#scoups ff

[honeyhotteoks]

always only you (c.sc)

summary: the date was terrible, awful even, but you just can't call your brother to pick you up. you have to call his best friend instead.

note: hi um....... i'm back and a seventeen stan now????? don't worry, i'm still working on ateez fic, but s.coups has taken hold of my brain and i needed to get this one out there so..... pls enjoy

warnings: non idol!seungcheol, fem!reader, older brother mingyu, seungcheol is mingyus bff, reader is called a sl*t in a mean way by her shitty date, v protective cheol, reckless driving, unprotected sex (wrap it up dont be like them), reader is curvy and descriptors like full, thick, etc. are used throughout, makeouts, grinding, cheol is obsessed with pussy, i mean fr he's a bonafide wap enjoyer, an oral aficionado of the wettest kind, anyways there's oral sex f receiving, hand stuff, rough fingering, rough but passionate sex, use of baby and princess, creampies b/c lbr he's gotta, anyways they're obsessed with each other

pairings: s.coups x reader

genre: smut and more smut, childhood friends to lovers

word count: 14.2K

It was a bad date. 

Not the worst date you’ve ever had, granted, but still pretty up there in terms of terrible. He left an hour ago, the minute you interrupted his monologue to tell him that you were pretty sure things weren’t going to work out. You’ve never had someone leave in the middle of a date before, but then again, you’ve never actually told someone the date was bad in the middle either. 

Not being able to find the right guy is starting to feel embarrassing. It’s been years since your last relationship and months since you even had a second date. Naively, you had had such a good feeling about tonight and having to be proven wrong at breakneck speed before you even got your entrees feels like some kind of poetic karma for something you must have done. You just wish for once you had kept your mouth shut, but your good feeling had been infectious and your excitement about the date bubbled up out of you to your friends and your coworkers. 

You just wish you never told Mingyu. 

I have a really good feeling about him. That’s what you told your brother on the phone a few hours ago. We’ve been talking for a few weeks, I think you’ll really like him.

Stupid. 

You should have known he was on the rebound from the suspiciously large gap in photos on his Instagram. You should have known he was just trying to sleep with you from the minute he commented on your dress, from the way he touched your shoulder for too long for the first hug. You should have known on top of all of that that he would be boring from his joking non-answer when you asked about his most recent read. Sometimes it takes all of those things wrapped up tightly together and shoved directly in your face from across a dining room table to know for sure. 

You just wish you never said a word to Mingyu. You don’t want to see that look in his eyes when you tell him he wasn’t the right guy. His eyes always go soft, mouth downturned, and it kills you every time because he means it when he says - You’ll find the right guy soon, anyone would be crazy to not love you. 

Tonight you really don’t want pity, you don’t think you can handle it. 

“Are you ready for the check?” The server’s voice snaps you right out of your thoughts and you look up at his sympathetic smile. 

“Sorry,” You manage, “yes,”

“No rush,” He lies, immediately producing the leather billfold and sliding it across the tablecloth. 

The floor doesn’t start to drop out from beneath you until you open it, despite having to sit here and eat your pasta alone. This place is expensive, more expensive than you thought. 

Your eyes run through the bill. Four cocktails, two appetizers, two entrees, one slice of cherry cheesecake. The bills your date left on the table just barely covers three cocktails. You can’t afford this. The prices here were probably nothing for your date given how much he talked about his extremely smart investing strategies, but not for you. 

You do fast math, panic math. 

After paying the bill you’ll have 9,600 won in your debit account. You get paid tomorrow so it’s not the scariest number you’ve ever seen in your account, but it’s definitely not enough for a taxi home. 

Your stomach churns. 

You pay the bill quickly, quietly, the server’s hovering presence by your shoulder enough to tell you there is in fact a considerable rush. Your card is returned to you in moments, and he places a brown paper bag in front of you, “There’s an extra slice of cheesecake in there for you,” he says, “I’m sorry about your date.”

He’s gone before you can say thank you. 

You suppose you can’t really sit inside anymore if you’ve paid the bill and you’re holding a to-go bag, so you step out into the chilly night air. It’s been raining lately, but barely. It’s been cloudy more than anything, and yet here you are walking outside into the cold night air and a late autumn storm of icy rain. 

Your date was a special kind of bastard for leaving you stranded a half hour from your apartment in a storm like this. 

The comments he made about you, about your dress and the way it fits flick through your mind and your jaw draws tightly shut. If you had had the wherewithal in that moment to slap him or toss a glass of water in his face you would have, but instead you sat frozen with your stomach in knots. 

It takes you one flash of rage to scroll through your phone and delete the three dating apps installed, and then you open up your contacts and scroll for your brother’s name. He doesn’t live too far from here, and you know he’s probably out with some of his friends, but if you’re lucky maybe he’s close by. Your finger hovers over Mingyu’s contact, but you can't quite make the call. 

You’re twenty-six, you should be grown up enough to get home by yourself after a bad date and not have to call him to rescue you. Embarrassment floods you, the idea of admitting you can’t afford the taxi tonight just sinks into your bones. You love your brother so much, but the idea of seeing him look at you the way he sometimes does and then slip money into your purse for you to find at home makes you want to cry. You’d call him and you’d tell him you’re returning it and he’d play dumb - What money, y/n? I didn’t put that there, maybe it’s like when you find 50,000 won in your old jeans?

No, you can’t call him. You can’t go over to his lovely little apartment with his absolutely lovely fiance and cry about the sorry state of your romantic life. Nothing about that will make you feel better in this moment, absolutely nothing. 

You scroll away from his contact and you think about anyone else you could call, but there’s only one person who keeps coming to mind. There’s no way he’ll pick up, not when he sees your number on his phone, not after the way you’ve treated him for the past year, but his apartment really isn’t that far from here and if he doesn’t hate your guts you know he’ll at least give you a ride. 

The rain picks up, pelting you hard enough that you have to duck back under the measly lip of the restaurants roof for what cover it provides, and you don’t realize you’re well and truly crying until your cheeks feel warm and wet and you can’t get a full breath, but here you are. Stranded alone, broke, and loveless in an apparently ill fitting dress, and there’s only one person’s voice you want to hear even if it’s just his stupid voicemail box. 

Tears hiccup out of you as you dial, cold fingers shaking as you try to press the numbers you’ve had memorized by heart since you were thirteen and got your first cell phone. 

The phone rings twice before he answers, “Hey, you,” 

The easy sound of his voice makes your tears come faster. Your breath hitches in your chest, “Cheol?”

“y/n?” His voice shifts, “Are you crying?”

“I’m,” You hiccup again, “I’m sorry,”

“Hey,” He tries again, “y/n, is that you?” 

“I messed up,” Your head is starting to throb and you press your eyes closed, leaning back against the cold wall of the restaurant and hiding as much of your body under the overhang of the roof as possible, “I’m sorry to call,”

“That’s okay,” Seungcheol says, his voice sounding strained, “what happened, princess?” 

He hasn’t called you that in years, not since you were fifteen and carrying a torch for him. Not since you made Mingyu tell him to stop. 

“C-can you come get me?” You wish you could just stop crying.

“Tell me where you are,” He answers immediately, and despite the rain you hear the sound of his car keys. 

You give him the name of the restaurant, the closest cross streets, all blubbered out between fat tears and rain drops. 

“That’s…” He sounds distant suddenly and then his voice reconnects, “twenty minutes, okay? I’ll be there in twenty minutes, princess, just take a deep breath,” 

You drag in a shaky breath, “Cheol,” you scrub the tears from under your eyes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,” 

“Me,” He says, his car starting up in the background, “you always call me if you need me,” 

You haven’t seen him in almost a year, barely talked to him outside of sending reactions to each other's Instagram stories, but he’s coming. 

The way you fell away from him was gradual at first, and then an intentional self preservationist wall. Mingyu had introduced his best friend to a girl, and despite your high school crush being supposedly dead and buried, you weren’t prepared for what Choi Seungcheol in love would look like. You started being busier and busier until his calls went unanswered and then eventually his calls just stopped altogether. Mingyu told you later that the relationship didn’t last, but the damage was done and in the end it was just easier not to reach out first. 

You can’t believe he picked up the phone and you can’t believe the first thing he heard from you in a year was hysterical crying. Taking a set of deep, steadying breaths you wipe away the wetness from your cheeks. Your date had hurt your feelings, but you only let it last for a minute. You wouldn’t let a man with such a fragile ego get into your head, and besides, you’ve always liked this dress. 

Seungcheol makes it to you in fifteen minutes flat. He’s broken at least six traffic laws to get to you, including running a solidly red, redlight, but he really doesn’t care. 

He’s seen you cry before, plenty of times. When you skinned your knee at seven or that time he and Mingyu played a prank when you were eleven, tricking you into thinking you were home alone on Halloween night. He’s seen you cry at movies and at videos of puppies and the sound of moving music, and he remembers your eyes full of glassy tears watching Mingyu graduate college. He remembers the sound of it when your grandmother died when you were nineteen, the way your shoulders shook and your breath wheezed as you hid your face tightly in your brother's chest while he looked on feeling so, so helpless. 

Seungcheol remembers all of it, but he’s never heard you sound like you did tonight.  

Mingyu had said you had a date. Earlier in Seungcheol’s night at a bar not far from his apartment, his best friend mentioned it off hand. Mingyu said it like an afterthought as he answered one of your texts. Seungcheol tried not to notice the way his hand tightened on his beer can, enough to make the aluminum crack inwards on itself where his thumb dug into the cool metal. He tried not to think too much about what that meant, just like he’s been trying not to think too much about you at all lately. 

Now his mind is racing, threading the pieces together as the wet road whips by. The threadiness of your voice turns synonymous with panic in his mind and now all he can think about is how he’ll find you when he gets there. He goes over the facts he knows while he stops behind a small block of traffic, his knuckles white as he grips the wheel. 

A date, a bad date, a date you needed a ride away from. The kind of date you couldn’t tell your brother about, when he knows that Mingyu is always your first call. As the traffic disperses he presses the gas pedal and weaves around the slower cars, images flickering in his mind’s eye. A faceless man looking at you, making you uncomfortable, pressing into your space. His mind loops on the image of an unwanted kiss, of pushy hands finding their way under your blouse. 

By the time he’s skidding into the parking lot of the restaurant his hands are shaking and he’s ready to kill. 

When he sees you, wet and shivering on the sidewalk, he nearly falls out of the car trying to get to you. He leaves the key in the ignition, the door flung wide open with warmth pouring out into the chilly night air. 

He looks flustered, rumpled like he was having a quiet night in. Heavy gray sweatpants that hang just right on his hips and an oversized white shirt. He’s wearing socks and slides and the second you see him it dawns on you that when you called him you must have sounded hysterical because he didn’t even try to dress for the icy weather. 

“You look terrible,” You clap a hand over your lips to stop yourself from laughing, and you can’t believe that’s the first thing you manage to say to him after a year. You hate yourself for having no filter, no off switch, no ability to just be normal and say thank you for coming all this way. 

His expression runs from panic to confusion in a split second, “What?” 

“Fuck,” You laugh, shaking your head, “no, sorry, you look good, but it’s raining like hell, get in the car,” 

He blinks, “y/n,” 

“Come on,” You duck out from beneath the measly roof overhang and dart towards the passenger side door, “it’s freezing, I’ll explain in the car,” 

Your dress is wet, but not soaked through, so you hope you won’t do any damage to his seats as you slide into the warmth of his car and shut the door. It takes him at least thirty seconds to follow you, but through his confusion at your reaction you bet he finally registers the cold wetness of his socks and it snaps him back to reality. 

He leaves the car in park and turns his body to you. 

You owe him an explanation, especially given the way you cried on the phone to him twenty minutes ago, but all you can think right now is that it’s really, really nice to see his face again. His hair has gotten longer, shaggier and curled a little at the neck and it might just be the fit of his shirt, but he looks broader. It’s only been a year, but he looks so much more like a man now. All you can manage is, “Hey, Cheol,” 

“Hey,” He answers, shifting himself further in the seat so that he’s almost twisted up sideways, one leg tucked up to accommodate the position. 

The front of his shirt is damp with rain and clinging a bit to his chest and you look down. You really do not need to be having these kinds of thoughts about him again, it’s only been a minute, ninety seconds at the most.  

“y/n,” He says, his voice slow and soft, “what happened?” 

Shame floods you, heating your cheeks red. 

He stretches a hand across the center console, but he stops halfway, his fingers closing into a loose fist, “You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

“I know,” 

“I won’t tell Gyu,” He offers quietly, “just tell me what happened, and I promise, I’ll take care of it.” 

Oh. 

Your head snaps up at his serious tone, “Nothing happened, I’m fine,” 

He looks more confused than before if that’s even possible, and you can practically see him working out his next words. 

“Cheol,” You shake your head, “I’m serious, I’m completely fine, I just needed a ride,” 

“You were crying,” He says, not a question but a fact. 

“I know,” You sigh. 

“You were crying like something happened,” He draws his arm back and runs a hand through his damp hair, “and you called me?” 

“I know,” You repeat, “it was a bad date, but that’s all it was. He ditched me without a ride though and I just,” 

Seungcheol’s lips close at your words as he waits for you to finish. 

“The thought of calling Mingyu and telling him about this just,” You clear your throat to push back a little bubble of emotion, “yeah, I couldn’t do that,” 

“Oh,” His voice drops, and Seungcheol shifts in his seat, throwing the car into drive, “got it.” 

“No, Cheol,” You shake your head, “that’s not what I meant,” 

“It’s fine,” He peels out of the parking lot, “I’ll drive you home.”

He’s angry, pissed at you in that way he gets pissed. Tightened jaw, heavy sighs, his knee bouncing in irritation. If you give it five minutes he’ll tell you what’s bothering him, he’ll say it in a fast rush like he’s more disappointed than mad. You have to let him come to you when he’s like this, no amount of trying to explain will fix it, so you wait. 

The drive is silent, and you fight the urge to jump in with directions when he approaches each light and turn. He knows where your apartment is, he helped you move in four years ago when you graduated college. Mingyu and his friends lifting box after box and telling you to just relax and let the professionals handle it. You smile at the memory. 

He stays quiet until he turns off the major road and down the side streets that will take you to your apartment, but finally he says, “You can’t just call me like that and expect me to drop everything when you have a bad date,” 

“Were you busy?” You didn’t think so judging by the state of his clothes, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility. He could have had friends over, maybe a girl. You wonder idly if he’s seeing someone. 

“That’s not the point,” He glances at you, “and you know it.” 

“I’m sorry,” You tell him, and you mean it, “I really didn’t know who to call, and I just,” 

“What, y/n?” He pushes a little. 

“I just don’t want to tell Mingyu about the date,” You confess, “and I didn’t mean to call you and be such a mess, the date really was bad and I was feeling sorry for myself, and I didn’t have enough money to get home,” 

“What?” He swivels his head to the side for a moment and then refocuses on the road. 

“I would have called a taxi,” You explain, “but my fucking date left and didn’t pay after we ordered all this food and it was more than I was planning for,” 

“He didn’t pay?” He sounds disgusted and you smile. 

“No,” You tell him, “but in fairness, I did tell him in the middle of the date it wasn’t going to work out,” 

He laughs sharply, and you know he’s still irritated but at least he’s listening, “That bad?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, “but it is what it is,” 

He glances over to you again, “So he walked out?” 

“Basically,” You nod, “he said what he needed to say, dropped twenty-thousand won on the table like that was going to cover anything and walked out. At least now I know he was an asshole, I’m not missing out on anything,” 

“What did he say to you?” His voice pops up an octave. 

You’d really rather not tell him, you’d be fine burying the comment he made deep down inside never to be unpacked again. You shake your head, “It’s fine,” 

“It doesn’t seem fine,” He starts, but you smoothly cut back in. 

“I just didn’t want Gyu to feel bad for me I guess, he knew I was looking forward to the date, and having to call for a ride like this, I don’t know. I was embarrassed,” You explain. 

“I still don’t understand why you called me, though,” He admits, and you can still feel the tension in him even though the conversation has been ebbing and flowing, “I’m not your brother.” 

Irritation sparks in you at the comment, “I know you’re not,” you turn to him, “but we’re friends, aren’t we?” 

“Friends call each other,” He says simply, “don’t they?” 

You let his comment sit in the air between you for a moment, and then you sigh, “Yeah, they do. I’m sorry I disappeared on you like that,” 

“I tried calling,” He says softly, “but you were always busy,” 

“I know,” You breathe. 

He drives further, slower now and safer that you’re in the car, and you can see him thinking through your words. Finally he slides his hand across the center console with his palm turned up, offering you his hand, “y/n,” he says, “are you doing okay? With money, I mean, after what you said?” 

“I’m good,” You tell him, “it was just shitty timing,” 

“If you need anything,” He squeezes your hand as you slide your palm across his, “I’m here, we don’t have to say anything to,” 

 “I’m okay,” You assure him, “but thank you, seriously,” 

He nods, accepting your words, but then he asks something harder, “What did that guy say to you, y/n? I know you, you weren’t crying like that over not being able to get a taxi,” 

You sigh, leaning back in the passenger seat, “Can I ask you to let it go?” 

“You can ask,” He shrugs, “but so can I.” 

You sit quietly, looking at your entwined hands resting on your knee. His thumb strokes over your knuckles slowly. 

“Fine,” You murmur, “he said he didn’t want to date me anyways, he just came to sleep with me,” 

His hand tightens on yours. 

“And if I wasn’t going to fuck him,” You do your best to clean up some of the language he used when he got up from the table, “I shouldn’t have dressed like a slut,” 

You leave out the part that really cut deep, the part that made the more form fitting dress you chose go from sexy to something sour. 

“Give me this asshole’s name,” Seungcheol skids to a stop a little too harshly at the next traffic light and turns to you. 

“No,” You shake your head, “I’m fine now, it just stung,” 

His lips close in a tight line and then he sighs, “I’m so sorry someone said that to you,” 

“Don’t apologize, Cheol,” You squeeze his hand, “you didn’t say it.” 

“I know, but still,” He holds your gaze, “it was mean, and you deserve much better from a guy you’re seeing, and you don’t look like, or I mean, you aren’t a,” 

You smile as he stumbles over his words and someone behind him gently honks the horn enough to let him know the light has gone green. 

He jolts and refocuses on the road, clearing his throat, “What I’m trying to say is that you look nice, pretty. The dress is good, and you, um, you don’t look,” 

“Thank you,” You cut him off, trying to save him from swallowing his own tongue out of embarrassment, and you ignore the way your stomach flipped over on itself hearing Seungcheol call you pretty. 

“Yeah,” He swallows, slowing down to make the final turn onto your little block, “you know what I mean,” 

“Mhm,” You laugh, breaking down any lingering tension, “Cheol, are you a little disappointed you didn’t get to punch my date? Is that it?” 

“Shut up,” He sighs. 

“Aw,” You smile as he pulls into a space by your apartment, “You were worried about me?” 

He rolls his eyes as he kills the ignition, “You were hysterical,” he says, “what was I supposed to think?” 

“Don’t worry,” You smile as he throws open the driver’s side door, “I think it’s kind of sweet that you went all knight and shining armor on me,” 

His lip twitches, “Don’t make fun,” he says, “I thought something bad happened to you,” 

“Nothing bad happened to me,” You find yourself assuring him again even though he already knows this, and you twist the moment back to a joke as quickly as you can, “unless you count listening to a guy talk about his ex for twenty minutes,” 

He grimaces, “Ugh,” 

“Exactly,” 

“Actually, you know what,” He grins, “you’re right, that is a terrible date and you were right to call me,” 

He’s out of the car and crossing to your door and relief floods your chest. Just like that, you’re back to normal. 

Seungcheol pulls open your door to let you out and says, “Do you have a towel or something?” 

“You want to come up?” 

“If you don’t mind,”

“You just swooped in and saved my night, Coups, of course I don’t mind.” He smiles at the nickname, the one mostly used by his friend group and coined by Seungcheol himself during their short lived Soundcloud music career freshman year of college. The nickname stuck, but you and Mingyu knew him before and you’ve both always, always called him Seungcheol. 

He ducks his head, smiles, and follows you up the stairs and into your apartment just like old times. 

It’s a little strange seeing him like this after so much time has passed, but no matter what has happened in your life, even when your childhood little crush on him was making your nights sleepless, he’s always been there. He’s been a constant in your life since you could form memories, and when you really think about it, you’ve never not known Seungcheol. Suddenly seeing him in your living room feels right, and it makes you wonder why you couldn’t pick up the phone and say something real to him this past year.

“It looks good in here,” He offers, toeing off his slides in the entryway and stepping into your little living room, “it looks like you,” 

“Thanks,” You’re pretty sure the floor of your bedroom is still covered in clothes from earlier, but he’s not going to see that and you’re just glad you didn’t let that chaos spillover out here. 

“So,” He clears his throat lightly. 

“Towel,” You jump, “right, hold on,” 

You disappear down the hall and Seungcheol’s chest goes fluttering fast. He doesn’t need a towel, he doesn’t need anything except a pair of dry socks and his own bed, and he can’t figure out for the life of him why he gave into the little voice that told him to come upstairs. You’ve made it pretty clear over the past year or so that you’ve grown up, you’ve made your own group of friends outside of him and your brother and the guys. He doesn’t need to be here, you don’t need him anymore, you just needed a ride. 

But he’s missed you a little. A lot if he’s being honest with himself. Sometimes he finds himself asking Mingyu about you, hoping you might drop by while he’s at his best friend’s place. Your name on his phone screen earlier in the night had stopped his heart cold. He couldn’t imagine why you were calling and not just texting, and he picked up the phone so fast he thought he might have fucked it up and accidentally pressed end. He tried to sound casual, normal, but his heart was pounding. 

Standing in your living room he feels out of place, like a forgotten childhood relic unboxed in the middle of a new home. He doesn’t know which seat to sit in, he doesn’t have his spot on your couch here like he did at your old place. He doesn’t know where you keep your glasses or which remote would switch on the television. He doesn’t know which book you’ve been reading from the little stack on the table or the name of the place you’ve been working, and there’s a man’s jacket hanging on the wall in the hallway that he doesn’t recognize. He hopes it’s Mingyu’s. 

He doesn’t know why he’s here. He should leave. He should go. 

“Okay,” Your voice comes back, and he tears his eyes away from the little details of your life he doesn’t recognize to look back at you, “I’ve got a towel, socks, and I bet I have a sweatshirt of Gyu’s around here if you’re cold,” 

“I’m good,” He recovers, taking the dry items from your hands. 

Your fingers brush along his as you pass everything off and your stomach jumps. 

“Come in,” You wave him in, “I’ll make some coffee or something and then I need to change,” 

“You should get a warm shower,” He says abruptly, “you’ll catch a cold,” 

“I’m fine,” You shake your head, “I wasn’t out there for too long,” 

“I’ll make the coffee then, you need to get out of that wet dress,” He shoos you away and points to your kitchen, “I assume you have a normal coffee machine and not some fancy Italian thing?” 

“I think you’ll be fine,” You smile, “I’ll just be a second,” 

He nods, and you dart back down the hallway to your bedroom. 

It takes you three minutes to change into something comfortable and clean and then kick all of your scattered clothes into the closet and shut the door. You run a brush through your tangled hair from the rain, and you almost forget that your childhood crush is walking freely around your apartment, but then you hear his laugh and you melt into the wall behind you. You missed the sound of it so much, and if you don’t get a handle on this right now you’re going to go out there and make a fool of yourself. 

But then he laughs again. 

You smile as you come back out into the living room, leaving your good sense behind in the bathroom, “What’s so funny?” 

“I haven’t seen these in years,” He grins, and as you come around the corner you realize he’s looking at the photos you have framed and sitting in various spots on your bookshelf. 

“Oh,” You smile, seeing the one he’s holding and studying, “yeah,” 

“This one,” He tips the frame so you can see the picture, but you already know which one, Mingyu and Seungcheol in their first year of college stand in the center of the frame, Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Dokyeom, and Hoshi with their arms thrown around each other on either side. You are crouching in the center with Jeonghan’s little sister, both of you holding out a peace sign. 

“Isn’t this the night we went to that haunted theme park?” Seungcheol asks with a smile. 

“Yeah,” You take the photo back from him and look it over for a moment, “in Daegu,” 

He nods, “I remember,” 

“Yeah,” You place the photo back in it’s assigned spot and turn towards the kitchen, “I just remember you and DK scaring the living shit out of me,” 

“God,” He runs a hand through his hair, “we did, I felt so bad about that after,” 

“Mm,” You laugh. 

“Gyu reamed us out for it later,” He follows you into the kitchen and watches as you pour two cups of freshly brewed coffee. 

“He never told me that,” Your eyes perk up in surprise. 

“He said,” Seungcheol straightens himself up to his full height and lets his face go passive for his impression, “‘If you ever make my sister cry like that again, you’ll be sorry,’” 

“Sorry?” You laugh, “Mingyu wouldn’t know how to make someone sorry if his life depended on it,” 

“I don’t know,” He shrugs, relaxing his shoulders and reaching for his cup, “it seemed pretty clear he wasn’t fucking around, we took him seriously,” 

“Wow,” You lean against the counter, “that’s actually kind of sweet,” 

“He’s always been protective of you,” Seungcheol points out, “even now, he’ll talk about you and I can see it,” 

“I’m not a kid anymore, though,” You bristle a little. 

“He knows that,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “he just worries, you know, it’s his nature,” 

“Yeah,” You nod, taking a long sip of your coffee, “I know,” 

Seungcheol hovers, not finding a place to lean or to sit in the unfamiliar place, and finally he just asks the question that’s been on his mind for the past twenty minutes, “Is that why you didn’t call him? He worries too much?” 

“I guess a little,” You move past him and back into the living room, “come sit down, you’re making me nervous,” 

He blushes and every little emotion you’ve ever had for him comes thundering back in your chest. There are at least three places for him to sit that aren’t directly next to you on the couch, but he ignores every one of them and sits next to you, barely a foot away, and turns towards you so he can put all his focus on you. 

“So,” He prompts you, “come on, it’s just me,” 

Talking to him was always easy, always. Even in the throes of your infatuation you were able to hold a conversation with him, sometimes a long one out on the balcony of your parent’s house. It’s almost irritating how quickly that familiarity and comfort comes back. 

“I just feel like I’ve been really fucking this whole dating thing up,” You confess, “and Mingyu’s been… well you know him, he’s like the number one hype man for me making all my dreams come true, and being ten out of ten happy,” 

“Yeah,” He nods, but lets you continue. 

“But I just haven’t been able to make it work with anyone in a while,” You bite down the reason why in the back of your brain, “and every time I tell him about a bad date he just looks sadder and sadder for me,” 

“Mm,” He nods, sympathetic, “I know exactly what you mean.” 

“I’m so glad you picked up, honestly,” You glance down at the edge of your cup, “you’ve never treated me like that, and I just… I guess I needed a friend and not my brother tonight,” 

He hesitates, but then his hand comes to rest on your knee and he gives you a squeeze, “I get it,” he says, “but, honestly it seems like you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself,” 

“I know, but,” You sigh, your words dying out as you focus on his lingering hand on your knee. 

“What’s so important about getting a guy right now?” He asks, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of this man asking you that question. 

“Cheol,” You shift on the couch to reposition, pulling back your knee from his touch so you can face him and admit this without being dizzier than you are about his presence, “I don’t know, exactly, but… don’t you feel like living alone is kind of fucking lonely sometimes?”

His eyes flick over you and then he nods. 

The words keep coming as much as you don’t want them to now that you’ve started telling someone, telling him the truth of it and you grimace as you admit it, “The sick part is that I think it’s me. Tonight was the exception, he was a dick, but most of these guys are nice. They’re nice, they’re respectful, they seem to be interested in me, but none of them are what I want, none of them are,”  

You have to stop. You have to get off this topic and off this train before you say something really and truly stupid and burn this newly restored friendship down to ash. 

“Having high standards isn’t a bad thing,” He offers, “and Gyu sets the bar high for how you should treat a woman, I mean,” 

“You think I’m talking about Mingyu?” You laugh sharply. 

“He’s the best guy I know,” He starts to say and then the wheels start turning. 

It happens fast, your absolute lightning quick strike to the match, but your poor decision making usually goes something like this. It makes you mad at first, his constant reference to your perfect brother, but then it all makes sense. Seungcheol really has no idea how you feel about him, as a person or otherwise. It doesn’t enter his brain that the guy who set your standards for men so high might be him, even after he drove illegally fast on wet roads just to come get you because he heard you cry. Up until the last year of your life where you tried to install some distance, he was always there. He was always your first call, always your last call too, and you could never really see anyone else while he was towering right in front of you. He’s never let you down and he doesn’t even know it. 

“I can’t believe you,” The words slip out, and then you’re kissing him. 

He takes a sharp inhale of breath at the way you collapse onto him, holding yourself up with one hand on his chest and the other on his neck, and his mouth is so warm. You press the first kiss tentatively, and then the second a little more insistently, and then you realize he hasn’t moved an inch and isn’t kissing you back in the least. 

You fly backwards, your hand over your mouth, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” 

He clears his throat and shifts, shaking his head, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” 

“I can’t believe I just did that,” You blush scarlet, “I’m a mess, I’m so, so sorry, Cheol,” 

“Really,” He avoids your eyes, “it’s fine, it was an emotional night, and you just said it yourself, living alone is lonely. We’re good,” 

“I didn’t kiss you because I was sad,” You run a hand through your hair and slump back on the couch, “I kissed you because you were being a dumb ass,” 

“I feel like you’re insulting me a lot tonight considering I just drove across town for you,” He’s not angry, not really, but he doesn’t let you off so easily, he never has. 

“I kissed you because you’re the best guy I know,” You counter his words back, “and I’m sick of you always putting yourself down when-”

He yanks you forwards by your wrist, and this kiss is what you’ll count forever as the first one. He drags your body forwards as he leans back against the couch and kisses you hard, his tongue dipping past your lips this time, his breath mingling with yours. 

You shift for better purchase, your chest and his flush together, and you moan softly against his lips when his hand slips lower on your waist. 

He breaks the kiss, his forehead leaning against yours, “What the fuck are we doing?” 

“I think they call it making out,” You manage, your heart beating fast like a bird. 

“Jesus,” He shakes his head, “what are we doing?” 

“Cheol,” You start, but he kisses you again, hungrier and hotter as he pulls you in. 

You pant against his mouth, your brain exploding into little fireworks as his hands start to wander, and then he groans, “You feel so good,” 

This is going somewhere fast, and with your hands twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt you swing your leg over his hips and let him wrap his arms around you. 

“We should slow down,” You find yourself mumbling against his mouth, “but I don’t want to, I want you,” 

He nods against you, his hands squeezing your thighs where they rest on either side of him, “I want you too,” 

“We should talk more,” You manage as his kisses travel over your jaw. 

“Later?” He asks, his hands dragging you closer, “God, that dress,” 

“Yeah?” You’re breathless already. 

“If I knew you were going to kiss me I would have peeled it off you,” He pants. 

A moan gets caught in your throat, your hips jerking, nipples hardening against his chest as you throw yourself into another kiss. 

“God,” He shivers. 

“Cheol stay,” You can talk later, he’s absolutely right, and you beg him not to go between kisses, “please stay,” 

Logic starts to pump through him at the implications of that, so much more than kissing comes with staying for the night and he starts to shake his head, but at the way you’re touching him he can’t quite tear his hands away. 

“I should go home,” He murmurs against your mouth, fingers slipping underneath the hem of your t-shirt, “you’ve been drinking,” 

“I had two drinks,” You connect your lips with his again, tongue dipping into his mouth, “like three hours ago,” 

“Still,” He kisses you again despite his words, his hand now flat against the small of your back. 

“I’m not drunk,” You pull yourself closer using his shoulders, “if you don’t want to kiss me, don’t kiss me, but don’t use that as an excuse,” 

“I should go home,” He repeats, like saying it out loud might make his body follow his brain, but it doesn’t. All he does is tug you closer, your legs now fully splayed around his hips as he leans back against the couch and groans against your mouth. 

“I should,” He starts again, whispered thoughts against your lips, but you push back from his chest and break your mouths apart. 

“If you want to go so bad, go,” You pull your arms away from him, crossing them under your chest to hold yourself steady. Your nails press pinpricks into your palms. 

“This isn’t about what I want,” His eyes soften in that tender way you love, and his hand cups your waist, thumb brushing a line over the deep curve of your hip. 

“Why wouldn’t this be about what you want?” You press him, “Or about what I want?” 

“Mingyu is my best friend,” He says, his mouth drawn into a sullen line, “and I never want to do anything that betrays his trust or hurts him in any way,” 

“I’m not asking you to,” Your voice is small. 

“Just,” He sighs, his head tipping backwards against the cushions and his hands slipping to rest over your thighs, “tell me something, okay? Be honest,” 

“Okay,” 

“Do you want me because you’re lonely and I’m here,” He asks, his eyes locked to the ceiling, “or do you want me because you want me?” 

Your arms fall slack and you open your mouth to respond but he presses forwards. 

“Because if this is a one time thing to make us both feel better,” He shakes his head, “I can’t do that, I have to go home.” 

