him, too soft to hear. Both your eyes turned to the door at once.

And in that moment, Seungcheol felt like a ghost standing in his own home.

You weren’t the broken image he had imagined. You didn’t look like a victim of some wild, tragic escape. No bruises on your face. No desperation in your posture.

But there was something in your eyes—tired, aged, older than the woman he married. A hollow sort of peace. Like someone who had already buried too many things inside herself to count.

“Y/n…” his voice cracked before he could stop it.

You blinked slowly, saying nothing.

“You’re… okay,” Seungcheol breathed, as if trying to convince himself.

“I’m here,” you replied, voice calm. “We both are.”

But you didn’t stand. You didn’t run into his arms or cry or scream or ask where he had been. You just looked at him, as if he was a stranger at the edge of your door.

And for the first time since this madness began, Seungcheol didn’t know what role he was supposed to play anymore—husband, father, or something far more irrelevant.

“Do you want a doctor? Food? I can call someone—” he started.

You shook your head once. “We ate. We’re not sick.”

He nodded slowly, unsure. Everything he imagined saying, every question and command, shrank in his throat.

You weren’t what he expected.

Seungcheol approached slowly, as if afraid that the moment would vanish if he moved too fast. The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes dropped to Jiho, small and still, curled against your side with one hand tucked beneath his cheek.

The boy looked peaceful, untouched by the storm Seungcheol had imagined—but that only stirred more chaos in him. His gaze shifted to you. You were watching him, chin slightly lifted, as if measuring his intentions. Without speaking, his hand reached out, hesitating before his fingers gently traced your cheek. It was still soft, full, with that natural flush you always had when you were annoyed or caught in the middle of a sarcastic remark. Alive. Still you.

“You’re okay?” he murmured.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes unreadable. “Why? You worry?”

There was a teasing lilt to your voice—subtle, sharp, the same tone you used when you knew exactly how to push his buttons. But your eyes didn’t match it. They were colder. Distant.

Seungcheol bit his lip, gaze dropping. Was it worry? Or curiosity? He wasn’t even sure anymore. All he knew was that something clawed at his chest the moment he saw you again, like he’d been underwater for too long and just found air again.

“I…” He paused, swallowed. “I couldn’t think straight.”

You looked at him with a slight teasing glint, voice soft but tinted with edge. “Why?”

“You disappeared.”

“And?” Your tone was flat. Testing.

“Jiho too.” His eyes flickered to the child again, still fast asleep against your side.

You hummed faintly, tightening your arms around Jiho’s small frame. It was a protective gesture, but it also told him everything he needed to know—you didn’t trust him yet. Maybe never had.

“Someone took you.”

You bit your lips, your jaw tightening. Then, a sigh escaped. “What are you trying to say, Seungcheol?”

He let out a long, shaky breath, fingers gripping his knees. “I… I’m glad you’re fine, but… I’m angry. I’m furious at the people who took you, and I promise you—I’ll catch them. I’ll make them pay.”

Your brow quirked. “You’re acting odd, Seungcheol. The fact that you were running in here like a madman, with this look on your face, is odd.”

His lips parted, but you cut in before he could explain.

“You never ran for me before,” you added coolly, eyes locked on his. “Not when I cried. Not when I begged you to talk to me like I was a person. But now—suddenly—I disappear, and it’s like you remembered I existed?”

There was no venom in your voice, but it stung worse than any shout would’ve.

He flinched. “That’s not true.”

“No?” You raised a brow, blinking slowly. “You said you couldn’t think straight. Is it because you missed us? Or because you lost control?”

His mouth opened again, but nothing came out. You’d hit the mark, and he knew it.

You exhaled deeply, your tone softening only slightly. “We were surviving, Cheol. Me and Jiho. Out there, with no money, barely any food, and always looking over our shoulders. Do you know how many times I had to lie just to keep him safe?”

His jaw flexed.

“And now you’re here, talking about revenge,” you said. “But you weren’t the one suffering. You weren’t the one hiding bruises, or calming down a mute child in the middle of a nightmare.”

“I didn’t know,” he whispered.

“You didn’t ask.”

That landed like a punch. The silence stretched. Thick. Bitter. But still, you didn’t tell him to leave. And he didn’t stand up.

Because somewhere beneath all the resentment and ruined intentions, something lingered—small, quiet, broken. Something still tethered.

*

You heard from Minyeong that Jiho had accidentally knocked over your mother-in-law’s favorite vase that afternoon. The moment her words reached your ears, a cold dread climbed up your spine. You knew how she was—unyielding, cruel when it suited her. And you knew what that meant for Jiho.

Without thinking, you bolted through the halls of the estate, heart pounding like a war drum. You burst into the room where they said Jiho was, only to find him wailing—his tiny body trembling in the arms of unfamiliar servants, his face streaked with tears and fear.

“Get my son down, right now!” you shouted, your voice raw with panic and rage. You stepped in only to freeze—halted by the icy presence of your mother-in-law, seated calmly in the armchair as if the chaos around her were just a matter of inconvenience.

“Not until his mother learns how to educate her son,” she said coldly, standing with deliberate grace to approach you.

You tried to keep your voice from breaking. “Stop this. Please… I beg you.” Your knees wobbled as your eyes locked onto the small cupboard where Jiho had just been shoved. The servants had locked him inside, and the sound of his muffled cries—sharp, panicked, and unrelenting—cracked your heart in two.

Your mother-in-law’s lips curled into a twisted smile as she watched you collapse to your knees, the humiliation like a crown she placed upon your head.

Then came the sting. A slap, hard and merciless, sent your head snapping to the side. Your cheek burned, and tears spilled from your eyes—not just from pain, but from helpless fury.

Still trembling, you didn’t have time to recover before she gripped your hair and yanked your face upward to look at her. Her gaze was icy. Unforgiving.

“You and your son better learn some lessons, Y/n,” she hissed. “Do you know how easily you can be replaced? You and that unfortunate, mute child of yours.”

Her words sliced through you sharper than any blade.

“First, you tried to hide those dresses my son sent you—expensive things, meant to honor this family. I told you to give them back. I told you to stop wasting his generosity.” Her voice dripped venom with each word.

“And now,” she gestured toward the cupboard, where Jiho’s sobs still echoed, “your little beast breaks my most treasured vase.”

She shoved you backward, and you stumbled to the floor as she turned to the servants.

“Lock them in here,” she ordered coldly. “No food until dinner tomorrow. Let them reflect on their behavior.”

You cried out, but the door had already slammed behind her.

And in that moment, with your son trapped and your body aching, you knew: no one was coming to save you—not even your husband.

You married Choi Seungcheol not out of love, but out of necessity—at least, that’s what you used to tell yourself.

Your family, once noble and revered for their long-standing loyalty to the Choi family, had fallen into disgrace. Years of quietly aiding them behind war lines and political tides came to nothing when your father’s business collapsed into bankruptcy. Reputation meant survival, and survival meant sacrifice.

So your parents turned to the Choi estate, heads bowed with desperation, asking for a marriage alliance to preserve what little dignity your bloodline had left. You were the offering. The last, obedient daughter of a once-great military household.

You didn’t protest. In fact, you thought of it as an escape.

A way out of your father’s suffocating expectations, the cold lines on his face drawn deeper every time you dared to speak for yourself. You thought marriage to Seungcheol—Choi Seungcheol, the heir with a good name and a better record—would at least mean gentler days. He was calm, level-headed, generous when it mattered. Not once had you seen him raise his voice. A respectable man, people said. One of the best this generation could offer.

And for a while, you believed it. Even in the early months of your marriage, he was attentive in his own reserved way. He didn’t try to love you, but he didn’t hurt you either. That, in itself, was a mercy.

When Jiho was born, everything changed.

The cruelty didn’t come from him—not at first. It came from your mother-in-law, the regal matron of the house with eyes colder than marble. She said it started because of your attitude. Because you were “spirited.” Because you were "too free" for a woman who should’ve been grateful to be saved from ruin.

The abuse began with a slap—one sharp sting across your cheek when you failed to greet her with the right tone. Then came the days without food, long hours in the nursery with Jiho where no one entered. The isolation. The servants looking through you like you were something to be tolerated, not served. You weren’t allowed to step outside the estate without her approval. Even your letters to Seungcheol were filtered. Some were likely never sent.

Seungcheol never knew—because he was away.

Your mother-in-law believed your "rebelliousness" would one day convince Seungcheol to cut the financial cord. That you would poison him against his duty. She believed that if she broke you, caged you, tamed you—then you’d stop trying. Then you’d surrender to the role they assigned you. And Seungcheol, their golden heir, wouldn’t be distracted from the real goal: protecting the name.

You were awakened by the sound of the door unlocking. A quiet click in the dark, but enough to jolt your senses. Eyes wide, you scanned the room—Jiho was still curled up inside the cupboard, the space too small for a child, his soft breaths uneven from earlier cries.

Your heart lurched.

Without thinking, you shot up and sprinted barefoot through the hall. The cold marble bit into your feet with each step, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t even know where you were going—only that you needed someone. Anyone.

You collapsed against the corridor wall. A tall figure came running to you. Surprised and worried.

“What’s wrong, Lady Choi?” Mingyu asked, crouching beside you. His voice softened at the sight of your shaking figure, your palms scraped and dirty from crawling.

“My son…” your voice was barely a whisper, “Jiho… they locked him in the cupboard. He’s still inside. Please, Mingyu. Help me…”

Mingyu’s expression changed. Just a flicker. Concern replaced courtesy, and for a second, something else—fury, maybe—flashed through his eyes.

“I’ll get him,” he said, standing up. “Stay here.”

And you could only nod, pressing a hand to your chest as your breath fought its way in and out—because for the first time in so long, someone had heard you.

*

You held Jiho close to your chest on the bed. His small frame trembled in your arms, his fists curled into your shirt, though the tears had long since stopped. The silence between you was heavy, but not empty. You could feel it in his breathing—shallow, uneven. In the way he clung to you like a lifeline. He didn’t cry anymore. But you were his mother. And you knew.

This child—your child—carried too much for a body so small. Too many things he didn’t know how to name. Pain. Fear. Confusion. He had grown up in a house where love was spoken like a foreign language. A house where his parents barely looked each other in the eye, where tension hung like fog. His grandmother’s cruelty had only carved the wounds deeper, branding trauma into him before he even learned how to defend himself. Before he even learned how to speak.

And now, he doesn't speak at all.

Muted—not by choice, but by trauma. And no one seemed to understand. 

You gently ran your fingers through his hair, kissing the crown of his head as your heart ached. You asked yourself—again and again—what was best. For him. For you. For both of you.

Was staying here a form of protection? Or just a slower kind of destruction? You didn’t know. But you knew you had to keep trying. Because Jiho deserved more than this silence. He deserved safety. He deserved love.  Even if you had to crawl through fire to give it to him.

The night after Jiho’s trembling subsided and he finally drifted into sleep—still curled tightly against your side—you sat in the dark and stared at the moonlit ceiling. Eyes wide open, heart numb.

You had cried all you could. It was no longer grief that kept you awake. It was resolved. Something in you broke that night. Or maybe, something in you finally woke up. You had to get out. Not just you—but Jiho. He deserved more than a prison guarded by tradition and cruelty. And you… you deserved a life where you didn’t flinch every time a door opened.

One morning, you waited in the garden until you saw him.

Mingyu.

He was one of the few people in this house who had always looked at you with a trace of human decency. Loyal to Seungcheol, yes. But not blind. Not heartless.

“Mingyu,” you whispered from the corner of the rose wall. “I need your help.”

He looked hesitant at first, glancing around. “Is something wrong?”

You stepped forward, showing him the bruises you had covered the night before. Not with pride, but with desperation. And when you said, “It’s not just me. It’s Jiho, too,” something in his expression shifted.

Still, he hesitated.

“I serve your husband, Lady Choi. You know I—”

“I’m not asking you to betray him,” you cut in softly. “I’m asking you to help a mother protect her son. That’s all I’m asking, Mingyu. Please.”

He stared at you. At your trembling hands. By the way your eyes, even when dry, screamed for help. And then… he nodded. It was the smallest gesture, but it changed everything.

Together, the plan began. Fake kidnapping. Enough to throw the house into chaos. You’d vanish without a trace. Just gone. Long enough for Seungcheol to search, for his mother to squirm, and for you to slip far beyond the reach of this gilded prison.

You needed one more piece. So you wrote a letter. With careful words and shaking hands.

“Dear Jisoo, I hope this finds you well. I have no time to explain everything, but I need you more than ever. I’m trying to escape with my son. I know this is asking a lot, but if you ever saw me as your friend, please—help me disappear. With all my heart, Y/n.”

Jisoo had been your friend from the years before marriage. Gentle, quiet, kind-hearted. He had always seen past your mask. Past your name. The kind of friend who noticed sadness even when you smiled.

The response came swiftly—disguised in a box of imported tea.

“Tell me when and where. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

No one will find you. You clutched that letter to your chest the night it arrived.

You didn’t just want to leave. You wanted them to feel it. You wanted the Choi family to suffer in confusion, to twist in paranoia. To question their power, their security, their control over you. You wanted Seungcheol to see what happened when he turned a blind eye. You wanted his mother to choke on her arrogance.

They thought you were weak. They mistook endurance for submission. Mistook silence for obedience. But you had been watching, learning. Smiling at every slap. Bowing after every insult. Playing your part—until it was time for the curtain to fall.

Mingyu swallowed hard. “You’re colder than I thought.”

You smiled darkly. “Yes, this is who I've been the whole time.”

You disappeared in silence. Like a shadow slipping into dusk.

That night, you imagined Seungcheol pacing the estate in rage. You imagined his mother screaming at the staff, flipping porcelain in hysteria, all while you sipped tea in a warm cabin nestled deep in the property Jisoo owned.

“They’ll lose their minds,” Jisoo said calmly, reading your expression.

You leaned back, watching Jiho chase butterflies through the window.

“I want them to,” you replied, smiling without warmth. “I want her to think someone took me the same way she took everything from me.”

Jisoo stared for a moment. “And Seungcheol?”

You sipped your tea and set it down gently. “He doesn’t get to play the victim. He left me there for four years. If guilt’s what haunts him now, let it grow roots. Let it rot.”

Your tone was soft. But your words were razor sharp.

You hadn’t run to be free. You had vanished to make them remember you in fear.

And when the time came—if it ever came—you wouldn’t return as the girl they once tried to break.

You would return as the ghost that taught them how it feels to lose everything.

*

The Duchess Choi stepped into the room like a queen returning to her throne, the smug curl on her lips unmistakable. Her heels clicked on the polished floor, every sound like a warning bell. Jiho’s small fingers tightened around yours, and you could feel his pulse racing—just like yours. You gently shifted him behind you, body instinctively shielding his.

"Nice to see you come back," she began, her voice honeyed but hollow. "I finally can breathe."

You didn’t say a word. You just looked at her—truly looked. She was thinner, her cheekbones sharper, and the usual glint of superiority in her eyes had dulled slightly, just slightly. Ten days without Seungcheol’s money must have felt like ten years in exile for a woman like her.

You had learned a lot in those ten days.

That fear could turn to fury. That silence could scream louder than words. That a journal—carefully placed on a vanity Seungcheol would pass by—could rewrite the entire narrative.

Even if you sprinkled salt into the wounds, embellished the bruises, and emphasized Jiho’s silence as irreversible, your husband wasn’t the type to fact-check a bleeding truth. He would feel it. And it was his feelings you counted on. The man who once watched you from a distance was now looking too closely for comfort.

Before your mother-in-law could raise her hand—as she had so many times before—you beat her to the blow.

"My husband wouldn’t like it," you said sharply, voice low but sure, "if he knew you hit me again. Would he?"

The words cut the air like a dagger. And for the first time, her hand faltered mid-air.

The duchess laughed—a dry, unimpressed sound that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Bold, are you?” she scoffed.

You tilted your head, smiling just faintly. “No. Just smarter.”

You stepped forward, careful but steady. Jiho clung to the back of your dress, and your voice dropped to a whisper meant only for her.

“Now we wouldn’t want the court hearing things about what’s been happening behind closed doors, would we? Or the charity ladies you love so much.”

Her jaw tightened. The way her fingers curled at her sides told you she wanted nothing more than to hit you, but the risk outweighed the impulse.

“I don’t know what nonsense you fed my son,” she hissed.

“You raised him to swallow a good story.” You stepped back with a shrug, “I just wrote a good story.”

Her voice slithered back into the room like a shadow that refused to leave.

“I shaped him, Y/n,” she said, one heel pivoted against the marble, eyes gleaming with poisonous pride. “Do you think I can’t unmake him?”

You froze only for a breath. Jiho’s head tucked against your side, his small fingers still curled around your dress, a living reminder of what she once tried to break.

Your lips twitched into a cold, almost amused smile. You stood tall, one hand protectively on Jiho’s back.

“You shaped a puppet,” you replied, your voice calm but laced with steel. “But I raised a soul. One you never understood.”

Her jaw clenched. You saw it. That flicker of fear that she was losing control. The very thing she thrived on was slipping through her fingers.

“I won’t let you,” she whispered, venom behind each word.

You stepped forward, not backing down. “You’ve already tried. For years. With silence, with fear, with violence.”

You bent slightly, meeting her gaze at eye level.

“And yet—here he is. Still standing. Still whole.”

That silenced her.

She turned with a dramatic sweep of her gown, fury stiffening her spine. But before she left, she paused at the door and glanced at Jiho. His wide, scared eyes met hers.

“You’ll regret this,” she said coldly.

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to Jiho’s temple. “No,” you murmured, meeting her stare without flinching. “You will.”

And then she was gone.

You exhaled—deeply, slowly—and wrapped Jiho in your arms. His little hands were still trembling, but your body had stopped shaking. 

For the first time in years… You weren’t afraid of her anymore.

*

Seungcheol leaned against the doorframe, his eyes softening at the sight before him. You were seated on the carpeted floor, a handful of colored pencils scattered around you as Jiho clung to your side, intently focused on the sketch he was making. His small hand moved across the page in childlike strokes, your hand resting gently on his back, steadying him.

It was quiet, peaceful even—too peaceful for what he expected after hearing that his mother had come to see you.

He cleared his throat deliberately, breaking the silence.

Your hand stilled mid-stroke, and you slowly turned toward him. Jiho instinctively leaned closer into your side, his small frame tense again.

Seungcheol stepped in. “I heard my mother was here,” he said, voice unreadable.

“She was.” You didn’t look away as you said it, your tone flat but not hostile. “She left just before Jiho finished drawing this.” You held up the picture—a messy house, two stick figures, a sun drawn in orange rather than yellow. He knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Jiho always drew the sun in yellow.

Seungcheol stepped closer, eyes trailing over the drawing, then back at Jiho. His son didn’t meet his gaze.

“You didn’t call me,” he said, watching you.

He crouched down finally, close enough to see Jiho’s trembling lip, though the boy quickly masked it. “Jiho…” he called gently.

But Jiho only pressed his face further into your side. Seungcheol’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach out, but he didn’t.

“He needs space,” you said quietly. “And time.”

He nodded, understanding. “I came to check on you,” he said after a moment. “Not just because of her.”

“Jiho, Mingyu is outside and he wanted to draw with you in my office,” Seungcheol said, his voice unusually gentle. Jiho turned his head toward you, seeking approval with those quiet eyes of his, still wary—still unsure.

You gave him a soft nod. “Go ahead, sweetie.”

Jiho stood, clutching his crayons, and after a small, almost hesitant glance at Seungcheol, he shuffled out of the room.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and just like that, silence swallowed the room again.

You didn’t move.

Seungcheol remained standing for a beat, as if unsure how to begin. But then his voice came, low and heavy.

“I read your journal.”

Your fingers froze mid-reach toward a colored pencil. You slowly lifted your eyes to him, quiet but unreadable.

He took a step forward. “I don’t know what I was expecting when I found it—maybe anger. Accusations. But not…” He trailed off, brow furrowed. “Not that.”

You tilted your head. “Not what? The truth?”

His jaw clenched. “Some of it,” he admitted. “But you made it sound like I left you here knowing what would happen. Like I… abandoned you on purpose.”

“Didn’t you?” you asked, voice like calm water over a sharp stone. “You never asked. Never checked. Four years, Seungcheol.”

His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t defend himself. Instead, he let the weight of your words fall where they must.

“I didn’t know.”

“No,” you said. “You didn’t want to know.”

Silence.

He ran a hand through his hair, stepping closer, something burning just beneath his expression. “You made me believe you were okay. You wrote letters, you smiled when I called—”

“Because if I told you, she would’ve hurt Jiho more.” Your words cracked then, the first sign of emotion leaking through. “So I smiled and lied.”

Seungcheol’s face twisted at that. Regret carved deep into his features.

“She told me you hid the dresses I bought for her,” he muttered. “That you were wasting my money. She said you were trying to turn Jiho against the family.”

“And you believed her?” you asked with a hollow laugh. “You believed her over your own wife and child.”

“I don’t anymore,” he said quickly. “Not after reading that. Not after seeing Jiho.”

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression softening—but only slightly. “Then do something. Don’t just stand there feeling bad. You were raised by that woman, Choi Seungcheol. You know what she’s capable of.”

He stepped closer again, his voice lower, almost hoarse. “I didn’t know it would come to this. I—I should’ve protected you.”

Seungcheol’s eyes didn’t leave yours, but there was something different in them now—no longer just regret or guilt. Something quieter. Something breaking.

His voice was softer when he spoke next, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to say it. “Can I…” he paused, his gaze flickering down for a moment before rising again. “Can I hug you?”

Your breath caught, not because you were surprised, but because of how long it had been since he asked. Since he even thought to ask. You looked at him—not as your husband, not as the man the world respected—but as the man who once held your trembling hands on the altar and swore he'd make you feel safe.

You didn’t answer right away.

The silence stretched between you like a thread pulled taut—threatening to snap.

And then you gave the faintest nod.

He stepped forward slowly, carefully, like you were glass he had shattered and was trying not to cut himself on the edges. When his arms finally wrapped around you, they felt different—not like a husband who claimed, but like a man who begged to be allowed back in.

You stood still at first, tense in the circle of his embrace, memories flashing like scars beneath your skin. But as his warmth bled into you, you felt the steady rhythm of his heart—fast, unsure, human.

And slowly… your hands lifted to rest on his back. You didn’t melt into him. You didn’t collapse. But you let him hold you. And that, after everything, was the beginning.

Your plan has run well so far.

*

Seungcheol felt the small tug at the hem of his coat just as he was about to step out. He turned on instinct, ready to brush it off—but then he saw him.

Jiho.

The boy was in his slippers, hugging a drawing book against his chest with one hand, the other still gripping his coat tightly. His eyes wide, silently pleading.

That silence—it hit Seungcheol like a brick to the chest.

Jiho couldn’t call his name. Couldn’t say “Appa” like other kids might. And yet here he was, tugging him back with all the strength his little body could offer.

Seungcheol glanced at his watch. He was already late. A meeting with regional heads, important people.

But the promise he made to you echoed louder than any ticking clock.

“I’ll change,” he had told you.

So, without a second thought, Seungcheol looked over his shoulder and called, “Mingyu, push the meeting back. Two hours.”

He crouched to Jiho’s height, his voice softer, careful, like something sacred could break between them.

“Jiho… what’s wrong?”

The boy hesitated only a moment before holding out the sketchbook and colored pencils, then pointed toward the garden with a hopeful look.

Seungcheol followed the gesture, noticing the sunlight pouring gently through the windows. The air outside looked crisp and golden.

“You want me to draw with you?” he asked, still unsure if he was reading it right.

Jiho gave a shy nod, his eyes flickering down like he was preparing for rejection.

But Seungcheol didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go to the garden,” he said.

And just as he straightened up, ready to guide Jiho forward, he felt it—small fingers wrapping around his own. A warm, hesitant hand slipping into his.

He looked down, stunned.

It wasn’t much.

But to Seungcheol, that little hand holding his was louder than any word Jiho could’ve spoken.

It was trust. Maybe even forgiveness.

And for the first time in a long time, Seungcheol let the weight of work fall away as he stepped outside—not as a chairman, not as a Choi, but as Jiho’s father.

The crayons rolled lazily on the blanket as Seungcheol added a pair of long ears to the rabbit he was drawing. Beside him, Jiho carefully shaded the butterfly’s wings in a bright orange, his tongue peeking out slightly in concentration. It was peaceful—quiet but warm, like the sun filtering through the trees around them.

Seungcheol leaned back on one hand, glancing at Jiho’s drawing and then back to his own. “I think mine looks like a dog,” he chuckled softly. Jiho looked up and tilted his head, lips twitching like he might have laughed if he could.

But the calm was broken by distant shouts.

“Jiho!”

Seungcheol turned his head, brow furrowing as he caught sight of two figures darting through the hedges—your voice unmistakable, calling for your son. Minyeong was behind you, looking just as panicked.

You skidded to a stop when your eyes finally landed on the garden, where Jiho and Seungcheol were sitting casually on the picnic blanket, surrounded by scattered drawings and crayon boxes.

Your shoulders dropped, relief flooding your face as you exhaled. “Jiho!” you cried, hurrying toward them. “You scared me.”

Jiho’s head whipped toward you, startled by your tone, and he immediately clutched the sketchbook to his chest, eyes wide.

Seungcheol stood, brushing his hands on his pants, still confused. “What’s going on?”

You knelt down beside Jiho, checking him over as if making sure he hadn’t vanished and reappeared. “He wasn’t in his room. He always waits for breakfast after class. No one saw him leave. I thought—” your voice broke off, the worst-case scenarios unspoken but loud in your expression.

Seungcheol’s brows lifted as he finally understood.

You let out a shaky breath, gently tucking Jiho’s hair back. “You can’t just disappear like that, sweetheart. I got scared.” Your voice softened as you held his cheek, thumb brushing under his eye.

Jiho looked down, guilt plain in his body language.

"He's safe here. You don't need to worry," Seungcheol said, his voice calm, his stance steady.

But his assurance didn’t sink into your chest the way it should have. Not with the image of the Duchess still fresh in your mind—her cruel smirk, her venomous words, the way her shadow still lingered in every corner of this estate. Not with the memory of Jiho's trembling form, locked away and crying for someone who would never come.

You tightened your arms around your son, cradling his fragile body to your chest as if your heartbeat alone could shield him. “He’s too precious,” you murmured, your voice low, heavy with everything you couldn't say. Too precious to be used. Too precious to suffer. Too precious for this house to break.

Seungcheol didn’t say anything at first. He looked at you, at Jiho, at the way your hand cupped the back of your son's head protectively. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I understand,” he said quietly. “He’s important to me, too.”

You looked up, your eyes sharp and cautious.

Seungcheol stepped closer, dropping to a knee so he was eye-level with the both of you. “Whatever happens,” he said, voice more serious now, “I’ll work hard to protect him… to protect you. So you don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

Your breath caught.

You wanted to believe him—so badly—but belief wasn’t trust, and trust wasn’t earned overnight. Not after years of silence. Not after years of being left behind.

Last night, the nightmare returned.

The same one that gripped you with icy fingers every time you dared to close your eyes. The same twisted scene that played over and over like a curse etched into your subconscious. You had thought that leaving the estate would quiet it—give your mind the peace to heal—but it only followed, sinking deeper into your bones each night.

It always began the same: silence. A vast, suffocating silence that wrapped around you like a veil.

Then, the halls of the estate. Dim, echoing, endless. You'd find yourself running, barefoot and frantic, the cold stone floors numbing your feet. Your heart thundered louder than your steps.

Then her—Duchess Choi.

Her figure always emerged from the dark, regal and terrifying. Her hands were always red—soaked, dripping. Her eyes gleamed with something inhuman.

And Jiho...

You never reached him in time. No matter how fast you ran, how loud you screamed, you always arrived just a second too late. The final moment always burned itself into your soul: Jiho's lifeless eyes, his small body limp in her cruel arms, as she whispered, "You should’ve obeyed."

You jolted awake, drenched in sweat and breathless, clutching your chest as if it could steady the madness storming inside.

But the room was silent.

Beside you, Jiho slept peacefully, his tiny hand curled into a fist near his face. The innocence of his slumber clashed cruelly with the horror that still lingered in your veins.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead and laid back down, eyes wide open, unwilling to risk sleep again. You couldn’t. Not when the nightmare was always the same, and the ending never changed.

Your mind whispered over and over: What if the dream was a warning? What if it wasn’t just a dream at all?

Seungcheol’s voice cut through the heavy silence, gentle but firm. He noticed the weariness etched into your face—the dark circles beneath your eyes, the distant glaze that made you look like you were somewhere far away.

“You should rest, my wife,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Leave Jiho to Minyeong for a while. Let yourself breathe.”

His words carried more than just concern; there was a quiet insistence, a promise that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.

You blinked slowly, the exhaustion weighing down your lids, and for a brief moment, you almost wanted to say yes. To give yourself permission to stop fighting, even if only for a little while.

But the nightmare still lingered behind your eyes—the bloody hands, the silent screams.

*

The door creaked softly as Seungcheol stepped into your room. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a dim wash of moonlight that etched pale shadows across the floor. The air was still, thick with silence. You were curled up beneath the covers, your body barely moving, your eyes open and distant—staring at nothing.

He stood at the threshold for a moment, just watching. You looked so small like that, fragile in a way that struck him in the gut. His chest ached. He wondered how long you’d been surviving in this half-state, quietly unraveling while he stood blind beside you.

“You haven’t slept again,” he murmured, voice soft as cotton.

You didn’t answer—just turned your head ever so slightly in his direction. The motion was slow, like it took effort.

He approached the bed and sank gently onto the edge, careful not to startle you. For a moment, he didn’t say anything more. His hand lifted, tentative at first, before his fingers brushed beneath your eye, tracing the bruised hollows of exhaustion there. Then down to your cheek—warm, familiar, trembling.

