Whoever had decided to pair you up with Seungcheol to host the station's annual charity fair needed to get demoted back to desk work (and you weren't only thinking it because it had, in fact, been your dear partner of the day that had suggested this). Why a radio station needed to organise so many social events every year was beyond your comprehension and yet you had drawn the short end of the stick once again.

Seungcheol's fingers pinched your side a little too hard to be a sign of affection. When you turned to glare at him, he offered you a mocking smile that someone further away might have mistaken for an affectionate one. "Why the long face, honey?"

A shiver of disgust ran up your spine and almost made you nauseous. If there wasn't a group of grandmas watching the two of you with the eyes of gossip-hungry eagles, you might have fake gagged just to get your point across. Instead, you were stuck forcing a sugary sweet smile of your own and threatening him under your breath: "Remove your hands or I will break them the next time you try to hold mine."

Perhaps you had lost your edge because Seungcheol only responded with a noise infuriatingly similar to the one he made when someone introduced him to their Pomeranian puppy two hours ago. And then, as if to annoy you even further and test the reliability of your threats, he let his thumb trail up and down across your skin. You racked your brain but couldn't remember agreeing to skin-to-skin contact, so you glared at him some more for good measure.

"I'm serious, Choi," you told him, hand reaching for his to twist one of his fingers backwards just enough for him to get the message.

He hissed in pain and withdrew his hand. Now it was his turn to glare and you only replied with a victorious smile before turning back to the task at hand. Another teenager had strolled to the booth, eager to sign up for the big giveaway (rumour had it that this year's grand prize was a car; you knew better than to trust the rumour mills), and you helped him while Seungcheol tried his hardest to not look like his ego or finger was in pain.

"Be sure to tune in three hours from now to see if you won," you called out after the kid when he handed you the now filled ticket. "May the odds ever be in your favour." (Quoting the Hunger Games was, unfortunately, one of the few joys you still had today).

The teen offered you a wide smile at that — perhaps he had picked up on the reference? Maybe the youth isn't doomed after all? Then, as if the universe had a grudge against you, you watched him reach over to fist pump Seungcheol. There was a certain sparkle in his eyes, his smirk just a little too wolfish. You threw your head back and sighed.

"Here's a tip, oh darling boyfriend of mine," the B-word still felt foreign to your tongue but you supposed it was high time you got used to it; you side-eyed him, "when a random man comes up and treats me like a prize you've somehow won, you should be pissed, not proud."

Seungcheol blinked, not a single coherent thought bouncing around in his peanut shell of a brain. "What do you mean?"

You felt your eyebrows rise and gestured widely. "That kid! He was eyeing me like I'm a piece of meat. And he congratulated you while staring at my tits!"

He shrugged. "I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."

"Neither did the last twelve guys who did the same, no doubt," you mumbled under your breath and adjusted the stack of blank giveaway tickets with newfound fury.

"Besides," he drawled, leaning his hip against the table, all suave until the flimsy thing nearly toppled over and nulled all of your previous efforts, "why am I not allowed to be proud? You're hot."

There was something in the way he said it that almost made it sound like an insult to your ears. Then again, perhaps you were too filled with hatred to interpret any of his words as anything but deliberate jabs at your person. That's what your friends said anyway when you discussed this scheme with them.

Hastily, Seungcheol fixed and adjusted the table. Further down the lot, someone was laughing — hopefully at him. He made a half-hearted attempt at fixing the stack of tickets; it looked like a proper mess. You sighed and reached to fix it again.

Maybe this whole arrangement was a colossal mistake. Maybe you were in over your head. Maybe your shared hatred was too far down in the dark side to ever be mistaken for adoration even by someone legally blind.

"Because this isn't real," you reminded him now. "Even if I was a prize — which I am not —, you haven't won me. You have nothing to be proud of."

Nothing about this was real, after all. It was all just a big scheme he had come up with in desperation to keep his afternoon show and fat paycheck. And you were the sorry fool who had agreed to it because — as much as it hurt to admit — you, too, were desperate.

In a way, you were different sides of the same dingy copper coin. One needed to get meddling grandmothers and flirty (and definitely not PG-13) mothers off his back. The other needed her ex to take a hint and leave her alone.

And so when Seungcheol came to you one evening after your daily request show — eyes downcast and brows furrowed in dismay after one of the executives threatened to halve his pay if he didn't make his show family friendly again — suggesting an unthinkable scheme, you agreed a little too readily. (Even if you did take a whole week to consider the pros and cons and spent one whole evening getting drunk while ranting to your friends.)

"I know you hate me," he told you back then, two weeks ago, his hair in disarray from tugging on it in frustration, his brown eyes for once full of something other than disgust at the sight of you, "but please pretend to date me."

The whole thing was supposed to be simple and effective. Fake some smiles, talk about each other on your shows, maybe dedicate a song to one another every once in a while, go on a walk during lunch break — easy enough that a toddler could do it. It should have been just the bare minimum to fake a relationship.

At first, you hadn't even thought anyone would actually buy it.

Your rivalry was well-known — two star hosts of the biggest radio station in the country, in a fierce battle for the prime time slots and special events. There were TikTok and Youtube compilations of you trading insults during your respective shows. More than a few gossip magazines had increased their sales by reporting on the "new developments" of your disagreements. The station executives couldn't decide whether they wanted you to tone down or go all in on the rivalry; avoiding questions about a hostile work environment hardly seemed the better option over rapidly increasing ratings.

But apparently the people's longing for a tale of enemies turning lovers was not limited to romantasy novels.

It had taken exactly one walk through a public parking lot on the evening of your first negotiations and suddenly the rumour mills were working overtime. It was utterly ridiculous, and it was also more effective than anything you could have come up with. There were blurry, poorly lit photos in the gossip magazines. There were pop culture specialists spewing video essay after video essay about the thin line between hatred, and body language experts analysing the way your fingers seemed to be reaching for his in one of the fifteen photos "if you just looked closely enough".

Even if your negotiations that night had ended on a negative note, there was no way you could have talked your way out of this supposed relationship. And now here you were, at the annual spring charity fair, hosting the giveaway and the special radio show from a little booth under an ancient oak tree with your biggest foe, putting on the best act of your life.

"You know, no one's going to believe we're actually dating if you look like you'd rather let the ground swallow you whole than be seen beside me," he pointed out with an infuriating smile, leaning closer as if to provoke you some more.

Under different circumstances you might have had to sigh and admit that he was right. But unfortunately for him…

"I think I'd have to slap you for anyone to believe we're not together at this point," you reminded him and nodded towards the gaggle of teenagers taking photos of the two of you, no doubt sharing them on social media with #OTP. You dreaded to think what your mentions would look like by the end of the day. Your phone had already overheated twice from all of the notifications.

Seungcheol's lips stretched into a smirk, his eyebrows waggling. "Didn't take you for the kinky type."

You could think of a kink or two to make him suffer the way he deserved. But alas.

A little girl ran up to the booth, flowers in her dark curly hair. Her lack of height did not deter her from grinning you from over the edge of the table. "Hi."

"Hi," you greeted her and felt your anger melt away just a little. "Did you want to sign up for the giveaway too?"

"No." She shook her head resolutely. "I'm too little for a car."

(You could practically hear the crack in his neck as Seungcheol's head tilted in confusion, his breath coming out in a sigh. He mumbled something vaguely like "why does everyone think it's a car?".)

The little girl didn't respond to questions, only staring up at you earnestly as if you were a Disney princess and she couldn't believe she had actually run into you at this event. You offered a little wave and this one she returned with one of her own. About to give up on making conversation with the tiny fan, you turned to look at what your "boyfriend" was doing, and — like a sleeper agent who had heard the code word — she lit up.

"You guys are so cute together," she declared and it was the loudest she had been all minute. You felt your eyes widen and desperately avoided eye contact, heat crawling up your neck all of a sudden. "My mommy says you used to hate each other."

"Still do," you mumbled under your breath but faked a smile once you were sure you no longer looked like a startled owl.

"I used to think she was insufferable," Seungcheol was happy to tell her and the look in his eyes told you he meant it in the present tense. "Drove me absolutely nuts. Stole my show, you know."

He'd been sure to bring that little tid-bit up every single day. If you weren't deep under cover as his girlfriend, you might have stomped on his foot and reminded him that he only lost the show because he kept flirting with the horny single mothers and grandmothers that called his show. All you had done was possess a bit of talent for hosting radio shows. But your lack of responsibility for his problems did not seem to deter him from blaming you for everything anyway.

The little girl gasped and looked at you like you had just admitted to arson. It was impossible to ignore the urge to defend yourself. "I didn't do it on purpose."

"That's what she likes to tell everyone," Seungcheol didn't let up and you felt his hand reach for your waist again, the familiar irritating warmth back on your skin. Clearly your earlier threats of violence had been of no use. Pulling you closer, he feigned a smile that almost looked smitten. "But I don't mind because now she's mine."

Not that you wanted to be. Not that you had any choice now.

You slapped his hand away as soon as the little girl was out of sight.

The weekly meetings were held every Monday at 10 am sharp. They were the closest thing this establishment had to proper order, complete with a whiteboard on wheels and dried-up markers, charts and slideshows. The manager of the station even put in the effort of replacing his usual colourful sweaters and mismatching bright coloured pants with a proper suit. He even wore a tie.

Most weeks, the topic of conversation was the ratings and the planning of new events. Reminders of radio etiquette. Tips and introductions for new bright-eyed interns. Sometimes the manager just rolled around the open office space on a desk chair and encouraged everyone to reveal their most recent work-related frustrations as if it was a big group therapy session. You used to think those were annoying.

Now you suddenly wished this was one of those sessions instead of whatever the hell it had become today.

The manager had pulled up a slideshow of the recent ratings by the minute. He was analysing the spikes in audiences tuning into the station, his eyes twinkling as possibilities upon possibilities appeared in his mind. Your colleagues were offering knowing smiles and not-so-subtly cranking their necks to look back at you.

You tried to make yourself smaller in your chair, pulling your jacket closer to your body as you side-eyed Seungcheol's form standing proud and happy right next to you (he had insisted staying in close proximity was vital to your scheme's success; you begged to differ). His thigh was close enough to gently sway your chair every time he adjusted his posture, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that had you hoping it was his arms the others were staring at and not your flustered face.

"—and if you look here, it's another spike!" The man in front of the whiteboard was practically vibrating with excitement. You wished radio ratings got you going as much as they did this guy; it would have made your life a lot more tolerable. "And if we play back the broadcast, this is when Seungcheol said he was turning the studio over to his girlfriend. Every time he mentioned her, the ratings went up!"

The social media manager of the station raised her hand, looking back at you with a smirk while she waited for the manager to finish his thought. And when he did and called upon her, she was more than happy to declare: "Our social media mentions spike during Seungcheol's segment as well, especially around those same minutes you pointed out. I think the people really want more Seungcheol and (Y/n)."

You grabbed your pen and scribbled another name into the list of traitors you had started five minutes into the meeting. It held the names of every colleague who was a little too enthusiastic about your new "relationship". Nayeon's name was the newest addition, underlined, with three exclamation points.

"The spring fair broadcast was a complete success as well," the manager continued with even more enthusiasm. At any minute now, he might burst. "The people loved our two star hosts, judging by the ratings. Look at those things!" He was staring at his own slideshow in absolute awe. Somewhere out there a data analysis company was mourning their loss of an enthusiast they didn't know existed. "This is the highest any of our special events have rated in a decade. It's a renaissance of the radio!"

"I'm not sure I'd go that far," Seungcheol mumbled, apparently finally cracking. Were his ears more red than usual?

When the manager looked like he might start crying from hope and excitement, Nayeon stood up to take over the presentation. She clicked a button and a new slide appeared, stuffed from edge to edge to edge with mentions of your name and… Your eyes had to be deceiving you.

You leaned closer just to make sure you weren't hallucinating. "Is that… a ship name?"

Nayeon smiled so bright she could have outshone the sun. "Yes, it is! You guys officially have a ship name! The listeners love you; the whole enemies to lovers thing is really in right now and you are the new face of it."

The chair whined under the weight of you slumping back. Had it been sentient, it might have whimpered at the way your nails sank into the plastic of the arm rests. Seungcheol reached down to pat the back of your hand, unable to hide his victorious smile as he did so. You countered by sinking your nails into the space between his fingers. His hand was promptly removed but the smile remained.

One of the older hosts squinted at the screen and raised her hand. "What does OTP mean?"

"Ah! Great question, Seunghwa." Turns out Nayeon had prepared a whole slide explaining all of the slang related to your newfound suffering. What great joy.

You added another two exclamation marks behind her name and underlined her name once more.

"You know," Seungkwan, one of the three hosts of the morning show, made sure to make eye contact with you as he suggested, "Seungcheol and (Y/n) should host together more often. I bet the ratings would spike to the heavens."

Another name for your traitors' list. You held his gaze as you wrote his name down letter by letter, raising your eyebrow in challenge. He didn't seem very bothered, more engaged in nodding along with Soonyoung who had very enthusiastically joined the conversation to make, more or less, the same point. Finally, he offered you a knowing smirk — one that said he knew your secret — and turned back to the slideshow.

The torture went on for another fifteen minutes. By the time it was done, you were far more exhausted than anyone who had been up for only two hours ever should feel.

