#nct fluff
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daisies
wc: ~800 tell me i'm pretty
“Mark, stop moving,” you chide, squishing his cheeks between your hand to hold his face in place.
He squirms beneath your touch, twisting at the swipe of your lipstick to his mouth. He genuinely has no idea where you got the idea to do this to him; the last hour has been spent with you sitting comfortably on his lap, doing his makeup. He can feel the tackiness of the mascara every time he blinks and the tip of his nose itches from whatever bright pink blush you dusted on it a few minutes ago.
“Dude, it tickles—” he replies, before you squeeze his face tighter to force his lips into a pucker.
“I’m almost done,” you laugh lightly. You briefly glance up from his lips to meet his gaze. “Relax.”
In truth, he doesn’t really mind the whole makeup part—he’s practically incapable of saying no when it comes to you anyway—but it feels like you’ve been going at this for a smidge too long. Your eyes are locked onto his mouth, leaning in a bit closer as you finish applying the deep red color to his lips. Once you’re done, you pull back for a second to study your work, your face settled on a devastatingly cute expression of deliberation.
He doesn’t fight the smile growing on his face. “You look cute when you’re concentrating.”
You blink out of your daze and there’s a slight upturn of your lips that makes his heart leap. “Stop trying to distract me.”
You set the lipstick down to grab a lip gloss off the carpet, where the rest of your products are spread out. Earlier, you had given him a very detailed tour of everything in your makeup bag and he’s been mentally quizzing himself on it all since then.
The corner of his eyes crinkle. “Is it working though?”
“No,” you answer primly, uncapping your lip gloss.
“Liar.”
All he gets in response is a short, airy laugh. Your hand returns to his face then, holding him gently as you attentively layer on the gloss. There’s a weird, tingling sensation that follows shortly after but he doesn’t mention anything this time. Instead, he looks up at you when you pull away once more and finally, finally he feels like he’s free. You’ve used nearly every product you own by now.
“Okay, I’m done,” you sing. And his body slackens with relief until there’s a small, uncertain tilt of your head while you scan his face, musing, “but I feel like you’re missing something…”
He tosses his head back in defeat. “Baby—”
“Oh! I know—”
And suddenly, you’re jumping off of his lap and padding over to one of the nearby drawers in the living room. He doesn’t move from his spot leaning against the couch though, mindlessly playing with a loose thread on the carpet in your short absence.
You return to him with a strand of baby pink ribbon and he raises a brow. You usually use that spool of ribbon when wrapping gifts so he’s a bit confused as to how you’re going to use it now.
You instruct him to look up. When he does, you carefully wrap it around his neck, securing it into a delicately tied bow. Once you’re done, he tilts his chin back down to look at you and you gasp.
“Holy shit,” you beam, holding a hand over your mouth as you look him over. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Hold on, I wanna take a picture to remember this.”
The sudden onslaught of attention makes his face burn as you grab your phone laying off to the side. You take close to a billion pictures of him between his defeated protests and he’s silently praying that the blush you put on earlier is enough to hide his own. Once you’re finished, you show him his picture with a bright smile.
And he’s not gonna lie, he thinks he looks good.
“Are you happy now?” He laughs, settling his hands on your hips. His thumbs brush along a sliver of skin peeking out beneath the shirt you stole from him last week.
“Of course,” you hum, continuing to swipe through your photo gallery. “Thanks for letting me do this.”
He gets an overwhelming urge to press a kiss to your forehead but has to stop himself, recalling the last swipe of gloss. And when you click your phone off and toss it to the side, you happily look back at him until your gaze narrows in on the corner of his mouth.
“Wait, there’s a small smudge of lipstick here.”
A thumb comes up to wipe at it but Mark decides to throw all caution to the wind and instead leans in to slide his lips against yours, finally fulfilling his urge to kiss you after all. When he pulls away, he half expects you to scold him for messing up his makeup but you don’t.
“You taste like strawberries,” you laugh instead, brushing away some stray strands of hair from his forehead. The way you look at him makes him feel untouchable; all the inconveniences of the past hour melting away so easily.
“Good,” he grins. “You can help me take off the rest of this lipstick then.”
#posting for the mark bday bash <3#this is BARELY proofread btw LOL#mark lee#mark lee fluff#mark lee imagines#mark lee scenarios#nct drabbles#nct fluff#nct imagines#mark lee x reader#nct x reader#nct mark#nct dream fluff#nct 127 scenarios#nct dream x reader#nct 127 x reader
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NCT DREAM text reactions to ‘he just left, come over’
————————————- 𓆩♡𓆪 -———————————
summary: texting your bf ‘he just left, come over’ as a joke
warnings: not many. jeno, chenle, haechan, and jaemin (suggestive) and a heads up for ppl scared of … balds (jisung)
theme: basically fluff with a HINT of spice 🤭 aaaand them all just being jealous and whipped for y/n
an: i hope these make you kick your feet like i was while making them heheheeee~
#lee jeno#mark lee#park jisung#huang renjun#zhong chenle#na jaemin#lee donghyuck#haechan#nct dream#ot7#nct 127#nct u#pov#text post#nct fluff#fake texts#imessage#fluff#jealousy#nct smau#nct
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WISHFUL WINTER “I SHOULD’VE TOLD THEM SOONER.” *ੈ✩‧₊˚
genre. yushi x reader, fluff, 0.9k
ꕤ. ty for the req!! ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و ♡ also i miss winter can summer end already IT'S SO HOTTTT
every year on the first snowfall, you and yushi meet up, no matter what. it started in high school when you both got stuck at school due to the amount of snow, ending up with you two talking for hours until you could go back home.
you never miss it, and neither does he.
but this time, things feel different. he feels different.
nothing happened between you two that you were aware of, so why was he acting so distant?
more under the cut!
the snow started falling not long after school ended. out of habit, you text yushi a quick “it’s snowing.” and yushi being yushi, he responds instantly, “meet in 15?” you send him a simple okay and get ready to go out.
you slip on a sweater and a puffer jacket over it, hoping it’ll keep you warm. you slide two heat packs into the front pockets of your jacket before heading out.
yushi’s sitting at your usual spot; a quiet bench near the park, surrounded by dim orange streetlights and falling snow. the air is peaceful, but yushi seems… off.
not only is his face a little more glum – he laughs a little less, talks a little slower, his hands stay buried in his pockets, and he keeps glancing at you like he’s trying to memorize something – something is wrong, but you don't know exactly what it is.
but other than that, everything is the same. you bring up the things you always talk about, school, winter break plans, the vending machine that finally got fixed. but the words feel like padding, like you’re both avoiding something.
the silences between you two aren’t comfortable anymore, they’re awkward and filled with tension. there’s nothing you can do but bring it up.
“are you okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
he seems caught off guard by the question, as if he thought he was hiding his discomfort well. and maybe he was, but it was easy to read him. to you, at least.
yushi exhales, breath shaky. “yeah, i just… heard stuff.” he sounds like he wants to tell you something, but at the same time wants to keep it from you.
you blink. “...like?”
he hesitates, like he’s not sure if he should even tell you. “that someone confessed to you.”
“oh.” you freeze for a second.
it was true, someone did confess, but it was barely a thought in your head. you rejected them because someone else was in your mind.
yushi laughs quietly. it’s not bitter, just pure regret.
“i don’t even know if it’s true,” he says, “but i heard it and thought… ‘i waited too long.’” he looks up, snow catching in his hair. “i should’ve told you sooner.” he turns his head to face you, staring straight at your eyes. “i’ve liked you for years, and i just kept… waiting. like the right time would show up.” he sighs, breath creating vapour as he breathes out.
you don’t respond right away, you just stay looking at him. yushi turns his head, looking away from you, nodding like he expected this answer. his head hung low, already preparing to move on from you.
even though he’s sitting right beside you – albeit a little like a dejected cat, shoulders slouched, arms tucked in tight against the cold – he feels so far, so distant.
he feels so unlike himself, like a version of yushi you’ve never seen before. he’s quieter tonight, almost fragile, the way he avoids your eyes and keeps glancing at the snow covered ground instead of at you. it’s unlike him to be so unreadable. usually, yushi wears his emotions like an open book, too expressive for his own good. but tonight, he’s closed. not cold, just careful. hesitant.
but the strangest part?
you never expected he could feel this way. not about you.
“you always wait until it feels like too late, yushi.” you speak softly, gently, like you’re afraid that he’d run away if you were too loud.
he flinches, barely. just the smallest twitch of his shoulder, the slight downward flicker of his gaze, seemingly bracing for something worse.
you look at him, really look at him — the way the snow nestles in his hair, the way his hands are clenched in his coat sleeves like he's trying to hold himself together – and something about it aches in your chest.
“you have this habit of waiting, yushi. like you think if you just stay quiet, the right moment will eventually come to find you.” you pause. your breath fogs the air between you. “and by the time you speak, you always look like you’re already preparing for it to be too late.”
he doesn’t say anything.
“but you’re never too late to me, yushi.”
his head turns slowly, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to look at you. and the second your eyes meet, the distance between you doesn’t feel so wide anymore.
“i was hoping you’d say something this year.” you shifted closer to him, your knees bumping with one another. “i like you too, yushi.”
his eyes widened, the words hitting him harder than he expected, like he hadn’t even let himself imagine that you might feel the same.
“...you like me?” he said it as though it was something that could only happen every blue moon. “i thought you said yes to the person, no?”
you chuckled at the thought of it. “no, you were the one in my mind.”
“oh.”
he didn’t say anything else, he just let you get comfortable, linking his arm with yours.
you reach into your jacket pocket and pull out a heat pack. taking his wrist gently, you open his hand and place it in his palm. he doesn’t let go. instead, he laces his fingers through yours, holding your hand.
and even though snow continues to fall around you, everything feels much warmer now.
perm taglist. @jellyouse
#kpop#kpop au#fanfic#kpop smau#kpop fanfic#nct x you#nct x reader#nct wish x you#nct wish yushi#tokuno yushi#tokuno yushi x reader#yushi x reader#yushi#nct yushi#yushi fluff#yushi imagines#nct wish x reader#nct wish#nct fluff#nct wish ryo#nct wish sakuya#nct wish jaehee#nct wish sion#nct wish riku#nct wish fanfic#nct wish fluff#nct dream#nct fanfic#nct#nct 127
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offline - lee haechan
idol!haechan x friend2lover!reader
tw : mentions of eating disorders and depression
after a scandal, haechan disappears from social media and the world assumes he’s gone for good — but the only person he still texts is you. through late-night messages and quiet confessions, you become the light in his dark, offline world.