You let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “Are you just here to touch me?” you asked, your voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but with an edge of bitterness beneath it.

Seungcheol’s brows pinched, his thumb ghosting over your temple.

“I’m here because I want to carry what you’ve been carrying alone,” he whispered. “I turned my eyes away when I should’ve looked closer.”

Your throat constricted as tears swelled. You bit your lip hard. “I’m already broken, Cheol.” Your voice cracked. “This house… your mother… everything. I—I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I tried to be what you needed, but I’ve only ruined it. You don’t deserve someone like me.”

He closed his eyes briefly, jaw tight with pain. And then he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead—delicate, unwavering.

“I don’t care,” he whispered against your skin. “You’re my wife. Convenient or not. I made vows, and I meant them. I still do.”

A sob shuddered up your throat as your defenses collapsed. The tears you’d swallowed for months broke free.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t hurried or full of hunger—it was slow and aching. His mouth moved against yours like he was memorizing you again, trying to soothe every invisible wound. You clung to him, fingers fisting the front of his shirt, desperate for something solid, something real.

There was no need for words anymore.

Clothes slipped off like old armor. His hands didn’t rush—they moved over you gently, like you were something he thought he’d lost. His touch was reverent, worshipful. He kissed the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your waist, the softness of your stomach like they were all parts of a story he refused to forget.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, trembling. “I’m scared,” you admitted into the dark.

“I know,” he breathed against your skin. “But I’m here. I’m here.”

When he entered you, it wasn’t a conquest—it was a return. A slow, desperate need to feel something real between the both of you again. You moved together like the world outside didn’t exist. Like grief and shame and regret could all be held at bay if only you stayed close enough.

Your breaths synced, ragged and warm. Gasps turned into moans, moans into whimpers. The sound of your name on his lips was unlike anything—hoarse, reverent, as if it hurt to say but he couldn’t stop saying it.

You cried through it. Not just from the sensation, but from all the pain that had piled up between your bodies for months. Seungcheol held you through it all, brushing your tears away with his lips, whispering apologies and I love you’s and I’m so sorrys between every kiss.

He whispered your name like a vow. Like a prayer.

“You’re mine,” he breathed over and over, not possessively, but like a truth he clung to. “You’re my wife. You’re mine.”

That night, the bed wasn’t just a place of desire—it became a sanctuary. A fragile, fleeting pocket of warmth where two hearts could find their way back to each other.

Morning crept in quietly, the rain having washed the world into a pale stillness. The sky was soft and gray beyond the curtains, the kind of morning that asked the world to slow down.

Seungcheol stirred beside you, his hand instinctively brushing a lock of hair away from your face. You were still asleep, finally at peace. Something in his chest loosened at the sight. For a moment, it felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to heal.

Then his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it lazily, intending to silence it, but froze when he saw the name.

Seokmin. Your personal guard.

The blood drained from his face as he opened the message. The screen burned into his vision. The phone nearly slipped from his hand.

Not kidnapped. Requested. Lied.

His lungs stopped working. He stared at the words, willing them to change, to rewrite themselves, to offer any other meaning. But they stayed the same, cold and damning.

The room shrank. His pulse pounded in his ears. Everything—their night, your tears, your trembling voice saying “I’m already broken”—all of it twisted now. He looked at you lying there, still, peaceful, the soft blankets rising and falling with each breath.

And suddenly, he didn’t know what that peace meant anymore.

He stood from the bed, the sheets pulling slightly as he moved. He was still half-dressed from the night before, hair a mess, lips bruised from kissing someone he thought he knew.

You stirred, frowning slightly at the absence of his warmth. Your voice was sleepy, unguarded. “Cheol?”

He turned, and you saw the expression on his face. The way his jaw clenched. The way his eyes looked at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore.

“Did you sleep with him?” he asked. The words were low, cold, and jagged.

You blinked, sitting up abruptly. “What?”

“Hong Jisoo,” he repeated, more biting this time. “Did you sleep with him? Is that why you ran off and let me think you were taken?”

“Cheol—no.” You shook your head, panic rising. “I didn’t. I would never—how could you even—?”

“Then what was it?” he snapped. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t betrayal. Don’t tell me you didn’t look me in the eye every day and pretend nothing was wrong while you were planning your escape behind my back!”

You flinched like he’d struck you.

Your voice wavered, but you forced the words out. “It wasn’t cheating. It was surviving.”

The silence that followed was sharper than any scream. It cracked through the air between you, full of things neither of you had said for months—maybe years.

His throat worked around the lump forming there. “You lied to me,” he whispered, voice almost breaking. “You stood in front of me, wore the ring I gave you, and lied every damn day.”

You stood too now, trembling, bare feet on the floor, your arms crossed tightly over your chest like you were holding yourself together. “You neglected me,” you said quietly, but it came out sharp. “You left me to rot in that house, alone. Your mother made me feel like dirt and you—you never even looked at me.”

“I was trying to protect you!” he shouted. “You think I didn’t know how bad she was? You think I didn’t want to fight her? I was trying, but you never let me in! You never told me how bad it got!”

“Because I didn’t think you'd believe me!” you cried. “You kept brushing it off. You said I was being too sensitive. Every time I tried to tell you, you told me to be patient. So I stopped talking.”

“You gave up on us,” he said, venom trembling behind each word. “You chose him.”

“I chose myself, Seungcheol.” Your voice cracked. “I had no one. No one listened. Not you, not your family, not the people I was supposed to trust. So yes—I ran. I asked Jisoo for help because I didn’t want to die in that house.”

His face twisted. Pain and rage warred behind his eyes. “You should’ve come to me.”

“I did,” you said. “You just didn’t hear me.”

He backed away from you like your words physically pushed him.

“I didn’t cheat on you,” you said again, voice quieter, but no less steady. “I lied. I’m not proud of that. But I did what I had to do.”

“You don’t get to rewrite this like you’re the victim,” he muttered bitterly. “You lied. That’s the one thing we swore we’d never do to each other.”

“And you swore to protect me,” you said, eyes burning. “You failed me first.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Two people who once promised forever, now standing in the ruins of misheard cries and emotional silence. Both of you hurt. Both of you right, and both so terribly wrong.

Seungcheol looked away, jaw flexing. “I don’t know how to come back from this.”

And this time, you didn’t answer. Because neither of you did.

*

Seungcheol slowed his steps as the raised voices reached him—fierce, trembling, far too close to a breaking point. He stood just shy of the corridor’s edge, where the marbled hallway met the staircase landing, his hand resting on the wall as if grounding himself from a storm he hadn’t yet seen.

And there it was.

You—face flushed, eyes glassy with fury and something dangerously close to heartbreak—stood between his mother and your son. Your arms were slightly outstretched, like a shield. Jiho stood behind your legs, barely visible, clutching his sketchbook tightly to his chest, his small frame tense like a frightened deer in the open.

Seungcheol didn’t move. Couldn’t. The weight of your voice froze him in place.

“You’ve always blamed him for existing,” you said, each word like a shard of glass cutting through the thick silence. “He’s a child. Not a burden. Not your second chance to twist another soul.”

His mother's lips curled, cold and disdainful. “You should’ve taught him obedience instead of weakness. No wonder he turned out like this. You coddle him like he’s glass—”

“He is!” your voice cracked, but you didn’t waver. “Glass that you keep trying to shatter. He’s traumatized—because of you! Because of this cursed house! You broke every child that passed through your hands and now you want to break him too—”

“Watch your tone,” she snapped.

“Or what?” you challenged. “You’ll hurt me? You already have. But I won’t let you lay a single finger on him.”

Your breath was coming in hard, shallow bursts, your voice trembling with the desperate kind of love only a mother could understand. And Seungcheol—watching from the shadows, unseen—felt something rip open in his chest.

Then it happened.

Jiho, who had been so still, so silent—stepped forward. A tiny hand tugging on your skirt, eyes flickering between the two adults in confusion and fear. He didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. He only wanted to stop the fighting. To reach you. To help.

And Duchess Choi turned. Sharp. Too sharp.

“Don’t touch—!”

Her hand flew in a gesture meant to shove you back—but Jiho was there. Too close. Too small. Her arm struck him across the chest, not hard enough to harm a grown-up, but more than enough to unbalance a child on the edge of stairs.

Seungcheol’s heart stopped.

Jiho’s sketchbook flew from his arms, pages flapping like wings of a broken bird.

And then—time cracked.

Jiho stumbled backwards. One small foot slipped. He tilted.

“Jiho!” Your scream pierced the hallway like a siren, raw and anguished.

Seungcheol was already moving. But he wasn’t fast enough. Jiho fell. Head first, down the staircase. His tiny body bounced off the steps in an unnatural, horrifying rhythm. The final thud—when his head hit the marble—echoed through Seungcheol’s ears like a gunshot.

Everything was silence after that.

You screamed again, louder this time, but it sounded distant in Seungcheol’s head. He sprinted, feet hitting the ground too late. You were already at the bottom, shaking, your hands trembling as you pulled Jiho’s limp frame into your arms.

“Jiho—Jiho, baby, no—” your sobs came in gasps, hoarse and broken, like something inside you was shattering.

Seungcheol collapsed beside you, his hands fluttering uselessly, hovering over Jiho’s blood-matted hair. The boy whimpered faintly, eyelids fluttering, a soft sound that should have been a relief but only deepened the horror—because it meant he was still conscious through this pain.

“Eomma… don't cry.”

“Mingyu,” he said quietly. The butler had already rushed into the hall. “Get the doctor. Then gather the guards.”

“My lord—” the duchess began, but Seungcheol didn’t even look at her.

“You’re no longer welcome in this house,” he said coldly. “Not near me. Not near my wife. And not near my son.”

His mother’s breath hitched. Her mask finally cracked. “I raised you—”

“And you nearly unmade me,” he snapped. “You will not get the chance to do the same to my son.”

He turned back to you and Jiho, kneeling once more, brushing Jiho’s hair back gently as the boy leaned into him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”

“Appa…”

*

Seungcheol sat heavily in the armchair, the dim light from the window casting long shadows across his worn face. His eyes, dark and stormy, never left you as you sat on the edge of Jiho’s bed, watching your son sleep. Jiho’s breathing was soft and steady now, peaceful in the fragile safety of the moment—his small face untouched by pain, save for the faint bruises and bandages that marked the night’s horror.

The silence between you was suffocating—thick with everything left unsaid, every wound raw and aching beneath your skin. Your heart pounded in the quiet, the weight of what had happened pressing down like a heavy shroud.

Then, your voice—low, brittle but unwavering—cut through the stillness.

“I knew this was coming.”

Seungcheol’s breath caught a subtle hitch that betrayed the storm inside him. His gaze sharpened, hanging on every word you spoke.

“I dreamed of this,” you said, voice trembling like a fragile thread stretched too thin. “Over and over. How your mother would... harm him.”

Your hand clenched into a tight, desperate fist at your side, knuckles whitening. You didn’t want to look weak, not again—not now—but the tremor in your chest betrayed your fierce vulnerability.

“That’s why I turned to Jisoo,” you whispered, the words heavy with bitter truth. “Because my own husband wouldn’t. Because you don’t have the heart to turn your back on your mother. And I understand... because I’m a mother too.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, a war raging behind his eyes—between blood ties and love, duty and desperation, guilt and regret. He felt torn apart, the impossible weight of loyalty clashing with the raw, aching need to protect the family he claimed as his own.

You finally met his gaze, your eyes shimmering with tears you fought to hold back—an ocean of pain, exhaustion, and pleading that spilled over despite yourself.

“Let us go, Seungcheol,” you said, voice breaking but steady. “We’ve suffered enough.”

The words hung in the room like a fragile glass between you—beautiful, sharp, and ready to shatter. It was a plea. A reckoning. A heartbreak that neither of you could deny. For a long moment, the world outside ceased to exist. Only the quiet breaths, the unspoken fears, and the fragile hope that maybe, somehow, healing could begin.

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, his breath shallow and uneven. The words you’d just spoken echoed in his mind, sharp and unyielding. He wanted—needed—to say something, anything, to hold on, to fight, but the weight in his chest crushed his voice before it could form.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Silence hung between you like a thick fog, suffocating and endless.

His eyes, dark and conflicted, searched yours, but no answer came. The battle raging inside him was too fierce—between love, loyalty, guilt, and despair.

Three years later, Seungcheol sat behind the grand oak desk in his government office, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. The sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the room lined with books, maps, and official decrees.

Now appointed as the regional governor of Gwanrae by the kingdom, he was tasked with ruling a land both vibrant and challenging—a region ripe with opportunity but tangled in its own conflicts and histories.

Papers scattered across his desk demanded his attention: petitions from villagers, reports on trade and security, letters from the palace, and reminders of the delicate balance he must maintain between power and justice.

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, feeling the years of lessons pressed into every decision. The role was demanding, each day a test of wisdom, patience, and strength. But Seungcheol carried it with quiet determination, fueled by a desire to forge a future where pain like his family’s could be undone.

Though the past still lingered—ghosts of mistakes and loss—he focused on what lay ahead. His kingdom, his people, and perhaps, one day, the chance to heal the fractures within himself.

Seungcheol sat behind his polished desk, papers neatly stacked but momentarily untouched as Mingyu entered the room with a purposeful stride.

“Mingyu,” Seungcheol greeted without looking up, his tone measured yet weary.

“Sir,” Mingyu replied with a slight bow before standing straight. “I wish to update you on young Jiho. He has recently commenced his studies at the elementary academy in Southeast Gwanrae.”

Seungcheol finally raised his eyes. “Is that so? And how does the child fare? Has he begun to speak more freely?”

Mingyu nodded respectfully. “Indeed, my lord. Though reserved, Jiho has begun to articulate himself with increasing confidence. His progress, while gradual, is promising. He shows signs of resilience reminiscent of your own.”

A faint expression softened Seungcheol’s features. “That is reassuring to hear. It has always been my hope that he would find his voice in his own time.”

“Also, the Ministry of Trade has confirmed your presence at the opening ceremony for the new provincial market in Southeast Gwanrae. It’s scheduled for the second week of the coming month.”

Seungcheol paused in his writing, his pen hovering just above the parchment. “Southeast Gwanrae?”

“Yes, sir,” Mingyu replied, maintaining professional composure. “The region has seen significant growth in recent years. The local business community has funded and organized the new market plaza. You’ll be expected to deliver an address and conduct a ceremonial inspection of the trade facilities.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tensed subtly, though his expression remained neutral. “And who oversees the business council there?”

Mingyu met his eyes with a steady nod. “The chairwoman is Lady Ji.”

Silence followed—not strained, but still.

Seungcheol leaned back slightly in his chair, folding his hands before him. “Did she submit the invitation herself?”

Mingyu hesitated, then answered carefully. “It came through the council secretary, but her name was signed at the end of the official document.”

A long breath filled the room.

“I see,” Seungcheol said quietly, gaze distant now.

Mingyu added, “It’s not a personal summons, sir. It’s a public obligation. The council is aware of your history, but they believe your presence will lend prestige to the event.”

Seungcheol gave a slow nod, eyes shadowed but steady. “Prepare the itinerary. Notify the guards. We’ll proceed with the visit as expected.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Mingyu turned to leave, Seungcheol’s voice called him back—quieter, tinged with something more thoughtful. “Send word ahead. I expect nothing more than a formal greeting. She owes me nothing else.”

Mingyu bowed low. “Understood.”

*

You stood before the mirror, adjusting the silk ribbon at your waist with trembling fingers. The fever had come quietly the night before—subtle aches, a flush that crept beneath your skin. But the ceremony couldn’t wait. Not when months of preparation and the trust of so many local merchants rested on your shoulders.

You dabbed a touch of powder to your cheeks, trying to mask the pallor that clung stubbornly to your skin. The dizziness made your limbs feel like they moved underwater, but you anchored yourself with deep breaths and the steady hum of responsibility.

Outside, the town square of Southeast Gwanrae buzzed with anticipation. Banners hung from the rooftops, merchants lined the stalls with wares, and citizens gathered around the ceremonial platform. The new market was not just a structure—it was proof of survival, of self-reliance. Of rebirth.

You walked slowly toward the platform, Jiho’s small hand in yours. He looked up with curiosity, unaware of the way your steps were measured, your breaths shallow. Jisoo hovered nearby, eyes watchful.

Then you saw him.

Governor Choi Seungcheol. Cloaked in ceremonial robes, his stature even more commanding now. His gaze swept the crowd with practiced poise—until it landed on you.

And it lingered.

You didn’t falter, not outwardly. But your heart tripped painfully in your chest as heat bloomed behind your eyes—not from the fever this time, but from something older. Deeper.

He stepped forward at the cue of the master of ceremonies. Applause rose around him. You bowed your head in respect as protocol demanded, hiding the slight sway in your posture.

He took the podium. His voice, when it came, was steady and regal. But in the middle of his speech, there was a pause—so brief that only those watching closely would notice.

You didn’t look up, but you felt it.

“Was that the Lady Ji he married to?”

“They didn’t even make eye contact.”

“They used to be married, didn’t they?”

You kept your chin lifted, hands folded tightly in front of you to hide the tremor. Jisoo shifted subtly beside you, standing tall, a quiet shield against the public’s prying eyes. Jiho tugged at your sleeve, sensing something even in his young innocence, but you only gave him a weak smile.

The ceremony pressed on. Names were called, the market gates opened, and trade resumed with festive cheer. But around you, eyes still flicked between your back and Seungcheol’s retreating form. Between the woman who had rebuilt from nothing, and the man who had once vowed to build everything with her.

The hotel’s reception hall was lavish but subdued, echoing the tone of formality befitting a governor’s visit. Crystal glasses gleamed under soft golden light, and the long table was dressed in cream linens and lined with carefully arranged refreshments—fine teas, traditional pastries, imported fruits, and small plates that suggested abundance without ostentation.

You sat with practiced grace near the center, across from the Governor himself. Your pale cheeks were touched with a hint of makeup to conceal the fever’s lingering shadow, though the heaviness in your limbs remained. Jiho was safely with Minyeong elsewhere; this part of the evening was no place for a child.

The air around the table buzzed with polite conversation. Influential dukes from surrounding provinces, regional council members, and a few trade lords from the merchant guild sat in a semi-circle. Discussions drifted from recent drought relief efforts to tariffs on imported grain, yet somehow always curved back to Gwanrae’s rapid development under Governor Choi’s new policies.

You remained composed, offering observations when appropriate, your voice even but soft. You noticed how Seungcheol glanced your way only when no one else was looking—quick, unreadable flickers of something unspoken. Perhaps it was memory. Or curiosity. Or guilt.

You couldn’t tell.

“The Lady Ji’s market district in Southeast Gwanrae has seen the highest citizen satisfaction index in the last quarter,” one of the younger councilors noted, smiling at you respectfully. “The property restructuring method she adapted from Sir Hong was a success. Her initiative has inspired the outer provinces.”

A few nodded in agreement.

You inclined your head politely. “We simply provided what people needed—affordable space to grow. Most of the credit belongs to the people who dared to try.”

“Well spoken,” Seungcheol said then, his voice calm but commanding.

It was the first time he had addressed you directly.

The room stilled just slightly—not noticeably, but enough that your spine straightened. You lifted your tea to your lips, hiding the flicker of surprise in your eyes.

And the whispers… started again. Not out loud, not yet. But in glances. In tightened smiles. In the careful politeness that only arose when something unspoken filled the space between two powerful figures.

By the time dessert was served, the room looked orderly again. But beneath it all, the air hummed with possibility—and a tension that even fine porcelain couldn’t mask.

You rose from your seat with the same poise you had maintained all evening, offering a quiet apology to the table. “Please excuse me for a moment,” you said, your voice gentle, unshaken. No one questioned it.

But as you stepped into the hallway beyond the reception hall’s doors, the air shifted.

The soft murmur of noble chatter faded behind you, replaced by the hush of a long, carpeted corridor lit with wall sconces and the distant patter of staff footsteps. You pressed a hand to the wall as your balance faltered—the fever had been steady all day, but now it surged again, making the corners of your vision blur and pulse. Your breath caught. The polished tiles swam beneath your feet, the weight of the night catching up to you.

You leaned your back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, willing the dizziness to pass. Your fingers curled lightly around your stomach, the warmth of your palm a weak shield against the chill pooling in your limbs.

This wasn’t the place for weakness. Not with officials gathered, not with him in the next room.

But your body disagreed.

Your throat was dry, and the soft layers of your hanbok, though elegant and stately, felt heavier with each breath. You took another slow step forward, then another, intending to reach the small powder room at the end of the hall. But your legs buckled slightly.

And that’s when you heard him.

“Y/n—” Seungcheol’s voice, low and sharp with concern, cut through the silence.

You turned your head, just enough to see him striding toward you. His expression had shifted from formal restraint to something rawer, something dangerously close to the man you used to know. His eyes scanned your face, your posture, the way your fingers trembled against the wall.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, instinctively, but your voice betrayed you—it cracked like paper.

“You’re not,” he said, already beside you. His hand hovered at your back, hesitant but prepared to catch you if you faltered again. “You’re burning up.”

You opened your mouth to dismiss him, to deny him, but the weakness clawing through your spine left no room for pride.

The world around you dimmed slowly, like a lantern flickering in the wind. Your breath grew shallow, your limbs impossibly heavy. You tried to take one more step, tried to hold your chin high despite the spinning in your head—but it was too much.

Then you heard him.

“Mingyu, prepare a room. I’m going there.”

His voice was firm. Urgent. No longer the voice of a distant governor or a man hardened by time and power—but of Seungcheol. The man who once held you like you were made of glass and fire.

You felt the warmth of his hand wrap around yours, the way it used to, anchoring you. Your knees buckled, and the last thing you registered was the sensation of being caught—his arms solid around you, strong and familiar, just before everything faded into darkness.

*

Seungcheol sat in the armchair beside the bed, a stack of reports resting in his lap—mostly unread. His eyes kept drifting toward your sleeping figure, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest beneath the covers. The doctor had said you were dehydrated and exhausted, the fever pushing your body past its limit. You’d been given a shot to bring it down, and now you finally rested—still, pale, and far too quiet.

The soft creak of the door opening caught his attention. Footsteps—small, hesitant—tapped gently against the floor.

Seungcheol turned, and there stood Jiho.

The boy’s eyes were wide, glassy with worry. He stood frozen in the doorway until he whispered, “Mother…”

The sound nearly undid Seungcheol.

It wasn’t just the word—it was the way Jiho said it, the clarity in his tone. After years of delayed speech and silence, the word shattered something inside him.

Seungcheol rose from his chair, slowly. “She’s going to be fine,” he said gently, his voice low. “She just needs rest.”

Jiho stepped forward, inch by inch, as though afraid that if he moved too fast, it would all disappear. When he reached the bedside, he reached out with a trembling hand and took yours.

“Thank you, Father…”

Seungcheol stood in place, the words echoing in his mind. His heart clenched—not out of pain this time, but something bittersweet and unfamiliar. Jiho’s voice, his gratitude… it was more than he deserved.

He swallowed hard, blinking back the emotion stinging behind his eyes.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said hoarsely. “She’s your mother. She’s everything.”

Jiho didn’t answer, but his hand remained firmly wrapped around yours.

And for a moment, in that quiet room filled with the steady sound of your breathing, Seungcheol felt something he hadn’t in years.

A glimpse of what could have been.

Or perhaps… what could still be.

Seungcheol watched Jiho in silence, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy’s small hand wrapped around yours. His chest rose with a slow, heavy breath as something bloomed in him—warm, unfamiliar, and overwhelming.

Jiho had grown.

Not just in height or how he carried himself—but in spirit. The timid little boy who once hid behind your skirts was now standing tall beside your bed, speaking clearly, and holding your hand like he could protect you.

It struck Seungcheol with a force that left him breathless.

He knelt beside Jiho, eye level with him now. “You’ve grown a lot,” he said softly, his voice a bit rough around the edges. “You’re strong… just like your mother.”

Jiho looked at him, his eyes uncertain but bright. “I practiced,” he said shyly. “Talking. Writing. Reading.”

Seungcheol nodded, swallowing the emotion in his throat. “I can tell.”

He reached out, gently brushing Jiho’s hair back, something he hadn’t done in so long it felt like a forgotten memory brought to life. “I’m proud of you, Jiho.”

The boy blinked, stunned, before a small, careful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Will she wake up soon?” he asked.

“Yes,” Seungcheol said, his hand still resting lightly on Jiho’s head. “She just needs rest. You gave her a reason to rest easy.”

Jiho’s small fingers clutched yours a little tighter, his eyes still fixed on your sleeping face. Then, after a pause, he glanced up at Seungcheol—uncertainty flickering in those big, dark eyes.

“Father isn’t here to take me from my mother, right?”

The question landed like a blow to Seungcheol’s chest.

He froze, caught off guard by how quietly it was said, how much fear and understanding hid behind such simple words. Jiho wasn’t asking as a child guessing. He was asking as someone who remembered. Someone who had lived through absence. Through tension. Through loss.

Seungcheol lowered himself again, this time more slowly, until he was eye level with Jiho once more. His throat tightened, but he didn’t look away.

“No,” he said, voice low but steady. “I’m not here to take you away from her.”

Jiho searched his face for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether he could believe him.

“You have nothing to be afraid of. Not from me. Not anymore.”

Jiho nodded slowly, still watching him. And then—quietly, cautiously—he leaned just a little toward Seungcheol’s shoulder, not quite touching, but not pulling away either.

It was the smallest shift.

*

“Rest…”

Seungcheol’s voice, deep and hushed, wove into the stillness like the final note of a lullaby. It wrapped around you gently just as your eyes fluttered open, lashes blinking against the soft golden light that seeped through the curtains. The scent of chamomile lingered faintly in the air—either from the tea or from the linen sheets recently changed—and for a brief moment, the world felt hushed, like it was holding its breath.

You stirred slowly, your body sore but lighter, the fever that had held you hostage now a fading ache. Disoriented, you mumbled, “Why are you here?”

He was already there—by your side. Sitting on the edge of the bed like he belonged in that room, like he’d never left your orbit. The light caught the edges of his sharp features, softened by fatigue and something quieter. Something more tender.

“Taking care of you,” he said, his voice low, smooth like worn velvet. His hand reached out, calloused yet gentle, brushing against your forehead. Cool skin against warm. The kind of touch that made your heart betray you with its sudden stutter.

“Your fever’s gone down,” he murmured, eyes studying you. “But you still need rest. Are you hungry? I can have something sent up.”

You turned your face toward him, blinking slowly as you tried to anchor yourself. The pillows cradled your head, the comforter tucked around you like arms you couldn’t name. It was your hotel, your room, and yet it felt like he had brought the air with him—changed it just by being there.

“We’re strangers now, Seungcheol…” you said, your words barely above a whisper, unsure if they were meant to remind him or to protect yourself.

A faint laugh escaped his lips—low, breathy, amused in that familiar way that always managed to stir something under your ribs. “Strangers usually call me Lord,” he teased, already pulling out his phone, fingers dancing across the screen.

Your brow furrowed. “This is my hotel,” you muttered, frowning. “You can’t just order people around like you own the place.”

He leaned back slightly, still so at ease. “Their boss is sick,” he said with a sly smile, “so naturally, they should tend to you.”

A quiet hum filled the space between you. The distant clink of silverware being prepared downstairs, the muffled rush of staff moving through the halls, and the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing. The air was laced with something fragile and unspoken, like the moment before a confession or the second before dawn.

“You’re weird,” you said softly, your eyes not quite meeting his.

Seungcheol’s smile grew—smaller, more personal, like he didn’t want the world to see it. “You always said that when I did something nice.”

“And you always acted like it meant nothing,” you whispered back, your voice thinning, unraveling.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full—of everything unsaid, of the ache of almost everything, of a past that still lived in the corners of the room. The kind of silence that made your heart flutter even as it weighed down your chest.

“You’re the chairman of the council,” Seungcheol said quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the way your fingers trembled just a bit when you reached for the glass of water. “Yet no one seemed to notice you were sick.”

You gave a soft, rueful smile, pressing the glass to your lips before setting it down again. Your voice came gentle, laced with fatigue and a hint of something more resigned. “The art of noticing…” You let the words settle, your gaze drifting to the window where morning light filtered through gauzy curtains. “It’s not easy. Needs a lot of practice.”

Seungcheol stilled. Something in your tone made his chest tighten—not with guilt, but with recognition. You weren’t talking about the council. Not entirely.

“Jiho came earlier,” Seungcheol said, his voice gentler now, changing the subject. He leaned back slightly, eyes still fixed on your face. “He was worried… You shouldn’t worry your son like that.”

A soft breath escaped your lips, not quite a sigh—more like a breeze of guilt brushing through your chest. You didn’t look at him right away, only let your gaze fall to the folds of the blanket between your fingers.

“Hmm…” you murmured, then turned to face him with a small, grateful smile. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re far too calm for this situation…” Seungcheol muttered, his voice low and taut with frustration. He wasn’t looking at you—his eyes were fixed on the half-open window, where sunlight spilled lazily across the room.

You tilted your head, watching him quietly. “Why?” you asked softly. “Are you… feeling something, Seungcheol?”

A silence fell between you. Not the comfortable kind, but a loaded pause that felt like holding your breath underwater. He didn’t answer right away—just clenched his jaw, the flicker of emotion twitching behind his eyes.

“Hm… old things,” he finally said, his voice quieter. “But I don’t want to talk about this.”

You nodded once. “Okay.”

Another silence—quieter this time. The wind outside rustled the trees. Somewhere down the hall, a servant’s footsteps echoed faintly and then faded again.

Then, like a whisper dropped into the stillness, he said, “I miss you.”