As the people dispersed, eager to get back to their daily duties around the office or running errands somewhere else, Seungcheol remained at your side. He acted as a reminder of the mess of a soup the two of you had found yourself in. You couldn't even find the energy to shoo him away or glare at him. And so he stayed, arms still crossed over his chest as he looked over the office space like a guard dog on watch.

Soonyoung seemed to find it an invitation for more commentary, sidling up to the two of you with a warm smile. "You guys are seriously cute together. I always did think you'd make a great couple, but, wow! I mean, wow!" It seemed that even if Seungkwan had spotted a flaw in your begrudging scheme, Soonyoung was none the wiser to any of it. He turned to Seungcheol and patted his shoulder. "The way you talk about her during your shows is just so… I mean, you must be really in love."

"Must be," was all that Seungcheol said but he made no effort to hide his proud grin. Even his chest seemed to puff up a little with every word the morning show host spoke.

You wanted to make fun of him for it when Soonyoung finally walked away. You wanted to tease and bully him for being so full of himself and eager for compliments. Hell, a few brain cells of yours were halfway done coming up with a joke about how he must have only stayed in this spot to gain some more praise, like a puppy showing off his newest trick for some treats. But a jarring thought of another kind startled the jokes right out of your mind.

"You talk about me on your show?"

He startled at the sound of your voice. Then, as fast as he had lost his composure, he got it back and raised a brow. "Of course. That's the whole point. What else am I supposed to talk about when someone calls to request my phone number or asks if I'm planning on starting an OnlyFans?"

There were few things you hated more than admitting that a man was right. Your lips parted in preparation to spew some insults and arguments. Unfortunately, you had no choice but to admit defeat this time and closed your mouth with a huff.

"Exactly," he teased and reached to pat your head. You slapped it away and rolled your chair further away from him with a pointed glare. It only seemed to make him happier. "If you were a good girlfriend, you would listen to my show sometimes."

All of the gold in the world wouldn't have been enough to pay you to do that. That's what you told yourself as you put on your headphones and tuned him out to the sound of your music.

(But when the clock struck 2 pm and the studio door closed behind Seungcheol, your finger lingered over the station's app on your phone. Listening in just once couldn't hurt, right? He would never have to know. It was just for research. Right.)

[You are listening to Words of Wisdom on Station SVT, 171.7 MHz]

"Hello and thank you for calling the Words of Wisdom show. My name's Seungcheol and what can I help you with today?"

"Oh my god, are you Choi Seungcheol?!"

"That's me, ma'am."

"You sound even hotter on the phone."

"… Thank you. I'm sure my girlfriend would agree. So, what can I and your fellow listeners offer you advice on today?"

"…"

"Ma'am?"

The jokes practically wrote themselves. You were but a vehicle by which they presented themselves in this reality. You were a humble servant of jokes at Seungcheol's pride.

Smiling, you leaned against the studio's desk while he packed up his things. "Talked about your girlfriend on your show, did you?"

He barely hummed in response. "Glad you've caught up with the news, sweetheart."

"I just find it funny, you know," you continued regardless, giddy from the opportunity to tease him for once. He always seemed to have the upper hand. It was a glorious moment. Maybe you needed to listen to his shows more often just for more material. "You're just so bad at lying."

Glaring, he looked up from his bag. "At least I'm trying. You've barely mentioned me on your show. Really, you're making me look desperate."

"Are you not?" You blinked at him, full of both innocence and mischief. "I'm just saying."

Lowering your voice to match his, you mocked the way he spoke on the broadcast, perfect down to the deadpan and entirely awkward tone: "I'm sure my girlfriend would agree." You pretended to throw up under the desk. "I hope you’re not applying for an acting job any time soon.”

That seemed to touch a nerve. Seungcheol's arms crossed over his chest again, a defensive stance rather than an arrogant one this time. "Yeah? I'd like to see you do better. Oh wait!" He pursed his lips into a sorry pout. "You don't even mention me on your show."

"You want me to talk about you?" You laughed. "What's there to talk about? Give me a reason to."

"Wow," he deadpanned. "You must be really in love."

"Absolutely smitten, really."

The clock above the door told you the next show was supposed to start in mere seconds. An idea formed in your head as you took your place at the desk, adjusting the large headphones and setting the microphone to your height. The screen displayed a countdown of seconds — somewhere in another room, a poor sound engineering intern had been set in charge of bringing you on air in time.

Seungcheol still remained in the room, fumbling to pack his bag and the notes it contained. There was a red hue to the skin on the back of his neck and ears, his hands shook imperceptibly. It only got worse when you tapped the ON AIR button and started your show.

"Good afternoon, dear listeners. It's time for your favourite show — it's time for Well Wishes. I'm your host for the next hour and a half, so be sure to call in or drop your song requests and well wishes in an email," you went through your introductions with practised grace, not a single syllable stuttered or strained, your eyes on Seungcheol. While speaking, you queued up the first song of your session.

When his gaze, fiery and annoyed and challenging, met yours, you let your smile widen and declared, "To start us off while we wait for your requests, I'm going to play a special song dedicated to my boyfriend. Honey, if you're listening right now, I hope you're driving home safe, love you. Enjoy your favourite song."

If the B-word had felt uncomfortably wrong at the spring fair, it sure didn't sound like it this time. Not to you, not to him, and certainly not to the listeners. It was definitely miles more natural than Seungcheol's strained efforts of referring to you on his own broadcast and he seemed to realise it just the same, his eyes rolling as he flipped you off and trudged out of the studio.

He was almost at the door when Apink's "Mr Chu" started playing. His entire body shuddered, cringing wholeheartedly. The door shut behind him seconds later (but not before he could show you his middle finger one last time).

As peace and Apink filled the studio, you leaned back in your chair, basking in the afternoon sun. Finally victorious. It was the little victories that mattered the most.

It felt like you had achieved your greatest goal, or were at least one large step closer to it, at least. The sun felt warmer and brighter than it had all spring. There was not a single cloud in the bright blue sky, only white birds passing by. Even the cushioning of the chair seemed nicer than usual. It's a miracle what changes a small victory and a happy mood can bring.

You greeted the first caller of the day with a bright smile and all the joy in the world. "What song can I play for you today?"

The universe was on your side. Great music all around, happy people calling your show, lovely greetings in the emails. A part of you started wondering if this was the right day to buy a lottery ticket.

But all good things must come to an end, some sooner than others.

"Hello, thank you for calling Well Wishes," you greeted yet another caller, still high off your win. "Who are we greeting and what are we listening to?"

There was silence for a while. And then you heard a familiar voice. "…(Y/n)?"

It felt as if rain clouds had appeared out of thin air and covered the sun. Dark, stormy clouds full of nothing but heart ache and hail.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly seeming to swell up. Your body was taken over by an emotion you knew far too well and had hoped to forget.

It shouldn't have been a surprise by this point; Youngjae seemed to call the show every day like clockwork — at least he had until the photos from the parking lot came out. And yet your heart threatened to seize up every time you heard his voice on the broadcast. Once, his voice had brought you warmth and happiness and made you feel so, so in love. Now it only served to remind you of all the things you could have had. If only he hadn't revealed himself to be such an ass hole.

"Hello," you forced yourself to speak. "What can I play for you today?"

"I've missed you," he spoke.

And the cycle repeated again, chewing through the process you had made like it was nothing.

There were few things you hated more than admitting that a man was right. It seemed that you might have won a battle but Seungcheol had the strategy to win the war. You steeled your aching heart. If mentioning your "boyfriend" at every possibility was the solution, you were going to use the hell out of it.

The next time someone requested a love song, you made sure to say it reminded you of Seungcheol and his pretty brown eyes. Whatever it took to fight for the space to let your heart heal. Whatever it took to end the cycle.

But the heart is a fickle thing and it rarely does what you tell it to. You could pretend it was made of steel and cold ice all you wanted, but deep inside it still ached. And the cycle repeated again.

"You talked about me on your show," was the first thing Seungcheol said when you walked into the studio the next day. Clad in an oversized white hoodie that made him look almost huggable, he was spinning around in the chair — your chair — and practically giggling with glee. "And here I thought you were too cool to talk about your boyfriend."

You rolled your eyes and glanced at the clock. "Figured I might as well make use of you."

"Was it because your ex called?" His smile said he knew the answer all too well. "Be honest: if you had to choose between your ex and me…?"

Now he was just fishing for compliments. But you hadn't slept all that well last night and falling into his silly traps felt like the least of your worries. "I'm dating you, aren't I?"

The words came out almost on autopilot while you stared at the chair he had occupied. That nice, comfy chair, practically moulded to fit your bottom from a year of wear. But Seungcheol didn't look like he had any plans of leaving it any time soon. You offered the chair one last contemplative look.

"Don't make me leave," he whined but there was little sincerity in his voice, only teasing, "I'm so comfy."

On another day, you might have grabbed the chair by the arm rests and swung it out the door, relishing in the hollering and cheers of your co-workers. But something had broken within you on the broadcast yesterday.

With a sigh, you walked to the other side of the room and grabbed one of the spare chairs meant for the guests. One of its wheels squeaked every once in a while and another one was clearly slanted from years of abuse. It would have to do.

Seungcheol stared at you, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. There was something like concern in his gaze. He didn't make a sound, didn't even move while you set up for the show, watching you like you were a wild animal he had stumbled upon on a hiking trail.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. "What?"

"You're not going to make me leave?" He looked like he was just about ready to banish himself if you just so much as nodded. You shrugged and he slumped in his seat. "Are you okay?"

"I will be," you told him with a sigh and pulled on your headphones, "one day."

He didn't say anything else but he stayed for the entire show. His presence was quiet. You half-expected to get annoyed with anything about him — his breathing, his little chuckles, the tapping of his fingers when a particularly good song came on. But to your surprise, he seemed to have the opposite effect for once.

It was odd. You had grown so used to constantly being irritated by him but now that you were stuck in a small room with him — just the two of you in creaky office chairs and nothing but short phone calls to keep you company —, his presence was comforting instead. A calming paperweight on top of the troubles that were threatening to fly around the room and suffocate you. A familiar character by your side no matter what went on in your life.

"I love that song!" he made sure to shout when a teen called in to request an older R'n'B track. Instead of glaring at him, you found yourself leaning away from the mic so he could lean closer and converse with the youngster. "Kid, you've got great taste. You need to call in more often."

Before you knew it, he was co-hosting, his chair pressed against yours, his hand on the mouse to guide the cursor through the playlists and emails. Between requests, he offered you smiles and glances that looked almost… kind. Warm. Gentle. Like he was trying to comfort you in his own way. And for some god-forsaken reason it actually worked.

You found yourself laughing and smiling and dancing along to songs in your chairs, your hand in his as he twirled you around like a record player. Just for this moment of time, he was not your work rival, not your enemy; he was just an old friend who had showed up when you needed him. And you let yourself get lost in that feeling. A break in the cycle.

It reminded you of the old days — your first months at the station under his guidance. It felt like a different lifetime now, your friendship had turned into a rivalry. This was a glimpse of what might have been if things had been different: if you hadn't been favoured by the executives, if you hadn't earned those high ratings and been awarded your first prime time slot show at his expense.

When a commercial break rolled in, he sighed and tilted his head as he studied you. "I didn't realise that man had that much of a hold on you still."

"Neither did I." And he didn't. He hadn't. But something about his call, about him requesting one of your favourite songs, about his voice sounding so full of love when he said your name — it had messed with your mind. It was a whole day later and you were only just starting to feel like yourself again.

"I think it's just because he hadn't called in a while. When we started, you know," you cleared your throat, "dating… He stopped calling. I thought it was done. Guess he was just taking a break."

He hummed in thought. "Yeah, that explains it. He's an ass hole for that, by the way."

"I don't disagree."

"Good," he smiled, "at least you have standards."

A familiar spark returned to you. Normalcy was returning, bit by bit. You offered him a playful pout. "Not very high ones if I'm dating you."

"Oh!" He gasped and clutched his chest. "My poor, poor heart. How ever will I survive this insult?"

"You can always leave," you reminded him with a helpful motion towards the door.

Seungcheol spun around in his chair. "No chance. I haven't filled my daily 'annoying (Y/n)' quota yet."

"Well, if you won't leave," you nodded towards the computer screens, "at least make yourself useful. Pick our next caller."

He smiled a little to bright when the commercial break ended. A few sentences later, he had the next call ready to go; one click and the familiar static filled your headphones.

"You're live on Well Wishes," you spoke, beating him to the mic with a short laugh. "What are you thinking and what can we play for you today?"

"Oh! (Y/n), I almost thought I called the wrong show," the familiar voice spoke.

Two days in a row. The universe had given you one small victory and decided to match it with an array of bad luck. You glared at the screen displaying the calls — tens of people currently on the line, waiting to get picked, and somehow the stars had aligned to remind you what suffering felt like.

Your one-sided staring contest with the computer screen was broken by the sound of fake gagging from your right side. Seungcheol was cringing and shaking his head and crossing his arms in an X motion as if to ward off an evil spirit. There seemed to be at least one thing the two of you could agree on.

"Sir, state your song choice," he interrupted your ex's soulful monologue. "The line is very, very busy today. I don't think we have the time to listen to your story right now."

Silence in the static. The sweet sound of a victory you hadn't expected. He was speechless and your heart was not aching this time.

Seungcheol smirked.

"Would you look at that," he silently mouthed at you, proud of himself like he had never been before. Out loud, he spoke again, "What song can we play for you?"