“Cheol,” You murmur, but he doesn’t lift his head. You reach for him, brushing a hand along his cheek and drawing his gaze back down from the ceiling to your face, “Seungcheol, look at me,” 

“Yeah,” He finally follows your gaze. 

“I love my brother, but this isn’t about him,” You tell him clearly, and you watch his lips part so he can cut in but you shake your head, “it isn’t. This is about us, and I’ve had a crush on you since I was fucking thirteen,” 

He blinks, a grin breaking across his face, “You have?” 

“Yeah,” You shuffle closer on his lap, “why do you think I disappeared? You started dating that girl and I just… it wasn’t my place to say anything, it’s not like you were mine, but,” 

He brushes the hair back from your cheek as he nods, “It hurts to see the person you want with someone else,” 

“Yeah,” 

“And you wanted me?” 

You nod, stroking his neck where your hand rests, “I just needed some space after that, I thought I could move on,” 

“I know the feeling,” He smiles, his thumb tender against your jaw, “believe me,” 

“I do,” You nod, “so believe me when I tell you I’ve wanted you for a long time and I don’t just want the one night,” 

He sits frozen, his eyes studying your expression, and then he’s moving. Seungcheol pulls you down to meet his mouth again, hands roughly threading into your hair and gripping your hip as he tugs your bodies flush together. He kisses like you hope he fucks, passionate and a little messy, like his need to be inside you and consumed by you is more important than any vanity. 

“God,” He groans against your mouth, “he’s going to kill me,” 

“Probably,” You huff a laugh against his lips, rolling your hips forwards to slot your bodies together tightly, and at the feeling of his hardening cock pressed against your sex you can’t help the breathy moan that slips out. 

He drops his hands to your hips, coaxing you into rolling them again as he presses upwards and you follow his guidance with ease. He curses softly and you roll your hips again, “Oh, fuck my fucking life,” he groans, kissing his way down your throat, “he’ll kill me, but you’re worth it,” 

“I better be,” You tease him, tugging gently on his hair as he licks a stripe along your throat. 

“Oh, you are,” He shifts back up to kiss your lips again, his mouth pillowy soft and hot against yours, “and I love Gyu, but,” 

“Seungcheol,” You push on his shoulders. 

His rarely used full name gets his attention and he leans back just enough to see your face, “What’s wrong?” 

“Can you please stop talking about my brother while you’re trying to fuck me?” You can hear the whine in your own voice, “I need you right now, we’ll deal with him later,” 

“Sorry, sorry,” He smiles, “of course, come here,” 

You melt into him as he gathers you closer, his warm, rough hands finding new expanses of skin to touch and it’s strange but delicious to know that there are still brand new things you can learn about a person even after knowing them all your life. He gets soft beneath you like butter when you touch his ears, audibly groans when you grind against him, and gets breathier every time you kiss his neck. He’s not afraid to make little noises in your ear, to curse when you do something right or softly beg you to do something again. 

With his mouth on yours and his hands exploring you, you’re just a shaky wet mess in his arms and he doesn’t even fully realize it yet, still so focused on studying your body with his lips, his tongue.

“Ch-Cheol,” You whine as his teeth nip at your pulsepoint, “baby,” 

His hands tighten, sliding to cup your backside through the thin fabric of your lounge pants, “Say that again,” 

“Baby?” 

He exhales hot air across your neck and chest, “God, I like that,” 

“You hate pet names,” You sigh, remembering how his nose always crinkled in an uncomfortable scrunch when he heard people getting too coupley. 

“No, I don’t,” His hand slides up, tucks under the waistband of your pants, and slides back down to feel your skin, “I hate cringey shit. You calling me ‘baby’ while you’re grinding on my dick isn’t cringey, it’s fucking hot,” 

“Ah,” You tug his hair just a little, rolling your hips again, “yeah? Like this?” 

His hips jolt up, pressing his cock against your clothed mound and he groans, “Say it,” he nips at your neck again and then pushes you backwards so that you’re sitting up straddling his lap, “and let me see you,” 

For a brief flickering second you feel shy, another stark moment of awareness that the man between your thighs is Mingyu’s best friend, but it flashes away the minute you see his smile. He’s looking up at you like you invented the sun and you think it just might make you dizzy enough to say yes to anything he could ever ask of you. 

“God,” His eyes rake over you, “you’re so fucking pretty,” 

Blush creeps up your chest, “Yeah, baby?” 

He swallows hard, his hands coasting up your arms and his eyes coming to rest on the heavy swell of your chest, “The prettiest.” His fingers tuck underneath the straps of your tank top and your bralette and he glances up to your face, “Can I see?” 

“Please,” You whisper. 

He moves slowly, peeling down the straps from each of your shoulders first, letting the thin fabric of your tank top droop down your arms until he’s left with just the stretchy elastic of your black bralette. His fingers trace your curves, the pad of his thumb ghosting over one of your hardening nipples until it pushes into a firm peak under the fabric. 

“Cheol, please,” If he doesn’t touch you soon you’re going to be a squirming mess. 

“Relax,” He toys with the strap, “we’ve got all night,” 

You gasp as he dips forwards, peeling the front of your top down entirely until your breasts spill out of the elastic fabric. His lips connect with your skin, tongue exploring intimate parts of you in ways you’ve never experienced quite like this with anyone else. 

“These,” He cups your full breasts in his hands, kissing along each swell, “are perfect, princess,” 

You shiver at that, whining in his grip as he traces his tongue down and ghosts it close to your nipple, but you smile and manage, “I really took you for an ass man,” 

“I’m an everything man where you’re concerned,” He flicks his tongue experimentally across the hardened bud and hums softly when you jolt in his arms, “so excuse me if I have to slow down and show my appreciation,” 

This crush is going to kill you, that’s the thought that gets instantly banished from your brain the second Seungcheol wraps his lips around one nipple while his fingers pinch the other, setting a steady pace of sucking and teasing that is sure to leave pleasured little bruises. 

“Oh,” You grip his shoulders, “oh, Jesus, Cheol,” 

“Feel good, baby?” He switches sides smoothly and sucks again. 

A jolt of pleasure rocks from your chest to your untouched clit and you rock down, trying desperately to press your aching center against anything for a little friction. 

“Yeah?” He prompts you gently. 

“So, so good,” You nod, rolling again, “but I need more, please,” 

He nods against your chest, pressing one more kiss to your breastbone before he says, “y/n, I don’t want to move too fast or anything, we’ll do whatever you want, but,” 

“But what?” You’re about a second from pushing his hand into your underwear yourself.

  “Can I eat you out?” 

Your stomach flips, “Oh, fuck yes,” 

You’re on your back practically the second you give him permission. He holds you tight to his chest as he pushes himself up off the couch and flips you around, dropping you back onto the cushions and tugging at your clothes. Normally you’d be a little self conscious, especially in the brighter light of your living room and not the dim strategic lightning of your bedroom, but Seungcheol keeps looking at every inch of your body like he’s starving for it, groaning in pleasure at every inch of you that gets revealed, and you’re starting to think he really does like everything about you. 

You help push off your pants with shaky hands, but let him loop his thumbs under the thin straps of your underwear and tug those free, a slick wet patch in the middle where you’ve been soaking through the cotton for the past half hour. You help him with your top, until finally you’re completely bare and he’s pushing you to lie back onto the extended length of the chaise while he falls to his knees before you. 

“Wow,” He breathes, his hands running along your thighs, “just… wow,” 

“Stop,” You can’t stop the blush now, and you fight the urge to reach for a blanket or cross your arms over yourself at his exacting gaze. 

“Nope,” He dips his hands to your inner thighs and pushes your legs apart little by little, “I’m going to enjoy every bit of this,” 

“Now you’re just trying to embarrass me,” You smile. 

His tongue darts out to wet hips lips and he shakes his head, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” 

Your stomach churns, flipping nervously as he looks at you so earnestly. 

“I’m serious,” He kisses your knee as he opens one of your legs wider, “I’ve thought about this a thousand times, but you’re so much better than my imagination,” 

“Cheol,” You whisper tightly. 

“Mm,” He sighs as he tips your hips back, maneuvering your legs wide and open now and shifting your hips to the very edge of the couch so he can tuck smoothly between your open legs, “I wonder if you taste as sweet as I imagined too,” 

Your fingers grip down on the cushions, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“Look at you,” He sighs pleasantly, his fingers ghosting along the edge of your lower lips, “is all this for me, baby?” 

“Uh-huh,” Your breath hitches as his finger just barely touches your seam. 

“You got this wet just from grinding on my lap?” He smiles, his teeth catching his thick bottom lip. 

“Cheol,” It’s all you can manage, you really didn’t know he was like this. 

His eyes soften up though at the sound of his name on your lips, and he kisses your thigh tenderly before looking back up to you, “Doing good? Okay?” 

“Mhm,” You’re fine, you are, except you think you might come the second he touches you and you’re a little terrified at just how intense he is from minute one.  

“y/n,” He squeezes you a little. 

“I’m good,” You breathe, “I promise,” 

“Okay,” He kisses your skin again and nods, “just relax, okay?” 

“I’m relaxed,” You answer too quickly and one of his eyebrows goes high. 

“Mhm,” He eases up on his knees a little to see your face better and smooths his hand from your leg to your hip to your stomach, “what’s going on?” 

“This is just a little surreal,” You admit, “isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” He releases your legs and shifts up so he can lean over your body, catching your mouth again in a soft kiss, “it is, but do you trust me?” 

“Of course,” You kiss him back. 

“Then you should know,” He nuzzles your nose with his, “that all I want to do right now is make you come on my face until you can’t think, and after that if you still want to take this further we can, but baby, I really don’t care what we do tonight. I just want to be with you,”

Your mouth runs dry, and you can feel your core throbbing hard between your legs, your heart fluttering fast. 

“So, please, can I make you come?” He smiles, pressing another quick kiss to your lips, “I think you want me to,” 

“Yes,” The nervous knots in your stomach release, “please, Coups,” 

His nose scrunches as he laughs, kissing his way down your chest, “It’s Coups now?” 

“Cheol,” You whine, “you’re stalling,” 

“It’s called foreplay,” He licks a firm line between your breasts and moves lower, “have you not been getting fucked right, princess?” 

“F-fuck,” Your back arches as his lips travel down over your belly, eyes slipping closed, “Seungcheol,” 

He shakes his head, his hair brushing against your skin, “No more baby?” He makes a sulky noise with his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Come on princess, call me baby,” 

Your mind is spinning, and you gasp sharply as his fingers finally slide through your wet slit and land at the apex, pressing deliciously down over your throbbing clit, “Ch-Cheol, fuck, oh fuck, baby,” 

“There she is,” He groans, and as his fingers fall away and his lips take their place. He licks a deep stripe through your folds and groans, spreading your legs open wide with his hands anchored on the backs of your thighs, “You’re perfect,” 

You moan as he sucks the tender bud of your clit into his mouth. 

“I’m going to do this everyday,” He pants, licking another stripe, exploring every inch of your cunt with his tongue, “you’ll be my dessert every night,” 

“Ah,” Your head rocks back as pleasure lights up your spine, “baby,” 

“Mm,” He groans into your core, burying his face against you and alternating perfectly between sharp sucks and flicks of his tongue. 

You are moving fast, from nothing to desperate something in the span of a couple of hours, but honestly you’ve never felt safer and better and more held than this. His hands roam your body, seeking every soft place he can grab and squeeze and hold onto, and you just know the bruises on your hips will be worth it when he finally fucks you. 

“Come on,” He tips your hips back to get better access, wrapping his arms around your thick thighs, “don’t be shy,” 

“Oh, shit,” Your hand flies down to grip his hair and anchor your position as he manhandles you, your other hand gripping the cushions, “just like that,” 

He sucks harder and flicks the tip of his tongue against your bud again, quickening his pace and listening carefully for your sounds to know what you need. Looking down between your legs you can barely believe the sight, but there he is, Choi Seungcheol with his face glistening. His lips are puffy and red, his eyes hooded, and he grins when he sees you watching before nodding just a little and redoubling his efforts. 

Your legs are trembling now, the start of your orgasm building up through the base of your spine and flooding warmth into your belly, and if he wasn’t holding you so tightly you’re sure you’d snap. 

“Baby,” You whine, your voice sounding not quite your own as heat floods in your chest, “oh, God, please don’t stop,” 

He sucks hard, shifting to kiss your core and push the tender muscle of his tongue inside you, “I’ve got you,” he pants as he works his tongue faster, “I’ve got you,” 

He’s a mess, wet with slick across cheeks and sweat on his brow, and you think for a split second you might actually be in love with this man already, no one has ever, ever treated your body quite like this. As he shifts to tease your clit again, building the pleasure up and up higher, you grip down on his hair harder. 

“I’m,” You stammer out, your back arching and your mouth falling slack, “I’m gonna,”

He nods into you but doesn’t stop the pace of his tongue one bit. 

“I’m,” You gasp again, “coming, fuck, I’m coming,” 

It hits you all at once, punctuated with his sharp suck to your clit and your legs snap shut around his head, your body wrenching sideways as the wave takes you from conscious to that hazy middle space of pleasure. You can barely breathe, you can't even think, all you can do is feel pulse after pulse of pleasure. 

“Fuck,” He curses, and your brain connects enough to realize your legs are still snapped tightly shut around his ears but you can’t get your body to respond, “yeah, fuck, there you go,” 

Everything you are is trembling in his hands. 

“I could fucking die happy,” He says, shifting to nip your plush thigh with his teeth, his hands gripping down on your curves, “right here between your legs,” 

You make a sound, you think, and he chuckles against your skin. 

“Mm-mm,” He sighs pleasantly, his hands running from your thighs to your hips and down to cup your backside, “you’re fucking gorgeous, y/n, I love every fucking inch of you,” 

“Y-yeah?” Your eyes flutter open. 

“Mhm,” He flicks his tongue over your clit once more, eliciting a deep shudder from your hips before he says, “I can’t wait to fuck you,” 

Your legs start to relax, and you look down, “Then fuck me,”

“I want another first,” He shakes his head, “please, let me make you come again, sweetheart,” 

“Oh,” You shiver as he kisses your slit again, letting his tongue linger, “fuck,” 

He sighs, “This pussy,” 

“Cheol,” You blush hard. 

“I would do anything,” He smiles, flicking your clit again with his tongue, “for this perfect fucking pussy,” 

“Anything?” 

He goes still between your legs and then he nods, wetting his lips with his tongue, pressing a kiss to your quivering cunt, and looking up over your body to meet your eyes, “Anything.” 

“Will you come up here?” You reach for him, “Will you hold me?” 

He eases your legs down off his shoulders and shifts up, “Yeah, of course,” 

“Will you,” You nearly come again just at the sight of a sizeable wet spot on his sweats, and you tug at his shirt to try and silently communicate your need, “I want to touch you too,” 

“Mhm,” He stands up, shucking off his clothes as quickly as he can, and when he pushes down his boxer briefs your muscles clench. 

When you were younger, a teenager inexperienced with sex and boys, you imagined his cock. You saw the faint outline of it once through a pair of athletic shorts and you wondered what he might look like naked. You wondered if you would like his body. You wondered if he would like yours too. You can’t really remember what you imagined Seungcheol’s cock to look like, but you know this is better. It’s long, but not too long, like the guys who can’t fit it in all the way without smashing painfully into your cervix, but it’s thick. His cock is heavy, deserving of the word, and perfectly straight until the very end where it curls up towards his abdomen. 

You want him inside you so badly you could cry. 

“You okay?” He says as he slides up the couch next to you, your naked hip against his. 

“A little nervous,” You admit quietly, turning towards him on the cushions and drawing him closer with your hand on his shoulder. 

“Me too,” He says softly, maneuvering until one arm is wrapped around your back and your head is pillowed on his other, your chests flush against each other, his cock trapped between your stomachs. 

“God,” You shift closer to him, tangling your legs together, “you’re so hard,” 

He nods, sighing at the way your skin drags against his, “You’re making me insane,” 

“Good,” You smile, finding his lips with yours, tasting yourself on him and dipping your tongue into his mouth as you deepen the kiss.

He groans against you, and you snake a hand between your bodies to wrap around his aching cock. “Oh, fuck,” he curses as you pump your hand up and down his shaft, “easy, it’s been a while,” 

“Yeah?” You soften your grip a little, rolling your hand at the tip and feeling precum bead up and smear on your belly, “Saving yourself for me, baby?” 

He moans softly, his eyes rolling shut, “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” 

“Maybe,” You kiss the corner of his mouth and pump his cock a little harder. 

“L-let me touch you,” He pants, his hand pushing your hips back just enough so that he can fit a hand in between your thighs, “can I touch you?” 

It’s dizzying how much he begs to pleasure you, and you’re starting to think maybe this is part of what he needs, but you’re still new to each other’s bodies and learning and you suppose you’ll have time to figure all of this out. It’s not just a one night thing.

“Touch me,” You open your legs for him and he immediately slides his fingers down your slit to your aching entrance. 

“Don’t stop,” He urges you and you realize at the feeling of his fingers you stopped pumping your hand. 

You smile, kissing him again and finding a new pace with a stroke of your hand and a roll of your wrist, “You feel so good, baby,” 

“So do you,” He pants, and then he pushes two fingers inside your slick walls. 

You choke out a wine, pushing your hips forwards into his hand so he can go deeper. 

“God,” He holds you firm with his other hand, “you’re too tight,” 

“Too tight?” You huff, still working your hand over his cock, “never gotten that complaint before,” 

“Not a complaint, princess,” He teases, drawing his fingers out of your channel before thrusting back inside, “but I need to prep you a little, I don’t want to hurt you,” 

Your muscles clench down around his fingers. 

He laughs softly, “Oh, yeah, babygirl? You want me inside?” 

You nod, a whine trapped on your lips, “Cheol, please,” 

“Shh, shh,” He shifts, effectively sliding down the couch a little more while you slide up, and he rests his head on your shoulder and adjusts the angle of his arm so he can pump his fingers in and out of your channel at a steadier pace. He watches the way his fingers disappear inside you with rapt attention, cursing when he feels you grip down on him, “You want to come again?” 

“P-please,” You’re doing your best to keep working your hand, but at the way his fingers are curled inside you and pressing rhythmically against your sweet spot you think you’re about to see stars again. 

“Fuck, baby,” He sighs, “you’re so sexy,” 

All you can do is moan, grip down on his shoulder and let him have you. 

When he pushes in a third finger to stretch you, you gasp tightly at the sensation, the pleasure rocketing up your back and making your brain buzz. 

“Are you close?” He pumps his hand harder, finding your nearby nipple with his tongue and your body arches again. 

“Close,” You pant, your legs widening as you try to brace yourself, your hand falling away from his cock and gripping down on his thigh as the rolling wave of your orgasm starts to wash up over you. 

“Come for me,” He’s gripping you hard, like you belong to him and he wants only to please you, and his words combined with the way his hands lay on you leaves you coming apart at the seams. 

The sound of it is obscene, wet and filthy and pornagraphic and you’ve never in your life had sex with someone for the first time and had it be anything close to perfect. Your bodies want each other with such need. It's entirely outside your conscious brain, and you think if he can love your body like this then maybe he can love all the other parts of you, and you never want to let him go. 

Your orgasm hits you harder than the first, locking your body up in spasmodic elation, and he curls around you when you twist to make sure he works you through the crest of it, his hand only slowing down when the pulses of pleasure start to ease. 

When you come back to earth, you’re pressed face down onto the couch instead of up, your cheek against the cool fabric below you. Seungcheol is wrapped around your body like he’s glued to your back, and you feel his soft breath against your cheek and shoulder, his easy kisses on whatever part of you he can reach. His hand is still tucked underneath you and between your legs, cupping your cunt warmly and just holding you as you come down. 

“Cheol?” You murmur, your brain almost a little foggy at the heady feeling of two full body orgasms. 

“Hey, there you are,” He kisses you again, “feeling okay?” 

“Mm,” You nod, “so, so good,” 

He smiles, “Yeah? Did I get you?” 

You laugh against the cushions, shaking your head, “Babe, I just came so hard I blacked out,” your body stretches, pressing your core into the cup of his hand, “you definitely got me,” 

“Mm,” He rocks his hand and you sigh a little overstimulated sound, “should we stop here?” 

He doesn’t know, you realize it suddenly, he has no idea how badly you want him. He’s been so focused on your body, your pleasure, your wants, but you can see it now in the hesitation in voice that he still doesn’t know for sure if you want to be here with him or if you just wanted someone. 

He’s been touching you like it might be the only time, his only chance to have you and hold you in his arms. Didn’t he believe you when you said it wasn’t one night?

“Seungcheol,” You wriggle in his arms, “baby,” 

“What’s wrong?” He gives you the space to roll and you twist against him. 

You see his eyes when you turn, like he’s waiting for something and you curse yourself inside for not telling him like he was telling you. You smile, pushing his shoulder until he’s flat on his back, “What’s wrong is that you’re not inside me,” 

“O-oh,” He gasps as you hook a leg over his hips and straddle him, your body hovering over his prone cock. 

“Mhm,” You drop your body over him, your slick slit nestling directly over his cock, “but I’ve been so selfish,” 

He shakes his head to protest but you lay your fingers over his lips to stop him. 

“I want you, Cheol,” You drag your hips and find the head of his cock so you can dip and press it against your entrance, “so fucking much,” 

He’s breathing heavy against your hand, your eyes locked on eachother. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” You stay steady above him. 

He nods, just a little. 

“I’ve never wanted anybody like I want you,” You tell him, “never,” 

His lip quirks a little, a small smile as he presses a kiss to your fingers, “I’m all yours,” he whispers. 

You sink your hips back in one smooth flush motion, taking him inside you to the hilt without warning, and his head falls back as he moans. He’s stretching you out wide and full, his thick cock pushing into every spot inside you that you didn’t know could feel like this. 

“Oh my fuck,” Your body moves on it’s own, rocking your hips in a circle to take him deeper and roll your clit across his pubic bone, “Cheol, Cheol,” 

He blinks hard, finding your eyes at the sound of his voice, “Yeah?” 

You feel strangely like you might cry at the rush of endorphins, and you roll your hips again, whining out a need, “Hold me, please? Please, touch me,” 

Seungcheol softens, his hands unclench on the cushions below him and he coasts his warm hands over your thighs, your hips, up and down your sides, “I’m right here,” he murmurs. 

You relish in the feeling of it, and you direct them from their wandering comfort to a landing place on your hips, the perfect soft place for him to grip in with his fingers and keep you steady while you work him. He follows your lead, watching you above him with no hesitation, and his mouth falls slack when he watches you get your position right on your knees and lift up to draw his cock out of your warm, wet channel. 

“y/n,” He pants tightly. 

You sink back down hard and he groans, cursing and no doubt leaving a pretty bouquet of bruises where his fingers press down. 

“Your cock,” You moan as you bounce again, finding a steady rhythm, “you feel so perfect,” 

“Yeah?” He bounces you, teeth clenched as he tries not to come too early. 

“Made for me,” You grind down and jolt against the pleasure, “never felt something this good,” 

He groans, a hot pant of breath and then he stutters his hips upwards, “D-don’t, I’ll come,” 

“Good,” You sink down and back up, feeling him stretch you open again and again. 

“Come here,” He reaches up for you, tugging you down by your neck to get you close and you can feel him suddenly reposition and change the angle, take back control as he pins you to his chest and pumps his hips. 

The way his cock punches into you, curved and pressing directly into your g-spot, makes you choke out a moan and dig your nails into his chest. 

“Say you love my cock,” He pants suddenly in your ear, “if it feels so good, say it, tell me,” 

You moan sharply, “I fucking love your cock,” 

“Fuck yes,” His hand claps down on your ass and grips you tight as his hips piston upwards. 

“Ah, ah,” Your legs are trembling again, “I can’t,” 

“Yes, you can,” He pants, “I want to feel you come on my cock, babygirl, squeeze me,” 

Your eyes slam shut. 

“So fucking tight,” He breathes, “so wet,” 

“For you,” You choke out and hips stutter. 

“Oh, f-fuck,” He pushes up hard, but instead of thrusting he locks his hips there with your bodies pressed flush together and at the sound of his sudden moan, the way his hands lock tight on your body, the way warmth floods your belly, you know he’s coming. 

Your brain somersaults and you rock your hips, trying to keep catching the friction against your clit to help push you over the edge, “Ah,” you whine, “no, please,”  

He doesn’t go anywhere though, he just presses his hips up to keep giving you the pressure you need and holds your hips down with his broad hands, and you hear him hiss at the overstimulation but he groans and manages, “Come baby, you’re so close, there you go, there you go,” 

You’re saying something, but you can’t really hear it. All you can feel is the bubble about to burst inside you as you drag yourself fast and frantic against his body. You’re needy and seconds away, falling into trembles again.

  “So beautiful,” He mumbles, dragging your mouth up to his and locking you in a heady kiss. 

“Cheol!” You squeak against him, body cracking apart into shakes as you come, probably louder than you wanted to as you fall into the sweet space between his neck and shoulder. 

“I’ve got you,” His softening cock slides out as you come, but he slides a hand between your thighs and rubs fast circles on your swollen clit, “fuck, look at you, god, you’re such a mess,” 

Your brain is dizzy as he talks you through the edges of your orgasm. 

“So wet,” He bites down softly on your shoulder, “soaked for me and full of my cum, fuck,” 

As you collapse on his chest, your orgasm receding, his hand slows, but his fingers stay slipped between your folds in the messy mixture of your slick wetness and his release. You are a mess, but he seems to like it and if you’re benign honest so do you. 

“I’m so,” You breathe out, shaky and exhausted, “god, I don’t know,” 

“Mhm,” He sighs, and finally he slides his fingers out of you to rest on your hip, his other hand stroking a line up and down your back while you recover together. 

You need to get up, run to the bathroom and get the shower started, but you’re boneless and floating and he’s just the perfect temperature, so for a little while you don’t move. 

When he shifts his hips under yours to readjust your eyes pop open and you start to move, “Am I hurting you?” 

“Shh,” He wraps his arms around you and gathers you tight to his chest, “don’t you dare go anywhere,” 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re perfect,” He repeats and you smile against his skin, “next time I want you sitting on my face,” 

You laugh against him, “Next time?” 

He’s quiet, his fingers still dragging up and down your spine, “If you want,” 

You shift up in his arms, settling on his chest so that you can see his face, “So much,” 

He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your face, as he smiles, “I missed you, you know,” 

Tears prick at the back of your eyes and your throat goes thick, and you don’t trust your voice but you nod and press your lips to his, “I missed you too, all the time,” 

He gives you a moment, just staying calm and kind with his hands, and then he leans up to capture your lips once more, this kiss so much softer and more familiar from the frantic emotion a few minutes ago. His kisses travel from your lips to your forehead and then he smooths back the tangled mess of your hair, “We should get cleaned up,” he murmurs, “how are you feeling?” 

“Like I might not ever walk again,” You joke wryly. 

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” He leans to look you over, “I got a little carried away,” 

You shake your head, “No, I’m perfect, I promise,” 

“We didn’t talk much beforehand,” He notes, brushing his palm over the swell of your hip, dipping at your hip crease, and tracing up over again at the curve of your thigh, “I just want to be sure you’re feeling okay with everything,” 

“I’d tell you if I wasn’t,” You press, “you know I would,” 

“Good,” He sighs. 

You stretch on top of him, your knees aching from your curled position and you smile, “You want to get a shower? We can share the hot water,” 

“You’re insatiable,” He quirks an eyebrow at you. 

“Not for sex,” You slap his chest lightly as you climb off him, wincing at the sudden stretch of your knees, “I can barely move,” 

“I like a challenge,” He sighs, rolling off the chaise and stretching long and you catch yourself watching the strong flex of his back, the cut of his shoulders, the curve of his ass and his muscular thighs. 

Maybe you could rally. 

Seungcheol turns and his eyes flick over your body too, “Yeah,” he nods, “I think I can get one more out of you,” 

“My shower is shockingly small, so,” You reach for him, guiding him down the hall with you, “we’ll see,” 

“I said I like a challenge,” He shrugs, and all of a sudden you can’t stop laughing. 

Your shower is small, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Seungcheol ends up crouched on his knees anyways, with one of your legs hitched over his shoulder while he takes his sweet time with his tongue bringing you up to your softest, easiest orgasm of the night. You trade lazy kisses in the warmth after, the suds long gone and your fingers pruned by the time you fall into bed. 

You don’t have to ask him to stay, he just does. You talk for as long as you can keep your eyes open, stories of years ago when you saw him almost every single day. You whisper late into the night, until finally he falls asleep first, his head lolled to the side, but his hand still wrapped tightly around yours. 

You tumble into sleep right alongside him, his skin smelling of sweet peach and nectarine. 

In the morning, you wake up to something cold suddenly pressed to your cheek and you start to stitch together the world around you in quick threads. 

“Kkuma,” Seungcheol’s voice reaches you first, a hushed whisper as he tries to get his dog’s attention, “come here girl, let her sleep,” 

You groan a little, and you realize the something cold was Kkuma’s very wet nose against your cheek. Instead of listening to Seungcheol, she presses her nose to you again and follows it up with a lick, her panting excitement pushing you from laying on your side to your back as she collapses over your chest. 

“Kkuma!” He exclaims quietly, “down girl!”

Your eyes start to pop open, and this time you see his dog’s fluffy white face inches from your own, delighted that you’re awake. 

“Kkuma,” He tries to drop his voice to a lower tone to get her attention. 

“It’s okay,” You yawn, reaching up to scratch Kkuma behind the ears, “I’m awake now,” 

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol moves into your bedroom, and you can see he’s fully dressed and has been for some time, “I didn’t think she would just jump on you like that,” 

Your brain is still a little sluggish and you rub your hand over your face, “Did you go home?”

He grins and nods at your sleepy question, the answer obvious from the dog on your chest, “Yeah, I needed to run home and take her for a walk, I hope you don’t mind I let myself back in,” 

“Not at all,” You smile up at him, “I’m just sad you’re not in the cuddle pile,” 

“We can fix that,” He tosses his beanie on your nightstand and then holds up a little carrier containing two coffees and a few little pastry bags, “and I bring gifts,” 

“From that place by your apartment?” You brighten, recognizing the stamped logos on the cups. 

“Mhm,” He passes over your cup, “sugar, no cream,” 

“You remembered,” You push yourself up in bed, Kkuma adjusting herself to snuggle into your side, and accept the cup, “thank you,” 

He lays his heavy denim jacket on the chair by your dresser and slips back into bed with you, dragging the covers back over both your legs, “Of course, I did, not that much could have changed in a year, right?” 

“Mm-mm,” Your legs slide together as you tuck under his arm and settle back into his chest. 

His fingers play with the ends of your hair while he sips his coffee, and then he sighs, “y/n,” 

Your stomach freezes and you wonder if you’re about to get let down easy. If waking up in the morning cleared his head, if a text from Mingyu changed his mind, if on the trip back to his place he worked out the right way to break your heart, if he practiced it out loud in his car with the dog. 

“What’s up?” You say, hoping you sound far more casual than you feel. 

“About Gyu,” He exhales heavy, his coffee leaning against his thigh as he gathers his words, “listen,” 

“Don’t,” You murmur, pressing your eyes closed, “please don’t go,”

“Go?” He asks. 

“I’ll tell him, and I know he’ll be fine after the shock wears off,” You twist in the bed to look up at him, “please just stay, last night was… Cheol, please just think about this,” 

His brows knit together tight in confusion and he sets his coffee on your bedside table to free up his hand and brush it along your cheek, “I was going to say, about Gyu, I’m meeting him for lunch at two. I’d like to tell him about us today,” 

“You what,” You blink. 

“I’d like to tell him that I picked you up after your date,” He says, “and that we got to talking, and that we kissed,” 

You can almost see Mingyu’s wide puppy eyes as he realizes where the story is going to go. 

“And that I asked you out on a date,” Seungcheol finishes, “and he’s going to ask me a lot of other questions which I definitely am not going to answer, except one thing,” 

You swallow nervously, your coffee almost tipping to the side forgotten in your hands until he plucks it up and sets it to the side. 

“He’s going to ask me if I’m serious about you,” He says calmly, like you’ve discussed this before, “and I’m going to say yes, but that’s the kind of thing you should know before your brother does.”

“You’re serious about me,” You say it back, your heart picking up as the words come off your tongue. 

“Yes,” He nods, unequivocal, “and I hope you feel the same way because before I drive across town and tell my best friend I’m in love with his sister, I just need to know if you feel even a tenth of that,” 

Your heart should be pounding, your stomach fluttering, your body flooding with emotion at the casual confession, but all you feel is calm. Mingyu told you once that life would fall into place, you just never thought you’d have that realization while it was happening around you. 

You try to keep a straight face when you say, “There’s only one problem,” 

“Okay,” He says, but you watch his hand fidget in his lap. 

“You never actually asked me out on a date,” You point out with a smile, “and I don’t want to lie to Mingyu about anything,” 

He grins, his tongue dragging against one side of his teeth as he shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re right,” he says, “that’s my mistake, will you go out with me?” 