Your breath caught in your chest. For a moment, the room felt smaller, like everything folded in around those three words.

These visits became a quiet rhythm over the months—small, almost unnoticed, but impossible to ignore. You were immersed in the latest market expansion reports when Jeonghan appeared, calm as ever, his tablet tucked beneath one arm.

“My lady,” he said gently, “Governor Choi was seen in the lobby again.”

Your pen hovered but you didn’t look up. “Again?” you asked, voice steady but with just a hint of something beneath.

Jeonghan nodded. “His fourth visit this year.”

You said nothing, turning the page deliberately. The room filled with a heavy silence as Jeonghan lingered, waiting for a crack in your carefully guarded composure. But none came.

This pattern repeated over time: subtle visits, thoughtful gifts.

One afternoon, Jeonghan appeared with a small, carefully wrapped package. “Governor Choi has sent painting equipment for the young master,” he said softly.

You accepted it with a quiet “Thank you,” your heart catching briefly before your face smoothed into neutrality. These gifts carried more weight than paint and canvas.

Later, Jeonghan returned, a slight smirk on his lips. “Lord Seungcheol asked for a recommendation on a local restaurant.”

You met his gaze evenly. “Tell him the best place is the one he hasn’t discovered yet.”

Jeonghan’s knowing smile lingered as he left, the door clicking softly behind him.

Month after month, these quiet reminders arrived—unspoken words and careful gestures, threading their way through your days, stirring memories you tried not to name.

It was near sunset when Jeonghan entered again, the golden light casting long shadows across your office floor. He stood with both hands behind his back, his voice as composed as ever.

“My lady,” he said carefully, “Lord Seungcheol has asked… if he could take the young master for a stroll around the city.”

You looked up from the correspondence in your hand, eyes resting on him a second longer than usual.

The question hung in the air like incense—unexpected, warm, and slightly disorienting.

“For how long?” you asked, though your voice was quieter than intended.

“An hour or two,” Jeonghan replied. “He said he wants to show Jiho the market square lights… and the new flower lane.”

You glanced toward the window, where faint sounds of the evening city buzzed below. Jiho had asked about the flower lane just days ago.

And now Seungcheol remembered.

You closed the document before you slowly nodded. “Tell Lord Seungcheol… as long as Jiho wears his coat.”

Jeonghan gave a slight bow. “Yes, my lady.”

As he exited, your eyes lingered on the door he’d just left through, a quiet ache swelling in your chest. You knew Seungcheol wasn’t just walking through the city. Somewhere else you didn't want to name.

*

Seungcheol opened the door of his hotel room, his tie loosened and sleeves slightly rolled up, only to pause at the unexpected sight.

You stood there, framed by the soft hallway light, holding a familiar bottle of red wine cradled in your arms—his favorite vintage.

“Room service,” you said with a small, wry smile.

A quiet laugh escaped him, subtle but real, as he stepped aside. “I should’ve known this hotel had excellent service.”

You stepped inside, the wine bottle cool in your hand as you made your way to the small sitting area. The room smelled faintly of cedar and old paper—his cologne mixed with the remnants of long hours and unopened reports. You settled onto the couch with practiced ease, the weight of the years between you both momentarily suspended in the soft click of the bottle setting down on the table.

“How was the stroll with Jiho?” you asked, your tone casual, though your eyes lingered longer than they should.

Seungcheol took the seat across from you, his gaze steady. “Peaceful. He asked questions about every flower and every vendor. He’s bright... very much like you.”

You gave a faint smile, looking away as if brushing off a compliment that hit a little too close to the chest.

“I didn’t expect your visit,” he said finally, voice quieter now, more careful.

You shrugged lightly, fingers tracing the rim of a wine glass. “I didn’t expect to be here either. But I figured I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t personally greet one of our most loyal guests. You come here almost every month, Lord Seungcheol. That’s an impressive amount of... business in Southeast Gwanrae.”

His eyes didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something in them—soft, vulnerable, almost sheepish.

“I find the region… welcoming,” he murmured.

“Mm. I’m sure you do,” you replied, pouring the wine with quiet grace, the room now bathed in the quiet hum of night and all the things that remained unsaid.

The wine settled between the two of you like a truce—rich, deep, and aged with memories. Seungcheol swirled the glass in his hand, the deep crimson catching the lamplight in slow motion.

“So,” he began after a sip, voice low, “how’s business been treating you?”

You leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other as your fingers reached for a slender silver case from your coat pocket. With practiced fingers, you pulled out a cigarette and placed it between your lips.

You lit it without hesitation, exhaling softly, the smoke curling into the warm air like a secret.

“Depends on the day,” you answered. “Some days I feel like I own half of Southeast Gwanrae. Some days I feel like I’m drowning in numbers and neck-deep in egos.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, watching the trail of smoke dance above your head. “And today?”

You glanced at him, lips tugging in a wry smile. “Today I’m drinking wine with the governor and pretending we’re just old friends catching up.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, gaze intent. “You don’t have to do that,” he murmured.

“Do what?”

He tilted his head toward your cigarette. “That. You don’t have to put on the show. Not with me.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, laced with tired amusement. “You know I’m not here to be your business partner, Seungcheol. This isn’t a deal. This—” you gestured around with your cigarette, “—is just tradition. Wine, smoke, talk. It keeps people from asking the real questions.”

He looked at you quietly for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Still. You don’t have to play the game.”

You met his gaze, then took another drag, the cherry at the end of your cigarette glowing faintly. “We all play, Seungcheol.”

Silence stretched between you like silk, delicate and taut. Only the quiet ticking of the wall clock and the soft clink of his glass broke through it.

“I never expected to see you like this,” he said finally. “Cigarettes in one hand, a thousand thoughts behind your eyes, carrying everything on your own.”

You looked at him then, really looked—and for a second, it felt like the years hadn’t passed. Like your hearts had never broken, like the city hadn’t swallowed you both in different directions.

“You were the one who shaped me,” you replied, voice steady, though the wine had begun to warm the ache in your chest. “You don’t get to hate the woman I had to become.”

He didn’t speak. He only nodded once, solemnly, before refilling both your glasses.

Seungcheol watched as you took your third drag, the smoke curling lazily from your lips, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. He frowned, a flicker of concern tightening his features. Rising from his seat, he moved toward you with measured steps, until he stood beside the couch.

Without hesitation, his hand gently closed over your fingers, pinching the cigarette between them and pulling it away. The sudden loss startled you, but you didn’t pull back.

“Enough smoking,” he said quietly, eyes searching yours. “It’s not good for a woman.”

You inhaled sharply, the edge in your voice barely masked. “I had worse,” you mumbled, the silence that followed thick and heavy.

Seungcheol stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until his breath brushed your cheek. His voice softened, almost pleading. “Stop this mask, right now.”

You looked up at him, steady and unflinching. “I don’t wear any mask, Seungcheol. Never.”

His eyes darkened with something unsaid, a mixture of frustration and longing. The tension between you pulsed in the still room, neither willing to break, yet both craving the truth beneath the carefully crafted walls.

For a long moment, you simply held each other’s gaze—raw, honest, and dangerously close.

Then, slowly, he released your hand, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers.

“Maybe,” he whispered, “it’s time we stop pretending.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as his hand slowly lifted to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that belied the tension in his stance.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Your eyes fluttered closed as his face dipped closer, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Time slowed—every second stretched thin with the weight of what was about to happen.

And then, finally, his lips found yours—soft, tentative at first, as if testing the waters of a long-denied connection. The kiss deepened slowly, a silent confession that spoke louder than any words ever could.

All the pain, the silence, the masks—they melted away in that moment, leaving only raw, honest truth between you.

Seungcheol’s lips brushed against yours again, softer this time, but no less intense. His voice was low, rough with something like hunger.

“Stop pretending, Y/n. I don’t want the mask—I want you.”

You trembled beneath him, eyes searching his. “I’m not sure I know how to be anything else.”

His fingers tightened around the fabric of your blouse. “Then let me show you.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he undid the buttons, his breath warm against your skin. “You don’t have to hold back with me.”

Your pulse thundered as he trailed a finger along your collarbone, voice dropping to a whisper. “Not here. Not anymore.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding, and whispered back, “Seungcheol...”

He silenced you with a deep, searing kiss, his hands tracing the curves he’d longed for, claiming every inch with a touch that was anything but innocent.

Seungcheol’s kiss grew more urgent, his hands tightening slightly as he pressed you closer. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with heat and longing. Your breath hitched, heart pounding wildly as his lips trailed down your jaw, then the curve of your neck, each touch leaving a trail of fire.

Seungcheol’s hands moved with purpose, peeling away the barriers between you as if memorizing every inch of your skin. His lips never left yours, devouring and tender all at once, a fierce mixture of restraint and need.

“Do you feel it too?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice rough yet intimate.

You nodded, breath hitching, fingers threading through his hair. “I’ve never stopped.”

His gaze darkened, intense and unwavering. “Then stop hiding from me. Let me in—completely.”

With that, he gently laid you back onto the bed, his body following, warm and solid against yours. The world outside the room ceased to exist as his hands and lips explored with a slow, deliberate hunger, every touch igniting fire beneath your skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, fingers tracing a path along your jaw, “I’m listening.”

Your voice trembled, honest and raw. “I want to stop pretending. Just be with you… like this.”

A low, satisfied growl escaped him as he closed the distance again, sealing your confession with a kiss that promised no more masks—only truth and desire.

Fingers deft and confident, he began to undo the buttons of your blouse, each movement sending shivers down your spine. His touch was far from innocent—possessive, claiming, demanding without words.

You parted your lips, breath mingling with his as his hands explored, every brush of skin a promise, every lingering touch a confession. The line between restraint and abandon blurred until it vanished entirely, leaving only the two of you tangled in a heat too fierce to ignore.

Seungcheol’s breath hitched as his fingers traced the curve of your jaw, steadying you in the quiet storm between heartbeats. The air around you thickened, charged with a magnetic pull neither of you could resist. His eyes darkened, searching yours for any flicker of doubt—but found none.

Slowly, deliberately, he closed the space between your lips, the world narrowing to the soft press of his mouth against yours. The kiss deepened, hungry and fierce, as if trying to make up for all the years of silence and restraint. Your breath caught, trembling beneath the weight of his touch, the heat of the moment wrapping around you like a consuming flame.

His hands slid lower, warm and urgent, tracing the lines of your body as he lowered you back onto the bed. The sheets whispered beneath you, cool against skin that burned with anticipation. The tension in the room thickened—every inch of space between you charged with unspoken desire, fear, and a longing that had refused to die.

Seungcheol’s voice came low, almost a growl. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as the distance between hesitation and surrender vanished. In his arms, all your defenses began to crumble—raw, exposed, but never more alive.

The golden morning light spilled lazily into the room, tracing soft lines over the floor, the sheets, and the scattered remnants of last night’s heat — a blouse hanging off a chair, his watch forgotten on the nightstand, your heels crooked beneath the desk. The room smelled of perfume, wine, and something intimate, like skin warmed under candlelight.

You woke to a quiet stillness, broken only by the faint rustle of sheets and the distant hum of the city outside. The clock on the bedside table glared with urgency, a rude interruption to the warmth that still lingered between your tangled limbs and the imprint of Seungcheol’s arm curled loosely around your waist.

He was already awake beside you, eyes open, watching the way your lashes fluttered before you even spoke. A lazy smile twitched on his lips — affectionate, knowing.

“We’re late,” you murmured, voice low and still wrapped in sleep.

His smile didn’t fade, but there was a flash of clarity in his eyes. “No time to waste.”

And then the spell shattered.

The room erupted into a controlled chaos. You both moved with half-hearted haste — clothes tugged on backward, then corrected; buttons mismatched, hair smoothed with hurried fingers. There was laughter between curses, near stumbles, and shared glances that betrayed the rush with something softer.

You slipped on your heels, feeling the bite of time catch up to you, and turned to find him — shirt half-buttoned, collar askew, eyes still locked on you like you were the only thing in the room that made sense.

Your steps toward him were quiet but purposeful. The carpet cushioned the urgency beneath your feet, but your heart beat loud with everything unspoken. You stopped in front of him, reached up, and pulled him into a kiss — not rushed, not frantic, but deep. Measured. A pause in time.

His lips tasted like memory and morning, like the ache of missing someone too long and finally having them again.

“I have a meeting,” you said as you pulled back, your breath brushing his lips, hand cupping his jaw. “I’ll meet you for lunch, alright?”

Seungcheol’s hands slipped to your waist, grounding you with that steady strength he always carried. His touch was warm, possessive in the gentlest way — not demanding, just there.

“I’ll wait for you,” he whispered, low and sure.

There was no space for doubt in that voice. No hesitation. He would wait for you, just like how you had waited for him.

You smiled, fingers lingering a second longer on his jaw before you stepped back, turning toward the door.

The day was calling — but behind you, in that hotel room still steeped in shared heat and the haze of closeness, a kind of quiet longing bloomed.

It fluttered in your chest, soft and stubborn.

Like the start of something secured.

Like hope.

The end.

[nevernonline]

✧.* heartbreak girl; csc one shot.

synopsis: Seungcheol struggles with his feelings for his best friend, y/n, who is caught in a complicated relationship. As he watches her suffer from heartbreak, he finds it increasingly difficult to conceal his love for her.

paring: seungcheol x fem! reader. 

genre:friends2lovers

warning/s:mentions of substances (alcohol) some minor sexy stuff, but not much really.

word count: 8.6k

content: . non-idol idolings, big brother Joshua. asshole boyfriends yk. Cheol is painfully in love.

note: non edited prob weird typos, xo.

Seungcheol stood outside the bustling café, the familiar sound of laughter and chatter spilling through the door like an intoxicating aroma. He had been meaning to meet his friends here for a while, but his heart wasn’t in it tonight. Instead, it felt heavy, aching at the thought of her—Y/n, his best friend and the girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart.

They had grown up together, their lives intertwined like the branches of the old oak tree that sat as the bridge between their childhood bedrooms. Seungcheol had always been protective of y/n, watching from the sidelines as she navigated the ups and downs of her life. But just recently, something had shifted between them, a current of unspoken words and emotions that neither dared to acknowledge.

He pushed open the door and made his way through the crowd, scanning the room until his eyes landed on her. Y/n sat at a corner table, her hair cascading over her shoulders, lost in conversation with another friend. But Seungcheol could see it in her eyes—the flicker of worry, the slight downturn of her lips. He knew her better than anyone, and lately, she had seemed off.

His heart raced as he approached the table, steeling himself for the inevitable conversation. “Hey, Soojin, Y/n.” he greeted, forcing a smile despite the turmoil brewing inside him.

“Seungcheol! You made it!” Y/n exclaimed, the warmth of her voice wrapping around him like a comfort blanket. But as her expression shifted to one of concern, he could see the cracks behind her cheerful facade.

“You okay?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his own voice.

“Yeah, just... a lot going on,” she said, brushing it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Seungcheol glanced at her friend, who seemed to sense the underlying tension and quickly excused herself. The moment of solitude felt charged, and Seungcheol knew they needed to talk.

“Listen, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me,” he urged, leaning forward. “I’m your friend, Bunny. I want to help.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s just... Alex,  dating has been, and it’s... complicated. I think he might be seeing someone else.”

Seungcheol remembered when Y/n first started dating her current partner, he was alright, nothing special compared to the girl who was standing in front of him. 

past

When he first met y/n boyfriend she had just gotten back from college for the weekend as Seungcheol stepped onto her front lawn waiting inside patiently next to y/n’s brother Joshua, he was considering running down the sidewalk to her when a guy appeared out of the front seat to hug her mother. It was in a flash of a moment he knew this guy was her boyfriend. 

Seungcheol's heart sank, but he tried impossible hard to maintain a composed exterior. He forced a smile and greeted y/n with a wave as she approached, her boyfriend trailing beside her. Joshua nudged Seungcheol gently, giving him an encouraging nod.

"Hey, Seungcheol!" y/n called out, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "It's so good to see you!"

"Good to see you too, Bunny," Seungcheol replied, his voice steady. "How is school, my little scholar?"

"It’s been great, but I’ve missed home, especially your mom’s cooking," she said, glancing at her boyfriend. "Oh, Shit. I should introduce you! This is Alex."

Alex extended a hand towards Seungcheol. "Nice to meet you, man."

"Nice to meet you too," Seungcheol said, shaking his hand firmly. He noticed how Alex's grip was strong but not overbearing, a sign of confidence and respect.

The four of them stood there for a moment, the air filled with unspoken words. Joshua, sensing the tension, quickly suggested, "Why don't we all head inside? Mom made us some lemonade. Feel free to spike it yourself."

Of course they all agreed, and as they walked towards the house, Seungcheol couldn't help but steal a glance at y/n. She seemed happy, and that was what mattered most to him, even if it meant watching from the sidelines.

Inside, the house was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly squeezed lemon, probably just a room spray her mom thought would make her lemonade pop more, which helped make Cheol smile even more. y/n's mother greeted them with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling with joy at having her two kids home. The group settled into the cozy living room, the atmosphere gradually easing into one of laughter and shared stories.

Seungcheol listened intently, contributing when he could, but mostly observing the dynamics between y/n and Alex. He noticed the small gestures of affection, the way they seemed to understand each other with just a glance. It was clear they shared a deep connection.

As the evening wore on, Seungcheol felt a mix of emotions. There was an undeniable pang of that little green monster creeping in, but also a sense of acceptance. He realized that y/n's happiness was the most important thing, and if Alex was the one who brought that to her, then he would do his best to support her wholeheartedly.

Later, after many sneaks to Joshua’s hidden liquor, too many slices of pizza, and card games, they all stood on the porch saying their goodbyes, y/n gave Seungcheol a tight hug. "It really is good to see you, Seungcheol. Don't be a stranger, okay?"

"I won't," he promised, his voice sincere. "Take care of yourself, y/n."

“You know I always do,” she gripped onto his sweatshirt sleeve, and flashed her award winning smile his way, “And if I find myself in need of a body guard I’ll be sure to call you.” 

With one last wave, Seungcheol watched as she and Alex walked down the driveway, hand in hand. He sighed softly, turning to Joshua who gave him a sympathetic look.

"Come on," Joshua said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go get a beer, bro. My treat."

Seungcheol nodded, grateful for Joshua's friendship. As they walked away, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Life had a way of surprising you, and he knew that his story was far from over.

A few months had passed now and finally the  sun was shining brightly as their friend group gathered around the picnic table, laughter and chatter filling the air. Plates of food were being passed around, and the aroma of grilled meat wafted through the garden. Which sure, sounded a little gross, but it was just another sign of the changing of seasons, but not the changing of where his heart was gravitating. Y/N was in her element, flitting from one group to another, her energy infectious.

Seungcheol watched her from a distance, like he usually would, holding a fond smile on his lips. He couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly she brought people together, how her presence seemed to light up even the most simple of places.

"Hey, earth to Idiot!" Y/N's voice broke through his daydream. She was standing in front of him, hands on her hips and a playful glint in her eyes. "Are you ready for our trip tomorrow?"

He grinned, nodding enthusiastically. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I knew you’d never disappoint me!" she exclaimed, her smile widening. "It's going to be the best one yet, I can feel it. Something about the smell of the rain this year tells my heart the flowers will be perfect.”

Seungcheol chuckled, captivated by her excitement. "You and your weird as fuck sixth sense about flowers," he teased gently.

She punched him playfully. "Hey, don't underestimate my flower intuition. It's never wrong. It’s like how you always can for some reason tell how many people got a draft beer before you based on some fucked up freshness level you created. I mean we could always take a bet and see who everyone thinks is more insane.” 

As the evening wore on, they continued to chat and laugh, the anticipation for their trip growing with each passing moment. The backyard was now filled with the soft glow of fairy lights, casting a magical ambiance over the gathering. And Seuncheol was still sitting with Y/n listening to her talk on and on about her new weird interests. 

"Remember the first time we went on this trip?" Y/N asked, her gaze distant as she reminisced. "We got lost for hours, and you were so convinced that we were going to get mauled by a bear or a cougar or something?” 

“We didn’t have gas or cell service. I feel like it was a fair assumption to make.” Seungcheol smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed  remembering how he embarrassed himself around her even though he’s sure there were worse incidents. 

“But, we were at a reststop.” 

“But it was pouring rain, y/n. Come on.” 

“Fine, I’ll let you have it,” she ruffled her pretty hands through his hair “I still think you’re silly.” 

“You’re always so mean to me, when I do everything for you.” 

“It’s just so easy.” 

“By the way,” Seungcheol rubbed his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans, “Where’s Alex this weekend?” 

“Uh,” Y/n gave him a soft smile that he wasn’t so convinced was real, “With his parents in Antigua I think? Not sure, some weird beach vacation. Sounds boring.” 

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, sensing the underlying tension in Y/n's tone. “Antigua, huh? Must be nice,” he replied, his voice deliberately casual, though he couldn't help the hint of envy creeping in. 

Y/n shrugged, her smile flickering momentarily. “Yeah, I guess. But honestly, I’d much rather be here, hanging out with you guys. This is way more fun. And don’t tell Josh, but I miss seeing him every day.”

“Seriously?” Seungcheol asked. “I mean, it’s a tropical paradise, and you’d choose me and your brother over that?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her gaze meeting him with sincerity. “Why would I want to be stuck on a beach when I could be here, laughing and just… being ourselves? This is way more my style.”

Her words warmed him, but a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. “So, no Alex for the weekend, then,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Y/n bit her lip, a flicker of thought crossing her face. “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess it’s a bit of both? It’s nice to have some time to myself. But… you know how it is.” She trailed off, her eyes drifting away as if contemplating something deeper.

“Yeah, I do. Relationships can be complicated,” Seungcheol replied, his heart racing at the opportunity. “If you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

She turned back to him, and her expression softened. “Thanks, Seungcheol. That means a lot.”

As the evening wore on, Seungcheol found himself lost in conversations with old friends and making new ones. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, a perfect reflection of Y/N's spirit.

Later, as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Seungcheol and Y/N found themselves talking through their open childhood bedroom windows. 

"Thanks for always being there, Seungcheol," Y/N said softly, her gaze fixed on picking at her nails..

He watched her, his heart swelling with affection. "Always, Y/N. That's what friends are for."

She leaned her head on her hand, and they stared at each other, both hoping that no matter where life took them, they would always have each other.

At that moment, Seungcheol realized that sometimes, the most beautiful places were the ones you were at with the people you cared about the most.

As Seungcheol sat in his dimly lit room, the flickering glow of the y/n’s Scooby-Doo night light shone in his window, transporting him back to the warmth of Y/n’s presence. He could picture her room perfectly: the walls adorned with posters of their favorite shows, remnants of their laughter still hanging in the air. It had always been a haven for her—a place where her dreams intertwined and her deepest secrets were shared.

Years passed quickly, and that cherished tradition of celebrating their friendship had drifted away like fall leaves caught in a breeze. Life took them in separate directions, and despite the countless apologies Y/n sent his way, Seungcheol could never quite shake the feeling of loss. He always believed that she knew how much those moments meant to him; her absence felt like a missing piece of his heart that was waiting to be filled.

While he tried to move on, dating a variety of girls who were kind and entertaining, none of them were Y/n. He often found himself comparing their laughter to hers, their quirks to the little things he cherished about her. It felt like an act of treason against the relationships he pursued, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the old feelings from creeping back into his heart.

As he reflected on it all, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Why couldn't he just let go? It was foolish to cling to a childhood crush on your best friend's little sister that seemed to grow more distant by the day. But deep down, he sensed that what he felt for Y/n was something more profound than a simple infatuation. She was his first crush, someone he confided in, and the keeper of so many memories that covered his soul with nostalgia and warmth.

It was during one of those restless nights, when the weight of her absence pressed heavily on his chest, that he made a decision. Seungcheol had to  reach out to Y/n. No more waiting for the right moment or hoping for a chance meeting. He needed to tell her how he felt, how much he still cared, and how he longed for the connection they once shared.

Building up his courage the moment turned into an eternity as he waited, and just as doubt began to creep in, his phone buzzed, it was her calling him as if he had manifested catching up with her. 

Seungcheol's heart raced as he saw Y/n's name flash across the screen. Just the sight of it sent a jolt of anxiety through him, he pushed it down and tried to take it as a reminder of all the times they had spent together, laughing until their sides hurt or sharing secrets late into the night, almost like excitement. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the accept button, uncertainty warring with excitement. 

But before he could overthink it any longer, he pressed "accept" and set his phone to the speaker. “Y/n?”

“Cheol!” Her voice was bright, and it ignited something deep within him—an undeniable longing. “I can’t believe I finally caught you. I’ve missed you so much, sorry for the phone tag, I have been so fucking busy. 

“I’ve missed you too,” he replied, his voice steadier than he felt. “It’s been way too long. I was just thinking about texting you when you called.”

“I feel bad for not making it home to see you lately,” she admitted, a hint of regret in her tone. “But.. uh, I’d love to fix that. How about we get together this weekend, like we used to? Maybe invite Soojin? Joshua?” 

“Let’s do it.” A smile spread across his face. “We can go to that bar we used to sneak into and catch a show legally now?” 

“Sounds perfect. Do me a favor?” she said, genuine enthusiasm shining through her words.

“Yes?” he waiting on the other end of the line hearing her giggling slightly to herself. 

“Wear that old Sonic Youth t-shirt you have?” 

“Why would I wear that?” 

“Not sure. I just like that t-shirt. Please?” 

Seungcheol’s heart swelled at the thought of being with her again, but he also felt the weight of unresolved feelings pressing on him. They’d both changed, but would the bond they shared still resonate the same way? Would she see him as just her brother’s friend or as something more?

As they continued to chat, Seungcheol tried to gauge her tone, the way she spoke about her life, the little nuances that indicated where she stood. Y/n spoke about college, her friends, and of course Alex.Her enthusiasm was infectious. But every laugh pulled him further back into the past, to the innocent moments when everything had felt so uncomplicated.

“Hey, Y/n,” he ventured, his heart beating a little faster as he gathered his thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to ask… How are you handling everything? I know things have changed for both of us.”

Y/n paused, and he could almost hear her brain processing the question. “Honestly? It’s been a bit of a whirlwind. I’m still figuring things out, but having people around who care makes it easier.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” he said, wishing he could just lay bare his feelings, let his heart spill out the way they used to share their secrets. “You know, I’ve always been here if you need someone to talk to.”

Her voice softened, and he could sense the shift in the conversation. “I know, and I appreciate that, Cheol. You’ve always been there for me, just like… well, I cant think of something always there for something else, but you get it..”

They fell into a comfortable rhythm again, but as the call slowly wound down, Seungcheol felt a flicker of resolve.

As they said their goodbyes, he heard Y/n’s voice resonate with warmth, and for a moment, the distance between them felt almost non-existent. “See you this weekend, okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it,” Seungcheol replied, his heart racing at the endless possibilities that lay ahead. 

Closing his phone, he let out a deep breath, a smile breaking across his face. The connection he had yearned for was just around the corner, and as he lay back on his bed, he knew that this time, he wouldn’t hold back. 

present:

His heart sank at the words, a wave of frustration washing over him. “You deserve so much better than that,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Don’t let anyone treat you like you’re not worth it. How do you know he’s cheating on you?

Y/n took a shaky breath, the anguish evident in her expression. “I’ve seen the signs—the late nights, the changing passwords, the way he ducks away when I try to talk about us.” She paused, her voice cracking slightly. “I just feel it deep inside, like this gnawing instinct that something isn’t right.”

Seungcheol felt his protectiveness swell within him. The thought of anyone treating her poorly made his blood boil. “Those signs aren’t just coincidence, Y/n. People shouldn’t make you second-guess yourself like that.”

She looked down, her fingers tracing the patterns on her jeans. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but the more I try to brush it aside, the more it eats away at me. I just wish I had the strength to confront him.” 

“You do have that strength,” he urged, leaning closer, wanting to make eye contact to convey just how serious he was. “You’re stronger than you think. No one should keep you in the dark or make you feel like you have to doubt yourself. But if you need my help or anyone elses you know you can ask us right? You don’t have to fight it alone. Is that why you’ve been avoiding us lately?” 

“Yeah and I’m sorry I’m embarrassed. But what if I’m wrong? What if I confront him and it turns out I’m just being paranoid?” A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away in frustration, the vulnerability on display pulling sharply at Seungcheol’s heart.

“Y/n, you’re not paranoid; you’re being cautious. People should earn your trust, not break it. If he really cared about you, he’d be open and honest, not leave you guessing.” Seungcheol felt a surge of emotion, desperately wanting to help her see the truth. “You have every right to bring up your concerns. If he reacts poorly, that’s a huge huge fucking red flag.”

She nodded slowly, another tear escaping despite her efforts to contain them. “I just don’t want to lose more than what I already feel like I’ve lost.. I just don’t know what to do, I guess. I’m sorry I’m ruining our fun.”

At that moment, Seungcheol couldn’t help but reach out, gently cupping her chin with his fingers so she would look up at him. “You are never ruining our fun, by telling us how you feel. Remember, you’re the one who deserves to be valued, not just by him, but by everyone in your life, especially those who say they love you.”

Their eyes locked, and he felt a change in the air around them—a connection that transcended the conversation that was sinking like a stone. “You deserve love that lifts you up, that makes you feel secure. Not a relationship that makes you doubt your worth and changes your life poorly.”

“Cheol…” she started, but he could see the struggle in her eyes, the facade of strength crumbling as the truth sunk in. She was scared, scared of the possibilities, but perhaps also scared of how much this all mattered to her.

“I’ll be right here with you, no matter what happens,” he promised, his voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling inside him. “We’ll figure this out together. You don’t have to face any of it alone.” 