The only thing that sounded was the end-of-call tone. Tears of relief welled up in your eyes. You could have cheered and danced in joy.

"Oh, well, that's a shame," Seungcheol continued the broadcast as if he hadn't just intimidated your ex-boyfriend into hanging up on live radio. "Let's pick our next caller. Hopefully they have a good song ready to request."

Perhaps fake dating your enemy wasn't the worst decision you had ever made. Perhaps, you dared to think, it was turning out to be one of the better ones. Even if he was hogging your broadcast.

[You are listening to Words of Wisdom on Station SVT, 171.7 MHz]

"And that was the freshest hit of IU. What a great song. Hm. I see we don't have a lot of callers today, so how about we switch things up just for this one show? This time I am the one in need of advice.

"Say, there's this woman — you know this already; I haven't shut up about her all week, I think—, and we're doing fine— I just saw that concerned email you sent, KnittingRocks69; I promise we haven't broken up— Anyways. Everything's great but I just… feel like I should do better. I don't think I'm all that great at this entire boyfriend-thing. And I'm sure there are many listeners who are in a similar situation. So what can we do to be better boyfriends?

"Feel free to call in with your advice or send it via email. And, oh, we already have our first caller! Hello, what advice do you have for me today?"

Your desk was pink and yellow. It fluttered in the draft blowing in from the window. You were fairly certain it wasn't supposed to do that and you already knew who to blame for this.

"Choi Seungcheol!" you yelled out without even thinking about it for a second. He was the obvious culprit. And the bright grin he wore while pretending to enjoy the late morning view with his cold water was all the proof you needed.

Your glare only served to make him light up more. "Yes, darling?"

Infuriated, you gestured widely while he leisurely approached. "Why is my desk covered in sticky notes?"

Lips pursing into a pout, he contemplated and blinked as if he hadn't even noticed before. The corner of his mouth was twitching. "I figured you decorated it last night."

"Yeah? You thought I got bored after my broadcast and decided to cover the entire surface of my work space with neon sticky notes? That's what happened here?"

"It must have," he told you and this time he didn't even bother to pretend he wasn't smirking. "I only placed, what? Three hundred of these? Four, maybe? The rest of them were already here."

You felt your heart rate rocket as annoyance slowly started to give way to burning rage. A desk covered in paper cuts waiting to happen was never something you wanted to deal with. "Remove them."

"Why?"

"Because I would like to use my desk?" You knew you were playing right into his hand, fulfilling that sick prank-loving streak of his with your reactions. But getting irritated was so much easier than meditating and taking everything in stride. Besides, someone needed to yell at this man every once in a while lest his ego grew too big.

Seungcheol gave your desk another thoughtful look. Then he reached forward. He reached forward and made eye contact with you as he plucked a singular pink note off the desk and held it out for you to take like it was a gift. You snapped it from his fingers and threw it at his face in a crumpled ball. A perfect forehead shot.

"I'm going to go get some water," you told him slowly, eyes on him like a predator ready to pounce on a hare for being in the wrong spot, fingers pointing at the desk stiffly as you brushed past him, "and when I come back, this desk better be empty."

Immediately regret caught up with you and you turned on your heel to glare at him. "Scratch that. I want those sticky notes gone."

"Aw," he pouted and tapped your keyboard like it was a toy, "I already had the perfect place to hide your plant."

Your fingers were itching to grab the collar of his t-shirt and choke him with it. You found yourself stepping closer to him as you reiterated your point: "I didn't mean empty my desk—"

"If you're planning on kissing, could you do it someplace else?" a voice interrupted.

As if someone had poured a bucket of ice cold water over you, you sobered from your anger. Even Seungcheol looked a bit more flustered than usual. As you breathed, your chest just about brushed against his — a clear sign that you had gotten too close.

Your startled eyes met his and— Had there always been so many shades of brown in his eyes? Was that a speck of gold near the edge of his left iris? Had his lips always been so full and tempting? You had never seen him this up close before; that had to be the reason for the sudden thundering of your heart.

The silence stretched, seconds feeling like entire minutes until finally you jerked out his magnetic field, your gaze hardening as you stepped back and crossed your arms over your chest.

"And you did say you wanted the desk empty," Seokmin helpfully provided from his spot right next to your desk just then. He barely looked up from his magazine to offer a smile before turning back to it like he hadn't just provoked you. It seemed the list of traitors had a new member for a multitude of reasons.

"Fine," Seungcheol finally relented under your hardening glare.

Slowly, like a kid trying to get out of chores by doing them poorly, he began removing the notes. One from here, one from there, a third one from a completely different spot. There was no rhyme or reason to his work and it only served to annoy you further. His movements were stiff and almost unnatural as he gathered the notes in his left hand.

Now that he was further away, you could think properly again and the annoyance was back at full force. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, resisting the urge to throw something at him again. "It's going to take you hours at that rate."

The reply you earned started with a dramatic (theatrical, really) sigh. "I know. I'm really such a good boyfriend for sacrificing my time to help you, aren't I?"

"How noble of you."

"I know."

"Truly, I cannot thank you enough for your charitable nature," you deadpanned and walked towards the break room.

You needed space between yourself and this infuriating man. Because he irritated you. Drove you nuts. Made you unable to figure out whether you wanted to punch him or kiss his lips. Because he irritated you. Right. That was it.

There was not a single bone in your body that felt anything like attraction towards this man. When you looked at him just then, it was just pure objective observation. Choi Seungcheol was an attractive man by most standards; you clearly weren't entirely unsusceptible to his charms. None of it was romantic. None of it meant anything.

You gulped a glass of cold water and the world shifted back into place.

There was nothing romantic about the way he had kept you company at your show and scared your ex. Nor about the way he spoke of you on his show. Nor the way he kept you near in public, his arm always casually resting on your waist or hip, his presence a shield against the disbelieving stares of everyone that knew you.

No, you had not almost kissed Seungcheol. You did not want to kiss Seungcheol. The whole fake dating scheme had simply clouded your judgement and blended the boundaries of your hatred.

Satisfied with your conclusion, you smoothed your clothes and fixed your hair before walked back into the office space, fully expecting to find the devil himself still painfully plucking sticky notes off your desk.

Thankfully, he was not there. He was nowhere to be found, in fact. And neither were the three to four hundred sticky notes. Your desk was as clean as it had been when you left it last night.

Not entirely clean, actually, now that you looked at it closer. There was a singular obnoxiously pink note still on the desk. And next to it: a take-away cup from the coffee shop across the street and a paper bag lumpy with pastries, still warm from the oven.

"What's this?" you found yourself asking as you picked up the cup. It smelled like your favourite drink. A cautiously taken short sip confirmed that hypothesis.

You grabbed the note, scoffed in disbelief at the writing on it and stuffed the paper into your drawer.

'Don't let this fool you — I still don't like you much'

No, there was absolutely nothing romantic about any of this.

A little boy unaware of the responsibilities and duties that will fall upon him and that his arrival has the power to change the course of many people's lives.

Like yours. You are born only a few months apart. While the whole kingdom celebrated the birth of the Prince, your welcome to the world is quite yet not less solemn. The difference is, you're the daughter of a maid. Not just any maid, though. Through her hard work, your mother has earned the trust of the Queen and is considered part of her closest circle.

Thus, you grow up able to see first hand what life is behind the fortified walls of the castle. Given your mother's position you remain behind the scenes and without losing sight of how work gets done, as it should be. Avoiding curiosity or calling any attention, no dawdling. Just efficient.

The more you try to make yourself smaller though, the more the Young Prince gets drawn by you. He stares, wondering, any time he sees you hiding behind your mom's skirts as she attends to her tasks, as you help her. For a brief moment your eyes meet, before you quickly dart your gaze away as if afraid it might offend him.

-

The first time Seungcheol speaks to you is when one day, he sees you rushing into the gardens. You seemed upset, so he'd followed you.

"Are you okay?" startled by his voice, you turn and he sees you're crying, more heavy tears gathering in your waterline as you hold them back now after being caught by the Prince.

You are not sure if you should talk to him, never have been left alone with him, but you also think it would be rude not to answer. You settle for a nod, though it doesn't seem to convince him. Seungcheol doesn't want to upset you more, so instead he looks for something to cheer you up. You watch him leave before he comes back a couple minutes later with a handful of flowers… That he just plucked out of the flower beds of their magnificent castle gardens. He offers them to you.

You stare at them in awe before you meet his eyes again and your face breaks into a happy smile. You seem to forget all about what you were crying about before, the dampness in your lashes the only hint left behind, and Seungcheol smiles proudly, warmth spreading on his face up to his ears that turn a soft shade of pink.

It takes you a while but eventually you do talk to him. You tell him that you'd tried to join a group of boys to play but they'd been mean, laughing at you before saying girls couldn't play with boys because they were weak, pushing you harshly making you stumble as if to prove their point. Seungcheol frowns at this, mind racing when your face falls a little as you recall when you recount the events.

"You can play with me." he offers, face lighting up by the idea. And before you began to worry about overstepping, he was grabbing your hand and pulling you along as he ran towards the fields surrounding the castle.

Late in the afternoon when you're walking back to the castle gates, someone comes rushing towards you two. Your mother. She looks rattled, and even more as she takes the state you're both in: your clothes are rumpled and covered in grass stains, dirt on your hands, even on your face. You get scolded all the way back inside. Then the Queen shows up, her worry fading from her as her eyes land on her son. She cups his cheeks, "Where have you been? And why are you a mess?"

"My apologies, my Queen." Your mom bows apologetically, face riddled with shame, "My daughter must've sneaked out with the Prince without me noticing."

Beside Seungcheol, you sniffle. He didn't spend all the afternoon trying to cheer you up for it to come around like this again. "It's my fault, Mother." you dare to look back up as he speaks and you shake your head at him, but he's not letting you take any blame.

However, the Queen smiles softly between you two, taking in the courageous look on her little boy's face, "Alright, then. No need to apologize. The kids were just playing." She addresses your mom, "Next time, don't stay outdoors until so late. Now, go get washed up. It's almost time for dinner."

Next time. Seungcheol nods, dimpled smile directed at his mother before he turns to you. You look away, flustered and fidgeting, while your mother takes hold of your hands and starts guiding you both out of the room.

-

Seungcheol found his lessons boring, but according to everyone - his parents, his governess, his instructors -, they are part of his obligations. He never once misbehaved, if you didn't count the borderline disrespectful sighing and the almost falling asleep. He'd much rather be playing outside with you, he thinks, staring out the window and down at the fields while wondering what are you doing right now.

His opinion on the matter changes once he learns that not everybody has the privilege of an education. One day, while he complains about lectures with you, you timidly share that you'd love to learn new things and to have lots of books to read, a huge library like the one he has in their castle. Now, he feels ashamed for taking his lessons for granted, but he can't dwell with that for long. Instead, Seungcheol springs into action, and that's when he comes up with mischief.

It's all deliberate, just until you come around. He makes sure the Queen notices that when you are around he seems to behave better and Seungcheol takes his success when she allows for you to attend his lessons with his high end instructors. His governess is grateful she doesn't have to chase after him down the long castle halls trying to get him to his study room anymore.

Your mother can't find her voice when the Queen proposes this for you. It feels like asking for too much, but looking down at you, seeing the wistful look in your eyes, she allows it.

The first day you join Seungcheol for his lessons, you are shy. Seungcheol's instructors had never seen him get so involved before, and with his support, you loosen up. You are a little behind for your age, but you're a fast learner. Soon later, you are up to Seungcheol's level, even exceeding him in languages and art.

-

It's another day where you two are outside sitting side by side, like you often find yourselves. He's not as good at this as you are, but he puts a lot of effort on it as he finishes it: a flower crown. The first time you made him one, he'd inspected it with so much care, taking it upon himself to learn to make them for you. Still, he doesn't think they're as pretty as you are. When he places it over your head and leans back to admire you wearing it, there's that gentle blush on his cheeks, just like the time before, and the time before that. You thank him each time with a smile. What's different now though, is when he says your name a little nervously.

You look at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to continue. You notice he's also fidgeting with a single daisy, its stem shaped into a loop, like a tiny ring. It matches the crown he made you using the same flowers dotting all around you in the field. "Would you like to be my princess?"

Your eyes widen, "But I'm not a real princess."

"You could be. If you- If you married me." He says, being very serious about this conversation.

"We can get married right now?"

"Yes! If you want to."

You nod. "Okay."

"Really?" Seungcheol says, awestruck.

You hum in agreement, simple as that. Seungcheol is your favorite person and marriage means you get to spend forever with him.

Yet you think something's missing about this significant moment. It's your wedding! "But how do we know we are married?"

"Like this." You let him reach for your hand, and he slides the dainty flower ring on your ring finger. You stare at it like it's the most precious thing you possess now, before he speaks up again. "And we have to kiss."

Then he leans over to press a quick kiss to your cheek, moving back just as fast. Seungcheol's a blushing mess right now as he looks at you and so are you. Still, it's your turn. His breath hitches when you lean over and kiss his cheek too, then he's smiling wide. There's a gap left from his fallen upper front milk teeth, but it doesn't make his dimpled smile the less charming. You're smiling at him too.

When you grow up, Seungcheol promises to you both he will give you a real ring, the prettiest of them all.

-

As you get older though, you begin to understand the things you couldn't before, too young to grasp them.