“I’d love to,” You lean into him so you can press a quick kiss to his lips and take his hand in yours, lacing his anxiously twitching fingers with yours to hold him steady, “and if Gyu gives you any lip about this,” you kiss him again, “tell him I’m in love with his best friend,” 

“You are?” His fingers tighten on your hand. 

“Mhm,” You suddenly can’t keep your lips away from his, “and you tell him that if he does anything to ruin this, that I’ll make him sorry,” 

“Now that,” He laughs, “that I believe,” 

You pull him down to you and your body without another word, and with a hushed apology he pushes Kkuma off the bed so he can splay you out in the middle of the mattress. He takes you fast, hurried and full of need now that you have so much time ahead of you for slow. For now, you have a lot of catching up to do.

When you finally make it out of bed the coffee is cold and Seungcheol is late for lunch. 

[aeristudios]

F.U.C.K.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ex!bf Seungcheol x fem!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, smut, small fluff, lovers to exes au, 18+

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You've been on and off forever and you couldn't leave him alone if you tried. You have an itch only Seungcheol can scratch.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, oral, missionary, riding, praise, dirty talk, creampie, clit stim, multiple orgasms, a bit of overstimulation, Coups is a lover boi, angsty feelings about the relationship

𝐀𝐍: Thank youuuuu @hobeemin & @wongyuseokie for reading this for me and Beezy you are the best hype woman ever <3. Also thank you @aaagustd for making this sexy ass banner 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: 💿 F.U.C.K- Victoria Monet, Dirty Dancer- Orion Sun, Idea 686- Jayla Darden, Strings- iyla, Behind- Woodz, Forgive Me- Chloe x Halle, Art- Tyla, I Could Imagine- Alina Baraz, Good& Plenty- Alex Isley, Masego and Jack Dine, Skin Tight- Ravyn Lenae Steve Lacy, Idea 683- Jayla Darden, Body and Soul- Emotional Oranges and Biig Piig, Butterflies- Tyla, Between Us- Alina Baraz, Nasty- Tinashe, Under The Moon - Alex Isley, Jack Dine (spotify)

It’s complicated. Your Facebook relationship status has been that way for over a year. If someone asked, you wouldn’t know how to define your relationship with Seungcheol. You can’t say you’re just friends when the love is still there, but you can’t stay together longer to just work. Something happens, and you argue and split up. Months, sometimes years, can go by, and you feel like you’ve finally moved on, but all he has to do is call, or you have an itch that needs scratching, and there he is, ready to make it go away.

He stands there in front of you, his dark hair clipped and trimmed perfectly, highlighting the handsome features on his face: his dark, round eyes, high cheekbones, and plump pink lips. He comes dressed in a simple white tee and sweats, with an overnight bag in hand, as he knows he is staying the night. Seungcheol smirked as he walked in, placing a small kiss on your temple. 

“Well, hello to you too,” you say, shutting the door behind you. You watch him take off his shoes, walk into your living room, and admire the view of the city through your picture windows. You just moved into your high-rise condo a couple of months ago, and your job promotion allows you to level up in life and enjoy nice things for once. Your place looks straight out of a movie, with your tastes added. Your favorite color is blue, and you included it in your decor. 

“You kept the couch?” Seungcheol points at the royal blue sectional sofa with matching gold-trimmed throw pillows you bought from your favorite thrift store. “Yes,” you say proudly. “That couch is my pride and joy. We’ve been through a lot together.” Memories about the many times you spent together on the couch, clothed and unclothed, cloud your mind. He chuckles as you sashay to the kitchen, grabbing a bottled water. You offer him one, and he shakes his head, returning his attention to the city's shining lights. He’s been in your life for five years, meeting at a grocery store with both of your hands on the last bag of cherries. He relented, letting you have them in exchange for your number. You didn’t give it to him, hoping that you would see him again. At the time, you just moved to the city, and if you were meant to meet again, you would give him your number. A couple of weeks later, you did when you went to a birthday dinner with your former roommate. His eyes twinkled when you exchanged glances, and you felt like it was fate.  “You did it,” he felicitates you. “You did everything we talked about doing all those years ago. I’m proud of you.”

You would have late nights with him in your shitty old apartment, eating Chinese takeout in bed and talking about your hopes for the future. Seungcheol wanted to have it all: a nice house, cars, and riches beyond his dreams. All you wanted was a good life. You grew up poor, raised by a single mom who worked two jobs to ensure you had a roof over your head. You understood each other in that way, and it worked between you two for a while… until it didn’t.

“You got your high rise before me,” you appear beside him. “What does it feel like, being the top broker in your firm?”

“It’s nice,” he nods. “It keeps me busy.”

You knew that all too well. One of the reasons you broke up was time. His work felt more important than maintaining a relationship with you. You swear if someone called in the middle of the night, he would answer in a heartbeat. It’s not like you aren’t busy; you work on Wall Street. But you still made time to be with him at all important events and when it mattered most. The energy wasn’t reciprocated.

“I see nothing has changed,” you say, taking a swig of your water.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I think I am ready for it, though.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah. There is no point in having all of this if there is no one to share it with, right?”

You didn’t have to say anything back because he was right. What is the point of working hard, making more money than your parents could ever dream of, traveling, and having life experiences without having someone to share them with? It also incredibly frustrates you. Why did it take five years for him to get to this point? The back and forth, blocking each other on all accounts. Was it worth it?

You two are silent, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance. His fingers slip in between yours, pulling you closer to him. Just being near him makes your heart skip several beats. No one like him can melt you just by his touch and presence. Yes, he can irritate you to no end, but he also makes your soul smile.

“I missed you,” he says, gazing at you. 

“I know.” 

You kiss him, the magic stirring in your chest as he returns your feelings; sparks all around you two like fireworks. Your hands explore him fervently, pulling off his shirt and throwing it on your couch. He unhooks your bra, helping you out of your shirt and exposing your breasts. He bites his lip as he palms his growing bulge, the very thought of his lips all over you making you hot.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. 

You take his hand and guide him to your bedroom, climbing over your king-size bed. He follows you closely, his index finger sliding up your thigh. It feels electric, having him touch you again after so long. You have tried moving on, going on dates, and having one-night stands here and there. But deep down, those people weren’t him. Seungcheol knows your body, what makes you tick, your boundaries, and what drives you crazy. It’s exhausting trying to find that chemistry with someone else. Too bad you can’t just make it work. 

He slides your shorts and panties off with one hand, your naked body being illuminated by the moonlight. He notices your sheets, trying to hold it in before succumbing to a belly laugh. 

“Cherry sheets? Really?” He says in between breathes.

“Come on now,” you chuckle. “You know I love my little house on the prairie sheets.” “I swear you were born in the wrong generation,” Seungcheol expresses, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Yeah, maybe,” you muse over his words. “I’m glad I met you in this lifetime, though.” He admires you, his thumb caressing your cheek before he kisses you again. This time, it’s more heartfelt, your bodies hungry for another as each minute passes. His hand travels down to your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart and slowly entering a digit into your wet core. Seungcheol licks his lips, watching your eyes roll back as you unravel his arms. “Shit,” you moan. “Keep doing it just like that.”

“I’m going to do more than that,” he whispers in your ear. 

Seungcheol was already great with his fingers, slipping one more in you as his tongue played in circles on your neck, your sweet-smelling perfume intoxicating to him. He loves the way your brows furrow when he goes deep, your mind focused on nothing else but cumming all over his hand. You play with your clit, drunk on the pleasure he’s giving you, with your wetness pooling onto your sheets. You two are connected in a way, in your own little bubble surrounded by ecstasy.

“Fuck baby,” you pant as pressure builds up in your stomach. “I’m almost there.” He pulls his fingers out of you quickly, snapping you out of your zone, and you whimper in protest. He aggressively pulls down his pants and briefs, revealing his hardened cock already leaking with precum. He slides down to your entrance, his face nose deep in between your legs before he dives in; his tongue attacks your sweet nectar. Sensational couldn't even begin to describe how you feel. He eats you with an enthusiasm that almost makes you laugh despite the deep pleasure he brings you. “You taste better than I remembered,” he mouths. “Cum for me.”

Your body is at its brink, ready to fall, when Seungcheol slips his fingers in, working together with his tongue to make sure you hit that pool of ecstasy. Your hands grip his hair, and your orgasm hits you like cool water on a warm day. You feel him smirk against your thigh, leaving you with lasting, small kisses before lifting his face and revealing your essence on the lower half. You cover your mouth to hold back your giggles, and he rolls his eyes, leaning over and kissing your lips. “I’m not sorry,” you breathe. “You knew what you were doing.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he smirks. “Especially when I’m going to make you do it again.”

Seungcheol lifts your leg, pulling himself back as he rubs his throbbing dick against your entrance. Your eyes grow wide as he taps your sensitive, swollen clit, a mischievous grin on his face. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says as if reading your thoughts. “I’m going to start slow.” “You don’t want me to blo—” you start to protest. “No, I’ve waited long enough,” his deep and velvety voice serves as a warning. FUCK.

He enters you inch by inch, stretching you out the way you like, your fingers already gripping the sheets. You look at him through a hazy daze, his focus on burying himself deep inside of you, bringing you a deep satisfaction. You enjoy watching his Adam’s apple shift when he moans, his voice barely audible while he dives into you. You remember the first time you slept together; he had your legs over his shoulder, fucking you long and deep on top of your blue couch at your old place. You both didn’t intend for it to happen that way; you were caught up in the highs of seeing a band you both enjoy, and one thing led to another. His dick is long with a bit of a curve, fitting perfectly like your pussy was molded and made for him. No one has even come close. 

“Give it to me,” you breathe. “Please, I need you bad.” Seungcheol loves it when you beg for it, and he obliges, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. Maybe it’s because you love him, but he is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. The way his hips roll as he snaps into you, watching him come in and out of you with your wetness coating him, turns you on. Your hands grasp his face, your thumb slipping into his mouth as he fucks you silly. You can barely form words in your head, let alone say anything else but “fuck” and “make me cum”. He fucks you in a way that makes you have wet dreams and leaves you with a puddle in your sheets. If he were a Greek god, he would be Eros, the god of love and sex. That’s how bad he has you. “Turn over,” you grit your teeth. You lean up and flip him over, his throbbing cock still inside you as you are on top of him. You let your body take over, riding him while his hands are placed firmly on your breasts. You set the pace, and he follows, a harmonious rhythm between the two of you, your senses heightened to another level. You are on this incredible high, sliding on his shaft while you vigorously play with your clit, ready to cum. “Did you miss this?  He teases you as he grinds harder into you. “Did you miss sitting on this dick until you cum?” You nod fervently, your hand still playing with your clit, and you are ready to explode. 

“Fuck,” he grits his teeth. “I’m close. Let’s come together like we always do.” You erupt, screaming his name while he sloppily pumps into you, his hair sweaty and his succulent lips red from biting. He leans up and kisses you hard, your moans and words of praise swallowed and digested. Whatever you were going to say, he felt it more, your hearts beating in unison powered by your feelings for each other. He talks you through it, helping you come down from your high before he releases his own, spilling into you until he is completely spent. You’ve been on birth control for years, and Seungcheol is the only person you’ve let hit without a condom. It just feels so right with him. You roll off of him, collapsing on your pillow as you try and catch your breath. His breathing is relaxed, and when you gaze at him, his eyes are closed, already half asleep. You attempt to get out of bed, but he grabs your arm, pulling you close to him. 

“Stay,” he kisses your shoulder. “I sleep better when you’re with me.” 

You can’t deny him when he is in this state, pulling on your heartstrings like that. 

“Fine, you win,” you say without much effort. 

Glancing at the time, it’s after 12, and fatigue finally hits you at least. Snuggling into him, you fall into a deep sleep, but not before admitting that you still love him and would do anything for him. 

The sunlight is not kind as it peers through your windows and wakes you up a little after 9. You had forgotten to draw the curtains before you fell asleep, but you didn’t have much energy left after the night you had. You woke him up after three, sucking his cock until he exploded down your throat, and he returned the favor by eating you out until you were ripe from overstimulation. You made such a mess that you had to change your sheets and listen to him teasing you about your “old lady” sheets. Whatever, you liked them.

You rolled over, and Seungcheol was already awake, scrolling through his phone. He notices you and kisses your forehead before removing your blanket and smacking your ass.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, leaning back against the headboard.

You chuckle as you get out of bed, grab your silk robe, and walk into the bathroom. You feel sore; last night’s shenanigans are indeed catching up with you. You just want to lay in bed and relax, but you have this nagging feeling in your stomach. You could brush it off and deal with it later, but knowing you, you will overthink, turning it into something it's not. You have to know how he feels.

Finishing up in the bathroom, you leave to find him setting orange juice on your nightstand with a couple of ibuprofen. He is only dressed in his sweats and nothing underneath, your center aching for him despite the tenderness you feel.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, reading your look. You have never had a good poker face.

You sit down on the bed, take your two pills, and wash them down with orange juice. You allow yourself to get your thoughts in order. You're unsure what to say, but you know the conversation needs to be had.

“What are we doing?” you blurt out. “I love you, and you never stopped loving me. Why can’t we just get it right?”

The silence is too deafening for your liking. It would be like you to tear the band-aid off first thing in the morning. But you hate being in the dark, not knowing what the future will hold. You’re not saying that you have to jump the broom, but you have to know if there’s any chance he feels the same way you do.

“I-I-m sorry,” you shake your head. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you first thing in the morning. Forget I said anything.” 

You attempt to leave the room before Seungcheol catches your arm and motions for you to sit down. Grudgingly, you do, sitting on your ottoman and facing him. “You didn’t even give me a chance to respond,” he complains. “You can’t always assume how I feel is something bad. Give me a chance.” You nod, knowing deep down he is right. “You are right,” He admits. “I love you, and this song and dance we’ve been doing for years is tired. I came to you last night because I missed you and I need you. You’re the only one in my life who has always kept it straight with me, even when you get on my nerves.” You smirk at his comment, knowing it’s true. “But we have also been apart for a long time, and as much as I want to jump back into our usual routine, I recognize we have grown up a bit and need to get to know each other as our different selves.” You nod slowly, mulling over his words, unsure what to say. “I also don’t want to see anyone else,” he breathes. “You are the only person I want to see, to do this with.” He points at the sheets, and you roll your eyes. It would be like him to somehow bridge it back to sex. 

“So…” your voice trails off. “What are we then? We are more than friends but not together? I don’t understand.” “I want to be with you,” he grabs your hands. “If we fight and storm off to our houses, I’d rather it be that then we break up and don’t talk for months at a time. I hate that.” You nod, finally understanding what he is saying. He is scared of the future, just like you are. But in this life, you would rather go through it with him than anyone else. You have too much time and feelings just to throw it away. “Maybe we can try talking to someone about it this time around?” You say. “A therapist or something? I want to be with you, and maybe working through our issues to understand each other better sometimes is what we need.” “Yeah, I’m open to that.” He hugs you, embracing you tightly before leaving sweet kisses on your face. You are deathly ticklish, and he knows it. He moves his kisses elsewhere until you find yourself in your bed, his body towering over yours. He leaves you one more kiss on your lips before laying his head on your chest. “We’re going to be okay,” he whispers.

You look down and smile, caressing the dark stresses in his hair.

“Yeah. We will be.”

[wonwoosmagnetic]

Keep on Prancing, Prancer! | CSC

PAIRING : icehockeycaptain!seungcheol x iceskater!reader

GENRE : angst, romcom

SYNOYPSIS :

A fierce rivalry on ice. One stage. Four weeks. And zero chill.

When the university slashes its winter sports budget, figure skating captain Kim Minsoo, finds her team’s future hanging by a thread. Years of sweat, sacrifice, and silent victories—all at risk of being erased by the varsity hockey team and their smug golden boy, Seungcheol Choi.

The deal? Both teams have four weeks to design one joint event that proves their value to the school. The winner gets full funding. The loser—benched, indefinitely.

Sharing ice time is already a nightmare. Sharing the spotlight? A disaster waiting to happen.

But while the rivalry heats up, so does something else beneath the surface—one that feels a little too much like chemistry, and a little too dangerous to name.

Sharp blades, sharp tongues, and sharp feelings collide in this enemies-to-lovers sports drama where the only rule is: Earn your ice.

AUTHOR NOTE : after almost two months of blood, sweat and tears. ITS HERE! the FIRST installment to one of my most exciting projects! This was so hard to write I almost stopped omg I wanted to throw my laptop across the room so many times. I have like a thousand plot points and only one story. its maddening actually. (p.s I love it when you guys ask about no saints here in my ask, AND BABE it is my fault for introducing and getting excited for other things when I still have my NSH babies sitting there. I promise I am working on the new chapter, and its coming very soon!)

IMP NOTE! FMC NAME IS KIM MINSOO

CHAPTER ONE

There was something perverse about being told your future might be erased under fluorescent lighting.

You sat stone-still beneath the harsh white glow of the university's athletic boardroom, a clipboard balanced on your lap, pen clenched in a hand that only looked steady.

Around you, the familiar figures of your teammates— Chaeyoung Park, Ruby Delvey, Eda Ablony, Elma Roth, Amanda Copeland and Eunji Min—sat scattered like poised chess pieces, each of them dressed in some version of cozy sharpness: padded jackets, sleek leggings, glints of rhinestones still clinging to bun nets and skate bags.

Across the room, the hockey team lounged like they owned the building.

Seungcheol slouched in the chair across from you, legs spread, one arm draped over the backrest beside him with practiced ease. The rest of his team—too many to count at a glance—sprawled into the seats behind him, laughter tucked behind wide shoulders and bruised shins.

You caught the scent of sweat and liniment beneath their layers. The air between the two teams might as well have been ice.

Dean Halbrook, ever the diplomatic executioner, adjusted his glasses as he looked around the room. “I appreciate you all coming on short notice,” he said. “I’ll get to the point.”

Your jaw was already tight. You didn’t need a preamble. The rumors had been circulating for weeks: declining donations, withdrawn sponsors, the board’s disinterest in ‘non-revenue’ sports. You'd hoped figure skating would be spared—refined, international, award-winning—but hope was a fool’s indulgence.

“The university’s winter sports budget has been significantly reduced,” Halbrook said, voice even. “This year, we’re only able to provide full financial support to one program. That includes rink time, gear, staff, travel stipends, competition entry fees, the works.”

A pause. The room held its breath.

“That means either the varsity hockey team or the figure skating division will receive funding. Not both.”

You felt it first in your chest. That flicker of disbelief, cold and sharp. Not a sting—no, not yet—but the hush that comes just before the blade hits.

You didn’t look at Seungcheol. You didn’t need to.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Amanda muttered.

Ada scoffed under her breath. “This is a joke, right? Is this some team-building exercise in disguise?”

But Seungcheol was already chuckling. Not loudly—just low, under his breath, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck.

You turned slowly. “You find this funny?”

He tilted his head toward you, that trademark smirk just barely playing on his lips. “I find it familiar. You and I in the same room, having to compete for something? Déjà vu.”

You stared at him. “This isn’t some high school ballot vote. This is our season.”

“And ours.” He shrugged. “But we bring in real crowds. Merch sales. Press. You know—public interest.”

“You also bring in fights, broken sticks, and budget overages,” you snapped. “Half your equipment requests get denied because your team can’t stop shattering visors.”

“That’s called passion.”

“That’s called lack of control.”

“Oookay,” Mingyu Kim- the vice hockey captain, muttered behind him. “We’re off to a great start.”

Jeonghan sighed. “Can we at least let the dean finish before they kill each other?”

Dean Halbrook held up a hand, his weariness visible now in the lines around his mouth. “We’re not going to base this decision purely on numbers. The board wants something more… visible. A demonstration of each team’s value, performance, and campus impact. One event. One showcase.”

You blinked. “What kind of event?”

“Up to you,” Halbrook replied. “It can be a co-hosted performance, a match, a combined routine—whatever you design. But both teams will be evaluated on presence, creativity, and execution. Crowd engagement matters.”

A heavy pause fell over the room. You could feel your team shifting beside you, could feel Ruby's eyes on you, Elma's tension radiating like frost.

“Let me get this straight,” Seungcheol said, arms folded. “You want the figure skating team to team up with the hockey team. For an event.”

Your laugh was cold. “Trust me, we’re not thrilled about the idea either.”

“You think you’re too good for us?”

“I think we don’t share a single value on or off the ice.”

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming like a challenge. “We both bleed for it.”

You matched his gaze, chin high. “No. You brute-force it. We calculate every turn. We fall once, it’s over. You crash and laugh.”

“That’s the point. We get back up.”

“So do we,” you said. “We just don’t shout about it.”

His smile faltered. Just slightly. Enough for you to see that flicker of something underneath—You didn’t want it. Not from him.

Halbrook cleared his throat again. “You’ll have four weeks. Submit your event proposal by next Friday.”

Nobody moved. The room was ice and fire and sheer disbelief.

You stood first, spine straight, muscles thrumming. You gathered your clipboard and looked to your team. “Let’s go,” you said, and they rose with you like synchronized dancers.

Seungcheol watched you leave.

“Try not to choreograph the entire event yourself, prancer!” he called after you.

You spun like a blade.

Chaeyoung’s arm snapped out, catching you mid-step—just before your skates could storm across the room. Your hands curled into fists. Seungcheol actually flinched—but then he laughed, short and breathless, like he couldn’t help himself.

Behind you, Bruce muttered, “I’m going to need therapy after this.”

Eunji bumped your shoulder gently as you walked out. “I give it a week before someone gets body-checked into the costume rack.”

You didn’t answer. You were already calculating how to win a war without getting your blades bloody.

- - - - -

“You didn’t stab him,” Chaeyoung said casually, unwrapping her sandwich. “That’s progress.”

You stared at your drink. “I considered it.”

“I could tell. Your eye twitched. Like, the special twitch that only happens when you’re about to monologue or murder.”

You took a long, quiet sip. The latte was too hot. 

Chaeyoung chewed thoughtfully, watching you like she was waiting for the dam to crack.

You didn’t oblige. Not yet.

“So,” Chaeyoung said after a beat, “is this the part where I ask how you’re feeling and you say you’re fine, and then I say no you’re not, and then you do that dramatic sigh thing and finally explode into a Shakespearean rant about artistic integrity?”

"I’m not dramatic,” You said flatly.

Chaeyoung grinned. “Sure. And I’m not still mad about Mingyu stealing my protein bars last semester.”

“You’re absolutely still mad.”

“Exactly. We all carry things, babe.”

You huffed a breath, leaned back against the booth cushion, and finally let your shoulders drop. “I hate him.”

“Yup.”

“He’s smug. Arrogant. Loud.”

“Also hot.”

You shot her a glare. “Not helping.”

“I didn’t say you thought he was hot.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re blinking too fast.”

“I’m blinking at your stupidity.”

Chaeyoung raised her latte like a toast. “Deflect, my queen.”

You didn’t answer. Your fingers were still wrapped too tightly around the ceramic cup, heat pressed into your palms, grounding you.

You stared out the fogged canteen window where students passed in pairs and clumps, scarves wrapped high, wind tugging at jackets. The world felt too fast, too bright.

“I worked for years to make this team competitive,” you said quietly. “We’ve fought for every scrap of funding. Every second of ice time. Now we have to perform to justify existing?”

Chaeyoung didn’t interrupt. She just took another bite, nodding.

“And we’re supposed to collaborate with them?” your voice was rising now. “With that team of oversized toddlers who think crashing into each other is a sport?”

“You say that like you didn’t once elbow a judge mid-spin.”

“That was reflex.”

“That was iconic,” Chaeyoung corrected. “But look. I’m not saying this situation doesn’t suck. It does. It’s humiliating. It’s unfair. But… we can use it.”

You glanced over, skeptical.

“Think about it,” Chaeyoung continued, voice low, conspiratorial. “The school wants a show? Fine. Let’s give them the best damn spectacle they’ve ever seen. Rink lights, dual choreography, split staging—let’s choreograph a war. With glitter.”

You allowed a small smirk to pull at the edge of your lips. “You’re terrifying.”

“I’m inspired.”

Silence settled again, comfortable now. The kind that only happens between two people who’ve weathered storms together and come out with matching skate scars and inside jokes.

“Do you think he’s going to make this hell for us?” you asked quietly, after a moment.

Chaeyoung raised an eyebrow. “Seungcheol?”

You nodded.

“Oh, one hundred percent.”

You closed your eyes.

“Fuck."

- - - -

The rink was colder than usual that morning. Not in temperature—the chill of the ice was familiar, expected—but in mood. Quiet. Heavy. The kind of stillness that settled just before a storm, or right after a blow you didn’t see coming.

You stood at the edge of the rink, one skate boot pressed against the dasher boards, the other balanced on the rubber matting. Your laces were already tightened, blades freshly sharpened, hair pulled into a neat twist. You weren't late. You never were.

Inside the rink, soft music filtered through the speakers, something orchestral and wordless, meant to soothe more than inspire. The kind of sound that didn’t demand anything—just space. Just breath.

“Alright, ladies,” Coach Jiwon’s voice echoed through the space, calm and crisp. “Let’s get our bodies talking.”

One by one, the team glided onto the ice.

Ruby was first, ever the early bird, her steps smooth and precise as she took a slow lap around the perimeter. Eda followed, adjusting her gloves with a dramatic flair that contrasted her otherwise focused demeanor.

Eli, Chaeyoung, Amanda, and Eunji formed a loose cluster near center ice, soft chatter and giggles tumbling between them like breath in cold air.

You stepped onto the ice last. The blades caught the surface with a familiar bite, that satisfying give of metal over frozen water. You exhaled. The chaos of yesterday’s meeting still clung to your ribs, a pressure you couldn’t quite skate off.

But here—here, you were in control.

Coach Jiwon clapped her hands once, not loud, but firm. “We’ll start with edge drills. Outside-inside circles, then forward-backward transitions. Focus on your control. Breathe into your legs, not your shoulders. Let the tension go.”

The girls scattered like petals across the rink, each falling into practiced lines. The ice hummed beneath them, the sound of blades carving soft arcs into white.

You moved without thinking, body remembering what your mind couldn’t quite hold. The rhythm of your skates, the curve of your arms, the slow inhale on the push and exhale on the glide. Around you, the others mirrored the same movement, six bodies moving through cold space like ink across parchment.

Coach Jiwon moved alongside them, eyes sharp, posture relaxed. “Keep your heads up,” she called. “No shrinking. We don’t shrink just because the spotlight’s unfamiliar.”

Chaeyoung caught your eye as they crossed paths mid-loop. She offered a tiny wink. We’ve got this, it said. You didn’t wink back, but your shoulder relaxed a fraction.

The music shifted into a slower piece, something violin-heavy and aching. You closed your eyes for just a second as you moved through your edge work, feeling the pull in your thighs, the stretch in your back, the press of your blades against the curve of the rink.

This was where you belonged. Not in boardrooms with spreadsheets and ultimatums. Not locked in verbal sparring matches with Seungcheol and his army of arrogant bruisers.

But here, where you spoke through movement. Through form. Through precision.

The tension didn’t vanish. It didn’t evaporate with each glide. But it dulled. Became manageable. Like background static.

“Alright,” Coach Jiwon said after a long set of laps, “pair up. We’ll run the swing hold drill, center push and pull. Coordination matters more than speed. Trust your partner’s weight.”

You paired with Chaeyoung out of habit. Your fingers linked easily, grip firm. You both moved together through the drill, bodies leaning in and out, strength shifting like breath between them.

“You’re in your head,” Chaeyoung murmured as you passed through the center point.

“Am not.”

“You’re tighter than my hip flexors after a red-eye flight.”

You huffed a laugh despite herself. “I’m fine.”

Chaeyoung arched a brow. “I’ll believe that when you don’t nearly grind your teeth through your mouth guard.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. The music was building, the edges sharpened, and even though your future was uncertain, the ice hadn’t changed.

You still knew how to move. Still knew how to fight—quietly, elegantly.

And if you had to skate through hell to save your team, then so be it.

You would.

Your blades curved a clean arc into the ice as you and Chaeyoung pushed through another swing drill. The soft music wound around you like silk.

Your arms moved instinctively, spine aligned, posture perfect. Your body was speaking the language it knew best—quiet defiance. Control. Grace.

But then the music cut out with a stuttered click.

It was replaced by the unmistakable slam of a stick against boards and the sudden, chaotic entrance of heavy skates and louder voices.

You faltered.

“What the—”

The double doors to the rink swung wide open, and in came the hockey team like a storm on legs. Sticks tapping. Helmets half-on. Voices booming and overlapping. Their coach, a tall man with a deep-set scowl and a clipboard perpetually glued to his hand, barked directions as they filed in.

“Alright, boys, half-rink drills. Be fast, be focused, no coasting. Let’s go, let’s go!”

You slowed to a stop near center ice, the cold now biting through your tights in a way it hadn’t before. Your teammates came to a halt beside you, expressions caught somewhere between confused and annoyed.

Chaeyoung whispered under her breath, “Tell me this isn’t happening.”

But it was.

Coach Jiwon, ever composed, was already skating toward the boards where the opposing coach stood. She wore her usual poker face, even as a tight wrinkle formed between her brows.

“Coach Ryu,” she called, voice calm but firm, “we had this slot reserved until eleven thirty. We’re mid-drills.”

Coach Ryu didn’t look up from his clipboard. “Yeah, I know. We were told to share ice for warmups. Half and half.”

Jiwon’s voice stiffened. “By who?”

“Admin,” he said. “Said we should start practicing coexistence since we’ll be collaborating. Their words, not mine. Honestly, it would be better if you leave early. The boys need this practice more." 

The word echoed across the rink like an insult.

You clenched your fists in your gloves.

“Coach,” Jiwon said, “my girls are running tight-edge drills. If your players come barreling in—”

“They know how to stay in their lane,” Coach Ryu interrupted. “It’ll be fine. Just move your routines to the far end. We’ll be out of your way. Or better yet, as I said, leave.”

It wasn’t said with malice. But it was dismissive. As if they were a minor inconvenience.

You stepped forward.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, loud enough for your blades to hear.

Coach Ryu glanced up. “Something to add, Miss—?”

“Kim,” you snapped, gliding toward him, past Jiwon’s subtle warning look. “Captain of the figure skating team. The one you’re bulldozing.”

Coach Han gave you a look you knew too well—condescending, just shy of a smirk. “This is a shared facility. You’re athletes. Adapt.”

Your jaw tensed. “You mean get out of the way.”

“I mean learn to share.”

“You mean learn to shrink.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

You weren't yelling yet, but your voice had teeth. “You come in here, cut our music, take half our ice, and talk to our coach like she’s a footnote in your schedule. Then you tell us to adapt. This isn’t a traffic detour, Coach—it’s our practice. And you’re treating it like background noise.”

Behind you, your teammates were frozen mid-glide. Across the rink, the hockey boys had stopped to watch, Seungcheol at the front of them like some damn figurehead.

Coach Ryu's jaw worked. “Listen, sweetheart—”

Wrong. Word.

Your laugh cracked like a whip. “There it is.”

“Kim,” Coach Jiwon said, voice sharp now. “Let me handle this—”

“No,” you said without turning around. “We’ve all let him talk like this for years.”

You looked back at Coach Han, eyes steady.

“You walk into this rink, and the moment there’s a scheduling conflict, you assume we’re the ones who should adjust. Why? Because we’re quieter? Because we spin and leap instead of crash and fight? Because we wear tights instead of padding?”

“Because we have fifty players and a championship schedule,” Han snapped. “This isn’t personal. It’s logistical.”

Your voice dropped. “It’s always personal when girls are told to move aside for boys who shout louder.”

The silence after that wasn’t awkward—it was electric.

Coach Ryu looked like he might argue, might throw the clipboard or stomp off or demand an apology. But he didn’t. He just shook his head, scoffing under his breath. “Emotional. Figures.”

Figures.

There it was again—that old, infuriating tone. And you didn’t back down.

“This team,” you said clearly, turning slightly so your words could reach both teams now, “has won twice as many competitions in half as many years as your team has games without penalties. We skate injured, we train without medics, we stretch every hour of rink time like gold because we don’t get second chances when we fall.”

You looked at Seungcheol when you said it. Not because you meant to, but because his eyes hadn’t left your since the moment she stepped forward.

“We don’t get the benefit of the doubt,” you finished. “We earn our ice.”

Jiwon finally stepped in, gently placing a hand on your arm. “Okay. That’s enough for now.”

Coach Ryu turned away without another word. “Boys, half-ice drills. Start now.”

The music didn’t come back on. The tension didn’t lift.

You backed off slowly, chest tight, breath uneven.

Chaeyoung skated beside you, whispering, “That was… so hot I think my soul left my body.”

You didn’t smile. But your grip on your gloves loosened.

Seungcheol hadn’t moved. He stood near center, watching you. Studying you like he’d just seen something he wasn’t expecting.

He opened his mouth—then shut it again

- - - -

PREVIOUS || NEXT

[lvlystars]

29 reasons i love you — c.sc

pairing. choi seungcheol x fem!reader

genre. fluff. just pure, teeth rotting fluff.

summary. gifting your boyfriend by just handing him the gift is overrated!!! (pls kill me i suck at summaries)

warnings. none

a/n. SEUNGCHEOL BIRTHDAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYA (also happy 1 year to this blog!!!)

wc. 1.2k

you chew at your lip as you scroll through a blog, talking about how to gift your partner in various special ways. of course you had a special gift for him—you just felt like you wanted to do something small as a thoughtful little present.