Y/n's expression softened, and the tension in her shoulders eased just a little. “Thank you. It just helps to know someone cares I guess.” 

Seungcheol nodded, yearning to break through the last barriers between them. “I’ve always cared for you, Y/n. Always. And I’ll keep caring, no matter what.” Even as those words left his mouth, he felt a weight in his chest—he wanted her to see just how much more she meant to him than mere friendship, but the time for that would come later. Right now, she needed a friend in her corner, and he would be that friend, no matter what. “Should we have a drink now?” 

She smiled at him again, giving him a side hug. “Yes, maybe some shots too?” 

Seungcheol immediately got to his feet and winked as he bee-lined for the bar standing next to Joshua and Soojin, filling them in on his conversation with y/n. The three of them didn’t mention it the rest of the night, but just made sure to give her the best time dancing and forgetting about her shitty relationship issues before the alcohol settled in her system too much and Cheol had to carry her home. 

Joshua unlocked their front door and slid into the house quietly rushing in the three other party goers in hopes not to wake his mom up considering it was a work night. 

Y/n brother pulled her shoes off and rested them at the front door, basically begging Seungcheol to carry her up to her bedroom so he could go get Soojin some pajamas and change his sheets for her in his room which Cheol obliged being the most sober. 

As he was carrying his friend to bed she looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know I’m drunk, but I don’t want to get my hopes up only to be disappointed again. I just... feel so lost.”

Seungcheol felt a pang of concern as he adjusted his grip on her, his heart aching at the vulnerability etched across Y/n's face. He knew the night had been a whirlwind—filled with laughter, dancing, and fleeting moments of joy—but now, as he carried her up the stairs, her honesty pierced through the haze of alcohol.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s okay to feel lost. You’ve been through a lot. But just remember, you have lots of people riding for you. 

Y/n blinked slowly, her features wavering as she processed his words. “I don’t want to burden you,” she admitted, almost whispering. “I don’t want you to be sad because of me.

Seungcheol paused just outside her bedroom door, carefully shifting her weight so she wasn't too uncomfortable. “You’re not a burden, Y/n. Friends support each other. That’s what we do.”

Her lips trembled slightly, and she looked down, tears pooling in her eyes. “I just... I wish I could see things clearly. I want to believe it’ll get better, but I’m scared it won’t.” 

He took a deep breath, choosing his buzzed words carefully. “It’s natural to feel scared. Change is intimidating, especially when it comes to relationships that have been so significant in your life. But that doesn’t mean you can’t start taking the steps to find what you really deserve. Like we talked about earlier. You’re worth that big true love, Y/n, even if you can’t see it just yet.”

Looking into her eyes, he noticed the flicker of hope battling against the weight of her sorrow. “You deserve to feel loved, celebrated and so fucking cherished, not just tolerated. And trust me,” he added, trying to inject a touch of warmth into his words, “the right person will come along, maybe they already have. You’re incredible.”

Y/n’s gaze held onto his, searching for truth in his words. “Do you really think so?” 

“Yes, loser,” he affirmed, nodding. “I’ve been singing your praises for years, remember I did write a letter to Harry Styles trying to get him to go out with you when he was still on X-Factor so until that person comes along, I’m right here.” He started moving again, gently pushing the door open with his knee.

As he stepped inside, he carefully laid her onto the bed, her comfort a priority in the quiet space. “Just rest for now. Tomorrow is a new day. You don’t have to worry about anything tonight. Just let it go.”

She looked up at him, her expression softening as the corners of her mouth edged toward a small smile. “Thanks, CheolieI don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he assured her, tucking the blanket around her. “You’re stuck with me now.” He grinned, feeling the lightness of the moment wash over them, dispelling some of the heavy emotions lingering in the air.

She laughed softly, a sound that melted some of the tension from his chest. “Okay, but just for tonight! Tomorrow, I’ll have to start figuring things out. And can you do me one more incredibly annoying awkward favor that we never have to speak of again?” 

“Deal,” he replied playfully. “Depending on how embarrassing it is?” 

“Can you help me put on my pajamas? Or at least unbutton my shirt for me, I’m so warm and too drunk to care right now.” 

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly masked his shock with a teasing grin. “Wow, is y/n too drunk to get undressed herself, it’s bringing me back to when you had your senior party.”

Y/n shrugged, her cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol and the sudden vulnerability of the moment. “I’m serious! I can’t get the buttons right now,” she grumbled, a laugh escaping her lips as she realized just how ridiculous the request was.

“Shut up, it’s fine.” he said, trying to maintain the playful spirit of the moment while also respecting her boundaries. “But you have to promise me you won’t regret this in the morning.”

“How could anyone regret that the night star football player and homecoming king four years running Choi Seungcheol took their clothes off?” she replied with a slight smirk. “Can we actually stop fucking around though and  focus on getting me comfy so I can pass out without feeling like I’m wearing a fucking straightjacket.”

“Didn’t know you thought so highly of me,” he smirked back, trying to suppress his nervousness. Carefully, he shifted to sit beside her on the edge of the bed, ensuring he kept the atmosphere light and respectful. “I’ll work my special magic.”

He helped her sit up and, taking a deep breath, gently began unbuttoning her shirt. With each button he opened, he focused on keeping his movements steady and casual,trying not to touch inappropriately whatsoever,  stealing glances at her face rather than her torso. “See, I’m not so bad at this, right? Even being out of practice.” he joked, trying to ease any tension in the air. 

Y/n chuckled softly, her laughter lightening the mood. “Yeah, you’re doing great. Just stop making it weird.”

“Me? Make it weird? Psh.” he teased back, his heart racing slightly as he continued, relieved that her demeanor was playful. As the last button came undone, he carefully helped her shrug the shirt off, revealing a soft bra top underneath. 

“You literally just confessed to not getting laid in a long time, weirdo. Too much information.” 

“God, shut up, I did not” he said, letting out a sigh of relief as he set the shirt aside. “Mission accomplished.. But it’s a good look, just so you know.”

“You’re just buttering me up to make me forget this moment, Cheol,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes despite her slightly vulnerable state.

“Wouldn’t dream of it! This moment is going straight into the  archives as ‘That Time I Helped Y/n Get Ready for Bed,” he said, crossing his arms defiantly.

Y/n giggled, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous. 

Seungcheol felt warmth radiate in his chest at her words. “And you’re worse,” he said genuinely, his smile softening. “Now get some rest, cutie. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything else.” 

“You can stay here if you want? Joshua is sleeping on the couch because Soojin’s in his room.” 

“Oh, uh. I’ll be alright on the floor downstairs. You get some sleep okay?” 

“Goodnight, Cheolie,” she whispered, nearly missing him calling her an affectionate name, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of sleep began to envelop her.

“Goodnight, Bunny.” He watched her peaceful expression for a moment, then stood up from the edge of her bed and made his way to the door, feeling a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, he felt pride in being there for her, but a flicker of longing stirred inside him, reminding him of how much he truly fell in love with her.

As he stepped out into the hallway, he leaned against the wall, contemplating going back in there and comforting  her for the night but also how it could affect their friendship and the feelings that lingered just below the surface. Tonight wasn't just another night; it felt like a turning point. Seungcheol had no idea where it would ultimately lead, but for now, he was grateful to be her anchor, even in the midst of uncertainty.

The next morning rolled in like a thunder cloud for y/n, she remembered walking home, but not much after that. She sat up under her pink fuzzy blanket in nothing other than her bra and skirt she had on the night before, her hair smooshed up on the back of her head like a pancake. 

She couldn’t remember how she had gotten there but whoever took her upstairs left a glass of water on the nightstand and two tylenol. She smiled, grateful people have always looked out for her like this. Downing the two white pills and the entire glass of water she shot up and headed for the bathroom, walking in non- chalantly thinking nobody was behind the white door. As she turned the knob a voice came ringing in her ears. 

“Josh I told you- Oh,” Seungcheol was shirtless with nothing but his wet hair cascading down his face and his towel wrapped around his body parts.” Y/n sorry.. I was just uh.. Finished.” 

She slapped her hands over her eyes whispering a sorry and running back into her room, feeling a blush hit her cheeks. 

Y/n's heart raced as she slammed the bathroom door shut and ran down the hall slamming her bedroom door shut her back against it, her mind swirling with embarrassment. She could practically feel the heat radiating from her cheeks as she replayed the scene in her head. How had she not realized Seungcheol was right there? 

After taking a moment to collect herself, she peeked out through her fingers, her heart still pounding. “No, no, no. Why did I have to walk in like that?” she muttered under her breath, doing her best to calm the embarrassment bubbling up inside her. She could still picture Seungcheol’s surprised expression, 

With a deep breath, she reminded herself to take it easy. “You’re both adults.And your friends like it, it's fine.  Mistakes happen,” she whispered, trying to rationalize the embarrassment.

Y/n slowly shuffled back to her bed and flopped down face-first into her pillow, groaning. “Why is this my life?” she lamented silently, wanting to sink into the depths of her blankets and hide from the world altogether.

After a couple of minutes spent wallowing in her own pity, she finally sat up and took stock of the situation. She had to laugh at herself; if anyone could handle a little awkwardness, it was definitely Seungcheol.

With newfound resolve, she decided to brush off the incident. After all, she couldn’t stay cooped up in her room forever, and eventually, she would have to interact with him. 

Rubbing her eyes, she stood up, her body still feeling a bit wobbly from the residual effects of last night. She padded over to her wardrobe and found a comfy oversized sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts to throw on. Just as she was finishing zipping up the  sweatshirt, her door creaked open, and she heard Seungcheol’s voice. 

“Uh... hey, Y/n?” 

She froze, heart racing at the thought of confronting him after their embarrassing encounter. “Y-yeah?” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. 

“I just wanted to check if you were okay. I heard you might have had a bit too much fun last night,” he said, his tone laced with gentle teasing but lacking the usual bravado. 

Y/n felt her cheeks warm again, but she twisted the moment into playful sarcasm. “Yeah, I clearly have my life together. Who wouldn’t want to walk into a bathroom with a half-naked guy?” 

His laughter echoed, and she couldn’t help but smile despite herself. “Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting a guest, either.”

“So, uh, thanks for... you know, taking care of me last night.”

“Of course,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’ll help you with whatever.” 

She nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her chest at his words. “Yeah, but still! I really appreciate it.” 

Seungcheol’s smile faded slightly, replaced with an earnest expression as he leaned against the doorframe. “Y/n,It’s not a big deal. I’ve been doing it for years, I don’t mind.” 

She bit her lip, feeling that familiar flutter in her stomach at the intensity of his gaze and the sincerity behind it. “For real, Cheol. Thanks. I mean it. Just accept the sincerity.” 

“Alright, alright,” he said, breaking the moment by giving her a grin, “Want to get some breakfast or something? I’ll whip us up something..” 

“That sounds great,” she agreed, “But, I actually have something I need to go do today. How about I see you later? A movie or something maybe?” 

“Yeah, you know where to find me.” 

“Of course.” 

If today was going to be the most awkward day of her life, fine. She could handle it. Now arming herself with coffee, she had the feeling it was going to turn out just fine.What started with a flustered memory could lead to deeper conversations, and maybe even something more. First she had to confront Alex about his infidelity and then she can go back to these thoughts. Still, she giggled to herself as she thought about it—this was definitely going to be a morning they’d both remember.

Y/n parked her car in front of Alex’s apartment complex, her whole drive here she made up fake conversations to have with him in her head some of her intrusive thoughts started to get to her as she imagined much more crazy ways of how to confront him, but she knew she’d cry. She knew how hard it would be for her no matter what his answer was, yes or no, but she had to do it. 

Somehow she knew either way that she may be grateful it gave her the courage to break up with him in general. 

Getting out of the car, Y/n felt a mix of determination and fear. The weight of unresolved emotions pressed down on her chest as her shoes tapped against the pavement. She took a moment to inhale deeply, trying to steal a bit of calm before walking through the threshold that would dictate the direction of her life. She climbed the few steps to Alex’s building and pressed the intercom buzzer.

After a few moments, a crackling voice came through. “Who is it?” 

“It’s Y/n,” she replied, her voice steadier than she felt.

“Y/n? Oh, hey babe.! Come on up!” The excitement in his tone gave her a strange mix of hope and dread. Would he be as cheerful when they talked about the mess that had unfolded? 

When she reached his door, she hesitated, heart racing. Did she really want to do this? But even as the question surfaced, she felt the guilt gnawing at her. She owed it to herself.

Gathering her courage, she knocked. After a moment, the door swung open, and Alex stood there, looking casually handsome in a simple tee and jeans, a wide smile on his face. “Hey baby, It’s so good to see you. I thought you were hanging with your brother this weekend?” 

“Hey,” she replied, forcing a smile, even as her stomach churned. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah of course. Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let her through. As she entered, a rush of familiarity enveloped her—his scent, the slight clutter that was reminiscent of their time together. It should have felt comforting, but instead, it ignited a sense of dread.

She followed him into the living room, where the remnants of his gaming session littered the floor. The sight pulled at her heartstrings—how many times had they shared moments in this space? But those memories felt crushed by the deceit that loomed over them now.

“Wanna drink something? I just made coffee.” he offered, heading toward the kitchen.

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Y/n tucked her hair into the back of her sweatshirt, feeling uncharacteristically fidgety. “Alex, I really just need to talk.”

“What’s on your mind?” He settled onto the couch, beaming with an eagerness that pitted her stomach against her better instincts. 

She took a breath, the words sticking in her throat. “I... um, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” 

“Yeah? About what?” His expression shifted to curiosity, and she suspected he had no inkling of the storm about to descend.

“About us, about everything that’s happened,” she started, trying to gauge his reaction. His smile faltered just a bit, and her heart sank. “I found out about the other girl.”

His demeanor changed instantly. The confident glimmer in his eyes vanished, replaced by confusion. “Y/n, I—”

“Let me finish,” she interrupted, her tone firmer than she anticipated. She crossed her arms, drawing strength from her resolve. “I don’t want to hear excuses. I just need to know if you even care at all about what this does to our relationship.”

“I do care! I didn’t mean for it to happen.” He looked defensive, yet Y/n couldn't muster sympathy at this moment. 

“Didn’t mean for what to happen? To hurt me? To also keep her a secret?” Her voice was steady, but her chest tightened as emotions swelled within. “How many times did you lie to me? How can I trust anything you say now?”

“Y/n, please. It was a mistake. I never wanted to hurt you,” he pleaded, his expression shifting from confusion to desperation.

“And yet, here we are!” she raised her voice,, feeling the anger rise, mixed with a sorrow that threatened to spill over. “I don’t know if you understand how this makes me feel. I didn’t deserve to be anything less than faithful.”

“Oh and your brothers friend is jus-” 

“Shut up for one goddamn second.” 

Alex opened his mouth in surprise, as if he was about to argue, but Y/n pressed on, the truth spilling out. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that we could make it work, that you’d change. But the more I think about it, the more I realize—it’s not just a mistake. It’s a choice you made. You don’t actually love me enough to just be with me.” 

“Y/n...” he started, but she cut him off again, her gaze unwavering.

“It made me realize I deserve better  than what you’ve given me. I need to take care of myself.” 

An overwhelming silence consumed the room. Alex’s face hardened as he processed her words, the reality of what was happening sinking in. 

“I just... I thought we had something special,” he muttered, hurt flickering in his eyes. 

“We did,” she whispered, a pang of regret cutting through her. “But that’s the thing, Alex. You fucking ruined  it.”

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she squared her shoulders. “We have to break up.” 

“Y/n, wait. I can change. I swear! Just give me another chance! I’ll do better!” His plea hung in the air, desperately. 

But she knew better now. “I don’t think I can forgive you for this. And I don’t think I want to try. I need to move on and find myself again.”

She turned to leave, heart racing in her chest. As she reached for the doorknob, Alex’s voice caught her once more. “I wish you’d let me explain...”

She paused but didn’t turn around. “There’s nothing left to say, Alex.” 

With a shaky breath, she stepped outside, the cool air hitting her like a wave of clarity. Y/n stood for a moment on the threshold, allowing herself to breathe freely for the first time in weeks. 

As she walked down the stairs and toward her car, the weight of the conversation pressed upon her, but in a different way. It was a weight lifted.

She took out her phone and texted Seungcheol. “IT'S OVER, lol. Can we still do that movie later? I could really use a friend.”

Seconds later, her phone buzzed with his response. “What’s over? Did you break up with that fucker? Thank god. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

A smile broke through her earlier sorrow, and she felt the corners of her heart begin to heal just a little. She hadn’t expected this day to lead her in a new direction, but she was ready for whatever came next. One awkward day down, and the next chapter was waiting.

On her drive back y/n knew she shouldn’t be thinking about jumping into her relationship with Seuncheol now, but she also knew she wasted so much time with other jerks never giving him a chance, but it’s what she wanted she just had to figure out how to make it happen. 

She pulled into Seuncheol’s driveway, bag of snacks in hand. Shutting her car door with her backside, nearly skipping up to his front door where he stood waiting for her with open arms dressed in his pajamas. 

The sight of him, all cozy and relaxed, made her heart flutter. Seuncheol's smile was infectious, and she couldn’t help but return it as she stepped into his warm embrace. The delicious scent of something cooking wafted through the door behind him, complementing the warmth and comfort he radiated.

“Well, well, well, Miss. Bad Bitch,” he exclaimed, pulling away and taking her bag of snacks. “I hope you brought my favorites.”

“Shut up,” she laughed, her heart dancing at how effortlessly they fell into this easy banter. “How could I come empty-handed to thank my therapist?”

Seuncheol chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Good point. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Together they sorted through the assortment of chips, candies, and cookies, playfully debating over which treats deserved a spot on their makeshift movie night platter. As they settled onto the couch, their bodies nearly touching, she found herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t in a long time. The earlier unease faded, replaced by a sense of belonging as she sank deeper next to him resting her head on his shoulder swinging around a piece of licorice. 

“Alright, so what are we watching?” he asked, remote in hand. 

She bit her lip thoughtfully, her heart racing at the idea of sharing this moment with him. “How about something fun? A rom-com?” 

“Only if you promise to laugh at all the cheesy parts,” he teased, nudging her playfully.

“How about a bet that whoever cries has to jump in your pool… naked,” she shot back with a smile, feeling a thrill in their playful exchange. The movie began, their laughter filling the space as they munched on snacks, but she felt the real chemistry sparking between them, the edges of her heart warming with every shared glance and gentle touch.

As the story unfolded on the screen, she caught herself stealing glances at him, his focus entirely on the film yet his presence enveloped her like a warm blanket. Somewhere between the jokes and the popcorn fights, the realization struck—this was the moment she had been waiting for, the feeling she had longed to explore. 

“Seuncheol,” she said softly, causing him to look over, pausing the movie. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you crying?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Wow. I win!” 

Seungcheol punched the air, getting up faster than he ever has, stripping off his hoodie and running out the patio door, y/n chasing behind him, knocking over the entire bowl of popcorn on her way out. 

As she turned the corner to go towards his pool he snatched her up, jumping in with her in his arms. 

The splash echoed through the night as the cool water enveloped them both. Seungcheol erupted in laughter, the sound bright and full of joy, while Y/N squealed in surprise, her heart racing from the sudden plunge. 

As they surfaced, water cascading off their faces, Y/N couldn't help but scold him playfully, “What the Fuck. You could have warned me!” Her hair clung to her face, and she was momentarily blinded, but the thrill of the moment overshadowed any annoyance.

Seungcheol flashed her a cheeky grin, droplets sparkling on his skin. “Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, his eyes mischievous, reflecting the moonlight. 

Y/N glared, though her heart was still light. “You’re such an asshole!” she laughed, splashing water back at him, her instincts taking over as they devolved into a playful water fight. He countered with playful throws of water, their laughter mingling in the cool night air—full of energy, warmth, and the promise of summer.

He was talking her through the water, pinning her against his bare chest, they both paused, breathless and giggling their legs brushing against each other as she caught her breath. “You’re going to get us both in trouble,” she said softly, her voice playful yet carrying an underlying affection.

Seungcheol tilted his head, his smile softening. “Maybe. But this is way more fun than sitting inside watching movies.” He reached for her hair, swiping it out of her face, and for a moment, the world faded around them, he took a deep breath and kissed her, rummaging his hands under her sweatshirt which she reciprocated back, tugging at his waist band, dipping her cold fingers underneath to graze him slightly in an area they’ve never explored. 

“I’ve been thinking about us,” she confessed, the words tumbling out between their passionate kisses she couldn’t second-guess them. “I know this is sudden.. But, I.. uh.” she left a small whispering moan out of her lips, 

Kissing her deeply again smiling into it he just whispered, “But?” and then moved his lips to her neck as she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

She took a deep breath, her heart racing. “But I want to give us a chance. I want to see where this could go. I’ve never trusted anyone more than you.” 

A  huge smile broke over his face, as he pulled away for just a moment, as if her words were a key that unlocked something deep within him. “Really? You mean it?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, her nerves calming under the intensity of his stare. “I do. I know it’s sudden, but I’ve been in love with you my whole life.” 

His eyes widened with surprise “You… you’ve loved me?” The words slipped from his lips, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid to break the spell of the moment. 

“Yes,” she replied, her voice steady yet soft, the weight of her confession hanging between them like a fragile thread. “I never thought we’d get to this point, but here we are.” 

He leaned in closer again, his forehead resting against hers, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin. “I never wanted to rush you,” he admitted. “I just didn’t know how to tell you how I felt. It’s like… you’ve always been the only person I’ve ever wanted.” 

Her heart swelled at his words, a sense of relief enveloping her like a warm blanket. “So what now?” she asked, her tone playful but laced with sincerity. 

“Now? We figure it out together.” His voice was low and confident, reassurance flooding her senses. He kissed her forehead gently before pulling back slightly, his hands still locking around her waist. “I want to take our time, get to know each other in this way. There’s no rush.” 

“Okay,” she murmured, the smile returning to her lips. She hadn’t realized how much she needed his patient approach, how refreshing it felt to not be hurried into something that had the potential to change everything. 

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Just know that I’m all in.” 

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away, caught in the sincerity of his gaze. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words.” 

“And now that you have, what do you want to do first?” he asked, a twinkle of mischief sparking in his eyes. 

She grinned, feeling a rush of excitement flood through her. “How about we start with dinner? A proper date, just the two of us, to celebrate this… us. Build up even more sexual tension between us just to make it fun” 

“Dinner it is,” he said, already beaming. “And knowing you a bet to who would break first.” 

“My bets on you, Cheol. You’re a man.” 

“Sure, Bunny. But you did already have your hands down my pants, I’m thinking you’re already a failure. But, I’ll let it slide this time.” 

“Well I’ll try to control myself,” she replied, feeling a thrill of possibility unfolding before them. With newfound hope in her heart, she knew this was only the beginning.

[diamonddaze01]

HEYYY. I read your off the record jeonghan's fic and OH MY GOD. IT WAS SOOOOOOOO AMAZING AND GOOD. CHEF'S KISS MWAH

I was wondering if you can do jeonghan 75 drabble. I would really really appreciate it. thank you and love you mwah

off the record

pairing: jeonghan x reader | wc: 1.3k prompt: "guess who's going to be a father!" au: f1 au | warnings: mentions of pregnancy a/n: hello hello nari your asks always make me smile <3 // this is a continuation of [on the record] bc ferrari!jeonghan lives in my head rent free (highly recommend you read on the record first for some context)

The atmosphere at the Australian Grand Prix was electric, the roar of the crowd still echoing as the last of the race cars pulled into the pit lane. Jeonghan had just secured yet another win, and the sea of Ferrari red flooded every corner of the paddock. The team was in chaos—cheers and hugs, champagne spraying everywhere, mechanics shaking with excitement—but Jeonghan’s gaze was fixed on something else.

You stood just outside the frenzy, leaning casually against the barrier, your camera poised as you snapped a few final shots. You’d been here before, a part of this circus. But today, you had a story of your own to deal with, one that Jeonghan was certain would find its way to his attention.

Jeonghan peeled off his helmet and flashed a grin at the crew as they crowded around him. But his eyes were still searching for you.

A few weeks ago, you'd written something that had the entire paddock talking. 

"Guess Who’s Going to be a Father!" 

Yoon Jeonghan, Ferrari’s golden boy, had been linked to a famous model, Sienna Hartley, the stunning up-and-coming fashion icon known for her work with luxury brands. A few months ago, the paparazzi had caught the two of them together at a private event. The photos were casual enough—Jeonghan with his arm around her waist, a smile that seemed too comfortable—but it was the following week’s headlines that sent the media into a frenzy.

The shots of Sienna taken at an upscale café, her baby bump unmistakable under a form-fitting dress, had people running wild with speculation. Was Jeonghan going to be a father? Had he been keeping a secret relationship? The rumors only grew when neither Jeonghan nor Sienna commented on the speculation, leaving fans and gossip columns to fill in the blanks.

The rumblings were only growing louder, and of course, you had jumped into the fray, teasing the possibility of Jeonghan becoming a father. The headline had been coy but suggested a connection between the two, leaving just enough room for interpretation. And now, here he was, stepping out of the car, knowing exactly who was responsible for the chaos.

As he walked toward you, the crowd parted around him, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. He could practically feel the mischievous energy radiating from you, even from a distance. The subtle smirk tugging at your lips was all the warning he needed.

Jeonghan approached with slow, deliberate steps, his face a mixture of amusement and challenge. "So we write fake articles now, do we, sweetheart?" he called, his voice carrying across the pit lane.

You didn’t even flinch. With a calm, collected posture, you raised an eyebrow, offering him a half-smile as you lowered your camera. "Just reporting what people are saying," you replied smoothly, voice teasing. "You know, about you possibly becoming a father this year."

"People are saying that?" Jeonghan asked, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. He stepped closer, clearly enjoying the tension building between you two. "Maybe you’ve been spending too much time with the gossip columnists, huh? Could’ve sworn the last time I checked, we were talking about race wins, not baby bumps."

You shrugged, not missing a beat. "Well, Jeonghan, it’s not my fault your personal life keeps getting more interesting than your driving. You really should be more careful with who you’re seen with."

His eyes darkened playfully. "Careful? You think I care about rumors?" he quipped, leaning in just a little bit closer, his voice dropping to a lower, more flirtatious tone. "But if you wanted to get my attention, sweetheart, there are far better ways than a headline about some fake baby."

You tilted your head, smiling in that way that always left him unsure whether you were teasing or challenging him. "Who says I want your attention?" you replied with a hint of challenge, crossing your arms as if daring him to press further.

Jeonghan’s smile only widened. "You’ve got my attention now, don't you?" he teased, his fingers brushing against the barrier you were leaning on, his proximity making it hard to ignore the way the air between you two shifted.

You glanced up at him, keeping your expression casual, but the spark in your eyes was undeniable. "Oh, I don’t know," you said nonchalantly, "maybe I’m just here to enjoy the view of a guy in red doing what he does best – reckless maneuvers that still somehow let him win, y’know?" You paused, letting that sink in. "Though if you really wanted to shut down those rumors, maybe you should take a different approach."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

You gave him a sly smile. "I don’t know. Maybe just come out and say you’re not the father. Or, you know, get more specific about who you’re spending time with. The fans love a good love story, after all."

The way his expression shifted made it clear that he wasn’t quite ready for this conversation to take that turn. His jaw clenched, a hint of frustration appearing under the surface, but it was quickly replaced with his signature smirk. "Sweetheart, you sure talk a big game for someone who's so quiet when it counts."

You leaned in just a little, enough for your words to linger in the air between you. "I could say the same about you," you shot back, eyes glinting with mischief.

Jeonghan paused, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, but you had him on edge in a way that he didn’t expect. "Listen," he said, his tone dipping lower, his voice now laced with more than just flirtation. "There's only one girl in the paddock I have eyes for, and it sure as hell isn’t Sienna Hartley."

The tension between you two was palpable, a spark igniting in your chest at his words. You met his gaze head-on, not backing down. "And who says I’m interested in your attention, Jeonghan?" you shot back, smirking. "Maybe I just like watching you squirm under pressure."

He leaned in a little more, his breath coming out a little sharper. "You really think you can get under my skin with a headline like that?" he murmured, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "I’m not the one with something to prove, sweetheart."

You could feel his breath on your skin, but instead of feeling intimidated, a thrill ran through you. "Then why do you look like you’re about to lose that smug grin?" you teased, lifting your chin just slightly, making sure the challenge was clear in your words.

Jeonghan grinned, his teeth flashing. "Oh, I’m not losing anything," he said, the playful tone returning. "But if you really want to get my attention, there are better ways than headlines."

You smirked, standing your ground. "Oh? Well, if you want to do something better with your mouth than argue with me, you know where to find me." You shot him a quick wink and began to turn away.

Jeonghan's eyes widened for a moment as he processed your words, and for the briefest second, he was completely thrown off. His confident swagger faltered, and it was then that you realized: you’d left him flustered.

You glanced back over your shoulder with a smug grin. "But I’ll be honest, Jeonghan," you called out, "I’d much rather see you focus on keeping your title than keeping up with rumors."

And with that, you turned and walked off, leaving Jeonghan standing there, still processing your bold departure. His pulse was racing, but not because of the race. This time, it was because of you—your words, your attitude, and the way you had him on edge in a way no one else could.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, but the smile on his face betrayed how much he appreciated the challenge. “I should’ve asked her to dinner.”

But knowing you, this was far from over. And next time? He might just have something to say about it.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to, “When we break up _______,” text prank

Requested !

A/N: These text prompts take quite some time to write, but that's okay since it’s an excuse to think about my 13 boys hahah. I’m not entirely sure (I'm sure this is not what the anon wanted) if this is exactly what the anon had in mind. Perhaps they wanted me to describe what the members were doing at the time and their immediate reactions (but I tried to incorporate), rather than just their responses to the texts. However, as I was writing, this format felt more natural. I hope you still enjoy it regardless! If you’re looking for context behind this request or want to read something similar, please refer back to this.