You're late. You should've met your mother already to assist her. She's not going to be happy. You notice it as you approach, her expression is stern. "About time." She stops, reaching over, "What's this you are wearing?" looking disapprovingly as she holds up the flower crown, at your wind whipped hair.

"I- Seungcheol made it for me." the smile that begins to take over at this is quashed when you notice how scandalized your mother seems by this.

"How dare you address the Prince with such familiarity, young lady!" In all your life, you'd never seen her so upset, "I thought I taught you better."

You don't understand, but your mother will make sure you do. Seungcheol is not your friend, she states clearly, and she'll make sure you correct this childish, disrespectful behaviour of yours if you mean to fulfill your roles properly.

The next time you see him, you are quiet. Seungcheol brings it up, starting to worry when you won't even meet his eyes. "You should no longer associate with me, Your Highness."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but certainly it wasn't this. He laughs, trying to shake his discomfort, "What are you saying? And what's with the honorifics?" You two were a long way from caring about that.

"It's the right way to address you."

"Right." He's still smiling because there's no way you are being serious about this.

It makes it more difficult for you when you look up and see it, and he sees it then too, his smile wavering. "From this moment onward, we are not to meet anymore. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"No!", he interrupts, the suddenly too real possibility of losing you filling him with dread."You can't do this."

"I'm only here to carry out my duties, Sir." you struggle to keep your voice from wavering as you say it.

“You are. You’ve got that little crease between your brows and everything.” You reached out and poked the spot lightly. He swatted your hand away, but there was no real heat in it.

“You talked to Bang Chan the entire night,” he muttered, looking away again. “Like… non-stop. Laughing, leaning in, all that. I was right there, you know.”

You tried not to grin, but it was impossible. This six-foot-something man, who commanded stages and led twelve other chaotic boys, was jealous because you spent time with a mutual friend.

“Cheollie…” You climbed onto the couch and straddled his lap without warning. His hands automatically went to your waist, even as he tried to maintain his grumpy expression. “Chan and I were catching up. We haven’t seen him in months. You know he’s just a friend.”

Seungcheol huffed, tilting his head back against the couch. “Didn’t look like ‘just a friend’ when you were showing him that video on your phone, heads practically touching.”

You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks. His pout was devastatingly adorable up close—full lips pushed out, eyes avoiding yours even as his fingers tightened on your hips.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose.

“I’m not jealous,” he grumbled, but his ears were turning pink. “I just… missed you. We barely got to talk all night.”

Your chest warmed. You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your forehead to his. “I’m sorry, baby. I got carried away catching up. But I’m here now. All yours.”

He stayed quiet for a second, then let out a long sigh, his body finally relaxing under you. His arms slid fully around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re mine,” he mumbled against your shoulder, nuzzling in like a big puppy. “Should’ve been next to me the whole time.”

You laughed softly and carded your fingers through his hair. “Next time I’ll stay glued to your side, okay? No more leaving my big strong boyfriend alone to fend off boredom.”

He made a small, contented sound and tilted his head up, silently asking for a kiss. You gave it to him—slow and sweet, pouring in all the affection he’d missed. Seungcheol melted instantly, one hand sliding up your back, the other squeezing your waist like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.

When you pulled back, his eyes were softer, the sulk completely gone.

“Better?” you asked, brushing his hair off his forehead.

He nodded, a shy little smile finally breaking through. “Yeah. But you owe me extra cuddles tonight. And maybe breakfast in bed tomorrow.”

You grinned, kissing him again. “Deal. Anything for my cute, sulky boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” he protested weakly, but he was already pulling you down, tucking you against his chest.

You let him. After all, making it up to Seungcheol was one of your favorite things to do.

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

The living room lights were dimmed low, the city humming faintly beyond the windows. Seungcheol was still sprawled on the couch beneath you, his sulky mood long gone, replaced by that warm, hazy look in his eyes after several deep kisses. Your fingers traced lazy circles on his chest as you straddled him.

“Let me make it up to you properly,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “I want to take care of you tonight.”

His breath hitched. “Baby…”

You slid down his body with purpose, kissing every inch of his chest and abs before settling between his thick thighs. Seungcheol’s cock was already heavy and leaking when you freed it, veins pulsing under your fingers as you stroked him slowly.

“Fuck, look at you,” you purred, licking a long stripe from base to tip. “So hard and desperate already. All because you got a little jealous?”

Seungcheol groaned, fingers gently threading into your hair. “Yes—shit. I hate seeing you give anyone else that much attention. This cock is yours, baby. Only gets this hard for you.”

You took him into your mouth without warning, sinking down until he hit the back of your throat. You swallowed around him, eyes watering as you held him there, then pulled back with a wet gasp, strings of spit connecting your lips to his throbbing cock.

You started slow, swirling your tongue around the tip, tasting the salt of his skin as you sucked lightly. Seungcheol’s hips twitched, but he stayed still, letting you set the pace. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, working your hand around the base where your mouth couldn’t reach.

“Goddamn,” he hissed, hips twitching. “That throat is sinful. Choke on it again—let me feel how deep you can take me.”

You moaned around his length and obeyed, bobbing your head faster, sucking harder. Filthy, wet sounds filled the room as you worked him—hollowing your cheeks, twisting your hand around the base, and massaging his balls. Every time you took him to the hilt, Seungcheol cursed loudly.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” Seungcheol groaned, head tipping back against the couch. “Taking my cock like you were made for it. Look at me, baby.”

You lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him while your lips stretched around his thick shaft. The sight made him curse, hips bucking shallowly into your mouth. You hummed encouragingly, stroking him faster with your hand while your tongue flicked over the head on every pass.

You bobbed your head faster, relaxing your throat to take more of his impressive length. Spit slicked his cock, dripping down to his balls as you worked him with steady, filthy rhythm—sucking hard on the upstroke, then swirling your tongue along the sensitive underside.

“That’s it, baby. Suck my cock like a good little slut. Fuck—your mouth is better than any pussy. I’m gonna cum down your throat if you keep doing that.”

You pulled off just long enough to gasp, “Then do it. Fill my mouth, Cheol. I want to taste every drop.”

He lost it. With a guttural moan, he held your head steady and came hard, thick ropes of cum shooting straight down your throat. You moaned louder in response and swallowed every drop, milking him through it until his body shuddered and he gently tugged you off, oversensitive.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smile and crawled back up. Seungcheol pulled you into his chest immediately, arms wrapping around you tightly as he caught his breath. His heart hammered under your cheek while he stroked your back, pressing soft kisses to your hair.

“God… that was mind-blowing,” he murmured, voice hoarse and blissed out. “You spoil me too much.”

You nuzzled into his neck, cuddling closer. “You deserve it. My big, cute, jealous boyfriend.”

He chuckled weakly, still floating in the afterglow, body limp and warm beneath you. You stayed like that for long minutes—skin to skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip—until you felt him twitch against your thigh again. His cock was hardening once more, insistent and ready.

“Already?” you teased, grinding lightly against him.

Seungcheol groaned, hands gripping your ass. “Can’t help it when you’re on top of me like this.”

You sat up, stripping off your clothes until you were completely bare. His eyes darkened with hunger as you positioned yourself over him, guiding his cock to your entrance. You were soaked from pleasuring him, and he slid in easily as you sank down slowly, taking every inch. He stretch you perfectly, filling you so deep you moaned loudly.

“Fuck… you feel so tight,” he hissed, hands flying to your hips, gripping enough to leave marks. “So perfect around me.

“Ride me, baby. Use this cock. It’s all yours.”

You braced your hands on his chest and started bouncing, taking him fast and deep. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed as you rolled your hips, grinding your clit against him on every downstroke.

“You’re so fucking big,” you gasped. “Splitting me open every time. I love how you fill me up, Cheol.”

His eyes were glued to where you were connected, watching his cock disappear inside you. “Look at that greedy pussy swallowing me. So wet and tight—made for my cock. Faster, baby. Fuck me like you mean it.”

You rode him harder, thighs burning, pleasure building fast. Seungcheol met every bounce with powerful thrusts from below, hitting that perfect spot inside you relentlessly.

“That’s it, baby,” Seungcheol growled, thrusting up to meet you. “Ride me harder. Use my cock.”

You leaned forward, changing the angle so he hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. “You’re so deep like this… filling me up so good, Cheol. I love how big you are.”

His grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he helped guide your movements. Sweat slicked your bodies. You rode him relentlessly, grinding down on every downstroke, chasing your own pleasure while pushing him toward another peak.

“You gonna cum on my cock?” he panted, eyes locked on where you were joined. “Let me feel you, sweetheart.”

“I’m gonna cum—” you cried out.

“Cum on my cock baby” he demanded, voice rough. “Let me feel you squeeze me.”

Your orgasm hit hard, walls pulsing around him. Seungcheol groaned loudly and followed right after, burying himself deep as he pumped you full of cum. Thick, hot spurts painted your insides while he held you down on him, hips stuttering up until he was spent..

You stayed seated on him for a few moments, both of you panting. Eventually you lifted yourself off slowly, his cock slipping out of you. As you moved, you felt his cum start to drip from your pussy—thick white streaks sliding down your thighs.

Seungcheol’s eyes locked onto the sight and something feral flashed across his face.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice suddenly dangerous. “Look at that… my cum leaking out of your pretty hole.”

Before you could respond, he surged up, flipping you onto your back on the couch in one powerful motion. He pushed your legs wide open and slammed back inside you in a single brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out at the sudden fullness, still sensitive from your orgasm.

“Mine,” he snarled, hips snapping forward hard and fast. “This pussy is fucking mine. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else makes you drip like this.”

He fucked you with raw, possessive need—deep, punishing strokes that made your back arch off the couch. The wet, filthy sound of his cock driving through his own cum filled the room. Every thrust pushed more of his cum out around his shaft, making a mess between your bodies.

“Cheol—oh my god,” you moaned, nails digging into his back.

“You feel that?” he panted, forehead pressed to yours, eyes wild. “Feel how deep I am? I’m gonna fill you up again. Pump you so full you’ll be dripping my cum for days. No one else gets to have this. Only me.”

His pace was relentless, hips slamming against yours, the couch creaking under you. He reached between you and rubbed your swollen clit in tight circles, pushing you toward another peak.

“Cum for me again, baby. Want to feel this pussy milk my cock while I breed you.”

The combination of his filthy words, deep thrusts, and skilled fingers sent you spiralling. You came hard, screaming his name as your walls clenched around him. Seungcheol followed with a broken groan, burying himself as deep as possible and flooding you with a second load of cum.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you trembling and covered in sweat. His cock stayed buried inside you as he caught his breath, pressing soft kisses on your lips now that the intense wave had passed.

“Fuck… I lose control with you,” he whispered against your lips, voice hoarse. “Can’t help it. You’re too perfect.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his damp hair, body still buzzing. “I love when you do.”

𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊ 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ﾟ＊

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom. You stirred first, nestled against Seungcheol’s broad chest, his arm draped heavily around your waist even in sleep. His breathing was deep and even, but the moment you shifted, he tightened his hold and let out a sleepy grumble.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, voice husky from the night before.

You smiled and tilted your head up, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You said that an hour ago, Cheol.”

One eye cracked open, then the other. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his face as memories clearly flooded back. “Morning, troublemaker.”

“Troublemaker?” You propped yourself up on one elbow, tracing a finger down his chest. “I believe I was the one making things up to a certain sulky boyfriend last night.”

He groaned, but it was playful, pulling you fully on top of him so you were straddling his waist. “I wasn’t sulky. I was… strategically quiet.”

You laughed, brushing his messy bed hair out of his eyes. “Strategically quiet? You mean pouting like a big baby because I talked to Chris for twenty minutes.”

Seungcheol’s ears flushed pink, but his hands slid down to squeeze your ass possessively. “Twenty minutes too long. You’re mine. Should’ve been sitting on my lap the whole time.”

“Oh my god, you’re still jealous.” You grinned and leaned down to nip at his bottom lip. “It’s cute. Really cute. Especially when it ends with me on my knees for you… and then riding you until we both saw stars.”

His eyes darkened instantly, hands roaming up your bare back. “Keep talking like that and we’re not getting out of this bed today.”

You rocked your hips teasingly against him, feeling him start to harden beneath you. “Is that a threat or a promise, Mr. Jealous?”

“Both.” He flipped you suddenly, pinning you beneath his warm, solid body. You squealed with laughter as he attacked your neck with kisses and playful bites. “You owe me breakfast in bed, remember? For all that emotional damage.”

“Emotional damage?” You dissolved into giggles, squirming under him. “You big dramatic baby. Fine—I’ll make you pancakes. But only if you admit you were sulking.”

Seungcheol lifted his head, pretending to think about it while his fingers tickled your sides lightly. “Counter-offer: I admit I was a little jealous, and you make pancakes… naked.”

You raised an eyebrow, still laughing. “Bold request after last night. You sure you’ll even let me leave the bed to cook?”

He kissed you deeply, slow and sweet, before pulling back with a mischievous glint. “I’ll help. I’ll be your personal chef assistant. And if you bend over to get something from the fridge, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully, both of you grinning like idiots. “Deal. But if you get distracted and burn the pancakes, I’m telling the members you sulked like a kicked puppy over a mutual friend.”

Seungcheol gasped in mock offense. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, sulky boy.”

He rolled off you with a dramatic sigh, but immediately pulled you up with him, wrapping you in his arms from behind as you both headed toward the kitchen. His chin rested on your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to your neck the entire way.