“birthday kisses…their age equates to how many kisses you give them…too simple…” you mumble to yourself. your eyes widen when the next idea says the idea can apply to how many gifts you give them in the day.

no matter how much you love him, there’s no way you can gift seungcheol 29 gifts. your wallet would sob.

“baby?” you shove your phone under your pillow as your boyfriend walks into the room, drying his damp hair with a towel. you eyed the oversized white t-shirt he wore, the shirt hanging loosely over his broad shoulders as he hums to himself. 

“wanna help me with skincare?” he asks, pointing to the bathroom for you to follow him, and you nod. it was endearing how he never forgets every night—your nightly routine of doing his skincare for him, despite the fact that he is very much capable of doing it himself.

a comfortable silence envelops the both of you as you rub in seungcheol’s skin products into his soft skin, the way he grips your waist softly and stares down at you with that stupid boyish smile he always looked at you with awakening all kinds of butterflies in your stomach. that stupid smile that never seemed to give you a break ever since you met him at your old local library—when he shot that smile at you every time you spotted him on fridays, studying for your university courses, or just finding a book to read for some pass time.

“daydreaming?” his voice pulls you out of your little trip down memory lane, making you smile softly before applying some lip balm on his plump lips. you shake your head. “no, just thinking about tomorrow.” seungcheol’s eyes lit up at the mention of the special day tomorrow that he looks forward to every year: his birthday.

when his birthday rolls around, seungcheol claims that he can ‘tell’ when people are his true friends—through the test of how fast they wish him happy birthday. god knows how many times your boyfriend has sulked over one of his friends not wishing him at 12 o’clock on the dot, and lucky for you, you haven’t missed a single birthday ever since you met him. you’ve held the longest streak so far.

“sooo…what did you get me?” seungcheol grins teasingly, and you huff, rolling your eyes. “just a few more hours, you big baby. you can wait.” you scold him, making him pout just a little, his stance deflating.

“now let’s go to sleep. i promise to wake you up and wish you at 12 on the dot, i have an alarm too. now come.” you reassure him, grabbing his wrist and leading him to the bed before sliding in. seungcheol’s arm immediately wraps around your midriff out of habit, pulling you flush against his chest as he softly inhales your scent and presses a chaste kiss to the crook of your neck.

“even if you didn’t get me a gift, you’re the best present, y’know? waking up next to you is like…the best thing in the world. the best gift in the world that i get everyday.” he hums, making you chuckle at his groggy words as he slipped into his slumber.

———

you wake up and check the time, mentally thanking whatever forced you to wake up at this time, since it was about half an hour before midnight. you try to unravel yourself from seungcheol’s hold, making him stir a little before sighing again, lying on his back.

you pull out your phone, reopening the blog, and you wait for the page to refresh when an idea pops into your head, making you immediately pull out every sticky note you had in your study.

you were quick to grab a pen and doodle on 29 sticky notes, each sticky note having a small drawing and under it a little 'nth reason why i love you: check (certain location where another sticky would be)', boasting at your original idea and giddy at how your boyfriend would react.

a while later, the clock finally strikes 12, and you sigh in relief when you finally put the finishing touches in your gift before running to your shared bedroom to wake seungcheol up, who was snoring softly in the covers.

“seungcheol…” you hum, coaxing him to wake up softly, and he doesn’t respond. frowning a little, you pat him, and he groans, shaking his head. finally, you yell at him.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEUNGCHEOL!” he jolts awake, eyes snapping open as they dart around the room in panic before settling on you, pouting while squinting from the hallway light hitting his face. “wha…?”

“get up! i have to give you my gift!” you pull on his arm, and he groans, sitting up while rubbing his eyes awake. he whines something about it waiting until the morning, until he finally realises why you woke him up.

“birthday surprise?” he grins, his eyes now wide awake, and you nod.

“it’s like a scavenger hunt. i placed sticky notes around the place up until the present, and they’re numbered. each sticky note has a clue for where you should look for the next sticky note.” you grin, proud of your little idea, and he raises an eyebrow, endeared at your little activity for him. “there are 29 sticky notes for your age. go look!” you urge him, pushing him to the night stand. as he starts looking, you quickly go to hide with the present.

———

after what seemed like eternity, you finally hear the door to the study room open, and seungcheol pokes his head inside, his hand filled with yellow sticky notes. you held a small jewellery box in your hands, along with a birthday cake lit on the desk, and seungcheol beams when he takes in the sight.

“happy birthday, coups.” you smiled, and he walks up to the desk, his face in awe as he admired the cake, which had a small lion perched on the top with a tiny birthday hat. “for me?” he murmured, looking at you softly, and you nod, handing him the jewellry box excitedly.

when he opens the box, his eyes widen as he admires the charm bracelet you bought, the charms carefully picked by yourself as a small gift for how much he’s done for you ever since you met him. a cherry, a charm of his star sign constellation, and a series of certain charms that had him begging you to tell him the meaning behind each one.

“what about this one?” he asked giddily, pointing to a book charm, and you stared at him with a deadpan look on his face. “how we met? at the library? when you would harass me every single friday by—” “OKAYYY i get it i get it.”

you both walk back to bed once you finish explaining every single detail about the charm bracelet, seungcheol picks up his phone to be bombarded with numerous ‘happy birthday’ messages. he eagerly showed you every single message, showing you all the people who wished him a happy birthday as you cuddle up next to him in bed, lying your head down on his chest and smiling up at him. once you both get comfortable, seungcheol finally puts his phone away, hugging you close to his chest and kissing your temple.

“happy birthday, cheol.”

tags 🏷️ – @arafilez @etherealyoungk @fairyhaos @georgia-hong @gyuguys @voidsatoru @kyeomyun @starshuas @welcometomyoasis @wqnwoos @wheeboo @yoonzinuhh @seuonji @shieunviya @mykpopficblog @chaatandchai @haowrld

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[notsoangels]

❝ OFFICE AFTER HOURS

pairings　choi seungcheol x f!reader

genres　 smut

warnings explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, dom/sub, strong language, cum eating.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ© NOTSOANGELS 2024.

something about a late-night office encounter with seungcheol, where feelings run high and boundaries fade, leading to intense and passionate moments . . .

the office was dim, the soft glow of a desk lamp casting shadows on the walls. seungcheol looked up as you entered, his eyes narrowing slightly. you closed the door behind you, heart pounding in your chest.

“why are you here?” he asked, his voice steady but curious.

taking a deep breath, you walked towards him. “please. make me feel good. no one else can like you,” you whispered, standing before him, your voice trembling with need.

a slow smile spread across his face. “you finally admitting you need me?” he said, pulling you onto his lap. his hands gripped your waist, firm and possessive. “such a good girl, coming to me.”

his touch sent shivers down your spine. he slid his hands under your skirt, fingers brushing your panties before slipping inside. “already so wet,” he murmured, sliding a finger into you. you gasped, a jolt of pleasure coursing through you.

“cheol,” you moaned, your hips moving against his hand. his thumb found your clit, rubbing it gently, each touch sending waves of sensation through your body.

“tell me what you want,” he said, his voice low and commanding, eyes locked onto yours.

“you,” you breathed, your body trembling. “only you.”

“that’s right,” he said, adding another finger inside you. “only i can make you feel this good.”

he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean. “taste yourself,” he said, pressing his fingers to your lips. you sucked them clean, eyes closing as the taste filled your mouth.

seungcheol stood up, lifting you onto the desk. he unzipped his pants, freeing his cock. “open your legs for me,” he ordered. you obeyed, revealing your wet pussy. he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip.

“please,” you begged, your hands gripping the desk, needing more.

“such a needy little thing,” he chuckled, pushing inside you slowly. the sensation made you gasp, your body arching towards him.

he started to move, each thrust deep and deliberate. “you feel so good,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips. “so tight, so perfect.”

you moaned, the pleasure building with every movement. “cheol, i’m close,” you gasped, your body shaking with anticipation.

“come for me,” he urged, thrusting faster. “show me how much you need me.”

with a cry, you came, your walls squeezing around him. seungcheol followed, filling you with his cum. he pulled out slowly, watching as his cum dripped from you.

“clean yourself up,” he said. you dipped your fingers into your pussy and brought them to your mouth, tasting both of you.

“good girl,” he praised, pulling you into a deep kiss. “remember, only i can make you feel this way.”

he didn’t let go of you. instead, he lifted you back onto the desk, spreading your legs wide. “we’re not done yet,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. “i need to taste you.”

you shivered at his words, your body already aching for more. he knelt between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. he licked a slow, deliberate path from your entrance to your clit, making you gasp.

his hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you. he sucked on your clit, his tongue flicking and teasing, driving you wild. your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

“cheol, please,” you whimpered, your body trembling with need.

he hummed against you, the vibration sending shivers through your body. he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot. you cried out, your hips bucking against his face.

“you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice husky. “i could do this all night.”

he didn’t stop until you were a quivering mess, your body shaking with another orgasm. he licked you clean, his tongue gentle and soothing. when he finally pulled away, his lips were glistening with your juices.

“you’re amazing,” he said, standing up and pulling you into another kiss. “i don’t ever want to let you go.”

your heart swelled at his words, your body melting into his. “i don’t want you to,” you whispered, holding him close.

he lifted you off the desk, carrying you to the couch. he laid you down gently, his body covering yours. “i want to be inside you again,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “i need to feel you.”

you nodded, your body aching for him. “please,” you whispered, your legs wrapping around his waist. “i need you too.”

he entered you slowly, his cock stretching you perfectly. you both moaned, the sensation overwhelming. he started to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, driving you both closer to the edge.

“cheol,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back. “i’m going to cum again.”

“me too,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “cum with me, baby.”

with a final thrust, you both came, your bodies trembling with pleasure. he collapsed on top of you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“next time,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, “don't make me wait.”

you smiled, your heart racing. “i won’t,” you replied, feeling a thrill run through you. “i’ll always come to you.”

[coupranghae808]

Birthday Blues

Pairing: Seungcheol x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, angst

Warning: Slight cursing, birthday blue depression

Summary: Seungcheol is always on time to self-congratulate himself on his birthday, you'd imagine he would do the same for others, except his timing wasn't perfect on Carat's birthday or even your birthday. But how can you rely on him to remember your birthday if he doesn't know?

A/N: This is my first ff, so bear with me y’all

The first year dating Seungcheol was a strange yet overwhelming journey, to say the least. As sweet as the first dates, first kisses, first "I love yous," first intimacy, and first everything, together really tested your small inexperienced heart, but as your first boyfriend, Seungcheol did everything in his power to ease the journey. I mean that's what the first year is all about, right? Getting to know each other and building trust on an intimate level. One fact that you learned about Seungcheol throughout your relationship was that Seungcheol always tends to be on standby minutes before his birthday to receive early birthday messages. In fact, the first couple weeks you two started dating, his brothers all warned you if you failed to congratulate him at midnight on the dot, he would become a sulky monster against you until the end of existence. Although they make it sound like an over exaggeration, sulky Seungcheol is truly a force to be reckoned with. It's not every day he gets showered in love and attention, so he always expects special treatment on his special day. You'd imagine he would do the same for others, except his timing wasn't perfect on Carat's birthday or even your birthday. But how can you rely on him to remember your birthday if he doesn't know?

The morning sunshine peeked through the windows, waking you from deep slumber. Tossing and turning in Seungcheol bed, hoping for early snuggles, your eyes opened, and you realized you were all alone in the empty bed. He must've left early for work It's not the best way to start the day, but you weren't going to let this ruin your day. The day immediately started with a phone call, not from Seungcheol but none other than your mother herself.

"Hello-"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!!"

"Aw thank you mom-"

Meanwhile, in the distance, Kkuma's ears perk up to the sound of your voice and dashes towards your end of the bed. She interrupts your conversation with sweet (aggressive) kisses; you have to calm her down with gentle pats brushing through her white fur.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Y/N! Happy birthday to you!"

"Wow, again thanks mom. That's all really sweet to say at 7 am."

"Oh please, can't I just celebrate my kid? It feels like just yesterday you were crying and screaming like a baby and now your__ years old. Gosh. Anyways, hopefully my gift arrives safely in the mail today. Any plans today? Maybe with that boyfriend of yours? Hmmm?"

Of course. Ever since you revealed your newfound partner to people, your mom especially, constantly pesters for any details about him or your relationship. However, dating a worldwide idol doesn't make your relationship any easier, so both of you agreed to be careful about what you share while protecting each other.

"His name is Seungcheol, and no, he hasn't mentioned anything to me, so I'll probably go on with my usual day."

"Ehhh? No, I'm sure he has something in mind like a surprise! *Gasp* How romantic would that be!?"

"Yeah sure. Look mom, I should really get going for today. Thanks for the birthday wishes."

"Yes, yes! Go on, come visit soon sweetie!"

"Alright, Love you-"

*Call Ended*

… Wow, for one who loves to yap, she was quick to end the call

You turned your attention back to Kkuma and cupped her fluffy tiny head in your hands.

"Do you think dad knows about today?" You asked.

There was a moment of silence as if she was seriously contemplating the question until she licked your nose as a pity response.

"Yeah, I'm not sure either. I'll try to ignore it, I suppose."

The mixed internal conflict running in your mind was condensed and released in the form of a heavy sign. Indulging in the peaceful hour, your eyes wander around his room, which eventually lands on the clock, reading 7:30 am!!

"Shit! How is it already 7:30? I'm going to be late- oh sorry hun."

The commute from Seungcheol place to your work only takes 15 minutes, but that wasn't even enough time to get ready. Kkuma, who becomes slightly concerned, watches you running left and right across Seungcheol’s place like a crazy maniac. It was a race against the clock, and there was only time for you to wash, dress, and gather your belongings. You miraculously managed to arrive in the nick of time. However, the moment you parked yourself dark storm clouds began to shroud the sky, and all your efforts to look put together were drenched, all in vain, by the cursed rain. To make matters worse, you misplaced your key card, which locked you out of the building.

Darn, I must've forgotten it back at Seungcheol's place. I almost made it too. Now what?

Sulking on your forgetfulness, you slowly approached the front doors, where you had to negotiate access into the building with security. To the security guards, you seem like an insane freak straight out of a horror film. It took several calls to your department to finally convince them. Once inside, you received several puzzled stares passing by as you trudged your way up the office. You finally arrived 30 minutes late to your desk only to soon be summoned by your authorities for a stern lecturing. You sat obediently through a literal bully session for your incompetence, selfishness, and inactive efforts that discourages your teams to meet deadlines. You've clearly seen better days before. Despite the cursed mishaps, you mask your disheartened feelings with a brave face and push forward. You mentally longed for Seungcheol to comfort you through this humiliating moment. Right on cue, when you attempted to contact him, your phone was on the verge of death, and you just so happened to forget your phone charger behind. *PerfecT*.

Meanwhile, in the practice rooms of HYBE INSIGHT, the seventeen members rehearsed their dance routine once more in preparation for their next comeback. After the dance coach instructed a 10-minute break, the members sat huddled together and took a moment to organize a celebratory party (but really an excuse to drink).

"This might be last minute, but why don't we have the party tonight? We could do it after practice at Mingyu and Wonwoo’s place." Hoshi exclaims.

"What dude? Just because I can cook multiple servings doesn't mean I'm gonna serve all your hungry asses," Mingyu argues. "Let's just go out to that new restaurant down the road."

"Oh, that sounds better! What’s the place called again? I'll get reservations ready," Seungcheol says as he searches for his phone.

"But Hyung, I thought you'd be busy tonight?" Seungkwan assumes with a confused face. This news alters all the members' attention towards him. Together their curiosity pierced Seungcheol for answers.

"Uh, nope. Why would you think that?

"Today is (insert bdate) right? I’m pretty sure that’s her birthday, so I figured you guys were going to celebrate."

"Birthday… I had no idea. She never said anything about a birthday." Seungcheol pauses in disbelief.

"What are you serious? You forgot?" Vernon hissed as he knocked him back into reality.

"Wait no, she never told me about her birthday. I need to call her."

His fingers fidgets through his phone to search for your contact. Seconds go by, and the ringtone eventually reaches voicemail. He hits the messages app in panic and spams texts nonstop, but there is still no response.

"Guys I think I really fucked up, she isn't responding back to me," Seungcheol whined while running his head through his hair. "What do I do now?"

"Hey, calm down it's not entirely too late, just-"

" Alright boys, break time is over now. Let's get in position for the last set." Seungcheol eyes widen

"I've got an idea hyung, let's get this over with so we can get out sooner."

After work, you stepped outside the building as the last person to finish. You had to work overtime to compensate for your tardiness this morning. You don't overlook the dark empty scenery before you. You let the cold breeze carry you toward your car and slump into your seat. This rarely isolated atmosphere allowed you to shed a few tears before you started your engine. You were well aware of your chronic case of birthday blues, yet each birthday seems worse than the last. Although you don't mind the attention people typically receive on their birthday, it breaks your heart knowing that most people in your life don't acknowledge you. You obviously can't blame Seungcheol; it was a miscommunication on your part, but you can help to feel unworthy, especially from the heck of a day you had. You just remind yourself that the day is finally over and you can ignore it like a regular old day.

You debated whether you should head straight home or back to Seungcheol place. Every fiber in your body wanted to return home, but you realized you still needed to pick up some essential items you had left behind after learning from your rookie mistakes today. You had no idea of Seungcheol's whereabouts; for all you could tell, he could still be practicing with the boys, asleep, or at home waiting for you. You prayed that wasn't the case because you weren't sure if you were emotionally prepared to confront and mask your weak self.

I'm just going to grab my stuff then leave without him knowing. Yeah… that's the plan

You stand facing Seungcheol's door and take a deep breath before entering. You glance up at the ceiling asking the universe for this impending fate to be in your favor for once. Once you stepped inside, the room was completely dark. There was a faint illumination from another room that piqued your interest. You silently slipped off your shoes and found a trail of rose petals on the floor leading to the light.

" Kkuma, no! Don't eat the roses, those are for Y/Nie. She should be here at any moment…*sigh* I hope she's safe." Seungcheol trembled while making some sort of commotion in the kitchen.

Now that you know Seungcheol is home, you wonder if it's too late to abort the mission, but your conscience reasoned that there is no turning back now. You haven't seen Seungcheol at all today, and he is expecting you. You tread carefully over the roses, following to the end of the trail and witness a sight to behold.

A candle-lit room with a soft romantic tune and the sweet aroma of all your favorite dishes traveled across the kitchen. Despite the pilling dishes in the sink, you realized his place was more polished than you remembered, decorated in fact. The dining table was set almost exactly similar to an elegant restaurant with wine, dinnerware, flowers, and even more candles. Then your attention averts to the man on the ground being all loving and affectionate with his daughter. She barks to alert your presence and struggles to escape her father's embrace.

"Hey…" he said breathlessly. He immediately stands and rushes to your side. You both stare lovingly until his arms engulf you in a warm hug.

"I missed you," he breaks the silence without letting go of you. "You didn't respond to any of my calls… l'm-"

Before he could finish his thought, you knew you had to clear the air.

"Yeah. Sorry, I had a bit of a rough day, and I left my charger here before I left for work," you release the hug to show him your inactive phone when you stare back at his gentle eyes. "So, My phone was basically dead the whole day."

"Oh…" He realizes. He struggles to find the right words to phrase his next thought.

"Look, babe. I'm not gonna pretend with you, especially when I *deep sigh* completely forgot your birthday. I'm so sorry." His voice cracked softly as he spoke the last sentence. He tilts his head up to hide his tears from rolling down his face.

"Oh, how did you uh, find out?" you stuttered.

"You were hiding it from me?"

" No I-"you left a sigh and avoided his eyes. "It's complicated, I didn't purposefully hide it from you… You see I don't exactly have a great relationship with my birthday. I don't know; I just always seem to dread the day because each year, I'm reminded I'm getting older and there’s still so much I haven’t accomplished… It makes me feel like a failure every time. When I was younger, every time I invited people to celebrate my birthday, I always felt guilty for forcing them into a party they would rather not be wasting time at, so I always found myself lonely on my birthday… I guess that's why I rarely tell people about my birthday."

You look back at Seungcheol's bloodshot eyes staring into you whilst he processes your words. His intense stare made you quiver and shrink in size. Before you could look away, Seungcheol slumped his head on your shoulder, and you could feel his hot tears staining your skin.

"You- How dare those shitty people make you hate yourself on YOUR DAY." You laugh in between your tears. Seungcheol takes a deep breath and kisses your tears. "Look I get it growing up sucks, but you can't be so hard on yourself. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, so it breaks my heart that you think that lowly of yourself."

You both probably spent a good minute hugging each other to digest each other's words when a soft beeping alarm from the oven catches both your attention. Seungcheol smiles and runs his hands from your shoulders to your hands, dragging you to the sound.

"I might not be the best first boyfriend, but I couldn't let the day end without celebrating it with my girl, so I, uh, tried to make you a cake and set up this special dinner."

He swears he saw the whole universe in your eyes when your eyes sparkled at his words. Together, you decorated the cake, danced hysterically to the music, sipped on wine, and dined with take-out before feasting dessert. All the early inconveniences that ruined you initially washed away with Seungcheol. Now Seungcheol lights the candles on the cake while singing to you.

" Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday, dear Y/N, Happy birthday to you~ Make a wish."

You clasped your hands together while taking a few seconds carefully deciding your precious wish. Once you mentally lock it in, you blow the flames out and watch the smoke dissipate between you and Seungcheol.

" What did you wish for?"

"I can't say if I want it to come true hmm?"

[stayinhellevator]

Asymptopes

"We're bound to break and my hands are tied."

Synopsis: By fate's design, you had found refuge in Seungcheol's arms but now you had gone too far from the point of return, leaving the two of you secretly yearning for each other.

Pairing: Scoups X fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU, Angst, Forbidden Love

Word Count: 2315

Warnings: Cuss words, fxf relationship, brief mentions of cheating technically (not reader)

Playlist: Rewrite The Stars ~ James Arthur, Anne Marie

<Prev> <Masterlist> <Next>

"Why are you avoiding me?"

All your hard work of trying to hide from Choi Seungcheol had gone to waste when you ultimately landed into his muscular arms, that latched onto your waist so tight, as if you'd vanish the minute he loosened his grip by even a finger.

Perhaps you would and he already knew.

"I'm not avoiding you. I'm protecting you."

You managed to reply, eyes darting frantically around the dancing pairs, wanting to locate your soulmate, desperate to find an excuse to escape the brown orbs of his, that were seeking answers from you.

But boy you could never resist their magnetic pull, automatically drawn towards him, as if a puzzle piece snapping into its rightful place. Like you belonged.

But you both knew you didn't.

"Protecting me? Protecting me from what? Are you even hearing yourself."

With every anguished whisper that came out of his lips, his grip on you seemed to tighten further as was the rapidly decreasing distance between your bodies, making you panic.

What if someone saw the two of you? What would they think? Worse if your respective soulmates saw you? What would they say?

And how were you going to recover from the loss of Seungcheol's warmth? All the time you had spent trying to steel yourself was for nothing? Why doesn't he understand?

"Protecting you from breaking further Seungcheol. I'm protecting both of us from more pain. The more we try to steal moments together, the harder it becomes for us to withdraw when we both know we can't be together."

You finally let out, as if agonised to be the only one holding these depressing thoughts. You wanted to reason with him; let him know that you did care and that's why you were putting a distance between you two.

His eyes seemed to soften after knowing you were as miserable without him as he without you but you knew the topic was far from over; not with how he was so stubborn when he decided he wanted something to go his way. And you were proven right when instead of letting you go, he twirled you round and brought you back in.

To the onlookers, everything should seem normal. You two were strangers who got each other as dance partners when it was a turn for exchanging them; if not for his wandering arms that caged you in with a familiarity of that of a lover; if not for your eyes doing all the talking that your mouth couldn't; if not for the chemistry between you that was hard to ignore.

And it worried you. The onlookers, the gossip-mongers, the rumours and the assumptions. You weren't a stranger to any of those. But worse was when negativities these came from the people you know. You didn't want your mutual friends or colleagues or families to see the two of you so vulnerable like this. You didn't want the drama the scandal of your affair with Seungcheol would bring to the auspicious wedding.

Seokmin didn't deserve this. Even if he was an oblivious jerk who couldn't see just how down bad your sister was for him, all her life, he was a sweetheart. He had never wronged you or your family and technically not your sister too because this was what the fate had in mind for her. So no you didn't want to ruin Seokmin's happy day.

And you can't bring yourself to even imagine what would happen if your soulmate sees the two of you like this. Would she be sad? Disappointed? Angry? Indifferent? Who knows?

Heck! Why should you even care? You were in this mess because of your soulmate, who made it extremely clear that she was in love with someone else, the day you first saw her. And that's how Choi Seungcheol first met you, completely heartbroken and helpless at the hands of his sister.

You still remember breaking down in his arms three years back when you saw your soulmate with his sister in your shared bed; she couldn't be any less empathetic that you had seen her with someone else and instead caused a scene that you breached her privacy.

Ever since then, he had been your rock, your anchor that saved you from drowning in your misery. Your soulmate would often get defensive when she saw the two of you together, because of course the bond between you two was still very much real whether you two accepted each other or not. She wouldn't let you go because then her soul would be hollow and she wouldn't be able to be with her lover.

The truth is you never even got a chance to fall in love with her, which is why her soul was still intact, even after still technically betraying you. Initially when you were bitter about the whole scenario, you wanted to stay like that until her soul started deteriorating and she ended up all hurt and alone, just like you.

But that was before Seungcheol. Your sweet shining knight in armour, who was unfortunately born without a soul bond, making it nearly impossible for him to find love as bondless souls were rare.

And like any cliche movie, as fate would have it, you soon realised that the feelings you were hoping to have for his sister started sprouting naturally for him, without even knowing when andhow. You both found love in each other and soon enough, your pathetic life didn't matter to you anymore, so long as you both had each other. And just like that, you went from nothing-to-lose rejected soul to putting-everything-at-stake for this man accepted soul.

Your otherwise nonchalant soulmate realised in no time that you were hiding something, rather someone from her, because you still hadn't punished her and your ignorance started bothering her. Now, she was always breathing down your neck, hoping to "catch you in the act".

A truly masterpiece she was. You thought it was hilarious how unfortunate you and your sister were when it came to love and soulmates. You used to sympathise with your sister as she yearned for Seokmin's reciprocal in solitude and now you weren't faring any better than her.

You sometimes wonder how your soulmate could be Seungcheol's sibling, when her brother was the most affectionate, considerate and pure-hearted person you had ever met.

A sudden prick, as if you were being watched, brought you out of your thoughts as your eyes met a woman's kind and empathetic pair. You knew her as Seungcheol's friend's soulmate, a kind person or at least as Cheol told you. She looked at you as if she knew your circumstances and you wouldn't be surprised if she did for her soulmate had been Seungcheol's friend for as long as you can remember. You trusted her to safeguard your secret but not the increasing stranger glances that were starting to notice you.

"Seungcheol I don't want your sister to see us together. I don't want any drama tonight."

You tried to negotiate but a tic in his jaw was your answer; he was annoyed that you cared about everyone but him to leave him all alone for months without any explanation.

"I don't give a fuck if she sees us and if she truly cared about drama, she wouldn't be dancing with her girlfriend like that, let alone have the audacity to bring her as a plus one."

Your face must've given your surprise at this information as Seungcheol gestured towards a corner where your soulmate was giggling in her lover's arms, without giving two cents of the place and the people around her. She didn't care if people found it odd as to why she was dancing with her 'best friend' like that when she had her soulmate with her.

Ha! If only they knew!

You could only sigh at her carelessness and turn away from the sight. This would've broken your heart if only it beat for her. But your treacherous heart raced against your wishes for her brother.

It was as if he knew what was on your mind, for his frame finally melted for the first time since he caught you as he caressed your waist and continued swaying to the soft music, refusing to change partners even when everyone else was.

You tried to snatch your hand from his and leave but his grip didn't budge even a bit as he continued moving as if nothing happened.

"Seungcheol! Why don't you understand? Your sister wouldn't take this lightly."

He took a deep breath even as his eyes glistened with tears of helplessness at the situation and yours automatically mirrored his. You just wanted to love him, freely, without any inhibitions.

Why couldn't he be your soulmate? Yours didn't want you as it is. And he was born without one. You two were meant to be. Why couldn't the world understand? Why can't it be like that?

"Why can't we run away? You and I love each other then why do we have to hide? Why can't we be together?"

The vulnerability in his voice broke your heart. You want to give this man the world yet the one thing he asks of you is forbidden for you to bring him. Why can't you keep him happy like he keeps you? Is this why your soulmate doesn't want you? Because you're so helpless and hopeless?

"Cheol!"

You could only whisper his name and cupped his face in your hands, caressing his cheeks, hoping to provide him some soothe, albeit temporary.

"If we run away, your sister's soul trauma would make me hollow and you'd end up loving me all your life while I'd end up unable to love you at all."

You expressed the only concern that was holding you back, leaving you to tolerate his sister and her double standards. Seungcheol's body stiffened once again at the reminder as his eyes filled with contempt.

"The thought of loving you all my life doesn't sound unappealing to me. I hope you know that."

A smile appeared on your face, despite the cruelty of the circumstances as you continued stroking his cheek and his chest with your other hand, right where his heart was, hoping it'd send your love straight to his heart.

"I know but I'd rather love in secret than not love you at all. My life would lose its meaning if I were to stop loving you in the future. I only want you and would want you till I breathe my last."

A tear fell down his cheek that I instantly wiped, unable to stand it as his hand made its way to the back of my neck and caressed it, leaving only an inch distance between us, raising my panic again.

"Cheol! We need to stop. We can't be doing this here."

I pushed against his chest to make space between us but he held my hand above his heart and pulled me in by my nape, resting our foreheads against each other's.

"Please stay. Don't go. Not yet."

The doubt and fragility in his feeble voice cracked my resolve and I gave in to the comfort of his arms, closing my eyes, basking in his warmth.

"This is wrong Cheol. We could be in trouble. Or we already might be in one for all we know."

A statement even I wasn't convinced with came out in whispers, hoping he'd be the stronger one of us and push me away because I couldn't, not anymore.

"Then why does it feel right?"

And just like that, any protest that I had died out on my lips, always defeated by the one, same point. Because truly, why did it feel right? Why do we feel right? Why do we feel like we belong together? Why is it so natural to love Seungcheol when the world wouldn't approve of us. Even the fate hadn't.

"I wish I knew Cheol. What I do know is that no matter what, I'd always love you and only you. And I don't know what I'd done without you in my life. You're my saviour in every sense."

And I confessed because I wanted him to know: know that even if we were born for a future that didn't belong with each other in every lifetime, I would fight for him until I can't anymore.

That even though our fate had only brought us close enough to tease us, I'm glad that it did for I had a chance of getting to call him mine and be loved equally, if not more, by him. And I'd gladly do it all over again.

A gummy smile, that had my heart racing in giddiness, broke out on his gorgeous visage, as he planted a chaste kiss on my head.

"And I love you my chosen soulmate. There's no one I'd want if not you."

And he confessed because he knew we both wanted to hear it, now more than ever, when tomorrow isn't promised. He knew that as much as he wanted to say it to me, I had wanted to hear him say it because he was my strength.

A chuckle escaped me at the irony of the situation as he imitated my reaction. It was crazy; the whole situation, us, everything was bizarre, a mess, out of bounds; but it was ours. Wherever this was, our chaotic precious mess.

I'd have him in any and all forms that I can. If only I get to be loved by him.

It's a privilege to be loved by Choi Seungcheol, even if we weren't destined to be soulmates.

And it's a relief that in the face of my sham of a soulbond, I'd always have my raw and real lover by my side for the rest of our life.

©stayinhellevator2024: Please don't repost translate or copy my work on any platform.

Read On Wattpad

[svtrightherekids]

really need some good,long and fun fics for seventeennnn

really need them too anon, but here are few that I think you'd like.

Paris by @amourcheol (oneshot)

actor! mc, actor! jeonghan

disgraced by hollywood for the last time, you, a once superstar-turned-alcoholic, escape to the city of love to seek sanctuary from the ruthless tabloids. your sanctuary comes in the form of film noir superstar yoon jeonghan, the enigmatic man who taught you the art of acting, lust and love before your fame. when he asks to meet you once, just like old times, you cannot refuse. what is meant to be a simple date turns into a path of passion, pain and everything that comes with fooling around with your ex in the jazz-filled corners of paris. 

2. Eat your young by @rubyreduji (series)

hunger games!au, gn!reader

you’re prepared to survive the hunger games, what you’re not prepared for is for lee jihoon to be in the arena with you

3. the great war by @amourcheol (oneshot)

military commander! seungcheol, artist! mc

there was only one thing you hated more than your restricted life, and that was choi seungcheol—the greatest venetian general who has ever lived. when a marriage is arranged between the two of you, you were sure it would end in bloodshed. however, as you and seungcheol are forced to attend balls and share a few hard truths, you realise you have more in common with the mysterious general than you thought.