#nct#nct fluff#nct smau#nct fanfic#nct u#nct imagines#nct 127#nct x reader#nct dream#haechan#nctzen#haechan x reader#haechan x y/n#nct angst
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Drinks Or Coffee At 3AM - J.Jaehyun (Teaser)
Pairing - Ex-Boyfriend!Jaehyun x AFAB Reader
Genre(s) - Fluff, Angst, brief moments of University!AU in flashbacks (Smut to be included in the full fic)
Warning(s) - none for the teaser (flashback of an argument between Jaehyun and the reader, emotional vulnerability, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, even more emotional vulnerability in the full fic)
Summary - You run into Jaehyun on a rainy night, in a bar that smells like memory. The timing was always off, the words always unsaid, but some connections linger, unfinished and quietly waiting. When the past knocks at 3AM, you answer, wondering if it’s still possible to try again.
Teaser Word Count - 0.9k
Estimated Release Date - August 6, 2025
Author’s Note - This was entirely self-indulgent of me, especially in the smut haha but it also felt somewhat Superman adjacent, given the way the reader is an aspiring journalist and works at a news company. Or perhaps it was all the tweets I’ve been seeing about Jaehyun looking like David Corenswet lol
Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls (send an ask or leave a comment to be added!)
Part of my NCT J-Line: Roses Are Rosie Collection.
Now playing: Drinks or Coffee - Rosé, 3AM - Rosé
The rain comes down hard, the kind that soaks through your coat in seconds, the kind that clings to your skin and makes everything feel just a little heavier. You don’t even have an umbrella. Typical.
The newspaper office let you off late, one of those shifts that bled too far past midnight. Your fingers are numb from typing, and your shoes are soaked. You take shelter under the first overhang you recognize without thinking.
And that’s how you end up here.
The bar hasn’t changed much. Same flickering neon sign, same scratched wooden floors, same amber glow that once made you believe the world could be soft if you drank enough. The air smells like spilled whiskey and something older, like memory. You almost expect to see the past waiting for you at a booth.
Back in college, this bar had been your quiet escape. A midpoint between dreams and burnout. Between long nights of editing manuscripts and watching someone else chase melodies through a notebook.
That someone else was the person you split fries with between lectures, the one who kissed you between verses, the one who stayed up until 3AM just to send you songs you inspired without meaning to.
Jaehyun.
You majored in English, chasing bylines and headlines in hopes that one day someone would actually read your work past the first paragraph. He was studying the same thing, but with music on the brain—lyricism, rhythm, composition. The union of the two of you felt inevitable. Shared classes. Matching schedules. Similar dreams.
It was all so perfect…on paper.
But things don’t always work out when two dreamers are too caught up in their dreams to notice the reality they’re neglecting. All of Jaehyun’s songs started sounding like you. Yearning. Sad. And your articles? They got sharper. More cynical. Less forgiving.
When you finally split, there wasn’t a fight. No screaming, no betrayal. Just the quiet understanding that sometimes love isn’t enough, especially when you’ve both already read stories that ended just like yours.
So maybe it’s fitting that when you step fully inside and let your eyes adjust to the dim golden light, he’s there, leaning against the bar with that same nonchalance. His hair is damp, eyes already on you, like he knew you were coming, like he’d been waiting all this time. The same profile that used to rest on your pillow, now cast in soft amber and shadow, just like your college days. The sight knocks something loose in your chest.
Jaehyun gives a soft, surprised smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
You laugh, the kind that hides more than it reveals. “Neither did I.”
You take a seat at the bar, not next to him, just near. Close enough that you can feel the air shift.
The music buzzes low, forgettable. But his voice rings clear in your ears, and the worst part? It still sounds like something you used to believe in.
He buys you a drink without asking what you want. Of course, he doesn’t need to. He still remembers. He doesn’t even look at you when he orders it, like muscle memory.
The glass lands in front of you with a soft clink.
You raise a brow while looking at him. “Did you become a mind reader?”
Jaehyun shrugs, casual. “Just good at remembering things worth remembering.”
You take a sip from the glass. It still tastes like college, like him. You’re not sure if that's comforting or cruel.
The conversation starts safe. Where you live now. What hours you work. A few updates on mutual friends, the ones who got married, the ones who moved abroad, the one who always swore they’d be famous by thirty, and now sells kombucha out of their van.
You don’t ask about dating. Neither does he.
“So,” he says after a moment, swirling the last of his drink. “Do you still journal?” It’s a harmless question. A soft lob across the table. But it lands heavier than it should.
You nod, eyes trained on your glass. “Yeah. You?”
There’s a beat of silence. “Still hiding in my lyrics.”
You look up. “Still running from your feelings?”
He huffs a breath that might be a laugh with the way he had the faintest smile tugging on his lips. “Still chasing ghosts?”
It’s not a fight. Not even a real argument. Just truth, tossed back and forth like a conversation you never finished. Words with splinters underneath.
You study him. His features are the same, just more refined, like someone turned the contrast up on an old photo. There’s a scar beneath his jaw you don’t recognize. His hands look steadier now, but they still tap against his glass like they’re waiting for a beat that never came.
You’re about to say something, maybe ask how long he’s staying in the city, maybe ask if he’s still playing the same guitar he used to record his demos on, when a voice from the far end of the bar calls his name. It’s someone you vaguely recognize from college. A friend-of-a-friend. Jaehyun lifts his hand in acknowledgement but doesn’t move. The moment breaks anyway, the spell thinning.
You stare into your drink. The condensation sweats down your fingers.
#kvanity#cosyhomenet#neocity-net#k-films#nct#NCT 127#jung jaehyun#NCT smut#NCT 127 smut#Jaehyun smut#NCT x reader#NCT 127 x reader#Jaehyun x reader#NCT imagines#NCT scenarios#NCT fanfic#NCT fluff#NCT angst#NCT 127 imagines#NCT 127 scenarios#NCT 127 fanfic#NCT 127 fluff#NCT 127 angst#Jaehyun imagines#Jaehyun scenarios#Jaehyun fanfic#Jaehyun fluff#Jaehyun angst
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𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 ──── [𝐋.𝐃𝐇] 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒
( 이동혁 ) ; 𝐟𝐞𝗺!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝗼𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐜𝐤
──── in which your parents had always told you to stay away from boys like haechan. boys with cocky smirks, black eye liner, bruised knuckles, and a reputation that came with warning labels. you never had a reason to listen until you were assigned to tutor him after school. it should have been simple. help him pass, get it over with. but there’s something about him that drew you in, and you didn’t want to pull away.
✦ drama, fluff/angst, slow burn(ish). forbidden love? ; tags. goodgirl!reader x badboy!haechan, suggestive, your parents are literal jerks, swearing, mentions of fighting, kissing !!, protective!haechan, corruption? but not really, lmk if i missed any ! ;
𓂃 w.c [ 15.3k / 22.7k ]
!! not proofread !!
▸ j.note ; i hadn’t planned on making this fic so long but emo haechan does something to me i guess. also pls pls give feedback i want to improve my writings in the best way possible and i know my writing needs a lot of work, so constructive criticism is encouraged.
▸ this is part one of two and part two can be found here .ᐟ
© kiszjuli 2025 ⟳ likes & reblogs are appreciated
you had never been the type to chase trouble.
your life had always been structured, predictable, mapped out like a perfectly folded brochure of all the things you were supposed to be. the good daughter. the responsible student. the girl who never gave anyone a reason to worry.
your parents raised you with expectations as solid as the fence that surrounded your house. good grades, early curfews, polite smiles at dinners. you were the kind of girl who double-checked her answers before turning in a test, who texted home before she was even late, who never spoke back even when she wanted to.
it wasn’t that you minded. not really.
your life was safe—comfortable.
weekends were spent with the same close friends, at the same coffee shop on the corner, drinking the same latte every time and reviewing notes for exams that were still weeks away. after school, you went straight home, sometimes stopping by the bookstore if you had extra time, flipping through pages of novels where the main characters lived lives far more reckless than your own.
and you liked it that way. you liked knowing where you belonged, knowing exactly what came next.
because trouble was for other people. rule-breakers, risk-takers. the kind of people who never thought twice about consequences. people who didn’t care.
the kind of people like him. lee donghyuck—or as he preferred to be called, haechan.
lee donghyuck had always been a name whispered in the hallways, wrapped in either amusement or warning. he was the boy who skipped class but somehow still seemed to do well, the boy who wore silver rings on his fingers, black eyeliner and bruises on his knuckles, the boy who flirted with everyone but never let anyone close.
he was reckless in a way that made people watch him like a fire they couldn’t look away from.
and you? you were the girl who had spent her whole life avoiding flames.
—
science had always been your best subject.
there was something reassuring about it—formulas that always worked, reactions that could be predicted, rules that never changed. if you followed the steps, you got the right answer. it was logical. reliable.
but not everyone saw it that way.
from the back of the classroom, haechan let out a quiet sigh, loud enough that a few students glanced his way. he was slouched over his desk, barely pretending to take notes, the end of his pen tapping lazily against his open textbook.
“can anyone explain why increasing the concentration of reactants speeds up a chemical reaction?” the teacher asked.
your hand went up without hesitation.
“because a higher concentration means more particles in the same space,” you answered. “so there’s a greater chance of collisions between them.”
“correct,” your teacher said, nodding approvingly.
from the corner of your eye, you caught movement. haechan had lifted his head just enough to glance in your direction, his gaze slow and assessing. when you turned to meet it, he didn’t look away, but just studied you, the corner of his lips twitching like he was in on some joke you weren’t part of.
your teacher moved on, scribbling equations across the board, but haechan didn’t so much as pretend to care. he stretched, tipping his chair back onto two legs, hands folded lazily over his stomach, like he was just waiting for the bell to save him from all of this.
you turned back toward the front, exhaling through your nose. it annoyed you, yet you didn’t know why.
it didn’t matter, it had nothing to do with you.
he didn’t matter.
or at least, that’s what you had always thought until today.
—
you were halfway through packing your books when you heard your name.
“could you stay back for a moment,” your teacher said, just as the last bell rang.
you paused, glancing up as students shuffled past your desk, their conversations blending into white noise. you couldn’t think of a single reason you’d need to stay—your grades were perfect, your assignments were always on time, and you definitely didn’t cause any trouble.
but then the teacher said another name.
“donghyuck, you too.” you heard him correct the teacher of his name under his breath.
your fingers curled around the thick textbook you were shoving in your bag.
he was slouched at his desk, twirling a silver ring around his finger, eyes half-lidded like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. it took him a second to react, but when he did, it was with an exaggerated sigh, dragging himself upright like even this was too much effort.
the classroom emptied around you until it was just the three of you, the weight of the silence settling in as the teacher folded her arms over her desk.
“haechan,” she started, “you’re failing. if you don’t pass your next exam, you’re going to have to repeat this class. and you know what that means.”
he leaned back on the closest desk to the teacher’s, completely unfazed, crossing his arms. “that i get the pleasure of spending another semester with you?”
your teacher didn’t so much as blink. “it means you will not graduate with your class. you need this credit.”
that got a reaction. his arms uncrossed as haechan’s smirk slipped, just slightly.
“which is why,” she continued, turning to you, “you’re going to tutor him.”
your mouth parted slightly. “wait—”
“you’re the top of this class,” she cut in, before you could protest. “if anyone can help him pass, it’s you.”
you swallowed. the request made sense—on paper. but logic didn’t stop the heat of his gaze as it flickered toward you, as he finally seemed to take you in.
slowly, he let his eyes drag up and down, taking his time.
your unwrinkled clothes. your neatly done hair. the way you clutched your bag like it was a lifeline.
his lips curled at the edges, something amused, something almost lazy, and yet, you felt it. the weight of being looked at like that.
“seriously?” he drawled, tilting his head, eyes still on you. “her?”
your spine straightened. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he smiled like he’d already won. “nothing, sweetheart.”
your teacher exhaled sharply, already tired of him. “this isn’t optional. you’ll meet and study together, and if i hear that you’ve skipped even once, i will not hesitate to let you keep your failing grade. understood?”
haechan sighed, tipping his head back like this was the greatest inconvenience of his life. then, with the ghost of a smirk still tugging at his lips, he muttered, “yeah, yeah. whatever you say.”
you could already tell. this was going to be impossible.
—
you walk out of the classroom first, stepping a little harder than intended. this wasn’t how you planned to spend your semester. tutoring some guy who didn’t even try, who slouched in his seat like he was too good for all of it, who looked at you like you were something to be amused by.
the hallway was mostly empty now, students already heading home or to their next activities. you were almost free, when a voice called out behind you.
“so, tutor, when do we start?”
you didn’t stop walking. “the library. after school tomorrow.”
haechan caught up easily, his pace unhurried, like this was all some joke to him. “ugh, the library?” he groaned. “how predictable.”
you glanced at him, unimpressed. “where else are we supposed to study? a convenience store?”
“actually, yeah.” he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, shooting you a smirk. “sounds more fun. we could get snacks. maybe a drink. aren’t tutors supposed to motivate their students?”
you exhaled sharply. he’s messing with you. you knew it, and yet, somehow, he still got under your skin.
“you don’t need motivation,” you said flatly. “you just need to study.”
“eh, debatable,” he mused. “i think what i need is a tutor who’s a little more flexible. less ‘strict teacher,’ more ‘cute classmate who wants to help me succeed.’”
you stopped walking.
haechan took a few more steps before realizing you weren’t next to him anymore. he turned, an eyebrow raised, just as you crossed your arms.
“okay, let’s get something straight,” you said, voice firm. “this isn’t a favor. i don’t want to tutor you, but i have to. and i don’t care if you think it’s boring or predictable, because it’s either this or you fail. so if you actually want my help, show up tomorrow. on time. otherwise, don’t waste my time.”
for a second, he just looked at you, head tilted like he was reevaluating something.
then, instead of answering, he let his gaze drag over you, slowly, like he was seeing you for the first time.
you stiffened under the weight of it, but refused to look away.
after a beat, he grinned.
“damn,” he murmured, almost to himself. “you’ve got a little fire under all that perfection, huh?”
you huffed, turning on your heel. “just be there.”
“yes, ma’am.”
you ignored him.
but as you walked away, you could still feel his smirk and stare burning into your back.
—
you barely stepped through the front door before your mom called out from the kitchen.
“you’re home later than usual.”
you set your bag down by the entryway, slipping off your shoes. “the teacher kept me after class.”
that was enough to get both of your parents’ attention. your dad looked up from where he sat on the couch, while your mom leaned against the counter, a slight crease forming between her brows.
“for what?” she asked, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.
you exhaled, already bracing yourself. “she assigned me to tutor someone. he’s failing, and she thinks I can help him pass.”
your dad hummed approvingly. “well, that’s nice of you. who is it?”
you hesitated for half a second.
“haechan.”
the shift in the room was immediate. your mom stilled, and your dad turned completely this time, exchanging a glance with her before turning back to you.
“him?” your mom repeated, her voice careful.
“yes, him.” you folded your arms. “why does it sound like you already know who he is?”
your dad sighed, setting the paper aside. “people talk, sweetheart. he’s got a reputation.”
you rolled your eyes. “so what? he slacks off in class?”
your mom pursed her lips. “it’s more than that. skipping school, getting into trouble, hanging around the wrong crowds…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “just—be careful around him, honey.”
there it was. the warning.
and, of course, the assumption that you couldn’t think for yourself.
you sighed, rubbing your temple. “i’m not hanging out with him. i’m tutoring him. in the library. with textbooks.” you glanced between them. “pretty sure that’s not a crime.”
your mom didn’t look convinced, and your dad only leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable.
“just don’t let him pull you into anything,” he said. “kids like that don’t change.”
you bit the inside of your cheek, a flicker of irritation curling in your chest.
they made it sound like you were helpless. like the second you spent time with him, you’d suddenly throw your whole life away. everything you’ve built for yourself.
you shook your head. “it’s not that serious.”
and before either of them could say anything else, you grabbed your bag and headed for your room, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.
they were overreacting.
they didn’t know him.
and neither did you.
—
session one - monday february 23rd
the school day dragged.
it wasn’t any different from usual; classes, notes, the occasional group discussion, but today, there was a lingering awareness hanging over you. a ticking clock in the back of your mind, counting down to the inevitable.
you weren’t looking forward to tutoring haechan. but you had a job to do, and if he didn’t show, well… that was his problem, not yours.
by the time the final bell rang, you had already secured a table in the library, setting out your textbook, notebook, and a few highlighters. everything was neatly arranged. you had a plan, a structured breakdown of the material he needed to catch up on.
and yet, fifteen minutes passed.
then twenty.
you checked your phone, tapping your pen against your notes.
was he seriously going to ditch on the first day?
finally, you heard footsteps approaching, and then a familiar voice, drawling, “damn. you’re really taking this seriously, huh?”
you glanced up to see haechan standing there, hands in his pockets, looking completely unfazed. like he hadn’t just wasted almost half an hour of your time.
you exhaled sharply. “you’re late.”
“fashionably,” he corrected, dropping into the chair across from you.
you leveled him with a stare. “i don’t think that applies to studying.”
he shrugged. “guess we’ll find out.”
already, your patience was wearing thin. you pushed the textbook toward him, flipping to the section you had marked. “let’s start with reaction rates. you need to understand how—”
he wasn’t listening.
instead of looking at the notes, he was looking at you, head tilted slightly, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“you always sit this straight?” he mused, tapping his pen against the table.
you blinked, looking up from the textbook. “what?”
“just saying. you’re sitting like you’re taking an exam or something.” he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “relax. tutoring’s not life or death.”
you ignored the heat creeping up your neck and flipped open your notebook instead. “can we focus?”
he hummed, like he was considering it. then, before you could continue, he leaned forward slightly, eyeing your arrangement of highlighters and pens.
“bet you highlight in, like, five different colors.”
you clenched your jaw. four, actually, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of being right.
when you didn’t respond, he grinned, undeterred. “does tutoring me ruin your whole ‘perfect student’ reputation?”
you inhaled slowly, gripping your pen a little tighter. “only if you fail,” you said flatly.
he let out a soft laugh, finally glancing at the textbook. “alright, alright. hit me with the science.”
you exhaled, pushing past your irritation. this was going to be a long session.
but one way or another, you were getting through to him.
—
the next hour closed and you left the library still irritated—but more at yourself than him.
why had your heartbeat picked up when he had leaned in? why had his teasing stuck in your head longer than necessary?
get a grip.
the school hallways were mostly empty by now, just a few stragglers grabbing things from their lockers or heading to practice. you stopped by your own locker, swapping out your books for what you needed, then headed outside.
the late afternoon air was crisp, the sky shifting into a soft orange glow. you walked home, already thinking about how you’d explain the session to your parents.
(you wouldn’t. you’d just tell them it happened and leave it at that.)
continuing your walk, barely making it past the school you hear a voice from behind you.
“yo, tutor.”
your head snapped up.
haechan. again.
he was leaning against a lamppost a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, the same knowing smirk playing at his lips.
“we should celebrate.”
you frowned. “celebrate what?”
“me actually getting an answer right, obviously.” he straightened, stretching his arms behind his head. “c’mon, don’t be boring. you never just—i don’t know—do something on a whim?”
you had remembered the question he got right—which was simply the question you had answered yesterday in class. you narrowed your eyes. “if this is your way of trying to get out of studying next time—”
“relax.” he chuckled. “just messing with you. see you at our very serious study session next time, tutor.”
and with that, he strolled off like he hadn’t just left you standing there, your thoughts an even bigger mess than before.
—
session two - wednesday the 25th
you told yourself you wouldn’t get annoyed this time. you even mentally prepared for his usual antics before heading to the library.
it didn’t work.
haechan was late again. this time only by ten minutes, but still. he strolled in with an iced coffee in one hand, a lazy grin on his face like he hadn’t kept you waiting.
“you get extra credit for showing up on time, you know.”
“damn, should’ve known,” he drawled, sliding into the seat across from you. “maybe next time.”
you sighed, pushing the textbook toward him. “no distractions today.”
“that’s asking a lot.”
“it’s not.”
to your surprise, he actually made an effort. at least at first. he followed along as you explained reaction mechanisms, even nodded a few times like he understood. but the second things got even slightly complicated, he leaned back and groaned.
“why do i even need this? it’s not like i’m gonna be a scientist.”
“you need it to pass.”
“passing is overrated.”
“says the guy who’s literally failing.”
he just grinned, spinning his ring around his finger. “touché, sunshine.”
the nickname caught you off guard, making your stomach flip in a way that was foreign to you. whether he noticed your shift or not, he continued to use the name anytime he talked to you.
progress was slow, but you managed to get through two topics before he started messing around again, twirling his pen, asking dumb hypothetical questions that had nothing to do with chemistry.
“if i fail, do you fail too? since you’re my tutor?”
“no.”
“damn. no stakes for you then, huh?”
“just the overwhelming frustration of having to deal with you.”
“you wound me.” he clutched his chest dramatically, then smirked. “you sure you’re not starting to like our little sessions, though?”
you rolled your eyes. “go home, haechan.”
he laughed as he stood up, giving you a lazy salute before walking off.
session three - friday the 27th
miraculously, haechan was on time. but that didn’t mean he behaved.
“don’t look so shocked, tutor.” he plopped into his usual seat. “i can be responsible when i wanna be.”
“so, you just choose not to be?”
“exactly.”
today, he actually put in a little more effort, asking questions instead of just guessing his way through answers. you started to think, maybe this tutoring thing wouldn’t be a total waste of time.
and then, halfway through, he got bored.
“okay, pop quiz,” he said, snapping his book shut. “if you had to get a tattoo, what would it be?”
you blinked. “we are not doing this.”
“come on, humor me.”
“fine,” you muttered, flipping through your notes. “something small. simple. maybe a quote.”
“predictable,” he teased. “what if i said i’d get your name tattooed?”
you shot him a deadpan look. “then i’d question all of your life choices.”
he laughed, drumming his fingers against the table. “nah, i’d get something cool. a dragon or something. or maybe—” he wiggled his brows. “a chemical equation, just for you.”
“how generous.”
“i try.”
somehow, even with the distractions, he managed to retain at least some of what you covered. as you packed up, he tapped his pen against the table.
“hey, sunshine.”
you glanced up, not missing his smirk at your responding to the name.
“don’t miss me too much over the weekend.”
“leave.”
he laughed all the way out the door.
session four - monday march 2nd
you were already exhausted from the start of the new week, and haechan wasn’t helping.
“mondays shouldn’t exist,” he grumbled, dropping into his chair.
while you agreed, you had to keep him focused. “you still have to study.”
“brutal.”
you launched straight into the material, ignoring his dramatic sighs and complaints about how unfair school was. surprisingly, he focused for a solid thirty minutes—until he caught you tapping your foot.
“you’re impatient today,” he observed, tilting his head.
“or maybe i just want you to actually learn something.”
“i am learning. look,” he pointed at an equation. “i even remember this one.”
you checked. he was right.
“wow,” you deadpanned. “you have a functioning brain after all.”
“careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”
despite yourself, you bit back a smile.
the session ended with him actually completing the assigned questions, granted, after a lot of coaxing. as you packed up, he tapped the table again, just like last time.
“see you wednesday, sunshine.”
this time, you didn’t tell him to leave.
you did however, roll your eyes as he walked away, still grinning.
—
session five – wednesday the 4th
it was one of those days.
haechan was late—again. not by much, but enough to make you grit your teeth when he finally strolled in, a bag of chips in one hand, looking like he had nowhere better to be.
“don’t look at me like that, sunshine.” he smirked as he slid into his seat. “traffic was brutal.”
“you walk here.”
“damn. caught me.”
you inhaled sharply through your nose, pushing the worksheet toward him. “just start.”
he did. kind of.
five minutes in, he was tapping his pen against the table. ten minutes in, he was spinning his rings. fifteen minutes in, he was leaning back in his chair with a yawn.
“haechan,” you warned.
“hmm?”
“can you at least pretend to care?”
he grinned, resting his chin on his hand. “depends. does it bother you?”
you shook your head. “whatever.”
“relax, sunshine.” he tilted his head. “you’re cute when you’re annoyed.”
you ignored the way heat crept up your neck. “just answer the question.”
he glanced at it. “mm… ‘catalyst slows down a reaction.’”
you shut your eyes, inhaling deeply. “no. it speeds up a reaction—”
“eh, close enough.”
“no, it’s not—” you cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. “are you even trying?”
“nah.”
that was it.
“then why the hell are we even doing this?”
he blinked at you, momentarily caught off guard. but you were already pushing back your chair, stuffing your notes into your bag with sharp, deliberate movements.
“if you fail, that’s your problem. not mine.”
you didn’t wait for a response. just walked out, leaving him sitting there—still smirking, but something in his expression had shifted.
session seven – monday the 9th
the session was supposed to be like any other. you’d prepared the material, you had everything set up, and you were expecting the usual. you didn’t expect haechan to show up on time—or at least not to show up with an actual sense of purpose.
he slung his bag over the chair and slumped down. his usual cocky grin wasn’t there.
“what’s wrong with you?” you asked, surprised at how… serious he seemed.
he didn’t answer right away, instead just staring at the notes in front of him with furrowed brows.
“this is dumb,” he muttered under his breath.
you raised an eyebrow. “what’s dumb? the concept? the subject? or… you?”
he flicked his eyes to you, but there was no usual smirk, just irritation. “all of it.”
you frowned. “this isn’t the usual ‘i don’t care’ routine. what’s going on?”
he didn’t meet your eyes, instead flicking through the textbook like he was hoping to find a way out of this.
“i just don’t get it,” he said, voice tight.
you sat back, eyeing him carefully. you were so used to him breezing through everything, acting like he didn’t care, so this sudden frustration was… different. it threw you off.
“you’ve got this. we’ve gone over it before.”
“yeah, well, it’s not clicking today,” he shot back, rubbing his temples like he was battling a headache.
you leaned forward, speaking more gently than usual. “haechan, this stuff isn’t hard. you just have to stop shutting down every time it gets tough.”
he looked at you for a long moment, eyes soft but frustrated. he clearly didn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, you were right.
“i don’t shut down,” he muttered. “it’s just… everything else is easier. this? it feels like i’m failing at something i can’t even explain.”
you blinked, taken aback. haechan never let anything get to him, at least not this much.
“okay,” you said, shifting your tone to something a little more reassuring. “we can take it slow. i’ll help you through it.”
but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t just about the chemistry. there was something deeper in his frustration—something he wasn’t saying.
he sat back in his chair, massaging his temples. “maybe i just don’t get it because i’m not supposed to. i’m not like you, sunshine.”
“no, you’re not,” you said softly. “but i know you can get it. you have to try.”
there was a long silence between you, and for the first time in a while, you realized that your usual teasing, quick comebacks wouldn’t fix this.
haechan’s eyes met yours for a fleeting second, something raw in them. then, he sighed.
“this is stupid,” he muttered, but there was a softness to his voice. “i’ll try.”
and for once, you believed him.
—
days later, sunday dinner was quiet, just the soft clinking of utensils against plates and the low hum of the tv in the background. your parents had been giving you a look all evening. the kind that meant they had something to say but were waiting for the right moment.
you didn’t have to wait long.
“so,” your mom started, too casually. “how’s tutoring going?”
you didn’t even glance up from your plate. “fine.”
“fine?” your dad echoed. “that’s it?”
you shrugged, poking at your food. “what else is there to say?”
your mom set down her fork. “is he at least putting in effort?”
you huffed. “define effort.”
they exchanged a glance, the kind that made you feel like a kid again, like they already knew exactly what was going on.
“we just want to make sure he’s not wasting your time,” your dad said. “if he’s not serious about learning, you don’t have to keep doing this.”
“he’s… getting better,” you admitted, though you weren’t sure if it was entirely true. he was trying, in his own way, but it was a slow process.
your mom still looked unconvinced. “just be careful, sweetheart.”
you frowned. “careful?”
“boys like him…” she hesitated, choosing her words. “they can be a distraction.”
“he’s not a distraction,” you said immediately, but the way she raised an eyebrow made your stomach twist.
and then— “you’re not getting a crush on him, are you?”
you nearly choked. “what? no. why would you even—?”
“because it happens,” your dad cut in, giving you a pointed look. “you spend enough time with someone, and next thing you know, you start making excuses for them.”
“i’m not making excuses.” you leaned back in your chair, suddenly desperate to get out of this conversation. “and i definitely don’t have a crush on him. it’s just tutoring. that’s it.”
they didn’t argue, but the look in their eyes said enough.
—
session ten – monday the 16th
you weren’t sure why your parents’ question was still echoing in your head. it was ridiculous, really. you didn’t have a crush on him. just because he was annoying, and cocky, and had that stupid smirk that made your stomach flip sometimes—no. not sometimes. never. it didn’t matter.
but still, as you walked into the library, setting your bag down at the usual table, you felt weirdly… off. distracted.
you pulled out your notes, trying to shake the thought, but haechan just had to say something.
“damn, sunshine. you look tense. bad day?”
you jumped slightly at his voice. he was standing next to you now, one hand gripping the chair as he spun it lazily before sitting down. he was late, as usual, but this time you hadn’t even noticed.
“fine,” you said quickly, focusing on your notes.
“you sure?” he tilted his head, leaning forward on the table. “you look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
you did. but there was no way in hell you were going to tell him what.
“it’s nothing,” you said, too quickly. “let’s just get started.”
but as the session went on, you found yourself more distracted than usual. every time he leaned in, every time he ran a hand through his hair, every time he smirked at something that wasn’t even funny, you thought of your parents’ voices in your head.
“you’re not getting a crush on him, are you?”
no. you weren’t. you refused to.
but then he tapped his pen against the table, glancing at you through his lashes. “you’re really off today, sunshine. what’s up?”
and maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was the fact that you hated how observant he could be, but you snapped.
“you. you’re up. why do you talk so much?”
he blinked, clearly not expecting that. then, he grinned. “because you like it.”
“i don’t.”
“liar.”
you groaned, running a hand down your face. this session was going to be impossible.
—
session twelve - friday the 20th
you had a feeling he wasn’t going to show up.
maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t texted all day—not that he ever really did, but usually, there was something. some offhand comment about how he was so tired or how he was mentally preparing for another “brutal” study session. but today? nothing.
still, you sat at the usual table, notes spread out, waiting.
and waiting.
and waiting.
until finally, you checked the time and realized it had been forty-five minutes.
you scoffed, shoving your notes back into your bag with more force than necessary. of course he wouldn’t show up. of course, he’d waste your time like this.
this was exactly why you didn’t like him.
not that you had to remind yourself. but things like this. his impulsiveness, his lack of reliability, the way he did whatever he wanted without considering anyone else, made it so much easier to not like him.
except, if that were really true, you wouldn’t be this pissed off.
you stormed out of the library, typing out a single text before shoving your phone deep into your pocket.
“seriously?”
no greeting. no unnecessary words. just that.
and when he didn’t respond, you told yourself you didn’t care.
even though, somehow, he was all you could think about for the rest of the night.
—
the weekend was quite eventful.
saturday -
you weren’t mad.
at least, that’s what you told yourself as you pulled out your laptop that morning, trying to focus on the essay you’d been putting off. it had nothing to do with him. nothing to do with the fact that he’d completely wasted your time yesterday. it wasn’t like you cared.
but when your phone lit up beside you, your heart jumped a little too fast. you grabbed it instinctively. only to see a notification from your bank about your spending this month.
you exhaled sharply, tossing your phone aside. see? you weren’t waiting for a text. because you weren’t expecting one. because you didn’t care.
still, you had to physically stop yourself from checking your messages every hour, and by the time the afternoon rolled around, you were in a terrible mood.
saturday night -
“so let me get this straight,” your friend, karina said, stirring her drink lazily. “he didn’t show up. didn’t text. and…now you’re mad about it.”
you scowled, leaning back in your chair. “i’m not mad.”
she raised an eyebrow. “you sure? cause you seem pretty mad.”
you crossed your arms. “i just don’t like when people waste my time. it’s inconsiderate.”
“right.” karina smirked, tilting her head. “but it’s weird, isn’t it? because you weren’t even this mad when you thought he wasn’t taking tutoring seriously. but now? now he misses one session, and suddenly, it’s a big deal?”
you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “that’s not the point.”
“mhm.” she sipped her drink, clearly unconvinced.
you refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction, but as you stared down at your untouched food, a thought crept into your mind.
was she right?
sunday afternoon -
you spotted him before he saw you.
standing by the counter at the campus café, looking as unbothered as ever. hoodie slightly loose around his shoulders, rings glinting under the dim lighting as he scrolled through his phone.
he wasn’t avoiding you, then. because avoiding would at least mean he knew he did something wrong.
the irritation that had been simmering all weekend bubbled over. before you could think twice, you were already walking toward him.
“oh, hey, sunshine.” he glanced up as you stopped beside him, smiling like nothing had happened. “you look cute when you’re brooding.”
you didn’t waste time. “you didn’t show up.”
he shrugged, slipping his phone into his pocket. “yeah. something came up.”
“something came up?” your voice was sharper than intended, but you didn’t care. “you could’ve at least said something.”
he leaned against the counter, studying you with an amused tilt of his head. “why? you miss me?”
your fingers curled into fists at your sides. because he was doing this on purpose. pushing, testing, waiting to see how much you’d react. and you hated that it was working.
“you’re unbelievable.” the words came out in a breath, laced with frustration.
and then you turned on your heel and walked away before you could say anything else you’d regret.
but the worst part? the absolute worst part?
he was still in your head, and you didn’t know how to make it stop.
—
session thirteen - monday the 23rd
for the next two weeks, you and haechan had to change locations as club was having their meetings in the library. you moved to a classroom near the library.
monday’s session wasn’t a disaster. in fact, it was almost… normal.
he showed up—five minutes late, but that was practically on time for him. he didn’t ignore the notes you laid out, didn’t spend the whole time spinning his rings or making dumb comments. he even answered a few questions correctly, which honestly shocked you.
“so you do pay attention sometimes,” you muttered when he got one right.
“wow, sunshine.” he grinned, resting his chin on his hand. “say that again. maybe i’ll start believing you actually like having me around.”
you scoffed, underlining something in your notebook just to avoid looking at him. “don’t push it.”
he chuckled but didn’t push. and for the first time since this whole tutoring arrangement started, things actually felt… okay. he was still distracting, still teasing you every chance he got, still doing that infuriating thing where he leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. but at least he was trying.
and that was enough.
for now.
later that week, things changed.
session fifteen- friday the 25th
you were still in one of the school’s empty classrooms, finishing up some notes for yourself. it was already late when you heard the classroom door creak open.
too late for a tutoring session. too late for him to be here at all.
you looked up, expecting a janitor, maybe a teacher. instead, you saw him.
“oh my god.” your breath caught when you finally glanced up. “what happened to you?”
he looked…rough. a split lip, a bruise already blooming on his cheekbone, dried blood crusted near his eyebrow. his knuckles were bruising and stained with a little blood, like he’d been swinging at something—or someone.
“nothin’.” his voice was quieter than usual, the usual cockiness dulled by exhaustion. “just a bad night.”
“bad night? you look like you got your ass kicked.” you frowned, already standing. “who—why—”
“doesn’t matter.” he waved a hand, like he wanted to brush it off, but even that small movement made him wince.
you sighed, shaking your head as you grabbed your bag. “stay here.”
he didn’t argue as you left, and when you came back a few minutes later, first aid kit in hand, he still hadn’t moved. just sat there, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh, like he was waiting for the fight to start back up again.
but when you stood in front of him, tilting his face up slightly so you could dab at the cut on his lip, he stilled.
“you don’t have to do this,” he murmured.
“you don’t have to get into fights.”
he huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it.
when you knelt beside him and took his hand in yours, he barely reacted, letting you clean the dried blood from his knuckles. his skin was warm under your touch, but you ignored that. just like you ignored the way his eyes were fixed on you, dark and unreadable.
for a while, there was only silence. the soft press of gauze against his skin, the quiet scrape of your nails as you brushed away the dried blood. and through it all, he just watched you.
like he didn’t understand why you cared.
“you’re not supposed to fix me, sunshine,” he said eventually, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “just tutor me.”
you didn’t look at his eyes. “maybe i just don’t want to watch you fall apart.”
his breath hitched slightly. and maybe you imagined it, but for the first time, the fight in his eyes flickered. just for a second.
he didn’t say anything else. but something shifted in that moment.
because later, when he went home, he touched the bandage you had carefully pressed onto his skin, fingers lingering there longer than necessary.
and even though he would never admit it. maybe not even to himself, that was the moment he started falling for you.
—
after that night, things feel different. you tell yourself they’re not, that nothing’s changed, that you’re just imagining the way your chest tightens when you catch him looking at you in the middle of a study session. but it’s there, lingering in the spaces between words, in the silence that lasts too long, in the way his teasing remarks don’t land the same way anymore.
the next session, he actually tries.
not in an obvious way—he’s still late, still sighs dramatically when you hand him a practice problem, still taps his pen against the table like he’s counting down the minutes until he can leave. but when you ask him a question, he answers. when he gets something wrong, he listens when you explain instead of brushing it off.
session sixteen - monday the 28th
“so, what, you’re suddenly serious about passing?” you ask, watching as he leans forward, elbows braced against the table.
he tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “maybe i just like seeing you all impressed when i get something right.”
you roll your eyes. “trust me, you’d have to try way harder for that to happen.”
but you don’t mean it. because when he mutters the right answer under his breath, brow furrowed like he’s actually thinking, something twists in your stomach. you shove the feeling down before it can take root.
—
then, he starts showing up.
not just to your tutoring sessions—those are still scheduled, still predictable, still something you can control—but to other places. places he shouldn’t be.
like when you’re sitting outside between classes, notebook open in your lap, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the pavement.
“wow,” his voice cuts through the quiet, lazy and amused. “you really do study all the time, huh?”
you glance up, frowning as he drops into the seat across from you. “what are you doing here?”
he shrugs, peeling the label off his drink. “nowhere else to be.”
he stays. doesn’t do much—just picks at his rings, tosses casual comments your way, complains about the weather. at first, it’s just once. then it happens again. and again.
“you know you don’t have to sit here, right?” you say one day, not looking up from your laptop.
“i know.”
he doesn’t leave. and you don’t tell him to. maybe that’s your first mistake.
—
the evening air is crisp, biting at your skin as you step out of the library. you tug your jacket tighter around yourself, putting your earbuds in as you start down the quiet path leading off campus. most of the streetlights flicker on as it got darker.
you don’t hear him at first.
not until he falls into step beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched.
“hey, sunshine.”
you nearly trip, ripping an earbud out as you whip your head to the side. “what the—why are you here?”
he doesn’t look at you, just keeps walking like this is the most natural thing in the world. “walking.” he motions in front of him.
“walking where?” you press, your suspicion growing.
he exhales, tilting his head toward the sky as if debating whether to answer. finally, he shrugs. “just making sure you get home okay.”
you slow your steps. something about the way he says it, like it’s just a fact, like it’s obvious, throws you off balance.
“i don’t need a bodyguard,” you mutter.
“yeah, i know.”
“so why—”
“just shut up and keep walking.”
the words should annoy you. they do annoy you. but something in his casual but firm tone, like he’s already decided he’s doing this whether you like it or not, leaves no room for argument. so you walk, stealing glances at him every so often, watching the way he shifts his weight, the way his fingers flex like he’s holding back something he’ll never say out loud.
“this isn’t a habit now, is it?” you ask after a few minutes.
“depends.”
“on what?”
“on whether or not i feel like doing it again.”
you roll your eyes but don’t push.
when you finally reach your place, you stop at the fence, hesitating. you should say goodnight. you should say thanks, maybe. but before you can decide, he’s already a few steps away, hands still buried in his pockets, gaze fixed ahead.
“see you later, sunshine.”
he doesn’t look back. doesn’t wait for a response.
but for some reason, you watch him walk away anyway.
—
you should be asleep.
but you’re not.
instead, you’re lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the walk home in your head like a movie you can’t turn off. like the flickering streetlights, the cold air, the steady sound of footsteps beside you—his footsteps—are all burned into your mind.
you shift onto your side, pulling your blanket up to your chin. it’s stupid. he didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything that should be lingering like this. all he did was show up. all he did was walk.
but still.
“just making sure you get home okay.”
he’d said it like it was nothing. like it wasn’t a thing.
but it was. wasn’t it?
you sigh, rolling onto your back again. your phone sits on your nightstand, screen dark, no notifications. not that you expected any. he’s not the kind of guy to text. but still, some stupid part of you wonders if he’s thinking about it, too.
not about you. just—about anything.
maybe he’s already asleep, completely unbothered, already moved on. maybe it meant nothing to him.
but then again—
“depends.”
“on what?”
“on whether or not i feel like doing it again.”
you close your eyes, exhaling slowly.
you don’t know what’s worse. the fact that he might actually do it again.
or the fact that you kind of want him to.
—
session nineteen - monday april 4th
you check the time again.
ten minutes late.
with an annoyed sigh, you tap your pen against the open notebook in front of you, debating whether to give up and leave. it’s not like he hasn’t done this before. showing up whenever he feels like it, acting like he’s doing you a favor by even bothering. but this time, it’s grating more than usual. maybe because things have been different lately—less antagonistic, more… whatever this weird tension is that neither of you have acknowledged.
and then, just as you’re about to slap your notebook shut, a chair scrapes against the floor.
“took you long enough,” you mutter without looking up.
“miss me?”
the smirk is there—you can hear it in his voice even before you meet his gaze. he leans back in his chair, stretching out like he has all the time in the world. no apology, no excuse. just him, always testing your patience.
you roll your eyes and push his notebook toward him. “just open your book.”
the session starts off okay, at first. he’s actually trying��not a lot, but enough. he answers a few questions, gets some right, listens when you explain the ones he gets wrong. but there’s something off about him today.
he’s restless. more than usual.
his fingers tap against the table, his rings clicking against each other in a way that makes your nerves buzz. he sighs every time you correct him, leans back so far in his chair that you’re convinced he’s seconds away from tipping over. but most of all, he’s not looking at you.
not in the usual way, at least. he usually stares—lazy, smug, like he’s waiting for you to snap. but today, it’s like he’s avoiding your gaze altogether. like he’s somewhere else.
“what is wrong with you today?” the words slip out before you can stop them.
haechan raises an eyebrow, finally meeting your eyes. “me? nothing. maybe you’re just extra grumpy today.”
you glare. “maybe i wouldn’t be if you were actually focused.”
he clicks his tongue, shutting his notebook with a dull thud. “yeah? and what if i don’t feel like it?”
your patience snaps. “then why are you even here, haechan?”
silence.
his expression shifts—just barely, but enough for you to see it. the way his jaw tightens, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he looks away.
and then he speaks so quiet, almost to himself.
“good question.”
your breath catches. because suddenly, it doesn’t feel like you’re talking about tutoring anymore.
neither of you speak after that.
the rest of the session is stiff, words clipped and movements sharp. when it ends, he doesn’t throw a smug remark over his shoulder, doesn’t tease you like he usually does. he just stands, slings his bag over his shoulder, and walks out without looking back.
you stay sitting there long after he’s gone, staring at the empty chair next to you.
heart pounding for reasons you don’t want to think about.
—
session twenty - wednesday the 6th
wednesday’s session is quieter than usual. it’s like there’s a wall between the two of you—still the same awkwardness, but with more… space.
haechan is more focused than before, but there’s a distance in the way he engages with the material. no smart comments, no teasing, just a steady silence as he works through the problems. every time your fingers brush over his paper to point out a mistake, there’s a brief, electric pause. neither of you comment on it, but it lingers, like a promise neither of you are ready to make.
but by the end of it, he’s gone without a word. not a smile, not a look. just the door shutting quietly behind him.
—
session twenty one - friday the 8th
friday’s session is different.
when he walks in, there’s a heaviness about him, something off—his face is bruised again, his lip split like last time, hair slightly tousled, and there’s a subtle tremble in his step like he’s not sure whether to be here or not. his eyes avoid yours as he slides into the chair across from yours, too close to be casual but too distant to be comfortable.
the silence between you is charged from the start, but it’s not the playful tension you’re used to. it’s thick, raw, almost uncomfortable.
you can’t help but stare at the bruise blooming across his jaw, the scrape on his chin, and the other cuts scattered across his arms. the anger and adrenaline radiate off him in waves, but there’s something deeper underneath all of it—a tiredness.
you try not to let your voice crack, but the concern breaks through anyway. “what happened?”
haechan doesn’t meet your gaze. his eyes are dark, like he’s trying to bury something under all that nonchalance. “it’s nothing.”
you don’t believe him. obviously. not looking like that. “haechan, don’t lie.”
finally, he looks at you, and there’s something in his expression that makes you freeze—raw vulnerability laced with a bitterness you can’t quite place. “someone said something about you,” he says quietly. “something i didn’t like.”
you feel the weight of his words like a punch to the gut. “what do you mean?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, but there’s no hiding the unease creeping into your tone.
he’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers tapping restlessly against the table as he thinks about how to phrase it. then, he just blurts it out: “i fought over you.”
it takes you a second to process. “what?”
he looks at you, this time, eyes searching yours like he’s looking for something. “they were talking about you. bad stuff. i couldn’t just sit there. i—” his words falter, like he’s not sure why he’s even explaining this to you.
you don’t know what to say. your heart beats harder, faster. “so you just…?”
“i lost it.” he’s not ashamed, not exactly, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel like he’s letting go of more than just the fight. “i couldn’t stand it. i had to do something.”
and that’s when it hits you—the depth of everything he’s been hiding behind those sharp smirks and sarcastic comments.
without thinking, your fingers move—just a soft brush against his darkening knuckles, like it’s the only thing you can do to make sense of all this. you feel the heat of his skin underneath your fingertips, and the contact burns, even though it’s so small.
haechan’s breath catches. there’s a moment of complete silence, and then he slowly, so slowly, moves his fingers that were under yours.
you hold your breath, fingers trembling just a little. and then, as if testing the waters, he slides his fingers up to rest his hand against yours. you found your hand opening up, as your palms touched slightly. his finger tips grazing your with a ghost-like touch. for a second, neither of you moves. there’s a fragile, delicate tension that seems to freeze the room in place.
and then, without saying a word, he lets his fingers gently curl around yours.
it’s slow, tentative, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. but when you don’t, when you let him, he doesn’t hesitate. his grip tightens just enough, not too much—just enough to say this matters.
your heart races, and your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away. you don’t want to.
you let your fingers slip into the spaces between his, moving carefully, slowly.
there’s no hurry. just the quiet sound of your breaths mingling with the subtle click of his rings as his fingers settle between yours.
his eyes drop to your hands, studying the way you fit together, the way your fingers slide against his, perfectly and effortlessly. it’s intimate in a way that makes everything around you disappear. there’s only the soft warmth of his hand in yours, the quiet thrum of something unspoken growing louder between you.
he leans forward slightly, his voice quiet, almost like a confession. “i fought because of you,” he says, the weight of his words settling between you two like a secret you didn’t expect.
you want to say something, want to ask why, but the words don’t come. your chest feels tight. why would he do that for you?
his thumb strokes the back of your hand, the motion slow and careful, and you feel the heat of his touch seep through you. “i couldn’t just let them say shit about you,” he murmurs, his voice raw. “no one talks about you like that and gets away with it.”
you finally meet his gaze, your chest tight with something you can’t name. he holds your hand gently, but there’s a possessiveness in his touch, something protective that you can’t quite ignore.
the air between you is thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid. he doesn’t let go of your hand, doesn’t move away, and neither do you.
you’re not sure how long you sit there, fingers entwined, the world outside of this moment fading away. but somehow, it feels like everything has changed between you two in that quiet, intimate touch. Something that didn’t need to be spoken but felt.
neither of you moves, not yet. not until it’s time.
—
saturday -
saturday morning arrives with the lingering weight of haechan’s words from the previous session. “maybe we could grab a coffee or something. no tutoring… just…”
his voice still echoes in your mind as you get ready. you don’t know why it’s making you nervous. you’ve spent hours with him tutoring, in tight spaces, talking about everything under the sun, but this feels different. it’s not about grades or chemistry anymore. it’s about you and him—just two people.
when your parents asked where you were off to, you brushed them off with a simple. “studying at the café,”.
at 2 p.m., you arrive at the cafe a little early. your heart beats louder in your chest as you stand outside, looking at the door, unsure whether you should go in first or wait. but before you can make up your mind, haechan appears. he’s wearing a hoodie and jeans. his messy hair adds to the vibe—relaxed, but there’s an intensity in the way he walks towards you.
“hey,” he greets with that familiar teasing smile, but it’s less playful today, more reserved. he watches you for a beat, like he’s trying to gauge how you’re feeling.
“hey,” you respond, your voice steady but your insides twist with something unfamiliar.
the conversation starts easy, like a continuation of your tutoring sessions, but it quickly morphs into something more personal. you laugh at his jokes, and he cracks a few of his usual sarcastic comments. but this time, they don’t feel so cutting—they feel like an invitation, an effort to connect.
you tell him about your favorite subjects, and he talks about his struggle with science (which he completely tries to play off like he doesn’t care about). somehow, you both end up talking about your childhoods, your families, and some awkward high school moments. the more you talk, the more the layers fall away, and you realize this is more real than you expected. he really wasn’t some monster that everyone seemed to paint him as.
as you finish your drinks, there’s an uneasy silence between you two. haechan runs a hand through his hair, and you shift in your seat, unsure of what to do next. the energy between you both is charged now—unspoken words hang thick in the air, and it’s almost unbearable.
“well, sunshine,” he says, his voice softer than usual, “i guess I’ll see you on monday?”
you nod, too quickly, almost relieved to escape the pressure of the moment. “yeah, monday.”
you both stand, and as you turn to walk away, you feel his eyes on you. you can’t tell if it’s admiration or something else, but the way he watches you feels different now.
sunday -
sunday passes quietly, but the space between you and haechan feels wider, even though you just saw him the day before. you try not to think about the little moments—the way he looked at you, how close you both were, how much you wanted him to say more. but that’s the problem, isn’t it? you both left so much unsaid, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.
he doesn’t text you at all. the silence is deafening. you tell yourself it’s probably a good thing; after all, you don’t need to overanalyze everything, right? but then again, why does it feel so heavy?
you end up spending the day at home, alone with your thoughts. the weekend was supposed to be simple, a break from the usual, but now you can’t shake the feeling that it’s more complicated than that. haechan has always been complicated, but now you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something, not sure whether to jump or step back.
session twenty two - monday the 11th
by the time monday rolls around, you’re feeling restless. there’s a shift in your mood. a nervous energy that you can’t shake off, and when you step into school, it feels like you’re waiting for something to happen. you can’t decide if it’s anticipation or dread, but either way, you’re drawn back to the tutoring session.
when haechan finally walks into the classroom, you can’t tell if he’s acting like everything is normal or if he’s pretending. he gives you a short wave, but it’s not his usual playful smile. it’s different now. there’s something more cautious in his movements.
you both settle into your usual rhythm—he’s late, of course, but he’s quieter today. you’re not sure if that’s because of the weekend or if it’s something else entirely.
the session goes well, mostly. it’s like before, in the sense that you both get through the work, but there’s an added tension. he looks at you a little longer than he usually does, his eyes scanning your face as if he’s trying to understand something. the usual teasing is absent today, replaced by a different energy—more subtle, more cautious.
by the end of the session, you can’t help but feel like you’re caught in this strange, unspoken limbo between what you both were and what you might be. you still don’t know where it’s going, but you’re both standing at the edge, unsure whether to jump or wait to see what the next step will be.
—
session twenty three - wednesday the 13th
it’s the final session before the break, and everything feels different. the air feels thicker, charged with something neither of you are saying but both know is there. you both sit at the desk, the tension palpable, but neither of you are focused on the notes in front of you. it’s like the classroom walls are closing in, and neither of you can breathe easily.
you keep glancing over at him, trying to stick to the lesson, but he’s just… there, too close, too present. the words he’s saying are just noise in the background as his eyes flicker over you every time you speak, his gaze heavy, simmering. you know it’s not just the subject anymore. something has shifted.
“you’re not listening,” you say, your voice sharper than you intend.
he looks at you, not surprised, but not unaffected either. “neither are you,” he replies, and there’s something in his voice that’s too calm. too knowing.
you press your lips together, trying to keep your composure. “well, you’re not even trying.”
he smirks, leaning back in his chair slightly. “again, neither are you.”
there’s a challenge in his voice, and it sets something off inside you. something snaps. you stand up more abrupt than you anticipate, trying to collect your thoughts but only feeling more overwhelmed by the space between you two. you feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of the tension, like there’s something about to break, and you don’t know if you want to stop it or let it happen.
you cross your arms, pacing around the small desk, trying to cool the heat you feel flooding your chest.
“why are you so difficult?” you murmur, more to yourself than him.
“because you make it easy,” he says, voice low, leaning forward, his eyes locked on you in a way that makes your knees weak.
he stands up slowly, the movement purposeful, and your heart skips a beat. the space between you is closing, and before you can make sense of what’s happening, he’s there, standing right in front of you.
his hand brushes against yours, and you feel it like a spark, his fingers just grazing yours before he holds your wrist lightly, tugging you closer to him. you can’t move, rooted in place by something deeper than just attraction.
and then he kisses you.
it’s a kiss that’s full of everything you’ve been holding back. the anger, the frustration, the need for something more that you don’t know how to name. it’s messy, urgent, like both of you are desperate to see how far you can go without letting go. your hands find their way to his chest, pushing against him as you kiss him back, just as hungry, just as eager.
you feel his grip on your wrist tighten, pulling you closer as his other hand slides to your waist. the kiss deepens, and the world around you disappears. it’s just you and him, the heat of his lips against yours, the press of his body against yours.
you can’t help but give in, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, your breath coming faster as the intensity builds.
and then, just as suddenly, it breaks.
you pull back, hands trembling, and you stare at him, your heart pounding against your ribs.
you feel guilty.
you glance away, trying to catch your breath, but all you can hear are the voices from the past—the warnings your parents gave you, the things they said about boys like him.
“boys like him are trouble.”
the words echo in your mind like a warning. trouble.
you can’t ignore it. your heart sinks, and a cold wave of uncertainty washes over you. this is trouble.
you step back, trying to create some distance, trying to make sense of it all. “this isn’t… supposed to happen.”
he stays silent for a beat, his expression unreadable. then, quietly, he says, “i don’t want to stop.”
you shake your head, backing away, but you can’t seem to find the words. everything’s spinning in your head. he’s trouble, but you want him.
“haechan,” you whisper, feeling a rush of heat rise to your cheeks, “i—this was a mistake.”
he doesn’t say anything, just watches you as you grab your things, your heart heavy in your chest.
you don’t know how to fix this, don’t know how to untangle the mess you’ve just made of your feelings. you only know that walking away is the only thing you can do right now, even if every step you take feels like it’s pulling you away from him and yet dragging you closer at the same time.
you leave without another word, but as you walk down the hall, your mind is still stuck on him.
this isn’t what i signed up for… but then again, maybe it was.
—
the following night is unusually still, and you lie awake, mind tangled in the events of the past week. your thoughts keep drifting back to him—the kiss, the way he pulled away, and the uncertainty that followed. you toss and turn, trying to shake off the feeling, but it’s like something’s pulling you in. just as you start to think you’re finally starting to calm down, a soft knock at your window breaks through the silence.
your heart jumps in your chest, and for a second, you freeze. there’s no mistaking who it is. haechan.
you rush to the window, heart racing, but you pause for a brief moment to glance at your door—your parents are just down the hall. still, curiosity outweighs caution, and you push the blinds up quietly, barely believing your eyes.
there he is, his silhouette framed against the dim streetlights outside, standing on the roof near your window with that familiar, confident smirk that sends a strange rush through you.
“how’d you get up here?” you whisper after opening the window, your voice shaky, heart still pounding in your ears.
he shrugs as though it’s the most normal thing in the world, but you can’t ignore the way his arm strains as he grips the window sill, his veins flexing beneath the fabric of his shirt. your eyes flicker down to his arms, and for a moment, you forget to breathe, your gaze catching on the way the muscles ripple as he pulls himself up with a small thud.
you wince, then immediately shush him, raising a finger to your lips in an exaggerated, playful gesture. “my parents are gonna hear you!”
he flashes that trademark grin, but it’s softer this time—almost sheepish, like he wasn’t expecting this much resistance. “sorry,” he whispers, giving you a quick, apologetic wink before pulling himself through the window with a bit more flair than necessary. you can feel the heat radiating off him as he steps inside, and for a brief second, you both just stand there in the quiet of the room.
there’s an awkward pause as he dusts himself off, glancing around your room as if trying to find a reason for being here, but then his eyes land on you. his expression softens just a little, that familiar cockiness fading away for a second.
“didn’t mean to sneak up on you, but… figured i’d take a risk. can’t sleep, you know?”
you laugh softly, a little nervously, though you can’t quite explain why. there’s something about him being here, standing in your room in the dead of night, that’s thrilling in a way you’re not ready to admit. “did you…climb the tree?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“yeah,” he grins, his tone light, almost teasing. “it’s not that hard. plus, i thought i’d get your attention somehow.” he shrugs as if this is a totally reasonable thing to do. but when his eyes meet yours, there’s something behind them. something vulnerable, something unspoken.
“you’re crazy,” you mutter, but there’s no malice behind it. instead, your voice is soft, fond. you step back instinctively as he moves toward you, not sure if you want to step away or let him close the gap. you should be more concerned that he was here. if your parents found out, you have no idea what kind of reaction they’d have.
he looks at you for a moment, his gaze flickering over your face like he’s studying every detail. you can feel the tension building between the two of you, and even though you know you should step back again, you stay rooted to the spot. there’s a pull between you that neither of you can ignore.
“i just… couldn’t stop thinking about everything. about you,” he admits, the words coming out quieter than usual. he doesn’t sound like the usual confident haechan; there’s a vulnerability in his voice now, something raw that you’ve never heard before.
you blink, caught off guard. the air feels thick with unspoken words, and for a second, you’re at a loss for how to respond. your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you move a little closer to him.
his eyes widen slightly when you step forward, but he doesn’t move away. instead, he reaches for your hand slowly, almost hesitantly. his fingers brush over yours, the lightest touch that sends a jolt through you. it’s so quiet, so soft, but it feels like the whole world has paused. you glance down at his hand—his fingers are rough, the veins on his arms standing out against his skin.
you look back up at him, meeting his eyes, and he squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a slow, almost intimate motion. there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, a silent acknowledgment of everything that’s been building between you.
“you’re here,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, but it feels like it carries the weight of everything you haven’t been able to say.
he gives a small, lopsided grin, his thumb still moving over your hand. “yeah. i guess i am.”
and then, without another word, he leans in, and this time, when your lips meet, it’s not chaotic. it’s slow, deliberate, like the two of you are finally giving in to something you’ve been avoiding. his hand slides up to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he’s memorizing the feel of you.
the kiss is soft at first, tentative, but it deepens as the moments stretch on, his other hand moving to gently to him by your back, pulling you closer. everything else fades away. the hesitation, the uncertainty and you lose yourself in it.
when you finally pull back, both of you are breathing a little heavier, the space between you still charged with the emotions neither of you knew how to express. you glance at the door again, your mind briefly flashing to the consequences of this. but for a moment, you don’t care.
“this is… insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling just slightly.
he leans his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “i know. but i don’t think i can stay away.”
for a moment, you both just stand there, breathless, sharing the same quiet understanding. you’ve crossed a line you never thought you would, and for the first time, you’re not sure what comes next. but you know this: you can’t go back. not now.
—
after that night, everything changes. things between you and haechan aren’t just charged—they’re different. there’s no more pretending that what happened didn’t mean something.
friday the 15th
the next day at school, he’s there—leaning against his locker like usual, surrounded by his close group of friends, but his eyes are on you the second you walk in. it’s not just a glance this time. it’s intentional, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll look at him, if you’ll acknowledge what happened between you the night before.
your heart races, but you force yourself to act normal. your parents had been none the wiser about his late-night visit, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still thinking about it. thinking about him. you take a deep breath and head toward your first class, but just as you pass him, his fingers catch your wrist. it’s subtle, barely a touch, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.
“you’re not gonna ignore me now, are you?” his voice is low, teasing, but there’s something real underneath it.
“not here,” you murmur, pulling your hand away, your face heating up as you disappear into the crowd.
you glance around—people are watching. of course they are. it was unusual for a student like and a student like him to interact. let alone lee haechan and you.
but you can feel his gaze on you for the rest of the day.
after school -
he catches up to you before you can leave, cutting you off near the entrance. “so, sunshine, are we gonna talk about last night? or are you just gonna pretend i didn’t climb a damn tree for you?”
you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “you could’ve fallen.”
“but i didn’t,” he grins, stepping closer, dropping his voice so only you can hear. “what, you worried about me?”
you are, but you won’t admit that. you sigh. “i don’t know what you expect me to say.”
his smirk fades just slightly, a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “say it wasn’t nothing.”
you hesitate, because you can’t say that. you won’t lie. but you also don’t know what this is.
before you can respond, a voice calls your name from behind. one of your classmates. someone who shouldn’t be seeing you with him like this.
“i have to go,” you say quickly, stepping away.
he doesn’t stop you, but as you walk away, you hear him call out, just loud enough for you to hear—
“i’ll see you later, sunshine.”
and you know you will.
saturday night -
you get a text from him.
haechan: come outside
your heart leaps into your throat. you glance at your bedroom door, listening carefully. your parents are still awake. sneaking out has never been something you’ve even considered before, but now…
your fingers hover over your phone.
you: are you insane?
haechan: probably. but i wanna see you.
you hesitate. but only for a second.
and then, for the first time, you take the risk.
—
the door clicks softly behind you as you step onto the porch, the night air brushing cool against your skin. you shiver slightly, but you ignore it, your pulse already picking up when you spot haechan waiting just beyond the porch light’s glow, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.
he steps forward as you approach, but then—he stops.
his eyes flicker down, lingering.
you suddenly realize what you’re wearing—silk shorts, the kind with delicate lace at the hem, barely brushing mid-thigh. paired with a thin, loose sweater, it’s nothing that scandalous, but under his gaze, you feel the heat creeping up your neck.
his tongue swipes over his bottom lip before he exhales, tilting his head. “damn, sunshine. if i knew sneaking into your thoughts at night got me this kind of welcome, i would’ve done it sooner.”
you cross your arms, giving him an unimpressed look despite the warmth spreading in your chest. “i wasn’t exactly expecting company.”
he hums, taking another step closer. “yeah? so you just wear this to bed every night?” his voice dips lower, teasing, but there’s something else there.
you roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way your stomach tightens. “are you done staring?”
his smirk deepens. “not even close.”
“why are you even here?” you sigh, trying to steer the conversation before you combust under his gaze.
his expression shifts slightly, something more serious flickering beneath the teasing. “couldn’t sleep.” he shrugs, eyes still on you but softer now. “kept thinking about you.”
your breath hitches. you weren’t expecting that.
you hesitate, shifting on your feet. “and what exactly were you thinking about?”
he doesn’t hesitate. “that kiss. both of them.”
you inhale sharply, your heart picking up speed.
he watches you carefully, stepping just close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “tell me i’m the only one who’s been losing sleep over it,” he murmurs. “tell me you don’t think about it too.”
you should brush it off. should laugh, roll your eyes, push him away like you always do.
but you don’t.
“…maybe a little.”
his lips quirk, but it’s not his usual cocky smirk—it’s softer. more real.
“thought so.”
before you can even react, his fingers find yours, brushing over your knuckles before lacing them together. it’s slow, deliberate—like he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to pull away.
you don’t.
he exhales a quiet laugh. “you’re in trouble, sunshine.”
you swallow. “why?”
his thumb traces over the back of your hand, and when he looks at you, there’s something almost fond in his eyes.
“’cause now that i’ve got you like this,” he murmurs, “i don’t think i can let go.”
—
you should go back inside. your parents are asleep just down the hall, and this is the kind of thing they warned you about. sneaking out into the night with a boy like him, hand in hand, heart racing in ways it shouldn’t.
but you don’t let go.
“come on,” he says, his grip tightening just slightly, like he’s afraid you might change your mind. “let’s go somewhere.”
“what? where?” you ask, but you’re already following him down the steps, his hand warm against yours.
he smirks, eyes glinting in the dim light. “trust me.”
and for some reason, you do.
—
the night air is crisp, cool against your skin as the two of you walk through the quiet streets. neither of you say much at first, just the soft scuff of your footsteps on the pavement, the occasional flickering of a streetlight overhead. it’s reckless, it’s stupid, but for some reason, it feels right.
he leads you toward a small park a few blocks away, one you haven’t been to in years. it looks different at night—emptier, quieter, like a hidden world that only the two of you know about.
“seriously?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “you dragged me out of bed for a playground?”
haechan grins, tugging you toward the swings. “come on, sunshine. live a little.”
you huff, but you sit anyway, the chains creaking slightly as you lean back. he takes the swing next to yours, feet planted on the ground, arms draped lazily over the chains.
for a moment, neither of you speak. the city hums softly in the distance, a car passing now and then, but here, in this little forgotten space, it feels like you’re in your own world.
then he breaks the silence.
“so,” he says, voice quieter now. “are you gonna tell me why you kissed me back?”
your fingers tighten around the swing’s chains.
you should lie. should brush it off, make a joke, something.
but instead, you glance at him, finding him already watching you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight.
“…i don’t know,” you admit.
he exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “wrong answer, sunshine.”
you frown. “oh? and what’s the right one?”
he leans in slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him even in the cool night air. his voice drops, teasing but serious all at once.
“that you can’t get me out of your head, either.”
your breath catches.
you could argue. you could deny it. but instead, you just look at him, your heart pounding, and realize—maybe you don’t want to.
—
the morning after sneaking out with haechan, everything feels different.
your room is the same, the sun filtering through your curtains, casting warm streaks of light across your sheets. your parents are in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and toast drifting down the hall like any other saturday morning. nothing has changed.
except it has.
because your mind won’t stop replaying the night before. his voice, his hands, the way he looked at you under the dim glow of the streetlights, with that same dark eyeliner you’ve grown to like. the way he leaned in just close enough that you thought he might kiss you again but never did. the way your heart had pounded the entire walk back home, fingers still tingling from where he had held them, warm and steady.
and the worst part?
you didn’t want it to end.
you go through the day pretending everything is normal.
you do your chores, respond to messages, attempt to start your homework—but it all feels distant, like your mind is somewhere else entirely. every time your phone lights up, you half expect it to be him. but it never is.
and then, just when you think you might be going crazy, your mom’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“you’ve been distracted all morning.”
you blink, looking up from your untouched notebook at the kitchen table. your parents are sitting across from you, your dad flipping through the newspaper, your mom watching you with knowing eyes.
“i’m fine,” you say quickly, too quickly.
she hums, not convinced. “it’s not about that boy, is it?”
your heart stops. “what?”
your dad turns a page in the newspaper, not looking up. “the one you’ve been tutoring,” he says simply. “you know, the one we told you to be careful around.”
your pulse stutters. “it’s—no, of course not.”
your mom raises an eyebrow. “really? because ever since those sessions started, you’ve been acting a little… different.”
“and now you’re all spaced out,” your dad adds, still not looking up. “not getting a crush on him, are you?”
you scoff, forcing out a laugh that sounds almost believable. “as if.”
your mom exhales, satisfied for now. “good. boys like that, they’re nothing but trouble.”
your chest tightens. they don’t know anything. “so you’ve told me.” you sigh.
but instead of arguing, you just nod, mumbling something about needing to study before quickly escaping back to your room.
and the moment the door clicks shut behind you, your phone finally buzzes.
haechan: you up, sunshine?
you hesitate for half a second, holding back the small tug at your lips before responding.
you: yeah, why?
his reply comes instantly.
haechan: meet me? same spot.
your heart skips. you don’t even hesitate.
you: be there in 10.
—
the air feels heavier, like the wind is carrying something unspoken between you. you spot him before he sees you—leaning against the swing set, hoodie pulled over his head, one hand twisting a silver ring around his finger. he looks lost in thought, gaze fixed on the ground until he hears your footsteps.
his head lifts, and when he sees you, his lips twitch into a smirk—lazy, like he knew you’d come.
“thought maybe you wouldn’t show,” he says, rocking back on his heels.
you cross your arms, standing a few steps away. “why?”
he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “figured maybe you started listening to your parents.”
you raise a brow. “you’re eavesdropping now?”
nah,” he says easily, stepping closer. “just know how people see me.”
you don’t respond. instead, you take a step closer, letting the silence settle between you.
“so,” you say after a beat, “why’d you call me out here?”
he exhales, tilting his head as he watches you. “needed to see you.”
the words come so easily, like he didn’t even have to think about them. like it was the most natural thing in the world.
your pulse stutters, but you keep your expression even. “and now that you have?”
he grins, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between you. “now?” his voice drops lower, eyes flickering over your face. “now i wanna know why you came.”
you swallow. why did you?
you should have ignored his message, should have listened to every warning sign telling you to stay away.
but standing here, heart pounding, heat rolling off him in waves—
you realize you don’t regret a damn thing.
“i wanted to see you too.” you say lowly.
—
after that night, something shifts.
it starts slow—an unspoken understanding, a magnetic pull that neither of you acknowledge but never fight.
one night turns into another. and then another.
sometimes, he climbs through your window just to talk, arms crossed against your windowsill, voice hushed as he tells you about his day. other times, he doesn’t talk at all, just pulls you close and kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.
and maybe you should be afraid too—afraid of how easy it is to let this happen, to want more. but you’re not.
—
you find yourself around him more at school, too.
it’s not obvious, not at first—just stolen glances across the hallway, his shoulder brushing yours when he passes by, the flicker of a smirk when he catches you looking.
but then he starts waiting for you after class, hands stuffed in his pockets, always acting like he just happened to be there. like it wasn’t intentional.
and you let him.
because somehow, being near him feels natural now. even with the tutoring sessions over. he seemed to be doing pretty well in science now anyway.
—
the nights are different. the nights are yours.
sneaking out is reckless, dangerous, a risk you wouldn’t have taken before. but now? now it’s routine.
sometimes, you meet at the park, swinging lazily under the glow of the streetlights. sometimes, he drags you into the city, leading you through neon-lit streets, hands brushing in the dark.
and sometimes—most nights, actually—he’s at your window.
it always starts the same way: a faint rustling, the quiet scrape of sneakers against bark, and then, moments later, his head poking through the window frame with a grin.
“you’ve got to stop leaving this unlocked, sunshine,” he teases, even though you both know you won’t.
and every time, without fail, you roll your eyes, but you don’t stop him when he pulls himself inside, muscles flexing, veins prominent under his skin as he steadies himself.
the first few times, you told yourself this was temporary—just a phase, just him being him.
but then there’s a night where he doesn’t just talk, doesn’t just steal a few kisses before leaving.
there’s a night where he lingers.
where his hands settle on your waist, where he backs you up against your wall, where the air between you is thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.
where he kisses you deeper, hands tracing slow patterns against your skin, like he’s memorizing you.
where you let him.
because at some point, you stopped trying to fight this. stopped trying to pretend you didn’t want it.
because at some point, you stopped caring that he was the kind of boy your parents warned you about.
—
it was one of the nights he had skipped into your room, you greeted him with a smile and things went from there.
his breath is warm against your lips, hands gripping your waist as he backs you into the wall.
he’s been teasing all night—touching you just enough to leave you wanting more, murmuring things in that low, rough voice that made your pulse stutter. but now? now there’s no space left between you, and neither of you are trying to fight it.
his fingers press into your sides, slow and steady, like he’s testing how much you’ll let him take. his lips brush yours once, twice—just enough to make you chase him before he finally kisses you like he means it.
and you let yourself fall into it.
your hands slide into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, tugging just enough to draw a quiet groan from his throat. his body presses closer, chest rising and falling against yours, the heat between you dizzying.
“you’re gonna drive me crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, voice thick, almost strained.
you don’t even get the chance to answer before he kisses you again, harder this time, like he’s losing whatever little patience he had left.
his hands slip under your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers up your spine. and you should stop this, should put some distance between you before it’s too late—
but then his hands tighten on your hips, and you feel the way his heart is racing just as fast as yours, and god—
you don’t want to stop.
“tell me to leave,” he murmurs, lips trailing along your jaw, down to the hollow of your throat.
you swallow hard, tilting your head back as he presses closer, as his hands continue their slow exploration.
“tell me you don’t want this,” he says again, but there’s no teasing in his voice this time—just something raw, something vulnerable, something almost pleading.
and you should. you should.
instead, your grip tightens in his hair, and you whisper back, “i don’t want you to.”
his response is immediate—his hands slide lower, pulling you flush against him, and he groans against your lips like he’s just lost whatever last shred of control he had.
“fuck,” he exhales, forehead resting against yours. “you’re really gonna be the end of me, sunshine.”
but he doesn’t stop.
and neither do you.
—
when you finally pull your mouth from his, his lips are swollen, breath uneven as he leans into you, hands still firm on your waist like he can’t bring himself to let go just yet.
you don’t want him to.
but somewhere between the heat of his touch and the way his body presses against yours, reality creeps back in.
your parents are just down the hall.
he shouldn’t even be here.
“we should stop,” you murmur, though the words barely make it out, still breathless from the way he just kissed you.
he exhales sharply, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he tilts his head back to look at you. his pupils are blown wide, jaw tight like he’s forcing himself to pull back.
“yeah,” he mutters, voice rough. “yeah, we should.”
but neither of you move.
his thumb brushes against your side, like he’s memorizing the feel of you.
“sunshine,” he says softly, like a warning.
you know you have to let him go.
but when he leans in one last time, mouth hovering just over yours, you don’t stop him.
“just one more?” he murmurs, but it’s a lie.
one more turns into two, then three, then a lingering kiss pressed to the corner of your lips, like he’s reluctant to leave you at all.
but eventually, he does.
he steps back first, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to ground himself, like he’s trying to pull himself together before he does something you’ll both regret.
“guess i should go before i completely fuck this up, huh?” he says, forcing a smirk, but you see the hesitation in his eyes.
you nod, but you don’t trust yourself to say anything.
he moves toward the window, but just before climbing out, he looks back, gaze flickering over you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your fingers are still trembling just slightly.
and then, instead of saying goodbye, he just grins.
“try not to miss me too much,” he teases, but there’s something softer beneath the words. something real.
and with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the night like he was never there at all.
except—he was.
you press your fingers against your lips, as if you can still feel him there, and then, you smile.
it’s embarrassing, the way your stomach flutters, the way your cheeks heat up, the way you actually giggle like some lovesick schoolgirl.
you should not be this giddy over a boy like him.
but you are.
and you couldn’t find it in you to care anymore.
—
it was another saturday night, around 12am, your parents long gone to bed.
his hands are warm against your skin, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer.
you’re not even thinking anymore—just moving, just feeling. stumbling over your own feet as he walks you back, laughing quietly when you almost trip over a pile of books.
“shh,” you whisper, barely suppressing a giggle.
he grins against your lips. “that was you.”
“doesn’t matter,” you breathe, fingers curling into his shirt, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath the fabric. “just be quiet.”
he hums in amusement, hands sliding up your sides, his touch slow, deliberate, testing. “you always tell me what to do, sunshine?”
“someone has to.”
“mm,” he leans in, lips brushing your jaw, hands slipping beneath your shirt, pushing the fabric up just slightly—waiting for permission.
you exhale, whispering a word of approval.
he doesn’t hesitate. he tugs your shirt up, just enough to expose more of your skin—
knock.
the door swings open.
“what are you doing—?”
you freeze.
haechan freezes.
your mom stands in the doorway, eyes locking onto the scene in front of her—haechan’s hands still on you, his hoodie discarded on the floor, your shirt lifted just enough to make it painfully obvious what was happening.
for a second, no one moves.
no one breathes.
haechan is the first to react, stepping back so fast he almost knocks over your chair. he runs a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to play it cool, like there’s any coming back from this.
you don’t dare turn around.
your heart pounds in your chest, face burning hotter than ever before. this time not with the same heat.
your mom inhales sharply, voice eerily calm.
“downstairs. now.”
the finality in her tone sends a chill down your spine.
haechan glances at you, expression unreadable, but you can’t look at him.
because this time, you’re really in trouble.
—
▸ j.note ; finally releasing this lmao it’s been in the sm basement for quite some time now
#kiszjuli#nct dream#nct fanfic#nct scenarios#nct haechan#nct donghyuck#lee haechan#haechan x reader#nct x reader#kpop ff#nct ff#lee donghyuck#nct dream fanfic#nct dream haechan#nct 127#nct 127 haechan#nct imagines#nct fluff#nct angst#lee donghyuck x reader#haechan fanfic#kpop x reader#kpop writers#nct moodboard#kpop angst#nct drabbles#nct full fic#haechan angst
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SPIKE! shot