“Love you,” he murmured against your skin, voice soft despite the playful energy. “Even when you torture me by existing near other people.”

You leaned back into him, heart full. “Love you too. Now come on, sulky baby. Let’s make breakfast before we get distracted again.”

You wake up in your bed.

For a confused moment you just stare at the ceiling, trying to piece together how you got here. Then it all comes back—the club, the frustration, Seungcheol on the couch, his words, his hands, his—

You sit up so fast your head spins. You have to close your eyes and breathe deeper for a good minute before opening them again and taking in your surroundings, just to make sure.

It is your room. You're in your room. But… you're wearing an oversized t-shirt that's definitely not yours. You tug at the collar and bring it closer to your face, sniffing it on reflex. A shudder runs through you when you realise it's Seungcheol's—and you fall back down onto your bed, burrowing yourself deeper into your blanket, with the collar still pulled over your nose. A part of you judges you silently and if you cared more in the moment, you'd agree and call yourself a weirdo and stop immediately, but you can't care less because it smells nice—like him, like cedarwood and a bit of pineapple and bergamot. You let out a minuscule whimper. Fuck. The memories of last night are fuzzy around the edges but the physical evidence is not as subtle—you can still feel the ache between your legs from spreading them wide for too long, the tenderness that speaks to being thoroughly, completely fucked.

You let out a muffled groan. You need coffee. You need to figure out what the hell to do with what you did. And there are so many other things swarming your mind, like—

Knock knock.

"Hey, are you up?" Seungcheol's voice comes through the door. "I made coffee. And I'm onto breakfast. If you want."

"Give me a minute," you rasp back from under the blanket and clear your throat.

Silence follows for a moment, as if he's hesitating on what to do next, and then you hear him move away. You sit up in your bed again, staring at your surroundings for a long moment, then drag yourself out of it and to the bathroom, where you then stare at your reflection in the mirror. You look… fine. A little tired, maybe. Your hair is a mess. But there's something in your expression you barely recognise because it's been so long since the last time you saw yourself like that—a softness around your eyes, a curve to your mouth. You scowl at your own reflection which just happens to be another confirmation.

You look like someone who got fucked stupid and liked it.

Five minutes later you're in the kitchen, feeling a little more like a human after completing your morning routine.

Seungcheol is at the stove, flipping pancakes. He's wearing a different t-shirt—a soft black one that's more of his version of loungewear—and his hair is damp, like he showered, which he probably did. He looks up when you walk in and there's a moment of eye contact that feels charged with everything that happened last night.

"Hey," he greets you, and you catch a note of carefulness in his tone. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," you admit simply and watch his ears go pink. Something satisfied churns in your chest at the sight of that, you can't help the way your lips twitch in a ghost of a shit-eating grin. You hold yourself back. Barely.

He's so pathetic, you think. You love it. If you were any more cruel, you'd probably tease him about it and make him squirm uncomfortably.

"I, uh. Sorry about that. I mean—not actually sorry, not like I regret it, I mean, if you do I understand, but—if you need anything, like ibuprofen or—"

"Seungcheol."

He stops, blinking at you with his shiny boba eyes, mouth slightly agape and your eyes flicker to his lips for a second, you lick your own unconsciously before meeting his eyes again.

"Last night," you start slowly, "was…"

"Amazing?" he offers, then winces. "Sorry. That was—I'm not trying to—I just—"

"Would you please shut up for a second?"

He does, his jaw snaps shut with a quiet click of his teeth.

You take a breath. "Last night was good. Really good," it's an understatement of the century actually, but Seungcheol doesn't have to know. You don't want to feed his ego. You also don't want to think why exactly you don't want to let him know. "But I was drunk, and I don't know if—I need to know if it was just the alcohol or if…" you trail off, gesticulating vaguely.

Wow, how low have you fallen? Coming up with any type of bullshit just to get railed again, a voice in the back of your head judges.

"It wasn't the alcohol."

You look at Seungcheol. He's put the spatula down, turned to face you fully, and there's something steady in his expression that makes your chest tight.

"I've wanted you since you moved in," he says quietly. "Last night wasn't… I didn't do it because you were drunk. I did it because you asked and because I couldn't really say no to you even if I tried. But I need you to know that if you woke up today and decided it was a mistake, I understand. We can pretend it never happened. I won't make it weird."

There's a distant thought in your head, that you should take his words and run with them. Nod and agree and go back to the way things were before, instead of making it complicated. After all, you really like this apartment and you really don't mind Seungcheol as your flatmate. He's not the worst. You'd hate to look for a different place. But can you actually go back to what it was before after the wildest night of your life that even your drunken state couldn't truly dim in your memory? You don't think so.

So instead you cross the little distance of the kitchen between you and Seungcheol, take his face in your hands and kiss him.

He makes a surprised sound against your mouth then his hands come up to grip your waist and he's kissing you back, deep and hungry, prying your mouth open for him and slipping his tongue against yoursand you can feel him hardening against your hip and it's barely been six hours and you already want him again.

"Pancakes," he gasps against your lips. "Going to burn."

"Fuck the pancakes."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I'd rather fuck you instead."

You pull away to give him an the most disgusted 'ew' face and Seungcheol laughs at that and then swiftly turns off the stove anyways, lifting you onto the counter and settling between your legs and you're wearing his t-shirt with nothing underneath and his hands are pushing it up your thighs and—

"Wait," You put a hand on his chest. He stops immediately, concern flickering in his eyes. "I'm sober right now. Completely sober. Maybe a tiny bit hungover. And I still want this. I need you to know that."

Something soft and bright blooms in Seungcheol's expression. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He kisses you again, slower this time, savouring the way you feel against his lips. His palms sneak under the hem of his t-shirt on you and settle on your hips, squeezing the soft flesh of it before sliding a little higher, to your waist. Then he drops to his knees in front of the counter, his palms gently sliding down over your legs, and looks up at you with those big brown eyes.

"Then let me taste you," Seungcheol murmurs as his hands travel back up from your calves to your thighs, caressing and squeezing. "I've been thinking about this for months. Let me show you what I can do, hmm?" He presses a kiss to your knee, then another, and another—all of them feather-light and soft.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and he leans in right as he parts your legs wider for him.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Seungcheol's mouth is warm and wet as he wraps his lips around your clit and flicks his tongue against it once. Then he's licking a broad stripe from your centre and up and you just know he's good at this. Of course he is, because the universe has a sick sense of humour. His tongue is skilled in ways that make you wonder exactly what kind of porn he's been watching, and he reads your body like a map finding every spot that makes you gasp and focusing there until you're taken apart on his mouth.

By the time he's done, you've come twice and your legs are useless and you're bracing yourself against the counter with the last bits of strength left in your now-pliant body, head resting against the cupboards as you stare at the ceiling, wondering what you've gotten yourself into.

You feel him trace soothing kisses along the inner side of your thigh before he stands up, licking his lips instead of wiping them clean with the back of his hand. It leaves his lips glistening, chin a mess still. The sight has you clenching around nothing and swallowing. Instead, you reach out and wipe the wetness with your thumb, transfixed on the way his plush lower lip gives under your touch.

There's something almost shy in his expression as he meets your eyes again. "Good?"

"Good?" You laugh, a little hysterically. He does know how to make an understatement. "Good doesn't even begin to cover it."

His smile is like sunrise. "Really?"

"Really," you pull Seungcheol closer, wrap your weakened legs around his waist. One of your hands goes carding through his hair to tug him closer to you, lips to lips. "Now fuck me. Properly. I want to feel you while I'm fully aware."

His eyes go dark but also excited, like a puppy. It's a perplexing combination but you have a feeling—which rings like a warning bell in the back of your mind—that it's going to be addicting.

He carries you back to your room. You barely find a minute to 'call in sick' for a PTO.

That was three weeks ago.

Three weeks of this becoming… a thing. A daily thing where you wake up in your bed—or his—and he's already hard against your ass and you roll over to slide down under the blanket and take him in your mouth before he's even fully opened his eyes. A thing where every time you're both working from home you end up bent over your desk during your lunch break instead of actually having lunch, his hands over your mouth to muffle your screams while his cock splits you open from behind. A thing where you weekends disappear into a haze of sex and takeout and his skin against yours and the sound of his giggles when you say something that he finds funny.

You've learned things about him. Like how he's surprisingly convincing when he wants you to try something—those baby cow eyes, pouting lips and soft voice, please, baby, just try it, I think you'll like it, and somehow you end up in lingerie you'd never have picked for yourself. Tiny scraps of fabric that leave nothing to the imagination and only the way he looks at you makes it worth it. Like how he loves it when you're messy, when things get obscene, when he fucks you so hard you can't form words and you're just this wet, desperate thing under him, taking everything and anything he gives.

You've learned that he has a thing for watching you. For watching his cock disappear inside you, watching your holes stretch around him obscenely, clench and gape and need. He'll prop himself up on his elbows just to look at you, at the place where you're connected, and his expression goes so reverent you feel your heart clenching painfully in your ribcage.

"So pretty," he murmurs sometimes when he's buried deep inside you. "Look at that. Look at you taking all of me. Fuck, you're perfect."

Speaking of making a mess. You've learned that Seungcheol likes to give you a facial, to paint your face with his cum after he's fucked your throat raw, likes to watch it drip down your cheeks while you gasp for air with your mouth wide open and tongue sticking out. He also likes to make you swallow, to feel your throat work around him while he's still lodged deep. And then he gets hard again from the sight of you like that and pounds you full force into the mattress, filling you up with another load, watching it leak out of you when he pulls away.

You've learned his favourite sound is your pussy sopping wet and squelching around him, especially when you're crying, when it's too much and you're trying to get away and he just holds you there and keeps going, keeps fucking you through it until you're sobbing and coming apart and begging for more—all at the same time. He aims for your bladder sometimes, that thick head pressing just right, and makes you squirt until you're shaking and crying in embarrassment, pleading for him to stop without actually meaning it. To be fair, you don't know what you mean or don't in that state he gets you, brain-dead and pliant.

You're basically Seungcheol's toy. His experiment. He reads things, watches things and then he tries them out on you and you hate how much you love it. All this time that you judged Seungcheol and it turns out you're just as depraved as he is. Maybe even more? And oh, do you love being his living clenching cocksleeve while he games, straddling his lap, his dick buried inside you while he clicks away at his keyboard or controller and you just sit there, full and warm, your arms around his neck and your face pressed to his shoulder, on the brink of drifting away until he growls something at his friends or his friends shout so loud in his headset you overhear.

Seungcheol gets so focused on his game sometimes and you just… sit there. Cockwarming him. Feeling him twitch inside you every time he gets excited or frustrated. It's stupid. It's deranging. It makes you so wet you soak his lap. And when you inevitably begin to clench around his cock and roll your hips, squirming to satisfy the growing itch of need, Seungcheol only takes seconds to cut his mic off, not even quitting his game. He would throw the controller and his headset aside, push his gaming chair away from the table to gain some room, his arms wrapping around your body like vices as he pulls you up just enough to start bullying his aching cock into your squelching wet cunt with wild abandon.

What you've also learned is that you have an oral fixation now. A specific one. For him. You find yourself wanting his cock in your mouth at random times—while you're cooking, while you're watching TV, while you're trying to work. Sometimes he just looks at you and you know he knows, and he'll pull down his sweats just enough and nod towards the floor and you're on your knees before you can think better about it.

You hate how you can't get off this high. How you're matching his freak. You didn't know you had this in you—this need, this desperation, this willingness to let him do whatever he wants. It irritates you. It irritates you so much.

But not enough to stop, apparently.

Three out of five work days you're both home. Those days are a write-off. You get your work done in bursts between fuck-sessions, between him bending you over horisontal surfaces and you sucking him off under his desk and him fucking you against the wall in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. You've stopped pretending you have self-control. You don't. Neither does he.

Weekends are worse. Better. You don't leave the apartment. You barely leave the bed. You order food and eat it naked, feed each other bites between making out, fall asleep tangled together and wake up already reaching for each other.

But the most dangerous part of it is that you're developing feelings.

You realise it one morning when you're at work—actual work, in the office, surprisingly, wow—and you catch yourself smiling at your phone because Seungcheol sent you a picture of his parents' cat doing something stupid. Just a picture of a cat with a stupidly cute caption. And you're smiling like an idiot.

You realise it again when you're out with your friends for your monthly cafe catch-up and Jess asks about him and you have to physically stop yourself from saying something borderline sappy or feel proprietary and selfish. You play it cool, roll your eyes and say he's still a loser. But your voice wavers and your eyes flicker to the side as you restrain yourself from visibly cringing and Jess gives you a look that makes you want to crawl under the table.

Long story short, you realise it most when you're away from him. When you're at work and you miss him. When you're with your friends and you wonder what he's doing. When you can't stop thinking about him—not just sex, but him. The way he laughs, the way he furrows his thick eyebrows when he's concentrating. The way he made you tea this morning without you asking, because he remembers you're always cold when you get out of bed.

But then there are filthy thoughts too. You'll be in a meeting and remember last night—how he ruined you, how he fucked you until you were a leaking crying mess, how you were babbling nonsense and he just kept going, kept pushing, kept making you fall apart. And you have to cross your legs under the table and hope you don't stand up with a wet spot on your skirt later.

You're in trouble.

The jealousy thing catches you off guard.