4. Amortentia by @http-mianhae

harry potter characters seventeen! harry potter character mc!

AMORTENTIA ; the most powerful love potion to exist

5. No Saints Here by @wonwoosmagnetic

bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

These are all I know for now, I really need to find new fics for seventeen :(

[cherricheol]

Trapped for Christmas {Seungcheol ff}

[This is all pure imagination people]. In this story we will see Lana's {Jeonghan's little sister} story and how her's and Seungcheol's relationship develops. Now a little warning.... this book is spicy in certain chapters, and I will mark them so if some people are uncomfortable with reading spicy stuff you can skip it. But remember, this book has a plot. I'm super [ see what I did there ;}] excited for you guys to read this book. I hope you love it. Plus a smutty Christmas novel.... uh yes, sign me up. Make sure to enjoy your stay. Also i know its May and its not close to Christmas. Love you lots Jelly thoughts.

"Hope you enjoy them." I smiled at Mrs Min, handing over the bag filled with her usual pastry order. I find it cute that she comes in every Tuesday and Friday to pick up pastries for her and her husband.

"Thank you dear."

Hearing the oven timer go off, I wiped my hands on my apron and headed for the back. I was instantly met with the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. You'd think after running the bakery everyday for almost a year, I'd grow tired of the smell of the freshly baked sweets, but no. It was probably the best smell in the entire world, no complaining on my side. I made quick work of pouring the white sugary icing on the hot, fresh out of the oven, cinnamon rolls, watching it melt and roll down the sides of the pastries. The icing is the best part of a cinnamon roll if were being honest here. which was why I made mine with extra icing.[Do you want one?]

Hearing the front door ding, I quickly grabbed the tray and headed back to the front of the store. With it just being me, I was doing double duty by baking and running the cash register along with greeting costumers. My gaze shifts to the door, immediately landing on the person walking in through the door. With a grin, I bearly have enough time to set the tray down before loud squeals of children meet my ears.

"Auntie Y/N!!"

Two cute little heads pop up by the counter, both flashing me toothless grins, I couldn't help but grin back at the faces of my niece and nephew.

"Hey you two hooligans."

"Sorry for just stopping by. These two want to surprise Jeonghan with some cookies after work." My sister-in-law Sana apologized, coming up to the counter. "You're totally fine. Any chance to see these cuties." I scrunched my nose down at them with a grin. My niece, Miyeon copying me.

"Well its your lucky day, cuz guess what." I bend over the counter to get closer.

"What?"

"I have cookies in the oven right now." Both sets of eyes go wide at my words. "How about you two sit down, and while you wait you share a warm cinnamon roll?" Their eyes never once leave my frame as I move behind the counter to grab a plate and dish out the still warm cinnamon from the tray. Grabbing two forks and some napkins, I hold them out towards them.

Two little hands snatch the plate and napkins from my hands faster than you can blink, the footsteps of them running towards a empty table being heard with a chorus of " thank you's".

"I swear, they get bigger each time I see them." I comment while shaking my head with a chuckle. "You're telling me. Just yesterday they were babies and now look at them" Sana answers while looking at them. "They need to stop growing, soon enough they are gonna have girlfriends and boyfriend's." I say with a chuckle turning my gaze to Sana as she speaks.

"Don't even say that around Jeonghan. He already plans on locking Miyeon inside the house until she's fifty." I laugh, knowing exactly what she was talking about. Jeonghan was the same way about me when I was younger, hell even now that I am 25 for crying out loud. "Poor Miyeon when she gets older." Sana and I share a knowing look on how overbearing Jeonghan is going to be.

"How have things been by the way? We haven't seen you for a while" Sana asks while leaning against the counter as she speaks. "Sorry, things have been busy here lately and whenever I have days off, Jen wants to do something." Literally any free time I had outside of working hours from the bakery were spent on relaxing at my apartment or my roommate/ best friend Jennie was convincing me to go out.

"You work too hard Y/N. You are young! Go out and have some fun while you still can." I held back a sigh at her words, running my hand through my hair. I know everyone means well and want me to enjoy being 25 but I love what I do. Opening my own bakery was a dream come true and to do it at 25 was amazing. I've worked my ass off to be where I am now and if it meant giving up going out and partying, then I just don't care. Plus I was never one for going out all the time. I liked being at home, laying on my couch and relaxing.

"I know, but with Christmas around the corner, I just don't have the time." Which was technically true of course. With Christmas literally a month away I was already getting piles of orders and I know it will only get busier as days go by. When I said I wanted to open my own bakery a few years ago I knew it was going to be really difficult. Owning any sort of business was hard, I learned that with my parents and then with Jeonghan taking over. And this past year has been nothing short of hard work that paid off, I had made it. And now here I am with a business slowly starting to boom and just in time for the holiday season. I may have given up time spent with friends and even family but for me, it was worth it.

"I wont go on about it but just make sure your taking good care of yourself, okay?" Sana squeezed my hand on the counter, her eyes soft and gentle as she gazes at me. "I will." Despite how annoying it could be I was grateful that Sana was looking out for me. She's become the older sister I've always wanted. If I ever needed anything, she was always there no matter what. When I answered a random ad for a fake boyfriend eight years ago for my brother, I never thought we'd meet someone like Sana. Definitely didn't believe Jeonghan and I would gain another family in the process.

The sound of the oven beeping had me pushing away from the counter. Sana went over to the kids while i went in the back to grab the freshly baked cookies. Sliding warm cookies into a box, I added a few more than necessary. I knew my family and i know that the cookies will be devoured within minutes. Wrapping it all up and placing the rest of the cookies on a plate, I made my way back to the front of the bakery.

"Here you guys go, fresh from the oven." I smile at the way the two small heads snap in my direction. It only took a second before their little feet were running towards the counter. I came prepared tho, placing two chocolate chips in front of Miyeon and Min-jun.

"You spoil them."

"That's because I'm their favourite auntie in the whole wide world" The smile n my face gets wider at the sight of my niece and nephew stuffing the cookies in their mouths. "Okay guys we better get going so we can see appa." Sana announces while grabbing the box of cookies and started veering the kids towards the door. "You're coming over on Friday for dinner right?" Sana asks over her shoulder as she stops.

"Yeah I'll be there."

"Say bye to auntie Y/N."

"Byee!!" The two practically shouted as they walked out the door. Shaking my head with a smile at their antics i get back to work.

[iannmin]

Should i do something like this again…

Yuletide High | c.cs 최승철

tags + warnings ⋆ fluffy smut, bigger!husband!seungcheol x small!reader, implied size kink, breeding kink (extreme), creampie, dirty talk, manhandling, praise kink, intentional lowercase

synopsis ⋆ under the half done christmas tree, complications occur as cheol can’t quite seem to hold back his wishes <3

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆

you should have found it ridiculous or even funny at the situation both of you were in…no, really. if anyone had walked in on the both of you in the living room, it would be an absolutely disaster.

somewhere between hanging up the christmas ornaments on the fresh pine tree and exchanging wishes for the new year, everything went completely amiss.

you didn’t know that one phrase could have so much impact on your poor husband. but it did anyways. a simple “lets try for a baby” had cheol instantly folding, index and middle finger fumbling and tugging at the hem of your underwear and matching cotton plaid pants, hastily pulling them down your plush thighs even though you were practically kneeling doggy-styled in front of the half-done christmas tree. but for cheol, he seemed even more in a hurry.

not even bothering to remove the santa hat on his head, his plaid pants dropped and pooled near his knees, cock springing and hitting against his abdomen.

“oh my god cheol! n-not here, too exposed”

“fuck, but isn’t this the perfect place to get you all knocked up, hm? our baby will be made right under this lovely christmas tree. gonna be s’full of our love” and with that, his huge calloused fingers were digging into the flesh of your hips, slowly easing his cock into your heat. no matter how many times the both of you did it, your husband never failed to stretch your hole.

“f-fuckk! cheol, feels s’good, fuck me…please”

“yeah you like that baby? nggh..gonna be the best christmas gift I’ve ever had…oh god” every drag of cheol’s cock came away stained in white. a ring of the combined cum circling the base, balls sticking to your clit with every thrust. you were practically ascending into heaven.

his grip on your hips tightened, one arm snaking around the front of your small waist to find your clit, rubbing at it rapidly sideways. at this point, your thighs were shaking involuntarily, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks at the immense pleasure, and lips spewing a continuous lewd chant of his name.

his cock slammed and abused your sopping cunt continuously, producing a thunderous rhythm of skin-slapping sounds echoing in contrast to the peaceful and cozy christmas atmosphere that the living room emitted. but regardless, it was all a symphony of music to him.

your arms had given up, heated cheeks dropping to meet the cool marble floor while he pounded into you.

you were close.

“hnngh…n-no! c-cheol gonna..f-fuck…gonna cum!”

“oh god! s-shit, gonna cum too baby. gonna be such a pretty mommy for me? let me put one in you, hm? belly all round and swollen..tits full of milk…hnngh..can’t believe m’doin this to you, fuck-“

as promised, both of your high came crashing down as he pressed his cum right into you, right where he knows it’ll reach your womb and give you just what the both of you had wanted.

it’s absolutely hot and thick against your gummy walls. he held you through it, taking your hips in kneading hands to hold you still, making sure that you absolutely took it. and when you think he’s done, he rolled his hips up into you to shoot more ribbons, grinding harder against your ass. by the time you both were done, the santa hat had nearly slipped off his head, barely clinging on, but it didn’t matter much anyways.

“merry christmas baby, christmas next year will be a lot less lonely with one more in the house <3”

[nerdycheol]

Track Record || C.S.C

🏎️pairing: f1 racer!choi seungcheol x motorsport journalist! reader

🏎️genre: enemies-to-lovers, fluff, smut (protected sex, too much kissing) MDNI

🏎️wc: 12k

(a/n): glad to be part of @bella-feed 's and @sanaxo-o 's 100 follower event thankyouuu calli ( @hhaechansmoless), daisy (@flowerwonu ) and cel (@mylovesstuffs ) for beta-ing <33. im really sorry for delay in posting this:( this fic was inspired by anyone mv and and way to many carlos edits on my feed. even though this was beta read by 3 wonderful people, i still apologize if there are any mistakes in here:(( ive just started getting into f1 thanks to calli ;) so im just getting used to everything haha so people familiar with f1, overlook any inaccuracies <33 also quite poorly written smut jskjdsks

Let me know what you think—comments and reblogs mean the world! 💗

IF YOU AREN'T TAGGED IT'S BECAUSE THERE'S NO AGE INDICATOR IN YOUR PROFILE OR ARE UNDERAGE ____

The engines roared like a war cry, low and guttural and impossible to ignore.

You stood just beyond the garage’s shadow, notebook in hand, watching the blur of red and black cut through the curve of the track like a blade. The pit crew moved around you in practiced choreography—headsets, tools, nerves strung tight like violin strings. The summer heat pressed into your skin, clinging, relentless, and the scent of hot rubber and fuel settled in your lungs like memory.

You hadn’t been trackside in nearly a year.

Not since that article.

Your fingers tapped the edge of your notebook as you watched the car scream down the straightaway and finally slow into the pit lane. The tires hissed as they met concrete. Seungcheol’s car rolled to a stop just in front of the garage, perfectly aligned. Within seconds, the crew rushed in. The car was wheeled back smoothly, swallowed into the organized chaos of the team’s station.

Then the driver stepped out.

You didn’t need to see his face to know it was Choi Seungcheol.

He moved like someone who was always one second away from sprinting, every motion lean and charged with purpose. His helmet came off slowly, and he ran a gloved hand through his hair, the kind of move that would look cocky on anyone else—but on him, it seemed natural. Like arrogance was something he’d been born with. Worn into his skin.

He didn’t see you yet. Thank God.

You exhaled, forcing your shoulders to relax.

“Journalist from Velocity Weekly, right?” a voice beside you asked.

You turned. A crew assistant, barely older than a rookie, offered you a bottle of water and a tight-lipped smile. You nodded.

“Yeah. Just here to observe.”

“For now,” he muttered. “They didn’t tell him.”

You blinked. “Tell him what?”

“That you’re embedding for the season. He thinks he’s just getting a fluff piece.”

Your stomach dipped slightly. Of course they hadn’t told him. Of course the team thought it was better to deal with the fallout after.

Your article had shaken half the circuit and nearly ended his season. It hadn’t been personal—it was rather brutal. Honest. 

You could still remember the headline: Golden Boy or Time Bomb? The Truth Behind Choi Seungcheol’s Fall From Grace.

You hadn’t seen him since.

Not in person.

But now, here you were—assigned to shadow his team for the next three months. For better. Or for much, much worse.

A nearby cheer pulled your eyes back to the pit, just in time to see Seungcheol peel off his gloves and hand them to a technician. He was laughing, relaxed. A flash of that famous smile.

Until his gaze swept the garage.

And stopped. On you.

His smile faded.

The air between you crackled—not explosive, not yet. But heavy. Dense with unsaid things.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And then, as if it meant nothing at all, Seungcheol turned away.

But his jaw was clenched and his hands balled up into fists.

You stood still, your pulse thrumming in your neck as Seungcheol walked away, not sparing you another glance. The weight of his dismissal pressed against your chest like an invisible hand, but you forced yourself to breathe through it.

The pit crew had gone quiet, some of them catching the tension between the two of you. You heard a quiet murmur—probably a few people betting on when he’d finally explode at you.

Your eyes didn't follow him, but you couldn't help the way your gaze flickered in his direction every few seconds. His broad shoulders moved through the crowd with an ease that only someone used to commanding attention could possess. There was no denying the kind of presence he had—one that filled up a room, even when he wasn't not speaking.

He disappeared into the building, heading for the changing rooms, and your stomach tightened.

The silence that followed in the garage felt too loud. You busied yourself by scribbling something that wasn't really a note just to have something to do with your hands. Something that made you feel in control, even if you weren't. Not here.

Not with him.

You didn't follow. You didn't need to.

Because five minutes later, you were being ushered down a narrow hallway by Seungkwan, the PR manager, who had been buzzing with nervous energy since you arrived.

He kept glancing at his phone and muttering about timing and contracts,” God! he's going to kill me.”

You assumed he meant Seungcheol. You were right.

You rounded the corner near the back exit just as Choi Seungcheol pushed open the locker room door. He was freshly changed— black joggers, white team tee, towel slung around his neck, water bottle in hand. His hair was still damp.

He stops when he sees the two of you.

Stops like his day just got infinitely worse.

And when his eyes flick to you, there it is again–barely restrained irritation. His lips press into a flat line. His jaw tightens. You almost felt bad for whoever’s about to speak to him.

Almost.

“Cheol!” Seungkwan chirps, voice way too bright for the tension coiling in the air. “Hey, I was just coming to find you.”

He nods toward you like it’s no big deal. Like he’s not standing between two people who share history sharp enough to draw blood.

“I figured it’d be better to rip the Band-Aid off.”

“You remember Y/N, right?” Seungkwan continues, gesturing to you like this is a reunion instead of a landmine. “She’s going to be shadowing the team for the next three months. Full-access feature for the Velocity Weekly docuseries.”

“Part of our image rehab strategy, you know—Transparency. Redemption arc. All that jazz.” Seungkwan kept flailing his arms even though both of his hands are full—one holds a notepad, the other holding his usual iced americano

There’s a beat of silence. Then Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, sharp and slow.

“Right,” he says, voice flat. “A redemption arc.”

He finally turns to you fully, eyes cold, calculating.

You give him a polite smile. Not out of kindness. Out of pride. Control. Survival.

“I’m not here to stir up old drama,” you say quietly.

“Good,” he replies. “Because there’s nothing left to stir.”

He looks at Seungkwan. “Is that all?”

The manager stammers something about schedule sync-ups, but Seungcheol’s already walking past. Not a glance back. Just the soft crunch of his sneakers against the tile floor as he disappears around the corner.

You don’t breathe again until he’s gone.

“Great,” the poor guy mutters beside you. “That could’ve gone worse.”

You don’t correct him.

Because you know—it will.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The room is too bright.

One of those generic media rooms with foldable chairs, beige walls, and nothing on the table but a bottle of water and a stack of branded cue cards you won’t use.

You sit with your back straight, microphone clipped to your collar, and your notes in your lap— clean, annotated, rehearsed. A thin layer of sweat beads at the nape of your neck, but you don’t lift a hand to wipe it. You can’t. The camera’s already rolling—they wanted to film Seungcheol's ‘candid entry’.

Seungkwan stands just off to the side, behind the lights. His arms are crossed over his clipboard, eyebrows furrowed like he’s praying for divine intervention.

You don’t blame him.

Because Choi Seungcheol is late.

By twenty-seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds.

He finally walks in on the thirtieth.

No apology. No hurry.

He moves like he’s strolling into a locker room, not a filmed, pre-scheduled interview. Freshly showered, in a black team tee and dark joggers, with a silver chain around his neck that flashes under the lights. Hair damp and pushed back. Jaw tight.

He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t have to.

The tension snaps into place the second he enters, taut and quiet like a wire stretched between you.

He drops into the chair across from you and spreads his legs slightly, elbows resting on the arms of the seat. A casual posture, but there's nothing relaxed about him. He leans back like this is a waste of his time. Like you are.

A staff member leans in to clip the mic to his collar. There’s no need for instructions—he lifts his chin just slightly, giving them easy access, his posture relaxed but deliberate.

“Rolling,” the cam op calls.

The little red light on the camera starts blinking. You shift your expression to something neutral, polite. Not fake — just professional. Safe. It’s the one you wear when you’re working. When you’re speaking to men who want to dismiss you before you say your first word.

“We’re here with Choi Seungcheol, lead driver for Team SVT,” you say clearly. “Thanks for joining us today.”

His eyes cut to you, finally. Slow, sharp.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” he says smoothly.

You don’t let your smile falter. “Still, we’re glad you’re here.”

“Speak for yourself,” he mutters, but it’s low enough that the mic doesn’t catch it..

You glance down at your notes, fingers clenching slightly around them.

“I’m told you’ve had an impressive off-season.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking toward the camera. “Trained. Drove. Same as every year.”

You make a soft, acknowledging hum and tap your pen against the margin of your page. “Do you feel like you’re coming into this season with something to prove?”

That does it.

His head tilts just slightly. The corner of his mouth lifts— not into a smile. Into something cooler. Controlled. “To who?”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “The media. The fans. Yourself.”

The air in the room shifts. It tightens.

For a second, he doesn’t respond. Just sits there, staring at you like he’s trying to read a headline written behind your eyes.

Then he leans forward, elbows braced on his thighs, voice low. “If I was driving to prove something, I’d be the wrong guy for this team.”

You blink. “Some would say last season proved that anyway.”

The silence that follows is immediate. And thick.

Seungkwan makes a small sound from behind the camera— a tiny gasp, smothered by the clipboard.

You don’t backpedal. You don’t soften.

It’s not a jab. It’s a fact. One he’s heard before. Seungcheol lets the moment breathe. Lets it sit between you.

Then he laughs–short, sharp. No humor in it. 

“I forgot how fun you are to talk to.”

You tilt your head. “It’s not personal.”

“Isn’t it?” he says, and his voice is so quiet, it lands like a threat.

You inhale through your nose and glance at your page. Redirect.

“What’s the first thing you think of when you’re on the starting grid?”

There’s a pause. Then, “Nothing.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He smirks. “That’s the point. Thinking gets you killed.”

You write that down, even though you don’t need to. It’s getting recorded anyways.

He leans back again, eyes still locked on yours. Not angry. Not smug. Just… watching. When the camera cuts, the silence remains. You unclip your mic slowly. He’s already standing.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

He leaves before you can decide whether you want him to.

What the hell is his deal?

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The sun is brutal at this hour— high, relentless, glinting off the tarmac like it’s daring anyone to blink first. You don’t. Not yet.

You’re standing just behind the safety rail, far enough to be invisible to the engineers but close enough to see everything that matters. Helmeted figures blur past in streaks of color, but your eyes are locked on only one: car number seventeen—the one that belongs to Choi Seungcheol.

Your notebook is open, balanced on your forearm, pages flapping faintly in the breeze that smells like burnt rubber and hot fuel. The top line reads in neat block letters: “Voiceover Segment – Driver Profiles: Racecraft.”

Underneath, bullet points:

Brake timing: early on corners 6 and 9.

Lap 2: oversteer correction, razor-sharp.

Turn-in commitment : aggressive, clean.

Line discipline: tight, zero margin wasted.

Unsettled entry into Turn 13: intentional???

You scribble as he exits the far chicane, eyes narrowing slightly at the way he recovers with that barely-there flick of the wrist. It’s art, in a way most people will never understand. Not just velocity— it’s violence in control.

You look over to the small screen placed near the railings, then you notice something. Not technical. Not really. You glance down and, without meaning to, write:

Turn-in is sharp. Overcorrects slightly on exits. Quick hands. Always. Habit?

Still as stone under braking—almost eerie.

You stare at the words.

Your pen hovers. Pauses. Then moves again.

Drives like he’s punishing something. Himself?

“You planning to psychoanalyze his split times next?”

You startle.

Seungkwan is behind you, half in shadow, holding an iced coffee that’s already starting to drip down his fingers. His eyebrows are raised and his smile is dry.

You slam the notebook shut. The pages snap together like a secret being hidden.

“It’s for the voiceover,” you say, a little too quickly. “Atmosphere.”

“Mm. Sure.” He sips. “Very... moody atmosphere. Like a tragic Greek chorus monologue. I can practically hear the cello in the background.”

You glare. He grins wider.

Then he steps beside you, following your gaze to the track. Seungcheol passes again, fast and clean, leaving a scream of engine noise in his wake. He doesn’t look toward the wall. Doesn’t acknowledge anyone.

Especially not you.

Seungkwan exhales, quieter now, “He hasn’t said a word to me since your name came up this morning.”

You look away. “He doesn’t have to.”

“No. But it’s weird. Even for him.”

The notebook feels heavy in your hands now, the weight of your own words still pressed between the pages.

Seungkwan gives you a long, considering look.

“Just... be careful with him,” he says finally. “He doesn’t forget much. Or forgive easily.”

The memory creeps in before you can stop it.

It was supposed to be just another race-day wrap-up.

The kind you could write in your sleep: thirty-second soundbites, recycled talking points, a handful of overused metaphors about speed and pressure. Seungcheol hadn’t finished the race— DNF, something about engine failure or a pit stop gone wrong— and when he finally stepped into the press pen, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

You didn’t take it personally. Drivers got like that sometimes. Adrenaline was cruel like that— hot and fast and feral.

“Walk us through what happened out there today?” you asked, calm, polite, voice barely rising above the whir of cameras and clicking shutters.

He scoffed. Actually scoffed. “There’s nothing to walk through. We didn’t finish.” Short. Clipped. Dismissive.

You tried again. “Some people think the restart might’ve been too aggressive–”

His visor lifted just enough to meet your eyes. Dark. Unreadable.

“Some people should actually watch the footage before asking dumb questions.”

And then he turned. Didn’t say thank you. Didn’t look back. Just walked off, gloves still crumpled in one fist, jaw locked like stone.

You hadn’t planned to write anything critical.

But when you sat down in your hotel room later that night, fingers still cold from holding the mic, you couldn’t shake the look on his face—or the sharp twist in your gut that hadn’t been there before.

So you wrote what you saw.

“It’s easy to admire Choi Seungcheol when he’s winning. But when the race isn’t in his favor, his temper shows through the cracks in his professionalism. Today’s interview proved that even the most polished racers have fragile egos.”

Clean. Factual. Not personal.

But it lit a fuse.

Overnight, your inbox flooded–some praise, some hate. Your piece got quoted on TV. Spliced into fan compilations. Sponsors asked questions. PR scrambled. Someone from the team issued a soft rebuttal saying, “There may have been a misunderstanding during the post-race media exchange. Choi’s focus was still on the technical debrief, and emotions were running high. He holds great respect for journalists and values the work they do in bringing the sport to its global audience.” 

It wasn’t an apology per se. Seungcheol never said a word.

But from that point on, he never gave you another quote. Never met your gaze in the press room. Never lingered for post-race comments if your mic was anywhere in sight.

And now?

Now, he looks at you like you’re the one who ruined everything.

Seungkwan murmurs, “He’s overdriving.”

You don’t reply.

You are familiar with this version of him. The one that drives too hard when he’s trying to shake something off. You’ve seen it before— in stats, in footage, in post-race silences.

Finally, the radio crackles. His engineer says something about cooling the engine down. And just like that, the car pulls in, growling to a stop. The door lifts.

He steps out—undershirt clinging to him, face shiny with sweat, curls plastered to his forehead. His jaw is locked, like the session didn’t clear his head the way he wanted it to.

You glance at the water bottle on the nearby table. Someone had left it behind. It’s not even cold anymore, but still—it’s something. 

You pick it up without thinking and cross the short distance toward him.

He doesn’t notice you at first, towel already half-draped over his shoulder, bent slightly as a tech says something about brake temps. But then he looks up. Sees you.

You don’t say a word. Just extend the bottle in your hand.

He stares at it. Then at you. Long enough that it becomes a choice. Long enough that it means something.

Then he says, flat and easy, “I’m good.”

And walks past.

You nod, even though he’s not looking anymore.

No one says anything. But your hand stays closed around the bottle until the plastic crumples slightly in your grip. And then you walk back toward the trailers before anyone can see the look on your face.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The edit bay is quiet.

Too quiet, almost. The kind of hush only machines make — low humming from drives, the soft crackle of the audio monitor when it switches between clips. The rest of the crew’s long gone, lights out in the pit lane, doors locked on the media center.

You should be gone too. But you’re not.

Instead, you’re here, headphones on, fingers pausing and dragging the timeline back five seconds. Again. Again. Again.

Seungcheol’s onboard camera footage is pulled up. A clean lap. Camera mounted on his halo bar—his hands, the wheel, the track flying toward him in perfect resolution. You’ve been trying to write the segment opener for over an hour, and all you have is: Choi Seungcheol is a driver of precision. Control. Ruthless rhythm

You hate it. It sounds like something anyone could say. Something he’d hate hearing.

You rewind again.

Pause.

There’s a freeze-frame of his hands— gloved, sure, absolutely still as he flies down a straight. No micro-adjustments. No nerves. He drives like the car isn’t moving at all.

But then— frame by frame, you notice his left thumb tap twice against the wheel. Barely a movement. Like a tick. Like a habit. You rewind again. Slower.

The tap happens before the DRS opens. Before the straight clears. Like he knows he’ll need the calm, the open stretch–and the tap is permission.

Or reassurance.

You lean in.

“He always taps before the straight,” you murmur to yourself, writing it in the margin of your notes. “Ritual. Or— something else.”

You scroll back to earlier footage from a different practice day. Different circuit. Different weather.

The tap is there again.

Tap tap. Just before full throttle.

It’s nothing. Probably nothing. But it’s there. And now you can’t unsee it.

You rub at your temples, trying to steer your thoughts back to the script. To objectivity. To professionalism. You’re here to document him, not… understand him. Not unravel him.

Still, you click to the footage from earlier— trackside cameras. Wider shot. Less clinical. He’s walking back toward the garage, helmet off, hair sweat-damp, and jaw clenched.

He doesn’t look at the camera.

But just before he steps out of frame, his eyes flick sideways.

For half a second less, he looks at the lens.

No. Not the lens.

You.

Your pulse thuds unexpectedly, stupidly. You sit back in the chair. The note page is still open on your screen. Your last bullet point reads: Drives like he’s punishing something. Himself?

You highlight it.

Then delete it.

You shut the laptop before you can change your mind.

But the weight of it stays, humming behind your ribs—like something alive and unspoken.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You’re seated at the long conference table inside the paddock media suite, flanked by the production crew, comms specialists, a documentary director, and three too-many cups of bad coffee. The air-conditioning hums above, just loud enough to compete with the voices droning through the day’s agenda. The room smells faintly of rubber, sweat, and those branded granola bars the crew keeps handing out.

Seungcheol hasn’t spoken once.

He’s in his racing suit still, half-zipped and tied at the waist, black compression tee clinging to his chest. He leans back in his chair, arms folded, cap pulled low. Watching. Listening. Disconnected in that deliberate way he always is—like none of this is worth his time but he’s here because he has to be.

Across from you, Seungkwan flips to the next slide of the media presentation. “Okay, so – docuseries production. We’ve finished with most of the behind-the-scenes material for the pit crew and team engineers, but the big gap right now is still driver profiles.”

You nod along. This part is yours. You’ve spent the last two nights combing through the racers old race tapes, trying to piece together something coherent. Something that looks like a person, not a machine.

“We’ve been thinking,” you say, voice calm, measured, “to balance out the high-speed footage, we could shoot some off-track material. Nothing invasive. Just quieter stuff—daily routines, maybe their time at the simulator, or a few minutes of downtime. To show contrast.”

There are a few hums in approval.

And then– “No.”

His voice isn’t raised, but it’s firm. Final.

You glance at him.

Seungcheol hasn’t moved, but his eyes are locked on yours now— dark, unreadable, flint-sharp under the brim of his cap.

Someone at the end of the table clears their throat awkwardly. You wait for him to explain, or for Seungkwan to interject.

But Seungcheol does not budge.

“You want ‘real’?” he says, tone quiet but cutting. “Maybe start with getting your facts right the first time.”

Your pulse spikes. You stare.

A few heads swivel your way. You force your face to stay still, neutral. The worst thing you could do is show how hard that hit.

“I didn’t–” you start, but he cuts in again.

“You don’t get to decide what parts of me are useful just because your cameras are running.” His jaw clenches. “You’ve already taken enough.”

No one speaks.

Not Seungkwan. Not the director. Not the wide-eyed intern with the color-coded clipboard. Just this stretched-out, sticky silence where you’re suddenly aware of every inch of your body and how very visible you feel inside it.

Your mouth opens, then closes again. You look down at your notes— like they might offer some way out of this. But it’s already happened.

Then he moves.

Not abruptly, not with dramatics. But the chair legs scrape the floor, deliberate and loud, as he pushes up to his feet.

Seungcheol shrugs on his jacket, grabs the nearest bottle of water from the table, and without another word, walks straight out of the meeting room. No one breathes for a second.

Then Seungkwan, like clockwork, lets out a weak laugh. “He’s just… not really a media guy.”

No one tries to correct him. And you?

You press your pen against the paper until the tip snaps clean off. Not because he humiliated you.But because for the first time, you think you understand why.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You arrive at the paddock earlier than needed.

Your meeting with the docuseries team isn’t until later in the afternoon, but you came two hours early and now you’re standing awkwardly in a place you’re technically allowed to be, but feel like you shouldn’t.

From the corner, you watch him finish his final practice lap. Seungcheol’s car rolls into the garage, engine ticking hot, his visor still down. Someone opens the cockpit. He climbs out like a machine disengaging—fluid, precise, all quiet intensity.

Then he sees you.

Or maybe just registers your presence. His head turns, eyes landing on you for a fraction of a second. His expression doesn’t shift. No surprise, no annoyance. Nothing.

He doesn’t ask why you’re here.

He just pulls off his gloves, helmet tucked under his arm, and walks straight past you toward the changing room at the back of the garage. Like you’re furniture. Background. Static.

You exhale deeply. Fair enough.

You wait.

It takes several minutes. You hear the sound of a locker door slamming shut, muffled movement, the faint hiss of a water bottle being opened.

Then— footsteps. He emerges.

Fresh shirt, hair damp and curling at his temple, towel slung around his neck as he rakes it over the back of his head. He doesn’t see you at first— his focus is on drying off, his stride already pulling him toward the far side of the hallway.

Then he spots you.

Leaning against the wall opposite the changing room, arms crossed, posture casual but heart pounding a little too loud for your own liking.

His steps falter. Briefly. Just for a beat.

Then resumes, unfazed, like he’s made a silent decision to walk past you entirely.

You let him.

Until he’s two steps ahead of you.

“Seungcheol.”

Your voice isn’t loud, but it stops him.

He turns, slowly. That same unreadable look in his eyes, sharp and distant like he’s looking through you instead of at you.

You step forward.

No grand gestures. No long speeches. Just a small can of cherry soda in your hand— cool, slightly dewed from sitting in the media fridge.

You extend it toward him. “You did well today.”

He blinks once. Then again, slower.

His gaze drops to the can, then lifts to your face.

“…Have you poisoned this?”

You let out a sigh. You deserve that.

“No,” you murmur. “Though I probably deserve that kind of suspicion.”

His brow lifts a little at that–surprised by your honesty, maybe. But still guarded.

“I just–” you start, voice low, unsure. You shift the can in your hands like it’s something fragile. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For the article. For…everything it cost you.”

His expression doesn’t change.

You push forward anyway.

“I didn’t know it would spiral like that. I didn’t know you at all, and that’s the worst part, right?” You glance away, swallow. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not now. Maybe not ever. But… I hope someday you’ll hate me a little less.”

It hangs there for a moment.

Not silence exactly— there’s still the hum of equipment in the background, distant voices from the other end of the paddock— but it feels like silence.

You take one careful step forward and press the cherry soda into his hand. You don’t wait to see if he accepts it fully.