maeda riku smau !!
14. oh boy. (written)
warnings : cursing, name calling
wc :: 1.8k
˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊
new day, same routine.
5am you go to the gym with sungchan, 6am head to school—riku meets you at the gate, and walks the both of you to class. he carries your bag all the way to your class, and you learned not to complain about it.
“do you want some y/nnie?” he sits next to you, his palm opened, a pack of choco bits. you look up to him and laugh slightly, “is that what you eat for breakfast?”
he rolls his eyes playfully, “just a snack, just so you know, i eat a lot for breakfast.” he replies with a bit of attitude, and smiles when he sees you laughing at him.
this is your dynamic now—not the silent judgement from you and the forced jokes from riku like before, it’s pure ease and genuine.
maybe too genuine.
you won’t lie, you’ve never had a friend like riku, someone this caring, someone who notices, it’s a bit eye opening. you wonder why your friends aren’t like him.
your professor enters the class, and everybody turns to him, “good day students, like what i announced yesterday, there will be no classes today! our department will be the first to help with the preparation for the festival, so everyone meet up by the field!”
everybody stands up, leaving the room, and obviously you were gonna follow the rest, but you felt a hand tug on the strap of your bag, snatching it from you.
“dibs on your bag,” he quips, walking beside you, both his shoulders occupied by his bag and your bag. you look at him surprised, for a second your cheeks warmed up. just for a second.
“why do you keep carrying my bag? you know my bruise is gone now.” you managed to ask, what ningning has told you before stuck in your mind ever since she’s mentioned it.
riku shrugs his shoulder, hands on his pockets. “i just got used to it, plus, so you won’t strain your your shoulder or neck.” he answers your question, like it’s the easiest to answer.
you were going to say something to retort but purse your lips, remembering trying to question what he does for you will be useless. sometimes it’s like talking to a brick wall with him.
you thought it was gonna be easy to prepare for the festival—you had it easy helping ningning with documents about the festival, but never mind. this is an absolute work out for you.
from carrying poles for the tents, fixing foldable tables, to passing materials to other students. so you secretly walked away, sitting on the bench, right under a tree. they wouldn’t notice, right?
“resting while we all work is unfair you know? you don’t get top one privileges here.” a voice behind you says, a voice you’ve been used to listen to for the past weeks.
“jesus riku, how’d you find me so quick?” you watch him make his way to you, standing right in front of you.
“it is quite noticeable if you’re gone, you know.” he crosses his arms, a small smile on his face. you take a good look at him, his hair sticking on his face, sweat just dribbling down, yet he’s there, smiling, at you.
“you tired already y/nnie?” he asks, tilting his head a bit, placing his hands on his hips. such a simple sight but oh my god.
you can quite literally feel your heart pounding like it’s leaving your body.
odd feeling, so odd that you’re left staring at him, and he jokes about it. “am i that handsome that you’re just staring at me?”
your eyes widen at the joke, is it a joke? cause he sure is handsome— “no dumbass, i’m staring at you because you look like you jumped in a pool.” nice save y/n.
“okay ouch,” he feigns hurt, but laughs anyways. “come on stop resting, it is all hands in deck sorta thing you know?” he held his hand out for you to take, and you took it.
he helps you get up, the hand you held now found its way to your back, as if guiding you where the way is. typical riku, right?
now you’re back and helping, except riku is quite literally beside you, each second that passes. the poles you were carrying earlier? his task now. the foldable tables? his task. maybe acts of service is his thing?
at this point you’re practically just standing there to observe, the most you can do now is pass water bottles to other students.
“you know i’m becoming a water girl thanks to you.” you stand right next to him, cradling five water bottles, a small pout on your face.
he looks up at you and laughs, “that’s the least you can do to help, y/nnie.”
you glare at him, a pout turning into pursed lips, “i was carrying poles and fixing tables till you showed up next to me.”
“and you’re lucky someone else is doing the job for you.” he retorts, and it is a good point. at least you won’t need to worry about straining any parts of your body anymore.
“now be a water girl and pass me a bottle, please?”
you scoff and threw him a water bottle, which he nearly didn’t catch. “hey i said please!” he screams at you, watching you walk away.
two hours later, everyone finished with the prepping, so everyone was quickly dismissed. you wipe your sweat with a towel, picking up your bag and riku pops up right next to you.
“hey y/n, are you busy right now?” riku asks you, again snatching your bag away from you, to which you glared at him.
“no i’m not, why?”
“come with me.”
you have zero idea how he was able to get you to do this.
you’re in the gymnasium, just the both of you, and him getting excited to teach you how to play volleyball.
“oh my god i’m being serious here! what if i miraculously hit myself with the ball?” you panicked, backing up while riku plays with the volleyball.
he looks up at you, making a weirded out expression, “hit yourself? that’s impossible but it will be impressive if you managed to do that.” he laughs, throwing the ball back at the basket. he walks up to you, still laughing, before grabbing your wrist gently, pulling you towards him.
“just trust me okay? and maybe follow my instructions,” his voice softened, convincing you that you should. “i won’t let you get hurt, i already promised that.” he added, your shoulders eased up, and you nod, making him smile.
again, too genuine.
he leads you back at the court, grabbing a ball for you and him. “you’ve watched our games right? so you must know some stuff about volleyball.”
“i didn’t really pay any attention till your last game,” you confessed, a bit ashamed that you’re practically admitting that you were bored out of your mind watching his previous games.
his ears turned red hearing those words, recalling that you went to his most recent game for him. “well that’s fine! volleyball is easy anyways.”
“says the best setter.” you mutter under your breath, “hey i heard that.”
“just teach me.”
riku sighs, you can have an attitude sometimes, but then he got used to it. “i’m gonna teach you how to serve okay?”
he first demonstrated it to you, and it felt like you were being coached by the top one of the world, “you stand behind this line, throw the ball up high, and hit it with your palm, strong.”
you’re the top one in your department, you should get this, right?
you listened to his instructions, but the moment the ball made contact with your palm, the ball flew… just a feet from you.
you heard him laugh, you glare at him, “what kind of coach laughs at his student?”
he picks up the ball, walking up to you, “the type of coach that finds you very entertaining.” he replies, handing you the ball, “hit the ball with the bottom of your palm, it’ll help.”
he stays behind you, a bit too close to be called as ‘platonic distance’. “you can do it, y/nnie.” he says, and thank god that he’s behind you, or else he’d be seeing your blushing cheeks right now.
you took his advice into action, and it worked.
you turn around to face him, “oh my god! did you see that? the ball went over the net!” you squealed, genuinely proud of yourself. you jump around in circles, repeating “oh my god” over and over again, and he just watches.
he smiles warmly at the sight right in front of him, now he knows you jump like a bunny when you’re overcome with joy. “see? i told you that you could do it!”
you finally stopped jumping, standing right in front of him, a big smile plastered on your face, your gazes meet. why does your heart feel at ease at the moment? why is his beating unusually fast?
“let’s do it again?” he asks, his voice partly stiff and partly soft, you couldn’t say anything, so you just nodded, smiling.
the so called ‘practice’ goes on for an hour, and now he’s walking you back to your dorm, in silence. a comforting silence.
“thank you for teaching me a bit of volleyball today, and helping me before that.” you broke the silence, a gust of wind following afterwards.
he looks at you, your hair flowing at the direction of the wind, and it automatically makes him smile. “it’s no problem y/nnie, i enjoyed doing it.”
again, silence fills the atmosphere, you feel your arms graze against each other there and then, but you need to act like it's nothing, when it might be something.
you both finally reach your dorm building, and riku woudn't admit it but—he didn't want this day to end. “i’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, turning around to face him, tilting your head.
“yeah, tomorrow.” he smiles, handing you your bag.
you stare at him for a couple more seconds before acting bold, deciding to envelope him with a hug. “thanks again for today, riku.”
he was taken aback, but warmth filled his chest, and hugged you back, “thank you too, y/nnie.”
you guys break the hug after a couple of seconds, waving him a goodbye before opening the doors that leads to your dorm.
friends do this, right?
oh boy.
˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊
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andbie time !! : the amount of times i had a block writing this chapt means i need to lock in. (i was watching riku fancams while writing this)
taglist ( open !! ) :: @hahaechans @mandylip @kswluvrr @kkyeoji @bloomingwish @renisprobablyonthetoilet @tae2an @sunhyeswife @dudekiss3r @seesinblur @titsoutformrk @jisungnewhottie @sooohey @yvshi @saranghoeforanton @7snse @n9vacane @linzzn @jungwonbropls @iluvparkgunwook @svzannqq
#SPIKE! shot#maeda riku#nct#nct wish#nct wish x reader#maeda riku x reader#riku#nct riku#nct wish smau#maeda riku smau#nct smau#nct au#nct wish au#oh sion#tokuno yushi#andbie#nct social media au#maeda riku social media au#nct imagines#nct fluff#nct fanfic#nct x reader#riku smau#kpop x reader#kpop smau
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⋆₊˚⊹.𖥔 zoom, click, panic !

with your platform growing it's about time you get your own personal camera man! you probably should've put in the job description that the position involved working with a camgirl... maybe then sweet virgin nerd lee donghyuck wouldn't have applied for the job. now he's stuck with you, but he's determined to make it work.
alternatively, hyuck is a photography nerd who needs money for a new cameras and lenses, and you're a camgirl in desperate need of a cameraman.
virgin nerd!hyuck x camgirl!reader
genre : humor , coworkers? to lovers , college au , fluff , suggestive , haechan is an inexperienced LOSER we love to see it
warnings : sex jokes , death jokes, mean ass insults and comments , descriptions of sex and dirty acts , haechans first time seeing pussy irl , reader is open about sex and her body shes hot asf ofc
notes : two of my favorite things put together haechan and nerdy men (and he's a virgin hehe). i'm gonna enjoy this one and write as much flustered hyuck as i can. i'm gonna go with the flow with this one too which is why i'm not putting so much in the genre cause i wanna see how it goes and how i want to develop this plot.
playlist : positions , ariana grande | freak , doja cat | guess , charli xcx | kiss me more , doja cat | flamin' hot lemon , jaehyun | up to you , prettymuch | more than a woman , bee gees | telepatia , kali uchis | all mine , brent faiyaz
status : permanently discontinued
taglist : closedd !
yn’s group , hyuck’s group
intro
1 -> that's not my dick or anything
2 -> THE lee donghyuck
3 -> chat spam mommy
4 -> beyoncé eliminate him
5 -> big nerd dick
6 -> chicken nuggets
7 -> yes ma'am
8 -> pussy milk
9 -> i got something for u
10 -> sick to my stomach fam
11 -> king of dancehall
12 -> HUGE textbook
13 -> music production
14 -> *said in sexy alpha jeno voice*
15 -> blank stare
16 -> hyuck is so edible
17 -> da fuq...
18 -> recreating the squid games.
19 -> NOO MY SHAYLAAA
20 -> this isn't my y/n
21 -> he took everything
22 -> i bleached my asshole
23 -> anonymous dick
TBD
extras :
TBD
#haechan#nct#nct dream#nct imagines#nct fluff#nct smau#nct social media au#nct fake texts#lee haechan#haechan imagines#haechan fluff#haechan smut#haechan smau#haechan social media au#nct social au#nct dream smau#nct dream fake texts#haechan texts#haechan fake texts
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Still Into You
Mark Lee (NCT) x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 3,530
Genre: Fluff, angst, smut
AUs: Non idol AU, brother's best friend!Mark, friends to lovers
Rating: Explicit, MINORS DNI!
Summary: You’re hopelessly in love with your older brother’s best friend, but you can’t really be certain that he feels the same way. At least, you can’t until your brother talks some sense into him.
Warnings: Love that’s believed to be unrequited but isn’t, miscommunications, slightly unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentioned cheating (not Mark or Reader), smut (unprotected sex, dry humping, sub!Mark, soft dom!Reader, praise kink, Mark calls Reader “ma’am,” kind of getting caught?). If you think I missed a warning, please let me know!
Nets: @cosyhomenet, @winerys-collection
A/N: I just wanna thank the absolutely fucking incredible @nothoughtsjustfic for helping me brainstorm, and @effervescentorbs for listening to me yap during the writing process. I love you guys so much!!!
Taglist: @xomakara, @chugging-antiseptic-dye, @notyourjaem, @shadowkoo, @gyubakeries
Fic is under the cut.
Mark Lee had been your brother’s best friend for as long as you could remember. Your feelings for him hadn’t always been what they were, though. When you were a kid, he was just your annoying brother’s annoying friend. As you grew up, though, you started to see him differently. He was kind, creative, funny, and of course incredibly handsome. It was only a matter of time before your crush on him grew into something that you didn’t dare put a name to, even if you really wanted to.
As far as you could tell, Mark liked you too. He made little comments about how pretty you were constantly, staring at you like you were made of diamonds whenever you entered the room and taking every opportunity to go out of his way for you. As certain as you were, though, you were still hesitant to actually make a move. After all, what if you were wrong? You’d been treated the same way by others before, and their intentions had turned out to be completely platonic. Just the thought of things going the same way with Mark was so humiliating, you kept your mouth shut to protect yourself.
Mark wanted nothing more than to tell you exactly how he felt about you, from how much he loved the way your eyes seemed to sparkle when you were excited to the fact that on the days that he felt like he was nothing, you made him feel like he was something in a way no one else really could. The only problem in his eyes was that he would be risking his friendship with Renjun by asking you out, and he didn’t want to do that. After all, Renjun had been his best friend for most of his life, and he didn’t want to lose that. So, he kept his mouth shut to protect that.
Of course, despite the fact that you and Mark both told yourselves that you’d never act on your feelings, neither of you put much effort into stopping yourself from flirting. You told yourself constantly that it was a joke, a lighthearted bit between friends that would never mean anything more, but after a while, it started to get more serious than you could ever have imagined.
Your resolve to not let your feelings for Mark get the better of you snapped during a movie night. He’d come to the apartment that you shared with Renjun to binge watch terrible horror movies and eat snacks, and your brother had hesitantly agreed to let you hang out too. You thanked him profusely, trying to pretend that you were actually excited about the movies rather than making excuses to spend more time with Mark. Of course, Renjun knew that you were full of shit, but he let you hang out anyway.
As the hangout began, you actually found yourself interested in the movies you were watching, which you didn’t expect in the slightest. Still, you watched the screen intently, laughing at the ridiculously over the top acting in every film until you could hardly breathe. You were so focused on the movies themselves; you almost forgot that Mark was sitting much closer to you than you were used to. Almost.
Mark was far too focused on you to enjoy the movies that Renjun picked. He felt like an idiot for falling for you as hard as he did, but when he watched the way your eyes lit up when you laughed, he just couldn’t help himself. For a brief moment, he even considered actually telling you how he felt, despite his concerns that it would negatively impact his friendship with Renjun.
About halfway through the second movie, Renjun loudly announced that he was going to get more popcorn and left the room, leaving you and Mark alone. At first, the room was filled with awkward silence, since Renjun had paused the movie before leaving the room, but you started to relax a bit when Mark turned to you and asked, “So, which one do you like more so far?”
“Well, I don’t particularly like either of them, but The VelociPastor is a lot more entertaining than Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey,” you answered with a laugh.
“That’s true,” Mark answered with a goofy grin on his face.
There was a beat of silence before you asked, “What are you smiling about, dork?”
“You,” he answered without really thinking about it.
You felt your face heat up, but you still tried to play it cool by saying, “Oh yeah? What about me?”
“Well, right now I can’t help but think about how pretty you are when you’re nervous.” You laughed softly but didn’t respond further, so he said, “What? Can’t take a compliment?”
You were silent for a minute before you said, “I can take a compliment. I just don’t usually get them from guys that look as good as you do.”
“Oh, really?” he asked, moving slightly closer.
“Really,” you said, mirroring him. “Confidence looks good on you.”
All Mark wanted in that moment was to bridge the gap and actually kiss you, but before he could, Renjun yelled, “Popcorn incoming!”
You’d never jumped away from someone so quickly. Your brother gave you a puzzled look when he entered the room and saw how fidgety both you and Mark were, but you just said, “Thanks for getting the popcorn!”
Deciding that he didn’t want to know, Renjun placed the popcorn on the table and sat back down on the couch, restarting the movie. Nothing else happened between you and Mark after that, with neither of you wanting to risk upsetting your brother or ending up in another awkward moment.
When the movie ended, Mark left, and you found yourself missing him more than you expected. Though, to be fair, you were closer than you’d ever been to actually having the kind of relationship with him that you wanted. The fact that an awkward moment had ruined your chances stung a little, but you were determined to talk to Mark next time you saw him.
Your plans of talking to Mark about the almost-kiss changed when he brought a girl over about a week after the hangout. Her name was Yuqi, and Mark looked at her like she was everything that he’d ever wanted. The smile on his face when he looked at her made your stomach turn, so you excused yourself to your room almost immediately after he introduced her.
Once you were alone in your room, you let the tears fall. You tried to be quiet, not wanting to ruin Renjun’s plans with Mark and Yuqi. But of course, your brother knew something was wrong from the moment you walked away, so within minutes, there was a soft knock on the door as he asked, “(Y/N)? You ok?”
You quickly wiped your tears and said, “I’m fine.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Renjun opened the door and sat down on the end of your bed before he said, “I don’t know if this helps, but I don’t like her much either.”
You laughed softly and said, “Well, he does.” You were silent for a minute before you added, “I feel so stupid.”
“Why?”
“Because I know I have no right to be this upset. We never had anything going on, so why am I crying right now like we did?”
“Because even if there was never a relationship, the feelings are real, and you still need time to heal.”
“Thanks, ‘Jun. That actually kind of helped.”
“No problem. Do you need anything?”
“I think I just need to cry it out. Thanks, though,” you answered with a smile.
With that, Renjun said, “If that changes, let me know.” Then, he left the room, silently planning to talk some sense into his friend.
Over the next two weeks, Mark would introduce two other girls to Renjun, and by extension, you. Their names were Tzuyu and Jiwoo. At least, you were pretty sure those were their names. But considering how short-lived the connection with Yuqi was, you didn’t put much effort into learning their names. That didn’t change that you spent those two weeks more depressed than you’d been in a while, though, with your brain constantly reminding you of everything they had that you didn’t.
After three days of Mark acting like Jiwoo was his everything, she ghosted him, with her plan to use him to get her ex back having been successful. A few days later, he was at your apartment yet again, hoping to hang out with Renjun and forget about both being ghosted by Jiwoo and his feelings for you that he’d tried so desperately to ignore.
After about an hour of Mark sulking on your living room couch, Renjun decided it was time to step in. “Dude,” he said, “What the fuck is going on with you?”
“What do you mean?” Mark asked, voice and hands shaking.
“You’ve gone out with three different girls in the last two weeks.”
“So? Maybe I just wanted to have some fun for once.”
“I know you. You’re not the type to just have some fun. All throughout college, you refused to go to a single party just because you didn’t want Yerim to think you were cheating on her. Then when she cheated on you, you were planning to stay with her until (Y/N) gave you a lecture about understanding your worth.”
“What’s your point?” Mark asked, clearly growing frustrated.
“You’ve never acted this way before. Did something happen?” Renjun asked. Mark didn’t answer, though. Instead, he looked down at his feet and sighed. That was when Renjun’s expression changed from one of concern to a knowing smile before he asked, “Ok, who is she? Who are you trying to get over?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mark answered, suddenly standing up straight and trying to look more confident than he actually was.
“Ok, so there definitely is someone. Come on, dude. Just talk to me.”
And that was when Mark sighed and said, “You’re gonna kill me for this. I just know it.”
“You’re worrying me.”
With another exasperated sigh, Mark said “The someone is (Y/N).”
“Oh my god, you’re such an idiot,” Renjun said with a laugh.
“What the fuck, dude?”
“She likes you too, you know.”
“What?”
“Did you honestly believe that she didn’t?”
“I mean-”
“No, dude. I don’t wanna hear any of your self-deprecating bullshit. Go talk to her. Now,” he said. Then, he lowered his volume and added, “She’s been sulking since she met Yuqi.”
Mark hesitated before he asked, “Wait, you’re not mad at me for having a crush on your sister?”
“Dude, we’ve been friends since we were in diapers. I know you well enough to know that you’d never do anything to hurt her on purpose, and if you did do something to hurt her accidentally, I know you’d do anything and everything you could to make up for it.”
Mark visibly relaxed and said, “Thank you. I swear that I’m gonna love her the way that she deserves to be loved and never-”
“Why are you telling me this and not her?”
“I just wanted you to know that I’m gonna treat her right.”
“I know you will. Now, go talk to her before I set her up with Jaemin to spite you.”
“Ok, ok,” Mark said with a laugh. “Thanks, dude.”
“No problem. Now, I’ve gotta go. Just talk to her, dude.”
With that, Renjun called your name and said that someone was in the living room to see you. You made yourself look presentable and walked out to your living room to see Mark waiting next to your brother, looking guilty and clearly trying to keep calm.
When Mark saw you, though, he smiled and said, “Hey. Can we talk?”
You smiled back and said, “Yeah, sure. What’s up?” With that, Renjun gave Mark a knowing smile and left. Once he was gone, you added, “Is everything ok?”
With a sigh, he said, “Yeah, everything is fine. There’s something I have to tell you.”
“What is it?” He hesitated to answer your question, so you added, “Come on, Mark. You’re worrying me. What’s going on?”
Shifting nervously, he looked down at the floor and said, “I like you. A lot. I always have. You make me laugh when all I can do is cry. You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Every moment with you makes my heart feel like it’s on fire. I don’t expect anything to come from this; I just needed you to know how much you mean to me.”
You were quiet for a few minutes as you processed that Mark just confessed that he felt the same way about you that you felt about him. Then, with a frustrated sigh and a roll of your eyes, you said, “You are such an idiot.”
“What the fuck!” Mark exclaimed, feigning offense. “I just poured my heart out to you, and you’re calling me an idiot?
With a soft laugh, you said, “Because you are one. Did you really think that I didn’t know?”
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I tried not to be too obvious about it.”
“When I say this, I need you to remember that I care about you a lot. Ok?”
“Ok,” Mark said hesitantly.
“You’re as subtle as a neon sign,” you said with a laugh.
Mark rolled his eyes and said, “Then why didn’t you say something?”
“There was still a little voice in the back of my head telling me I was crazy, and when you started going out with those other girls, I thought I could never measure up.”
Mark softened at your explanation and said, “I only started seeing them to try to get over you.”
“But why try to get over me in the first place?”
“I was so worried about messing up my friendship with Renjun, I thought there was no way anything would actually happen.”
“I don’t think Renjun cares.”
“I just talked to him. He doesn’t. That’s why I’m here telling you now.”
You stepped closer to him then, and you felt the same butterflies in your stomach that you did when his face was inches from yours a few weeks before.
Unlike the last time, however, you decided to actually do something. Before you could stop to process what you were doing, your mouth was on his. Your arms found their way around his neck as his found their way around your waist, and both of you noticeably relaxed at the contact. You finally felt like you were right where you wanted to be.
You honestly had no idea how long you stood in your living room kissing Mark. All you knew was that when he pulled you closer and deepened the kiss, you wanted more. When you pulled away to breathe, you looked at him and said, “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” he asked, letting go of you and tilting his head to the side.
“My room,” you answered matter-of-factly as you took his hand and practically dragged him down the hallway. When you finally got to your room, Mark turned to you and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, you pulled him over to your bed and said, “Sit down.”
Mark did exactly as you asked, and you wasted no time, straddling his lap and kissing him again as soon as he found a comfortable position. Every movement of his lips against yours increased the arousal that had firmly planted itself in the pit of your stomach, and when it got to be too much to bear, you started to slowly roll your hips against him.
A soft groan left his mouth as he bucked his hips up to meet yours, and you pulled away from the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Patience, baby.”
“But you-”
“Do you want me to stop?” you asked. He shook his head, and you said, “That’s what I thought. I promise you’ll get exactly what you want. I just wanna have a little bit of fun with you first. Can you stay still for me?”
Mark rolled his eyes at your question, but he still nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am.” It almost sounded like he was joking, and you would have believed he was if it wasn’t for how he responded to everything else you said and did.
“Good boy.”
Mark moaned at your words, and you captured his mouth in a kiss as you resumed your agonizingly slow movements against him. Every roll of your hips drew another soft moan out of him, and you couldn’t help but think that there was nowhere else you’d rather be in that moment than on top of him.
Well, maybe there were a few things that you wanted to change.
When the arousal between your legs was too much to bear, you pulled away from the kiss and looked into his eyes while you caught your breath. Once you felt the air return to your lungs, you smiled and said, “You did so well for me, baby. When I get up, can you strip for me?”
He nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
With that, you carefully climbed off of Mark’s lap, watching as he scrambled to follow your instructions. While he stripped, you did the same, feeling more confident than you had in months because of the face that his eyes never left your body.
Once your clothes were out of the way, he stared at you with a look of what you could only describe as awe as he said, “You’re so beautiful.”
You felt your face heat up at his words, and with a shy smile, you asked, “Can you get back on the bed for me, baby?”
Mark got back onto your bed, choosing to lean against the headboard. Once he was comfortable, you carefully climbed back into his lap and lowered yourself onto his cock. The sounds that left his mouth when he felt you wrapped around him better than the sweetest song you’d ever heard, and you almost decided to go easy on him. Almost.
With the sweetest smile on your face that you could possibly muster, you cupped his face in your hand and said, “You sound so pretty.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, his voice slightly softer than usual.
That was when you started to move slightly faster, loving the broken moans that slipped out of Mark as you fucked yourself on his cock. Once you found a steady rhythm, you cupped his face in your hands and said, “Such a good boy for me. So polite.”
Mark didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he let out a whine and started to thrust his hips up to meet yours, losing himself completely in the way you felt. Though, to be fair, he’d waited to feel you for a long time. Who could blame him for drinking you up like a man that finally had water again after being in the desert for too long?
In a matter of minutes, Mark felt his high start to approach. With a loud groan, he asked, “Can I please cum for you, ma’am? I’m so close. Please?”
You slowed your movements as you pretended to consider his request, earning a whine from the man underneath you. With a smirk on your face, you answered, “Go ahead, baby. You’ve been so good for me.”
That was all Mark needed to hear to still inside of you, his release washing over him. You continued to ride him through his orgasm until you reached your own, clenching around him as you rode out your high.
Once you caught your breath, you pulled Mark closer for another kiss. This one was different, though. Unlike the kisses earlier that felt almost hungry, this one was much more relaxed, like you each knew that the other wasn’t going anywhere. When you pulled away, he cupped your face in his hand and looked into your eyes as he said, “It’s you. It always has been, and it always will be. I love you.”
“I love you too,” you whispered, worried about saying the words too soon but knowing that it was the perfect way to describe how you felt.
With that, you climbed off of Mark’s lap and helped him stand before leading him to your bathroom to shower. The two of you helped each other clean up while you talked about the little moments that made you realize you loved each other. Every second made you feel safer and more loved than you ever had, and you could only hope that he knew just how much he meant to you.
Once you were both clean, you went to your room to get dressed, while Mark went into Renjun’s room to find the spare clothes he kept in his best friend’s drawer for impromptu nights spent on the couch. While you were getting dressed, though, you heard your front door open and close, followed by footsteps, your brother’s bedroom door opening, and Renjun’s voice yelling, “What the fuck!”
Thank you everyone for reading! I hope that you all enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, please make sure to like and reblog! And don't forget to show the other writers that were part of this collab some love! If you wanna check out my other works, my masterlist can be found here. If you wanna see what I'm working on, my upcoming works list is here. If you'd like to be tagged whenever I upload a new fic, my taglist form is here!
Thank you again for reading, and have a wonderful day!
#cosyhomenet#winery's collection net#kpop fanfic#kpop imagines#kpop smut#kpop fluff#kpop angst#nct x reader#nct imagines#nct fanfic#nct fic#nct smut#nct fluff#nct angst#nct 127 fic#nct 127 fluff#nct 127 smut#nct 127 angst#nct dream smut#nct dream fluff#nct dream fic#nct dream angst#mark lee smut#mark lee angst#mark lee fluff#mark lee x reader
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marry me, mr. jeong

summary: while everyone around you is getting married, you're left behind—no ring, no lover, just silence waiting at home. but one night, your boss, mr. jeong, makes an unexpected proposal: "marry me." and suddenly, your quiet world begins to burn.
pairing: boss!jaehyun x fem!reader
genre: romance, slow burn, fluff, emotional smut, domestic married life, eventual pregnancy, emotional growth, healing.
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy mention (later), minor angst, lots of kissing, crying, soft husband jaehyun, tooth-rotting fluff, crying-in-the-club type of love.
wc: 19,7K
notes: i’m obsessed with jaehyun as a boss, boyfriend, hubby, and daddy lmao. man’s got range 😮💨💍🖤 i swear i try to keep it short but my brain goes rogue every time 😭 like girl be fr, when’s the day i finally drop a short fic??? bye lmao 💀