Content: Slightly suggestive (Hoshi and Vernon) MDNI!, author losing their mind, overthinking, Minghao being Minghao, some being stinking cute especially Dino.

For the sake of the reaction, OT13 are not physically with their s/o at the moment.

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Seungcheol:

Text: "When we break up, don’t forget to delete all my photos from your phone."

Reaction: He'd read the text and immediately respond,

“Why would I ever delete your photos? And why are we even talking about breaking up? Did something happen?”

When you confess it’s a prank, he’d sigh deeply.

“You really scared me. I was already planning to fight for us. Now, don’t you dare even think about leaving me, okay?”

“When will you stop doing these stupid pranks with me??”

You'll find him whining every now and then just because you attempted another breakup prank on him (he can't stay upset at you for too long). He’ll probably make some extra effort afterward to spoil you with love and affection, making sure you know that there’s no way he’d ever let you go.

Jeonghan:

Text: "When we break up, I'll take everything I've ever given you. Just so you know."

Reaction: Immediately knows you are messing with him. His reply would be sarcastic,

“Oh no, how will I ever part with my favorite mug that says ‘Best Boyfriend Ever’? Truly heartbreaking.”

If you insist it’s serious, he’d still keep teasing,

“Sure, I’ll give everything back… including my heart. But are you sure you can live without me?”

He already knows that it's a prank so there's nothing to confess so he'll just be like, “Now let’s go get some ice cream.” simple.

Joshua:

Text: "When we break up, I'll delete all the playlists I made for you."

Reaction: Joshua would be confused at first and think you were joking, but a part of him would start overthinking. He’d respond carefully ignoring the playlist comment:

“When we break up? Why are we even thinking about that? Are you okay?”

If you keep pushing the prank, he’d try his bestest to approach it calmly,

“Why would we even break up? And the playlists were for us, not just me. I’d never stop listening to them, even if…”

“I wouldn’t want anything back because the memories would be more important to me. But seriously, why are you thinking about breaking up?”

He’d hesitate, genuinely upset at the thought that you can even image you guys breaking up because for the love of god the mere suggestion of living without you, even hypothetically, is unimaginable to him. When you reveal the prank, he’d sigh in relief. “You got me good. But don’t joke about stuff like this—it hurts too much to even imagine.” The idea was unfathomable. You were his safe place, the person he envisioned in every corner of his future.

Jun:

Text: "When we break up, you better not cry over me. Stay strong!"

Reaction: Jun would be both amused and confused.

“Why are you breaking up with me in a hypothetical situation and then telling me not to cry? Are you okay?”

And obviously you'll keep pushing, so he’d add,

“If we ever broke up, I’d cry so much, you’d have to come back just to stop me.” (this is so Jun coded I'm crying-)

When you confess it’s a prank, he’d laugh and actually say, “You’re so weird, but that’s why I love you. No more breakup talk, okay?” He just loves you too much to even take what you're saying seriously in his first thought so he took what you said as an hypothetical situation immediately. At least you didn't say you're breaking up...that would be another case-

Hoshi:

Text: "When we break up, I’m taking my tiger plushie back."

Reaction: He would immediately text back in all caps:

“WHEN WE WHAT?!”

“YOU CAN’T TAKE THE TIGER PLUSHIE! IT’S OUR CHILD!”

He’d call you within seconds, borderline panicking. He wouldn't even let you speak when you picked up, “What’s going on? Are you mad at me? Don’t take the tiger—take me instead!”

It would take you a good few minutes to get a word in, and when you finally explained it was just a prank, the silence on the other end would be DEAFENING. Then, a dramatic groan, “YOU’RE SO MEAN!” He’d pout for the next five minutes, ranting about how you shouldn’t joke about something so serious. Please, cuddle our baby tiger (not hamster) (Hoshi will be so proud of me).

“You better hold me extra tight tonight to make up for this! And no, I’m still not over it, but fine…I’ll forgive you because I’m a nice person.”—and then this will lead to something else...open to interpretation-

Wonwoo:

Text: "When we break up, I hope you find someone who loves gaming as much as you do."

Reaction: Wonwoo would stare at the text for a while, overthinking every s.i.n.g.l.e word.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

If you keep it going, he’d send another message, quietly emotional,

“No one could replace you. And I don’t want someone who loves gaming—I want someone who loves me.”

“Which can be only you”

When you quickly reveal the prank, he’d let out a quiet laugh. “You really know how to mess with my heart, huh? Let’s stick to love texts from now on.” He has literal heart eyes for you so why do you always try out these pranks with him when you very well know that he takes these very seriously?? Your happiness is his main priority. He doesn't even care if it means he’ll get hurt in the process—he’ll give you whatever you want, as long as it makes you smile. It's like he’d do anything for you, even if it means falling for your pranks over and over again and making his heart suffer. He’ll laugh at himself for being so easy to be fooled by you, but deep down, he’s just so grateful to be the one to make you laugh.

Woozi:

Text: "When we break up, promise me you won’t write any sad songs about me."

Reaction: He'll raise an eyebrow at the message, unsure how to respond.

“Why are we breaking up in this scenario? And who said I’d write sad songs? I’d be hurt too much to even write.”

If you insist you're being very very VERY serious, he’d add something along the line,

“But we’re not breaking up, so stop being weird.”

When you tell him it’s a prank, he’d shake his head, not even surprised at this point. But he’d exhale slowly, the tension leaving his body. “You’re lucky I’m used to your nonsense. But don’t distract me while I’m working next time!” He’d probably end the conversation with a quiet but sweet, "I love you.” (AHHHHHHGVthhtxutFGCG)

Dokyeom:

Text: "When we break up, don’t tell your mom—it’ll break her heart."

Reaction: My love will immediately start spiraling. His cheerful smile fades, replaced by an obvious frown, genuinely not being able to fathom why you would even suggest something like that.

“What do you mean, ‘when we break up’? Is this a joke?”

“And why are you dragging my mom into this? She loves you!”

“i love you!”

If you don’t respond quickly (it's been only 7 seconds), his heart drops even more as the seconds tick by, and before you even have the chance to reply, he's calling you while on his way to your place,

When you pick up, his first words are rushed and anxious, "Hey, you’re not serious, right? You can’t be serious! Are you upset about something?”

When you reveal it’s a prank, he’d let out a dramatic sigh of relief as he exhales loudly, remaining still on the road "I thought you were going to really break my heart there," he'd say, still in slight disbelief. "Don't ever do that again… Seriously." But then, after a pause, he'd add with that signature bright smile of his, “But, I guess if we did break up... I’d tell my mom.” But jokes aside even if there’s a misunderstanding or a small argument, Dokyeom is the first to apologize and seek resolution. He never likes holding grudges and believes that communication is key to keeping the relationship strong, so he'll talk about this thoroughly after he's back home for, ‘just incase’ scenarios.

Mingyu:

Text: "When we break up, I’m taking all the kitchen gadgets with me."

Reaction: Mingyu would be shocked and devastated. He immediately pauses whatever he’s doing to process what you’ve just said. It doesn’t make sense, and his mind races, trying to figure out why you’d even mention breaking up,

“Wait, why are we breaking up? And why are you taking the kitchen gadgets? I need those!”

He’s genuinely worried about losing the gadgets, yes—but more than that, he’s upset at the thought of losing you. The kitchen has become one of his favorite places to be with you, especially when you both cook together or when he’s making you something special. That’s one of his favorite ways to show love, and now to him it feels like everything’s about to crumble because he really thinks you're being serious. So if you keep pushing, he’d add,

“You know I can’t live without my kitchen gadgets, and I can’t live without you, either! Why are you breaking up with me?” (being funny is his coping mechanism)

“Fine, take them, but I’ll visit every day to borrow them. And I’ll cook for you while I’m there.”

He didn't process the, ‘when we’ and came to the conclusion that you're breaking up with him right this second and wanting to take the kitchen gadgets lmao. He's pretty smart in general but when it comes to these...poor boy. So then when you explain that it’s just a prank, he lets out a long, dramatic sigh of relief, still sounding a bit flustered but trying to act casual about it. Beneath his strong, athletic build and playful demeanor, Mingyu has a soft heart. He’s easily affected by things that involve you—whether it’s a prank like this or just knowing you’re having a hard time. He wants to protect your heart, even if it means being vulnerable himself.

Minghao:

Text: "When we break up, make sure to stay stylish so I don’t regret dating you."

Reaction: His first instinct would be to chuckle softly, finding the text both funny and absurd.

“When we break up? First of all, not happening. Second, I’d stay stylish anyway—who do you think I am?”

If you push a lil more further, he’d reply in no time. There's no chance for you to argue here because to him your question is already very stupid—wdym by, when you guys break up? Do you think that's happening? No.

“But seriously, why are we even talking about this? Is this your way of saying you want attention?”

“You know I’d give you all my attention anyway, right?”

When you confess the prank, with a deep sigh, “Pfft, I’m too cool to get mad. Next time, try being more subtle and convincing.” He’ll joke a little, but you can tell he’s low-key affected by the prank. Then, with a teasing smirk, he adds, “But seriously, I would stay stylish. That’s a given.”

Seungkwan:

Text: "When we break up, promise me you won’t cry in public—it’s embarrassing."

Reaction: Seungkwan would gasp LOUDLY and immediately text back:

“EXCUSE ME?! Are you breaking up with me in this hypothetical situation AND calling me embarrassing?! How dare you!”

He’d follow up with: (also immediately after taking a 5 sec deep breath)

“Fine, I won’t cry in public, but I’ll cry so hard in private that the whole neighborhood will hear me!”

You can almost hear his dramatic flair through the text as he exaggerates the idea of a breakdown, and he doesn’t hide the slight edge of hurt in his words. He’s a little too dramatic about it, but it’s because he feels deeply, even about a prank. As soon as you reveal that it’s all a joke, Seungkwan lets out an over-the-top, exaggerated groan as if he’s been completely defeated dramatically.

“You’re evil!” He'll sulk for the next 48 hours so now you'll have to spend the whole day complimenting him to make up for this.

Vernon:

Text: "When we break up, you can keep the hoodies you stole, but I’m taking my vinyls back."

Reaction: Vernon would too stare at the text for a while, unsure if you were joking.

“Uh… are you okay? Why are we breaking up?”

“And why are you taking my vinyls?”

If you keep it going,

“If we broke up, I’d let you keep the vinyls. But I don’t really want to think about this.”

When you tell him it’s a prank, he’d laugh softly to himself.

“You’re so random. But seriously, no more breakup talk—it’s weird.”

He might be soft while he's away but when he's with you?—bahahah—he'll waste no time locking the door behind him and pulling you into a deep kiss. You're not leaving this room tonight, he'll whisper in your ear. He'll make sure you're exactly where he wants you-close, under him, or in his arms, depending on the mood. It'll be a long night, just the two of you, and no one else...open to interpretation TT

Dino:

Text: “When we break up, promise me you'll still be my friend."

Reaction: He would instantly get a little confused, texting back with a wide-eyed concern because wdym that you want him to be your friend when he's your boyfriend right now??? When breaking up with you is the last thing in his mind?? And he's spamming,

“Wait, what? We’re breaking up?”

“Why?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Please don’t leave me—”

“of course, I’ll still be your friend, but I don’t even want to think about us breaking up…”

“Are you there?”

“I'm coming home”

You’d tease him telling him to go back to his work, revealing it’s a prank, and he’d let out a huge sigh of relief, but then he’d whine a little. He'd probably ask for some aygeo, maybe a surprise, just so he can feel reassured that he's still your favorite person in the world. I mean how can he be not?! An hour later, just when you think the moment has passed, there’s a knock at your door. Opening it, you find a beautiful bouquet of flowers with a little handwritten note:

These flowers don’t even come close to how beautiful you are. See you soon, my forever favorite. P.s. Don’t ever scare me like that again—or I’ll send you even more flowers to make you feel guilty. Love, Dino.

Reading it, you can’t help but giggle, your heart fluttering at how effortlessly he makes you fall for him all over again. How could someone be this sweet and still be yours? How could anyone not melt at that? He’s truly the sweetest, and he’d do anything to make sure you know just how much you mean to him—even if he’s the one who should be mad!

[star-eyed-angels]

SEVENTEEN Reaction | Fake Texts | Crack/Suggestive | The Met

Reacting to Seungcheol at the Met

A/N: Raised back from the dead by none other than our cherry leader😮‍💨 my hiatus (while unintentional) was honestly really nice. I think I burned myself out towards the end of last the year and then life just kinda decided to smack me in the face with everything and writing just became harder. Like the ideas were there but the will to do them was not. I feel like I’m managing better than before but I’ll be honest, I’m about to go into training for a promotion at work and I’m still prepping for the skz tour in June so posting is still gonna be slow. But as always I promise to do my best and post when I can. If you’ve read this far thank you, I love you <3

Enough rambling from me. I know what y’all are here for, fake texts are below the cut. As always enjoy, and let me know what you think ❤️

MASTERLIST

Warnings: suggestive towards the end, let me know if I need to add anything ❤️

Dividers by: @//cafekitsune and @//enchanthings

[yaeverse]

Dinner Date | j.ww

pairing: class president! wonwoo x playgirl!reader

summary: going on a date with your class president who actually have had a secret crush on you for a while

warnings: slight nsfw, fluff, a few wet kisses

a/n: helloo nyxies, i'm still new to writing so deepest apologies if there some grammatical errors found in my fanfic. anyways, enjoyyy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You could say you were hell ass surprised when he asked you out to dinner after winning the school art competition. Your class president, Jeon Wonwoo, also known as the campus heartthrob had a secret crush on you for sometime now. The man was undeniably handsome, hot, smart and basically a walking wet dream that had every girl or boy drooling over him

Walking and pacing around your room, figuring out on what to wear, making sure to not look like you're whoring yourself on your first date with Wonwoo, your mind brings you back to the moment he asked you out.

(flashback)

"y/n, will you go on a date with me..?" he asks as he looks at you with a stoic face. Wonwoo actually had this all planned in his head but things didn't really go as well as he thought it would, "I'll pick you up later at seven.." he continues, leaving no space for rejection.

(end of flashback)

"Dammit, Jeon Wonwoo.. you got me nervous over a date.." you sigh, deciding on wearing a turtleneck croptop partnered with a skirt. Yeah, you've had your past relationships and flings, but oh damn, did Wonwoo got you this nervous.

Hearing your phone ring, you immediately sat up answering the call.

"Hey.." you said,

"I'm outside.." he says in a husky voice, sending shivers down your spine,

"Alright, I'm heading out.."

This was absolutely the very first moment of you being nervous of stepping out your apartment. I mean, we are talking of Jeon Wonwoo, who wouldn't be nervous.

Stepping out your door, your eyes meet Wonwoo's gaze as he stands awestruck at your beauty.

"You look.." he stutters, "beautiful, y/n.."

"oh hey, we're twinning!" you smile excitingly at the adorable coincident

He stares at you, his heart fluttering at the sight of your smile. You had quite a reputation around campus, 'Playgirl Y/N', but couldn't care less. He just saw you for who you are.

The drive was comfortably quiet. Exchanging a few glances and questions to lift the awkward tension.

"so, congrats on winning earlier.." he says, glancing in your direction,

"thanks" you smiled back, "i never thought i'd win, i messed up a few paints due to nervousness.."

"what are you talking about?" he lightly chuckles, turning the steering wheel as he talks with you, "yours was the best one there, so of course you'd win.."

You can't help but smile at his words. "thank you, wonwoo.."

After a few minutes drive, you two finally arrive.

"We're here" he says, stepping out of the driver's seat to open your door

You can't help but your eyes widen and mouth drop in agape at how beautiful, and to say expensive the place looks. He really went all out for a first date, and you think you don't deserve this kind of treatment.

"Let's go..?" he asks, guiding you by your waist, "don't be nervous, y/n, be yourself.."

"Y-you didn't really have to do all this..." you look up to meet his gaze

"Well, I wanted to"

Dinner was mostly filled with a few exchanged talks and warm conversations. Getting to know each other, and finding a few interesting facts that none of the two of you thought to be possibly real.

Spending time and getting to know him made you realize that he is everything you could ask for a guy. After having failed relationships, and jumping from one guy to another, you finally conclude that Jeon Wonwoo is YOUR TYPE OF MAN. You now can see why almost everyone in campus say the he's the perfect ideal boyfriend a girl can ever ask. He's a complete gentleman, smart, handsome, hot, a walking wet dream, like everything. You just know that after this date, you will never be the same. You could already feel the effects this guy has over you.

"Did you enjoy the dinner, y/n?" he asks,

"Of course, I did," you smile, as you took out your wallet "Oh- I can pay the dinner-"

"You're not paying dinner, princess," he chuckled, gently pushing your hand back to yourself, "I already payed anyways.."

"Y-you're too much, won.." you smile warmly at him,

"Nothing's too much, y/n," he smiles back, "You ready to go home..?"

You nod and as a gentleman he is, he escorts you outside, holding your waist. The warmth of his palm on your waist was enough to send butterflies bursting to your stomach, making your heartbeat crazy.

"So, uh, this is goodnight i guess.." he mumbles as he walks you to your door, "good night, y/n..."

"wait-" you pause, realizing what you just said

"yes..?" he immediately looked back, giving you all his attention

he walks closer to you, leaning in as he sees your eyes laid on his lips, making him chuckle.

"my eyes are up here, princess.." he smirked, "may i..?"

No words came out but you just nodded. He slowly leans in. Your heart beats in anticipation as you close your eyes, ready to feel his lips on yours.

But, oh damn, was he soft like feather.

You tensed up feeling his lips on yours. 'Get a grip, y/n, it's not like it's your first time kissing someone' you mentally scold yourself. You then feel his hand settle on your waist as the other settles behind your neck, pulling you closer to him.

You two pause for a moment to catch your breaths as he rested his forehead on yours. You smiled, and you know he's smiling as well. He then leans in again with more affection.

"Mmhh.." you hear him moan to the kiss as he swiftly licks your lower lip, begging to get in. With pleasure, you open your lips partly and he slide his tongue in immediately.

You two get lost in the moment, feeling waves of pleasure and adrenaline rush through every inch of your body at the sensation of his tongue dancing with yours. His hand grip your neck a bit tighter as he pulls you closer to give him more access inside your mouth as he makes out with you.

The kiss slowly calms down as you two pull back, gasping for air, foreheads resting against each other.

"We're going for a second date then..?" he asks with a light chuckle, his thumb caressing your waist,

"You're a good kisser, by the way.." you laugh, "And yes, a second date would be fucking great.."

He pecks your lips as he replies, "Next time, you'll receive more than a kiss, princess.."

Your face becomes a blushing mess as he smirked at your reaction

"W-Wonwoo...!" you whine playfully as you hit his chest,

"God, I'll make you scream my name next time.." he smirked, chuckling in a low tone,

"See you around, princess..." he greets you goodbye as he drives his car away

You just know that there'll be no more next guy after Wonwoo.

And you just know that in the next date, you'll end up being unable to walk

[synthetickitsune]

Merman!Jeonghan (SVT) | Net angst | 0.9k | gn!reader cw: injuries, mentions of merfolk trafficking -> mermay masterlist

The one fucking day you’re on the boat alone.

Just your luck.

“How did you get stuck? Aren’t you, like, supposed to be as smart as a human?” you grunt while trying (and failing) to make sense of the net currently wrapped and tied and tangled all around the vaguely human-shaped being flopping on the floor. He isn’t making it exactly easier.

“My friends pushed me there,” he growls back.

“Some nice friends you got there,” you roll your eyes. A pale arm flashes among the dark rope for a second before it disappears again into the mess of the netting - disappears somewhere you supposed his throat would be. Shit. You stop and straighten, staring at the impossible task in front of you.

“Are you choking?” you ask because at this point being anything but straightforward is a waste of time.

“Your net is trying to strangle me, yes,” he hisses. Yet he doesn’t stop struggling.

“Alright, so can you please stay still?” you sigh. Your hand wraps around the handle of the knife strapped to your hip. Then you shake your head. The net is too expensive for that. “I will help you but unwrapping you is impossible if you keep struggling.”

“I’m bleeding and choking, sorry I didn’t think to sit back and relax,” he snaps but at least he listens.

You kneel down and get to work. This wasn’t what you had in mind at all - the reason you decided to sail out alone in the first place, despite the dangers, was to work. Because you desperately needed money and it doesn’t grow on trees. But you won’t catch any fish if the net is occupied by a mouthy merman. Then again he could fetch a nice price. If you were willing to abandon your morals and principles, that is.

It’s a challenge but a manageable one when the creature finally stops trashing all over the place. You’d be willing to bet he wasn’t this badly tangled before he started panicking once you pulled him out of the water. The worst is the hair. First because it’s everywhere and it basically wound itself into the rope and second because, unsurprisingly, untangling it is going to hurt regardless of how careful you try to be.

He’s trying to stay silent but the rope burns and irritates his injuries and his scalp must be in hell. You’re trying to be gentle because you do have sympathy, there’s just not much you can actually do. You wince with every roughly pulled out scale that leaves a bleeding hole in his skin.

It takes much longer than you expected to free him. The sky's still blue but the sun is ready to start its descent. You heave a sigh and lean back against the ship’s side. Finally you take a proper look at the only thing you’ve caught the whole day. And it certainly is a catch.

It’s hardly an exaggeration to say he takes your breath away. You think if you were a different kind of person, you wouldn’t have to work another day in your life if you just sold him to the smugglers.

“Stop staring, it’s rude,” he clears his throat and looks away. Is he… shy? You quirk a brow.

“Where’s your sass now?” you smirk and hold his gaze when he glares at you.

“It’s the bloodloss,” he nods towards the many cuts on his skin and tail. Right. The cuts. Red bloody streaks all over the floor.

“Stay,” you point your finger at him and get up to grab the first aid kit.

Only when you sit next to him and properly look at him do you notice that he’s paler than he should be. His breathing is more laboured. The cuts, at least most of them, aren’t too deep but there’s plenty.

“What’s your name?” you ask while you dab around the first cut. He hisses and jerks at the burn but soon forces himself to sit still.

“Jeonghan,” he answers and simply nods when you introduce yourself in turn. You focus on cleaning his wounds. You have no idea if there’s any point to it but it makes you feel better. Even though you’re still not sure how responsible you should feel for his injuries.

“Thank you,” he says suddenly, almost too quiet for you to hear, “For freeing me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, so find some better friends,” you huff. 

The cuts on his tail are particularly nasty. He doesn’t have the strength to hold back anymore and whimpers whenever you have to pull out the scales that got mangled by the net and embedded themselves into his flesh at painful angles.

“I usually manage to dodge at the last minute,” he pants out. You roll your eyes. 

By the time you’re finished, the sun is setting. The cuts stopped bleeding but Jeonghan can barely keep his eyes open so you let him rest while you start the slow return trip back to shore. 

Watching him sleep you realize how vulnerable he is. It could be an act of course, but the slow rise and fall of his chest makes something inside you hurt anyway.

You help him over the side of the ship before you get too close to civilization and watch his clumsy fall back into the ocean. You don’t expect to see him after he disappears under the surface so you jump when you hear his voice calling your name just as you step behind the rudder. 

“Come back here tomorrow around noon,” Jeonghan calls. He’s even more beautiful in water. “I’ll help you catch more than you ever did to make up for today.”

You smile.

“Sure,” you shrug and let your lips twist into a smirk, “If you don’t I’ll just catch you again.”

He grins. You consider your challenge accepted.

[ginxyy]

Masterlist

All stories are about seventeen members as of right now.

My soulmate series

S.Coups

Jeonghan

Joshua

Jun

Hoshi

Wonwoo

Woozi

DK

Mingyu

The8

Seungkwan

Vernon

Dino

Jealousy and Confessions series

S.coups

Jeonghan

Joshua

Jun

Hoshi

Wonwoo

Woozi

DK

Mingyu

The8

Seungkwan

Vernon

Dino

Music in love series

S.coups

jeonghan

Joshua

Jun

Hoshi

Wonwoo

Woozi

DK

Mingyu

The8

Seungkwan

Vernon

Dino

[sunnybunnybabygirl]

Silly lil boyfriend texts with Joshua💕

Full masterlist

Seventeen masterlist (ver1)(ver2)

SKZ and ATEEZ vers: completed

Fluff and comfort, mentions of the reader having a tummy.

Enjoy, sinners ;)

Love, Bunny🐇

• S.coups • Jeonghan • Jun • Hoshi • Wonwoo • Woozi • DK • Mingyu • The8 • Seungkwan • Vernon • Dino •

[hoshifighting]

"helloooo lyla!! ive been reading your fics for a long time and I love them sooo much your such a great writer!

I was wondering if I could request jeonghan saying “marry me” in the middle of a rough sex?? ive been thinking about it for ages omg😭😭 (if your comfortable I’m not forcing!! <3)”

jeonghan saying “marry me” in the middle of a rough sex

warnings: smut, penetrative sex, cockriding, crying, needy moans

it wasn’t like you ever imagined that jeonghan, of all people, would let that slip. not when he’s got you riding him like you’re racing to some invisible finish line, his hands gripping your hips so tight it’s like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. you barely register the words at first, too caught up in the rhythm, in the filthy sounds coming out of both of your mouths, but then it hits you—

“marry me,” he breathes out, like a fucking confession, strangled and wrecked.

you freeze, body tensing. “wait, what?”

the room goes dead silent. the only sound left is your labored breathing. and his. and the stupid creaking bed under you both. you choke on your own spit, damn near swallow your tongue trying to process it, and jeonghan’s eyes are wide now, just as shocked as you. his face is this violent shade of red, cheeks flaming, and you swear you can hear his brain short-circuiting.

“i—” he stammers, looking away like that’ll save him from the mess he just made. “shit. i um—fuck.”

your brain’s doing cartwheels trying to catch up, but it doesn’t take long for the absurdity to hit you. you start laughing, like actual laughing, trying to hold it in but completely failing. you double over, one hand resting on his chest as he groans, embarrassment swallowing him whole.

“what the fuck did you just say?” you tease. “riding you so good you gotta wife me up, huh?”

“oh, shut up,” he groans, slapping your back in retaliation, though it’s more out of embarrassment than anything. his face is still red as hell, lips pressed together like he’s praying the earth’ll open up and swallow him whole. but the way he’s looking at you... that little crack in his usual cocky, rough persona has your heart doing this weird, fluttery thing in your chest.

“nah, nah, hold on,” you mock, starting to move your hips again, slow and teasing, feeling the way he twitches underneath you. “you really just—fuck—asked me to marry you?”

his hands snap back to your waist, that grip turning punishing. “i swear to god, don’t start.”

“why not?” you grin, feeling bold. “you mean it, hannie?”

“you want me to stop?” he asks, threatening, but you can hear the edge of it, the desperation he’s not quite able to mask. his hips buck up into you, almost instinctively, and you moan, losing some of your playful edge as your body melts back into his rhythm.

you bite your lip, trying to hold back another laugh. “didn’t say that.”

“good,” he hisses, grinding up into you harder, making sure you feel him. “then don’t fuckin’ tease me.”

but now, all you can think about is how real it feels, how intense his gaze is, and suddenly, his usual roughness feels... different. more desperate. he’s not just trying to make you moan, not just focused on his own pleasure—he’s unraveling, for you. “you didn’t answer me,” he mutters, words slurring together as you pick up speed again, each bounce making the bedframe shake. his hands are gripping your thighs now, pulling you down harder onto him, like he’s chasing something.

“huh?” you barely manage, mind spinning, trying to focus on anything besides the overwhelming feeling of him deep inside you.

he bites his lip, eyes glued to where you’re connected, his voice dropping to a low, shaky whisper. “say yes.”

you blink down at him, heart skipping a beat. he’s serious. fuck.

you’re not even thinking when you say it. “yes. i-i do.”

it’s like a switch flips. he lets out this sound—this needy, broken moan, and fuck, you’ve never heard him sound like that before. he sits up, practically yanking you down to meet his thrusts, arms wrapped tight around your waist, face buried in your neck. the pace is brutal, desperate, and you’re a mess of gasps and moans, every single one drawn out by the intensity of it all.

you don’t realize he’s crying until you feel it, those warm tears soaking your skin as he buries his face deeper against your shoulder. he’s shaking, breath hitching, but he doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop giving it to you exactly how you need it.

“fuck, you’re mine,” he whispers, voice wrecked, wet, needy. “all mine.”

you can barely respond, every nerve in your body on fire, but you clutch him tighter, fingers digging into his back, matching his rhythm with everything you’ve got. “yours,” you choke out, and that’s all it takes for him to fall apart completely. he’s holding you so close it’s like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, fucking you like he’s staking a claim, making sure you never forget this moment.

and then he cums, hard, dragging you over the edge with him, the two of you tangled in each other, breathless and whiny. jeonghan pulls back just enough to look at you, tears still clinging to his lashes, but he’s smiling now—the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“married to me, hm?” you tease heartily caressing his hair, panting, but your chest is warm, full.

“baby.” he groans, face contorting ready to cry again, making you chuckle, he pouts, burying his face in your neck again.

but you don’t miss the way his arms tighten around you. you don’t miss the way he holds you like he’s never letting go.

[hannyoontify]

your cherry flavored kisses - choi seungcheol

member | basketball player!seungcheol x student medic!reader ft. the rest of svt

genre | fluff, high school!au, established relationship!au, secret dating!au(?)

word count | 2.8k

synopsis | as his mom always said, kisses are the best kind of medicine for boo-boos

warnings | cursing, kissing, minor injuries, one joke about sex, reader is a bit shy when it comes to relationships and pda, a bunch of romantic cliches but pls js let me have this one 🥲

notes | realized that i can’t write intimate scenes for shit!!!! but also happy (late) birthday to the best leader!! hope your day was full of laughter and love because you deserve all of it and more <33

The entire gym seemed to grimace collectively when Player #1 was shoved over by the opposing team member, and so did you. Choi Seungcheol, the captain and star player of your school’s varsity basketball team rolled over onto his back, clutching his knee and face scrunched up in pain. 