Just a small, tired smile. Tight-lipped. Not hopeful. Just… human.

And then you leave. You don’t look back. But if you did, you’d see him standing in place, eyes on the can in his hand like it’s a message he hasn’t quite decided how to read yet.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You almost skip dinner.

You tell yourself it’s because you have notes to revise, footage to sort through, emails to send. Some twelve-year-old-girl excuse.

But really, it’s the risk of being in the same room as him — the same cramped circle of laughter and clinking glasses and easy camaraderie you still feel slightly removed from.

Seungkwan doesn’t let you off the hook. “They won’t bite,” he says, tugging you toward the restaurant entrance. “Well. Maybe Seungcheol will. But I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave teeth marks.”

You shoot him a look. He grins. It helps. A little.

Inside, the team is already gathered around a long, narrow table. A place is cleared for you just as you arrive. By some twist of fate— or more likely, Seungkwan's passive-aggressive seating plan— your spot is right beside him.

Choi Seungcheol. Black hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Arms crossed. Jaw set. Gaze locked on the menu like it’s about to pick a fight.

He doesn’t look at you when you sit. Doesn’t greet you either. His attention stays locked on his plate, one elbow propped on the table, his fingers absentmindedly circling the neck of his water bottle.

Conversation flows around him — light, messy, animated. Someone makes a joke about the docuseries. Something about how dramatic it's going to make all of them look. A few heads turn toward you.

You brace yourself, already reaching for your glass.

But before anyone can say more, Seungcheol cuts in. Voice flat, but not cold, “At least they’re doing their job.”

You glance over, startled. His gaze isn’t on you— it’s fixed somewhere across the table. He doesn’t say anything else.

You don’t either.

After a while, the laughter gets too loud, and the room too warm. You slip away, excusing yourself quietly, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool night air.

The breeze is immediate, tugging strands of hair from your face. You breathe in slowly, eyes closing for a beat. Just one. Long enough to gather your thoughts. Or let them go.

Until you hear footsteps behind you. Soft but deliberate.

You don’t have to turn. Your posture straightens instinctively, some part of you already aware of the heat that trails after him like a second skin.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just comes to a stop a pace behind you. Then, after a beat, “You always disappear like this?”

His voice is quieter than usual. Not teasing. Just… curious.

You glance over your shoulder. “Only when I need air.”

He nods. Looks up at the sky like it’s given him something to think about before he stares down at the ground. Then, without a word, pulls his hoodie over his head.

You blink.

“What are you–?”

Before you can finish, he’s stepping closer— not touching, but near enough that you can feel it — and draping the soft fabric over your shoulders.

“It gets cold at night,” he says simply, scratching the side of his nose like it’ll make him less embarrassed. “Didn’t want you freezing out here and getting blamed for holding up filming tomorrow.”

You’re too stunned to answer right away.

The hoodie is warm. It smells like wind and gasoline and whatever aftershave he uses.

You clear your throat. “Thanks.”

He nods again. Turns without fanfare and slips back inside, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

You stand there for another minute, fingers tightening around the fabric, heart doing something stupid against your ribs.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You don’t know when it starts, exactly.

Maybe it’s the day Seungcheol doesn’t just ignore your greeting, but gives a faint nod in return. Or when he asks, without looking up from his gloves, whether the docuseries will be covering the wet tire strategy segment— like your opinion holds weight. He still keeps his distance, still rarely meets your eyes, but his silence has lost its bite. It doesn’t bristle anymore. It lingers.

He doesn’t bolt from shared rooms. Doesn’t brush past you like you’re invisible. One time, he even moves aside to let you through the garage door first— a small thing, but enough that Seungkwan later texts you 10 eyes emojis. 

And then there’s the cherry soda. You keep seeing it— half-empty cans in the recycling bin, one tucked beside his gear bag. He never says anything, but he doesn’t not accept them when you leave one near his seat after a long day.

You haven’t earned a smile. Not yet. But you believe the hatred’s softening into something else. Something almost watchful. Like he’s trying to decide if you’re still a threat— or something far more dangerous

It had been pouring for hours.

You were supposed to get off work at five, but the storm had other plans. Rain tapped hard against the windows, a steady, relentless sheet that turned the world outside into a blur of grey. You figured you’d stay back—might as well get some editing done while waiting it out.

But the sky never cleared.

Eventually, you packed your things, tugged your jacket tighter around you, and stepped under the building’s glass overhang, eyes on the road as you waited for your taxi. 

You thought almost everyone had left, so you clearly didn’t expect to hear footsteps behind you.

“You’re still here?” a voice said, low and familiar.

You turned, surprised. “You hadn’t left?”

Seungcheol slung a backpack over one shoulder, hair slightly damp, a faint sheen on his skin like he’d been working in the garage. He looked relaxed in a way you rarely saw outside the race track.

“Had a few things to wrap up,” he said. Then he glanced at you. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

You nodded toward the rain. “Thought I’d wait it out. Get some work done while it calmed down. But… I think I misjudged.”

He followed your gaze to the storm. Then, casually “I’ll drop you off at home.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh no, that’s okay. I already booked a taxi.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Cancel it. No point wasting your money when I’m offering it myself.”

You stared. “But–”

“No buts,” he said, grinning now, the kind that made his dimple flash. “I’ll be in the parking garage.” And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving you stunned under the glass awning.

And, that's how you ended up in the front seat of his BMW, waiting for the signal to turn green. The hum of the engine barely audible over the drumming rain. The windshield wipers moved in steady rhythm, clearing arcs through the downpour. The A/C was on low, keeping the windows from fogging up.  But what catches your eye is the small picture tucked neatly beside the central console.

“Is that you?” you ask, pointing to the picture of a small boy in a red toy car. Seungcheol let out a short laugh. “Yeah. My first ride.”

You smiled. “You’ve been driving your whole life.”

He leaned back slightly, fingers brushing the edge of the steering wheel. His voice dropped, softer now. “My dad used to race. Nothing big. Amateur circuits. But he talked about it like it was sacred. Even after he gave it up.”

You stay quiet, letting him go on.

“He had this old kart. Kept it in the shed behind our house. I think I was…four? When he let me drive it. Couldn’t even reach the pedals properly.”

You smile a little. “Did you crash it?”

He huffs. “Into a fence. And a bush. And almost my mom.”

You both laugh— soft, genuine.

He shakes his head, lips twitching. “But I didn’t stop. Every weekend after that, I was out there. Practicing. Pushing. Getting yelled at for tearing up the yard.”

You note how relaxed his posture’s become, the way his voice has settled into something low and fond.

“Got serious around fifteen. Left school early. Trained wherever I could, worked side jobs, picked up sponsors. Didn’t care about anything else. Just… getting fast enough. Good enough.”

There’s a pause.

And then, quieter “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I didn’t make it.”

You glance up from your notepad.

He’s not looking at you— his gaze is somewhere else, far away. But you can feel the weight of that question hanging between you.

“You did make it,” you say softly.

That brings his eyes back to you.

And for the first time, you see it — the person beneath the helmet, beneath the legacy and the wins and the walls. A boy who raced because he loved it. A man who never stopped.

He doesn’t say anything. The signal turns green.

But he holds your gaze a little longer than usual, before looking straight and driving.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

Your room looked like a tornado had hit it. Clothes were scattered everywhere, your suitcase bulging so much it would take brute force to zip it shut.

“Yah! What’s all this mess?” Mina, your roommate slash bestie appeared in the doorway, a glass of lemonade in hand. She eyed the chaos, stepping over a pair of jeans to place the glass on your cluttered dresser. “Are you going away for ten days or ten years?”

She bent down, scooping up a shirt from the floor. “Is this all for your prince charming?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at you.

“He is not my prince charming,” you shot back, holding up another dress from your wardrobe and checking your reflection to see if it flattered you.

F1 was hosting a race in France, and naturally, Seungcheol and the team were going. So when your boss called you into her office with a mischievous smile and said something like, “We need raw, behind-the-scenes action. The lead-up, the aftermath. You already know them—you’re the only one who can pull this off,” you didn’t really have a choice.

“Well, it didn’t look that professional last week when he dropped you off,” Mina said, her voice lilting. “You two seemed pretty cozy. Didn’t take you to be the PDA type. Hugging and all, huh?”

She folded another shirt before her eyes widened. “Wait—isn’t this my top?”

“Yeah, it looks good on me,” you said with zero guilt. “Also, since you’ve found it, can you please put it in the suitcase? Thanks.”

“I’ll forgive you this time. After all, you’ve got to impress your prince charming.”

“He is not my—ugh! Whatever. Also, I’m going there to work, not to date.”

“I never said anything about dating,” she said, grinning as she walked out.

You flopped onto the bed with a sigh.

Yes. Yes you were nervous. But not because of him— well partially. This trip was a big deal for your career. A chance to show what you could do outside the controlled setting of HQ interviews and edited footage. You were going to capture the team raw— tense, driven, exhausted, and elated. You were excited… and also maybe, spiraling, just a little.

Of course Seungcheol would be there. Lately, the two of you had been… closer. After that conversation in his car, things had shifted. Now you both ate together in the canteen. You’d catch him waiting outside your office so you could walk together. Sometimes, he even dropped you off at home, no explanation needed. Seungkwan, ever the agent of chaos, was definitely having fun being a witness to all this. He texts you in the middle of lunch “OMG!! I give it 2 more lunches before he starts feeding you from his spoon” or “CHIVALRY OR WHAT!?” when Seungcheol opens the soda can for you.

It’s not like you were in love or anything… Obviously not. But you liked having him around. You liked the ease that had started blooming between you. The way he made you laugh without trying. The way you felt seen, in rooms where no one usually looked twice. And this trip… maybe it would change something between you. You weren’t sure what. But you hoped— that it would be something good.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The hotel in Le Castellet looked like something out of a period film. Ivy-covered walls, tall wooden shutters, cobblestone paths damp from morning drizzle. You pause in the lobby, suitcase handle in one hand, the other clutching your phone with the itinerary pulled up. The air smells faintly of citrus and fresh flowers.

Seungcheol walked a few steps behind you, dragging his duffel bag along the polished floor. His hoodie’s still bunched around his elbows, and his hair is tousled from the flight.

He stopped beside you, glancing around at the old-world chandeliers and exposed stone walls. “Fancy,” he mutters, like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

You nod, letting out a breath. “Feels too nice to be covered in race fuel by the end of the week.”

That earns you a small laugh from him. It’s easy. Unforced.

As everyone begins collecting their room keys, you hang back to avoid the crowd. Seungkwan’s already texting you: don’t take too long u two… they’re gonna run out of good rooms ;)

You roll your eyes. Just then, Seungcheol appears beside you again, a key card already in his hand. He leans slightly toward you, voice quiet.

“Hey. What room did you get?”

You show him the slip from the front desk. He glances at it, then tilts his head. “Next to mine.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says simply. “I asked the guy if he could put the team close. Just in case, y’know, media stuff or whatever.”

You don’t question it. But there’s a pause. A moment where neither of you move, the buzz of the lobby fading a little.

He eyes your suitcase for a second, then reaches out without a word and takes the handle from your grip.

You blink. “I could’ve managed, you know.”

He shrugs, already steering it toward the elevator. “I know. But I was right there.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it lingers. You trail a few steps behind, watching the way his hand rests casually on the luggage, like he’s done this before. Like he’s just... quietly decided he’ll look out for you now. When the elevator dings open, he holds the door for you without looking, but when you step inside, you catch the faintest smile on his face.

__

You sit cross-legged in your robe, unpacking your suitcase. Toiletries to the left, clothes (mostly folded, some not) to the right, and an increasing pile of “why did I even bring this?” building at your feet. You're halfway through deciding if you packed too many dresses when a knock sounds at your door.

You frown, glancing at the clock— almost midnight.

Padding over, you open it slowly.

“Seungcheol?” you blink, surprised to see him standing there in a grey hoodie and joggers, hair a little tousled like he’d been rolling around on the bed for the past hour.

“Hey,” he says, voice low. “I couldn’t sleep. Was wondering if you’d be up for a walk.” he says meekly “I would have asked Seungkwan but umm.. He seems to be sleeping, you know, maybe all that jet lag caught up to him. He lets out a little laugh. “I just hoped you wouldn’t be sleeping. Didn’t mean to bother you, though.”

“You’re not,” you say, amused. “Just give me a second to change.”

—

“You walk like you own the place,” you tease, taking a spoonful of the butterscotch gelato he insisted on getting for you from “the best place in town.”

“I kind of do,” he says, mock serious. “This is my fourth year racing here. I know every late-night gelato stand within a three-mile radius.”

“Oh, so you’re a connoisseur,” you grin.

The cobbled street underfoot winds gently along a row of quiet shops. Most are closed at this hour, but some still glow faintly with warm light. A bakery with pastel tiles. A souvenir shop with tiny Eiffel Towers on the window. The breeze is cool, enough to make you hug your arms lightly.

“You ever come here just for fun?” you ask.

“Never had time. Always training. Or recovering.” He shrugs. “It’s weird, though. Walking around with someone. Like this.”

You glance at him. “Good weird or weird weird?”

He smirks. “Still deciding.” You laugh, and in retaliation, give him a light shove on the arm. He stumbles dramatically, clutching his gelato like a wounded soldier.

“You almost killed it,” he gasps, holding it high.

“Oh no, the tragedy,” you mock.

Just then, a gust of wind picks up, catching strands of your hair and blowing them into your face. You brush them away with a frown– and then feel his hand, unexpectedly gentle, brushing the rest back. His fingers pause briefly, tucked behind your ear.

The street noise fades a little. It’s quiet. Just the two of you standing there, his hand still resting lightly against your hair, his eyes on yours. He’s close enough that you can see the tiny mole on the left side of his forehead— just below the hairline, the way his expression softens when he’s not trying to look unreadable. His thumb shifts slightly, like he might say something— but doesn’t.

Then, slowly, he lets his hand fall away. “We should head back,” he says, voice low.

You nod, heart thumping a little faster.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You are supposed to be filming the pit crew rotation this morning.

Nothing fancy— just clean b-roll for the docuseries team. Angles of tire changes, gloved hands passing tools, that low, satisfying whir of drills and radio chatter. The kind of footage that’ll get sliced up and paired with voice-overs later. But your camera drifts.

Just a little. Not enough for anyone to notice, maybe.

You were framing the rear wing of Seungcheol’s car— looking for reflections in the carbon fiber— but your lens catches something else. A flash of motion just outside the frame.

You pan left instinctively. And freeze.

He’s near the edge of the garage, talking to one of the engineers. Laughing at something. Really laughing— head tilted, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, eyes all crinkled at the corners. The sun sneaks in through the open garage door behind him, casting a soft halo along his jaw, catching in his lashes, warming the brown in his eyes.

And for a second, you forget what you’re doing. You just watch.

The way his nose scrunches a little when he smiles too hard. How his hands move when he talks— animated, open. The little dimple that appears even when he’s not doing anything particular.

God. He’s pretty.

He’s beautiful, actually. Not just in the way he looks. In the way he carries himself. In the way he makes people laugh. In the way he made space for you— even when he didn’t have to.

Your chest feels tight. Your grip on the camera slackens.

He glances up, mid-conversation. Catches your gaze across the garage. And smiles. Like he sees you. Just like that.

You inhale softly. Your heart is doing something weird–fluttery and slow all at once.

Oh.

Oh no.

You love him.

It settles in your bones quietly— without panic, without denial. Just this quiet, solid truth. You love him.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

Today was the cocktail event organized by the F1 committee — a chance for teams and media to mingle, but not really work. You were invited, so you decided to treat it like a night off. Get a little buzz from champagne or maybe flirt with some cute French waiters. You were totally not thinking about Seungcheol.

You decide on a black sleeveless dress with subtle ruching along the waist, featuring an asymmetrical hemline trimmed with sheer ruffled fabric— which you also ‘borrowed’ from Mina.

As you walked into the softly lit room, the low murmur of conversations and clinking glasses wrapped around you. The moment you approached Seungkwan and the group of boys, you could see the surprises on their faces. “Whoa… you look amazing,” Seungkwan said, barely able to hide the surprise on his face. 

Seungcheol was standing a little further, his mouth slightly open as if caught off guard. He didn’t say anything at first— just stared at you, a quiet awe in his gaze. Then, clearing his throat, he finally spoke, his voice low but sincere.

“You look beautiful.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You turned to meet his eyes, and the warmth in his expression made your cheeks flush. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling suddenly shy under his quiet attention

You and Seungcheol found your seats at a round table near the center of the ballroom, surrounded by teammates, media personnel, and a few sponsors. The table was decorated simply— white linens, small floral arrangements, and glasses filled with champagne and sparkling water. Despite the elegance, the atmosphere felt a bit stiff and rehearsed.

The announcer’s voice came over the speakers, crisp and polished, welcoming everyone to the event and thanking sponsors and teams. The speeches went on— a few heartfelt words about sportsmanship, the future of the sport, and the importance of media coverage. But you and Seungcheol exchanged glances, both fighting the urge to tune out. The words felt like white noise beneath the clinking glasses and polite laughter.

Around you, conversations buzzed— some lively, some forced. People in sharp suits laughed a little too loudly, posed for photos, or whispered in corners. The cocktail party was starting to feel crowded, the space shrinking as more guests arrived and the music swelled.

You shifted in your seat, glancing around for a breath of fresh air. Seungcheol’s brow furrowed slightly, and before the moment could become overwhelming, he leaned over to you.

“Come with me,” he said quietly.

Curious, you followed him out through the double doors and onto the balcony. The cool night air was a relief, calm and quiet except for the distant murmur of the party behind you.

He pulled two flutes of champagne from a waiter’s tray as they passed by, handing one to you with a small smirk. “For emergencies,” he joked, the tension in his shoulders easing.

You clinked glasses softly and took a sip, the bubbles tickling your throat. Seungcheol swirled the champagne in his glass, eyes fixed on the bubbles rising. “You know,” he said, voice low, “it’s kind of nice to get away from all that noise. Sometimes I forget how exhausting it all is.”

You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, the speeches and formalities are... not exactly the highlight of my day.”

He glanced up, a teasing spark in his eyes. “I bet you’d rather be somewhere else.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But here we are. And honestly, I’m glad you dragged me out here. This feels... different. Calmer.”

He shifted a little closer, the warmth from his body suddenly very noticeable. “Different can be good,” he said. “Sometimes the best things happen when you least expect them.”

You looked up at him, heart skipping. “Like what?”

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Like finding yourself standing on a balcony, sharing champagne with someone who’s been in your head more than you’d like to admit.”

Your breath hitched. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Maybe,” he whispered, voice thick. “Or maybe it’s just me.”

You laughed softly, but the tension in the air tightened. Your eyes lingered on his lips, and suddenly the space between you felt charged, electric.

Your conversation slowed without you really noticing, and the space between you got smaller. His eyes flicked to your lips, and yours moved to his. His hand rested on your hip, steady and warm. You could feel the heat between you. Everything else seemed to fade away.

Just as you leaned in, about to close the gap, a sharp clink broke the moment. One of the champagne glasses slipped from the railing and smashed on the ground below.

“Shit! I’m sorry” Then after a moment he removes his hands from your waist. “I– I think we should head back.”

You give a small nod, hard enough to mask your disappointment.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You’d been avoiding Seungcheol like the plague.

Ever since what happened three nights ago— the almost-kiss, the silence that followed— you hadn’t found the courage to face him. Not properly. Not without your heart skipping a beat and your words getting stuck somewhere in your throat.

And Seungcheol? He tried. You could tell. Like the time you were in the garage with the engineers, taking notes on wing configurations. He’d walk over, hands shoved in his pockets, hovering like he wanted to say something. But you didn’t even give him the chance— you mumbled something about needing to check a file and slipped away before he got a word out.

Then there was lunch the next day. You saw him enter the cafeteria, tray in hand, scanning the room. You ducked behind a vending machine until he sat somewhere else.

And earlier this morning— when he held the elevator door open for you— you pretended to be on a call, turning away so fast you nearly bumped into a potted plant.

It wasn’t that you were mad. Or even embarrassed, really. It was worse than that. You were unsure. And that feeling scared you more than anything.

Unfortunately for you, the team is having their free practice session and lap formation today, and you just happen to have to be present to record them.

The paddock was buzzing, the distant roar of engines reverberating through the asphalt. Team members bustled around, heads down, radios crackling. You stayed behind the camera rig, half-hidden behind one of the monitors, using the equipment as a shield — both from the sun, and from Seungcheol.

You could see him in your periphery, suited up in his practice gear, leaning against a stack of tires, talking to one of the mechanics. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was slightly damp– from sweat or water, you couldn’t tell. Every once in a while, he laughed at something someone said, teeth flashing, head thrown back.

And you hated it– how your stomach flipped, how your skin warmed, how your fingers twitched on the camera button. You needed to focus. This was work. Just footage. Just documentation– and it will all go back to normal once you get back to korea and finish the documentary. 

“Y/N!” someone called. The assistant director waved you over. “Can you help me get a few close-up shots of the drivers before they head out? Starting with car seventeen.”

You swallowed hard. Car seventeen was Seungcheol’s.

You hesitated. He was already walking toward the car, helmet tucked under one arm, gloves dangling from his fingers. And just your luck— he looked up right then.

This time, you didn’t look away fast enough.

Your eyes locked. Just for a second. But something shifted. His brows pulled together slightly, gaze steady. Like he was done pretending not to notice the space you kept putting between you.

You took a deep breath and walked toward him, camera clutched like a shield. Before you could raise it, he spoke.

“Are you gonna keep doing this?”

You blinked. “Doing what?”

“This,” he said, voice low. “Avoiding me. Ducking out of elevators. Hiding behind vending machines like we’re in high school.”

You winced. “I wasn’t hiding–”

“You skipped lunch three days in a row,” he continued, stepping closer, the words gentle but firm. “You left the garage the second I walked in. And this morning? You couldn’t even meet my eyes.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to deflect—but nothing came out.

So he tried again, softer this time. “Y/N… why?”

You were quiet for a beat too long.

And then it just tumbled out.

“Because I love you,” you said. The words hung in the space between you, raw and sharp. “I avoided you because I love you.” you repeat, your voice softer now.

He froze.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper now. “And I’m scared. Because maybe you don’t feel the same. And if I keep being around you, if you keep being this version of yourself with me—kind, thoughtful, close— I’ll start hoping. I’ll start thinking maybe there’s something real here. And I can’t afford that. Not when I’m the only one who feels it.”

Silence. Just the faint whir of drills and the distant chatter from the paddock.

Then—his hand reached out. Found your wrist. His touch was warm and grounding.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “Y/N, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the day you walked into HQ. And after that night on the balcony, do you really think I haven’t been going just as crazy as you?”

Your breath hitched.

He stepped even closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Don’t run. Not from this.”

For a moment, everything slowed— the noise of the pit fading into the background, the tension between you easing into something softer, something real. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” you whispered.

He nodded, eyes warm and steady.

The PA crackled over the loudspeakers, announcing the start of the race lineup. Reality tugged you both back, but neither moved away.

“See you after the race?” he asked, his voice low, hopeful.

You nodded, already knowing you’d be counting down the minutes.

___

The sun was brutal.

The stands were packed, a blur of flags and roars and camera flashes. The smell of rubber, asphalt, and heat hung thick in the air as the teams scrambled for final checks. Mechanics swarmed like ants, tightening bolts, checking tire pressure, calibrating sensors. Overhead, a helicopter circled the track, catching aerial shots for the broadcast.

You were posted near the pit wall, camera hanging from your neck, a comm in your ear buzzing with static and updates.

But your eyes— they were on Car Seventeen.

Seungcheol sat behind the wheel, helmet on, visor down. From this distance, you couldn’t see his eyes, but you didn’t need to. You knew his routine by now— the way he leaned back and rotated his shoulders before a race, the way he tapped the steering wheel twice before the formation lap, how his fingers curled like he was anchoring himself.

The lights went out and Seungcheol launched off the grid like a bullet, tires spinning for half a breath before catching grip. Ahead, three cars jostled for position— he was P6, boxed in, the track narrowing into the first corner like the eye of a needle.

He stayed wide. Braked late. Too late, almost.

The car twitched as he dove into the corner, threading between two rivals. A puff of smoke, a lock-up— someone behind miscalculated— but he was clean through, emerging in P4.

By Lap 7, the front runners were bunched tight. Every straight was a drag race, every corner a standoff. The car ahead swerved left— blocking. Seungcheol feinted right, then cut back with precision, catching the slipstream on the long straight.

He pulled out at the last second. Side by side. Gear shifts slammed. Wheels inches apart. At 310 km/h, he edged forward, took the inside line— and held it.

P3.

The car behind didn’t let up. On Lap 10, it was payback. Seungcheol saw it coming too late–brakes flashing, the other driver dove from the outside. They nearly touched through the apex, Seungcheol forced wide, dust kicking up under his tires.

He dropped to fourth, but not for long.

Next lap, he studied the braking points— waited for the tiniest mistake. It came at Turn 9: a late apex. Seungcheol threw his car down the inside like a blade, tires skimming the curb, just enough grip to stick it.  Sweat clung to his neck. His gloves were soaked, hands still steady on the wheel. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Eyes locked on the two cars ahead.

Lap 17. The second-place driver ran deep into the hairpin— barely a car length ahead.

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate.

He switched the diff, went full attack. The rear twitched under him as he accelerated early. The grip held. His nose was inside by the next turn. The two cars touched wheels lightly, metal brushing metal— but he didn’t lift.

By the time they hit the main straight, Seungcheol was in second.

Now it was just one left. And he wasn’t giving it up easy.

The last five laps were hell. DRS opened. They swapped places twice. Once, they went three corners side by side— wheels locked, tires screeching. Seungcheol braked into the final chicane from too far back, but he held it— just barely. The rear of the car squirmed, traction dancing on the edge of disaster.

Final lap. Final sector.

He was ahead. Just a few tenths.

The last turn came up fast — he didn't brake early, didn’t lift. He trusted the car.

The tires screamed, the G-forces crushed his ribs — and then, he was out of the turn, full throttle, crossing the finish line.

First.

His hands shook as he unclipped the wheel. The car slowed, the crowd a blur, but none of it landed. All he could think about was one thing—

He’d won, and you were there.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

The room is buzzing— reporters crammed into every row, microphones armed, flashes going off like fireworks. Seungcheol has just won the race. He sits at the center of the table, sweat still glistening at his temples, race suit half-unzipped and collar tugged loose.

He should be talking about tires. About strategy. About the last-minute overtake that made the crowd lose their minds.

But his eyes flicker to you every other second.

You’re standing off to the side of the room, barely visible to the press, heart pounding from more than just the win.

A reporter asks him about the final lap.

Seungcheol answers smoothly. “It was tight, but I knew what I had to do. I’ve never wanted something more in a race.”

Another reporter chimes in, “You seemed... different out there today. Sharper. More emotional. Was something motivating you?”

He pauses.

And then, right there, with a thousand eyes watching him and the world on record—

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says, voice steady. “There was.”

A small smile pulls at his lips as he glances toward you.

“There’s someone,” he continues. “Someone who’s been behind the scenes since the start of the season. You might not see her in front of the cameras, but she’s there. Always. Working, filming, noticing things no one else does.”

You freeze.

“She’s smart. Sharp. And the most annoying person when she wants to be.” His grin grows, softer now. “She’s also the reason I’ve been driving like I’ve got something to prove.”

A ripple goes through the crowd.

“I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what this feeling was. But I know now. And I don’t care if this is the right place or the wrong one—I just know I want her to hear it.”

He looks directly at you now.

“I love you.”

The room goes still.

You feel your pulse in your ears, the words still ringing "I love her. That’s all."

Seungcheol exhales slowly, nods once, and pushes back his chair. The screech of it against the floor cuts through the stunned quiet.

He rises.

And then—chaos.

“Seungcheol! Are you saying you’re in a relationship?”

“When did this start?”

“Was it before the season began?”

“Is she part of your team? Are you worried about the backlash?”

A dozen voices rise at once, microphones shoved forward, cameras flashing like lightning.

But he doesn’t flinch.

He doesn’t stop.

He just gives a tired half-smile, dimples ghosting his cheeks, and lifts a hand in a calm, deliberate gesture. “No further comments.”

That’s all he says.

And then he walks off the stage—unbothered, sure-footed, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of a press room. Like the whole world hadn't just tilted.

And somehow, with your heart still thudding and your throat closing up, all you can think is: he said it. Out loud. To everyone.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

You were waiting for him outside his hotel room, heart pounding a little more than you expected. You’d slipped away from the paddock, too eager not to be the first to congratulate the winner.

The elevator door clicked open, and there he was— still flushed from the race, a slow smile tugging at his lips when he saw you.

“That was some race, sir,” you teased, stepping closer, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “You really kept us all on edge.”

“Finally decided to stop playing hide and seek, ma’am?” Seungcheol leans his hand on the wall beside your head.

Your breath caught, heart thudding harder at how close he was. You matched his smirk, teasing, “Had to make sure you didn’t escape after all that you pulled today.”

His eyes darkened, that familiar heat flickering between you both. “Good. Because I’m not done yet.”

Before you could answer, his hand slid from the wall to your waist, pulling you closer. 

He reached for the door handle, his fingers brushing yours ever so lightly. The quiet click of the door felt loud in the charged silence between you. Inside, the dim light softened everything— the subtle scent of leather and cologne wrapping around you. Seungcheol didn’t move away. Instead, he closed the door slowly, turning to lean against it, eyes locked on yours.

His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until the heat of his body pressed gently against yours. His hand slid from your waist up along your ribs, tracing slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers down your spine.

He didn’t break eye contact as he leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer without hesitation. When you parted slightly, the kiss deepened. 

His hands slid down to your lower back, gripping you firmly. Your fingers found the bottom of his shirt, trembling as you tugged it up and over his head. His bare skin pressed against your palms, warm and solid.

A low groan rumbled from his throat as you kissed down his jaw, then you moved your hands to the buttons of your blouse, undoing them quickly. The fabric slipped off your shoulders, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze.

You backed toward the bed, dragging him with you by the waistband of his jeans. He followed, lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming everywhere — your waist, your hips, your thighs like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch first.

You gasped as the back of your knees hit the bed. He took the cue, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you just enough to lay you back, following you down with a low groan. You reached between you, undoing the button of his jeans as he kissed your collarbone, the scrape of his teeth making your back arch

“God, I’ve wanted this,” he muttered against your skin, voice rough and low. His hand slid between your legs, cupping you over your underwear. You whimpered, hips rolling into his palm.

Your clothes came off in a tangle— your skirt pushed up, your bra unclasped, his jeans kicked away. It wasn’t graceful. 

You could’ve guessed his size from the way it outlined his briefs. You tugged him closer by the waistband of his briefs, but he paused, forehead resting against yours, chest rising and falling fast.

“Wait,” he murmured, reaching into the nightstand. You watched, heart pounding, as he grabbed a small silver packet and tore it open with practiced ease, all while his eyes stayed on yours.

When he finally eased into you, you gasped— fingers tightening on his back as your body adjusted to the stretch.

“God…” you breathed, head falling back against the pillow.

He groaned against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “You’re so tight,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Fuck— you feel like heaven.”

He gave you a moment, just holding still, his hands framing your waist before he began to move— slow at first, deep and deliberate, each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs.

Seungcheol had been relentless, his focus locked on the way your back arched beneath him, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him in with every thrust.

“Cheol, faster,” you gasped, the plea tumbling out between moans, your nails digging into his shoulders. He responded with a deep, guttural groan, snapping his hips harder, deliberate, forceful—sending shocks through your entire body.

“Fuck baby,” his sharp eyes flicked down to meet yours, a glint of hunger. “you’re making it hard to hold back.”

“Then don’t,” you shot back, breathless but defiant, your hips rising to meet his with purpose. His lips twitched—not quite a smirk.

His mouth found your neck with a hungry urgency, lips dragging over your pulse point before he began kissing down the column of your throat— open-mouthed, hot, and slow. You gasped when he bit down gently, just enough to make you jolt, and then soothed the sting with a languid, wet kiss that left your skin slick and tingling.

you moaned, hands threading into his hair as he sucked at the sensitive spot just below your jaw, drawing another sound from deep in your throat.

Seungcheol grunted, his grip tightened on the headboard. The force of his movements intensified— each thrust deliberate. His arms wrap around your waist and pulls you in— if it's possible anymore.

He moved lower, his tongue tracing the curve of your shoulder before returning to your neck, switching between soft kisses and firm sucks that left heat blooming across your skin. Each kiss was deliberate, each bite a mark of possession. Your hips rolled up instinctively, chasing friction, needing more.

“Cheol! I– I think I'm—” you moan out barely able to form words.

Seungcheol’s dick once again disappears into you. His thrusts get harder. “Yeah? My baby’s close?”

Every time his dick drives into you, your slick forms a ring around the base of his dick.

“Mghh so go-good,” you sigh out, tossing your head back. Seungcheol pushes his face into the valley of your bouncing tits. Each tap of his tip against your cervix had him dizzy, the overstimulation causing each muscle in his body to tense.