you’re twenty-nine, and the number feels heavier than you thought it would. not because it’s old—not really—but because thirty is close. and thirty means expectations. by now, you were supposed to have it all figured out. at least, that’s what they say. your friends certainly make it seem that way with their photo-perfect marriages, toddlers learning to walk, houses in peaceful neighborhoods. meanwhile, you still live in a quiet apartment with plants you often forget to water and a fridge that holds more takeout containers than groceries.
you work at an architecture firm—clean lines, big ideas, and even bigger egos. the kind of place where late nights are common and recognition is rare. you’ve built a name for yourself, though. you lead your team well, your ideas consistently get approved, and your work ethic has never been in question. the other women whisper that you’re just trying to impress the boss, that your dedication is nothing but a strategic flirtation. they don't know that your passion isn’t about pleasing anyone but yourself. well, mostly. maybe part of you does want to be seen. to be acknowledged by him.
jeong jaehyun.
your department lead. two years younger than you, but somehow always carrying himself like he’s lived three lives already. he doesn’t talk much. doesn’t engage in the small talk that fills the office kitchen or the empty flattery some of your coworkers throw his way. he’s serious, focused, almost too calm. the kind of man who’s unreadable, and yet somehow always watching. you’re not close, not really, but there’s a quiet understanding between you. he trusts you. you can feel it in the way he gives you space to lead, the way he nods subtly in meetings when you speak, the way his eyes linger sometimes—not in a way that feels invasive, but like he’s... thinking.
you’ve never seen him flirt with anyone. never seen him talk about his personal life. no ring, no photos on his desk, not even vague mentions of a girlfriend or family. and while no one dares to say anything to his face, everyone wonders. he's a man, though—no one criticizes him for being single. no one asks him what he's waiting for.
you, on the other hand, can barely go a week without someone making a comment. still not married? you’re so pretty, what a shame. your mother means well, but every call ends with a variation of you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.you smile through it. you tell them you're happy. you tell yourself that, too. but deep down, there's a quiet ache. because you’ve always wanted a family. always dreamed of being a mother, of coming home to someone who knows you—not just your schedule or your favorite takeout order, but the way you think, the way you feel things deeply and try to hide it. but love hasn’t knocked in years. not since your last relationship ended at twenty-two, before the world hardened your heart. since then, you’ve been too busy, too careful, too tired.
tonight, you're staying late again. the office is nearly empty, save for a few flickering lights and the buzz of a vending machine down the hall. you're finessing the last pieces of a major project, making sure every detail is just right. you're in the zone when you hear soft footsteps approaching, and then his voice—low, familiar, closer than expected.
“you’re still here, byun?”
you glance up to find jaehyun standing by your desk, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable expression on his face. there’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet curiosity.
you offer a tired smile, leaning back in your chair. “oh, mr. jeong, i just wanted to polish a few things before the presentation. i figured if i leave anything messy, the senior managers will rip it apart. and then you’ll take the heat for it.”
he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that almost looks like a smile. “you care that much about how i look to the execs?”
you shrug, turning back to your screen. “you’re my boss. if you look bad, i look bad.”
he lets out a soft exhale, a sound that's dangerously close to a chuckle. then he leans against your desk, his body relaxed but his eyes still sharp as ever. “you’re too committed.”
“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”
he shakes his head. “not bad. just... rare.”
a brief silence settles between you, not awkward, but weighted. it feels like he’s about to say something else, and when he does, it’s not what you expect.
“doesn’t your family mind that you stay this late?” his gaze holds yours. “your husband? kids?”
you blink, the question catching you off guard. your smile falters just slightly, and you look down at your hands before answering.
“no husband. no kids. no one waiting at home.” you try to sound casual, even throw in a little laugh. “i guess i’m just married to the job.”
he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t look away. “i didn’t know.”
you nod, suddenly very aware of the silence around you. “most people assume. but... yeah. i live alone.”
another pause. then, gently, you ask, “what about you, mr. jeong? i mean, you’re always here late too. no one waiting on you?”
he looks away for the first time, his jaw tightening slightly before he answers. “no one yet.”
and there it is again—that silence between you. but this time, it’s different. it hums with something unspoken. curiosity. surprise. maybe even recognition.
you return your gaze to the screen, not really seeing it. he’s still standing there, close enough to feel but not close enough to touch. something in the air shifts, and for the first time in a long time, your chest feels... not heavy, but full.
the next morning, you arrived a few minutes early—just like always. being punctual wasn’t about impressing anyone; it was about control, about proving—at least to yourself—that you had your life together. it made you feel reliable. consistent. in a workplace full of half-assed excuses and people who couldn’t meet a deadline to save their lives, your discipline was something you wore like armor. something no one could take from you.
your outfit was soft, delicate even—rose-pink skirt brushing just above your knees, a crisp white button-up tucked in neatly, the blazer matching your skirt in a subtle pastel tone. your heels clicked softly against the tile floor as you made your way to your desk, and as you passed the reflection on one of the glass panels, you couldn’t help but think: i look good today.
you did. your hair was in place, makeup light but elegant, lips tinted a faint nude-pink. polished. pretty. professional. but beneath all that... you also looked a little alone. not that anyone would say it to your face—but you could see it sometimes, in the glances people gave you. admiration, maybe. pity, sometimes. curiosity always.
you sat down, smoothing your skirt and adjusting your chair, reaching for the little yellow post-it you’d stuck to the side of your monitor the day before. your handwriting was neat, methodical. a short list of pending tasks, each one already being mentally checked off as you booted up your computer. you didn’t waste time—your fingers flew across the keyboard, and within minutes the familiar sounds of productivity filled your small corner of the office: the rhythmic clack of keys, the soft hum and spit of the printer warming up to spit out proposals and reports.
you didn’t hear him come in.
you were too deep in the flow, too focused on aligning the final report with the visual standards the company demanded. your eyes scanned the document line by line, searching for typos, ensuring everything was clean, sharp, presentable. the sound of footsteps behind you didn’t register until you felt it—that subtle, electric awareness that comes when someone is watching.
“good morning, byun. please leave the project report on my desk once it’s ready.”
he didn’t look at you. just passed by, smooth and quick, his voice calm and firm, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, the familiar scent of roast beans and expensive cologne trailing behind him like a silent presence. his stride didn’t falter, his gaze fixed ahead, like he’d already moved on to the next ten things in his mind. you barely had time to nod, mouth parted to respond, but he was already disappearing behind his office door.
you blinked.
right. the report.
you gathered the last printed pages, slid them into the presentation folder, double-checked the order, smoothed the cover with your palm before rising from your seat. your heels clicked softly against the floor as you made your way down the short corridor, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of the folder, nerves tightening with each step even if there was nothing to be nervous about. it was just work. just jaehyun. just another report.
you knocked once and entered when he answered. he was seated behind his desk, sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, the dark veins of his forearms visible as he typed something on his laptop. he glanced up, briefly, then reached for the report when you held it out.
“thank you,” he said, flipping it open with precision, already scanning the contents. “at two p.m. we have the meeting with upper management. you’ll be joining me at the table. along with choi and hwang.”
you nodded. “understood.”
“good. go over the numbers one more time before then. they’re likely to ask.”
“yes, mr. jeong.”
and that was it. no warm smile. no thank you. just professional, cold efficiency. you turned and left, closing the door gently behind you before returning to your desk, the weight of the upcoming meeting settling on your shoulders like a familiar cloak. you’d been through this before. plenty of times. but it never got easier. not when the room was full of men in suits who barely hid their condescension, who chewed through ideas like tasteless gum until someone—usually jaehyun—said something smart enough to catch their interest.
you spent the next few hours fine-tuning the financial section, making sure your data was clean, graphs properly labeled, estimates realistic but still ambitious. it was a delicate game—making things sound innovative without actually suggesting anything too risky. they didn’t want bold. they wanted impressive illusions of boldness packaged in safe wrapping.
the meeting room was as bland as ever. too much glass, too much beige. you sat at the long table beside jaehyun, your laptop open, presentation ready. the managers arrived first, already complaining about another team’s failed prototype. the director entered last, stone-faced as always, his tie perfect, his opinion impossible to read.
as expected, the meeting dragged. they picked apart the proposal, paragraph by paragraph, expressionless until one of them grimaced like the very concept of originality offended them. you watched them, these men who nodded at each other but rarely smiled, who offered feedback that wasn’t feedback, just empty phrases like “it needs more punch” or “is this trend even scalable?”
then jaehyun spoke.
his voice was calm, slow, measured. and yet he made every single line sound convincing. powerful. like there was no other way forward but the one he was laying out. the room shifted around him. the tension eased. eyes narrowed—not in skepticism now, but interest. he wasn’t just presenting; he was selling a vision, and you felt yourself straightening with pride even if the credit wasn’t yours.
until he said your name.
“y/n,” he said, still facing the director. “if you could present the budget projections.”
you froze for a half second. not out of fear—just... surprise. you hadn’t expected him to call on you so soon.
you stood, smoothed your skirt unconsciously, and took a breath before switching slides. your voice was steady, even if your palms were clammy.
“these are the projections for the next two quarters,” you began, pointing at the chart. “we’ve estimated a moderate increase in cost during the development phase, with a break-even point projected for the beginning of q3. depending on the approved budget, we’re looking at a return on investment of approximately—”
you kept going, explaining the graphs, walking them through the numbers with careful clarity. no embellishments, no guesswork. facts. you swallowed once, clearing your throat before the final slide, then ended with a nod.
when you sat back down, jaehyun glanced at you. just a moment. a flicker of something almost soft in his expression.
like you’d done well. like you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.
the rest of the meeting blurred. the managers began tossing in extra suggestions—small changes, tweaks they hoped would impress the director. the man nodded, offered vague praise, and you remained at your seat, listening to it all with a practiced, patient expression.
when the meeting finally ended, you stood beside jaehyun again. he didn’t say much—he never did—but as he packed his laptop, he looked at you.
“good work today,” he said. “you’re an essential part of the team. if you keep this up, i’ll make sure your name’s considered for the upcoming promotions.”
you stared at him, momentarily stunned. the words hit harder than you expected. you’d worked for five years, given everything to this company, and this—this was the first time someone above you had said something that felt... real.
“thank you,” you said softly, trying not to let your smile get too big. “really.”
he nodded. “you earned it.”
later, when the director extended the dinner invitation, you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t optional. the team needed to show up, needed to mingle, to pretend everything was a celebration and not an endless cycle of office politics masked with clinking glasses.
the bar was upscale but casual enough to loosen people’s ties. smoke from grilled meats hung faintly in the air, the tang of sweet sauces and roasted garlic filling the space. you sat between your supervisor and jaehyun, trying not to feel too stiff in your work clothes. everyone was drinking, toasting, laughing louder than they had all day.
the supervisor leaned forward, voice slightly slurred. “you know,” he said to the director, “the whole prototype? the mockup? the execution timeline? all her. y/n practically carried the whole thing.”
the director turned to you, surprised. “really? how long have you been here?”
“five years,” you replied, sipping from your glass.
he raised a brow. “how is it possible i haven’t noticed you until now?”
jaehyun, still beside you, said nothing—but you felt the subtle tension in his posture.
“you’ve got a good employee,” the director told him. “it’s your job to shape her. teach her. sounds like she’s already on the right path. with the right guidance... she’ll move up in no time.”
he raised his glass. “to y/n.”
“to y/n,” echoed around the table.
you lifted your glass, cheeks warm—not just from the alcohol but from the unfamiliar sensation of being seen. you smiled, surrounded by coworkers and approval and good food, and for a moment, just one moment, everything felt like it was finally going somewhere.
you were finally going somewhere.

the dinner had blurred into noise.
conversations overlapping, laughter rising and falling like tides. glasses clinked, meat sizzled on the grill, the warm lighting softening everyone's expressions into something hazy and unguarded. you sat at the long table, just a bit to the side, the smoky scent of barbecued meat in your hair and the echo of compliments still lingering in your chest. across from you, your supervisor had long since slipped into a drunken retelling of his glory days. to your left, jaehyun sat quietly, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. his arms were strong, veins defined even in the low light, and on his left wrist, a sleek, expensive watch glinted every time he reached for his glass. he hadn’t touched his soju in a while, though. he just held the rim between his fingers and occasionally let his gaze wander across the room.
when your eyes met, it was casual, almost accidental. but you didn’t look away.
“you’re not drinking,” you said, quietly enough that only he could hear.
he offered the ghost of a smirk, the kind that barely pulled at one corner of his mouth. “someone has to remember what was actually said tonight.”
you laughed, a soft breathy sound, grateful for his clarity amidst the chaos.
a silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. rather, it felt like a small space carved out just for the two of you—unbothered, untouched, a bubble where you didn’t have to keep smiling or pretending. you let out a quiet sigh, swirling your untouched drink in your hand.
“do you ever feel like you're running out of time?” you asked, voice low, not even sure why you were asking him of all people.
jaehyun looked at you, brows drawn slightly, intrigued but still calm. “time for what?”
you hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass. the alcohol was warm in your chest, but not enough to numb this confession.
“for everything,” you admitted. “i mean, professionally… things are going great. i can’t complain. i’ve worked hard, and it’s starting to pay off. but…” you looked down, lips pressing together. “sometimes i feel like i’m trapped inside a giant hourglass, watching the sand fall, grain by grain. i’ll be thirty in a few months. and i know that shouldn't mean anything, but in a world where people expect you to have everything figured out by now—marriage, kids, some picture-perfect life—i feel like i’m falling behind. like my dreams are moving farther and farther away.”
you took a breath, not daring to look at him.
“it’s just… sad,” you continued. “when you achieve something big and there’s no one waiting at home to celebrate it with you. no partner, no family. no one to say, ‘i’m proud of you.’”
jaehyun was quiet for a moment. then his voice came, soft and even.
“i can celebrate with you.”
you looked up, surprised, blinking at him. “thank you, but… that’s not what i meant. it’s not the same.”
he held your gaze. then, calmly, like he was offering a solution to a logistics problem, he said it.
“then marry me.”
your brain stalled.
you didn’t understand at first. maybe you misheard him. maybe he was joking, or drunk—except his voice hadn’t changed. his tone hadn’t wavered. your stomach dropped.
“…what?” you whispered.
“you want a family. you want someone to come home to. marry me.”
the words hung between you like smoke. absurd. unreal. your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. you glanced around—everyone else was too busy laughing or slurring their next toast to notice what had just happened.
you leaned in slightly, voice tense and hushed. “mr.—jeong—what are you talking about? we don’t even know each other like that.”
“we know enough,” he said without blinking.
“we’ve never even had a real conversation outside of work until now.”
“so let’s have more,” he replied, as steady as always.
you felt like your heart was beating too loudly. “are you… are you seriously suggesting we get married?”
“i’m not suggesting it. i’m telling you i’d do it. if you said yes.”
you stared at him, at the cool detachment on his face, the quiet certainty in his voice, and felt your world tip on its axis.
he shrugged. “how long until you turn thirty?”
“…my birthday’s in november,” you muttered, the words escaping before you could even process them. “it’s april now. that’s seven months.”
jaehyun nodded slowly. “then you have seven months to decide.”
he finished his beer in one slow, final gulp. then he stood up, reaching into his wallet and placing a few bills under his empty glass. you were still frozen when he stepped beside you.
“i’ll take you home,” he said.
you tried to protest, voice stumbling over half-formed refusals. “you don’t have to—i can call a cab, really—”
he looked down at you, expression unreadable.
“that wasn’t a request. it’s your boss giving you a ride.”
and with that, he turned, waiting for you to follow. your legs felt heavy as you stood, your mind racing, still reeling from what had just happened. marry him? seven months? he was serious. he was actually serious.
you had no answers. only questions. and one man who had just offered you everything you’d spent your life pretending you didn’t need.
you didn’t sleep.
not really. you tossed and turned, arms flung across the bed one minute and buried under the covers the next. jaehyun’s words echoed in your skull like an intrusive melody, looping over and over again.
then marry me.
you have seven months to decide.
like some sort of countdown had been triggered.
you must have stared at your ceiling for hours, trying to make sense of what he meant—what it meant for you—and whether he’d been serious. but the worst part wasn’t the proposal. the worst part was how calm he’d been, how effortlessly he’d said it, and how easily he’d walked away afterward like it hadn’t upended your entire sense of self.
your alarm went off at seven, and you hit snooze five times. by the time you dragged yourself out of bed, you felt like your bones had aged a decade overnight. you put on your makeup with the heaviness of someone trying to erase exhaustion from the inside out—concealer, color corrector, foundation. you went over your under-eyes twice, then a third time. you looked like yourself, but blurry. off.
you arrived to work twenty minutes later than usual, which was already enough to earn a few raised brows. no one said anything, but they noticed. you noticed them noticing.
you sat at your desk and stared at your drawers, forgetting which one you kept the monthly reports in. your fingers shook slightly as you shuffled through folders, trying to find the stupid paperwork you'd seen a million times. a stack of them slipped from your grasp and scattered onto the floor like a metaphor. you groaned and crouched down to collect them, muttering under your breath. your brain still felt like it was swimming through molasses.
then—
“good morning.”
his voice. that casual, bored tone he always used in the office. neutral, even, no trace of anything buried beneath it. no sign that he’d ever said something as life-altering as what he’d said last night.
you startled so hard you hit your head on the underside of your desk.
“good—ouch!” you winced, clutching your scalp with one hand and your pride with the other. “good morning, mr. jeong.”
he kept walking. didn’t glance down at you. didn’t smirk. didn’t check if you were okay. he passed your desk like any other morning, like he hadn’t proposed to you over beer and smoke and shared loneliness.
a few coworkers peeked over their partitions, concerned. you gave a shaky thumbs-up and a whispered, “i’m fine,” even though you felt anything but fine.
you weren’t like this. not at work. not ever. your name was synonymous with precision. discipline. control. and here you were, dropping papers and bumping into furniture like your brain had short-circuited.
you finally gathered the reports and brought them to his office.
he was seated at his desk, focused on his screen, the sleeves of his dress shirt still rolled to his elbows. your eyes caught briefly on the line of his forearm, the watch still there, still ticking.
“these are the reports from last month,” you said, setting the folder down.
“thanks,” he replied without looking at you.
you lingered.
“mr. jeong.”
he finally looked up.
his eyes were calm. cool. like nothing was wrong. like he hadn’t detonated a bomb and walked away from the wreckage.
you hesitated, your throat dry. “about what you said last night—”
his expression didn’t change.
“we’re at work,” he said simply. “i’m being professional.”
you blinked, almost offended. “so that’s it? you say something that insane and then just—go back to normal?”
“we’ll talk after work,” he said, returning to his screen. “if you want to.”
you stood there, gripping the folder even though it was already out of your hands, heart thudding with something sour and hot and unnamable. frustration? humiliation? confusion? all of it?
he was treating you like you were the one out of line. like you were being inappropriate for even bringing it up.
you turned around without saying anything else and walked out of his office, pulse hammering in your ears. the rest of the day dragged like wet cement. you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t remember what you were supposed to be doing half the time. you reread emails four times before hitting send. and every time someone walked past your desk, you wondered if it was him, if he’d say anything, if he’d look at you, if he even remembered what he said or if the memory of it belonged to you alone now.
you’d never felt so out of control.
you didn’t know what was worse—his silence or the fact that you wanted him to break it.
you tried to focus. god, you really did. you stared at spreadsheets until the numbers blurred into static. you answered emails with words you didn’t remember typing. every time the phone rang, your heart jumped, irrationally convinced it might be him—even though you were in the same building, separated by maybe thirty feet of glass, air, and unspoken tension. it felt like the longest day of your life. your temples throbbed with a slow, building ache, like your thoughts were pressing too hard against the inside of your skull.
you popped two painkillers around lunchtime, washed them down with lukewarm water from your reusable bottle, but they didn’t help. not really. because the pain wasn’t just physical—it was mental. emotional. a kind of pressure that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.
your mind wouldn’t shut up.
you kept looping the same questions, over and over again, like your brain was stuck on a carousel with no exit.
why would he say that? why now? why you?
he already told you he'd wait. seven months. seven impossibly long, slow-burning months.
so why talk? why meet? it wasn’t for him. it didn’t serve him. he’d been clear. he had time, he had patience. this conversation—it was for you. you were the one desperate to make sense of it. to understand his motives. to justify the insanity of it all.
but how were you supposed to justify something that made no sense?
he’s twenty-seven. handsome. polished. wealthy. he could have anyone—literally anyone. girls younger than you, brighter than you, women who weren’t crawling toward their thirties with a fading list of half-achieved dreams and a fridge full of takeout leftovers. why you?
a mid-level employee in a department no one paid much attention to. someone who had to fight tooth and nail just to be noticed in board meetings. someone who had accomplishments but no one to toast with. someone who fell asleep most nights with their phone face-down and on silent because no one was texting anyway.
why you?
you didn’t have an answer.
you finished your tasks—barely—and the moment the clock hit the end of your shift, you shut your computer down with shaky fingers and grabbed your bag. your steps felt heavy, reluctant, as you made your way through the hall toward the entrance. part of you wanted to bolt, to pretend nothing had ever been said, to go home and crawl into bed and put on a show you wouldn’t really watch. to sleep off the confusion like a bad hangover.
but the doors opened before you could entertain the thought. those clean, automatic glass doors slid apart with a hiss, and there he was.
leaning casually against one of the white pillars just outside, his suit jacket draped neatly over his forearm, his other hand gripping his sleek black briefcase like it weighed nothing. he looked like something out of a commercial—well-dressed, composed, the perfect image of success. but when his eyes met yours, something flickered beneath the surface. maybe restraint. maybe tension. maybe nothing.
he walked toward you calmly, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the smooth tile.
“get in the car,” he said, voice even. “we’re going to talk. like you wanted.”
not a question. not a request.
he turned without waiting for your answer and made his way to a parked luxury sedan—shiny, deep black, windows tinted so dark you could barely see the interior. he opened the passenger door for you, as if the conversation that waited inside was just another part of his routine.
you hesitated, only for a second.
but then you followed.
because no matter how messy your thoughts were, no matter how terrified or confused or unworthy you felt, one truth cut through the noise:
you wanted to know.
you slid into the passenger seat, trying to calm the way your heart was sprinting inside your chest. the door closed beside you with a quiet thunk, sealing you into a space you weren’t sure you were ready for.
he walked around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel, smooth and unhurried.
you stared straight ahead.
ready—or not—to finally ask the questions that wouldn’t leave you alone.
the silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable. not exactly. but it was dense—like fog inside your chest, heavy and silent and there to stay.
you stared out the window as the city drifted past, familiar buildings made foreign by the storm in your head. beside you, jaehyun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. there was music playing—low, jazzy, old—but he didn’t speak. not until you passed a traffic light and he tilted his head, casually.
“did you get enough sleep last night?” he asked, like he was commenting on the weather.
you didn’t look at him. “not really.”
“figured,” he said, turning smoothly into another avenue. “you looked like hell.”
you gave a humorless chuckle, resting your elbow against the door and propping your chin in your hand. “thanks for the compliment, sir.”
“anytime,” he said dryly.
and that was it. that was all the small talk he offered. nothing personal. nothing intimate. just an acknowledgment that he saw you. that he’d noticed.
the drive was short, and before you could make sense of anything, you were already parking in front of a modest little korean restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore. it smelled like steam, garlic, and simmered bone broth. a place where people went for real food and no-frills comfort.
“this place has the best gomguk in the city,” jaehyun said, grabbing his briefcase from the back. “been coming here since i was a teenager.”
you hesitated at the door. “you like bone soup?”
“love it.”
you wrinkled your nose. “i can’t stand that stuff. never could. not even as a kid.”
he paused mid-step and gave you a look, slightly amused. “well,” he said, “there’s our first disagreement as a couple.”
you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what?”
“now i know you don’t like gomguk. guess i’ll have to avoid cooking it for you.”
you said nothing.
because he wasn’t joking. not really. not entirely. and that was the part that made your mouth dry.
how could he say things like that so easily? so naturally? as if you hadn’t spent the entire day unraveling at the seams while he strutted through the office like nothing had happened?
he sat across from you at the table, unbothered, scanning the menu like it wasn’t even necessary. he already knew what he wanted. meanwhile, you still didn’t know why you were there.
you picked something else. kimchi jjigae, maybe—safe, familiar, strong enough to mask the taste of your confusion.
once the server took your orders and disappeared behind the curtain, you leaned forward, folding your hands together to stop them from trembling.
“why me?”
his eyes lifted slowly from the empty table to your face. “there’s no reason,” he said. “i just want to give you what you want.”
“do you say that to all women?”
he smirked. “if i did, i’d probably be married to half the city by now.”
you shook your head. “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“don’t treat this like a mission,” you snapped, trying not to raise your voice. “i don’t need your pity. i shared something vulnerable with you, yeah. but that doesn’t mean you have to swoop in and rescue me from a miserable life of solitude by offering a ring. this isn’t some fairytale. i don’t need a man to save me.”
“i never said you did.”
you exhaled slowly. “i want to love and be loved. to build something. something real. not this... whatever this is. a contract. a deal. a deadline to escape loneliness.”
his expression didn’t shift. not a single flicker. but his voice softened.
“then let’s say this. if in seven months, you still haven’t found someone—someone who makes you feel like you can build something... try it with me.”
you stared at him. hard. trying to read every intention in the lines of his face.
“just like that?”
“just like that.”
you couldn’t look away.
and then he said it. the words that settled into the cracks of your resolve like warm rain after a drought.
“we can love. i can love you. you can love me, if you want to. if you want to date, we can date. you don’t have to feel pressured. i just think... you’re worth the risk. and i don’t think you should torture yourself every day that passes just because you haven’t ‘settled down.’ opportunities don’t always come twice. sometimes you have to grab them while they’re here. or regret it forever.”
your lips parted, but nothing came out.
you looked at him then—not as the cold, polished man who walked the halls like a ghost in tailored suits. not as your boss. not as someone who confused and overwhelmed you.
you saw him as a man.
a man who knew what he wanted. who wasn’t afraid to take action. who looked you in the eye and offered you something you weren’t even sure you deserved.
his jawline. his eyes. the little wrinkle between his brows when he got serious. the calm way he listened. the confidence. the clarity.
you saw him differently.
you weren’t ready to give him an answer. not yet.
but something inside you had shifted.
you just didn’t know what to call it.
he didn’t rush you.
he didn’t push.
he just sat there across from you in that tiny booth, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, waiting with the kind of quiet confidence that only made your heart beat louder. he stirred his soup gently, letting it cool, occasionally taking a sip without ever looking away from you for too long.
and then he said it—casually, as if proposing something as simple as lunch next week.
“let’s do this. i’ll pick you up after work from now on. we’ll go out. have dinner. spend time together. see what happens. let it unfold naturally.”
just like that.
your breath caught. “i… i have doubts,” you admitted, almost in a whisper. “i don’t know what to say. i don’t know what to feel. this is all so sudden, so... fast.”
he nodded, unbothered. “that’s okay.”
you blinked. “that’s okay?”
“yes. it’s not a race. but you heard what i said—opportunities don’t always knock twice. you don’t have to say yes right now. just think about it.”
but you were thinking. too much.
his voice played on repeat in your mind: we can love. i can love you. you can love me. and god, wasn’t that the exact thing you’d been terrified of never having?
your fingers trembled under the table. your palms clammy, your mouth dry. you rubbed your hands together slowly, grounding yourself in that simple motion, trying to breathe.
he didn’t flinch. didn’t ask again. just kept sipping his soup, patient as stone, like he’d already accepted whatever answer you’d give him.
you stared at your food, at the steam rising, the way the aroma filled the space between you and him like something sacred. you still couldn’t stand bone soup. but somehow, being across from him made it smell less... offensive. less like something to run from.
and you remembered.
all those nights crying in silence.
all those mornings brushing your teeth with tears stuck in your throat because you didn’t know if ever would come.
ever finding someone.
ever being enough.
ever being loved without begging for it.
maybe he wasn’t what you imagined.
maybe he was better.
you looked up at him.
“okay,” you said, softly. then stronger. “okay. i’ll try. i’ll let you pick me up. we’ll go on these dates. maybe… maybe i can love you. maybe i can let myself be loved by you.”
he paused mid-sip, eyes lifting.
your voice cracked slightly when you added, “maybe i can stay with you.”
for a beat, the world went still.
he didn’t smile wide. didn’t gloat or tease.
he just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. his eyes warm, deep, but controlled—like someone who’d been expecting this moment and didn’t want to scare it off.
“good,” he said. “that’s all i needed.”
you swallowed hard.
and for the first time since that strange proposal, something in your chest loosened.
you weren’t sure if this was love.
but it was a beginning.

the next morning. everything is different.
you walk into the building like you own the damn place—heels sharp, suit immaculate, makeup clean and fierce, ponytail slicked high like a crown. the memory of yesterday—your stumble, your throbbing head, your wandering thoughts—now felt like a distant, irrelevant dream. that wasn’t you. this was.
a woman who knew what she wanted.
a woman who said yes.
you smiled to yourself in the elevator. not just any smile—that kind. the kind that curled at the corners, the kind that held secrets, the kind that felt like sin dressed in silk. the kind that belonged to someone with a man waiting outside a restaurant, ordering bone broth, and talking about love like it was something simple. doable. inevitable.
you were early. again. not by accident this time, but by choice.
you slid into your desk, organized, efficient, present. the hum of the office hadn’t started yet, and you took advantage of the calm, catching up on reports and scheduling the week like the good girl you were trained to be. but this time, it was different. you weren’t surviving the day. you were anticipating it.
and then—at exactly the hour—he walked in.
jung jaehyun.
same black suit. same silver watch. same air of cool detachment.
but today, when he passed by your desk and muttered his usual, “good morning,” you didn’t just nod like before.
you stood up—too fast.
too happy.
“good morning, mr. jeong!” you sang, voice lilting and almost musical, like you’d just won the lottery.
it was instinctual. not calculated. just... you.
the entire floor stopped.
heads turned.
some eyebrows shot up. a few eyes narrowed.
jaehyun himself halted in his tracks, looking back at you slowly, his brows drawn together in the tiniest frown. he cleared his throat.
“everyone, back to work,” he said, voice firm. and then, after one last look—eyes narrowed at you in something between confusion and amusement—he turned and walked away.
you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, barely suppressing the giggle building in your throat.
the memory of last night echoed in your mind, maybe i can love you, maybe i can stay with you—and now here you were, trying not to beam like a teenager with a crush. you watched his back disappear into his office, and your lips curled up, despite yourself.
you could still feel his eyes on you. even if he wasn’t looking.
after work, you waited by the entrance as the glass doors slid open.
he was already there—like he promised. leaning casually against his car, black coat folded over one arm, briefcase in hand, gaze scanning the horizon like the perfect ceo out of a drama. but as soon as his eyes met yours, they softened—barely, subtly—but you noticed.
“get in,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.
you slipped in without protest, heart beating faster than it had any right to.
once the car pulled away from the curb, the silence settled—but it didn’t last long.
“you can’t do that,” he said, not harshly, just... firm.
“do what?” you asked, knowing damn well.
“greet me like that. like that.” he glanced at you sideways. “at work.”
you shrugged. “what? we’re dating now. aren’t we?”
“we’re seeing where this goes,” he corrected. “but we still have to be professional. people talk. your position can be affected. and mine—”
you cut in, not harshly but with a certain fire. “i’m not going to apologize for being happy.”
“i’m not asking you to apologize.”
“then don’t ask me to pretend. i’ll dial it down, sure. but i’m not going to act like you don’t mean something to me when we’re under the same roof eight hours a day.”
he stayed quiet for a beat, tapping the wheel with one hand, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.
“is this how you are with all your boyfriends?”
you grinned. “i’m worse.”
he laughed. actually laughed. that deep, velvet sound you hadn’t heard much outside of formalities.
“well, i’ll brace myself,” he said. “i might enjoy it.”
you turned to the window, hiding your smile. this was really happening.
the drive back was quiet at first—a comfortable silence that didn’t demand immediate conversation. the kind of quiet that says: you don’t need to perform, just exist here with me.
the radio was on. a soft playlist of english ballads played in the background—songs about longing, beginnings, maybe even second chances. you doubted jaehyun picked them himself. it was probably just the algorithm. still, the timing felt so precise… so intentional, that you wondered if the universe was helping him out tonight.
you played with your fingers over your thighs, crossing and uncrossing your legs slowly, watching the night pass outside the window. city lights in the distance. trees swaying softly in the wind. you tried to guess where he was taking you next, but the truth was… you didn’t really care.
not knowing was part of the charm.
“where are we going?” you finally asked, unable to resist the curiosity.
he smiled without turning to look at you, eyes steady on the road ahead.
“it’s a secret,” he said. “you’ll have to wait and see.”
you squinted at him with mock suspicion, amused—and yet, inside, your heart started to thump a little faster with every mile.
there was something strangely beautiful about not being in control this time. about letting yourself be taken somewhere, not out of submission, but out of trust. you weren’t used to that. you weren’t used to letting anyone drive. but tonight, you wanted to believe you could lean back and just... be.
and then… the car turned down a dark, barely lit road, and you saw it.
a wide, open lot. a giant projector screen glowing at the far end. dozens of cars parked in neat rows, some with trunks open, fairy lights, blankets, snacks. couples curled together under the stars.
it was a drive-in movie. like something out of an old romance film.
you gasped, both hands flying to your mouth as you turned to him.
“oh my god. no way. are you serious?! i love the movies—but i've never done this. i’ve always wanted to, but… i don’t know. it just never happened.”
jaehyun glanced at you sideways. and this time, he smiled. really smiled. not the polite, composed smile he wore in the hallways or meetings—but something warm. something real.
“then it was a good idea,” he said simply.
he parked in the middle row. good view of the screen, but far enough for privacy. you were already melting—and then he popped the trunk.
a thick blanket. two small pillows. a tote bag with snacks—popcorn, a big soda bottle, even the exact chocolate bars you’d once said you liked during a random, probably drunk, late-night conversation. you didn’t even remember mentioning it.
he did.
“did you plan all of this?” you asked, curled slightly sideways in the passenger seat while he arranged everything with care between you.
“i just wanted you to be comfortable,” he said. “i wanted it to be... special.”
no posturing. no hidden motive. just sincerity. you felt it in the way he unfolded the blanket and draped it gently over your lap. in how he checked the window—cracked just enough to let in the breeze, not enough to let in the cold. In how he handed you the soda first, before even opening his own drink.
the movie started. some lighthearted rom-com with ridiculous dialogue and cheesy plot points, but it didn’t matter. it was perfect. low-stakes. no pressure. you curled your legs under you, blanket snug, the flickering light from the screen dancing across your skin.
every once in a while, you’d glance at jaehyun. and more than once, you caught him watching you instead of the film.
“are you bored?” you whispered.
“not even close.”
“you haven’t laughed once.”
he turned to you, that sarcastic little smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed just slightly.
“you’re already making enough noise for the both of us.”
you gave him a playful slap on the arm, pretending to be offended.
“that was a compliment,” he added, amused.
you rolled your eyes—but smiled. god, you smiled so much that night.
as the credits rolled, something shifted in the silence. the mood thickened—not heavy, just… deeper. weighted with something. a moment hanging on the edge of change. your head leaned against the window as the screen dimmed, your eyes distant but your heart so very full.
he still didn’t touch you.
he didn’t grab your hand. didn’t lean in.
but his presence wrapped around you all the same—solid, patient, waiting. not pushing, just there. learning how to be near you without demanding anything in return.
“thank you,” you said softly, voice almost too quiet to hear. “for this. for everything.”
“you don’t have to thank me.”
“yes, i do. it’s not every day someone goes out of their way like this.”
he paused before answering. his tone was steady, but low.
“i want this to work,” he said. “and if that means planning teenage-level dates with blankets and popcorn, then… yeah. i’ll do that.”
you laughed, eyes dropping to your lap.
“you’re doing well so far.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
and then you looked at each other. just looked. no words needed.
but inside… you felt it.
your shoulders, usually tense, were light. your heart, bruised and cautious for so long, was opening again. quietly, but surely. as if whispering, i’m still here. i still want to believe.
you weren’t sure where this would go. if it would last. if it would end in tears or something worse.
but right now, in his car, under the stars, with the last notes of the film still echoing through your skin…
you wanted to find out.
you wanted to try.
the next morning at the office felt different—less chaotic, more grounded. you greeted the receptionist with a small smile, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor as you made your way in, clutching your coffee cup like a security blanket. you weren't glowing, exactly, but something about you was… softer. less guarded. like a petal finally relaxing in the warmth of spring after a too-long winter.
jaehyun noticed immediately.
you caught him watching you from the glass-walled conference room as you entered the bullpen. he didn't stare, not in a way that would make it obvious to others—but his eyes followed you, just long enough to clock the change. your navy blue pencil skirt hugged your hips, the slit in the back offering just the right amount of grace as you walked. the cream blouse you wore was modest but elegant, the top button left undone, showing the delicate line of your collarbone. your hair was half-up, your makeup minimal, professional—but the gloss on your lips and the quiet shimmer on your eyelids betrayed a whisper of mischief. not overt. just enough for someone paying attention.
you met his gaze briefly through the glass and raised your brows in a silent hello before looking away, sipping your coffee with forced nonchalance.
by the time you crossed paths an hour later—both of you heading into a smaller briefing room—he gave you that look again. the one that asked, really? amused, but faintly disbelieving.
"good morning, mr. jeong," you greeted him politely, eyes straight ahead as if you hadn't spent the last night wrapped in his blanket, watching a movie with your legs tangled under it.
"miss y/l/n," he replied, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he held the door open for you. “very formal today.”
you didn’t rise to the bait. just gave him a brief, professional smile and walked past, heels clicking, not looking back. you were committed to the bit.
the meeting was brief, technical—a review of deliverables, some feedback loops, nothing out of the ordinary. you contributed where you needed to, kept your tone measured, avoided lingering glances. even when he made a rare joke and the room chuckled, you only allowed yourself a small, polite laugh, hands folded neatly on the table.
he didn’t push. but when you passed each other near the coffee station later, his voice dropped low, just enough for you to hear.
“you’re really leaning into the whole executive assistant with boundaries thing, huh?”
you smirked as you refilled your mug, still not looking at him. “just trying to keep things professional, mr. jeong.”
“of course.” he nodded once, pretending to adjust his tie. “wouldn’t want to cross any lines.”
you bit your lip to suppress your grin. the game was on.
at 3:47 PM, your phone lit up with a text from his office number: meeting with the department heads in fifteen. boardroom. don’t be late. signed J.J.
you rolled your eyes but your stomach did a little flip.
the 4 PM meeting dragged—there was a lot of back and forth over campaign numbers and rollout schedules, but you held your own, taking notes, speaking clearly when your insight was needed. you could feel jaehyun watching you when others weren’t—his gaze warm, grounding—but he didn’t speak to you directly unless it was related to the discussion. you appreciated that. It let you stay in control, let you breathe.
after everyone had trickled out and the room was quiet, you stayed behind a moment, closing your laptop and straightening the chairs without a word. he didn’t move from his seat at the head of the table, just watched you as you moved, his fingers idly spinning a pen.
“dinner?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.
you didn’t look up right away. “are you asking as mr. jeong or...?”
he tilted his head, eyes playful. “just jaehyun.”
you looked up, meeting his eyes. something flickered between you—recognition. of the past few days, the softness in your chest, the way your shoulders had finally stopped bracing for disappointment.
“okay,” you said quietly. “dinner.”
he didn’t take you to a fancy restaurant or anywhere showy. just a quiet little rooftop place downtown, dim lights and mellow music, open air and the sound of the city below. you sat across from him at a small table, knees brushing under the surface. you shared dishes, laughed softly, talked about nothing and everything. he asked about your childhood; you asked about his first heartbreak. there was no rush to get anywhere. just being there—together—was enough.
at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you.
at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you with that open expression he reserved for moments like this—unguarded, gently curious.
“you said you grew up outside the city,” he said, casually swirling the remnants of his drink. “what about your parents?”
you set your fork down and rested your elbows lightly on the table, exhaling. “they still live in the same town. a couple hours from here.”
he nodded. “siblings?”
“one,” you replied. “older brother. married. two little boys.”
jaehyun smiled at that. “you’re the cool aunt.”
you laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. “i try. i send them stickers and weird snacks from the city. but i think i’m mostly the mysterious aunt who lives alone in seoul and doesn’t have a husband, which is a major point of concern for my parents.”
jaehyun raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “concern?”
“oh, huge.” you leaned back, crossing your arms with a mock-serious nod. “they think i’m one heartbreak away from crawling back into my childhood bedroom with a suitcase and giving up entirely. i get the same call every weekend—‘have you met someone yet?’ and ‘when are you coming home, sweetheart?’ like my single status is a national emergency.”
you smiled, tried to make it sound light. funny. but the knot in your chest tugged a little tighter with each word. because underneath the teasing tone, it hurt. the weight of expectation, of having let them down without really meaning to. you’d always thought, by now, you’d have that picture-perfect family. a husband. maybe a child. but life had taken its own sharp turns, and somewhere along the way, you'd lost the map.
before your thoughts could spiral too far inward, you turned your eyes toward him and asked, “what about you? any siblings?”
he shook his head. “only child.”
“wow. that explains the drama,” you teased.
he grinned, playing along. “what drama?”
you shrugged, playful. “the perfectly tousled hair. the quiet confidence. the whole mysterious boss with a tragic past vibe.”
jaehyun laughed, the sound low and warm. “nothing tragic, thankfully. my parents own a condo complex back in busan. they keep to themselves. ever since i moved out, they’ve stayed out of my decisions. no guilt trips. no blind dates.”
he smirked a little, taking another sip. “which is great for me.”
you smiled at that, but there was something about the way he said it—casual, yes, but laced with a kind of loneliness you recognized. the kind that came with being left alone a little too much. with being successful but still carrying a shadow no one quite asked about.
you watched him for a second longer than necessary. then nodded slowly. “that does sound kind of great.”
he looked at you then, really looked, and the silence between you shifted—deeper now. heavy with things not said.
the city hummed around you. glasses clinked from other tables. somewhere, a violinist was playing faintly near the street below. but you only heard the soft cadence of his breath, the way it matched your own.
and then he stood and offered you his hand.
you didn’t hesitate this time. you let him lead you to the edge of the rooftop, where the view was clearer, the air colder. your arms brushed as you looked out together, shoulder to shoulder, warm skin against cool wind.
he turned to you first, eyes darker now, thoughtful. “you don’t need to rush anything. marriage, or whatever they want from you. you’re… okay. just as you are.”
you looked at him slowly, your heart caught somewhere between gratitude and ache. “thanks,” you whispered. “sometimes i forget.”
he stepped closer—barely—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.
you met his gaze, and something shifted between you again. tighter. stronger. the kind of tension that doesn’t demand to be broken, only… felt.
he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn’t.
your lips met his softly, a single, tentative kiss that carried the full weight of everything left unspoken. sweet, searching, the kind of kiss that says i see you. that says stay.
and when you pulled back, your eyes didn’t dart away.
they lingered.
because something had begun. and neither of you was pretending anymore.
there was no big speech. no sudden declarations.
just the quiet gravity of this moment. the closeness. the way his eyes searched yours with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

april melted into may in soft, golden increments—like a candle burning slow at both ends. the weather grew gentler, the evenings warmer, and with each passing day, your relationship with jaehyun unraveled in small, tender pieces that neither of you rushed to name.
you had more dinners together. nothing extravagant—he wasn’t the kind to impress with grand gestures—but always thoughtful. ramen tucked away in a quiet corner shop with mismatched stools. a spontaneous detour after a work meeting that led to an art gallery’s closing hour. coffee at a tiny cafe with mismatched mugs and jazz playing softly from a dusty speaker. with every outing, something softened between you. the way you spoke to each other, the way you lingered a second longer when saying goodbye, the way your eyes found his in a crowded room and stayed there.
still, at work, everything remained perfectly composed. restrained. you never touched, never called him anything but mr. jeong. no one suspected a thing—and that secrecy gave it all the thrill of something sacred. childish almost. like passing notes under a desk. a shared joke disguised in a spreadsheet. your fingers grazing when you exchanged documents. a glance too long in the breakroom when he poured your coffee before you even asked. you could feel it in the air, that charged silence of two people pretending to be just colleagues, and failing quietly, deliciously.
the project itself was moving well—smooth timelines, promising data. it gave you an excuse to spend more time in his office, laptop open across from his, sometimes both of you too focused to speak for long stretches. sometimes one of you talking while the other typed, nodding with half-listening affection. sometimes, on the slow days, the lines between work and personal conversation blurred gently, like ink on damp paper.
today was one of those days.
you sat across from him, legs crossed under the conference table, scrolling through performance reports while he adjusted a chart on his screen. outside the windows, the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting pale lines across the carpet and the sleeves of his shirt. he leaned back, stretching slightly, then caught your gaze with a small smile.
“so…” he said, voice lower than usual, “what are you doing this weekend?”
you glanced up, biting your lip to hide a smile. “why? do you need me to run more numbers?”
“maybe,” he said, teasing. “but i was thinking something less tragic. maybe the museum? or that poetry cafe you mentioned.”
you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “depends. are you asking as mr. jeong or as… jaehyun?”
he smirked, eyes playful. “i guess that depends on your answer.”
you were about to respond when the door opened without a knock. both of you sat up straighter instinctively, like students caught passing notes. the supervisor from the analytics division stepped in, scanning the room with barely concealed curiosity.
“mr. jeong,” he said, tone clipped, “the director wants to see you.”
jaehyun stood immediately, buttoning his jacket with an easy nod. “i’ll be there in a moment.”
the supervisor looked at you then. his eyes lingered—not long, but long enough. something unreadable passed over his face. “you’ve been spending a lot of time here,” he said, like it wasn’t a question.
you gave him your most neutral smile. “just supporting the project. we’re on a tight schedule.”
“mm.” he said nothing more, just nodded once and stepped out.
jaehyun glanced at you before leaving, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. or quiet warning. you went back to your laptop, fingers pretending to type while your heart tried to calm its sudden gallop.
the evening found you both in his car again. the sun had already begun its descent, turning the sky a soft shade of apricot. you slid into the passenger seat, closed the door behind you, and without thinking too much, leaned over to kiss his cheek.
his skin was warm under your lips.
he blinked, clearly caught off guard, and for a second, he forgot to hide it. the tips of his ears flushed red. he cleared his throat and reached for the ignition, like nothing happened, but his smile lingered, crooked and faint.
“you keep doing that,” he murmured, not looking at you.
“doing what?” you asked innocently.
he shook his head, eyes on the road. “making it hard to pretend we’re not dating.”
you grinned and didn’t answer.
he drove you to the han river, where the breeze was cool and kind, and the crowds were light enough to feel private. you sat cross-legged on the grass, sharing tteokbokki and fried dumplings from paper trays, watching cyclists blur past under the lamplights. a small speaker nearby played an old ballad, sweet and melancholic, and you leaned into his shoulder without needing permission.
“i like this,” you said softly.
“what part?” he asked.
“this part. where everything’s… quiet.”
he didn’t speak immediately. just reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
“me too.”
you looked at him, really looked—and it hit you in that moment how far you’d come. from formal greetings and polite distance to soft laughter and shared silence. from stolen glances to kisses on the cheek that left him blushing.
and somehow, without realizing it, you’d stopped keeping count of how many times you thought about him during the day. because now he was part of your days.
and you didn’t want to imagine them without him anymore.