The stands booed when the zebra-patterned referee blew his whistle and signaled it as not a foul. Students and other on-lookers from both sides began to yell, petitioning that it was a flagrant foul, but the referee stood his ground. You and your friend Vernon ran out onto the basketball court with the stretcher as your school’s head coach tried to reason with the referee.

“Hey, hey. Seungcheol, where does it hurt?” Vernon asked as you set down the stretcher. You reached over and scooped your hands under the sweaty athlete’s shoulders, ready to lift him into the gurney. When you first joined your school’s new sports medicine and therapy program, you thought no one actually used the medical device and the school had invested in one just for show. Obviously, you now stand corrected.

“The area-” The brunette gasped for air. Every square inch of his face was glistening in sweat, the collar of his jersey absolutely soaked through. Seungcheol had been giving it his all this entire game, scoring almost 21 points and it was only halfway through the second period. This aggravated the opposing team, who were losing exponentially, enough for them to push Seungcheol over when he was dribbling down the court. “The area below my knee cap. Hurts like a bitch.”

Vernon nodded in understanding and glanced over at you. You returned his gaze with a determined nod of your head and the two of you gently lifted shifted him onto the carrier. 

“Sorry. Would try to help but-” Seungcheol’s words were cut off with a loud groan. “Can’t. Right now.”

You tightened your lips at the sight of his face stricken with pain and with the help of Vernon, heaved him up and carried the injured player out of the gym to the nurse’s office.

Once Seungcheol was laid down on a cot, Vernon ran off to find Ms. Jung, the school nurse who had momentarily left her post to “get some fresh air” while you looked for an ice pack. As soon your friend left the room, Seungcheol grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer from where he was lying down, forcing you to sit on the edge of the cot he was lying on.

You rolled your eyes and tried to pull away but he kept an iron grip on your wrist as he tried his best to make eye contact with you. “Are you mad at me?” He asked with a small pout.

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You huffed, refusing to face his direction. From where he was lying, Seungcheol could catch a glimpse of your side profile. Your lips were jutted out into a firm pout and your cheeks puffed out. 

“I’m sorry, love. I tried to take it easy but you know how I get-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just… don’t like seeing you get hurt,” You said, in a much softer voice this time. “Damn you and your competitiveness. It doesn’t hurt to lose sometimes, you know.”

Seungcheol smiled when you turned around to finally face him. “Look at me, I’m all fine! I was just fibbing on the court to- OW WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Your boyfriend yelled out in pain when you poked at his knee, right below the kneecap where he said it was hurting earlier. “Fibbing, my ass. Stay here while I get an ice pack.”

Seungcheol whimpered in pain, rolling around on his back with his arms clenched around his leg while you searched through the mini freezer. He watched from behind, staring at your hunched over form. Despite the extreme pain he was currently feeling, he felt a warm feeling blossom in his chest that spread throughout his body all the way past his limbs to the tips of his fingers. God, he cared for you so much.

“Here, I think we ran out of ice packs so you have to use this bag of peas,” You came back with half a bag of iced peas, offering it to your boyfriend who looked up at you with teary heart eyes. 

(FYI, they were only teary because he was in immense pain.)

After sitting up, Seungcheol accepted the makeshift ice pack and pressed to his knee, knowing how to treat his injuries better than you or any other sports medicine and therapy student. You sat down next to him, gathering your knees close to your chest and lightly resting your head on his shoulder. It felt like your heart was going to leap out of your throat because of your close proximity.

You’ve had a crush on Choi Seungcheol for as long as you can remember. In elementary school, you found yourself drawn to him because of how he selflessly gave away all of his candy during lunch. (Looking back on it now, you might’ve been attracted to the candy not him, but that makes it sound less romantic so you like to leave that part out). In middle school, you always caught yourself staring in his direction because he was good. He excelled at whatever he did. He always knew the answers in math and shared interesting perspectives in English for a middle schooler. But he shone in gym class. Choi Seungcheol looked invincible with a ball in his hands, somehow pulling off the tacky and scratchy gym clothes that smelled like a mix of sweat and old socks. It was in eighth grade when you started doodling ‘[Name] Choi’ in the back of your math notebook before erasing frantically whenever your teacher walked by.

In high school, it was no different, except Choi Seungcheol just got really, really tall and really, really, really attractive. He was scouted into the school’s junior varsity basketball team as a freshman and became a point guard for the varsity team as a sophomore. He was completely out of your league. Choi Seungcheol was the star player of your school’s basketball team while you were just a staff member in your school’s newspaper. The closest you’ve ever gotten to Choi Seungcheol was when you assisted Seokmin in interviewing him after winning a game. 

That was, until this past summer. You were taking summer school classes to make room for sports med. and therapy in your schedule, and your seat partner was none other than Choi Seungcheol, who had failed Economics the semester before. It took you by surprise that the smartest boy you knew since third grade had failed a class, but you thought it was impressive that he even managed to take Economics as a junior. 

You found yourself bonding with the star player, joking around during class and taking turns to take naps so someone could take notes while the other slept. The system worked, and the teacher looked like they weren’t being paid enough to be there, so the two of you considered it a win. The entire summer flew by like that, talking and hanging out with Seungcheol, even outside of class. This was when you learned about his performance anxiety, his self-doubt, and the pressure he feels from not only his coach and teammates but also the rest of the school. You offered him the most comfort you could possibly muster; a few words of encouragement and a big, big hug. 

When Seungcheol asked you out on the last day of summer school, you didn’t see it coming at all. From what you knew, he only recently broke up with his past girlfriend, the captain of the cheer team. Everyone had said that they were like a match made in heaven, but evidently not, considering how messy their breakup was. But who were you to say no?

Fast forward two months, to your current situation. You guys weren’t intentionally keeping the relationship a secret, rather you were just shy and Seungcheol understood that. He promised you to wait patiently until you were ready. 

“Can I see your knee?” You asked softly. Seungcheol nodded and took off the bag of peas, revealing his now bruised knee. The skin was discolored in different shades of blue, black, dark purple, and green and you drew in a sharp breath. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Seungcheol pouted and pointed to his cheek, where he had a small nick, probably a scratch from the other player as he fell. You smiled and cautiously brought your hand up to his face. Despite having been dating for well over 2 months, PDA still felt a bit awkward for you. You occasionally held hands and hugged, and you liked to rest your head on his broad shoulders. Seeing Seungcheol’s face this close to yours made your stomach erupt into butterflies and you could feel the heat quickly spreading up to your cheeks.

“Let’s get some ointment on this,” You left your spot and began digging through the medicine cabinets, ignoring the hot burning on the apples of your cheeks. Going through every cabinet except the one that actually held the ointment, you talked loudly to yourself and Seungcheol held back a laugh at the sight. He thought it was cute, how flustered you got at the smallest amounts of physical touch. “Here it is!”

You ceremoniously held up the treatment and bandage box up in the air with a triumphant grin and Seungcheol couldn’t help but return the smile. Sitting back down next to him, you ignored the fluttering in your stomach again as you dabbed on the ointment onto your boyfriend’s face, trying your absolute hardest not to stare into his dark, chocolate-y brown eyes or his pretty pink lips-

“[Name], sweetheart, the scratch is on the other side,” Seungcheol said softly and you wanted to dig a hole, crawl into it and stay there forever. Your lover simply chuckled at your quiet ‘sorry’. “You’re cute.”

Now you really need to dig a hole. This was getting too much for you.

“Psh. Whatever,” You mumbled under your breath as you finished applying the treatment and brought out the bandage kit. “Stay still or else I won’t finish treating you.”

Seungcheol tried his best not to move when he felt your fingers lightly grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. It tickled, and he giggled.

You bit back a smile and lightly hit him in his shoulder for laughing. “I told you not to move.” 

“I couldn’t help it! It tickles,” With a small shake of your head, you put the kit away and sat back down next to him. Seungcheol stared at you for a minute before speaking again. “[Name], I think you’re forgetting something.”

You looked at Seungcheol with a confused look. “What do you mean?”

He crossed his arms across his chest with a pout. “Aren’t I supposed to get a lollipop for being a good patient?”

God, he was not good for your heart.

“How could I possibly forget?” With a fond smile, you handed him a bright red heart shaped candy on a stick. “You have been a good boy, have a lollipop!”

Seungcheol’s eyes twinkled at your reference to one of his favorite movies and gratefully took the candy. “Okay, now one last thing.”

“What?”

He pointed towards his injured knee. “You need to kiss it to make it feel better! It’s a part of the official medical procedure. My mom said so, and she’s a nurse.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s childish antics but nonetheless bent over to kiss his knee. “And when’s the last time she’s said that to you?”

Seungcheol thought about it. “When I was four or five. But it’s you, so it’s gonna work, I promise,” He beamed triumphantly and pointed towards his right wrist, where he had injured it last season. “Here too.”

Thus began a little game, where Seungcheol pointed at all of his injuries, new and old, and you would follow wherever his finger pointed to kiss it and make it feel better. It was his knee, then his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder blade, his collar, all the way up to his cheek.

Your face is inches away from Seungcheol’s and you were pretty sure he could hear your accelerating heartbeat that thrummed loudly in your chest and ears. The sudden close proximity makes your breath hitch as you glance down at the candy stick that stuck out past his pretty lips. The warmth that radiated off his body sent chills down yours as you locked eyes with him. 

You felt sick. You really, really needed to dig a hole.

With your hands fidgeting in your lap, you leaned in closer, almost feeling drawn to his presence, like a moth drawn to a light or a sailor drawn to the sweet melodies of a siren’s voice. You wondered if Seungcheol would also lead you to your demise, just like those sirens. 

He leans in even more, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. The lollipop was nowhere to be found but you could still smell the overly sweet artificial cherry flavor and you licked your lips. If you moved just the slightest bit, your lips would graze his. 

“Cheol... can I kiss you?” The words leave your mouth without thinking and you want to kick yourself. 

Seungcheol pulls away for a second to get a better look at you, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. “I’d be pretty sad if you didn’t.”

That was all the confirmation you needed before you screwed your eyes shut and pressed your lips against his. You felt your teeth knock against his and you winced, but Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind. His hands naturally find the side of your face and waist as he gently pulls you in deeper into the kiss. Your hands remain in your lap, ever fidgeting and fussing at the new feeling. 

His lips tasted like cherry. A swirling combination of the cherry flavored lollipop and his cherry flavored chapstick he always wore before his games. He claimed that his lips get chapped easily during the game when you questioned him about it once. You decided that this was your new favorite flavor. Combined with the feeling of his soft lips against yours, you wondered how you made it this far without kissing him. 

Seungcheol pulls away hesitantly, his hands still on their respective places on your cheek and waist. “Too much?”

You shake your head with a smile. “You taste like cherries. I like it.”

He took that as a sign to continue and pulled you back in. This time you were prepared and angled your face so as to not bump your teeth with his again. You smiled into the kiss, the fluttering feeling in your stomach making you feel even more giddy than before. One hand slowly made their way onto Seungcheol’s shoulder, gripping onto his jersey as his lips captured yours.

“So that’s why our captain’s been in a good mood lately.”

You basically shriek as you frantically pull away from Seungcheol, who seemed just as surprised to see his entire (sweaty) team standing by the entrance. In the front leading the group was Yoon Jeonghan, another star player who co-captained the team and Seungcheol’s best friend. He stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. You could see the rest of his teammates standing behind him, noticing Mingyu and Soonyoung who seemed excited out of their minds to catch their captain in love.

“Go awayyyy,” Seungcheol complained, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Go bother someone else, I was doing something!”

You heard someone mumble, “More like doing someone,” that was immediately covered up with a cough.

“I heard that, Boo Seungkwan.” 

Jeonghan uncrossed his arms and took a step back. “We all came to check up on you but it seems like you got all the kisses you need to make your boo-boo feel better. I expect you to be on that court once halftime is over!”

You basked in the silence that followed soon after the 10 rowdy boys left. Guess the cat was out of the bag then.

“... Can I seriously play after halftime?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Choi Seungcheol?!”

“Sorry, sorry! It was a joke!” A moment of silence before, “Can I kiss you again?” 

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

[blue-jisungs]

SO BEAUTIFUL

author's note. can u tell what i was hyperfixation on when i wrote this?! a cookie for those who answer correctly (emoji) btw this song is one of my faves when it comes to ian :( right after violet crazy and scaredy cat.......... however his whole discography is just mindblowing so its hard to have a 1 fav song ngl <//3

summary. idk man just whipped prince!joshua ...

genre. atla-ish !! its not the main plot but there's mention of element benders lolzies, royal setting (prince!joshu, army general!y/n), situationship/non-established relationship between them

warnings. blood, wounds (kinda descriptive, im sorry), fighting, mention of war and killing people (i mean yn is in army so....), cursing, one suggestive joke but i mean,, it was there like... it was stronger than me..., not a warning but emphasis on fem reader, yn kinda has a breakdown :(

word count. 3878

joshua ran his hand through his hair, letting out a small sigh. he was reading a book but his mind seemed unable to focus as the words and sentences didn’t make sense in his head. 

“you’ve been reading this one single page for ten minutes now, your highness” he heard seungkwan’s teasing voice and just looked up at his friend. 

“i’m aware of that, seungkwan” joshua mumbled and put the bookmark between the pages, leaving the item on a small table. 

he bit his lip and looked outside the window, the sight of mountains bringing him some peace.

joshua’s mind was uneasy due to the late return of his army. and his absence at the battlefield. 

the news of victory brought by his right hand and good friend, minghao, definitely caused him to sleep better. but before that, there had been weeks of days filled with stress and anxiety. and now, for  unknown reasons the army’s arrival was postponed – and there was no message. 

“i’m sure general l/n has everything under control” seungkwan’s voice brought joshua back to reality and he subconsciously smiled upon hearing your last name. 

maybe that was the reason why he was constant concern. he was worried about you. no, it wasn’t like he doubted your fighting abilities it’s just… anything could happen on the battle ground. besides, you weren’t a bender. obviously, every caring prince would be worried about his subordinates. the matter was that it was your first serious battle all alone. usually he was there too. or at least seungcheol, who was his father’s military advisor – also very skilled in combat. but due to his injury and the medics sharp warning he wasn’t able to go. 

joshua sighed quietly and stood up, lazily walking up to his balcony. the cold air hugged his face, a refreshing breeze filling his lungs.

another cause of his stress was… well, you’re a woman. it’s not like women don’t hold high positions in society and are well respected in the water kingdom but… army was mostly men. who knew if any of the soldiers didn’t cause you trouble. 

“i don’t think that the ball is a good idea…” joshua mumbled, tracing shapes on the marble railing. 

“whether you like it or not, your mother had already decided. majority of our alliances arrived” seungkwan shrugged and turned around upon the sound of knocking. joshua looked through his shoulder, expectant. 

it was minghao. 

it must have been good news since he was shining. 

“they’re here” 

before the prince could pass him in the door, minghao cleared his throat. 

“y/n is resting though” 

joshua stopped in his tracks, not even realising there's a smile that appeared – dropped now slowly. 

“is she hurt?” he asked, worry in his voice. seungkwan closed the balcony door and joined the water kingdom’s prince's side. 

“no, no. not as far as i know. she’s just exhausted and needs to prepare for the ball. and the paper work, losses and such… it’d be better if you didn’t bother her” minghao suggested softly. “wonwoo is to your disposal though”

wonwoo, the lieutenant general. that’s fine, he’ll just ask about you. 

joshua nodded and left in silence. seungkwan and minghao exchanged playful looks. 

joshua could not sit still. his mother sent him numerous looks but his eyes weren’t focused at her at all. he scanned the crowd in search of you. 

his mother was oh so kind to postpone the ball to the next day, letting the soldiers rest. as he noticed, most of them made it. you surely would be here too, right? you were the general after all. 

then it struck him like thunder. 

there you were, in the midst of people. a flowy, light blue dress on your body gently falling onto the floor. he knew you got the access to the best sewers in the kingdom but this time… your dress really reminded him of water. maybe it was the silver linings in it? or just the lightness of the fabric? either way, you looked angelic. and with your hair loose, falling like waterfalls on your shoulders. 

as the great warrior you were, you sensed his gaze on you. sending him a small smile, looking from above your companion’s shoulder, joshua sighed dreamily. 

your lips moved and then you walked past the man you talked to, stepping directly into joshua’s direction. he cleared his throat, his sight on you. 

“my queen” you hummed and bowed gently to his mother first, then you held eye contact with him with another bow “my prince”

“general l/n, you’re truly the shining star of our army. we’ve heard the tales and i must say, i admire your vigour and dedication” his mother said. you bowed again.

“thank you, my queen. i’m proud i can serve our country” you nodded, smiling gently. joshua adored your face, not being able to get enough of it. especially after your three-months long absence. 

“mother if you don’t mind, you’ll hear the stories later. now i’m going to kidnap general l/n for a minute” 

before you knew it, his hand tenderly interlocked with yours as he lead you to the dance floor. landing in the middle, below the silver chandelier that lit up your face in the prettiest ways possible, the prince placed a feather-light kiss atop of your hand. 

the music started, the royal sounds of cello and violins ripping through air; joshua led the dance, his ebony eyes scanning your face. his features were overtaken by the look of how much he missed you, you could tell it by his eyes only. the soft curve of his smile made your heart melt, fingers brushing against his neck. 

“so beautiful” he hummed deeply, heart almost aching with joy. why was it like this? he thought he thought it through but now he was just confused; why does his heart hurt when you’re finally within his reach? 

”so, so beautiful” joshua repeated, daring to glance at your lips “i missed you dearly” 

you huffed, letting him sway to the rhythm of music. because he was an excellent water bender, he was one with the flow – whether it was his element or music. he guided you through the sounds of instruments, which made you emotional. hearing the sound of them after months away from your homeland… 

“aren’t you tired? are you fine?” joshua asked, care in his voice. he had you so close yet so far. in his arms but unable to caress your cheek or kiss your lips. 

you shook your head, scanning his face. maybe you missed him too, after all. 

“i’m perfectly fine now” you whispered and his look was more expressive than words; he understood what you meant: you missed him too. 

the melody came to a halt and it was like a string snapped in front of your eyes, the sudden sound of chatter making you go back to reality. 

“i’m sure there’s plenty of young ladies willing to dance with you. i shall not keep you busy” you said. joshua opened his mouth, protesting. 

“let’s take a trip down a darker place, the garden has really improved when you were absent” he almost whined, begging with his eyes so you’d spare him even a mere moment alone. 

suddenly, wonwoo approached you. he leaned in to whisper something in your ear, concern on his face. you nodded, features getting colder than snow blasting in the harshest of winters. he knew that look, it meant trouble; it meant an approaching threat.

“i’d be more than willing to. however, there happened to be an urgent matter that needs to be taken care of. i…” you hesitated and sent a look to wonwoo. he understood since he left right away. only then quiet words left your mouth “i’ll meet you in your chamber later, shu” 

his heart skipped a beat, nodding. his eyes followed your figure, finally at peace that you’re back.

an outsider would never think that you’re a general, one of the skillest people in the kingdom when it came to combat. whilst being a non-bender, which was quite impressive. you were just so… flowy, glowing and gentle. oh, gentle you truly were… 

“...the fuck you mean we had a tail?” you hissed, poking wonwoo’s chest and then taking a deep sigh “well fuck me, that’s just fucking great!”

“i bet your highness would want to do that” wonwoo cleared his throat, your hand slapping his arm in an instant.

“lieutenant general jeon, i ask you to behave accordingly to the situation. there is a risk of coup, the life of the royal bloodline is on the line and you dare to make a joke?” you said coldly, making wonwoo shiver. then, you suddenly snickered “i do admire your timing though. and now tell me more” 

you and wonwoo were close, it’s not like it was out of his manner to joke like this. but the fact that there might be a spy in the castle right now… 

“chan came across the traces and him and others made an assumption we’re followed by an fire nation soldier who survived the battle” wonwoo gave you the details. 

your light dress rustled on the late afternoon wind, breeze running through its fabric. you closed our eyes, fingers tightening on the marble railing of a terrace. 

there were two choices in this situation: announce there might be a spy and transport the royal family into a guarded place, which may result in panic and rumours spreading (including those about your incompetence). however, the spy might run off or give in. the second option: stay silent and don’t let anyone suspect a thing, take care of the spy with your own hands. risks: people getting hurt, especially the king or queen. or prince. 

“do we know where they might be now?” you asked, looking through your shoulder at the crowded ballroom. chatter, dancing, music… people living to the fullest. and joshua being there too. 

“we do have suspicions that they might be nearby, we found some traces near your… your, um, house” wonwoo answered, your eyes shifting. 

“so they want me, huh?” you sighed. that was far better than the royals getting hurt. staring at the sunset, a wide palette of oranges and yellows melting into one, you nodded. “inform the guards, keep an eye on any suspicious activity. i’ll go check if they’re still around my place. report immediately if anything happens”

“yes, general” wonwoo saluted and walked away, feeling the breath of urgency on his neck. 

adoring the sunset for a little longer, watching it morph into a navy night sky; you decided to go before it got too dark. 

joshua was walking around his chamber, footsteps echoing due to the largeness of it. it was past midnight, almost 6 hours since you left the ballroom… did you change your mind? you didn’t want to come? 

he let out a deep sigh, plopping on his bed and staring at the book he was reading. 

joshua was a prince and enjoyed literature, he has read countless and countless books and genres. he especially found an interest in old romance but all of them had a similar scheme when it came to relationships: the woman was the one to be head over heels whipped for the guy. she’d blush when someone mentioned his name, she’d miss him dearly when he’s on his adventurous voyages, she’d dream of him even in her sleep. he never read a book with an opposite order of things. and yet… here he was, waiting for you like a lost puppy. while his heart sought after you, his mind was worried about your wellbeing during your army shenanigans, he longed to hear, see or touch you even for a mere moment longer. 

huffing like an displeased child, he laid on the bed. if you come, you come. and he’ll be asleep. that way, you’ll know he doesn’t cares that deeply—

knock knock. knock knock knock knock. 

joshua frowned, sitting up. it could be you but… it wasn’t your usual knock.

the door opened with a quiet creak. you were leaning against the doorframe , upper body leaning forward with hair falling on your face.

“took you long enough” joshua mumbled and stood up, when you suddenly started sliding down the doorframe lifelessly. he ran up to you, kneeling down and grabbing your hands. frighteningly cold hands “what’s wrong?”

his voice remained strong unlike his heart. you gathered all your willpower and raised your head, fighting the dropping eyelids. 

“my back…” you croaked out, leaning forward but only ending up in his embrace. 

he did not image your reunion like that. 

joshua gently moved his hands to your back and his fingers met with something… sticky…? the flowy material of your dress was ripped, the warmth of the liquid contrasting with the low temperature of your body.

“y/n, what happened?” he asked, voice stern yet revealing a hint of worry. 

“i’ll explain later just… help me, shu. please” you breathed out, the air tickling his neck. joshua gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing, and he grabbed you in bridal style. 

placing you on his queen sized bed, rolling gently to the side, his mind was racing with thoughts. what happened? were you attacked? was it a fresh wound? 

“i’ll rip the dress, only on the back. i apologize, ill buy you thousands of new ones just… breathe for me, alright?” he stuttered, putting on some light. 

only then his eyes saw how serious was your wound. he took a sharp inhale, throat going dry. 

there was a deep wound going across your back, left arm to almost the side of your right hip. it looked like a sword left such a mark. 

joshua quickly opened the handy tap he had in his chamber and didn’t bother to pour it into bowl. 

he bent water straight from the tap, focusing deeply. trying to connect with his inner peace and energy but his rapid heartbeat seemed to disturb him too much.

“focus, jisoo” he grunted to himself, slender fingers shaking “y/n, talk to me. you need to stay conscious” 

“won’t talking take my oxygen that i desperately need–” you started.

“yeah, you’re right. be quiet” he scoffed, trying to light up the mood. then he moved his hands slowly from the beginning to your wound to the end of it. very slowly, surely. still like water, his palms flat but fingers directing the stream of liquid. you groaned, curling your back. 

it wasn’t the first time joshua was patching you up but it definitely was the first time he knew it’s dead serious… and seeing you in such pain. 

another thing was that at the back of his mind there was a sprouting thought that he won’t be able to close the wound completely. not with his heart all over the place. 

joshua took a deep breath, focusing on the element flowing through his body. not on you… in pain… bleeding out on his bed… 

“’m sorry” 

at first, he didn’t hear it. only when he heard a sob, he realized that it’s you. 

“hey, no. don’t apologize, that’s an order. it’s a deep wound, i know it hurts but im trying my best and we’ll talk it out later. 

inch by inch, millimetre by millimetre, thanks to his healing abilities your skin started clasping the wound. he wasn’t sure which technique to use – layer by layer or pieces at once but the crimson liquid pouring out of your pale back made him chose the first one. which will lead to leaving a scar. 

joshua began to feel worn out, despite all the hours of training that prepared him for such situations. but he knew that if he stopped now, you could die. 

“shu…” you mumbled, shaking like a leaf. your voice was quiet, weak. he felt time slipping through his fingers. 

brows knitting, sweat dripping down his temple, joshua shook his head. despite strength leaving him, he promised himself to restore as much as possible. 

you looked through your arm, pearly tears shimmering in the moonlight. joshua’s heart ached, as if someone put a needle right through it.

“i know, i’m sorry but i beg, a few more minutes…” he croaked, feeling lightheaded. 

“you’re exhausting yourself, stop it” a whisper escaped your lips “shu, please” 

“no, you need to live” he grunted. you frowned and tried to sit up, causing him to gasp “are you insane?”

“give me the bandage and go call the medics. i don’t want you to pass out” you ordered, reaching for his hand. 

joshua put the last ounces of water and energy into your body, leaning to close the tap. then, he dug in one of his drawers.

you were still bleeding but far less than when you barged in. he handed you the material and wiped the tears, sweat and blood off your face. 

“i’ve got this now. go get some help, please” you sent him a weak smile. 

joshua cursed mentally and left quickly. you were probably right.

once he was back with jun, jihoon and seokmin, they took care of you. the oldest one gave you some herbs that would put you to sleep as they worked on your wound. joshua insisted that it all took place inside his chamber. 

they were done around 3am, leaving you two alone. the prince managed to get rid of the blood stained duvet and covered you in a blanket that was on his couch. 

them, he laid down next to you. the moonlight shone on your pale face, parted lips making an escape for soft snores. your chest was rising up and down a lot more calmly, joshua could feel your energy being more vivid that before. it was stable now, like a steam of water in the woods rather than dried out lake. 

“you always have to cause some trouble, huh?” he scoffed and reached his hand out, caressing your cheek gently. even in deep slumber after getting hurt you were so beautiful. 

he noticed your brows furrowing and fingers twitching. your breathing sped up, yet you remained asleep. joshua observed you cautiously.

“no… don’t… don’t kill him” you mumbled, shifting in your sleep. his eyes widened, realizing you’re having a nightmare “anyone but… but my shu”

joshua’s heart melted on spot, pleasant warmth flooding his insides.

“you can’t even get a rest, can you?” he huffed and shuffled closer, guiding your head onto his chest. you instantly nuzzled closer, arms instinctively wrapping around his body. 

with an uneasy mind, he caressed your hair. your breathing calmed down so he wondered if the nightmare went away. 

joshua stuck his gaze into the open window, unable to relax. stars barely shone on the navy horizon, covered by clouds. it seemed like the sky couldn’t sleep either. 

upon stirring awake you instantly knew (even without opening your eyes) that you’re in joshua’s bed. it was much more softer than your bed but above all, it had the comfort. you felt warm and secure; cozy in his hold. joshua had his arm wrapped around you, fingers tracing shapes on your skin. 

peeking an eye open you noticed he’s holding a book with his other hand, eyes tracking the text. 

you wanted to stay like this forever. 

then, a stinging pain ran through your back and you trembled, causing him to shift his worried gaze at you. he gasped softly. 

“you’re awake” joshua hummed and leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

you melted because of the gesture, nuzzling further into his neck. 

“how do you feel?” he asked, worry in his voice. 

“better, much better. thank you, shu. i apologize for the mess i made” you mumbled, resting his palm on his chest. he put his hand over it, caressing your skin. 

joshua missed this so much. he missed you. 

silence was hanging between you two, an unspoken question of “what happened?” hanging above your head. 

“may i see wound?” he asked suddenly. you nodded, your hair tickling his skin. 

he helped you sit straight and handed you one of his sleeping cloth to cover the front of your body. 

joshua gently moved your hair from your back, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. goosebumps covered your arms.

“you know… you always say i’m so beautiful” you started quietly. joshua hummed in acknowledgment to let you know that he’s listening. then, he shuffled something closer and put it on the bed “but i’m not. i’m so ugly, joshua. my soul is ugly”

“that is not true, y/n” he protested sternly as his delicate fingers worked on removing the bandage. his touches were soft, almost as if he was afraid to touch you.

“i’m a soldier, shu. i hurt people. and yesterday… there was a spy. he sneaked up on me, threatened to kill you. and that triggered me i just… couldn’t bare that thought. and i saw red… he used my distraction and tripped me, slicing in the back” you stuttered, throat going dry “i’m a failure. i almost let him escape, your life was at risk and i couldn’t control my emotions…”

his movement halted for a while, the quietness od the room making your soft pants sound much more louder than you’d like to. 