Seungcheol’s grip tightened on your hips as he pounded into you with unrelenting force, every thrust sending jolts of pleasure spiraling through your core. Your nails raked down his back, desperate to anchor yourself to him, to the overwhelming heat building between you.

He dipped his head, breath hitching as he nipped at the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Your back arched instinctively, pressing closer.

“Cheol…” you gasped, voice trembling with need, “I can’t hold– nghh anymore.”

He didn’t slow— if anything, his pace grew more fierce, more demanding, matching your rising desperation. His mouth found yours again, a searing kiss that stole your breath, teeth grazing and tongues tangling in a fierce dance.

Your bodies moved as one— taut, desperate– chasing the impossible thrill of release. And then— with a guttural growl, he tensed inside you, shattering the last restraint as waves of pleasure crashed over you both in a crescendo of raw, unfiltered bliss.

You clung to each other in the aftermath, breathless and trembling, the fierce glow of your shared fire still burning bright in the dim room.

Seungcheol shifted beside you, his hands warm and careful as they brushed away the damp strands of hair sticking to your forehead. His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns along your skin, grounding you after the storm of sensation.

He reached for the soft towel folded nearby and dipped it into the glass of water on the nightstand. With deliberate gentleness, he pressed the cool cloth to your flushed cheeks, wiping away the sheen of sweat and the remnants of kisses along your neck.

“You’ve got marks,” he murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of admiration and protectiveness. His lips brushed over the places where his teeth had left gentle imprints, leaving you breathless all over again.

Without a word, he pressed a tender kiss to each one, as if silently apologizing and claiming you all at once.

Seungcheol’s fingers slid beneath the sheet, tracing the curve of your waist, making sure you were comfortable. Then he helped you adjust your clothes, pulling the fabric back over your shoulders and smoothing it down with care.

His hands lingered just a moment longer as he pulled you close, wrapping you in a warm embrace. The steady beat of his heart against your ear was the only sound in the room, a quiet promise that he was there, that you were safe.

“Rest now,” he whispered, voice low and soothing. “I’ll be right here.”

You sighed, melting into his arms, feeling the last traces of tension ebb away. And as your eyelids drifted closed, the world outside faded until all that remained was this— his touch, his warmth, and the quiet certainty of being loved.

────⋆˚꩜｡────

It was only day three of dating, but somehow every little thing Seungcheol did felt like a scene straight out of a movie— and you weren’t complaining.

You were wandering near the Seine, the spring breeze tousling your hair, when Seungcheol suddenly stopped and looked at you with a mischievous grin.

“Race you to that bench,” he challenged, pointing across the park.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You’re on.”

In a burst of laughter and clumsy running, you both sprinted— Seungcheol barely beating you and collapsed on the bench, breathless.

He nudged you with his shoulder. “Not bad for someone who claims to hate running.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you huffed. “I’m just letting you win.”

He laughed and then suddenly turned serious, eyes soft. “You know, it’s crazy how fast this feels like more than just three days.”

You blinked, heart thudding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long. “I’m already imagining all the mornings I want to wake up next to you.”

You grinned. “Slow down, Speed Racer.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, quick but sweet. “I’m just getting started.”

______________

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[astrasng]

marlboro reds💋ྀིྀི

sucking off cheol is everything and beyond the definition of attractive. he’s thick and hung, hitting all the right spots inside you whether it’s rough or soft, he knows your body just too well. you have nothing against him pounding into you like he’s starving (he probably is) and panting into your ear from behind as he grabs the back of your neck harshly to feel his length buried inside you.

but when it comes to sucking him off? it’s like you’re even beyond on cloud nine.

all you see when you blink up at him is his buff chest falling up and down, his head thrown slightly back on the couch as he bites his bottom lip down to contain his pathetic moans. he’s shaking, his mind totally shut off as you swirl your tongue around him, rewarding you with rough groans when he snakes one of his hand into your hair, gathering it into a ponytail. it makes you rub your thighs together, saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth around his length. it rolls all the way down on your throat and cheol takes of notice of this, immediately taking a finger and smudging the saliva where he feels himself in your throat. it makes both of you moan, how strangely you can feel his finger like it’s nothing separating the two.

fuck sweetheart, you’re taking me so well

he groans out when you swallow around his thick size, wanting to cough so bad at the burning sensation but he steadily pushes your head further down. the moment you gag around him, he lets out a satisfied sigh like he’s been waiting for this, an almost sick-like smirk painting his face as he looks down at you amusingly.

too much? but i know you can do much better than that.

at that, cheol suddenly pulls you off of him and hisses at the cold air, locking eyes with you as you look up at him with tears in your eyes. he nearly comes from the sight when you lick your lips and swallow all the saliva and precum gathered on your lips, seeing the way your throat moves pushes him to the edge.

cheol pinches your chin between his fingers, directing his tip on your plush, wet lips and smears it against them. you can hear the satisfactory sigh leaving him when you part your lips slightly, the tip movements away from sliding right back in. your tongue loll back out against his cock and just when you are ready to take him again he groans in frustration and janks you up into his lap.

you can’t contain yourself huh? he hisses harshly as he moves your body to be right on his erect cock, feeling it poking against your panties from under.

a small moan leaves you, grinding down on to his member but he stops you by your waist. you want to whine and scream at him out of frustration but his instense gaze stops you, looking at him all doe-eyed.

you have somethin' to say princess? he growls, his hand sliding further under your skirt to pull you onto him, his hips teasingly moving against you so the tip of his cock is rubbing against your entrance. a soft sigh leaves your lips, wanting to grind down harder on him, to feel his girth stretching you out like you deserve. but cheol has other plans.

with the tip of his finger, he pulls your panties enough to the side so his tip slides against your arousal coated lips, snapping the elastic right back on his cock making both of you hiss. you're gonna sit here prettily just as i say, he murmurs and kisses the side of your neck -

and you're going to feel me rutting against you until you come undone and all i can hear are your cries, how about that baby?

a/n: HE LOOKS LIKE HE WORKS W HIS HANDS AND SMELLS LIKE MARLBORO REDSSS scups is so crush by ethel cain for me that it's insane so LISTEN TO IT WHILE READING X

important!: this is pure fiction, the act in this story is by my imagination and not based off true events. please do not copy the work.

@ astrasng 2025

⋮ do not copy, translate, steal, or modify without permission! ⋮

[wonwoosmagnetic]

I'll Remember, for Us. | csc

ONESHOT!

Pairing: sad! seungcheol x sad! oc Warnings: heartbreak, angst, shit ton of grief, mention of deaths, accidents, loss of memory. Word count: 6.1k words. Synopsis: He was the peace you found while losing everything else. Author's Note: A little (big) drabble I wrote in between drafting my newest no saints here chapter! that's why it took me double the time to update that LOL. But, till the story builds in NSH, I need to feed the people the angst. Honestly, this one was a little hard to write because no matter the amount of media one can consume regarding the emotions of grief, it can never, ever be put down in mere words. So if in anyway, this might seem underwhelming to you, I understand.

The wall behind his head was cold.

Seungcheol didn’t notice it at first—just felt the pressure where his skull met the plaster, the steady thud of his pulse echoing behind his eyelids.

He wasn’t asleep. He hadn’t slept.

Not since the night of the crash.

The hallway reeked of bleach and despair. The kind that clings to your clothes no matter how many showers you take. He didn’t remember the last time he left the hospital. Just that he couldn’t. Not yet.

Not while she was still inside that room, wires in her skin, machines breathing for her.

The silence around him wasn’t peaceful. It was loud.

The clock ticked. Someone coughed. A nurse laughed too brightly somewhere down the corridor.

And then— A shift. A quiet one.

Someone sat beside him.

The air changed. Just slightly. Like it exhaled.

He opened his eyes.

You are staring straight ahead, as if looking at the same nothing he was. No makeup. Tired eyes. Vending machine coffee clutched between both hands like you were afraid it might disappear.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But your presence didn’t feel like an intrusion. It felt like… company.

The kind you don’t realize you need until it’s there.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. He wondered what brought you here. Wondered if it was worse than what brought him.

“Long night?” you asked, voice soft, almost hesitant.

He blinked. Nodded.

“Yeah.” A pause. “You too?”

You gave a breath of a laugh, humorless and low. “Been a long week.”

Your fingers tapped against the cup, rhythm like a heartbeat. He noticed the way your knuckles were red, raw in some places. You hadn’t been sleeping either.

“Family?” he asked.

“Grandmother,” you said. “Yours?”

He swallowed. “Girlfriend. Car accident. Three days ago. They’re still not sure if she’ll—”

He didn’t finish. He couldn’t.

You didn’t push. Just nodded like you understood. Like you didn’t need the end of the sentence to feel the weight of it.

And they sat there again. In silence. In something heavy and unsaid.

---

You didn't cry.

That was the first thing he noticed.

There was a glassiness in your eyes, sure. A kind of far-off fog that only people in hospitals seemed to wear. But no tears. Just a tightly held composure, like if you let go even a little, you might unravel.

“She was diagnosed last year,” you said after a while, still looking ahead, not at him. “Stage four. It came fast.”

Seungcheol didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

“She raised me,” you added, like that explained everything. And maybe it did.

He shifted slightly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The vinyl of the hospital bench creaked under him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it.

You nodded, like you'd heard that a hundred times already. “It’s okay. Or it’s not. I don’t know anymore.”

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere down the hall, a heart monitor beeped steadily.

Neither of them looked at the other. But neither moved away, either.

It was you who broke the quiet again.

“You’d think after three nights of this, I’d learn not to buy the coffee,” you said, wrinkling your nose as you sipped. “But here I am. Still pretending it helps.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. It was the first one in days.

“Try the tea,” he said. “Tastes like cardboard. But at least it smells like something real.”

That got a soft huff from you. Almost a laugh. Almost.

They fell back into silence again, the kind that started to feel less like strangers and more like a truce.

And then—

“I’m Seungcheol,” he said, quietly.

You turned to look at him for the first time. Her eyes were a soft brown, tired but warm. Your lips twitched into something like a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Seungcheol.”

But you didn’t offer your name.

---

The second night, you brought the coffee.

Seungcheol was in the same spot. Same posture. Same wall holding him up. Eyes closed, head tilted back, pretending for a moment that if he stayed still enough, time might stop moving without him.

Then the scent hit him.

Not bleach. Not hospital.

Coffee. Cinnamon. And… something soft. Vanilla, maybe.

He opened his eyes.

You were there again. Sitting beside him. This time, you were the one holding two cups.

“I upgraded us,” you said, offering him one. “The café on the second floor has actual espresso. A miracle in this place.”

He took it with a quiet thanks, fingers brushing yours. Warm skin. Cold fingertips.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice still rough from disuse.

“Me neither,” you replied honestly. “But here we are.”

He took a sip. It was actually good. Strong, a little bitter, the kind of taste that settled in your chest like something solid.

They sat in the same silence, but this one felt different. Familiar. Comfortable, almost.

“I found her talking to the air yesterday,” you said softly. “My grandmother. She thought I was my mom.”

Seungcheol turned to you. Your jaw was clenched, throat tight with the weight of the memory.

“She kept calling me by her name. Begging me not to leave again.”

He didn’t speak. Just listened. Really listened.

“I never met my mom. She left when I was a baby. Gran raised me alone. She’s… the only real family I have.”

Your voice broke on the word only. You blinked quickly, but didn’t wipe the tear that finally escaped.

Seungcheol shifted closer. Not touching you, just… near.

“I haven’t gone home in three days,” he said after a moment. “I sleep in the waiting room. My parents keep telling me to rest, but how do you rest when you don’t know if she’ll ever open her eyes again?”

Your head tilted slightly. “You love her a lot.”

“I do.” He stared at the floor. “But I don’t know if she knows it. Not the way I should’ve shown her.”

And just like that, the air between them cracked open. Two strangers, stitched together by grief, regret, and stale hospital air.

You held out your hand—not for a handshake, but just to hold.

No name. No promise.

Just presence.

And this time, Seungcheol took it.

---

The room was too quiet.

Not the kind of silence that brought peace—but the kind that screamed in his ears.

Machines beeped in a steady rhythm, too steady. A reminder that the only thing keeping her breathing wasn’t her.

Seungcheol sat beside the hospital bed, fingers curled into a loose fist on his lap. He’d been sitting there for an hour. Maybe more.

She looked the same. Pale. Still. Like a painting that hadn’t been finished. Like if he blinked too fast, she might disappear altogether.

His throat ached with all the words he hadn’t said.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed.

“Hey,” he whispered. “It’s me.”

He let the silence answer. Let the emptiness respond.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say anymore,” he admitted, voice cracking. “They tell me to talk to you, that maybe you’ll hear me, but I…”

He trailed off. Swallowed hard.

“I miss you,” he said finally. “I miss your laugh. The way you’d tease me when I left dishes in the sink. I even miss your bad singing.”

His eyes burned. He looked away.

“I wish I’d held you longer that morning. I wish I’d told you not to rush out. I wish I—”

He stopped. Breathed.

And then, like a thread pulled loose, something surfaced. Your voice. Not his girlfriend’s—

Yours.

The girl from the hallway. “You’ll break if you keep holding everything in.” “You don’t have to be strong every second. You’re allowed to fall apart.” “Let her feel your love, not just your guilt.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t guilt that guided him.

“I love you,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. “I’ve always loved you. I just… didn’t say it enough.”

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m saying it now. I’m here. And I’ll keep being here. Just… if you’re somewhere in there, please… come back to me.”

The machines kept beeping. Steady. Relentless.

But for the first time, his heart felt a little lighter. Not because things were better— But because he wasn’t holding it all alone anymore.

---

The hallway smelled like antiseptic and wilted flowers.

It was the kind of day where time felt sticky—too slow to bear, but too fast when you blinked.

Seungcheol sat outside Room 203, the plastic cup of coffee cooling in his hand, untouched. He hadn’t gone in yet. He didn’t know if he had the strength.

Then he heard it.

A voice.

Soft. Steady. Familiar.

He turned slightly, just enough to peek through the glass panel in the door across the hall.

You were in there—curled in a chair beside your grandmother’s bed, knees tucked to your chest, a worn book in your lap. The afternoon light spilled through the window, gold and forgiving, catching in the strands of your hair.

You were reading aloud.

Not loudly. Not for anyone but the two of you—yourself, and the woman who couldn’t speak anymore.

“‘And even in the darkest parts of the woods,’” you read, your voice barely above a whisper, “‘the girl remembered the sound of home. Not a place. A person. The way they said her name, the way their hand lingered on her back before a goodbye.’”

Your voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t stop.

Seungcheol didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He just… couldn’t walk away.

It was like her words reached through the walls and found something buried inside him—something aching and wordless.

He closed his eyes and listened.

“‘She missed them every day, even when she swore she’d stopped. Even when the world told her to move on. But grief doesn’t work that way. It’s not a thing you carry. It’s a thing that lives with you.’”

You stopped. He could hear the turn of a page. Your breath shaking. Your grandmother didn’t move, didn’t respond. But the you smiled anyway, like maybe that silence still meant something.

After a while, you spoke—not from the book, just from your heart.

“You’d hate this hospital, Gran. The tea tastes like sadness and cardboard, and they keep the lights on too bright.”

A pause. A sniffle.

“But I found someone,” you said, her voice suddenly gentler. “Not in that way. I mean… maybe. I don’t know. He’s hurting, too. Quietly. Like you used to say I did when I was little. Like he's trying to keep everyone else from seeing him bleed.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the book, knuckles white.

“I think I want to be around him. Is that wrong? I feel guilty for looking forward to anything when you’re…” You stopped again. Swallowed. “When you’re going.”

You laughed suddenly. Broken. Real. “God, I sound like a cliché. Falling for someone in a hospital hallway while my world’s falling apart.”

And still, Seungcheol listened. Still frozen. Still holding onto a breath he hadn’t meant to take.

Your voice dropped lower, softer.

“I don’t want to forget how your voice sounded when you laughed. Or the way you made pancakes shaped like dinosaurs even when I was fifteen. Or how you braided my hair when I was too tired to get out of bed.”

A beat of silence.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Something shattered quietly inside him.

Before he knew it, his legs moved. His hand touched the door frame.

You looked up. Startled. Eyes wide and glassy.

“I—” he said, throat thick. “I wasn’t trying to… listen. I’m sorry.”

You wiped your cheek, fast. “No, it’s okay. You’ve probably heard worse here.”

Seungcheol stepped into the room slowly. His voice barely carried. “Your voice... it’s steady. Like a melody.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “It’s how I learned to survive.”

He looked at the book in your lap. “Would you… mind reading in her room too? For my girlfriend?”

You blinked. “Me?”

He nodded. “Your voice feels like… home. And I think she’d like that.”

Your eyes searched his for a long moment. Then you nodded.

“Okay,” you said, standing, holding the book close to your chest. “I’ll read for both of them.”

---

It’s late.

That kind of late where the vending machines hum too loudly and the only light in the hallway flickers like it’s tired too. Seungcheol stands near the window down the corridor, one hand braced against the glass, the other holding his phone like it weighs more than it should.

He should be sleeping.

Instead, he dials.

Again.

The phone rings twice, and then—

“Hi! You’ve reached Haeun. I’m probably dancing somewhere or stealing Seungcheol’s fries, so leave a message after the beep and I promise I’ll get back to you… eventually!”

Beep.

He doesn’t speak.

He just closes his eyes and breathes. Listens to that sliver of her voice that still exists, somewhere safe, somewhere untouched by tubes and machines and the cruel silence that’s overtaken Room 203.

Call ended.

He dials again.

Same ring. Same smile in her voice. Same beep.

Still no words.

He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Maybe for her to pick up. Maybe for the universe to reset.

By the fourth call, his hands are shaking.

By the fifth, he finally speaks.

“Hey.”

It’s hoarse. Barely there.

“I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I just… I miss you.”

His voice breaks on the last word. He coughs, wipes at his face like it’ll make a difference. The hallway is empty. He’s glad. No one should see this.

“I brought the stupid green grapes today. The ones you hate but pretend to like because they’re healthy. I even peeled them. Like you always wanted me to. They’re still in the fridge.” A bitter laugh. “I don’t know why I did that.”

He hangs up.

Redials.

Sixth call.

“Hi! You’ve reached Haeun—”

He doesn’t wait for the beep this time.

“I had a dream last night. You were wearing that yellow dress you said made you look like a banana, and we were dancing in our kitchen. No music. Just your laugh.”

He pauses.

“God, I’d kill to hear you laugh right now.”

He ends the call.

But he dials again.

Seventh.

Eighth.

By the ninth call, he’s on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, phone pressed against his ear like it’s all that’s keeping him together.

Beep.

His voice is quieter now. Smaller.

“Please.”

Just that.

Just please.

Please come back. Please wake up. Please tell me how to keep going.

He doesn’t say it all. He doesn’t have to.

The phone slips from his fingers. His eyes are red. There’s no sound in the corridor except for the faint buzz of electricity and the way he breathes like the air hurts going in.

And then a whisper, almost like a prayer.

“She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not dead.”

He repeats it like maybe if he says it enough, the universe will make it true forever.

But the truth is— She’s not alive either. Not in the way he needs her to be.

And maybe the worst part of it all isn’t that she’s gone.

It’s that he’s still here, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

---

It was late again.

The hospital lights were dimmed to a muted hum, the world outside the windows blurred into inky blue. Seungcheol had just returned from Room 203, hands shaking, heart heavier than his footsteps. He turned the corner toward the waiting room, expecting silence.

But there you were.

Curled in on yourself on the narrow couch, knees pulled tight to your chest, arms hugging them like you were trying to hold yourself together. Your face was buried, but the tremor in your shoulders gave you away.

You were crying.

No—you were breaking.

He froze in the doorway.

"Hey..." he said softly, unsure if he should come closer. "Are you okay?"

A stupid question. You didn't look up.

So he sat down beside you, far enough not to touch, close enough to offer warmth.

You wiped at your eyes, but the tears just kept coming.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “God, I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“You’ve seen me like this,” he murmured.

That got a small, bitter laugh from you. But it faded fast.

Then you said, quieter than before, “I left her.”

He turned, brows furrowed.

“My grandmother,” you clarified, breath catching. “Before all this… before the cancer... I stopped coming around.”

He waited. Didn’t push. Just listened.

“I was busy. I moved to another city. Work was stressful, and I kept saying I’d visit next weekend, next month, next—” You swallowed hard. “But she always called. Always left voicemails. She'd tell me she made pancakes, the ones with blueberries, the kind I used to beg for as a kid. And she'd say she was waiting. Just... waiting for me to come home.”

Your voice cracked.

“I didn’t come.”

His chest ached.

“I told myself she was fine. Independent. Strong. I told myself I was allowed to live my life.” Your eyes welled again. “And now I come every single day. Now I sit next to her bed like if I do it long enough, she’ll forgive me. But she can’t even say my name anymore.”

Seungcheol reached out then—tentatively—placing a hand over yours. You didn’t pull away.

“She used to sit by the door,” you whispered. “Like clockwork. Every Sunday morning. Dressed in the sweater I bought her three Christmases ago. Just waiting. Because she thought... maybe today I’d come.”

The tears wouldn’t stop.

“I was dancing at some bar. Laughing. Kissing someone I don’t even remember. While she sat by the door making pancakes for no one.”

Your voice broke open then, sobs slipping through like glass cracking beneath pressure. Ugly and honest and full of a grief that had nowhere to go.

Seungcheol turned toward you fully, pulling you into his arms. You fought it at first—because that’s what guilt does—but he held on.

“You came back,” he murmured. “You’re here now.”

“But what if it’s too late?” you sobbed into his chest. “What if she never knew how sorry I am?”

He rested his chin against your head, eyes burning.

“She knew,” he said. “She knows.”

They stayed like that. In the stillness. In the mess. In the pain.

Two people broken in different ways, holding each other like they could keep the world from falling apart again. No promises. No solutions.

Just presence.

And sometimes—that was everything.

---

The hospital room was too white. Too quiet. Even the ticking of the clock felt like an accusation—steady and cruel. A reminder of every second you had not been there.

You sat beside the bed, your hands wringing the hem of your sweater. The chair creaked beneath you, but your grandmother didn’t look.

She was staring out the window. Blank. Soft. Eyes that used to twinkle with laughter now just... drifted.

“Hi, Grandma,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

No response.

You leaned in, trying again with a gentle smile. “It’s me. I brought your favorite. Blueberry pancakes. From that little diner you like.”

Still nothing.

You swallowed down the lump rising in your throat and set the small to-go container on the bedside table. The smell of syrup and warm sugar floated through the air, but your grandmother didn’t even flinch.

Silence. Thicker now.

“I remember when you used to wake me up with the smell of these,” you tried, eyes burning. “Every Sunday. You’d hum while you cooked. Said blueberries were brain food.” A sad laugh slipped out. “Guess they weren’t enough, huh?”

The silence felt like punishment.

You reached out slowly, brushing a strand of silver hair from her grandmother’s forehead. She used to braid that hair. Used to play salon with it as a child, while her grandmother pretended she was being pampered in a palace.

“You used to wait for me,” you whispered. “Every week. In that old cardigan I bought you. Remember that one? With the missing button?”

Nothing.

And then—finally—your grandmother blinked, slowly turning toward her. Her eyes focused on your face.

Hope rose, sudden and aching. “Grandma?”

The old woman tilted her head. Confused.

Then, softly: “Are you... the nurse?”

It felt like being stabbed.

You forced a smile to your lips, even as your heart shattered. “No... I’m—”

Your grandmother smiled faintly, distant and kind. “You’re very sweet, dear. Just like my granddaughter. Beautiful girl. Works too hard. Never comes home, though.”

The breath caught in your throat. Your vision blurred instantly.

“She... she sounds great,” you managed, voice trembling.

“She is.” Your grandmother looked out the window again, a ghost of a smile on her face. “She used to sit on the porch and sing while I made breakfast. Blueberry pancakes. Said they were her favorite.”

You clutched the side of the bed, your knuckles white. “Do you remember her name?”

“No,” your grandmother said, softly. “But I know I love her. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

A sob escaped before you could stop it. You covered your mouth with your hand, shoulders shaking.

Your grandmother turned again, blinking slowly. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’ll make me sad.”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. “I’m okay,” you choked. 

And in that moment, you didn’t care that your grandmother didn’t know who you were. Didn’t care that your name was gone, that their memories were tangled and buried.

Because the love—that was still here.

Even if it was misdirected. Even if it was broken.

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around the frail woman, holding her tightly, burying your face into her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so, so sorry I left.”

Your grandmother patted your back, gentle and absent-minded. “There, there. You’re a good girl. I can tell.”

You cried harder.

And outside, the day went on like nothing had changed.

But inside that room, everything had.

---

It was late. Past visiting hours.

But the little courtyard garden behind the hospital didn’t care about time. It was overgrown in places, the stone bench cracked, the flowerbeds mostly dirt now—but there was a kind of comfort in its forgotten state. Like it belonged to the night. Like it understood people who didn’t fit in the daylight anymore.

You sat on the bench, your knees tucked under your chin, a paper cup of hospital coffee cradled in your hands. Seungcheol joined you without a word, sitting close enough to feel the same night breeze, but not enough to crowd you.

For a while, they just sat. Listening to the wind brushing through brittle branches. The distant siren of an ambulance arriving. The faint hum of machines behind walls.

Then, quietly, you asked, “What was she like?”

He looked down at the cup between his hands. “You mean... before?”

You nodded.

He took a breath. “Loud. In the best way. She used to sing to the radio even if she didn’t know the lyrics. And she’d burn toast every morning because she always forgot it was in. Once, she put our house key in the freezer because she thought it was her phone.”

You smiled faintly. “Sounds chaotic.”

“She was.” He laughed a little, and then the sound faded. “But she made everything feel... alive. Like the world was just a little brighter because she was in it.”

The silence settled again, heavier now.

“She sounds like someone I would’ve liked,” you said, softly.

He nodded.

“What about you?” he asked. “What were you like before all this?”

You let out a slow breath, eyes fixed on the cracks in the stone path.

“Busy,” she said. “Too busy. I thought I had time. That I could always go visit later. I kept putting it off. ”

Seungcheol didn’t speak, but she felt him listening.

Your voice broke, raw and exposed.

“And now she doesn’t even know my name.”

You turned your head, wiping your cheek roughly with the sleeve of your hoodie. “I was so selfish.”

“No,” Seungcheol said immediately, turning toward you. “You were living. That’s not a crime.”

“But I left her behind.”

He looked at you then, really looked. “You came back.”

You didn’t reply.

He reached over slowly, fingers brushing your. Not holding. Not pushing. Just offering.

And you let him.

Their hands stayed there, barely touching, as if the warmth between them could rewrite time. Could pull them out of the past and plant them firmly in the now.

After a moment, you murmured, “I used to love dancing.”

He blinked. “What?”

You smiled, sad and sweet. “Just... before all this. I’d dance in my kitchen. In my socks. Spill coffee, stub my toes. I haven’t done that in forever.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “You should. You should do that again.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“What about you?” you asked. “What’s the one thing you miss most about yourself?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear:

“I used to dream.”

The words hung between them like fog.

You turned your hand, finally holding his.

And under the pale light of the moon, with bruised hearts and paper coffee cups, two people who had lost everything began to find something again—

Not peace. Not yet.

But maybe the possibility of it.

---

It was just after midnight when the nurse called him.

"Mr. Choi? She's... she's showing signs. You should come."

Seungcheol had stared at his phone for a full minute before he moved. Then he ran. Down the silent corridors. Past the quiet night-shift desk. Past the vending machine and the courtyard and everything that had held him up for weeks.

Room 203.

His hands shook as he pushed the door open.

She was there. As always. Pale. Fragile. But her fingers were twitching. Her lips parted slightly, a rasping breath falling from her throat that sounded like a word caught halfway to being born.

He stepped in slowly, as if afraid the moment might vanish if he moved too fast.

“…Seung…cheol?”

He froze.

Her voice.

So faint. So broken. But there.

“Yeah,” he choked out, stumbling forward and falling to his knees beside her bed. “Yeah, I’m here.”

She blinked slowly. Her eyes were heavy with confusion, still swimming in a haze, but they found him. Like she was clawing her way back to the surface and he was her anchor.

His hand found hers, trembling. “You’re… you’re awake.”

She gave the smallest nod. Barely there. But it was everything.

And he wept.

Outside the room, you sat on the hallway floor with two cups of coffee—yours long cold. Your legs were cramping, your back sore, but you didn’t move. You had watched him go in and hadn’t followed.

He needed this moment.

And even though your heart ached—throbbed, even—as the sounds of his voice broke through the crack in the door, you stayed. Because you knew what it meant to finally get a piece of someone you thought you’d already lost.

You lowered your head, pressing your forehead to your knees.

And when he came out an hour later, his eyes swollen, cheeks streaked with tears—but smiling for the first time since you met him—you looked up and gave him one back.

It was small. Wobbly. But real.

“She said my name,” he whispered.

You stood slowly, offering the cup to him.

“I’m so happy for you, Cheol.”

He took it, their fingers brushing, his smile faltering just a bit.

“And your grandma?”

“She’s…” Your voice caught. You cleared your throat. “She’s getting worse.”

The silence held everything that couldn’t be said. A strange mirror. One of them rising. One of them falling.

Seungcheol reached out and touched your wrist. Gently. “You’ve been so strong.”

You looked down at the floor, then back up, your eyes shimmering. “I’m trying. It’s like... I don’t want her to go, but I also don’t want her to keep hurting. And I don’t know how to exist when she’s not in the world. So I stay. And I hope she sees me, even for a second.”

He nodded, his heart splitting open at the seams.

You looked at him, then—really looked. At the hope blooming behind his tears.

You smiled through your grief. “I think she would’ve liked your girl. The way you love her. It’s rare.”

Seungcheol's lips parted, a thousand emotions crashing into each other. “You helped me hold on. Even when I didn’t want to anymore.”

Your breath hitched.

“You held me, Cheol,” you whispered. “When I needed it most.”

He stepped closer.

The air between them was thick with everything they hadn’t said. And everything they couldn’t say.

Because this wasn’t a fairytale. It wasn’t about choosing. It wasn’t about perfect timing.

It was about love in its rawest form—grief, joy, loss, connection—all tangled together in this broken little hallway.

“I don’t want you to disappear now,” you whispered.

“I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”

You took his hand, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

And in the silence, there was music. No instruments. Just hearts— Beating beside each other. Still aching. Still healing. Still hoping.

---

Seungcheol stood in the stairwell.

It was quiet there. Sterile concrete, humming fluorescent lights, the faint clinking of a janitor’s cart on a lower level. The kind of place where you could fall apart and no one would notice. Maybe not even yourself.

He ran a hand down his face, the skin beneath his eyes raw from crying, not just today but for weeks. And now—she was waking up. His girlfriend. The love of his life. The person he had sat beside, begged, bargained for.

And he felt like a fucking traitor.

Because all he could think about… was her.

Not the girl in the bed, trying to find her voice again. But the one who sat beside him at 3AM with vending machine coffee and bruises beneath her eyes. The one who whispered broken memories about pancakes and absence and a grandmother who forgot everything except love. The one who never asked anything from him except presence. And somehow that made him want to give her everything.

He pressed the heel of his palm to his chest. Right over the place it hurt most.

What if she knew?

What if the woman inside that hospital room opened her eyes fully, smiled at him with her old self again, and realized—

That while her world had been on pause, his had kept moving.

And somewhere along the way…

He’d started to fall.

The guilt came in like waves. Sharp. Unrelenting.

He thought of your laugh—that small, sad, brave thing you'd let slip in front of him that day in the courtyard.

He thought of you telling him, “You held me.”

He thought of how you never reached for him first, never asked for comfort, never once tried to cross the invisible line between grief and want. And yet he was the one who blurred it, every time he caught himself staring too long, hoping too hard, wishing things were different.

A voice broke into his thoughts.

“Cheol?”

He turned.

You stood there in the stairwell doorway, hoodie sleeves pulled over your palms, hair a little messy, eyes a lot sad.

You.

Of course it was you.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

You stepped in slowly, not expecting anything. Not demanding anything. Just there.

Like always.

“I’m happy for you,” you said softly.

“I know.”

A beat.

“You don’t look happy.”

He let out a hollow laugh. “I should be. Right? This is what I prayed for.”

You didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“I feel like I’m… cheating on her,” he finally admitted, voice cracking. “Even just standing here with you. Even thinking about you when I’m with her.”

Your gaze fell to the floor.

“I never meant to,” he said. “It just… it happened.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t—”

“I do, Seungcheol,” you said, meeting his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I knew this wasn’t real. I knew I was just… the wrong place, the wrong time.”

He stepped forward, something desperate in his expression. “You were the only thing that felt right.”

Your breath caught.

“I just don’t know how to live in both,” he whispered. “The before and the after.”

Silence settled between them.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said. “I don’t want to lose her. But losing you—”

He broke off, choking on the words.

You blinked back tears, chest rising and falling with the weight of every unspoken thing.

“I won’t ask you to choose,” you said gently. “But I won’t lie either. You matter to me. And if this is all it is—a hallway, a few coffees, a handful of broken nights—then I’ll take it. And I’ll let go.”