june arrived with a subtle shift in rhythm—projects moved faster, deadlines drew closer, and the sun stayed longer in the sky. the office felt heavier in the afternoons, warm with late spring air and the quiet hum of new beginnings.
one of those beginnings came in the form of kim jungwoo.
he was transferred from the incheon branch—a bright-eyed analyst with quick wit and a laugh that filled corners. you were told he'd be supporting the data team, and since your department handled most of the projections, he was placed right in front of your desk, where your eyes met every time you looked up. your first impression of him was that he was disarmingly charming—too friendly, too easygoing for the stiff, quiet culture of the office—but undeniably efficient. he asked questions that made sense, learned fast, and had a way of easing tension with a joke delivered just under his breath.
you kept things professional, as always. showed him how you sorted the quarterly metrics, how to navigate the company’s outdated database system without crashing it, how to color-code your sheets for easier reading. he listened, smiled, nodded. and eventually, he joked. made you laugh when you’d been staring at the same budget chart for hours. brought you coffee with your name scribbled on the lid in dramatic calligraphy. sometimes too much, sometimes exactly what you needed.
you liked him. platonically. comfortably. it was easy to like jungwoo.
but jaehyun noticed. of course he did.
at first, it was subtle. he’d call you into his office more frequently, asking for reports he usually didn’t request until later in the week. you didn’t think much of it—until you realized he was keeping you in there for hours. even when the topic had already run dry, even when both of you were silently pretending to still be discussing something relevant. you’d glance at your watch, mumble about needing to check on jungwoo’s progress, and jaehyun would give you this look—tight-lipped, unreadable, almost irritated.
the third time it happened, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore.
“are you seriously going to keep me hostage in your office every time jungwoo asks me a question?” you asked, laptop balanced on your knees, arms crossed.
jaehyun didn’t answer right away. he leaned back in his chair, one hand draped lazily over the armrest, watching you. but there was tension under his cool expression, the kind that coiled in his jaw.
“you’re my girlfriend” he said, voice low, measured. “even if we have to act like colleagues in this building, you’re not just anyone to me.”
your breath caught. not because of what he said—because of the way he said it. with that sharp, quiet certainty, like it wasn’t up for debate.
“you’re jealous,” you muttered, trying to smile, to turn it into something lighter.
“of course i’m jealous,” he said, leaning forward. “he’s new, he’s charming, and he’s looking at you like he already knows what you taste like.”
your face flushed.
you looked away, but only for a second.
because when you met his eyes again, he stood.
in two strides he was in front of you, taking the laptop gently from your knees and setting it on the coffee table without a word. then he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you—deep, slow, and hungry. there was nothing tentative about it. it wasn’t sweet or shy. it was possession, poured soft and molten through the shape of his mouth on yours. you sighed into it, hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulse thudding in your throat.
he pulled away just enough to speak, voice rough. “don’t tease me about this.”
you nodded, breathless. “okay.”
and then he kissed you again.
the kiss tasted like all the things you weren’t allowed to say out loud. frustration. longing. the ache of pretending, day after day, that you were only what the world let you be. his thumb stroked your jaw as his mouth opened against yours, deeper now, slower. you felt your knees weaken and your thoughts scatter, all logic melting into the heat of the moment.
that night, like every night since the start of your secret, you met him outside the office. his car waited at the edge of the lot, tinted windows and the soft thump of quiet music playing through the speakers. you slid into the passenger seat, your heart already dancing.
this time, he didn’t say hello.
he reached over and kissed you—harder than before, lips parting yours in a way that made your body sing. the car wasn’t moving. neither of you were thinking. you kissed like it was all you knew how to do. mouths hungry, breath shallow, his hand tracing the edge of your thigh just enough to make you gasp. every time you pulled away for air, he followed. every time he groaned into your kiss, you shivered.
he never rushed.
never crossed that line you hadn’t yet spoken about.
but you felt how close it hovered. just under the skin.
and as your lips brushed his one last time before pulling back, your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “i like it when you get jealous.”
his smile was crooked. dangerous.
“you better not like it too much,” he said, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, “because next time… i might not let you leave so easily.”

thursday crept in quietly, with no big plans or messages of anticipation. the city, usually loud and hungry for excitement, felt unusually tame that week—like it had spent itself on too many events, too many evenings out, too many people chasing novelty in crowded cafés and rooftop bars. maybe it was just you, though. maybe everything had started to feel dull because your world had shifted to revolve around something—someone—entirely new. and nothing outside of that circle could compare anymore.
you barely spent time in your apartment lately. always out. always in his car, in places that weren’t quite home but felt more real because he was there. so on that afternoon, with your head tilted against the cold surface of your desk and your brain spinning from spreadsheets, you blurted it out between quiet keyboard taps.
“don’t make any plans tomorrow night.”
jaehyun glanced at you from across his office, pen in hand, eyebrows drawn. “should i be worried?”
you smiled without looking up. “you’re staying over. the weekend. at my place.”
the pause was heavy. not uncomfortable, but... loaded. you didn’t dare lift your head until he spoke.
“wait—what?”
and there it was. you looked at him finally, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide. he looked stunned. genuinely caught off guard.
“you heard me. pack a bag. pajamas. toothbrush. snacks. i don’t know. whatever you need to survive two days with me.”
his face went red. a deep, rich pink that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you laughed. he was thinking things.
“ya, what were you imagining?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk.
“nothing!” he defended too fast. “i just... i didn’t expect we’d be spending the weekend... alone like that. it’s not a bad thing. i like it. i like the idea. i just—i mean, we’ve been doing great. this relationship. it feels good. real. and... if it keeps going like this, who knows—maybe one day we’ll get married.”
you froze.
he didn’t say it as a joke. it was quiet. casual. but he meant it.
married.
you hadn’t thought about that in weeks. you’d been so swept up in the rush of the new—new glances, new kisses, new secret dates and stolen evenings. but that word made your heart skip, stumble, leap. it opened a future you hadn’t dared imagine.
married to jeong jaehyun. walking down an aisle. your coworkers gasping. your parents trying to stay calm. him lifting your veil. kissing you like it was the beginning of forever. sunday mornings with kids and cartoons and coffee. vacations. shared bookshelves. him waiting at the door when you got home.
you shook the image out of your head.
“you can’t just say things like that,” you whispered, barely breathing.
“why not?” he asked softly, his eyes sincere. “it’s where we’re going, right?”
friday night came like a slow exhale.
he arrived with a small black duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a sheepish grin. you wore mismatched pajamas—striped pants and a faded hoodie from a school club you barely remembered joining. the sight of you like that made him laugh, and the sound was so unguarded it made your chest ache with affection.
you stayed in. ordered too much food. picked a cheesy rom-com that made you cry halfway through. he kept making sarcastic comments at first, trying to pretend he didn’t care, until somewhere in the middle he got quiet. his hand found yours under the blanket, warm and steady. when the credits rolled, your head was on his shoulder and your eyes were puffy.
“i hate that you made me cry,” you sniffled, wiping your face.
“i didn’t make you cry. blame julia roberts,” he said, kissing the top of your head.
the rest of the night blurred. an improvised dinner of instant noodles and wine, soft music from your phone speaker, him dancing stupidly in the kitchen with a wooden spoon, trying to make you laugh. and you did. hard. the kind of laugh that made you forget to be careful.
when it got late, and the lights dimmed, the kisses came back. slow. long. searching. his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, breathing each other in like you were afraid to stop. the heat built, like always, but neither of you pushed further. it wasn’t time. not yet. but god, it was close.
saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful.
you woke up tangled in the blankets, his arm draped over your stomach, his breath soft against your neck. the kind of morning you never thought you’d get to have—where nothing was urgent, and everything felt right.
you took turns in the shower, argued over who finished the milk, and spent an hour sitting on the floor flipping through old photo albums you’d forgotten you had. you didn’t plan to show him—but he insisted. and once he started looking, he didn’t stop.
“wait... this is you in high school?” he asked, pointing at a photo.
“yeah,” you said, embarrassed. “why?”
“you were so cute.”
you rolled your eyes. “i wasn’t popular or anything. i had one boyfriend. lasted a week.”
he stared. “a week?”
“he said i was too uptight and boring.”
jaehyun’s mouth dropped open. “that guy was an idiot.”
you laughed. “no, he was probably right. i’ve always been... structured. controlled. even back then. guess that’s why i’m like this now—such a workaholic.”
he didn’t laugh. instead, he kept looking at your photo—finger brushing over the glossy paper like it meant something.
“if i had met you back then,” he said quietly, “i would’ve fallen in love with you. no doubt.”
your breath caught.
he didn’t look away. “i wouldn’t have let you go. not for a second.”
“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, unsure what else to say.
“i do,” he said, firm. “you’re not boring. you’re brilliant. you’re thoughtful. you see things no one else sees. you work harder than anyone i know. and... you make me want to be better.”
tears pricked your eyes again. not from sadness. just—too much emotion. too much truth.
“you’re going to make me cry again,” you whispered.
“then cry,” he said, pulling you close. “but only if you let me hold you through it.”
the rest of the weekend passed like a dream.
grocery runs in sweatpants. a half-burnt attempt at making pancakes. arguments over which playlist was better for cleaning the kitchen. you wore ridiculous socks with cartoons on them. he made fun of you until you found his even worse ones.
you kissed between chores. kissed while brushing your teeth. kissed while folding laundry.
it wasn’t glamorous.
but it felt like home.
and when sunday night came, and he packed his bag again, you didn’t want him to go. not because of the sex, or the thrill, or the high of newness. but because somewhere between instant noodles and high school photos, you realized something terrifying and beautiful—
you were falling in love.
for real.
for the first time.

towards the end of the month, your phone rings. you’re in your apartment, folding laundry with the window cracked open to let in the soft breeze of early summer. the sunlight filters through sheer curtains, painting everything in golden hues. you glance at the caller id and feel a knot tighten in your stomach. mom.
you answer.
“it’s your father’s birthday this weekend,” she says, skipping greetings as always, her voice a mix of cheerful anticipation and subtle reprimand. “you should come visit. he’s been asking if we’ll see you.”
you agree, almost without thinking, but then comes the dreaded question.
“and? have you found a boyfriend yet or do i need to talk to mrs. lee again?”
you rub your temple. “mom—”
“her son is still single, you know. owns a good piece of land. sells vegetables to that big food corporation. you’d be set for life.”
you exhale deeply, eyes closing in frustration.
“i’m… i’m seeing someone.”
a pause. then her voice lights up like fireworks. “you are? oh, this is wonderful! finally, you’re not wasting away alone up there in that office job.”
“mom, we’ve just started seeing each other,” you say, hesitating. “it’s too soon to—”
“no,” she cuts in firmly. “you don’t have time to be unsure. the train is about to leave the station, sweetheart. you either get on or it’s gone. bring him. we want to meet him.”
before you can argue, the call ends with a clipped goodbye, and you’re left staring at your phone, pulse racing and chest tight.
the rest of the week, you feel like a ghost of yourself. distracted at work, distant on your dates with jaehyun, your mind spinning in loops. he notices immediately—of course he does—and it only takes one missed joke and a quiet dinner for him to call you out on it.
you’re sitting across from him, poking at your food. the restaurant is softly lit, cozy, but there’s a distance in your eyes.
“y/n,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “what’s going on?”
“nothing,” you mutter, but he leans in.
“don’t give me that. we’re together now, remember? you can talk to me. or… if you’re second guessing this… if i’m moving too fast, just tell me. i can handle it.”
your heart aches at his words. you reach across the table, grabbing his hand.
“it’s not that. i’m not doubting us,” you say quietly. “it’s just… my mom called. she wants me to visit this weekend for my dad’s birthday. and she… kind of expects me to bring you.”
he blinks. then, without hesitation, he says, “okay. then i’ll come.”
you blink right back. “wait, seriously?”
“yes. if it means that much to them—and to you—I want to go. i want to meet your family, y/n. it feels right.”
your chest swells with something warm and terrifying. you nod, silently.
friday comes and your suitcase is zipped and ready by the door. you’re wearing a floral summer dress, light and breezy, with your favorite pair of nude heels that make your legs look longer than they are. your hair is pinned loosely, lip tint soft and rosy. there’s a nervous flutter in your chest when you step outside.
jaehyun is already waiting beside his car, leaning casually against it like he belongs in a photoshoot. he’s in cream linen pants and a sage green button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open at the throat. his sunglasses reflect the afternoon sun, and he looks, frankly, too good to be standing in your quiet little street. you gulp.
“need help with those?” he says with a grin, reaching for your bags before you can answer.
the ride is filled with music, laughter, and long, thoughtful silences. the kind that don't feel awkward, but full. pregnant with meaning. he holds your hand on the highway, thumb stroking the back of it lazily, his warmth anchoring you through your nerves.
when you pull up to your parents' house—a modest home with stone finishings and a neat little front garden—your heart thunders. everything feels smaller, more fragile, like stepping back in time. your mom rushes out first, apron still tied around her waist, eyes wide and wet with excitement.
and when she sees jaehyun? she nearly cries. “you’re real,” she says, pressing her hands together like she’s witnessing a miracle. your dad comes out next, chuckling as he wipes his hands on a dish towel.
“so this is the young man,” he says with a knowing nod, clapping jaehyun on the back. “your mother hasn’t shut up about you since she found out.”
inside, the dining table is set with your dad’s favorite dishes. everything smells like memory. you sit in the living room afterward, your parents across from you, jaehyun beside you on the couch, close enough to feel his knee brushing yours.
he speaks up first, voice calm and clear.
“i just want to say that i’m very serious about your daughter,” he says. “i have genuine intentions. we’re still getting to know each other, but… if things keep going the way they are, i’d like to build a future with her.”
your mother gasps, reaching for a tissue. your father nods slowly, visibly moved.
“this… this is the best birthday gift i could ask for,” he says.
you shrink into the couch, cheeks burning, while jaehyun’s hand finds yours again and squeezes gently.
then comes the chaos.
your older brother, baekhyun, bursts through the door with his wife and two kids in tow. he takes one look at you and smirks.
“who’s the guy and what have you done with my perpetually single little sister?”
you groan. “shut up, baek.”
the two of you bicker like teenagers, tossing playful insults back and forth while your nephews cling to your legs, shouting your name with delight. you hand them the toys you brought and their eyes light up like it’s christmas.
jaehyun watches it all, amused, until one of the boys climbs into his lap and hands him a toy too.
he freezes.
and in that moment, something shifts in him. the sound of children’s laughter, the image of you with a soft smile, cradling one of your nephews in your arms. the warmth of this home, the love in every corner. he imagines it—having this with you. kids with your eyes. a house that’s yours. your framed wedding photo on the wall. vacations. birthdays. late-night talks in bed. wrinkles and silver hair, but still loving you with the same fire.
he blushes.
and you notice.
“what?” you whisper as you lean close.
he shakes his head, smiling to himself. “nothing. just… i really, really like this. all of it.”
the night unfolds gently. dinner turns into stories, stories into laughter, and soon the sun has long set and the house is lit with warm yellow lights. you and jaehyun sit outside for a moment, watching the stars.
he wraps an arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.
“you feel like home,” you whisper, not even realizing the words have slipped out.
he turns to look at you, eyes soft. “so do you.”
and in the quiet, with the cicadas singing and the echo of your family’s voices drifting from inside, you know.
this might just be the beginning of everything.

the month of july passed by with little to no complications. your parents were pleased with jaehyun, and you could tell that their approval meant the world to him. jungwoo, on the other hand, was playful and teasing, but with a newfound sense of respect, especially as jaehyun started to show more signs of being protective, making sure that jungwoo didn’t cross any boundaries. you were still professional with everyone at work, but the chemistry between you and jaehyun was undeniable. nights together were spent laughing, and weekends were filled with stolen moments of joy, where you both shared something more than just professional courtesy.
jaehyun had made a habit of calling you during the day, just to check on you, and you found yourself doing the same. the conversations were simple, but they felt important. visits to his office became more frequent, sometimes just for work, but other times, it was an excuse to sneak in a kiss or two. the passion between you two continued to build, a slow, steady fire that became increasingly hard to ignore.
one night, a wednesday, you both ignored the weather forecast and decided to take your date out in the city. the air was warm, and the lights of the city sparkled as you walked the streets together. the mood was light, but as midnight approached, the weather took a sharp turn. dark clouds rolled in, and soon, rain began to pour, turning into a violent storm. the wind howled, and the streets quickly flooded. jaehyun’s car struggled against the force of the water, and you couldn’t help but grip the seat, anxious.
jaehyun tried to keep calm, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “it’s okay, nothing’s going to happen,” he said, though you could tell he was also feeling the weight of the storm.
the rain pounded against the windows, and the car barely moved as the currents began to grow stronger. after what felt like an eternity, you both agreed that waiting in the car wasn’t safe anymore. as you both discussed where to go, a motel appeared in front of you. it seemed like an odd choice, but the parking lot was dry, and there were few other options at that hour. both of you hesitated, unsure of what to do. it was a strange situation—neither of you wanted to suggest anything that could be misinterpreted.
jaehyun was the one to break the silence. “let’s just use the parking lot, at least we’ll have shelter from the rain,” he said. “and if it lasts all night, we’ll have a warm place to stay.”
you nodded, a little nervous. “yeah, i mean, we’re not going to do anything else, right? just sleep, then in the morning, we’ll head back to our places and go to work, right?”
jaehyun smiled at you, trying to ease your nerves. “of course, just a safe place to wait out the storm. no pressure.”
you both parked and got out of the car, a little stiff from the tension, but the moment you entered the motel, things started to feel different. jaehyun took the lead, making sure you were comfortable and settled in, giving you space to breathe. He didn’t rush you, always checking to see how you felt.
both of you were tired from the day, and the weather didn’t help the situation, so after some brief, awkward glances, you both decided to take separate showers to unwind. you both changed into something more comfortable, but since it was summer and it was warm, you decided to just sleep in your underwear. when you looked at jaehyun in his, the moment felt almost surreal. his gaze lingered for a moment before he quickly turned away, as if both of you were still trying to adjust to how close you had become.
“you know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence, “you don’t have to feel awkward. we’re taking things at our own pace.”
you smiled, feeling your heartbeat quicken at the sound of his voice. “what if i want to go faster?” you said, your words surprising even yourself.
jaehyun looks at you, eyes widening slightly before they darken with something deeper—something he’s clearly been holding back. “are you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost trembling with restraint.
you nod, stepping closer, your fingers brushing against his bare chest. “i’m sure.”
his hands find your waist gently at first, testing the waters, but when you lean into him, he pulls you in like he’s been waiting forever to hold you like this. his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft, exploratory, but quickly deepens, hungry and needing. he walks you backwards slowly until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp, taking him with you.
his hands roam your body, reverent and slow, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. he whispers your name against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, and lower still. your breath hitches when his mouth lingers between your thighs, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for any sign to stop—but you nod again, your fingers threading into his hair, guiding him closer.
what he gives you isn’t rushed. it’s worship. like he’s been dreaming of this moment for too long to waste it. you lose yourself in the rhythm of his mouth, the way he listens to your body, adjusting, teasing, giving. he doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking and your voice is broken with moans you couldn’t hold back.
when he finally crawls back up your body, his lips kiss yours again, slower this time, tasting you. he whispers, “still okay?” and you nod, pulling him closer.
when he slides into you, it’s not hurried or careless. it’s deep, slow, and overwhelming in the best way. you cling to him, breathless, as your bodies move together like they were made to. he holds your gaze, foreheads pressed together, sweat-damp skin sticking in the summer heat, but neither of you care.
you whisper his name like a prayer, and he answers with yours, over and over, like he’s trying to brand it into the moment.
you fall apart in his arms, not once, but twice, and he follows soon after, burying his face in your neck as he trembles against you.
his lips are still on yours when he pushes deeper inside you, and this time, there’s no hesitation. your body arches under him, the stretch of him delicious and overwhelming all at once. he fills you slowly, inch by inch, like he wants to feel every reaction he pulls from you.
“fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out, forehead resting against yours. “been thinking about this for so long.”
you moan softly, nails dragging down his back as he starts to move, slow at first, rolling his hips into you with precision that makes your legs tremble. he kisses down your throat, biting softly at your skin as he picks up the pace, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. the headboard taps gently against the wall, a quiet rhythm that matches the sound of your breathy moans and his soft, low groans.
your fingers clutch the sheets, the pleasure building with every thrust. jaehyun’s hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider for him, and the new angle has you gasping his name, your voice breaking. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—lost in the feel of you, the sounds you make, the way your body clings to his like it’s the only place it belongs.
he pulls out just enough to see the way you take him, watching your slick coat his length before sliding back in with a filthy, wet sound that makes your toes curl. “look at you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip, eyes locked on yours. “so fucking beautiful like this.”
when he shifts, propping one of your legs over his shoulder, the angle has you crying out, your whole body shuddering. “you’re so deep,” you whimper, and he groans, hips snapping faster, harder, chasing both your highs like a man starved.
your climax hits hard—white-hot and blinding—as your walls clamp down around him, dragging him over the edge with you. he cums with a strangled moan, burying himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he spills into you. he stays there, chest pressed to yours, breathing heavy, hearts pounding in sync.
after a few moments, he pulls out slowly, carefully, kissing your shoulder as he lies beside you and pulls you into his arms.
your body’s still trembling when he runs a hand down your spine, voice low and thick with affection. “think we’re still just sleeping?”
you laugh softly against his chest, lazy fingers tracing circles on his skin. “not a chance.”
he kisses the top of your head. “then let’s not sleep yet.”
and before you can even respond, he’s already kissing down your body again—because one round clearly wasn’t enough.
you barely have time to catch your breath before jaehyun’s mouth is back on your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, over your stomach. his hands roam your thighs with greedy fingers, and even though you’re still sensitive, your body responds instantly—needy, aching, already ready for him again.
“you’re still so wet,” he murmurs, spreading you open with his fingers, dragging two of them slowly through your folds. “fuck, baby… you’re dripping.”
your hips jerk when he circles your clit, light and teasing, and you whine, fingers gripping the sheets. “j-jaehyun…”
he smirks, dark eyes meeting yours as he sinks his fingers into you—slow, deep, curling just right. “you can take it, can’t you?” he says, voice thick with lust. “you want it again.”
you nod helplessly, mouth parted as your back arches off the bed. he fucks you with his fingers until you’re trembling again, begging for him, grinding down onto his hand like you can’t get enough—and you can’t.
when he pulls his fingers out and lines himself up again, there’s no patience this time. he pushes in all at once, rougher, deeper, making your breath catch in your throat. the stretch, the pressure, the heat—it’s almost too much, but you crave every second of it.
he fucks you like he owns you now, one hand on your hip, the other pressing down on your stomach so he can feel himself inside you. “you feel that?” he groans. “you’re taking all of me.”
your moans turn shameless, high-pitched and raw, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every thrust. the bed creaks, the headboard pounds against the wall, and you don’t care who hears. he flips you onto your stomach without warning, pulling your hips up, and slides back into you from behind.
you cry out at the new angle, your hands clawing at the sheets as he drives into you, deeper than before. “god—jaehyun, i’m gonna—”
“cum for me,” he growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back to kiss the side of your neck. “cum all over my cock, baby.”
your orgasm hits like a shockwave, blinding and hot and overwhelming. your whole body shakes, legs giving out beneath you as he keeps fucking you through it. he follows moments later, groaning your name as he fills you again, hips jerking against your ass, the sound of it all so filthy and perfect.
this time, when you collapse together on the bed, everything is soaked in sweat and heat and the scent of sex. your body is limp, your mind dazed, and he just pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he’s never letting go.
“okay,” you whisper, laughing breathlessly. “now we might need to sleep.”
he chuckles against your hair, voice rough. “maybe. after round three.”
that night at the motel changed everything.
it wasn’t just the sex—though, god, it was incredible. it was the way his hands learned your body like a second language, the way he whispered your name like a secret, the way you both let yourselves fall without fear. that night was messy, breathless, and soaked in want. but more than anything, it was a turning point—a quiet, unspoken agreement that this was no longer just something casual. not for either of you.
after that, the line between love and lust blurred beautifully. sex became part of your rhythm, part of how you communicated. stolen glances in the office turned into stolen kisses in the elevator. late nights became sleepovers, and every morning-after was filled with lazy touches and knowing smiles. you memorized each other’s moans like favorite songs, found new ways to say i want you, even when the words themselves weren’t spoken.
but there was one night that stood out. the one you still think about more than any other.
it was the night you stayed over at his apartment—just the two of you, no distractions, no storms outside, only the slow burn between your bodies. dinner turned into kisses. kisses turned into the first round on his kitchen counter, then the second in the shower, steam fogging up the mirror as your bodies tangled and slipped together like water and flame.
by the third round, it was past midnight. you were already sore, breathless, but insatiable. he pulled you back into bed, whispering things in your ear that made your skin burn. he was rougher that time—hungrier—gripping your hips as he fucked you deep and slow, drawing out every moan until your voice was hoarse and your mind was gone.
you were on top, riding him with lazy, desperate rhythm, your head thrown back, your nails digging into his chest. he looked up at you like you were something divine, his hands guiding your pace, eyes locked on the place where your bodies met.
and just when your orgasm started to hit—when everything went hot and tight and unbearably good—the words slipped out of you.
“i love you.”
your voice cracked around it, high and trembling, your body still grinding against his, your climax crashing over you like a wave. for a split second, everything stopped. you felt him freeze beneath you, heard the sharp intake of breath, saw the shock in his eyes.
you hadn’t meant to say it like that. not in the middle of fucking. not when you were bare in every sense of the word.
it was reckless. vulnerable. raw.
but not wrong.
his hands gripped your waist tighter, and then he was sitting up, arms wrapping around you, thrusting up into you so hard and deep that you sobbed out his name.
“i love you too,” he groaned against your neck. “fuck, i love you so much—too much.”
and then he came—hard and fast, holding you like he never wanted to let go.
afterward, you just lay there on top of him, chest to chest, skin to skin, hearts pounding in unison. there was no awkwardness. no regret. only this strange, beautiful calm that settled over the room like dawn.
it was in that moment you realized just how deep your feelings for him ran.
what had started as a simple plan—just something to avoid growing old alone—had become the best part of your life. somewhere along the way, between the office visits and shared glances, motel rooms and quiet mornings, you had fallen hopelessly, madly in love with jaehyun.
and the craziest part?
you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything—or anyone—else but him.

august wrapped around you like a golden ribbon, thick with heat and filled with the kind of breathless anticipation that only comes after months of hard work. the project was done—finally—after weeks of stress, endless reports, last-minute corrections and late nights. but it was done. and not just done, but successful. glowing feedback, client satisfaction, numbers that sang. it was more than you had dared to hope for.
and then—the email.
subject line: promotion confirmation.
you stared at it for a full minute before opening it. and when you read the words “congratulations, supervisor,” your breath hitched. you covered your mouth. you gasped. and then you ran.
jaehyun wasn’t even at his desk anymore, he was just walking into the hallway when you caught him. “jaehyun!” you called, your voice trembling with a kind of joy that had nowhere to go.
he turned, concerned for half a second—until he saw your face. and then you said it.
“i got it.”
“you got what?” he blinked, confused.
“the promotion.”
his eyes widened. he froze for a second. and then—his arms were around you before you could even finish breathing. he lifted you, spinning you once, twice, both of you laughing as you clutched his shoulders and buried your face in his neck.
“oh my god, baby—you did it! i knew it, i knew you would!”
you were dizzy, and not just from the spinning. he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips. everything was warm and golden and right.
he took you out that night.
you didn’t go anywhere fancy—jaehyun insisted that celebrations should be personal, not performative. so he drove you to that one little pizzeria you loved, the one that made the potato crust just the way you liked it. he ordered your usual without asking, and when the wine came, he raised his glass first.
“to you,” he said, his eyes soft and gleaming under the low light. “my brilliant, unstoppable, incredible woman.”
your heart swelled so fast it almost ached. the clink of your glasses felt like the sound of a new chapter opening.
“i’ve never had this before,” you confessed, fingers curling around the stem of your glass. “celebrating something this big. with someone i love. it feels…” you laughed, shy and overwhelmed. “it feels like everything’s different now.”
jaehyun reached for your hand, his thumb stroking the back of it slowly.
“it is different,” he said. “because now, every good thing that happens to you—we get to celebrate it. together.”
you stared at him, your chest tight with emotion, with the kind of love that had no bottom, no edge. just more.
you leaned across the table, kissing him slow, deep, grateful. pizza between you, wine in your veins, your laughter echoing off the walls of that tiny booth.
you didn’t need fireworks.
this was better.
this was yours.

mid-september arrived with a softness that clung to the air—warm enough to feel like summer still lingered, but mellowed by the early hints of fall. the leaves hadn’t turned yet, but something in the wind carried change. maybe that’s what had been stirring inside you all week—a restless certainty that had taken root in your chest and bloomed with every kiss, every sleepy morning wrapped around each other, every whispered i love you that escaped your lips without hesitation. it had been five months, five months of chaos and clarity, of fire and softness, and you knew now—you didn’t want to wait anymore.
you wanted jaehyun. not in a month. not after careful plans. now.
so you climbed the steps to his office, heart thudding like a war drum, nerves tangled with determination. you paused outside the door, breathed once, twice, and knocked.
“come in,” his voice called, muffled behind the heavy door.
you stepped in and found him at his desk, back slightly hunched, focused on the glow of his screen. he looked up, and the moment he saw you, he smiled—that slow, dazzling smile that always made your knees feel like melted wax—and stood immediately, walking toward you without hesitation. he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you like he’d been waiting to do it all day.
“jaehyun,” you said, voice almost trembling, more from the gravity of what you were about to say than nerves. he pulled back slightly, tilting his head.
“yeah?”
you met his eyes and, without giving yourself the chance to second-guess it, you let it fall from your lips.
“i want to marry you.”
his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his features. he blinked, as if trying to be sure he heard you right.
“i know, baby,” he said, a soft chuckle lacing his words. “that was the whole deal, right? but remember—we said after november. we’d have more time to plan, get everything ready—”
“no,” you interrupted, stepping forward, clutching his hands tightly. “i don’t want to wait till november. i mean it. i want to marry you now. today, tomorrow, next week—i don’t care when or how. i just want to be yours. forever.”
he stared at you, quiet. processing. his brows drew together, and then lifted again like the meaning had just landed fully. his hands gripped yours tighter.
“but—what about the wedding? your parents, mine—”
“we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “but this... this love we have, i don’t want to keep treating it like something that needs to be scheduled. it’s real. it’s now.”
he took a breath, deep and full. and then, his expression softened into something vulnerable and glowing—his eyes shone with something deeper than just affection. he leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “you want to be my wife.”
you nodded, lips brushing his as you breathed, “more than anything.”
his thumbs brushed over your cheeks, as if committing this moment to memory. “then we’ll do it. not because it’s rushed, but because we know. we’ve known. and if you want to be my wife now... then i’ll make it happen. we’ll get married. i promise.”
and he kissed you again, this time slower, as if sealing an oath between your mouths.
the proposal happened three days later.
he told you it was just a normal date—dinner, then a walk somewhere scenic. no pressure. he even played it off by wearing something casual: a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled, soft beige slacks, and the cleanest pair of loafers you’d ever seen. he looked devastatingly handsome without trying.
he picked you up and drove toward the edge of the city, toward the river trail where the summer festivals were usually held. the area was quiet now, early autumn having driven the crowds away. but fairy lights still dangled from the trees, twinkling faintly as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a warm, honeyed hue over everything.
he walked with you along the wooden path, your fingers tangled. his hand was slightly clammy. you noticed, and your heart fluttered, thinking—he’s nervous. the realization made you giddy.
and then, just as you reached the little bridge that overlooked the water, he stopped.
“wait here,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “don’t move.”
he jogged a few steps ahead, ducked behind a low fence near a cluster of trees, and returned with a bouquet of peonies—your favorite. you hadn’t told him that. he remembered.
your eyes began to water.
he handed them to you, smiling shyly, and then pulled something out of his pocket.
a velvet box.
he opened it without a speech, without fanfare. his voice was soft, his eyes locked on yours like the world outside didn’t exist.
“you already said yes,” he whispered. “but i want to do this right.”
he got down on one knee, the gravel crunching beneath him, and held the ring up.
“y/n, will you marry me—not next month, not in theory, not in some future we’re still trying to picture... but now. for real. because i’m yours. and you’re mine.”
you didn’t cry. you sobbed. like an idiot. like a girl who had waited her whole life for someone like him. you nodded so fast your vision blurred and fell into his arms, and he kissed you like he was promising you the rest of forever.
in that moment, september never felt sweeter.
telling the company was a whole thing.
it started with a scheduled meeting—a weekly operations check-in with the usual suspects: team leads, upper management, the supervisor, and a couple of sharp-eyed executives who never missed a detail. it was jaehyun’s idea to make it official at work, to do it clean and direct and proudly. no rumors. no hiding. just the truth, glowing and solid like the ring that now lived permanently on your finger.
you both walked into the meeting room together, which wasn’t unusual, but something in the way your hands brushed as you took your seat already had jungwoo giving you the side-eye.
the presentation started, charts and projections lighting up the screen behind jaehyun as he stood with calm confidence. it was business as usual—until the last slide.
"before we wrap up," he said, glancing back at the room, his eyes finding yours briefly before turning to the group again, "i have one personal announcement to make."
you swallowed. jungwoo leaned forward like a damn hawk. mr. choi narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if he'd been waiting for this moment since spring.
jaehyun smiled—soft, boyish, unbothered. “as some of you may know… or have guessed," he said, and gave jungwoo a teasing look that made him gasp, "i knew it," he muttered dramatically—"y/n and i have been seeing each other for a while.”
the room exploded. a gasp from the secretary and the supervisor actually choked on his coffee. someone in the back whispered “what the fuck” under their breath.
jaehyun held up a hand, a little smug, a little amused.
“and, as of last weekend… we’re engaged.”
your cheeks were burning. your heart thundered. you expected chaos, maybe disapproval, but what followed was—
cheering. clapping. wide eyes and stunned smiles. even mr. choi looked like he was trying very hard not to grin.
“you’re marrying jaehyun? our jaehyun?” he blinked at her, then looked at jaehyun like he’d just discovered a double life. “okay, i knew something was going on. i’m not blind. but marriage? dude, that’s insane. like, insane in the good way, but—holy shit.”
you stood up, feeling brave. “we just didn’t want to hide it anymore,” you said. “we’re really happy. and we hope you’ll be happy for us too.”
the room burst into applause again. someone shouted, “wedding invites or we riot!”
the parents came next.
you visited your family first. your mom opened the door and immediately noticed the ring. she gasped, dropped the dish towel she was holding, and squealed in that way only mothers can. within seconds, your dad was there too, grinning, eyes glossy, holding jaehyun’s shoulder like he was already part of the family.
"are you kidding me," your mom kept saying. "you're engaged? oh my god, you're engaged!"
you nodded, trying not to cry as she hugged you so tight it hurt.
“he’s everything i ever wanted for you,” your dad told you quietly, before giving jaehyun a very serious handshake. “you take care of her.”
“always,” jaehyun promised, voice thick with sincerity.
then it was his parents' turn.
you were more nervous, but you shouldn’t have been. the moment jaehyun’s mom saw you, she pulled you into a hug, muttering in korean how beautiful you were, how she’d been praying her son would be smart enough to not let you go. his dad was more reserved, but the sparkle in his eye said everything. when jaehyun said, “we’re getting married,” his mother clapped her hands and screamed like she’d just won the lottery.
“we’re so happy,” she said, eyes shining. “you are already family.”
they brought out food, wine, photos from jaehyun’s childhood. his mom made you take home a tupperware of kimchi and a crocheted doily she claimed she made for whoever he married one day. she said she just had a feeling it was going to be you, and jaehyun turned red.