You're in the kitchen, making dinner. Seungcheol is in his room, gaming with his friends. You can hear him through the open doorway, his voice relaxed and easy, and you're not really listening until you hear:

"—at the gym, this girl came up and asked for my number."

Your hand freezes with the knife as you're chopping vegetables. Your hearing suddenly supernatural and wired to him.

"I'm not lying!" he whines in response to something one of his friends said that you didn't hear. "She was doing squats near me and then after her set she just walked up and asked if I wanted to grab coffee sometime."

You hold your breath and strain your hearing even more, not noticing the way your body angles itself to catch every sound coming from his room better, the way your head tilts in the slightest way.

"What'd you say?" You hear Wonwoo ask.

"I said I was busy. Which I was. I had work after that." A pause. "But it was nice, you know? First time that's happened in a while."

Your grip on the knife tightens and you imagine your hand closing around a neck instead.

"Bro," Woozi's voice comes up, flat as always. "You need to get out more. A girl asks for your number and you say no because you have to work? That's tragic."

A beat of silence. "I'm not tragic. I'm focused."

"You're bitchless," Hoshi says, and they all laugh.

Seungcheol laughs too but it sounds different—forced or tired maybe. "Whatever, man. There was also this barista at the cafe near my office. She told me I was cute."

Your jaw clenches so hard your teeth ache. You can hear that old meme in your head that goes like, Where? Who? You've been where? With who? Mmmh… for real? Oh really? That's how you feel? And you're not having any of it.

"Okay, did you get her number at least?" Wonwoo asks with a note of hope that his friend isn't a totally lost case.

"No, I just got my coffee and left."

More laughter and dissapointed sighs follow in response. "Bitchless," Hoshi repeats in a sing-song manner. "Certified bitchless."

At this point you're gripping the knife so hard your knuckles go white. You want to throw it. You want to march int his room and—and what? Scream at him? Tell his stupid friends he's not bitchless, he's got you, he's had you every day for weeks now? But you're not his girlfriend. You're just his flatmate he fucks. He said that he liked you from day one but you really have no claim on him. No right to be jealous. Because him being physically attracted to you doesn't mean he wants it to be something serious.

The realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

You go back to choppinh vegetables, channeling your frustratioin into the act until your hands stop shaking.

Later that night, after his friends log off, he finds you in your room. You're pretending to read but you haven't turned a page in twenty minutes. He stands in the doorway for a moment then comes in, sits on the edge of your bed.

"Hey," Seungcheol calls softly. "You okay? You've been quiet all evening."

"I'm fine." Your response is chopped, you know it is and you know you're not doing a good job at making him believe what you say.

"You're not," he reaches out, touches your knee. "What's wrong?"

You look at him over the edge of your book. His big baby cow eyes, his thick brows and plush lips. He's so fucking pretty and he has no idea and some barista told him he was cute and some gym girl asked for his number and you want to claw their eyes out.

"Nothing," you say. "Just tired."

Seungcheol studies you for a long moment. Then he scoots closer, leans in and kisses your forehead and you almost break down in tears.

"Come to bed," he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against yours before leaning down and lightly butting your shoulder with his head, his hair soft and ticklish to your neck. "I'll make you feel better." His lips, slightly chapped and warm, press to the spot just above your collarbone.

You go.

He does.

Seungcheol fucks you slow that night. Not the usual rough, messy, desperate fucking—slow. Gentle. He takes his time, watches your face, kisses your cheeks between every thrust and you feel like you're made of glass, too fragile to be handled without care. His cock fills you up like always but the pace is different, deeper, more intentional. You're on your back, legs wrapped around his waist and he's propped above you, those big eyes locked on yours.

"Tell me what's wrong," he whispers and, embarrasingly enough, you can't hold eye contact, afraid that he'll read you if you don't look away.

"Nothing."

"Liar," he kisses your nose and nuzzles your cheek. "Tell me."

You shake your head because you can't. You can't tell him you're jealous. You can't tell him you want to be the only one who gets to have him. You can't tell him you're falling for him. You don't tell him any of it but you also don't notice they way you cling to him in response, limbs locking around his body as if you're afraid he's going to dissapear any moment.

"Possessive," he murmurs and there's something knowing in his voice, affectionate even. "That's it, isn't it? You heard me talking to the guys."

You tense up and feel your heart hammering in your ribcage like a captured bird. Seungcheol smiles and his smile is soft and warm.

"I didn't give them my number," he says. "Because I didn't want to. I don't want anyone else. I've got you."

"You don't have me," you manage, but your voice comes out quiet, barely a whisper.

"Don't I?" He deliberately rolls his hips and thrusts deeper, making you gasp, making you look at him again. "Whose cock do you take every day? Who gets to see you fall apart over and over, crying and shaking and calling my name?"

What he says is not exactly the most romantic thing to say to a woman. And yet your eyes are burning. You're not going to cry. You're not.

"I don't want anyone else," he says again, softer now. "Just you. Only you. You're the only one I think about. The only one I want. You know that, right?" Every sentence is intermitted with a soft kiss to your cheek, to your temple, to the corner of your lips, to the arch of your brow.

You nod, because you can't speak.

"That's my good girl," he kisses you, slow and sweet, plush lips slotting perfectly against yours. You melt into it, allowing yourself to feel whatever it is you're feeling. And then Seungcheol makes love to you.

His weight presses you into the mattress and you feel the safest you've ever felt with anyone. The pace he goes at doesn't change for a while, staying slow and deep. Seungcheol makes sure you feel him. The stretch, the friction, the weight of his body on top of yours, the way his arms cage you in and his fingers thread through your hair where they can reach, the way his lips are soft and gentle as they pepper your face with kisses between whispered praise and sweet nothings, even when he trails lower, towards your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin there, barely enough to leave marks, it's somehow more intimate than the proper bright love bites he often leaves on your body in the heat of the moment.

He loves you until you're crying for real. These tears are messy—your breath hitching, your nose running, your whole face crumpling like paper. They stream down your cheeks, hot and unstoppable, and you can't hide from them. You can't hide from Seungcheol.

He doesn't let you.

His lips find the first tear before it falls. Then the next. Then the next. He's kissing your cheeks, your closed eyelids, the trembling corner of your mouth, and between each kiss he whispers things—words you can't quite catch but feel in your chest, in the way your ribs loosen, in the way your throat unclogs. I've got you. I know. Let go.

And somehow you do.

You've been holding so much—the jealousy you have no right to feel, the fear of wanting more than you're allowed, the exhaustion of pretending you don't care when every cell in your body cares. It all spills out of you in salt and shuddering breaths, and he catches every piece of it. His thumb wipes your cheek and you lean into every touch. His forehead presses to yours and he stays deep inside you, unmoving, intimately grounding you, reminding you that you're not alone in this.

You don't come after that, not really, but that relief you feel is arguably as liberating as any physical pleasure. Your body clenches around him and releases as you hold Seungcheol tighter in your vulnerability, wrap yourself around him, and with it goes the knot in your stomach, the weight in your chest, and the voices in your head telling you you're temporary grow quieter. The sense of lightness washes over you, warm and slow, pulling something out of you that you didn't know you needed to lose.

And Seungcheol holds you through it. Holds you after, his body heavy and warm against yours, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, against your own bare skin, through every point of contact, returns you to reality of it all. Reminds you of how big and realiable he feels him and gifts you comfort within this feeling of being protected.

His arms lock around you, tight and unyielding, not letting you slip away. His face buries in your hair, and you feel his breath there, warm puffs of it.

"Mine," he whispers, and his voice cracks. "You're mine."

And you don't correct him. You simply don't want to.

The gaming incident happens two weeks later.

You're cockwarming Seungcheol again—it's become your favourite thing, honestly, just sitting on his lap while he games, feeling him inside you, stretched and filled and present. He's in the middle of a match, headset on, focused. You're scrolling on your phone, occasionally pressing kisses to his neck just to feel him twitch.

His friends are loud tonight. You can hear them through the headset, even without wearing one yourself.

"Dude, where's your ult?" Hoshi's voice. "You should've used it."

"I'm saving it," Seungcheol's voice is calm but you can feel the slight tension in his thighs.

"Saving for what? For when you finally get a moment to impress your imaginary girlfriend?"

Wonwoo laughs. "Leave him alone, he's trying."

"Trying what?" Woozi's flat voice comes through. "Trying to pretend he's not bitchless?"

You huff an annoyed breath. You see red.

Before you can think, you're snatching the headset off Seungcheol's head. He makes a surprised sound but you're already talking.

"Hey, assholes."

Silence falls on the other end.

"I don't know who you think you are but he's not bitchless. He's got me. And I'm sitting on his cock right now, so unless you want to hear exactly what it sounds like, I suggest you shut the fuck up about your friend being a loser."

The silence stretches. Then, faintly: "Holy shit."

"Is that real?" Hoshi's voice sounds awed. "Is that actually—"

"Wiat, that's his flatmate," Wonwoo says slowly, evidently piecing things together. "The one he's always talking about?"

"I'm not always talking about her," Seungcheol butts in but you cut him off, already intrigued.

"He's always talking about me?" You look down at him. His ears are bright red and his neck is beginning to burn too. You grin at the sight.

"Not always. Just… sometimes. When you're not around."

Something warm blooms in your chest while Seungcheol holds himself back from fidgeting uncomfortably beneath you. Your attention turns back to the headset.

"He's mine," you say firmly. "So stop giving him shit about being alone. He's not alone. He's got me. Got it?"

"Got it," Hoshi says quickly. "Sorry. We didn't know."

"Yeah, we're really sorry," Wonwoo adds. "We'll, uh, we'll leave you to it."

You hand the headset back to Seungcheol who's staring at you with an expression you can't read. He says something to his friends—you don't have time to catch it—and then he's pulling the headset off again and tossing it aside and his hands are on your hips and he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen.

"What?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"You're so hot," he breathes and the only thing missing from his expression is cartoonish heart-eyes. "You have no idea. The way you just… stood up for me. Claimed me. Fuck."

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. "I just… they were being dicks—"

"I know," he's already hard inside you—was he hard all this time? You can't tell anymore. "And you shut them down. You told them I'm yours."

"You are mine," the words come out before you can stop them. You freeze, waiting for him to laugh, to correct you, to—

"Yeah," he says softly. "I am. I've been yours since the day you moved in. I just didn't think you'd ever want me back like that."

Your throat tightens. You lean down and kiss him, deep and desperate, and then he's moving, standing from his gaming chair and walking over to his bed. He lays you on it, positioning himself above you, sliding back in with one smooth thrust.

"Mine," he breathes against your mouth. "Please say it."

"Yours."

He fucks you like that—slow at first, then faster, then harder, until you're both lost in it. He pushes your legs up, folds you almost in half and drives into you so deep you can't breathe, can't think, can only feel. The new angle has him hitting something inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes, and you're creaming all over his cock before you even realise it's happening, crying out his name as your body clenches around him.

"That's it," he groans. "Fuck, that's it, come on me, come all over my cock."

He keeps going, fucking you through it, and then he's cumming too, hot and deep, and you feel him pulse insde you, filling you up, and it's perfect. It's so perfect it hurts.

Afterwards you lie tangled together on his unmade bed, breathing hard. His hand traces lazy patterns on your skin.

"You know they're never going to let me live this down, right?" he murmurs. "They're going to tease me about having a girlfriend forever."

"I'm not your girlfriend," you say automatically and it pains you. You wish you didn't correct him, what's the point anyways after everything that happened between you.

He's quiet for a moment. "What are you then?"

You stare at the ceiling and realise that you don't have an answer. Or, rather, the one you have scares you too much to voice it.

Months pass. Your sex life doesn't slow down—if anything, it gets more intense, more creative, more intimate in ways that are harder to ignore every time. You've lost count of how many times you've come on his cock, in his mouth, on his fingers. You've lost count of how many times he's painted your skin with his cum, filled your holes, made you cry and scream and beg.

But something else is happening too.

You notice it in the little things. The way he makes you coffee or tea exactly how you like it every morning without asking. The way he knows you've had a bad day juat from the way you kick off your shoes when you come home, and just holds you, no sex, just warmth and quiet and soft kisses to the top of your head and all over your face. The way he leaves notes for you—simple annoying (you love it) things like "your turn to buy milk :P" or "i ate the last of ice cream, sorry" with a little drawn face that you assume is supposed to resemble him.

You notice it in the way Seungcheol looks at you. Soft. Fond. Like you're the most precious thing in this world for him.

You notice it the most when you're ovulating.

You're not sure how he knows. You've never told him about your cycle apart from when you're on your period and you know he doesn't track your cycle but somehow he always knows. One day you'll wake up irritable, snapping at everything, and he'll just look at you with this knowing expression and pull you into his lap.

"Ovulating?" he'll ask and you'll glare at him and he'll laugh in return and kiss your nose.

"Well, first of all, we live together and it's easy to observe you every month. You become more violent and irritable, ouch, yeah, exactly that. Also, you smell a little different," he explains one day when you finally ask. He has pulled you into his lap and his nose is pressed against your neck while he explains. "It's really subtle but I can tell. It's like… I don't know how to describe it. It just changes and I know you need me."

You should find that creepy and you tell him as much, making a whole disgusted face. But you still end up climbing him like a tree.

Today is one of those days. You've been irritable since you woke up, snapping at everything, angry at nothing. You're in the kitchen, aggressively chopping ingredients for the salad you don't even want when Seungcheol pops up in the doorway.

"Hey," he calls carefully. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're ovulating."