Your voice cracked like glass.

“Just don’t pretend it meant nothing.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, eyes shining. “I could never.”

And then—

A breath.

A heartbeat.

His forehead dropped to yours, just barely, as if touch alone might anchor him to something real.

Neither of them kissed.

But something inside them did.

And it broke. Quietly. Beautifully.

Right there on the stairwell steps of a hospital neither of them wanted to be in.

---

The hospital smelled the same as always—like antiseptic, old coffee, and waiting.

Seungcheol moved slowly down the corridor, step by step, clutching the small plastic bag of belongings the nurses had packed for his girlfriend. Discharge papers tucked beneath his arm. A bouquet of tulips from her mother poking out the side.

She was getting better.

She was going home.

And still… he felt like he was leaving something behind. No—someone.

He paused at the end of the hallway, where two paths met. One to the exit. One to the oncology wing.

The bag crinkled in his grip as he stood there, torn in a silence that pressed into his ribs.

He hadn't seen you since that night on the stairwell.

You.

The one who’d cracked his chest open and shown him he still had a heart, even while it bled.

The one who sat beside him when his world was ending, and gave him pieces of her own shattered one just so he wouldn't drown alone.

He’d meant to go back.

He wanted to go back.

But life has a way of moving without asking if you're ready.

The next morning, the room was empty. Your name scratched off the whiteboard. No answers. No goodbye.

He’d asked a nurse. She looked away. "I'm sorry. The patient in Room 204 passed away in the night. Family discharged shortly after."

And that was it.

Just like that, you were gone.

And he never got to say goodbye.

Now, days later, as he stood there at the fork in the hallway, everything in him screamed to turn around. To check. To hope that maybe somehow, somehow, you'd still be there.

But you weren't.

You had left.

And so had your grandmother.

All that remained was the memory of that last vending machine smile—the one with the tears hiding just beneath.

The sound of your voice when you said, “Just don’t pretend it meant nothing.”

God, if you only knew. If you knew what you meant. If you knew what you took with you.

“Seungcheol?” his girlfriend called softly from behind, her voice weaker than he remembered but full of cautious hope.

He turned slowly.

She was standing just outside her room, hair brushed back, wearing the soft hoodie he used to sleep in when she first went under.

Her eyes searched his face. “Are you ready?”

He looked at her.

This girl he’d loved. Still loved, maybe. But not in the same way.

Not in the way that twisted and broke and healed. Not in the way that made him want to live again.

He offered a small nod and walked toward her.

They exited the hospital slowly, carefully, like the world was something they weren’t sure how to re-enter.

Outside, the sky was a dull gray.

A car waited at the curb.

He placed her bag in the trunk, then helped her into the passenger seat.

But before he closed the door, he glanced back.

One last time.

Toward the entrance. Toward the hallway. Toward a girl who wasn’t there.

And in that one look… everything ached.

You would never know how often he still looked for you in crowds. How sometimes he woke up wanting to tell you something, only to remember he couldn’t. How even in someone else’s recovery, he felt like he lost something irreplaceable.

He closed the door gently.

And with it, their story.

Not with fire. Not with fanfare. But with a quiet kind of sorrow. The kind that lingers.

The kind that asks, What if?

And never gets an answer.

---

[sarcasticsweetlara]

This man is definitely very dad! material

What A Sweep | C.Sc

Pairing: Seungcheol x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Established Relationship

Words Count: ±400

Summary: Seungcheol brimmed with excitement as he prepared to teach you some Jiu-Jitsu moves, little did he knows, you would nearly send him into a heart attack.

Note: mention of pregnancy, characters using pet name. I'm here starting the year with my crazy love for seungcheol 🌸

Seungcheol's eyes gleamed with a mix of eagerness and concern. "You need to learn this, babe. I can't always be with you. Come on!" He urged you, his voice edged with a touch of urgency.

He gestured for you to rise from your seat, the room filled with a palpable energy. Having just demonstrated a new Jiu-Jitsu move he'd recently acquired, Seungcheol was eager to impart this newfound knowledge, a hint of pride lingering in his gaze.

"I'm feeling a bit lazy," you mumbled, cocooning yourself deeper into the welcoming embrace of the couch and the blanket that had wrapped you in its comforting embrace for hours. A low, theatrical groan escaped Seungcheol's lips as he closed the distance, his strong hand gently grasping your arm, coaxing you to your feet.

"No!" you playfully whined, though it was clear he'd chosen to feign deafness. His resolve was unwavering as he lifted you with a playful strength that was uniquely his own.

"Baby, this is very useful for self-defense," he urged, his voice softened, a glimmer of concern still present in his eyes.

You shook your head, offering a voice of reason. "I have you. You learned it to protect both of us, didn't you?"

Seungcheol's features softened, his voice tinged with a mixture of care and subtle irritation. "But I can't always be with you, love. What if I'm working and someone starts bothering you on your way home from work?"

A playful glint danced in your eyes as you countered, "I'd simply say, 'Sorry, but I have a Jiu-Jitsu trained boyfriend,' to them."

His expression melted, and he gently pinched your cheeks in affectionate response. "And if they touched you unexpectedly?"

Your smile widened, mischief gleaming. "If they were you, I'd let them be and pull you in for a kiss like this." With a swift, graceful motion, you linked your arms around Seungcheol's neck, your lips meeting his in a passionate, unexpected embrace.

Seungcheol's heart raced as you kissed him, the sudden surge of emotion catching him off guard. He pulled you closer, the world fading away, lost in the warmth of your touch. Swiftly, he swept your feet from under you, and you both tumbled to the ground with a soft thud.

A playful whine escaped your lips as Seungcheol playfully pinned you down. A gentle flinch rippled through your stomach as he deftly maneuvered your bodies.

"I've got a cramp," you whispered, your voice barely audible, your hand gently tapping his side, a signal for him to ease up.

Seungcheol released you immediately, his movements careful, aware of his own strength. "That's why learning self-defense is important. It's also good for your reflexes," he explained, a touch of remorse in his tone, his apology sincere.

You looked at him, your gaze still groggy from the sudden movements. "It's not that I don't want to learn," you began, your words held in rapt attention.

"It's just..." you hesitated, debating whether to continue.

Finally, you mustered the courage to share, "it's just... I don't know if it's safe for a pregnant woman to learn Jiu Jitsu. You know, with those moves..." Your voice carried a mixture of vulnerability and concern.

Seungcheol's eyes widened in comprehension. "Of course, a pregnant woman shouldn't learn Jiu Jitsu. It's too risky for the ba— wait, what?!" He stammered, suddenly grasping the weight of your unspoken revelation.

He raised himself from you, his disbelief palpable. On both knees, he looked at you, his expression a whirlwind of emotions.

"Really?"

Then, like the breaking dawn, a wide, joyous smile spread across his face as he understood the truth. He pulled you into a tight embrace, overwhelmed with happiness. "Oh my god, baby! Thank you so much! I'm beyond happy!"

Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed into yours, his heart overflowing with emotion. You chuckled at his emotional response, guiding his hand to rest on your belly. "Our child is here," you whispered.

Seungcheol wiped away his tears, his fingers trembling with joy. Both of you hugged each other, a mix of laughter and tears, swept up in the sheer magnitude of the moment. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked, his voice filled with gratitude.

You let out a soft laugh. "I just found out yesterday. I went to the doctor, and I tested positive. I'm seven weeks pregnant."

Seungcheol pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, then your lips, and finally, he placed a gentle kiss on your belly, where your unborn child lay. He cupped your cheeks, pulling you in for another kiss, followed by a heartfelt expression of his boundless love.

"I love you so much. I'm just so incredibly happy."

"You weren't this happy when I refused to learn earlier," you teased, referring to his previous insistence.

Seungcheol's heart skipped a beat. He realized he had acted too forcefully. "Oh, god! Baby, did I hurt you earlier?" he fretted, his gaze scanning your body.

"Did I hurt the baby?" he asked, a note of concern in his voice, fearing he had been too rough.

You reassured him with a smile and a kiss. "I'm okay, baby. We're both okay. Just a little startled. Please, promise me you won't do that again in the future," you teased.

Seungcheol shook his head fervently. "I promise! Is there anything you want? Ice cream? Should we order your favorite food? Maybe a massage?"

You chuckled. "We just had dinner, baby. But yes, I'd love some ice cream and a massage. We both love you."

Seungcheol swelled with happiness, pulling you into another warm embrace. "I love you two, more than words can express."

[cheol-e-kat]

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐟𝐭. 𝐜.𝐬𝐜

the unknown sender one

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕

summary: seungcheol keeps getting nudes and he hasn't a clue from who, but maybe you do

genre: rivals to lovers, college au

word count: 1.8k

He loved that you pretended to hate him. Every time you had given him side eye in class or avoided him at a party - all fake. Every time he watched you pointedly flirt with someone else in front of him - it was just an act.

He wasn’t jealous, though. Because no matter what you did, no matter what the little performance was for the day, he knew exactly who you really wanted.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

It had started with dirty messages. 

At first he had no idea who was texting him, but they were fun. 

How could he be mad at someone who told him in detail all the ways they wanted him to fuck them - all the random moments in a day when they would rather be sucking his cock than doing whatever they were doing. 

He didn’t think it would last very long, maybe a few days or a week at most. 

But he was surprised when they continued. There were the normal dirty texts, but then there was a photo early one morning. First one photo and then a second one. 

The first was of panties, blue mesh with little white polka dots. 

He had chewed his lip lightly before messaging back. 

[seungcheol]

v cute

Then there was the second photo that had made his cock stiffen. 

He didn’t know what to say because this time whoever it was sending the texts and photos was sitting, wearing the cute panties. Her gorgeous thighs open, and her fingers dipping down between her legs, pushing the crotch of her panties to the side to reveal her very wet pussy lips. 

[unknown]

just for you

His mouth was like cotton. His brain was mush. He could barely think of his own name, much less a message to respond. 

He had jammed his phone in his pocket and left for class. In all reality, he had no idea how he even made it to the right class. 

He barely took notes. You were sitting next to him, thanks to assigned seating and no other reason. 

He was surprised when you even glanced his way during break. 

“No notes today?“ You quipped. 

He shrugged. “Uh, I don’t know.”

You watched him for a moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” he mumbled, still thinking about whoever was wearing those blue panties. 

You bit your lip gently. “Do you want to borrow my notes later?”

It was the second unexpected thing to happen to him. You - his rival in almost every class who made no secret of how you couldn’t stand him. You were offering to share your precious notes. 

He glanced at you then. “What?” He asked softly in surprise. 

You sighed. “Do you want to borrow my notes?” You repeated yourself slowly, dragging out every syllable. 

He didn’t care - he just nodded. 

“Okay, but it’s only because you look like someone broke your brain or something,” you muttered with a small smile. 

He nodded because that was accurate. Someone had broken his brain. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

And they seemed to enjoy it because it became like a morning ritual. Two photos. 

Until one Saturday morning it changed. 

There was just one photo. 

No panties for him to imagine. 

Just her naked pussy. And her fingers shoved inside herself. 

He replied almost immediately. 

[seungcheol]

that’s not fair

He watched the little dots on his screen. 

[unknown]

what’s unfair is that u never show me anything in return 

He scoffed. “What the fuck?” He muttered. It wasn’t that his dick wasn’t hard - it definitely was. 

[seungcheol]

ur asking to see my dick??

He waited again. 

[unknown]

yae cheol show me ur gorgeous cock i know it’s better irl than anything i can imagine

She sent another photo, her breasts, her pussy, everything, like she was waiting to be fucked. 

He bit his lip gently, reading the message over again and staring at the photo. 

[seungcheol]

fuck ur beautiful […]

how do you imagine it?

[unknown]

srsly

[seungcheol]

ya srsly […]

tell me

[unknown]

big and thick […]

perfect pink head that i want to lick and suck and tease 

He groaned as he slid his hand under the waistband of his underwear, pumping his cock roughly.

He was used to a few messages here and there, but not an actual conversation. 

[seungcheol]

i want you swallowing me

[unknown]

mhm i’d love you to fuck my mouth […]

nice and rough

He bit his lip, knowing he was on the edge. 

[seungcheol]

want to fuck your pussy too […]

cum inside you […]

fill you up

[unknown]

knew you were nasty […]

so fuckin perf

He was so close to coming. He shoved his underwear off and sat up to snap a photo of himself. Whoever it was, she wasn’t wrong about him. The only thing she missed was the way precum was dripping down his shaft. 

He hit ‘send’ and finished himself off. He took a photo of that too - his still hard cock standing stiff and his cum covered stomach. 

He sent it. 

[unknown]

fuck ur still hard […]

i want u inside me […]

want you fucking me full bby

He grinned as he used his tshirt to wipe his clean up his cum. 

[seungcheol]

i’d have to know who u are first

[unknown]

u do kno me tho

He chewed his lip lightly. 

[seungcheol]

yea but not really

[unknown]

you’ve seen my pussy 

He grinned. 

[seungcheol]

so i should go around looking for the pussy that matches the photos??

[unknown]

no. you should not 

He had never asked who it was. He kind of liked not knowing, or at least knowing it could be almost anyone. 

[unknown]

maybe we could meet

It had been going on for weeks. 

[seungcheol]

you really want to meet?

He waited for an answer, wondering if she was serious. 

[unknown]

maybe […]

see you later cheollie 

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine what that meant. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

He met you later that day. For whatever reason you’d decided that working together was smarter than competing, so you’d been meeting for the last few weeks to share notes and practice exams. 

He sat in the normal spot where you met, north campus library, fifth floor, near the windows. 

You were a few minutes late, apologizing as you sat down. He smiled, wondering why you cared about being a few minutes late on a Saturday. 

“Good morning?” You asked as you opened your laptop. 

He nodded. “Yeah, you?”

You nodded, smiling. “Really good,” you murmured. 

He blushed slightly - there was something about the way you said it was a really good morning that made his dick twitch. It felt familiar somehow. 

You sighed softly, typing away. He yawned, waiting for you to tell him which exam you wanted to review. 

You glanced at him. “Cute.”

“I was up late.” He shrugged. 

“Oh yeah? What’s her name?”

He snorted. “Her name is beer pong.”

You glanced up, smirking. “So you’re good?”

He nodded. “Pretty good, yeah.”

You smiled. “Hmm, just pretty good or actually good?”

“Actually good.”

You nodded. “Would you maybe want to come to a party with me then?”

You continued to surprise him. Since when had you ever wanted to be seen anywhere with him. 

“Why?”

“Because there’s someone more annoying than you who I really want to beat,” you said with a smile. 

He rolled his eyes. 

You sighed and looked at him. “Okay, look, please, Seungcheol? I just need a partner for like a few rounds, and if we win, I’ll owe you,” you said, your voice was just the tiniest bit whiny. 

It was cute.

He chewed his lip lightly. “Owe me how?”

“One social favor of equal or lesser value,” you said sweetly. 

It was bizarre, but so was everything else. So he agreed.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

He had seen you out before, and he had maybe been stupid enough when he first met you to try to talk to you, thinking that being competitive over grades didn’t extend to social things. And you shot him down blindingly fast.

But tonight was different. 

You invited him over to pre-game before the party. He had stopped questioning anything you did by then.

After a few shots, of course, he followed you into your bedroom. And when you were straddling his lap, kissing him, your hands tangling in his hair, all he could think was that you were on the cusp of fucking.

Until you leaned back, grabbing his hands and guiding them to your thighs, pushing up your skirt. He swallowed hard when he saw.

No underwear. He looked up at you, biting his lip. “Fuck,” he whispered. 

You smiled, leaning close, lips brushing his cheek. “You wanted to meet, right?”

He squeezed your thighs gently. “You?”

“Mmmh, me,” you whispered.

He hummed. “And I thought you hated me.” He fell back on your bed. 

You traced your hands down his chest. “No, you’re just annoying - smart and so annoying.”

He grinned softly, his hands tracing high on your hip and down lower, his fingers skimming just above your pussy. “How’d you even get my number?”

You sighed softly. “You gave it to me first year.” Your hands covered his, pulling them up to your breasts.

He moaned. “Come here,” he whispered, pulling your hips towards him, wanting to eat you from below. He’d been thinking about your pussy all day, not even knowing it was yours, now he wanted to drown in you. 

He licked up into you, tasting you. 

You moaned. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you whined.

He grinned, adding his fingers, like he had any plans to stop what he was doing to you. 

He loved the sounds you made, all the soft whines and the way you whispered his name. Every word was needy and sweet.

And then you came - you leaned forward, bracing yourself against the wall, mewling his name. “Oh fuck, please - please don’t stop.” You were gasping. 

He grabbed your thighs harder, holding you in place, wanting to taste every drop. And when he let you go, he pushed you back onto the bed, pulling off his shirt and yours. He kissed and licked your tits, sucking them roughly, wanting to leave marks.

When he leaned up, he kissed you and felt the way your legs went around his waist. It was the most perfect feeling. 

He leaned up, looking at you, tracing his fingers along your cheek and jaw. “So perfect,” he whispered. 

You smiled. “You too.” He felt the way your hands traced along his pecs and down his stomach. 

He ducked back down, kissing you more, loving how sloppy and messy it was. 

And when you were both finally naked and his cock was buried in your pussy, he couldn’t help the way he snapped his hips. Or the rough contact his pelvis made with yours. You sounded so wet, he couldn’t help himself. The way you came was so good. So fucking good. 

And when he was finally spent, he felt like he melted against you, pulling you close. He needed to feel your skin against his, even while he slept. 

You were definitely his now.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

a/n: because cheol is always on my mind ^^

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

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

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

𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥

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

teasers: all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight |୨୧| cold fire (cheol only - attorney au)

|୨୧| drabbles:

co-worker & spanking [ s ] |୨୧| gamer boy [ s ] |୨୧| professor one [ s ] | valentine's day [ f ] |୨୧| 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝. 𝚌.𝚜𝚌 [ s ] #kat_drabbles

|୨୧| fluff:

profound, not sudden [ f ]

|୨୧| oneshots:

bisou bisou request #001 [ s ] ||

|୨୧| series:

obvious affection [ pt. 1 f ] [ pt. 2 f & s ]

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ]

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ]

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 [ master list ] [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] [ pt. 3 f & s ] [ pt. 4 f ]

|୨୧| seungcheol bingo [ all s] :

knotting + marking |

professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) |

monster |

spanking (neighbor seungcheol) |

big dick + hate sex |

forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) |

voyeurism + punishment |

coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (never let you go pt. 1) |

bodyguard + drunk confession |

anon sex + hair pulling + mask wearing (all up to you part i) |

big dick!cheol + hate sex (choose your own adventure) |

sexual frustration + ex sex |

|୨୧| omegaverse (a/b/o):

alpha seungcheol [pt. 1] [pt. 2] ||

never let you go [master list] [part 1 f & s] [part 2 f ] ||

[ taglist ]

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

☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @thepoopdokyeomtouched [e - multi/priv] ☁︎ @tokitosun [ e - one/multi ] ☁︎ @stupendouschildnerd [ e - drabbles/one/multi/master list ] ☁︎

☁︎ @living0livia [c.sc - e ] ☁︎

[woozisprincess]

Melting

Merciless CEO, Choi Seungcheol melts for his new employee

This was supposed to just be headcanons but I got carried away. Maybe, perhaps one day, I'll completely flesh this out into like a 10k fic

Scoups x readers, fem reader, mostly adorable fluff, some angst, 3k words, short & sweet like Sabrina Carpenter,

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CEO Choi Seungcheol with the absolute worst mean streak known to man. Feared by all of his employees. Known to fire people over even the smallest mistakes. Every employee's worst fear is the CEO paying their floor a visit. It was never good news, someone always lost their job.

CEO Choi Seungcheol, whose brow ticks when you, a new hire, step into the same elevator as him without a care in the world. You mumble something about the weather being shit and slowing down traffic. So peculiar. Did you know who you were talking to? You seemed to lack the heart-palpating fear that he inflicted upon his employees. Then you looked at him with big eyes, face damp from the rain, and asked him how his morning was going.

CEO Choi Seungcheol whose personality did a complete 180 when you locked eyes with him. He answered you enthusiastically. Told you it could be better but also it could be worse. You listened to him intently and agreed. Yes, it could always be worse.

CEO Choi Seungcheol who was surprised when he continued to run into you. Normally he would never see someone with your job so often. Or even at all. But there you were, at every turn, around every corner. And each time you gave him the exact same smile. There was no way that you didn't know. You've been working here for weeks, there was no way you still had no clue. But then one day, you asked him his name, and Seungcheol nearly had a heart attack at the thought of telling you the truth. Luckily he was called away to do something urgent.

CEO Choi Seungcheol who became increasingly more irritated at his friend as he teased relentlessly, claiming he's 'gotten soft.'

"Don't you have work to do, Jeonghan?" Seungcheol questioned his C.O.O with a raised brow.

"Well that's why I'm here, we're having a meeting." The younger deadpanned. "But gossip first." The delicate man beamed.

Seungcheol could only sigh. He had half a mind to fire him.

CEO Choi Seungcheol whose heart shattered into a million pieces as your face contorted in horror upon hearing that he, in fact, is the CEO. Some horrid woman basically screamed it at you when she heard the two of you bickering about trivial things, like hot dogs being sandwiches- they're not.

The color drained from your face at the realization. But then you collected yourself. Despite your very obvious distress, you looked at him and joked that it was insane that you had to learn his name from some hysterical woman.

Seungcheol melted when he realized you were trying. Trying to look past his title and see the friend you met several weeks ago. Seungcheol chuckled nervously. "I'm a busy man. It slipped my mind."

You managed to huff out a laugh of your own. You rolled your eyes, mumbled something about him being 'such a Leo,' and went about your day.

The moment you were out of earshot, he berated and fired the woman who dared to try to correct you. Such arrogance can't be tolerated.

Seungcheol was extremely relieved when you continued to speak to him like normal. You told him about your day and office drama all the same. Made a few jokes telling him not to fire anyone in your stories.

Choi Seungcheol who couldn't hide his delight when the rumors of his office princess started to spread. The whispers of his blatant favoritism towards you. The speculation that the two of you might be dating. Oh, how he beamed when you told him that your manager was giving you better tasks to take care of, and that you suspected it was because of him.

The two of you discussed the matter while having lunch in his office. A routine you've grown used to. Seungcheol never ate lunch before, but he realized it was a great opportunity to see you, and in a more personal setting at that. Seungcheol still doesn't really eat anything, he just does paperwork while you do. But you started bringing him pastries from the cafe that you got your sandwiches from. It'd be rude if he didn't eat them.

Seungcheol's brows furrowed when you laughed at the notion of the two of you dating.

"As if." You chuckled.

As if?

He leaned across his desk and asked, "Why do you think it's so ridiculous?"

Your face went hot as you muttered something about him being the CEO. What the fuck would he be doing with someone like you.

Seungcheol frowned. What the fuck would he be doing with such a beautiful woman? A lot actually. You sputtered, damn near choking on your sandwich. You called him stupid as you took a sip of your coffee. Told him that he shouldn't say those things.

He asked why. Tripping over your words, you made a joke about HR finding out.

Choi Seungcheol who stared at the scene before with a rage that of which he had never felt before. Seungcheol found you hiding in a far off hallway that was hardly used for much of anything. And you were crying. Crying? His first thought was who did this? Who hurt you? But as angry as he was, it was quickly replaced with overwhelming concern. He called for you softly as he approached. You seemed startled as you quickly wiped away your tears.

You greeted Seungcheol with as much cheer as you could muster, but the damage was already done. Seungcheol asked you what happened, you tried to deflect but eventually you admitted that for the past few weeks your coworkers had been tormenting you. It stemmed from jealousy. Giving you shit for being close to the CEO. At first, it started with comments that you could easily shrug off, but at this point, it's become full-blown harassment, and it's making showing up to work incredibly difficult.

Seungcheol pulls you close without much thought, rubbing down your arms to try and comfort you. He had noticed you seemed upset, but when he asked about it you just said that you were tired. He didn't believe it, but he didn't want to pry. Seungcheol asked you several times who the offenders were, but you refused to say. You feared his involvement would only make things worse. You beg him not to do anything crazy. Seungcheol agrees. At least that's what he tells you. But he had something else in mind.

Did he feel bad for lying to you? A little. But there was a lot wrong with what was happening. First and foremost they were harassing you. The crime itself was horrid enough. But his princess? Yeah maybe in a universe where bitch ran this company. Then, of course, these were grown ass adults bullying people like children. This behavior could not be tolerated in any regard.

CEO Choi Seungcheol, who, the very next morning, rained down hellfire upon your coworkers. He intentionally did it before you arrived to spare you the horror; luckily, everyone responsible was already there. It wasn't hard to figure out who the perpetrators were. Just a quick visit to the security room and bam! He's got a list of every single person who's ever wronged you.

Seungcheol relished in the tears that erupted from every man and woman with the audacity to try and push you around. They begged for mercy, to keep their jobs. But Seungcheol has never tolerated such behavior, so why on earth would he start now?

When Seungcheol finished with his berating, he turned on his heels only to find you standing behind him.

Choi Seungcheol who could've shrunk in on himself at the sight of you. You looked pissed. You approached him and asked what you made him promise just the day before. It took everything in the man not to fall to his knees and beg you to understand. Instead, Seungcheol tried to reason with you. He told you it was his job, he couldn't just let behavior like this go unchecked. He's running a business, not a middle school.

"But think about me." You asked quietly. You said he was only making things worse.

Seungcheol stepped closer to you, leaning in to ensure that only you hear him. "All I ever do is think of you, _____. Every minute, of every hour, of every day." He took a deep breath and took a step back. "Besides, ignoring this wouldn't have solved anything."

His eyes pierced into your soul, his words drowned your senses. You blinked. This was all too much. "You're right." You nodded. "Perhaps if you left me alone I could finally find some peace."

Choi Seungcheol who thinks he's just died and gone to hell. His merciless behavior finally caught up to him. That had to be what's happened. You did not just rip his heart in two.

"I think you should go back to your office, Sir."

You did.

Seungcheol couldn't lose his shit here. Not in front of everyone. Not in front of you. So he nodded and agreed. "Have a wonderful day, Miss _____." Then he left.

CEO Choi Seungcheol, who had seemingly mellowed out, if even just slightly, returned to a full-blown tyrant overnight. Everyone had thought that maybe the presence of Choi Seungcheol's sweet princess had been the chill pill he needed, but apparently not. Every newbie and intern who was spared despite their mistakes within the past few weeks were now dropping like flies for the smallest things.

Jeonghan, Seungcheol's dear friend, tried his best to find the reason behind such a sudden shift. But Seungcheol was like a safe forged from titanium, no getting through. That was, until one day Jeonghan barged into the elder's office during the usual time of your lunch dates so that maybe he could wring the answer out of you, but you were nowhere to be found. Oh. Oh okay. That explains a lot. So Jeonghan approached his friend and sighed as he patted him on the shoulder. Seungcheol could only frown.

-

You... Had regrets. You had been harsh, selfish, and unfair. Seungcheol was literally just doing his job, and you ripped his heart out. That was a bitch move. Rumors about you two splitting have already begun to spread. The princess of Choi Enterprise is actually a heartbreaker. That's what they said. Some people were appalled that you were still employed, others weren't all that surprised seeing as the man was clearly in love with you. The mess of gossip was truly unbearable. But what was worse, was not being able to see him. Oh how royally you've fucked up.

You spent a lot of time thinking about how to fix this, if you even can, but in the end, nothing seemed good enough. So imagine your surprise when a statuesque man approached you claiming to be the C.O.O.

"Your Yoon Jeonghan?" You questioned.

"You really just don't have a clue about who any of the people you work for are, do you?" The man's brows furrowed.

That's embarrassing. "I-"

"Never mind." Jeonghan cut you off. "You and my friend had a little breakup. Correct?"

He didn't wait for you to respond. "I just wanted to know the reason. He refuses to tell me anything."

The delicate man looked awful exasperated while recalling his many attempts to pry the truth from his colleague.

You contemplated just telling him to fuck off and mind his own business, but ultimately, you spilled. You took Jeonghan through your side of events, the gossip, the harassment, how it made you want to quit. He seemed sympathetic to your situation. And then you told him about Seungcheol's handling of the situation and how you unfairly lashed out at him due to your stress and anxiety. You confided that you regretted your actions deeply, but did not know how to make amends.

Jeonghan's eyes lit up when you were done. You wanted to make amends. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. "Are you ready to return to your throne, princess?"

You cocked your head to the side in confusion.

Oh?

-

"Are you sure this is okay, Jeonghan?" You inquired of him for the thousandth time.

"Oh my god, yes!" Jeonghan was dedicated to this mission, but your nervous tick of never shutting the fuck up was starting to make him regret his decision.

The two of you were in Seungcheol's office waiting for him. You both arrived extremely early so that you could get there before him. There wasn't much of a plan other than sneaking you up here so that you could apologize for your wrong doings, so it was safe to say that you were freaking out.

"But-"

"How about you go back to rehearsing what you wanna say. Okay, Sweetheart?" As nervous as you were, you could still take a hint.

So you waited as silently as you could, murmurs of your speech slipping out every now and then. Then you heard the large doors click open. You feel the hairs on your neck stand up straight.

The door creaked open revealing the one and only, Choi Seungcheol. Your breath hitches in your throat as the two of you lock eyes. Jeonghan pats Seungcheol on the shoulder and makes his swift escape. It was silent for a moment, but it felt like an eternity. You finally spoke up.

"Hi, Seungcheol." You tried your best to smile.

This was it, no going back now.

Seungcheol crossed his arms. The look on his face was unreadable, it reminded you of the day you first met. Cold eyes, greetings met with an unbearable silence. You were speaking to the CEO, not Seungcheol who encouraged you to meet in his office every day for lunch, not the man who damn near started crying when noticed that his favorite pastry was melon bread and continued to bring him more of it. No, this was your boss, and that thought terrified you.

"Can I help you, Miss _____?" Ouch. You deserved that.

"Well, I-" You stood from your chair. "-I came to apologize."

You took a step forward. Deep breaths. "I was wrong to lash out at you. Nothing was your fault." You fiddled with your hands as you did your best to maintain eye contact. You took another step forward. "I was stressed and upset and it was completely unfair of me to get mad at you for doing your job." Another one. "I'm sorry, Seungcheol."

You were standing just a few feet from the man now. This was it, the moment of truth.

"Is that all?"

Oh God. It's over. You've failed. You felt as if you could cry while you looked at your CEO. Choi Seungcheol was forever lost to you.

Seungcheol had a hard time keeping an even head as you spoke to him. It took every fiber of his being not to melt the moment he saw you. He had forgiven you immediately. Of course he did. Truthfully, he was never even mad at you. He completely understood why you reacted the way you did, he was just trying to respect your wishes. Being buddy-buddy with the CEO was bound to be difficult for someone in your position, so if you didn't wish to deal with it, that was your right.

However, with confirmation that you're fully willing to come back to him, there's just one more thing he needs to know.

You stared at your boss kind of dumb founded. You really thought that this would work. Jeonghan swore it would. Went on and on about how depressed the man was, and how much he clearly missed you. But here you are, being rejected. Perhaps Jeonghan got it all wrong.

"Is that all?" You quietly repeated to yourself. You glanced over the man in front of you, unsure of what to say. You noticed something. He relaxed, like a lot. His eyes were a lot more familiar to you, and his hands now rested on his waist. Oh? Your eyes locked onto the floor as you thought. Maybe he wasn't dismissing you, maybe he was literally asking if you had more to say. But why would he phrase it like that?

You looked back up at him. That look. So specific. What about it is so familiar?

All I ever do is think of you, _____. Every minute, of every hour, of every day.

OH! Shit, okay.

Your face grew hot at the realization. You nearly forgot that you essentially shot down the poor man's confession. If that's what he wanted to know, then you knew the answer.

So you took a deep breath and told him the truth.

"Seungcheol, I..." You moved closer. "I think of you every minute..." A little closer. "Of every hour..." Maybe just a bit closer. "Of every day."

Seungcheol's eyes widened like saucers. You stood just an inch or two away from him, but the distance was still much too far for his liking. He gently reached for you, placing his hands on your arms just to pull you a little bit closer. His smile was untamable.

"I am ecstatic that you feel the same." His word choice made you laugh. The business talk is engraved in his soul you think. Oh, this was gonna be fun.

Choi Seungcheol who is so completely obvious that the two of you are together. There's not a soul at the company who doesn't know. Especially when he's so big on pda. Holding hands, carrying your things. The only reason he doesn't kiss you silly in front of everyone is because it would be an HR violation.

Choi Seungcheol who almost cried when you told him you were resigning. Something about it being weird working for your boyfriend. He huffed and pouted the entire day but he understood. He was just gonna miss seeing you so dearly. You reminded him that you saw each other outside of work often. He still pouted a little bit longer.

Choi Seungcheol, who no one would ever guess was the same man who ran Choi Enterprise, if they saw how differently he behaved around you. All heart eyes and soft whispers. In stark contrast to the iron fist he ruled with.

Choi Seungcheol who was no longer just a frightening CEO, but also your cutie patootie boyfriend.

(⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