it turned out that weddings—real weddings—took a lot more time to plan than y/n had expected. even with jaehyun’s calming presence and the help of a surprisingly competent wedding planner, the months passed like petals falling from a tree: softly, quickly, too beautifully to hold onto.
they settled on march 28. it gave them just enough time to breathe, to build, to dream together.
from the moment they told everyone—first their friends, then their families, and finally, in a hilariously formal email, the entire company—the whirlwind began. the announcement caused a stir so loud in the office that y/n had to leave her desk just to get some peace.
the directivos were equally shocked, though mostly amused. her supervisor just nodded sagely, like he’d been betting on this since the beginning.
“you two were always ‘too in sync’,” he said, raising his coffee mug in mock toast. “i give it six months before one of you becomes the other's boss at home too.”
and then came the parents.
jaehyun’s mother cried when she met y/n, tears slipping down her cheeks as she hugged her tight and whispered in korean, “you’re even more beautiful than he said. and i knew he was in love the first time he said your name.”
her own parents, after recovering from the initial shock, became obsessively involved in the planning, sending flower samples, playlist suggestions, and opinions on wedding favors at all hours of the day. but none of it was overwhelming. not with jaehyun there, always pulling her back into calm. always making sure this was their wedding, not anyone else’s.
they chose a venue outside the city—a small vineyard with soft hills, blooming wisteria, and golden light that melted everything it touched. march 28 arrived with the scent of earth and lilac, a warm wind, and the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.
y/n stood before a mirror in a white gown that made her feel like everything good in the world had been sewn together just for her. she could hear the quiet rustle of guests arriving, the soft music playing in the distance, the laughter of children running between the rows of flowers.
and then, jaehyun.
when she saw him waiting at the altar, dressed in a suit that fit like second skin, with his hair slightly tousled and a look in his eyes that could undo galaxies—she forgot how to breathe.
he mouthed “you’re perfect” as she walked down the aisle.
she mouthed “you’re mine.”
the ceremony was intimate, emotional, wrapped in vows that made everyone cry—even jungwoo, who tried to play it off by pretending he had allergies.
“i promise to protect your dreams as fiercely as my own,” jaehyun said, voice trembling slightly, “and to always make sure your pizza has the right amount of potato crust, even when we’re eighty.”
“i promise to choose you, even on the days we forget how lucky we are,” y/n replied, tears in her eyes. “and to never let the fire between us die, even when we’re old and gray.”
they kissed.
and the world felt new again.
their first dance was under strings of fairy lights, barefoot on the grass. the song was soft, a slow jazz tune that jaehyun had played for her once in the car when she’d been crying. now, with her head against his chest, they swayed like the wind had been made just for them.
“we did it,” she whispered.
“we did,” he said. “and i’d marry you again tomorrow if i could.”
the honeymoon came a few days later. they chose santorini, greece, not for the postcard beauty or luxury, but because y/n had once told him, offhandedly, that she always dreamed of watching the sun melt into the sea from a white rooftop. he remembered.
their suite was perched on a cliff, overlooking the caldera, with white walls and blue domes and windows that opened to eternity. the first night, they sat on the balcony with a bottle of wine, their feet touching, their hands always searching for each other.
they kissed under sunsets and made love under stars. they danced in narrow streets, shared kisses between sips of ouzo, fed each other olives and sweet baklava. they were ridiculous. and in love. and utterly themselves.
“this is the life i want,” y/n whispered one night, tangled in cotton sheets, her cheek against his chest.
“then it’s the life we’ll have,” jaehyun said. “forever.”
and this time, forever didn’t sound like a fairytale.
it sounded like a promise.

three years passed like chapters in a love letter—written slowly, lived fully.
you and jaehyun made a home out of a sleek little apartment tucked into the rhythm of the city. it was all black wood and soft gray, velvet cushions and open windows where sunlight poured in like gold. it wasn’t big, but it held your whole world. your toothbrushes leaned against each other. your shoes tangled by the door. your laughter lived in the walls.
mornings were sleepy and soft—coffee mugs clinking, your legs wrapped around his under the kitchen table, newspaper pages ignored in favor of each other’s eyes. nights were even softer—blankets twisted around you, movie soundtracks playing in the background while your fingers danced across his skin. the kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures—just the warmth of his palm on your thigh and the way he said “come here” like home itself.
but then, one evening, the quiet changed.
you were in the bathroom. pacing. heart in your throat. your phone timer ticked like thunder in the silence. the test rested on the sink, small and still—like it held the weight of the universe. you sat on the edge of the tub, knees pulled up, trying to breathe.
when the timer stopped, you moved like you were underwater. slow. hesitant. scared.
two pink lines.
you stared. blinked. stared again.
your lips parted, the shape of a whisper you couldn’t form. your hands trembled, and for a moment, the whole world tilted—just you and that tiny piece of plastic and everything it now meant.
you stepped out of the bathroom, barefoot, holding the test like it might shatter.
jaehyun was on the couch, lounging with his phone, one leg bent lazily, hair tousled from running his hand through it too many times. he looked up. paused. frowned softly. “baby… what is it?”
you didn’t answer right away. just walked toward him—slow, like the floor might disappear—and placed the test in his hand.
“we’re gonna be parents!!”
the silence cracked. and then—
jaehyun surged forward, arms wrapping around you so tight you gasped. he lifted you off the ground, spinning you around the living room like a kid on christmas morning, laughter bursting from his chest, from yours, from some place deep inside where all the hope had been hiding.
you were both crying. laughing. kissing. saying “we did it!” over and over again like a prayer you never thought you’d get to say out loud. he pressed his forehead to yours, voice shaking, “we’re having a baby.”
“we’re having our baby,” you whispered.
months passed like petals falling from a blooming tree.
you were glowing. exhausted, but glowing.
your blush-pink maternity dress clung gently to your growing belly, printed with tiny white florals that made jaehyun smile every time he saw you in it. your feet were bare, your ankles swollen, your back ached constantly—but he was always there, hands rubbing your spine, lips on your shoulder, whispering, “you’re magic, you know that?”
the nursery was nearly finished—lavender walls painted with care, gold stars twinkling on the ceiling, and a soft mobile that played lullabies like stardust. the crib waited, delicate and perfect, with a plush bunny nestled in the corner.
jaehyun was kneeling by the dresser, sweat on his brow, tongue between his teeth as he finished the final drawer. he looked up, eyes finding you immediately, and god—he looked at you like the whole sky lived inside your smile.
“she’s gonna love this room,” he said, standing to press a hand to your belly. his palm warm. grounding. full of quiet awe. “our little moon.”
you leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “i hope she gets your eyes,” you whispered.
he smiled, eyes soft with wonder. “and your heart,” he murmured. “especially your heart.”
the room went quiet again—except for the soft hum of the mobile spinning slowly above the crib. gold stars turned, catching the light.
and in that moment, just one suspended, breathless moment, everything was still.
you. him. her.
and the love that built it all.
finally. completely.
beautifully yours.
#nct#nct 127 smut#jaehyun angst#jaehyun fic#jaehyun fluff#jaehyun scenarios#jaehyun smut#jaehyun#jung jaehyun#jeong jaehyun#nct jaehyun#jaehyun dad#nct masterlist#nct fic#nct dream#nct smut#nct 127#nct 127 fluff#nct 127 imagines#nct angst#nct blurbs#nct dad#nct dad!au#nct fanfiction#nct fluff#nct husband#nct scenarios#nct x reader#nct pregnant#nct reactions
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Hi!
I really love your previous Mark's 'fanfic! Could you maybe write a similar thing about that? My idea is a Johnny fanfic where he fucks you in slow, deep, sensual missionary and suddenly makes you squirt for the first time when he's still inside of you. You feel so embarrassed, but Johnny realizes that it's so sexy, hot, and addictive. Thanks.
elia ! : tysm nonie!! i love this idea sm i hope u enjoy ><
⏜💬. 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 ﹙ 𝖬𝖣𝖭𝖨 𝟣𝟪+ ﹚ ⠀◞ ◟ 𓂃 𝖻𝖾𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 / 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑 , 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 , 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍!𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 . 𝘄𝓬 𝟢.𝟧𝗄
johnny’s fingers stay laced with yours the entire time. it was grounding, the way he presses your intertwined hands into the pillows above your head. the sheer size of him making you feel fully pinned down. his broad chest grazing yours, his entire body a blanket of heat and pleasure.
you moan into his kiss when he thrusts into you deep again. almost painfully slow.
“fuck,” you pant out, your voice already diminished to a whisper. your body twitching as he holds you down, letting you feel every thick inch of him dragging out of you before sinking back in. his lips were shiny and plump from kissing you, irises swelling with a darker, lustier gaze.
“you feel that, baby?” his voice is strained. “how deep i am?”
you nod, chest rising and falling fast. your legs are trembling on either side of his waist. you’ve been so sensitive, constantly full, since he started.
“so fuckin’ tight,” he damn nearly growls, pressing your hands down harder into the mattress. “you’re taking me so well. just look at you.”
your lashes flutter open again. and the sight of him alone, almost makes you sob out in pleasure. his long and wavy hair all messy, his heart-shaped lips all plump and parted, his arms that flex as they hold you down.
“johnny—“ your manager to voice. “i can’t— it’s too much.”
his eyes soften for only half a second as he leans down to kiss your temple. following, he rolls his hips hard again, and murmurs low against your skin, “you can. you will. and you’re gonna let go for me, aren’t you?”
the sensation and pressure is all too dizzying. too much, too hot. your thighs try to close back together but he pushes them even wider in return. he groans when he catches the sight of how soaked you are.
“shit—feels like you’re gonna come again,” he pants, hips starting to move faster now. “you’re shaking, baby.”
you bury your face in the crook of his neck. and it’s so good you could cry. his cock keeps hitting that sweet little spot and the knot low in your belly is already snapping tight.
before you could stop it, your whole body jerks hard. a sudden rush of wet heat spills out of you and you let out a noise mixed between a whimper and a gasp.
“johnny—oh my god!”
your eyes dart up to him in complete panic, your cheeks burning a dark shade of pink. your voice gets incredibly smaller. “i didn’t mean to—“
“oh my god.” he thrusts once more, still deep as ever trying to savor it. “you just squirted for me.”
the look on his face says it all, staring down at the mess you just made all over both of you.
you squirm under him, trying to hide your face, more so your embarrassment, your legs still trembling. “that’s so embarrassing…”
“no. you know how hot that is?”
you whimper for the nth time, stunned by how his voice sounds now. it was rough, addicted.
babe,” he groans out, “you made a mess all over me. and i’m still inside you.” he starts to rock his hips again, making you cry out. the squelching of your pussy urging him to keep going. “you’re gonna do it for me again, okay? show me how good it feels.”
© ELIASOIR ⠀──all rights reserved.
#© 𝖤𝖫𝗂𝖠𝖲𝖮𝗂𝖱 !#please remember to leave feedback and reblog if you enjoyed! <3#nct 127 drabbles#nct 127 imagines#nct drabbles#nct 127 hard hours#nct 127 x reader#nct 127 fanfic#nct 127 smut#nct 127#johnny suh#johnny suh x reader#johnny suh x you#johnny suh x fem reader#johnny x reader#johnny smut#johnny imagines#johnny oneshots#nct johnny#nct johnny smut#nct johnny imagines#nct johnny x reader#kpop x reader#kpop smut#kpop fluff#kpop fanfic#nct fluff#johnny nct#johnny suh fanfic#johnny suh smut
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“take what’s yours, birthday boy.”
synopsis -> what do you get your boyfriend for his birthday when he already has everything? simple. free use of your body.
words: 7.5k
warnings: smut! but also super fluffy guys i was smiling while writing this. lots of sex. on the bed! on the kitchen counter! in the shower! in a van! oral (f receiving). cockwarming.
an: happy 26th birthday to the love of my life, the best boy in the entire universe, mark lee!!! i hope he’s having lots of nasty sex in real life…my first gift to all of you today <3
—
your boyfriend was gentle by nature. soft-spoken. warm-hearted. the type to tuck your hair behind your ear after kissing you breathless. the type to rub circles on your back while you cried at sad movies. the type to ask, “are you sure, baby?” even if you were already grinding on his lap.
mark never took. he always asked. always offered. always worshipped.
so as soon as the clock struck midnight, you handed him his birthday card with the words: free use. all day. no limits. i’m all yours.
mark blinked, rubbing the back of his neck in that shy way of his, half-asleep, hair a little messy. then he looked up from the card, a little dazed, a lot shocked, “you’re kidding.”
you shook your head, a tiny smirk playing on your lips, “happy birthday, baby,” you said softly.
he laughed, nervous, boyish, “babe. you know i…i can’t treat you like that.”
you stepped closer towards him, your (his) oversized t-shirt falling over your shoulder, teasing like it was part of the script, “you don’t have to be rough. just…take what you want. don’t hold back.”
he swallowed hard, trying not to look at your exposed shoulders, “i just…i don’t know my own strength…i don’t want to hurt you.”
“you won’t. i trust you,” you say making your way over to straddle him, fingers softly gliding across his collarbone.
he looked like he was fighting a battle inside. his thumb brushed the edge of the card again, the other settling on your lower back, “you’re seriously saying….i can do whatever i want?”
“all day,” you whispered, leaning closer, brushing your lips against his, “anytime. anywhere. no rules.”
his eyes dropped to your mouth, “you’re killing me.”
“then kill me back,” you whispered, taking his hand and dragging it under your shirt, placing it on your breast, “i’m yours. however you want.”
something shifted in his eyes, something slow and dangerous, like someone had opened a locked door inside him. he stared at you for a long moment, his grip tightening around your breast, earning a soft moan from you, then his voice lowered, “take off the shirt.”
you obeyed. his breath hitched as you pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere on the carpeted floors, baring yourself completely in the dim bedroom light, nipples perking as soon as the cool air hit your bare chest.
“you’re sure?”
you nodded, “yes, mark.”
silence. then, in one, quick motion, he flipped you over. your back hit the sheets, lying flat, legs slightly parted. his eyes locked between your thighs and his jaw clenched.
“you really mean it?”
you nodded, whispering, “take what’s yours, birthday boy.”
mark peeled his shirt off, revealing the lean muscle you knew so well, arm flexing slightly as he dropped his sweats just enough to free his hardening cock. then his gaze focused back on you with something darker, “look at you,” he murmured, brushing your hair back, “lying here like a pretty little present.”
he kissed you then. deep and possessive. then this hand was between your legs, fingers dragging through your folds, already wet and leaking for him.
“you’re filthy, baby,” he groaned with awe, with hunger, “you really do want this. letting me use you like a toy.”
the words stole the air from your lungs. without a warning, he slid a finger inside, then a second, you moaned out his name, hips bucking up, but he used his free hand to press your stomach down.
“i’ve been holding back with you,” he said quietly, voice low with restrained fire, “always so careful. always gentle. you know how hard that is?”
you whimpered, legs twitching. he pulled his fingers out, the sudden lack of contact making you whine. he brought them to his lips, sucking your arousal clean while holding your gaze.
then he pressed the tip of of his rock hard cock against your entrance, slow, teasing, eyes locked on yours, “i am sweet, baby,” he murmured, “but don’t forget—i’m still a man. and i’ve got a lot of things i’ve been wanting to do to you.”
he bottomed out in one deep thrust. the stretch was unbearable in the best way. he was all the way inside you in a second, cock pressed so deep you could hardly breathe. mark stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, braced above you with both arms planted on either side of your head. his face was a warzone of hesitation and hunger. eyes flickering between guilt and something darker.
“fuck,” he whispered, “you feel so good.” his hips twitched. then he moved, just once, a slow drag out and a firm push back in, that made your mouth fall open around a silent gasp. he did it again. then again. a deep, tight rhythm. controlled. intense. measured like he was testing himself, seeing what it would take to break.
then you looked at him. eyes wide, lips swollen, hands fisting the sheets as your breath hitched in time with every thrust. that’s when it happened. that switch inside him completely flipped. just like that. he saw how desperate you were, how pliant, how much you wanted this. not just the sweet boyfriend. not just the gentle lover. you wanted the version of him he kept locked away.
he groaned like something had been torn loose from his chest. and suddenly, he was gripping your hips, dragging you even closer to him, your back arching from the force.
“yeah?” he growled, voice deeper now, darker, grinding with a brutal thrust this time, “this what you wanted, baby?” you couldn’t answer. only moan out his name like it was the only word you knew.
he leaned over you, one hand grabbing your jaw, forcing your mouth open, “words, baby. use them. you wanted to give yourself to me? say it.”
“i-i do, mark, i—ahh!—”
he fucked you deeper. harder. his mouth crashed into yours in a bruising kiss like he owned you. and when he pulled back, you were panting, dazed, wrecked.
he smirked, “thought i’d be too sweet to do this?,” he muttered, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand. you moaned under him body squirming, unable to move.
“thought i couldn’t fuck you like this? hold you down? make you sob on my cock?,” his hips slammed into yours, fast and punishing now. the sound of skin on skin echoing throughout your shared bedroom, obscene and wet and desperate.
you whimpered, so close, body arched beneath him. mark was watching you, eyes locked on your fluttering lashes, your bitten lip, your tits bouncing with every thrust.
“god, look at you,” he breathed, “so fucking pretty like this.”
his free hand slipped down, rubbing your clit in fast, tight circles and you shattered. your whole body seized, legs locking around him, eyes rolling back. you sobbed his name as the wave crashed over you so hard you nearly passed out.
“shit—shit—you’re so fucking tight like this,” he groaned. he barely held it together a few more thrusts before he cursed under his breath and buried himself deep, hips jerking as he came inside you with a low, filthy growl.
you both froze, trembling. he collapsed slowly on top of you, breath hot against your neck, arms locked around your body. minutes passed. only the sound of your panting could be heard.
“....i think i liked that too much,” he murmured, still catching his breath.
you giggled weakly, completely limp beneath him, “you think?”
mark kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck, then lower. he didn’t bother with aftercare. just pulled you into his chest, legs sticky with his release as sleep pulled you both under.
7:15 AM
you woke up to sunlight creeping through the curtains, golden and quiet. the room still smelled like sex and skin and sweat. you stirred under the covers, stretching lazily, ready to start the day, but the second you moved, mark shifted slightly, the slow drag of his fingers over your hip making goosebumps rise.
then, low and husky, still thick with sleep, his voice rumbled in your ear, “where do you think you’re going?”
you froze, not in fear, but in anticipation. you felt the smile on his lips before he even kissed your shoulder. you turned your head, eyes meeting his, and what you saw wasn’t the hesitant mark from last night.
this mark was completely aware of the power you’d handed over. and he wasn’t done with you.
“still my birthday,” he murmured, propping himself up on one elbow. his hand slid down your back, fingertips ghosting over your ass, “which means…” you turned onto your back slowly, heart racing, “you’re still mine to use.”
his hair is messy, voice soft, but he was looking at you like you were his prey. he reached under the blanket, fingers slipping between your thighs, pressing into your still-swollen folds. you gasped immediately.
“still so fucking sensitive,” he whispered, eyes darkening, “did i do that?”
you nodded.
his gaze flicked to your lips. “good.”
then he leaned in, kissed you tenderly, and whispered, “get on top.”
“i wanna watch you ride me,” he murmured, sliding onto his back. you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to but because your body was still sore and he knew it. that’s why he smiled. that smug, irresistible, mark lee smile.
“what’s wrong baby?,” he said, resting his hands behind his head like a king, “taking back your birthday gift? already?”
you rolled your eyes before crawling over him, straddling his hips. his cock was already semi-hard, thick and hot against your inner thigh.
mark’s hands came to rest on your waist, squeezing gently. his thumb brushed your ribs, soothing and grounding. you reached down and wrapped your hand around him, slowly stroking him to full hardness.
he groaned, low and guttural, eyes glued to the motion, “yeah, just like that,” he murmured, “warm me up, baby.”
once he was fully hard, you lifted your hips, lined him up, and slowly sank down. the stretch burned. your hands gripped his chest as your walls tried to adjust, your jaw dropping in shaky gasp.
“take it,” he whispered, voice firm, “let me see you take all of it.”
you whimpered as you slowly took all of him in, thighs trembling with every added inch. he was so deep, hitting that sore spot from the night before. he kept you still, letting you feel every inch of him.
“fuck, baby,” he breathed, “you feel even tighter in the morning.”
you tried to move, just a little, and he let you, just enough to roll your hips. his hands guided you, controlling your pace, “not too fast,” he warned, “i want you to feel every stroke.”
you moaned as he filled you over and over again, the slow grind of your hips meeting his sending shocks up your spine.
“that’s it,” mark murmured, “you’re doing so good for me. so fucking good.”
then he sat up, chest pressed to yours, arms wrapping around your waist as he thrust up into you hard and you cried out, clutching onto him. he groaned against your neck, voice thick and desperate, “you make me lose my fucking mind,” he whispered, “you know that?”
you nodded, gasping, “mark—please—”
“you gonna come for me?”
“yes–yes, i–fuck–yes—”
“you’ve got thirty seconds,” he said, “you better fucking come.” he held you tighter, hand slipping between your bodies to rub on your clit. your orgasm hit immediately. you screamed his name, falling apart in his arms, body pulsing around him like a vice.
mark moaned, fucking you through it, his rhythm breaking, “shit–baby–fuck–i’m coming–” he pulled you down onto him fully, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you again.
you both stayed there. tangled. trembled. sweaty and full and wrecked. after a moment, he leaned back, brushing your damp hair from your face.
“i think this is the best gift i’ve ever gotten.”
9:30AM
your muscles ached deliciously as you padded into the kitchen, barefoot, wearing nothing but mark’s shirt, oversized, warm from his body, hanging off your shoulder and swaying with every step. your thighs still stuck a little when you moved — slick, sore, full of his cum.
and still…you wanted to take care of him.
so you rummaged through the kitchen, grabbing the eggs, pancake mix, and butter. you started heating the pan, humming to yourself, moving slowly.
you didn’t hear him walk in. didn’t feel him until his arms wrapped around your waist, his chest pressing against your back, warm and bare.
you gasped softly, startled, but he just buried his nose into your neck and groaned, “you’re making breakfast?,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep, “looking like this?”
you smiled, relaxing into him. he pulled back just enough to see you, eyes roaming slowly over his oversized shirt, the curve of your bare thighs, the way the hem barely covered your ass.
“nope,” his voice was firm as he muttered to himself, hands already sliding under the fabric, “no. no way. you don’t walk around like this and expect me not to lose my mind.”
“mark–”
“jump on the counter.”
your eyes widened.
“i–wait, baby, the eggs—”
“counter. now.”
the tone in his voice made your stomach flip, low, commanding, no hesitation. you obeyed instantly, turning around and hoisting yourself up onto the counter. the marble was cool against your skin as your legs dangled off the edge.
mark stepped between them, “open up for me.”
you spread your legs. his eyes dropped and darkened. your pussy was still shining with arousal. he leaned in, kissing your knee, then your thigh, then higher, and higher, never breaking eye contact. you released a sigh when his breath hit your core.
“thought i’d let you cook,” he murmured, hot against your skin, “but you’re in here dripping, wearing my shirt, humming like you didn’t just take my cock two hours ago?” he licked you once, slow and deep.
you gasped, “mark—”
he gripped your thighs and buried his face between them, tongue lapping hungrily, licking up his own release before focusing on you, “you taste like me,” he groaned, “fuck, that’s hot.”
he moaned into your cunt, eating like a man possessed, his tongue swirling around your clit before sliding back down to fuck you with it. you collapsed back onto your elbows, head thrown back, breath coming out in broken gasps.
“y-you’re gonna make me come again–”
“good,” he growled, “come all over my fucking face” he didn’t stop, tongue fast and messy, alternating pressure, sucking your clit between his lips until your thigs shook violently around his head. you came with a cry, body arching off the counter, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.
mark didn’t let you rest. the second your body started twitching from the overstimulation, he stood, mouth slick, cock already hard and leaking against his abs. his hands made it’s way to your waist, helping you jump off the counter before he spun you around, bending you forward, chest flat to the cold marble stone, ass up.
you gasped as you felt the tip of his cock drag through your folds, “you shouldn’t have teased me like that,” he whispered, pushing in. you moan, hands scrambling for purchase on his hips as he bottomed out.
“you knew what you were doing,” he said, starting to move, “my shirt. bare legs. cooking like a perfect little wife.” his hips snapped forward.
“you don’t need to feed me,” he groaned, “you’re already all i fucking want to eat.” he set a brutal pace, hands gripping your hips, cock pounding into your soaked cunt from behind.
“mark—baby—fuck—”
“you hear that?” he gasped, “that wet little sound every time i fuck into you?”
you couldn’t speak. could only moan. your body convulsed with every word. he reached under, fingers circling your clit with expert pressure. he knew exactly how to touch you. exactly how to ruin you in seconds.
“let go. give it to me.” you exploded with a scream, body wrecked with aftershocks, juices flooding down your thighs. mark groaned loudly and came seconds later, hips jerking as he emptied inside you for the second time that morning.
you slumped over against the counter, wrecked. mark leaned over your back, kissing your shoulder, then he whispered, “okay. now we can make pancakes.”
mark’s cum dripped slowly down your thighs. you felt used. claimed. so thoroughly ruined you could hardly lift your head. and yet, behind you, mark was humming.
you binked hazily when you felt a warm towel press between your thighs. he crouched down, tender now, carefully cleaning the mess he’d made. the shift in him was stark — from filthy to loving, dominant to gentle, like a switch flipped back to your mark.
10:45AM
you were washing the dishes now when mark’s arms wrapped around your waist again, exhaling into your neck, warm and soft, “i really need to shower before i go,” he mumbled lazily, lips grazing your shoulder. he had a schedule at 11:30AM. his manager was already on the way to pick him up.
“then go,” you giggled, “i’ll finish up here on my own.”
but he didn’t move away. he just tightened his grip around your waist. and without another word, no warning, no question, he shut the water off and lifted you straight off the ground. you almost dropped the plate in your hand.
“mark?!?!” you let out a surprised squeal as he hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. you smacked his back half-heartedly, laughing breathlessly, “your mom gave us those plates!”
he swatted your ass, hard enough to sting, “you think i care?” he didn’t. not really not when he was already carrying you straight into the bathroom like a man on a mission.
the water was running by the time your back hit the wall of the shower. you were pinned there, mark’s hands gripping your thighs, holding you up against the wall. your breath hitched as the warm water sprayed your shoulders, his cock pressed between your legs, already hard.
he kissed you desperately. his tongue pushed into your mouth like he needed more of you before the time slipped through his fingers. his grip on your thighs tightened. water poured over both of you as steam rose around your bodies, making the world feel hot and dizzy.
he didn’t ask. didn’t wait. he just took.
mark shifted his hips and thrust up into you in one swift, brutal stroke. your head slammed gently back against the tile, a moan tearing from your throat as he bottomed out inside you, filling you completely.
“fuck,” he hissed, forehead pressed to yours, “you’re still so fucking tight baby.”
“you didn’t even warn me,” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders, legs locking tighter around his waist.
he grunted, lifting you all the way out before slamming you back down, forcing another cry from your lips.
“didn’t need to,” he growled, “still my birthday,” he panted, his pace picking up, rough, relentless, fast like he was trying to beat the hands of time.
each thrust pounded you against the slick tile wall, the slap of his hips echoing in the shower stall. your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he slammed into you again and again in punishing thrusts. the steam made everything hotter.
mark’s mouth found your neck, sucking bruises into your skin while his hands gripped your ass, using you like a toy, fucking you into the wall over and over again.
“i’ve always wanted to try this,” he groaned. he kissed you again, swallowing your moans, thrusts going erratic now, desperate.
your body started to lock up. you cried out, clinging to him as your vision went white, walls sucking him in incredibly tight. mark cursed under his breath and drove into you once, twice, three more times before spilling inside you with a low broken moan.
he didn’t pull out. didn’t let you down. he just held you there, trembling, forehead resting against yours, water cascading down your bodies as you both panted against each other.
then he kissed you again, slow, deep and finally let you down on shaking legs.
you blinked up at him, cheeks flushed, hair soaked and clinging to your face, “you’re gonna miss call time.”
he looked at you, eyes widening, “shit. i am.”
you burst out laughing as he stumbled out of the shower, dripping wet, yanking a towel around his waist.
“go, go!,” you shouted after him, grabbing a second towel and throwing it at his head. he barely caught it mid- jog, nearly slipping on the tiles.
after a chaotic ten minutes of rushed dressing, frantic cologne spritzing and muttering curses about his phone blowing up, mark was finally ready. hoodie zipped. shorts on. bag over his shoulders.
you stood by the front door, arms crossed, watching him with the softest smile. he looked back once before grabbing the doorknob, eyes landing on you — you’re in one of his shirts again, skin glowing, lips kiss-bitten, collarbone marked up from where his mouth had been not long ago, making it very, very hard for him to leave.
he walked over, just for a second, just to kiss you again. this one slow. gentle. soft. his thumb brushed your cheek, his lips lingering against yours, “thank you,” he whispered, voice warm and filled with love.
you nodded, whispering, “of course. have the best birthday, baby.”
he looked like he wanted to stay. like his body was halfway out the door but his heart was still standing there in front of you. then — his phone rang for the umpteenth time. his manager’s name popping up again.
“shit, shit, shit,” mark muttered, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.
“okay. i love you. i’ll text you when i get there. don’t miss me too much, wait for me naked!”
you rolled your eyes, laughing as he opened the door and sprinted out to the elevators.
“i always miss you too much!” you shouted after him, watching as he tore barefoot down the condo hallway, shoes in hand, hoodie flying, yelling something about forgetting his socks. he still made it to the car on time. barely. but he did it with wet hair, sore legs and the biggest fucking smile on his face.
1:27PM
somewhere on set, surrounded by lights, mics, cameras and twenty something grown men, mark stood in a branded NCT2025 shirt and cargo pants, watching jeno film his solo segment with perfect professionalism.
but mark was dying. his jaw clenched. his leg bounced. his eyes drifted around the room between his phone and the sound guy trying to fix a rogue mic wire under doyoung’s shirt. some of the boys looked focus. patient. some looked bored.
he’s sure he looked like a man who had tasted heaven and was now being punished for it. he didn’t even realize he was sighing out loud until chenle elbowed him gently and whispered, “dude. you good?”
mark blinked. then muttered under his breath, “this is such a fucking waste of a birthday gift.”
jisung raised a brow beside him, “what birthday gift?”
mark didn’t answer, just unlocked his phone and opened your messages.
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: can we pause time on that birthday gift?
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: like stop the clock?
markie 🐯🩵🕸️ : i feel like im losing hours
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: i could be buried inside you right now
he kept on texting.
markie 🐯🩵🕸️ : baby, where are you?
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: im so serious
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: they’re making me rehearse lines like bro i don’t care about the script
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: i wanna fuck you against every corner of our house
he sighed. waiting for you to read his messages. the camera crew was repositioning. sion was getting powdered. haechan was whining about how hungry he was. but all mark could think about was your moans.
then your reply came in.
baby 🌷💗: birthdays don’t work like that, markie
baby 🌷💗: no pauses. no time outs.
mark had to bite back a groan. his hand flew up to cover his face as his ears turned red. he typed back fast.
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: don’t you think it’s a little unfair baby?
markie 🐯🩵🕸️: i miss your pussy more than i miss sleep
baby 🌷💗: sent a voice note
he glanced around, paranoid, then pressed play quietly, holding the phone to his ear. your voice poured in. sweet. sultry. the audio was low, but the words still wrecked him.
“mmm, you miss this pussy, baby? maybe you should’ve skipped work and stayed inside me.”
mark choked.
“mark!,” yuta called out from across the set, “they’re calling you to camera two!”
“y-yeah, yeah!,” mark stammered, already tucking his phone into his pocket, adjusting his pants like a man trying not to commit a crime as he walked toward the camera, mumbling to himself, “god, i’m never having a birthday again. not unless i get to spend all 24 hours inside her.”
behind the camera, ten whispered to johnny, “he’s spiraling.”
johnny just shook his head, amused. and mark stepped into frame with the dazed look of a man who had been kissed, sucked, fucked, wrecked and then dropped off at work like it was any other day. he was counting the minutes until he could go back home and ruin you all over again.
6:30PM
mark was on the verge of collapse. he’d danced the same chorus 28 times. shot around 8 solo takes, 7 group takes (for each group) and pretended to smile when someone brought out a birthday cake as his members ridiculously sang him a happy birthday.
everyone else was still filming. still vibing. still stretching. meanwhile, mark was sitting next to one of the tents, sulking like a teenager who got grounded. his phone buzzed again. this time, it was his manager.
manager hyung: hey can you grab the prop bag in the van? back left.
mark blinked at the screen.
mark: why me 😭😭
mark: im literally in the middle of my suffering
but no reply. he groaned out loud, already stomping off set, still so disciplined. he reached the van, grumbling, half ready to fight someone, already imagining himself getting yelled at for grabbing the wrong bag — then he opened the door. and froze.
there you were, sitting all the way in the back, legs crossed in a tiny skirt, your shirt had a tiny little bow on it. his most perfect birthday gift.
his heart stopped. his scowl crumbled in real time.
“what are you…” he exhaled, stunned, “what are you doing here?”
you tilted your head, all innocent mischief, “well, i’m not completely evil, baby.”
he blinked. “i thought about what you said earlier,” you went on, trailing a finger up your thigh, slowly, “and you’re right. it is a little unfair.”
mark’s eyes widened, “wait—”
you smiled, biting your lip, “your manager said you’ve got fifteen minutes,” you leaned forward, “think that’s enough?”
mark’s brain short circuited. he didn’t waste a second. the sliding door slammed shut. you were spun before you could even tease him again, his hands already on your hips, with a grip so tight you were sure there would be bruises tomorrow.
he pushed you down on all fours. you gasped, bracing your palms on the leather seats as he yanked your skirt up and tugged your panties to the side, not even bothering to remove it.
“fuck—” he hissed, dropping to his knees behind you, immediately diving in with his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe through your folds.
“mark—shit—”
he growled, pushing his cargo pants down, “we’re you planning this all day?”
you moaned out a breathless yes, pushing your ass towards his bulge. that was all it took. he freed his cock, already hard, already twitching and lined himself up behind you.
“fifteen minutes?” he muttered, gripping your waist, “i’ll make it count.”
then he thrust in, the sudden fullness so shocking you whimpered out his name. mark grunted, slamming in to the hilt and didn’t pause. his hips snapped into yours fast, hard, fucking you like there’s no tomorrow.
“been losing my mind all fucking day,” he gasped, “watching you in my head—remembering how hot you looked in the shower—how you shook on the counter—”
your arms trembled as you tried to hold yourself up from his relentless force.
“i swear to god,” he growled, “if this van falls over, i won’t even stop.”
his cock pistoned into you, deep and brutal, hitting that spot that made you cry out with every thrust. your thighs trembled as the obscene sounds of wet skin, breathless moans, mark’s filthy grunts filled the space. both of you didn’t even care if anyone walked by and heard.
one of his hands came up your chest, hoisting you up towards him. the new angle making you see stars, “you gonna come for me, baby?” he panted against your ear, one hand slipping down your body to rub your clit through your soaked panties, fast and rough, his cock never slowing down, “gonna cream all over my cock like the good girl you are?”
you nodded frantically, sobbing his name as the pressure in your gut snapped like a rubber band. your orgasm hit you loud and messy, your whole body shaking, head falling back into the curve of his neck as you melted in his hold, pussy still clinging on to him.
“shit—baby—fuck—,” he choked, then he slammed into you one last time, cock twitched as he came deep inside, spilling everything he had with a strangled moan into your pulsing heat.
the van went quiet. mark pulled out, breathing hard, gently tugging your underwear back in place and letting it collect your shared juices as he sat you in between his legs.
“you okay?,” he whispered, kissing your temple, a hand softly rubbing your stomach.
you nodded still catching your breath.
“that was the best fifteen minutes of my life,” he said breathlessly.
you turned to look at him with a little smirk, “think that’s enough to get you through the rest of the night?”
mark let out a low groan, rolling his eyes like he was actually in pain, “barely,” he muttered, “you better be ready and waiting for me at home,” he cupped your jaw, turning you to face him.
“i’m planning to use every last fucking second,” he whispered against your lips. then he smirked, pulling away, carefully fixing your hair and adjusting your skirt, “now i’m gonna go before i get hard again and say fuck it to the rest of filming.”
you laughed as he slipped out the van doors, saying one more thing before the door shut, “i’ll be in our bed. naked.”
mark groaned. loudly.
he had just stepped back onto set, hoodie rumpled, hair tousled, his smile lazy and satisfied when renjun narrowed his eyes at him, “you get the prop bag?”
mark blinked. then froze. “oh shit,” he mumbled, eyes widening, “i forgot.”
jungwoo snorted immediately, “how? it’s the only reason you left set!”
mark was already spinning on his heel, jogging backward with a sheepish grin, “sorry! i’ll get it, i got…uh…distracted!”
“by what?!,” renjun called after him.
“uhmm…the sky!,” mark shouted, already halfway to the parking lot.
you were just a few steps from your car, parked a little further down from the van, fiddling with your keys, when you heard hurried footsteps behind you. you turned, expecting maybe a staff member. instead, you find your boyfriend jogging toward you with an adorably panicked expression.
“forgot the bag!” mark called out breathless.
you laughed, “seriously?”
he nodded, catching up to you, still panting a little, “i had tunnel vision. all i saw was you. the bag might’ve been there. or a unicorn. i wouldn’t have noticed.”
you rolled your eyes with a fond smile, “you’re a disaster.”
mark stepped closer, lowering his voice as he glanced around the lot, “but i really only came back cause i realized something.”
“what?”
“i forgot to do this,” he whispered, and before you could react, he cupped your face and kissed you again — soft this time, sweet and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world instead of exactly zero minutes left before someone texted him in all caps.
his hand slid behind your neck, the other curling around your waist. your fingers gripped his shirt like you couldn’t help yourself.
when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours and grinned, “okay,” he exhaled, “now, i can go back to being held hostage.”
you giggled, brushing his damp hair off his forehead, and wiping your lipstick off the corner of his lips, “don’t forget the actual bag this time.”
he turned to jog back toward the van, walking backward for a second just to wink at you, “love you! go eat dinner! use my card!,” then he turned — and immediately smacked into a light pole.
you gasped, “oh my god! mark–!”
“I’M FINE!,” he shouted over his shoulder, rubbing his elbow, “see you at home!”
10:45 PM
after hours and hours of nonstop filming, choreography, lines, group scenes, solo shots, costume changes, interviews, retakes, the director finally yelled the magic words:
“alright, that’s a wrap!”
the entire nct lineup groaned in collective relief, bodies dropping to the blankets, the grass, water bottles. mark didn’t even react at first. he just blinked like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.
“…we’re done?” he whispered to no one in particular.
“we’re done,” johnny clapped a hand on his shoulder. “now go home to your girlfriend and celebrate properly.”
mark let out a weak, half-sarcastic laugh, rubbing at his aching back. “bro, i can’t even feel my legs.”
he wasn’t thinking about the birthday gift anymore. not the free use, not the teasing texts, not the filthy things he still wanted to do to you.
all he could think about now was how badly he needed to collapse.
11:00 PM
mark quietly unlocked the front door to your shared condo and slipped inside. he didn’t expect much, maybe some leftover dinner, the soft glow of the hallway light you always leave on for him, you already asleep in bed.
instead, the first thing he noticed was the smell. lavender. warm. inviting. then the soft flicker of candles down the hall. music playing faintly from the bathroom.
mark dropped his bag, “babe?” he called out softly.
“bathroom!” your voice chimed, sweet and soft. he padded forward, peeling off his hoodie, exhaustion sinking into every muscle. when he reached the bathroom, he stopped in the doorway and smiled.
you were sitting in the tub, already submerged in warm, foamy water, candles lining the counter, your hair piled into a messy bun, a glass of red wine for you and a can of beer for him resting on the ledge nearby. his towel was already laid out, fluffy and warm. the light was dim, golden, the air thick with steam.
“welcome home, birthday boy,” you said, resting your chin on the edge of the tub, “you looked like death in those last few behind-the-scenes clips your manager sent me. thought you could use this.”
mark didn’t speak at first. just stared. then…his shoulders dropped. his whole body softened.
“you’re perfect,” he murmured, stepping forward to kiss your forehead before pulling his shirt over his head, “like actually. scary perfect.”
you smiled, scooting forward to make room. he stripped off the rest of his clothes and slid in behind you with a sigh so deep it echoed off the walls. his arms came around your waist, and he pulled you back against his chest, letting his head fall onto yours.
the hot water, the scent of you, the way your fingers were already gently running along his arm, it all hit him at once.
“god,” he breathed, “this is even better than sex right now.”
you laughed quietly. “i knew you’d say that.”
he nuzzled into your neck, kissing it softly. and in that moment, tangled in warm water, candles flickering, mark felt it. not the lust. not the high from the gift. but the kind of love that made his body ache in an entirely different way.
“thanks for waiting up,” he whispered.
“always,” you replied.
the water sloshed gently around you both, the air warm and slow like honey. mark’s arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, lips brushing lazy kisses along your shoulder as he melted into you, soft, spent, and utterly at peace.
but then…his fingers started drifting. first, just tracing idle circles on your stomach. then down, dipping lower, skimming the inside of your thigh. you smiled to yourself.
“mmm,” he hummed, voice low, raspy from overuse and exhaustion, “why do you always feel so good against me?”
“you’re literally doing nothing,” you teased, turning your head slightly to glance at him.
“i know,” he groaned dramatically. “that’s the problem. i want to do everything but my body’s not cooperating.”
you giggled, turning fully in his lap, straddling him gently. his hands slid automatically to your hips, eyes flicking down and when he saw the way your bare chest glistened under the golden candlelight, he whimpered softly.
“i hate this,” he mumbled, “i’m horny and useless.”
“no, you’re not,” you whispered, reaching down between your bodies and wrapping your hand around him. mark hissed through his teeth, hips twitching slightly as his head tipped back against the edge of the tub. his cock throbbed in your grip, already halfway hard just from being close to you, from your touch alone.
“you’re still warm,” you murmured, pumping him slowly under the water, “still so big and thick like this…”
his eyes fluttered shut, “fuck, baby… don’t tease.”
“i’m not,” you said sweetly, rising just enough to guide his length to your entrance.
mark’s eyes snapped open, “wait—babe—i don’t think i can—”
“you don’t have to do anything,” you promised, sinking down slowly, letting his cock stretch you open inch by inch until he was fully inside you. he gasped. hands clenching at your waist like he couldn’t decide whether to hold on or pull you closer. you settled against him, chest pressed to his, arms curling around his neck.
“just stay like this,” you whispered. “let me keep you warm.” mark’s whole body shuddered. his face buried into your neck as a low, helpless moan escaped his lips.
“baby… you’re gonna kill me,” he murmured, voice wrecked, “you feel so fucking good.”
you held him tighter, your walls pulsing softly around him, not moving, just letting him rest inside you, heat to heat, heartbeat to heartbeat.
“i love you,” he mumbled, voice barely audible against your skin. “even when i’m too tired to move. you still make me feel like the luckiest man in the world.”
you kissed him sweetly, “i love you too,” you whispered, “you don’t have to do anything. you’ve already done enough.”
so you stayed like that for a while, cockwarming in the quiet bath, two bodies wrapped together in candlelight and warmth, breaths syncing as mark’s tired heartbeat finally began to slow.
but then… you shifted. just a little. a soft roll of your hips. the motion wasn’t intentional, just a lazy adjustment. but it was enough for your walls to squeeze around him, tight and hot and slick. enough for mark to let out a low groan, his fingers digging slightly into your hips.
you stilled instantly. “sorry,” you murmured, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “didn’t mean to—”
his voice cut in, deeper now. rougher. “do it again.”
you blinked, surprised, “i thought you were—”
“just… once more,” he whispered, already sitting up straighter, one hand sliding up your spine, the other cupping your breast as his mouth brushed over your collarbone.
then he leaned in and wrapped his lips around your nipple. you gasped, body jolting as heat rushed straight between your legs.
“mark—”
he groaned against your skin, tongue flicking lazily over the sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth, warm and wet and slow. his cock twitched inside you again, growing harder by the second.
“i was trying to behave,” he murmured, switching to your other breast, dragging his tongue in a slow circle, “but you feel too fucking good. so soft. so warm.”
your hands tangled in his hair as he kissed, sucked, and licked your chest like he’d never tasted you before. every graze of his teeth, every swirl of his tongue made your walls flutter around him.
“mark…” you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips just barely, grinding against him without lifting, “you’re getting so hard.”
he didn’t answer. not with words. instead, he moaned into your skin and gently bit down on your nipple, just enough to make you cry out, before licking over it again with a soft, wet kiss.
then he pulled back, eyes dark, jaw clenched, cock fully hard inside you now, “i was tired,” he said, voice wrecked, “now all i can think about is making you fall apart on me again.”
he didn’t say a word as he stood, the water dripping from his body in rivulets that traced the lines of his chest, his abs, his thighs. you were still straddling him when he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you easily, his cock still buried inside you, your arms flying around his neck with a surprised gasp.
“shhh,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “don’t make me waste time.”
because when he glanced at the bathroom clock on his way out, it hit him.
11:40 PM.
twenty minutes left. twenty minutes left of the best birthday gift he’d ever received. and he wasn’t about to let a second go to waste.
still dripping wet, he carried you through the condo, not caring about the trail of water behind him. you clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, wet chest pressed to his, your breathing already shaky.
the bedroom was dark but familiar. the sheets were cool when he laid you down. your hair was damp. your skin dewy and flushed. your eyes wide.
mark hovered above you, dripping onto the mattress, strands of his wet hair sticking to his forehead. his cock twitched as he slipped from you for just a moment, enough to position himself again, slow and steady, thick and pulsing as he eased back inside your aching heat.
you gasped, arms reaching for him instinctively. he hissed through his teeth, savoring the feeling, the wet sound of your bodies meeting again, the way your walls hugged him like you were made for this. for him.
“last round baby,” he murmured, “give me one more.”
you nodded, biting your lip. and then he began to move. slow. deep. rhythmic. dominant in its control. mark held your hips, grounding you to the mattress with every deliberate thrust. his forehead pressed to yours. his eyes never leaving your face.
his mouth found your neck, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. another slow, dragging thrust that made your toes curl. you were moaning, your body rising to meet his with every movement. your legs hooked over his waist. he was so deep. so good. so steady. he fucked you slow and sure.
“you gonna come with me?” he whispered against your mouth.
you nodded, eyes glassy.
“then look at me.”
you did. just as he thrust deep again and held it, grinding his hips against yours as his fingers came down and worked slow, heavy circles on your swollen clit. the pleasure spiraled sharp and sweet, building until you could barely breathe.
“i love you,” he said.
and that broke you. you came with a sob, clenching around him, your whole body arching off the bed. he moaned your name, breath shattering, hips faltering as he pushed once more and came inside you with a low, aching groan. his release was hot, flooding you, filling you up until it leaked out between your thighs.
he stayed there for a long moment. still buried inside you. breathing hard. skin to skin. wet and warm and trembling. then, gently, he leaned down and kissed you. not rushed. not desperate.
just full of love.
11:59 PM
mark pulled the covers up over both your bare bodies, tucking you in close against his chest. his skin was still warm, the faint scent of your shared bath clinging to both of you. his arms wrapped around you tightly, protectively, like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you.
he kissed the top of your head, then leaned back just enough to brush your hair from your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek.
“thanks for the best birthday gift,” he whispered, voice soft and sleepy.
you giggled quietly, eyelids fluttering as you looked up at him, “you cashed in every second, huh?”
he let out a breathless laugh, the kind that made his chest shake, “every. fucking. one.”
you smiled, snuggling closer, tucking your head under his chin.
“i love you,” you whispered, so quietly it almost got lost in the silence.
but mark heard it. he tightened his hold around you, kissed your forehead, “i love you, too…so much.”
and when the clock rolled over to 12:00 AM, sleep pulled both of you under, hearts full. no more time left on the clock. but all the time in the world left for you and him.
#mark lee x reader#mark lee smut#mark lee fluff#mark lee x you#nct dream x reader#nct dream smut#nct dream fluff#nct 127 x reader#nct 127 smut#nct 127 fluff
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𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 — Mark Lee