“you are not a failure. you had led our army to victory, several times” joshua resumed and you felt the calming stream of water. then, you felt a soothing sensation spreading over your wound. 

joshua was bending to recover your wound, or at least make it heal quicker and more effectively. 

“yeah but… i’m a bad person” you mumbled, playing with your fingers. 

he stopped bending and put a new bandage over your wound, it still not being clasped fully.  

joshua patted your arm and you put his shirt on, turning around. 

“you know why i always say you’re so beautiful?” joshua asked and once you faced him, he grabbed your chin gently “obviously i mean your looks too but above all, i treasure your soul. you’re such a pure, dedicated human”

you swallowed, his soft features warming your heart. 

“this situation must have made you feel upset and not worthy but you’re so appreciated. my your subordinates, friends… by me. as much as i admire your readiness to sacrifice for me but please, i beg, don’t do it next time” joshua hummed, his thumb moving in soothing manner “i’d rather die myself than live without you”

“don’t say that” you scoffed, shaking your head gently “our country needs a leader”

“and i need you” joshua replied, moving his hands to cup your face “please, y/n. you’re so precious to me… so–“

“if you say beautiful i’ll smack you” you let out a laugh and he couldn’t help but share a smile. 

“but it’s true” he grinned and closed the gap between you two, lips crashing on yours. you shared a passionate kiss, a one that lovers after reunion share. 

but truth be told, you were like all those lovers in old tales. 

and maybe this time, there’s going to be a flawless ending: making it official.

main masterlist | event masterlist

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @eternalgyuuu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,, @mine-gyu

[nevernonline]

✧.* talk too much; kmg

synopsis:  a charismatic but slightly awkward mingyu, whose tendency to talk too much creates hilariously unpredictable situations.  one early morning he spots a stranger sitting in the corner of the café—someone who's quiet, mysterious, and a little intimidating. drawn to her aura, he strikes up a conversation. but every time he opens his mouth, his words seem to betray him.

paring: mingyu x fem! reader. 

genre:strangers2whatever (hehe)  

warning/s:mentions of substances (alcohol) some minor sexy stuff, but not much really.

word count: 11k

content: . non-idol idolings, awkward over sharer mingyu.

note: non rlly edited prob weird typos, xo. ( there's a part 2 in my drafts fully bc I couldn't stop writing about these two)

The bell above the café door jingled as the stranger stepped inside. Mingyu, standing in front of the register, halfway through recounting a story to his favorite barista about the time he accidentally adopted a stray cat. He paused mid-sentence, caught off guard by the stranger’s presence.  

She was unlike anyone who usually wandered into the cozy café—a stark contrast to the warm, inviting space. Dressed in muted tones, she carried an air of quiet confidence and mystery, expression unreadable. The girl didn’t look around or hesitate, walking directly to a table in the far corner as though she had been here a hundred times before.  

Mingyu watched her settle in, his curiosity piqued. The girl placed a cherry red leather-bound journal on the table, opened it to a blank page, and began scribbling furiously.  

“She doesn't look like she’s here for the coffee,” Mingyu muttered to himself.  

Before he could stop himself, he grabbed the notepad behind the counter from his stunned regular bar keep and approached the table.  

“Hi there,” he said brightly. “Welcome to uh, Black Rabbit. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? One of the world-famous muffins? Well, they’re not world-famous yet, but I think they are. Anyway—”  

The stranger looked up, her sharp eyes meeting his. Mingyu froze for a moment, forgetting whatever it was he was going to say next.  

“Black coffee,” the stranger said curtly. Her voice was low, measured, and entirely unimpressed.  

“Got it. One black coffee. Simple. Classic. You know, I respect that. Some people come in here and order drinks with so many extra syrups and toppings it’s like they’re trying to create a dessert in disguise. But you—you’re all about the essentials.”  

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Is there a point to this? Also do you even work here?”  

Mingyu blinked, realizing he was rambling. “Uh, nope! No point. Just making conversation. I’ll get that coffee for you. And, uh, no I don’t. Just helping out.”  

He turned and practically sprinted back to the counter, silently berating himself. “Cool, Mingyu. It's really cool.”  

When he returned with the coffee, he found her staring out the window, lost in thought. He set the cup down gently, but instead of leaving, he spoke again.  

“Hey, I don’t mean to pry, but are you... writing something? You looked really focused earlier. Like, next-level focused. Are you an author? Or maybe a secret spy writing down your next mission?”  

The stranger sighed, looking back at him with an exasperated expression. “Do you always ask this many questions?”  

“Only when I’m curious,” Mingyu replied with a grin. “And I’m very curious about you. You’ve got that whole mysterious, ‘I’ve got secrets’ vibe going on.”  

The girl finally gave a hint of a smile, though it was barely noticeable. “Maybe I do.”  

That small flicker of amusement was all the encouragement Mingyu needed. “Okay, so you are a spy. Or an undercover rockstar. Oh! Or a—”  

“I’m sorry, but I’m trying to work,” she interrupted, though her tone was softer now.  

Mingyu took a step back, raising his hands. “Got it. I’ll leave you to it. But if you need anything—like a refill, a snack, or a friendly face—I’m your guy.”  

“But you said you don’t work here.” 

As he walked away, the stranger shook their head, a faint smile tugging at their lips. Mingyu may have talked too much, but there was something disarmingly genuine about him that made it hard to stay annoyed.  

Heading up to grab his own cup from the counter, Mingyu stole another glance at her and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of story they were carrying—and whether he’d somehow become a part of it.

The next afternoon, the café was busier than usual, filled with a mix of students typing away on their laptops and a few regulars deep in conversation. Mingyu was at the counter, enthusiastically explaining to another regular Mrs. Park how the secret to perfect coffee lay in "a gentle pour and a mindful attitude," when the bell jingled again.  

Mingyu's head snapped up, and sure enough, the girl from yesterday was back. This time, she seemed even more aloof, her eyes scanning the room briefly before settling back on her spot in the corner. She didn't notice Mingyu’s stare as she quietly set down her cherry red journal and began flipping through its pages.  

Mingyu found himself momentarily frozen in place, suddenly aware of how *awkward* his last encounter had been. "Don't be weird this time. Don't overdo it," he muttered to himself, but his mind was already spiraling into potential conversation starters. What if he said something she’d find interesting? What if he said too much?  

With a deep breath, Mingyu stepped away from the counter. He was *determined* to keep things casual.  

“Hey, you,” Mingyu called out, walking toward her table, “back again, huh? Is the coffee that good, or are you just here for a change of scenery?”  

The girl looked up from her journal, her eyes scanning him briefly before she spoke in her usual flat tone. “Just getting out of the house for a while.”  

Mingyu nodded, trying to read the mood. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes, you just need a little break from your own four walls. I mean, my walls are full of stuff—vinyl records, old concert tickets, a couple of questionable cat sweaters... but still.”  

Her lips twitched, just for a second. “A questionable cat sweater?”  

Mingyu grinned. “Yeah. It’s got a picture of a cat wearing glasses, trying to look intellectual. But honestly, I think it just makes the cat look like it’s about to take over the world. It was for my work Christmas party, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t worn it more than once.”  

There was a moment of silence, and then the corner of her mouth curled up slightly. “I’d like to see that.”  

Mingyu’s heart did a little flip. She’s smiling. "It’s not for sale. Only available to cat enthusiasts who appreciate the depth of their feline overlords."  

Her smile lingered for just a second longer before it faded back into the neutral expression she wore so often. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said softly, her fingers tapping lightly on the table.  

Mingyu felt a brief hesitation. Maybe it was better not to press too hard. He had a tendency to run with a conversation until it got awkward, and right now, the conversation felt almost... comfortable.  

"So," Mingyu started, his mind racing for something else to say, “I’m guessing you’re writing more top-secret spy notes today? Or is it a shocking revelation about how you once got lost in a supermarket for three hours?”  

The girl’s eyebrow arched. “That’s an oddly specific guess.”  

Mingyu shrugged. “You'd be surprised how many people get lost in supermarkets. But, you know, it's all about the aisles and the lights. Before you know it, you're trapped in the frozen food section, wondering how you got there in the first place.”  

She watched him for a moment, then laughed softly—a real laugh this time, not just a polite chuckle. It was low, but genuine, and it made Mingyu’s chest feel lighter than it had in days.  

“Okay, I’ll admit that’s sort of funny, considering I assume you’re speaking from experience,” she said, surprising him even more. “But no, I’m not writing about that. Just...” She paused for a moment, her fingers stopping their restless tapping. “Just... trying to work through some things.”  

The shift in her tone was subtle, but Mingyu could feel the change. For the first time, he wasn’t just a guy talking too much. He was hearing her in a way that felt real, as if she was opening up to him without fully realizing it.  

“I get it,” Mingyu said, his voice softening. “Sometimes you just need a space to think things through. Like, I talk on the radio every night—way too much sometimes—but I guess it helps me sort out my own head.”  

The girl looked up at him then, her eyes lingering on his face with a quiet intensity that made his heart race.  

“You talk on the radio?” she asked.  

Mingyu chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah. You could say I’m kind of a big deal, I mean here anyway to people who know me” He made a vague gesture to the café around them. “But only to the people who are really into weird facts and  random stories. Like, one time I told my listeners about how I accidentally ended up with two lunch boxes after a miscommunication with a vending machine. I’m not proud of it, but hey, it makes for a great segment."  

She tilted her head slightly. “What else do you talk about?”  

Mingyu opened his mouth to reply, but then realized he was getting carried away. "Well, I don't want to bore you with my radio segment. Not everyone's cup of tea."  

She looked thoughtful for a second. “I’d listen to you.”  

His heart skipped. “Really?”  

“Maybe.” She leaned back in her chair, her gaze still steady. “If you were actually interesting enough.”  

Mingyu burst out laughing. “Okay, ouch. But I’ll take that as a challenge.”  

She shrugged, and for a moment, Mingyu just stood there, unsure whether he’d said something that was too much or if she was just being her usual, unreadable self.  

Finally, he broke the silence with a casual, “If you do end up listening, I’ll make sure to talk about my cat sweater for at least twenty minutes. That’ll make it worth your while.”  

A flash of amusement crossed her face. “I’ll hold you to that.”  

Mingyu smirked, making a mental note to talk in depth about his weird festive sweater, “Are you ever going to tell me your name?” 

“If you’re worth it.” A challenge from the enigma of a girl. 

“Okay, I’m Mingyu, by the way.” 

She just smiled as he walked off and went back to her black coffee without another word. 

Later in the night, the rain hitting the pavement outside of his office he watched as he had just finished setting up for his radio show. He spoke into the microphone, he could still feel the weight of his earlier conversation with the girl in the café. Something about her, her quiet mystery, had left him thinking, and for the first time in a long while, he felt calm on air.  

“Good evening, everyone,” Mingyu’s voice boomed through the mic. “I’m your host, Mingyu, here to take you through the night with some extremely random thoughts in between your hot hit countdown. But first, let’s talk about something near and dear to my heart: cats. Yes, that’s right. Cats. And how, in some cultures, they’re considered mystical beings that can sense your innermost thoughts. Which, if you ask me, explains a lot about why my cat is currently judging me for eating cereal at 11 PM.”  

He paused, chuckling to himself as he imagined the girl sitting in the corner of the café, maybe listening to him right now.  

“Anyway,” he continued, leaning into the mic. “If anyone out there has a cat sweater as legendary as mine, I’d love to hear about it. Or if you’ve ever gotten lost in a supermarket, accidentally adopting an extra lunchbox, send me a message. You know, just the things we all need to talk about. Let’s connect, guys. Let’s keep it real. If you’re watching us live right now on Youtube leave your stories in the chat or don’t hesitate to hit me up on twitter at gyunation.”  

The next morning, the café was as cozy as ever, with soft music playing in the background and a few early risers getting their caffeine fix. Mingyu was ordering coffee when the door opened again. He turned, already knowing who it was before she even walked in.  

The girl from the had returned. She gave him a small, knowing smile as she walked in and headed toward her usual table.  

Mingyu’s heart skipped a beat. “I didn’t expect to see you here again.”  

She raised an eyebrow. “I said I’d hold you to it.”  

He blinked. “Wait, what?”  

“You’re wearing your cat sweater today,” she said with a hint of a smile, her eyes glinting. “And I’m listening to you. Now, tell me about the mystical powers of cats, Mingyu.”  

Mingyu couldn’t help it. He grinned. He’d found a way to connect, just like he’d always hoped—through the stories, through the weirdness, and maybe, just maybe, through the unexpected bonds that only seemed to form when you weren’t trying so hard.  

“If you finally tell me your name.” 

“It’s y/n.” 

Mingyu blinked, a mix of surprise and excitement flickering in his eyes. "Y/N," he repeated slowly, as if savoring the sound of it. It was simple, yet it felt like a small victory. There was something about hearing her name that made everything feel a little less mysterious, a little more real.  

“I didn’t expect it to be so... normal,” Mingyu said with a half-joking grin, but there was a warmth in his tone that made the words feel genuine. "I was kind of hoping for something  cooler, like... I don't know, Phoenix or something. Or even Astrid, that would’ve been a great name."  

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”  

Mingyu let out a short, embarrassed laugh. “Maybe. I get random ideas sometimes. Like, when I was younger, I was convinced my name should’ve been something cooler, like Max or Axel. But then I realized I was always just Mingyu. And now, well, I’m starting to like it." He hesitated for a second. “I’m starting to like the name y/n too.”  

There was a flicker of something in her expression, something soft and fleeting, before it was replaced with her usual composed demeanor. “I’m glad to know you like it. Mingyu is honestly a nicer name than Axel. Though, you’re still in trouble. I’m waiting for my cat wisdom.”  

Mingyu nodded enthusiastically, happy to follow the new flow of their conversation. He slid into the chair across from her, trying to hide the fact his hands were still slightly shaking from the excitement of actually talking with her. “Okay, okay. The mystical powers of cats—where do I even begin?” He leaned in dramatically, as if about to reveal some ancient secret.  

"First of all, cats are masters of manipulation," Mingyu began, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. "I mean, if you’ve ever had a cat sit on your lap, staring at you like they know you’ve got food, but they're too dignified to beg—that’s sort of like when you know you’re in their power."  

Y/N’s lips twitched, and for the first time, she seemed fully engaged in his rambling. “Manipulation, huh?” she murmured, leaning back in her chair. "I thought we were talking about mystical powers, not  deviousness."  

Mingyu grinned. “That is their mystical power, come on. They can manipulate you into giving them whatever they want, whether it’s food, affection, or a new scratching post. It’s all about the gaze, the quiet dominance. There’s a reason people say cats can see into your soul.”  

Y/N nodded slowly, clearly entertained. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. But what about the mystical part? You know, the one where cats are supposed to be magical, like, bringing good luck and stuff.”  

“That’s a good one.” Mingyu leaned forward, his eyes lighting up with the sudden spark of inspiration. “Well, think about it. Cats sleep all day, but when they wake up, they’re already confident they can get what they want. They just know that time is precious, that sleep is sacred, and that the real power is in being present when it counts.”  

He paused for a second, realizing that this wasn’t just him making random, funny observations anymore. There was something about how he’d said it—how focused he’d been—something deeper that he hadn’t planned for. Mingyu quickly shook his head, feeling a little embarrassed.  

“Okay, maybe I’ve been watching too many cat videos, but you get what I mean, right?”  

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “I get it. Cats don’t waste time. They don’t do things for anyone but themselves. That’s kind of powerful.”  

“Exactly.” Mingyu’s smile was so wide it threatened to overtake his face. “It’s like they’ve got it all figured out. We’re all running around, doing a million things at once, but cats? They take it easy, let things come to them and somehow, it works out.”  

Y/N sat there, looking at him for a moment, before her gaze drifted down to her journal. "I never thought about it that way," she said quietly.  

Mingyu noticed the shift in her energy. It was subtle, but he could tell that his words had struck something deep. Before he could say anything more, she lifted her head again, her expression more thoughtful than before.  

"Maybe I need to take a page out of the cat playbook," she murmured, almost to herself.  

Mingyu watched her for a moment, wondering if he’d said too much, or if he was getting into dangerous territory where he might have pushed her too far with his endless chatter. But when she glanced back up at him, there was no irritation, only curiosity.  

“I think we all do,” Mingyu said softly. “We could all use a little more time to just be. No pressure. No rush. Just existing in the moment.”  

Y/N gave a small smile, and for the first time, Mingyu felt like it wasn’t just her pulling away from the world. It was almost like she was letting a piece of herself connect to him, in this little moment of vulnerability.  

"So," he said after a beat, trying to keep the conversation light, "what are you going to do now? Go home and take a nap like a true cat?"  

Y/N chuckled, the sound soft and genuine. "No, I think I’ll stay here for a bit longer." She looked up at him, her eyes glinting with amusement. "But maybe I’ll actually finish what I’m writing today. You know, before I get distracted by any more of your stories."  

Mingyu’s grin widened, feeling a sense of accomplishment that he hadn't realized he was craving. “I promise, I’ll keep the stories to a minimum. But if you need a distraction, you know where to find me.”  

She raised her cup of coffee, as if to make a toast. "I might just have to do that."  

Later that day Mingyu returned to his usual post at the counter on his break from the studio, his mind still buzzing with the conversation he’d just had with Y/N. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good about a conversation. His thoughts wandered back to her, and how she hadn’t seemed annoyed by his rambling. Instead, she’d actually listened—like she wanted to listen.  

As the afternoon light filtered through the café windows, he found himself stealing glances at Y/N from the counter. She was still scribbling in her journal, her focus so intense it was almost like she was channeling her own version of that "cat power" he had talked about earlier.  

And maybe, just maybe, he could be a part of her story. Or at least, part of the narrative she was writing in her mind.  

The thought made him smile to himself, and for the first time in a while, he felt like he wasn’t just talking to fill silence. He was talking because it felt like she was listening—and maybe, just maybe, she was starting to like the sound of his voice, too.  

Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she grabbed her things from the table and walked up to him standing in line,”I already got you another one, I remembered you came here around this time yesterday so I just took a shot.” Her fingers brushing against his in the exchange. 

“I think it’s going to be just what I need,” he said softly, her smile lingering.

Mingyu nodded, suddenly aware of the quiet space between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke, but there was something comforting in the silence, something deeper than just shared words. It was like they both understood that there was more here than just a random meeting. Maybe, just maybe, they were starting to find something that couldn’t easily be put into words.

“So, what’s on your agenda today?” Mingyu asked, leaning against the counter, trying to keep the conversation going. “Any secret missions? Any mysteries waiting to be solved?”

Y/N took a sip of her espresso, savoring the rich taste before setting the cup down and looking at him with a thoughtful expression. “Actually, yes. I have been thinking about something,” she said, her voice quieter now, more reflective. “I’ve been thinking about what it means to really be somewhere. You know? Per our earlier conversation. Not just physically, but mentally. To actually let yourself be present and not be running from one thing to the next.”

Mingyu’s brows furrowed as he processed her words. “I get that,” he said slowly, almost to himself. “I think... I think I’ve been running around like that a lot lately. Always filling up my time with stuff, trying to get things done, but I’m never really here, you know? It’s like, I’m always on autopilot.”

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Exactly. It’s easy to get caught up in the noise. But sometimes, the quiet is where the answers are.”

Mingyu felt a strange warmth spread through him at her words. It was as though they were having a conversation that was much bigger than coffee, much bigger than just now. It felt like she was giving him a glimpse into something he wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself.

"You know," he said softly, "I think I needed to hear that today."

Y/N looked at him, her gaze steady. "I think you were meant to hear it."

The words hung between them, and for a moment, Mingyu felt like the whole world outside the café had faded into the background. It was just him and her, and in this small, quiet space, they had carved out a little corner of understanding.

But before he could say anything more, Y/N stood, her bag slung over her shoulder. “I should get going,” she said, offering him a gentle smile. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Same time?” Mingyu asked, suddenly eager for the next day, for the next conversation, for the next moment with her.

She gave a slight nod, her smile turning a little more playful. “Same time. And don’t forget your charm, Mingyu.”

He laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days. “I’ll bring it. I promise.”

As Y/N left the café, Mingyu stood there for a moment, watching her go. He had no idea what was coming next, no idea what kind of story he and Y/N were writing together. But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to rush ahead to the next chapter. He was content to let it unfold, slowly and naturally, like the turning of a page.

And when the door swung closed behind her, he found himself already looking forward to tomorrow.

This time, he didn’t mind that he was talking too much.

It was a slow evening at the radio station. Mingyu leaned back in his chair, spinning lazily in circles while a groovy indie track filled the studio. The red ON AIR sign glowed softly above the window, casting the room in a warm, familiar light.  

"Alright, everyone," Mingyu said into the mic as the song faded. His voice slid effortlessly into his signature radio tone—smooth, playful, and just a touch self-deprecating. "It's your favorite over-sharer again. If you're tuning in tonight, let me know you're out there. Send me your requests, your shout-outs, or your best guess for how long it took me to ruin my dinner plans this week."  

As he flipped through a stack of vinyl records, his thoughts wandered. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the now not so stranger at the café. She had become a regular fixture in his life over such a short time, always sitting in the same corner, writing in that journal of hers.  

The thought made him smile, and before he knew it, he was speaking again.  

"You know," he began, leaning closer to the mic, "there’s this person who’s been hanging around my favorite café lately. They don’t say much, but there’s something about them—you know, the kind of person who’s like a locked treasure chest. You just want to figure out what’s inside. I, of course, have been trying to charm them with my wit and sparkling conversation. Has it worked? I’d say sort of. But hey, persistence is key, right?"  

He chuckled, then added, “Anyway, I’ve decided to name them ‘Mystery Corner Person.’ If you’re listening, MCP, this one’s for you.”  

Mingyu queued up the next track—a dreamy, nostalgic tune that felt just right. As it played, he leaned back and sighed, wondering if she's still listening to hear his ridiculous ramblings.  

But, she did. 

The next morning at the café, y/n walked in earlier than usual, her journal tucked under one arm. Mingyu was sitting at a high top table at the window when they approached him directly.  

“I heard your show last night,” she said, her voice as calm and unreadable as ever.  

Mingyu froze, a muffin balanced precariously in one hand. “Oh, uh—did you?”  

Y/n tilted her head. “Mystery Corner Person?”  

Mingyu’s ears turned pink. “That... might’ve been about you.”  

“I figured.” They placed their journal on the counter, resting their hand on the cover. “You’re very open. I was waiting for you to bring it up actually.”  

“I like to think it’s part of my charm,” he said, flashing a sheepish grin.  

For a moment, they just stared at him, and Mingyu worried he’d made a fool of himself again. But then, to his surprise, the stranger smiled—a real, genuine smile.  

“Your persistence is let’s just say.. entertaining,” she said, her voice carrying the faintest hint of warmth.  

Mingyu felt a rush of relief and a spark of something else—hope, maybe. “Does this mean you’ll give me a shot? By being friends, I mean. Or acquaintances. Or—well, anything, really.”  

Y/n chuckled softly, their smile lingering. “I’ll give you a shot.”  

As they turned to head to their usual corner, Mingyu couldn’t help but grin. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And for the first time, he felt like he might actually be breaking through that carefully guarded exterior.  

He picked up his muffin and placed it back on the plate, walking over to their table with a little extra bounce in his step. Maybe his tendency to talk too much wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

“So, mystery corner person,” Mingyu started, his voice light, playful. “Does this mean we’re friends now, or are you just humoring me?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips quivering. “I’d say we’re on the road to friendship. But I wouldn’t get too comfortable just yet.”

“Fair enough,” Mingyu said, leaning against the back of the chair across from her, still standing. He tried to suppress the urge to keep talking, but the words came tumbling out before he could stop them. “I’ll take what I can get. Besides, I’ve learned that sometimes it’s the quiet ones who have the best stories, and I’m betting you’ve got some good ones. Maybe you’ll share them with me one day.”

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound melodic. “I’m not exactly one for sharing my whole life, though. Not yet, anyway.”

“Well, no pressure,” Mingyu said quickly, lifting his hands as if in mock surrender. “You’ve got your own time. But I’ve got to warn you—I’m a terrible secret keeper. So if you start telling me anything too wild, I might end up broadcasting it.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Y/N replied, her tone a little teasing. “I’ll make sure to be careful around you then.”

Mingyu smiled at the playful challenge in her voice. He was surprised how easy it felt to talk to her now. There was something about her calm, unruffled nature that made him feel comfortable in a way he hadn’t expected.

He sat down at the edge of the table, leaning forward. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop with the radio host charm for now,” he said, waving his hand dramatically. “But you should know, it’s a hard habit to break. I’ve been talking to a microphone alone for so long, I forget there are real people out there sometimes.”

Y/N glanced at him over the rim of her coffee cup, the corner of her mouth turning up in a small smile. “I think it’s a good thing. You’ve got a way of making everything sound a little brighter.”

Mingyu blinked at her, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. He wasn’t sure how to respond at first, but he found himself chuckling, trying to play it cool. “Well, thank you. That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said about my rambling.”

Y/N gave a slight shrug, but her eyes sparkled. “You make it sound like rambling is a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s nice to just say things and see where they go.”

“See?” Mingyu said, leaning in as if he’d cracked a code. “That’s what I’m talking about. You get it. You’re a fellow over-sharer in disguise, I just know it.”

Y/N let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe. But I’ll have to decide whether you’re worthy of knowing my secrets first.”

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t annoy you with my stories,” Mingyu said with a wink. “But I’m pretty good at keeping secrets. If it makes you feel better, I won’t be sharing anything you don’t want me to.”

“Hmm, we’ll see about that,” Y/N said, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Mingyu chuckled, standing up from his chair and giving a mock bow. “Alright, I’ll leave you to write. But, just so you know, I’m very persistent, so you’re going to be seeing a lot of me, mystery corner person.” 

Y/n just waved him off, “For someone who wanted to learn my name so badly you’re in the habit of not using it.” 

“Ah, you’ll be hearing a lot more of it. Don’t worry too much.” 

Y/N shook her head with a faint smile, but just as he turned to leave, something tugged at her resolve. She called out after him, her voice hesitant yet firm enough to stop him in his tracks. “Mingyu?”

“Yeah?” He turned around quickly, almost like he’d been waiting for her to say his name again. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged, words hanging unspoken.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of her notebook as if it could anchor her nerves. “Would you want to have dinner or something? I mean now that we’re friends, I figured we could hang out more. Not just over coffee.”

Mingyu’s expression softened into a genuine smile, one that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. “I’d love that,” he said without hesitation. “How about tonight? I’m off at 7:30. Can we meet at Yeatta’s? It’s just a block or two from here.”

“Yeah, that works for me,” Y/N replied, her heart skipping a beat as she tried to play it cool.

“Great,” Mingyu said, his excitement barely contained as he gave her a small wave. “I’ll see you there, Y/N.”

As he walked away, Y/N found herself staring at the space he had just vacated, her lips curving into an uncontrollable smile. There was something about Mingyu that made her heart feel lighter—like maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something worth holding onto.

Mingyu arrived at Yeatta’s at exactly 7:25, five minutes early but not surprising given the way he bounced on the balls of his feet, clearly eager. When Y/N walked in a minute later, scanning the small, warmly lit restaurant, she found him standing by the entrance, his smile lighting up as soon as he spotted her. 

“Right on time,” he teased, holding the door open for her. “I was starting to think you might stand me up.”

“Oh, please,” Y/N shot back, smirking as she stepped inside. “You’d just hunt me down at the coffee shop tomorrow.”

“True,” Mingyu admitted with a grin. “I’m nothing if not persistent.” 

They were seated at a cozy booth near the back, the smell of wood-fired pizza and roasted garlic wafting through the air. The atmosphere was relaxed, with dim lighting and soft jazz playing in the background. Y/N found herself relaxing more than she expected, her usual hesitations melting away under Mingyu’s easy charm.

“So,” Mingyu began, unfolding his napkin with a flourish, “are you going to finally tell me what you were writing so furiously in that notebook of yours?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she picked up the menu. “You mean the “mystery notebook” that you keep trying to pry into? Not a chance.”

“Come on,” he said, leaning forward with an exaggerated pout. “You can’t keep a secret forever. Especially not from me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Nice try. Maybe if you guess right, I’ll tell you.”

“Deal.” Mingyu grinned like he had already won. “But first, what’s your go-to comfort food? And what drinks should we get? I need to know if you’re a pizza or pasta person before it kills me.”

“Depends on the mood,” she said, glancing over the menu. “But tonight? Definitely pasta and red wine. You?”

“Pizza all the way, yes to the wine for sure, I might get white though? Better for the red sauce is what I’ve heard before, not sure if it’s true.” he said confidently. “ But I’m flexible. We can share if you want to try both.”

The waiter had just placed their wine glasses on the table, a rich red for Y/N and a sparkling white for Mingyu, who claimed he wasn’t much of a wine connoisseur but was always up for a little sparkle. As they clinked their glasses, the sound rang out softly, blending into the warm hum of conversation around them. 

“To new friends,” Mingyu said with a grin. 

“And persistent ones,” Y/N added with a sly smile before taking a sip. The wine was smooth, warming her from the inside as much as the company did. 

“So,” Mingyu began, leaning back comfortably in his chair, “tell me something about you I wouldn’t guess just by looking at you.”

Y/N tilted her head, thinking as she swirled the wine in her glass. “Hm,I used to play the cello when I was younger. Like, seriously. Competitions and everything.”

“No way,” Mingyu said, his eyes widening in surprise. “Why don’t you still play?”

“I got too busy with school, life, and, well, other things took over,” she said with a shrug, a touch of wistfulness in her voice. “But it was fun while it lasted. Your turn.”

“Something you wouldn’t guess about me?” Mingyu echoed, rubbing his chin theatrically. “Alright. I once auditioned for a cooking show.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? What happened?”