You whirl on him, knife still in hand. "Oh stop with this bullshit already, I am not—"

"You are," he doesn't even flinch at the knife point. "Your scent changed this morning. You need to get fucked," he tries to say it with a straight face but fails, plump lips slowly stretching into a mischievous sultry smile. He's really too excited about it. You want to smack his pretty face.

A scowl finds its way onto your lips. "I don't need—"

He crosses the kitchen, pries the knife from your hand and sets it aside carefully, then lifts you onto the counter in one smooth motion too. His hands settle on your thighs, pulling your lounge pants down, and he looks at you through his outrageously long lashes with those big dark eyes.

"You're angry because you need me," Seungcheol says quietly while his palms soothe your bared skin. He steps between your thighs and leans in to press a kiss to your lips which you accept on pure reflex despite all irritation. "And that's okay. I'm right here. I've got you. Let me take care of you, deal? You know I can make you feel real good. Chase all that irritation away."

You want to argue and tell him you don't need taking care of, you're a grown capable woman. But then his hand is between your legs, pressing against your needy throbbing cunt through your underwear and you're already wet—of course you're—and the arguments die in your throat with a breathy moan that escapes instead.

"Yeah," he murmurs, lips curling up in a smug smile as he watches the wet patch on your panties grow. "That's what I thought."

He pulls your underwear off of you, revealing your glistening centre to his sight—you can tell the way his pupils blow wide like a cat's in an instance—and sinks to his knees in front of the counter.

Seungcheol parts your thighs wider and you squirm closer to the edge for him, angling your hips just so. He hums appreciatively and presses soft kisses from the inner part of your knee and up, inching closer to your heat, eyes heavy lidded and watching the way your leaky hole winks at him impatiently. What follows is the most thorough, most intense fucking of your life (you think it every time to be totally frank). He eats you out first, until you're shaking and crying from sensitivity, until you've come twice on his tongue and you're whimpering for him to stop, fingers gripping onto the edge of the counter for dear life, face burning from embarrasment at all the nasty sloppy sounds his mouth makes against your puffy, drooling cunt. Then he stands up, pushes his sweats down and lines up that thick, perfect cock with your drenched pussy.

"Look at me," he says.

You do, eyes blurry with tears and unfocused already.

He pushes in.

It's too much. It's always too much, but today is especially too much, and you can feel every inch of him stretching you open, filling you up. He goes slow, so agonizingly slow, letting you feel every second of it, and by the time he's fully seated you're a mess—tears streaming down your cheeks, hands gripping his shoulders and nails leaving tiny crates into his skin, mouth open on a silent scream until you lean forward and press your face into his neck, mewling pathetically as your entire body grows jelly and you feel your brain enter that fuzzy state where you're about to purr for him in a mix of satisfaction and comfort.

Instead you lap at the junction of his neck and shoulder, tongue pressed flat and sloppy before you scrape the spot with your teeth and feel him shudder.

"There you go," Seungcheol breathes brokenly. "That's it."

He starts to move.

It's rough. It's hard. It's exactly what you need. He fucks you on the counter, then on the floor, then bent over the kitchen table, then back in his bedroom, on the bed, in every position he can think of. He doesn't stop until you're a boneless, sobbing mess, empty-brained, until you've lost count of how many times you've come, until you can't form words anymore, just sounds that are so pathetic it's hard to believe they come from an intelligent human being—only you're not exactly intelligent in that moment.

And then he finally cums one last time, buried deep inside you, filling you up to the point it overflows and bubbles in a white obscene ring around the base of his cock as he continues bullying his cum into your thoroughly fucked pussy.

You feel his strong arms wrapped like a vice around your body while he whispers hotly against your ear: "So pretty and mine. Always mine."

You don't have the energy to correct him. You don't want to.

Afterwards he cleans you up with warm washcloth, gentle hands soothing your oversensitive skin. He puts you in one of his t-shirts—the soft gray one you've secretly claimed as yours since that very first time you slept with him—and wraps you in blankets and holds oyu against his chest.

"Better?" he asks, pressing his lips to your forehead.

You nod, already half asleep, all anger and irritability fucked out of you by the man who holds you close. You press a kiss to his collarbone, soft and sleepy, and feel his arms tighten around you.

"Love you," you mumble, not really aware of what you're saying. Not until he goes still beneath you. Then your eyes fly open, you look up at him, heart suddenly pounding. "I didn't—"

"I love you too."

The words hang in the air between you. He's looking at you with his boba eyes, soft and scaread and hopeful all at once, and you realise that he means it, actually. And your heart flutters in your chest with trepidation.

"Since when?" you whisper.

"I don't know, somewhere along the way? Before I even realised what it was," his thumb traces your cheek. "Maybe since you yelled at me for leaving dishes in the sink for the first time. Since you danced in the kitchen to your music when you thought I wasn't watching. Since the first time you fell asleep on my chest and I thought I want you to stay like this forever."

You can't breathe nor can you think. All you can do is look at him, this stupid, perfect, annoying, wonderful man who somehow became everything for you, to you.

"I'm a mess," you manage. "I'm jealous and possessive… but I can't stop wanting you… and I yell at your friends and—"

"I know," Seungcheol is smiling now, that soft sunrise of a smile. "I love all of it. I love all of you."

You kiss him and it's not like your heated kisses, which are desperate or hungry or demanding. You kiss him soft. Sweet. Full of everything you can't find words to express. Because your heart is overflowing and if you don't find a way to express it you're afraid you're going to combust on the spot. Or cry, and you really don't want to cry right now and wake up later with puffy eyes that you can barely open.

When you pull back he's still smiling. And you can't help but press your lips to his for another short kiss because the feeling of him smiling against your mouth is intoxicating. You want to spend your life kissing his lips into these dazzling smiles just to watch his cheeks dimple so prettily.

"So," he says. "Does this mean you'll stop pretending you hate me?"

"I never pretended to hate you."

"You literally called me a loser to your friends."

"You're a loser," you poke his chest and then lean in to press yet another kiss to his plush lips. God is vitness, you're addicted to the man and there's no salvation. "But it was before and you're my loser now, there's huuuge difference."

Seungcheol laughs, bright and happy, and pulls you closer, tucking your body snugly into his, and you fall asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling safer than you've ever felt.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.

Seungcheol is not good at entertaining himself.

You’re curled up on the sofa with a new novel, enjoying the personal time you’ve carved out just for this activity. A breeze ruffles the curtains, occasionally lifting the page of your book. An open bag of cookies rests on the sofa arm beside you.

It’s perfect: snack, comfortable weather, engaging novel.

And Seungcheol can’t stand it.

He’s trying, and you know it. After all, you respect his personal time when he games with Wonwoo, spends hours shouting and swearing at the computer screen. You’ve chosen a quieter hobby, but your time is no less precious. He knows this; he still wants more of it.

So he hovers, moving from room to room, throwing you yearning glances that you ignore in favor of turning pages. He’s bored, and a bored Seungcheol never keeps to himself for very long.

Sure enough, twenty pages and four cookies in, he pads over to you. Your gaze flickers towards him as he settles down on the cushion beside you.

“What are you doing?”

He lifts up the book he’s holding. “I’m going to read with you.”

Laughing, you say, “No. You’re going to fall asleep.”

As expected, his lower lip juts out immediately. “I won’t! Just ignore me, I’m not even here.”

“Mhm.” You pass him a cookie and go back to your book.

Another few minutes tick by. You can feel Seungcheol shifting beside you. Finally, he lowers his head into your lap, tucking himself just under your arm.

You move your book so you can look down at him. “Getting ready to sleep?”

He scowls up at you, thick brows pulling tight. It never ceases to amuse you how your buff, manly boyfriend manages to look like such a pouty child half the time.

“I won’t,” he asserts. “I’m just getting comfortable.”

“Uhuh.”

You lift your arms a little higher to accommodate him and turn another page. This book is more compelling than you expected, because you find yourself absorbed in it. All thoughts of your fidgety boyfriend disappear as you eat up line after line, consuming the story as quickly as you can. It’s not often that you find a book this good; by the time you reach a stopping point, you’re a little dazed. Tucking your receipt back between the pages, you blink a few times to reorient yourself.

You haven’t heard from Seungcheol in a while. When you set your book down, you find him sound asleep. His head is turned towards you, cheek pressed against your thigh. You’re not sure when he fell asleep, but it couldn’t have been long. The book he chose is hugged close to his chest, bookmark in the same place it was before.

Told you so, you think, but you can’t help but feel fond. He’s so pretty like this, full lashes stark against his warm skin, lips gently parted as he breathes. You try to go back to your book but you’re no longer interested. Instead, you watch him sleep, just like you do on mornings when you wake up first and there’s nowhere to be.

It’s a view you never get tired of.

It’s only when your leg starts to tingle that you shift, making his breath catch. 

“Cheol,” you whisper, stroking your thumb over his cheek. “Time to wake up.”

His dark eyes find yours, half-lidded, still hazy with sleep. “Mm…” 

You watch with amusement as awareness washes over him like a lazy wave.

“I fell asleep,” he tells you sheepishly. 

“Yes, I noticed,” you tease. “Just like I said you would.”

He cranes his neck up and catches sight of your book, closed on the sofa arm beside the half-empty box of cookies. “Are you done?”

“For now.”

“Does that mean we can do something together now?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hold back your smile.“You can’t handle being alone, can you?”

“Not if you’re around, no.” 

The earnest way he says it makes your heart flutter. It’s too sweet–you can’t even tease him about it. And even though you sometimes pretend otherwise, you love the way he’s attracted to you, like your opposite magnet.

Combing your fingers through his hair, you ask, “Okay then, what do you want to do?”

Seungcheol leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. “Doesn’t matter. Just wanna be with you.”

It’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. Picking up your book, you crack it open. “Reading it is, then.”

If there was anything Byeol would never exchange, it was the boys of SEVENTEEN— and, without question, their parents.

Growing up, family had always felt smaller than it should have been. After losing her parents at ten, Byeol learned how to live quietly under the care of her grandparents, how to make peace with absence, how to accept that some spaces in her life would remain unfilled.

So when she first stood in that practice room during pre-debut evaluations, watching the members reunite with their families, Byeol told herself she didn’t need anything more.

So, she stayed near the corner anyway.

Hands clasped in front of her, eyes quietly observing as the room filled with laughter, familiar voices, and the kind of warmth that didn’t belong to her. Parents called out their sons’ names, pulled them into hugs, fussed over how thin they looked or how tired they seemed.

Byeol just watched the boys. She didn’t notice Choi Seungcheol approaching until he was already standing beside her.

“Why are you all the way here?” he asked, glancing at her. He was already informed that her grandparents weren’t coming at all.

“I’m fine here,” she said softly, offering a small smile.

He didn’t look convinced.

“Come on,” he said, gently nudging her arm. “You should meet them.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “No, it’s okay—”

“It’s not,” he cut in, already guiding her forward.

“Oppa…” she protested under her breath, trying to slow down, but he only held onto her wrist a little more firmly, careful but insistent.

“They’ve heard about you,” he added, like that was supposed to help. “They would really like to meet you.”

“That makes it worse,” she muttered.

He let out a small laugh. “You’ll be fine.”

Before she could come up with another excuse, they were already standing in front of his parents.

“Eomma, Appa,” Seungcheol called casually, catching both attention of his parents. “This is Byeol.”

She froze for a moment, standing still right beside him. For a split second, she considered bowing and immediately running back to the corner.

But it was too late.

Because Seungcheol’s mother had already stepped forward.

“Byeol-ah?” she said gently.

And then she crouched down slightly, meeting the girl at eye level, her expression soft in a way that made Byeol’s nerves falter. “We’ve heard so much about you from our Seungcheol.”

Byeol blinked, caught off guard by the warmth in her voice.

“A-anyeonghaseyo,” she stammered, bowing quickly.

Behind them, Seungcheol’s father smiled quietly, while nearby parents began to take notice.

“Aigoo, such a polite girl.” Mingyu’s mother chimed in, clapping her hands together enthusiastically.

“She’s even prettier from what my channie boy had said!” Lee Chan’s mother said, stepping closer with a fond smile.

And just like that, she was surrounded by a group of parents who had nothing but love for the little girl. She felt welcomed into that circle.

It was overwhelming at first— the way they spoke to her so fondly, the way they insisted, “Call me eomma,” “Call me appa,” as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Byeol didn’t know how to say it back then. But she remembered how it felt.

When their debut was announced in 2017, the parents celebrated just as much as the boys did. Some traveled just to be there, filling the room with pride and excitement that spilled over to Byeol as well. And over the years, without her even realizing when it started, the words came easier.

The worde Eomma and Appa. At some point, she had stopped getting conscious about calling them those words. She felt like it was right to call them that as they had been nothing but have paternal instincts over her.

Byeol basically had 13 parents at this point.

There were times that the boys would whine that their parents would often seen Byeol rather than their own sons.

It showed in the smallest, funniest ways. Seungcheol, being the youngest in the family, was perplexed but not surprised that his parents would rather ask how was byeol was that day rather than knowing their own son.

2018:

It was the time when Byeol had came home from school and Seungcheol was at the kitchen, having a conversation with his parents through voice call.

“Oh princess, you’re home.” Seungcheol perked up at the sight of their youngest coming through the door. Byeol smiled tiredly as she removed her shoes before going inside the dorm.

“Hello Oppa,” She said, walking over to him and planted a kiss on his right cheek, which he patted her back in return.