pairing — basketballer!mark lee! x sick!mc
genre — soft angst, healing romance, contemporary romance, slice of life
content warnings — chronic illness, heart disease, hospital setting, fainting, emotional distress, references to past surgeries, protective! male lead.
status — on-going
rating — pg-13
this fic contains heavy times of fragility, survival and quiet devotion. please take care while reading!💌
please listen to this while reading! ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙᴇᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀʟꜰᴛɪᴍᴇ
[PART ONE]

Act I : The Quiet That Lingers
The sky was still grey when Yeseul opened her eyes.
She’d barely slept — just drifted in and out of the kind of half-dreams where everything felt too real. Voices tangled in her head. Laughter that didn’t belong to her. Words she couldn’t unhear.
Her phone buzzed once.
[7:42 AM]
mork❤️ : I’m waiting outside. Take your time.
Same message. Same timing.
He always texted her exactly twelve minutes before she had to leave. Not a second earlier — because he didn’t want her to feel rushed.
Usually, she replied with a 🐇 or a 🥤. Something soft. A private language.
Today, she typed nothing.
She pulled her scarf higher, even though the weather was already turning warm. Her pulse monitor blinked calmly beside her on the nightstand. For once, it wasn’t the thing making her breath feel tight.
He was leaning against the gate, earbuds in, bag slung over one shoulder.
When he spotted her, his whole posture shifted — like he’d been holding his breath since she left her door.
“Hey.” His voice was low, warm.
She nodded. “Hey.”
He offered his hand without asking. She took it — out of habit more than comfort.
They walked in silence. Leaves skittered across the pavement. A pair of birds darted through the cherry blossom branches above them, petals still clinging stubbornly to life.
Usually, Mark would talk. About practice, or Seola’s failed attempt at sneaking cookies into the science lab, or how his coach was threatening to shave his head if he missed another meeting.
But today, he didn’t. Because Yeseul’s silence wasn’t soft.
It was tight. Pulled taut around her shoulders like her scarf.
It was the kind of silence that wasn’t letting anything in — or out.
At the campus gates, he stopped.
Yeseul didn’t.
“Yeseul.”
She turned, too quickly. “Hmm?”
He searched her face.
“Did something happen?”
“No.” She smiled. It looked perfect. Polished. Rehearsed.
He studied it — the kind of study you only do when you’ve memorized something enough to notice every flaw.
“You didn’t send me a bunny.”
She blinked.
He held up his phone. “You always send me a rabbit. Or a bubble tea. Or, like, that weird sleepy bear sticker you love.”
“I just forgot.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Her hands curled tighter around her notebook.
Mark’s voice softened. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
A pause.
“Yeseul…” His voice dropped. “You’re lying.”
The words stung more than she expected. Because they were true.
She exhaled slowly, staring past him at the school building, where students were already gathering. The noise felt too loud, the sunlight too sharp.
“There’s nothing you can fix,” she said.
“I’m not trying to fix it,” he whispered. “I just want to be where it hurts.”
That nearly undid her.
But she didn’t say anything.
Because if she did, she might not stop.
If she told him what she heard, if she told him how true it had sounded — that maybe she was too much to carry — maybe he’d finally agree.
And that was more terrifying than any surgery she’d ever had.
He didn’t push her.
He just fell into step beside her again, hands in his jacket pockets, not touching her anymore — but not leaving either.
Sometimes, love looked like staying in silence.
Even when silence was the last thing they wanted.
Act II: The Desk by the Window
Yeseul sat by the window in second period Literature, seat 3C — the one the teachers never questioned because everyone knew it was "hers."
It gave her clean air. Fewer stairs. And a quick route to the nurse's office if she ever collapsed again.
She used to like the window. It made her feel less trapped.
But today, the sun felt too bright. The dust particles in the light looked like snow. Everything was too loud, even the silence.
The teacher’s voice droned faintly over the hum of ceiling fans:
“—and as Chekhov suggests, sometimes the heart does not break in shouts or drama, but in stillness…”
Yeseul pressed her pen to the page, trying to copy notes.
But her handwriting was slower. Messier.
She blinked and found she’d written the same sentence twice:
“I am not heavy. I am not heavy.”
She crossed it out quickly.
Across the room, Mark sat two rows back — glancing at her every other minute.
She hadn’t looked at him once.
Not even when he passed her a folded paper with a sleepy cartoon bunny sketched in his handwriting.
Usually, she’d draw a reply on the back.
Today, she didn’t open it.
When the bell rang, the noise felt like a crash. She moved slower than usual, careful not to look anyone in the eye.
As she packed her bag, her hands trembled just slightly — enough for someone who knew her well to see.
🩰 Act III: Seola’s Tea and Tension
Seola found her fifteen minutes later.
In the student lounge — a quiet corner where Yeseul often waited for her driver after school.
Today, she sat alone with her cardigan pulled tight, half-finished chamomile tea on the table beside her.
Seola dropped into the seat across from her.
She didn’t say hello.
She just stared.
“…You look like a ghost.”
Yeseul blinked. “Thanks.”
“Not in a poetic way. In a literal way. Like I could put my hand through you.”
“I’m just tired.”
Seola didn’t blink. “Try again.”
Yeseul sighed. “Please don’t.”
Seola’s voice softened, but didn’t back down.
“Was it something you heard?”
That caught her.
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“You’ve been somewhere else all day. Mark looks like he’s about to punch a wall. And you’re acting like you’re trying to disappear.”
Yeseul stared at the floor.
Seola lowered her voice. “Tell me who said it.”
Yeseul didn’t respond.
But Seola was patient. Fierce. The kind of girl who once yelled at a PE teacher for making Yeseul stand too long in winter.
“Okay,” Seola finally murmured, “don’t tell me. But don’t lie to me either.”
Yeseul looked up.
Seola’s eyes were glassy. “You’re not a burden.”
Yeseul’s breath caught.
“You hear me?” Seola’s voice wavered. “You’re not ruining anything. He’s not staying out of pity. And I swear to God, if I ever find out who said that—”
Yeseul’s voice broke. “They didn’t say it like that.”
Seola leaned forward. “But you heard it that way, didn’t you?”
A pause. Then, quietly:
“Yeah.”
They didn’t speak for a while after that.
The tea cooled beside them. The lounge emptied.
And for the first time that day, Yeseul let herself breathe — just a little.
Act IV : A Pause in Motion
The next day passed like something underwater.
Yeseul moved through the halls with the kind of quiet that people mistook for elegance — but Mark had known her long enough to see the difference.
She didn’t swing her bag like usual.
She didn’t pause to fix the crooked class poster taped to the glass near the science wing — a small ritual she’d done every Tuesday.
She didn’t meet his eyes.
Mark didn’t push.
Instead, he kept walking beside her. Matching her pace.
Hands in his pockets. Mind loud.
He thought of that night she’d fallen asleep beside him on her hospital bed. The machines had beeped steadily and her fingers had been curled around his sleeve like a question she was too afraid to ask.
This felt like that again.
Like waiting for a question he couldn’t hear — but somehow still had to answer.
That evening, basketball practice ran late.
Coach Han was furious — again. The semifinals were in ten days. Reporters would be in the stands. Recruiters, too.
“Focus, Lee,” the coach barked.
Mark ran harder. Shot faster. He didn’t think of fame. He didn’t think of college offers.
He thought of how Yeseul hadn’t replied when he texted her after class.
You okay? Need anything? I’ll bring you the red bean bread you like.
No reply.
He didn’t even know if she read it.
The court echoed with sneakers and the squeak of tension. That’s when it happened.
A voice — bright, confident — broke through the noise.
“Nice shot, captain.”
Mark turned.
At the far end of the gym, the cheer squad was rehearsing. The glossy banners and pom-poms like a scene out of a high school drama.
Jisoo, the cheer captain, was leaning against the bleachers — ponytail perfect, lips curved. She held a water bottle like a prop, not a necessity.
“You’ve been off lately,” she said with a small smirk. “Everything okay?”
Mark blinked. “Yeah.”
She tilted her head. “Sure? You looked pretty distracted today. You know… if you need something to take your mind off things, we’re hosting a little team dinner. No stress. No pressure.”
He didn’t reply.
Jisoo stepped closer. Not inappropriate. Not obvious.
Just enough to be noticed.
Yeseul was walking past the gym doors at that moment.
She hadn’t meant to stop.
But she saw them — the easy smile on the girl’s face, the way Mark looked too polite to walk away.
It wasn’t jealousy.
It was… exhaustion.
Of always watching from the edge.
Of being the girl people whispered about. The one everyone tiptoed around — while girls like Jisoo never had to whisper or tiptoe for anything.
She left before Mark could see her.
Later that night, Mark texted her again.
Hey. Want me to call?
No reply.
I brought the red bean bread anyway. Left it with your housekeeper.
He stayed outside in his car for twenty minutes. Just parked outside the gate, headlights off, hands on the wheel.
The mansion was lit but still. Her curtains didn’t move. No shadows in the windows.
Eventually, he drove off — slow, like maybe she was watching.
Inside, in the second-floor bedroom that overlooked the courtyard, Yeseul was.
She didn’t move. Not yet.
The Space Between Their Names
Act-V : The Mansion Felt Too Quiet That Morning
Yeseul woke to soft light streaming in through cream curtains, filtered through the lace canopy above her bed.
The room was too large to feel safe. Too quiet to feel normal.
Her mother had already left — some foundation event downtown.
Her father was likely in a meeting that would last all day.
Nurse Choi came in with her morning meds and a glass of water on a silver tray, like always.
“Heart rate was steady last night,” she said gently.
Yeseul nodded, swallowing pills she no longer looked at.
“I’ll be in the sitting room if you need—”
“I won’t,” Yeseul said quickly. Then softened. “Thank you.”
She went through the motions: changed into a pleated ivory blouse, soft wool slacks. Combed her hair. Put on the pearl earrings her mother always said made her look “less pale.”
But everything felt muted.
Even the garden outside — her favorite view — looked still, like it was waiting.
And Mark still hadn’t texted again.
Act-VI : At the Gymnasium, Everything Was Too Loud
Mark stepped out of the locker room into a full-on media circus.
Photographers. Flyers. Cheering fans already crowding the bleachers.
Their school was hosting the regional semi-final, and Mark’s face was on every digital banner outside the building. “Ace of the East.”
“Son of Lee Group.”
“Future of Korean Basketball.”
He hated all of it.
Coach Han clapped him on the back. “Eyes up, Lee. This is your shot.”
Mark didn’t respond.
He scanned the crowd — not for reporters, not for scouts.
Just for one person.
She wasn’t there.
He already knew she wouldn’t be.
Jisoo approached again during warm-ups. Her ponytail was higher than usual. Her lipstick a little darker.
“You look sharp today,” she said, twirling a pom-pom.
He looked past her. “Thanks.”
“You never answered about that team dinner. After the game.”
“I don’t do parties.”
“Yeah, I figured. Still… if you need a change of scenery—”
“I don’t.”
She blinked. He didn’t explain.
Someone called his name. He turned away.
Act-VII : Just Before the Game — The Greenhouse
He found her where he didn’t expect her to be — the old greenhouse behind the Yoon estate, the one no one really used anymore.
Not since her mother had the landscaping team replace the entire back garden with fountains and imported marble benches.
But Yeseul always liked the greenhouse.
It was the one place in the house that felt alive but imperfect.
She was sitting on a low wooden bench, hair pinned back, scarf draped over her lap like a blanket.
She didn’t look up when he stepped in.
“I’m supposed to be changing,” Mark said.
“I know.”
He stood in the doorway.
“I thought you weren’t speaking to me.”
“I’m not.”
He almost smiled.
“…But you’re here,” he added.
“I always am,” she whispered, still not looking at him. “Even when I don’t want to be.”
That hurt more than it should’ve.
He stepped closer, slowly, like approaching something fragile.
“I saw you walk past the gym yesterday.”
Yeseul flinched.
“I didn’t know she was going to be there.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t say yes to anything.”
“I know.”
A beat.
“But it wouldn’t be a crime if you did,” she added quietly.
He looked at her. Really looked.
“You’re angry,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m tired.”
He knelt in front of her then, slowly, until they were eye to eye.
“Then rest,” he said. “But not alone.”
And finally, finally, she looked at him.
Just for a second.
Just enough to let him see the fear under all the quiet.
He didn’t say anything else.
He only reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face — and tucked the smallest note into her hand. A paper scrap with a bunny doodle and the words:
Come if you can. If not, I’ll play like you’re watching anyway.
Act - VII : The Game She Didn’t Watch from The Crowd
The gym was alive.
Students flooded the bleachers. Banners waved from every corner. The school orchestra’s drumline thudded in a heartbeat rhythm that felt too real.
Mark stood at center court, warm-up jacket hanging off one shoulder, jaw clenched.
The opposing team captain stepped forward to shake hands.
Mark didn’t smile.
He scanned the crowd once — quickly, almost unconsciously. She wasn’t there.
Of course she wasn’t.
But somewhere in the corner of his mind, the rabbit drawing she held in her hands was still folded… unopened.
⸻
High above the noise, on the third-floor observation balcony, hidden behind tinted glass and shadows — Yeseul watched.
The nurse had tried to stop her.
“You can’t be around crowds.”
“I’m not.”
They hadn’t argued.
She wore a mask. Not for health — for privacy.
No one else knew she was here. Not even Mark.
Her heart monitor was hidden beneath her coat sleeve. Her pulse trembled like a skipped beat.
The game started fast.
Mark was sharp — but only on the outside.
Inside, he wasn’t fully here.
He kept hearing Jisoo’s laugh during warm-up. The way she’d leaned against the scorer’s table like she belonged in the spotlight next to him.
“You know,” she’d said, tossing her ponytail, “the team says we make a good visual. I mean, come on — cheer captain and team captain? It practically markets itself.”
He’d walked away without replying. But the words stuck.
Now, under the lights, they echoed louder than the announcer’s voice.
The first quarter was smooth. Mark landed two shots. His team led by four.
But then the shift came.
Late in the second quarter, just before halftime, one of the rival players — #18 — stepped too close on a screen and muttered low, sharp:
“Tell your little glass doll to stop watching from her tower.”
Mark froze.
His next pass missed.
Coach shouted something, but Mark didn’t hear.
He looked up — instinct — toward the balcony.
Just a flicker of movement. A silhouette. A coat. A shadow.
He couldn’t see her.
But he knew.
In the glass-covered silence above, Yeseul’s hand tightened around the railing.
The way he looked up.
The way he missed the shot.
The way his jaw moved — like he’d bitten down something that burned.
She exhaled shakily.
Was she the reason he always flinched when pressure hit?
Was she the anchor, not the lighthouse?
Halftime came.
Mark sat on the bench, towel over his head, chest heaving.
Jisoo handed him a water bottle. He took it without looking.
“Rough quarter,” she said gently. “You okay?”
He didn’t reply.
She sat beside him anyway. “You don’t always have to carry the world, you know. Let someone else carry you for once.”
He turned to her slowly.
“I don’t need carrying,” he said.
And then stood, walking away before she could say anything else.
On the balcony, Yeseul stood as well — too quickly.
Her vision spun. Her knees buckled briefly.
She leaned against the wall, blinking away the static.
Her pulse monitor blinked once — a warning.
But the ache in her chest wasn’t from the illness.
It was something else.
Something she didn’t want to name.
Act - VIII : The Game She Almost Stayed For
The Second Half
Mark didn’t speak in the locker room.
The coach shouted. The players cursed. Someone threw a towel against a locker and missed.
But Mark just sat with his eyes closed.
One hand still clutched the rabbit doodle Yeseul hadn’t replied to. The paper was crumpled now. A little damp from sweat.
But he held it like it was his only lifeline.
Back on the court, he didn’t play harder.
He played clearer.
The rhythm returned — not because the crowd cheered louder, but because he finally let go of needing to prove anything.
He wasn’t playing to win tonight.
He was playing so she would know she wasn’t something that broke him.
He landed a three-pointer near the end of the third quarter.
Didn’t celebrate.
Didn’t look at the crowd.
He looked up. Just once.
The balcony was empty now.
Above the Court
Yeseul had left five minutes before that shot.
Not because she didn’t want to stay — but because she wanted to before she started hoping again.
She made it back to the car with help from her nurse.
She didn’t speak during the drive home.
The pulse monitor was stable. Her hands weren’t.
After the Game
They won.
By eight points. The crowd roared. Streamers dropped from the ceiling.
Mark didn’t smile.
Jisoo caught up to him at the hallway exit. She looked too perfect for how loud the gym had been. Not a strand of hair out of place.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
“You looked really good out there. Focused.”
He gave a polite noise that wasn’t a word.
Jisoo hesitated. Then:
“Hey… I know she wasn’t in the crowd, but I saw someone up on the third floor. Thought I’d mention it.”
That caught him. He looked at her fully.
She shrugged. “Might’ve been nothing.”
He didn’t wait for the rest of her sentence.
Yeseul’s Room
By the time he arrived at the Han mansion, the gates were already shut.
“Miss Han is resting,” the staff told him gently.
He didn’t argue.
He left a folded note with the driver. No bread this time. Just a simple line:
We won. But it didn’t feel like winning.
Inside, in her room where the walls were too white and the sheets too quiet, Yeseul sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her phone.
She didn’t open his message.
She didn’t cry.
She just sat very still.
Like if she moved, something might break — and this time, it wouldn’t be her heart.
Act - IX : Where the Silence Took Them
Three days passed.
And if you weren’t watching closely, nothing seemed wrong.
Mark still walked Yeseul to school.
Yeseul still sat by the window in Literature.
Their hands still brushed when they reached for the same thermos lid during lunch.
But the difference was in the not.
They didn’t laugh.
Didn’t text.
Didn’t look at each other long enough for it to become real.
In the cafeteria, Seola glanced between them and muttered to a friend:
“They’re like ghosts walking next to each other.”
Mark sat two seats down from Yeseul, absently spinning his chopsticks.
Yeseul picked at her food like it had no taste.
That Afternoon
Someone in the hallway whispered, “Did you hear Jisoo was sitting with him after the game?”
Yeseul didn’t stop walking.
She didn’t have to.
She already knew.
That Evening – The Old Library
Mark found her in the abandoned library wing.
Third floor. No security cameras. Dusty, unused, always freezing even in spring.
She was curled into the corner chair.
Feet tucked beneath her, scarf pulled up like armor.
“I figured you’d be here,” he said.
She didn’t look up. “Why?”
“It’s where you go when you need to disappear but still want someone to find you.”
That made her glance at him — not long. But enough.
He walked over and sat on the floor beside her. Back against the bookshelf.
They didn’t speak for a full minute. The old pipes clicked in the ceiling.
Then finally, Yeseul whispered, “Did you win because I wasn’t there?”
The words dropped like a pin in glass.
Mark looked at her.
“No,” he said, voice quiet. “I won because I stopped pretending it mattered.”
She turned her face away. Her eyes shimmered.
Mark kept speaking — slowly.
“I don’t need an audience. I don’t need perfect scores. I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m good enough.”
He paused.
“I just need you to believe I still want this. You. Even when it hurts.”
Yeseul closed her eyes.
The silence returned — but it wasn’t heavy this time.
It was… still.
Shared.
And in that stillness, she whispered, almost too softly to hear:
“I believed you. I just didn’t know if I deserved to.”
Mark exhaled — a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for days.
He didn’t touch her. Didn’t press.
He just stayed.
Back against old books. Shoulder to old bricks.
Breathing the same air again.
Act - X : The Sky She Reached For
It was past curfew.
The Yoon mansion was dimmed. Only a few staff lights on. The halls glowed in a soft amber hush.
Yeseul crept out quietly, barefoot on warm wood, cardigan slipping off one shoulder. She didn’t need to tell Nurse Choi. She just left a note on her nightstand:
Only for a little while. I’ll listen to my body this time.
The rooftop garden wasn’t for guests.
It wasn’t landscaped or elegant like the main courtyard.
It had old wooden tiles, a couple dying potted plants, and a view of the stars that didn’t feel filtered.
That’s why she liked it.
That’s why he waited there.
Mark had brought two things:
A soft blanket he left draped over the railing.
And a paper bag with warm hoddeok he picked up on the way.
She smiled when she saw him.
“I thought you might not come,” he said.
“I thought I might regret it if I didn’t.”
They sat side by side, not touching.
The city lights flickered below. The wind picked at her scarf.
“You ever think we’d make it this far?” she asked softly.
He glanced at her. “In life or in school?”
“Both.”
Mark paused.
“I knew we’d get here,” he said. “I just didn’t think it’d feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like we’re stealing moments.”
She didn’t answer. Just tucked her hands under her thighs to warm them.
He passed her a warm hoddeok. She took a bite — careful, slow. The cinnamon filled her mouth.
“It’s good,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Mark turned his head toward her. “You’re shaking.”
She tried to play it off. “It’s the wind.”
“No,” he said gently, “it’s not.”
And then it happened.
Subtle.
A blink too long. A breath too shallow. Her grip on the pastry loosened.
Her body tilted — not a fall, just a sway.
Mark caught her instantly.
“Yeseul,” he said, sharper now. “Hey. Stay with me.”
She clutched at his sleeve.
“I’m— I’m fine, I just—”
But she wasn’t.
He pulled out his phone. One press. Speed dial 2: Dr. Yoon.
“She’s dizzy,” he said low into the speaker. “Unsteady vision. Heart rate seems irregular.”
Yeseul tried to argue, but her voice didn’t rise above the wind.
Mark guided her gently down, crouching beside her.
The stars above looked like they were spinning.
Ten minutes later, a private car arrived at the back entrance. The nurse stepped out with a portable monitor, quiet and calm. No panic. This wasn’t new.
Yeseul sat in the back seat, oxygen mask resting beside her just in case.
Before the door closed, Mark crouched beside her one last time.
She didn’t look at him.
“I ruined it again,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “You gave me something real. That’s never ruined.”
The door shut with a soft click.
The rooftop stayed lit.
One warm hoddeok still rested on the railing, untouched.
Act - XI : The Day That Didn’t End in Goodbye
The Morning After
Yeseul lay in bed, IV in her arm, sunlight tracing soft patterns across the ceiling.
Doctor Yoon stood beside her window, reviewing the charts.
“No permanent damage,” he said, reading her pulse line. “But your episodes are becoming less predictable.”
She nodded faintly.
“We’ll keep monitoring. But you need to be honest about your stress levels.”
“I’m not stressed,” she said.
Doctor Yoon didn’t argue. Just looked at her kindly.
“Mark called me three times last night,” he said after a pause. “He didn’t ask for updates. He just… asked if you were sleeping well.”
That made her smile, barely.
The Visit
Mark arrived late afternoon, when the house was quiet and the staff had taken lunch.
He didn’t bring flowers. Or bread.
He brought her sketchpad — the one she left behind on the rooftop bench — and a handful of wild gardenias he picked from the school courtyard.
Yeseul was propped up in bed, hair brushed, a pale knit blanket pulled to her waist.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said, soft.
“I know.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then she reached for his hand — first time in days.
“I don’t want to be the reason you stop playing.”
“You’re not.”
“I don’t want to be the reason you hesitate.”
“You never were.”
A pause.
“I just want to be… real. Not a fragile thing you protect.”
Mark looked at her — really looked.
“You’ve always been real,” he said. “But you’re also the only thing I’d ever protect with everything I have.”
A Memory
That night, after Mark left, Yeseul opened her journal.
She turned past the current pages. Back. Back further.
All the way to the soft page from when she was seven.
The first page she ever wrote in that journal:
“He made me laugh. I wasn’t supposed to laugh today.”
A crayon drawing below: a boy with messy hair and a girl in a party dress, holding hands beside a chocolate cake.
No oxygen tanks. No IVs. Just joy.
She touched the corner of that paper like it might disappear.
A Promise, Unspoken
Downstairs, Mark stood by the main gate, watching the sky.
A staff member offered to call his car.
He shook his head.
He stayed a little longer, even after the lights upstairs dimmed.
Not because he was waiting.
Because sometimes, love doesn’t knock. It waits — outside, quietly, until it’s invited back in.

author’s note — part two is here!! havent proofread so please excuse any typos😅please lmk what you think!
#nct dream mark#nct x reader#nct u#mark imagines#mark lee angst#mark lee fanfic#lee mark#mark lee x reader#mark lee fluff#mark lee nct#nct mark#mark lee#nct imagines#nct dream#nct fanfic#kpop#kpop imagines#nct 127#nct#nct fluff#heartbeat and halftime
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✧˚.🎀⋆ calling 999 | n.jm .☘︎ ݁˖
pairing. popular!jaemin x gloomy!reader ♡︎.ᐟ
word count. 9.9k
genre. fluff · slow burn · humour · smut
synopsis. she swears he's the most infuriatingly, sparkly person around — too bright and positively suffocating. But for Jaemin? He's intrigued by her; the gloomy princess frog who he wishes to befriend.
warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, use of pet name (baby, cutie, etc.), unprotected sex, almost getting caught, oral (fem. receiving), fingering, really fluffy.
₊˚⊹ ᰔ A/N: the speed in which I got this out was crazy. I also wanted to thank all of you guys for the love, I'm quite the perfectionist when it comes to my writing, but seeing how well they've been received so far makes me incredibly happy. ily all 💞
Na Jaemin was the heartthrob. If someone plucked him out of a drama, it would be Boys Over Flowers — except he was the flower. Everything about him was charming, endearing, and effervescent. It was almost blinding. Sickening. She'd place bets he threw up rainbows and unicorns, no doubt consuming Lucky Charms sprinkled with stardust for breakfast.
Which is exactly why she avoided him like the plague.
She was an irritable shadow, afraid of being incinerated and consumed by the ebullient sun. Always grumbling and scowling whenever she came into the vicinity of his stupidly wide, toothy grin, paired with that obnoxiously loud laugh.
"You're stabbing at your food," a soft, amused voice cut through the loud chatter of the cafeteria, "Should I be worried that you're also giving me the death glare?"
Y/N doesn't take her eyes off him. She hated how well he held eye-contact, and she wasn't going to lose the little battles before the war. So, she sends him a scowl as a response, her dark, frizzy hair puffing up like a lion's mane.
Jaemin was intrigued by her. She was the only person who would never smile back, never say anything more than a few words to him. As if dealing with him, or people in general, sucked out her limited supply of energy.
Jaemin sits down next to her, his arm brushing against hers with the protection of her thick, knit sweater, "We're supposed to choose our pairs for the science project, wanna work together?"
She let out a scoff, side-eyeing him for the sheer audacity of asking something so absurd, "No," She replies flatly, munching on her cafeteria food that suddenly tasted like slop in his presence.
He raised an amused brow, smile never faltering. Honestly, she would pay good money to see him not smiling for once, "Come on, why not? You're smart and I'm... kinda smart. We'd make a good team! I've even come up with possible names for our duo," he clears his throat as if preparing a proposal for Shark Tank, "sun and moon, yin and yang, Princess and The Frog..."
"Princess?" She scoffs.
"Yeah, I'll be the princess and you can be the fro-," she grumbles under her breath, standing up with her tray and moving to another empty table. Jaemin was unfazed, unfortunately, and followed her casually as if she'd asked to move together.
"Stop following me," Y/N huffed, nestling into her purple sweater as she continued to stab at her food. She could see Jaemin's group of friends watching like vigilant vultures from the corner of her eye.
Haechan, the cocky, intimidating star student — or would be star student if he weren't so lazy. Chenle, the real crazy rich Asian, often coming to school with something designer. And Renjun, the angry artist who she often wondered how he fit in such a group, being as he seemed like the only normal person there.
She could almost hear their judgment, confused on why Jaemin spent almost every lunchtime circling around the grouchy loner.
Jaemin chuckled, slotting into the chair next to her, to which she nudged her chair to the side, trying to get as far away from him as physically possible, even down to the atoms, "it's either I work with you or Jisung... and I don't want to work with him."
Her eyes met his, glaring in a way Jaemin would call cute, strangely, "Not my problem."
Jaemin pokes at her arm, giggling when she jumps, startled, "But whyyy. That guy would be scared at the sight of a bunsen burner, that's not even on, mind you."
"Again, not my problem."
Jaemin pouted, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he let his soft gaze flick over her features. He had a horrible habit of keeping his eyes locked on people's lips, even more so when they spoke. But, from up close, his appearance matched the mix of a doe and a rabbit with his long, fluttering lashes and big, round eyes.
She hated deers and rabbits.
"Would it be your problem if we were friends?" Jaemin asked suddenly. Everything about his voice to his gaze were genuine. He meant every word, and that scared her.
She froze, grip tightening on her cutlery as she slowly met his watching eyes, "Friends?"
"Friends," Jaemin added, "I want us to be friends. You're nice."
She snorted. For the first time, she actually made a sound close enough to be a laugh and Jaemin, startled, looked at her like a deer caught in headlights. As if a UFO had landed right in front of him and aliens stepped out wearing chicken suits, "You're delusional."
"Delusional or not, I made you laugh. Even more of a reason for us to be friends, I'm a good influence on you," Jaemin teased. Immediately, her expression faltered.
The sun was obnoxiously loud, and infuriatingly cocky.
The sun was, indeed, loud.
When she woke up this morning, she never would have guessed how horrible today would be. Not until Jaemin raised his hand incredibly high and chirped to the science teacher, "Y/N and I would like to be partners!"
If looks could kill, Jaemin would be shot dead on Earth, stopped before he got to the pearly white gates; his soul extracted into a minuscule bottle, crushed and thrown into the deepest, tenebrous voids before he even had a chance at getting reincarnated.
She sighed, loudly. She could hear people whispering, their watchful gaze flicking between the pair. Jaemin was as smiley as ever, his eyes little crescents as he skipped over to her, flower petals trailing behind him like some spring-happy leprechaun.
Y/N placed her bag on the one free seat next to her, and Jaemin pouted just as he got to her table, "Hey, is that how you treat your partner?"
She couldn't even spare him a glance, not with her seething, "I told you, I didn't want to be your partner."
Jaemin shrugs, placing his books on the table and pulls out a separate chair to sit in front of her — all without complaint or a twitching smile. He could tell she was mad at him, he wasn't a fool. Usually, she'd be boring burning hot holes into his skin with her piercing glare, though now, she kept her eyes on her science book, not sparing him a glance.
He was cautious with his movements, watching her as he sat right in front, just close enough to smell the soft hint of lavender from her jumper. He didn't want to scare her off or build the tension further so, he did the next best thing he could think of.
Digging into his bag, he pulls out his phone and wired earphones, ones he carried with him for years. It was to anyone's amazement how they lasted so long. He scrolls through his playlist, trying to find anything that was calming enough and, when he does, he grins to himself, leaning over to place one bud into her ear.
Her eyes snapped to his, his finger still pressed to the earbud to stop her from snatching it out so quickly, but that meant he was closer than he had ever been. She couldn't help but to notice those dark eyes that reflected the glittering ceiling lights as his warm, gentle and hesitant breath brushed her dewy skin, "What are you-"
"Just... I know you don't want to talk to me right now so, let's listen to some music together. Just this once," his smile was softer now, eyes trained on her with a hint of nervousness.
When Jaemin realised she wasn't making a move to yank the earphones out, he slowly retracted his hand, letting the music play. Surprisingly, the song was calming and sweet — a stark contrast to the energiser bunny who sat in front of her, grinning like a madman just at her tolerating his presence.
Jaemin confused her. She couldn't understand how someone could be so... sunshine and rainbows. Just looking at him was exhausting, feeling the corners of her lips burn at the simple thought of grinning twenty four hours of every day. He may as well have had more muscles on his lips than she had in her arms.
"You're always smiling," she mutters, scribbling random doodles into her science book, not caring if it affects the presentation. She felt herself calming a little from the music alone.
Jaemin nods slowly, looking through their worksheet for the experiment they had to do over the course of the week, "Is that a bad thing?"
It felt like that question alone stumped her. It wasn't that smiling was a bad thing, but with Jaemin, it always felt forced — maintaining the good boy image. She scoffs lightly, "It's annoying."
He only laughs at that, leaning in closer as his voice turns to a whisper, "So, if I smiled less, you'd tolerate me more?"
Her confused look had Jaemin smiling at her like a fool, trying to see how far he could push as he pulled away, "Tolerate me enough to become friends, I mean. You didn't give me an answer yesterday either."
"Thought it was an obvious no," she takes the spare worksheet and starts filling in the equipment they'd need and the correct order of steps.
Jaemin lets out a sudden, obnoxiously loud "wow" at the sight of the work she had done in a mere five minutes. He snatches it from the desk, his thumbs digging into the edges of the paper as he held it up in amazement, lips puckered in an exaggerated 'O', before his gaze flicked to her, always searching for a hint of a reaction, "I don't think we will need a whole week to get this experiment done. At least, not with you as my partner."
"Don't get used to it. You're pulling your own weight for this project," Y/N mumbles, snatching the worksheet out of his hands, her fingers brushing his in the process. She flinches slightly at the contact, and Jaemin doesn't let it slide, his smile sneakily widening.
"Well too late. I'm already naming my future children after you."
She stares at him with a deadpanned expression, "You're so weird."
"Thank you," he beams.
There's a long silence after that. She quietly observes Jaemin, whose lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, smile softening as he chooses another song on his playlist, humming along to it. Then, her gaze drops to the paper again.
"Are you serious about being friends?" she asks softly, not looking up, voice so low he almost doesn't hear it.
He stops humming, "Yeah, I am."
Y/N finally looks up, and Jaemin's not smiling this time, clearly serious.
She considers it. Actually weighs the pros and cons of being friends with the sun which, if she hadn't known any better, would only repeat Icarus' story, where her wax wings would melt if she got too close, "Don't expect me to tell you my favourite colour or make friendship bracelets out of loom bands with you."
Jaemin's smile slowly returns, as if he's waiting for her to change her mind, "That's okay, you can start by telling me what you hate most about me."
She snorts, "As if there's enough time for that in a day."
"Perfect," he sends her his classic toothy grin, "Guess I have more of an excuse to hang around you for longer, then."
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, illuminating the multi-coloured shelves filled with snacks and bold coloured stickers with deals peppered along the products. It had smelled faintly of overripe bananas, cheap detergent, and air freshener — the familiar scent of your standard convenience stores. Jaemin had wandered the snack aisle on a lazy evening, indecisively scouring the 2-for-1 promotions. He was low on energy after spending the whole afternoon playing football against his will. Though, he was somewhat grateful it wasn't basketball this time, thanks to Chenle going on some last minute holiday.
All thoughts screeched to a halt while he was scanning for some snacks, seeing her behind the till. She wore the stores' basic, bright blue apron, the collar of the white undershirt slightly crooked, and an upside-down name tag pinned to her chest which gave more than enough away that she was in a rush to get to her shift. But most of all, she was smiling at the elderly woman in front of her, offering a genuine laugh when the lady made a joke he could barely make out.
Her laugh was so pretty to him. Despite it being awkward, tethering on deep yet with a sweet lilt... It was so unique, so adorable and something he wished he could hear over and over again, like a broken record.
He couldn't get over that smile, either. It brightened up her face and made her even more gorgeous than she already was. His eyes were locked on the soft and slightly shy grin, tugging up on one side. He had never seen her like that before, but he was already obsessed, his heart clenching as a sudden cuteness aggression overcame him.
The moment she noticed him walking towards the register with a basket of snacks, however, her expression had snapped back into its usual stormy cloud, the corners of her lips sinking into a scowl. Jaemin stifled a laugh as he set his snacks down on the counter.
"Hey," he whined, yet his voice was as bright and sunny as always, "I'm a customer too, where's my smile?"
"What are you doing here, Jaemin?" she grumbled, already scanning the items with speedy efficiency, clearly wanting to get rid of him.
"I came to see you," He let the sentence hang just long enough between them before correcting himself, "Actually... I just wanted some snacks."
She glanced at the box of Lucky Charms he placed on the counter —bright and completely childlike, just like him. She blinked before letting out a soft giggle, the sound barely audible, but loud enough for Jaemin to catch it. He felt butterflies going haywire in the pits of his stomach.
"You seriously eat this shi- stuff?"
"Religiously," he replied, smirking, "I'm convinced it really is sprinkled with some magical form of luck."
"Oh yeah, and what have you been lucky with?" she muttered, slipping the items into a plastic bag.
"You," he added with a grin. There was no hesitation in the way he had said it, especially with that stupid, shit-eating grin and the mischievous light in his eyes. But she forced her expression to remain neutral, even when a string of curses sat on the tip of her tongue.
The occasional beep of items being scanned and the quiet chatter of the other customers in the back had filled the silence between them. Jaemin leaned back and forth, raising an amused brow at her, cocky from having gotten to her in some way.
"I didn't know you worked here," he said finally, trying to fill in the silence and not wanting this moment with her to end so soon.
Y/N shrugged, adjusting the strap of her apron as she suddenly started to feel awkward, "It's... just part-time. Pays for things like snacks. But I never get to eat them because I have to smile at people like you all day."
He grinned wider, ignoring her slight jab, "So you do smile."
"God, you're annoying," she groans, packing the last of the items and gesturing to the till for him to pay.
Jaemin only smirks wider, tapping his card until a beep resounded in the shop, "And you're blushing."
"I am not-"
"Oh, you definitely are, but this would surely make you blush more...," He leans in, grabbing the plastic bag out of her hands, fingers barely brushing, as he whispered against the shell of her ear, "you're cuter when you smile."
Her hands stilled slightly as she let go of the bag as if they were opposites on either side of a magnet.
He held her gaze for a moment, before pulling away, "Thanks for the snacks."
"Don't come here again," Y/N grumbled.
Jaemin stepped back towards the automatic doors which kept trying to close, blocking the path of some customers as he smiled like a fool at her, as usual. She hated how he made her feel in this moment, and she could swear her heart had beat louder than the generic pop music which played in the shop. Maybe she would blame the fact that he was someone who does eat lucky charms. But his next words cut through her thoughts as he stifled a laugh before leaving, "No promises, cutie."
And, for some strange reason, that word didn't make her internally gag.