“Well,” he began, leaning in like he was about to reveal a deep, dark secret, “I made it to the second round. But then I totally botched a dessert challenge because I got the sugar and salt mixed up.”

Y/N burst out laughing, nearly spilling her wine. “Oh no! What were you trying to make?”

“A soufflé,” Mingyu groaned, dramatically slumping in his chair. “I thought I’d be impressive, but instead, I made the world’s saltiest disaster.”

“I would’ve loved to see that,” Y/N said, still laughing. “You’re brave, though. I can barely cook for myself, let alone under pressure.”

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to be a pretty decent cook these days,” Mingyu said with a wink. “Maybe I’ll redeem myself and cook for you sometime.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow but smiled. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be the judge. Ramsay style.” 

The conversation naturally shifted as the wine loosened their inhibitions. Y/N talked about her love for old bookstores and how she could lose hours flipping through dusty pages, imagining the lives of people who owned them before. Mingyu shared his obsession with spontaneous road trips, confessing that he once drove five hours just to try a diner he saw on TV. 

“You’re kidding,” Y/N said, incredulous but amused. “Was it worth it?”

“Absolutely,” Mingyu said, his eyes lighting up at the memory. “Best blueberry pancakes of my life..”

Y/N shook her head, smiling. “You’re so carefree. I don’t know if I could ever just get up and go like that.” 

“Why not?” Mingyu asked, genuinely curious. “Sometimes the best moments are the unplanned ones.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, taking another sip of wine. “But I’m more of a planner. I like knowing what’s ahead.”

“Well,” Mingyu said, his tone playful but with a trace of sincerity, “if you ever feel like throwing the plan out the window, let me know. I’m pretty good at finding adventures.”

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted when the waiter approached with their pizza—a perfectly charred margherita, the thin crust bubbling with golden edges, fresh basil leaves glistening against the vibrant red of the tomato sauce. The aroma alone made Y/N’s stomach rumble, but neither of them reached for a slice right away. Instead, they lingered over their wine, the warm, dim light casting a golden glow over the table as their laughter filled the space between them.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, his grin wide as he recounted one of his more daring childhood memories. “So, I was about ten, and I decided I was going to build the fucking coolest treehouse in the neighborhood,” he said, gesturing animatedly. “I had this old plank of wood, some rusty nails, and no clue what I was doing, obviously. I climbed up this huge tree in my backyard—like, way higher than I should’ve—and started hammering away. Next thing I know, one of the branches snapped, and there I was, dangling halfway up the tree, screaming for my mom.”

Y/N gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, but the corners of her lips twitched in amusement. “No way. You didn’t fall, did you?”

“No,” Mingyu said, shaking his head dramatically. “But I was stuck for maybe three hours? My mom had to call the neighbors to bring a ladder. And the worst part? My treehouse was just some lame ass piece of wood dangling from the tree like I was. It wasn’t exactly the cool architectural design I pictured.”

Y/N burst out laughing, nearly spilling her wine. “That’s hilarious. I can totally picture you as this ambitious little kid, full of big plans and no backup.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Mingyu said, chuckling. “I had all the ideas but zero execution. What about you? Any wild childhood adventures? Secret missions rather, since you’re a mystery.” 

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then her expression softened, a faraway look in her eyes. “You’re a little bit of a smartass, huh? When I was fifteen, I used to sneak out of the house late at night—not to go to parties or anything. I’d climb out my bedroom window and bike to this hill just outside town. It was the perfect spot to stargaze. I’d lie there for hours, just staring at the sky, convinced I was going to be an astronomer one day. And as I got older I still go sometimes, just to have a beer and sit alone, it helps me relax.”

Mingyu’s smile softened, his gaze lingering on her as she spoke. “That sounds really nice actually,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Why astronomy?”

“I think I liked how small it made me feel,” Y/N admitted, swirling her wine glass absently. “Like, no matter how big my problems seemed, they were nothing compared to the universe. Plus, I thought if I studied the stars, maybe I could find some meaning up there. I was always sort of lost as a kid, too shy to make a lot of friends, too terrible at sports to have nobody laughing at me when I would try out for teams, all that.”

“I feel like you’re selling yourself short,” Mingyu said sincerely. “So you still go?”

Y/N shook her head, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. “Not as much anymore. Life got busier, you know? But I think about it sometimes. I miss how peaceful it was.”

“Well,” Mingyu said, leaning forward with a playful glint in his eyes, “next time you want to chase stars, let me know. I think I have a spot you’d like.”

Y/N laughed, raising an eyebrow. “You’d sit in silence under the stars? No smart ass remarks or treehouse stories?”

“Hey, shut up. I can be quiet,” Mingyu defended, though his grin gave him away. “For a little while, at least. But no promises if I see a shooting star. You’re supposed to make a wish, right? Mine would be to bring alcohol and snacks.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she reached for a slice of pizza at last. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are,” he teased, raising his glass for another toast. As their glasses clinked again, their laughter and stories spilled over like the wine in their glasses—easy, unhurried, and warm. Mingyu leaned back in his seat, his wine glass balanced loosely in his hand, and gave Y/N a look that was equal parts playful and sincere. “I’m serious, though. You tell me when you want to go stargazing, and I’ll make it happen. Snacks, drinks, blankets—you name it. I’ll even promise to be quiet for the first ten minutes.”

Y/N smirked, taking a small bite of her pizza. “Ten whole minutes of silence? That might actually be a record for you.”

“Don’t push it,” Mingyu shot back with a laugh. “You’d miss my voice too much.”

“Debatable,” she teased, but her smile lingered, softening the edge of her words.

They fell into a comfortable rhythm, their conversation weaving between playful banter and moments of genuine connection. Mingyu asked her more about her writing, his questions thoughtful and encouraging, and Y/N found herself sharing more than she expected—her half-formed ideas, her struggles with self-doubt, and her dream of one day publishing a book that might make someone feel the way she did when she opened a favorite story.

“I feel like you’re already halfway there,” Mingyu said, his tone serious now. “You light up when you talk about it. It’s nice to see you smile talking about something.”

She looked down at her glass, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Maybe it’s not easy,” he admitted, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. Besides, if you ever need a cheerleader, I’m available. Very affordable, too—just pay me in pizza.”

Y/N laughed, her nerves dissolving under his earnest encouragement. “I’ll keep that in mind. What about you? What’s your big dream?”

Mingyu hesitated for a moment, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. “Honestly? I think I’m still figuring it out. But I know I want to make people happy, you know? Whether it’s through cooking, making them laugh, or just being there when they need someone. That’s what feels right to me.”

“That’s a pretty great dream,” Y/N said, her voice softening. “And I think you’re already doing it.”

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the noise of the restaurant seemed to fade away. Mingyu’s smile turned a little sheepish, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I’m glad to know I’ve got at least one satisfied customer.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You’re not  terrible company, I guess.”

“High praise,” Mingyu teased, raising his glass again. “To not being terrible company.”

Y/N clinked her glass against his, her laughter mixing with his as they returned to their meal. As the night wore on, the slices slowly disappeared, but the conversation never lost its spark. They lingered long after the plates were cleared, talking about everything from childhood dreams to places they wanted to travel.

Eventually, the waiter discreetly dropped off the check, and Mingyu reached for it without hesitation. “Don’t even think about it,” he said when Y/N protested.

“I could’ve at least split it with you,” she said, crossing her arms.

“You could have,” Mingyu replied with a cheeky grin. “But then I wouldn’t get to say I treated you on our first official hangout. You can cover the snacks for stargazing—deal?”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “Deal.”

As they stepped out into the crisp night air, the city lights casting a soft glow on the streets, Mingyu turned to her. “So, was I as annoying as you thought I’d be?”

“Annoying? Yes,” Y/N said, her lips twitching in amusement. “But I don’t mind.”

“I’ll take it,” Mingyu said with a laugh. “Thanks for tonight, Y/N. It was probably one of the most fun things I’ve done in a while.” 

“It was,” she admitted, surprised by how much she meant it. “See you tomorrow, persistent coffee guy?”

“Oh, you’ll see me,” he said, winking before turning to head down the street. “Unless I see you first, Mysterious Corner Person.”

Y/N watched him walk away, a warmth settling in her chest. As she started toward home, she couldn’t help but smile, already looking forward to their next meeting.

As the dawn broke, the soft glow of the morning sun streamed through the windows of the café, casting a warm hue over everything. Y/N sat at her usual corner spot, absently scrolling through her phone while waiting for her favorite annoying friend. The comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the sound of light chatter and the clinking of cups. She hadn’t quite managed to shake off the memory of last night—Mingyu's laughter, the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke, and the lingering warmth of their conversation.

Just as she checked her watch to see if Mingyu had been late or not, she heard the tinkle of the doorbell, drawing her attention. In walked Mingyu, a wide grin plastered on his face, walking up to grab two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. Y/N’s heart did a little flip; she couldn't help but smile back as he approached her with the casual confidence that always made her stomach flutter.

“I brought you your favorite,” he said, placing the cup in front of her. “Consider this an apology for being too charming last night. I didn’t mean to sweep you off your feet or anything.” The teasing lilt in his voice made Y/N chuckle, though she rolled her eyes playfully, masking the warmth tinting her cheeks.

“Too charming, huh? Is that even a thing?” she shot back, taking a sip and savoring the familiar taste. With every interaction, she found herself drawn deeper into the lighthearted banter they had cultivated. He sat down across from her, his playful nature washing away any remnants of a serious morning.

As days turned into weeks, those spontaneous coffee runs became the highlight of Y/N's mornings. Each day, Mingyu would find a new reason to linger—asking about her weekend plans, recounting strange dreams that had caused him to wake up giggling, or debating the merits of pineapple on pizza. There were moments when their conversations would drift into deeper territory, discussing their aspirations, fears, and the odd twists life threw their way. 

Y/N soon discovered that Mingyu had an uncanny ability to make even the most mundane topics feel important. One Tuesday, as they squabbled over the best pizza toppings, he insisted, “Peppers and onions bring out the true flavor of the cheese!” which led to an impromptu debate that had them both laughing until their sides hurt. 

She found herself anticipating these morning rituals, a bubble of happiness blossoming in her chest at the mere thought of seeing him. What started as a casual coffee run had morphed into something undeniably special—she began to crave his company more than she cared to admit. 

Despite her attempts to play it cool, every shared laugh, every gently lingering gaze exchanged started to intertwine their lives in ways she hadn’t expected. Each day, the corner café felt a little more like a second home, not just because of the coffee, but because of Mingyu’s presence. Occasionally, she’d catch herself daydreaming about what it would be like to invite him over for a pizza night or to share a quiet evening watching movies, a little voice in her head whispering fears of slipping from friendship into something deeper—something beautiful yet terrifying.

But for now, they relished the simplicity—the easy comfort of shared coffee, laughter, and the exhilarating thrill of something unspoken hanging softly between them, waiting for the right moment to blossom.

After weeks of easy laughter and coffee-filled mornings, Mingyu—emboldened by Y/N's growing fondness for their time together—decided it was time to showcase his culinary prowess. He had mentioned his love for cooking during one of their coffee chats, specifically teasing about a past cooking show attempt that had ended in disaster when he mistakenly used salt instead of sugar in a dessert. It was an absolute failure, but the way he recounted it had left Y/N in stitches, and she couldn’t help but encourage him to put that experience behind him. 

So it was with a mischievous smile that Mingyu sent her a message inviting her over to his place for a “proper meal.” His confidence was infectious, and Y/N found herself excited at the prospect of spending an evening cooking together, even if she glimpsed a little fear behind her excitement.

That Saturday evening, Y/N arrived at his apartment with a spring in her step, holding a bottle of wine as her contribution to the dinner. Mingyu greeted her at the door, a cute apron tied around his waist, and his hair slightly tousled as if he had been preparing all day. The kitchen already smelled inviting, with the simmering of something savory in the background.

“Welcome to my kitchen.” he declared, flinging open his arms in mock grandeur. “Prepare to be blown away.” Y/N giggled, feeling a playful banter already brewing between them as they stepped into the kitchen. 

They started a little unsure, mixing up ingredients and dancing around each other in the small space. Laughter filled the air as he guided her through the preparation of their meal. Chopping vegetables turned into a chopping competition, resulting in some accidentally discarded pieces flying across the countertop. They were both a bit clumsy, but it only added to the charm of the evening. 

However, chaos ensued as Y/N intentionally mixed up the sugar and salt while measuring the ingredients for the sauce. As a callback to make fun of Mingyu’s cooking show embarrassment hoping he wouldn’t take it to heart too much. 

Mingyu’s face morphed from confusion to pure horror as he tasted the sauce. “What is this? Are you fucking with me?” he exclaimed, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably, a burst of laughter erupting between them.

“Hey, I thought we could give you a call back to your days as an aspiring chef. You were just telling me to ‘add seasoning’!” Y/N retorted, her laughter bubbling over. 

The kitchen transformed into a battleground of flour and spills as they attempted to clean up the mess, dashing here and there grabbing paper towels and laughing uncontrollably as they dodged flour clouds that seemed intent on sticking to every surface—including themselves. The floor bore witness to a sprinkling of flour footprints leading from sink to counter and back. 

“Okay, okay. Clearly, we’re not going to win a Michelin star tonight,” Mingyu chuckled, wiping a hand across his forehead, flour now dusting his cheek. 

“Maybe we should just clean up and order takeout? Sorry for fucking up your nice meal” Y/N suggested with a grin, realizing neither of them had even started on the main course yet. 

“I have a feeling this was your plan all along, think I’m going to poison you?” He nodded enthusiastically. 

“Absolutely.” 

They huddled over his phone, browsing menus and sharing a laugh about different food combinations, all the while enjoying the relaxed comfort of each other’s company. As they placed their order, Mingyu playfully bemoaned the “greatest culinary disaster of the century,” and Y/N couldn’t help but tease him about his cooking abilities.

When the food finally arrived, they sat down on the couch, a jumble of takeout containers and mismatched plates, laughter still dancing in the air. They dug in, enjoying their food with a warmth that stemmed not just from the flavors but from the shared experience that had turned their simple dinner into pure chaos, followed by comfort as their legs touched settled into his cozy sofa, which they both pretended not to acknowledge. 

In between bites, their conversation flowed easily, the earlier chaos of the kitchen forgotten, only to be replaced by gentle teasing and heartfelt discussions. The evening had not gone as planned, yet in those moments, Y/N felt a closeness to Mingyu that she hadn't fully anticipated and wasn’re sure what it meant. 

As they polished off the last of their takeout, they leaned back against the couch, feeling the loosening tension from the day, laughter still bubbling between them. She glanced at him, his face lit up with a satisfied grin, and realized that this was far more memorable than if everything had gone perfectly. The spilled flour and overly salty sauce had become their personal anecdotes, stories to reminisce about, etched into their growing relationship. 

And even amid the mess, she felt something shift—this was more than just a casual evening; it was a bond that deepened with every laugh shared and every slight mistake made together. In the cozy warmth of the moment, Y/N found herself contemplating just how right it felt to be here with Mingyu. 

“Do you-” 

They both said at the same time, their laughter flowing still. Y/n prompted Mingyu to talk first, grabbing the can of sweating beer sitting on his coffee table and taking a swig. 

“No, just do you ever think about how crazy it is that we met each other?” Mingyu watched y/n's expression as if she was a television character. “We were strangers a few weeks ago and now here we are, I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.” 

Y/N felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words, a flutter of something electric that made her heart race. Swallowing her sip of beer, she considered his question, the implications of it wrapping around her like a blanket. “It is sort of crazy,” she replied softly, leaning back against the couch and crossing her arms as she reflected on their journey. “Just a few weeks ago, we were two random people in a coffee shop, sharing awkward small talk over our drinks.”

Mingyu chuckled, his laughter warm and inviting, causing Y/N to smile at the memory. “Right? I remember how you tried to hide your eye roll when I started rambling about my guilty pleasure shows. You've been way more patient with my quirks than I deserve.”

“Hey, you didn’t have to twist my arm to talk about junk food and reality TV. That’s a gift you offered me,” she replied, nudging him playfully with her elbow. “But seriously, I don’t know. It just feels almost too easy with you.”

He nodded, the sincerity on his face deepening. “Absolutely. I had this fear that after my cooking show mishap, I’d never cook for anyone ever again. But, somehow, I feel comfortable with you. Like I can be myself—flour-covered and all.. 

“I get that.” she replied, her heart still racing from the way his eyes searched hers, filled with an openness that was rarely offered. “It’s everything—our late-night talks about nothing and everything, all those moments and I like that I don’t feel pressure to impress you.”

Mingyu’s gaze softened as he let her words sink in, a smile spreading across his face—a mix of relief and happiness. “I feel the same way. I guess it’s nice to find someone who can appreciate you for who you are, flaws and all.”

“I thought you didn’t have any flaws?” 

The atmosphere shifted slightly, a gentle gravity settling around them as they shared this moment of vulnerability. It felt like the world outside had faded away, leaving only the sacred space between them filled with thoughtful breaths and unspoken words.

Then, suddenly, Mingyu leaned a little closer, his elbow resting on his knee as he caught her gaze with an intensity that made her heart flutter even more. “You know… I think the best part about getting to know you is discovering how we both navigate our own messiness. We’re both a little chaotic in our own ways, and it’s refreshing to find someone else who can embrace that.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up as Mingyu’s honesty wrapped around her like warmth. She knew that beneath the laughter and playful teasing, he was speaking to something significant happening between them. “It’s like we balance each other out, right? Your zero flaws perfectly complement my complete lack of many. ”

He threw his head back in laughter, and it vibrated through them both like a comforting echo. Touching her thigh out of instinct. 

Mingyu’s expression shifted then, his eyes earnest yet playful as he leaned in closer, robes of laughter giving way to something deeper. “Okay, but in all seriousness—what do you think happens next for us? I mean, if we keep this up?”

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his question, a mixture of excitement and vulnerability swirling in her chest. Tilting her head slightly, she studied his face, a thought bubbling to the surface that she hadn’t articulated before. “I guess we keep figuring it out. I know that’s a lame ass answer, but-” 

Mingyu’s face brightened, and he nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll have takeout nights, of course—maybe even attempt cooking again when we’re feeling bold.”

“Yes. But with a solid plan in place this time,” she teased, her heart warming at his enthusiasm. “whatever this is.”

“Whatever this is,” he echoed with a soft smile, stretching his arm out along the back of the couch, leaving just enough space for her to lean against him if she wanted to. The gesture lingered in the air, an invitation that made her pulse quicken.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N felt a wave of courage washing over her. She shifted closer, rationally giving way to instinct, and in that moment of intimacy, she let herself lean against him, their bodies fitting together effortlessly. 

“And I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else,” she murmured softly, feeling a profound shift in their dynamic as she nestled against Mingyu’s side. Warmth enveloped her, not just from his body, but from the genuine connection they had forged. She took her hands to his warm cheeks and brushed off the lingering flour, running her fingers over his soft lips. 

Mingyu’s arm instinctively draped around her shoulders, holding her close, and she felt an undeniable sense of belonging in his presence. “You can’t be this close to me and not kiss me.” he replied quietly, and she could hear the sincerity in his voice, the gravity of their shared moment.

As she stared at him in silence for a minute, a smile washed over her face as she leaned in and made a path to his lips with hers instead at the last minute swerving and giving him a kiss on the cheek playfully. 

Laughter bubbled between them, lightening the tension that had built in the air. Mingyu looked momentarily surprised, his eyes widening and brows raising in mock disappointment. “Oh, come on. That was a dick move.”

Y/N giggled, the sound of a playful melody that danced around them in the cozy space. “I couldn’t help it. The look on your face was so worth it.” She winked mischievously, enjoying how their moment, which had felt so heavy and charged just seconds before, had shifted into this playful teasing.

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head in playful disbelief. “You’re so mean.” He feigned frustration, but the warmth of his expression and the sparkle in his eyes told her just how much he enjoyed her whimsy.  

Pride swelled within her at his compliment, and her cheeks flushed at the spontaneity of it all. They were sharing this beautiful blend of fun and intimacy—a carefree-ness that made her heart flutter and her stomach twist into knots of anticipation. She hesitated for a moment, still wrapped in the warmth of his presence, contemplating allowing the moment to settle in further. 

“Okay, okay… I’ll redeem myself,” she said softly, meeting his gaze with a hint of seriousness beneath her earlier teasing. The shift in her tone caught his attention, and his playful expression faded slightly, replaced with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.

“Are you sure?” Mingyu asked, his voice low and filled with a vulnerability that made her heart ache in the best way. 

Y/N bit her lip, feeling the boldness wash over her again, surpassing any lingering nerves. “I am,” she assured him, her heart hammering as she leaned in closer this time, matching his gaze as they hovered just inches apart. “I guess we’ve come too far to hold back now, right?” 

“Right,” he breathed, his eyes darkening with something primal, something that sent a shiver of excitement coursing through her. The air between them felt charged, electric, as if they were daring each other to bridge the final distance.

In one swift movement, she closed the small gap, finally pressing her lips against his in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, teetering on the edge of hesitation, but as Mingyu responded—his lips molding to hers with a warmth she'd yearned for.

Time seemed to blur around them as they savored the kiss, allowing the moment to expand, realizing that this was a milestone in their relationship. Y/N’s heart raced as she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer still; she could feel the way he leaned into her, matching her eagerness. Each touch ignited sparks, tossing her into a whirlwind of longing that was both intoxicating and exhilarating. 

When they finally pulled back, breathless, she leaned her forehead against his, her heart racing from the tenderness that hung in the air between them. Mingyu’s eyes were bright, reflecting the disbelief and joy of their shared moment. “Wow.” 

“Yeah?” she asked softly, a shy smile breaking across her face. “Because, I’d say it was mediocre.” 

The lightness returned, and Mingyu laughed, the sound lifting her spirits even more. “Shut up, you’re a liar, you were basically begging me for more. ”

“I might need another later, just so you can redeem yourself.” 

“I can make that happen, you know.” 

They grinned at each other, a shared understanding deepening their connection even further. The world outside felt like an echo, distant and unimportant as they savored this newfound bond, filled with untapped potential and the joy of each other’s company.

“Can you imagine what our friends would say if they knew we spent the night making a mess and then ended with a make-out session?” Mingyu said, his laughter still dancing in the air.

Y/N shook her head, chuckling softly. “Who knows? They might be incredibly jealous we got to have missed out on our “disaster” of an evening. But honestly, I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

“Me neither,” he replied, his tone shifting back to sincerity. “But just so you know, I’m claiming the next time we cook together you just sit and watch.”

“And why is that?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow in playful skepticism, her heart dancing at his enthusiasm.

“So I can look sexy for you in the kitchen and you might kiss me again, obviously.” he declared dramatically. 

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her heart swelling with affection for his silliness. “Alright, chef. You have yourself a deal. But next time? I’m bringing dessert.”

“Maybe I’ll just have you for dessert.” Mingyu said with a teasing grin, and she felt her cheeks flush once again in delight. 

With that playful banter, the rest of the night melted away into easy laughter, light touches, and the thrill of new beginnings. She felt something incredible blooming between them, something beautiful that blended friendship with a newfound romantic spark, and she couldn’t wait to see where their journey might take them next. 

As they settled back on the couch, Y/N nestled against him once more, content with the knowledge that whatever chaos life threw their way, they would tackle it together—with laughter, love, and perhaps a little less clothes involved.

[diamonddaze01]

Hi, Tara! could you do prompt 57 “will you just shut up for a moment so I can say something nice to you!” w/ Jeonghan?

i absolutely love your writing and I can't wait to see more of yours jeonghan's fics (since i'm surrended by him

on the record

pairing: jeonghan x reader | wc: 1.3k prompt: "will you just shut up for a moment so I can say something nice to you!" au: f1 au | warnings: none a/n: hello anon! thank you for the kind words! // if any of y'all can guess my f1 team i'll kiss u

The paddock was alive with electric energy, a symphony of celebration that roared louder than the engines had earlier in the night. Ferrari red bled into every corner of the circuit, vibrant under the floodlights that cut through the haze of champagne mist. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt rubber and victory, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the trophy that gleamed like a beacon in the jubilant crowd.

At the center of it all stood Yoon Jeonghan, illuminated by the relentless flashes of cameras. His race suit clung to his frame, damp with champagne and sweat, the prancing horse emblem on his chest catching the light like a polished gem. The gold World Drivers' Championship cap perched on his head tilted slightly, its brim glistening from the spray of celebration. His blonde hair, damp and tousled, framed a face that looked just as smug as it did radiant—victory personified.

This was the culmination of years of grit and audacity, the final word against those who’d called him “reckless,” “overrated,” and “all charm, no skill.” Yoon Jeonghan —Ferrari’s golden boy, the prince of the paddock—had silenced them all. His first World Drivers’ Championship was his, claimed in the most dramatic fashion, as if written to match the flair he carried with him like a second skin.

The Ferrari garage was a storm of elation, its occupants lost in a frenzy of cheers and embraces. Mechanics pounded one another on the back, their red uniforms soaked with champagne, while engineers grinned ear to ear as though they'd rewritten history. The sharp pop of another champagne bottle sent a fine spray across the crowd, sparkling like liquid gold under the lights.

But amidst the chaos, Jeonghan’s sharp gaze roamed. Even as shouts of congratulations rang out and microphones were thrust toward him, something inside him remained unsettled. This wasn’t enough. Not yet. His sharp eyes scanned the paddock for one specific face – he knew you were here. You always were.

Then, he spotted you.

You stood at the periphery of the chaos, notepad in hand, observing with the same clinical detachment you had all season. You, the reporter who had made a career out of scrutinizing him. Your articles were infamous—meticulously written takedowns of his driving style, his attitude, his every perceived misstep. Jeonghan had read every single one, memorized the jabs and barbs, and filed them away as fuel.

Now, you were watching him, though you stayed just out of the fray, notebook clutched to your chest as if it could shield you from the weight of his gaze. The pen you tapped against its surface betrayed a rhythm too steady to be casual, a subtle tick of nerves that you otherwise wore well.

“Ah,” Jeonghan murmured to himself, a grin tugging at his lips. “There you are.”

Weaving through the crowd, he made a beeline toward you. You noticed him too late, your expression faltering for the briefest second before settling into its usual detached professionalism.

“Congratulations,” you said when he stopped in front of you, your voice steady, measured. “Ferrari must be thrilled to finally have a champion again. How does it feel to carry that weight on your shoulders?”

Jeonghan chuckled, brushing a hand through his champagne-soaked hair. “Feels great. Almost as great as proving you wrong every single weekend.”

Your pen paused mid-note, your eyebrow arching. “I see winning hasn’t done anything for your humility.”

“Why would it? Humility didn’t get me here, sweetheart.” He leaned against the barricade beside you, his medal glinting under the lights, the smirk on his lips deepening.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead focusing on the notes in front of you. “Sure, but let’s not forget that Red Bull still has the Constructors' Championship. So, really, Ferrari’s only halfway there.”

Jeonghan let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I’m just pointing out the facts,” you said, a nonchalant shrug accompanying your words. “One trophy doesn’t make you untouchable, no matter how smug you look in red.”

His laugh shifted, softer this time, almost fond. He opened his mouth to respond, but his tone wasn’t its usual sharpness. “I wanted to say—”

“What? That winning feels better than your PR team promised?” you interrupted, scribbling a quick note. “Or that the upgrades finally worked for you in—”

“Will you just shut up for a moment so I can say something nice to you?” Jeonghan interrupted, his voice cutting through the background noise like a knife.

Your pen stilled, your grip tightening on the notepad. The sharpness in his voice startled you, not because it was harsh, but because it was so different from his usual cocky bravado. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, straightening up, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “For once, put the pen down, stop overanalyzing, and let me talk.”

The notepad felt suddenly heavy in your hands. Something in his expression—serious but still unbearably smug—compelled you to comply. You lowered it, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “Well?” you asked, sharper than you intended. “Say whatever it is you need to say and get back to basking in your glory.”

He sighed dramatically, as if you were the one making this difficult, but the glint in his eye softened. “You know, I spent most of this season imagining what I’d say to you when I finally won.”

“‘Congratulations’ would’ve been fine.”

“Too simple,” he said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t cover it.”

Your patience thinned. “So what? Are you here to gloat or—”

“I wanted to thank you,” he said finally, the teasing edge falling from his voice.

The words hung in the air, and for once, you were at a loss for a sharp retort. “Thank me? For what?”

“For being my biggest critic,” he said, nodding toward the Ferrari garage, where the celebrations were still in full swing. “Every time I read one of your articles calling me reckless or undeserving, it pissed me off just enough to push harder. Every jab, every doubt—you made me better.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to feel insulted or impressed. The sincerity in his voice was disarming, his usual bravado giving way to something real.

“I wasn’t trying to help you,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “I was just doing my job.”

“And you’re great at it,” Jeonghan admitted, leaning in slightly. “Even if you’re a massive pain in my ass.”

Your face warmed, and you looked away, focusing on a distant point in the paddock. “Well, congratulations, Jeonghan. Don’t expect me to go easy on you next season.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his grin sliding back into place. “But don’t think you’re off the hook. You owe me one.”

“One what?”

“A nice article,” he said, his voice dropping as he leaned closer. “Something to make up for all the times you called me a liability in red.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the heat of his gaze, the proximity, the champagne lingering on his skin, left you momentarily speechless.

“Think you can manage that?” he teased, tilting his head.

You forced yourself to smirk, though your heart was racing. “We’ll see. Don’t hold your breath.”

He chuckled, stepping back, but his parting words were as infuriating as ever. “Make it good, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Ferrari’s champion.”

Before you could come up with a response, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you with your notepad, your heartbeat louder than the celebrations around you, and a single, infuriating thought: Yoon Jeonghan had won again.

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