“How was school?” He asked, setting down his chopsticks to properly face the teen

“It was okay. I’ve got upcoming exams.” She stated.

“Oh? Is that our daughter I’m hearing?” A familiar tone of a woman coming from seungcheol’s phone. Byeol looked at it curiously before she started smiling widely

“Eommaaaa! Appaaa!” She greeted, leaning forward at the table just so she could fin in to the frame of his phone.

On the other end, Seungcheol’s parents smiled just as brightly.

“Aigooo, our baby?” His mother cooed, eyes crinkling. “How is our baby? Have you been eating well.”

“Neee,” Byeol nodded eagerly, lifting her lunchbox. “Gyu oppa made my lunch today!”

From somewhere behind her, Mingyu yelled, “Tell them I woke up early for that!”

Seungcheol’s father chuckled. “You’re taking good care of her.”

“Of course,” Mingyu shot back from afar.

Seungcheol stared at the scene in disbelief for a moment before finally scoffing. “Ya,” he cut in, pointing at himself. “I’m still your son too. Aren’t you going to check on me?”

There was a pause. His mother blinked.

“Oh, right,” she said casually. “Did you eat?”

“I’m literally eating right now!” Seungcheol whined. His father laughed. Byeol couldn’t hold it in anymore, laughter spilling out as she leaned against the table.

And Seungcheol— he just shook his head, but there was no real annoyance in his expression. Because if there was one thing he knew for sure— it was that she was just as much their daughter as he was their son.

The same case occured when Jeonghan had brought Byeol with him just to have dinner at his childhood home.

2020:

“Oppa, are you sure this is okay?” Byeol pouted as they got by at his house.

Before he could even enter the house, the front door was swung open to reveal Jeonghan’s younger sister. She evidently gasped in excited when she saw them arrive.

“You’re here,” she exclaimed. Jeonghan smiled, already opening his arms for her. Except, instead of running in to his arms, his sister just walked right past him and went straight to Byeol.

“Hahaha, unnie!” Byeol giggled, wrapping her arms around the older girl.

“Oh is that Byeol? Ah, our uri baby!” Jeonghan’s mother followed suit, immediately hugging the girl as well while her husband gave the girl a side hug too.

“You’ve gotten tall,” he commented, ruffling the girl’s hair.

“Ne appa, I grew an inch!” Byeol proudly said. The parents smiled fondly at the girl, praising her for such achievement.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan stared at the scene with an unimpressed look. “I also grew!” He fake whined.

“No, you didn’t.” His sister immediately shot back.

It happened quite often to her at times. Whenever she’s at LA, she would mostly spend most of her time eating at the Hong’s residences. Joshua would sometimes get surprised that during one of his calls to his mother, he was surprised to find out that Byeol was there in his LA house.

2021:

“Feeling at home, Byeol-ah?” Joshua jokingly stated through the phone.

“Ne! I’m Eomma’s favorite daughter now.” Byeol smiled widely, hugging Joshua’s mom from behind while placing her chin on the older woman’s shoulder to peer down at the call.

Jaimie Hong laughed softly, patting the girl’s head. “Aigooo, my sweet girl.” She said.

With Jeon Wonwoo’s family, it was always quiet, but never empty. Byeol sometimes would joke that Wonwoo and her are actually relatives due to their surnames. Byeol remembered sitting in their living room during a rainy afternoon, legs tucked under her, while Wonwoo’s mother quietly placed a blanket over her shoulders.

2019:

She didn’t say anything at first, just adjusted the fabric until it covered her properly. “Cold?” she asked her gently with a motherly gaze upon her face.

“A little,” Byeol admitted, smiling upwards at wonwoo’s mother.

From the side, Wonwoo spoke softly, almost amused. “She always says that after she’s already cold.”

His mother hummed, as if that was expected. “Really? Then I’ll make you a quilt before you go back to work,” she said, tucking a piece of fallen hair behind the girl’s ear.

The girl visibly gasped, unable to contain her excitement. “You can knit?” She gasped.

“Of course!” Wonwoo’s mother wholeheartedly laugh.

“Can you teach me how to knit? I’ve always wanted to learn how.”

And that was how Byeol ended up sitting on the floor beside her, a soft bundle of yarn placed between them like it had been waiting for this moment all along. His mother guided her hands patiently, correcting the way she held the needles, slowing her down whenever she rushed.

From the couch, Jeon Wonwoo watched the two of them in silence for a while before speaking. “You’re going to make something completely uneven.”

His mother didn’t even look up. “Then she’ll learn.”

Byeol frowned slightly, tongue poking out in concentration. “I can do it properly.”

Wonwoo raised a brow. “You said that five minutes ago.”

“I improved already,” she shot back.

His mother smiled softly, watching her try again. “That’s good. Improvement means you’re learning.”

Wonwoo leaned back, shaking his head lightly as he muttered, “She listens to you more than me.”

His mother finally glanced at him. “That’s because she trusts me.”

The room fell into a comfortable quiet again after that, broken only by the soft clicking of needles and Byeol’s occasional frustrated hums when the yarn slipped. But even then, she didn’t stop. She just tried again, a little slower this time, with Wonwoo still watching from the side like he had no choice but to stay and see how it turned out.

With Woozi’s family, care was never loud, but it was always precise. Byeol noticed it the first time she visited for a meal. There were dishes she liked without having to say it, placed neatly in front of her as if it had been decided in advance that she would need them.

2022:

“Eat this too,” his mother said, sliding another side dish closer to her.

“You’re too thin.” She softly nagged her.

“I’m not that thin,” Byeol replied, but she was already being ignored in the gentlest way possible.

Jihoon sat across from her, watching the entire scene unfold with a tired expression. “Sometimes I feel like Byeol’s more of your child.”

“Aish, what are you talking about. Both of you are my children.” his mother responded without looking at him. “Music geniuses!”

Byeol laughed quietly, eating anyway, while Jihoon sighed but there’s a deep smile on his face

There were also times that she felt unexpected loved from the parente. When Byeol was invited to become a dance teacher for the Chinese program Youth With You Season 2, which was a similar program from Produce 101. Jun and Minghao accompanied her back to their country, insisting that she should stay back and forth in their own homes instead of renting an apartment or a hotel for the duration of her stay in China

And during the duration of her stay in China, she was spoiled… very spoiled. Minghao and Jun’s parents would take her around just to see the wonders in China. She was also spoiled with tons of food. As everyone knows, both parents only had sons so they immediately adopted Byeol as their only daughter within the family. They do love to splurge money on shopping spree on Byeol even though she had the capability to buy her own stuff.

As for the language barrier, well, there was no language barriers at all! In fact, she was actually able to keep up with their conversations as to how Minghao and Jun had trained her with during their train years. Even if there were words that she wasn’t familiar with in chinese translation, the mother hens are there to teach her.

2020:

“Eommaaa,” Byeol called out, catching the attention of her two chinese mothers.

“What do you think?” She asked, posing for them with the outfit that they had chosen for her.

“Omo! It looks so pretty on you,” Minghao’s mother gushed over while Jun’s mother nodded in agreement as well.

As much as they loved the dress, their two sons however wasn’t too keen with the idea.

“Isn’t that neckline too low?” Jun stated, narrowing his eyes as he criticized the dress a bit.

“The length too, it’s too short. You know you get too cold when you’re in Korea,” Minghao somehow turned this into a lecture.

“But isn’t it pretty? I love it.” Byeol said, twirling around while smiling happily when both of her chinese mothers clapped enthusiastically at their daughter.

“I think jie jie looks very pretty!” Jun’s little brother stated, smiling widely. Byeol couldn’t help but coo at the boy’s honest comment.

“Boys, let her have some fun! It looks very pretty on her,” Jun’s mother scolded at them, only to earn grumbling responses from the boys.

At Kim Mingyu’s home, there was no such thing as subtle within the family. They could immediately notice things that she hadn’t noticed before.

2023:

“You got thinner,” his father said immediately.

Byeol blinked in surprise, “I didn’t—“ she said.

“You did,” his mother agreed, already guiding her to sit. She softly said comforting words that her daughter hasn’t been taken care really well, patting her hands in reassurance that the food that she prepared was good for her.

“Mingyu,” his father called out to his son, who sat froze on his seat. “why are you not feeding her properly?”

“I do!” Mingyu defended himself.

Byeol laughed as another portion was placed onto her plate.

“Byeol-ah, eat more so that you’ll grow big,” his mother insisted, letting her husband lecture their son.

“Ne Eomma,” Byeol grinned before diving into her food.

As for the Lee Seokmin’s family, everything felt brighter. It was like she was surrounded by a sun. It was during Chuseok Holiday when Byeol was invited to spend the holiday with the family. Knowing that his parents wanted to see their other daughter, she just nodded in agreement.

2024:

“Wait, wait!” his mother said suddenly. Before Byeol could ask why, a camera clicked.

Seokmin groaned. “You didn’t even warn us!”

His father leaned over, checking the photo. “It’s good.”

“Of course it is,” his mother said proudly. “Our Byeol-ah looks pretty.”

“How about me?” Seokmin asked, pointing to himself with an expectant look on his face.

“Eh, it could’ve been better.” His mother shrugged. DK looked at his mother with mouth wide open in shock, while while older sister snorted and patted his back sympathetically.

“Don’t compete with our dongsaeng or else you’ll just break your heart.”

There were other times that Byeol was at Jeju with Seungkwan, visiting his family. In there, she was surprised and amazed with how much Jeju could offer from the scenery, foods, and culture. Needless to say, she gained a little bit of weight during her one week duration stay with them.

She couldn’t help it. If anything, Byeol was like a food vacuum machine that kept on inhaling the food. She also has complete stock of tangerines deliver by Seungkwan’s father.

2022:

“Eat slowly,” his mother reminded her gently.

“I will, eomma.” Byeol said as she chew onto her food. She gave the older woman a thumbs up, “You always have the best meals.”

“You always say that.” She softly nagged, patting the girl’s shoulder.

From across the table, Seungkwan frowned. “She listens to you more.” He snorted.

“That’s because she doesn’t argue unlike someone.” His older sister side commented, snickering quietly.

“I don’t argue!”Seungkwan squawked. Byeol stuck out her tongue at Seungkwan, shaking her head as she took another bite.

And when Byeol was with Vernon, there is a 100% chance that she would be around his family as well. His parents absolutely adored Byeol, treating her like she was one of their own. With Byeol being a foreigner too and is considered to be Wasian, she coulr honestly relate to this family more than the others.

Sofia, his younger sister, absolutely adored Byeol. She aspired to be her one day despite the three year gap between them with Byeol being the oldest.

Byeol was mostly surrounded by boys, so it was a sigh of relief whenever she’s around with seventeen’s sisters or sofia.

However, not all people liked the idea of. He despised the concept of Sofia and Byeol being in one room. They were like a mischievous duo that kept on doing unworldly but funny things just to bother him

2021:

“Kidney function, is not a right. It’s a…?” Byeol said, holding out a imaginary mic towards Sofia, who grinned.

“It’s a privilege,” The two girls snickered to themselves while Vernon let out s groaning sound.

“Will you quit with that line.” Vernon mumbled.

“Byeol-ah, your mom’s making your favorite strawberry cake.” Vernon’s dad announced, popping his through the kitchen doorway

Byeol gasped loudly, “really?!” She said. “I love you Vernonie’s eomma!”

“Spoiled,” Vernon joked, earning a slap from Byeol.

And when Byeol was with Dino’s parents, it was like Dino and Byeol twins that were separated from birth. Knowing that Byeol was also a great dancer, it was like the dancers in the family were finally complete.

2025:

“Again, again!” his mother clapped from the side of the living room, completely invested.

“Eomma, we just danced,” Chan groaned, hands on his hips, already tired from the constant dance request from both of his parents.

“And? One more time!”

Byeol laughed beside him, slightly out of breath but already stepping back into position. “It’s okay, oppa. Last one.”

Dino deadpanned at the girl, “That’s what you said three times ago.”

His father stood nearby, arms crossed but smiling proudly as he watched the two of them. “You move the same,” he pointed out suddenly.

Both of them paused.

“What?” Chan frowned.

“You and Byeol,” he continued, gesturing between them. “The way you hit the beats. It’s similar.”

Byeol blinked, glancing at Chan, who looked at her too. Then, their faces cracked into smiles.

“No wonder you’re my favorite partner,” he said, nudging her shoulder.

“Ya!” she laughed, pushing him back lightly.

From the couch, his mother gasped dramatically. “See? I told you. If we had a daughter, she would be exactly like this.”

“Eomma…” Chan dragged out, already embarrassed.

But she only smiled wider, looking between the two of them like she was seeing something she had been waiting for.

“I’m changing my last name to Lee now,” Byeol laughed, posing like a rapper, grinning when they all laughed at her.

And maybe that was it. It was never about one big moment or a single realization. It was a collection of small things that slowly built something real. Shared meals at crowded tables, warm greetings the moment she stepped through the door, laughter that came easily without her forcing it, and voices that called her “our daughter” as if there had never been any doubt.

Somewhere along the way, Byeol stopped feeling like someone who was simply included. She became someone who was expected, someone whose presence was noticed when she was gone and welcomed the moment she returned. She found herself with a place waiting for her, not just beside the boys, but within the families that raised them. And for the first time in a long time, Byeol did not feel like she had lost a family. She felt like she had found one again.