The cafeteria was in a state of a mess; chaotic noise and clattering trays, loud, overlapping conversations, and the sharp screeching of metal chairs. The air had smelt faintly of overcooked pasta and whatever they had tried to pass off as food today — what students would call radioactive slop. But not one table was as loud as the one Jaemin was sat on with his friends.
"I'm telling you, she's the cutest girl around. Like- Haechan, stop laughing, I'm being serious!" Jaemin glares daggers at the male who was barely keeping still on his chair.
"Yeah, I bet. I'd also bet she hexed you," Haechan, who sat across from Jaemin, wipes away a stray tear, followed by a sigh as he calmed down from his burst of laughter.
Renjun sat next to Haechan, nudging him with the pristine sleeve of his blazer. He had always kept a clean-cut appearance where not even a tiny drop of paint ever landed on his attire, "If Jaemin likes her, who cares? I will be judging though, but from the sidelines."
Jaemin grumbles, pushing his half-eaten tray away from him as he crossed his arms, "You guys are assholes. What happened to being happy for me?"
Chenle chirps in, glancing at the woman who was the focus of their conversation sat a few tables down on her own. He jabs a finger into the table, a classic Chenle move whenever he had a 'valid' point to make, eyebrows raised with passion, "You guys are like... the complete opposites of each other. She would definitely steal all your light. Well- on second thought, that's probably a good thing, maybe you'd finally be somewhat bearable to be around."
Jaemin rolls his eyes, stuffing a spoonful of rice and munching it in irritation, "Look, if you actually spoke to her, you'd see that there is more to her. She actually smiles too, and it's so adorable, plus-" Haechan side-eyes Jaemin; partly for speaking with a mouthful of food, and the other for simping over her of all people, "Don't tell me you're already pussy-whipped when you've only spoken to her once."
Jaemin's mouth drops in shock, "Once?! I've spoken to her like... three, four times?"
Haechan snorts, resting his hands behind his head, sprawling lazily out on the chair, "Might as well have been once. You can count it on one hand. You barely know her."
"Well, I know her better than you guys do, so why are we judging so hard?" Jaemin snaps, and his friends suddenly grow silent and tense. It was unlike the usually sunny male to get angry or irritated. His jaw was clenched as he dropped his metal chopsticks on the tray, the clatter loud.
Renjun clears his throat awkwardly, looking around the table, his brows furrowed softly as he met Jaemin's gaze, "You... do know why everyone avoids her though, don't you?"
Jaemin pauses, eyes flicking to his friend. Something in Renjun's tone makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, the tension, paired with worry, simmering.
"What do you mean?" he asks suspiciously, his voice quiet and brows furrowing.
Renjun shifts in his seat, shrugging, "Just… she's not exactly friendly. People say she snapped at teachers, ditched group projects, cursed out that senior last year-"
"She cursed at him because he was mocking her in front of everyone," Jaemin cuts in sharply, his leg bouncing under the table in frustration, "And the group projects... Maybe no one ever wanted to work with her. She had always been a target of stupid jokes. Besides, how is any of that a big deal?"
The table falls quiet again and Chenle raises a brow and puts his hands up in surrender, trying to lighten the mood, "Okay, damn. Someone is ready to fight for her honour."
Jaemin huffs, "No- Look I'm just saying... people love to talk. Don't you think she's just tired of all these assholes?"
Haechan whistles lowly, "Okay, our knight in shining armour, should we start planning the wedding?"
"Shut up," Jaemin mutters, his cheeks flushed pink, "I already did."

The lab was meant to be quiet except, Jaemin was being clumsy with the equipment. The glass beakers kept clinking against each other, and it was surprising how they hadn't smashed into pieces with his large hands. It was only them in the lab, away from the bustling lunch hall, and it was supposed to be them finishing off the experiment before they had to type up their conclusions. However, working with Jaemin was proving to be a separate challenge.
Y/N tugged her sleeves up her arms in frustration as she kept glaring at him and giving him orders. But Jaemin found her to appear less reserved when she wasn't surrounded by others — still sharp around the cute edges, but not enough to make a man cower.
"Put the beaker down slowly," she said, eyeing the glass nervously as Jaemin finished pouring the solution into a separate beaker, "I swear to God if you shatter another one-"
"Relax," Jaemin chuckled, mocking offence as he set it down with exaggerated grace, gesturing to it in celebration. She forgot he had arms that could squash a coconut in one go, panicking at the sight of him handling fragile equipment. But his cockiness worried her even further, "I have the hands of a pianist."
She side-eyed him with a slight look of surprise, "You play the piano?"
"No, but I could," he wiggles his fingers, "with these sexy hands."
She rolled her eyes, but he caught the subtle twitch of her lips before she turned away to fetch the other materials.
They had been measuring and watching the colours blend in the beaker, creating an... interesting solution. He watched her scribble something in the worksheet, noticing her handwriting was messier than he'd expected. It had kept changing its font, far from the consistent and neat image she had presented as, at least, with her personality. His eyes trailed to her frizzy hair that added an adorable, messy look to her, like his favourite character from UP, Ellie.
"You're staring," she mumbled, her pen tapping the edge of the paper in annoyance.
"Just admiring your handwriting," Jaemin teased, leaning slightly closer, glancing to her writing again, "It looks like five different people wrote that."
"Want to lose the ability to smile?"
He chuckled, watching as she moved to hold a pipette above one of the mixtures, "Are you going to start writing the conclusion, or should I do everything?"
Jaemin snapped back to reality, side stepping to grab the worksheet and immediately tapping the pencil to his cheek in thought, "Right, conclusion," he frowned when nothing came to mind, "Something something… mixture."
Y/N slowly turned to face him, "Very insightful," she deadpanned.
He didn't miss the tiniest curve of her mouth again and, God, even when she stifled a smile, it would still hit like a punch to the gut. He was starting to think maybe she was right to hide it as people would be drawn to her like the North Star. And now, it was starting to feel like it was a sight only he was allowed to see.
"You say that like it's not the best conclusion you have ever heard," Jaemin added, pressing the pencil to his lip smugly.
She sighed, snatching the worksheet from him without a word and scribbling a few lines with a quiet confidence that made him raise a brow. Her writing was still chaotic, unlike her thoughts.
He leaned in slightly to peek over at what she wrote, but she folded the paper away from his view like it was a personal diary.
"Do you mind?" she muttered in exasperation.
"Yes," he replied without hesitation, resting his chin on her shoulder to take a better look at the mysterious writing.
Y/N stiffened, her breath hitched as she stayed frozen. It was insane to her how good he smelt, the way her heart stuttered, and the soft weight of him on her shoulder felt... right. She almost let out a loud scoff at her own thoughts before elbowing him sharply in the ribs.
Jaemin let out a dramatic gasp, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated pout, "Excuse me, assault in a science lab full of lethal equipment is a criminal offence!"
"You were in my space."
"It was our space," he mumbled, still rubbing his side, "I would argue we have dual ownership over this lab."
She tongued the inside of her cheek and shoved the worksheet in his direction, "I don't see your name on this paper, Jaemin."
He smirked, feeling his own heart blush at the way his name sounded on her lips, and grabbed the paper, scribbling Na Jaemin (Princess) in the top corner, and (cute frog) next to her name. When he handed it back to her, she glanced at the names, then at him, and rolled her eyes at his silliness.
"Anyway," his voice filled the quiet room, eyes glancing away to look at the clock, seeing they only had a few minutes till the end of lunch, "I think we did a pretty decent job, we should celebrate getting this project done."
She looked up his taller form in confusion, "Celebrate?"
Jaemin nodded, "Yeah, I'll bring you a snack tomorrow, something sweet, so that you forget about annihilating me for barely carrying this project."
She sent him a scowl in response, "And what makes you think I like sweet things?"
He grinned cheekily, packing away the equipment, "You like me, don't you?"
Y/N was convinced Jaemin had hit his head in the past month, especially with all the shit he was spewing. But she couldn't stop the small smile that lifted the corners of her lips, immediately dropping the second she had realised, and Jaemin's eyes widened at the sight. His heart was going haywire. She had finally smiled in his presence, because of him.
"You really do look cute when you smile," he grinned at her, slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking almost entranced by her, "I'm glad I'm the only one who gets to see it."
She snorts, packing her things away as well, "Well, I'd rather you not smile. It's exhausting."
Jaemin smirks, nodding his head, "Okay, I won't!"
He exaggerates a silly-looking scowl, humming at the same time, "Is that better?"
Y/N lets out a disbelieving scoff, eyeing him in what seemed like amusement, "Somehow... that's much worse."

It had been three days. Three days of Jaemin leaving snacks on her desk like some overly enthusiastic snack fairy with too much free time in the crackhead hours of the morning — throwing coins on snacks she hadn't asked for.
He had brought strawberry pocky the first day (what he would call an abomination in a box), Hello Panda's the next, and today? Banana milk — in this obnoxiously bright yellow carton, with the straw poked in. He called it a "romantic gesture".
Y/N stared at the carton on her desk, the happy face of the banana staring right back into her soul. Her brows had furrowed as Jaemin plopped himself into the seat beside her with his usual beaming aura.
"You're welcome," he said with a grin, chin propped up on his hand as he watched her with hearts in his eyes.
"I don't remember saying thank you," she replied blandly, but her fingers still curled around the carton like a stress ball.
Jaemin tilted his head, nodding in agreement, "I know, but you did drink the last two, so... it seems like you do appreciate the gifts, or me. Or both."
"And it seems like," she echoed with a deadpanned expression, "you're annoying. Unsurprisingly."
"Are you waiting for some kind of an applause?" she continued when he didn't make a move to leave, taking another sip of the banana milk.
Jaemin shrugged, never taking his eyes off of her, even as other students around looked on in confusion, "Yes, actually. I deserve a standing ovation. I had brought you peace offerings three days in a row, that's equivalent to a committed relationship."
"You're clinically insane," she shakes her head, scanning over her notes.
"Clinically sexy, you mean," he corrected, wagging his brows, his voice exaggerated loudly.
She let out a long, exhausted sigh that sounded like it came from the pits of her stomach, the kind of sigh only Jaemin could evoke. However, silence had then settled between them again. This time, it was peaceful.
For once, Jaemin wasn't rambling silly little lines, openly flirting with her, or laughing gratingly loud. Instead, he was sitting there, occasionally stealing glances at her while she pretended not to notice. Then, out of nowhere, the words that had left Jaemin's lips gave her whiplash, paired with how casually he had said them.
"Wanna hang out this weekend?"
Y/N's pen slid across the page in shock, her head turning slowly, and suspiciously, like he had just asked her to help him bury a body, "Hang out?"
Jaemin shrugged, "Just thought we could do something, you know, outside of science experiments and this God-forsaken building."
She stared at him blankly for a moment longer before replying, "I'm busy."
"You don't even know what day I meant," Jaemin pouted, throwing rubber shavings her way, playfully.
"I'm busy that day too."
Jaemin smiled, unfazed, "Just know, I'm persistent."
"You mean annoying," she corrected.
He laughed under his breath, leaning back in his seat. "You'll say yes eventually."
"Not likely."
"We'll see."

She did end up saying yes.
When Friday afternoon came rolling in, and he caught up to her outside the school gates with another (peace offering) drink in hand, a grape-flavoured juice, he sent her a hopeful look with his lashes fluttering like the princess he claimed he was.
The weather carried a gentle breeze as the sun formed a subtle halo over the brunette male, making him appear even more angelic than he already was. His dark eyes were softer under the afternoon glow, and his smile felt like spring. Y/N didn't know why things were suddenly changing. Why her thoughts were becoming brighter and warmer in his presence. It was like he had merged into her life as though he had always belonged there, and she couldn't help but to give in.
She rolled her eyes, "Fine. One hour."
Jaemin blinked, surprise etching into his features, "Wait- what?"
"I'll hang out with you," she clarified, crossing her arms and looking off to the side as if she were an older sibling giving into the younger's request, "For an hour. And I'm not doing anything cheesy. If you take me anywhere with fairy lights or those photo booths, I will walk into on-coming traffic."
Jaemin burst into a fit of laughter, barely containing the smile stretching across his face, "You're the one who said yes."
"God," she grumbled, turning to walk ahead, not even waiting for him, "I'm already regretting this."
"No take backs!" He chirped as he caught up to her, grinning like he had won the lottery, "You'll regret it a lot less once you see what I had planned."
She stopped in her tracks, head snapping to him in shock. Not once had she hinted in agreeing to hang out with him, and yet, he had still put in the effort to plan something that wasn't guaranteed. Just because he wanted to make it something special.
"You planned it already?" She asked, eyeing him suspiciously, "And why does that sound like a threat?"
"It's not! It's a promise," he beamed, "And of course I planned it. I knew you were going to agree. I mean, how could you say no to this face?"
He cupped his cheeks and batted his lashes at her. Usually, this would have been something that would instantly make her cringe yet, this time, it was so... Jaemin. So silly and adorably him. It gave her this sense of ease, as though it was alright for her to be just as silly, just as out there as he was. Despite what others may think.
However, Y/N gave him a long, stern look, unimpressed, "You are dangerously close to being punched in the throat."
Jaemin gasped, holding his arms up in defence, "Violence on our first date?"
"It is not a date," she said instantly, her voice a slight screech, feigning a scowl. Her heart was thumping erratically. A date? It was only a month ago when Jaemin had asked to be friends, but the spring-happy leprechaun wouldn't settle on just friends. Not with her.
"Sure it's not," he replied sarcastically, bumping his shoulder into hers. He watched as her teeth bit into the straw of the grape juice, lips puckering as she took a sip. God, he really was down bad.
"So, where exactly are we going?" she asked, interrupting his far from innocent thoughts.
Jaemin's smile twitched, internally cursing himself for getting carried away like that, "Somewhere where you can't walk into traffic."
She groaned, "Great. I can't escape by death."
Jaemin grinned, tugging at her sleeve lightly, "Nah, you're gonna fall."
"Fall?"
"For me," he replied smugly, wiggling his brows.
She stared at him long enough to make him shift slightly. He should have known corny, cheesy, unoriginal pick-up lines would never work on her, "…I changed my mind. Half an hour."
"I bet you're already falling for me," He continued to tease, gently poking at her sides and snickering at her annoyed expression.
"Keep talking and it'll be ten minutes."
He shut his mouth immediately, but the grin on his face didn't fade for even a second. Of course it wouldn't.
He had led her further down the quiet streets just beyond the school, the buzz of the busy roads echoing behind them. Suddenly, he turned into a narrow, sketchy pathway covered by dark walls and patched up windows.
"Okay, where the hell are we going?"
"You'll see, just trust me," Jaemin chirped, hopping over a puddle with the appearance of someone who probably believed in elves and the tooth fairy.
Y/N eyed the side of his face, as if analysing him, "You're like a golden retriever, and I don't mean that in a good way," she said, her tone dry, "Do you have this much energy even when you're in bed?"
Jaemin didn't miss a second, his lips curling into a smirk, "Depends who's in bed with me."
Y/N blinked, nearly choking on the last bit of juice, "You're disgusting."
"What?" he asked innocently, raising both hands in mock surrender, "You asked."
"And shameless," she muttered.
"And you're blushing," he shot back smugly.
She turned away quickly, muttering curses under her breath. The worst part was that he wasn't wrong… she was blushing.
However, when the path opened up to a skatepark, she was about to turn and walk in the opposite direction, until she saw a building to the right.
It was a planetarium, nestled at the far end of the park, hidden behind torn fences and overgrown trees, clearly abandoned. The soft, spring breeze weaved through the cracked windows and rustling dead leaves across the ground, making her anxious. It was silent, apart from the sharp creak of the iron gate as Jaemin kicked it open dramatically, letting her enter first.
"You're trespassing...," Y/N said nervously, yet still stepped past the gate.
"We are," Jaemin corrected, grinning as he didn't bother to shut the gate behind them, "You agreed to this, remember?"
She rolled her eyes, "I was coerced by grape juice."
Inside the planetarium was dark, where glimpses of sunlight flickered through the cracks of the walls. The air was coated in dust and old wood, the scent sharp in her throat — particles floated just like the glimmer of stars on the ceiling. The projector had sat in the centre, the lens still intact despite it rusting and coated in crumbling leaves and spider webs. But there was something almost... magical about this place, as though it carried many stories — a history.
"I used to come here a lot as a child," Jaemin said, his voice softer now, with a hint of nostalgia, "My dad used to work nearby, and he would take me after school sometimes. I mean... I loved the stars, it always intrigued me. I would just lie down right here and pretend they were real."
He lays down right in the middle of the dome, a softer, more pained smile gracing his lips as he saw the now faded stars that didn't seem to hold the same wonder it used to, "There was something so..."
"Magical," she voiced out her earlier thoughts, hesitantly laying down next to him.
He glanced over to see her looking up at the dimmed ceiling, the setting sun catching across her soft, pretty features, illuminating the curve of her cheekbone and the plushness of her lips. She looked oddly beautiful here, even in this run-down, shabby space. It was like she brought that same wonder back with just her presence alone.
"So this was your idea of a perfect date?" she asked finally, but her voice was gentle, tugging at his heartstrings.
"It's peaceful and there are no fairy lights in sight," he teased, "Besides, you'll ruin my date rating if you start judging my choices."
They lay in silence for a while, staring up at a ceiling that once reflected galaxies. Now, the real stars peeked through the gaps as the sun had finally set, fragmented and imperfect, fitting in like puzzle pieces against the fabricated lights.
"You asked me before if I ever stop smiling," Jaemin says, quietly, his eyes locked on the ceiling. He lies still under the watching gaze of the fading stars, "Just... when no one is around."
He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a bitter laugh, not reaching the crinkles of his eyes, "I think somewhere along the line, I decided that being the overly positive guy was who I was meant to be. If I kept people distracted by this- this image, no one would look close enough to see all the fragmented pieces. I wouldn't be a burden to others."
Y/N said nothing, biting her bottom lip.
"Sometimes it feels like… if I were to drop this act, people wouldn't know what to do with me," He turns his head slightly towards her, letting out a dry chuckle, "That I would be a handful. I'd come with all the baggage that overwhelms them."
Y/N felt her eyes glaze with tears, the brittle air pressing against her chest that made it feel almost suffocating. She hated how much she related to those words alone.
She shifts slightly on the cold floor, trying to make her voice sound neutral, "That sounds exhausting."
"I guess it is," Jaemin admits.
"I do understand, though," she responds, glancing at him, "With keeping up that image."
Her voice doesn't waver, but it had always been hard for her to be vulnerable as she never had the chance to with her own family, "It's weird. One day, conversation is easy, people are approachable and..."
He listens, his brows furrowing in focus.
"Being strong for everyone else meant having to lose a part of myself," She exhales shakily, her nails digging crescents into her palms, "And after a while, I stopped feeling like me. Now, it's like I'm just a shell and pushing people away is easier. You don't get hurt again."
Jaemin's fingers inch closer to her, his knuckles brushing along her hand and, when her pinky hooks around his, he can't help but to smile softly.
"Even so... I don't hate being around people," she whispers, "I don't hate being around you."
He feels his heart skip a beat and his eyes widen slightly when her soft gaze meets his. It was like he got a glimpse into the warmth beneath the grumbling girl, the gentle side of her that hid behind the protective wall. Her usual glaring, intense gaze was now soft and sweet, pupils big as they reflected the starry sky in them, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.
Jaemin quickly snaps his head away, bringing a hand over his mouth, hiding his flustered smile, "This is dangerous," he mumbles to himself. Every moment he spent with her was making it harder for him to be normal, not with his body getting hot, and her pretty eyes that watched him curiously.
"What's dangerous?" She asks, confused.
"You, Y/N," he breathes, meeting her gaze again, "you don't understand just how gorgeous you are, how you look at me like that and... the fact that you really are someone so warm and funny and smart. And there is so much more to you that I-"
He chuckled nervously, interlocking his hand with hers more boldly, "I love that you're different. That you trusted me enough to share a piece of yourself. I also want to be someone who would take away all the burdens you've been carrying. To help fill your cup with you, because you're perfect to me, and I want you to see that too."
"But why? You barely know me," she asked quietly.
"Because it's you. But also... do we even need a reason? I just want to."
Her heart beats loud in her ears and tears finally fall, startling Jaemin as he began to panic, worried he may have overstepped in some way. However, it felt like those were words she needed to hear, even if it were just scratching the surface of understanding her, and her understanding him. It felt like she had finally met someone who could. Who would try.
"Jaemin," she calls out to him, and he blinks in response just as she leans in before she could think. Before she could stop herself.
Y/N's lips press to his softly. It was hesitant and shy, but it felt right. Slowly, her fingers cup his jaw and Jaemin pauses. He had waited for this moment, waited for when he could finally get through the protective wall she built around herself. She pulls away and he immediately pulls her back in.
When her lips meet his again, it's messier, with her running her fingers through his hair, parting her lips to mould with his. He feels the urgency in her hands, and he lets out a quiet groan when she climbs onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips, yet never breaking the kiss.
Jaemin's palms settle at her waist, rubbing slow circles on her skin. He tries to control the pace, kissing her back slower, patiently, as he pulls away to catch his breath, tucking her hair behind her ears.
"Let me-" his voice is breathy and hoarse; chest heaving, "Let me take my time with you, Y/N. Please."
When her eyes search his, he continues with a softer tone, "You deserve as much."
She leans forward again, kissing him slow.
His hands curl over the back of her neck, the other still cupping her waist, pulling her in a little closer. It feels different this time, gentle and tender. Their mouths move quietly under the witness of the stars, like they're both trying to memorise what the other feels like.
Jaemin sighs softly against her lips when she subtly grinds against him, and he rests his forehead against hers.
"You don't have to rush anything with me, Y/N," he murmurs, "I'm not going anywhere."
"But I want this," she bites her lip, looking down at him. And that's all it takes for him to want to give in and give her everything she wants.
Jaemin's lips trail to her jaw, then down her neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses that make her heart flutter wildly. She whispers his name and he flips their positions so that she was under him now. His body hovers just above hers, brushing strands of her hair from her face.
He kisses her again, slowly at first, but the kiss deepens with each second. His hands slip beneath her soft jumper, fingers tracing along her waist and brushing just under the curve of her breast.
She arches into his touch when he cups her bra-clad breast, thumb swiping over her nipple. Her skin was warm and soft, paired with her sweet gasps, and he couldn't hold back any longer, pushing the jumper off of her.
"How could someone be so beautiful," he breathes out, his soft eyes delicately tracing over her frame as the subtle light of the moon hugged her skin. Her cheeks were flushed at the way he looked at her and, before she could feel any more shy, he connected his lips with hers again; tongue tracing the seam whilst his hands slipped under the lace, massaging her supple mounds.
Y/N tugged at his own hoodie, whining softly against his lips, to which he chuckled, sitting back to pull it off of him, not forgetting to place the clothing under her when he realised she was laying on the icy marble floor. Her cold, slender fingers cupped his jaw, trailing down his chest. It all felt unreal to the both of them; this moment under the stars. It was as though, under the moonlight, was her world. A glimpse into her inner warmth.
Soon, her jeans followed, his warm breath fanning against her inner thighs as his lips ghosted over the skin. He pressed gentle kisses slowly up, thumb finally grazing over her clothed clit which elicited a quiet moan from her. The moment he tugged her panties to the side, she knew what was coming and immediately gripped onto his hair in anticipation.
Jaemin's tongue licked a thick stripe up her folds and she shuddered. But he didn't stop there, picking up the pace. His humming against her had her cheeks flush. His warm breath and tongue guided her down the path towards ecstasy, hands pinning her thighs against his sprawled out hoodie. Each tug at the locks of his hair and the soft whines that left her lips, had Jaemin's control slip further, subtly grinding against the floor to find some sort of friction.
Y/N couldn't take it any more. Not his wet tongue that elicited lewd sounds from her lips, creating an erotic melody that layered with his eager licks and groans, paired with the squelching sounds as he finally pushed his fingers into her. Her eyes blurred as she stared at the stars, glimmering as he brought her to the edge. His fingers curled perfectly inside her, pressing against a bundle that made the thread snap, finally coming and coating his fingers with her release.
The sound he made when she shuddered beneath him; eyes rolling back, was so pretty, so guttural, she swore she could have come again right there and then.
"You're perfect, baby," he kissed the inside of her thigh before crawling up her writhing body, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth, "We don't have to go all the way tonight, if you don't want to."
Immediately, she shook her head, pulling him in for a lazy kiss, "Jaemin... I want to. I'm sure."
He swore he felt his cock twitch at that, but he shook it off, sitting back on the heels of his feet as he unbuttoned his jeans, kicking it off along with his boxers. But he cursed at himself when the realisation dawned on him, "I-I'm sorry, baby. I don't have a condom. I mean... I wasn't really expecting anything to come out of tonight." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, though she almost didn't hear him, too entranced by the size of him, needing to shake herself out of it.
"If you're okay with not using one, I'm okay with it too," she said without hesitation, "I'm on the pill and... Well, I can get the morning after-" His soft chuckle had cut her words short, "You want me that bad, huh? Aren't you the same woman who was so eager to get rid of me earlier?"
Y/N grumbles under her breath, "Just shut up. Are you going to sleep with me or what? It's getting cold."
Jaemin shakes his head in amusement, hovering over her. The way he looks at her has her heart race; the affection that he doesn't bother to hide, the way his eyes are constantly flicking over her features as if etching them into memory, and the way he isn't quick with claiming her, always making sure she's okay and giving her time to back out. Slowly, she reaches up, cupping his jaw, her thumb brushing over his bottom lip.
"Fuck... do you know what you do to me?" He breathes out, nuzzling into her touch and placing a kiss to the inside of her hand.
Then, he slides his member through her folds, pushing into her inch by inch, pausing every time her brows furrow even slightly. Even when it was torturous for him, he put her first, waiting until the corners of her lips relaxed, and the space between her brows didn't crease.
Finally, when he was fully sheathed inside, and she had relaxed around him, he started to move, picking up the pace a little at a time, her sounds playing as the guide. She was perfect, fitting around him like a glove, wrapping her legs over his hips, rocking into him to feel him deeper, as if he wasn't close enough for her.
Jaemin rested his forehead against hers, his groans synchronised with her pretty moans, "God..." he breathed out, letting his hand cup her waist, fingers pressed into her dewy skin as he grinded into her.
Y/N grabbed onto whatever she could, moving to nestle into his neck, her warm breath and plush lips brushing over his pulse point, "Y-yes, Jaemin...," her nails dug into his back, toes curling at every rock of his hips, every push of his dick into her, had the stars on the ceiling feel brighter and all-consuming, "F-fuck."
Jaemin couldn't handle it, couldn't prolong her release any longer. He grabbed onto her thighs, pushing them out and up to angle his thrusts better. Then, he grabbed onto her wrists, pulling them towards him, sitting back on the balls of his feet as he picked up the pace, the sounds of skin slapping against skin was so dirty under the witness of the gleaming moonlight.
Her head rolled back, mouth agape as deep, throaty sounds escaped her. The moment she began to shudder, he knew he had made her come a second time, his own release following right after.
Jaemin collapsed on top of her, his large frame burying her in warmth as she let out a lazy giggle, snuggling into him, "That was..."
"Amazing? I know."
She smacked his shoulder playfully, "You're so cocky. For all you know, I could have been about to say that it was mediocre, or abysmal, or-"
"Or the hottest thing ever," Jaemin pressed a kiss under her jaw, rolling off of her to grab the sleeve of his hoodie that still nestled under her figure, wiping away at the inside of her thighs.
Just then, a flashlight peeked through the hallway just outside the door. Immediately, the pair glanced at each other, Jaemin muttered a loud 'shit', before quickly slipping on his boxers and jeans, and she chucked his hoodie at him, throwing her own clothes back on — barely.
"We gotta go, now," Jaemin grabbed at her wrist before she could put her jeans and shoes on, darting out the back just as the security guard opened the door, yelling a 'who's there?'
As soon as they made it out of the planetarium and into the chilly night air, out of breath and barely able to stand up straight, Jaemin and Y/N let out a chuckle that sounded more like relief, finally bursting into a fit of laughter, barely able to keep their balance. She used that time to slip on her jeans and shoes, elbowing Jaemin, "We almost got arrested. You sure this is still a good date spot?"
Jaemin raised an amused brow at her, catching his breath after laughing, shrugging, "I just bagged the most perfect, smartest, and most unattainable woman in there. I'd say it's the date spot."
Y/N rolled her eyes, interlocking her fingers with his as she led him back onto the main street, "You better not bring anyone but me."
Jaemin stopped in his tracks, turning her around to face him as he held onto both of her hands, his face serious, "Of course. It's only ever been you, Y/N. I know we've only been on just one date and I know I get on your nerves, and that I barely carried any weight on that science project," he let out an embarrassed chuckle, "But I want to be your boyfriend, if you'll let me. Just know that I'll spoil you like crazy, because we both know that I'm the one who is down bad, who is so madly in love I can't think straight in your presence. I know it's only been a short while, but sometimes it just clicks and it clicked with you, Y/N. It clicked perfectly."
She couldn't stifle a wide smile, her eyes glazing over as she nodded eagerly, squeezing his hands tightly, "I can't say it's love just yet I... I need time, but I do like you, a lot and, I want to give us a try. I'll let you be my boyfriend."
Jaemin didn't realise he was holding his breath, letting out a sigh of relief, "I'm not expecting you to feel anything more than that, Y/N. That's more than enough for me, more than I can ask for or feel worthy of."
She tutted at him, sending him a playfully annoyed expression, "You're worthy of a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Jaemin."

6 months later...
"Haechan, don't be a brat, I told you to put the candles on the candle holders before placing them on the cake," Y/N scowled at the male, who only shrugged in response.
"You really don't need candle holders for this, he'll blow the candles out in like... two seconds. No wax will drip on the cake," He swiped his finger over the frosting, licking it off which had her smack his shoulder.
Renjun let out a frustrated sigh at their usual bickering, shoving Haechan to the side and placing the candles on the toppers, "Stop being difficult, Haechan. This isn't your event."
Haechan grumbled, crossing his arms as he leant against the fridge, "You guys need to get a DNA test, it's crazy how similar you both are."
Chenle, who was still wearing sunglasses indoors, peers up from his phone after watching the tracking map, seeing Jaemin's icon pulling up to the apartment, "Guys, he's almost here, stop fighting."
Y/N quickly scrambles to grab the cake, causing Renjun to whine, "Careful, this will all go to waste if you drop it!"
She sticks her tongue out at him, slipping the cake into her hands as she moves to stand in front of the door, "Okay, as soon as you hear the elevator, light the candles. Don't mess this up!"
Haechan grabs the lighter from the counter, standing next to her as he angles it just above the first candle, "Yes, ma'am. Wouldn't want the leader of the underworld to beat my ass."
She sends him a glare, kicking his leg which causes him to yelp, "I am not Hades!"
"Well, Hades would have kicked my leg too!"
"Because you deserved it!"
Chenle, who was now standing in front of the door, jumps in surprise when he hears the elevator ding, "Guys, shut up, he's here!"
Haechan, about to clap back at her, quickly lights the candles, struggling with the last one until it finally burns a flame into the thread just in time for the front door to open. Renjun could have sworn he almost had a heart attack from the way their whole surprise could have gone bust.
As soon as Jaemin steps inside, the quartet broke into song, singing happy birthday to the male who never would have expected a surprise from the people who meant the most to him. A smile tugged at his lips, his toothy grin wide as he finally met the gaze of the most beautiful woman in his eyes. He knew it was her idea, that she brought them here for him, even though it had taken a while for them to all grow close.
When the song ends, Jaemin's eyes flutter closed to make his wish, blowing out the candles, causing everyone to cheer. Haechan ruffles Jaemin's hair, Chenle claps his back, and Renjun gives him a curt nod and birthday wishes, taking the cake from Y/N's hands before the three of them move to the living room, preparing to hand him the presents.
Jaemin doesn't stop smiling at her, pulling her into a tight hug, his nose nestling into her hair, "Thank you for organising all of this, Y/N... It means the world."
She chuckles, "Of course, I knew how much it would mean to you. I'm just surprised I could get everything ready in time, knowing how easily the four of us bicker."
Jaemin chuckled, pulling back to meet her gaze, "Am I the luckiest man ever? I think I am."
She snorts, rolling her eyes, "You're so annoying. This is why I love you."
Jaemin paused, his eyes widening slightly as the words finally registered, "You..."
When she realised why he had been shocked, she shakes her head in amusement, pulling him in for a sweet kiss, nipping at his bottom lip as she pulled back, "I love you, Jaemin. I was just waiting for the right time to say it."
The three men hollered from the living room, but Jaemin let those sounds drown out, cupping her cheeks with the palms of his hands as he pulled her back in for another kiss, parting his lips against hers, tugging at the plush skin as he smiled into her mouth, "I love you too, Y/N."

© hyckstarz
#nct x reader#nct dream x reader#nct imagines#nct smut#nct jaemin#na jaemin#jaemin x reader#jaemin imagine#jaemin fic#jaemin smut#jaemin fanfic#jaemin#nct dream smut#nct fanfic#nct#nct dream x you#jaemin fluff#nct fluff#nct dream fluff#kpop smut#nct hard hours#nct scenarios#nct one shot#꒰ hyckstarz ꒱
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SPIKE! shot

maeda riku smau !!
15. uhoh hubby crashing out
warnings: cursing
˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊








˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊
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andbie time !! : this is so slowburn even for me cz whyd it take them like 10 plus chapters to catch feelings for eo
taglist ( open !! ) :: @hahaechans @mandylip @kswluvrr @kkyeoji @bloomingwish @renisprobablyonthetoilet @tae2an @sunhyeswife @dudekiss3r @seesinblur @titsoutformrk @jisungnewhottie @sooohey @yvshi @saranghoeforanton @7snse @n9vacane @linzzn @jungwonbropls @iluvparkgunwook @svzannqq @dearmynayeon
#SPIKE! shot#maeda riku#nct#nct wish#nct wish x reader#maeda riku x reader#riku#nct riku#nct wish smau#maeda riku smau#nct smau#nct au#nct wish au#oh sion#tokuno yushi#andbie#nct social media au#maeda riku social media au#nct imagines#nct fluff#nct fanfic#nct x reader#riku smau#kpop x reader#kpop smau
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bf!dreamies reacting to you forgetting that they can see your 'close friends' story



pairing | idol!dreamies x fem!reader
content | fluffy, suggestive
notes | this was just a shameless excuse to use that haechan photo... anyways i'm trying to get back into writing so hopefully you'll see some more content from me soon!! i'm also trying out a bit of a new formatting style, so lemme know what you think ^_^
© NMHDREAMSCAPE























masterlist requests and asks are open!

#nct x reader#nct dream x reader#mark x reader#renjun x reader#jeno x reader#haechan x reader#jaemin x reader#chenle x reader#jisung x reader#nct#nct dream#mark lee#renjun#jeno#haechan#jaemin#chenle#jisung#nct fluff#nct dream fluff#mark fluff#renjun fluff#jeno fluff#haechan fluff#jaemin fluff#chenle fluff#jisung fluff#nct texts#nct dream texts#mark texts
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